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bangtanlalaland · 4 years

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falcon | jjk 01 (m.)

synopsis ⇣ Jungkook Jeon, known as “Falcon,” unites with his best friend to rebel against the twisted, dominant system of the city, Python, until everything changes when he crosses paths with one of many enemies.

— dystopia au; enemies to lovers au

⇢pairing: free runner!jeon jungkook x detective!female reader �� ⇢featuring: free runner!park jimin, free runner!kim namjoon, free runner!min yoongi & police captain!jung hoseok

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 12.2k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: (this fic is totally inspired by mirror’s edge), there’s isn’t any smut in this chapter (but there will be in future chapters), slow burn, some fluff in there, so much dialogue (it’s literally a MOVIE), some violence, some blood, some death, swearing lots of action (oops), fighting, free-running, lots & lots of drama (srsly get your popcorn ready), mentions of premonitions, major plot twists, infidelity (sorta?), mentions of sex, some sope action (yes i said it), namgi is also a thing (oop), basically jungkook is a rebel & proud, jimin is very clever (like woah), namjoon is a leader & sweetheart (as always), yoongi is a bad guy (¿woahhh did we expect that?) hoseok is a fuckboi (i’m sorry ugh :(((), also viper in this story is actually taehyung (oop), police stuff (duh), lots of bi stuff going on here, (much love for the lgbtq community)

artwork poster by: @hellenys

song rec: “falcon” by jaden smith

a/n: woah! so this is yet another wip that I’ve had for so long. I’ve made the decision to make this a series! (or maybe a two-shot) still not 100% sure yet, but I am honestly beyond relieved to finally release this. also a huge thank you to @hellenys for the artwork! I was actually inspired to start writing falcon after seeing her work. (specifically the photo above^) so you guys go check her out, her artwork is amazing!

Smack.

The sound of your boss dropping a chunky stack full of vanilla colored folders onto your desk, in your cubicle, startles your attention from sipping your now third afternoon dose of coffee. You swear he has been on your ass ever since you stepped foot into the clouded atmosphere of the police department. You were convinced you’re in Hell. Literally.

He eagerly spills, “These missing persons reports aren’t going to solve themselves. I can’t even step out for a $5 burger at that fast food shit place down the street without the press breathing down my neck about the citizens’ missing loved ones.”

You sigh for what has been the one thousandth time today so far. Going on one thousand-one. This city has been getting worse as the days go by, missing persons reports dating as far as 10 years back, maybe more if you really dig deep in there. Runners scatter the rooftops of the city, yet you and your entire team were left with zero leads. And your boss was right; the press was constantly nagging like a toddler at the age of two. Yet you and your tiny team were responsible for getting hands dirty and finding answers. And here he goes yet again…

“Contact the victims families. See if there’s any new information they could give us. Just in case. Over time, victims may remember details they happened to leave out- ” The phone for the department rings on your desk, and you hold your index finger up as if to politely ask your boss to shut his damn mouth so you can answer the phone.

“Python Police Department.” Your face grows concerned, mouthing to your boss: “Missing Person.” He throws his hands up and shakes his head in response, waiting for your departure from the phone. The elderly woman seemed borderline upset, but mostly depressed. As if all the life that was once in her was drained completely. After reassuring you will find answers, you hang up and turn to face your boss.

“It was a lady named Mrs. Jeon. She wants to follow up on the case for her son. Jungkook?” You say, more so as a question rather than a statement, in hopes that you pronounced his name correctly. Your boss nods in approval, clearly knowledgeable of who you’re talking about.

“Yeah she calls here at least one or twice a week saying the same thing over and over again,” he pauses momentarily then starts, “I remember that kid. He was in high school when his mother reported him missing,” he continues while shaking his head.

“I’ll never forget the day dispatch called me out there to see what was going on. This was back in my rookie detective days. At first I thought maybe he’s just playing hooky. Happens all the time, right?” You nod in agreement. You’d heard of his name before but never looked into it, considering you’d just been promoted 4 months ago. And for the first month, you’d only been sent to canvas witnesses. Although sadly, Jungkook is simply one among hundreds if not thousands of cases that have gone cold.

He continues, “But then, we checked the grid and his chip was gone. We didn’t get any alerts about its removal, so it was definitely shocking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean it was gone?” You ask with crossed arms.

“Well, more like the grid showed that the chips’ location was his home. Obviously, he isn’t home and we searched the house. No chip.” He pauses for a moment as if processing what he’s about to say, “Someway, somehow, he removed himself from the grid. But, he wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reassured Mrs. Jeon that if he didn’t show up in two days then we could file a missing persons report. She insisted that something was wrong and didn’t want to wait two days. But she had no other choice, and so she filed the report and days turned into weeks, months, and years.”

“How long?” You question.

With a sigh he replies, “Five.”

“No wonder she’s calling.”

“I know. But that’s the weirdest thing about it. As I mentioned, Jungkook wasn’t the only one with a missing chip.” He reassures with a sigh of what you assume is exhaustion.

“And?”

Your boss squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking.

“Follow me.”

He leads you to the “Cold Cases” room. It looks almost like a library, but instead of children books it’s several cases from murders to runaways — where endless amounts of evidence, files, reports, and other tangible items are stored. He scrambles through a pull out drawer of folders labeled and sectioned off in alphabetical order. He then pulls out a vanilla folder, and opens the file, revealing a photo of a young teen with dark, brown hair and plump, pink lips.

“Mrs. Park. Mother of Jimin Park. She filed a missing persons report the same day Mrs. Jeon did. They actually came together. And apparently they live on the same street.” He states while exiting the room and striding you into his office.

You inquire, trying to catch up to his quick pace. “So what are you implying?”

“I think…” he trails off, placing the folder on top of his desk and flopping into his office seat. “Jungkook and Jimin decided to drop out of school and run away in the sunset together.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, let’s talk about the runners that run the rooftops. I know you’re still trying to get the hang of things, but there’s a pattern with this.”

“Okay?” You more-so question, rather than stating.

“First things first. Their chips. Runners always remove them, except we get alerts when done so.” He pauses. Of course you’re aware of the misdemeanor charge for that, right?” You nod in a “yes” gesture.

“Good. So, first they remove the chips. Second, they completely vanish. No one sees them for good and has no knowledge of where they are. It’s like they never existed, right? Families, friends, co-workers or whoever they know don’t see them anymore.”

You nod again, catching along. “Mmhmm.”

“Then, a missing persons report is filed. Either by a relative or a close friend. With that being said, it only makes sense that Jungkook and Jimin would be close together at least. I mean surely if Mrs. Park filed a report with Mrs. Jeon then couldn’t they both have known each other? Or at least had some knowledge of the relationship their sons had with one another? And again, the chips. Surely, they were in this together, and there’s not one part of me that doubts it.”

You take a deep sigh, soaking this information in, “Makes sense.”

“Look,” he says, while moving closer to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You gaze upon him, admiring the beauty mark on the left side of his top lip. His chocolate waves crown his face.

“What I’m trying to say is- If you find one of them, chances are you’ll find the other. Just… please be careful, ____. If these guys can suddenly vanish off the grid without a trace, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

Meanwhile, Jimin barges into a hideout on a rooftop (now part of an abandoned building) far into the city, but enough distance from prying eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, sweating and bent over as he removes his earpiece, swiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He runs his fingers through his jet, black strands. The sun slightly scorched his once pale cheeks, resulting in a rosy, pink shade.

“Fuck!”

Namjoon removes his headset and arises from his seat in the area that he and his mates have labelled as “coms,” having hacked into the city’s surveillance system.

“Good job, Phoenix. Water?” He asks, while offering Jimin a sip of his bottled water, before downing it completely.

“Fuck, no. I almost fucking died!” Jimin replies, still panting.

“Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Namjoon retorts nonchalantly.

He crushes his plastic bottle and lunges it toward Jungkooks slumped figure over the couch nearby. He grunts in response, jerking up in his sleep. Being on the run for the past 5 years has only caused him to be as alert as a hawk.

“You’re up next, Falcon.” Jungkook shakes his head, gaining consciousness of his surroundings again. His black tank top and white nylon sweats having stuck to his form. His milk, chocolate strands blanket his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The faint sunlight helps to awaken him from his slumber, as he covers his eyes to adjust to the sunrays. Jimin, who now has gained his breath back, flings his earpiece at Jungkook.

“Blue lights are heavy today. Watch your ass, huh?” With that, Jungkook stretches upward while placing the earpiece on. On his way towards the tiny kitchen area, Namjoon keys into the channel.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook gulps his banana milk and returns the carton to its place in the fridge. Wiping his mouth to rid the milk residue, he responds, “Go for Falcon.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this. But it’s time for a test run.”

Jungkook is silent, yet internally screaming. He hates test runs. Who doesn’t though?

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve told you before that one time won’t count. But, I need to calculate your momentum, and it helps tremendously to compare to your previous test runs.” Jungkook wasn’t worried about speed, but more so about his body. The last time he’d done a test run, he had completely passed out from overworking his body. Namjoon couldn’t leave the hideout, given that blue lights were everywhere and he didn’t want to risk not having anyone watching over the place. Luckily Jimin was already out for a run, and decided to take a detour to rescue his best friend. But, Jungkook does not like to fail. In fact, he despises it. He’s afraid that he’d fail. Again. He takes a deep breath.

“I know you can do it. The advantage now is that you actually got rest.” Jungkook couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He knew the last time he was going non-stop and being the stubborn bunny he is, Namjoon warned him more than once that he’d burnout sooner or later. But that’s the conflict with Jungkook. He grew complacent of being on the run constantly. It’s his life now; he hates the society he lives in and refuses to live according to the systems’ standards.

“Copy that, Thunderbird.” Jungkook responds, his arms and hands flexing, veins popping, as he slips on his neon red fingerless gloves. He pulls the straps of his black mask over and behind his ears — completely concealing most of his face.

Namjoon smiles in response, “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s bring that energy to the test, Falcon.”

Back at the station, you step out of your formal addression towards your boss and slip, “Hobi, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just can’t see myself losing you. You know how much you mean to me, right?” He asks, while reaching his hand towards your cheek with the intent to caress you but your reflexes immediately catch on, and you turn the opposite direction while muttering under your breath, “You know that we can’t-”

“I know. Sorry.”

A brief moment of silence shares the space between you both. Hoseok Jung, or as your recent pet name for him: Hobi, is not only the police captain of the Python Police Department, but currently your main squeeze as well. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. You can’t quite pinpoint what “this” with him is, given that neither of you made it official yet or set any boundaries. Which resulted in this continuous cycle of confusion on where you stand in this said “situationship.” But you don’t probe him, instead you just go with the flow and see where things lead. The only major conflict is that no one at the station should know about your doings. Or else there would be major consequences to face. You suppose that’s why Hoseok is the way he is with you. Maybe you’re nothing but a fling to him. Although some of the things he says deem otherwise.

“Last I heard, his street name is Falcon.” Hoseok skims through a folder on his desk that contains numerous papers, all to what you assumed held important information, then he pulls one out.

“I have a list of coordinates for locations where security cameras are installed and picked up high runner activity. Check those out and see if there are any leads. If no luck, go out and canvas witnesses on the street.” You nod in agreement, gathering your belongings to head on your way when suddenly you feel Hoseok’s grasp on your wrist. You immediately turn your gaze towards him, eyes blown wide as saucers.

“Please, be careful. Call me when you make it to the first and last location.” You eye his grip on you and snatch away quickly, regaining your composure.

“I will,” you respond, while slipping out of his office to leave the building.

On the rooftops, Jungkook gets into position. Staring ahead of himself, he takes a deep breath, awaiting Namjoon’s marker. A tiny droplet of sweat drips down the right side of his face, trailing down to his neck.

“On your mark. Ready.” Jungkook takes another deep breath. The sun suddenly becomes beyond its warm state, at this point, it’s scorching. His palms are damp. The black of his tee absorbs the city’s heat.

“Set.”

His mind goes racing in a million different ways. It was strange that at this moment, his mother crosses his mind. He wondered if she was okay. But, he couldn’t risk seeing her. Exposing himself. Then blue lights would find out, and he’d be done. For good.

No, can’t risk it. No matter how much it hurts.

Since the age of 18, Jungkook called the rooftops his home. Some part of him felt selfish for only thinking of himself and leaving his mother behind. But he knew she would only scold him for rebelling against the system. Therefore, it was imperative that he left. For months, he and Jimin elaborated an escape — consistently backtracking and fixing any errors in their plan.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always go as planned and being just a couple of high school kids, Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t fully thought out the whole “where would we bunk” deal. But, all changed when they reached the rooftops. Although the first two years were literal Hell. Probably part of the reason Jungkook had become too exhausted at the end of it all. It was horrid to run non-stop, stability not being an option. Jungkook and Jimin had several quarrels with other runners. It became a cycle that Jungkook grew weary of:

Getting accepted into a hideout → Developing trust with other runners → Everything feels comfortable now → Someone does something to show their true colors (Runners are out to get each other, despite the consequences. Whether the reward is for money, power, or maybe even freedom) → Jungkook and Jimin realize they can’t trust other runners → In conclusion, they flee → The process repeats

That is, until they met Namjoon. At first, he resisted. He previously had one roommate before that betrayed him, just as other runners betrayed Jimin and Jungkook. He thinks of him sometimes, and he’ll never forget his name. Yoongi Min, who goes by Firebird. Blue lights offered Yoongi a deal: to persuade Namjoon into a trap, at a disclosed location, in return for clearing his own name of all criminal records — freedom. Yoongi had been Namjoon’s roommate for four years, eventually growing close and becoming trustworthy of one another. Even coining each other’s names together, as a team. He always thought he’d take over the city of Python with Yoongi. Thus, that’s why Namjoon took Jungkook and Jimin in; because he saw them as himself and Yoongi, knowing that he would have wanted someone else to do the same for him and his once good friend.

“Go.” And with that, Jungkook powers forward leading with one goal in mind: Fast.

“I want you to head straight as far as you can. Got it?”

“Copy,” Jungkook slips. He starts at a steady pace, sliding under pipes connected to cooling fan systems, and vaulting over fences being sure to avoid high voltage ones. However, his velocity decreases when doing so. Namjoon takes note of that.

“Try to keep a linear direction as much as possible. Jump to the next building, using the metal pipe as a pole.”

Jungkook makes an estimate on how fast he should run to land onto the pole that’s adjacent to the rooftop of the building he’s currently on. He backs away about two meters and plants his feet on the ground, getting into position. His body exerts force and within seconds, Jungkook leaps from the rooftop. His heart dropping to his stomach, silently praying that his calculations were correct; and within seconds he lands onto the metal pole, his toned biceps clinging on for life. The leather gloves he wears grant a better grip on the surface, as he pulls himself upward, finally reaching the rooftop.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep pushing!”

Jungkook heaves, but knows he can’t stop now. He continues to scan his surroundings, taking in the view of the city from his vantage point. The sun still beams within the distance. Glass buildings towering the city, camera drones and lightweight super-jets scattering the sky.

No time for distractions.

Jungkook continues on his path as instructed by Namjoon. Lightly jogging, he rapidly picks up his pace until he takes a quick glance to his right and something catches his eye: a security camera, hanging below a billboard on the current building he stands on. He treads forward, and notices a blue light on the camera that blinks rapidly. He sticks his middle finger up towards the object and makes a swift turn to walk away when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.

You push open the door to the rooftop access, finally having reached the top of the corporate office building of Cobra Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in the city. To your surprise, on your left, there stands a man with doe-like eyes and lengthy, coffee-colored strands concealing his face. Your mouth flew agape, realizing that this is your first encounter ever with a runner — his neon red gloves serving as evidence.

“Falcon, what’s going on? I’m picking up a blue light within your perimeter,” Namjoon keys in. Jungkook says nothing, simply eyeing your form. He’d never been in love, and it wasn’t as if he’d recognize love even if it were standing right in front of his face with a big sign that said: “Hey! It’s me. I am love.” It was your essence that gave him an odd feeling. A feeling that intrigued him for some strange reason. But then you flashed that shiny PPD badge, which glistened in the sun, and it caught his attention — instantly sending a wave of discouragement throughout his heart.

“I’m Detective ____ with PPD,” you slip.

“Abort the test run! Get the hell out of there!” Namjoon commands on the other end of Jungkook’s earpiece. You attempt to step closer to the man, but he raises his hand up.

“Don’t come any closer.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I-I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?” You reassure while gradually lifting your hands up in the air, as if surrendering to him. He scoffs, obviously not impressed by your coy tactic.

“A blue light wanting to talk? Nah, don’t think so,” he spits while clenching his fists and backing away.

“No, please! I-I-” You suddenly become tongue-tied, as the man evidently runs away out of your sight, leaving you behind. Frozen in place.

That asshole.

Your cell rings conveniently at the right moment.

— Hobi ❤️ [Incoming Call]

You swipe to answer, and can’t even get a “hello” out before Hoseok starts on his shit again.

“Goddammit, ____! I told you to call me when you got to your first location.” He sounds furious, as if you’re his pet on a leash.

