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a-writer · 3 years

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Driver’s License - c.b.

Of course i needed to write something inspired in driver’s license cause i can’t stop thinking about it! Hope you enjoy xx

Colby Brock x reader

Warnings: angst, sad

I got my driver's license last week

Just like we always talked about

'Cause you were so excited for me

To finally drive up to your house

But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around

You still remember the day you met Colby. It was spring and the sun was shining bright. You were having a very nice day, until your best friend convinced you to drive her car, even though you didn’t have your driver's license yet.

“C’mon, just to practice!”

You agreed. Dumb decision. You were doing fine until, accidentally, you crashed into another car. A red, old toyota. Both you and your best friend were okay, it was a very small crash, a little bump on the side. Neither one of you knew what to do and then someone knocked on your window. You completely froze when you saw a pair of beautiful blue eyes staring at you angrily. Long story short, you ended up crying your ass off begging him not to call the police because you were driving without a license. He seemed angry at first, but surprisingly he agreed not to call the police on you and just asked you one thing in return for your accident: your number.

One month later, Colby and you were dating and were the happiest couple. You never got your driver's license. You don’t remember when things started to go wrong, you just remember how Colby started to avoid you. He didn’t call, didn’t text. You finally confronted him, asked him if he was cheating and he completely denied it. But he said he needed some time. He promised you two would get back together, because he loved you. But he said he needed to get off his mind and put his priorities in order. It hurted like hell. But you accepted, cause you were going to be back together, right?

After nine months of love, you’re alone in your room. You finally got your driver’s license and you immediately thought about him. Colby used to tease you all the time and now he wasn’t around anymore.

And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me

She's everything I'm insecure about

Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs

'Cause how could I ever love someone else?

You saw all the posts and stories on instagram. You saw Colby next to that blonde girl all the time. And it hurt to know that the girl you spent all your relationship worried about was where you used to be. You feel a pain in your chest just thinking about it, how his arms are hugging her, his lips are kissing her, his mouth is saying her name, his hands are holding her hands. You know you can’t blame her, but it is so difficult.

You try not to think about it too much, but social media keeps reminding you of the adventures they are living together. Your head tells you to stop looking and overthinking, tells you to stop loving him because he lied. But your heart just wishes for one more taste of his lips. And you know that you just can’t move on, not for now, cause the love you feel for him is just too much.

And I know we weren't perfect, but I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

On your first date after the car accident, Colby took you to an amazing viewpoint where you could see all the silhouettes of the buildings in LA. It was beautiful, but you don’t remember the view that much. You just remember his blue eyes staring deeply in your soul and how much you wanted to kiss him, even though you didn’t know him that well. But you both wanted it so bad, it ended up happening. Things with Colby went so fast, it seemed unbelievable. But you felt like you had been friends for years.

It was impossible not to love him, even through your ups and downs. You fought, like all couples do. Especially because of the pressure of the fans, but you always got through it. Now you were completely broken, to the point that you even missed the fights. He seemed fine, at least that’s the image that you got from looking on his instagram.

You never told anyone, but the first day you got your driver’s license you drove up to his house at night. You cried until there were no tears left and then your heart turned black and cold, and even though you still loved him to death, you started to feel an anger towards him building inside of you.

He lied, he said he loved you, he said he would come back to you. The wind took the words away and he left you alone.

And all my friends are tired

Of hearing how much I miss you, but

I kinda feel sorry for them

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs

And pictured I was driving home to you

You still talked to Sam sometimes, but you started to lose the relationship with him too. Katrina would still check up on you sometimes and you tried to not make it super obvious how much you wanted to know about Colby, but she knew. You could feel how sorry she felt for you and how bad she didn’t want you to ask for him, but it seemed like the only thing you could talk about was Colby. He was not your business, and both you and Kat knew that. Still, she always tried to be nice, she told you how she thought he was super sad. But deep down, you knew it was a lie to make you feel better.

And I know we weren't perfect, but I've never felt this way for no one, oh

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

I guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

You knew too well. He was enjoying life with that blonde girl. He was happy without you and that was what hurt the most. You tried so hard to hate him, but it was impossible. Your heart belonged to him, it had his name tattooed with fire.

You wanted to reverse the situation and you went on dates with other guys. But you couldn’t stop comparing them to Colby, searching for all the flaws they had that Colby didn’t, thinking about how Colby did everything better. You felt like you were going crazy, that you would never get over him, so you unfollowed him on instagram and twitter, you removed his number from your phone and all your photos together. You threw away every little thing that reminded you of him in your house and you decided to start a new life.

Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fucking love you, babe

It had been five months since Colby asked you to give him some time. You knew he was a 100% with the blonde girl and you still had a hard time understanding how he could do it so fast. For the first time in those five months, you decided to go to this little grocery shop where they sold italian products that you always used to go to together.

You just wanted to make a good pizza, but the universe had other plans for you, because while you were looking for your favourite type of cheese, a familiar voice called your name. You froze in the spot, you recognized it immediately. The voice called your name again and you turned around. There he was, standing right in front of you with a shy smile and his damned blue eyes staring deep into your soul.

“(Y/N), hi. It’s been quite some time.” His voice sounded the same and you couldn’t avoid the butterflies you felt on your stomach.

“Hey, Colby.” Your voice sounded more high pitched than how you’d like.

“You look good”. Your cheeks turned red when the word left his mouth and he smirked.

“You too.” An awkward silence arose between the two of you. “I’ve gotta go.”

You tried to walk away but his hand grabbed your arm and you turned to look at him surprised.

“I’m sorry” He blurted out the words without thinking.

You looked down, your eyes filling with water. Taking a deep breath, you looked back at him, holding onto your strength.

“Me too, Colby.” It physically pained you to say his name again and you could see the sadness in his eyes, too.

You tried to run away, but his hand was still holding your arm. You mentally kicked yourself for coming here, you should have stayed home and ordered a pizza. It would have been way better than this. You tried to speak again, but suddenly you felt a pair of lips on yours. You were surprised at first, but the feeling was so familiar that you couldn’t help melt into the kiss.

After five months, feeling Colby’s hands on your body felt heavenly. He kissed every inch of your skin and whispered sweet nothings into your ear. The feeling of him on top of you, the feeling of him inside of you, felt so good that it was almost like a dream. You went to sleep with his arms around you, hugging you tightly, and it felt like home.

You woke up alone. At first you thought it was impossible. You could still smell his cologne, but his side of the bed was cold. You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. Of course this was going to happen, of course he saw the opportunity to fuck you and used you. You ended up spending the whole day crying in your bed, the feeling of his hands caressing you still present.

He lied to you twice. He saw that you were vulnerable and took advantage of that. He said how much he’d miss you, how much he’d wanted you and then he left without saying anything. And after all that, you still loved him.

Sidewalks we crossed

I still hear your voice in the traffic

We're laughing over all the noise

God, I'm so blue, know we're through

But I still fucking love you, babe

It had been one month since that night. You cut off everyone that had to do something with Colby from your life, even Kat. It hurt you, but you knew you needed to do it. Now you were okay. At least better. A part of you still loved him, but everyday a little less.

You were aware that Kat tried to get in contact with you, but you never responded. And you knew that eventually she would understand. She sent you direct messages in all your social media begging to answer her calls, to talk to her. One night you did.

“(Y/N)? Omg, finally!! I missed you, i’m so sorry”. Kat sounded desperate.

“Kat, it’s okay. I’m sorry I cut you off… I just needed some time.”

“I completely get that, just please don’t do it again.” You laughed at her words. “(Y/N)... I actually wanted to call you because I’m worried. Sam is too.” You did not respond, you already knew who she was talking about.

There were some seconds of silence and Kat took that as a sign to keep speaking.

“It’s Colby.” Well, duh. “We’re worried about him. You saw him, right? Like a month ago?”

“Yes” Your voice was quiet, but Kat could hear you perfectly.

“I knew it. Look, I don’t know what happened, but I can imagine. He’s been a mess ever since. Sam told me that he came home at like seven in the morning and immediately sent a text to…” Kat stopped.

“You can say it.”

“To her girlfriend at the time.” You felt your chest tighten but you ignored it. “He broke up with her. I think it was because whatever happened with you that night. The thing is that he has spent most of the last month alone in his room. When he’s out he’s always drunk and he’s not taking anything seriously. Not even his job, (Y/N). We’re worried about him.”

“Kat, I… I understand that you’re worried, but that’s not my business anymore. He lied to me, he used me and then he never talked to me again. I get it, he’s having a hard time. But I’ve been suffering because of him during all these past months. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do anything about it. I’m sorry, Kat.”

Before she could say another word, you hung up.

I know we weren't perfect, but I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

'Cause you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

You couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation with Kat. It had been a month when she texted you inviting you over to a party. You declined the invitation, but she told you that Colby was much better and that he agreed on not even talking to you if you didn’t want to. You still said no. Kat begged you, she offered to be by your side during the whole night. She said she was missing you too much. Finally, you gave up.

When you arrived the party was already started, the music blasting and people dancing. Kat was waiting for you on the door, she grabbed you by the arm and she promised that she wouldn’t leave your side. You smiled politely and took the shot she offered you.

Hours passed by and you had to go to the bathroom. Sam offered you to go to the one in his room and you agreed. Going up the stairs the music turned lower and you breathed deeply, already kinda tired. You were about to go into Sam’s room when you heard the door behind you opening. You froze, what a surprise.

“(Y/N)?” That. fucking. voice.

You turned around with your best smile plastered on your face.

“Hello, Colby.”

“How are you?” You didn’t respond, the room filling with awkward silence, one more time. “I actually wanted to tell you that I’m really so-”

You cut him off.

“Save it, Colby.” He seemed surprised. “I’m done with your bullshit. In fact, I’m done with you. You hurt me and I’m just trying to heal and live my life. So please, leave me alone.” You tried to leave quickly.

“(Y/N), wait!” He grabbed your arm and you kept having flashbacks to the last time you found yourself in this position. “I’m sorry, okay. I know I fucked us up. But you can’t tell me that bullshit.” Your eyes widened.

“Excuse me?”

“C’mon, (Y/N).” His face was inches away from you and you could smell the alcohol on his mouth. “You’re really going to tell me that you didn’t come to this party expecting to bump into me? You’re going to tell me that right now you’re not dying to kiss me?”

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him badly. But that was not an option, not tonight.

“Fuck you, Colby.”

You slapped his hand away from your body and ran downstairs. You went to your car directly and drove home. You couldn’t help the tears coming down your face when you arrived home. He was an asshole, a liar and an egotistical fuck.

And the saddest thing was that you were still completely in love with him.

#colby #colby brock #colby brock x you #colby brock x reader #colby brock angst #Sam and Colby #snc #25x25 #colby brock imagine #colby brock imagines #imagine #imagines #sam and colby imagine #sam and colby imagines #angst imagine #angst imagines

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bedbellyandbeyond · 3 years

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Talk to a Doctor

(Story Post)

Dax had his doctor’s appointment right after Nari called. He explained everything that happened on the weekend to Syd who then proceeded to give him an exam. “You appear to be in good health,” Sydryn concluded after the examination. “It sounds like you had a thunderbird episode which may have caused or was influenced by a severe hormonal fluctuation.” “Yes, but I need to know what caused this…” Dax said. “This has literally never happened before. Not even close.” “I understand, but I don't have immediate answers for you,” Sydryn said. “I'm going to have some blood drawn so we can see your hormone levels. It could be a few days for the results. Meanwhile, have you talked with your case worker?” “Yes, and I have a meeting with her right after this…” Dax rubbing his forehead. “She's probably upset… I've become a liability after all.” Syd sighed and shook their head. “What makes you say that?” “The black vans that followed me around last night and today.”

