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amethystina · 10 months

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Hello, for the questions for fic writers :

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

<3 <3 <3

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Since this question was listed twice I'll just go ahead and give two concepts/AUs!

The first is a Soulmate AU. I've always liked the concept but haven't really found an idea that I like enough to actually want to write it. I'm so busy and have so many other projects going on that I don't really have time to go searching for fic ideas. Instead, my brain has to present a fully formed idea and basically pitch it to me before I'm willing to even consider writing it. And since Soulmate AUs haven't really been high on my list of priorities, that hasn't happened yet. I guess my brain has been busy plotting other fics instead?

(Well, aside from that The Devil Judge Soulmate AU I suddenly came up with and am very intrigued by. So maybe? Who knows?)

The second is a Vampire AU. I cannot believe I've never written a Vampire AU. That's not to say that I'm necessarily obsessed with vampires (I like them a normal amount) it just surprises me that I've never written one. So that I definitely want to do at some point!

(And, unlike the Soulmate AU, my brain has actually tried to present me with a number of ideas for Vampire AUs (the latest one being a The Devil Judge fic, predictably) but I've kept myself at bay for now because I already have too many fics to write. Woe is me.)

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

The sequel to Gravitational Pull? Though "currently working on" might be slightly misleading in this case. I wrote 840 words two months back and have been staring blankly at the document ever since x'D I think I just need to sit down and force myself past that first hurdle because I know exactly what's going to happen, I just need to write it down. But yeah, here's an excerpt:

Ga On tried his best not to look at Yo Han.

The tension lay thick inside the car, the silence pushing against Ga On's eardrums. Judge Oh, who sat in the back, probably assumed it was because of the crisis at hand — apprehension at the thought of what lay ahead of them — but that was only partially true. Ga On was also struggling with an insistent, nerve-wracking hum of concern, making his spine stiff and throat tight.

Yo Han shouldn't be here. He was still injured — only just over a day had passed since he got shot.

No matter how grave the situation was, Yo Han should be at home, resting, not driving them to an area of Seoul that was quickly becoming as chaotic as an active war zone.

Ga On gritted his teeth — until his jaw began hurting from the strain — and looked down at his hands. They were tightly clenched in his lap, his thumb rubbing restlessly over the other. Perhaps Ga On was being too selfish, but he didn't want Yo Han to put himself in danger like this — not when he wasn't at his best. Ga On could admit that Yo Han hid it well but, since Ga On knew where to look, he could see the subtle delay in Yo Han's movements and how he held himself slightly more rigidly than usual.

Yo Han was still in pain.

He still had a hole in his stomach but pretended that he didn't.

And Ga On had to play along, since Kang Yo Han couldn't show any weakness. The people around them could know that the chief judge was injured. The fact that their opponents did was already bad enough — and was probably why they chose now to try and overthrow him. They didn't think Yo Han would be able to fight back as fiercely — with as much precision — as he normally would.

They were expecting an easy victory.

But, even injured, Yo Han was a force to be reckoned with and, as always, would do whatever it took to win.

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

Possibly TMI incoming and TW for bullying and verbal abuse.

I think I'll take this opportunity to say how happy I am that I started writing fanfics. Which is extra hilarious when you consider the fact that it started with a thought as basic as: "I want to write at least one before I die." And then, ten years later, here we are. And I'm in no way exaggerating when I say that it changed my life.

One concrete example is that had I never written Autonomy, I would never have met the people who finally told me I was a good person — after hearing the exact opposite for over two years. To make a very long story short, there were several people in my life at the time who, when in pain, took it out on me, often by projecting. They told me how selfish, self-centred, and unsupportive I was. That I lacked empathy and always put myself first. That I was arrogant and a bully, who belittled everyone I spoke to and thought way too highly of myself, my intelligence, and my worth. And, well, I believed them.

Because I can be very firm and dominant, especially in person. So it's very likely that I might (unknowingly) assert myself too much. And since this abuse only happened in private, none of my other friends or family knew about it. This narrative of me being a terrible person was, for about two years, the only thing I heard. Because, to all my other friends, I was so stable and confident — how could I possibly be doubting myself? And why should they remind me that I was a good person since, surely, I knew that?

Except no — I didn't. Because I only heard the opposite. For years.

Until, suddenly one day, I got a DM on Tumblr asking me if I wanted to join a Discord server because they'd read one of my Winteriron fics and loved it. And so I did. Despite being scared to death because oh no, now these people who really like my fic are going to find out I'm a terrible person and they're never going to want to read anything I've written ever again.

But, to my absolute surprise, the opposite happened.

The people on this server LOVED me. They genuinely seemed to enjoy my company. And I quickly earned the nickname Steve (it was a Marvel server — I promise it made complete sense to us at the time) because I kept everyone in line and, apparently, was always ready to throw hands for a good cause.

I even had my own gif! The command was !amy and was used when someone was misbehaving to signal "You're on thin fucking ice, buddy."

Sometimes, I'd even wake up to find that the gif had been used in my absence, when other members on the server had basically gone: "Oh man, Amy's going to be soooo disappointed in you when she gets back RIP it was nice knowing you."

And rarely have I been so confused. Or felt so much like a liar.

Because that's what I thought I was doing. I thought I was lying to these people about who I actually was. That I was somehow able to masquerade as a Good Person all while actually being a despicable, selfish monster behind the scenes who hurt every single person I came into contact with.

And, eventually, I cracked. Not in a very visible way to most people, but enough to ask my most trusted friends on that server if I was a bad person. And I was unanimously met with a VERY confused: "What? Why do you ask? You, of all people?"

Because, according to them, not only was I the one who kept everyone in line, but also one of the kindest, most considerate people on that server. I was the conscience. The voice of reason. The one who always listened. The one who always knew exactly what to say when people were hurting. The one who made sure to de-escalate a situation before it could turn into something dangerous or hurtful.

And that changed my life.

Because, all of a sudden, I had a completely different narrative that competed with the one I'd heard for two years. In a matter of days, my world was turned upside down. We're talking a full-blown existential crisis. Because everything I thought I knew about myself was suddenly called into question and I had to figure out where I ended and the lies I had been told by other people began. It was a painful, gruelling, and utterly exhausting process but well worth it for how much it helped my mental health and self-image.

All because of a fanfic. Kind of amazing, isn't it?

The point I'm trying to make is that you'll never know in what place or what shape you might find the support and stability you need to have the kind of epiphany that I did. Perhaps it starts with a gigantic Space AU you wrote because it sounded fun, followed by an invitation to a whacky Discord server? Who knows?

And that's why I still write. And why I still post. And why I try to reply to every comment and ask if I can.

Because I know there are people like the old me out there. People who aren't seen or heard in the way they deserve. And maybe I won't be able to give them that with my limited reach, but I can at least try. I can write stories they relate to, stories that give them solace, stories that make them realise things about themselves, that make them question the abuse they've been submitted to, without even knowing it. That makes them see. That makes them want to forgive themselves and love themselves. That can help them find community and like-minded people.

If my writing can offer comfort, safety, and a feeling of belonging, then it's all worth it.

If I can help one person in the way those people on that server helped me, then it's worth it.

And that's why I'll always be grateful for deciding to write fanfics. Not just because of how it's helped me, but because it's given me the opportunity to help and bring people together.

It's never "just" a fanfic.

So, if you've ever read one of my works, I'm so grateful for your time and attention. And I hope I was able to make you smile or, perhaps, made you feel a little less lonely, even just for a short while.

I appreciate you and wish you all the best. Take care 💜

Questions for fic writers

#Amethystina Does Ask Memes #Anonymous #Well #That went to places I didn't plan #I guess I'm a little sentimental or something xD #But genuinely #Find your people #Find your support #It doesn't matter if it's through fanfics #Or music #Or knitting #Just whatever #Find the people who will help and treasure you #It will do wonders #Also brief sidenote:#No my name is not actually Amy xD #It's just the shortened form of Amethystina and it caught on #So to many I'm known as Amy

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a-sour-nectarine · 2 years

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I need more “how to survive at wayne manor”

I need moremoremoremoremoremore plz

(Perhaps drop a few involving Steph?)

☺️🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼❤️❤️❤️❤️

Your wish is my command, love.

How to survive your stay at Wayne Manor: a guide. Part 3.

Be careful around open walkways.

Yes, the gazebo is very beautiful. No, you can't take pictures there.

Duke knows everything that happens in the manor. Don't do anything you wouldn't want him to know about.

There are reasons no one plays the flute in the house. Trombone is also iffy, but for very different reasons. Steph hates the sound of trombone. Steph has more pull here than you would think.

Don't ask about Harvey Dent.

Don't give in to Dick's puppy dog eyes. He is a cat we are trying to stop rewarding for screaming.

August is a very bad month. Tread carefully.

Ethiopia is also off-limits. So are clowns.

Always buckle your seatbelt immediately if you are in the passenger's seat of a car. Don't let the warning beep go off. That's just mean.

No one here wants to hear about your humanitarian trips to third-world countries. Good for you. I'm sure you did a lot of good. It will sound like you are compensating for something.

No one knows the people in the painting of that gas station on the landing of the north staircase. Tim bought it because he had seen it in a dream, despite the fact that the Five Points gas station hasn't existed for almost 70 years. It's getting annoying to explain.

Speaking of paintings, don't touch the one above the fireplace in the 1st floor library. It will try to convince you to. It's just a painting, it has no actual power over your mind.

No one here has a college degree besides Duke and Barbara. Do not mistake that for stupidity. Bruce knows where everyone in the house ranks on the list of "Smartest People on the Planet," and no one isn't at least in the top 1,000. Don't actually bring that up, though, it makes Steph and Dick uncomfortable.

Don't approach the turkey. He is very territorial, and cannot be won over.

Steph knows too much about true crime and always has extra hair ties. I won't tell you what to do with that information.

Damian won't actually kill you. Jason will.

Jason isn't cheating on his partner. He's polyamorous. If you have a problem with that, I would highly advise you never voice it.

All Wayne children are very tactile, but only with each other. Do not ever assume that extends to you.

Do not stare at scars. We all have many. Don't ask about them, and definitely don't make assumptions. No, they aren't from Bruce, think about that for more than half a second. Neither are the bruises.

Any sparring happening in the house is entirely consensual. That's where most of the bruises come from. I wouldn't recommend joining, unless you have a very high pain tolerance.

Cass doesn't actually know what the normal human body can endure. Make sure to set boundaries.

No matter how tired Tim seems, he can still kick your ass. Be careful when approaching from behind. Sleep deprivation elevates paranoia.

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poetrusicperry · 3 years

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the poets go to ikea for the first time !!!

sooo this morning i made a list of things i have to take back to college with me and i always pack my stuff in these big, blue ikea bags which got me thinking about what the poets would be like in ikea bc i genuinely cannot do anything anymore without thinking about how the poets would do it HAHA. so here we are lol– i hope you guys like this !!(:

neil: something tells me that neil would really enjoy ikea. there are so many tiny little relics and fun decorations to browse as well as models/displays that are so nicely put together. just the right kinds of things to appease neil’s hidden juvenile wants (since he never got to experience a real childhood with his parents treating him like an adult since he was like 8). for example: all of the neat little stuffed animals and children’s bedroom sets that have all sorts of fun colors, etc. neil would appreciate the whole aesthetic of the store as well, liking how well-organized and modern it is inside. would definitely hide behind pieces of furniture in the displays to scare todd. also he is in charge of pushing the cart (that charlie is proudly sitting in bc he doesn’t want to “walk around everywhere”).

todd: like neil, todd appreciates the feel of the place bc he’s always had a bit of an interest in interior design, but is a little bit overwhelmed with just how big it is both outside and inside. desperately wants a djungelskog bear (which neil buys for him, bc of all the things neil struggles with, saying “no” to todd is certainly the biggest one). genuinely freaks out every single time neil scares him, even if he should see it coming after the second or third time. trails behind the group, (as he seemingly always does), taking special note of certain things he’d like to have in his own house one day (’:

knox: upon being invited, he seemed hesitant bc it’s just a furniture store, big whoop (”will there be girls there at least?”), but once they got there he was incredibly thrilled that there was a cafeteria and insisted that they go there both before shopping and after shopping (”look at how big the store is, don’t you think we’ll be hungry again by the time we’re done?”). definitely would rather be doing something else, but is just happy to be spending time around his pals (:

charlie: as previously stated, king of the cart. refuses to get out and walk because it’s “a big store and he’s tired.” neil doesn't mind pushing him, though. fully embraces the semi-chaotic feel of ikea during the weekend (so many people, which is not good for todd, but charlie full-on thrives). he would also insist on actually buying a few pieces of new furniture for his and cameron’s room (completely oblivious to the fact that he will actually need to assemble the pieces himself until they get down to the warehouse), even though it would most definitely be confiscated by mr. hager (”they’ll only confiscate it if they find it,” charlie says, to which cameron replies, “i’m pretty sure a full size vanity and bureau would be pretty easy to scope out, dumbass.” then they both flip each other off). he is definitely the reason knox decided to come after charlie begged him for at least ten minutes (”c’mon, knoxious, it’ll be fun! even if there aren’t girls there, you’ll still have me to look at (;”). offers to buy neil a couple of the stuffed animals he’s been eyeing bc he just wants to see his best friend happy. has to go back up and around the store to take note of numbers of the furniture he actually wants bc he didn’t understand how it worked (”all that time in the cart, wasted” and ”they should really have like an instruction manual before entering the store??”). and enlists meek’s help trying to find the right boxes of parts because “he’s smart like that”. still stays squished in the cart even when he puts all the boxes in it

meeks: just along for the ride, honestly. he just likes spending time with his buddies, but isn’t hesitant about going out and doing things like knox (“i’ll try anything once!”). gets into a pillow fight with pitts in one of the displays, garnering the attention of an ikea employee who sternly asks them to “act their age” and to “fix all the things they made fall on the ground”. the most adventurous eater at the cafeteria; tries the swedish meatballs and really likes them (”we have to come back here just to eat these again, guys”). rates each display on a scale of 1-10 and gives reasons for why he likes things and why he doesn’t (mostly in a joking way).

pitts: bumps his head on some of the hanging arrow signs that direct you into the next section of the store, sighs after every time. buys matching stuffed animals with meeks (’: is the designated driver, and never asks for gas money from his friends bc like knox and meeks, he just likes hanging out (but they give him gas money anyway !!). asks neil for a turn pushing the cart, which neil agrees to. when in control of the cart, bumps it into things, much to charlie’s displeasure (”wouldn’t peg you as a horrible cart driver since you’re the only one with your license, but alas, i was wrong”). feels v bad for getting in trouble w meeks about the pillow fighting and makes sure to fix any messed up things in any of the displays following the incident. also unsure of how much space is in the car for charlie’s boxes, leading him to argue against the purchase of any items.

cameron: also didn’t get the allure of a furniture store, but tagged along because he wanted to get off campus (and really does care about making time and hanging out with his friends, though he’d never admit that). pickiest when it came to the food court/cafeteria (”i just don’t want to try it, why do i need a reason ??”). actually considered buying a new desk organizer, but refused when charlie said it would look great on their new vanity (”charlie, they’ll confiscate that, too. how many times do i have to explain it ??”). unlike meeks, seriously rates each display on a scale of 1-10 talking about how some of the colors just don’t go, and it hurts his eyes to look at it. lowkey got lost for a bit and freaked out bc he couldn’t find anyone, but caught up with todd finally when they were exiting the kitchenette section. this caused him to ask what todd was doing all the way back behind the group, leading to a small, but nice conversation they had (”just making some notes about things i like for later on” todd had said. “that’s really cool, todd,” cameron smiled back at him, unknowing that todd was most certainly picking out things that not only he would like, but neil, too). finally caved and helped charlie build the new furniture when they got back because as much as he couldn't stand charlie sometimes, it made for an incredibly interesting bonding session.

anyway, that’s all. i feel like the poets out in public and not on campus just harness a complete chaos anywhere they go HAHA. idk if this sucked or not, but it was super fun to write hehe. happy sunday i don’t want to go to work tomorrow, but such is the life of someone who has rent and bills to pay in the coming months, sigh

#dead poets society #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton #steven meeks #gerard pitts #richard cameron #dps headcanons #ikea is actually sick #but you really can get lost HAHA #dps #dps boys #anderperry #neil and todd

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thran-duils · 3 years

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Lost in Zero Gravity (P.7)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Seven) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers. Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,118 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: This is more fluffy smut. I needed some buffer before the next drama drops!

Part Six || Part Eight || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Steve was gone when you woke up. Probably for the best because you were still a little on edge about the name issue. Stretching, you looked at the clock. He left very early apparently because it was almost 6:00am now. You kicked the covers back and got out of bed.

Picking up your phone, you saw a text from Elisha. She wanted to see you and visit your place.

Texting Steve, you asked, Can I have someone over?

He did not respond for a few moments as you sat there waiting for the three dots to show up to show he was typing. Exhaling disappointed, you decided to go take a shower and tried to enjoy the warm water. When you got out and got dressed, he had still not responded.

A friend. Elisha. Not a john.You sent, hoping to clarify if there was any doubt about your intentions of having someone over.

That seemed to do the trick because he responded almost immediately as you walked towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

Soon. Get settled in first.

Sighing, you tossed your phone back onto the counter and went back to grabbing eggs out of the fridge.

<><><>

They had not visited for a couple days and you had enjoyed the solitude to be honest. No schedule, no one else taking up your space. You were standing in your kitchen in a lounge bra and your underwear, eating a bagel you had just toasted.

It was later than normal than you would wake up. The blame could lie at the feet of the fact you had stayed awake to the wee hours of the morning binge watching videos on your phone.

You noticed your phone light up as you took another bite. Chewing, you leaned forward, seeing it was Tony.

Get ready quick. We’re going to go get your cat.

You only sat there for a second before your face broke out into a smile and then you shoved your bagel in your mouth, finishing in a rush. It was short notice, but you were excited about the cat for one but also to get out of the apartment. You had been in here for a damn week.