“Okay, dad!” You retort, clearly annoyed with him in this moment as you make your way down the exhausting flight of stairs inside the building.

“You know what-” Hoseok runs his fingers through his waves. “My place. 30 minutes.” The sound of a click on the line indicates that he hung up, leaving you with a frustrated temper.

Jungkook storms into the hideout, snatching his mask off of his face. Namjoon rips his headset off, visibly pissed.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Jungkook scoffs, currently not up for anyone’s shit, as he trails to the fridge to grab his carton of banana milk yet again. Namjoon rolls his eyes while shaking his head. Jungkook releases his lips from the carton and slips, “Nothing.”

The sound of Namjoon’s tongue clicking echoes through the space, “Bullshit! You know our code, and you did NOT follow!”

With his back, turned Jungkook takes a deep huff, cheeks on fire. Jimin silently creeps nearby and coyly chimes in,

“See a blue light, call it a night. Don’t take flight, and you’ll put up a fight.”

“That’s right, Phoenix. We do NOT stick around once a blue light is within our sight. We take flight. Is that understood?” Namjoon probes with a stern tone, directing towards Jungkook.

The youngest turns face forward, with a clenched jaw and jutted chest. He says nothing, clearly testing the eldest. Namjoon steps forward and closes the gap between one another, so close that their noses nearly touch.

“Is that understood?” He inquires, his voice a few octaves lower. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before breaking.

“Copy.”

“Get your shit together, Falcon. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” Namjoon pulls away and brushes past Jimin, heading out of the kitchen. Infuriated, Jungkook lunges the now empty carton toward the wall ahead of him and also brushes past Jimin, who grasps his wrist in time to halt him. A look of worry spreads across Jimin’s face.

“Come on, Kook. You know Thunderbird. He’s just trying to protect us. It’s like… his job.”

Jungkook stays silent, thinking if he would ever get to see your innocent face again. Jimin nudges his arm to grasp his attention.

“You do know that you can talk to me, right?” He reassures with a promising expression. Jungkook simply nods and walks away, leaving Jimin worried. He knows when something is wrong with his best friend. He can feel it. But he also knows that Jungkook is a tough cookie, and it will take time for him to finally crack.

Meanwhile, Jungkook locks himself in his room — having confined himself completely from the world even if it was just for a few hours. How could he be so stupid? Why couldn’t he just talk to you like you wanted? Maybe you were a good person. At least that’s what he assumed, considering your beautiful face.

No. Snap out of it!

He can’t trust anyone. It’s for his own good. As the sun sets, he peeks through the glass window in his room to soak in the view of the city. Streams of pink, yellow, and blue paint the evening sky. If only he’d introduced himself to you, maybe he would feel a slight less pain in his chest. It was something Jungkook craved that he’d never gotten yet.

Intimacy.

Hoseok is frustrated; he runs his fingers through his hair for what has felt like the millionth time today.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asks with a dark, lustful feel in his eyes. You gaze at him in complete silence.

“Can’t obey me anymore or what?” He lets out a frustrated sigh while gripping your hips.

“Oh you’re asking for it, huh?” He coos while mustering up the idea to tickle his way into getting a response from you. You break the silence, the sound of your laughter filling up his penthouse. Giggles and gasps for breaths emit from you, a sound that Hoseok thinks he could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired.

“Oh my-! S-stop!”

And like a light-switch, he abruptly stops. His hands falling down to your sides, gripping your hips again. He gazes into your stare for what feels like an eternity. That familiar beauty mark on his lip is your favorite sight. He notes your eyes landing on his lips for too long, and he takes the opportunity to inch forward and meet yours.

He tastes like coffee — the kind you have in the morning before heading out to the station. The kind you’re used to sipping while reading emails at work or making phone calls. Or even the kind you order from your favorite coffee shop where you first met him and continue to meet up with him there to discuss anything work related.

Your lips soften against his, as his softens against yours. You’re not even sure how that is possible. Physics? Maybe.

However, the thought of your relationship with Hoseok crosses your mind. And before you could even think twice about what to do, with his tongue literally down your throat, you unexpectedly shove him lightly. His eyebrows furrow in response, concerned if he’d done something wrong (when he could swear you like french kissing, considering you both do it all the time, and he remembered you mentioned one moment how much you like to do so).

“What are we? What is this?” You blurt out. Hoseok’s expression makes you instantly regret asking him. He pulls himself away from you completely to pace back and forth with his hand on his hip, shaking his head. Your gaze drops to the floor, feeling like such shit for bringing it up. But you’d be damned if he made you feel bad, because you have to know. For your own sake. Your own sanity.

“Are we really doing this right now?” He asks while sitting down on the leather loveseat.

That’s it. Something in you snaps.

“Hoseok!” You screech, gaining a wide-eyed stare from him.

“We’ve been fucking for over 2 years! What did you think? That I was just going to keep floating around, letting you stuff me every fucking week and not say anything about it?”

You are a panting, hot, and frustrated mess on the verge of tears from how upset you are. Hoseok watches your riled up figure, and he can’t seem to bring words together. He’s had a long day and wants nothing more than to release his stress into you either on his bed, or this loveseat, or maybe the kitchen counter if you can’t make it to his bedroom. But your emotions are clouding the atmosphere, and it’s something he can’t handle.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he states dryly.

You felt like someone just hammered a nail into your heart. Your mouth flies agape, sucking in a breath to contain yourself from crying in front of his eyes.

“Why can’t we just fuck and not go through all of this? What do we need a label for anyway? It’s not like anyone at the station is going to find out.” He shrugs, emitting a chuckle paired with a nonchalant vibe.

Drip.

And then a tear fell down your cheek, prompting yourself to march out the front door and never look back. Clutching your crossbody, your leather chelsea boots click against the hardwood floor. Before Hoseok had the chance to grab you by the wrist, you were gone. You continued strutting down the hall, better yet lightly jogging to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Your fingers find placement on the ↓ button for the elevator.

Ding.

The moment the elevator doors shut is when the tears came streaming down your cheeks, like a waterfall. You knew all along it was a bad idea to get involved with Hoseok. You’re sentimental and have always been so. “Catching feelings” while having weekly sex with him was bound to happen eventually. All in all, you could say that you saw the end coming, but at least 70% of you wanted things to be different than what they were. As your mother would call it, “living in la la land.” For the remainder of the night, you comfort yourself on your couch, stuffing your face with leftover chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne. All while venting on the phone to your childhood friend and updating him on the current situation with Hoseok.

“Ah. I’m sorry, noona. Hobi is a real ass sometimes, you know?”

You take another sip from your wine glass, “Ugh. That’s the thing!” You pause, popping a strawberry in your mouth, “I knew it. And yet, I still fell for him. I’m just horrible, a mess.”

“Don’t say that,” he replies with a yawn following his response.

“It’s true, Yoongi! I’ve literally been letting him in this whole time and not standing my ground. It’s so pathetic of me,” You sigh with a frown upon your face that Yoongi obviously cannot see.

“Wow. He was that good, huh?” You roll your eyes just thinking about it, “Ugh, yes! Don’t even remind me!”

“Well-” yet another yawn cutting him off again, “Just take your time, you know? I’m sure it won’t be that easy to get over him. But eventually, it’ll happen.” Your eyes begin to tear up again, “You really think so?”

Yoongi hesitates for a brief moment, “No, I’m just trying to get you off the phone so I can go to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi Min.” His cute giggle lifts your mood in a contagious way — making you laugh out loud along with him.

“You’ll be fine, ____. Really.” A tear finally drops down your face. This is why you love Yoongi, and why you’d been friends with him almost your entire life. He’s someone you can trust, always having been there for you. It didn’t matter the distance you were from each other, or how long it had been since you contacted one another, you both would pick up right where you left off.

“Goodnight, Yoongs. Love you.” His gummy smile appears as he replies, “Love you too, ____. Goodnight.”

After hanging up with Yoongi and having your belly full enough of strawberries and wine, your thoughts continuously play over the events of today, making you realize how drained you are. Then the image of the runner from earlier crosses your mind. God, was he the hottest man you’ve seen in awhile, at least from what you could see due to his mask covering most of his face. But his lengthy strands paired with his toned biceps and tall, lean figure are what got you. The sun bounced perfectly on his tanned, body, displaying a gorgeous shimmer of sweat he was drenched in, kind of reminded you of your fave Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.

His eyes were bright and beautiful, and you’ll never forget the way he was startled when you approached him — like a deer in headlights. You wonder what else was “hot” about him that you didn’t get a chance to see. Okay, maybe it’s just the wine talking. Some part of you wished you could have at least asked what his name was, but he wasted no time in evading you. Even though you felt a slight sting in your heart, you couldn’t blame him for leaving. After all, you’re a cop and he’s a runner. Of course he’d “run” from you.

Hoseok is sound asleep until an alarming tone from his cell phone startles him from his slumber.

— Yoongi Hyung [Incoming Call]

“Shit.” Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh before answering. His tired, raspy voice is heard from the other side of the line. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know you tell me.” Yoongi deadpans.

Hoseok sighs in response. Pulling away from his phone to read the time: 12:42 AM. He clenches his fist and runs his fingers through his messy mane.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I need you to look into someone for me. Get ____ on the case,” Yoongi demands with a slight hint of desperation.

Seething, Hoseok retorts, “Fucking hell. Why couldn’t you wait until the morning to tell me?”

“It is morning, and before you step into the station I need to make sure it’s the first thing on your agenda. I need this done asap.”

Hoseok remains his composure on the outside but is internally screaming.

“I don’t know, Hyung. I can’t guarantee it. I have ____ on the Jungkook Jeon case, and I may have her finally close it. Hopefully-” Yoongi scoffs, on the other side, clearly not happy.

Hoseok adds, “What’s this all about anyway? And what do I get for it?”

“Did you forget who’s the eldest here?” A moment of silence falls into the phone.

“Didn’t think so,” Yoongi continues. Hoseok feels small. He always does when being confronted by Yoongi.

“I’ve cut a deal with Cobra Enterprises. The company will have a meeting tomorrow with PPD about a new project to take place. I want you to look into a guy. I’m sure you remember him. Namjoon Kim.” The youngest sighs yet again. He remembered Namjoon from his rookie days, and he also recalled Yoongi had failed to go through with the set-up.

“Press ____ to look into his file and continue there. Drop her from the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok’s mouth flies open in shock at Yoongi’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to-”

“Do not try me! Now, you’ll do as I say without giving me any shit, understand?” Yoongi retorts, his voice now at a higher volume than before. His deep violet-haired, skinny stature dressed in a purple v-neck, paired with a black leather jacket and leather jeans. He paces back and forth, flipping a pen between his slender fingers. The visible ink of his black, circuit board tattoo trails from his neck down to his right shoulder and ends at his wrist.

“Yes, Hyung,” Hoseok states, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“Get her on the case for Namjoon and find out where he is! Tell her he goes by the name Thunderbird. These rooftops are massive. Viper and I cannot find him alone. Having her would help tremendously. Besides… she’s smart, and I’m sure she’d be able to get to him before I do,” he continues while staring at the view of the city from his hideout.

Hoseok lets out with a tinge of annoyance in his reply, “Fine, fine. Alright!”

“Don’t do this, and I will tell ____ about our little secret. I’m sure she wouldn’t be too happy about that either. Especially not now.”

“You better not say shit to her, you hear me?” Hoseok works up.

“Get the job done, Hobi.” Yoongi ends the call.

No, you could not find out. At least not like that. Hoseok doesn’t want you to know about the little fling with his hyung. He knows Yoongi would do anything to destroy the side thing Hoseok has with you, since he’s jealous. He wants Hoseok all to himself.

The ringing of your cell frightens you out of your sleep. Your eyes land onto your clock placed beside you on your nightstand. You silently curse whoever dares to awaken you at this ungodly hour of 3:18 AM. Surely it was none other than Hoseok Jung. You dared to not answer, but part of you needed to if you wanted to keep your job. You were slightly worried his calling may be job-related anyway. At least you hope it is, because you can’t think about how he’d hurt you the previous day. Your exhausted form answers the call with a swipe.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scan your bedroom in the moonlight. Your right hand finds it’s way to rub your eyes.

“What?”

“Just open the door. I’m here.”

You stay on the line, and groggily drag yourself out of bed to head beeline for the front door of your apartment. Through the peephole, there stands Hoseok with his iPhone to his ear and his head hanging low. You unlock the door and tiredly pull it open to finally meet eyes with the bastard. Yesterday’s events flash through your memory, and you’re drawn back into the mood you were in before you knocked out for what seemed like only ten minutes.

With furrowed brows you question, “Hoseok what do y-”

His lips crash with yours, cutting you off completely. Your hand that once held your phone, now wraps around his neck, easing him closer to you. His firm hands now grip your hips, flushing you to his body entirely. His plushy lips play with yours, naturally gliding and smoothing against their own accord. The bitter taste of coffee lingers on his lips, to what you assumed he more than likely had a cup of Joe before arriving to your apartment. He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes, caressing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he pauses for a beat, “It was wrong. I was wrong.”

A low sigh escapes your lips. Hoseok cups your cheeks, and gives you a small peck. You pull away to take hold of his hand and lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind the two of you. You find yourself sitting on the side of your bed, with Hoseok joining you. He rests his cool palm on your warm, exposed thigh, courtesy of your pajama shorts. Your fingers find placement on top of his hand. He stares into your gaze, guilt settling deep within his gut. Part of the reason he’d always treated you like nothing is due to his feelings for Yoongi. He likes this thing with you: being able to have you whenever he wants, do whatever he wants to you, and treat you how he wants.

It’s almost like he owns you, except he doesn’t. But he likes the complacency of the situation, knowing that you’ll always be there when he needs you. Yet he knows it’s selfish and such a narcissistic quality about himself, but he wants what he wants and cannot stop his actions. It’s this never-ending dilemma he’s stuck in of leading you on or admitting his feelings for you. Because all in all, Hoseok wants to “have his cake and eat it too.” On the other hand, Yoongi stands on the sidelines — waiting for the day he & Hoseok could be together. And now it’s worse since you’ve poured your feelings out to him. Although for Yoongi, it’s everything he’s ever wished for.

The luminance from the moonlight glows throughout the space that’s your room. Hoseok shivers slightly from your touch, the warmth of your fingers encases his cold, slender ones. You both sit in silence for a moment, just taking in each others presence. You attempt to gather your own thoughts of why Hoseok couldn’t wait to apologize until the next day you both work.

“Hoseok.” You let out, a yawn following afterwards.

“Hm?” He responds while glancing into your eyes with those gorgeous brown eyes, his strands gracefully dressing his forehead in that familiar middle-part style.

“Cuddle?” You ask sheepishly why reaching your arms out towards him, offering your warmest embrace. His lips curl up into that stunning smile, making his eyes shut instinctively. He removes his bomber jacket and shoes, then climbs into the opposite side of your bed. You follow suit and pull your duvet over the two of you. Your arms naturally wrap around his abdomen, and you curl up into his chest. Admiring the familiar scent of Hoseok’s fresh, linen garments with a hint of some expensive cologne. He smells so clean, as a man should. It sends you into a trance. Your ear rests on top of his chest, growing familiar with the rhythm of his heartbeat. And it’s just enough to put you to rest.

—

The sun peaks from the skyline, beginning its journey to rise. Deep orange and yellow hues paint the sky. A gleaming ray of light shoots throughout the hideout the three men share together. Namjoon is the first to awaken, his beach-sand colored hair ruffled in a slight mess. With a bare upper body and boxer briefs, he slips from his mattress on the ground to head for the washroom — his disheveled state still working to fully awaken. After finishing up his morning routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and grooming his hair, he slips on black nylon sweatpants and a red fitted tank, displaying his black, circuit board ink on his left forearm snaking up to his left shoulder and neck. He stares at his own figure in the mirror, silently hating himself for letting Yoongi talk him into getting a matching tattoo.

If only he’d knew where Yoongi’s loyalty really lied, he’d never would have given in to him. A slight pang in Namjoon’s chest resurfaces. He missed Yoongi, a lot more than he wanted to. Because it was more than “friendship” with him. He loved Yoongi and wanted to confess his feelings for him, but he was afraid his confession would lead to corruption of their friendship. He was also afraid of Yoongi’s “distant” personality. He was for sure it would have ruined them, even if their friendship blossomed into something more. Unfortunately, after Yoongi became a traitor in Namjoon’s eyes, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had for him and continues to have. It was ever since that one night they’d both had a little too much soju that things led from one thing to another. He relishes in the memory of Yoongi’s lips pressed against his.

The lingering, sweet taste of alcohol on his lips is the fondest moment Namjoon has of Yoongi. He had never been more aroused by anyone else ever, and Yoongi had just that effect on him. One thing led to another, and before he could process what had happened, the next morning he’d awaken to the sight of Yoongi naked and wrapped around his chest. Ever since, the entire dynamic of their friendship had changed. Yoongi hadn’t spoken of the previous night, and neither had Namjoon. He’d never thought that a week later, he would have had no other choice but to kick out the one person he had grown to trust for so long. He never forgets the look in Yoongi’s eyes. Puffy, red, and swollen from the tears he’d cried.