“Ah… I can understand how that could make you feel,” Sydryn empathised. “It's fine, I get that it's all my fault…” Dax said. “I hurt Nathan, the love of my life, and I got Kent wrapped up in something he shouldn't have to be involved in…” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Now here I am trying to find a medical reason for just fucking up shit really bad… Maybe I did it on purpose, you know? I mean, Kent's a complete asshole, but I do find him attractive, and I love Nathan, but he doesn't have the confidence back to be intimate with me… I just thought I was more patient than that. I didn't think I'd hurt him…” Sydryn offered him the tissue box of their desk. “Don't be so hard on yourself. You're human. Your existence is inherently flawed. It's entirely possible there could be a medically explainable reason behind what happened on the weekend. It's also possible there was a little bit of motivation in there but it was amplified by your condition.” Dax took a tissue and blew his nose. “You think so?” Sydryn set the tissue box down on the edge of the table closest to Dax. “I believe you've mentioned before that the thunderbird will sometimes influence you to pursue your desires that you've been hesitant to pursue, is that not correct?” “Well, yes… When I was first realising my feelings for Nathan, they shocked me to get me out of my case worker meeting one night so I could bump into Nathan,” Dax said. “Moments like that have always frightened me a little. Just how much they know about those around me…” “Well you are dealing with a supernatural being with their own will and power,” Sydryn said. “I don't presume to fully understand the background they are coming from, but APID generally tries not to meddle with the desires of such beings with unfathomable ability because they are deemed unpredictable. We've established that you and the thunderbird are both different entities sharing the same body. It is possible their will to grant your desires took over.” “But, what confuses me is that I used to have more control,” Dax said. “It's like they have no boundaries now. They'll just take over whenever they see fit.” “This is where I’m hoping to be able to help you,” Sydryn said. “It could be that something has been affecting you that has broken down your ability to control the thunderbird. Usually, it is stormier weather that may weaken you, however we are not aware of that naturally occurring that night.” “Yes, there wasn't a storm in effect until I turned into the thunderbird,” Dax said. “Right, so look at it like this,” Syd said. “A cold shouldn't kill the average person with a healthy immune system, but someone who obtains an illness which drastically compromises their immune system, the common cold could now be fatal to them. I'm looking for the illness.” “Right, I understand…” Dax said. “I'm worried you might not find one.” “If there isn't one, we won't find it,” Sydryn said. “But you explained how you were ill that day with a fever and you reported that this Kent person said you were emitting pheromones like an animal in heat. I can't ignore that.” Dax shrugged. “I mean, Kent could be lying… He lies to himself all the time.” “Regardless, I will do my best to look for any biochemical issues that may have influence in this case,” Sydryn explained. “There are many factors to consider, including but not limited to stress, change in environment, change in physical activity, and change in diet. The body can potentially develop extreme reactions to any of these.” “What, like allergies?” Dax asked. “Possibly. Comparably.” “Okay…” Dax rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you find something… It really feels like I wasn't myself at all.” “Well, we'll run all the tests.” Sydryn went to their computer. “In the meantime, might I suggest you sit down with the therapist to talk some of this out? It sounds like you're undergoing a lot of stress and you could benefit from discussing your feelings.” “Right… I shouldn't bore you with all my anxieties after all,” Dax said. “No, it's not like that at all. I am a fully licensed psychologist as well as a physician, however I do have other patients to see, and I find the resident therapist's methods to be much more amicable than I.” “Honestly, I appreciate your straightforward and blunt approach,” Dax said. “But I get it. You must be busy as well.” “If you'd really like to speak to me, you certainly can book another appointment,” Sydryn said. “It's really up to you who you're comfortable with talking to. I'm just not really practicing psychology as frequently, though I do take into account all forms of health in my practice.” Dax nodded slowly. “I think for now I just want to go home… I haven't been around enough to be a proper bird parent to Orpheus. She's driving Samara crazy.” “If I recall correctly, she’s a blue ringneck parakeet?” Sydryn remembered. “Yeah, I'm surprised you remembered,” Dax said. “That's why I appreciate you.” “I have several animals of my own, however they too are under the care of others as I live away from them for work,” Sydryn stated. “What kinds?” Dax asked. “Well, some dogs and others…” Sydryn said. “As much as I'd like to muse about our respective companions, I do have to ask if you need me for anything else before seeing my next patient.” “Ah, sorry. No, I'm good for now…” Dax said getting up to leave. Sydryn stood as well. “I believe if you talk to reception now, Köbi should be able to fit you in with a technician to get your blood drawn today.” Dax nodded. “Alright. If it's done today, when should I expect my results?” “We’re a bit pressed right now, so it could be a week, to be honest,” Sydryn admitted. “I will call you personally as soon as I have them.” “Okay,” Dax said going to the door. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” “It was an APID priority,” Sydryn stated. “Ah, figures…” Dax sighed. “D’accord, salut.” “À bientôt.”

#lore #Dax #Sydryn

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haberdashing · 3 years

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What A Tangled Web We Weave (16/?)

TMA AU diverging from canon at the end of episode 92. Jon is forced into an arranged marriage by Elias; Martin does what he can to help.

on AO3

As Martin looked up at Annabelle Cane, perched atop his ceiling in a position that seemed to defy gravity, he kept thinking that by all rights, that ceiling should be caving in. Surely it couldn’t hold a human’s full body mass without getting damaged in the process... but then again, Annabelle Cane wasn’t exactly human, was she?

Not that Martin was one to talk now, he supposed...

“Why are you here?” Martin blurted out.

Annabelle’s voice was cool and collected despite the situation. “Helping you prepare for your wedding day, of course.”

“My... my wedding day? That’s weeks away still, what-”

“Not anymore it isn’t. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Annabelle slid down a strand of spider silk until she was perched not on Martin’s ceiling but on the far corner of his bed, which didn’t actually make her presence any less disconcerting, especially since the closer vantage point just made it that much easier to see how her skull was literally filled with cobwebs.

“What d’you mean? That was the deal, that we’d get married in a month-”

“I am altering the deal.” Annabelle’s grin was just wide enough to send shivers down Martin’s spine.

“...pray you don’t alter it any further?” Martin’s response was soft, tentative almost, but he couldn’t help but finish the reference once it had been started.

Annabelle laughed at that. Martin had expected her laugh to be eerie, otherworldly, perhaps distorted and aching and wrong like Michael’s, but instead it was just... a laugh, a normal human-sounding laugh, loud and raucous. “Oh, I like you.”

Martin decided to keep his immediate thought that the feeling was very much not mutual to himself for the time being.

A moment passed before Annabelle spoke up again. “As I was saying, circumstances now require that things move a little faster than initially planned.”

“And you didn’t think to share this information with me until what it sounds like is the day of?”

Annabelle put her hands on her hips. “Perhaps I thought you’d do something unwise with the information if given more time to digest it.”

Martin mimicked Annabelle’s gesture, narrowing his eyes as he put his own hands on his hips. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do, then.”

“Perhaps.” Annabelle’s arms returned to her sides, and a hint of a smile appeared on her face.

“A-and Jon, everybody else, they-”

“Aren’t my priority.” Annabelle finished, her voice still surprisingly calm. “There’s a suit out in the hallway for you, if you want to try it on. Should fit better than that old thing in the back of your closet.”

“Not a high bar, that.” Martin retorted before he could think better of it.

“That old thing” had been Martin’s father’s, once upon a time, and it fit him horribly, really, much too short in the sleeves and too wide in the shoulders, but he’d kept it around all these years because he needed at least one nice outfit on hand and buying a new one had never been high on his list of priorities. Martin hadn’t really thought ahead far enough to think of what he’d be wearing to his wedding, but he was glad that it wouldn’t be his father’s old suit, at least.

The suit in the hallway, on the other hand... even before putting it on, Martin could tell that it was new, tailored better than anything he’d ever owned before, and when he brushed his hand against the fabric, it was soft and cool and just yielding enough.

(Martin tried to ignore the niggling voice in the back of his head that said that fine, soft fabric might well be spider’s silk.)

“I’m going in the bathroom to try this on, I assume you’ll manage without me for a solid two seconds so I can get a bit of privacy.” Annabelle opened her mouth, and Martin did his best to head off the impending protest by adding, “Or some semblance of privacy, anyway.”

Annabelle Cane closed her mouth, and Martin closed the bathroom door behind him.

The suit’s fit was as perfect as the fabric it was made out of; Martin was so accustomed to poorly-fitting clothing, to having to tuck some fabric in and do his best to stretch other bits out, that wearing something that actually fit without any alterations (on his end, at least; there did appear to be a few stray stitches, though what hands made them Martin didn’t know) came as a bit of a shock.

“This fits perfectly, how did you-”

And then Martin cut off his question, because he realized that there were only really two ways that Annabelle Cane could know his size that well.

First was her consulting Elias, because apparently they were close now--not that Elias had any business knowing Martin’s clothes size either, of course, but Elias seemed to have a way of just knowing that sort of thing, of knowing whatever might be useful to him in his own smarmy way. But the idea of Annabelle Cane and Elias Bouchard making conversation about getting Martin a suit was a mental picture Martin would much rather not have in his head, thanks.

But then the other option that came to mind was that she’d gotten Martin’s measurements a little more... directly. She evidently hadn’t had any trouble gaining access to his flat, after all (even though he’d made sure to lock the door, had grown very careful about that ever since the Prentiss incident), and while Annabelle herself doing such dirty work might be noticeable, might be enough to wake him up even in the middle of those deep sleeps he’d been having lately, her spiders...

No, that wasn’t a mental picture Martin much relished, either.

And asking Annabelle Cane how she’d gotten his measurements just meant that one of those two disconcerting possibilities would be confirmed, would be that much harder to push to the back of his mind.

“...nope, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Good.” Was that a hint of smugness Martin heard in Annabelle’s voice just now?

Martin opened the bathroom door. “So what now? What other ‘preparations’ are on your to-do list?”

“Mostly just making sure you arrive at the church still intact.” Annabelle Cane stood up and headed for the front door. “I’ll drive you there. Car’s waiting out front.”

Martin didn’t know how Annabelle Cane had gotten a car, whether she’d stolen it or borrowed it or somehow outright bought one from some unsuspecting salesperson who didn’t know they were dealing with an eldritch monstrosity in the flesh... but again, he figured he was probably better off not knowing.

“Fine. Whatever. Lead the way, I suppose.”

Annabelle’s car was black and clean and had tinted windows and no license plates, and Martin really wished he had it in him to be surprised.

As he entered the car, though he knew that Annabelle would be bringing him to the site of his wedding, Martin couldn’t help but think that it felt more like he was heading towards his own funeral.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #martin blackwood #web martin #web martin blackwood #personal #my writing

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peterpanouat · 4 years

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| Jerome x Reader | Heart of Darkness | Part 7 - Finding His Queen |

I do not own the characters of DC or of Gotham this is strictly for recreational purposes. Do not reblog unless you leave my credit. my work is protected under the creative commons license.

Here is the new update I hope you all like it! Feel free to leave me some feedback as well to tell me if you like it or dislike it. I love hearing from you all <3

Also if you want to be tagged in the updates I post shoot me a message and I can add you to a tag list.

Tag List: @sophiyaaaaay

After she left Edward in the room, Harleen went and found Jim and waited for them to go home. It was a bit odd just how happy she seemed to be ever since leaving Edward’s office. Jim shook his head of those thoughts before seeing Lee and then they started walking towards the car. They headed home for the day and when they got back Harleen helped Lee with making dinner.

It was rather odd that she was so happy and even Lee could sense that as well but she knew that she had to be rather careful. So with that Lee put a smile on her face and turned to Harleen. “What seems to have gotten you in such a good mood? Did you and Nygma close another case?” She asks before stirring the pasta sauce with the spoon and then tasting some of it.

Harleen was rather lost in her thoughts as when she had heard Lee asking her a question. “Sorry, what were you saying?” She asks as she strained the pasta and placed it into one of the serving bowls while humming one of the tunes from the circus.

Lee repeated her question and caused Harley to shrug her shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I am finally just letting go of the past and accepted that I need to move on.” She lied before continuing with the fantasy of hers. “I think that maybe I should become a psychiatrist, help people who can’t help themselves, you know? Help those just like you and Gordon.” She explains.

“I know that I have been Nygma’s apprentice for a while and I think that maybe I should look into going to school? Do you think that there would be a way to make that happen?” She asks curiously, knowing that Lee felt bad for her and wanted to help however she could. Maybe if she had the proper knowledge on how to get what she wanted, she could get back her Jerome.

Lee nodded her head, “I think that we can figure something out for sure. I am glad that you are starting to see the bright side to things.” She tells her, causing Harley to smile. The rest of the night goes rather well for the three of them. They spend some more time bonding and Harley starts to fathom for maybe just a second that if she had a family, this is what she would want it to be like. She pictured herself and Jerome with kids of their own and fell asleep with those thoughts in her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The next day, the three of them had gone to work as they had before but this time it was different. There was something different. Harley wouldn’t know however because she was too preoccupied with Edward and coming up with a plan to really know about what was taking place. So when Lee and Jim were told of the escape of the Arkham patients and learned who was on that list, they knew they had to tread carefully.

“Should we tell her?” He asks Lee before turning his attention to Harley and Nygma who were having a conversation across the precinct. Lee shook her head, “We should at least give her some time to be happy. We can tell her later tonight. There is no way that they would come to the precinct. There has to be someone else behind their escape.” She reasons with him before the captain gets everyone’s attention.

“Attention everyone. There is some news that I would like to share. The mayor has been kidnapped and that needs to be our number one priority right now. We need to find him immediately. In other news, Jim will be lead on finding those that have escaped Arkham. Jim if you could brief everyone on what happened, I will assemble a team to find the mayor. That is all. Thank you.” She tells them before dismissing everyone.

The announcement from the captain immediately caught Harley’s attention. When Jim was briefing the team on who had escaped, he kept a careful eye on Harley to see her reaction but it was rather hard when she was still keeping herself mostly to Edward. Turning to Edward, she took a deep breath. “Maybe we need to enact your plan sooner than we thought. If he is out, that means he will be coming to get me. I know he is.” She tells him.

“Well then I guess we just have to be extra prepared for when he arrives don’t we?” He smirked before seeing Jim walking over after the briefing had finished. “Looks like you got some company headed this way.” He tells her before she turns her attention back to Jim and putting on a fake face.

“Hey, I know I should have told you about it when it happened but we didn’t want to ruin the mood yesterday. Lee and I think that with Jerome back, we should take you up on that offer for you to go back to school. The sooner we get you out of here the better.”

“You think that I should go to school while Jerome is out of Arkham? What if he tries to find me?” She asks in concern. Jim shakes his head, “He won’t find you. I will make sure of that.” He tells her before she nodded her head, “Okay I trust you.” She tells him before grabbing her things. She turned back to Edward before whispering something into his ear. “I will be back soon, just text me if you need me.” She smiled before heading off with Jim to assemble some of her things together for the trip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had finished gathering her things and Jim had the bus that was to take her somewhere disguised as a school bus in hopes to keep her identity under wraps. The trip was going rather well until she felt the bus stopping abruptly. When she heard the gunshot ring out, she knew that there was trouble. She also knew that Jim had made sure it would be hard to trace her location but apparently that wasn’t enough.

Seeing the familiar face down the aisle, she could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Jerome…” She said more to herself. “Now, I am sure that you all don’t know how hard it was for me to find this bus but I am looking for someone in particular. If she agrees to come with me willingly everyone will be fine, otherwise I will just have to well….burn it to the ground.” He smirked as a playful smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Oh my dear Harley, come out come out wherever you are.” He coos as he makes his way through the bus with the gun still in hand. She couldn’t stop the wild pounding in her chest as his steps got closer and closer to her but she knew deep down that she was still angry with him. “There you are darling. Time for us to make our great escape.” He purred as the strange men started to cuff the other girls to the seats on the bus.

Harley scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You really think that I want to go with you after you slept with that whore? Do you think that I am stupid or something?” She hissed, “I am not going with you. I would rather burn with the bus.”

Jerome lets out a more than dramatic laugh when he hears her words before putting on a serious face. “Oh come on Harls you can’t be serious. You know that she was only saying that to get under your skin. I never slept with the whore. She was throwing herself at me even though I told her I already had a girl waiting for me when I got out...but look we can discuss this once we get out of here. Regardless, you are coming with me.” He tells her. “Now if that is by force or of your own free will that is completely up to you.”

