#duct tape that all back together in the box in my brain until the next random trigger (bc i still dunno exactly what made this one go) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sourw0lfs · 11 months

Note

For the writing prompts:

"What's with the box?" for Steddie 😛❤️

It's the way that this ended up being almost 1800 words because I got a brainworm that just wouldn't quit. Thank you, love!

EDIT: this is now also on AO3

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A smarter man would have just left things alone, but literally no one has ever accused Eddie Munson of being smart. A smartass maybe, but not smart. Something about never being able to keep his focus on anything that matters, but in Eddie’s most humble opinion, the duct tape covered box sitting in front of him on the coffee table matters. Quite a lot, actually, thank you very much.

Because the thing is, the box on the coffee table has haunted him for the last four years, and he’s about ready to get to the bottom of things. At first, sure, he was willing to leave it alone, to let Steve keep a secret or two from him, but then the box never got opened as it moved with them through two apartments and a house. So it clearly isn’t something that’s getting unpacked any time soon. If ever, really. And it is slowly eating Eddie’s brain, the longer he looks at it without any answers.

He knows that he could just remove the lid and take a peek all on his own, but that seems dishonest because he doesn’t have permission, and there’s no way he’d be able to keep it from Steve the second he walked through the front door. So instead, Eddie’s grand plan is simply sitting on the couch with the box in front of him, waiting for Steve to get home to ask. On some level, he fully expects to not get an answer, considering it’s been four years and it’s never come up before now. But at least he’ll be able to say he tried and maybe that’ll be enough to quell the slowly gnawing on his mind about the contents.

Currently, he’s losing a staring contest with the box, contemplating all of the things it could possibly be, until the sound of the front door closing tears him away again. Or well, he jolts, honestly. Nearly straight off the couch as his gaze whips up to a befuddled Steve standing there, keys still in hand as he takes in the scene in front of him.

There’s already a delicious pink blush rising to his cheeks, and that only serves to make Eddie more curious about the box. Because whatever it is…. Steve is embarrassed by it. And maybe that should be enough to get him to drop it before he even starts, but Eddie’s like a dog with a bone now. It’s too late to back out now.

“Hi Stevie!” he greets with a wide grin, trying to hide just how much he wants to fidget under Steve’s gaze.

“Eds,” Steve’s returned greeting is not nearly so cheerful. If anything, it’s cautious, like Steve thinks Eddie’s already had his peek inside the box.

Eddie lets his eyes trail back down to the silver box for a second before back up again. “I didn’t look,” he promises. “I just… It’s been living in our closet since we moved in together and you never open it and I’m just so fucking curious about what could possibly be inside. It’s literally started popping up in my dreams, trying to figure out what’s with the box, why does Steve never open it, what could he possibly be hiding.”

He’s rambling now and he knows it, but the words just keep coming, trying to placate Steve when he isn’t even visibly upset. Yet. It’s probably yet. As the words sink in, Steve’s face gets impossibly pinker, the blush traveling all the way up to the tips of his ears and down his neck. It’s adorable and Eddie wants to kiss all over it, but he’s a man on a mission right now, so he’s gonna be patient. Even if blushing Steve is one of his favorite Steves.

But even as Steve’s blush travels down into the collar of his shirt, Eddie can already see him giving in. It should probably make him feel bad, because Steve is clearly uncomfortable, but he also trusts that Steve would tell him if he was overstepping. Instead Steve just sighs as he toes off his shoes before crossing the room to sit next to Eddie on the couch. Once he’s within reaching distance, Eddie leans to smack a kiss on his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly as he leans back again. “Not if you really don’t want to.”

“It’s not important.” Steve’s hand is already hovering over the lid though and Eddie waits on the edge of his seat. “It’s just… kind of embarrassing? For me.”

“Do I need to start listing all of the ways I’m embarrassing to help you work up the courage?” Eddie asks, mostly teasing but fully willing to do it if it helps Steve.

Steve shakes his head though, fingers curling under the lid of the box and finally, slowly lifting it to reveal the contents. And for all that Eddie’s been plagued by the box for literal years, seeing the assortment of notebooks inside is a bit anticlimactic. He’d been expecting something illegal at the very least, maybe even something kind of sinister. Not… notebooks. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Without a single thought in his head, Eddie reaches out for one, half expecting Steve to stop him before he can grab, but the top notebook gets lifted out of the box without much fanfare. Eddie gets it settled in his lap just in time for Steve to face plant in one of the throw pillows Robin had insisted the couch needed. The reaction makes Eddie pause, but he hasn’t been told to stop, so he just…

He flips the cover open and is met with a full page of Steve’s hasty, somewhat messy scrawl amidst a mess of crossed through lines. The words at the top of the page have been written over several times to make them bolder and darker than the rest, almost like a title. Then Eddie starts to read.

As he reads over the words Steve has scribbled down, he realizes that the bolded words are a title. And that the words following it down this page and the next and the next, on and on, are… poems.

Eddie’s made it about ten pages in, furrow in his brow getting more and more pronounced as he goes, when Steve finally pulls himself back up, fidgeting in the quiet of the room. His face has moved from pink to red sometimes during his attempt to become one with the pillows. “They’re so bad, I know,” he’s already rushing to say, seeing how many pages Eddie has gone through, is still going through. “You don’t have to tell me. I just…”

He’s cut off by lips pressing themselves to his with a clack of teeth, the thud of the notebook hitting the coffee table next to the box lost somewhere in his noise of surprise. Eddie’s hands wind themselves into Steve’s hair, tugging him closer, just for a moment before Eddie is pulling back again, hands trailing down to rest on either side of Steve’s face.

“They’re not bad, love,” Eddie assures him as he leans to pepper kisses all over Steve’s face. “They’re actually kind of fucking phenomenal.”

It’s then that Steve tries to escape his grip, head shaking in between Eddie’s palms. “No, no, they’re not,” he argues but the words are barely out before he’s being kissed again.

“Stop arguing with me,” Eddie says against his lips with another kiss to follow. “I know good writing. You know I know good writing.”

Because between the two of them Eddie is the one that reads, he’s the one that writes short stories here and there outside of running campaigns. And sure, maybe he’s a little biased because it’s Steve but he likes to think he can make a good call even then. The words do their trick though, and Steve doesn’t argue again. Instead he wiggles free of Eddie’s hold and buries his face in his hands.

Eddie takes it as encouragement to keep reading, all but diving back into the notebook he’d abandoned to make his reassurances. “Are all of these like this?” he asks as he flips to a new page.

“Most of them yeah…” Steve’s voice is small and muffled behind his hands, but he’s peeking out now, watching as Eddie devours page after page. Then slowly, oh so slowly, his hands lower. “I started after all of the….” He waves a hand vaguely but Eddie gets it. “To get the thoughts and feelings out. And then it just sort of became a habit, or like… an escape?”

As Steve explains, Eddie nods, already reaching into the box for a second notebook. “Have you ever thought about publishing them?” Eddie pauses for a second, frowning at the page in front of him with a thoughtful expression. “The more vague ones at least. I don’t think the government would like the ones actually using the proper terms floating around out there.”

The blush on Steve’s face, with had finally been receding, comes back full force as he stares at Eddie with wide eyes. “They’re not that…” he starts but trails off with a shake of his head as Eddie levels him with a stare of his own, raised eyebrow and all. “You really think they’re that good?”

“Definitely. Especially the newer ones.”

Because honestly, I’s easy to tell what part of Steve’s life he was at page by page, at least for Eddie. He flips the page again and chuckles as the hearts drawn in the margins this time before his eyes focus on the words. As he reads, a smile works its way over Eddie’s face, different from the grin he’d been sporting the whole time, softer and more meaningful. When he’s done, the notebook finds itself closed and placed back in the box and Steve finds himself with a lap full of boyfriend.

“I see you got to the poems about you,” Steve chuckles, barely able to get the words out between kisses. “Glad you like them.”

“Love them,” Eddie says against his lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too, idiot.”

Eddie hums into the kiss before burrowing his head in Steve’s shoulder to place kisses along his neck. “Your idiot that’s going to bully you into getting published.”

“We’ll talk about it later. When you’re not trying to devour my neck,” Steve compromises, but Eddie takes the win, nipping his agreement against Steve’s skin. They both know he won’t forget. No matter how much Steve tries to distract him.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie brainrot #steve harrington x eddie munson #fox writes things #fox answers #writing prompts

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thera-daydreams · 3 years

Text

INDAY

± A Trese Fic ±

[Crispin/Basilio/Maliksi/Dominic x Skymaiden!Reader]

01: Noon at Ngayon (✓)

02: Ang Kambal na Anak ni Datu Talagbusao, Diyos ng Digmaan (Link)

03: Ang Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang (Link)

04: Ang Pinuno ng Mga Aswang (Link)

05: (Link) 06: (Link) 07: (Link)

01: Noon at Ngayon

Back then, long before you were born, your mother used to work as a katulong of the Trese Family and was very close to its matriarch, Miranda Trese. Coming from the province, she was no stranger to superstitions—even more so after knowing the work of Miranda's husband Anton Trese, who was actually the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila.

Years later, after giving birth to you around the same time Miranda gave birth to her twins (one a stillborn, unfortunately), it was you and Alexandra who became best buddies instead, as different your personalities were. You two had practically grown up together and you yourself heard countless stories of the supernatural from your Tito Anton. It wasn't that hard to believe when he and his sigbin companions would sometimes come home tracking blood prints on the floors (which you'd helped your mother clean up). Heck, you'd even met Señor Armanaz, the Great Stallion himself and the ruling tikbalang of the Armanaz herd. That pretty, white-haired diwata seemed extremely fond of you, too, which was evident when you'd sneak in with Alexandra to Tito Anton's meetings and she would smile (even wave) at you happily.

You had absolutely no idea why the fae-like lady was so nice to you, but you weren't complaining at all!

However, in spite of your experiences with the supernatural, you and your mother always believed that you were normal humans. In actuality, that was who you were for the majority of your childhood. It was only until Miranda herself saw a vision of you—a much older you—fighting the monsters of the Underworld alongside her own daughter. During dinnertime, Miranda told your mother that she saw you blessed by the heavens with powers that would aid in the battle against evil.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, right? Yeah, your mom thought so, too.

Your mother only laughed it off as she placed a steaming bowl of tinola in front of Alexandra's brothers, who instantly dug in like they haven't been fed in years.

"Boys! Dahan-dahan lang," Anton reprimanded his sons. "Or else you'll choke and the soup will come out of your noses!"

"Okay, Papa."

"Grabe ka naman, Miranda. I doubt that anything like that's going to happen to my daughter," your mom chuckled, watching your little hands try to feed Alexandra with a piece of chicken. "Unlike you guys, our lineage isn't anything special. Ordinaryo lang ang lahi namin."

Miranda sighed, looking at you and her only living daughter enjoying your time being kids, "I guess you're right. Baka panaginip lang talaga 'yun."

Anton glanced at her knowingly. Although he was aware that you and your mom didn't dabble in magic or anything like they did, he knew that whenever Miranda—one of the Seven Seers—had such vivid dreams, it was something of great importance. But he decided to say nothing, understanding how much your mother wanted to let you live as normal of a life possible in this household.

That was when you were seven years old. One year later, Miranda died fighting against a group of aswang who decided to betray Anton. Said man found the eight-year-old Alexandra hiding in a corner behind the waterfalls, scared and holding Sinag close to her heaving chest as she tried to hold her tearful sobs in.

Of course, a few days later, you and your mother attended the funeral with the mourning Trese family. All the brothers had done their best to stay strong, especially for their little sister who didn't fully understand yet what just happened. Little you ran towards Alexandra, holding her hand tightly as her mother's casket was lowered. Around you were various comrades, both human and non-human, paying their respects to their bereaved allies.

That day, as you turned your back to return to your mother's arms, you knew you would never forget the feeling of numerous unearthly eyes following your every movement.

Even they could sense that there was something about you, a so-called regular human child. You smelled human and had the aura of one, but there was something they couldn't place. It was like a tiny rock getting into your shoe, not coming out at all.

Much changed after that, but you and Alexandra remained close together. To your dismay, just after you graduated elementary, you and your mother had to move back to the province to stay with your sick grandparents. The last thing you could remember was kneeling in the back of the car, looking sadly through the rear windscreen as Alexandra and her brothers waved goodbye to you.

More than a decade had passed since then. You used to write letters to Alexandra, but after Hank told you she had to undergo the trials of the Puno ng Balete, you haven't heard from her (although Hank did disclose that she'd managed to come home safely, which was a great relief to you). You didn't blame her; you knew Tito Anton had passed away in the five years she was gone and that she had to take over the title of Lakan, as well as the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila. It was a demanding job! You remembered Tito Anton sometimes staying up all night—breakfast would be served and he would still be in his study, going over paperwork. On other days, he would be gone for consecutive nights handling cases all around Manila. You could only pray Alexandra was fine.

Your life had continued on, as well—you took care of your ill grandparents until they died, helped your mother in the province, went to a good highschool, then earned your degree in another prominent city that wasn't Manila.

Your mom actually recommended that you go to school somewhere else, given the constantly rising number of attacks in the capital of the country. And so you did. Life was hard, but normal until then.

The funny thing was that, when you reached the age of twenty-one, you finally understood why those supernatural creatures kept looking at you weirdly as a kid (and why Lady Diwata liked you so much).

What was even funnier was that the dramatic revelation came to you when you weren't in the Philippines. It was after you freshly graduated college, when you were traveling all over Asia to volunteer in charity projects. It was always your dream to one day expand your horizons not only beyond your province, but the Philippines itself, while also doing good in the world.

And here you were, walking that path you dreamt of.

The organization you luckily managed to become a member of provided everything you needed, and every few months, you would move from country to country. Because of that, you'd already been able to travel to so many places. First it was Thailand, then Indonesia, China, South Korea, India, Japan, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, and currently, you were in Vietnam. Visiting those places was fun and gave you a whole new perspective of the world you lived in; it was a... learning experience, too.

Still, that incident happened when you were in Thailand, when you were the last one in the rented apartment balcony taping up the boxes for the donation drive tomorrow. Yawning, you cut more duct tape and stuck them to the open boxes tightly.

"Inday," someone said from behind you. You didn't bother turning around, thinking it was one of your fellow volunteers looking for you this late at night. Probably your roommate. She was the only one who usually called you by your nickname instead of your real name.

"Hmm?" you hummed, taping up more boxes. "Papasok na ako sa kwarto, Lyn. I just have a few more boxes to close. Alam mong mapapagalitan ako kung may hindi madidistribute bukas."

"Hindi ako si Lyn."

You paused, then slowly turned around, flinching at the sudden bright light that shone right against your eyes. For a moment, akala mo namatay ka na at hinaharap mo si San Pedro.

It was a glowing figure in white whose face you couldn't clearly see, which frightened you even more.

"Ay, mama!" you exclaimed, shielding your eyes and falling to your knees. Then, you gasped loudly, patting your body and panicking with closed lids. "Oh my God, am I dead? Nasa heaven na po ba ako?" Your lips wobbled. "Ngayon pa nga lang ako nakaalis ng Pilipinas... I haven't even done all the things I've wanted to do! Hindi pa ako nakapagpaalam sa nanay ko—aray!"

You'd felt something hit the back of your head. Hard. It was the glowing figure in white, but now you could see their unimpressed face scowling at you.

"Kalma lang, Inday. Hindi ka pa patay, pero makinig ka nang mabuti," they shushed you urgently (you weren't sure if they were male or female). "Do not be afraid. I am a messenger from the heavens, and I bear great news!"

"Great news...?" you trailed off, then your eyes widened excitedly. "Like, nanalo ba ako ng lotto? Isang milyon? Bilyon? Hala! Wait, is this a Mama Mary moment? I'm not ready to be the next immaculate conception!"

They glared at you, making you shut up instantly. "Sorry, I'll shut up now," you apologized with a mumble. This person (thing?) was kind of... strict. Whatever did you do wrong? You were just sleep-deprived and running on energy drinks (as well as kape).

"I have come to tell you that you are the vessel of the last skymaiden," they revealed, arms wide open. The light around them seemed to grow even brighter, making you squint. You felt like you were about the go blind! "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N L/N."

At ayun, zero brain cells remaining. Tunay na nagloading screen ang brain mo. Nag-error at nagcrash pa nga siguro, eh.

"... Ha? Ano?"

You blinked, completely speechless—as seen by how wide your jaw had dropped open. It wasn't that you were unfamiliar with the biraddali, it was just that you'd only heard of them once when you were just a young child. Your Tita Miranda had mentioned they were long gone from the world of the supernatural.

"Oh no, me? A biraddali? You're joking," you stuttered out, pointing at yourself. "Aren't they extinct or something? And, uh... not human?"

They nodded, "Yes. It is correct that everyone in the mystical world thought that the biraddali were long gone, even before the colonizers came to conquer the native lands. However, before the skymaidens all disappeared, the youngest and most powerful one among the seven sisters sealed her soul away to the rivers of time until the strength of a heavenly being was needed to help purify the evils of the world." The figure floated closer to you. "That last biraddali's soul, along with its corresponding power, traits, and knowledge, had chosen to reside deep within you the moment you were conceived."

Honestly, how were you even supposed to react? Your life was nowhere near ready for something like this. Was this a prank by your friends? Your colleagues? The light around this person seemed too authentic to be fake, though.

You stayed in shock for an entire minute, silent. The being in front of you only waited for a response.

"Ano 'to, Sailor Moon? Winx Club?" you whispered to yourself, before slapping your own cheek and scolding yourself. A stinging red mark was left on your face. "Inday, kakamanhwa mo 'yan! Nasosobraan ka na ata, matulog ka na!"

Sighing heavily, you rubbed your face tiredly, still in disbelief that you—according to this stranger—were apparently some old soul from a species of ethereal beings that were long gone. It sounded like something out of those reincarnation webnovels you got addicted to. What now, you were the MC? Wattpad ka, girl?

"Look, this is a mistake. I still have to wake up early tomorrow to give out the donations," you spoke to the glowing being (or whatever it was), laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Either that or I must be hallucinating from sleep deprivation, because I'm definitely not a divine creature. You're probably just a product of my imagination. Sorry, I'm going to bed."

Bang!

At that moment, the power in the building went out. The only thing you could see was the thing who assumed you were a biraddali (they were so bright they were like a flashlight in the dark for you).

"Brownout?" you blinked. It felt wrong, though. It was eerily silent. "Did a fuse blow up?"

"Nagsimula na ang iyong unang pagsubok, Y/N," they announced seriously. "Creatures of the dark have already begun to take over this building. You may not have noticed, but all throughout your life, you have always been helping and giving. It is your nature as a being descended from the heavens themselves, and now, it is time for you to accept your destiny."

"Hoy, sandali lang! Sandali, sandali!" You were absolutely wide awake now as you heard the sounds of strange whispers around you. It was terrifyingly creepy, much creepier than whatever you'd seen back in the Trese Residence (and you'd seen a lot in that house). You did not want to be a part of a horror movie-like lifestyle. "Don't I have a choice in this?! I—I don't have any training or fighting skills! Hindi ako Alexandra Trese o Babaylan-Mandirigma! I'm not ready for this, holy sh—"

The candescent creature raised a brow at you, "Inday, I just told you that you have the power of a lost mystical being. And tell me, if you had the power to save your companions in this building from the forces of evil, would you save them?"

You were silent, knowing the answer.

"Well?" they prodded.

You bit your lip, "Oo naman. I'm not heartless!" But you were a little impulsive. And apparently, insane.

"That's what I thought. I just need you to believe in yourself," the being encouraged, gentler this time. It transformed into something smaller and rounder—like a ball of light. "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N, at marami kang kapangyarihan. Isa dito ay ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan, lalo na laban sa masasamang nilalang."

Bestie, what had you just gotten into?

You swallowed apprehensively, then nodded in determination, "Sige. So, how do I save the people in the building? Biraddali were said to be able to shapeshift, right? If I remember the tale correctly. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening to me right now."

"That's just one of your abilities, but I'll teach you. I'm actually your guide," they replied confidently. "With me, you'll be able to master your powers and exceed your capabilities in no time!"

"Wait! Anong pangalan mo?" you asked breathlessly, following them as they speedily flew out of the room. "Grabe, slow down! I'm not athletic! I haven't even exercised this week, goodness."

"... Gabay. Ako si Gabay."

Despite the adrenaline and fear running in your veins, you still grinned up at the ball of light, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Gabay."

This was just the beginning of your supernatural combat training abroad. When you returned to the Philippines three years later, you were stronger, faster, and more powerful than you'd ever felt before. It was crazy.

Oh, that guy who tried to rob you when you came back to Manila was crazy, too. The two identical-looking men in dark suits and white ties—you wondered how they were surviving the heat in that attire—could only watch in awe as you chased down that man who stole your bag while doing acrobatics and parkour.

"Uy, Kuya Crispin, sino kaya 'yun?"

"Ewan ko, Basilio."

"... She's kind of pretty. Type ko. Type mo rin ata."

"The more important question is, paano niya na nahuli ang magnanakaw?"

"Oo nga, no? One in a million chance 'yan dito sa Maynila, haha! Ang astig ni ate!"

(Next Chapter.)

± Author's Notes ±

Ayieee, type daw tayo ng kambal! 😌

How the hell did I write this entirely random thing in one day? 2k+ words? Ano daw? 😃⁉️

You know, this was supposed to just be a Trese one-shot or a bunch of drabbles for the characters I'm currently simping for... but it turned into a full-blown, shameless self-insert slash crackfic. Kakacellphone ko 'yan. 🤦‍♀️

Nagresearch pa ako ng articles about Filipino skymaidens because I wanted something similiar to the Japanese celestial maidens (tennyo). Very random idea but why not? Gusto ko ng badass Y/N na hindi takot lumaban sa mga mumu! 👻

Also, pagbigyan niyo nalang ang matandang 'to kasi ilang taon na akong hindi nagpopost ng mga writings ko. May track record pa naman ako bilang author na hindi nagtatapos ng mga fanfic, hehe. I also haven't read the comics so please forgive me for any inaccuracies and of course, misspellings/errors. Gusto ko lang matapos 'to para makakabalik na ako sa Jujutsu Kaisen. 🥲😗

Anyways, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Hit those heart, reblog, and follow buttons for updates! Just comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. ❤

#trese #trese netflix #trese 2021 #crispin #basilio #maliksi #dominic #x reader #kambal x reader #crispin x reader #basilio x reader #maliksi x reader #dominic x reader #trese x reader #thera.writes

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bigasswritingmagnet · 3 years

Text

Seek a Little Strange and Unusual

Fandom: Psychonauts Pairing: None Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Chloe Barge Summary: One day at the grocery store, Loboto overhears two parents discussing their...problem child. It's a very familiar sounding conversation. He may not understand why, but he won't let history repeat itself. Chloe isn't particularly fond of her human caretakers. The dentist who smuggled her out of the store is strange...but so is she. And he, at least, understands the importance of space helmets on alien planets.

[don’t make tumblr funnyposts about headcanons guys because you WILL become attached to them]

Cucumbers, lighter fluid, toothpaste, apple sauce, quick rise yeast, mineral oil...

Almost everything! All that was left was condiments. Except...had he written ketchup, or catsup? Did it matter? Of course it mattered, they were totally different things! Weren't they? Well, they had different names.

Lobot stared between the bottle of catsup and the scribbled list, trying to read his own handwriting.

"No, no! Put it down--Chloe put that down right now."