Namjoon had never seen him this shaken up before, considering his inability to show his feelings. But he believed Yoongi had done all of this to silently punish him for sleeping with him. Liquid forms in Namjoon’s eyes as his mind goes in circles consistently, playing the events over and over in his mind — reminiscing on the presence of who he thought would have eventually been his lover. While brewing a cup of coffee, Namjoon readies himself for the day. Upon arrival to the coms room, he seats himself at his desk, an arrange of five monitors on display. The longer one in the middle is the portal to log into Thunder, a tracking software he’d created, with Yoongi, that’s designed specifically to pinpoint a runners’ location. Of course, he had re-programmed said software to track Jungkook and Jimin’s location whenever they’d go out on a run, which is why they use an earpiece that has a tracker installed.

For safety purposes, he’d also designed it to detect when other runners are nearby while also detecting blue lights in the surrounding area. Each runner is part of a team that is represented by a color on the “rainbow spectrum,” and each color has a leader. Namjoon being the leader of Red, and along with Jimin and Jungkook representing the color. Although, the only colors from the spectrum that have been confirmed are: Orange, Yellow, and Green — while Blue and Violet have yet to be discovered. In the meantime, Jimin tosses in his sleep as though he’s experiencing a nightmare. Something within his slumber startling enough to jerk him awake, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted dramatically. His chest rising up and down as he trails his fingers through his onyx strands that fall back onto his forehead. His arms find their way up to block the sunlight from his window that forces to blind his eyes.

His body is warm, and after sitting up completely, he realizes his white tank is soaked in perspiration. Jimin snarks at the cold sweat clinging to his upper body. Rolling out of bed, the cool tile below him makes his body shiver. He pulls his top over his head and off, flinging it to the corner of his room. His toned upper body glistens with sweat, covered with the tattoo “Nevermind” on the left side of his abdomen. Jimin rushes to the washroom to start up the glass shower.

He hops in immediately; cool streams of water race down his fit figure, drenching his black strands and gradually decreasing his body temperature. He runs his index finger across the inside of his wrist where another tattoo is displayed: 13. A small grin crosses his face, thinking of the time he’d met Jungkook when he was 13, how they’d instantly bonded, and how far they’ve come in their lives. The number also resembling the day of his own birth. But Jimin’s smile fades, after realizing the dream he had. He knew something was wrong, because for weeks now he’d been having these nightmares that something bad would happen; everything would change, yet he wasn’t 100% sure how. Even though things were okay now, but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe his gut instinct was trying to warn him.

Knock x2.

Jimin jumps slightly at the sudden knock, and his gaze snaps up to the bathroom door, “Dude… Gotta pee,” Jungkook’s tired form slips. Outside the door, he can barely keep his eyes open — having almost pulled an all-nighter, listening to music and lifting weights in his room. Jimin swings the door open, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Scared the shit out of me, you know?” Namjoon arrives in the hallway.

“Morning, boys! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. So, get some breakfast and meet me in the coms room when you’re done.” Jimin nods and adds coyly, “Ay ay, captain!” Jungkook groans in response. On the other side of the city, the smell of eggs and bacon sizzling in a pan acts as a cue for Hoseok’s awakening. His arms stretch out, releasing the tension that’s settled in them. He checks his phone for the time only to find missed calls and texts, from none other than his hyung.

— Yoongi Hyung [5:02 AM] just wait till u come home. u will fucking get it!!!

— Yoongi Hyung [4:59 AM] are u fucking kidding me… i come here for dick and this is what i get? where tf are u???

— Yoongi Hyung [4:57 AM] whatever. coming in with the spare key u gave me.

— Yoongi Hyung [4:56 AM] u ass. i’ve rung the doorbell a thousand times already. are u that asleep?

— Yoongi Hyung [4:54 AM] Missed Call (x2)

Shit.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Hoseok jumps slightly at your cheeky greeting of you standing at the doorway of your room.

“I made breakfast if you’re hungry. I’ll be heading out in a few to follow up on any leads I can get with the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok takes a huge gulp before spilling, “Yeah… About that.” He drags, while slipping out of bed. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer.

“I uh-” He pauses for a moment, remembering the threat Yoongi had given him. You stand there, all eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m dropping you from the Jungkook Jeon case,” he states rapidly. Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would you do that?” Hoseok sighs, thinking of anything off the top of his head to lie.

“Just- Leave it to me. I did some digging when you left the station yesterday,” He continues while slipping his shoes on.

“I want you to look into something else,” You nod for him continue.

“Namjoon Kim. Known as Thunderbird. He’s got a record, but he’s also been reported as missing just like Jungkook.” Hoseok breaks away from your gaze for a moment, internally hating himself for doing this to you. He knows he’s no good for you.

“Do you still have that list of coordinates I gave you?” He inquires, while simultaneously looking up at you and tying his shoes.

“Mmmhmm,” you simply mutter, watching his form in silence. It is clear that he’s about to leave but you waited for him to say so. Hoseok grabs his jacket and notices you’re still standing in the doorway. He pauses to slip, “I should get going. I have some errands to run-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, the tone in your voice clearly revealing that no it is not “fine.” You’re slightly upset really, but part of you expected Hoseok to not stay around since you’re convinced that the only reason he’d came to apologize to you was to clear his conscious. And because, well, he was alone and wanted some form of companionship. Typical, right? Another part of you cringed at the thought you assumed he’d treat you as if you’re both together, even though you’re not. So, it isn’t abnormal for him to just leave. It’s not like he’s committed to you. Except your heart tells you it’s just not fair. Hoseok doesn’t miss the look of disarray that spreads across your face, due to his departure. He looks to you before leaving your apartment.

“Maybe I can come by later?” You internally cringe at his request whilst trying to not get your hopes up.

“It’s not a big deal, only if you can! Don’t go out of your way for me. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.” He hesitates for a brief moment, then awkwardly nods as if slowly trying to process what you said. A feeling deep inside tells him that you know he’s full of shit. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious, but that makes him feel even worse for leaving you on his off day, just to be with Yoongi. The instant you shut the door behind Hoseok, your heart broke. You want to regret getting into this thing with him, but you know it was something you wanted at one point.

Jungkook attired himself in his usual pieces. Black ink tattoos of an “X” covers just below both of his elbows. His signature three, silver hoops dangle within both of his ears, as he deliberately munches on a protein bar, while standing in the coms room.

“I specifically asked you both to come once you were DONE with breakfast,” Namjoon retorts indirectly towards Jungkook, who is undoubtedly dropping crumbs on the ground.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jimin throws his hands up and shakes his head as if to surrender, his jet-black strands swaying about in front of his eyes.

“As I was saying…” Namjoon continues, “I have different tasks for you both.” Jungkook’s eyes stay glued on the eldest. Jimin’s toned arms are crossed, tilting his head to the side.

“Phoenix,” Namjoon tosses a wireless earpiece to Jimin. “I want you to head over to the docks. I’ve been picking up high blue light activity lately in that area.” Namjoon gropes his chin, as if in deep thought. “Check it out and see if there’s anything you could find that’ll tell us why they’ve been so trigger happy lately.”

Jungkook abruptly stops chewing and tunes out after hearing Namjoon’s request. That is why he felt different about you. You didn’t hurt him like most blue lights would hurt runners if they’d ever been caught. That’s the difference.

“Falcon!”

The slight ringing in Jungkook’s ears immensely fades away after he realizes Namjoon is talking to him. His eyebrows rise up, as if silently asking him What? Namjoon removes a black messenger bag he has around himself and tosses it to Jungkook, who almost didn’t catch it due to the crumpled granola wrapper still in his hand and Namjoon’s sudden reflexes.

“Since your little encounter” Namjoon makes the quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “I’m sending you on a fast cash mission. You know the rules.”

Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, as if to emphasize his point. “I’ll be guiding you, but keep your eyes peeled. Your name isn’t Falcon for nothing.” Jungkook shrugs at the audacity.

“When you reach the location, there will be a runner by the name of Viper waiting there for you. Give him the bag, and safely return back to the hideout without being detected by any blue lights.”

“Copy that.”

Namjoon nods in response, “Oh. Before I forget.” Namjoon reaches toward his glass desk to pull out a black, wireless earpiece.

“I know you’ve been borrowing Jimin’s earpiece since yours broke. So, I made a new one.” Namjoon extends his hand out to Jungkook then snaps away.

“Try not to break it this time, huh? Materials are kind of… limited.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and obtains the piece to delicately place in his ear. He places the bag over his head and lets the strap rest on his shoulder, adjusting it to his liking — making sure it’s tight around his torso. Jimin follows and pushes his earpiece in.

Namjoon makes an overly-dramatic clap noise with his hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s get to work!” On their way from the hideout, Jimin stops Jungkook before they proceed to go on their separate ways.

“Hey,” Jimin spills, his eyes now crescent, moon-shaped due to the sizzling sun displayed brightly in the sky. Jungkook replies, “Yeah?”

“Just, uh…” Jimin lingers on for a moment, observing the ambience as if he’s searching for something. His eyes land back on the youngest, admiring how innocent he is. Jimin loved Jungkook as his own brother, and he’d do anything to protect him. He’s convinced he’d do more than Namjoon.

“Be careful. Okay?” A tinge of worry oozes from Jimin’s command. He wishes he could just tell Jungkook the dreams he’d been having lately, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset him, yet he knows he’d have to tell him sooner or later. Because recurring nightmares that Jimin has are always to some extent: true. It’s been that way for as long as he could remember. The first time he’d experienced it was when he was seven years old. He dreamt the same dream during that time, that his father was caught in a rainstorm and passed away due to a car collision.

The first night he experienced the nightmare, he was afraid; and although he’d warn his parents, all else failed. They thought it was just another bad dream that would pass. A few weeks later, his father passed away due to a DUI car accident. Jimin was devastated, and although he was right all along, he hated when the same dreams occurred because he knew eventually it would no longer be a nightmare — instead a reality.

“Always,” Jungkook answers, while turning around to jog in the opposite direction. Completely unaware of Jimin who’s still left behind and laying eyes on him. An ounce of worry overtakes him, that he misses Namjoon’s calling of his name.

“Phoenix, do you copy?” Jimin snaps back from his daydream,

“Y-yeah. I mean- Copy that. I’m here.” Namjoon keeps track of Jungkook’s location and notices Jimin’s stillness.

“Alright, let’s head west and take it from there. It’s a straight shot.” Jimin starts his run, climbing over fences, sliding under pipes, and running on walls. Namjoon uses the digital map to pinpoint the intended location.

“Looks like the docks will be on the west side of the Cobra Enterprises building.

“Copy that.” Namjoon takes a sip of his now lukewarm, medium, roast coffee.

“Switching to channel two, be right back.” Jungkook sits on the edge of a building, looking below his feet where the grand city of Python seems so tiny. Pedestrians look like ants from his perspective. Moving vehicles give the appearance of toy cars kids play with. The sound of a deep voice keys into Jungkook’s earpiece.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook swings his feet playfully, enjoying the summer weather, “Go for Falcon.”

“You’ll be heading east to The Echidna. Viper will be there waiting for you. Deliver the package to him, and make it back safely. Remember, no blue lights.”

Hoseok turns the key to open the door of his apartment. The sound of the front door closing startles a naked Yoongi, who steps foot into Hoseok’s room with a towel wrapped around him. His soaked, purple strands dripping with water. Hoseok shuffles his jacket and shoes off, yet notices the penthouse is filled with silence. He’d hoped Yoongi had just given up for now and left, but he knew him. He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted.

His fingers glide through his own soft waves, and he treads upstairs to his room. His heart suddenly pumps faster when his eyes land on the back side of Yoongi, who has removed his towel to dry his hair. His pale, porcelain skin glowing and glistening with water and sunshine. Hoseok takes a thick gulp and clears his throat. Yoongi finds Hoseok behind him and gives his signature smirk, “Good morning.” Yoongi drops his towel on the ground and gestures a “come here” motion with his finger, and Hoseok follows.

“Missed me? I know I missed you,” Yoongi caresses Hoseok’s cheek, gazing into his brown irises, his bed-hair adding a nice final touch.

“I’m sorry, I-” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s index finger placed on his lips. He commands, “Just shut up and fucking kiss me already. You owe me. Big time.” Hoseok chuckles before leaning in to wrap his arms around Yoongi, placing his hands along his back, pulling Yoongi flush to his body.

Before heading out to investigate the supposed “Namjoon Kim” case Hoseok urged you earlier to begin, you chose to pay a visit to your favorite chocolatier in the mall, the one that sells your favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. The fresh, cool breeze of the air conditioner blows through your hair as you strut through the front entrance of The Echidna. The chocolate shop wasn’t far from the main entrance, on the entry level so you decided to take your time, casually strolling through the mall. The smell of pretzels, pizza, and other delicious foods filled your senses as you passed by the food court. After a minute more of walking, you reach the shop and realize they are running a promotion: Buy one dozen of chocolate-covered strawberries, get another half off.

Just in time.

On the rooftops, Jungkook blasts over buildings and latches onto pipes, ladders, and other obstacles that help him navigate throughout the environment.

“Thunderbird for Phoenix.” Jimin keys back into Namjoon while taking a break from running.

“Go for Phoenix.” Namjoon tracks Jimin’s location, and notes how far he is from the intended location.

“Good job. You’re on the right path. You should be able to see the front side of the Cobra Enterprises building from where you are.” Jimin scans his surroundings on the east side, and notes the building with a golden, cobra snake symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Continue your normal path and you’ll notice the building will then be on the east side of you.” Jimin nods in approval, “Copy that.”

Yoongi and Hoseok lie in bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Hoseok rests on Yoongi’s chest, drawing circles on his chest with Yoongi’s fingers laced in his strands.

“So,” Yoongi breaks the silence. “So?” Hoseok questions, admiring the soft supple skin under his fingertips.

“Gonna tell me where you were last night?” Just as Hoseok gathered up the courage to respond, Yoongi cuts him off.

“No, wait! Let me guess. With ____,” he states with a dry tone. A tinge of jealousy behind his words. Hoseok turns his head around, facing Yoongi.

“Are we really doing this again?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Hoseok off of his chest. Hoseok’s eyebrows naturally crease in response.

“Yoongi, seriously?” The eldest says nothing, his back now turned to the youngest, having flipped over on his side.

“What fucking more do you want?!” Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair, his strands falling back onto his forehead. Yoongi keys in on him, with a furious gaze. “Us!” He exclaims, sitting up and easing his way out of bed to slip on his jeans.

“I fucking want us,” He continues, more-so demanding rather than stating. Hoseok takes a deep breath. “You know that I’m working on that-”

Yoongi seethes. “Yeah, and for how long?!” His voice raising with fists clenched on his jeans, zipping them up. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He adds, slipping on his signature, purple v-neck.

“____ is in love with you. How do you just “work on that?” He emphasizes with air quotation marks. Hoseok struggles to answer, leaving his lips parted slightly. A moment of silence falls between the two. Yoongi takes this as a cue of defeat — slipping on his leather jacket.

“Exactly.” He exits the bedroom, leaving Hoseok to ponder in his thoughts, while left in bed naked, regret filling him completely.

Yoongi saunters downstairs and slips on his boots, departing from Hoseok’s loft. He runs his fingers through his hair, while marching down the hallway of the complex. His mind continues to race many miles per hour. His finger presses the button to signal the elevator, and to his surprise, the doors open quicker than he’d expected. He takes a deep breath while stepping in and recounting the moment he’d had with Hoseok.

He hates himself for getting caught up in this situation with him, and now with you involved made matters worse. His heart aches at the thought of what things would be like if he hadn’t traded Namjoon out. Yoongi misses him, but he knows he’d never accept him for who he is and he wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done. A pang in his chest approaches, knowing that he and Namjoon’s future was now long gone, and merely nothing but a dream now. It hurts, and he’s hurt. Which is why he’d pressed Hoseok to get you to look into his case in the first place. He needed this. Needed closure. He misses Namjoon, and there isn’t a day that passes when he doesn’t think of him. He needs him.

You’d chosen the dozen of half milk-chocolate strawberries and half white-chocolate covered strawberries. For both sets. The cashier carefully hands you the paper bag, with two gorgeous arrangements of twelve strawberries in each box. You gracefully exit the chocolatier with the brightest smile on your face, strutting toward the entrance of The Echidna to make your departure from the mall. Jungkook awaits on the rooftops, peering at his surroundings to ensure no one is in sight. And by no one, he specifically means blue lights. His tired being squats down, seating himself on the ground, nearby one of many dome-shaped, skylights that sit behind him. The sun toasting his skin causes him to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Namjoon scans the time on the Thunder portal, noting that the runner should have arrived by now.

“Viper should be within your perimeter. Do you see him?” Jungkook scans his peripheral, but there is no sight of said runner. “No, he’s not here.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, as he doesn’t see any hint of a runner nearby the mall. The only indicator visible is Jungkook’s location. A red, blinking dot on the map.

“Something’s not right,” He says to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook feels a presence behind him and just before he could turn around to say something, a deep, baritone voice speaks out.