Harley had thought about how much she had missed him and dreamed of a moment when he would come back for her. She was his missing piece and she knew that. “Jim would never let you get away with this and you know it.” She tells him as she got up to go with him. Jerome let Greenwood spray the bus down with gasoline before Jerome and Harley exited the bus. Jerome had her handcuffed to himself so she couldn’t leave his side.

Greenwood emerged from the bus right as the cops were arriving. Jerome held Harley close and started firing shots at the cops before he spotted Jim. Jim told the cops to hold their fire before trying to talk some sense into Jerome but it seemed Jerome didn’t really care to hear it.

“Look Jimbo, I will always be grateful to you for watching after my Harls but I think we have been away from each other long enough and it’s time for us to spend a little quality time together. Lit em’ up.” Jerome smirked before pulling Harley with him to the truck. Greenwood hopped in as well but Arnold stayed behind to light the fire as they started to drive away.

Harley was quiet for most of the drive and given how she didn’t really have much room in the front seat for all four of them, she still tried to distance herself from Jerome even with the handcuffs on. “Come on doll, don’t be like that. Everything will be explained when we get to the penthouse.” He reassures her.

#jerome valeska #jerome x reader #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #gotham imagines #gotham #cameron monaghan #jerome valeska imagines

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nope-body · 3 years

Text

So Wednesday night cheap skate is from 6-8. When I started trying to go on a regular basis, my dad said that he wanted to go with me, and that if it became a regular thing, he would try to schedule work so he could leave early Wednesdays. It was pretty clear that my parents were working on “spending time and connecting with your children” with their therapist, so I agreed. Plus that meant that I didn’t have to get my grandma to drive me, because she doesn’t even go in, so she just sits in the car for two hours and I don’t want to make her do that every week.

But when my dad takes me, we are never there when it opens, which is something I have made clear that I want to do. I want to use the full two hours I have available because if I want to get better (good enough to make a roller derby team once I’m 18), I need to practice. And I would be fine if we were 10, 15 minutes late when he took me. But we’re not. We are 30 minutes late on the very best day, and usually it’s more like 45. It takes half an hour to get there and let’s say 10 minutes to eat dinner, him to change, and us to get back out the door. He told me that he was going to try to be home by 5:45 today. We would need to leave at 5:30 to get there when it opens. But even if he got home at 5:45 like he said he would, I would still get there at 6:30.

He just left work now. He’s going to get home at 6. I’m going to have half of the time that I could have had to skate at the rink. And I was explaining the problem to my mom and her only response is that he has work, and this is why I should learn to drive.

I don’t know if she meant for her words to come out as dismissive or unsympathetic, but they did. I really love skating, and I want to spend as much time at a rink as I can, because I want to get good. Not just “can skate forward and not fall over or crash into anybody”, I want to be a good skater who is good at roller derby, and since I can’t train for roller derby since you can’t join a team until you’re 18, I will take every opportunity I can get. And my parents don’t seem to understand this. I was filling out an application and it asked for other activities you were in, and I asked them if I should put down roller skating because I have a set schedule for it and I am dedicated to doing my best just like I am in all of my activities. They said no, essentially because they put at the bottom of my priorities list with out even considering my feelings. They saw it as a hobby, something you can do when you want, but it’s not. It’s destressing and it’s practice. My dad said that if it became a regular thing (it has now become a regular thing and has been for months) that he would schedule work around it, but he hasn’t. He’s just leaving work early. I have to ask him every week if he will take me skating. They just don’t understand what it means to me, and they never bothered to ask.

I’m half considering just asking my grandma to start taking me again, at least until I have my driver’s license, because it’ll only be 6 more months max, and I don’t know if I can stand 6 months of being reminded that their effort to spend time with me is always second to their job every single week. Like, I get it! He has a job! But he’s the fucking president of the business he works at. He has to have a bit of leeway when it comes to his schedule. And if he doesn’t, and he can’t manage both his job and going skating with me, he should just tell me and let me ask my grandma to take me again instead of whatever he’s doing right now. He has always put his job before his family, he doesn’t have to hide it. Doing that just lets everyone down.

#I’m sorry I’m just frustrated and angry and #I feel so alone and ignored and unimportant #I love going skating but it is so lonely #there’s a group around my age that I want to be friends with but I genuinely don’t know how to make friends #skating is my escape right now. the music is loud enough that it drowns out my thoughts and that’s the closest I’ll get to having my head be #quiet and skating helps with my anxiety and there’s no chance of being reminded of the rest of my life #except for my dad #I think the reason that not being able to spend the full two hours there hurts so badly (other than the I’m second to my dad’s work stuff)#is that it’s cutting short my escape #I only have so long and only once a week and I want to make the most of it #but I can’t!!! because my dad doesn’t keep his promises and doesn’t care about my wanting to get there when it opens #it hurts

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Radio Abel, Season Eight

Part 4 of 5

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope.

ZOE CRICK: This is a very special edition of our show, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right, Zoe! [laughs] It's our first broadcast since Fort Canton became the seat of the UK government. We’re only a few feet away from the office of the prime minister, Amelia Spens. [sighs] Prime Minister Amelia Spens. [laughs] How did this happen again?

ZOE CRICK: There's never any one factor that determines who rises to power, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, for the benefit of any listeners not up to date with current affairs, uh, can we list the -

ZOE CRICK: An understandable predicament, given the post-apocalyptic demise of the 24-hour news cycle.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - can we list the factors that led to Amelia's appointment?

ZOE CRICK: Opportunism...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: ... And?

ZOE CRICK: I'm thinking.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought you said there was never any one factor.

ZOE CRICK: You know, I think Amelia's a special case. Most world leaders aspire to the job, for better or worse, but Amelia only ever wants what's best for Amelia, whether that's nabbing the last reservation for an exclusive spa treatment -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - or seizing control of a country.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Listeners, I realize that the phrase “seizing control” had some negative connotations, and I'd just like to explain what I meant when I said that's what the prime minister did to the UK. There was a power vacuum and no one else was up to the task, so Amelia stepped in.

ZOE CRICK: I'd also like to clarify what I said. Amelia does only want what's best for Amelia, but right now, that's what's best for the country, too.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope.

ZOE CRICK: Amelia wants to live in a UK with hot running water, a plentiful supply of luxury goods, and no V-types. If she's the best person to make that happen, then her being in power is a good thing for all of us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And on that note, here's a song that always puts me in an optimistic mood.

ZOE CRICK: Radio New Hope is still fully independent and completely unbiased.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I wouldn't call your veto of progressive art rock unbiased.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, many of our listeners are out scavenging for supplies and running away from zombies. We don't need to make their lives any harder. My point is that our proximity to the prime minister has no bearing on our editorial stance.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, definitely. The fact that Amelia's just down the hall and controls the penal system doesn't affect what we say in the slightest. I hardly ever think about how easy it would be for her to kick me out of Fort Canton and leave me to the V-types.

ZOE CRICK: The only person who'll do that is me the next time you try to put on some King Crimson when I'm not looking. Amelia said a strong government has nothing to fear from a free press.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Might have been a test.

ZOE CRICK: She knows if we suddenly started spouting propaganda, our listeners would get suspicious. As long as she lets us carry on as normal, she looks confident, like she's got nothing to hide.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Which she hasn't. Probably.

ZOE CRICK: Do you really think that's necessary, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's journalistic ethics, Zoe. We've got to disclose it.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] Go on, then.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, one of Amelia's first acts as prime minister was to give us a new studio.

ZOE CRICK: It's hardly new.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's a lot nicer than what we were in before. Less sticky.

ZOE CRICK: To explain, listeners, Amelia is building a scale replica of the House of Commons at Fort Canton. Just like the original, it's furnished with green leather seats. Although most of the leftover building materials went to settlements more in need of refurbishment than Fort Canton, no one else wanted the green leather, so we've got it. All of it. Everything in this room is green.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's... a very relaxing color?

ZOE CRICK: In moderation. [sighs] I feel like I'm broadcasting from the depths of the swamp.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The important thing is that our new upholstery wasn't payment.

ZOE CRICK: Are you satisfied?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think so. We can't be too careful about this. Transparency's critical.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, perhaps, but it's hardly the most exciting way to fill the airwaves. Here's some music to lighten the mood.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope that's made it clear, listeners. Radio New Hope has no official affiliation with the prime minister, so you can stop filling ROFFLEnet with requests for new laws. We can't help you with them.

ZOE CRICK: And in many cases, we wouldn't want to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. To whoever wrote to us under the username Undying_Love, no, I don't think human/zombie marriage is going to be legally recognized anytime soon.

ZOE CRICK: I also think it's also safe to say that if and when the DVLA is back up and running, zombies probably won't be eligible for driving licenses.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: To be fair, we have received some reasonable requests, uh, it's just that we can't do anything about them. We're just broadcasters.

ZOE CRICK: That's right. While it's wonderful that so many of you are politically engaged, you need to direct your efforts towards the right people. If there's something you want discussed in parliament, contact the leader of your settlement.

ZOE CRICK: I'm glad that's cleared up. I must say, it's a relief not to be talking about politics for once.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not that politics isn't important, listeners, it's just that Zoe and I haven't really had a break from it since Amelia became prime minister.

ZOE CRICK: If we're not bumping into settlement leaders in the canteen, we're tripping over King Jamie's retinue when he drops in for his weekly conference with Amelia.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We can't even get a cup of tea without getting caught up in an argument about V-type policy.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, it's exhausting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So allow Radio New Hope to be your refuge from current affairs.

ZOE CRICK: Here's a song with absolutely no political message at all.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Since we're not talking about politics, let's catch up. Uh, Zoe, what have you been doing recently?

ZOE CRICK: Well, last night I went to see Amelia to -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No need to go into too much detail.

ZOE CRICK: - borrow a David Attenborough DVD.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh.

ZOE CRICK: She says they keep her children entertained, but I'm not sure they fully appreciate the lion cubs of the Serengeti. Anyway, I never even got to ask her for it because she was too busy arguing with the representative from the Psychoanalysts Enclave. The UK Alliance hasn't really figured out taxes yet, but Amelia's interpreting the concept loosely. In exchange for services, she wants control of all the dirt the Enclave acquired prior to the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Purely to keep it confidential?

ZOE CRICK: Of course.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, that's sort of like... It's politics, really, isn't it?

ZOE CRICK: All right then, Phil, what non-political activities have you been engaging in?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've been researching Alan Parsons.

ZOE CRICK: Don't you know everything about him already?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm putting together a biography. It's important that the history of significant cultural figures isn't lost. To make sure my information’s correct, I’ve been cross-referencing my sources with the fan community on ROFFLEnet. It's just that there aren't that many Alan Parsons fans -

ZOE CRICK: Who’d have thought?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - because many of them died in the apocalypse.

ZOE CRICK: I'm sorry.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The point is that because there are only a few people left with expertise in classic progressive rock, everyone else on the message board figured out who I am and that I work near Amelia.

ZOE CRICK: So you can't even escape politics on the Alan Parsons forum?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly. I've been bombarded with questions for her, things she hasn't addressed in her own broadcasts. I printed them out, actually. [paper rustles] Here, you can take a look.

ZOE CRICK: You know, some of these aren't bad. I wonder if Amelia would come on the show and answer them.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I always secretly wanted to host Question Time.

ZOE CRICK: Listeners, I'm very happy to announce that the prime minister Amelia Spens has agreed to appear on Radio New Hope and answer some of your questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I won't ask how you convinced her.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't have to. She said it would be good for her image.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really?

ZOE CRICK: Yes. She says the population sees her as intelligent, refined, and sophisticated, but that those qualities make her hard to relate to. According to her, appearing on Radio New Hope will increase her appeal to people who don't care about personal grooming and who haven't read a book since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is that what she thinks of our listeners?

ZOE CRICK: To be fair, reading materials and cosmetics are in short supply.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes, and people's priorities have changed. Some of us are more concerned with staying alive than getting our well-manicured hands on the last remaining issues of the Times Literary Supplement.

ZOE CRICK: A fair point. Listeners, to find out what our prime minister's priorities are, send your questions to us over ROFFLEnet.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe, since this is our first prime ministerial interview, do you think we should have picked a more appropriate song than that?

ZOE CRICK: It's too late now.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: People of the UK, we'd like to introduce a very special guest to Radio New Hope. Please welcome our prime minister, Amelia Spens.

AMELIA SPENS: Hello, Phil and Zoe. I must say, I'm glad this is a radio broadcast. This studio looks frightful.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Now hang on. It's decorated with offcuts you gave us.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, is this where they ended up? I thought we were going to burn them.

ZOE CRICK: We're off to a good start, listeners. Let's have some serious music before we get into the questions.

ZOE CRICK: Our first question is from Concerned of Dorchester. “Prime Minister, when democracy is reinstated, will zombies get the vote?”

AMELIA SPENS: “When democracy is reinstated.” [laughs] Phil and Zoe, I hope these aren't all going to be comedy questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think just focus on the zombie part for now.

AMELIA SPENS: I think we can all agree that one of the few silver linings of the apocalypse is the way outdated prejudices and social orders have been rejected.

ZOE CRICK: Just to be clear, you're not ruling out zombies having the vote?

AMELIA SPENS: Not until I know who they'd vote for. V-types are very intelligent in large groups.

ZOE CRICK: This next question is from Sir Augustus Headley Coombs. “Prime Minister, do your duties as a mother hinder your ability to run the country?”

AMELIA SPENS: Quite honestly, if anything, they help -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm sorry, Prime Minister, you don't have to answer that. I apologize on behalf of Radio New Hope to you and to all other mothers listening for airing a question that implies that motherhood might compromise a woman's abilities to do her job.

ZOE CRICK: Quite. We all know that if Amelia's abilities are compromised, it's by her refusal to do anything that might damage her manicure.

AMELIA SPENS: Are you still annoyed about that, Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: Now isn't the time.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There's really no need to acknowledge this question, Prime Minister. Let's move on.