Ooooh, drama! He loved drama. Loboto poked his head around the corner of the aisle in time to see a small child standing on their tiptoes, arms outstretched to the cereal boxes on the upper shelf. A brightly colored box of sugar pretending to be a nutritious breakfast was wrapped in a purple glow and descending, slowly.

A woman materialized next to the girl. Her face was tight with anger and she snatched the box out of the air. Shoving it back on the shelf she hissed "What did I tell you? How many times do I have to say it, Chloe! Don't do that! Especially not in public! And I told you take that stupid helmet off when we're in the store!"

The child's response was unintelligible, muffled by the space helmet they were indeed wearing. He wondered what the big deal was. It wasn't the 1940's; nobody cared if you wore a hat in public anymore. Just look at him! He was wearing his showercap and no one had said a word! They just left the aisle as soon as they saw him.

“Take it off, now!”

A man appeared and grabbed the woman's arm.

"Keep your voice down, people are going to come see what the fuss is."

The woman rounded on him, her expression one of frantic desperation.

"I can't do this anymore."

I just don’t care anymore.

"I can't deal with this, the helmet and the moving things around--!"

He’s a monster!

"I know, I know--"

Soon we’ll be free of this devil child.

"I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this! If I have to deal with one more dismantled radio, one more time trying to get her to take it off for company, one more bent spoon--"

Every! Spoon! Bent!

"I've been asking around, and Johnson knows someone who can do a procedure that’ll fix her--"

They all agree on the diagnosis and what must be done.

He felt strange. Cold and hot and angry and...sad. The child didn't seem to notice the conversation. She was trying to float the cereal box back down again. She probably didn't understand what it all meant. She was young. Very young.

Younger than he had been.

He hadn't understood either, until it was too late.

The humans were arguing again. They were always arguing these days. Arguing about such petty problems, when they could be focusing on the whole galaxy around them. She ignored them. It wasn't like they listened to her anyway. How many times had she explained to the woman why she needed to wear the helmet whenever she left the hermetic seal of her room? It never mattered.

The box of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs landed gently in her hands. Excellent. She would slide it into the cart under the frozen peas. By the time they got to the cash register, the woman would be bound by social convention to make the purchase, or risk making a scene in front of the cashier.

Chloe still hadn't figured out what making a scene meant. The term was definitely in regards to public behavior, but was applied to anything from yelling in public to silent refusal to remove her helmet. Human rules were so strange and arbitrary.

The boxes in front of her rustled. Chloe tilted her head to one side. Odd. Sometimes things around her moved on their own, but usually she got that strange tingle in the back of her head when they did. She wasn't feeling it now.

The boxes of cereal parted, excess tumbling off the ends of the shelves. Two small lights gleamed in the newly made gap. One red, one green.

A metal claw shot out, grabbed Chloe by the shirt, and hauled her through.

She had half been expecting to be pulled into another dimension, but instead she was just in the next aisle. There was no time to feel disappointed before she was dumped unceremoniously in a grocery cart. Someone loomed over her, but Chloe only got the impression of blue skin and flowers before the stranger scooped up half a shelf's worth of bags of macaroni and dumped them on top of her.

It didn't hurt. She could breathe fine with her helmet protecting her face--see, she wanted to say, I told you I needed it--but she couldn't move very much. The cart rattled and bumped, one wheel squeaking obnoxiously. They paused briefly, and Chloe considered shouting for help, but didn't. She wanted to see where this was going.

So she stayed quiet and still, holding the box of cereal to her chest as a cheerful voice cried "No need to do your beeping scans! I know what I bought! Keep the change!"

Then they were off again. The sounds around her changed as they left the store and rattle bumped their way through the parking lot. She heard a trunk open up, and decided now was a good time to figure out what was going on. She had no interest in riding with the groceries.

Chloe made the purple glow around her hands and pushed until the groceries around her lifted enough for her to move. She popped out from beneath the macaroni like a beach ball being released underwater.

The stranger was. Strange. Very tall. The lights Chloe had seen were his eyes--or rather, small tubes where his eyes should be. They twitched and turned independently of each other. He was smiling at her, and his smile seemed to stretch much, much further than most human smiles.

He was wearing a labcoat and a shower cap.

"Hello!" he said. "I'm going to kidnap you and raise you as my own so your parents can't stick an icepick in your brain to take away your psychic powers!" He tapped his chin, brow furrowing. One of his arms was made of metal, and ended in three claws. "Although I already did that first part, so...I have kidnapped you and am going to raise you as my own so that your parents can't stick an icepick in your brain to take away your psychic powers!"

Chloe considered this with some alarm. She didn't know what an icepick was, but she was sure she didn't want anything stuck in her brain. Psychic powers? Ah. That would explain the purple glow. Her caretakers had been very frustrated by it. But could she believe that they would stick things in her brain just so they could be less frustrated?

Yes. She could believe.

Her chest hurt. The macaroni was heavier than she first thought.

"Will you let me wear my helmet?" she asked.

"Of course!" He patted his showercap. "Headwear is a very important personal choice!

Chloe thought some more.

"This is acceptable," she said, and lifted her arms. The stranger stared at her. Neither of them moved for several seconds.

"What are you doing."

"You need to lift me up."

The stranger stuck his hands under her armpits and did so, holding his arms fully extended out in front of him. She dangled in the air, up, up, so high up, higher than she'd ever managed on a swing, and without the heavy weight of rope and swing seat to remind her she was pinned to this mudball planet. She felt weightless, floating, a dizzyingly wonderful feeling.

They stayed like that for several moments.

"Is this what parenting is?" the stranger asked. "It's a lot easier than they made it sound."

Chloe was so high up, her vision extended over the sea of cars, and she spotted her caretakers--former caretakers--rushing out of the grocery store, looking around wildly.

"Put me down," she said. She would have liked to stay up there for longer. For hours. Maybe she could get him to do it again later. The man used to do it all the time, before the arguing started. The stranger set her feet on the pavement, and began to toss the cart's contents into the trunk without any care for fragility. He did not seem particularly rushed or concerned, for all that he said he was kidnapping her. And wasn't kidnapping illegal?

The car was nothing like the sleek blue sedan her parents drove. The man washed it obsessively, and acted as if you had removed an organ if you so much as borrowed a single sparkplug, even if the project was important.

Not only did this car look as if it hadn't been washed, ever, it also looked like it might dissolve if you tried. It was mostly rust held together by duct tape. The car was decorated in strange patterns picked out by objects hot glued to the sides: rubber ducks, dice, plastic flowers, and many, many teeth. From the looks of it, mostly Odocoileus virginianus and Procyon lotor, although she had to wonder about some of the molars.

"Chloe!" someone shouted. "Chloe, where are you!"

Chloe opened the door of the car and climbed inside. There was a moldy grey blanket on the car seat. She unfolded it and draped it over herself. It smelled like seaweed and toothpaste. She tried to look as much like a non-child lump as she could.

The trunk closed. Through the thin blanket she saw the shadow of the stranger--her new caretaker--lean over her. He wound all three seatbelts across her, pinning her to the seat.

"Safety first!" he said.

The car's engine whined and groaned and the calls got closer. They wouldn't be able to see her under the blanket. She was hidden. It was safe.

All the same, she felt a rush of relief when the engine finally growled to life. The car shot backwards and then came to an abrupt halt with a crash and the tinkle of glass. The seatbelts held her so fast Chloe didn't even move.

"Whoopsie!" the man said. The car lurched forwards and came to another abrupt halt with another crash. "Sorry!" Forward. Smash. "Oopsie daisy!" Back. Crash. "Almost got it!"

This time when the car sped forward, it did not stop, although Chloe did hear a scream and a bump as they turned a sharp corner.

"There we go!"

Chloe waited a few more minutes before working her arms free and pulling the blanket down from over her helmet. The car was zipping down the road, swerving violently between the other cars. In the space of three minutes they shot through two red lights. Her new caretaker was humming an offkey ditty to himself, as if he was taking a casual stroll through the park.

"Who are you?" Chloe asked.

"I am Dr Calligosto Loboto! The greatest dentist in the world!" He threw out an arm dramatically and his claws punctured the roof of the car. She could see many similar holes clustered in the same area.

"My name is Chloe. I hail from the planet Cygnus A."

"Ooooh, you're an alien! That explains the helmet! You better keep that thing on, I don't want you suffocating in our atmosphere!"

Chloe couldn't name the feeling in her chest, except that it was a good one.

"That's what I kept telling them! Just because I can breathe your air doesn't mean it doesn't have a detrimental effect on my lungs!"

"Of course!" the doctor said, genuinely annoyed. "That's Alien 101! Boy, your parents are weird."

"They aren't my parents," Chloe said, firmly. "They're my human caretakers. They were looking after me while I'm on the planet. Someday my real parents will return for me, and take me back to the home planet."

"Makes sense to me! I wonder if that makes this less of a felony."

#caligosto loboto #psychonauts #chloe barge #i have...no excuse #i can't decide if i want to make like a whole thing out of it so here you go for now #pre-canon fic

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fandom-imagines-stories · 3 years

Text

Notice Me

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 3843

Summary: A killer leaves Reid’s girlfriend on the steps of the BAU with a message for Hotchner and the team. Spencer’s judgement is clouded and it seems that the killer isn’t finished with you.

Notes: This is a dark one guys, so please be wary of that. I wanted to do an imagine that kinda felt like a case, but also had the reader involved and everything. This is another one that I needed to split into two parts because I got a little carried away (whoops). As always, please let me know what you think!

Warnings: Trauma, gore, assault, mentions of rape and sexual assault.

Find Reid and more crime drama imagines: HERE

It was late. Later than anyone should have still been at the office and yet J.J. sat in front of a pile of files on her desk. Of course, Hotch was in his office too, both having already tried to convince the other to go home. Feeling like the piles would never end, J.J.’s attention shifted from a case to the flicker of movement just outside her door. At first, the figure standing by Spence’s desk startled her, but she quickly realized that it was you.

“Y/N?” She smiled to greet you, though her confusion was clear.

“Agent Jareau, I didn’t know you’d be here.” It was dark, so she couldn’t quite see how strained your smile really was.

“Please, call me J.J.” She said lightly. Ever since you’d started seeing Dr. Reid, she liked to think the two of you had become friends. You liked to think that too, which was why you had hoped she wouldn’t be here. “Spence went home a couple of hours ago.”

“Is SSA Hotchner here?” You blurted. You didn’t have much longer. Her brows furrowed.

“Um, yeah. He basically lives here, unfortunately.” She couldn’t get another word in before you rushed past her towards Hotch’s office. It wasn’t until then that she saw how pale you looked.

It took every ounce of strength you had not to stumble as you walked. You kept your coat closed, partially out of embarrassment and partially because you were afraid that, even now, he was watching. Hotchner was working at his desk, just like he’d predicted. You had to knock to get him to look up.

“Agent Hotchner?”

“Dr. Y/L/N,” He set down the notes he was looking over and stared at you with surprise. “What can I help you with?”

“I know it’s late, but he told me I had to find you.” You leaned against one of his chairs for support.

“Reid sent you here?”

“No. Spencer doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know anything.” You winced at the thought. Spencer had no idea. He was probably worried out of his mind. You were supposed to be at his place watching a movie. Everything had changed in the span of one evening.

You felt something drip off of the tip of your finger. Hotchner’s eyes followed the dark liquid until it splattered on his carpet.

“Y/N are you okay?” Hotch stood up, noticing the way you seemed to sway slightly.

“He said I had to come here. If I didn’t, he said that whatever he did next would be my fault. He said he has a message for you.”

“Y/N, who said this?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You undid the button keeping your coat closed. It was getting harder to speak. “He said that this is for you. For all of you.”

You let your coat fall off of your shoulders, revealing your bloody chest and arms. Hotch lunged towards you as you collapsed, finally succumbing to your injuries.

“J.J. get an ambulance here now!” He screamed, desperately trying to catch you before you hit the ground. The blonde appeared in the doorway to see what was going on.

“Oh my god.” She gasped, rushing to the nearest phone.

Hotch’s stomach dropped, taking a closer look at the bloody gashes on your chest. Each slash was deliberately carved into the flesh, forming two words; Notice Me.

“J.J.!” He called out again. She rushed back into the room.

“The paramedics are on their way.”

Hotchner’s panicked face looked up at her.

“Call the team.”

“Y-yes sir.” Her eyes widened, taking in the entirety of your wounds. Hotch’s jaw clenched.

“And J.J.”

“Sir?”

“Let me call Reid.”

He checked his watch for the hundredth time and blew out a long breath. On the table in front of him sat the box. The box. The box that had the potential to change absolutely everything. And you weren’t here to open it. He looked at his phone for missed messages, but the last text still read ‘On my way. See you soon.’

Spencer nearly jumped out of his chair when his phone suddenly started to ring. He felt his body tense when he saw the number.

“Hotch?” He answered. Part of him already knew.

“Reid…” Hotch sighed. “Spencer, you need to get down to the hospital.” Reid closed his eyes, hoping that he was wrong.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Something’s happened.”

“I should have known. I should have looked for her. She’s never late, Hotch. Ever. She’s actually early for pretty much everything. I should have had Garcia track her phone or have her-” In his ranting, he forgot to breathe.

“Reid, I need you to calm down.” Hotchner instructed. He listened to Spencer take a few deep breaths.

“Is she…”

“The doctor said that she’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s going to be okay.” He paused, making Spencer even more panicked. “Unfortunately, that’s not all we have to worry about. I’ll be able to explain more when you get here. The team is on their way.”

“Wait, the team is coming?” The turning in his stomach got worse. There’s only one reason Hotch would have called in the team.

“Like I said, I’ll explain when you get here.”

“Hotch-”

“I’ll see you soon.” Hotch wanted to be supportive, but they were on a time crunch now. This message meant there would be more bodies and soon.

It took a moment for Spencer to make his feet move. Once he did, he was running. Before he knew it, he was already outside and what he saw made him stop in his tracks. Parked in front of him was your car. Five feet and you would have been inside.

Morgan was the first to meet him. Normally, Spencer would have found his presence comforting, but he knew that he wasn’t just here for support. Hotchner called the team in for a reason. By the look on his face, Morgan already had an idea.

“What happened?” Reid demanded, trying to look over his shoulder. He tried to push passed him, but Morgan held him in place.

“We don’t know a lot. But Reid, you’re going to want to prepare yourself.”

“I don’t need a pep talk, I need to see Y/N.” His attempts to dodge around him were unsuccessful.

“He carved a message into her chest with a knife, Reid.” Morgan sighed. Spencer stopped.

“What?”

“Come on, Hotch can tell you more than I can.” He led Reid back to a waiting area where a few other members of the team had gathered. Rossi was still on his way, and so was Prentiss., but Garcia, J.J., and Hotch were grouped together in the far corner. Garcia and J.J. were looking at something on her computer while Hotch sat with his eyes closed.

He was trying to remember every last detail from when you walked in to when you collapsed. He knew something was wrong and he should have acted sooner. He analyzed every single word that you said, trying to piece everything together.

“He said that this is for you. For all of you.”

Notice me.

“Hotch.” Morgan called to get his attention. Everybody looked up and saw that he was joined by Reid.

“Oh my god.” Penelope immediately stood and rushed over to them. She had definitely been crying. Spencer had forgotten that the two of you were friends. You were friends with the whole team, really. She enveloped Spencer in a tight hug. “When J.J. called, I couldn’t believe it.” She took a deep breath to compose herself. “We are going to figure this out and everything is going to be okay.”

“Babygirl, let the kid breathe.” Morgan gently pulled her way from him. Spencer just stared off into nothing.

“Her car is outside my apartment building.” He said blankly. “She was coming over to watch…” His gaze fell to the floor. “She was there. She was at my apartment and he took her.”

“Spence, this isn’t your fault.” J.J. put a hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known that he was out there.”

Before he could respond, Garcia’s computer made a sound. She seemed almost afraid to look. When she did, her face dropped.

“Is there a pattern?” Hotch sighed. She nodded, trying to keep calm.

“Four bodies have been found in Maryland and Virginia. All of them were bound with duct tape, their necks were slashed and they were all raped.” She could barely say all of it without getting sick. She looked up at Spencer frantically. “But none of them had any messages or anything like that so maybe this isn’t the same guy. If it was the same guy, why would he…”

“Why would he leave her alive.” Spencer finished, closing his eyes. He couldn’t stop his brain from picturing every scenario, manifesting every scream.

“I’m going to go see if the doctors can tell us anything.” J.J. said, giving Spencer a reassuring look. Reid finally looked at Hotch. He couldn’t help but stare at the blood that stained the front of his superior’s shirt.

“What happened?” He didn’t think anything could be worse than what he already imagined. Hotch motioned for him to have a seat.

“Whoever did this wanted to send us all a message. He told her that if she didn’t get to my office, that whatever he did afterwards would be her fault. He wanted to make sure I saw what he did.”

“Morgan said that he-” Spencer took a sharp breath but was able to keep calm, distracting himself by picking at his nails. “He said that she had something carved into her chest?”

“Like I said, he wanted to make sure that I saw.” Hotch sighed. “He wrote ‘Notice Me’.” Everyone fell silent, each trying to wrap their heads around the situation.

“Hotch,” J.J. returned, her expression betraying her concern, “She said she’s ready for questions.”

“Can you handle it?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should stay here and look over the cases Garcia found.”

“Of course.” J.J. paused before looking at Spencer. “She said she would like you to be there, Spence.”

“O-okay.” He rose slowly, his nerves barely allowing him to move. Morgan gave him a supportive pat on the back before Spencer followed J.J. to your room. Every step he took made his heart pound harder. He’d heard countless statements from victims, analyzed the most gruesome crime scenes imaginable, but he had never been this paralyzed before.

The two agents opened the door to find you struggling out of the hospital bed while a nurse tried to get you to lay back down.

“I appreciate everything, really, but I’m not going to sit here all night. I need to find-” Your argument with your nurse quickly came to a halt. “Spencer.”

“The doctor said you were ready to answer a couple of questions.” J.J. gave you a small smile, pulling a chair up next to your bed. “He told me you wanted Spencer with you.” She looked back at Reid, who was still standing in the doorway.

He just stood there and stared. Your face was bruised and a bandage covered an injury on your forehead- probably the blow that your attacker used to overtake you. Bandages covered your arms and he could see more under the collar of the hospital gown. You were shaking, the color from your skin faded and cold. Seeing him made your eyes water.

“Spencer, I-”

“You were late.�� He blurted. He started to fidget with his nails. “I mean, I thought you were late. Even though you are never late for anything. You didn’t call or text me or anything and I still didn’t look for you. I should have looked for you. I-” His words caught in his throat.

You shrugged off the nurses hands and walked towards him, trying not to wince as you raised a hand to rest on his cheek. He had tears in his eyes and you could tell he was desperately trying to keep them back.

“Spencer, this isn’t your fault.” You said softly. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes, trying to stop imagining what happened in that goddamn hour that that man would have had you.

“Dr. Y/L/N, you really need to be laying down.” The nurse insisted. Spencer opened his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“She’s right. Come on.” He took your hand and led you back to the bed, helping to tuck you in under the blanket. He sat in a chair across from J.J. and kept your hand in his.

“Are you ready?” J.J. asked patiently. You nodded nervously. J.J. smiled reassuringly. “If you want to stop at any point, just let me know, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What were you doing before you were attacked?”

“I was driving to Spencer’s apartment.to watch a movie and have dinner.” You glanced over at your boyfriend. “I parked in front and walked towards the door, but I didn’t get there.”

“Were there cars already parked when you got there?”

“I-I think so.” You closed your eyes, trying to envision the scene, but all you could see was his face and with his face came the pain and the terror. “Oh god, I see him.”

“Stay with me, Y/N.” J.J. kept her voice as calm as possible when inside her heart was breaking for you and for the anguished Reid across from her. “Do you remember the cars?”

“Breathe with me, Y/N.” Spence instructed, kissing the palm of your hand. You calmed down enough and focused on the sound of his voice. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” You exhaled slowly and nodded.

“There was a van.”

“What color was it?”

“It was dark, but not black. Blue maybe? I don’t know, I only saw it for a second.”

“That’s okay.” J.J. said. She exchanged a look with Spencer. Now came the hard part. “What did you do when you got out of your car? Did you see anyone?”

“No, it was just me. I walked towards the door, but something hit me. Someone was dragging me away from the door. The next thing I knew, I was in a van.”

“Do you see anything?”

“There’s something on the walls. Some kind of padding. A-and on the back of the seat, there’s this jacket. A women’s jacket. It was red.”

“What else can you see?”

“I see him.” A tear escaped your eye and fell silently down your cheek. “He-he’s leaning over me and he’s-” You paused and listened to the sound of Spencer’s breathing. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him. You wanted to see his face instead of the creature that did this to you. But you needed to do this. “He’s unbuttoning my shirt.”

“Do you remember feeling the van move at all before he did this?”

“No. No, he didn’t drive until after.” You felt Spence’s grip on your hand tighten. J.J. watched him carefully, reading the pain on his face. “He said something while he was taking it off. He said he ‘didn’t have enough time’ and he ‘couldn’t do it now.’ He said he wanted it to be special. That I was special.”

“Was he wearing a mask or a hood?”

“No, I could see his face. That face…” You held back a cry. Spencer held back the urge to wrap his arms around you. “That’s when he took out the knife and started carving this.” You put a hand on your chest. “He said I was his messenger.” Your heart was starting to race and you started to hyperventilate. “He… he kissed each cut as he made them and then he would kiss me.”

You finally opened your eyes and almost wished that you hadn’t. Spencer was crushed. There were tears on his face and utter horror in his eyes. You had to look away.

“Well… you know the rest.”

“You did great, Y/N.” J.J. reassured you. “Do you think you’d be able to give a description to a sketch artist?” Despite your efforts to keep it still, your lip started to tremble.

“D-do you think I can sleep first? I’m so tired.” You hadn’t realized how exhausted you were until now.

“Of course. Just let me know whenever you’re ready, okay?” She glanced over at Spencer with a supportive smile before she left to join the others in the waiting room. You couldn’t bear to look at the pain you had caused him.

“Maybe you should go with her.” You muttered, staring blankly at your lap, more tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. You had brought him in here because you knew you needed him to get through this, but you hadn’t thought about what it would do to him.

Spencer tried not to show the hurt on his face, but he wasn’t successful. He let go of your hand and stood up.

“Let me know if you need anything.” His voice barely came out above a whisper. Any louder and he was sure it would have cracked. You watched the way his shoulders sagged as he walked, like he was carrying the weight of what had happened over his shoulder. You grabbed his hand before he got far.

“Spence, wait.” You motioned for him to come closer and held his hand against your heart. When his skin grazed against the cuts in your chest, it didn’t hurt. If anything, it eased the sting. “I love you.”

A small, lopsided smile appeared on his lips. Suddenly the box in his jacket pocket weighed more.

“I love you too.”

Once Rossi and Prentiss arrived, Hotchner briefed the team on what their next step should be. Reid, however, was nowhere to be found, which had made everybody worry. He sent Morgan and Prentiss to the latest murder crime scene to see if this really was the same unsub. Garcia went back to the BAU, but Rossi and J.J. stayed

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Rossi asked, setting down a cup of terrible hospital coffee. It was almost morning now and no one had gotten any sleep.

“From what she told us, it isn’t over yet.” J.J. sighed. “He told her that she’s special. He’s going to come back for her.”

“And we will be here when he does.” Hotch stared down at the array of photos from the previous crime scenes. He was usually good about separating his emotions from a case, but this was an attack against his team. This was made to be personal.