“Thanks for meeting me here, this was a great spot.” But when Jungkook’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form, his mouth flew agape.

Violet. One of the colors on the spectrum that hadn’t been discovered yet.

There was no way, he thought. No way it was possible. And then the eldest spoke again, realizing Jungkook’s expression.

“Hey. Red, huh? Wait-” He pauses, Jungkook clenches the bag’s strap tightly. “That’s the color where- What’s that leaders name?” His finger taps his chin as if thinking. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue… Sounds like a month?”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. How did he know Thunderbird’s real name?

“How do you know his name?” Kook questions, gripping onto the bag tighter.

“It’s Joon, right? Namjoon! There it is.” Namjoon keys in to double-check on the youngest.

“Falcon, has he arrived yet? I’m still not able to see him.” Namjoon grows hesitant from not receiving a response.

Jungkook abruptly throws the bag at the man standing in front of him and darts in the opposite direction. Viper sprints behind him and tackles the youngest down onto one of the skylights, their figures thumping and sliding against the glass. Viper bangs Jungkook’s head into the glass. Jungkook throws a harsh punch straight to Viper’s nose and tackles him down, his body now caging him in.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jungkook seethes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Viper grins with a mischievous expression. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at his coy remark. His hands grip around his neck, applying pressure with much force.

“Falcon?” Namjoon keys in yet again. Growing suspicious, he continues to scan the area and notes a blinking, blue light that appears to be moving. His assumption is that whoever it is may be inside the mall. “Fuck.”

A tinge of venom seeps from Viper’s words, “Tell that leader of yours, that Firebird is looking for him-” He chokes, Jungkook applying more pressure.

“He better- get ready.. for him too.” He adds with a menacing laugh. Jungkook releases his neck and throws another punch to his face, his knuckles aching as a result. Viper continues to laugh, and manhandles Jungkook. His back falls back onto the delicate material below them. He drives his foot against the side of Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly.

“Ahhh, fuck!” Jungkook groans, his fists clenching from the pain.

Jungkook forces a kick straight to Viper’s face, grazing his nose with his shoe, causing drips of blood to spill. Jungkook clenches his teeth and tackles Viper down again, and then suddenly.

Crack.

The two men gaze down below them, and witness cracks scattering along the glass of the skylight.

“Shit,” Jungkook slips.

“Falcon!” Namjoon yells into his earpiece.

Viper watches Jungkook’s expression with wide eyes, his lips parting in shock. Jungkook slowly stands on his two feet, removing himself from on top of the eldest and attempts to escape, but with the added weight of being on his feet, the glass shatters into pieces, Viper’s form falls through the skylight, en route to the interior of the mall. Jungkook trips, losing his grip on the edge, his veins popping out as he forces his body back up onto the rooftop.

You fumble in the pockets of your leather jacket to obtain your car keys. Until the sudden sound of shattering glass startles you and out of the blue, an intense cracking, thud-like sound follows by a body falling splat onto the ground level of the mall. The contents in your hands drop in response, and the only melody filling your ears is the screams throughout the entire atmosphere, civilians pushing their way to the nearest exit. A thumping beat resides in your chest, and it’s as if your heart pounds so loud you that the noise suffocates your hearing above everything else. Your mouth falls open, and your instincts tell you to examine from above, where the body initially came from. And then your eyes meet a familiar face; to say you were shocked was an understatement.

There he was. Again. The man you’d seen yesterday. You knew it was him because you remember those eyes, his hair, and that black mask. After locking eyes with you, he immediately vanishes. You glare at the body that lies on the ground, slowly inching toward the male. With shaky hands, you kneel down to feel his pulse under his neck and there’s nothing.

Jungkook charges off the rooftops of The Echidna, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. The last thing he needed was for blue lights on his tail. And he saw you. He fucked up again. You saw him, and now there’s nothing he can do to un-do what happened. The sound of Namjoon’s voice resonates within Jungkook’s earpiece. “Falcon! What the hell happened? Did you deliver the package?” Jungkook says nothing, instead, he runs.

Namjoon sighs in frustration.

“I’m here,” Jimin keys in. Namjoon locates Jimin’s location.

“Fuck,” Namjoon replies.

Jimin asks with a hint of confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon sighs.

“No, Phoenix. You’ve made it to the destination. I haven’t heard from Jungkook since he arrived at The Echidna, and he isn’t responding.” Jimin’s eyes widen. Oh no, had something happened to him? What if… the dream?

“Wait what? Do you need me to head over there?” Namjoon shakes his head, as if he could see him.

“No! Stay where you are. Just find out what you can find, and I’ll be here. I’ll handle it. Over and out.”

Jimin’s heart drops. He hoped Jungkook was okay, for his own sake. He couldn’t lose another person close to his heart.

Namjoon locates Jungkook’s location, and he’s storming like a lightning bolt. He removes his headset to meet with the youngest. Jungkook pants, his chest rising and falling.

“Falcon, what the hell? How many times do I-” Namjoon is cut off by the expression on Jungkook’s face. He stops in his tracks and notices his mask is already off, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His hands are shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook begins rambling, “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck just happened!” Tears stream down his cheeks, he feels like he’s on fire, his chest continues to gasp for air. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“I-It all j-just happened s-so fast, I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon notes his trembling hands; he’d never seen him so worked up before.

“He- he came. And then I saw his purple shirt a-and I panicked, I didn’t know what the fuck to do! I-” Jungkook sobs with an aching pain on his side. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“Okay, Kook just calm down. Follow me into the coms room.” Upon arrival, Namjoon processes what had been said and his eyebrows furrow in reply. “Wait… His shirt? It was what?”

Jungkook makes an attempt to calm himself down, his rosy-tinted cheeks stained with wet tears. “Violet. It’s the last color on the spectrum.”

Namjoon shakes his head, now pacing back and forth. “This could only mean one thing…” He trails off, pondering the fact he discovered a new color on the spectrum. He scrolls through the portal and peers at the map, finding the different colors of the spectrum scattered across the city of Python. Every color except Violet.

“That’s why Thunder couldn’t pinpoint his location. Violet isn’t yet programmed into the software. Which means-”

“Firebird.” Jungkook slips.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps toward him with wide eyes, “Where did you get that name?”

“Viper said it. Firebird is looking for you.” He pauses, to let in a deep breath, “And you’d better get ready.” Jungkook groans in discomfort, a sharp shock of pain shooting through his side. He watches Namjoon’s figure, noticing the startled expression on his face.

No, it can’t be. There’s no way he was looking for him. Even if he was, why? After all this time, why now? And what was it that Namjoon had to prepare for?

And then everything came crashing down. “Shit,” Namjoon spills.

“Who is Firebird, anyway?” Jungkook questions with curiosity. A distinct chattering sound can be heard from Namjoon’s headset.

“Phoenix for Thunderbird! Do you copy?” Jimin chimes in with a slight tinge of frustration and worry clouding his being.

Ignoring Jungkook’s question, Namjoon places his headset back on.

“Go for Thunderbird.”

Jimin sighs in relief, “Oh, fuck. I thought I lost you for a sec.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “What’s going on?”

With a heaving, sweaty chest Jimin states, “We have a problem. A really, fucking, big one.” — his eyes keyed in and widening at the sight of what’s happening at the docks.

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djrelentless · 3 years

Text

When I say "It Gets Better", I mean it! (October 3rd, 2011)

I just finished watching Anderson Cooper's show on "bullying in schools". Sparked by the death of Jamey Rodemeyer, it started an interesting conversation between my husband and myself. Anderson had several stories of kids. Some who committed suicide and a few that are still here dealing with the problem. All sad stories that brought up memories of my teen years.

Jamey Rodemeyer

As I remember, the kids who were picked on were the outcasts. The "not-so-attractive", the "feminine boys", the kids who were different in appearance and attitude were all fair game. Given the fact that my grandmother kept my hair in cornrow braids when I was in elementary school, I was most definitely considered to be a "sissy". I was constantly being told "Oh...what a cute little girl". Of course while all the other boys were interested in sports and outdoor activities, I was only interested in music and art. Both of my uncles played football. It never struck a chord with me. I would rather be in the backyard playing wit my grandmother's old pots and pans.

By the time I reached Junior High School, the bullying had escalated into pushing and tripping in the halls. Although I am very tall today, I was quite the skinny runt back in the 7th grade. My worst bully was a kid named Craig. I won't reveal his last name, but anyone who remembers me from back then would know who he is. And Craig made my life a living hell. I was afraid to walk home from school. I had to find alternative routes every other day. The worst part was that he lived right around the corner from house.

My childhood, like many out there, was filled with adversity. My mother and father married too young and were not ready to be parents. I ended up being raised by my grandmother, but by my teen years my parents had made a couple of cameos in my life. Since I was the first grandchild, my grandmother sorta let me express myself the way I wanted to. She said nothing when I would run and grab her wigs to do little shows for the family at Christmas time. She always encouraged me to sing and dream of being a star. Coincidentally, earlier today on Dr. Phil he had the author of "My Princess Boy". Sure wish that book would have been around I was coming up.

So, between the absence of my parents and also being molested by a family member, I had some days that really made me question why I was here. What did I have to live for? And believe it or not...the thought of suicide never crossed my mind. For some reason, I actually believed that there was going to be a tomorrow. I knew that one day I would be in control of me. That voice in my head that told me that I could survive this period in my life kept me alive. It made me want to show all the bullies and the P.E. coach that told me that I was never gonna be nothing that I was someone.

In 1980, I had a friend who worked at the Tampa Tribune named Kim Eisler who introduced me to the world of journalism. During one of the cameos of my mother back in the late 70's, Kim was our neighbor. He was a great influence on me. He took me to work with him and I met a lot of the editors. So, one day when my mother was at work, I got dressed in my Sunday best and walked downtown to the Tribune building. I lied to the the front desk and said I had an appointment with the City Editor, Joe Registrado. He remembered meeting me and said that I could come up. And off the top of my head at the age of 12, I came up with a small presentation with my hand written newspaper that myself, Travis Oullette and Gino Marino produced and sold around school with some drawings that I had done. I told Joe that I wanted to write for the Tampa Tribune and that the paper needed a column for its younger readers. He sat and listened then left me in the conference room for about ten minutes. When he returned, he told me that I was hired for the summer. This would change my life forever.

The first article I wrote for the Tampa Tribune.

When I started at Wilson Junior High back in Tampa, I felt confident that everyone was going to want to be my friend. I had articles in the local newspaper and I had collected all of the promo material that they threw out for all the latest music acts out of the time. Back then, promo kits came with folders that were made to look like the album covers. So, I used those as my school folders. I had photos of the stars and had plenty of stories about what I had learned that summer while working for the paper.

Of course you know, those things were impressive to some, but not to all. Craig hated me even more! And to make matters worse, his girlfriend Felicia seemed to have a crush on me. So, he made it his mission to embarrass and humiliate me every chance he got. And with 7th grade also came showers after P.E. Not such a good idea for a young gay boy who is beginning to notice how bodies change with puberty. I did get caught a couple of times looking a little too long in the locker room, which made the teasing worse.

So, as I explained before, I had to find different ways to walk home to avoid Craig after school. But something interesting happened that school year. One day, I had taken a long route home only to find Craig sitting on my steps when I got there. Extremely scared, I started to walk fast in the other direction. He said to me "I'm not gonna bother you" and then I sat down beside him and we had a conversation about if I liked boys. After "him-hawing" around the subject, I finally confessed that I did like boys. And to my surprise, he didn't beat me up. He actually leaned over and kissed me. This was my first kiss and it came from the school bully. The boy who everyone thought would be a future football star that all the girls thought was dreamy was the first boy I kissed.

It was in that moment that I realized that the voice in head that told me that "it wasn't always gonna be like this" was right. Oh sure....I still had some bad bullying days ahead of me. Craig did act like he was gonna beat up in front of the other guys around school, but I knew that one day I was gonna be in control of my own destiny. I would have the last say when it came to me.

I just wish that I could have told that to Jamey and all the others who took their lives because they couldn't see past the forest of teen-hood. And now the media is talking about anti-bullying laws (which is great), but how do we get to that teen out there who can't see past today, that teen who only dreams of going to school for one day without any trouble or name-calling.

I read some comments about Lady GaGa when she performed a special song at her show for Jamey. Some were saying "how dare she try to capitalize on his death". Others defended her and praised her for speaking out. I have been torn on her career since she started. I think she is a very talented individual. Without the gimmicks and costumes, I actually hear an artist in there. But in this media-crazed world we live in, you have to do something to be seen and heard. I believe she has the ability to be one of those icons who could change the world, but the imagery may get in the way. But I do believe she could be for bullying what Elizabeth Taylor was for the AIDS epidemic: a face and voice for awareness and activism.

The ironic thing is that Jamey actually had made an "It Gets Better" video just a few months before his suicide. He spoke of being inspired by Lady GaGa. I wonder what happened between then and the day he took his life. He seemed optimistic and as though he was dealing with the situation. But as his parents said, he put on a brave face for everyone else.

I am begging everyone to pay closer attention to your friends especially if they are being bullied. This isn't about sexuality. It's about making sure that the human spirit isn't broken so badly that someone would want to end their life. "Support Our Youth"!

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junipersgarden · 4 years

Text

metanoia 1. | Recover

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

SUMMARY: 8 months later from Tony’s funeral and the promise Peter and you made, where do you two stand now?

WORD COUNT: 4119 words

WARNINGS: N/A?

a/n: i did not expect this to blow up so quickly so thank you all sm!! ill be updating every Friday/ re uploading from Wattpad and converting it to here!! hope you enjoy this chapter and ill see you next Friday ; )

[NOT MY GIF]

...

8 Months Later...

...

"I have a plan. Okay. First, I sit next to Y/N on the flight."

"Mhm."

"Second, I'm gonna buy a dual head phone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time."

"Okay."

"Three, when we go to Venice; Venice is super famous for making stuff out of glass right?"

"True."

"So I'm going to buy her a white gardenia necklace because it's a really pretty flower and... because... well-"

"Is it because of the-?"

"Because of its meaning yeah. Step 4 is when we're in Paris, I'm going to take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace and 5, I'm gonna tell her how I feel. And 6, hopefully she tells me she feels the same way."

"And don't forget Step 7."

"Step 7?" Peter questions and clicks the top of his pen to write down Step 7, ears perked to listen to Ned.

"Don't do any of that."

Peter lets out an annoyed and frustrated sigh as Ned gave him a look that expressed 'what? what did i do?'

"Why?"

"Because we're gonna be bachelors in Europe Peter!"

"Ned."

"Look, I may not know much, but I do know Europeans love Americans."

Peter had little belief in Ned's statement that he scrunched up his face and looked at Ned.

"Really?"

"-And more than half of them are women!" Ned exclaims to make his point.

"...Sure but, I really like Y/N man. She's awesome, she's super funny like in a kind of dork way, and whenever she looks at me I feel like- she's coming over don't say anything!" Peter quickly shuts himself up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Don't say anything!" Is the only thing you hear as you walked up to Peter and Ned's table.

"Sup guys? You excited for the science trip?" You greet them, rocking your body with a smile planted on your face, your assignment folder occupying your hands. Technically you got up from your, F/N's and MJ's table so you could photo copy your guy's group project but you heard Peter and Ned rambling about Europe and thought you could start up a conversation.

"Hey! Uh, yeah! We're just talking about the trip."

"Yeah and Peter's Plan." Ned confidently slides in the conversation.

Peter's Plan?

You stop moving and shift yourself to Peter, averting your eyes so yours meet his.

"...You have a plan? For what?" You nervously smile and laugh at him, playing with your bracelet on your wrist. The bracelet was silver but held a black cross (similar to a crucifix) in the middle of it.

"I- I don't have a plan." Peter mumbles, fiddling with his pen and looking at you with anxious eyes.

"No he's just gonna collect tiny statues while we're travelling to other countries." Ned blurts out and you can see he exchanged a look to Peter.

"I didn't know you liked-" You stopped speaking immediately, your response lost in your mind, something else distracting you.

You looked past Peter's head and your eyes meet with the dozens of drawings and tributes to Iron Man, to Tony and his sacrifice.

It seemed like yesterday you were on the battlefield, when you found out Peter was Spider-Man and all of those emotions and memories swept and flooded your mind in a tidal wave.

You can feel the whole room spinning even though your feet were planted on the ground, the voices of Peter and Ned fading as the sobs of Peter replaced them and Tony's dying breath.

It's been 8 months and you thought you had finally moved on from all the grief and suffering, the sleepless nights full of insidious nightmares and the suffocating feeling that came from all those panic attacks.

"You can rest now..."

"Did you photo copy it?" Someone asks and you whirl yourself around suddenly and possibly too fast, loosing balance and landing into someone's arms. F/N.

"Oh shoot sorry F/N I was talking to Ned and Peter about Europe and got side tracked?"

"It's okay! I was just checking since MJ was sorta getting antsy since she wanted it to all be done before you guys leave tomorrow." F/N beams at you, still holding you up.