AMELIA SPENS: It's a reasonable question, and the answer is that dealing with a clutch of screaming children with no control over their emotions is the best training a prime minister could have.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from, uh... this person's username is just a string of cat emojis. They say, “Prime Minister, doctors and scientists are increasingly aware of the therapeutic benefits of caring for animals. Simply stroking a cat has been proven to lower blood pressure. Why, even when there's so much evidence that animals make it easier to cope with mental health difficulties, are kitten pens still not compulsory in all settlements?”

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, did you write this? I told you, if you ever need a way to relieve stress, just come to my quarters and I’ll -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So that's a no on the kitten pens for now, listeners. Here's a nice loud song to block out the sound of your own imagination.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This question comes from BV, but I'm not sure we should ask it. Zoe, take a look.

[paper rustles]

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, I see what you mean. But if this is a true public forum, nothing should be off limits. Besides, I think the time for editorial qualms would have been before you printed out the entire message board.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Perhaps it wasn't the best use of our paper allowance.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, just ask it. I've scheduled a hot stone massage after this and if I have to cancel, running out of paper will be the least of your problems.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um... “Prime Minister, how does it feel to be the most attractive world leader of all time?”

AMELIA SPENS: It's a meaningless accolade.

ZOE CRICK: Of course. We shouldn't judge politicians on their appearance.

AMELIA SPENS: No, I mean there's no competition.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, the next question's also from BV. Uh, this one's a bit more sensible, though. It's about health policy. “Prime Minister, I am the CEO of a corporation with an extensive pharmaceutical arm. I'd be happy to discuss supplies for ministry hospitals. Perhaps over a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947 Saint-Emilion, and some caviar.”

ZOE CRICK: Wait, pharmaceutical corporation? BV? Is this Valmont? Prime Minister, I don't think this is a genuine request.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm terribly sorry, BV, but a meeting won't be possible right now. I have to be very careful about the relationship between business and government. You understand. More importantly, red wine and caviar is a dreadful pairing. Let me know when you've got some Dom Perignon and then we'll talk.

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, I know that was a dreadful song, but could you at least -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hey!

AMELIA SPENS: - but you could at least stay awake for the duration. The rest of us had to.

ZOE CRICK: I was awake. I just like to close my eyes sometimes, or the green gets too much. Anyway, what's the next question, Phil?

[paper rustles]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, I don't think we need to ask that one.

AMELIA SPENS: Nothing is off limits. Please go ahead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um, Outraged of Essex asks, “Prime Minister, does your involvement with Zoe Crick create a conflict of interest regarding your appearance on this program?”

AMELIA SPENS: I don't know, Outraged, do your hobbies create a conflict of interest with your job?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from [clears throat] Nice Try, But If You Think I'm Writing My Name In That Box, You've Got Another Thing Coming.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't know ROFFLEnet usernames could be that long.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Prime Minister, is it true that you're demanding the Psychoanalysts Enclave give you all their information? Would the details go public? Asking for a friend.”

AMELIA SPENS: Firstly, the UK Alliance doesn't demand anything, it's a negotiation. As for the information, it sounds like its secrecy is valuable to you. Interesting. Write to my office and we'll talk.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Happy and Glorious asks, “Will the king attend the State Opening of Parliament?”

AMELIA SPENS: The State Opening of Parliament took place in the House of Lords, not the House of Commons. Since we haven't built a House of Lords, it just wouldn't be right to reenact such a historically significant ceremony. A shame, as I'm sure King Jamie's speech about self-sacrifice and duty would have been a hoot.

ZOE CRICK: Couldn't you adapt the ceremony for post-apocalyptic times?

AMELIA SPENS: What do you mean?

ZOE CRICK: Before Z-Day, the State Opening of Parliament consisted of several commemorative rituals. For example, the Palace of Westminster cellars would be searched for explosives in remembrance of the Gunpowder Plot.

AMELIA SPENS: And you're suggesting we open Parliament with zombie-themed rituals, is that it? [laughs] Amused as I am by the thought of King Jamie being chased through Fort Canton by a horde of V-types, there are several recent events that it would be best the population stop associating with the office of minister.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You mean all that stuff with Sigrid?

AMELIA SPENS: It's easier for people to forget if they're not being constantly reminded, Phil.

ZOE CRICK: Lance Corporal Kapoor asks, “Is there any truth to the rumor that defense resources are being spent retrieving high heels from the last remaining Christian Louboutin shop in Mayfair?”

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. Politics is all about image, and I need to look stylish yet powerful to intimidate our enemies.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But aren't zombies our biggest enemies? Do they notice shoes?

AMELIA SPENS: There's a lot we don't know yet about zombies.

ZOE CRICK: On that note, here's a song that'll make us all feel powerful.

AMELIA SPENS: Are we nearly finished? All this green is giving me a headache.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Almost. The Truth Is Out There asks, “Is the UK Alliance withholding information about UFOs?”

AMELIA SPENS: UFOs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Unidentified flying -

AMELIA SPENS: I know what they are, Phil. Listener, was the zombie apocalypse not enough? Haven't you had your fill of government conspiracies? Don't you think if - actually, no, I'm not going to dignify this stupid question with an answer. That's it, I'm afraid, Phil and Zoe. It's time for my massage.

[chair legs scrape across floor]

ZOE CRICK: Wait, there's one more.

AMELIA SPENS: No.

ZOE CRICK: Where is Janine De Luca?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Janine. I'm amazed anyone noticed she was gone. Don't worry, listeners. Colonel De Luca is on a secret mission and it's all under control. She and her appallingly drab outfits will be back at Abel in no time. And with that, I'm off.

[door opens]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think it's probably time for some music.

ZOE CRICK: I think that went... about as well as could be expected.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, considering it was our first prime ministerial interview, we didn't read the questions before going live, and we're broadcasting from what looks like the inside of a spinach tin.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] I thought you liked the decor.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Just didn't want to complain. Fort Canton's been a stressful place to work since Amelia became prime minister, but I try to remember that we're all on the same team. Everyone wants to get rid of the V-types and we need to work together, focus on the big things, and not sweat the small stuff.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Like how our studio looks like Kermit the Frog's fever dream?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly.

[magazine pages rustle]

ZOE CRICK: Phil? Phil, we're live.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, sorry. Uh... [clears throat] Hello, ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope, where your entertainment is our priority.

ZOE CRICK: Except when we're reading... [magazine rustles] Vogue? Phil, don't take this the wrong way, but I never thought of you as being particularly interested in fashion.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I never was, Zoe, before the apocalypse. But one of our runners picked this up from a dentist's waiting room during a meds run and I was curious. So fascinating, really, that there used to be this whole industry dedicated to the way we looked.

ZOE CRICK: The people in these pictures had no idea what was coming.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If they had, maybe they'd have worn more practical shoes.

ZOE CRICK: Yes. [laughs] Good luck running from a zom in those. They're quite fun, actually.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, they're pretty good, but I prefer these.

ZOE CRICK: Wow! [laughs] Those are quite something. You couldn't wear them to work, though.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not unless you were this next musical artiste!

ZOE CRICK: Welcome back, listeners. Today we're reading Vogue, which is like gazing through a portal into another dimension.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A dimension where people thought it was sensible to make dresses out of tin foil and feathers.

ZOE CRICK: Mm, I'm not sure sense had anything to do with it. These clothes are about fantasy. They're works of art.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, those ones are, but look at this other fashion mag I picked up. [magazine page rustles] This article is called “Summer Must-haves.” It's telling me I must spend 700 pounds on these trousers. And it's next to an advert for some magic cream to make me look young. Now remember, before the apocalypse, a lot of people worried about not wearing the right clothes or that it was a bad thing to look their age.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, that's a good point. Nowadays, if you see someone older, you know they've probably got some wisdom to share. Always handy in the post-apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly! Just yesterday, a teenager asked me where the toilets are.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, impressive! [laughs] Here's a song by someone even older and wiser than Phil.

ZOE CRICK: You know, Phil, how we look hasn't become totally irrelevant since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well... yeah. Uh, it's-it's important to look basically alive so that no one mistakes you for a zombie and tries to knock your head off with a baseball bat.

ZOE CRICK: True, but I was thinking more about the way we express ourselves. For example, isn't that a Dream Theater T-shirt you're wearing?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes. You know, it does cheer me up to wear a T-shirt featuring a band I like, even if they are all dead.

ZOE CRICK: And I'm wearing socks with cats on them. Every now and again, someone will stop me in the corridor and compliment me because they like cats, too. Then we'll have a conversation about cats and the whole day gets a little brighter.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They are pretty nice socks.

ZOE CRICK: Thank you, Phil. [giggles] Since we're on the topic, why don't you put on a song for our listeners and I tell you about the morning I spent in the kitten pen?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, do I get a choice?

ZOE CRICK: Nope.

#zombies run #zrs8 #s8 radio #s8 radio part 4 #zr transcript

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adeleymccormick1990-blog · 3 years

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makeste · 5 years

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BnHA Chapter 242: SANTA IS REAL

Previously on BnHA: We said farewell to the League of Pliff and were finally reunited with the kids of U.A., an institution which I would just like to point out is so diametrical to the League that they literally took the polar opposite route when choosing their name, and focused only on the acronym. I’m 100% sure U.A. doesn’t even stand for anything. Anyway, so Bakugou and Todoroki went on whirlwind press tour following their ch 219 antics, and the resulting interviews were so disastrous that Aizawa decided to bring in Mt. Lady to give the whole class a crash course in PR 101. Meanwhile All Might scoured Ancestry.com for info on the past users of OFA, and Rat Principal announced that U.A. was going to resume its internship program. This is great news for Deku, who’s been taking his sweet time mastering Blackwhip. Like, we’re not even talking baby steps here so much as little tiny flea steps. Kid’s going to need all the help he can get.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi targets all of my weak points at once. The My OT3 Academia arc gets off to an incredible, award-winning start with a Christmas party and the announcement of Internships 2: This Time, it’s Compulsory. Highlights include: (1) Kaminari and Mina forcing Bakugou to accept the spirit of Christmas into his heart and soul, (2) Iida rocking a Santa beard, (3) Eri holding a giant sword, (4) Bakugou reminiscing about his internship with Best MIA Jeanist, specifically the part where Jeanist was all “A HERO’S NAME IS REALLY IMPORTANT AND SYMBOLIC AND MEANINGFUL, SO YOU NEED TO THINK VERY CAREFULLY ABOUT IT” and oh my fucking god, and lastly (5) Todoroki inviting Bakugou and Deku to come intern with him at the Endeavor Hero Agency (known for its famous business slogan: “Got Plot?”). It’s like I wished on seventeen different falling stars and they all came true at once. I still can’t even fucking process this. kfkdslgk.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

I just got like three excited-seeming asks (I haven’t actually read them yet) in rapidfire succession less than an hour ago, and my dashboard is now filling up with filtered “bnha spoilers” posts, so I took this as a sign that I should read the new chapter ASAP. oh gosh

(ETA:

(1) SAMEEEEEE, and (2) YEEEEEEEEP. listen I’m not religious you guys, but I said “oh my god” so much while reading this chapter that I wouldn’t be surprised if he or she finally answers and is like, “YES!? WHAT IS IT???”)

what new state-of-the-art tomfoolery will our intrepid heroes engage in this week. what novel hijinks will they commence. what frivolous escapades will they embark on this lovely Friday morn?

HOMGAAAHHHHHH

THE TITLE IS LITERALLY MY FEELINGS RN. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO ME. YES GOD I LOVE IT. I’LL TAKE A DOZEN

okay. so today, September 6th, is officially Christmas. you heard the man and who am I to argue

so we’re opening with a teacher’s meeting! probably about the internships. or the fact that they’re all screwed. I don’t really know what their priorities are nowadays

okay yeah it’s about the internships. also Rat Principal is nested in Aizawa’s scarf for absolutely no reason, and Aizawa is disgruntled about it. heh. tomfoolery already and it’s only the first panel

oh shit, Nezu’s saying it’s now a government requirement. I got so surprised I actually forgot to call him RP

because ain’t nothing safer than hero internships. if the Basement arc taught us nothing else. it’s that

that was sarcasm in case that’s not coming across. this is clearly a baffling decision. but what are government committees for if not for making baffling decisions I guess

and now Midnight is coming to the same conclusion I was starting to wonder at

can someone please tell me what the PSC’s goals actually are, then? is this not the same group that recently changed the rules of the provisional license exam so that an even smaller percentage of people would pass? so do you want more heroes or fewer? which is it?

how do they cope with it? does anyone even have any idea?? it seems to me like they’re just throwing them to the wolves. we have this problem that we have absolutely no idea what to do about, oh I know, let’s toss a bunch of inexperienced kids at it. and hope that none of them gets murdered I guess

anyway so The Sheriff is speculating that the League must have been involved in the Deika situation, and he’s wondering why the PSC is trying so hard to keep it on the dl

oh yeah. friendly reminder that the PSC, thanks to Hawks, probably knows exactly how powerful Tomura and the League have recently become. so they know full well how shark-infested the waters are, and they’re making it mandatory for the kids to all take swimming lessons. nice

lol back when I was brainstorming ideas for future arcs, I seriously thought Horikoshi would have to go out of his way to come up with excuses for the kids to have future encounters with the League, because the school was so concerned with their safety that they wouldn’t allow them to leave the grounds except on rare occasions. well I sure got that one wrong. though to be fair, for once it isn’t U.A. that’s doing the child endangering here

(ETA: and actually, regardless of how insane it is, I do appreciate that when shit inevitably hits the fan again, at least it won’t be U.A.’s fault this time. I’d like to be able to continue rooting for them, and that can be difficult when they keep doing reckless things that needlessly put children in danger. at least this time they’re not the ones driving the Stupid Bus to Bad Decision School.)

a message to who? the League?? “we’re not scared of you”?? did they seriously not think of all the numerous ways this could backfire?