Hotch started down the hall, turning the corner and stopping. He noticed movement in the corner of his eye and turned around. Reid sat on the floor with his back pressed against the side of a vending machine and legs crossed in front of him. His face was sullen and tear stained.

“Hey,” He greeted, immediately stiffening and whipping his face with his sleeve. He stood and brushed off. Hotch noticed the way his hands shook. “Have you guys found anything yet?”

“Morgan and Prentiss are heading to the latest crime scene. Based on what Y/N told you and J.J. about the attack, it could be the same unsub, but we don’t want to make any conclusions yet.”

Reid nodded quickly, keeping his gaze trained on the floor.

“Maybe I should go with them. I might get a better-”

“This isn’t your fault, Reid.” Hotch interrupted. He knew exactly where the younger agent’s mind was. “That is what he wants you to believe, but it isn’t your fault.”

“I…” Spencer knew that arguing with him was pointless. He just looked defeated. “I have to do something, Hotch.”

“The doctors will likely release Y/N in a couple of hours. We’ll need to get her somewhere safe. You should stay with her.” Hotch knew how the guilt was weighing down on him. He put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all here for you, Reid. You and Y/N. We aren’t going to stop until we catch this man.”

“Thanks, Hotch.” Spencer sniffed. More than anything, he wanted to take you home and never let you leave his embrace. Reid leaned down to pick up his jacket from the floor, wincing when a small velvet box clattered to the tile. Hotch picked it up for him.

“Reid…” He proceeded with caution, but there was a warmhearted tone in his voice. “Is what I think it is?” He handed it to Spencer who hurriedly stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Actually it’s a-” He stopped and gave him his awkward lop-sided smile. “I was going to ask her tonight.”

“I didn’t know you were ready to take that step.”

“Neither did I.” Spencer laughed nervously. “But ever since I met her, I just knew. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” He put his hand in his pocket, feeling the box in his fingers. Tonight was supposed to be so different. Hotch’s usually serious expression broke into a small, proud smile.

Hotch’s mind returned to the case and he started back down the hallway. Spencer walked towards your room, pausing when his phone rang.

“Dr. Reid.” He answered. For a moment, there was just breathing on the other end. Before he hung up, a low, raspy voice spoke.

“I won’t be ignored anymore, Dr. Reid. You all notice me now.”

Reid took off running. He found Garcia in the waiting area and pointed urgently at his cell phone before continuing the call.

“You’re right. You have our full attention.”

“I know that little trick. Make me think I’m in control so your pretty little tech can trace this call. I learned from the best.” He chuckled deeply. “You won’t find me until I want you to.” There was a brief pause, like he was stopping for effect. “I was just calling to ask you some questions, Dr. Reid.”

“I’m not nearly as interesting as you are.” Reid tried to keep his tone even as he watched Garcia scramble to trace the call.

“Could you hear her screaming?” His voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “I want to make sure that those soundproofing panels worked. She kept calling out for you over and over and over…”

“You want us to know who you are, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Tell me, have you had her yet, Dr. Reid?” His suggestive voice made Spencer’s blood boil. “I’m dying to know what it’s going to be like when I have enough time with Y/N.”

“You won’t get that chance.” He finally spat, losing control.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take better care of her than I did those other girls. I look forward to meeting you, Spencer.” Just like that, the line went dead.

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

#dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds imagines #jennifer jereau #criminal minds #crime show #Matthew Grey Gubler

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spencersawkward · 3 years

Text

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 2

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

Richard Slessman's bedroom looks like something straight out of a serial killer documentary. floral wallpaper taunts Morgan and I as we walk inside. a model airplane hangs above his bed; cheap medals-- the kind kids get for participation-- decorate the area above his desk, which is littered with books about forensics. there's a carousel of CDs, too.

"whoa." is my brilliant analysis.

"we should have Garcia check out this guy's laptop." Morgan starts to wander around the room, trying to piece together Slessman's head just by examining his things. a group of cops are already huddled at the table with the laptop open, and I realize too late what they're doing.

"log in password." one of them plucks a post-it off the screen, starts to type it in.

"wait, wait--" Morgan and I nearly lunge toward them, but the crackling sound of a fizzing motherboard tells me we're too late. the screen goes black.

"it's not turning back on." Genius #1 observes. Morgan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

"yeah, and it won't. it's a false password."

the cops stare up at us blankly.

"it triggers a complete shut down of his system." I clarify. they share a look, deservedly feeling stupid. I want to roll my eyes, but Morgan's told me that the police on these cases get defensive most of the time; they don't like us on their turf. one glance from my partner, though, and those guys flee the room without another word.

I pull out my phone and dial Garcia's number in the hopes that she can salvage whatever's left of this asshole's computer. we arrested him an hour ago and we can only hold him with probable cause because we don't have any charges yet. this house search could be our only chance to get him in custody.

"well hello, my fresh-faced beauty queen." Penelope answers on the second ring. a slight smile turns up the corners of my mouth.

"hi, Penelope." I watch Derek plugging something into the laptop, then opening another monitor next to it. "listen, Morgan's trying to set up Richard Slessman's computer and I was wondering if you'd be able to hack into it."

"oh, kitten," she sighs contentedly. "that's my bread and butter."

"great. I'm putting you on speaker." I press a button and wait for Morgan to talk. he's typing furiously until a tab pops up with the words "Deadbolt Defense" in bold above a box for a password.

"what's the six at the bottom of the screen mean?" I ask.

"remaining password attempts until it wipes the hard drive." Morgan replies. shit.

"Penelope, there might be a journal or document or something that tells us where Heather is." I inform her.

"what system are we talking?" she asks.

"Deadbolt Defense?"

"Deadbolt is the number one crack-resistant software out there, hon. you're gonna need to get inside this guy's head for the password."

my heart sinks. when my colleague double takes, it makes me think that this is a rare occurrence.

"babygirl, are you serious?" Morgan complains. my shoulders droop. Penelope has been nothing short of genius since I got here. slicing through sealed files and unfurling secret criminal records is always ridiculously easy for her.

"sorry, handsome."

"thanks anyway." I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. "so... what now?"

"now," Morgan takes another look around the room. "we get creative."

...

somehow, I wind up in the attic. I don't really know how this happens, seeing as I started by flipping through discs in Slessman's weird quasi-childlike bedroom, but it's certainly an interesting space. Christmas lights are strung about, along with some shawl-like material that drapes raw ceiling.

the laptop sits in front of me, password cursor blinking mockingly while I sit in the chair. my head is aching. despite having the unit go through every single one of the CDs in search of the most-played one (hoping it'll crack the password), there's been nothing.

at least there have been other successes since we got here: we know that Slessman isn't operating on his own. he's the submissive in a partnership with Timothy Vogel, a prison guard where he was incarcerated a while back. the problem is that Vogel was onto us and fled to the kidnapping site, which we can't find. I feel useless sitting here with nothing to offer.

I consider going back downstairs and perusing the room again when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Reid's head pops into the room, spinning a bent paper clip between his fingers.

"hey." I greet curiously.

"I've been thinking about the CDs." he responds, walking over to me. I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"we tried it, Reid. there's nothing there," I slam my back to the cushions with an exasperated groan. "if we don't find something, this girl is dead."

instead of replying, Reid bends down next to the laptop in front of me, squinting at the DVD slot in the side. he pokes the end of his bent paper clip into the small opening.

"I think we may have missed the obvious." he murmurs, working diligently. I scowl.

"what do you--?" in response to my question, the DVD slot pops open and out slides a copy of a Metallica CD. Reid and I look at each other with wide eyes before I snatch the disc out of of the computer and stare at it. "what made you think of this?"

"it was the only empty case." he shrugs. I grin at him.

"okay, okay," we still don't have the password. I read the cover of the case he hands me. "I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to fall asleep. what song would make me do that?"

Spencer frowns, grabs the thing back from my hands, and scans the track list within the span of a second.

"'Enter Sandman'." he says. I watch the puzzle pieces fall into place in his brain, those lips parting with a slight smile playing at the edges. his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"you are a national treasure." I type like the wind, unlocking the screen and immediately digging into his files. Spencer peers over my shoulder as we search for any indication of Heather's location.

"fucking bingo." I mutter when a video feed pops up. it's black-and-white, showing a crate in the corner of the room with a light hanging above it. Heather's inside, eyes duct taped and hands tied in front of her.

Spencer is already dialing Hotch's number. the blood drains from my face as I watch her trying to breathe through the gag in her mouth.

nothing in the feed is helpful in terms of finding out where she is. it's a nondescript room with wooden floors, mostly shrouded in darkness except for the light hanging overhead.

"wait a minute." I pause what I'm doing.

"hm?" Reid asks. I hit a few keys, trying something.

"I'm lining up the last twelve images." I explain as he watches me work. the photos sit in a grid on the screen, causing my heart to stop in my chest when I notice what I've been meaning to find. "look at the light."

"it's shifting positions like it's swaying," he notices. "like the earth is tilting."

"the ocean." I nod. we share another glance, both of our hearts hammering. we're so close to solving this, I can feel it in my chest. "we need to tell Hotch. find out if there are any piers or docks near here. there's no way he could get the webcam image from the middle of the ocean."

Reid nods, runs downstairs as fast as he possibly can. when he goes, I notice the board in the corner of the room: Go, mid-game. I've never learned how to play.

...

by the time I get back to my apartment that night, my limbs feel like jello. I collapse into the chair by my door and rub my eyes again. my head is still pounding now that the adrenaline rush has subsided. we ended up finding Vogel at the docks; Heather is safe. Hotch was shot in the arm, but he'll be fine. and I'm still a little in shock.

I hate the rumble of my stomach as I realize I haven't eaten since this morning. my head was too full of other thoughts to even consider food and after such a long day, I can barely fathom getting up to change into pajamas.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Garcia texted me.

what are you up to? followed by a series of emojis that make me smile. I sink deeper into the seat before replying.

nothing why?

can I bring over takeout?

I stare at the message for a second with surprise. Garcia is fun and we've had drinks as a team, but I've never hung out with her one-on-one before. I'm curious.

sure. what genre of food should I expect?

Thai. send me your order!

that sounds so good right now, I almost order it myself. part of me is nervous about hanging out with a team member by myself, except she's been so friendly to me. Penelope was the first person to make me feel at home, aside from Prentiss.

I wait patiently for her to arrive, watching some TV and working my way through some leftover paperwork. my thoughts are everywhere right now, but when she tells me she's downstairs, I try to put it all out of my mind.

"hey!" I open the door to see Garcia with an armful of plastic bags.

"I have your curry, and I got chicken satay and spring rolls and fried rice in case you're still hungry." she beams at me. her bracelets make a pleasant clinking noise as she waves the goodies around.

"a woman after my own heart." I smile, stepping aside to let her in. we head upstairs and before long, we're settled on my couch with a full display of food on the coffee table. I heap my plate while she looks around my space.

"this place is so cute!" she says through a bite of spring roll.

"thanks. I've had it for about two years now. that window over there was really the selling point." I point to the enormous view of downtown DC, which is sparkling right now. there's another chair set in front of it, where I sometimes read or nap in my free time.

as we eat, Penelope and I gossip about work and the city and everything else. she's really easy to talk to. when I ask about her life, she doesn't seem guarded at all; unlike a lot of FBI agents I've met, she wears her experiences on her sleeve.

"how are you liking the team so far?" she asks a similar question as I received this morning. I smile to myself before answering truthfully.

"everyone is great. Hotch is kind of terrifying, but I've worked with people like him before." I shrug. he reminds me of one of my old professors: perpetually stoic to the point where he doesn't even seem like a real person. she laughs.

"he's super nice once you get to know him."

"really?" I look up.

"definitely. he's just always got that scowl on his face. don't let it put you off." she pats my hand reassuringly. I sigh, finish chewing my bite. there's been something prodding me since visiting Garcia's tech lair for the first time, when she showed me her collection of puppy calendars and fuzzy pens.

"can I ask you a question?"

"anything, my love." she smiles warmly. I hesitate, hoping I don't ruin the moment somehow.

"how did you get involved in the FBI? you just don't seem very..." my sentence trails off.

"government oriented?" she laughs. "I used to do a lot of hacking in my free time, and I got into some stuff that the government didn't like. and, um-- you know that saying, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'?"

I nod.

"it was like that, except they hired me. and I love it." she finishes the last spring roll. I think on this, imagining Penelope doing something so serious that the American government hired her on the spot for her skills. it's interesting.

"so you don't profile at all." I state.

"technically no, but I've picked up a couple things." she smirks.

"oh, yeah? like what?"

"well, it's obvious that you're never home, based on the lack of decoration here." she refers to the mostly blank walls of my apartment. aside from a couple photos of my friends and family, there's not much unique to me. "and you've obviously got a candle addiction." she points to the various spots around the living room, where half-burned pots of wax sit patiently awaiting their next light.

"that's definitely true." I laugh. she gets up and starts to smell the various candles.

"I like this one a lot." she sets down my chai vanilla one. I let her go through my things, despite the fact that Garcia is incredibly reserved about people touching her own little office trinkets. she picks up stray books and memorabilia, occasionally making a comment.

while she does, I finish my curry. I'm way too tired to resist her search, anyway. I'll be curling up in bed soon and praying that tomorrow is a paperwork day. eventually, she settles onto the cushions again.

"you seem tired," she says when she glimpses the dark circles beneath my eyes. "I'll get out of your hair."

"what? oh, I'm sorry." I draw myself up a little more. "this last case just took a lot out of me."

"they all do." she gives me a soft expression, then pats my knee as she stands.

"Penelope." I say as she gathers up her coat and purse.

"yes, darling?"

"thanks. for the food and for coming over." I smile gratefully at her. the tech analyst stands at my door with a look on her face that makes me think we're going to be good friends.

"anytime." she heads out, leaving me on the couch. I stare at the mess of empty takeout boxes that I told her to leave. now that I've eaten, getting up to clean the space is even more difficult. I trudge about the apartment, wash some dishes, and head off to bed.

my body is too exhausted to remember the dreams.

...

"oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I practically sprint into the conference room, swinging my bag down by my feet as I grab the last open chair. JJ is standing at the front of the room with a new case on the screen. everyone stares at me as I settle in. "my train was super delayed."

"everyone is allowed to be late," Hotch barely glances up from the case file. "once."

a chill runs down my spine and my face flushes an embarrassing red as JJ passes me the remaining file. keeping my head down, she notices my discomfort and clears her throat.

"okay, you guys are heading to Arizona today." she clicks a button. some pictures pop up for us to see. "Bradshaw College in Tempe has had six fires in seven months."

it's a video recording of a building from the outside, and two students talking about a fire inside. the camera shifts to show them in their own dorm, examining a strange wet spot leaking into their room. and then one of them catches on fire.

he burns to death on tape. it's jarring, the shrieking noises he lets out as the flames engulf his body. they travel up his legs alarmingly fast, so much so that it's obviously chemical.

"the first fire was in March, the second in May. the third didn't happen until September." JJ explains once the clip is over. "and then two weeks later, there were three that happened in one night."

"he's speeding up." Prentiss observes from her spot next to me.

"82% of arsonists are white males between seventeen and twenty-seven. female arsonists are far less common, with motives usually limited to revenge." Reid sits across the table, adjusting his watch.

I raise my eyebrows at his fact and look more at the crime scene photos. burned flesh is definitely an uncomfortable sight, one that makes my stomach churn.

"sounds like he's a student." Morgan taps his pen against his fingertip and leans back in his chair.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hotch continues to read the document. "we don't want to rely too much on precedent."

at this, I press my knuckles to my chin and try to think of other suspects. he's obviously doing these during the school year, but that doesn't necessitate that he's a student. he could be working on campus-- a professor, even.

"there's a rapid escalation. he's gone from the damage to a building to something far more satisfying." Morgan closes the file and we all look to Hotch.

"wheels up in thirty." he says. I get up to grab my go-bag and gather some things from my desk, my cheeks burning at the memory of being late again. I've never done that before, but I don't want to start now. maybe it's best if I start coming in early, just in case my train gets delayed again. I can't risk losing this job, or being moved to a different department. it was enough of a hassle switching from sex crimes to the BAU. I really want to settle into this position, and that includes having the unit chief not hate me.

"hey." Prentiss catches my wrist just as I'm hurrying out of the room. I turn to her.

"hi."

"a little birdy told me that you and Reid pretty much single-handedly solved that case yesterday." she smiles.

"oh, no. it wasn't just us." I shake my head.

"quit being modest. nice job." she nudges my shoulder as we walk down the steps to the bullpen. "also, I brought a couple of those horticulture magazines that I told you about. we should read them on the jet."

"no way!" I pause at my desk, grinning.

"one of them has a whole section on caring for orchids."

"orchids?" Morgan overhears her from his desk. he appears deeply concerned with our discussion.

"if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand." she smirks. he turns his attention to me in hopes of a clearer answer.

"it's plant care." my explanation seems to be enough to bore him, however, because he just shrugs and returns to packing his bag up. Emily waves the stack of magazines at me before I head over to her desk.

she doesn't really seem like the type of person to be into it, but when Emily caught sight of the air plants I've got scattered on my desk my first week, we got wrapped up in a conversation about them. there's a special magazine subscription as well that has a bunch of helpful tips about where to buy and how to keep them healthy.

I'm flipping through one of the copies on the way to the elevator, my nose buried in a section about how much to water Hoyas, when Reid and JJ pop in next to me. the blonde is on the phone with someone, presumably the Tempe police. I haven't seen much of her recently-- she's been staying behind for most cases-- but she sends me a sweet smile before returning to her call.

"what are you reading?" Spencer's eyes hungrily run over the paper, as if seeing something he hasn't already absorbed in that big brain is unbearable. his hair is slicked back as usual, and his tie is sort of crooked; he's not aware of it. I hold the material between us so he can take a peek.

"a magazine about plants that Prentiss and I like."

"fascinating. can I see?" he grabs it before I can answer, although I don't think he means to. his fingertip runs down the page quickly, and then he's flipping them like mad, staring at the pictures. my eyes widen at how eager he is; I guess his curiosity is enough to override any awkwardness.

"did you know that owning indoor plants is actually correlated to overall mood improvements?" he asks me once he finishes reading, attention still focused on the back cover. the elevator door to the main level slides open.

"no, but I'm proof of it," I take back the reading material and put it in my bag. we walk out into the lobby. his long legs mean that my pace has to quicken a bit in order to keep up. "something about taking care of them is quite nice. they don't need as much attention as a pet, but they still rely on you."

"interesting." he nods.

"I like to think so."

"maybe I'll get one." he muses more to himself than anyone else. I smile at his open-mindedness, keep my eyes on the tiles we're walking over. maybe he, Prentiss, and I can have our own affinity club. he would become more knowledgeable than both of us combined within the span of a week.

#spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #dr. reid #criminal minds #mgg #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #friends to lovers #BAU #slow burn

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aedelia · 4 years

Text

The Best Gifts

How do you thank someone for not only saving your friends and family’s lives, but your future too? Saying it is a good start, but Danny thinks a gift would be nice too.

Danny was bored. He was beyond bored actually. Two days into Spring Break and he has nothing to do. Sam and her family were off on a trip to somewhere in Europe. Tucker has relatives visiting and can't hang out, and Jazz has practically been living in the library to work on some big senior project that will be due when school gets back. Even his parents were gone, some exclusive paranormal conference in New York, and they wouldn't be back until the weekend.

Danny heaved a heavy sigh. No ghosts had attacked for the last four days and now knowing the value of good time management, he had already managed to finish all of his schoolwork. He listlessly tapped his fingers against the kitchen table where he was seated. Playing Doomed solo was an option, but it's nowhere near as fun by himself, and it feels weird to play video games so early in the day. He got up from his seat and paced for a bit. He could go flying, but he didn't want to tempt the peace or any ghosts hanging about. He stopped and drank a whole glass of water just for something to do. Hydration is important, right? He resumed his pacing for several more minutes, wracking his brain for any ideas that could interest him. He would work on a model rocket, but he had finished the one he got for Christmas over winter break.

He stopped in front of the fridge and glanced at the clock on the wall, it's not too early for lunch. He grabbed a box of saltines out of the cupboard and pulled out a handful. Setting the box back on the counter he eased open the fridge door.

"Hey guys, I have a nice snack for you." he said as he checked for any loose ectoweenies. He couldn't help the sad noise that escaped him when he saw the plate with last night's leftovers had been cleaned bare. At least one weenie must have gotten out of the drawer. He placed a cracker on the plate to lure the escapee from hiding. Small, high-pitched growls greeted him as he slid the duct taped drawer open a couple of inches and sprinkled crushed saltine in the gap.

The ectoweenies were kind of cute when they weren't eating his lunch. Jazz was by far the best cook in the family and he had been looking forward to enjoying the meatloaf again for lunch. His musings were interrupted by tiny crunching sounds. "Aha!" he exclaimed as he snatched the miscreant up off of the plate.

"You've had enough of an adventure, time to go back home," he dropped the weenie through the open gap in the drawer. "Ouch!" he yelped as it managed to bite his thumb on the way down. Danny pouted as he stuck his thumb in his mouth to suck on the bite. The returned weenie was growling its story to the others as he toed the drawer closed before using his free hand to reseal the duct tape.

"For some reason, I'm not that hungry anymore..." Danny muttered as he inspected his thumb. Thank goodness for supernatural healing, what was a bleeding cut a moment ago was already reduced to a light pink line.

Danny resumed his pacing for a moment before sitting back down at the table. He rested his chin on his arms as he watched the seconds tick by on the clock.

‘I have so much time and all I can think of doing is watching the clock tick.’ He mused on the irony of trying to make time and when he finally has some, he can hardly use it.

‘I wonder what Clockwork does when he isn’t pretending to try to kill me. To think that he had planned for us to try to escape to the future to see Dan in order to set me on the path of overcoming that future.’ He frowned, ‘Even then I didn’t actually make it in time to save anyone. It was really nice of Clockwork to not only save them, but to set me further back afterwards so that I could keep my secret and do some damage control. I didn’t even get a chance to thank him for his help.’ He rose to his feet and started pacing once more. “I really should thank him. I think I remember where his lair is. It might take an hour or two of flying if nothing interferes… Should I just show up? That seems kind’ve rude. Maybe I should get him a gift? Thanks for saving my family and friends, and you know, not killing me when you could have. Yeah I should definitely bring a gift, that would be the polite thing when just showing up at someone’s home.” His pacing slowed as his thoughts deepened.

“But what gift do you give the ghost who can control time? And also saved you and your family from terrible fates... He said time is like a parade that he watches from above but it was more like he was helping to direct the parade than just watching.” Danny grinned in delight as inspiration struck, “I know the perfect thing!” he said as he dashed out the door at a quarter to eleven, patting his pocket to check for his wallet as he went.

-----

A quick scooter ride later and he was at the outlet stores by the mall. He looked fondly at the video game store before parking his scooter and walking into the music store. He browsed around the aisles, poking at one or two of the display instruments. ‘I remember when we came here so Jazz could pick an instrument in Middle School; I don’t think she’s played since then.’

When the lady at the desk finished with her short line of customers (mostly band kids buying reeds or random accessories), Danny popped out from the shelves to ask her, “Hey, do you guys have the kind of baton that bands use in parades? I’m looking for a gift for a conductor I know.”

She pursed her lips in thought before sliding her chair over to her computer next to the register. “Hang on; let me see if we have anything like that in stock.” Danny tried to keep from fidgeting as she spent a couple of minutes typing and clicking away at the computer. He was trying to decide whether or not to scratch his nose when she turned back to him.