Rushing to your room, you threw on some casual clothes. You stopped for a moment in front of your mirror and sucked in your bottom lip. Should you have something a little sexier on? You debated for a few seconds before you waved it off; this was to get a cat, not give a lap dance.

Tony arrived not more than thirty minutes later, and you were pacing, ready for him in the living room when he let himself in.

He stopped, narrowing his eyes at you. You asked, “What?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans before, that’s all.” He dragged his eyes down and snapped them back up to meet yours. “The fit is nice.”

“Glad to know my outfit is approved. You’re also wearing jeans. Are we going?”

Tony chortled, “Impatient. After you.” He followed you out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

Terrence was waiting in the hall and he asked, “Who is driving you today, boss?”

Tony told him, “I’m driving.”

Stalling your stride, you looked at him shocked. “You’re driving?”

“Yes, why do you look shocked? I can drive,” Tony told you, his arm slipping around your waist as he led you to the elevator. “I’m an adult, I have my license. I assure you.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you drive yet.”

“Seems like today is having a lot of firsts already.”

His car was waiting out front, one of his people keeping a watch out on it. They moved away as soon as they spotted him coming out. Tony came over to the car, opening the passenger door for you.

“A two-seater convertible?” you asked. “Really? You think the cat is gonna like that? Or me for that matter? Having to hold the carrier in my lap?”

Tony gestured you in, “Get in, baby. I’ve got someone following us.” He threw his hand up behind the car to the black SUV parked behind. The person who had been standing by the car was sitting in the driver’s seat. “They’ll bring the cat back with them. Enclosed space. I’m not a sadist. I just wanted to have a fun drive with you.”

You refrained from commenting about wasted gas as you did as he asked, him closing the door behind you and coming around the front of the car to get into the driver’s seat, adjusting his jacket.

“It is a nice car,” you admitted, buckling in. “What is it?”

“An Audi,” Tony said pressing the start.

“I saw that. I’m not an idiot, Tony. What model?”

Tony smiled at your scorn. “I know you’re not. A Spyder.”

You frowned, “I’m not sure I’m fond of that name—”

You yelped as he pulled away from the curb, shooting off into the road. Tony laughed amused at your reaction at the sudden movement.

“Oh, love, just wait until we get out onto the highway,” Tony smirked. “I’ll show off this engine for you.”

<><><>

“It’s pretty, but the hair,” you commented as Tony pointed out a Persian cat at the shelter.

Tony eyed the cat closely as you moved on.

“Oh my fucking god!” you said excitedly, coming up to the next cage to a cat already pressing its head against the gate for pets.

Tony came up next to you and said, “So what was that complaint about hair…?”

“Yeah, but this is a Maine Coon! A mix, but still.” You saw he looked confused, and you said firmly. “I want this one.” Tony rose his brows now, giving you a challenging look and you pressed, “They’ve got great personalities! I had one as a kid. They act like dogs but they’re just big ass fluffy cats! And look, it’s a Tuxedo!”

“The hair,” Tony repeated. “My suits. You know, I’m really rethinking this now…”

“You cannot tell me you brought me in here just to not take one home. That would just be cruel.”

Tony smacked his lips and said, “You’re right. Carry on. No white hair though.”

“She doesn’t have white hair. It’s browns and greys,” you pointed out as you continued petting the Maine Coon. “Look at the little marking on her forehead! And she likes me! You can’t leave her here now!”

He stared at you for a few seconds before closing his eyes and exhaling. You held back from bouncing on your heels, knowing you had broke him. You turned back fully to the cage and stuck your fingers back through, her brushing her head against your head in earnest.

“You’re coming home with me,” you told her excitedly.

<><><>

On the way back home, your arm reached across, your fingers tip toeing up Tony’s thigh. The wind was whipping around the two of you as he sped down the highway. You saw that the SUV had lost the two of you a while ago since Tony had kept passing people, weaving into the left lane to jerk back into the right lane around curves. The danger was hot and you wanted more.

Your fingers brushed his crotch and he shot you a quick look, shaking his head. You pouted and he said loudly over the wind, “No.”

“Have you ever had road head?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

You shrugged, “Just thought you would like it!”

“Yeah and if it’s on a drone or helicopter cam somehow – cause if you haven’t noticed, there’s no roof on this car – that I had some woman going down on me on the highway? How am I gonna explain that?”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to grow a conscience, Tony.”

That drew a grin out of him, shooting you a mischievous look. He cleared his throat and pressed a button, giving a bit more space between his lap and the steering wheel. Second time breaking his resolve today. It did not seem to take much when it came to you.

Unbuckling yourself, you leaned over the middle console working on his zipper. You pulled his cock out of his jeans, running your hand up and down it sensually. He tasted like salt and sweat as you took him into your mouth, trying to help it along quicker. Tony groaned, and you felt him tense. You imagined his hands tightening on the wheel, trying to keep himself focused on the road.

“I gotta pull off,” he grunted.

This did not stop you from working your mouth up and down his dick. The car veered a little, into a highway pull off you concluded.

He pressed a button the steering wheel. He pulled you away from his dick, and blocked access. Or tried to. You moved down, running your tongue across his balls, flicking.

It was too much apparently.

“Give me 15 seconds,” he breathed at you, blocking you again from swallowing him. You kissed his hand, running your tongue up his fingers. His lips twitched despite himself and he cleared his throat roughly. He jerked his hand back, giving you a light, discouraging slap. You moved back then, and he leveled you with a look. Pouting, you laid your chin on his thigh. His hand came to run over your head before straightening up when a voice came over his speaker.

“Boss? Are you alright?”

“No, go on if you pass me. I’m pulled off. I’m fine. Just take the cat back.”

“It’s crying a lot because of the weaving highway.”

“I know it is, I can hear it.” That was not a lie; it’s whines were coming over the phone call. “I’ve got something to finish here though, so just go on. Like I said! I gotta go.”

As soon as he pressed the button on the steering wheel, he tapped your head. “Alright, resume, love.”

<><><>

When you got home, Tony encouraged you ahead; he needed to talk to Daryl really quick. When you got into the apartment, the cat was nowhere to be found. You took off, throwing your bag onto the counter, searching closets. You found her cowering under the bed up against the wall. You tried to coax her out with soft noises and holding your hand out but she just put her ears back, snuggling closer to the wall.

Tony’s footfalls came down the hall and you heard him come into the bedroom.

Pushing yourself up from underneath the bed, you came up onto your knees.

“She’s hiding,” you told him, standing up.

“Maybe try with the treats you bought later,” Tony suggested, his hands in his pockets.

You shrugged, “Maybe. She’ll come out for food when she’s ready. Probably when I’m asleep.”

You walked over to your closet and closed the door to shut off another place for her to go and hide. You wanted to be able to check up on her and limiting the spaces to search would help.

“Well, I have to go do some work today at some point, so, that’s now,” Tony commented and you turned back to him, finding him close. “You can get the letter box and everything set up?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” he said to you, giving you a peck on the cheek before turning away.

Suddenly, it came to you again, the last night with Steve. Maybe Tony knew, although a part of you was screaming at you to let it lie. But, despite your better judgment, you reached out, stopping his movement. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Who’s Cecile?”

Tony looked at you with all shades of suspicious, his mood completely altered by the question. There was a dangerous underlying tone to his question, “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged, letting your hand fall from his arm, suddenly not interested based off his reaction to the question. “Never mind.”

“Why do you ask?” he repeated more forcibly.

Trying to be nonchalant, you said, “Steve called me it when we had sex last. It was just weird. He’s never done it before. It threw me off. That’s all.” Tony ground his teeth, watching you intently, not saying anything. You forced a small smile. “Really, it’s not a big deal. He did not seem to even realize he had done it. I was just curious.”

He obviously did not feel the same. Tightly he said, “I’ll leave you to help the little runt settle in.” He left you then in the bedroom without a second glance.

Something told you that you should not have asked about it and that was not where that conversation was going to end.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics

#tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark tony stark #dark steve rogers #mob boss tony stark #mob tony stark #mob steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark!tony stark #dark marvel #dark marvel fic #my shit

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

Text

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years.

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

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rafael-silva · 4 years

Note

joenicky + 45

thank you kayla!

joenicky + #45. rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb | from this prompt list

hurt/comfort, angst, description of injury, blood mention, grounding touches, emotional hurt/comfort, temporary character death, sprinkles of fluff

It happened quickly. Too quickly. But it also happened so agonizingly slow. He saw him drop from the corner of his eye, heard the pained yelp that escaped his husband’s lips, and caught Nile’s quick movements to take down the men responsible for his soulmate’s wounds. He backed up, hands tightly gripping his firearms as he pulls the triggers while moving on his heels to shield his husband from any further harm as he recovers.

Nicky expects to feel a hand on his shoulder soon, or at least the call of his name from behind, a system he and Joe had built over decades and decades. If one can’t turn to look at the other, a touch or a call of a name is in order.

However, standing in this dimly lit room, sweat rolling down the sides of his face, slightly panting from the exertion, neither touch nor sound come from Joe.

And it’s been too long. Nicky has to look over his shoulder.

He does. And in that split second, he gets a bullet to the shoulder but he doesn’t feel the pain, he doesn’t feel the sting. In fact, the entire room seems to fade away because Joe is still lying on the ground. He’s still bleeding. And he’s not moving.

With a hitched breath, Nicky finds himself clutching his sword with knuckles as white as snow, and the blood rushing through his body as hot and raging as fire. He stands his ground, not daring to move an inch, still protecting Joe, as he takes down the remainder of the cartel the team was hired to dismantle.

The silence is a welcomed sound dancing across the room. Andy and Nile quickly look around, to make sure it’s all clear, while Nicky doesn’t waste a single second in dropping to his knees next to Joe. His Joe. Joe, who’s still not moving. Who’s still bleeding.

Nicky’s voice pierces through the silence, sharp, but layered with worry.

“Joe.”

Nothing.

He can sense Andy and Nile standing above him, holding their breaths.

“Joe,” Nicky repeats, moving forward to hold Joe’s face in his hands, caressing his bearded cheeks with his thumbs.

Andy’s eyes remain glued on Joe’s wound, a gaping hole in his chest and stomach courtesy of a close-range shotgun blast. And there! Right there. It started to heal. Or was in Andy’s eyes tricking her?

“Yusuf,” Nicky’s voice quivers, on the edge of desperation.

Joe’s eyes remain closed.

“Come on, come on,” Nicky whispers. “Torna da me.” Come back to me.

Nicky’s wide eyes trail downwards to Joe’s chest and he, too, holds his breath.

And it seems Andy’s eyes were, in fact, not playing tricks on her because Nicky catches the movement, too.

Nile remembers Booker’s words then, bigger wounds take longer to heal.

And quite frankly, Joe’s middle is a mangled mess.

“Apri gli occhi per me, amore mio,” Nicky pleads. Open your eyes for me, my love. “Joe…”

Nicky shares a look with Andy and it’s filled with fear and uncertainty. Nicky’s bright green eyes are screaming, no, no, it’s not time, it cannot be time, please, no…

Nicky looks back at Joe, his heart racing in his chest, and then he’s placing a palm against Joe’s chest, right above his heart and Nicky closes his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm his own heart. And he breaks when the beats aren’t echoed inside Joe’s chest. Their hearts would always beat as one, and now…Nicky just feels the emptiness and the loneliness through his body when it’s only his heart that beats.

He feels it before he hears it. A thump against his palm. And then another. He opens his eyes just in time to hear the piercing breath Joe sucks in that immediately turns into a cough that escapes his mouth a second later.

His eyes are squeezed shut, he lets out a throaty groan and he’s undoubtedly in a lot of pain.

And Nicky, since the moment he took that bullet to his shoulder that has long-since healed, can finally let out a shaky breath.

He can feel Andy and Nile relax an inch, too. They’re still on alert, diving their attention on the couple and their surroundings.

“Sono qui. Sono qui,” Nicky whispers, and he isn’t quite sure he can use his voice much right now. I’m here. I’m here.

With all the strength he can muster, Joe lifts a wobbly arm and clutches at the front of Nicky’s vest, needing something, anything, to hold on to. And of course, as always, Nicky is right there for him. Joe’s fingers weakly hold on and it’s all Nicky needs to lean down and touch his forehead to Joe’s.

He feels Joe taking in short, shallow breaths. “Easy, Joe. Easy.”

Joe swallows against his dry throat, giving his other half a nod.

“Nicolo,” Joe murmurs, his voice thick and low. Followed by another groan.

“Yusuf,” Nicky responds. “Habibi.” My love. “I know, I know.” He covers Joe’s hand with his own, helping to ground the injured man, while his other hands goes back to cup Joe’s face, offering a source of warmth and comfort as he continues the painful process of healing.

No more words are needed between them, Nicky looks into Joe’s brown eyes as he instantly knows what his husband needs.

He closes the gap between them by planting a tender kiss to Joe’s forehead, letting his lips linger there to allow Joe to take everything he needs from the touch. Joe’s free hand travels up Nicky’s arm and wraps itself around the back of his neck. Joe is holding on for dear life, Nicky his lifeline.

Once he’s positive his legs will be able to hold him up, Joe gives Nicky a nod and Nicky is helping Joe up, wrapping an arm around Joe’s waist as they make their way outside of the bloodied warehouse, Andy and Nile taking the lead with Joe and Nicky hot on their heels, Nicky glued to Joe’s side with Joe’s arm draped around Nicky’s shoulder as they swiftly move towards their getaway car.

Nicky helps Joe into the backseat and quickly makes his way around the car, getting in himself just as Andy gets into the drivers seat and Nile into the passenger.

Andy floors the gas petal and they all hear the tires screeching against the gravel as the car speeds down the road.

It’s silent for a few moments, and it’s Andy who breaks it this time.

“Joe?” She takes a speedy glance at him through the rearview mirror.

He nods. “I’m good, boss.” His voice is a little unsteady, but it’s strong.

Joe and Nicky are plastered at each other’s sides, and Joe reaches out, taking Nicky’s hand and gives it a powerful, reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m okay, I promise.

Nicky swallows, briefly looking down at their joined hands and it’s then he realizes his own hand is shaking a little. He then looks up at Joe, who’s eyes are focused on his face, and there’s so much in Joe’s brown irises, but what Nicky sees the most, is that they’re full of life. The way Joe’s eyes soften when they meet Nicky’s own, giving him a look of comfort. And Nicky feels like he wants to cry. To cry because he still feels the fear coursing through his veins, could still feel the echo of his heart shattering in his chest. But he also wants to cry because Joe is here, Joe is here, and he’s alive, and he’s looking at him like that.

“I just…” Nicky starts with a whisper. “I need a moment.”

His eyes well up with tears.

Joe nods. He understands.

Instead of saying anything more, Joe gently starts rubbing his thumb over the back of Nicky’s hand in a slow and soothing rhythm.

A grounding touch.

A touch that clearly spells: I love you.

Nicky lets Joe’s even movements guide his breathing. In his head, Nicky is repeating, he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. Along with Joe’s soft touch, a mantra to help anchor him, to help steady him.

And together, they sit in the back of the car, the world flying by in a blur outside the windows. But it doesn’t matter. What matters if that they’re together, breathing together, hearts beating together. Beating as one.

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topsytervy · 3 years

Text

S'mores ~ JJ Maybank

Im not gonna lie, had no idea where I was taking this cause it was a wip that I started in like November and then started up again and then I couldn't decide between S'mores or Gentleman for the title but I stuck with the original title. Also, I almost forgot that people actually use and like chocolate with their s'mores because I never use chocolate on mine.

Blurb: a craving for s'mores results in a late night trip to the gas station because Sarah Cameron apparently can't afford her own Hershey chocolate bar.