oh shit Aizawa even went and said the d-word

well there you have it. the government is drafting teenagers to risk their lives dealing with a crisis they won’t out-and-out admit they’re actually having. on today’s episode of “Oh Hero Society, You’ve Got Problems”

anyway so RP is making the admittedly good point that “we’re fucked and everyone is in terrible danger” is hardly a new state of affairs for them these days, and so they’re all moving on. okay then. good talk. lol. gonna need my damn Christmas fluff after all of that

and also RP is mentioning some other mysterious new program to Aizawa too. I wonder what that could be

(ETA: oh yeah I almost forgot about this. thoughts??)

and now we’re cutting to “several days later” oh my god. it’s really happening. I need a moment here, I’m not even ready. gotta get all my Christmas headcanons lined up here. Satou baking cookies. Kaminari and Sero running around arm in arm singing “JINGLE BELLS, ALL MIGHT SMELLS” over and over at the top of their lungs until Bakugou screams at them to shut up. Mineta debating anyone who will listen over the merits of the song Baby It’s Cold Outside. the naturally Christmas-themed Todoroki savoring this, his time to shine

oh shit, we’re still with the fucking Rat Principal. for fuck’s sake

-- ooh but are they talking about the traitor??

will this put an end to the “Horikoshi forgot about it” rumors? several people have mentioned this to me here and there (sorry to everyone whose asks I still haven’t answered), but as far as I know, this was part of a fake interview with Horikoshi that was unfortunately circulated around as though it was the real deal. sometimes people are not cool and think it’s fun to take advantage of communities that are enthusiastic and trusting! always fact-check what you read on the internet just to be safe guys

anyway

so there definitely is one, then. got it

so the traitor is definitely a student in the hero class, then. got it

sob. I got an ask about the whole Kaminari traitor theory earlier this week, so I’m in the process of doing up a whole long post about that. but the cliff’s notes version is, it’s not him. it’s Hagakure. but I will actually go into detail in the post. it’s been a while since I’ve discussed the traitor thing in depth anyway

so RP is asking All Might if he’s coming back today, and All Might is immediately all “WHY, DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TO MY CHILD, OH GOD IS HE OKAY” which, omg. so much love for this man

and RP is like “geez relax” and OH MY GOD

[slaps on a paperboy cap and screeches at All Might in a bad cockney accent] TODAY, SIR?? WHY, IT’S CHRISTMAS DAY

OH MY GOD

I SPOT A GRINCH UP THERE AT THE TOP. SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE VISITED BY THREE GHOSTS FROM VARIOUS DIFFERENT TIME PERIODS

LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE CHILD (GREMLINS ASIDE) IS WEARING A SANTA CLAUS OUTFIT. DID U.A. JUST GIVE THESE OUT FOR FREE

AND IN THE TOP RIGHT NEXT TO SHOUJI, SATOU’S COOKIES! JUST AS THE PROPHECY FORETOLD

I SEE THEY HAVE THE REQUISITE KFC PLATTERS LIKE GOOD JAPANESE CITIZENS. WE SHOULD ADOPT THIS TRADITION HERE IN THE WEST TOO TBH

and last but not least, there are only nineteen children in this panel. it took me forever to figure out who was missing, but pretty sure it’s Iida. Iida where are you. clearly the traitor. certainly not off visiting his brother and the rest of his family, what kind of gullible fool do you take me for

looool

I love when the characters start to become self-aware that they’re the main characters in a story and that plot things keep happening to them at an unreasonable rate

oh my god they really are wearing the suits. it wasn’t just a title page gimmick like I half-wondered

ANSWER THE QUESTION, JIROU. INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW. do we even know where she did her first internship?? I suddenly desperately want to learn more about this

(ETA: she interned with Death Arms, the traffic cone-looking guy who notably chewed Deku out for trying to save Kacchan’s life in chapter one. Jirou my hope for you is that you find someone better this time around!)

also Tsuyu is observing that Momo doesn’t have a chair, and I honest-to-god was trying to count how much seating there was in the previous page. it seems to me like the common room got a lot bigger. it keeps adjusting to their needs like the room of requirement in Harry Potter

also does anyone else wish that Jirou would move her cup off of the armrest. IT’S GOING TO SPILL ffff :/ this is who I am at parties

oh shit wait, that was Iida with the beard?? I honestly thought that was Satou. well then Satou is the traitor. -- NOBODY TOUCH THOSE COOKIES!!

anyway so he’s all “well Deku not to bring up the elephant in the room but YOUR PREVIOUS MENTOR DIED A HORRIBLE DEATH so what’s your plan huh”

oh sweet god

listen, no offense to Centipeder, he seems like a really nice guy, but if I never see his repulsive face again I will count myself lucky

OH FOR FUCK’S

PLEASE GET RID OF IT IT IS CHRISTMAS!!! here I am trying to have a nice time and!!

god. and like, I feel bad, it’s not his fault he is A GIANT BUG and he has like, fucking mandibles and shit! but I can’t help the fact that my skin is trying to crawl off my body right now, and god but I can barely look at this panel long enough to read the dialogue sob why

(ETA: and now that I’ve forced myself to read it again, this doesn’t even make any sense lol. “we have too much work and not enough help, so we have to pass on you coming back to help us out. ...wait.”)

I want Iida to like. pat his lap and tell Deku in a big booming voice to cheer up and come sit and tell him what he wants for Christmas. not in a weird way you guys, come on. but just, he looks so forlorn. do you want Santa to bring you some cozy All Might socks

or wait, didn’t he want a PS Vita according to that one omake thing. what the fuck Deku. someone get this kid a Switch

anyway so Deku says that participation is mandatory this time, so the school will handle assignments if the kids aren’t able to find someone

meanwhile Kacchan is in the background accusing Mina of stalking him. I think she is trying to get him to wear his Santa outfit. doin’ god’s work

OH SHIT YOU GUYS I CLICKED TO THE NEXT PAGE, AND THIS. THIS IS MY CHRISTMAS OMFG

HORIKOSHI YOU DID GET MY LIST! BAKUGOU BEING TROLLED BY HIS SNEAKY DETERMINED FRIENDS AND MANHANDLED INTO A RIDICULOUS GETUP WHILST ANGSTING ABOUT BEST JEANIST BEING MISSING, YESSSSSS. IT’S SO SPECIFIC, I THOUGHT, “SURELY HE WON’T ACTUALLY DO IT,” BUT SANTA IS REAL, EVERYONE

HFMLSDKMGLKLKL!!!!!LKL:DSF

RED ALERT RED FUCKING ALERT PEOPLE!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHH HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MAKESTE HERE’S A WHOLE FUCKING CHAPTER ABOUT KACCHAN’S FUCKING HERO NAME COMPLETE WITH A BEST JEANIST META ON THE TOPIC” mother fucker I need to start reading these chapters with a goddamn life alert and a defibrillator on standby

“your name represents your wish.” ladies and gentlemen, introducing the new number one hero... Number One Hero!

heh. just kidding. “what do you want to become?” this, though. this right fucking here is why I’ve been dying to know what name he’ll actually choose. because it does reflect exactly what Jeanist is saying. whichever name he chooses will be an insight into who he is, and who he is trying to be

and this meta is making me rethink all my chapter 223 feels, and tbh now I’m back to thinking that it’s not going to be Ground Zero, unless he comes up with a cool reason for why that name ties in to the image of the person he wants to be (because right now, that particular name is tied more to the past than to the future). but oh my god, if he does choose the name Kacchan I am going to spontaneously combust. I will fucking do it. I will fucking die from being a dramatic excited bitch

(ETA: because. listen. there is one person who has always looked up to him in spite of everything and has always seen his potential. “in the end, in my mind, you’re the image of victory.” this, to me, is the meaning that the name “Kacchan” would have if he did choose it. it would symbolize him choosing to be his best self.)

don’t mind me I’m just stanning this child so fucking hard it hurts

(ETA: oh hey, and more feels on the reread because it looks like the reason he’s having this flashback is because he was planning to go back to Jeanist’s agency to do his real internship, and to show him how much he’s grown. but then The Thing happened. Hawks I just want to talk why won’t you answer my calls.)

Mina and Kaminari are the MVPs of this fucking chapter and I owe them my life omggggg. THEY’RE HERE TO SAVE CHRISTMAS

what are you thinking about there, Best Friend?

are you thinking about your daddy angst. penny for your thoughts

(ETA: “how can I cheer up my new best friend? I know, I’ll make him a lucrative job offer.” actually that’s a good way to cheer up just about anyone in this day and age, Shouto.)

okay, is there some sort of perverted context to Christmas that I’m totally missing here?? or is Mineta just really into the holiday spirit?

I feel like I missed something. eh

anyway Mr. Traitor himself is walking out now and HE’S BROUGHT THE CHRISTMAS GOOSE! or turkey! but goose sounded funnier

of all the things to be shocked about?? “SATOU CAN COOK!?!” like um yes hello you’ve been living with this guy for four months already? like the only thing more ridiculous than this would be, “TOKOYAMI IS A BIRD!?!”

(ETA: like I know baking and cooking are two different things, but in a manga they’re the same thing. fact.)

now someone is making a dramatic entrance! IS IT ERI I WILL DIE!!!! BRING IT

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I HEREBY SWEAR FEALTY TO THIS PANEL OF AN ADORABLY AND FESTIVELY DRESSED ERI MIXING UP HOLIDAYS WHILE DADZAWA PATIENTLY CORRECTS HER. I WILL PROTECT IT WITH MY LIFE. SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS CHAPTER SO THAT I CAN GO DO IT SOME MORE AGAIN, OVER AND OVER AND OVER

Ochako is me

(ETA: DEMONS OUT! DEMONS IN!! THAT’S WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT!! YOU DO THE HOOOOOOOOKEY POKEY.)

and Kiri is out here asking the real questions, but sadly Aizawa says Mirio is spending Christmas with his own class. WELL FINE. I HOPE HE’S EXPERIENCING THE FOMO OF A LIFETIME. HOW DARE HE HAVE OTHER FRIENDS whatever I’m over it

sobbbbb

WELL HOW MANY FUCKING HOLIDAYS ARE THERE!? CAN SOMEONE HELP A GIRL OUT OR WHAT

oh my god I’m just going to reblog every single Dadzawa panel and none of you can stop me go on and try!!

impatiently waiting for fanart of Aizawa tucking Eri in and reading her A Visit from St. Nicholas. get on it, fandom

ohhhhhhhhh my goddddddd

I know it’s not a Christmas song, but I am this close to cranking up “I Gotta Feeling” by the fucking Black Eyed Peas. ya feel

do you guys see him sitting there next to Dadzawa. he finally gave in. Satou is feeding him chicken. his friends will not abandon him to be on the naughty list. motherfucker that’s it. I’m fucking doing it. fill up my cup. mazel tov

lol I don’t even want to click to any more pages because they’re all so happy and it won’t fucking last. :( noooo

good little boys and girls. noshing on that chicken. Kacchan continuing to be stalked by the Ghost of Christmas Friendship. Tokoyami what even is that. lol and is this their weird way of distributing random gifts. did Sero buy Jirou a scarf. did Deku buy Ochako a freaking All Might plush keychain!? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT IS THAT THING AND WHY DOES ERI HAVE IT NOW AND WHY IS SHE MAKING THIS FACE

-- holy fuck, IT’S A SWORD. oh my god. THEY GAVE THE SEVEN YEAR OLD A FREAKING BUSTER SWORD AND SHE IS FEELING IT YESSSS THIS CHAPTER TRULY IS ALL MY DREAMS COME TRUE

“dad can I keep it.” Aizawa: [not even opening his eyes, all bundled up in his oogie boogie suit] “sure”

so now we’re cutting to afterwards and everyone’s cleaning up and Deku’s using his freakish super strength to lift heavy things impressively while Bakugou continues to stomp around with his hands shoved into his pockets waiting for someone to finally tell him he can go back upstairs

OH???

motherfucker. are you going to invite them to come intern with you and your dad!!?!?? I know I was all set on Bakugou interning with Miruko just last week, but I TELL YOU WHAT BITCHES, I’M FUCKING FLEXIBLE LIKE THAT

OH SHIT YOU GUYS!!!!

TODOROKI ARE YOU PLAYING THE OT3 SONG BECAUSE HONEY YOU KNOW THAT’S MY JAM, BRO

OH FUCKING SHIT YESSSSS

BAKUGOU DO YOU WANT TO INTERN WITH YOUR TWO BEST FRIENDS, EXCUSE ME, HATED ENEMIES. DEKU DO YOU WANT TO INTERN WITH YOUR TWO BEST FRIENDS. AND THE NUMBER ONE. WHO JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE BEST FRIENDS WITH THE NUMBER TWO. WHO JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE BEST FRIENDS WITH TODOROKI “I DIDN’T HAVE A FLASHBACK IN THE LAST ARC BECAUSE WE WERE SAVING IT FOR THIS ONE!” TOUYA? THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S BEST FRIENDS ALL THE WAY DOWN. OH MY GOD

it’s like Horikoshi made a long and detailed list of all of his regrets about the previous internship arc, and then said, “fuck it. do-over”

you guys. I’m all out of cans. we only have can’ts and cannots. I cannot

Christmas fluff. Dadzawa. Bakugou hero name meta. hints that the traitor plot will soon be relevant again. and the motherfucking OT3 of OT3s, MY SONS, MY THREE RESPLENDENT OFFSPRINGS, interning together at the motherfucking Endeavor Hero Agency because Todoroki is the sweetest most considerate angel, and because KNOCK KNOCK, IT’S ME THE PLOT, I’VE COME FOR YOU AGAIN AT LONG LAST AND I VOW TO NEVER LEAVE YOU ALONE AGAIN FROM THIS MOMENT ON

shit, y’all. I don’t know if it’s possible for an arc to become my favorite motherfucking arc only two chapters in, but damned if this sunnuvabitch ain’t trying

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha 242 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #eri (bnha)#class 1-a #best jeanist #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I gotta feelin'#that tonight's gonna be a good night #let's do it let's do it let's do it let's do it #JUMP OUT THAT SOFA #LET'S KICK IT OFF #lol you guys I am in a *good* freaking mood I tell you what

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary: When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

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Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.)