“So we don’t have anything like that in the store right now. You could special order one if you’d like but that would take a while and unless you wanted a gag gift, would be pretty expensive…” At his crestfallen expression she continued, “However, if you would like to get your conductor friend a conducting baton, a good quality one runes about $20-30 and we have a nice selection I can show you.”

Danny’s face lit up, “It’s not my first idea, but that would be just as good!” The store clerk smiled at him and standing from her computer chair, she led him to one of the display cases by the register.

“These are arranged by price and material. This side is the lower end and is mostly fiberglass and cheaper wood or rubber,” she said, gesturing to Danny’s left, “and these are the nicer, more durable ones to your right. My favorite is the rosewood style right there.” She pointed to a medium priced baton with a nice reddish wooden bulb.

“Tell you what, since this is for a gift, if you get one of the wooden ones I’ll engrave a name for you for free.”

Danny grinned at her, “That rosewood one you pointed out would be great! For the name, could you put it as Clockwork?”

She smiled back at him and chuckled a little, “As in, when they’re conducting everything runs like clockwork?”

“Yeah kinda like that, it’s a nickname, so could you capitalize the C?”

“Of course, that’ll be $25.96 after tax.”

Danny paid her and watched as she pulled a slim case from below the counter. She popped the end cap off and pulled out the new baton.

“Looks to be in perfect shape, give me a minute and I’ll have the name engraved for you.” She picked up a small tool slightly thicker and longer than a pen and flipped a switch on the side. A low buzzing filled Danny’s ears as she carefully engraved the name on the shaft in neat handwriting. The tip of her tongue was sticking out of her mouth as she concentrated. She flipped the tool off and stowed it out of sight before blowing on the engraving to help cool it and to remove any dust. She waved it a couple of times before neatly sliding it back into the case and handing it to him.

“There you go, one personalized baton for your friend!” she chirped.

“Thank you so much, I’m sure he’ll like it!” Danny effused before heading out the door with a wave to the friendly salesperson. He retrieved his scooter and helmet and headed back to Fentonworks. The whole trip only took about half an hour.

-----

Once back at home, Danny stowed his scooter and made a quick stop back in the kitchen. He slapped together a peanut butter sandwich so he wouldn’t have to deal with the ectoweenies again. He scarfed it and washed it down with another glass of water.

“Ok!” he said, talking aloud to help psyche himself up. “I should leave a note for Jazz somewhere in case I’m out when she gets home, and then I need to store the gift in my ghost space pocket so I don’t lose it on the trip. I think that’s everything,” he said with his arms crossed and tapping his fingers against his elbow. He nodded and then reached for the notepad next to the fridge to write out a quick note for his sister.

‘Hey Jazz, I’m going for a visit to see Clockwork, he’s the guy who helped me out during the CAT stuff. Nothing is wrong. I’m going to thank him and probably visit for a bit. Don’t know how long it’ll take but don’t worry if I’m not home yet.’

“She’ll probably still worry and tell me that it’s her job as my big sister, but at least she’ll know I wasn’t kidnapped or something. This should keep her from looking for me too. She’s not going to go searching for me in the ghost zone unless I’m gone a really long time.”

He put the note in the middle of the table then grabbed the gift and lightly skipped down the stairs to the lab. A quick flash of light and Danny tucked the slim case into the special space pocket where he normally keeps his thermos and cell phone. Discovering that ability had made his ghost fighting a lot simpler, no more racing to his locker to grab a thermos or trying to discreetly pull it from his bag when he says he’s going to the bathroom. He still keeps a spare in his locker and under his bed. Sam and Tucker both keep a few too. It never hurts to be prepared, especially when it comes to ghost fighting.

He pulled off his glove and unlocked the portal. It was kind’ve funny that his DNA was still recognizable to the Fenton scanner in ghost form. After pulling his glove back on, he slipped through the portal and was on his way.

-----

Danny hummed cheerfully as he flew through the green and purple mists of the ghost zone. He had been so bored, but he found the perfect thing to do! Even better, since his parents weren’t home, he won’t have to worry about being locked in the zone.

He did a loop and waved at some cute blob ghosts before significantly increasing his speed. ‘I might be able to shave off some of my travel time if I fly near top speed, it’ll be good exercise too.’

Danny continued to increase his flight speed until his surroundings blurred and he weaved among the floating islands, rocks, and other debris with minute adjustments to his path. Amazingly enough, he didn’t encounter any ghosts itching for a fight. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m in the Zone, most ghosts that come through the portal have some sort of goal. Most in the Ghost Zone just want to be left alone. It could also be partly the speed I’ve been going, harder for anyone to try to fight me if I’m already gone by time they notice me.’

He slowed his pace down as the floating gears that fill the space near Clockwork’s lair began to appear. ‘I wonder where all these gears come from. He does have a lot of clocks. Maybe he used to have more? I can always ask him later if the visit goes well.’ Danny gently touched down in front of the large door to the lair. He took a deep breath, thinking, ‘I hope he doesn’t mind a visit. Of course he probably already knows I’m coming here, but still.’ and then firmly clanged the doorknocker.

A few seconds passed and then Clockwork opened the door with a slight smile, “Daniel. Please come in.,” he said while beckoning with his free arm.

“I hope it’s ok that I just showed up.” Danny said as he stepped into Clockwork’s lair for the second time.

“It’s perfectly alright. You are welcome here Daniel, I can always make time for you.” Clockwork replied as he closed the door behind them.

‘Did he just make a pun?’ Danny wondered, pausing in his surprise before following Clockwork into a lounge area that he hadn’t seen on his initial visit. ‘Not that I really had much time to look around with everything going on and Clockwork manipulating us for a better future. On the subject of that diverted timeline, I shouldn’t forget what brought me here in the first place.’

Clockwork, currently in adult form, had stopped and was now floating by a flat gear suspended at coffee table height.

“Clockwork,” Danny said, “I really want to thank you for your help with that horrible future. I really appreciate that not only did you save my friends and family; you also gave me a second chance to fix my relationship with Mr. Lancer about the cheating thing. He let me retake the test and actually let me study for it during detentions. He even answered questions that I had about the material!” Danny paused to take a breath, “To show my gratitude for your help and to say thank you for giving me a chance, I got this for you.” He rotated his arm slightly to reach into his sub-pocket and pulled out the slim case holding the engraved baton.

As he handed it to Clockwork he said, “It’s not much but I was thinking about how you said you see time like a parade that you’re watching from above, it felt more like you were directing the parade a bit and I’m really glad you kept it from marching off a cliff…” Danny trailed off, halting his ramblings as Clockwork opened the case and gently withdrew the baton. He phased to his older form as he lightly ran his gloved fingers over the engraving of his name.

“It is a lovely gift, thank you Daniel. It is very thoughtful and especially fitting in your case. I will cherish it.,” he said as he slid it into an invisible pocket up his sleeve. “I am glad that you decided to come by. Due to my actions on your behalf, I have been given charge and responsibility for you. Think of me as your ghostly guardian, or mentor. You should feel free to visit me anytime, whether you have questions, are looking for advice, or just want to spend time in a safe place. Cookie?” he offered as he switched to his child form.

Danny was sure his jaw was hanging loose as Clockwork finished informing him of their new potential relationship. Given that he was currently in ghost form, that could be a lot more literal than normal. He was still trying to process this bombshell when his whole train of thought derailed at the sight of the cookie that Clockwork was holding out to him.

“That cookie is green. And glowing.” he said as he cautiously reached out for it.

“Of course it is, “Clockwork replied, “The flour was soaked in raw ectoplasm before it was baked.”

Danny looked slightly repulsed but curious as he examined the cookie now in his hand, “Is it safe for me to eat?” he asked.

“Yes it is, and actually, on the subject of nutrition,” Clockwork said, phasing back to his adult form once again, “You need to increase your ectoplasm intake if you want to remain healthy while using your powers. The easiest ways for you to do this would be to accept it into your diet, such as with these cookies,” he gestured towards the still uneaten cookie in Danny’s hand, “or you can absorb ambient energy from spending time in the Ghost Zone.”

“Wow, you’re being a lot more straight forward now than when you helped save the future.” Danny remarked.

“When I helped you, my hands were tied by my employers; they wanted me to eliminate you instead of solving the root of the problem. Now that I have responsibility for both you and the alternate phantom, I am able to directly advise you when you have a problem as opposed to the convoluted run around that was necessary to keep the Observants from interfering further.” He shifted to his elder form and concluded with, “Maybe they wouldn’t be so shortsighted if they had two eyes instead of just one.”

Danny smiled slightly at the dig at the pretentious eyeballs. He had encountered them a few times while exploring the zone but hadn’t known what their jobs were at the time. “I know I promised that I’ll never turn into Dan, and I’m planning on always keeping my promise! But, is there anything that I need to watch out for to keep everything on track?”

“Do not worry. The actions that you have taken and the choices that you have made have decisively prevented you from ever becoming Dan. You have committed yourself to doing what is right, and remember, Dan was not just you, he was a combination of Phantom and Plasmius. You have nothing to worry about as long as you keep going as you have been. Eat your cookie.”

Danny nibbled at his cookie and was surprised that it tasted really good to him. It was a sugar cookie with a lemon-lime aftertaste that somehow worked really well. As he finished the cookie, he realized that it satisfied a craving that he hadn’t realized he had. Like finally scratching an itch. Danny ate another ecto-cookie from the plate on the table as Clockwork looked on in his child form.

“So I can visit tomorrow too?” Danny asked.

“Of course you may Daniel, you are welcome here any,” he paused and smirked slightly, “…time.” he finished, shifting to adult form.

Danny grinned at him, Clockwork liked puns too! He floated over to the older ghost and tentatively reached for a hug. Clockwork did not hesitate in holding him tight and completing the embrace.

“You are a good and precious child; I already am anticipating your next visit. Unfortunately, you will need to be leaving soon if you do not want your sister to form a search party. She has finished early at the library and will be heading for home shortly.”

Danny hid his smile against Clockwork’s chest as he felt his hair being ruffled. The ticking of the clock under his cheek was comforting.

“Thank you again for saving my whole world. And thanks for the advice and the open invitation. I’ll definitely be visiting more this week.”

Clockwork gave Danny’s head a final pat before separating, “As long as you fly the same speed or faster going home as you did coming here, you will avoid any encounters and will make it home with plenty of time to reassure your sister and to tell her about your day.” Clockwork shifted to his elder form and with his characteristic smirk, stated, “Later Gator.”

Danny beamed with delight as they floated to the door.

“After a little while, Crocodile.”

“We’re far too gharialous for a traditional parting.”

It took Danny a moment to work gharial and garrulous apart before he could shoot back, “Caiman, these puns are getting old.”

Clockwork replied by waggling his eyebrows and shifting to his child form, “Actually, you will find that they are getting younger.”

Danny laughed and waved to his new mentor as he floated out into the ghost zone proper, “I’ll see you tomorrow, bye!” he shouted as he turned and sped off towards home.

Clockwork shut the door once Danny was out of sight and moved to his time viewing room where Danny flying home showed on the main screen. Some of the smaller screens floating off to the side showed him dropping the ecto-weenie back into the drawer in the refrigerator and eating dinner with his sister.

“There are some advantages to being the master of time, and taking care of such a wonderful and delightful child is definitely one of them. The puns are a bonus too.” he mused with a slight lisp and fingering the baton that he’d been gifted. He watched Danny talking to himself during his flight home.

“…and I should ask him where those gears around his lair come from tomorrow. Oh! And if the ectoplasmic contamination in Mom’s cooking is actually a good thing for me. I need to learn about more types of animals and things so I don’t run out of puns!” He was flying home with a huge smile.

-----

True to Clockwork’s words, Danny once again didn’t have any unfriendly encounters while he travelled. He had even managed to shave a couple more minutes off of his flight time! He slowed down as he approached the Fenton Portal and slipped through at normal speed. When he popped through he startled his sister where she was fiddling with some ghost hunting gadgets. “Danny!” she yelled, dropping a Fenton Thermos and some miscellaneous inventions that didn’t actually do anything. She threw her arms around him as he transformed back to human form. “I read your note but I was starting to get worried! I finished early at the library so that I could get dinner started.”

Danny gave her a quick hug back before responding, “I’m fine. Actually, I’m way better than fine! I’ll tell you all about it upstairs, do you think you could make meatloaf again? An ectoweenie ate all of the leftovers.”

His sister ruffled his wind-swept hair before tugging him towards the stairs. “Of course, little brother, I’m so glad that you had a good day and weren’t just playing video games or bored the whole time.” They headed upstairs together and Danny started off his story, “So I was really bored this morning. Incredibly bored. Then I got the perfect idea…”

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amethystunarmed · 4 years

Text

Will Set You Free

Relationships: Dabi/Hawks

Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Referenced Child Abuse

Word Count: 3604

Part of the Truth Series Part 1 Part 3

AO3 Link

~~~

Dabi takes Hawks to the League. But will he be allowed to stay?

~~~

Hawks had been to the Paranormal Liberation Front’s headquarters numerous times at this point. He’d helped Toga decide between fabrics for the curtains for her room, discussed furniture layouts in the common room with Mr. Compress, had witnessed Twice wake Dabi from a nap and cause him to melt a handprint into the couch. Once, when Dabi had called him in at some god-awful hour in the morning, Hawks had nearly tripped over Spinner crouched on the floor playing Grand Theft Auto. He knew that the League lived here, had made this place their home.

Still, the normalcy of it still surprises him. Everytime he opens the door, he expects the couches and cushions to have been replaced by torture devices and chandeliers of bones. He always expects their villain lair to look, well, villainous. And every time, he is wrong.

Toga and Twice are relaxing together on the couches when they entered, Twice with his head in Toga’s lap. He’s masked, and just listening calmly as she babbles to him about some beautiful girl she saw on the subway. It’s a wholesome and domestic sight, one that still makes Hawks feel like his world is tilting out of control. The two look up when the door opens, and Toga’s face lights up. She squeals at a high enough pitch to make Hawks’s ears ring, and shoves Twice off her lap. He yelps, and falls onto the floor, and just lies there, face-down. From the ground he yells, “I’m okay! That hurt like a bitch!” Toga doesn’t seem to notice his complaints or Hawks himself. She only has eyes for Dabi.

“Do you have my donuts?” Toga says, bouncing on her toes. She is gripping onto Dabi’s coat, making herself tall enough to flash her fangs in his face. There is a knife in her hand, nearly brushing Dabi’s cheek. Dabi rolls his eyes, totally unaffected by the many dangerous weapons near his jugular. He ruffles her hair and shoves her off, with just enough force to get his personal space back.

“Not today brat,” he snaps without heat, “Had other things to focus on.” He jabs a thumb in Hawks’s direction.

“Donuts?” Hawks asks. He is struck with a sudden image of Dabi walking into a League meeting with a Mister Donut box, and he thinks the mere concept will cause his brain to bluescreen.

“Pig’s blood donuts!” Toga cheers, as though this is supposed to make Hawks less confused. “Dabi always gets them for me on his way home from visiting you!” In the back of his head, Hawks remembers a news story about protests outside a alternative Qurik lifestyle bakery near his apartment. Hawks wonders if that’s the same place Dabi goes to.

“Psh, only because it shuts you up for half an hour,” Dabi says, and though Toga squawks with indignance, a faint smile never leaves Dabi’s face. Hawks remembers Dabi’s comment earlier about his family and it’s like a picture frame defogs.

“Oh, you take care of her because she reminds you of your siblings,” Hawks notes, and immediately covers his face with his hands, “Oh fuck.”

Toga gasps with joy and Dabi groans.

“Birdie, I’m gonna have to duct tape your mouth shut.”

“Please do.” This is humiliating, Hawks thought, and suddenly his hands were being ripped away from his face. Toga is bouncing in front of him now, million watt grin now aimed at him.

“Dabi told you about his family?” Toga screeches, and before the “yes” can be pulled out from him, Toga is already barreling to the next point. “He never talks about his past, says it doesn’t matter. I think he just wants to keep his bad boy image, but of course he’d tell you!”

“Toga!” Dabi yells, but Hawks can barely process him, because Toga just keeps talking and she’s right in his face and his head is spinning.

“I can’t believe I never thought of it!” Hawks tries to lean away from her, but Toga just tugs him back into place. “It should have been obvious! You have to–” Toga’s eyes dial in on him, and everything about her lessens. Her heels fall flat on the floor, the corners of her smile fall from cheekbones. Even her blinking, which had been fluttering fast in her excitement, becomes practically nonexistent as she drinks in Hawks’s face. Her free hand (the one not accidentally holding a knife to his throat) reaches forward and brushes the skin under his eye. He hisses at the unexpected pain. They were still tender from crying...

Oh no.

Toga’s head whipped toward Dabi, uncharacteristic malice on her face.

“What did you do!”

“What the hell, why do you think I did something?” Dabi sputtered.

“He was crying!” Toga waves her arms in protest and Hawks has to duck under her knife. “Of course it’s your fault!”

“Toga has a point. Make him cry more!” Twice adds. He still is on the ground, for reasons Hawks will probably never comprehend. At least he’s sitting up now.

Toga turns back to Hawks, all the rage gone from her face. She pets his hair and he warbles happily. Hawks’s head has always been a weak spot for him. He used to beg his handlers to preen his hair, to the point that they banned touching his hair at all in an attempt to break him from the habit. He learned later that hawks preen each other’s heads as a sign of community and acceptance, since they can’t reach the spot themselves. A conditioned part of him still feels shame at the way he melts to the touch, but the bird in him can’t help but be excited by the accepting gesture from his flockmate.

“What did the mean man do to you?” Toga coos. Hawks’s answer is more of a half-slurred hum.

“He asked questions and I answered them.”

“Dabi, what–”

“Look, I promise I’ll explain everything,” Dabi interjects, “But first I need to talk to Shigaraki, do you know where he is?”

Toga opens her mouth to answer but a voice from the hallway beats her to it.

“Trying to ignore all the yelling.”

And there, standing with his arms crossed and a petulant frown on his face, was the man Hawks was sent by the commission to find.

Shigaraki Tomura.

If all I needed to do to meet him was cry, the Commission should have just sent me after one of my debriefs, Hawks thinks hysterically.

Shigaraki looks Hawks up and down, and huffs.

“This the recruit you’ve been spending so much time with?” Shigaraki says, “And here I thought you’d finally recruited a party member worth playing.”

“He’s joining.” There’s no room for argument in Dabi’s voice. Shigaraki raises an eyebrow.

“Really. You think the number two hero should join the inner circle of the League of Villains?” He chuckles. “I knew you were ugly, but I at least thought you were smart.”

“He’s one of us, Shigaraki,” Dabi spits, and Hawks can see a mirage of heated air around his hands. It’s not the first time he’s seen it happen. Hawks wonders if Dabi realized how much of his anger manifests in his quirk. “Hero society chewed him up and spit him out, just like you and Toga and Twice and every other league member. He has a right to be here.”

Shigaraki cackles and the sound makes Hawks wince. It isn’t that the laugh is unhinged and terrifying (though it very much is), it’s that... Well, it isn’t like his handlers haven’t laughed at his complaints before this. He should be used to it by now.

“Really? You expect me to believe the Hero Commission's prized protagonist has a tragic backstory?” Shigaraki snorts, “What’s the worst thing that could have happened to him?”

It isn’t a question directed at Hawks, but it is still one he can answer. And apparently, that is all the quirk needs.

“When I was eight, they started giving me training to resist torture.” Hawks doesn’t want to talk about this. He has never talked to anyone about it and never intended to before today. But Hawks is tired, too tired to try and hold back the information he knows will be dragged out of him anyways. So he lets the words drop from his mouth like stones. “They still needed me to be physically able to training so the Commission brought in someone who was able to activate pain receptors through touch. Felt like the initial moment of being stabbed, endlessly. He would work with me for hours, quirk constantly activated, no matter how much I screamed and cried. By the time I was ten, I was able to sit for an hour under his quirk without flinching.”

Hawks sighs, and his wings droop. He can feel his primaries brushing against the floor.

The room has gotten very quiet. Hawks has somehow managed to horrify a room full of villains into silence. Robbers, murderers, criminal masterminds, serial killers, all of them stare at him without saying a word. Twice sniffles, and Hawks can see dark lines beginning to track down the cheeks of his mask.

Toga is the one to break the silence.

“Do you need me to kill that guy for you?” She asks, and Hawks is pretty sure she isn’t kidding. She twirls a knife blade through her fingers. “‘Cuz he sounds like a jerk, and I will totally kill that guy for you.”

“No, I don’t need you to kill him. I’m just... I’m just gonna sit down.” Hawks moves toward the couch, but Dabi catches his wrist.

“Hawks?” He asks, and Hawks smiles at all the gentle questions behind it. He’s such a fucking softie.

“I’m o–” The lie stops on his tongue, so he amends himself, “I’ll be alright. Just gonna sit.” Dabi nods but Hawks feels eyes boring into him until he’s safely seated. Then, all the rage and intensity of that stare turns to Shigaraki.

“What the hell just happened!” Shigaraki screeches.

“He was hit by a truth quirk, asshole.” Dabi snaps.

“Do you have any proof of that?”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Oh, because your judgement isn’t clouded?” Shigaraki argues, “He could just be trying to garner sympathy. It’s an easily set trap.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Dabi turns to Hawks, seeming to already be regretting this course of action. “Hawks, what do you think of Shigaraki?”

“Well, thought he’d more intimidating to be honest,” Hawks admits, then quickly scrambles to right himself, “Not that you aren’t intimidating, because you are, I’m just much more attracted to you than I thought I’d be, I’m a slut for messy hair. I mean, you’d think the scars and chapped lips would be a turn off, but they actually really do it for me. Maybe I just have a thing of guys who can absolutely obliterate me, given how I feel about Dabi and oh my god Toga please just stab me, I’m begging you.” Toga just pats his head, because apparently he’s too pathetic for even her to kill.

Shigaraki looks at Dabi, then Hawks, then back at Dabi again. “So he was hit by a truth quirk.”

“Obviously,” Dabi growls. His fists are clenching and the heat waves are back. He’s getting frustrated, though Hawks can’t understand why. “And he’s joining our side. He’s going to stay here from now on.”

“He serves us better as a double agent, gathering information from the inside,” Shigaraki hisses, and Dabi’s hands flare blue.

“He’s not going back there.”

“It’s where he’s most useful!”

“Over my dead body!”

“Just because you have fe–”

“I’ll tell you my name!”

Shigaraki stills, all his stubbornness dissipating. For the first time today, Hawks thinks he’s actually listening.

“You still wanna know it, right?” Dabi spits, “Let him stay, and I’ll tell you.”

“Go right ahead,” Shigaraki offers. Dabi looks shiftily around the room, eyes bouncing from Toga to Twice to Hawks himself.

“Just you,” he amends, and brushes past him. “Come on.” Shigaraki rolls his eyes, but still went with him. Once they were out of sight, Toga giggled and squealed.

“Welcome to the family!”

Hawks chokes on air.

“Wh– really?”

Toga shrugs. “I mean, Dabi vouched for you, so I don’t see why not.”

Twice shoots him a thumbs up. “Happy to have you! Fuck off and die.”