Word count: 1,821

Warnings: swearing, spelling/grammar errors, i think thats it

~~~~~

"God I want s'mores so bad." You groaned.

You were currently laying on the floor with your head on your boyfriend’s lap, the craving for a little snack eating at you. JJ smiled as he played with your hair, back against the couch as he basked in the moment.

"We can’t do a bonfire right now baby. I’m sorry." He told you, bending down to kiss your forehead.

He had a point. It was 1 AM and neither you nor JJ planned on staying up to make a fire just to have some smores. In fact, JJ was pretty sure you were about 5 minutes away from falling asleep as long as you had some food in your stomach.

Hell, he was almost there himself and he wasn't even laying down.

"Baby," you whispered, looking up at him.

"Hmm?" JJ smiled down at you.

"Do you have your lighter?"

"Always, sweetheart."

You raised one of your arms slightly, making grabby hands at the air, indicating you wanted the lighter.

"Awe. My little pyromaniac." JJ cooed as he reached into his pocket.

You rolled your eyes as JJ held his zippo lighter in his hand, reaching up to grab it but JJ pulled it away, holding it up out of reach.

"Uh-uh, baby. Rolling your eyes is rude. What makes you think I’m gonna give it to you now?" He smirked.

You sighed, reaching up and grabbing his chin, pulling him down towards you.

You pressed your lips onto JJs gently, staying there for a moment before gently pushing his face away. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. May I have the lighter now?" You asked as nicely as possible.

JJ leaned down and pecked your lips once more as he slipped the lighter into your hand, making sure you had a grip on it.

You sat up and made your way into a standing position before walking to the kitchen, grabbing a plate, a fork, marshmallows, and graham crackers with no luck of finding chocolate.

"JB take all the chocolate to Sarahs again?" JJ asked when he saw you were an ingredient short.

"Probably. As if she can’t buy her own." You replied, sitting back down and leaning against the couch next to JJ.

“Well, you can’t have s'mores without chocolate so,” JJ stood up and grabbed your hand, pulling you up as well, “let’s run down to that gas station that’s open 24 hours and get some. Yeah?”

You grinned. “Are you sure you want to, JJ?”

“Am I sure that I want to go on a late-night drive to the gas station with my girlfriend just to get chocolate so she can have a s’more before bed?” He tapped his chin with his index finger as if he was thinking before jabbing his fingers into your waist, causing you to jump slightly before letting out a small laugh. “Absolutely. Just to make sure you’re happy.”

You placed your hands on your cheeks and averted your gaze, a sheepish grin on your lips. “Stop. You’re making me blush.”

“C’mon, sugar. Let’s go.” JJ grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door.

“Slow down there J-bird. Shoes, remember?” You yanked him back, leaning down to toss his boots to him.

He sighed as he pulled them on and you slipped on your sandals.

“Can we go now?”

You nodded and he grabbed your hand once more, tossing you a hoodie before dragging you out of the chateau. You climbed into JJ’s truck and pulled on the hoodie he threw to you, breathing in his scent as you did.

JJ looked over to make sure you were buckled in and once he saw that you were, he pulled out of the driveway, heading down the road in the direction of the gas station.

JJs hand found it's place on your thigh and a tired smile fell on your lips.

You broke the silence after a few minutes. "You know, not many people would take me to go get something as small a chocolate just so I can have s'mores."

JJ smiled as he took his hand from your thigh and entwined it with your hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes never leaving the road. "That's because not many people are gentlemen like me."

You snorted before slapping your hand over your mouth, trying your best not to laugh. JJ looked at you with an offended look before turning his eyes back to the road. "I cannot believe you, Y/N." He dragged out, a playful tone lacing his voice so you knew he wasn't actually mad.

He pulled his hand away from yours and you whined, grabbing his hand. "JJ don't."

"No. Apparently, I am not a gentleman. I open the door for you, I give you my sweatshirt, I take you to a gas station at like 1:00 in the morning to get chocolate for s'mores. I…I just don't know what to say." JJ pulled his hand away, looking out his window for a dramatic second.

"JJ," You grabbed his wrist again and tugged it onto your lap, attempting to hold his hand but JJ just shrugged you off as he pulled into the parking lot of the gas station.

He put the truck in park and leaned against the door as he dug into his pocket.

"You're so dramatic." You shook your head with a tiny smile.

He gestured towards the door of the gas station as he pulled out his wallet and tossed it to you. "Go get your shit, baby. I'll wait here."

You leaned over and kissed his cheek as you opened your door before unbuckling and hopping out of the truck.

You looked back to see JJ watching you before disappearing into the building. You smiled at the cashier before going down the aisle and picking up a bar of chocolate before seeing the nutty bars. You grabbed a couple for JJ and looked up at the coolers where the energy drinks were. You walked over to the drinks as the door chimed, signaling someone had entered.

You scanned the energy drinks before reaching out to open the door but stopped when arms circled around your waist and a chin rested on your shoulder.

You jumped slightly. "Jesus, J." You breathed, placing a hand to your heart when you noticed it was your boyfriend. "I thought you were gonna wait in the car."

"I was but then I saw Barry pull up and there's no way I'm leaving you alone in any building with that douchebag." He murmured, kissing your temple.

You nodded before opening the cooler this time and grabbing a redbull for JJ before turning around in his arms. "Nutty bars and redbull for breakfast sound good?" You held them up and JJ grinned.

"For me?"

"For you, handsome."

"I'm flattered that you know me so well and help me have an unhealthy breakfast."

"Yeah well better than a beer for breakfast." You pecked his lips before pulling away from him and walking towards the cashier.

"Is it really though?" JJ raised an eyebrow as he spoke.

You shrugged, placing everything on the counter and the cashier began ringing it up. You saw Barry out of the corner of your eye and saw him smirk. You subconsciously shifted closer to JJ and focused on the price the guy was saying. You opened JJ's wallet to pay for it when Barry stepped in.

"I've got you princess. Put the money away." He drawled, pulling out his own wallet and paying the guy.

Your hand immediately went to JJ's wrist, knowing he was upset at the fact that Barry had paid for your shit and then called you princess. You handed JJ his wallet back and looked at his clenched jaw and fist. His eyes didn't leave Barry as he shoved his wallet into his pocket.

You thanked the cashier and Barry, who replied with 'anything for you, princess' with a smirk on his face, before grabbing the bag and dragging JJ out of there before he could start anything.

Once in the safety of the truck you grabbed JJs hand. "You good, baby?"

JJ took a deep breath before nodding. "Yeah, I'm good. At least I didn't leave with any less money right?" You nodded in response.

It was quiet the entire ride back to the chateau and you two walked inside, kicking off your shoes as JJ handed you his lighter yet again and you walked onto the kitchen.

You placed the marshmallow on the fork and opened JJ's lighter, holding the marshmallow over it and watching it toast. Sure, it took way longer than a campfire but it got the job done. You broke off a piece of chocolate and placed it on the graham cracker before adding the marshmallow.

Once you completed your task, you saw that JJ had pulled out the sleeper sofa and got it all made, laying down on it.

"Thank you for taking me to get chocolate baby." You sat next to him and immediately took a bite out of your treat, moaning at the taste. He didn't say anything, not even a sexual comment at the noise you made, and you sighed. "Alright, pretty boy. What's going on up there?" You tapped his forehead before taking another bite.

JJ didn't even hesitate or stutter through his question. "Would you leave me for Barry?"

You choked on your s'more. "God no. I'd date psycho Cameron before dating Barry." You answered, suddenly not hungry anymore. "Here, you can finish it since I'm now deeply scarred." JJ quietly took the treat from your hand and finished it off quickly, not even batting an eye.

You laid down next to him and curled into his side, upset that Barry had to kill JJ's mood. You knew the drug dealer did it just to get under your boyfriend's skin and he clearly succeeded. You pressed a kiss to JJ's shoulder before getting an idea.

"You know, that was very gentleman-like of you. Not causing a scene back there and not letting your anger get the best of you. You are officially the biggest gentleman on the island." You smirked, glancing up at the blonde to see if his mood would change.

He looked at you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A grin spread across his lips as he pulled you so you were half-laying on him. "What can I say, Y/N? You just bring out the gentleman in me."

You wrapped your arms around him and looked up at his face. "I'm glad baby. Does this mean I get a kiss cause of it?"

JJ smirked. "Baby, you can get a kiss whenever you want."

You smiled as he leaned down and you closed your eyes, his lips pressing against yours moments later and his hold tightening around you.

~~~~~

#jj maybank #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj x reader #rudy obx

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lizzielikeborden · 3 years

Text

Just A Stranger

Request: general #17 for diego?

Character: Diego Hargreeves

Prompts: General- #17 “Are you jealous?”

To be completely fair he was unaware of the situation ahead of time. Your whereabouts were completely unknown, if you were dead in a ditch you were gone before he woke up so what you were wearing was also mystery, and unlike usual you did not leave him a little list of things you were going to do. Usually this would be “- work, - grocery store - pharmacy - picking up dinner”. Not such a minor detail as “I’ll be home about 30 minutes later than usual”. Little ref whistles and red flags popped through his head the moment he lifted the note to flip it over to see if maybe you had written more. But, there was nothing, it was completely blank. Diego stared at the note, and kept reading it over trying to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. After doing so he jumped up from where he sat, hitting his knee against the table due to not pulling the chair back enough to get out of the seat properly.

My god where did I hang the clock. He thought to himself as he ran around much too anxious to find anything, including something you made him put up that he dropped on himself multiple times. Once he had finally made a full circle, seeing that the clock was directly above the front door.

Okay wait. She gets off work at 3:30 PM and it’s 4:30PM. He counted on his fingers a little and refocused multiple times just to make sure his math was correct. The second the realized that he was right he dead sprinted out the door.

She has to be in some sort of trouble. His heart raced faster than he ever thought it could. Once he got in the car he did not even think to put on a seatbelt or even completely shut the door. Lead foot Diego took off down the street, went 80mph in a school zone, and almost hit multiple people. In his mind you were already dead, stuck in the trunk of car, getting tortured, or getting harassed. About five minutes into driving he realized he had no idea where you even were. He knew not work, because you did not like to stay after due to horror stories Diego had told you about things that have happened in seemingly empty parking lots. So, he checked the grocery store parking lot and did not see your car. He went past the pharmacy because no cars were anywhere to be found in that tiny little lot. As he went past, he saw what looked to be your car at a nearby gas station.

Mother fucking christ this light could not be any longer. Diego smacked the top of the steering wall with both hands as hard as he could. The light seemed to be red for ages. It was so long that he could tell you were not in your car, nor at the pump next to the gas tank. The light turned green and luckily he was in the front or a fun game of bumper cars and trade insurances would have happened. His tires squealed as he made an incredibly sharp turn into the parking lot.

That’s her car. Where the hell is she? He read your license plate and looked around the pump, you were no where to be seen. Diego parked his car and grabbed knives from the middle consul. He hid them from direct public view and stepped inside. Detective police officer vigilante Diego was on the loose now. He was looking everyone up and down. A few shady characters were present, but none were walking toward your car or a car big enough or in good enough shape to have a human hidden inside.

Diego walked up the counter and stood for a moment, gathered his words to make sure he wouldn’t stutter, and then spoke “Hey man, you seen a (description of you) looking woman inside?”

“Yeah, she came in to pay for gas and then this other dude came in. He was having issues with is gas so she went out to go help him.” The man behind the counter pointed at the gas tank next to yours where the car once was. “She left with him.”

Diego’s blood boiled, not just out of anger, but with hints of anxiety. Why the hell would she get in a car with a strange man? They must know each other. No wonder I got such a short note. He stormed out the gas station and slammed the door. The bell that hung over top hit the glass and broke a small section. She’ll come back for her car. And I will be here when she does. He sat parked and tapped his foot and left hand vigorously.

15 minutes later

Diego’s anger was no where near settled. In fact the longer time went on the angrier he was becoming. His mind was running in circles around the same terrible thoughts. The cashier did not give a description of the vehicle but the moment the little blue sports car pulled in Diego’s instincts picked up. His suspicions were confirmed when you stepped out of the car and waved at the man who did not step out.

Oh fuck no. Diego got out of his car and stepped directly in front of the little sports car. It tried to maneuver around him but he had other plans, taking out a knife he ran and rolled across the ground. The blade cut straight through the tire like butter. The car spun and came to a halt.

“Diego?!” You ran over to the man now on his feet, you put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped a bit. Harshly he turned toward you.

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise! I would never expect to see you here at the most shady ass gas station in a car with another man after leaving a vague mother fucking note.”

Your eyes came out of your head, you did not expect this, or any of that day to happen. No words were forming as a very very angry Diego stood in front of you. So, you just blurted out the first thing that came to mind,

“Are you jealous?” You could see in Diego’s eyes that out of every single sentence, phrase, or word you could’ve said those were the wrong ones.

“Jealous? Should I be?” He took a step back instead of anger he seemed more upset.

“No of course not. He’s a total stranger.” Diego’s mouth hung open, his eyes popped out of his skull, eyebrows furrowed. and his head was tilted.

“YOU GOT INTO A VEHICLE WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER? AND THEN LEFT WITH THE STRANGER?” He yelled in frustrating and swung his arms around.

“Excuse me bu-” The so called stranger you were with stepped out of his car but did not get a full sentence out before being shut down by Diego,

“You have two choices, fuck off, or more than just that tire will be slashed.” Diego did not even have to turn around to intimidate him before he ran back to his car and called someone to come get him. “Now back to you. What in the hell were you thinking?” His tone did not change but his demeanor did, he was much quieter and a bit calmer.

“Well. I have been running late all day. I actually did not have a plan, so I assumed 30 minutes late was already how far behind I was. I just assumed my day would be about 30 minutes behind. Once I got about here I realized how low my gas was so I decided to get some, and that guy was having horrible trouble. So I stayed and helped him pump his gas but it wouldn’t work, I offered to help him again and we went to the gas station up the street.” You explained.

“You cannot be helping grown adult men or getting in cars with them. Hell any strangers for that matter. I know you think you are oh so capable but in real situations people tend to become a whole lot less capable.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, still keeping some distance between the two of you. You couldn’t really argue with him. You had never been in any situation like that so you couldn’t prove him wrong. Statistically he was correct. You gently pulled for him to come closer. He did so.

“Thank you for being protective and cautious. You just care, more than normal, but you care. I shouldn’t have done that. But Mr. Vigilante you should not have slashed that poor mans tire.”

“You need to be happy I didn’t slash his thro-.”

“No no, we do not need to work you back up.” You put a hand on his cheek and made him look at you, you shook your head at him.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He smiled and leaned down, he matched your action and placed a hand across your cheek and kissed you softly.

You gave it a moment and pulled back, “I could ask you the same thing.”

You took your keys from you pocket and started to walk back to your car.

“I will be following closely behind you the entire way home. Do not test me.” Diego commented as he wandered back to his car.

You smiled and took off faster than him down the street. You were gonna be the death of him...

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves x you #diego x reader #The Umbrealla Academy #umbrella acedmy #the umbrella academy

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emm-jayy · 4 years

Text

sabotage - Spencer Reid

Summary: You start having a ton of bad luck, and you can’t figure out why

warnings: drugs (opioids, narcotics) but no actual use. gunshot

“God, I’m so sorry i’m late.” You say, setting your bag down, “My power went out last night, and my alarm didn’t go off.”

You hated being late, and since you were the newest person on the team, you definitely didn’t want to ruin what little reputation you had. You had been there almost a year, but it does take a lot for this team to trust a new comer.

“It’s alright Y/n, just try not to let it happen again.” Hotch says. “We’ve got about two or three days before we get our next case. Do any paperwork you need to catch up on, and mainly just relax. Good work these past weeks.” He finishes.

You sigh a sigh of relief. You really didn’t want to have to do too much work these coming days. You loved your job, but doing all of this work could get exhausting.

You take your bag from the conference room down to your desk in the bullpen, and begin working.

A few hours into your shift, you hear someone call your name. You look up from your desk, and see a mailman.

You get up, and head over to him. It wasn’t too unusual to get packages at work, especially if you listed the building on a form of some kind.

You sign for the package, and tell the mailman to have a nice day.

You head back to your desk to open the package. It was pretty small, and it looked nice enough, maybe like it had gotten beaten up in the postal service a bit.

You open up the box with a small letter opener on your desk, and then your stomach drops.

You recognize the bottle, and the contents inside.

Hydrocodone. One of your weaknesses back in the day. Beside it, there is a note, scrawled in horrid handwriting that reads, “Miss me?”

“Hey, Y/n, do you have that paper that you needed to sign?.” Spencer Reid walks up to your desk, luckily where he cannot see the inside of the box.

Still, you freak out and close the box a little too frantically, “Jeez, give a girl a warning before you walk up like that.” You say, searching your desk for the paper.

“I’m sorry, you seemed distracted and I really need that paper.” He says, shifting on his feet.

“Yeah, I get it. Just give me a second to find it.” You snap, still looking for the paper, “Here.” You say, setting it near him.

When you look up, you see a confused look on Spencer’s face. “Are you okay?” He asks, looking at you with a knowing look on his face.

“Yes, Spencer, I’m fine.” You say, hoping he’ll just buy it and leave. He does, and turns to walk back to his desk.

You sigh, and look at the box again. You take it, and shove it into your bag.

The next day, you walk into the office late, again. Hotch looks at you, arms crossed.

“I’m sorry, I had more bad luck. There was no hot water in my building.” You huff.

“One more time, and we’re going to have a serious talk.” Hotch says, walking back into his office.

“Hey, Y/n, there’s a package on your desk.” Morgan says, pointing towards it. You huff, and look at the package.

You see it’s a similar small box just like yesterday, with the same address. You looked it up last night, and it was just an old warehouse. You assumed it had little to no significance to whoever was sending you these packages.

You open up the box, careful to make sure no one else sees inside. This time, it’s a bottle of Oxycontin, with a note that said, “come talk to an old friend.”

You once again, shove the box into your work bag, and try your best to ignore it for the day.

The day is almost the same as yesterday, except for as you’re getting up to get coffee, you run into Reid.

“Did you know that the average cup of coffee has about 100 milligrams of caffeine?” He says, leaning against the counter, “And that caffeine is the United States most popular drug? With over 90 percent of Americans consuming it in some form. It’s also one of the easiest drugs to get addicted too since it’s so accessible.” He says, ironically drinking his own coffee.

“It’s definitely easier to get addicted to other things.” You mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” Reid asks, searching your face.

“Cool facts Reid!” You say, a tight smile on your face, and you begin to walk over to your desk.

“I have more if you’d like!” He says, a joyous look on his face, “For example, did you know the average age people start drinking coffee is age 12?” He says as you sit down at your desk.

“Reid, as much as I’d love to hear more facts about my favorite beverage, I’ve got to finish this.” You say, gesturing to the pile of work you have.

“Of course.” He says, heading back to his own, that was near yours, “Thank you for listening.” He says, softer than he usually speaks.

“Always, Spence.” You reply, looking into his eyes.

The next day is the third day in a row that you’re late. You begin to explain to the team the exact reason, that your car had run out of gas, when you see Hotch standing at your desk.

“Y/n, I need to see you in my office. Now.” He says, and begins to walk toward his office. The team gives you sympathetic looks, and you look down towards the floor, your face turning pink. You set your bag down by your desk, and head up the stairs.

After you shut the door to Hotch’s office, you immediately begin your apology.

“I’m so sorry sir, I have no idea what’s been wrong lately. It’s just a string of really bad luck. I understand that this is a professional environment and I shouldn’t be late, but-” You notice that Hotch’s hand is raised, telling you to stop. You fall silent.

“That’s not what I need to talk to you about.” He begins to explain. You let out a sigh of relief, maybe a bit too soon.

“There’s no easy way to say this Y/n.” Hotch sighs, looking down. “You failed your drug test. They found traces of Hydrocodone and Oxycontin in your urine.” Hotch finishes, looking up at you.

“W-What? That’s not possible.” You say, mostly to yourself.