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out.

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

The next day he hit a dog.

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.”

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

#spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #kevin tran #supernatural #fanfic #I AM STILL SALTY AND I HAVE CONSUMED 3 SEASONS MORE SINCE

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shortieondawave · 5 years

Text

J. Cole Short

08-19

Part 1 of ….

The darkness covers the skies as I punch the gas petal; a red plastic cup not inches away from me giving me the leisure to sip in peace whenever I feel the desperate need for the Royal Crown to consume me once more. My mother would probably have a temper tantrum knowing the amount of liquor I’ve downed in the night alone.

Thank goodness she lived her life and gone on to hopefully watch over mine; especially in times like these. If she’s doing the job everyone says; I won’t wreck this $145,000 R8 on the streets of 1-4, causing a scene and while giving the some of those here in Miami exactly what they want most; the angry-tempered man finally reaching the end of his chances. What most won’t admit is, I once built the same cliffs, bridges, and brought water to the rivers that I’ve burned, torn, and swam across to get to a better end. More importantly they won’t give life to the times I’ve held tightly to ones that meant the most to me before becoming Earth’s very own man-storm.

No one remembers the good.

My stepfather preached that to me and my five siblings the entire fifteen years he spent in our world. I didn’t realize how serious he was until it was too late and I was faced with the truth that as long as you take care of those that are around; you can replace God himself and they’ll knell before you. But once you say no, even to the smallest task…you’re no longer the King you once were. You’re nothing more than a burden that’s holding them back, even when the truth is, you’re the reason they’ve gotten so far.

The timid sounds of J. Howell’s RedRoom entered into my thoughts are the memorized lyrics of “Faithful” surfaced into my mind. I slowly felt my lips moving, no words came out, but the lyrics of that song came so easily in my intoxicated state.

Please dont let it, don't let it go too far

Cause I don't wanna give up

Please don't make it, so hard……

Please don't let it, don't let it go too far.

My numb body is now gaining feeling as the words register, tears building in the corners of my eyes as if my vision isn’t blurred enough. Voices continue to tell me to pull over, allow my body time to rest and sober itself, take it slow. It’s no ordinary warning either; I can feel the nervous and emotional wave washing over my body as if it’d the final warning of life itself.

My left hand left the steering wheel, my leg taking its replacement as I managed to press the repeat button. I put my phone on shuffle over an hour ago just so I didn’t have to worry about picking and choosing anything myself. This is the first time the pick was something meaningful; thus far I been in a uncomfortable mood of random Kodak Black singles, T.I.’s classics, even some mixes of Jeezy, Nipsey, and Dave East. Nothing had been this sentimental.

Regardless of my state; I did make it home. The gates opening as my fumbling finger found the correct button after three minutes and five attempts. I didn’t park the car nearly as straight as I could; but that’ll be something for me to worry about tomorrow. Right now, finding the correct key for the front doors and relaxing in this crisp cool air is my only priority.

“You managed well,” The whispered tone stopped me, causing my blurred vision to leave the tangled keys in my hand and settle on the now wide-open door with a five-four figure standing in front of me.

I hated her voice right now and usually I’ll kill with my bear hands for the sound; it brought peace in a world of drama. Love how clam it is regardless of what she’s going through. I guess those college years working for 911 Dispatch paid off. Never is it sarcastic, never shouts at anyone, never belittling to the other person. It is just perfect for a man after a stressful day.

“I was wondering how well you’ll get home.” Mentally I heard myself respond; telling Nicole to go home firmly and continuing to step into the two story home, however managing to close one of the double wood doors behind me. I could tell from her facial that I was confusing her, the simple dismal never confronting her.

I said that the beauty was never rude or argued, not that her face didn’t say what her mouth wouldn’t.

“LeParis…you’re drunk. Rick and Chad called looking for you two hours ago saying you left the office upset. I called you well over a hundred times for sure. Plus, Chad called and I know he did because he came by and sat here for over an hour hoping you’ll show up.”

“Go home Nicole.” I heard it come out that time.

We all have been around each other since sometime in grade school; growing up here in Dade-County. Nicole was a 911 Dispatcher for the city after we graduated high school, turned registered nurse, and graduating from University of Miami along with myself and Chad in 2013. Within the last year and only four years on the job, she has land the position of Head Nurse at Holtz Children’s Hospital. And just from the looks of it she hadn’t made it home since getting off because her black scrub coat lay idle on my kitchen counter; matching her slacks and white button down shirt.

Interesting.

Whereas Nicole has always been a people-person, helping and healing as I like to call it; Chad and Rick were like my identical non-related, brothers. If they had truly been here earlier, I knew not to expect them here now. Not that there wasn’t any or even much concern, but we know each other well enough to know it’s not necessary to wait and neither is it uncommon for a man to take a drive and drink after a stressful day. I’ve known Richard since we were in diapers; our mothers were best friends, also making him my god-brother. Chad moved down from Tallahassee, Florida when he was only eight, moving with his grandmother and enrolled into the same school that Rick and I attended. As the bad-ass that only seemed to need some tender-loving to control his anger, it wasn’t long before he was “like-able”. My late mother and Ms. Patricia showed him the way. My mother being a high-school school teacher and Ms. Patricia being a licensed therapist they tweaked out his anger and got him on track. He’s been adopted into Dr. Melvin Patterson’s family since middle school once his grandmother lost custody, a family that my mother has known since she started teaching.

We were all close; however never so close that the emergency key given for emergencies only should be used outside of such.

“You’re drunk LeParis, I’m not going nowhere. What’s the matter with you? Why would I leave the offices, if you’re intoxicated and for God’s sake you drove around for over two hours? Can you at least tell me why?”

“I can tell you to go home one more time before I put you out.”

My slumped body fell to the couch, the plush blanket falling over my torso as I finally laid down; my eyes hurt from the lights she had turned on and the nausea feeling was finally settling in.

Nicole was killing my drunkenness.

“Well…goodnight then. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

See? No fight, no loudness; not an inch of stubbornness lives in this girl.

“I’m sure Ryan is home waiting on you anyways. You come running and waiting as if this is my first time getting drunk. I’m not a child. I think I can handle some liquor and a drive.”

“Well, Ryan knows I came here to check on you,”

“Nicole you said it yourself, you’ve been here for a few hours. That’s not checking on me. That’s waiting and I don’t’,”

“Okay, Paris, ok.” The voice cut me off, followed by a sigh of defeat.

“Be safe.” That was the last thing she said before I heard the sounds of heels hitting the marble floors and the closing of my door.

#random shorts #J. Cole Short #don't roast me yall #it's been a min

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dream-beyond-the-fantasy · 5 years

Text

Prompt #17 - “I Can’t Sleep, Can I Stay Here?

Requested by @curiousdamage for Jimmy & Julie

A/N: Another drabble that ended up being longer than intended. This is over 2000 words. Some parts probably could or should have been cut out, but this is completely unedited. It may end up as part of the larger work, Is This Love aka the Jimmy Fic. I may or may not post this to AO3. I did modify the quote/prompt to better suit the narrative.

It’s late. He should be in bed by now. But is he? No. Jimmy thinks that anxiety and adrenaline are keeping the exhaustion that he knows he should be feeling at bay. He has spent the last two days working mostly from home and nearly rearranging his apartment to move Julie in.

Even before that, Jimmy has been driving himself crazy. For the last three weeks, Jimmy felt like he has done everything and gone everywhere, even though he knows it isn’t accurate. Since finding out that he was going to be a father, he has been in planning mode. Jimmy decided that marriage and raising the baby with Julie would be best, as it would be easier to support them, especially if something were to happen to him. He has met with officials at the Los Angeles County Clerk’s Office to find out about what is needed to apply for a marriage license. He even checked what days each branch is available for civil marriages. Jimmy wants to get married sooner rather than later, definitely before the baby is born and preferably before she starts showing too much. This is mostly because he wants to avoid further embarrassment for both Julie and his parents, especially his very Catholic mother. He has called his insurance provider to add Julie to his policy. Jimmy even chatted up the women in his office to get some answers about how to find a good OB/GYN for Julie. He’s called a few up, trying to see who could meet with her as soon as possible. Julie’s prenatal care is a priority, even if she isn’t making it one. But he should cut her some slack. She was right in the middle of final exams until a few days ago. Jimmy has made a list of items that he knows the baby will need (car seat, crib, stroller, high chair) and compared price tags for what appear to be the top brands in the department stores.

And that doesn’t even cover his reading list. A self-imposed reading list. The last day of November had been pretty depressing for Jimmy. Thanksgiving dinner had turned into a disaster. Julie hadn’t spoken to him for two days. Nor would Johnny allow him to even try to talk to her. In order to cheer himself up, Jimmy decided to stop at the bookstore to pick up the latest Stephen King and Wheel of Time books that he hasn’t had the chance to buy. And yet, he felt himself drawn to the section where the pregnancy and parenting books were located. Jimmy ended up buying a whole stack, completely ignoring the disapproving look on the lady at the checkout counter’s face when she noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

For the last two hours, Jimmy has been perusing one of the many pregnancy books. There is a tentative knock at his bedroom door. His eyes worriedly flick from the page to the door. He lays What to Expect When You’re Expecting on his nightstand. Jimmy scrambles to the door, taking a moment to compose himself before opening it.

Jimmy is greeted with the sight of Julie in a simple white cotton nightgown that falls right above her knees, her hair cascading over her shoulders, with one hand up, poised to knock once more. She looks beautiful, he thinks. By the look in her eyes, he clearly startled her. She stares at him, entranced, her mouth agape, breath caught in her throat. Julie’s eyes drink him in, trailing down…

Oh, right. I’m only wearing boxers, Jimmy realizes, seeing his affect on her.

He clears his throat. “Julie, my eyes are up here,” he teases her, using two fingers to tilt her chin up. His blue eyes hold a mischievous glint with a playful grin to match. Knowing that she’s been caught, Julie flushes a deep pink. She turns away from him.

No. Please, don’t look away. Jimmy’s smile fades. As she starts to back away, he steps out into the hall and reaches for her arm.

“Julie, wait! Don’t go. It was a bad joke, I know. I’m sorry.”

She stops, peering at him through a curtain of dark hair. Jimmy pulls her closer, brushing her hair from her face.

“Julie, look at me, please. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Finally meeting his eyes, she appears mildly confused. “What?”

Jimmy leans forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. He tries to ignore the knot that is forming in his stomach. He wants to appear calm and not upset or increase any fears that Julie may already have.

“It’s late. You wouldn’t be knocking on my door if something wasn’t wrong. Are you okay? A-are you feeling nauseous? I-is there any pain or cramping? Julie, if you thought you were having a miscarriage, you’d tell me, right?”

Her jaw drops. She splutters a bit, trying to form a coherent thought or word. Julie takes a moment to collect herself. When she has recovered from her shock, Julie reaches up to caress Jimmy’s cheek. Unshed tears are threatening to fall.

“You thought that I was losing the baby? Oh, Jimmy. I’m sorry that I made you think that, even for a second. And of course, I would tell you!”

She takes his hand and places it on her bump. “As far as I know, the baby and I are fine. We’re okay. Don’t worry.”

Jimmy looks from her to where his hand is situated over their unborn child. He starts to smile again. “Don’t worry? Yeah, I think our days of worrying are just beginning. And I don’t think we’ll stop after eighteen years.”

They share a little laugh. Then he directs his attention back to Julie. “So, why did you knock on my door? You still haven’t told me.”

She clams up and avoids his eyes again. Jimmy cocks an eyebrow.

“Julie.”

She cringes hearing the warning tone in his voice. Julie shakes her head and starts to back away. “I-it-it’s nothing,” she stammers. “I, I’ll go back to my room.” As she turns on her heel, Jimmy clasps her hands, pulling her back to him.

“Julie, please talk to me.”

She sighs in resignation. Looking down, Julie replies, “It’s nothing. You’ll think it’s silly, especially after what you were thinking.”

He runs his hands up and down her arms in a soothing manner. “Just tell me,” Jimmy pleads. “I promise I won’t laugh. I won’t get upset. Just talk to me, babe.”

She rolls her eyes, finally meeting his gaze.

“I can’t sleep. Can I stay here, with you?”

Stunned, Jimmy blinks. He can barely say one word: “What?”

“I can’t sleep. It’s not for lack of trying, as I have for hours. But I can’t sleep. I don’t know how or why, but I just can’t. I am tired and I know it. I had no problem yesterday. Of course, that could have been from the stress of finishing my exams, packing, moving out of the dorms, and moving in here. Whatever the reason, I can’t sleep and it’s driving me crazy!”

By this point, the poor girl is in tears. Jimmy, taking pity on her, embraces Julie tightly, kissing the top of her head.

“I came to ask if I could sleep with you,” she continues. “The best sleep that I’ve ever had has been when I’m in your arms. I just really need you right now!”

At her words, Jimmy’s brows shoot up. He flashes her a suggestive smile. “Really? All you had to do was ask.”

It is only then that Julie realizes what she said. She flushes pink again, covering her face in embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she cries.

Jimmy laughs again as he pries her hands away. “Julie, it’s okay. And yes, you can stay.”

He kisses Julie’s forehead before bringing her in for another hug. She still looks miserable and embarrassed beyond belief, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning into the embrace and resting her head on his collarbone.

“When I say ‘sleep’, I actually mean sleep,” she mutters. Julie turns to him. “I’m serious about us not having sex again until after the wedding,” she says emphatically.

“C’mon.” Jimmy leads her to his room.

Walking into the bedroom, he spots What to Expect When You’re Expecting on his nightstand, causing him to freeze. Knowing that she will see it the second she enters, Jimmy steps in front of her. He honestly doesn’t know how Julie will react to him reading pregnancy books. They haven’t talked too much about the pregnancy itself or how they intend to parent their child. While he knows they need to discuss these things in depth, Jimmy knows that two sleep-deprived people should probably not have that kind of discussion in the middle of the night.