“And it’s not like we’re going to let Tomura send you back to the commission! They sound terrible!” A dark cloud falls over Toga's face, and Hawks’s instincts scream for him to back away from the predator in the room. She licks her fangs. “If I ever meet any of those Commission phonies, I’ll cover them in blood!” Then she frowns, a cute pout that leaves no remnant of her former fury. She taps her finger against her chin as she thinks over her plan. “But then I’d make them cute, and they don’t deserve that. Hm.”

“Toga, what are you even talking about?” Spinner asks, as he and Mr. Compress walk in from the hall opposite the way Shigaraki and Dabi left. “And why is everyone shouting? It’s fucking loud.” Compress nods in agreement.

“It’s hard for a performer to prepare for their upcoming act when the green room is in such upheaval.”

Twice nods and gives him a thumbs up. “I didn’t understand any of that.”

Hawks can tell he’s been around the League too long, because, despite the mask, he can tell Compress is rolling his eyes.

“What’s got everyone so irate?”

The truth tickles up Hawks’s throat. “Dabi offered to let me live here and agreed to tell Shigaraki his real name if he let me stay.” Fuck, this quirk never ends.

Spinner and Compress stare blankly at him for a moment (or at least, that’s what Hawks assumes Compress is doing), before Toga chimes in, “Now we’re just waiting for Tomura-chan to cave! Also, Hawks got hit with a truth quirk and shared some of his tragic backstory with us. Don’t ask him any questions, though! He can’t seem to stop from answering then.”

Despite these words, Hawks expects to be bombarded with inquiries. It was one thing for Toga and Twice to accept his arrival, they’d actually seen everything go down. But if he’d been in Spinner and Compress’s shoes, he’d interrogate like there was no tomorrow. So he braces himself for the truth to be torn from him, trying to come up with anyway to justify his past betrayals, just so they don’t kill him immediately and–

“Okay,” Spinner says, and flops down on the couch on top of Twice. Compress primly sits next to him. Neither of them even spare Hawks a second glance.

“Wait, that’s it?” Hawks sputters, “You’re just... gonna let it go?”

“Uh, yeah?” Spinner says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Dabi’s fighting for you, and he hates everyone, so you must really be fucked. Besides, it’ll be nice to have someone else with a mutation quirk around here. Finally, someone will understand how much it sucks to shed.”

Hawks crinkles his nose. “Yeah, molting’s the absolute worst.” Hawks flinches at what he just revealed, but Spinner only laughs.

“Finally! You get it!” He reaches up from Twice’s lap to clap Hawks on the shoulder. “See, this is gonna be great.”

Hawks thinks he might be tearing up again.

“Really? You’re not gonna ask me any questions?”

“Nope!” Spinner says, and Compress looks downright scandalized.

“Prying information from your past without your consent? Heavens no! Magicians value secrects above all else; I would never rob you of yours. Who would even consider such a thing?”

Hawks nearly spills all about how the Commission would absolutely pry everything they can from him, but he’s luckily saved by Shigaraki stomping into the room. The man has his arms crossed and he’s sulking, hard wrinkles in his nose. He growls and glares at Hawks.

“He can stay.”

The room erupts with cheers. Toga is in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as she gushes praise. Twice is excitedly ruffling his hair, and Spinner pokes at his leg with glee. Compress tips his hat to him and Hawks swears he even sees Shigaraki crack a smile. The joy is radiant and contagious and Hawks has never experienced anything like it; yet, he still can’t take his eyes off of Dabi.

He’s leaning against the wall, watching Hawks with an amused smirk. He gives Hawks a wink, but that doesn’t hide the lack of color in his face or the shakiness of hands. Whatever he said really messed him up, Hawks thinks, And he... He did that for me.

Hawks gently slides Toga off of him and stands. He takes a step toward Dabi, then another. He opens his mouth, reaches out a hand, but stops.

What do you say to the person who saved you?

Hawks doesn’t know, so he offers the words that always struck truest with him.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, Hawks gets another glimpse of that open surprise Dabi seems to feel at any affection, but Dabi brushes it away before anyone else can notice

“Heh, just don’t forget you owe me one, birdie,” he chuckles. There is no real weight behind the words, but Spinner nevertheless turns and glares at him.

“I thought we were past the whole ‘making fun of mutation quirks’ thing,” he snarls, and Dabi flounders. Hawks doesn’t really understand what Spinner means, but Dabi seems almost ashamed.

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Spinner snaps, and tilts his head in Hawks’s direction. “I’m not the one you called a bird.”

And Dabi catches Hawks’s eyes, and Hawks is suddenly sure he’s going to apologize, of all things, and he’s so overwhelmed, not only by this, but by everything that happened today, so he opens his mouth and tells the truth.

“No, no, he doesn’t have to stop, I like it!”

Hawks hates his fucking mouth and the fucking desperation in his tone and every fucking thing about this quirk. Dabi seems positively dumbstruck.

“You do?”

“I...” Hawks’s feathers fluff with embarrassment, and he can feel his cheeks heating up. “I like that you gave me a nickname.”

And, though he may be imagining it, Hawks swears he sees the skin just below Dabi’s eye-scars turn pink.

“Oh.” The word is barely a breath, and it’s one of the best sounds Hawks’s has ever heard.

“Fuck,” Spinner groans, and Toga shouts with glee.

“Pay up boys!” She croons, and Twice and Spinner begin pulling bills out of their pockets.

“I’m very happy for you, you both suck dicks! ” Twice says as he hands Toga a frankly obscene amount of money.

“I don’t understand why the two of you continue to bet against her on such matters,” Compress says, “She’s never wrong.”

“In my defense, this started before she smelled him,” Spinner grumbles as Toga snatches the wad of cash out of his claws. Apparently that’s enough information for Dabi, because he shoots Toga a death glare. Hawks, however, still has no fucking clue what’s going on.

“Uh, I think I’m missing something?”

“Don’t you dare!” Dabi growls. He lunges for her but two Twice’s pop out and grab him. It’s kind of terrifying but Toga just giggles.

“I’m a love expert!”

Hawks stares at her, waiting for her to explain. She beams at him and rocks on her heels. Hawks turns to Compress instead, since he’s the only one whose sanity seems intact.

“Toga can always tell when people are in love,” Compress explains.

“You motherfuckers!” Dabi howls, “I’m gonna burn this whole building to the ground!” He’s smoking at this point, and Hawks can’t help but shoot nervous glances in his direction. No one else seems the slightest bit concerned.

“We believe it’s part of her quirk,” The magician continues, “Something about the hormones making her quirk more effective, and therefore smelling more appealing. So she always knows when two people fall for each other. Therefore”—Hawks can telling, even with the mask, that Mr. Compress is giving Spinner and Twice a very judgmental look—“betting against her on the nature of your and Dabi’s relationship is a rather moronic venture.”

“Wait– Our– Dabi’s in love with me?”

“Fuck!”

Hawks is pretty sure that’s a yes.

God does he love that yes. It couldn’t be more Dabi. And Hawks?

Hawks loves Dabi.

“I have feelings for you, too.”

Dabi stops struggling. He gapes, slowly, opening and closing his mouth as he processes Hawks’s words.

“You- You do?”

Hawks rolls his eyes. “I physically can’t lie, hot stuff.” Now Dabi’s definitely blushing.

“Oh. Right,” Dabi chuckles, and gently pulls away from the clones holding him.

(“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” Shigaraki mutters, and Toga elbows him in the stomach)

“Can– Can I–” His eyes flicker to Hawks’s lips and Dabi gets this nervous look on his face. He wants to kiss me. And Hawks would normally tease him over how goddamn chivalrous he’s being but... Hawks can’t remember the last time someone asked him for permission. So it’s really no surprise that he suddenly has his talons dug into Dabi’s coat and their lips are pressed together. Toga wolf-whistles and Shigaraki stomps away yelling about how much he already regrets this, but Hawks is busy memorizing the texture of Dabi’s lips, so he doesn’t really care. Eventually, they have to pull away, and come up for air, and Dabi is actually smiling at him.

“Was that okay?”

And, for once, Hawks doesn’t mind telling the truth.

“That was perfect.”

#dabihawks #bnha #my hero academia #bnha dabi #bnha hawks #dabi is a todoroki #toga himiko #shigaraki tomura #mha #takami keigo #bnha twice #Boku no hero academia #bnha spinner #hotwings #my writing #my fanfic #my bnha fanfic #the truth series

14 notes · View notes

dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 13 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, whom I have now kidnapped and am holding hostage in my bedroom so they can be my full-time cheerleaders

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

Walking into Loki’s cell the next day is… difficult. The screams you threw at him are still echoing in your ears, the alcohol (or sudden lack of) is still making your brain sluggish, and your head hurts from all the crying you did late in the night. You’re dreading his glare; the icy tone of his voice. Did you just undo months of friendship in one day? You very well might’ve. He trusted you with his fears and struggles about Thor and you threw it back in his face for what? Some sort of twisted reassurance that your life was worse than his at that moment? Horrible.

There are so many apologies lingering on your tongue you feel choked with them, and there’s a terrible tightness in your limbs. The feeling intensifies when you walk in and he’s got that awful blank look in his eyes just like he did when you first met him. It scares you to no end; thinking you might’ve lost him.

“Hey.”

His gaze does shift your way as you approach, thank god. You open your mouth to pour out your apologies, but nothing comes out. Useless. In a fit of anxiety, your fingertips end up brushing the wall of glass in front of you. There’s still a smudge on it from where you smacked it the day before. Ugh. Rather than try and put what you’re feeling into words, you let your forehead bang against the glass, eyes on your feet. “I’m a terrible person.” Your face scrunches in effort to hold back an unexpected wave of emotion. “I-”

“Tell me about him.”

“Huh?” His tone is still cool- a little more reserved- but you know an olive branch when you see one.

“Your brother. Tell me about him.”

“O-okay.” Where to start? Your indecisiveness wiggles its way out through your fingers, and they flex against the glass. “Well. He was super smart, first of all. The type of person who could walk into a room and instantly see all the connections: who was with who, who would stab the other in the back before the month was up, who was nervous or who was too cocky for their own good. He read people… flawlessly.”

You tilt your head a little, letting memories bubble up in your mind. “I idolized him as a kid. He was everything I wanted to be. He got all my parents’ attention, and I knew that, but I basically didn’t mind because he deserved to be the favorite, that’s how awesome he was. Does that make any sense?”

“What changed?”

You sigh, and the sadness in it almost cracks your chest open. “Kids… see what they want to see. They want to believe their brothers are their own personal knights in shining armor. That they can do no wrong. I lived in that denial for… well. Way too long.”

“My parents played a part in that, I think. They tried to hide the worst of it from me. If he was gone for three days and I asked where he was, they’d say he was just staying with a friend. When he came home high or drunk he had the flu or food poisoning, and I had to stay away from him because he might be contagious. I think deep down I knew something was wrong, but I just ignored it. I loved him, I loved them. I walked on eggshells because I didn’t want anything to shatter this illusion we had built.”

You’re suddenly exhausted. Opening up these boxes, ones that are usually duct taped tightly shut and squeezed into some deep dark crevice if your brain, always weighs on your shoulders. Rather than going back to your chair you just sit down on the floor, letting yourself lean against the glass.

“One night, when I was- fifteen, maybe? I’d just started high school, I think. A bunch of his friends had come over to hang out and he invited me to join them.” You pause, swallowing a bit of nausea. “I was so excited to be hanging out with all his cool friends. They gave me drinks, told me I was pretty, made me feel so grown up and important. But I started feeling… weird, after a few hours, so I wanted to go to bed, but they made me stay. I remember sitting on the couch and just… spacing. Staring at the wall while everyone talked around me. It took me forever to notice the hand on my leg.”

You can physically feel the intensity of Loki’s gaze ratchet up to twenty. When you look at him, his green eyes are sparkling dangerously. He knows where this is going. You wish he didn’t.

“It turns out one of his friends had a bit of a crush on me. He started, you know. Rubbing my leg, tucking my hair behind my ear. I was zoned out but enough of me was there to realize something was… not good. Zach-” saying his name makes your heart sink a little- “Zach was on the other side of the room, but when I finally got his attention, he-” you close your eyes, like the scene is playing out right in front of you and you can’t bear to watch. “He just looked at me with this total… indifference, and he said, oh, he already paid, so. He can do whatever he wants. And he went right back to his beer.”

It’s been ten years since that night and you can still remember how the adrenaline set in, how it pushed through your body like lightning when you smacked the guy’s hand away from your bra and he looked at you with murderous eyes. “I was lucky that I’d only had one cup of- whatever they gave me. I was still mostly in my right mind. I said no, and the guy got mad and started screaming about how many grams of ketamine he traded for this, then went to confront Zach about it. This huge fight started- I don’t remember most of it. I’m pretty sure I was comatose by the time punches were thrown, but luckily everyone was too occupied to notice. One of the neighbors called the police, they broke the door down and arrested everyone, and they found fifteen year old me drugged up on the couch, talking in circles like I didn’t have a care in the world.”

Waking up in a hospital bed, remembering nothing, was terrifying. Having the memories come back one by one, at the police’s gentle prompting, was even more so. “I’m still not sure what they roofied me with. The nurses never told me. But I was in the hospital for a day or so.”

Some sort of self-deprecating, bitter laugh escapes you. “So yeah. My brother sold me for drugs, I guess. That was a fun one to handle at fifteen.”

“And he is dead?”

“What, planning on reviving him so you can kill him again? I’ll help.” That does soften Loki’s expression just a fraction. “Yeah, he was high and drunk on god knows what and decided to go out to some party. Ran a red light, took out a couple of cars with his own. The storm didn’t help much I’m sure.” Your fingernails dig into your palms, leaving crescent moons on your skin. “He dragged so many people down with him that day. Good people. People who didn’t deserve it. If he had just taken himself out I don’t think anybody would have cried, but- I guess he had a penchant for ruining lives up until the very end.”

“He deserves far worse than he received.” There is unrestrained rage in Loki’s voice, a fiery sort of protectiveness that would be scary if it wasn’t protectiveness over you.

“Easy, Trickster. He’s long gone. Though I’m inclined to agree.” You knot your fingers together. “I know it doesn’t excuse anything about what happened yesterday. I was- terrible. But I was just so jealous. You have a brother who would do anything for you, who loves you and cares about you, and- that’s something I’ve wanted for so long. I know your relationship with Thor is far from perfect, and you have absolutely every right to feel the way you do. I just think you’re blind to what you have, sometimes.”

Loki doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither do you. Your words hang in the air between the pair of you, tugging on the rough edges of both your minds, wanting resolution. To your surprise, he gets up off his cot and comes to sit in front of you, mirroring your cross-legged pose so that you’re face to face. It’s nice, if you try to forget there’s layers of reinforced barrier separating you. Absentmindedly, your subconscious paints a scene where you and he are sitting, talking, laughing- somewhere comfortable, somewhere there’s no pressure, where you could take his hand and let his thumb smooth over the scars on your palm.

“Gods are not impervious to mortal plights. We love, we war, we hate, we hold petty feuds and retaliate against the ones we love. We are not always things to be worshipped or revered- quite the opposite; I believe many of your myths regarding us are what you mortals call cautionary tales.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, am I in the midst of hearing the one and only Loki Laufeyson admit that he’s not perfect? Should I be recording this?”

“Hush, Witling, I am trying to help. My point is, if even the gods are not perfect, you cannot expect yourself to be.” Loki taps on the glass right where your heart is. “There are no apologies necessary. I have endured far worse by the hands of people who would never think to be remorseful for their actions.”

You frown. “That doesn’t make it okay. You still deserve common decency.”

“You were hurting, badly. My only complaint is that I was not able to be of more use.”

“I don’t know, you made a pretty good verbal punching bag.”

You’re treated to an exquisite eye roll, but it’s balanced by the fond smile on his face. “Yes, well, do try to not make it a large habit, darling. I am quite fragile, you know.”

“Fragile my ass. According to field reports you got ground-pounded by the Hulk multiple times and walked away with a bruise.”

“A very unpleasant bruise! Have you no sympathy?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Shoulda thought about that before you angered the jolly green giant.”

“I beg your pardon, absolutely nothing about him was jolly.”

You have to giggle at the miffed expression on his face. “It’s an expression, Trickster. And it’s not my fault you have no self preservation skills.”

“And here I thought you were on my side.”

He says it jokingly, but something about his words tugs at you the wrong way. “I am on your side.”

Loki stops and looks you in the eyes, startled by your sudden sincerity. “There is no need to throw your lot in with the enemy. Mine is not the team you wish to be on.”

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

He looks at you for a long moment, gaze digging into your head to seek out all the little things you aren’t saying. But eventually he just nods, conceding. “I suppose we shall.”

A/N: Happy Thursday! Apparently I missed national fanfic/fanfic author’s day, so here’s a belated celebration :D

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sternentinte · 5 years

Text

Emogust - 14.08.|In which character A. protects character B. from danger

He gets the box.

Heiji is in an appropriate state of panic—Kudou disappeared, was taken away by his mother that doesn’t exist (read: Edogawa Fumiyo) and Neechan doesn’t even know it yet. She’ll know soon though, as soon as she realizes that what she just perceives as a weeklong break in between her boyfriend’s more or less regular phone calls, is in fact a perhaps permanent stop.

Heiji dreads this happening, but he knows it’s coming. What he doesn’t know is what the hell is actually going on, and no matter what he tries he can’t figure out where Kudou is and for what reason he doesn’t know.

What he knows is that a) the little neechan from the professor’s house is missing, too, and b) said professor doesn’t know what happened either. It is strange because Heiji knows that the professor is Kudou’s number one confidant. More important than Heiji (even though that hurts a little) and more important than Neechan (but that’s because he insists on not telling her things to protect her. Ridiculous, in Heiji’s opinion. If there’s one girl that can defend herself it’s Neechan. Except for Kazuha, of course, he amends. Kazuha might be even better at it, if only because she’s not as nice.)

He still decides to go to Tokyo though, because there is no way he is going to give up on his friend, on his best friend, and that is where he gets the box.

“I was debating on whether I should show you this”, Professor Agasa says, his face tired and years older than the last time Heiji saw him. It’s scary in a way.

“What is it?”, he asks, eager for information, for any information on what happened. He wants to do something, dammit.

“This.”, Agasa says, and puts a box on the table. It’s made from cardboard and not exactly tiny, but also not huge. It seems like something that would contain old CDs or maybe letters. The more interesting part of it is how it’s covered all over in duct tape. And the little note on top of the cover.

Professor, give this to Hattori-kun ONLY if my or Haibara’s body is found.

“I probably shouldn’t be giving this to you”, he says, and the guilt is obvious in his every motion.

“But surely, this also counts?”, he mumbles, more to himself than to Heiji, “They disappeared, and the Black Organisation is after them… I can’t even track Shinichi-kun’s glasses.”

So maybe whoever took them knew about the glasses, Heiji’s brain suggests, making the deduction near automatically, or he left them behind purposefully.

“You don’t have to take it.”, the professor says, “maybe you shouldn’t open it until-” His voice almost breaks. “-until the conditions are met. It seems so serious, but-”

“I’ll take it.”, Heiji says. This is what he needs. He needs some way to make this right.

He opens the box as soon as he is home. Some of the contents he understands immediately, others not so much. But either way, he knows what this is. Evidence. Evidence, little signs and theories, names, and information. It’s a lot, but it also isn’t because surely there must be more information that Kudou could compile about this organisation in almost a year, but there isn’t. So maybe he didn’t. It’s a terrifying thought, because Kudou is brilliant, maybe the best detective Heiji knows—probably better than himself, even though he never would have said that out loud. Not before for sure.

This is a treasure, he decides, because he has a hunch that this might be more than anyone else knew about this organisation, ever, without being a part of it. This is a treasure and he will make sure he will use it to his best capacity. And if it’s the last thing he does.

“Heiji!”, Kazuha calls from the hall and Heiji hurries to hide the box and its contents before she enters the room.

“Did you just get home?”, she asks, looking at the jacket he’s still wearing. He didn’t even notice he forgot to take it off.

“Seriously, where were you?”, Kazuha asks, “I went looking for you.”

“I was just looking into a case.”, Heiji lies and that’s how it starts.

The more Heiji looks into the material, the more he realises he can’t do this the way Kudou did it. He can’t be a teen detective going over his head. He feels the deadliness of his secrets and it haunts him in his sleep. He can’t get himself killed, or disappeared, or whatever, because then he can’t find Kudou.

He needs to find Kudou.

(He feels guilty every time he has to tell Neechan he’s trying. She still looks so hopeful.)

He can’t do this on his own—but he can’t pull anyone else into this. He needs to be better.

Kazuha confesses to him a couple of weeks before they graduate high school. It’s almost been a year now and Heiji hasn’t made a lot of progress—not enough. It’s right after the Gosho Girl’s first concert—at Ran’s school—and it was a huge success. Heiji is so happy for them, not only because they have found something for themselves but because Neechan looks happier than he has seen her in a long time.

Then Kazuha says it. They are in the small room that constitutes backstage and somehow, they are the only ones there—Heiji doesn’t quite understand how, but it’s not what’s important there.

“Heiji”, she says, so carefully and quietly, as if they are the most important words in the world. Maybe they are.

“Heiji, I am in love with you.”

Heiji’s heart soars and he is so happy, so, so happy, but at the same time his heart breaks.

“I wish you didn’t say that.”, he says, because it’s honest and he can’t bring himself to say, “I don’t feel the same way.” Because that’s a lie and Heiji’s still terrible at lying, especially to Kazuha.

“Why?”, Kazuha says and he can see the tears forming in her eyes and he hates himself.

He finds himself being honest again. “Because I can’t be your boyfriend.”

“Why?”, Kazuha says, her voice raising, half-angry, half-upset.

He shrugs unhappily, because he doesn’t know what to tell her. He’s given up on the idea, he doesn’t quite know when, it was a gradual process. He finally understands why Kudou lied to Neechan like that, it’s for the same reason. And Heiji can’t do that to Kazuha, he can’t bring himself to. Even if he can’t tell her the secrets, for her own good, he can’t make himself lie. And if he has made it his goal to do this, no matter what it takes, he can’t be her boyfriend. Because if he was, he fears, he won’t be able to make himself do it the way it needs to.

And he has to learn from Kudou’s mistakes. (He can’t disappear on his girlfriend because they are getting to close. He can’t get himself killed either.)

Heiji starts training for the PSIA immediately after graduation. It’s not what he wanted, originally, he had always wanted his own agency somewhere, be a detective on his own terms, but this is the way he needs to go if he wants to solve the secrets in the box. He needs to be smart about it, and this is the best way.

Kazuha forgives him even before they graduate.

“Why?”, he asks, because he honestly can’t fathom any reason he’d deserves it.

“Because you’d kill yourself on accident if I wasn’t there to look out for you.” She shrugs like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

He isn’t sure if it’s the real reason, but he is glad either way.

They move to Tokyo together, Heiji for his training, Kazuha for the band, and naturally, they share their apartment. Heiji’s so glad she is there, because without her, this awful city might kill him, even sooner than any idiocy on his part that Kazuha might like to cite. So maybe she is right, after all.

They are good as roommates because they are good as friends, always were, but sometimes it hurts, because Heiji knows it’s not quite what he wants. Still, he’s glad he has a familiar face to come back to at the end of the day and he knows Kazuha is happy—the band is doing so well—even if in the back of his head he wonders if she would be happier.

Heiji’s training is awful, especially at first. They take him in easily, he has a good track record with all the work he’s done as a high schooler, but at heart, he’s not the right kind of person to be an agent. He’s a terrible liar and a worse actor and he doesn’t do well at hiding his emotions at all.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, his educator asks him at the end of the first week.