"I-I'll go do it now-"

"Y/L/N, did you firstly ask me and secondly get a hall pass?" Ms. Warren spoke up and alarmed you. She was sitting at her desk and was staring at the 4 of you.

"N-No Ms. Warren..."

"I'll go!" Peter shot straight up from his seat. Ned shook his head and F/N laughed at his eagerness.

"No Parker you've got work to do. Y/L/N, Davis can take you."

Davis... Brad Davis?

Just on cue, Brad lifted his head up from being preoccupied at his desk and sent you a friendly smile and wave. He stood up immediately and from his demeanor, seemed over the top that the teacher asked him to escort you to the printers. He looked so familiar but no matter how heard you tried, you couldn't conjure where you'd seen him from.

Brad walked over to you and was still smiling from before so you nicely smiled back. Brad offered you to go first so you walked to Ms. Warren's desk and grabbed the huge hall pass with Brad trailing after you.

"We won't be long Ms. Warren!" Brad yelled out as he closed the classroom door.

You shot F/N a look that said 'okay guess i go and also what just happened?' and F/N shrugged back with no explanation and return back to MJ. You saw Peter looking at you as you left and saw him sigh heavily and immediately get back to his work. I hope Peter's okay.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The cold, crisp breeze whirled through the dim lit streets of Queens as you walked back home; the streets were always alive at night with people hurrying from one place to another, lights shine brightly, beaming against tall, towering buildings and billboards, apartments until rooftops could reach the sky. New York was always cold in the night and what lurked in the darkness was even colder. Robberies, assaults and muggings were a regular sighting in alleyways but with yourself as Saviour and Peter as Spider-Man, the number has been decreasing over time thanks to the both of you. School was weird today with the whole Peter and Ned thing and especially with Brad. He was nice taking you to the printers but he kept asking way to many questions about you and you caught him staring a couple of times... weird.

You gripped your coat tightly around you, wrapping it as much as you could around your body to fight the wind, shivers being sent down your spine. Your mind had been blurry lately; balancing the lifestyle of school, social life and duties into one while trying to properly rest and to be there whenever anyone needed you was a struggle; the biggest fear you had was if you just took one, innocent day off that'd you regret it for the rest of your life. You also found it hard to escape your thoughts, insecurities and nightmares whenever you'd zoned out or even closed your eyes for a second. Despite it all you had your anchors though; the people who were holding you down from losing yourself from all the madness happening. You slip out a smile at the thought of those special individuals; friends that you put above anything or anyone else. Peter, Ned and even Michelle were all you had and all you were relying on to help you back up.

"Help! Someone!" A stranger cries into the night, pleading for a saviour, followed by the sound of gunshots and glass shattering.

Show time.

Reacting instantly, you check for your surroundings before fleeing into the shadows of a lonesome alley and with a single flick of your bracelet, it lets of a white glow, letting you know its activated.

"Hello Ms. L/N, how may I assist you tonight?"

"You know the drill ARIS: suit up."

"Right away Y/N."

On command, the familiar cool and sensational feeling of the nano tech being released from your bracelet began spreading all across your body; you loved the feeling of your suit coming alive just by wishing it, AI on the ready and that the suit was also with you, being a part of you.

As you relished in the moment your suit was fully on your body, you rushed out of the alleyway, concealing your true identity under your mask, prepared to fight, you begin to follow the cries of the citizen in need.

You felt your heart beat and pace fasten, senses heightened and the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

A shift in your vision changes as you feel your pupils fill fully black and steady themselves with your mask lenses, you exert all your energy into a singular jump and successfully land on the rooftop.

"ARIS, scan for location of activity."

"The distress signal appeared from 21st Street."

Ahhh, classic bank robbery.

"Okay ARIS, are all systems ready to go?"

"Affirmative. Initiating heads up display and initializing flight power."

You roll your head back and crack your knuckles, jumping up and down on the spot, ready for take off.

Nodding your head, you extend your arms out and feel the palms opening up and see the infinite blue glow from your thrustsers and feel the energy spreading and going to the soles of your suit.

Staring down the run way of the roof, you start walking before speeding up into a full sprint, running across the abandoned roof top. Steps quickening, you can see the end of the roof nearing with each step you take; you're going to jump. Before you know it you've leapt off the roof and it feels like time has stopped and you're floating on nothing; it's only you, the sky and the city's blurred noises and lights.

"Flight power fully restored." ARIS states, crashing and hauling you back into reality.

The euphoria of you floating has started to turn into the immense awareness that you are plummeting straight down with such speed to the lively streets and roads of New York below.

Extending your arms and legs, you point them into the direction of 21st Street and hear the whirring of your suit taking control and then, you're off. You're flying, just like Tony did, in the late night sky of New York City to stop a robbery.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Positioning yourself, your eyes meet with the victim in front of you; the typical situation.

"Hey."

The criminals all stop with their actions and immediately turn their heads to you. The hostages look up at you with hope and desperate, tears of fear and joy being to stream from their eyes.

"Looks like you forgot your credit cards huh fellas?"

2 out of the 4 robbers stand up and you took the chance to fire an energy blast, distracting them you slide on your knees towards the captives.

"Go! Go!" You beckon as you freed them from their constraints, they hurried out of the door shouting 'thank you's' and praises for your service and gratitude.

Getting up from the ground quickly, you turn around and see the 2 robbers running toward you.

You spring off the floor, back onto your feet and observe your surroundings; the 2 robbers are still sprinting towards you. You ball your fists and stance yourself ready to fight.

"Guys, guys, guys! You can either return back the money and nothing happens or we can do this the annoying and hard way."

One of the robbers racing towards you pulls back their gun and you hear a gunshot and feel a little ting and flick on your suit; the robber was really dumb enough to shoot you and your bulletproof suit.

"Well, guess you chose the hard way."

The 2 robbers still at full speed rush towards you but before they can even touch you, you step to the side and they loose control and crash into the wall.

"Ooooh! That's at least gotta leave a bruise.' You mock them.

You dart towards the fallen robbers, dizzy and dazed from the impact. You hit your right wrist twice on your suit and it opens up and greets you with what you were looking for; your trusty tool and invention of electric rope. The rope appeared as a blue wire with white sparks that shot out of it and you used it to tie up criminals and lets say if they were to hesitate or make a runner, they'd get a bit of a shock.

Grabbing the 1st and 2nd robber's hands, you wrap the wire around them both so they are both stuck together and unable to escape.

2 down, 2 to go.

The other 2 robbers that were still looting money had stopped since they'd heard the crash and the groaning of pain from the one's you'd taken on.

One robber stands up and places his fingers in his mouth and whistles.

You tilt your head in confusion but see that 3 more step out from the remaining safes.

"Aww brought more of your friends for me? How sweet..."

They all attack you at once, bullets ricochet off you and bounce back, flying back at them.

In unison they all duck down behind a counter from the bullets and curse out profanities and you take the opportunity to dash forward and leap onto the counter and land in front of them.

They all jump to their feet and a robber steps in front of you and tries to land a hit. You grab their arm and twist it and they let off a howl of anguish, you tasered him with your bracelet and flipping and throwing him to the floor.

Another takes his place and goes to hit you but one from behind tackles you and pins your arms, locking them in a firm and harsh grip.

Even through the suit, you can feel sharp fingernails attempting to latch and pierce you.

The guy in front of you clutches a solid grasp on both of your shoulders, forcefully yanks you down into his knee and hits your stomach. Already you can feel a bruise forming on your lower abdomen.

Jesus this one will be hard to cover...

You groan at the extensive, burning sensation building, your skin becoming tender and aching from the hit. The guy holding your arms down is tightening his grip and

"Given up huh Saviour?" The robber in front of you spits.

"T-that's the thing...." You let out a breathless chuckle, "I'm only getting started."

The robbers stare at each other and back before laughing furiously at you, the rest approaching you with guns.

What the robbers were thinking is that they'd won; they had successfully robbed Queens County Saving Bank and had taken down one of Queen's own superheroes. You on the other hand, had plans and knew perfectly well how criminal's minds worked; allow them to think they've won, they'll loose all focus and control on the situation, so you'd gotten them in the spot you wanted them: busy getting ready to celebrate a fake victory and not realizing the black smoke manifesting around them.

"As I said, I'm just getting started." A smirk lies on your covered face as you look deeply into the taunting robber's eyes full of bewilderment and fear.

The black smoke begins flurrying around your body finds it way around the robber's hands, instantly making him let go you. You lunge forward and punch the one in front of you with full power, he stumbles back and falls to the ground defeated. You then sharply turn and kick the other in the face.

The two out of the three still left go to attack you but you raise your arm in defense and send a gust of smoke flying to them. They stagger back and remain frozen as the smoke curls around and drags them to the ground. You rush over and deploy more of your rope onto the two and wrap it tightly around them, restraining them to the one place.

The last robber you spot is kneeling on the ground, trembling slightly with fear and piling as much money possible into one bag, trying to make a clean getaway.

Slowly and antagonistically, you make your way over to him and stand there, staring at him and waiting for him to notice. So busy and frantically he continues filling the bag he doesn't take care of his surroundings or even the cries of his comrades.

"I'll take that thank you." You cleanly snatch the bag and kick him to the ground with your heel.

He lands flat on his chest, hands out to the side you grab them and wrap them around once more.

People emerge from hiding and cry out cheers of joy and appreciation, a few giving you a pat on the shoulder, hugging you and the occasional asking for photos. The sound of police sirens ring in the distance, signaling its time to go. Waving your goodbyes, you turn to flee the scene but you hear and notice the vibration of a tap being played on your suit. You pivot back around and see one of the bank accountant's smiling frailly at you, evidently anxious and nervous in your presence.

"T-thank you so much Saviour, how ever can we repay you?" The accountant's eyes full of tears and lost distress begged.

"You don't need too; this is my job. Saving people's lives is what I do." You reply to the accountant, taking off into the night.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You did quite an excellent job tonight might I say so myself Y/N."

"Why thank you my Another, Rather, Intelligent System."

"Was that perhaps what you call, a flex?"

"...Yes ARIS, that was a flex." You mumble with a hint of embarrassment.

Currently soaring in the air with another criminal taken down, the fresh and cool wind rattles against you. Patrols were always 'relaxing' in a sense to you; gliding around the city and if your AI or you come to the attention of any law breaking activity, you swoop in (literally) and handle it. At times, you would bump into now and then into Spider-Man and the two of you mixed with your skills, would work together as a dynamic duo to take down the enemy. Queens loved and adored the both of you as individuals but as partners as well. Before knowing Peter was Spider-Man, there was a bit of tension and jealously and bickering from both of you: 'Dibs I had him first!' 'No, you know I patrol this area!' arguments occurred so many times that even the Avengers were pulled into it.

"I apologize for interrupting your thinking but it seems to be you have approximately 3 missed calls from your mother and from Pepper Potts accordingly."

Missed calls from Mum is bad but wait- Pepper called?

"W-when did they call ARIS? Any voicemails?"

"Your mother called to say to be home earlier from 'study group' to prepare for Europe tomorrow and that not to miss dinner again... which you did and Ms. Potts left nothing for you."

"C-can you auto text Mum that study group when longer than expected and that Y/F/N's offered dinner so I stayed and that I'll be home soon?"

"Already on it and for Pepper?"

"Don't text her anything."

"Text sent."

Pepper? The Pepper Potts? It's been 8 months; what does she want and is that Peter?

Drifting down from the air, you land quietly behind a wall and crouch down behind it, peering out carefully and you see Peter in his Iron Spider suit, eyes red and wet with tears as he stares at a piece of graffiti.

What's so bad about- oh.

The piece of artwork was of Tony; no wonder he was so distraught.

"You okay Spider-Man?"

"Y-yeah, I j-just c-crashed into a w-wall?" His voice high pitched, obviously lying.

"Uh huh... mind if I sit?"

"O-oh uh... no! No, you can sit!"

Giggling at Peter's awkwardness, you slide next to him and take a seat. You knew something was wrong by the way he was breathing and that his eyes were wet and red but how do you bring it up?

"So..."

"So...?"

"H-how is everything Spidey?" God that was awful.

"T-things could be s-so much better... just, the whole Blip thing is, it's getting to me."

"Blip?"

"The Blip? W-where the alien guy on Titan s-snapped his fingers and e-everyone d-disappeared?"

"Wait that's called the Blip?"

"Well that's what everyone is calling it."

"It sounds better than something to do with a maniac murdering half of the Earth's population... plus it's easy to say and remember."

And for the first time in a long time, you actually heard Spider-Man and Peter laugh. It was more of a sad and dry chuckle but, at least it was something.

"I'm assuming you didn't hear about 21st Street then?"

"21st Street what now?"

"Just now there was a robbery; apparently some of uhhh, what's his name? The macho, pacho penguin looking guy? Sends out his henchmen to do all the dirty work?"

"K-Kingpin?"

"Yeah! Pretty sure that's the one! But, really? Kingpin? Sounds really dumb; reminds me of bowling or something instead of an evil business man."

"His head does look like a bowling ball..." Peter murmured quietly.

You smiled brightly and threw your head back as you laughed; that's the Peter and Spider-Man I know.

From his mask, you could tell he was smiling since the corner of his mouth was showing the little peaks from out of it.

Your and his laughter began to die down you two just stayed silence and looked up into the cloudless sky.

"It's beautiful isn't it?"

"It really is... makes my night."

"And mine as well, I mean besides your company." Spider-Man, well more like Peter coughed, trying to cover up what he said.

"T-thank you though.. this was a nice chat Saviour. Not to alarm you or anything, but I'm not gonna be here much longer-"

"W-woah, what the hell do you mean-"

"N-no! Sorry, I worded that wrong don't panic! What I meant to say is I'm not going to be here because, I'm going on vacation."

Parker I swear...

You lightly hit his shoulder and let out a breath of relief. "Don't scare me like that! I did not need that!"

"S-sorry! B-but yeah... I'm going on vacation.. can you handle Queens without me?"

"I already do. Besides, there's always the other Avengers who can."

"Y-yeah... the Avengers... a-anyways Saviour, I-I'm gonna go now. I'll s-see you soon?"

"See ya Spidey and don't go crashing into any walls!"

"When did I- oh."

"Ratted yourself out. Bye Spideyyyyy!" You call out and wave as you watch him swing away and make tracks home yourself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I dunno how I did it, but I snuck back in ARIS."

"Well, your mother is asleep-"

"Shhh lemme have this!"

"... Congratulations Y/N."

"Thank you ARIS-"

"Even though I do not condone this behaviour."

Rolling your eyes, you shrug your body and switch your bracelet and your suit slowly peels away from your body, the nano- tech shrinking so it all fits inside the bracelet. You stretch your body but wince from your stomach. Cautiously, you lift your shirt and see the enormous bruise left on you from the robber and his knee.

Bye, bye crop tops...

Plopping yourself on your bed, you lie down and sigh in exhaustion. Closing your eyes slowly, you feel yourself falling to asleep. Until the chime of your best friend's ringtone plays from your phone which causes you to lurch up and open your phone to look at the text.

from: F/N ✌️

yeah.... i'm really sorry that I can't go to Europe...

from: you

i get it, it's totally fine! your family needs you.

don't feel bad trust me it's all g.

from: F/N ✌️

...if you say so dude. just, have a great time,

take photos and promise to text me when you can?

from: you

you know I will 😤

from: F/N ✌️

kk. well, I better go. it's late and unlike you, people have school tomorrow.

from: you

haha, very funny... well, goodnight nub > : (

from: F/N ✌️

see ya geek : P

Reaching over you place your phone back on the charger and look at the ceiling and sigh.

New York has been chaotic since the Snap- Blip. The Blip. And the amount of crimes has only doubled since before then and everything with school and my friends, Ned, MJ, F/N and Peter and oh god...

Hopefully Europe gives me a break.

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

TAG LIST !! < 3

@eridanuswave

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selanpike · 4 years

Text

Abandoned Trollcops/Problem Sleuth fic

i’m bored so i’m posting this old trollcops concept i wrote a couple years ago

i meant to have it be this big sprawling thing, including all the trolls and the beta kids and team sleuth and the crew, but it was way too big for me, so all i ended up writing was the first three chapters--basically, the intros for sleuth, pickle and ace.

i don’t plan to return to it. i still can’t get my head around the whole thing. but i like what i wrote, and maybe you might like it too? so here u go.

Chapter One

Spending any amount of time with Spades Slick is dangerous at best, you knew that. You also knew that you were making things worse by spending so much time with him, but you were counting on bruises and stab wounds, not this.

The interrogation room is sickeningly bright. The lights make it impossible to know what time it is outside. You know it was close to sunrise when they brought you in, but you’re not sure how long you’ve been here. Even the ticking of a clock would be a welcome reprieve from this boredom. You wish they’d just throw the book at you already.

The door finally opens, creaking a little as it does so. Apparently the Alternia Police Department can’t even afford a can of WD-40. Two officers walk in. You recognize them from your various interactions with the police in the past few years--Sergeants Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor. Sergeant Pyrope pulls up a chair and sits down at the table across from you, lacing her fingers together. You can’t read her expression through her opaque red glasses. You’ve heard that she’s blind, but she seems to stare right through you.