“Y/n, I was able to look over your past when you applied for this job. I figured that you were too good of an agent to deny simply because of a drug problem years ago. But if you’re going to go and be careless-”

“If I had relapsed, I would’ve taken myself off of the team.” You say, looking at Hotch, “I have not been careless, but I have been keeping something from you all.” You say, digging your phone out of your pocket.

“For the past two days, someone has been sending me packages here. One was filled with a bottle of Hydrocodone, the other Oxycontin. Along with those, were these notes.” You say, showing him the handwritten notes.

“There’s no way it’s a coincidence that the same pills they’ve been sending me showed up on my drug test.” You shake your head, “I apologize for not coming to the team sooner, I thought I could do this on my own.”

“Where are these drugs now?” Hotch says, looking up at you.

“I threw them away, I should’ve kept them I know.” You say nervously.

Hotch sighs, studying the pictures. “I’m going to have to suspend you, that part is out of my hands. But I will get the team on this today. It’s okay if I tell them about your past?” He asks, looking up at you with sympathetic eyes, a rarity for him.

You let out a breath, and then nod, “They would’ve found out eventually.” You look out the window of Hotch’s office, looking at the team fraternizing. What would they think of you? Would they shame you? Understand? Reid would probably rattle off some statistics about suspended FBI agents. You almost smile at the thought.

“Alright then. Leave your badge and gun on my desk, and I, or any member of the team, will contact you when we have something.” You nod, and place your gun down, and pull your credentials out of your wallet.

You exit the office, and prepare yourself for the questions you’re about to be asked. You decide to let Hotch tell them, and answer the questions later.

You collect yourself, and walk down to your desk to grab your bag. You keep your eyes down, until Morgan decides to speak up, “Hotch come down on your ass for being late a few times?” He laughs lightly.

You offer a tight-lipped smile to Morgan, “Totally, that’s what happened.

You walk over to Spencer, who’s sitting on top of his desk, “Don’t solve too many cases without me.” You say, a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait, where are you going?” Spencer asks, turning towards you.

“Hotch will tell you guys. You all have my number, I’ll see you soon.” You offer a smile to the team of confused faces.

You walk out of the BAU doors, and into the elevator. You pull out your phone to get an uber, the same way you cake to work today, when someone else steps into the elevator.

“Hey.” Spencer says softly, “I couldn’t let ya leave without hearing from you why you’re leaving.” He says, looking down at his feet.

“Spencer?” You say, trying to meet his eyes. “Yeah?” He replies.

“How many suspended agents get to come back into the field?” You ask, a nervous look on your face.

“53 percent. Why do you- Oh.” He realizes why you’ve asked. Just then, the elevator dings, and you step out, and open the doors to the front of the building, still trying to get an uber.

You sigh, and sit down on the curb to wait for the uber. You hear the sliding of shoes on the concrete, and then, Spencer is beside you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, looking towards you with squinted eyes.

“No.” You sigh, wiping a frustrated tear away from your face. You weren’t typically the emotional type. “I’d rather have Hotch tell you all.”

“Okay. If you need anything, call me.�� He says, standing up, and walking back into the FBI building.

“I know I said today would also be a paperwork day, but meet me in the briefing room. We’ve got a case.” Hotch says, addressing the bullpen, as Spencer walks back into the room.

Everyone stands up, and follows Hotch to the briefing room.

Once everyone is settled, Hotch begins.

“Over the past few days, Agent Y/L/N has been receiving drugs in the mail, along with handwritten notes. One said ‘miss me’ and the other ‘Come talk to an old friend’.” Hotch says, showing the pictures you had taken on the screen.

“And then, today, Y/L/N’s drug test came back, and she had tested positive for Hydrocodone, and Oxycontin.”

The faces of the team say it all, confusion, and disbelief.

Hotch attempts to ignore it, and brings up an even more hard to believe subject. “The problem with this is, Y/n used to be addicted to both of those drugs, so the Bureau is going to come down onto her. They’ve already made me suspend her.” Hotch clears his throat. “When I interviewed her, Y/n made it very clear she was off of those drugs. I thought it was stupid to deny such a good agent over an addiction that happened years ago. And I still believe that, so we are going to work to see who is doing this to agent Y/L/N.”

The team looks at each other, still in disbelief, until something interrupts them.

A mailman at the door, holding a box, “Package for Y/n?” He says. Morgan is immediately up, taking the box.

The whole team gets up as Morgan sets the box onto the table. He tears it open, and the team is met with yet another bottle, and a note that says, “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Reid, what is this?” Morgan asks, holding up the bottle. Spencer was still sitting down, looking at the small case file. He was in a daze of disbelief still.

“Reid!” Morgan says, louder this time. “Hm?” He looks up.

“What is this?” Morgan asks again, gesturing to the bottle.

Spencer grabs the orange bottle, “It looks like Vicodin. One of the easiest opiates to get addicted to.” He replies, handing the bottle back to Morgan.

“Okay, so we know that the unsub doesn’t know Y/l/n has been suspended. Otherwise they would be sending the boxes to her apartment.” Rossi says.

“It’s routine to investigate suspensions. But please, try to keep this as quiet as possible. I don’t want anything getting messed up to the point that Y/n can’t come back to the team.” Hotch says, looking around at the team.

“Alright. Garcia, I want you working people from Y/L/N’s past. Anyone who would know where she works now. Rossi and JJ, I want you guys looking at the address on the boxes and seeing if there’s any connection to the unsub. Morgan and Prentiss, look at the handwriting, and see if it matches anything we’ve seen from the list that Garcia gets. Reid, help them with that, and then, I want you to go to the Urinalysis lab to see if anyone could’ve tampered with the drug test.” The whole team disperses, but Spencer stays still.

“Reid, you okay?” Hotch asks.

“It’s just always the ones you least expect.” Spencer says, looking down at his shoes. Hotch looks at him, and then leaves, off to do his own thing.

Spencer pulls out his phone, and brings up your number. You two had never texted outside of work matters, and here he was, nervous as all hell just to text you.

“Just found out, how are you doing?” He types, and sends it. Nerves rack throughout his body, why the hell is he so nervous?

“I’m doing okay. What is Hotch having you do?” He reads. Spencer sighs, back to work talk.

“I’m helping with some handwriting matching and profiling, and then I’m going down to the Urinalysis lab to see if anyone tampered with your test.” He writes, and puts his phone in his pocket. He’s about to walk out of the door, whenever his phone starts buzzing.

He gets his phone out of his pocket once again, and realizes it’s you. He looks at his phone with wide eyes. He clears his throat, and smooths out his shirt, getting ready to answer the phone. He presses the button, and brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” He answers.

“Hey Spencer, sorry for calling, I just needed to hear you saying something.” You confess.

“Yeah, anything. What is it Y/n?” He asks, almost blushing at the fact that you’d call him. You two didn’t even talk that much, but he still very much enjoyed the conversations you did have.

“Can you promise to tell me anything important, as soon as you find out? I don’t want to be left in the dark.” You say into the phone.

Spencer smiles into the phone, “Of course sweetheart.” He says, but then freezes. Why’d he call you that? Why? He clears his throat, “Anyway, I better get going, I want this over as soon as possible.” Spencer says.

“Right, call me later?” You ask.

“Call you later. Bye Y/n.” He says, not really wanting to hang up.

“Bye Spencer.” You reply. He hangs up the call, and finally heads out the door.

He heads down to where Morgan and Prentiss are, and begins to look at the handwriting. It was crude, but in an odd way.

“I think the unsub might’ve written this in their wrong hand.” Spencer says, “I mean that’s a pretty good way to disguise handwriting, it’s very difficult to tell personality traits. But based on that, I think this unsub is pretty smart.” Spencer nods.

“I’ve got to get down to the lab, if you need anything, call me.” Spencer says, walking towards the door.

He gets in his car, and heads to the Urinalysis lab.

“So, is there any way that the test could’ve malfunctioned?” Spencer asks the man who tests all of the urine.

“I highly doubt it. We get false negatives sometimes, but almost never false positives.” The man in the lab coat says, looking at a chart. “I also believe we tested your agent's urine twice. That’s protocol for law enforcement and FBI if there’s a positive.”

“Thank you. Do you know how long it takes for samples to get here after the samples have been given?” Spencer asks.

“Couldn’t be more than a few days. Since we do monthly to bimonthly testing for you folks, they aren’t in the biggest rush.” The man says.

“Who transports the samples here?” Spencer asks.

“I don’t really know, a few different men have come in here.” The man says, seeming a bit nervous.

“Okay, thank you sir.” Spencer says, and walks out of the lab.

Spencer gets into his car, and pulls out his phone, dialing your number.

“Hello?” You answer, nervousness in your voice.

“Hey Y/n, I just got finished at the lab.” Spencer says, buckling his seatbelt.

“What did you find out?” You ask.

“Basically, a lot of people could have handled your sample. The guy at the lab wasn’t too helpful. I do know that the sample they tested definitely tested positive. I suspect that someone along the way either switched out the urine, or something like that. I think it’s a deadend to go through everyone who might’ve touched it though.” Spencer explains.

“Okay, thank you for telling me. Have you heard anything else from the team?” You ask, and Spencer can almost imagine you biting your nails.

“No, not anything that could lead us in the right direction, i’m sorry Y/n.” Spencer answers.

“No, it’s fine. Thank you anyway. I’ll talk to you later?” You ask.

“We will, bye Y/n.”

“Bye Spencer.” You hang up the phone, and toss it aside with a sigh.

You stand up, and head to your kitchen. You stand there for a while, contemplating what to eat. You decide you can’t eat anything at a time like this, and go back to the couch you were sitting on before.

You sit by the phone, just awaiting a call. He just called you, but yet you’re nervous for another one.

It would’ve made more sense for you to ask Garcia to call you with updates, as the most information goes through her, but you felt as if Spencer would be the most honest with you. You totally weren’t biased in any way…

Then, there was a knock at your door. You furrow your eyebrows, and head to the door.

“Ma’am? This is Agent Jones from the FBI. I have some paperwork you need to fill out.” You hear the man call through the door.

You look through the peephole, and sure enough, there’s a man standing there with a file in his hand.

“Could you hold up your badge to the peephole please?” You ask, still looking through the peephole.

“Of course ma’am.” He says, holding up his wallet to the door. The badge looks fine, so you undo the chain and open the door.

“Hi, come in.” You say, opening the door wider, and you go to the other room to grab a pen.

“Why didn’t Hotch just give me this paperwork before I left the building today?” You ask, confused, and take the file.

“Oh, everything was so hectic, with them working on your case and all, Hotch sent me down here to give this to you.” Agent Jones explains.

You sit down on your couch, and fill out the short form. You sign your name, and stand up to hand the file back to him.

“Thank you ma’am!” The agent smiles, taking the file from your hands, and turning towards the door. “Oh, and one more thing.” He says, turning back around.

The agent grabs the gun from his holster, aims it at your abdomen, and shoots. The silencer is one, so not much noise comes out.

You stand in shock for a moment, clutching the wound, and then begin to cough as you fall. The agent scurries out of your apartment.

As your vision blurs, you reach to your phone and unlock it. Unable to do anything else, you dial the most recent number in your call list, Spencer.

“Hello.” Spencer calls into the phone. When all you respond with is a cough, Spencer speaks again. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Shot… in apartment.” You muster, groaning at the pain.

“Oh fuck okay.” You hear Spencer call for someone to get an ambulance to your apartment, that’d you’d been shot. “I’m getting an ambulance there right now Y/n. I need you to hold on for me. Can you just keep talking to me?” He asks, frantically into the phone.

“Yes.” You reply, but your words slur, so it comes out like “yesh.”

“Okay good, now where are you shot Y/n?” Spencer asks.

You attempt to answer, but your eyes fall shut, and you begin to lose consciousness. The last thing you hear before you lose it completely, is Spencer calling your name.

The whole team looks at Spencer, when a horrid look comes across his face.

“She’s not answering me anymore.” He says, “Y/n? Y/N!” Spencer cries into the phone.

“Hey, hey hey, kid, it’s going to be alright. The ambulance is coming to her.” Morgan comes up to him, taking the phone from Spencer.

He looks up to Morgan with watery eyes, “What if she dies, and I never said how i felt about her?” He asks, a single tear falling down his face.

“Hey, come here pretty boy, it’ll be okay. As soon as we know which hospital she’s being taken too, we are all going there.” Morgan says, taking Spencer into a hug.

Spencer nods, wiping his tears away. The team sits in wait for awhile, until Hotch gets a phone call.

“She’s at Fort Washington Medical Center.” Hotch says after hanging up the phone. The whole team is up, and going out the doors to head to the hospital.

When the whole team arrives, Spencer is the first to go to the medical desk to ask for your name.

“She’s in surgery right now. I’ll tell you updates when I can.” The nurse at the desk says, checking a chart.

Spencer sighs, running his hand through his hair. He relays the message to the team, and a lot of them collapse into chairs in the waiting room.

The whole team sits in wait, until a doctor comes out.

“Are you waiting for Y/N?” The doctor asks. Spencer stands up, “Yes we are.”

“Okay, they are closing her up right now. The surgery had some bumps, but we were able to stop the bleeding.” The doctor smiles, and everyone lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you so much doctor.” Spencer says, shaking his hand.

“Are you her boyfriend? Because I can let the nurses know to have you in the room as soon as she wakes up.” The doctor says, genuinely trying to help.

“What? No, I’m not- I’m not Y/n’s boyfriend.” Spencer says, laughing nervously. Morgan comes up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Have him be the first one in the room.” Morgan nods towards the doctor.

The doctor smiles, and leaves the waiting room.

“You’ve got to tell her how you feel man.” Morgan says, and Spencer nods.

30 minutes later, a nurse tells Spencer that you should be waking up soon. He gets up, and follows the nurse to your room.

He walks into your room, and takes in the scene. You somehow still look so beautiful, even after taking a gunshot wound.

He takes a chair, and sets it by your bed. Spencer sits in nervousness as he waits for you to wake up.

He sees your eyes slowly open, and how they drift towards him.

“Spence.” You say, a soft smile on your face, and then your expression changes. “Spence.” You say more frantically. “It’s an agent, and agent is the one who did this. I have no idea how I didn't see it-” You start.

“Hey.” Spencer says, putting his hand on yours. “Morgan will be in here later for your interview. Right now, I just need to tell you something.” He says, looking at you.

“Yeah, anything.” You nod, meeting his eyes.

“The thought that I could’ve lost you really brought some of my feelings to light.” He sighs, preparing himself. “I really like you Y/n, and if I don’t tell you now, i’ll never tell you. I should probably be doing this whenever you’re not in the hospital, but I can’t wait any longer.” Spencer confesses, searching your face for any emotion, when you laugh softly.

“What?” Spencer asks, his voice on the verge of breaking.

“As someone with an IQ of 187, I’m surprised you didn’t confess sooner.” You say, “I like you too Spence, ever since I came to the BAU.”

“339 days ago.” He says, under his breath, smiling at you.

“What was that?” You ask, a soft smile on your face.

“I met you 339 days ago, and that’s when I knew I liked you too.” He smiles.

You laugh, “I would kiss you, but I really can’t move right now.” You say.

“Here.” Spencer says, getting up out of his chair, and leaning over you.

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I want our first real kiss to be when you’re well.” He says in a soft voice.

“Okay.” You agree, “Can you get Morgan in here? The whole situation is fresh on my mind and I need to tell him.”

“Of course.” Spencer says, leaving the room to get Morgan. He then stays in the waiting room, so that Morgan and Y/n can get their job done.

“Soooooo.” Penelope says, snaking beside Spencer, “Did you tell her how you feel?” She asks.

“Yeah.” Spencer says, looking at the ground, “She feels the same.”

Garcia gasps, “Yay!” She wraps him in a hug.

About 15 minutes later, Morgan comes out.

“We’re looking for an Agent Jones. Y/n and I assume that he showed his actual credentials to her, because he assumed she’d be dead.” Morgan explains.

“Hold on, the owner of the warehouse the packages were getting sent from is owned by a Jones.” Rossi says.

“Everyone, get ready. Garcia, find all agents with the last name Jones, and get the name of the father from Rossi, get his address. Everyone else, let’s get geared up.” Hotch says.

Spencer walks over to him, “Can I stay with Y/n? I’m sure you’ve all got this.” Spencer asks. Hotch nods, and then walks out of the waiting room.

Spencer goes back into your room, and you smile.

“I’m going to stay here with you while they track down Jones.” Spencer says, sitting in the chair beside your bed.

“Can you tell me gunshot facts?” You ask him, a small smile still on your face.

“You just got shot, and you want to hear facts about it?” Spencer asks, laughing.

“Yeah.” You say, “What were my chances of living, Doctor?” You ask, laughing.

“About 32 percent, considering where you got shot.” Spencer replies.

“Hm, guess I did pretty good.” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

After a few hours of talking, and watching crappy hospital television, Spencer gets a phone call.

“Yeah, thank god, thank you Hotch. Yeah i’ll tell her.” He says to the phone, and then hangs up.

You sit up in your bed, and look at him expectedly, wondering what happened.

“They got Jones, and he confessed to everything. You're good to come back to the BAU once you're medically cleared.” Spencer smiles.

You let out a breath, a huge smile covers your face.

Spencer looks at you, and then leans down, taking your chin in his hand, and kisses you.

After you break away, he smiles.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait.”

tags: @cupcake525 @soupmakesmynoserun @elizabethkaylynn @drspencr @mattgraygubler @nanocoool @reid-187 @darling-doll9 @1800-fight-me @rachel-rebellio

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marina-roslinka · 3 years

Text

This is my first time writing something like this, so it's a little bit sht, but I'm posting it anyway since I promised it to you guys.

Michael, Trevor, and my rant.

The first thing I want to say about those characters is that I believe they meant to be together, they cannot exist without each other. Yes, I know it sounds like cheesy line from romantic novel. But before you roll your eyes, let me explain.

Let’s remember their signature colors: blue and orange. You see, I think they play a big part in understanding them as individuals and as a relationship and their dynamics. You can read about the color analysis here if you like to.