“You are a smart kid, I can tell, but maybe you’d be better off somewhere else. This kind of work rips good people apart all the time. There are other ways you can do good.”

Heiji looks at him and he knows the guy is right. He’s trying to do him a favour and he’s right because this is not what Heiji was made for. But it is what he will make himself be made for, because he has no choice.

“I have to do this.”, he says, and the educator nods, sadly, tiredly, like he’s heard it too many times before.

The next day, he gets a phone call from the professor.

The new envelope has a computer stick in it; the data heavily encrypted. But that’s not important—well it is—but not as much as the handwriting on it.

Add it to the box.

Kudou is still somewhere out there. And Heiji can’t disappoint him.

More envelopes come, sporadically as much as irregularly, over the years as Heiji rises in the ranks. They rarely put him out to do field work; somehow, he has come to be better at gathering data, trying to make sense of it. Maybe that’s because it’s what he’s been doing all the time. Trying to make sense. No matter what the others say, he still doesn’t feel like he’s very good at it.

While he tries to make himself be the person who can do this, Kazuha and the girls take off.

One concert becomes many and then they release their first album. Heiji is so proud of them. By now, he can almost smile at Neechan again.

After their album comes a Japan-wide tour and Heiji misses Kazuha terribly while she’s gone. When she comes back, he wants to kiss her, but he doesn’t, and they watch a silly movie together instead, and she tells him about all the places she went and the people she’s met. It’s not quite what he wants, but it’s still pretty good.

He tries not to be jealous when she goes on dates, but he’s pretty sure she notices anyway.

It’s been three and a half years when the pieces finally start coming together. It’s not only Kudou’s information by now, but a mixture of that and his own investigation, gathered information, small hunches, his people’s observation, suspicious news stories. It all comes together, and he starts seeing the enormous web he’s caught.

It’s only a matter of time now.

(Oh, how he hopes it is—he is so tired. He works with his old educator sometimes, and the man looks at him too knowingly. It’s the same look Kazuha gives him when he comes home and feels like he’s dead inside—no matter what he does he’s still not made for this job. But he can do it and he’s so close.)

It’s two months later when he finds them. The FBI finds them first, but that doesn’t matter—not really, anyway, but they’re alive and Heiji wants to stand on Tokyo Tower and yell it into the world, but that wouldn’t be a very good strategy, so he doesn’t.

He pulls a few strings (more like a thousand and his gut slowly out of his mouth, at least that’s what it feels like—the FBI is crazy protective) to organise a meet up.

Kudou looks tired. He looks different and weak, like he’s sick maybe, like he has been for a long time.

But then he looks up and his eyes are the same.

Heiji throws himself at him with a hug. They never were friends that hug, but does it matter now?

“Hattori.”, Kudou says, when he’s finally let go, “How?”

“I am the PSIA contact that has info on your organisation.”, Heiji explains, like it’s the natural thing.

He pulls out his folder, then the box.

Kudou looks at it, like it invokes mixed feelings.

“You weren’t supposed to get that-“

“Not unless I found yours or that little neechan’s dead body, I know. I have it anyway and I think I did a pretty good job with it.”

Kudou sighs.

Then he looks up. “You don’t figure you might have seen our cat, have you?”

It takes them about a month to compare notes. Technically it’s Heiji taking Kudou’s witness report, but they both know that’s garbage. Even though the critical part is not quite done yet, Heiji feels as if a weight has been lifted off his chest.

Kazuha notices, too.

“You’re doing better.”, she says one night, when Heiji almost falls asleep watching the News the third time this week.

“Eh?”, he asks. Him being crazily tired from work usually doesn’t count as him doing better in her books.

“You’re smiling.”, she says, matter-of-factly, but she’s smiling, too.

“Oh.”, he says. “Work is going well.”

She nods and doesn’t ask further. Heiji tells himself he’s not lying to her, just omitting the truth. It’s been his policy this far, or maybe always—don’t lie to Kazuha, keep your secrets if you must. He’s sure she knows there’s more to it, but she won’t ask him about work. She’s not cruel enough to.

“You know”, Kazuha says, and snuggles into his side as they sit next to each other on the couch, “I feel like things are changing, for all of us.”

“What do you mean?”, he asks, even if he feels like he already knows, but those are things Kazuha can’t know, never could guess.

“’M not sure.”, she says, yawning, “For all of us though. You, me, Ran-chan, Aoko-chan, Sonoko-chan. Something’s changing.”

“Think it’ll be good?”

She looks at him, and she’s so close, and Heiji wants to kiss her, but he doesn’t.

“I hope so.”, she says.

“Me too.”

-------- @mintchocolateleaves, @sup-poki

#DCMKEmogust2019 #girl band au #heiji hattori #kazuha toyama #heikazu #shinichi kudou #dcmk #I can't believe I wrote two of these in a row #i should really go to bed #This just flew off my fingers #Wow #Only one day behind!

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jungshookz · 5 years

Note

idk if you accept requests or not but if you do can u make an au where ot7 nd yn live together nd like all of them love each other so much but platonically????? also idk the shits they do on daily basis ??? if you dont then its okay jus wanna drop by nd say im so in love with your works ily💞💞

❄️ pairing: ot7 x reader

❄️ genre: nothing but plaTONIC LOVE,,,, SO CUTE,,, FLUFFIER THAN FRESHLY FALLEN SNOW, also jungkook is awful at wrapping

❄️ wordcount: 2.4k

❄️ notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIENDS! i was actually going to post this in the afternoon but theN i wanted this to be like a surprise present under the tree for everyone so here i am posting it at literally 3 in the morning!!!!!!! so when u wake up in the morning not only will u be opening presents u will also be able to reAD this! YES i’m aware that i skipped out on a couple drabbles from the 12 drabbles of christmas and i am sO sorry but i’ve been spending time with family and y’all know how it is i hope you can forgive me! anyways enough blabbering from me happy holidays merry christmas happy hanukah happy nEw yEar happy whatever you celebrate i love u all and i can’t wait to go into the new year with you lovely people!

(gif isn’t mine!)

“is she awake?”

“obviously not,,, what time is it??”

“nearly 8 and y/n doesn’t wake up until like 12 when it’s the holidays”

you hear the sound of your curtains being pushed open and you can see your room brightening up even though you have an eye mask on

ugH is it already time to get up????

you were up til 3 watching christmas movies and yA you’re super pumped that it’s literally christmas right now and you get to open your presents under the tree but like,,,

you would prefer to do all of that later,, maybe at like 12

“someone should just push her off the bed”

“don’t do that you priCK”

“someone just wake her up!! i wanna open my preSENTS”

“well you guys take care of this because i have to go and prepare breakfast”

you’re tempted to just go back to sleep but u know that the boys will literally just stand there and talk to each other about how to wake you up

you reach up to lift your eye mask up and you’re met with the sight of seven smiling faces (except for yoongi because it’s too frickin early for him too and he’s tempted to crawl in and snuggle up with you)

“good morning” your voice is still thick with sleep and you pull your mask off and toss it aside before propping yourself up on your elbows and letting out a yawn “merry chris-“

“mERRY CHRISTMAS LET’S GO OPEN PRESENTS NOW” the next thing you know you’re being swePT out of bed and jungkook has you in his arms and he’s sprinting down the stairs like a madman

you shriek and cling onto him because you literally juSt woke up and your brain is still low-key in sleep mode and the world is spinNing and

jungkook plops you down on the couch and you squeak from the impact before suddenly you’re bouncing off the couch and tumbling to the ground

“oW” you groan and flip over onto your stomach on the ground before reaching down and rubbing at your sore butt

do butts have bones?? because you’re pretty sure all the bones in your ass are completely shattered right now

“omg get off of me whoever you are” you feel someone take a seat on your tender bum and you reach back blindly in a poor attempt to swat the person off

you immediately hear jimin’s jingly giggle and he slides off before patting your bum “sit up!!”

“no” you murmur with your cheek squished against the carpet

you could just fall asleep like this

yes

sleep

you want to

slee-

“gEt up!” tae grabs your waist and pulls you up and sets you down on the couch next to yoongi who is (this) close to falling asleep

you let out another yawn and rest your head against yoongi’s shoulder and he slips an arm around your waist so that the both of you are comfortable

you never thought yoongi was the cuddling type but it turns out he really reaLLy is which is something u definitely don’t mind

“you two - it’s christmas!!! liven up a little!” namjoon pats the tops of your guys’ head and you grumble in response

“y/n you should open my present first!” tae plops a neat little box onto your lap and you blink down at it before humming and nodding

you pull away from yoongi and he groans quietly at the loss of warmth

“thank you for the gift, tae” you smile sleepily and reach up to pat your cheeks to wake yourself up

hoO

okay

christmas morning

let’s do this

you tear the bright wrapping paper to pieces and immediately feel a lot more energised when you see what tae got u for christmas “i knitted a scarf for you and i have a matching one so noW you too can be a fashionista”

“how long did it take you to make this??” you pull it out of the box and look closely at the stitching

obviously there are a couple missing stitches but that gives the scarf character and it’s oddly endearing

tae stitched in pretty neutral grandpa-y shades but it totally works and it looks v v trendy

“i’m going to wear this noW” you grin and wrap it around your neck and that’s when u notice the scent

tae sprayed some of his fancy gucci cologne on this tOO

you might have to steal some from him when the scent eventually fades away

“y/n! a nintendo swiTCH R U KIDDING ME” jungkook tackles you in a hug before jumping up and down excitedly and hugging the box to his chest “can i play it now???” he gasps and you can’t help but laugh at how childish he’s acting “why am i asking u for ur permission this is mINE NOW also i have a gift for u somewhere under the tree”

you look under the tree and u immediately recognise all the presents that are from kook because of the (no offence) poor wrapping skills

one of them is just wrapped up completely in duct tape like how r u supposed to open that up without losing a finger

hopefully that one isn’t yours (spoiler alert: it is yours)

“here’s my first gift to you guys-“ jin walks out of the kitchen carrying a tray of mugs “hot cocoa, anyone?”

the boys immediately flocK to jin like a group of seagulls when they spot a single french fry on the ground

“ya ya yA CALM DOwN before i drop the tray!” he scolds

“hyung, that’s my mug!”

“no it’s not, it’s mine! y/n got me the one with snowflakes, remember??”

“yours is the one with the christmas lights you dummy now hand it over”

“no! get your hands off mY mug!!”

“does it really matter whose mug is whoSE but also sorry jimin kook is right yours is the one with the christmas lights and not the snowflakes ” jin nudges the two bickering boys out of the way and heads over to you and yoongi

“yoongi - yours has coffee in it”

“oh thank god” yoongi grabs his mug and immediately takes a sip from it before letting out a satisfied sigh

“and y/n - yours has a sprinkle of cinnamon in it and extra marshmallows” you take the mug from the tray excitedly

“you’re too nice to me” you reach up to pinch jin’s cheek and he scowls at you

“teLL me about it”

“come and open some of your presents! you can make breakfast later”

“the pancake batter doEs need to set for a while so i suppose i can open up some gifts” jin sets the tray down on the coffee table before dusting his hands off “okay so which one is mine”

“u got more than one, silly. open my gift first!! it’s that big box in the corner” you take a sip of your cocoa oH ShiT this is good ur gonna need jin to make at least a gallon of this for u every week

“oH A BIG box” jin gasps and steps over the other boys as he makes his way over to it

he bends down and grunts as he lifts it up “jesus y/n what did you get me??? a ton of bricks???” he huffs and plops it back down on the ground and you’re like bE CAREFUL

jin doesn’t take very long to unwrap the gift and- “A NEW MIXER” he literally squEaLs with glee and you’re pretty sure your ears are bleeding “you’re right kook we should’ve opened presents earlier because then i could’ve used this baby to make the pancake batter”

look

last year all of your gifts were kind of pathetic compared to everything the boys were giving you and even tho they all insisted they lovEd their gifts you were like ://///// so thIS YEAR you decided to go all out and just get EVERYThing you thought the boys would like and u know what so far you are killing it girl

santa clause whO

also the boys did a really good job with all of your gifts!!

namjoon got you a new journal for the new year

jimin got you fairy lights AND a brand new bedside lamp that’s super adorable

hoseok got you a super suPER cool poster to hang up in your room he hired an artist to paint you as snow white and the boys as the seven dwarves and the captions says ‘y/n and the seven idiots’

taheyung knitted you a scarf

jin got you this fancy silky robe that you’ll definitely be wearing everyday after you come home from work

yoongi got you a new pair of headphones because he’s sick of seeing you use those godawful apple earbuds from like 2008

and last but not least

jungkook got you-

“oh, this is so cute!” you coo as you pull the mug out of the mess of duct tape

it’s a mug with a picture of you and the boys celebrating your birthday this year

you’re sat in the middle laughing your ass off with watery eyes and a crinkled nose with the boys surrounding you and jungkook is swiping frosting off the side of the cake and jimin’s yanking his arm back and jin’s trying to light the candles and tae is sitting on your lap and hoseok is sitting on taE’s lap and namjOon is pointing at the camera (because it was on timer mode and nO one was ready for the picture) and yoongi has his face in his hands looking like he regrets everything

it’s perfectly imperfect if that makes any sense

“thank you kook” you grin and squish a couple kisses to his cheek before looking at the picture again

it’s sO cute and also it makes you thank the gods because like,, how lucky are you that you get to spend every day with these dumbasses that you love and adore so dang much

“i wish it could be christmas everyday” hoseok sighs and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth

“i don’t. my wallet would hate me.” yoongi snorts and steals a blueberry off your plate

you nudge it closer to him before leaning back against your chair and rubbing your stomach “i think i’m about to explode” you groan

“i told you not to force that fourth pancake down” jin sighs as he scrubs away at the dishes

“i can’t help it when your food is sO good” you plop your plate down in the sink with a clang

and then u finally notice

“it’S SNOWING” you gasp as you look out the kitchen window

“you didn’t notice??” tae raises a brow and they all watch as you sprint to the living room to puSh all the curtains open

and WOW

thick thiCK blankets of snow covering every surface while snowflakes continue to flutter down to the ground

the backyard is just all WHITE AND YOU’VE NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED BEFORE

“we were thinking after breakfast we could go out and play around in the snow if you wanted-“

“oF COURSE I DO” for some reason you’re unable to lower your voice because that’s how excited you are

in fact you’re so excited u can’t even wait to change out of your PJs and you’re already slipping your coat and beanie on

“c’mon people let’s move let’s moVE jin you can wash the dishes later kook u can play the nintendo later let’s get a moVE ON” you clap your hands together and the boys know there’s no changing your mind at this point

if u wanna go out in ur PJs you’re going to go out in your PJs

“y/n, watch it!” jimin scolds when you nearly knock into his and tae’s snowman after trying to avoid yet another one of kook’s snowballs

“sorry jimin!!” you apologize before bursting into giggles when jungkook starts sprinting towards you clutching a snowball the size of a bouLDER

you duck down instinctively when he hurls it in your direction and-

“jeon jungkook you brat i’m going to kiLL YOU” yoongi roars when the snowball hiTS him and the wetness starts seeping into his sweater

jungkook laughs gleefully and tries his best to flee (it’s hard running in thick layers of snOW) as yoongi starts chasing him around

jin and namjoon are standing by the doors sipping on their hot cocoa and occasionally bursting into laughter at one of your guys’ antics

hoseok has been lying on the ground making snow angels for the past 20 minutes

he’s literally made like 10 snow angels already but he’s having fun so it’s okay

you screech when jungkook pelts you in the faCe with a snowball and you immediately feel like your face is going to freeze over

you end up tackling kook to the ground and u shove snow right into his face and jungkook grins before starting to dig his fingers into your sides to tickle you

“alright aLRIGHT everyone back into the house because there are dishes to wash and wrapping paper to throw away AND i have to get started on dinner and i need all the help i can get!” jin calls out and slides the door open to step back inside “everyone back in this house in 30 seconds otherwise i will not hesitate to lock you outside in the cold!”

jungkook fLIps you over his shoulder when you trip over the snow yet again because of your innate klutziness

you giggle and whack his butt

best christmas ever

:•)

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grell-writes-stuff · 5 years

Text

I finished chapter 28 and I’m posting it here because I did so many bad things

Tag List: @fenfaerie @arieswriting

I spent the week avoiding my phone as much as possible, and immediately deleting any notifications that popped up from that group chat. To keep it all confined to that forbidden, digital space, I tried to distance myself from the guys at school. Kelley had a lot to say about that yesterday.

“Do I have to bribe you into doing stuff?”

“Using what?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe I just need to start smacking you with a newspaper until you do the thing that I want you to do.”

“You said we’re not hitting people.”

“I said you aren’t hitting people. I have free rein to do whatever is best for your health, and, at this point, I’m thinking of getting a little spray bottle–”

“Seriously?”

“You’re like a misbehaving cat, and I’m training you to stay off the kitchen table.”

She let up when I told her what my plans were for today.

At around six, I receive the “Here” text from Cole as his Cherokee rolls into our driveway behind – avoidance – something that I decide not to think about. Not today. For the sake of getting through this jam session and keeping it a good day, I can’t let myself focus on anything except drumming. That’s it. Nothing else.

That’s also why I slip my headphones in before leaving the house. I don’t have any music playing, but it keeps the ride to West Hills quiet – with the exception of Cole’s screamo. I say a polite “hey” to him and Matt, but that’s about it.

In approximately fifteen minutes, we’re pulling into the Mechis’ driveway next to a sleek, black Lexus that I refuse to look at. I don’t notice it, or the person walking from it to the entrance to the garage. I wedge a broom through the handle, because I refuse to open that door in my mind and let the memory of the screaming match ruin this day. Frankly, I’m determined to block out her shrill voice in whatever way I can. I fight against the ever-present urge to give myself tinnitus.

The three of us get out of Cole’s car, and I hang back for a moment as they grab their guitars. Together, we enter the garage, and I tug out my earbuds.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, but that’s tough when my windpipe is constricted.

It’s such a familiar place. It used to be comforting, but now it feels tainted and hollow. The old, duct-taped couches that are falling apart seem like dusty relics of some long-forgotten past for which I am the sole historian. The boxes of Full Stop. merch lying around feel like clutter now instead of a celebration and achievement, like some ancient memorabilia that no one will ever purchase, not even the most dedicated collectors. The band binder is still just hanging on by a thread, but it feels like it’s already exploded and setlists and notes are paper shrapnel raining down from the sky. My drum kit feels like a foreign technology that I don’t understand. This room is infested with age. It’s an abandoned ghost town, and I feel haunted.

As we enter, Bryson greets me. Cole and Matt say hi back, but I’m still finding it hard to make words, so I just nod and try to put my attention elsewhere. I try to remember the workings of my setup. I’ve been visualizing the placement of cymbals, and toms, and the kickdrum while I’ve been recovering. I know where everything is. I can figure out how I’d once played music on this strange contraption again. Maybe someday it’ll feel the same.

I head to one of the sofas as Matt and Cole go about tuning their instruments.

And I ignore the screeches that she calls vocal warmups. In fact, I do everything within my power to forget her presence all together.

“Okay,” Bryson interrupts after a few minutes have passed. In that time, I’d listened to the twangs of the guitar and bass, and not her shrieks into the microphone. “I guess we can start.”

Since we don’t have a gig lined up, and this is just an unofficial jam session for something like fun, there’s a difference in his tone. It’s not as desperate. That’s probably a good thing. He’s not stressed, and there’s less pressure on us to be perfect. We’ll be far from it. The walking boot on my leg acts as a constant reminder of that fact as I rise and move over to my kit.

“We’ll probably be a bit rusty,” he elaborates. “But everyone just try your best. We don’t have to sound filled-out. Just let us know if you need a break, Scott.” He gestures to my leg, to the boot.

I nod. There was no hope of us sounding full anyway, and I haven’t tried drumming with a cast ever, but I doubt it will help my limb coordination and timing, and it probably won’t feel too great after a while, so I’ll definitely be off. And we’re painfully lacking in guitars, but I force that thought out of my mind.

I don’t purposefully bump into her shoulder as I pass. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there – that she’s not even furniture – rather than acknowledging her as an obstacle.

“All right. So, Scott?” Bryson says to grab my attention. Once I’m sat on my stool behind my setup, I look at him. It’s tough to define what’s in his expression, but his words are rather transparent. I didn’t text him back at all the past few days and he knows that was a deliberate choice. “We all picked songs this week that we want to run today, and, after that, we’ll focus on originals, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cole wants to run Ocean Avenue – so we’ll start there – and Selena picked Told You So.”

Of course it’s a Paramore song. Of course it is.

“Matt chose You Think You Know It All by Red As Dusk. What’s your pick?”

It takes me a second longer than normal to peruse my mental music library because now it’s shrunk in size, and so many songs have been filed away and are now off-limits. Kelley’s suggestions are background noise as I search the stacks. Purge the excess negative energy. Purge the anger. Hitting my sticks against my drums will help, but only if I can find a way to throw everything that I possibly can into it. It’s a good thing that I’m battling rage because those tracks are the safe ones now, and anything rebellious will do.

“The Anthem – Good Charlotte.”

Bryson gives me a brief nod, but that’s ruined immediately. Every hair on my body seems to rise in defense.

“Um, I don’t know that one!” It’s her sharp voice speaking, and I shove my earplugs in to filter out some of the volume and annoyance. “I would have learned it if you’d picked sooner.”

“Sucks to be you!” It slips out of me, and I realize that means I’ve broken my vow for the day, and now Selena’s materialized in the garage, and my glare lands on her, which she matches with one of her own. In my peripheral, the rest of the guys look like they’re getting ready to break up the resulting physical fistfight that seems to be inevitable.

But that will get me in trouble in some way. I know it for a fact. I’ve already reacted, so retreating is tough, but I grapple for a way to deescalate.

“I’ll fucking sing it then. Why does it even need lyrics anyway? It just needs to be cynical and loud.” My fingers clamp around my sticks, the tools that will help me feel better and prevent me from punching her square in her contoured cheek.

“You just want Vikki to come in here and yell at us again, don’t you?” Bryson asks, deadpan, probably so Selena doesn’t have a chance to retaliate.

“Yes,” says Cole.

“Oh, my God,” he sighs. “Really, Cole?”

“Dude, I can’t be the only one who’s told you that your sister is hot.”

“She’s hot,” Matt agrees.

“See? Verdict’s in: she’s hot.”

“Why am I friends with you?” That knocks the desperation back into his tone, and it almost feels like a normal detour from practicing. Like we have a gig soon, but we’re all screwing around, and Bryson’s the only one with a sense of urgency and deadlines. I almost make myself savour it. “Can we just start the song? Please? Just play the fucking song?”

At that, Cole shrugs slightly, and his gaze sweeps over us to find confirmation. I signal back, my limbs still humming with everything I had to repress a second ago. They’re vibrating with the need to get it out, and I feel ready to drum to release it all before it boils my blood. She injected the steam into my veins and it wants out.

When everyone’s ready, Cole’s guitar plays the chugging, palm-muted intro to Ocean Avenue. Finally, my sticks hit and my foot stomps the kickdrum’s pedal. Matt’s bass fills it out a little bit, but we still sound empty. We’ve played this track before, but it doesn’t sound anything like it used to when it came out of our instruments. Selena’s unstable voice wails without a care, and I try to block it out and focus on my drumming so I don’t sound so off even though I totally am.