“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”

“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”

“Is that so,” Terezi says.

You nod.

“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”

“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”

The silence that breaks out is painful. You run a hand through your hair, quietly wondering if your hat is okay, wherever they’ve taken it. Why the hell did they take your hat? What sort of monsters would mess with a man’s hat? This sort of shit is why you could never cut it as a cop.

“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you.

“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.

“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”

“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”

“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.

You wilt under their stares.

“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”

“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin.

“N--no,” you admit.

Sergeant Captor hands Pyrope the file, and she makes a show of flipping through it. It’s a pointless gesture since you know damn well she can’t read it. You try to look at what’s written on the pages, but she pulls the file away so she can give it a good long sniff. You slump over, leaning your arms on the table, thinking about how fucked you are, and what you’re going to do to Slick to get back at him for this. They’ll put you away for ages for this, you just know it. The APD have never been fans of yours, and you’re sure they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to put you away.

You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.

“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”

“You--you what?!”

“Well, the thusthpect is thtill on the looth,” Captor explains, and you wonder if you punch him hard enough if he’ll stop with that goddamn lisp. “We had to check and thee if there were any clueth ath to hith whereaboutth.”

“And what did you find, huh?” You’re raging mad now, and you aren’t bothering to hide it. “A whole bunch of jack shit. Or are you going to charge me with possession of a deadly writing implement or something?”

The two of them stare at you for a moment, and then Pyrope pulls a photo from her jacket. She places it in front of you. It shows your evidence wall, a large corkboard you’ve set up in your office to collect clues in the murder you’re investigating.

“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”

Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.

“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”

“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”

You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”

“We know Kingpin was behind it,” Pyrope says, and her voice is uncharacteristically devoid of humor. “Like he’s behind every other high-profile murder in this city. I’m sick of him making a mockery of this force.”

“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”

She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”

You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.

“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”

You laugh.

You can’t believe they’re actually coming to you for help. How many times have they impeded your investigations? How many times have they told you to buzz off, leave this to the real cops? How many times have they told judges not to accept your evidence, or straight up confiscated your evidence and claimed they found it themselves? And now they want you to help them?

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”

“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.

“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”

She does sorta have you, there.

---

You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.

“Thith whole thing ith completely off the record,” Captor tells you as he closes the door behind him. “Honethtly, I think it’th dumb ath hell, but at leatht if you get into trouble, nobody’ll blame uth.”

“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.

“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”

“I’d really prefer we skipped that part,” you say, fixing your hair and trying to find just that right angle at which to wear your hat. “I don’t need no cops following me everywhere. It’ll slow me down.”

“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.

The door opens and a short troll walks over, hands shoved in his pockets. He isn’t wearing a uniform, save for a badge he has hanging on a lanyard over a ratty red hoodie. He approaches you and Captor, then squints at you.

“I know you,” he says.

“I get around,” you reply.

“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”

“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”

Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.

You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”

“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”

You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”

“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.

“Yeah.” He sniffs, and looks you over in more detail. “I don’t think I’m the only one they’re gonna hand you. I know for sure they said they’re putting my partner, Nepeta, on this case too.”

You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”

He asks for your phone, and you exchange numbers. You then tell him to find something else to do with his day, because you’re going home and going the fuck to bed. This investigation can wait until tomorrow.

---

It’s well after 8am by the time you get home, and all you want to do is sleep for ten years. Pickle and Ace will bitch about you not being at the office, but you can’t bring yourself to care. They’re already going to bitch when they hear about this new arrangement, so what’s a little more?

Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.

You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him.

“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”

“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”

“Fuck no. Who do y’ think y’ are, my Crew?” He moves his mug of coffee from the counter to the kitchen table, and then sits down across from you. “So who’d y’ call. Th’ stickbug? Did ‘e hafta give up his booze fund for th’ month?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”

There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.

“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”

“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”

“Bullshit!” The knife presses harder against your neck, and you feel blood beading along the blade. “Th’ APD don’ jus’ let people go, ‘specially not when they been with me. Th’ fuck did you do?”

“They hired me.”

He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.

You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”

He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”

“Yeah, Slick,” you say, sipping the coffee. You’re not surprised that it tastes like shit. Slick probably isn’t used to brewing his own. That’s what he has lackeys for. “It’s exactly what you need. You want Kingpin outta th’ way? Jus’ let me ‘n the cops handle it.”

“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.

“‘Scuse you.” You put the mug down. “‘M sorry, but did you know th’ stiff we found last week? No. Fuck no, y’ didn’t, ‘cause he was th’ law, ‘n he was my fuckin’ friend, not yours. Kingpin’s mine. He owns this fuckin’ apartment, my fuckin’ office, he’s got me by th’ balls without even tryin’ ‘n he murdered th’ DA ‘n none’f that’s got anythin’ t’ do with you.”

Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down.

“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”

“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”

He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

You know he’ll be back. Partly because you know he can’t resist making your life miserable--the two of you have been caught up in your fucked up little dance for too long, and he’s not about to give that up--but also partly because you know he can’t take down Kingpin on his own. He’s tried for months to do things his way, to just murder his rival crime boss, but Kingpin is careful, and he’s elusive. In the end, the best way to go about bringing him down is to turn the city against him, to get the law on your side. If you can get an arrest warrant on him you can have the whole of the city’s resources helping you track him down. You could freeze his assets, plaster his face on every bulletin board in town. You’ll leave him no place to hide.

You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.

The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.

Chapter Two

> Be Pickle Inspector.

You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.

Nepeta Leijon is a new hire at the APD. She, and her friend Karkat, used to be common criminals. Pickpockets, for the most part, although you remember seeing a few other items on their rap sheet. You’d encountered them once or twice. Never up close--their crimes were never complicated enough to necessitate your intervention--but they’d show up sometimes as witnesses.

Uncooperative witnesses.

You were aware of their being hired. Something about the APD seeing them as valuable assets for undercover investigations. You see the logic, but you’ve never been a fan of undercover operations. You stand out too much. You’re too tall, too gaunt, too recognizable. Your preferred method has always been surveillance. You set up cameras and wiretaps all over the city, in all the seedier bars and meeting spaces. Nothing escapes your omniscient ogle.

Nothing except Kingpin. He’s careful. He doesn’t discuss anything important on the phone, least of all the phones in any of his businesses. You can’t figure out where he lives or where he holds any of his most secret of meetings. Even if you could, he always has too many guards patrolling his places, making it impossible for you to sneak in and plant anything.

It was infuriating before, but now with the death of the DA it’s got you on the end of your rope. And now they want you to babysit this rookie cop? How the hell are you supposed to get anything done?

You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days.

You have a solution to this problem, though. Well, not to the Sleuth-Slick problem, there’s no solving that, but the Nepeta problem was easy: let her work on transcribing your recordings so the two of you can finish them twice as fast. It leaves you with just enough free time to make tea and doodle in the margins of your notes.

You’re halfway through a wonderful drawing of a horse wearing a bonnet when your phone rings. You have specific ringtones for every person who calls you often enough, and you put your head in your hands when you hear this one. Nepeta notices, and watches you as you sigh and answer the phone.

“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.

“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.

“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”

“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”

He hangs up. You put your phone down, put your head on your desk, and groan loudly. Why is this your life? All you wanted to do today was transcribe audio logs and not interact with anybody. You even packed a lunch so you wouldn’t have to go out and talk to any fast food workers.

Without your realizing it, Nepeta has picked up your phone and unlocked it. You make a mental note to change the passkey and not let her see you input it next time. “Diamonds Dickhead?” She makes an exaggeratedly surprised face, and puts your phone back on the desk. “Is that who I think it is?”

You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”

“Oh! Let me get my coat.”

“No.” You grab your own coat, put it on, and start buttoning it. You make a deliberate effort to put the buttons in the right holes, and you’re secretly glad you haven’t had much to drink yet today. “S--stay here and, and keep transcribing.”

“I’m paws-itively sure that’s super important,” she says, putting extra emphasis on her pun. You’ve noticed that she likes cat puns. In less infuriating circumstances, you’d think it was cute. “But I’m not here to help you so much as to watch you.”

You smooth your hair out and put your hat on. “That’s a terrible idea. N-no, you should just stay here, and not tell a soul I went out. U--unless I don’t come back. Then tell Sleuth. Understood?”

She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”

Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.

---

34th street is where his tailor is, so Diamonds Droog didn’t have to go out of his way to meet you. It is also clear on the other side of town relative to your office, so you had to go especially out of your way to meet him.

This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.

He’s waiting for you on a street bench outside his tailor’s, smoking one of his expensive cigarettes. You approach him, but don’t look at him directly. You stand behind the bench, facing away from him, pretending to read a bulletin board. Nepeta follows along, but she sneaks a few glances at Droog when she thinks you aren’t looking.

He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”

“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.

“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”

“Oh, no. I steal that all from m-my boss. You see, he has a wealthy patron with a vested interest in, in keeping him too drunk to make good decisions.” You lean back onto the bench, crossing your arms. “I’m s-sure you don’t know anything about that.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”

“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”

“I can, yeah,” she says.

“A--are you going to?”

She shakes her head.

“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”

He pauses and takes another drag from his cigarette. He taps some ash out on the ground, then reaches into his jacket pocket. You have just enough time to hope that he isn’t pulling out a weapon with which to kill the witness you’ve brought along, before he pulls out a couple of photographs. He passes them to you. They all depict various old-looking artifacts. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of these in the museum.

“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”

“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”

“Absolutely.”

You scrutinize the photos further, and notice that all the artifacts share a theme. Every one of them either depicts a horrorterror, or symbols associated with said terrors. “This, um. It looks like your sort of thing.”

“Hardly,” he says. “The four of us get our magic from the Terrors, but we don’t need trinkets like this to channel Their powers. They give it to us freely.” He illustrates this by producing a small purple flame in his hand. “Kingpin, though. He’s Prospitian, like you. He doesn’t have the connection to the Terrors that we Dersites have.”

You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”

“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”

You wonder whether it would be possible for a Prospitian to make a pact with the dark gods. You’re almost tempted to let Kingpin try, just to get an answer. It’s not your best idea. If nothing else, these robberies give you one more thread you can follow in your attempts to get any charge at all to stick to him.

“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”

“As usual,” he says, before standing up.

He smooths out his suit, throws his cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with his heel. Without once looking at you, he strolls away. Nepeta waits until he’s out of earshot before she says, “You know, Mister Detective, you don’t act much like a detective.”

“H--how’s that?”

“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”

You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”

“Pickle Inspector’s okay for a spy name,” she says. You start walking, and she follows you. She has to trot a little to match your walking stride. “Spies don’t put ‘spy’ right in the name! It’s too conspicuous.”

You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”

“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”

“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.

“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”

“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”

She giggles, and you don’t like the knowing look she gives you. You reach into your jacket, produce a flask, and take a long gulp. It doesn’t help your mood any. It just reminds you of the last time Droog caught you drinking in the middle of the day, and had the audacity to call you “pathetic”, as if lots of people don’t drink before noon on a weekday.

She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.

“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.

“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”

“Who?”

She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”

“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.

“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”

You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.

“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.

After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.

Chapter three.

> Be Ace Dick.

Once upon a time, you were a police detective. You like to give Sleuth shit over his lack of occupational experience, but he seems to think that his two weeks of police academy are all he could need. For someone who brags about his charisma, he really doesn’t understand the importance of making connections.

You haven’t been working on the Kingpin case with Sleuth and Pickles. You think they’re out of their league. Kingpin’s ruled this city since Sleuth and Pickles were still in grade school, they didn’t stand a chance. So while they ran around on their fool’s errand, you were out hitting the pavement, solving more sensible cases and keeping the agency afloat. Sergeant Pyrope was a rookie when you left the force, but she remembers you. Whenever you have a case that requires some APD know-how, you hit her up. There’s a little diner next door to the station that’s popular with the coppers, and that’s where she meets you to give you the low-down on some two-bit drug dealer who skipped out on a debt.

You buy her a second coffee once she’s said her piece and you’ve finished writing it all down. Then you tuck your notepad back into your coat pocket and say, “So I heard y’ gave Sleuth a job.”

She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”

You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”

“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.

“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”

She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”

“He damn well will, because I’m goin’ to tell him to,” you say, jabbing a finger at her. She can’t see the gesture but she usually can tell that you’re doing one. You’re not sure if she hears the movement or somehow smells it. You don’t know how her weird sense of smell works. “We got rent to pay, missy. If he’s runnin’ around chasin’ Kingpin he isn’t doing other cases.”

“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”

Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”

“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”

“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.

Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”

“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”

“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”

“That’s a lie,” Vriska says, taking Terezi’s coffee and putting it in front of herself. “She started writing fanfiction about those counterfeiters on seventieth street. I’m going to try and convince her to submit it as evidence.”

“While that is hilarious, don’t. The Captain doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Terezi takes her coffee back and chugs down the remainder before Vriska can make another attempt. She coughs.

“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”

“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”

“Might be.”

“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.

“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.

She throws her arms up in the air. “The only interesting crimes are the mob ones! All the regular crimes are just dumb shit, there’s usually a witness or a camera or something, there’s no challenge!”

“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.

“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”

“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.

She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”

Vriska slaps the table. “You think you’re kidding around but I’d love having that guy work for me! He’ll do all the tedious boring shit so I have more time to pound pavement and beat in faces.”

“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”

She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”

“Tell Sleuth if he gets evicted I just got a washing machine and he might fit in the box if he gets on all fours!” Vriska calls as you leave the diner. You hear the two girls snickering behind you.

They laugh, but you know the APD’s pay is shit. You do much better for yourself working as a private dick. The lack of benefits are a kick in the nuts, but at least you don’t have to deal with all the paperwork and politics, and every now and then you got a client who paid you a ridiculous sum for some dumbass thing. Sleuth could do as well as you. He’s certainly got the sleuthing skills for it. He just keeps wasting his time worrying too much about justice and too little about the real world.

You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.

#problem sleuth #midnight crew #trollcops #mspa #homestuck #writing #fanfiction #unfinished

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marshmallowgoop · 5 years

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I know I’m mostly known now for meta and GIFs, but back in the day, I used to really love to draw?

Of course, despite my high school sculpture teacher’s note of, “Oh, this is what you’re good at” upon seeing me draw, my skills in that whole visual art area have always been super limited. But drawing was one of my favorite hobbies for a time. Believe it or not, there was a point when fanart was my biggest contribution to fandom!

Anywho, I’ve been looking through old stuff again because I just had to transfer thousands of files to my new computer, and I got this ancient folder called “Sketchbook” that contains all these bad cellphone photos of just a small handful of stuff from my sketchbooks:

And I got reminded that I used to adore Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. It was hands down my favorite piece of literature that I ever read for school, the 1996 Trevor Nunn film adaptation was totally my jam, and I even wrote this big fantasy AU of the play for one of my NaNoWriMo novels.

And I drew stuff for that AU! Just a little, really, but looking back has brought on a whole flood of memories.

Like, here’s a dood I did of the protagonist, Viola:

(It’s titled, “viola just borrowed that dress,” which I take to mean that she totally stole it.)

And here’s Orsino, being dramatic as always:

Orsino: Oh! The torment never leaves a man!

And, I mean. Seeing this again just brought a smile to my face. I dunno what it says about me, but I loved writing this guy. One of his introduction scenes had him like, in his underwear, surrounded by unicorns, saying his classic line: “If music be the food of love, play on....” I mostly left out the Shakespearean language in my adaptation of the story, but that kinda talk just sorta works for Orsino, lol. He’s so over-the-top.

I also drew out a moment between Olivia and Cesario from my book:

Olivia: But enough talking about him...

(And Viola is definitely thinking, “Oh no she’s hot but I’m supposed to be Doing This Thing for Orsino!”)

And I even made this super silly comic for a moment between Viola and Orsino:

Viola: I... I...

Orsino: Y-you...

I called it, “People Being Over-dramatic: The Comic!”

Sadly, I never drew anyone else, which is probably especially sad in the cases of Sebastian and Antonio because my book is actually told from the perspectives of only Viola and Antonio, and the relationship between Viola and Sebastian is really the heart of the story. But I suppose Sebastian would look just about identical to Cesario, haha.

In any case, Twelfth Night is such an underrated Shakespeare play and deserves more love. If there’s anything I really want an animated adaptation or some sort of modern reboot of, it’s this. It’s sweet, it’s funny, it’s got explorations of gender identity and everyone’s gay, and even if I have some Opinions about how the love triangle gets resolved, it’s still got one of the best love triangles in all of fiction.

Like, it’s the kind of love triangle that makes you forget why you normally hate love triangles.

My AU of the story is kind of problematic in retrospect, and it’s definitely a total hot mess that needs a lot of fixing, but, gosh. The source material is so good. Seeing all this old stuff I did for it makes me wanna write and draw from this universe again.

One of these days....