I personally want to look at it from a little different perspective. To be more precise about elements Fire and Water: Trevor represents fire and Michael is water of course.

Those two men have a different understanding of what life is supposed to be and what it means to be alive. Trevor being a fire element is always trying to rile up Michael, making him angry and emotional like himself.

Michael on the other hand obviously thinks that Trevor is too much, that he needs to calm down and too bright, too hot, that eventually, he will burn not only himself but also everyone else around.

We see examples of that a few times throughout the game. For example when he tried to convince Trevor to change his current lifestyle and “grow up” and it’s not good for him.

“M: Alright man, here we go. Tough love time. T: I'll take it tough, I'll take it sissy, I'll take it any way you're giving it. M: When you gonna get it together, bro? Most guys as they get older, they pull their foot off the gas. T: You always did like to judge people. M: I ain't judging, I'm trying to help. T: Help with what? You think I need help 'cause my lifestyle is worse than everyone elses? M: The speed, the horniness, the killings. T: You kill, and you satisfy your urges - only you think you're above everything. Tough love time! M: Fine. Fine! You think what you like. But you know I care, and you know I tried.”

Going back to the whole "They can't exist without each other" thing.

Why?

Too much fire you will burn. Too much cold, you will freeze. This is the exact reason why I think that they need each other. To create a balance. Again, you can clearly see this in the story. Michael is depressed, sad and bored out of his mind by the pool.

Trevor is crazier than ever with no direction and no purpose. Just pure chaos.

“T: Mas o menos. Michael didn’t have a nerve back then. I didn’t have a direction”

It’s obviously not perfect since they both are fucked up people.

You can describe Michael's attitude towards Trevor with the same example. You can love fire for numerous reasons, right? You can look at and feel calm, feel warm or maybe it helps you to reflect on yourself. However, fire is also very dangerous. It can be unpredictable. One spark can light the fire and it may not even possible to stop it.

But Michael is able to.

Throughout the game Michael said and done things that made Trevor very angry. Like, other people would have been dead angry. He can make him change his mind or even stop him from killing someone. Because, as I said, he represents water.

This is why I believe that Michael’s fear of Trevor is not usual. He is afraid of those big sparks that out of his control like when he betrayed him for example. He was afraid Trevor would find him and kill him. Part of him believes he deserves it because of all the guilt. Trevor is the face of karma and he came back to collect the debt.

However, thirty seconds in the car since they left the house he felt that everything is ok and that he is not in any danger so he had no problem with insulting and overall being an asshole to Trevor right away.

Unfortunately things not that easy and simple as always. They can be good for each other just as bad. Fire can be dangerous to water and water can be dangerous to fire. (This is why Trevor doesn’t like to take showers xD) It reminds me of all those scenes when they get angry at each other, but stepping away so they won’t hurt one other.

I am going to leave Fire/Water here, just keep it in mind for the rest of analysis or whatever this is. I’ve never done it :D

Now for the ultimate question. Do I think they love each other or they hate each other?

Well… Just as their history together it's complicated.

The very moment Trevor pulled the trigger of his flare gun with no hesitation, Michael definitely knew that Trevor is a dangerous person. Then he definitely knew Trevor has serious mental issues.

Why did he stick with Trevor before and even after? Well, the most obvious answer is that he just cares about him. They instantly clicked together or as Lamar said “Love at first sight”.

The other thing that played a part in Michael’s affection at the start is that Trevor is like a shining loud toy for Michael's brain. I see M as someone who grasps at every opportunity to experience intense emotions. Trevor is like a walking time bomb that won’t explode around you. It also perhaps made Michael feel special. It’s not healthy but happens to people nonetheless.

I believe that Michael does love Trevor, but he also hates the things that he does and Michael hates himself for still loving someone like Trevor.

“Why do I love him why do I care for him, I'm not supposed to. He is a horrible person. He is a monster. What is wrong with me?”

The other thing is very common for people to have desire to help another person who's hurting. No matter how much messed up they are we still can feel sorry and I'm sure Michael felt the same and still feels the same. This also leads to his frustration about Trevor.

“Why can't you be normal? I had a hard childhood but I didn't turn out that bad”

He’s also repressing his feelings because of internalized homophobia. In addition, it's just frustration on top of frustration on and on.

Michael hates himself for many things he's done. When Trevor came back he got so overwhelmed that all of this just start boiling inside of him. And when you can handle it he just surrenders to the common emotion – anger.

(It seems to me that fans expect Michael to figure out why Trevor is doing this, why he says that what real feelings are behind the words and actions. You know, be the wise one. )

At first glance it may seem that Michael does not care about T and I can see why. Since the game does it like we see Trevor as the one who tells the truth and Michael as the one who lies. Especially on the first playthrough you can easily fall for this little manipulation. Because of this we perceive Michael as a liar. I mean, yeah, he uses lies as a defense mechanism. Therefore, it’s natural for us (and Trevor) not to believe him when he said “I care. I missed you”.

Trevor is a liar too. Yes, I know, shocker.

The most common thing I see people say about Trevor is that he is a loyal person. All because of this rule about “brothers”. Nope. Maybe he likes to say that, but in reality he is not.

Take Brad as an example. Bless him.

Trevor talked about how he planned to stop working with Michael, but pushed him away because he thought he would leave him. If you hang out with Lamar, T admits he was literally going to kill Brad. Not like Michael of course. He wasn’t gonna stab him in the back. Just stab him in the face I guess.

Trevor didn't kill Michael, not because of some creed. It’s just because he still loves him and cares about him. In the core of everything it’s just love.

Trevor is obviously a dick to Michael because he's hurt so much. Can you imagine how painful it was, to lose the only person you loved and loved you back? Then to find out they betrayed you. Like, Trevor literally thought, Michael was using him from the start. Though, he doesn't hate M, like he said so many times. Trevor hates himself for being this way, for being not good enough, for Michael to choose him. Again and again.

Betrayal.

“M: I don’t know, man, I’ve made such a mess of things. Constantly…my whole life. Chase things. Get them. Hate them. Chase things, get them, hate them…”

I feel like often people don’t even consider Michael's feelings or mental issues. Trevor also says very hurtful words to M. Yes, he understands the reason behind Trevor’s anger, but this doesn’t negate the fact those words hurt a lot. I mean, he was even offended by the fact T didn’t hug him. As usual, he cannot cope with feeling of guilt and everything again comes down to aggression.

I also want to remind, that despite the killings, Michael didn’t abandon Trevor. He was even letting him to see his children. Also name Tracey is suspiciously similar to name Trevor. Isn't it a display of love? Can you imagine how many times Michael forgave T for doing something crazy?

Well, Michael was just afraid of Trevor hurting him or his family if he tells T they’re done.

Trust me, if M didn’t give a shit about his best friend, he would’ve just killed him.

However, Michael and Trevor's relationship before Ludendorff wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

I personally think there were four main reasons:

1. He was just tired of living the way he did. 2. Safety of his family. 3. The FBI breathed down their backs and suggested him a ticket to freedom.

In fear of losing Michael Trevor pushed him even more. Most likely thought their relationships could only last if they were connected by the partnership. An example of this is Trevor’s negative reaction to Michael's words that he wants to be done with robberies and make movies.

“T: I could feel like I was losing you, so I pushed you harder. I thought that how to keep you in the game and I didn’t want to lose you. I’ve said it already, haven’t I?”

4. As ironic as it may be, in the desire not to lose Michael, Trevor himself turned out to be the last drop, for his best friend’s decision.

Conclusion: they should stop being dumb-dumbs and be honest about how they really feel.

And therapy. A lot of therapy.

#gta 5 #michael de santa #trevor philips #trikey

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incidentreport31 · 3 years

Text

Episode Three: Gather raw meat of any kind, red preferred, human is fine TRANSCRIPT

(You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.)

Recorder clicks on.

SFX: papers shuffling as Val decides on an account to focus on for the day.

ARCHIVIST:

(humming Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost for a few moments as they decide) Which one for today, then? Christ, this place is a mess.

[they stop as they pick up one covered in grime]

ARCHIVIST CONT.:

What in god’s name? What’s all over this one… (they scoff) Great, Val. You’re asking the damn recorder questions now.

[beat, then to the recorder]

Although I suppose you’re good enough company even if you can’t answer… (fondly) aren’t you?

[an awkward beat, a little too long]

(they clear their throat) I suppose I’ll be getting this one over with…

[SFX: shuffle of paper as they pick it up]

Certainly seems the most interesting given the…

[SFX: another shuffle as they flip it back and forth and take it in]

-residue… on it. (they sniff) God, the smell of it. Almost like rotten meat.

(they shudder)

(sighing) Right. Best get right into it… (muttering) it’ll be over sooner.

For the consideration of their parents: Bryn Fischer’s retelling of their time traveling alongside their road bike expedition through Massachusetts and- Dear Lord- a - what does this mean- a… a meat rain? (they sigh, exasperated) Yes, a “meat rain” that they came upon while driving.It seems Mx. Fischer is requesting their parents to pay fully for their next vacation… I’ve said it before, but (sighs) Rich People. Surprisingly, though, this account does seem to have a date written in: July 21, 2001. Regardless of my disbelief in the fact that the previous Archivist finally did something competent, their account begins as such:

[ACCOUNT STARTS]

I used to drive support for my parents’ long distance bike rides. They used to go out for anywhere from 90 to 200 miles a day with only a few stops in small towns where they could meet me at the car and grab new waters before heading right back out. They’re big bike geeks and I was the one person they’d always had at their disposal for the longer trips. Once I turned sixteen and properly had a driver’s license, it seemed to occur to them that they didn’t really have to ask their other long-distance riding friends to drive alongside them. Instead, they turned to me to make sure they were safe and sound on their excursions. Which was honestly fine for a while! I mean, when I’d first gotten the freedom of driving, it felt like such a treat to go on these trips and be able to just drive for hours and hours with someone else paying for my gas. And beyond that, it was nice to see everything out on the roads. I always found something good on those days where my parents were tirelessly trekking across the state highways. I loved seeing things I’d never seen before, whether it was the weird trinkets at rest stops or patches of snow hiding under dense forests I’d never seen before. I loved the exploring of it, but if I’m being honest, the thing that really amazed me was my parents. The dedication it took to willingly submit yourself to that much physical exertion with nothing but the few waters they could carry on their bikes between our meeting spots… Well it wasn’t something they’d passed down to me, that’s for sure.

[beat]

But, that’s all to say that after a while of driving for them, it eventually lost its charm. They eventually found a route they loved above all others and decided that they were going to make it their annual ride. As I’m sure you can tell, the whole “seeing new places and exploring” thing went away pretty quickly a few trips in. I was a stupid teenager, you know, and started griping about it to them two years in when they decided the perfect time for their next ride was over the weekend that my eighteenth birthday fell on.

ARCHIVIST:

Sometimes, Bryn, parents don’t have an ounce of self-awareness, I’ll give you that much, but this is getting past the point of exposition and I’d suggest you get to the point lest you sound like a writer who got to write in more background details than usual because this is a two-part episode.

[ACCOUNT]

After that, well I decided they could get their friends who actually gave a damn to go along with them. And even then, I was going away to college in Boston soon, so they’d have to stop relying on me eventually, so it was as good a time as any.

[beat]

Well, that’s my rambling exposition for you, I suppose.

ARCHIVIST:

Thank God.

[ACCOUNT]

But of course, by my sophomore year in university I was growing away from my parents and our calls had become less frequent. As much as I hated to admit it, I missed them. So when they called me and briefly mentioned they’d tired of their old route and would be taking on a new ride that summer, namely one that would loop right by me in Boston, I jumped at the chance, telling them to please not bother any of their friends with the trouble of driving and to let me come along. They were thrilled, of course. It had been a while since I’d willingly gone with them on their trips and they agreed without a second thought, inviting me to stay at their hotel with them like old times. I’ll spare you the details of the trip as a whole, I suppose. It was 119 miles along Wachusett mountain and there was a lot to look at. I mean I could go on and on about the sights I saw and the nostalgia that bloomed in my chest when I remembered the first few drives I’d taken with them.

ARCHIVIST:

(mocking) Heaven forbid you go on a tangent.

[ACCOUNT]

The important thing is the fact that, although I was so sure I’d checked all the maintenance lights off beforehand, by some twisted turn of fate, the lights on my dashboard flicked off, and stopped functioning altogether. It would have been fine, I mean it was in broad daylight still, but without a working speedometer, I was screwed. Now, my first thought was rage, of course, quickly followed by worry about my parents. I was lucky enough to have broken down where there was still cell service and to have my father pick up when I called, the two of them having momentarily paused to sight see. He assured me that it was okay. They’d be riding through where my car had stopped in about an hour and would be able to refuel their waters and snacks, but that they were going strong and should be fine to continue the ride. He told me just to call Triple A and make sure to get myself back to the hotel we were staying at safely and to leave the waters and things by a tree if by some miracle my car was fixed before they got to me. I tried to stay calm and called for the repair guy, who informed me he wouldn’t be there for about an hour and a half which was… just perfect.

ARCHIVIST:

Now I genuinely cannot tell if this is sarcasm or not as it’s written down so it’s anyone’s guess really.

[ACCOUNT]

I thought for a while and decided it would be fine if I walked around the nearby woods for a little while. Like I said, I really did love the exploring aspects of these trips and I figured that if I would be stuck here for a while, I might as well make the most of it as long as I kept my phone on me and kept track of the time. And honestly? It was some of the best fun I’d had in a while. Staying in the city for college had put my love of nature on hold indefinitely and I was happy to have it, even if for a short time. After a little while of walking around, I found this nice secluded area right on the edge of an open field and took a seat within a bush where the branches grew haphazardly enough that there was a decent sized hollow space for me to rest. I closed my eyes, just enjoying the moment in spite of my circumstances.

[beat]

SFX: Eerie music begins playing.

And… that’s when I heard it. There was this slight whooshing noise followed up by a few wet squelching sounds as whatever seemed to have fallen bounced once or twice along the damp earth.

My eyes snapped open, but as I scanned the forest floor, nothing immediately caught my attention. Everything seemed normal. And then as I was staring open-eyed at the field in front of me, it seemed as though the sky opened up. But… not with rain. Instead of water, there were fleshy colored chunks of all sizes just plummeting down from the sky into the field. They flopped as they hit the ground in a way that was both comical and simultaneously made me afraid I was going to lose the continental breakfast I’d had at the hotel just a few hours earlier. And that’s before I even noticed the smell. In the end, that’s what really made me realize what I was looking at. The smell that permeated the air as the shower continued suddenly clicked in my brain: rotten meat. There was nothing else that could smell so repulsive and sickly as the mass of meat chunks that had begun to collect on the field before me.

[RECORD SCRATCH]

ARCHIVIST:

What.

[beat]

[ANOTHER BEAT]

(they clear their throat) Right.(somewhat shakily) Moving on then.

[ACCOUNT]

By now, I was holding my hands clasped to my mouth, trying not to panic and furthermore hoping that the meat shower would stay central to that one area. Honestly I didn’t know if I would be able to handle any of it coming near me and I was thankful for every second it didn’t. It went on like that for several minutes through which I finally resolved to keep my eyes firmly shut.

[beat]

And then all of a sudden, the wet flopping sound ceased. For a moment, I could almost believe I imagined it, with my eyelids still pressed together. And yet, the smell still hung in the air. I slowly opened my eyes, hoping not to see what I deep down knew I would. What had once been a gorgeous fertile field full of lush grass and the types of wildflowers that would have been classified as weeds by those without any sense-

ARCHIVIST:

You mean botanists who likely have PHD’s? Hmm. I see.

[ACCOUNT]

Well, it had been turned into a literal hellscape. Not only was the meat layered on itself in clumps of already rotting material slowly heating up in the mid-day sun- which yes is as nasty as it sounds- but even the areas where the meat hadn’t settled were covered in that kind of slimy residue that comes off when you pat pre-packaged meats dry before you cook them. Pretty awful in every sense of the word.

[beat]

I sat on the ground for a few more minutes hidden safely within my bush before I realized that it had probably been about forty-five minutes since I called the Triple A man and figured now was a good a time as any to try getting back to my car, especially since I wasn’t keen to get caught up in any second round of meat rain.

SFX: Eerie music starts playing.

Unfortunately for me, the moment I decided this was exactly the moment the man and little girl walked out into the field. They came in from exactly the opposite side from where I was attempting to stand up, so of course they saw the bush shudder even with the cover it gave me. I hoped against everything that they would pass it off as an animal, perhaps drawn towards the display looking for dinner, and it seemed that, even standing up as I was, I was lucky enough to scrape by on that front.

I guess you’ll be wanting a description of them, yeah? The man was a little older, maybe in his late thirties and seemed positively pleased to be walking through the field of gristle and gore. At the very least, his smile beamed as he passed his eyes back and forth across the field. The girl next to him seemed to be so young, a toddler: maybe five at the oldest? I don’t know, I’ve never been good at discerning children’s ages. But young as she was, she didn’t seem put off by the scene around her in the slightest, skipping along next to the man with her hand swinging along in his.

I wish I knew what happened next. You ever have one of those moments where you suddenly realize you’ve been holding your breath? That’s the only thing I can chalk it up to I guess. Maybe it was the terrifying notion of them noticing me any further, a freeze fear response, or just subconsciously trying to keep the smell out of my nostrils, but no matter the reason, I realized I hadn’t taken a breath in far too long a few moments too late and I fell forward into the bush.

[beat]

Loudly. Loud enough that when I came to my senses a second or two later, halfway fallen out of the bush where they could see me clear as day, I could see both of them staring at me with their heads cocked to the side. As frightened as I was, though, I remember clearly that the two of them shared the same calm, kind face, the pleasant demeanor dimmed only by their surroundings. And then, with my head still cloudy, I heard him call out to me.