“This is the first time you’ve been in here, right?”

Julie nods.

“Then you should check out my bookshelf. I remember how much you love to read. I know that you’ve perused most of my books in the living room. But I keep my favorite books in here.” As he talks, he ushers her to one side of the room.

While Julie is thumbing through his collection of books, Jimmy rushes over to his nightstand. He tosses the book into the drawer. Looking up to see that Julie is still occupied, he moves over to his dresser where the rest of the stack of pregnancy and parenting books sit. He grabs an armful of them, hoping that she wouldn’t turn around. Jimmy picks them up and throws them onto the floor of his closet. As soon as he slides the door closed, he sees Julie behind him in the mirror. He whirls around.

“Shit!”

Jimmy falls back against the glass, his hand over his heart. Julie stares back at him, one eyebrow raised and her arms crossed. She can’t keep the mix of suspicion and amusement off her face.

“A bit jumpy, aren’t you? Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?”

Recovering from the surprise, Jimmy tries to walk her backward, in the direction of the bed. Julie tries to look over his shoulder, hoping that he didn’t get the closet completely closed. Indicating the closet with a nod of her head, she asks, “Whatcha hiding?”

“Nothing.”

Jimmy receives a skeptical look in reply. He sighs, “I didn’t notice that my room was a bit of a mess. So, I was putting a few things away before you saw them,” he lies, a bit more convincingly this time.

Julie looks around the room. “You’re kidding, right? What mess? This has to be one of the cleanest bedrooms I’ve ever seen. Especially for a guy’s room.”

Jimmy puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, been in many boys’ rooms, have we?”

She shoots him a mock glare and gives him a light slap on the arm. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You know I used to sleep in Johnny’s room sometimes when I was a kid. Whether as a teenager or an adult, none of his rooms have looked this good. And I was in Bobby’s room once. It was very neat, but it didn’t look this nice.”

“What were you doing in Bobby’s room? And did he know about it?”

Julie plays with a lock of her hair. “Uh, I don’t remember. I just know Becca wanted me to play lookout while we snuck into his room.” She tilts her head to the side. “No, I don’t he ever found out,” she yawns.

Jimmy smiles at her. “Okay, I think it’s time you went to bed.” He pulls back the covers, lifting them for her to get in. Julie can smell that he washed the sheets recently. As she is getting comfortable and snuggling in, she notices that Jimmy isn’t getting into bed. In fact, he is headed toward the door.

“Hey, where are you going? Aren’t you going to stay with me?” she asks, pouting.

Jimmy stops, turning to face her. He points up to the ceiling. “I thought it might be easier for you to sleep with the lights off.”

“Oh!” Embarrassed, Julie lies back and pulls the blanket up to cover her face. Though muffled, she can hear his chuckling. The next thing Julie knows, he is climbing into bed beside her. He pulls the blanket from her face, leaning over her. She practically melts at the look of adoration that Jimmy gives her.

“C’mere,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to him. Jimmy kisses her.

Within fifteen minutes, both are asleep. Julie’s head has migrated from the pillow to his chest. Jimmy has one arm holding her to him, while the other rests on the slight swell of her abdomen.

#curiousdamage #jimmy fic #jimmy x julie #jimmy karate kid #julie lawrence #prompt 17 #fluff/angst prompt #is this love #i can't sleep #can i stay here #karate kid fanfic #karate kid drabble #excerpt from my fic

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

Text

Roots and Leaves

Eh, I liked this arc. Or. The pain this arc inflicted on people. :) ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN TO TRAGEDY TOWN, SUCKERS!

There’s rain above him, turning the dirt to slick mud that just keeps slipping through his fingers.

God no please not like this not like this-

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe and he knows that not a foot away is air-salvation-life, but he can’t breathe now and-and-

Please not like this-

And his fingers finally breach the topsoil, scrambling in the mud, blood drying in the wind.

* * *

A week earlier…

Jason suspects this wasn’t his brightest idea. Though, really, when your criteria for ‘should I?’ is ‘is it as bad as chasing after the Joker by myself?’…well…you get a lotta leeway, okay? Not many things are that bad.

Besides, it wasn’t for himself.

Okay, so it was a little bit, but not a lot, and…yeah, it was seventy-five percent case and twenty-five percent ‘has Bruce revoked my access yet?’

Answers: he found his perp in Bruce’s database, and he still has access to the Batcomputer’s (why is everything you own Bat-something, B, huh? How old are you, four?) files. Huh, look at that, B’s a sentimental bastard after all. Or he just spaced. That’s more likely. New Robin to train and all that.

Whatever.

He got a bit distracted, testing how far his access went, and ended up in his own files, because he’s a little morbidly curious as to what it says about…about. Y’know.

It was all so clinical, to the surprise of none. Bruce had apparently gone over that tape with a fine-toothed comb like the obsessive bastard he’s always been, and the only things missing were internal injuries and a few of the more subtle-yet-permanent damages like his shoulders. Things that aren’t obvious when you’re sitting quietly in a chair.

Fucker. Jason’s still wondering if Bruce spent more time cataloging the damn tape than he spent looking for him.

He’d been about to click out (he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Wayne Manor to punch Bruce in the face, he doesn’t, he swears on his own unused grave) when he’d spotted the ‘leads’ tab.

Eh. He probably put it there in case Alfred was looking over his shoulder or somethin’. Like bringing up a Wikipedia article when you were about to get busted playing Solitaire instead of working on your essay.

But Jason’d clicked on it, and, well…

Well.

It’s more extensive than he’d thought. He’s not sure how to feel about that. Bruce had been close, a couple’a times-questioned the right guards, even, if he’d just questioned ‘em again a month or two later, after the Joker bought ‘em off…

He hopes that fact keeps him up at night.

He continues to scroll. Lotta dead ends, lotta close calls, lotta where the hell did you get THAT idea? And he’s just about to sign out when his eyes flash across, of all places, the school Bruce’d left him at for all of three days after he caught him with that tire iron in hand.

Wasn’t that place closed?

Apparently not. Wow. Only in Gotham, man, only in Gotham-what’s that?

It’s a link to the ‘genetics’ page Bruce made him fill out at the very beginning. He’s still torn between finding a little creepy and admitting that it’s kinda practical. What’s interesting about it now, though, is that there’s been some editing done.

What the hell? Did some long-lost relative crop up? An amnesiac or something?

Sheila Haywood, the name reads. And next to it, relation-mother.

What? He feels his lips hitch up in that stupid rabbit-expression (he can’t help it, SHUT UP) he gets when he’s really confused. Mom (?) used to laugh and call him Bugs.

This makes no sense at all. Bruce must’a had a period of insanity or somethin’. He has exactly two parents (well, three and a half-Alfred counts as something and Bruce…once upon a time, maybe…), and this Sheila Haywood is not one of them. He even looks a bit like Catherine-same hair, same eyes.

But.

But Willis had those features too, didn’t he.

Jason shoves the laptop away from him and takes a few deep breaths. This is ridiculous. Bruce makes mistakes. Obviously-look at him, huh? This is one he hasn’t caught, that’s all. Hasn’t looked further because there’s no reason to look further. Sheila probably just…maybe she came forward looking for money or something, that’s a thing. Happens all the time.

He pulls the laptop back, after a few minutes, and opens the file. It’s not a big one-name, birthday, picture (he doesn’t look like her, she’s blonde and bright-eyed and pretty) and…associates.

Joker. Ah. That relationship is over, according to Bruce-there had been blackmail involved. Well, there’s that lead explained. Dead end, too. She’d been free of the clown for over a year, before Jason ever…

Bruce is mistaken. That’s all. Willis knew a lotta people, for fuck’s sake, he’d never been…Mom had always been upset. Y’know.

His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why. This isn’t anything. This is a mistake, Bruce makes them all the time. Look at him. God, look at…look at Babs, if Bruce hadn’t made the mistake of givin’ Joker a thousand and one chances, she wouldn’t be…

Sheila Haywood smiles awkwardly at him from her driver’s license picture. The last time Bruce updated this file was…maybe six months after he disappeared. At the time, she’d been living in a middle-income apartment close to Gotham General-her place of work, apparently.

What does it matter anyway, huh? Catherine was his mom, even at the end when she barely recognized him anymore. And she hadn’t done somethin’ stupid enough to get Joker-blackmail, either. So there.

He mashes the little red ‘X’ in the corner and flings himself backwards to reach his bottle of Fanta (Fanta, don’t ya want-a?). Fucking Bruce. Why does he have to leave that kinda stuff lyin’ around, huh? It’s over. It’s done. Archive it or whatever and find somethin’ new to brood over. Like Dick’s poor fashion choices. (His hair’s growing dangerously near mullet territory again…if he steps one spandex-clad toe into Crime Alley, Jason’s tackling him and taking an electric razor to that before it can evolve into its final form. Never again. Gotham doesn’t deserve that.) Priorities, old man. Priorities.

His Fanta’s half-flat and he scowls, blames Bruce for distracting him and making him forget to drink it while it was still bubbly, and takes a sad swig anyway.

As it turns out, the Fanta isn’t all that flat and with his head hanging partly off the couch, it, uh, gets near his nose. The fizzy feeling makes him gag and jam his tongue against the roof of his mouth to try and stop it.

He should’ve just had tea. Soda’s too much risk.

He sets the bottle aside, glares at it so it knows its blame, and stretches. There’s a neat pop-pop-pop along his spine, followed by a nasty knock in his right hip that forces a startled gasp out of him, and then blessed silence.

Well. For Gotham. Somebody’s screaming at somebody in traffic below.

Never change…

Mom used to shut the window, even if that made it stifling inside. Said she didn’t want Jason picking up any of those words. Joke was on her, a little bit-the ancient Russian lady that used to watch him now and then taught him everything he ever needed to know. Bruce…had not been enthused when Jason’s ‘I know Russian!’ turned out to mean ‘I know how to tell you, your dog, and your mother-in-law to fuck a rotten egg in Russian!’

What? He hadn’t specified.

His computer glows at him, the background of Jane Austen’s signature looking starker than ever, and he lets his head fall completely off the couch, feels the blood start rushing to it.

Sheila Haywood is, uh, Joker-free now, right? Not working with Harley Quinn or whatever? Harley can be scary as fuck when she wants to be.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it is completely irrelevant to him. Bruce made a mistake. It happens. Or the Replacement had that idea. Or Dick. Yes. That’s all.

But he’s still going to check, because he always checks on past Joker associates, in case they’re sleepers or anything. Look at that one infected guy…Henry or whatever.

S’a matter of public safety. That’s all.

#Jason Todd #Sheila Haywood #Jason's curiosity is going to get him into trouble one of these days #Arkhamverse #sort of #you know me I mash canons together into a canon meatloaf #Roots and Leaves

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greatkingofthewest · 6 years

Text

Lesson Learned | Training III

Paimon couldn’t say that he was looking forward to this training. While he had not been given any information on the content, he had been given the same address as his last “special” training session five months ago that had left him feeling dirtier than usual. If he had to guess, it would be another occasion of him being strung and played by some stranger ten years his elder. It was at least not a new beast this time. Whatever his parents ordered him to do. Maybe it would be easier this time.

... Hah, yeah right.

His head was full of ordering what he was going to do after this. Go home, work on what home work he could until six, change into his judogi, get to the dojo and train until eight, then shower and visit Luzifer to see what he could do to help him with his own schooling. The key slid into the lock and he stepped inside, discarding his shoes properly. Silence. Perhaps they didn’t know to greet him. “I have arrived.” He announced loudly, projecting so that they could hear from anywhere in the house. He was about five minutes early but surely that was no problem.

He made his way into the living room where the last woman had been, intending to at least drop his backpack in there, when something caught his eye. A... A person with their face covered by a dark shemagh? Standing over a partially packed tv? Why would...

His adrenaline spiked but it was already too late when he saw the moment from his periphery. There was a brief stinging in his neck and jaw before his entire body seemed to erupt in pain, his vision and hearing entirely abandoning him as his legs decided to give out as well. He hit the floor hard, unable to feel grateful for his head being saved by what he could only assume was his own backpack. A taser. A distance taser.

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!!

When he was finally able to regain his senses, he knew he was on the floor right where he had fallen. Not much time should have passed because hands were still on him, binding his arms behind his back. Despite all his training, he felt panic grip his chest. He began to buck and roll, attempting to dislodge whoever was above him, but what he earned was a pair of knees on the back of his neck and the small of his back. Two people then. One possibly heavier than the other. At least one was putting more pressure on him. As it was, he was not going to be able to move just yet.

Alright. Calm down, when one tactic fails, find a new one. There are many ways to get out of a box when the top has been sealed. Just breathe in. Good, relax the body but flex your arms. Flex hard, before the knot is tied. A loose binding is as good as wet tape. Ah, but they were working all the way up to his elbows pretty tightly still. Keep calm, just do what you can. Many small, induced mistakes could spell out a victory for him.

But this wasn’t training, was it? They hadn’t exactly hidden, one of them had been boxing up electronics. That much, he could confirm by straining his eyes forward to the entertainment system. Thieves, then? Professional enough to not get scared off when a teenager came home with a stupidly obvious greeting. Idiot, idiot, idiot! Stupid fucking idiot! His parents and his teacher would deck him for being so off-guard.

As the knot tightened, he gritted his teeth. So, what now? Would they tie him up and leave him here as they continued to work over the house? What was the best course of action for himself? Alright, back up, what are the priorities? Think clearly. First, to get out of here alive. Ideally, that should be simple enough. Second, get out of this without giving any information about his family or the Solarys. Third, get information from these guys that may lead to their arrest or some proper retaliation.

Boots stepped in front of his face, leading to the knee on his neck to disappear. Okay, so definitely three people. Act innocent, act dumb. Be a fool. Don’t let them think you have anything of worth beyond the bills in your wallet.

“A kid, huh?” Came a woman’s voice above him. “What a nice uniform you have on. Go to a fancy private school, I bet. What school is it?”

Talking, good.

“Please, let me go. I won’t call the cops or anything, please. I don’t want to be involved. Please.”