#twelfth night #long post #ramblings #shut up goop #goop draws #haven't used that tag in a hot minute lol #anyway i'm so mixed up that i thought yesterday was tuesday for a bit and no matter where you are in the world yesterday was not tuesday #buuut it's still #throwback thursday #in hawaii so #here's some throwback to when i drew stuff and was more creative #i kind of realized at work today that i'm so much less creative these days than i used to be 'cause as you get older you're just #kinda taught to be embarrassed by everything and conditioned to be super afraid of your ideas sucking #and maybe that's why i don't really draw or write creatively anymore and that's so sad....#so here i am embarrassing y'all with my old bad fanart for shakespeare because what the heck i like it!

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writingthingsisdifficult · 7 years

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Flying high - The teaspoon girl pt 7

A witch turns Y/N into a teaspoon sized woman, and Sam and Dean has to make sure she doesn’t get squashed – and find a cure.

Word count: 3340

I’m sorry this part has taken so long. Unforeseen stuff happened (1,5 weeks in hospital among other things), but hopefully you’ll forgive me the delay.

This is the last part of this series. Hope you have enjoyed it. If you have, please let me know: I love hearing from you guys. Also let me know if you want on – or off – my tag list.

From part six:

“It’s too heavy. You won’t be able to carry it back to the window.”

She thought for a bit, then tugged on the string in the hood. “Tie this around me. That way you can pull me back.”

“That’s… actually a great idea,” Sam agreed, offering his thumb up for a high five. “You’re a genius!”

She blushed, but puffed up, taking every bit of praise from Sam to heart, feeling bigger than she had in ages.

They needed two attempts before the folder cooperated, but finally Y/N managed to get a good enough grip on the slippery paper, clinging to it with both arms and feet as Sam pulled her back to the window.

As Dean flipped through the information, tutting and shaking his head, Sam lifted Y/N up so she was level with his face. “Seriously,” he said with an adorable smile, “we couldn’t have done this without you.” He leaned forward and touched his nose to her head. “This will give us just enough time to get everything done before we have to hide again.”

“Nah, it was nothing,” Y/N said, but the smile on her face never faltered. The feeling of being needed expanded in her chest.

“Um, guys…?” Dean interrupted, pointing to the road. A set of bright headlights moved slowly in their direction. “Time to make ourselves scarce.”

Sam dropped Y/N into his pocket, and Dean picked up a piece of paper that had fallen to the ground, and they made their way quickly, but silently, back to the car.

Almost back to the motel, Sam put his hand over the pocket, pinning Y/N to his chest. “Sit still, please. It tickles when you move around like that.”

“What? I’m not moving.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing… it tickles,” he said, letting her go.

Frowning, Y/N folded her arms across her chest and slid down to the bottom of the pocket. “Sorry. I’ll just not do what I wasn’t doing. Or you could just let me up on your shoulder.”

She would never get over that weird, slightly scary feeling of having a huge hand loom over her and block the light before picking her up and lifting her through the air like a swing – even if that hand belonged to Sam Winchester, and she knew it would never intentionally hurt her. But she had never been one for rollercoasters and amusement parks, and that dip in her stomach always made her slightly queasy. And she really didn’t wanna throw up in Sam’s hair.

But once on his shoulder, the nausea disappeared, and she enjoyed the feeling of freedom. And the warmth from Sam’s skin, and his intoxicating scent, of course – she alive and breathing after all.

Back at the motel, Sam put her down on the table, and picked up the folder they’d so kindly relieved the police of. As he paced back and forth to get rid of the nervous energy in his legs, he flicked through the report. “Jeez,” he sighed. They could at least use good pictures. And… Have you seen this, Dean? This isn’t even… ‘…with psychopathic tendencies…’ Who wrote this? Oh… at least they got something right: ‘highly intelligent, and dangerous’…” Sam burst out laughing. “You think they have a template where they just fill in key words?”

Dean didn’t really listen to his brother’s outburst. He was more interested in what was going on on the table. “Hey, Sammy, will you shut up for just a second?” Sam’s mouth remained open, like he was about to give his brother a lethal rant, but before he could even think of a fitting insult, Dean continued: “Take a look at this.”

Four eyes were locked on Y/N, who huffed and threw her arms out to the side. “What?”

Dean didn’t answer her. Instead, he picked her up and weighed her in his hand before passing her to Sam, who blinked and bounced her up and down. “Huh…”

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” Y/N clung to Sam’s thumb as he sat her back down.

“Um,” Dean hummed, struggling to find the right words. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Y/N, but you feel heavier. I mean; you probably only weigh an ounce and a half right now, but I’m pretty sure you weighed closer to one this morning.”

Sam nodded. “You know, I think you’re growing. Look, yeah, you can reach to the top of the fake plant now if you stretch.”

Her eyes sparkled with the thought. “Really?”

“Really,” Sam beamed at her.

“It’s definitely going in the right direction. But it’s going slow,” Dean added.

Y/N’s shoulders slumped forward. Sitting down on the table with her legs crossed, she sighed. She was so tired of being small, of being useless.

“Shit, no, no, no, no… You’re shrinking again. Look, Dean!” Sam put his hand on her shoulders as if that would stop the process, pulling her to her feet in one swift motion.

“Great! I can’t even grow properly!” Y/N’s voice was flat and weary, and she rubbed her eyes with long, slow movements.

In a whirlwind of arms and legs and swears, Sam gathered his laptop and the bowl, and threw on a clean flannel.

Dean and Y/N followed him with their eyes. “Hey, where are you going?”

“The internet café. There’s no fucking signal here.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Dean, now. We solved the case, and now it’s time to focus on her,” he said, pointing in Y/N’s general direction. “She’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”

“Here,” Dean nodded, tossing the car keys to Sam and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

“Drive carefully,” Y/N added with a small wave of her hand, sinking back down on the table, hiding her head in her hands.

When Dean came back, almost an hour later with steam billowing through the bathroom door, she’d had more than enough time to sink deep down into the darkest corner of her brain. “Look at me,” she muttered, not particularly caring to hide her misery. “I’m useless. Only thing I’m good for is a quick snack for the diner cat.”

“Hey now, that’s not true,” Dean said, surprising her with the tenderness in his voice. “You’re the reason we got our hands on that report, remember? If we hadn’t, we’d be so screwed now. The authorities –“ he spat the word as if it tasted vile “– would be on our tail, or at the very least, the sheriff would’ve noticed us. And I’m not in the mood to punch his greasy face, though,” he added with a wink, “he deserves it. He was an asshole.”

A small smile spread from Y/N’s eyes, and she nodded slowly. “You’re right. But still, I’m not much use like this. Gah! I just wanna be me again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful for all you help, I really am, but it does something to a girl having to be dependent on someone even for the most trivial stuff. Like… like getting out of the goddamn bed!”

“I know, I know,” Dean replied. “It sucks. But we’re working on it. Sam’s easily the smartest person in this town. He’ll figure it out. We just gotta make the best of things until then.”

As if on cue, Dean’s phone rang. “Talk to me,” he said, holding the phone with his shoulder while he opened a new beer. “Wait, hold on. Lemme put you on speaker. Bet Y/N wanna hear too.” He put the phone down on the table.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Hey, Y/N. It was a challenge, but I managed to translate the writing, the spell – I think.”

Dean pulled up a photo of the cracked bowl on his laptop and squinted at the pattern around the edge. “I swear, he’s like the biggest nerd out there,” he whispered with a scrunchy smile. Y/N giggled silently.

“What?” Sam asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Nothing. Go on.”

Y/N could picture the perfect bitchface Sam must have given his phone, because his voice was short and hard when he spoke again. “Right. The first two symbols are just for strengthening purposes. To make sure the spell sticks, I mean. And the rest… Well, it’s not perfect,” he said, his voice becoming more and more apologetic. “The language is formal and stilted, but I think I get the gist of it.”

In the background they heard the sound of papers rustling and a pen scratching over a hard surface. “This is what’s written on the bowl. Kinda hard to copy because of the chipped paint and crack from where it hit the floor, but…”

“Yeah, yeah. What does it say?”

“Right, so… this is what I’ve come up with: The beginning says you who receive – or it could be steal, no, I’m pretty sure it’s receive this blessing – or it could be curse, apparently they used the same word just with different pronunciations, will stay in your mind’s- brain?, not sure about that one, dimensions. That last word could be an abbreviation, and in that case it’s about making sunflowers grow…”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Y/N said with a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes at all.

“…so I doubt it is,” Sam continued, too excited to pay attention. “But get this: I did a bit of digging and found a similar line in a novelty spell from the 70’s.”

Dean growled. “Goddamn hippies!”

“Yeah. So it’s a growth spell – or more specific: a shrinking spell. That much we knew, right? Says here on the website that the effects last until the receiver has grown back to his or her original size.”

“Great! How do we do that?”

“Don’t say.”

“What?” Dean turned towards the miserable outburst from Y/N. “So I’m stuck like this?”

“For now. But we’ll find a cure. I promise.”

“Jesus!” Dean sighed, shaking his head tiredly. “See? This is why I can’t stand witches. At least with a werewolf you know it wants to eat you.”

Sam agreed. “Uh-huh, but now we know what we’re dealing with, sorta. But listen… I’ve copied down as much as I could, we can go over it again when I get back. Three heads think better than one.”

“Sure,” Y/N groaned. “I guess.”

“Hey, Sammy? Pick up some food on the way back, will ya? I’m starving.”

Sam chuckled. “Always thinking with your stomach, huh? Yeah, I’ll see what I can find. The diner’s closed I think, but maybe there’s a Domino’s or something.”

With the promise of something to fill his growling belly, Dean plopped down on his bed and switched on the TV. Y/N decided to smarten up a bit before dinner.

About ten minutes later, though, she was in trouble. “Uh… Dean, can you help me please?” There was almost no power in her voice, and the fact that she was stuck in a Barbie dress didn’t make things easier. With every wriggle, the velcro ate a little more of her hair, and it was beginning to get painful.

She tried one last time: bent her neck even more, the awkward angle starting to sting seriously. “Hey, Dean,” she said again, with more force this time. Still no reaction. Was she really that invisible? “Yo! Dean! A little help here? Before I choke to death in a frilly dress!” she bellowed, breathing hard to keep the volume up.

Dean whipped around, knocking his silver knife off the bedside table, worry in his eyes and a half-chewed pen still in his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Y/N! What happened?” he muttered, hurrying over to help her.

“Got stuck is what happened,” she replied, combing through her hair once he’d untangled her from the dress.

“I can see that,” he chuckled. “You said you’d rather be dead than be seen in that dress, if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to dress up a little.” Pouting, she pulled the dress on properly, and motioned for Dean to close the velcro. “It’s nice to… I don’t now, feel pretty sometimes, you know.”

Dean stared at her. “Okay, who you tryin’ to impress? I know for a fact it ain’t me. Only one who isn’t here is Sammy, so…”

Willing the heat away from her face and failing spectacularly, Y/N stuck her tongue out. “Shut up!”

“Oh ho!” He grinned so widely his cheeks threatened to split, voice filled with glee, and he gave her a cheeky look. “It suits you. The dress. But you know you don’t have to dress up for Sammy to like you, right? He’s pretty much doomed already.”

“ ‘m not doing it for him,” she protested, but the butterflies in her belly told her otherwise. And Dean’s statement, however fake it might have been, made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, like she was floating on air.

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaimed, any humour instantly gone from his voice.

“What?” The elation deflated, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable.

“You just… I mean, maybe this is… Gotta go double check.” He returned tot the table and sifted through the notes Sam had left behind, muttering to himself. “Phone… Where did I put… Sam’s gonna go ballistic… So obvious! Come on! Where…”

Y/N ignored the rest of his muttering. It made no sense anyway. Instead she swirled in front of the hand mirror she’d convinced them to put up. Dean was right. The dress was a bit too big, but it suited her.

“You’re adorable,” Dean said, keeping his distance so he wouldn’t get hurt.

“So you’ve said…” Y/N replied with a lopsided smile. She was surprised she didn’t mind him saying so as much as before. Maybe it was the promise of a cure looming on the horizon, or maybe it was the feeling of the frilly dress swishing around her ankles, but she felt good.

“It’s true,” Dean continued, daring a few steps closer so he could sit down. “And Sam is crazy about you – uh, he’s probably gonna kill me for saying it – I mean it,” he added in response to the sceptical look she gave him. “Hell, even I would give it a go if you weren’t so damn annoying all the time.” Dean winked and leaned back just as Sam came back with two large pizza boxes.

“You’re not helping, Dean,” Y/N replied with a sad huff. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but lying like that…”

“What’s he lying about now?” Sam asked over his shoulder, fetching napkins and something to drink.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Not lying,” he said indignantly.

Y/N became a mosaic of pink splotches, and her skin burned like she’d been dipped in chilli powder. “Uh… he was just trying to make me feel better about this whole situation,” she began, stuffing a tiny piece of pepperoni in her mouth to delay the inevitable humiliation. “By kinda *munch* implying that you *munch* uh, arecrazyaboutme.” She finished silently and as fast as she could get the words out of her mouth, and took a long drink to hide her embarrassment and disappointment; despite her best efforts, what Dean said kindled a small flicker of hope in her, decimating her hard work at keeping her own feelings under wraps.

“Not implying anything. Also: not lying,” Dean repeated, stuffing his face with pizza.

Sam sat completely still for about three whole seconds before carefully putting down his slice and wiping his hands clean. His mouth twitched, and his skin was becomingly pink, and the look he gave his brother contained both daggers and poison.

“My brother is an excellent liar,” he said, silently communicating a I’m gonna kill you later to Dean, “but on this occasion he told you the truth. I am very… you mean so much to me. However,” he added with an apologetic smile before returning with another hard glare at Dean, “this was not the way I wanted you to find out.”

Dean just grinned and nodded sideways at Y/N, clearly wanting Sam to notice, but he didn’t. He was too preoccupied with gnawing on his thumb and looking anywhere but at her.

With a wave of his hand, Dean stopped Sam. “Say it again.”

“What? That you’re a liar and– ?”

“No, no, the… the other one.”

The rosy pink spread further over Sam’s face and down his neck. “Um… That Y/N is –“

“No, not to me, you dumbass. Say it to her.”

Y/N looked between the two of them, understanding next to nothing, and liking it even less.

Sam looked like he was about to die of embarrassment. “Christ! Um… Y/N… I really… REALLY like you, and I wanted to, um… Holy shit!” he interrupted himself, gaping at her.

Y/N was growing. Slowly at first, but with every word Sam uttered, she gained a little height. Soon she had grown three inches and the dress she was wearing was starting to split in the seam.

“Here.” Sam offered his flannel shirt, placing it gently around her tiny shoulders, almost drowning her in soft plaid. “That dress was cute on you, but I think it’s a bit small now,” he said with a wink.

Excitement coursed through Y/N. Sam was flirting with her – actually flirting, and she was growing, feeling more and more like her old self again. It was a high that kept her floating on clouds. Right now she could take anything the world could throw at her.

Growing bolder, Y/N scooted to the edge of the table and put her hand on Sam’s. “Things don’t always happen according to plan, you know. Maybe we should thank Dean – I had planned on pining after you for the rest of my life, because how could you possibly have feelings for someone like me?”

“How could I not?” he replied, ignoring Dean’s irritating and exciting coos. “You’re brilliant. You’re smarter than me, and Dean (Hey, speak for yourself!), I love talking with you. Whenever you start on a topic you’re excited about it’s like you’re bubbling: always bouncing up and down and waving your arms around. It’s adorable. No one has taught me more stuff than you have. And you’re funny as hell. How many crappy motel nights disappeared into fits of laughter? And your laughter sets fire to my soul. You keep me above the water, Y/N.”

As he spoke again, she grew faster and faster, beaming from his praise, and savouring the butterflies in her chest.

“Be careful so she doesn’t outgrow her size,” Dean muttered with a bright smile, but nobody listened to him.

Sam shook his head gently. “You challenge me and make me laugh, and you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I wish you could see yourself the way I do. Don’t think I haven’t noticed when you stand in front of the mirror and criticise every inch of yourself. Please stop doing that! It breaks my heart, seeing you so insecure. But now… Not a day will pass without telling you how much you mean to me, and I hope you will listen. Listen and believe it. I can’t lie to you, and you know it.”

When finally stopped talking, Y/N looked up. Her eyes were shining brightly, and she gave him a sly smile, jumping down from the table, quickly buttoning her shirt. She bent down closer to him. The heat from his skin caressed hers, and she exhaled slowly as he came even closer. In her chest her heart beat so hard she could hear it clearly.

“Ew!” Dean exclaimed, blowing a raspberry and getting to his feet, grabbing a slice of pizza. “I definitely didn’t think this through. You’re gonna get all lovey and gross now, aren’t you? I’m gonna go hide in the bathroom until it’s over. Come get me when it’s safe.”

Sighing, Sam leaned back in his chair. “Way to go, Dean. You’re gonna pay for that,” he added menacingly before pulling Y/N down on his lap and putting his arms around her. He couldn’t resist burying his face in her hair like he’d dreamed about so many times. “Let’s just eat the pizza while it’s still warm-ish. And then you can go book a room for yourself. I don’t want you here to interrupt anything else.”