“Are you alright over there?” And that was the moment I knew that-

[SFX: paper being turned over frantically and then a beat]

ARCHIVIST:

(frustrated) Hm. It seems that the account ends there if I’m not mistaken. Though it seems the story does not. I suppose maybe there’s another sheet around here with the rest of the story, although how I’m going to find it in this mess I can only guess. (muttering) Guess I’ll just have to keep a look out for another paper coated in this grime, which I am now unfortunately being led to believe is meat… juice.

Either way, I’m afraid that with the few details I’ve been given so far I cannot confirm anything about this case one way or another. I would love to dismiss it right off the bat and write off the… grime on this paper as a practical joke, but until further research is done or I get a hold of the rest of this story, I’m afraid I can do no such thing. (a long, drawn out sigh)

[SFX: the listeners become aware of the sound of a camcorder whirring at some point in this closing as Chris approaches]

[As Chris begins, the Archivist yelps in surprise, maybe a little desk clatter]

CHRIS:

Do you think you could do another take real quick? Maybe up the acting a bit during the meat rain, really sell the emotion?

ARCHIVIST:

Bloody hell—who are you?

CHRIS:

Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.(then, trying to be cryptic, but she’s too over-the-top for it to be scary) Or did I?

ARCHIVIST:

(confused) You—how long have you been in here?

CHRIS:

Uh. The whole time? I thought you’d say something to me eventually, but you were really lost in the sauce there for a bit.(trying to be funny) Or, lost in the meat juice, I guess. (she giggles at her own joke.)

ARCHIVIST:

Well, my sincerest apologies, but you weren’t supposed to be in here in the first place. Who are you? Is—is that a camera?

CHRIS:

Oh, I’m Christine Lewis, one of the researchers!

[Val tries to speak, but Chris cuts them off.]

CHRIS:

Just Chris is fine. Anyways, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get some footage for my channel.

ARCHIVIST:

(slowly) Your...channel…

CHRIS:

(she hums.) I’m kind of going for like, a Buzzfeed Unsolved type vibe, you know?

ARCHIVIST:

I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.

CHRIS:

Damn. No culture in these archives. Maybe if you stanned Ryan Bergara, this never would have happened.

ARCHIVIST:

Look, Chris, as...flattered...as I am to be the subject of your web series, I don’t appreciate being recorded without my knowledge. At least I have control over when this girl here turns on and off.

CHRIS:

Did you just call the tape recorder a girl…?

ARCHIVIST:

(overlapping) Not the point. Could you please get back to doing your job, and save the videos for when you’re not at work?

CHRIS:

If you insist. It’s gonna be worth it, though. You’ll get a shoutout in my one million subscribers video, just you wait.(mumbles). Just gotta get to ten subscribers first. Maybe if I was more active on Twitter. Say, do you think we could make an account for the [REDACTED] Institute?

ARCHIVIST:

(they are at their limit) Chris?

CHRIS:

Yeah, boss?

ARCHIVIST:

Get back to work before I tell HR to write this up.

CHRIS:

Yeah, yeah, I’m going.

SFX: Chris begins to walk off.

ARCHIVIST:

(they huff a sigh.) End recording.

Recorder clicks off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Gather raw meat of any kind, red preferred, human is fine,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Jesse Smith as Chris Lewis. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks for listening.

#ir31pod transcripts

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universeandroro · 3 years

Text

I Ran Out of Fuel

Everyone has their fuel. And by fuel, I meant the reason to live or the will to move in every second. Some might be unaware of it but it doesn’t mean that it does not exist. A lot of unknown things in this universe are just waiting to be discovered. Also, sometimes, you just forget about things until you’ve found them again, and somehow, it will just feel like the first time you’ve known about it.

For the past weeks or months or years, I’ve spent my time wondering about life; about how things just pop out of nowhere, then, push your emotions out of you until you get used to it, then it will just vanish. Like, why? Why do I have to face that kind of loneliness? Why do I have to live with the memory of it being with me? Why does that “thing” have to leave those memories to me? I’d be a thousand times better if I could just not remember having those times of my life with it.

But on the contrary, it would be awful to not have some memory to reminisce about or a thing to miss from time to time. I mean, after all, you will be used to the feeling of not having it in your life at some other time. It might take years but at least, it will come.

Ever since I was this soft kind of person. I tend to attach to a lot of things easily. I used to keep food wrappers when I was a kid because “we” had spent (at least) a few minutes together. Then, my mother will get mad because I keep trashes in my bag, she will throw those and I’d feel bad for those wrappers, I know it sounds dumb but I was a kid… And admit it or not, most kids are dumb. Lol.

Then, I *kind of* grow up, I got interested in “love” and the wonders of it. I met someone through the internet, after a few days or week of talking, I got attached to that person… and maybe, that attachment went deeper than that, maybe I fell in love. I didn’t wanna say that it’s l-o-v-e because, all we did was chat with each other for hours, and I was sooo young. He (or she) was like seven to ten years older than me, and we never met or call each other. So, how the hell could that be love? Anyway, it was (probably) infatuation and I was the only one who felt that. I’m certain of that because I confessed, and *felt* that, too.

After the time I had with that person, my vision in life changed. Somehow, my eyes got opened to the fact that my relationship with every people I know could just vanish at any time. My eyes got opened to the fact that every living thing I encounter in my every day of living will not last forever, because we all have a separate fate. None of these living things can spend the rest of my life with me. That got even more real when my mother died. Then one of my friends. Then my two relatives who I used to see every time I go into my mother’s old home (or every time they visit us). I witnessed four funerals in the span of six or seven months. And it sucks! It will forever suck.

I am attached to those people, for like years of my life. I was used to knowing that they are alive and well. Every time I think about this new fact about them, I just… have mixed emotions with a lot of whys and what-ifs. But I still think that they are resting in peace somewhere better than where I am right now, and it just gives me a painful relief. Then for most of the time, I just feel the fear of losing anyone or anything over a second. Because of this fear, I cannot be the person I was before that series of events.

The reason I was living before was them. They loved and cared for me. My mother took care of me, my friend trusted me, and I am sure that my two relatives somehow cared for me. They were my fuel. The people I have were my fuel; I wanted to live because of them. Although I still have my other friends, relatives, and father, I just can’t make them my fuel anymore. I still care for them and I still love them. But the thing is, I can’t just live for them. If I will continue living because of some living things, I will just die or got weaker every time I got separated into any of them.

I knew I needed to discover a fuel that I can have for a lifetime, I just didn’t know what kind of coil, gas, or oil I was looking for. For few months I tried to live because I woke up, and it was dull. It felt like black and white. I still need to study, interact and just blend in with the people I used to be with before, and that kind of fuel worked… terribly. It wasn’t enough to spend in like twelve hours of every single day.

Then, I tried to live for food, streaming sites, books, and anything I can buy. Do you know what I gained? Weight, anxiety, and sure, I lived a life of luxury. But did I find my fuel? Hell, no. I gained a lot of negative stuff. I even lose some of my relationships, and probably some trust, and maybe my chance of love…

I got lost because of something I unexpectedly lose. Then, I won’t find the right fuel if I don’t know what kind of fuel I’m looking for. You can’t fill up a car with a freaking baby oil because its oil and engine oil are like oils, and expect it to work for Pete's sake! So, I decided to be aware of myself. I decided to know myself and what kind of crap I need. After all, I know myself more than anyone in this world. I mean, we all know ourselves more than anything, duh.

I love, love. I believe in it and I know that’s what I need. Everyone needs it. But I can’t just expect a person to give the love that I need, because I’ve been that kind of person before, and it didn’t work. Then it hits me, I need to love myself. I need to accept myself, my imperfections, and everything. I still hate my reflection every time I look into it, so my love for myself is still a work in progress. But I know that I will get there soon.

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hopeaterart · 3 years

Text

I’m gonna be there chapter 16

Trigger warnings: Mentionned/implied rape/noncon due to J. Geil being there, and graphic violence. Granted, most of it is directed toward the rapist, but still. If you’re sensible to that kind of stuff, I suggest being careful while reading this.

“...Okay...” Holly muttered to herself, locking the front door to keep Hol Horse out as she withdrew her Stand from her arms, frowning and getting her phone out. “Breath, Holly. You’ll figure something out. You always figure something out...” She hit call. “Sadao?”

“...”

“Can you please come home now?”

“...?”

“Sherry’s killer is here, there’s a man with a gun outside of the house, and Polnareff is about to do something stupid. I need you to come back right now. Please?”

“...” Her husband then hung up.

She sighed in relief, and turned toward Polnareff. “Do you know what his Stand is like?”

“Uh... I don’t know. Maybe something with water?” He proposed. “Sherry’s friend said the rain completely avoided him, forming a dome around his body.”

“That means he’s either in the kitchen or one of the bathroom’s...” she quietly noted to herself. “So until we figure something out, we need to avoid those areas.”

“Alright, here’s a plan: I run into the room, and skewer him onto the end of Silver Chariot’s sword!” Polnareff exclaimed, Silver Chariot raising it’s sword in agreement as it gleamed dangerously.

“That would be tactical suicide.” Holly noted. “We don’t know what he’s able to do. Meanwhile, Dio probably told us what you could do, and I’m still unsure what I can do. We need to catch him off-guard.” She explained, putting her hand on Polnareff’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him in place.

“Why!? He’s so close, it’d be so easy to just kill him! I will not miss my chance to kill him now!”

“Polnareff, you have to calm down, or you’ll get killed-”

“I need to take revenge for Sherry, alright!?” He snapped, tears at the corners of his eyes. ”It’s the only way she’ll find peace- the only way I’ll find peace! Putting this monster six feet under the ground is the only way I can atone for not being there that day! I don’t care for the cost. At the end of the day, the rest isn’t important-”

“YOU ARE AN IMPORTANT THING I CARE ABOUT, JEAN-PIERRE POLNAREFF!” Holly snapped, startling the frenchman. She took a deep breath. “I care about you, alright? And you’re so young, you have so much to live for, and- I wish I could tell you it’ll stop hurting.” The image a younger blond woman boarding a plane with a small smile flashed in Holly’s mind. The last time she, and in fact her entire family, saw Gioia. “But it won’t. The only thing you can do is try to go on like they’d want you to. So let me ask you this, Jean-Pierre: what would your sister want for you to do?”

Polnareff blinked, before turning away from Holly, deep in thought. “She’d... she’d want me to live, and find happiness. But...” A ugly sob ripped itself out of his throat. “I don’t know if I can.” He startled as Holly dragged him toward her, before relaxing when he realized she was hugging him.

“You can.” She reassured him. “It’ll be hard, and a long process, and the pain will never truly go away, but... you can. And you will. So now...” She separated herself from him, her hands on his shoulders. “Here’s what we’re gonna do...”

Holly walked to the kitchen. It was the last area of the house they hadn’t checked. Polnareff was at the end of the hallway, and she stood from distance from the door. She took a deep breath, letting her Stand coil up under her skin. Here goes nothing.

She stood in the entrance of the kitchen, and surely enough, there was a man in there. “You’re with Dio, aren’t you?” She asked, narrowing her eyes in disgust as he turned toward her. He was as hideous on the outside as inside.

His lips moved in a way she supposed was a smile. “You’re the Joestar woman...”

“Kujo. My name is Holly Kujo.” She corrected, taking a step back. Out of the man’s sight, vines were starting to creep up along the floor of the hallway, and Polnareff was starting to shake.

A sound came out of the man’s mouth, Holly taking a second to recognize as a laugh. “You look even cuter than I thought you would, especially for an old hag.”

She did a motion with her mouth that she hoped looked like smiling, because it felt more like barring her teeth. “Well, aren’t you just a scumbag. What does Dio want from us?”

“What, Dio?” The man sneered. “I don’t know, my mother just found him one day. All I care about are the women I get by working for him.” Holly took a step back at that, the flowers under her skin nearly bursting into reality.

She had to remind herself that him taking a step toward her was what she wanted. Stay calm. Lure him into the trap.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?” Holly attempted one last time as she took another step back, the man starting to get nearer and nearer. “Really?... your loss.” She then turned around, running in the hallway as she heard the man call after her.

It was shortly followed by the sound of her Stand lashing out and a scream of pain. She reached the end of the hallway, skidding to a halt as Polnareff came into view. She turned around as he hissed. “You... I’ve finally found you, bastard!”

“Wait... you’re Polnareff?” The man laughed, taunting him as light shifted in his eyes. “You’re the guy who’s been hunting me for the last four years!?”

“Yes.” The frenchman started, taking a deep breath. “And you’re not going anywhere this time, monster- URK!” Polnareff suddenly fell back, a large cut on his torso appearing out of nowhere.

“Jean-Pierre- !” Holly was suddenly stopped in her tracks of turning around, feeling something take a hold of her arms and locking them behind her back as the man tied in spectral vines laughed once more. She turned toward him, a hateful frown on her face.

“You idiots!” He taunted. “You really thought you could stop me!? You don’t even know what my Stand can do! You’ve finally caught me, only for you and your friends to die pathetic deaths! While I will continue to live a happy life surrounded by cute girls!” He then looked at Holly with a lecherous look, licking his lips. The blond woman reacted by closing her eyes, taking her breath back under control. “Now that I think of it... your sister was rather good at crying.”

That does it. Holly took a deep breath, letting the vines that she had the creep tied in spread to his eyes. Her eyes then snapped open, burning hatred filling them. Hamon sparked all over her body and spread to her Stand, roses blooming open as the monster’s eyes were burned into fusing with vines, before being ripped out by Holly jerking her head to the side, vines following the motion.

She felt the hold on her arms fade away as the monster in front of her screamed in pain. “Spending the last seconds of your life sobbing and begging for a mercy that won’t come is the only thing and Sherry Polnareff will ever have in common.” Holly coldly told him as she helped Polnareff get up. “Jean-Pierre.”

“It’ll be fine.” He got up, glaring at the man. “My name, is Jean Pierre Polnareff. So the soul of my little sister, Sherry Polnareff, may rest in peace, you will be sent to hell by my hand.” He summoned Silver Chariot, and the gleam of it’s sword seemed much more malevolent than usual. “However, there is on thing I cannot trust the guardians of hell to do... and that is to turn you into a pinchushion!

And with multiple, furious strokes of Silver Chariot that were too fast for the human eye to see and a massive jet of blood, it was done.

Sherry’s killer was dead.

Polnareff collapsed on the ground, Chariot fading away, and Holly quickly came to his side, checking if he was alright. “Jean-Pierre? Are you alright?”

The white haired man turned toward her. “I... I don’t know. I’m happy he’s dead, but... I was expecting to be happier.” He admitted, rubbing his arm as if he was ashamed.

Holly sighed. “For revenge to be properly taken, you need to take back what was taken from you. And you can’t bring the dead back to life.” She hugged him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll... it’ll be fine. At least, she can rest in peace now.” Polnareff noted, a sad note to it.

Holly held him for a few more seconds, before getting up. “I’ll get his body to the bathtub. You go make sure our cowboy friend isn’t going anywhere.”

Polnareff smiled, rising to his feet and wiping away his tears. “Got it.” Holly smiled at him, taking one of the corpse’s leg and dragging him to the bathroom as her companion walked to the front door, undoing the lock and opening it.

Hol Horse, for some reason, was still there. “So, finally decided to give yerself up?”

“No.” Polnareff deadpanned, leaning on the doorframe. “What is Dio even offering you, man? You do not look like the usual type he hangs around with.”

“Money.” The cowboy responded. Polnareff tilted his head.

“No fleshbud?” The cowboy responded by raising his hat, showing off his (bud-less) forehead.

“Nah. That Dio dude’s creepy. Better just accept his money and be done wit’it.” Hol Horse frowned. “Wait a minute- why hasn’t the other creep taken care of y’all yet!?”

“Because he’s dead.” Holly bluntly told him as she appeared in the doorway. “We took care of him. And now, we’ll take care of you.”

Hol Horse looked at them, impassive. He then suddenly turned, and started running as fast as he could, startling Holly and making Polnareff yell. “Hey, come back over here-”

“Nah! I’ll get y’all another day-” Suddenly, an extremely beat-up and familiar-looking car veered into the drive-way, Sadao screaming at the top of his lungs as he hit the gas pedal and hit Hol Horse, who had skidded to an halt. Polnareff flinched as Holly stood there, confused.

It’s only as Sadao came out of the car, sliding out of the shattered front window and down the hood before kicking Hol Horse, screaming obscenities and to stay away from his wife in japanese at him that Holly snapped out of her daze. She ran toward her husband, dragging him away. “Sadao! It’s fine. We took care of the killer. I’m fine.”

Sadao looked at her, a panicked look on his face as he hugged her, sighing in relief. “Did he hurt you? And where’s that piece of shit, now?”

“Nothing I won’t recover from, and being drained of his blood in the bathtub.” She answered, patting Sadao on the back. “Also, are you alright? And what happened to the car?”

“Oh, that? Run in with a Stand User, Joriko is alright and she’ll be staying here for the day. Joriko!” The thirteen years old peeked out of the car from the backseats. “False alarm, there’s no danger anymore.”

“Oh, that’s good.” The younger girl said, opening the car door before coming out, walking up to her uncle and stepping on Hol Horse in the process of doing so. “He’s a bad guy, right?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Holly reassured the younger girl, hugging her. “Your uncle is probably going to let you and Jojimi go back to your house tonight. But for now...” She turned toward the passed out cowboy. “I have some... questions to ask.”

#writing #My writing #Holly Kujo #Kujo Holly #Jean-Pierre Polnareff #Polnareff #Hol Horse #sadao kujo #kujo sadao #jojo #JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs “Stress”

I thought about this idea during finals week for obvious reasons. As for some of the other stuff, I am still trying to figure out what I want to do. My motivation likes to come and go at odd moments, so the longer, more complicated stuff that requires research is eluding me at the moment, but I hope you all like it :)

Humanity was crafted in the fire of adversity. On a planet where everything is stronger, faster, and more dangerous than them, they still manage reign supreme. Looking back at their history, the human came down from the trees and developed primarily on hot, hostile prairies of Africa relying on their small bands of family to keep them safe.