My limb coordination is flawed because the boot is throwing off my time-keeping and I haven’t put my formerly-sprained wrist to much work until now. I knew that I wouldn’t be perfect, but it’s bugging me nevertheless. My brain is telling me that it shouldn’t be like this. As a whole, we should sound better. My limbs shouldn’t feel so stiff as if I were a marble statue, as if I’m turning to stone. I hope for a second where I get the chance to shake it off, except–

Except my throat has a tight knot in it, and it hastily, heavily drops down into my chest. It’s so sudden and strange, but I feel something stirring and then curdling within me, rising up and bubbling through every artery before solidifying into a heavy, black mass that weighs down my arms. I remember a moment too late that I should be breathing, and I only accomplish that because I haven’t been taking in air and it already feels like my lungs have been set on fire after being filled with concrete, so it’s tough to shove into my subconscious. My eyes are stinging so bad that I can’t see my sticks where they rest in my shaking hands. The knot launches itself up from my chest and I feel like I have to gag. My pulmonary function fails and I become as empty as the music that falls silent.

Not all at once. It dies off in pieces, but I stop first, right at the start of the chorus. Then, everyone else cuts off too. The sticks slip through my loose fingers, but I barely hear them hit the hard floor with a soft clatter because a song is echoing in my mind now, and it’s not Ocean Avenue.

But it’s close. Too close. Ahead of me, I see blurs.

But also, an endless horizon of blue.

“Scott?”

Bryson’s voice penetrates my earplugs, but it still sounds twenty-thousand feet away from me. My mouth feels like it’s been filled with sand, and my stomach hurts, and everything is blocked by the firm, congealed sludge living inside of me. My hands are caught up in earthquakes, and I hear my hollow attempts to breathe as something between gasps and augmenting sobs.

I suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder and I don’t know how because his touch is light and everything is hot and numb.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a distorted voice.

No. I’m not. I’m not okay, but I can’t speak to lie and say that I’m fine, or to, for once, tell the truth. My mind is not a blank whiteboard. Instead, someone has written lyrics on it in permanent marker, and now the words are tormenting me along with dark chords, and a frantic, panicking drum beat that’s pounding against my skull.

“What’s wrong, Scott?” One of them questions me. I can’t even tell which one of them it is anymore. Matt, I think. Maybe.

I want to throw up. Or I need to. Or I just need to take in air. Any fucking air at all. Before everything finally shuts down, I have to get it out. Quavering. Quiet.

“Yellowcard.”

There’s some silence. Or it would be, but my ears are ringing, and my cheeks feel wet. After a few hundred, frenzied heartbeats, Bryson stiffens beside me, which I know because the hand that’s on my shoulder is attached to a body that I feel go rigid. His voice mingles with the deafening tone and my tears, and I hate how horrified and sorry it sounds. How lost and guilt-ridden it is.

“I was playing Lights And Sounds when they jumped…”

It’s not even the same fucking song! So what?! I’m just never going to be able to listen to Yellowcard again?! Because now they are tainted with tragedy and I’ll always remember in some crevice of my mind that that stupid song was playing, and I can almost feel our arms locked, and the salty breeze as it all rushes up ahead of us–

“Shit, man. I-I’m sorry.” I hear Cole say, and I hate the way that it sounds too because he shouldn’t have to apologize. “I didn’t know–”

I can’t even tell him to stop because I won’t be able to make any words, and I can’t breathe. Nothing’s going in and reaching my burning lungs even though I’m gasping for it. It’s not his fault, but those words stop on my tongue. It isn’t Cole’s fault. He doesn’t have to say sorry. He was in the water. He couldn’t have heard it. It’s not Cole’s fault. It’s not Matt’s fault. It’s not Bryson’s fault.

Because maybe it’s mine. We did it together, and one of us tripped, and what if it was me? Maybe if we hadn’t jumped at the same time, things would be different. He would be here, and this would be a practice for a gig instead of a failed jam session, and his guitar would have filled out Full Stop. and we would feel like Full Stop., and I wouldn’t be breaking down over a fucking Yellowcard song! But it’s too late now, and it’s all my fault.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fuck it! Move!”

Such a loud voice that slices through my earplugs like a razor blade and splits the air with the shrill metal sound of an axe hammering down. If I wasn’t shaking so terribly, I’d flinch at it because it hurts, but it also makes every trembling muscle inside of me tense painfully.

It’s sudden, but Bryson’s hand withdraws quick, and my vision finally goes dark, and then talons dig into my flesh and sear it, and I’m yanked up violently to the sounds of muffled protests surrounding us. My own laboured, raspy, wailing gasps rise above the guys as I try to bring in anything at all, but it turns out to just be another futile attempt because there’s not enough air in the atmosphere to keep me alive.

My skin burns where fingernails dig in and inflict agony like they’re steel nails instead, and I don’t know how I stumble when my legs have turned to rubber, and my feet feel weighted down. I could crumble and snap and break at any moment like a building ready to topple. All the retentions are groaning, the supports failing, and I’m about to fall, and I can’t fucking breathe!

There are bewildered and demanding words coming from the dark blurs around me, and I try to blink the water away, but it’s coming too fast. Only one forceful voice has the volume to rise above, and it’s almost clear, and so close to me, and shoving me harshly as if the sound itself has become a physical entity, and it’s so damn annoying. It pushes and pulls me, and I’m running out of the strength to fight it because everything I have left is trying to suppress the bile gathering in my stomach and threatening my useless esophagus.

Then everything is bright, like the sun on that horrible, unsuspecting day. I’d say I feel blinded by it, but I didn’t see anything before anyway. There’s more forced stumbling and a muddling of voices and sounds. Another rises over them, so loud, and shrill, yet it can never hit the notes it sets out to despite always trying to rise at the end of every line.

“Get in,” it demands.

“Selena, what the fuck are you doing?!” Bryson. I think it’s Bryson. It sounds kind of like Bryson, but so far away.

I think there’s a response, but I’m trapped in a fishbowl and everything is half muted. I’m sitting, and all I hear before someone else speaks is a loud slam right beside me. Then there’s something that sounds like angry arguing, but I can’t make it out because my thundering heartbeat and broken lungs are trying to kill me. Another harsh slam, then a jingle, sputter, and hum, and then the whole world lurches forward.

And my gut lurches forward and upwards again, and that forces the blackness clouding my eyes to dissolve into dizzy, sparkling fragments. I barely have the air to heave, but I manage to start gagging, rocking forward in my leather seat, and then her voice shrieks:

“Don’t you fucking dare puke in my car!”

I’m in Selena Walton’s stupid, expensive Lexus. There’s that small, sane part of me clinging to the thought that blowing chunks inside of her Lexus is a bigger fuck you to her than smearing Vaseline on the door handle, but it’s microscopic because the acidic needles of the bile are pricking the base of my empty windpipe, and it’s so fucking hot in here, and no matter how much blinking I do everything is blurry, and those lyrics are stuck in my mind.

“But make it loud, cause nobody’s there.”

Nobody’s there.

He’s not there. He’s not here. One. I’m alone in the chapel with a monument to destruction, the end of an era. Two. Together, we jump. Three. My leg feels like it’s been severed. Four. My head has exploded. Five. I shatter into pieces. Six. I’m gripping the porcelain sides of a bathroom sink to keep from falling. Seven. In the nightmares, I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling. Eight. I’m suffocated by the emptiness of a black abyss and closed-in walls of my bedroom without him in it. Nine. The futon is in couch mode. And that’s not ever going to change again. Ten. There’s not enough air, but I can’t seem to drown. Eleven. We hit the ledge over half-way down a thirty-foot fall, and it was all my fault. He’s gone, and I should have gone with him, but I didn’t and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone – You’re never going to get rid of me, Morgan – and why can’t I fucking breathe–

And then something unimaginable happens.

It’s fast, unpredictable, and unprompted, and my boiled blood becomes lava because the second I realize what’s going on, I am furious.

Her arm smacks into and lays across my chest and pushes me back harshly against the seat, pinning me. She’s leaned over the console in the middle with her other hand still stretched to hold the wheel, but I only notice that after the fact, and it’s still not the most terrifying thing. My tear-blinded eyes go wide, and probably vault out of my skull like a cartoon because this is a new kind of unwelcome proximity.

Her lips are on my lips. She kisses me with her greasy, scalding, obnoxious, red mouth and suddenly my trembling limbs freeze in place. The world pauses for a second – or it feels like it except she’s also fucking driving in West Hills, which is just as uneven and winding as Woodland Hills and Bryson’s street is no exception, and her fucking foot must be pressing the accelerator to the floor.

But I am less focused on fearing for my life and more focused on the fact that I have now kissed Selena fucking Walton.

“What the FUCK?!”

#interlude #wip: interlude #book: interlude #morgan scott #selena walton #bryson mechis #cole marshall #matt jordan #mental breakdown #writing #my writing

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quirkyasfok · 6 years

Text

Nothing But Duct Tape and Hope

Relationship: Bichie (Bill x Richie)

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bill, Alpha Richie, Mpreg Bill

Summary: It takes three chance meetings, and the presence of a beat up rusted-red Ford for Richie to realize who the omega is.

This is part 1. Part 2 can be found here

Read on AO3

The first time Richie sees the omega he doesn’t think much about him. He’s out with some of his buddies, minding his own business when a familiar scent passes by. It triggers odd images of rickety old bikes, cliffs overlooking a sparkling water hole, and a pair of the most intensive blue eyes he’s ever seen. He turns trying to catch a look at who producing the scent by all he sees is tail end of a tall figure in jeans, and a grey hoodie disappearing behind the corner.

The next time he sees the omega he still doesn’t think much about him. He’s out buying himself a sandwich for dinner on his way home from work. They’d gotten several boxes of new records in today that he had to put away, and he finds himself too tired to bother making himself a meal. It’s the same grey hoodie that catches his eyes this time. A figure sitting outside the deli, their head bent low as they scribble away at a well-used notebook. Their hair is a lovely shade of red and long enough to hide their face from his view. The scent hits him next, but it’s off, different. He briefly wonders what a pregnant omega is doing by themselves sitting in a sidewalk when his order gets called, and for the time forgets all about it.

The third time he sees the omega is when it all finally comes back. He’s walking back to his car when he hears the loud ding as someone’s keys hit the pavement followed by someone cursing loudly. He turns to find the same grey hoodie wearing omega clutching to the side of a beat of red ford pickup as they go to pick up their keys.

And then the memories come flooding back.

He’s sixteen again. His glasses are too large for his face, his socks don’t match, and his jeans are honestly more holes than fabric at this point. Next to him Eddie stares in horror at the rusted-up machine in front of them. On the other side Stan stands looking very unimpressed. Bill is the only one who looks happy. He’s smiling like a loon, gesturing to the beat up old truck like it’s the greatest thing in the entire world.

“Is it safe,” Eddie asks. “I feel like just being around that thing will give me tetanus.” Bill doesn’t let this bother him, he shakes his head and keeps smiling.

“It’s s-ssafe E-eddie. I promise. I even had a mechanic l-look it over before I drove it home. E-everything works.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe,” Eddie mutters.

“Who’d you get to look at it? Derry mechanics, or Larry’s auto,” Stan asks. Bill pats the hood, bits of rust fall from the underbelly.

“Larry’s auto.”

Bill’s answer doesn’t seem to make Stan happy. Richie doesn’t blame him. The truck literally looks like it’s on its last wheel… if that.

“I thought for certain you’d go for something a little more silver,” he finally pipes in. Bill laughs and gestures for them to follow him to the back. They do, but all three continue to keep their distance. It hits him the second he sees the only new and good-looking thing on the truck as to how much this vehicle means to Bill. On the back, surrounded by rust is a brand-new license’s plate with the words ‘SILVER2’ written in blocky letters. Bill looks so proud of this that Richie can’t even bring himself to comment on how the truck isn’t even silver, can’t bring himself to make side remarks when it takes a few tries for Bill to get the driver side door open, and can’t bring himself to say no when Bill offers to give all three a ride.

Somehow all four boys manage to squeeze themselves into the bench seat of the old Ford. It’s a tight squeeze that’s made even more awkward by the fact the trucks a manual, and Bill has to be able to access the clutch as he drives. The truck still smells like whoever Bill’s dad bought the truck from, and lemon cleaning spray that instead of masking the scent seems to just makes things worse.

But none of that bothers him. Not the fact that he’s uncomfortable pressed against Eddie and Bill. Not that the Ford smells like old man and lemons. Not the fact that he’s pretty certain the truck is held together by nothing but hope and duct tape.

No.

All he cares about is the look Bill gets when he turns the key and SILVER2 somehow roars to life with only a few loud clangs. He decides that as long as this truck keeps Bill smiling like that than it’s the best damn truck he’s ever had the privilege of sitting in.

He comes back to reality feeling like somebody has punched him right in the face. Memory after forgotten memory filling his brain. Pleasant memories of summer filled nights with seven losers laid out in the bed of the old Ford laughing together until the early hour of the morning. Sad memories of saying goodbye, watching the rusted red Ford piled high with junk drive off in the direction opposite of his own.

He’d forgotten. They’d promised to stay in touch. They’d promised to always be friends. Somehow, he’d forgotten them, and it took a rusted red truck to get him to remember.

He walks over to the omega, who’s now fiddling with his key ring to get the key he needs to unlock the vehicle. He thinks for a second that the person before him may not be who he thinks it is, but then a familiar pair of blue eyes peek up seeming to sense someone is watching them. Brown meets blue and Richie swears the whole world stops spinning for a second.

Bill seems lost for a few seconds as he stares Richie. His face blank as he stares uncertainly as some unknown alpha steps into his space, but then Richie can see the moment Bill seems to remember. His eyes light up, and he smiles just like on the day he showed off his “brand new” truck to the rest of the losers. He meets Richie halfway and the two embraces in the middle of the parking lot without a single care in the world.

Bill is still slightly taller and the small swell from his baby bump presses awkwardly into Richie’s stomach, but Richie decides then and there that this is the best hug he’s ever had. He thinks he could hug Bill forever, but a car honks at them to move so he sadly has to let go.

They move to go stand by the old Ford. It’s the same as Richie remember it. Seats made mostly of duct tape, more rust than red, and the radio antenna dented slightly in the middle from the time he tried to slide across the hood.

He laughs at this and runs his hands along the hood of the vehicle.

“How in the hell have you managed to keep this thing running?” Bill laughs.

“The same as when we were younger. S-ssshear hope and duct tape.”

Man, did Richie miss that stutter.

The talk for over two hours. Richie tells Bill about his job at the local record store, the band he’s in, and the weird friends he’s made since leaving for college. Bill talks about graduating college, some of the things he’s written, and one wild story involving him having to seduce someone into getting some free stuff for his buddies (“like B-bev did for us”). He shares the story sounding like he’s surprised it actually worked, which just reminds Richie how cute Bill is. He learns that Bill is exactly six months pregnant. Bill never says anything about another Alpha in his life. Richie never asks. They agree to meet up again in a few days then they go their separate ways.

The next time Richie sees Bill it’s for their intentional meet up. They meet up at Richie’s favorite dinner. They talk mainly about the past, and all the fun times they’ve both started to remember. They even discuss the weirdness of forgetting everything. They never discuss the real cause of what could be behind the amnesia. Even though Richie dreamed of claws and red balloons the night before, and Bill’s stutter seems to be just a degree worse than the last time they met (he also swears it had been completely cured until a few days ago) neither seem up to being the first to bring up the forbidden topic.

He also learns the baby’s a boy. Still nothing about the father.

Throughout the next month they continue to meet. They talk about the past. They talk about the present. They talk about the things they love, the things they hate, and everything in between. The weather gets colder, the seasons change from Fall to Winter. Somehow Bill’s baby bump grows larger.

He learns on their seventh meet up about Bill’s relationship status. He makes an off comment about making Bill’s baby daddy jealous with how much time Bill’s been hanging out with him. Bill gives him a sad smile and shrugs. He explains there is no ‘baby daddy’ in his life.

“It’s just m-me and my truck.”

Richie’s almost annoyed with himself by how happy that makes him.

The fourteenth … or maybe it’s fifteenth time they meet isn’t planned. Richie’s out with his buddies again. Their walking down the sidewalk late on a cold winter night. Their all a bit drunk. It’s been a pretty fun evening so far.

But then he spots a familiar red truck parked near a street lamp. It’s sitting alone in an empty parking lot. He waves for his buddies to keep going and makes his way over to the beat up old Ford. Something about this entire situation feels off, and he’s determined to figure out what’s up. He looks over the truck first. The tarp Bill keeps tied over the bed of the truck is untied in one corner, but other than that there appears to be nothing wrong. There’s a large mound of blankets piled up in the bench of the truck, and when he knocks on the driver side window the lump shifts just slightly before Bill’s head appears from the mound. They blink owlishly at each for a few minutes before Bill seems to snap out of his surprise, and unlocks the passenger door for Richie to climb on in. The inside of the truck is just as cold as the outside air, but the blankets Bill offers him are nice and warm and the inside smells strongly of Bill so he can’t complain too much.

“Bill, why are you sleeping outside in your truck?” His own voice surprises him. It sounds a little too gravely. He feels oddly sober now too.

Bill fiddles with the edge if his blanket. He looks embarrassed. He shrugs.

“It’s like I told you R-richie… it’s just me and my truck.” He gestures for Bill to elaborate. Bill sighs and continues. “A few months ago,… when I found out I was p-p-pregnant… my boyfriend at the time was-sssn’t happy about it. He s-sss-said I should get rid of the baby. That he d-doesn’t want to b-be a father. I refused, so he kicked me out.” Bill pauses to sniffle and wipe at his eyes. Richie scoot closer. “My writing makes decent money b-but not enough for me to live on my o-own, so since getting kicked out I’ve just been driving around. I was honestly just passing through, but then you showed up and….” He shrugs and gestures to space around them. “Here we are….”

“Why didn’t you tell me.”

Bill shrugs again.

“I didn’t want to be a b-b-bother.”

“You’re never a bother Big Bill.” He pulls Bill close and hugs him tight. It’s a bit awkward with the space and Bill’s belly but they make it work.

“God Bill your fucking freezing. Why the hell don’t you at least have the heat on.”

“H-heat doesn’t work.”

He lets go of Bill to take the keys off the dash, and puts them in the ignition. The truck sputters a bit before finally roaring to life just as Richie remembered. Bill seems surprised when Richie messes with the radio and it comes to life too.

“The radio hasn’t worked in years.”

Richie just smirks and winks at him.

“Guess it just missed me.”

Bill snorts and rolls his eyes. Even in the dim light Richie can see the tear marks on his cheeks, but he’s smiling softly.

The heat doesn’t magically work, but Richie figures that’s a problem for another day. He convinces Bill to drive them out of the parking lot, and directs him towards the apartment he shares with his roommate.

“Are you sure your roommate won’t mind me spending the night.”

“Yes Bill, and even if he did I wouldn’t give a shit.”

He leads Bill up the stairway. Bill seems a bit uncertain, but Richie fills the silence with shitty jokes that gets Bill giggling. He apologies for the messy state of the apartment, Bill says he doesn’t mind, Richie make sure to keep a hand on Bill’s back as the fumble around in the dark to make sure he doesn’t trip over anything. He leads Bill into his room and shuts the door. He tugs Bill into his bed, and rubs the omega all over trying to breath warmth back into frozen limbs. Bill giggles and squirms when Richie ‘accidently’ rubs at his sides. He feels the baby kick against his palm. Bill flushes a bit. Richie stares at him amazed. They fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Another month passes. Richie can’t believe how time has flown. Bill is eighth months, and looks ready to pop. Currently he’s asleep on the couch, cuddled up close against Riche’s side. The grey hoodie is long gone, and now Bill is wearing a lovely blue sweater. There’s a notebook resting on his belly, and a pencil loosely held in his slack grip. Richie leans over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and takes the pencil and notebook away.

Things aren’t easy. The baby’s due date is coming up, and neither are as prepared as they want to be. Bill still seems upset about dragging Richie into his baby drama, but Richie continues to tell him that it’s all okay. It’s odd how much he doesn’t seem to mind that the baby isn’t his by blood. The idea of helping Bill raise a child pleases him in a way he doesn’t fully understand, but has come to embrace with open arms.

They still don’t talk about the dark parts of their pasts either. They don’t talk about the months Bill spent living alone in his truck, or the images of bright red balloons that seem to fill both their nightmares.

They’ll probably have to talk about it someday, but not yet.

No, for now Richie has more important things to focus on. He looks back down to the newspaper in his lap, and continues to read the ad for the house for sale off Fillmore Street. It’s a bit above their price range, but he figures is he takes a few extra shifts at the record store they just be able to pull that one off. He smiles and circles the ad with a bright red marker. Next to him Bill smiles pleased in his sleep.

Richie wouldn’t have things any other way.

#bichie #bill denbrough #richie tozier #mpreg #omega!Bill #mpreg!Bill #alpha!Richie #it

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deathtrapnest · 7 years

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Clark Kent and Lex Luthor: Cracker Barrel Arsonists

fandom: Superman Birthright comics pairing/warnings: Clark Kent / Lex Luthor but rated G

summary: date a boy who is the accomplice in your Cracker Barrel arson charge

read on AO3 or under the cut:

Clark Kent hated Cracker Barrel. It was a disingenuous parody of the rural comfort he’d been surrounded by his whole life. Even the smell of the over-processed, fake ‘home made’ food made him feel slightly nauseous. But as much as Cracker Barrel made Clark uncomfortable, he was sure he couldn’t hate it as much as Lex did.

Neither of them had had any intention of going there. Clark had gotten his license only a few months previously and he still had to beg and plead and do extra chores to get permission to borrow his Pa’s truck for the weekend.

Lex had a sports car and always complained that the truck smelled like cow shit and went too slow. However, he seemed to enjoy it when Clark drove him around- usually aimlessly. They’d drive as far as they could away from Smallville as they could get away with before they wouldn’t be able to get back before midnight.

Another advantage of the truck was that Clark’s telescope couldn’t fit in the back of Lex’s car and sometimes they took it with them- stop wherever they found themselves after sunset and see if the stars looked different there than they did from Clark’s backyard.…

But this time the usually sturdy, loyal, Ford pickup had betrayed them. Smoke had started pouring from the engine on the highway. The closest rest stop had been a Cracker Barrel. They’d barely even made it there- Clark was afraid the whole thing was going to catch on fire.

Lex insisted that he could fix an engine as primitive as the old Ford using a paperclip and a roll of duct tape. But he also admitted that he had neither of those items on his person at the moment.

It was unavoidable. They had to go inside the Cracker Barrel.

A country song was playing softly in the gift shop. Clark could see Lex taking it all in- the kitsch decorations, the baskets hanging from the ceilings, the 4 foot tall display of different flavors of fudge. He turned slowly and looked at Clark, stony faced.

“Is this… hell? Am I in hell?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Clark said. “We should see if we can use their telephone.”

Lex snapped out of his awe to wrinkle up his nose at Clark.

“ ‘Telephone’ ?” Lex asked if he’d never heard the word before. “You’re not planning on getting the truck TOWED are you? I thought we were only here to get materials for ME to fix it.”

“I don’t think they sell carburetors in this gift shop, Lex.”

“Well if I just had a blow torch I could-“

“I don’t think you need to finish that sentence.”

Lex opened his mouth to continue arguing but Clark was already walking toward the front desk and Lex fell back behind him, crossing his arms over his chest in a sulk.

“Hello, ma’am.” Clark said forcing a smile to the sweet looking old grandma who was behind the front desk. “Our car broke down, I was wondering if we could use your phone?”