“I asked you what school you go to and you come at me with this? Kids these days are so disrespectful. We aren’t your maids, rich boy.” She responded before a foot stepped directly on his linked elbows, pressing down until he made a quiet noise that the carpet thankfully muffled. “You live alone?”

Shit, they weren’t messing around. He needed to get some power in this situation. If he said he lived alone here, that would be dangerous. He could go missing and people would not notice fast enough to do any good. If he said he was visiting, then that would raise questions. Then again, they were professionals and should know that no one comes here. You were always supposed to scout a mission location first. At least, that what he had been taught to do.

“I live here with my dad when it’s his week.” He lied, quickly using the first excuse that didn’t sound too dumb.

The boot disappeared before coming back full force against his shoulder, almost causing him to roll to his side. The position of his shoulders didn’t allow for him to get on his back so easily so that he found himself only briefly meeting the covered faces of two out of three criminals. A woman and a man. Likely the man had been the heavier knee. What about the third, the one that suddenly tightened a noose around his ankles? Man or a woman? What build? He needed information, because it sure as hell didn’t look like this was ending soon.

“Put something in his mouth. If the dad comes home, we don’t want him to know what’s up. Start working on the bedroom, Red.” Came the deep man’s voice from far behind. Two men and one woman, going by code names. Great.

Paimon choked for a second when his collar was dragged upwards, putting terrible strain on his wind pipe. As his eyes watered, his tie was removed and shoved unceremoniously into his gasping mouth. His head hit the floor immediately after with a soft thud. Not long after, hands found their way to his arms again, threading whatever thin and strong binding underneath his arms and pulling it tight to raise his ankles into the air. Shit. What did he do now?!

The panic started to raise again when another few knots were made. Why couldn’t he have met more incompetent thieves.... Dumbass, there’s no choosing. You’re supposed to be ready for the absolute worst. What if Luzifer had been with him today, for whatever reason? He had a license, he was required to drive Luzifer around to whatever was needed. If this had happened to Luzifer...

“Stay put, kid. We have work to do.” The woman said as his ankles were grabbed to drag him-- rather painfully, due to his uniform shirt riding up and exposing his skin to rug burn, and because of the forced angle of his back-- to the couch. An effort was made to toss him up on the couch, requiring two pairs of hands to hoist him and drop him face first on the cushions.

Steps began to retreat away without much else to it, causing him to breathe a difficult sigh of relief. Now, start thinking about how to get out again. Wiggling, he found the possibility of wiggling out of his binding to be doubtful. He was positioned too awkwardly and the rope went too high up his arms. What if he could get to his knife that still clung to the inside of his waistband? If he could dislodge it and roll a little to the side, surely he could maneuver well enough to cut it. The thieves would be distracted by cleaning out the rest of the house, as it seemed they had finished up in here. Shifting, he confirmed with one uncovered eye that no one was in the living room now. Just boxes and neat piles of electronics.

He listened carefully as he clenched his core, doing his best to lift and bend his hips so that he could push out the folded knife. No reaction yet. Okay, good. Drag your hips against the edge of the cushion. Try to catch it right there. Come on, come on. It was slowly working.

“Holy shit, do you see this?!” Came a call, causing Paimon to start to move a little faster. Please be distracted by whatever that was. Please--

His blood ran cold when a woman’s voice spoke up from his blindspot. “Wow. I was about to ask if these were yours but I guess I don’t have to. Teenagers can get it up for anything, huh?” She said before several items were dumped onto him. “The bedroom was pretty interesting. A toy box and a safe? Now, you say you live alone with your dad. Either you and your dad are sick or there’s a special lady here... Or these are yours?”

Paimon was tense all over, his mind racing to guess at just what they had found that was laying all over him right now. It felt somewhat solid. Some small packets? What the fuck had they found..?

“What, no answer? You want to go back to humping the couch?” She jeered, her soft steps moving around the couch until she stood before him. The longer hair at the front of his head was gripped, forcing him to look up into her brown eyes. “Do you have the code to that safe, to make my job easier? Any information that saves me trouble will save you loads.”

When the tie was pulled out of his mouth, his response was immediate. He couldn’t let them get to whatever was in there. “That’s my dad’s room. I don’t ever go in there, I don’t know the code.” He claimed desperately.

A snort sounded from behind the fabric. “Hey, Blue, I think this kid is lying to us. Come over here and help me.” She called out.

“Now, what to do to punish a lying kid..?” She asked as her hand disappeared behind him to grab something that had been dumped on his back. What came into his field of vision was a comical pink and definitely nothing he had ever seen before. That was in this house? Oh god, was it a sexual something? He had no idea what any of the design was meant to do but it shot a sick fear down his spine. It even kinda looked like a jelly penis, if he thought about it. “Open up.”

Paimon knew nothing about what was in her hand but he was as sure as hell not about to open his mouth. He didn’t want that anywhere nearer to his face. However, he didn’t seem to have an option as a hand wrapped around his throat and another pinched his nose shut. No, no, they were going to choke him until he gave in. Fuck them. No, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to deal with this. The hand squeezing his throat, the squishy material pressing hard against his lips, the helplessness. This was so much worse.

When he finally had to gasp, he found the entire length attempting to punch the back of his throat. Instinctively, he began to convulse with gagging that failed to dislodge the thick length. Laughter erupted above him as his vision swam with his watering eyes.

“Wanna talk yet?” Blue, the man, asked as he removed his hands, allowing Paimon to painfully fall harder onto the thing violating his mouth. He had been choked before but that memory was quickly paling in comparison to this. Worse, this was being shoved further down his throat and wiggled. No, not wiggled. Thrusted.

Clearly Paimon was unable to do what was asked of him but it didn’t really seem to bother his captors. The was the soft shiick of a knife springing open, then a sudden release of the pressure keeping his legs up. His still-bound feet were allowed to hit the cushions but it gave him no consolation in this situation. In fact, it only frightened him more. He found out why when hands grabbed his hips, looking for his zipper when his pants wouldn’t slide down easily enough on the first try. Then, fuck, hands landed on the knife as they came back from their job.

“Isn’t this toy a little adult for you?” The man asked as he tossed it aside. Another second had Paimon struggling to fight off the hands exposing his lower half, earning him a smack hard across the back of his head that choked him harder. “Behave, or this will really hurt you.” Came the threat.

No, no, no. Slowly, he was really understanding what was going to happen to him. He was going to be raped. Him, raped by robbers. This wasn’t supposed to happen but there were hands on his ass and some sex implement shoved down his throat. That was, oh god, it was vibrating now. It was a disgusting sensation, especially coupled with the feeling of his butt cheeks being spread.

“Get on your knees here. Hey, let him up.” The woman commanded as she moved the pink thing to keep Paimon from impaling himself while he was forced up on his knees. He found his face pressed into what was presumably the woman’s clothed crotch, forcing him to inhale the scent of sweat and vaginal discharge. "Are you going to behave like a good private schoolboy?"

He didn't want to behave, didn't want to submit. Yet he couldn't come up with any other plan of action when they were clearly in control. There was no way he could get away from both of them fast enough to do anything. All he could do was helplessly nod his head, rubbing his face against her pants.

Suddenly, without warning, a dry finger was thrust into his rectum, causing him to shamefully cry out in pain. It burned so fucking bad. Goddammit, things weren't meant to go in there. Had it hurt the prostitute from before this bad? No, he had used lube. Please, don't do it but use lube, at least. He was going to end up in the hospital if it tore down there.

"There's lube right there. You're not gonna fit anything in there without it. Here, give it to me, put that on." The woman said, leaning forward to partially smother Paimon while she reached out to take items from the other side. Moments later, very cold liquid hit his back and started to run uncomfortably between his cheeks. This was awful. Terrible. No, no... but what did his protests matter? If he just let it happen, took this punishment for his failure, then he would likely survive relatively unscathed. That wasn’t any consolation in this moment.

The short relief of the finger’s absence was dashed when some sort of item was pressed to his anus, squirting the cold liquid directly inside of him. Well, most of it didn’t seem to make it in. At least, he assumed so from the sensation of wetness traveling further down on a slow path to his genitals. His jaw ached with how tightly he was gritting his teeth. Blankness would be a blessing but he was far too overstimulated in this dangerous situation to block anything out.

Hands went back to spreading him open while a wrapper rustled softly for a few moments. Paimon didn’t have to guess what was coming next, it was a sick certainty in the back of his throat. “It’ll hurt if you keep tightening up. Look at that quivering asshole. Scared? Or maybe excited?” One of them teased while something hot and semi-stiff ground against his exposed flesh.

The moment the penis began to slowly force itself inside of him, something broke elsewhere, in his mind where they shouldn’t have possibly been able to touch. Yet there he was, his eyes welling with tears as an absolute stranger humiliated him in the worst way. Surely he would vomit if he wasn’t so fixated on keeping himself from opening his mouth. If he did, he knew he would cry out. Even the pain of the forced entry wasn’t as bad as the sickening feeling of the wrongness within.

There was shifting above him, the woman’s hands replaced by larger ones gripping his hips to roll against him. Stop that groaning, don’t act like this feels good. Sex doesn’t feel that good but this? This was torture. Fabric was impatiently yanked out from under him, bringing him face to face with the woman’s core. He didn’t need her hand gripping his head to tell him what to do. His nose and mouth disappeared in her curls, doing exactly what he had been taught in the bedroom behind them.

A surprised noise was stifled above him. A good sign, hopefully. If she was distracted then-- Paimon interrupted his own thoughts with an outcry of pain that vibrated directly into the wetness he was pressed onto. The man behind him began to thrust in, thoughtless to the receiving party. The burn brought a hiss out of Paimon before an insistent hand demanded he get back to work. Not that she needed his participation when she began to thrust her hips as well.

“Wow, here I am working hard and you’re slacking off.” The previously missing man laughed from somewhere in the room. “Are you not planning on sharing?”

“You’re a dog. Get over here and help him and I’ll consider sharing his mouth. He’s kinda slutty for a private school boy. Eating pussy like his life depends on it.”

It does, you bitch.

A hand appeared beneath his chin, oddly from some strained angle. The fingers entered here from there, stimulating her that way while Paimon was forced to continue his task. Moans met his ears, to his great shame. He was just an object they were using for their own ends, enjoying it all the way. Or else they were mocking his anguish. That seemed likely in his hurricane of a thought process.

It only went worse from there. His mouth and backside were stuffed, he was suffocated, hit, and choked, over and over. He lost track of everything after his shoulders down went completely numb. Everything started to blur together. Not in a forgettable manner but as a long stream of pain and shame. The woman only asked once more for the code during all that, but she seemed to be still on it now that he was left in a mess of bodily fluids and sweat, still bound and face down once more on the couch. Paimon had no energy to even lift his head to response.

“Is he out..? Maybe we should try a few codes. His birthday off something his wallet, the door code, something? To make it out of this a little better?” One of the men said in a quiet whisper from what he probably assumed was a safe distance.

Paimon’s blood rain cold but he didn’t dare move. The door code? The door code.

“We got fine enough. Clean up and let’s get out.”

The door code. They came in through the front door without setting off the alarm because they had the code.

The three people seemed to rustle around and pick something up in the room before going back out through the front door but Paimon couldn’t focus on them any longer. Something much worse was slowly clicking into place in his exhausted head. The horrible truth was dawning on him. These people had a passcode to the house, they were in the house when his training was supposed to begin, no one had entered the house during what seemed like eternity, nothing was taken despite them being dressed to commit crime, and they seemed to know too well that he was connected to the safe.

As his heart slowed to a controlled pace, he couldn’t deny the obvious. His parents hired these people for just this. Well, what has he learned? That he is absolutely never safe. No one can be trusted, no place is a safe house. Next, this was his fault, because he hadn’t understood that well enough. Yes, he had let these cheap thugs catch him by surprise. If he had been aware of his surroundings, that taser trick would have never worked. He would have evaded and, and-- he would have had the intent to kill. He would have tried to seriously kill someone for the first time. Not wielding a dull knife in a high-stakes training session. No, he would not have stopped when he was in a winning position.

Blood would have been spilled, his and theirs.

Third, he was now entirely aware of the merits of the sexual warfare. Even now that his attackers were gone, he felt little will to rise and find his knife to free himself. He was completely crushed in a type of defeat he hadn’t known before. It would have made him laugh, thinking about the others his age that hadn’t yet experienced sex and fantasized about it, if only his ribs didn’t hurt so much. There was nothing good about this experience or his last, nothing there but skilled manipulation and fighting.

Lesson learned, then.

Eventually, he did roll off of the couch and drag himself to the blade that had slid across the room. It took a great amount of effort to get his arms free, resulting in several cuts when the knife slipped through the rope. Gathering his clothes. he took a shower and redressed himself after wrapping up any open wounds. It would be a shame to get blood on his clothes, even if they smelled of sweat and were wrinkled to hell.

Looking at his phone, he found that he had missed all of his homework time. There was just enough to get to the dojo, though changing would make him late. That couldn’t be missed, at least. There were grave consequences to skipping training but, more than that, he did not want another failure in his day. He would just have to make up for it in the dojo.

Unexpectedly, upon entering the large, padded gym that his training took place in, he found both his teacher and his mother waiting for him. His mother, all sharp features and sharply dressed, sat perfectly on the sidelines with her attention on her work tablet. She did not look up, even when the teacher greeted him with great offense at his ten minute delay.

He wanted her to look up but she didn’t. Not until their training began and Paimon was grunting even more than usual, feeling the harshness of his condition fully. He wasn’t about to let the pain of his spine, the agony of his wrists, or the sharp sting of his ribs cause him to fail to perform during this obvious test. Could he take a beating and keep going?

He finally locked eyes with her. Just for a moment, she saw him. Then she quietly got up and walked out without a single word to spare for them. No remorse or emotion had been in her gaze. Paimon was sure his had looked just the same.

Yes, he could. He would never fail like he had failed today. Never again. He would protect Luzifer without fail.

#V: lap dog #tw: abuse #tw: violence

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