Due to the hostile nature of their planet the human has one of the most remarkable and advanced reactions to stress in the sympathetic response of their body, known as the fight or flight system. In response to say, sight of a predator, the human brain immediately releases stress hormones into the blood activating adrenaline and cortisol production. In states like these humans, run faster, jump higher, react quicker, feel less pain, increase their strength, and recognize more frames per second (described by humans as the world slowing down). Additionally the sympathetic response shuts down all parasympathetic actions, which include digestion, growth, ovulation, sex drive, hunger, and other additional functions.

However, this remarkable stress system, which the humans are renowned for, has one horrible downside….. The human body cannot tell the difference between the stress of a predator attack or the stress of a long-term work environment. The human body reacts to deadlines the same way it evolved to react to the chase on the prairies thousands of years ago. Chronic stress is one of the largest dangers posed to your human companions, and should be taken seriously. Long term effects of stress can results in depressed immune systems, sickness, skin problems, high blood pressure, cardiovascular issues, digestive issues, sexual dysfunction, depression, anxiety etc.

Chronic stress is a human’s worst enemy.

***

“I swear by all nine circles of Dante’s hell that if the assembly refuses to hear me out than we are going to have galaxy wide rioting on our hands, and you know who is going to have to deal with it. Me, yeah that’s right, me, just like every other riot, protest, demonstration and sit-in this side of the sector. Just let them be together if they really want, just get them immunized first, Damn!” Commander Vir marched onto the bridge angrily pulling on his jacket and throwing himself down in the Captain’s chair, “Four hours of sleep last night, four, and I have to tell you I am sick and tired of this shit. LIEUTENANT!”

“Yes, Sir.” She asked hesitantly

“What do we have TODAY? What could have possible gone wrong on this fine morning?” The man snarled sarcastically. Krill glanced at Sunny with a worried expression. This was hardly behavior they had come to expect from their friend.

“Well sir, paperwork, as usual, and then you have a conference with the GA at 9, and a report due to the Fleet Admiral at 10. Captain Kamma and Captain Roll need your opinion on dealing with a Finneri dispute over airspace in the Alpha sector, plus the ship is due for routine maintenance, but there is still a little matter about that Vrul scientist that the GA wants transported back to HQ. If you have the reports, I can send them in now…..” She trailed off.

Commander Vir took a deep breath and rested his forehead against one hand messaging his temples, “I haven’t finished the reports yet, I haven’t had enough time to finish the reports, I was doing more important things than finishing the reports like…. Oh, I don’t know trying to put down riots and prevent luting. I think humanity’s public image is more important than some stupid piece of paper. Kind of hard to get anything done when you are trying to keep the entirety of the GA to stop seeing humans as violent militants.”

“Sir, I can-“

“No, I will have the stupid reports done, just give me an hour.” He stood from his chair, “Walk with me.” The supporting crew barely had time to leap from their seats and follow after the man as he marched out of the room. Usually silent, the prosthetic on his leg whirred with excess power as if aware of the man’s agitation. Sunny followed behind the only one able to keep up without jogging. She held Krill by the hand as he floated behind her. Commander Vir answered rapid fire questions left and right as he marched on down the hall. A marine appeared form one of the side halls.

“Captain,”

“Make it quick, Corporal.” The man fell into a jogging step beside him.

“Uh, yes Commander, there seems to be a problem.” A single green eye turned upon the man and narrowed. The entire crew stiffened a little. Krill hid behind Sunny’s bulk. The entire crew had been on edge for weeks now. All of them begged to whatever deity out there that things would get better for their Commander. The crew, once so laid back, and relaxing now found themselves in an enviornment of stress like a rubber band close to sapping, all caused by a triangular ripple effect coming down from on high. When the Commander wasn’t happy, no one was.

Generally, goofy, friendly, social, and fun, the man had slowly grown, irritable, reclusive, and tense as sarcasm and jokes began to fly right over his head….. Accept for the biter angry kind.

“What NOW.”

“Well, sir, the last armament shipment….. well they got our order wrong. We got only two cases of .223.” The man had to speed up a little to keep up

“Two cases! The F*ck are we supposed to do with that. We needed two Pallets not two cases.”

“Yes sir, I know but-“

“Ahg never mind, I’ll call in to the supply department later.” He coughed once or twice, wiping his mouth before pushing past the marine and into the chow hall marching up to the coffee maker and angrily shoving mug under the nozzle. Another glance was exchanged between Sunny and Krill, the man didn’t drink coffee at least he hadn’t until about a week ago. All around, the breakfast crowd looked up from their meals nervously fiddling with their forks and spoons as they watched.

Cup filled up, the man turned in a circle.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Could it have been the unusual power of the prosthetic, the fact that he turned in the direction of his missing eye, or could it have just been coincidence that his leg knocked against the counter sending a wave of hot liquid over his arm and onto the floor as the cup dropped from his hands. The entire room went silent, which only made the shattering of the glass louder followed by the string of abusive, vulgar curses spilling form the man’s mouth that much more poignant. Sure, he wasn’t opposed to cursing, but THAT was excessive.

He waved his arm hissing in pain. Before growing silent, horribly silent. The entire room was still hands raised halfway to their mouths food dripping form forks. He stood very still shoulders hunched hands clenched into half claws. From their position, Krill and sunny watched as the man’s slow, even breathing began to speed up, blood rushed up to his face, a vein pulsed in his neck.

The expression that came over the human’s face was one of pure animal rage completely out of place in such a setting. Humans and Drev alike ducked for cover, especially telling when it came to the humans, as the man spun in a circle and violently ripped the machine from the wall and throwing it to the floor. Glass and plastic shattered, but that didn’t seem to be enough. The advanced military prosthetic, sensing his anger, whirred to life powerful hydraulics and pistons crackling to life as he engaged the foot. Metal screeched and screamed as it was crushed. Crewmembers cowered further under their tables as the wreckage was kicked violently into the air. The power of the prosthetic sent it halfway across the room where it smashed into the ground shattering whatever piece of equipment was left.

Then slowly they looked up watching as the man spun in an agitated circle, paced to the right, then to the left before screaming through his teeth and running out of the room leaving a scene of carnage behind him.

***

Krill and Sunny found him three hours later forced to explain to the admiral and the GA of the commander’s absence.

They found him in a service tunnel running the side of the engine room sitting in the red emergency lights on the floor with his legs curled to his chest, and his arms about his dog’s neck. The animal had her head resting on his shoulder tail tucked between her legs as if she knew something was terribly wrong.

Sunny had trouble squirming through the close opening, but eventually hauled her bulk into the small space, “Adam?”

The man didn’t look up but a desperate chuckle broke from his lips cracked and breathless, “Great, just what I needed, for you guys to see me like this…… what did the admiral say? Am I fired?”

Krill scuttled around the side of Sunny squeezing himself past her bulk with a huff, “Commander, why would they fire you. Preposterous, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Sunny managed to make it to her knees and then into a low crouch, “Vir, the Admiral actually said that…. Now maybe you’ll understand because I didn’t and I quote, ‘I’m impressed the boy managed to make it this long, my first breakdown was two weeks after I started, and I nearly ran my car into a tree.”

The dog whimpered as the man lifted his head, throwing it back with a shaky breath, “You don’t have to try and make me feel better Sunny. The damage is done, I messed up, and I lost in in front of the crew like a child, and I can’t help but think about how much of a jackass I’ve been for the last few weeks. I’m garbage at this, I should never have taken the job.”

Krill huffed scuttling down the short hallway and over to the man, “Oh what is it you humans say…… pity party is over. Man up and talk to us, you are being horribly illogical, and that is something I cannot abide. Start from the beginning and tell us what’s wrong so we can fix it. You ARE the commander of this ship and you deserve to be here, so might as well fix the problem while we can.”

Fifteen minute later, Krill had ushered them out of the engine room and back to his infirmary where the Commander now hunched on the edge of one of the beds elbows resting on his knees as he stared down at the floor. Krill bustled around him like krill always did examining his burned arm, if there was a problem, he fixed it. That’s just the way he was, Sunny listened.

He rubbed the sides of his head again, “I’ve just been so….. Stressed, I have so much to do, and I don’t have enough time, everyone is counting on me, and now with the riots…. I just….. my body is falling apart, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat because when I do I get nauseous, my head hurts all the time, I’ve bene sick for like…. I don’t know, a month. Feels like my heart never slows down, and someone has their hand around my chest just…. Squeezing. Plus.” He lifted up his shirt exposing his pale stomach, and the livid red bumps across his stomach raised and strangely discolored, “I broke out in hives yesterday, haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

Krill paused shooting the man a glower, hands resting on his hip equivalent, “And you never thought to, oh I don’t know talk to a DOCTOR because you don’t have one of those just conveniently lying around.”

Vir rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, “I…. its stress related Krill, there’s nothing you can do medically for me.” Sunny had moved at this point slowly walking over towards her two friends, and before Krill or Vir could say anything, she pulled the man into her arms, all four of them, and hugged him lifting him completely and easily off the ground. He went quiet in surprise and Krill looked up at her in annoyance.

“Hugs are good for humans. Supposed to relieve stress…. I think.” Sunny said. She thought for a moment he would pull away, but after a few seconds he sagged against her read resting against her chest. Krill relented with a sigh and stepped back.

A muffled voice, “What am I supposed to do Sunny?”

Krill tapped one of his feet on the floor, “The way I see it, Commander, there is only one logical course of action.”

***

The crew watched from where they sat or stood around the chow hall, on or around the tables as the man, their Commander, awkwardly shuffled his feet and stared down at the floor, “I…. have to apologize to…. To all of you for my….. Deplorable behavior lately. “He took a deep breath and looked up with clear difficulty, “The way I have been acting is very unprofessional, and the outbursts are just as bad. I know there are no excuses for what I have done, and I take responsibility but I have been under a lot of stress lately, and I am still learning how to deal with it.”

Some members of the crowd nodded along with him, some frowned, but the vast majority gave encouraging smiles. “That’s alright, Commander, we understand.” Someone said from the back followed by a chorus of agreement.

One of the marines stood up, “We forgive you, Commander, and I have one word for you….” He turned to the room and waved his hand in a wide arc over his head, “Delegation.”

“Delegation?” The man questioned

“Yeah.” The marine said, “Like since you’re a boss you can make everyone else do the work for you.”

The commander shook his head, “I no… I couldn’t”

Just then the lieutenant took to her feet, “Just hear him out, sir. He’s right, you’ve been trying to do everything yourself, and it isn’t healthy. There are plenty of things you can outsource. I mean some of the other captains have specialties in certain areas, and you could put them in charge. And here, on the crew, you could appoint someone as the head of a sector, and just have them report in. They can deal with the little stuff and you can do the big stuff. For instance, I’m great at writing, I was an English major before joining the army, so I can write the reports….. and no offence, but you suck ass at writing… sir.”

The crew broke out into laughter, Vir grinned sheepishly, “Alright, maybe you have a point.”

Other members of the crew agreed, “You’re forgetting we’ve had almost as much contact with E.Ts as you, sir. We can deal with some of the little stuff, so you don’t have to worry.”

The commander took a seat on one of the tables facing the crowd, “I just don’t want it to seem like I’m pawning all my work off on others.”

Another crewmember waved the comment off, “Give us some credit, we know you better than that. Besides everyone deserves a little downtime.”

“Yeah a little stress relief is good. Man you need to get some kind of hobby.” The marine who spoke leaned over towards his companion and quietly…. But not to quietly whispered, “Either that, or get laid.”

The comment hadn’t been quiet enough, and a row of marines broke into fits of giggling. Vir flushed bright red trying to ignore the comment, “Alright, first thing’s first, we need to have a meeting, decide how to divide things up. I’m thinking the marines, the bridge crew a -“ A glare from Krill silenced him, “Of course…. We can talk about that tomorrow….. you…. Are all dismissed.”

The crew shifted to their feet. A few of the marines walked past still laughing causing the blush to flare up again. The marine that had spoken shoved him lightly, “You’re such a boy scout, you know that right?” Vir grumbled as he moved past. The marine turned to walk backwards down the hallway, “Come on man, just saying great stress relief. Woman, dude…… alien if you’re into that.”

Vir raised his hands, “Ok, ok, stop, I get it.” More laughter as the marines walked away. He sighed, but was immediately accosted from behind. The floor fell out from under him, and suddenly his only view was blue armor, “F***, Sunny what the hell.”

She shifted him into a more comfortable position over her shoulder, “This is a hostage situation. You will not be released till you get at least eight hours of sleep, there are no other options.”

Vir sighed, “Guess I don’t have much say.”

“Nope.”

Stress is a human’s worst enemy, and it is our job to make sure our humans stay healthy.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #Earth is space Ausralia #earth is a deathworld

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boop-e-pie · 3 years

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hallluuu! i’m back with a second story! idk who liked my previous story but thank you! i give you, hallway no.7!

Well, every family has that one thing they hide from everyone. My family has 7. For us, we hide the fact that we are cold blooded murderers. Trained from birth to bring death upon people. For the right price, of course.

My Grammy, Grand Papi, Mom and Dad, they are absolutely skilled killers. No one in our bloodline has ever got caught. We intend to keep it that way. My brother, Henry, his weapon of choice are daggers. I have no idea how many he carries but they seem to never run out. At times I thought he had magical abilities. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t!

Then we meet my little sister, Joey. She’s 16 and her weapon of choice is a spear and katanas. Dad made it so that she can adjust the length of her spear at any time, to ease her in her battles. Body count: 27. Not bad for a newbie.

I’m Sonic. I know, I have the coolest name in my family. I forced them to change it when I was 6. I would kill the house cats every time they said no. It’s pretty fucked up if you think of it... Anyway, my weapon of choice is anyweaponIcanfindbecauseIamindecisiveandcannotchoosetosavemylife. I would bring the first thing my eyes land on the second we enter the weaponry. There’s anything and everything you could imagine. Katanas? Check! Guns? Check! Portable mine bombs? Check! Phone bomb? Check!

Like I said, anything and everything you could imagine. Literally ANYTHING! My dad can make anything he puts his mind to. I, on the other hand, am helpless when it comes to creating weapons. I failed every single attempt and would end up just hurting myself. Nevertheless, I am the best assassin in my bloodline. I am very versatile and I adapt to the situation very quickly. I beat my dad multiple times under 2 minutes and he held the title for best assassin so badabing-badaboom, I’m the best now.

Every year we would hold an election day. We would choose 1 person in our beautiful country of Velenznova, the best of the best of fighters and see if they can survive a treacherous night in the hallways of our house. We would scare and maim and hurt the challenger. If they survive... I don’t know what will happen if they survive, no one in 27 years has been able to survive the house. Everyone who survived ended up getting killed by my stupid bloodlust controlled brother, Henry.

Apparently this year, things are going to change. For some reason, a group of 10 kids are going to be living with us, in our massive house for about a month and as per my dad’s rules, they cannot know a thing. If they came at any other time, I would be fine but right now, requests are coming in hot and coming in fast. At times I would come home all bloodied and messy, only to drop dead in the lobby. I can’t do that now.

Sunday night, they arrive at our house with their bags and their books and their little nerdy things. I don’t know, okay? All of them look absolutely weird and awkward but smart and composed. One of them catches my eye. I jump from the first floor window, all the way down to the pebble covered ground. I land in front of a young lady, delicate looking and sweet.

“Name‘s Sonic. You are?” I put my hand out and she smiles and accepts it.

“Eden. Sonic is a pretty weird name. Also, where did you come from? You appeared out of nowhere.” She asks me with a shy look on her face and my heart completely melts. I take her hand, folding every single finger except for the pointer finger and points to the windows I jumped from. She giggles and tells me that’s amazing. I know I’m amazing but I like hearing it from her.

Henry drags me by the collar and pulls me away. Eden lets out a small giggle before I wave my hand at her as I was being dragged by my brother. Henry warns me about flirting with other people and I roll my eyes. He is such a party pooper.

My sister informs me that I have to leave for work and Henry let’s go. Joey pulls me by the ear and drags me into the office. That was not a fun experience. I unlock the secret door to enter the weaponry and a whole bookcase moves out of the way.

We close the door behind us and punch in the code so that we can walk through the iron vault door. My eyes meet with a beautiful freshly forged Karambit. I take it off the glass table and test it out. I absolutely love it! The small size, the speed it gives me, the cool spinny thing I can do with it. My dad truly is the best.

I enter the changing room to change into something more comfortable to fight in and I put on my “assassin cloak”. My family still does that for some reason. I get out of the room and I pick and choose other weapons too like a couple guns, a few hidden daggers and a garrote wire just because I can bring it.

My sister and I leave the mansion through the secret back door and we start doing our job. Today’s job is to burst into a meeting, kill everyone and not die. Apparently they’ve been importing cheap drugs and selling it to a drug lord saying it’s a premium drug. That’s just a death wish if you ask me.

The meeting is taking place in a reserved casino, that makes things so much easier. We kill whoever isn’t involved and kill whoever that’s involved, easy. We enter through the kitchen door, obviously as no one is stupid enough to try and hurt us while we’re bringing katanas and guns.

To be honest, only one person has to die but why not finish all of them? Why not? We burst through the door and to our surprise, they have guns. Well so do I.

I give Joey a smile before we start completely obliterating everyone. Some dude really tried to pull me back by yanking my cloak but guess what? There’s a thing called velcro. I stick a dagger through his chest and he falls to the ground.

I make my way to the boss and there’s 4 men defending him. None of them are armed? That’s is so stupid. Joey finishes off the rest and I take my gun out from the back of my pants and shoot the boss straight in the head while Joey finishes off the other 4 guys. Everyone is now on the floor, bleeding one way or another and to make sure everything is all fine and dandy, I place a bullet in each of their heads, finishing each and every one of them.

Joey and I return to the car and drive away as fast as possible.

“I’m tired, aren’t you?” Joey asks me.