“Of course, young man, the phone is-“ she paused, frowning a bit and looking over Clark’s shoulder. “…. does your friend there need something…?”

Clark turned around.

Lex was shuffling around, leering over his own shoulder like a shoplifter, occassionally picking objects up off the shelf, examining them suspiciously, then putting them back.

“….No, he’s just…” Clark began to explain but felt too exhausted mid sentence and just let it trail off. Lex seemed to have noticed he had eyes on him and straightened up, walking over to the desk and putting on his most charming smile.

“We won’t be needing the phone. But do you have toolbox that we could use?” he asked.

She looked between the two of them with suspicion for a long moment but nodded.

“It’s in the storage closet.” she stood up and walked across the room to a closet door, occasionally looking back at them as if worried they’d do something when her back was turned. She returned with a large, metal, red box and set it on the counter with a loud thunk and some visible effort.

“I’m not sure this will have everything you need to fix a car, young man. What did you say was wrong with it, anyway?” she asked, still looking a bit wary.

“As long as there’s a philip’s head and a wrench, it will suffice.” Lex drawled. His eyes lighted on a cardboard box that had been tucked away behind the counter, a power cord hanging out of one end. “What’s that?”

“Oh, just an air conditioner we haven’t put into storage yet.”

The smile that curled across Lex’s mouth was nearly wicked. He took a checkbook from his jacket pocket and quickly scribbled out a number on it that made the poor old cashier gasp and handed it to her. “I’ll take the air conditioner too.”

Clark held the toolbox and the box with the air conditioner under one arm and followed Lex around as he continued to browse through the gift shop shelves with a phrenetic, determined, energy. He picked up an alarm clock, twisted off the back and peered at the wiring inside.

Lex glanced over at Clark. “This place is awful. The entire chain should be burnt to the ground.”

“That’s a little-“

“They’re capitalizing on the small town hick aesthetic cultivated by people like your hard working parents. You should hate this more than anyone.”

Clark ignored the ‘hick aesthetic’ comment and shrugged one shoulder. “Well, sure, but-“

“ ‘well, sure’ “ Lex immediately mimicked in a mocking tone. “That mild mannered, easy going, attitude is nothing but cowardly if you’re just going to let opportunities to correct injustice pass you by without doing a thing about it.” he waved his hand around for emphasis.

Clark smirked. “Hey- the meek will inherit the earth, right?”

Lex rolled his eyes and abandoned the conversation, going back to the front desk to pay for a novelty alarm clock shaped like a rooster, a zippo lighter, and a rubber band ball.

Clark insisted that he be the one to pry off the hood of the truck. It creaked open with a huge flume of grey smoke which Clark waved away with his arm. Lex was sitting cross legged on the ground, ripping apart the air conditioner and yanking the innards out as gleefully as a kid opens a present on christmas morning.

Clark leaned against the side of the truck, cocking his head to one side to watch him.

“Gee, Lex, you really think you can fix the engine with just this junk…?”

Lex scoffed. “I could rebuild this entire car from scratch in my sleep.”

Lex always looked most at ease to Clark when he was tinkering with something or studying something. When he was standing idle, it was always obvious that his brain was practically overheating with no outlet- the way he scowled, eyes flicking around and curling his shoulders forward protectively as if there was too much information, not enough focus, and it was an assault on him.

When he could focus, that’s when he was in his element and there was something nearly graceful about his efficiency. Set to a task, his slender hands could unravel or put together any machine with surreal accuracy, write out mathematic equations at high speed, fly across any set of complicated buttons and switches with precision.

Even Clark at super speed and super senses was sure he could never do some of the things Lex could make look so easy.

Lex’s eyes scanned over the damaged engine, tapping his chin with the end of the wrench he was holding.

“Hey” Clark said, “Are you going to need gloves? To touch the engine I mean? It was pretty hot when I opened it up.”

Lex was focused on the task at hand now and gave a slightly annoyed sidelong look to Clark for interrupting his thought process. “Your hands look fine and you touched it.”

Clark hid his wince. “Yeah, I’m going to go get some gloves. Just hold on, okay?”

They’d parked directly next to the building so Clark jogged back into the gift shop. Surely there had to be some sort of gardening glove or something. He had a feeling Lex wasn’t going to wait up for him either way.

The cashier grandma stopped Clark, though, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“What do you and your friend out there really need with all those things you bought?” she asked.

“Uh, we’re fixing my truck.” Clark knew the truth was a bit unbelievable. And she didn’t look like she bought it.

She squinted her eyes at him until she was staring at him through slits and leaned forward over the counter.

“You better not be making a bomb out there.”

Clark wasn’t sure how to break it to her how unlikely it was that two teenagers would choose a Cracker Barrel as their resource for bomb materials at 4 p.m. on a Friday in the middle of Kansas.

She held up the check that Lex had written her.

“And is this really going to go through?”

“Uh, yeah.” Clark said but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. He could smell smoke. She probably couldn’t. But he could. “Sorry, I’ll be right back…”

Lex was hard at work- he’d fashioned a makeshift soldering iron out of a lighter and the copper wire from the A/C unit. He had both hands in the engine and a look of deep concentration on his face.

He was completely ignoring the fact that less than five feet away from him, the side of the building was on fire.

“Oh my god” Clark muttered.

Lex didn’t respond.

“Oh my god!?” Clark repeated.

“Shut up.” Lex said without looking up.

“Lex-“ Clark still couldn’t look away from the climbing wall of flame that was starting to engulf the entire side of the building. “Please tell me you didn’t start this on purpose.”

Lex sniffed haughtily. “No.”

He clearly wasn’t making any attempts to stop it, though, and was continuing with his work, casual as could be and totally unfazed by the increasingly intimidating tower of flames.

“Okay- uh- geez-“ Clark took off his jacket and began trying to stifle the flames but it was already beyond the point where he could do much- at least not with Lex looking. If he could get alone without witnesses, he could blow it out easily…. “Lex? Lex! I’m going to try to put this out but you have to go inside and get everyone to evacuate.”

Lex still refused to look up. “I’m busy.”

Clark made an exasperated noise and dropped his jacket, running over to Lex and grabbing both narrow shoulders and shaking him gently. “Lex! There are innocent people in there!”

That dangerous fury flashed across Lex’s face. The one that usually preceded a violent outburst of some sort. But Clark knew Lex well enough to know that he was just annoyed because he hated when his thought process was interrupted. That once he’d set his mind to fixing something, creating something, he couldn’t be interrupted at any cost. But there wasn’t any time for that. Clark put one hand on each of Lex’s shoulders and looked him directly in the eye.

“The engine will still be there when you get back. But you have to go help people get out now.” he gave his shoulders a light squeeze.

Lex ground his teeth, eyes flicking back and forth between the one hand he still had in the engine and the flaming building, as if his genius brain was really struggling and stalling to decide which was the priority- fixing the engine or avoiding getting lit on fire. Finally, he nodded curtly at Clark and brushed off his grip, sprinting into the Cracker Barrel. Clark heard him distantly yelling at the customers inside the restaurant (“Alright everyone drop the chicken and dumplings and run if you want to live, rednecks!”).

Clark sighed and turned back to the fire, which was getting higher, starting to catch on the roof. He could guess that it started from a spark from Lex’s engine work catching on one of the wicker baskets, spreading to the dry wood rocking chair, and up the porch beams. He gave one quick look around to make sure there were no witnesses and then took a deep breath and began blowing. At first it seemed to work, a lot of the flames extinguished with the first gusts of super breath. But then the higher flames, near the roof, seemed to only grow from the added oxygen.

“Aw geez…” Clark muttered, running one hand through his hair. He hadn’t had much experience with putting out fires. There had been one at a neighbour’s barn he’d helped with but he’d had water then. He wasn’t sure where to find any type of hose at the Cracker Barrel and there was no lake or creek for miles.

To make matters worse the cashier from the gift shop had come out the door and was staring at Clark with a dropped jaw. She raised one hand shakily to point at him.

“I knew it! You hoodlums! I’m calling the police!”

Clark winced. The customers from the restaurant were also starting to pour outside, led by Lex who actually seemed to be having a good time ordering everyone around.

He couldn’t do anything with everyone watching, they were already looking at him and Lex suspiciously.

Lex sprinted over to Clark’s side (Clark mentally noted it because he rarely saw Lex look out of breath). “I thought you said you were going to put out the fire!”

“Easier said than done I guess”

“It looks like you just spread it to the roof. Good job, farm boy.”

“Hey- who’s the one who started it in the first place?!” Clark snapped back.

Lex grabbed Clark by the hand, wrapping long fingers tightly around Clark’s wide palm and yanking him forward. “C’mon” he led him back into the building, kicking the door open.

“I don’t think we should be in- holy cow!” Clark yelped as a piece of the roof fell in, a shower of sparks flying toward them.

He immediately pulled Lex to his chest, covering his head with his shoulder from the fire. It only took a few seconds before Lex began attempting to squirm free. Clark noticed that their hands were still entwined, tighter than ever. This was an emergency situation. ‘Stop thinking about his hands, idiot’ Clark reminded himself hotly. Lex at least wasn’t distracted. He continued stalking through the building, pulling Clark behind him even as he nearly tripped trying to keep up with his pace.

He’d led them to the kitchen and let go of Clark’s hand to start fishing around through the cabinets frantically, throwing things on the floor and out of his way.

“What are we looking for?” Clark asked, ducking to avoid a plate that Lex threw over his shoulder.

“Get any plastic bottles you see and empty them out”

Clark found some litre soda ones and began pouring them out into the sink. Meanwhile Lex made a triumphant exclamation upon finding Baking Soda in a cabinet.

He bumped shoulders with Clark to get to the plastic bottles and began pouring vinegar into them, then water from the sink.

“Get me some paper towels” he delegated.

“What is this anyway?”

“A fire extinguisher. These idiots don’t have one in the restaurant so this will have to make do. Once we add the baking soda, it causes a chemical reaction-“

“In the vinegar!” Clark finished. “Carbon dioxide.”

Lex smirked. “Someone’s been paying attention in chemistry class.”

They loaded up the bottles in their arms and ran back outside. The customers were huddled on the other side of the parking lot, it seemed everyone had gotten out safe. But the roof was still aflame.

Clark and Lex just stood staring up at it, heat radiating onto their faces for a moment.

“You sure you don’t want to just let it burn?” Lex asked hopefully.

Clark gave him a sidelong look. “I can get up on the roof if you give me a leg up. Then throw the bottles up to me.”

Leg knelt down on one knee and knit his fingers together to provide a base for Clark to put his foot on and then pushed him up. Clark nearly lost his balance and gripped the top of his head for a second which Lex griped about but once he got hold of the edge of the roof he was able to easily pull himself up.

He reached back down and Lex handed him the box of baking soda. Their fingertips brushed as he passed it to him.

“Be careful up there” Lex said looking up at him seriously, flames casting color on his pale green eyes.

“You worried about me?” Clark asked, trying and failing to emphasize the sarcasm and downplay the hopeful note in his voice.

Lex smirked. “Of course not. Isn't a farm boy's toughness his selling point?” he tossed the first bottle up.

Clark made quick work of shaking up the bottles and then letting them explode into white foam over the flames, dousing most of the fire instantly. In no time the roof was clear and Clark could even hear some of the Cracker Barrel customers giving a few cheers.

Lex was waiting on the ground, holding his hands up to catch Clark as he slid carefully off the roof, feet first and eased himself down into Lex’s arms. They both smelled overpoweringly of smoke… with a hint of vinegar. When Clark’s feet touched the ground Lex was still holding him, one arm splayed against his back. He was looking him up and down with… pride? A sort of self satisfied smugness on his face that made Clark’s whole head feel hot with a blush. Then he raised his hand to Clark’s cheek and brushed his fingertips along it, trailing down across his jaw, even ghosting against his neck before he drew away.

“W-what was that…?” Clark mumbled numbly, feeling like his chest was ringing and vibrating with the force of an alarm clock.

“You’re covered in ashes.”

“Oh.” Clark said, wincing at the evident disappointment he heard in his own voice. He swiped the back of his arm across his face several times. “Better?”

Lex scoffed. “Not really.”

Clark was overly aware that he was still nearly chest to chest with Lex and that one arm was still around his waist. Clark hesitantly raised his hand to Lex’s face, brushing his thumb across his lower lip.

“You have some ash on you too…” he lied.

Lex smirked and took a step forward, until they really were pressed against eachother, and moved the hand that was on Clark’s back up, pulling him closer-

“That’s them! They’re the arsonists! They were trying to build a bomb!” the old cashier was leading an angry mob of Cracker Barrel regulars and pointing at them with a type of giddy self righteousness, squawking at a volume and frequency that was piercing, “I called the police!”

Clark said “Oh, geez…” at the same time that Lex said “shit” and they looked at each other with resigned disappointment. Whatever it was that had been about to happen, would have to wait if they wanted to avoid a night spent in a Kansas prison arguing over if their allotted phone call should go to Jonathan, Lionel, or Lex’s lawyer.

Lex’s hand ghosted up the side of Clark’s thigh, and took the car keys from his pocket.

Clark untangled from Lex’s arms and put his hands up at the crowd in a mollifying gesture of peace. Lex slipped away behind him, sneaking back to the truck.

“Uh, I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.” Clark started.

“You burned down half the building!”

“…So, a big misunderstanding…” Clark amended, buying for time. Luckily, he didn’t have to stall more as in a cloud of dust and the sound of revving engine, the truck screeched next to Clark, the passenger door swinging open.

“Get in!” Lex shouted from behind the wheel.

Clark gave a final apologetic shrug to the angry mob. “We’re really sorry!” before throwing himself into the truck.

Lex slammed his foot on the gas before Clark even had a chance to sit up or close the door behind him. And then they were nearly tipping onto one set of wheels with the high speed swerve Lex pulled to get them back on the highway. Clark looked out the back window to see the Cracker Barrel mob shouting and shaking their fists at them, getting smaller as they got farther away.

“Wow” Clark said incredulously, shaking his head, “I can’t believe we almost burned down a Cracker Barrel…. Do you think we should go back tomorrow or something when they’re less mad? Help them rebuild?”

Lex made a noise of disapproval. “Of course not. Their insurance will cover it anyway.”

“Does insurance cover Smallville local delinquents showing up at your business and trying to burn it down?”

“I think that counts as an ‘act of God’ if anything does.”

“I’m pretty sure it was an act of YOU, Lex…”

Lex smirked. “We should do this every weekend.”

#clex #superman #lex luthor #clark kent #superman birthright #my fanfic #mine

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katiekunst · 7 years

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To The One Who Promised ‘Someday’

“I need you to promise me something. Promise me that someday we’ll try this. You and me.” “Pinky promise.”

Another week, another weekend. Everything is the same old, same old until it isn’t. His name pops up on your phone. It’s a snapchat. You wait the appropriate 2 minutes before eagerly opening it, and reply with your cutest selfie and wittiest come-back. Next thing you know you’ve got a conversation rolling. In the morning you wake up to 5 snaps and you smile at thought of a cute boy maybe just maybe being interested in you. Things grow between you easily and effortlessly. As things progress the urge to hang out grows, until the day finally comes.

He tells he can’t wait to see you. You start bouncing ideas off each other as to what you should do the next day while you sit and wonder if this could actually be your first official date.

You wake up the next day giddy and anxious. What does your day hold? The possibilities are endless, really. He picks you up, and the butterflies swirl continuously. The next thing you know, you’re doing the most mundane thing - you’re running errands together. He needs to take his bike to the local shop, you need to return a skirt, he needs “assistance” in picking out a pair of gray work slacks, your mom needs duct tape, and he needs to pick up a new part for his lawn mower. The usual, right? You basically just went from two people talking to an old married couple. And it’s perfect.

Later that night you go to the movies to round out your day (or so you think). As you watch the credits roll and wish he would’ve pulled a move already, he invites you to his childhood house because neither one of you are ready to say “goodbye” just yet. As he drives you back to his place, the nerves start back up. You pick out a movie, rearrange the living room for ultimate viewing purposes, and wait for him to bring you the pizza and juice boxes he was craving. Thus, continues the perfect day.

Next thing you know it’s a “scary” part of the movie and you’re hiding behind the pillow. He reaches over to comfort you, and your hands find each other. They fit effortlessly. Sparks fly as the thirteen year old version of yourself screams inside at your monumental PG moment.

The movie finishes and you realize its past 2 a.m. He drives you home and you give him the “are you gonna kiss me?” look before awkwardly getting out of the car (although, truthfully it didn’t matter that you didn’t kiss because your day/night was perfect even without it).

The next morning he texts you saying he needs to see you before he heads back to his college town. He picks you up. You’re having flastbacks from the night before and still wishing he would kiss you when he says, “There’s a reason I didn’t kiss you last night.” You listen as he pours his heart out and says that he doesn’t think either of you are at a good place to start a long distance relationship. You try to understand his logic, and respect him for thinking everything over so intently, but you heart is breaking inside. As your time runs out, you try to process his words. He parks his car and you turn to him.

“I need you to promise me something. Promise me that someday we’ll try this. You and me.” “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise.”

And that’s it. To this day, you sit in wonder when your time will truly come. You’re sick of always having “bad timing” and hearing excuses as to why you’re not together.

The part that really hurts is that no one else fills the hole he left. His existence left a permanent mark on your heart, however short you lasted the first time around. And now a day doesn’t pass without you thinking of when you’re time will come. Will it be tomorrow or will it be 10, 20, 30 years from now? Can you afford to wait around for him when you’re already ready for a committed, Godly relationship?

And then it hits you, what if he’s “the one”? What if, what if, what if. Truth is, you may never see the day that your promise comes true. Don’t sit around waiting for love to show up at your door, when you should be out there enjoying the adventures life has in store, exploring the truest version of yourself. If he’s the one, he will find you in the midst of your adventure, just when you least expect it. Trust that you crossed paths for a reason before, but don’t wait around racking your brain for what that reason is because here it is: God places people in our lives to love and learn from. Let that be enough, and let God have control of the rest.

John 13:7 Jesus replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand."

All my love,

#someday #john 13:7

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gyrlversion · 5 years

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Man gave thumbs up before shooting pregnant ex-wife with a crossbow

A builder has told how his pregnant wife’s ex-husband smiled and gave a thumbs up before he allegedly shot her dead with a crossbow.

Ramanodge Unmathallegadoo allegedly shot his ex-wife Devi after becoming obsessed with her.

Her new partner, Imtiaz Muhammad got together with the 35-year-old after her arranged marriage with Ramanodge, 51, broke down.

Unmathallegadoo, also known as Ram, became obsessed with getting revenge on them over the course of a year, spying and assembling a cache of weapons, the Old Bailey has heard.

He took up position in his wife’s garden shed, awaiting his moment to strike with two new crossbows, bolts, a hammer, a knife in a homemade sheath, cable ties and duct tape, the court heard.

The defendant shot Mrs Unmathallegadoo as she tried to flee upstairs at the family home in Ilford, east London, on the morning of November 12 last year, the court heard.

Police body cam footage of the arrest of Ramanodge Unmathallegadoo when he was charged with the murder of his ex wife, Imtiaz Muhammad, who was shot dead with a crossbow

Ramanodge Unmathallegadoo (pictured being arrested) allegedly shot his ex-wife with a crossbow in her own home

Mrs Unmathallegadoo suffered devastating internal injuries and died but her unborn son was delivered by Caesarean section and survived.

Giving evidence today, Mr Muhammad became emotional as he told jurors: ‘My brain was frozen. I did not know what was happening. Is it real? I’m dreaming.’

A video taken from officer’s body worn cameras showing the moment Unmathallegadoo was arrested was played to the court.

Mr Muhammad said his wife, also known as Sana, had got up early that day to start cooking for friends.

Mr Muhammad said he did his bit to prepare for visitors by taking an empty television box to the shed.

He heard a noise behind his back and turned around to find the defendant carrying one crossbow over his shoulder and another in his hand which he pointed up, he said.

Jurors heard Unmathallegadoo ‘smiled’ at his victim’s new partner as he raised the crossbow and pointed it at his chest.

The defendant smiled at him and gave a thumbs up, Mr Muhammad said: ‘I was super shocked and I did not know what to do. I stayed there for 10 seconds then I ran out. Then he was running behind me through the garden.

Unmathallegadoo (right) had been lying in wait in Devi’s (left) shed before bursting out armed with two crossbows, chasing her through her home and murdering her, jurors heard

Devi Unmathallegadoo had split from her husband and moved on with Imtiaz Muhammad (pictured)

‘I’m saying to my wife ‘run out’. She could see what was happening in the garden. She screamed and she started running through the corridor.

‘I ran through the living room. When I stepped out of the porch I turned back thinking ‘where is my wife’. I see my wife, she’s running up the staircase. Ram was coming through the corridor with the crossbow.’

The witness told jurors the defendant turned and faced the staircase, brought the crossbow up and shot his wife.

He said: ‘He did not waste a second. He seemed like he had training.’

Mr Muhammad told jurors the bolt entered his wife’s body so he could only see the end of it.

He went on: ‘When he was coming in the corridor I was in front of him but he was not looking at me. He was focused on her.

‘When she got an arrow she just screamed. I was thinking, ‘what is happening?’, I was screaming for her.

‘Then from there, because he had a second crossbow on his shoulder, I was thinking he’s used one and now the second one might be for me.’

Mr Muhammad shouted for the police to be called and the defendant came out with his hands up, jurors heard.

The defendant, formerly of Ilford, has denied murder and the attempted destruction of the unborn child.

The scene of the alleged murder in Ilford, east London, on November 12 last year

Giving evidence, Mr Muhammad told jurors he first met the couple whilst doing building work on the house next door to them in 2011.

He said the first words from his eventual wife were said to him in anger after he dropped some soil in their garden.

The court heard that after she apologised the two began chatting and confiding in each other, with Sana telling him she was unhappy in her marriage because her husband was ‘being rude and moody all the time’.

‘She said for a long time I am trying to be separate from him but I couldn’t do it,’ Mr Muhammad said.

‘But now I decided I am going to move on.’

The court heard their bond grew after he invited her to stay at his home after receiving a tearful 3am telephone call, before going to see Sana when she was later taken to hospital following a domestic incident in 2012.

Jurors have already heard how she fractured her heel leaping from a first-floor bedroom window, leading to Unmathallegadoo’s arrest and remand in custody.

She then went to stay with Mr Muhammad after being discharged from hospital.

Other than one occasion when Unmathallegadoo turned up on the driveway asking to see his estranged wife, Mr Muhammad told jurors he did not see him again until the day of the killing.

Imtiaz Muhammad, pictured after the death of Devi. The prosecution claimed Unmathallegadoo’s plan was to restrain his ex-wife and her new partner Imtiaz, and then kill them and their unborn child

He said he had tried to contact the children in the months leading up to it, offering to take them out and accosting them on their way to and from school.

The court was earlier shown footage from the interview of one of her teenage sons with police officers after the shooting.

He told jurors he ‘rushed downstairs’ to find his ‘terrified’ mum ‘sitting on the stairs with an arrow to her knee’ and Unmathallegadoo ‘aiming with his crossbow yelling ‘Imtiaz, come out you big chicken’.

‘My sister and I formed a shield around my mum,’ he added.

The court heard he shouted at Unmathallegadoo: ‘What are you doing here? What are you doing here?’

Jurors heard his older brother came down, ‘charged at and disarmed’ him before the weapons were dumped out in the garden, away from his reach.

Unmathallegadoo, of no fixed address, denies murder and the attempted destruction of a child capable of being born alive.

The trial continues.

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