“I am totally drained. You wanna get some food after this? My treat,” I offer and she nods. “Right now, we have a problem. How the hell are we going to be able to return to our rooms? Windows? I’m so tired to climb—“

“Basement,” we say we at the same time and I step on the gas. We get home and we sneak to the back of the house all bloodied and dirty and enter the basement through a trapdoor.The basement hallways are always lit so we don’t have to worry about a single thing. We open the door leading to the kitchen and my dad is standing on the other side.

He’s making food. Joey’s eyes light up instantly. We’re not allowed to get food until after we’re clean so Joey and I run up to our rooms, taking off our cloaks, gloves and masks on the way up the flights of stairs. I entered my room, shower and cleaned myself before heading to the kitchen. My dad made us steaks and mashed potatoes.

“They’re here because we are one of the founding families. Play nice and absolutely no flirting. I’m talking to you, Sonic. Henry told me your little encounter with one of the girls.” My dad glares at me and I look away, pretending to know nothing of the incident. “All your missions are on hold for now. We’ll figure out something.”

“Wait, what? Then what am I going to do all month? Just sit around at the estate?” My sister glares at me, knowing that she can’t leave the house for any other reason other than work. I roll my eyes at her and turn my attention at my dad. He nods and I groan.

I don’t really have a say but he’s paying me while I am stuck at home so whatever.

“My grandparents give us the money to buy whatever crap we want because we can’t leave the estate until we’re 18. My sister can’t leave home yet so I rarely leave too. My brother on the other hand, loves to go out. Understandable,” I tell Eden what goes on in our house and she lets out a giggle. “You can’t leave the house until you’re 18? Wow. What do you do here? Let me guess, laptop and lotion?”

“That’s where you put the bar, Eden? Ouch. The estate is massive. We would go horse riding or swimming or archery or tennis or combat training or sit inside and read. We do sports a lot. Up until I was 19, my dad made me study 8 hours a day. From the age of 6, we’ve been spending a lot of time studying. We’re pretty smart for people who don’t leave the estate much.” I tell her and she seems pretty amazed.

We continue walking and she notices a pretty hidden door that we keep several weaponry. My dad explained to me last night that they can know that we are weaponsmiths but they can’t know that we are assassins. I place my hand on the RFID detector and the chip in my wrist unlocks the door. I pull out the hidden compartment and I notice a bloody dagger that I use in one of the missions.

She looks at it and picks it up by the handle, careful not to touch the blood. She asks for an explanation and I lift up my shirt, pointing to one of my many many scars. I take the dagger out of her hand and I keep it in my pocket. She takes out a katana and she hands it to me. I do a few tricks here and there with the sole reason to impress her.

I hear my sister’s very high-pitched voice and I know that I am in trouble. I am holding her sword without her permission and I know I am in very very deep trouble. I turn towards her and she has 2 other people following her. “You are supposed to give her a tour, not show her tricks and do funny business! Dad is taking away your card if you slip up and all access to your thing!”

I crouch down to her height and tease her. “When have I ever slipped up? I know my place, kiddie. I am done with the tour, okay? Don’t worry about me.” I pat her head and she glares at me.

Eden takes my hand and pulls me to the end of the hallway. She points to the door and she asks me what’s inside that room. I tell her that there's a hallway that no one can enter. It’s a lie but she doesn't know that. Oh well. I lie to her that I can’t enter by tapping my wrist on the detector and it won’t open.

There’s a special code we have to tap to get in and obviously I didn’t do that. Hallway number 7 is absolutely off limits to anyone and everyone outside of our family. In there, lies our deepest darkest secret and NO ONE can find out or we’re done for.

I lead back to the kitchen and I tell the chef to cut up some fruits for us. He obliges and I turn my attention to Eden. “What information do you want to know about my family? What’s not enough on your little notebook of yours?” She thinks it’s flirting and she starts blushing. Lord, save me.

“I want to know what was like growing up in the estate. You can’t leave, you’re locked inside. How did it feel?”

“Pretty normal. It’s not like we don’t have the internet and I can leave but for a good reason. My parents didn’t lock me up in here, I just didn’t like leaving. I get anxious and this house is a safe place for me. I played a lot and I got really fit but I still enjoyed reading and stuff. In our house, there’s always a balance. My childhood was mostly my siblings and I playing in the field, classes with Mr Harrows and helping my dad and mom in the workshop and the tailor. Most of the time, I don’t like people outside of my family because we can’t just trust anyone right? My dad and mom really taught me to know who to trust and not to.” I lied again. My childhood was mostly school and combat training. We did play around but that’s after 8 hours of ‘school’ and 10 hours of training. By the time we finish our training, all of us would be completely drained, no one wanted to play.

We continued chatting and thankfully none of the questions were about how we even get the money we have. My dad sells weapons and my mom is a fashion designer/tailor. Neither of the jobs is enough to pay for the estate. Not even close. I wonder what my dad said about that question. It’s probably about old money or some bullshit like that. It’s not a full lie like the ones I’ve been telling her but our ‘old money’ is in the Velenznova bank. We just don’t use any of it. The money in the bank is just for show.

Later that night, all my family members were required to meet up at the forbidden hallway and one by one entered the hallway. Making sure none of us looked suspicious. the door actually leads to another room but we just call it Hallway Number 7 to throw people off. The door will automatically close after 30 seconds and I was the last one to enter so I didn’t think about anything as I walked in. I take my seat and I say, “I don’t like tradition being changed. The kids can enter the house, look though our shit and we can’t kill any of them? That’s a bummer. That Eden girl is so tiny, I just wish to break her neck and—“

I hear a gasp from the door and it’s Eden. I smirk at her and walk towards her. The door closes, completely sealing off the sound proof and windowless room. “You know a little too much, Princess… I’m sorry but you have to leave.”

Crying, she says, “Sonic, I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Please don’t hurt me.”

I glide my hand on her cheek and with a swift motion, I break her very delicate neck. The sound she made as her neck was being snapped sounded so soft. I turn to my family and shrug. The look of disappointment on their faces are obvious. My grandmother groans and says, “we’ll deal with the family. Sonic, you clean this up. Henry, follow me. Joey, pack her things. Sonic, make sure she’s really dea—“ I pierce her heart with the dagger I have in my pocket from before, cutting off my grandmother. “Micheal, you did a poor job in raising him… you really did.” I start laughing and my dad glares at me, cutting me short.

Eden’s dead because she knows the secret. Guess what?

YOU'RE NEXT!

#short story #oneshot #original story #english #new story #please like if you read

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himikochan · 4 years

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SJW Handbook and Advice - CHICAGO-CENTRIC

Hello everyone I’ve been compiling info for protesters and non-protesters for Chicago and I thought I’d share it here. It’s copy and pasted from a few different posts but it’s somewhat comprehensive and draws on a lot of ideas I’ve seen circulating. Not all of this info is Chicago-specific, but I do talk about local laws in Chicago and bail funds in Chicago.

SAFETY AND GOOD CONDUCT AT A PROTEST

-Tear gas: the agent in tear gas that's painful, lachrymator, binds to water molecules. It's so effective because it gets into your throat/lungs/eyes and also binds to the moisture on your skin. If you suspect tear gas might be used at a protest [which honestly you should just guess now], you should try to make sure as much of your body is covered as possible- wear long sleeves and pants and try to cover your hair. If possible, have gloves and goggles or sunglasses handy. When you are exposed to tear gas, try to get a wet cloth against your face ASAP- the moisture on the cloth will bind to the lachrymator and prevent it from getting inside of you. Pour water on a bandana or mask and try to keep it as close to your body as possible. Walk away from the cloud of gas ASAP- and before you go inside your home, try to stuff your clothes into a bag [wash them in 4-5 days when the lachrymator isn't as reactive anymore]. Take a shower as soon as possible and try to wash your hair 2-3 times- some people have told me that you should take a cold shower. If you are directly exposed to lachrymator and it gets in your eyes/mouth/nose, rinse with milk or a water/baking soda solution ASAP. Lachrymator is a very unstable molecule and either of those is pretty effective at neutralizing it.

-IF you're in a position to try and take care of a tear gas canister [if you've come prepared with a traffic cone, water, a mask, and goggles- or you're reckless as shit] cover it with a traffic cone. That will trap the fumes. Then pour as much water as you can into the traffic cone, hopefully it will put out the fuse inside the canister. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN ATTEMPTING TO DO THIS- and do some more research on how to do it properly. I have not personally had a chance to use this tactic.

-The cops may have vans with IMSI catchers and/or cell phone jammers: IMSI catchers gather information about you and cell phone jammers prevent you from being able to use your phone. Carry a watch, make an exit plan with a vehicle/public transit OUTSIDE of the area where the protest is happening, and sharpie the phone number of an emergency contact on your body. There may come a time where you want to shut off your phone- even if you don't get detained, knowing there is a friendly phone number you can access will make you feel better. Be careful about taking pictures of fellow protesters’ faces- the police are using pictures on social media to target protesters after the fact. UPDATE: I just saw another post about IMSI catchers/stingray stuff. They suggest leaving your phone at home because turning your phone off is a break in your normal patterns and can be used in a prosecution. They suggest using a burner phone- this might be the way to go if you live in a city where IMSI stuff is confirmed. SECOND UPDATE: Imperfect protection measures STILL DO SOME GOOD. There are plenty of reasons you can be in a position where you need your cell phone on you and turning off your location services and/or putting on airplane mode for a time may still do you some good!!! IMSI catchers rely upon being the strongest signal in an area [cells automatically connect to whatever seems to be the strongest signal carrier]. From what I understand IMSI catchers have a limited range and basically a max capacity of how many phones they can support while still being the strongest signal in a given area. So for large protests, they'd need to deploy a lot of trucks with IMSI catchers to collect lots of data about crowds. IN MY PERSONAL PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE, which is not universal and may be out dated information, the Chicago police tend to use cell phone jammers [which prevent you from getting a signal at all]. This way they can try to stop protesters from calling/texting each other- make an out strategy with the people accompanying you about where to rendezvous if you're separated. Here is a little information regarding IMSI catcher use in Illinois."The law permits law enforcement agencies to use CSS devices only to locate, track the location of, or identify a communications device—in other words, they cannot configure them to capture the content of any communications. [...] Is CPD abiding by state law rules? It is impossible to say without any record-keeping or audits. CPD has not responded to our most recent FOIA request for information about any new policies, procedures, or records on its use of this technology, so we can only assume that it has not developed any."

-That being said: many capabilities of your phone rely upon knowing where you are to work. So IMSI catchers aren't the only thing you need to worry about.

-If you're able, bring water and some first aid supplies [such as gauze, tape, antibacterial cream, saline solutions, gloves, wipes etc] for fellow protesters [and maybe snacks]. Even at past tepid protests, I've seen fellow protesters fall into glass or hurt themselves trying to climb into higher ground just to see. If you don't know how to administer first aid for things like lacerations, ASK FOR HELP. Many protests have people trained to help and we're all in this together. You might want to read this thread on gunshot wounds, it's better to loosely know what you're supposed to do, just in case. Learn to apply a tourniquet- hint, it’s not just putting a belt around someone’s leg. The snacks are to keep everyone’s spirits up and remind us that we’re in this TOGETHER.

-Running is easier with a backpack than a messenger bag, wear comfortable shoes, and have something to write with. The mood might strike you to change your sign a bit,

-If you’re protesting in an area that isn’t close to where you live, try and reach out to someone that lives in the area. You may need to get out quickly and no way to get home and need a safe house- in Chicago, the mayor instituted a curfew from 9pm-6am at 9:04 tonight after the city had blocked every bridge and shut down public transit. Protesters are now basically locked into our downtown area with no way to get home and the police are allowed to detain anyone outdoors.

-Check in with other protesters. Do your best to maintain social distancing, but try to make sure that your fellow protesters are not lagging behind due to injury or something else. Solidarity is the goal above all else.

Lori Lightfoot has kept the curfew in place and Chicagoans are expected off the streets between 9pm-6am until further notice unless they have an "essential job". Public transit has been stopped altogether in many areas- so if you have to go out, book enough time for you to walk there and back.

Here are some important reminders of your rights- if your are arrested, stopped in you car, and what to do with your phone. PLEASE READ THEM FOR YOUR SAFETY. KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

IF YOU ARE STOPPED:

-In Chicago, the police are permitted to ask your name and address and other questions (to determine if you are involved in a past/present crime). I believe you only NEED to give them your name, regardless of how many questions they ask you.

-You should refresh yourself on how to properly invoke your right to remain silent. Remember to ask “Am I under arrest/being detained?” If they say yes, you HAVE to say “I’m invoking my right to a publicly provided lawyer, and my right to remain silent.” SAY EXACTLY THAT- variations of that phrase are NOT always effective and the cops will use any opportunity they can to undermine your rights and not give you a lawyer. YOU MUST STAY SILENT- otherwise you’re technically waiving your right to remain silent and MUST EXPLICITLY re-invoke your right when you’re done talking for it to apply.

IF YOU ARE STOPPED FOR QUESTIONING:

-Police may “pat-down” your clothing if they suspect a concealed weapon. The ACLU says do not physically resist, but make it clear that you don’t consent to any further search.

IF YOU ARE STOPPED IN YOUR CAR:

-Upon request, show them your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance. In certain cases, your car can be searched without a warrant as long as the police have probable cause. To protect yourself later, you should make it clear that you do not consent to a search. It is not lawful for police to arrest you simply for refusing to consent to a search.

ON THE TOPIC OF UNLOCKING YOUR PHONE:

I haven't found any hard and fast rules about whether or not you have to unlock your phone if you are held by the police. A Vox article from February 2020 says "If your phone is protected by a passcode or biometric unlocking features, there’s a chance cops can’t gain access to your personal data. But that’s not guaranteed. [...] But if your phone is locked with a passcode and law enforcement can’t hack into it, the Fifth Amendment may be your friend. Essentially, the Fifth Amendment says you can’t be compelled to give self-incriminating testimony. [...] Testimony, in this case, is defined as revealing the contents of your own mind. Therefore, civil rights advocates say, the government can’t force you to tell them your phone’s password." But this is still being played out in the courts- there's tons of pending cases and no real precedence for this on either side.

Freedom.press in an April 2020 article says "If you are arrested or taken into police custody, you should verbally state that you do not consent to a search of your devices. A law enforcement agency is only permitted to conduct a warrantless search of your device if a compelling case for an emergency can be made." There's a lot of potentially useful information in their article, which I will link in the comments.

REMEMBER- cops are easily protected most of the time for infringing on our rights regarding being searched if it could be considered "reasonably" legal for them to do so [even if it isn't]. Saying "I want a lawyer, dog" does not invoke your right to an attorney, being silent does not invoke your right to remain silent, if you do not verbally refuse to be searched your silence is taken as consent to be searched. The limited dissemination of information on the legality of searching a phone could protect them if they coerced/forced you to unlocking your phone.

If you are in Chicago and see a post/event about protesting today or tomorrow [June 1st]. DO RIGHT BY YOURSELF AND MAKE SURE IT'S A REAL PROTEST.

I've heard that some VERY suspicious people are putting together a BLM protest in Chicago tomorrow. These people are NOT experienced organizers, NOT affiliated with BLM Chicago, and NOT known to anyone in the Chicago organizing/protesting communities.

We KNOW that a lot of the rioting and looting in other cities were begun and propagated by the police and white supremacist groups [not by protesters or ordinary citizens]. We do not know if these people are cops, white supremacists, or just irresponsible folx, but it could very well be a trap to escalate violence, incarcerate allies, and justify the Mayor granting more restrictions on the city.

The source I saw was for the purpose of organizing medics to deal with the inevitable fall out, but protect yourself and your fellow protestors by not going to this sham event.

Hello everyone- protesting not your cup of tea? That's okay! Protesting is the showiest part of being an active citizen and activist, but it's by no means the most important part.

Below, I'll be posting links for people that need your money AND non-monetary ways you can help.

-If you know people protesting in your area, offer them a place to clean up afterwards and possibly crash if public transit is closed off. If you can safely offer them a shower and a place to change clothes- that can make a huge difference. It could help them evade being targeted by the police on the way home, buy them time to get home without being part of a crowd, and they may need a place to wash off residual tear gas or pepper spray [or the blood of a comrade]

-If there are protests in your area and you have extra supplies [water, pre-packaged snacks, materials for signs, gloves, first aid kits, masks, etc], you can hand them off to a protester OR leave them in a place they'll find them with a note.

-Be wary showing the faces of protesters on your social media or having them saved online. Be mindful about who you're sharing details of a protest or protesters with and try to do your best about sharing accurate information about donations. One of the bail funds in another city recently had someone set up a fake venmo account under the name of the bail fund and many people donated to it, believing they were helping bail people out.

-Your friends with small businesses may want help or need supplies boarding up their windows- most protesters are avoiding small businesses when things turn sour [and in fact, most looting and rioting appears to trace back to undercover cops and white supremacists right now] but it's still a good idea to close up shop if you can. See if anyone needs help securing their business. .-Make fliers about properly administering first aid, basic rights regarding being detained/questioned/arrested, and phone numbers of local communal bail funds.

-Many people who were on the fence about BLM, police brutality, and protesting are beginning to see the truth of it all now that the pandemic has forced us to confront racial/ethnic and class inequality. We have more allies than we did before- make sure to give them the toolkit necessary to enacting change.

Protesters need funds in so many places right now:

-Chicago Communal Bail https://chicagobond.org/

-ACLU Illinoishttps://www.aclu-il.org/en/donate

-BLM Chicago https://www.blacklivesmatterchicago.com/donate/

-The Family of George Floyd https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd

-Minnesota Freedom Fund https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/

-ACLU Minnesota https://www.aclu-mn.org/en/donate

-The Bail Project https://bailproject.org/

#BLM #BLM Chicago #Chicago #Protest #Protests #Protesting Advice #advice #just advice from your local Nikkeijin thats been protesting since they could walk

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