Dean faked a look of disgust, making Y/N giggle loudly, and just to be evil, she left a trail of feathery kisses down Sam’s neck. “Yeah, Dean. Get your own room. But first: where’s that beer you promised me?”

Tagging my wonderful friends:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @blackcherrywhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @aiaranradnay @iamreadinginsecret @barneybrigade @fandomismyspiritanimal @mogaruke @kathaswings @superwholockyooooo @missdestiel67 @blackfandomtrashandproud @wstrumpel @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @saradiamayaf @escabell @exploratiionist @hennessy0274-blog @sushi-senpai-chan @femmewinchester @tardis-is-mine @badasssweetsrebel @sama1314 @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @megasimpleplan4ever

#sam x reader #reader insert #supernatural fan fiction #fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester #the teaspoon girl part 7 #flying high #fluff #love #spn #writing is hard

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

Text

our broken white rose ⇾ camren

“Mommy? Why are you crying again?” Stuffing the photo in my hand under my pillow, I ran my hands over my face before looking over at the entryway of my bedroom.

Lana’s confused blue eyes gazed at me as she took a few hesitant steps into my room. “I’m not crying…” I paused. “My eyes are just sweating.”

The dirty blonde’s nose crinkled as she giggled to herself, walking further into my room and towards my bed. “Your eyes can’t sweat silly. Eye balls don’t sweat.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, swinging my legs off the bed and picking my daughter up. “Well, mine do. Maybe I’m just weird, eh?”

“Very weird mommy.”

We sat in silence, Lana’s hand playing with the chain on my necklace. I decided to ask some questions. I had to know the answer to these, especially with the possibility of Camila coming home. “Do you remember anything about Mamá?” I asked softly.

Lana’s hand stilled for a moment before she shrugged. “No. Only what you tell Lulu and me.”

I nodded slowly, trying to formulate my next sentence. “What if Mamá came home one day?”

Lana looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You said she was in the clouds with God and your abuela.”

“Yeah, but what if one day he decided to let her come home. How would you feel?”

“You can’t die and come back to life mommy. Only superheroes can do that,” Lana looked at me as if I were dumb, her head tilted to the side as her eyes squinted slightly.

“I know, but let’s pretend Mamá was a superhero and her superpower was coming back to life, how would you feel?”

Lana paused to think, her hand going back to toying with the necklace on my neck. She then sighed loudly. “I’d be sad. Because if she had superpowers that let her come back to life, why did she leave Lulu and me? Why did she never come back? She always made you cry at night Mommy. That’s why auntie DJ, Mani and Ally left too. If Mamá came back, I’d be mad at her for not coming home sooner.”

My heart throbbed in my chest, feeling the tears swell up in my eyes once again. “Maybe she had a good reason baby…”

Lana let go of my necklace, wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her head on my shoulder. “There’s never a good reason to leave your family. That’s what you said to auntie Lucy when she didn’t talk to her mommy for a long time.”

Swallowing harshly, I nodded as I placed a kiss on my daughters forehead. “I guess you’re right.”

***

“Maybe bringing Camila home isn’t such a good idea,” I mumbled. It didn’t surprise me when all four women stared at me with wide eyes and looks of confusion.

“What the hell Lauren? Not only is she your wife–”

“She stopped being my wife the minute she was pronounced dead Mani… I’ve been free to remarry all these years,” I paused. “I just don’t want to hurt the girls. They barely know her.”

Tori scoffed. “And thats a good enough reason to let her continue getting hurt by a crazy psychopath? All this time you’ve been calling her your wife, why are you suddenly claiming that she isn’t?” The room fell silent. “Let me ask you something Lauren. If your daughters one day grow up and find out that there was a chance they could possibly see their mother again and start a relationship with her but you didn’t allow it to happen, do you think they’d ever forgive you? Not many people have a second chance at getting their parent back. Don’t ruin this for them just because you’re scared.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not scared. They’re just too young to understand what’s going on.”

“No, they’d understand perfectly. You’re just too stupid to give them a shot,” Dinah spoke.

I glared at her, my anger rising in the pit of my stomach. “Says the one who left them high and dry after their mother passed away because “it was too hard”. You have no room to speak Hansen.“

Ally threw her head back, letting out an annoyed grown. "Right now isn’t the time to argue. Yes, we messed up by leaving you and the girls and if I had a chance to go back in time and take that back, I would. Because I left one of my best friends to be a single parent after the death of her wife and that’ll always be wrong on my side. But we’re here, right now. Aren’t we? We’ve all come together to get the one person who was the glue that held us all together at one point. Camila means something to all of us. And I know you’re scared of what may happen if you bring her back this far into the girls’ life, but we have to take that leap of faith. Because right now, Mila needs us more than anything.”

I could feel the tears coming again but held it together. I’ve been doing way too much crying these days. I had to control my shit. “Where were we?”

Ally shot me a small smile before walking over to the stack of files that were basically the size of her. “These are all of Camila and Lola’s whereabouts in the last three years. On the top half, is basically Lola going to and from places such as grocery shopping and occasional doctors appointments. But one photo caught our eye,” Ally shared a look with Tori before handing me a Manila folder with an enlarged photo. Opening the folder, my heart stopped.

Lola and Lucy were seen entering a clinic with Janelle trailing behind them.

In that very moment, my heart sunk to my feet.

***

My leg bounced up and down as anxiety shot up and down my veins. I felt as if the air in the aircraft was being sucked out by a gigantic vacuum. I tried to still my breathing as I held onto the two sleeping girls on each side of me.

I couldn’t believe we were actually doing this. I couldn’t believe that I was actually doing this. I keep thinking I’m in a dream where I’m just going to wake up, take the girls to school and call up my best friend and ask if she can babysit while I pull an all nighter at the studio with some arrogant client.

But no, I’m forty-five thousand fucking feet in the air with my parents, Camila’s parents, Tori, my former bandmates, their families, and my little girls who think we’re going to Santa’s Workshop. And on top of all that, we basically have all the legal authorities in all of america leading the way. My heart wouldn’t stop racing even if someone pulled it out of my chest.

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take some deep breaths. I had to calm down. I couldn’t freak out. I knew this moment had to come the second I allowed myself to have hope again.

“Psst,” snapping out of my internal anxiety attack, I looked at the lounging chairs in front of me. Tori was waving me over silently.

I haven’t gotten the chance to have an actual sit down conversation with her since I accused her of pretty much fucking with my life. The more and more evidence we pieced together, the more I realized how much of a jackass I had been. But I couldn’t find it within myself to let my guard down and apologize.

My heartbeat sped up some more, if that were even humanly possible. I locked eyes for a few moments with the warm brown ones. Sighing softly to myself, I gently stood up, making sure that the girls didn’t wake up or worse, clash heads with one another. After situating them in a decent sleeping position, I slowly made my way over to Tori as she scooted over to make some room for me beside Dinah’s sleeping frame.

“Hey,” she smiled. I nodded in acknowledgement, feeling as my palms started to sweat. I had no idea why I was suddenly so nervous around her. Tori’s smile faded slightly before she turned to face me as best as she could. “How’re you holding up?”

I shrugged, picking at my chipped painted black nails. “Okay I guess. I mean, how well can someone "hold on” when they find out their previously dead wife is actually alive,“ I sighed, shaking my head. "Old harmonizers and Camilizers have been losing it all week. I feel like the only person who may have a harder time holding it together than myself is Sofi…” I trailed off as I looked over at the twenty-three year old who’d had her head buried between her folded up knees since we entered the jet.

Tori frowned, nodding. “I just find it so weird how I’ve known Karla all this time and couldn’t even figure this out sooner. She’s been away from her mom, dad and sister for over four years. Not to mention her kids and well… you,” Tori shook her head. “What kind of best friend am I?”

I scoffed. “I think you’re a pretty fucking awesome one. Despite our circumstances, I’m actually sorta, kinda glad Camila at least knew someone levelheaded over the last few years. I mean, without you, none of us would have known she was alive. And well… I just wanna say thanks for that.”

Tori smiled slightly at me before bowing her head down and tucking a strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s no problem.”

We sat in small comfortable silence before I decided to ask a question. “Have you managed to get in contact with your mom yet?”

Tori sighed loudly, looking down at her phone as she shook her head. “No unfortunately. I don’t think I should be worried but I’m a little scared. I’ve been gone for a week and she hasn’t replied to any of my calls or messages. She decided to stay back to make sure Karla is okay…”

I hesitated before bringing my hand to rest on top of her own which was toying with her phone. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

Flashing me a dimple filled smile, Tori nodded. “Hopefully.”

The entire plane ride, Tori and I caught up. Somewhere in there I had found it within me to slip in a short but meaningful apology to which she fully accepted. That’s something I loved about Tori. Even though I’ve done her dirty and been an absolute bitch to her, she still found it somewhere in her heart to understand and forgive. Camila picked a good one… thank god.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I asked the petite woman for the millionth time. She sighed before looking down at my girls, making sure they were distracted.

“I understand we came all the way here to get her but… I don’t think I want to join the hunt leading up to actually getting her back. I don’t think I have anymore strength left in me for that,” her tired brown eyes looked at me then back around at our surroundings before she sighed. “Besides, maybe these girls can help me get my mind off of somethings.”

I nodded in understanding, smiling softly at her. “Alright. You have my number, give me a call if they become too much to handle, alright?” Her brown locks bounced slightly as she nodded.

I turned to walk away but stopped when she grabbed my hand. “Oh and Lauren?” Raising an eyebrow, I waited for her to speak. “Please find her. I… I really need her right now,” her voice cracked slightly at the end but she held herself together.

“I’ll do my best Sofia. I promise.”

When receiving another nod at her, I bent down to kiss my daughters heads before heading out of the hotel lobby and towards the parking lot. We had landed over an hour ago but everyone decided that it was best to go and situate ourselves before continuing the possibly day long hunt for Camila. Tori had told us that staying in a hotel the next city over would have been best, that way Lucy, Janelle, or Lola wouldn’t suspect too much if they were still around. It was really a small city after all.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Lucy was in on this. For years… she pretended to be my shoulder to cry on. She pretended to act like she too missed Camila. But it never once crossed her mind to tell me the truth. My heart truly ached as I thought about it. It disgusted me that once upon a time, I use to be in love with her. I use to view her as my rock, my full on support, my everything. Now… I don’t think I’d recognize her even if she stood right in front of me.

My eyes watered as I got closer and closer to where my friends, my family, their family, and pretty much everyone stood but I kept it together as best as I could. As of now, I had to be strong for everyone. They were all looking to be to swoop in and save the mother of my children.

I locked eyes with Sinu as I approached. Her eyes were red and puffy from all the crying she’s done on the plane and leading up to this moment right now. If I had to choose in order by who was having it worse beside myself, Sinu and Sofi would be tied for number one. The mother and daughter duo had gone years thinking the oldest child was gone and never to return but now, everyone’s hope was hanging on a thin piece of string.

I sent a small comforting smile her way in which she returned. Alejandro stood supportively beside his wife, a large arm draped over her shoulder comfortingly.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” I asked, a small smile still lingering on my lips. Everyone sent a collective mumble of sure’s and not really’s but that was expected. This was a hard time for us all.

Before we started to head into our designated vehicles we had rented out, Tori’s phone went off. “It’s my mom! She may have some information.”

***

Tori watched as everyone stilled and looked towards her with hopeful eyes as she answered her phone. “Hello? Ma?”

“Well… I’m not anyone’s mother but I was gonna be at some point. What’s up Victoria?”

Tori’s face instantly fell at familiar cold voice. “Why do you have my moms phone Kristen?”

“Oh boo boo, drop the act Tori. You and I both know by now that you know my real name. I probably wouldn’t have your pathetic mothers phone if she had stayed in her fucking lane!” The harsh and bitterness that seeped through the phone scared Tori and was pretty sure that Normani and Ally who had been standing beside her could hear as Lola’s loud voice hissed through the small handheld device.

“Wh–”

“Hush hush sweetheart. "Ma’s” still talking. I know of your plan. Now, if I were some sort of dumb gullible bitch, I’d most likely be waiting to have my ass handcuffed and sent to jail–” Tori removed the phone from her ear as she set it on speaker, motioning for the swat team officer to come closer as she muted the line.

“Is there anyway we can get a location on her from this?”

“–but because I have a brain in this gorgeous head of mine, that won’t be happening. You see, everyone cares so much about getting Camila back home that no one thought to care if she really wanted to be saved? I mean, if she really did, she wouldn’t have drowned herself in our bathtub last night after I told her everything. I guess death sounded a lot better to her.”

Tori could almost feel the anger emanating from Lauren as the three beeps at the end of Lola’s ill-willed speech signaled the end of the phone call. Her heart thumped in her chest as everyone stayed silent for a moment before Dinah whispered brokenly, “This is all my fault.”

Another beat of silence passed before a teary-eyed Sinu glared up at the taller honey blonde haired woman. “You’re not wrong,” her voice shook with anger.

“Listen, I know everyone is upset but now isn’t the time to assign blame. Why don’t we stop making it about ourselves and more about Camila. For all we know, Lola may be lying to throw us off of her,” Dinah’s dad tried to reason. Sinu wasn’t having it though.

“That’s very easy for you to say, isn’t it? Has your daughter been missing from her children for the last four years?” She questioned, eyes squinting up at the large man who dared test her grief. “Has your daughter been missing from her wife and children? Has your daughter been held captive against her will for years while everyone thought she was dead?!” She yelled. When the man stood silence in shock at her sudden outburst, Sinu chuckled humorlessly before shifting her cold gaze toward Dinah, tilting her head to the side. The next words she said even burned Tori herself. “No. All she’s done was sit around, live a peaceful life, found herself someone who loves her and left my grandkids and their mother when they needed her most. It’s her fault that she met that crazy woman. It’s her fault that–”

“Hey!” Lauren yelled suddenly, voice cracking slightly as anger overwhelmed her. Tori flinched at the loud booming voice beside her as people at the hotel entrance turned to stare. Already having attention on them from the police cars surrounding their area, Lauren’s yelling wasn’t helping.

“I’m sick of this already and we just got here. Sinu,” Lauren said, turning towards the older woman. “Something you’re not getting is that everyone, here has been grieving. Everyone here cared and still cares for Camila. Quite frankly, you have no place to blame anyone. Because you haven’t even seen your own so-called grandkids in months and when you do, you hardly stay around. They barely recognized you. We’re here to find Camila. Not lash out unreasonably at someone who pretty much forced all of us into looking into this whole situation. So I suggest you chill the fuck down or stay here and get yourself together.”

***

My head was pounding as we drove past the unfamiliar streets, the police sirens from the squad cars escorting us upfront not helping the situation. After that argument in the hotel parking lot, everyone was on edge. We’ve barely spoken to each other, Sinu and Alejandro insisting on riding in separate cars away from everyone except for my parents.

Tori and I sat in one car alone as she typed away on her phone, trying to get in contact with someone to figure out her mothers whereabouts. Lola really had her shaken up. After figuring out that Lola somehow had her mothers phone, the safety of her mom truly concerned her.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly after a few minutes of contemplating how I should ask that question in my head.

Tori glanced up at me from her phone before shutting the device off and shrugging. “I don’t know. No one knows where she is Lo…”

My heart skipped a beat in my chest at the nickname. It reminded me so much of Camila. When I sated silent, she spoke up quickly. “Sorry about the nickname… I was just trying something new. I guess you don’t like it.”

I shook my head, “Nah. It’s not that. Just something Camila use to call me.”

It fell silent for a moment before Tori nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll come up with something new then,” she laughed it off awkwardly.

I wanted to tell her that she could call me whatever she wanted but some things would forever be only Camila’s. I could sense that she was disappointed that I didn’t try to tell her she could call me it anyway.

“So… are you ready to see her If we find her today?” She asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s gonna be different.”

“I bet. Do you think you guys will be able to jump back into what you were before or what?”

I never really thought about that so when the question left Tori’s lips, it really stumped me. I mean, getting Camila back is what I’ve always wanted, right? Getting my wife back is everything to me. Isn’t it? But would Camila and I be able to go back to being two in love parents? She barely knows the girls. They don’t even remember anything about her. She’s been gone for so long. What if the romantic fire that once burned between us is just gone… for good?

“I don’t know honestly,” I answered truthfully.

I could tell my reply shocked Tori. “What? Why? Shouldn’t that be like an automatic yes?”

I shrugged, as an old nervous habit came through when my hand instinctively went to the top of my head to run it through my hair. “She’s been gone for four years Tori. She doesn’t know the girls. She “died” when Lana was barely one and Luna was two. Luna remembers very little things about her but that’s mostly from what I’ve told her and Lana only knows what I tell and show her. She doesn’t even look at her as a motherly figure, just someone that was from the past.“

Tori’s lips curved down into a frown before she sighed. "Well hopefully you guys get that spark back fast.”

***

“Somebody call a bus!” The man shouted as two other helped him haul the limp naked woman out of the clawfoot bathtub.

Everything felt as though it was moving in slow motion for Lauren. She hardly recognized the woman with bruises scattering in various areas of her body. She hardly recognized the woman she once said “I do” with. She blocked out Sinu’s sobs. Alejandro’s nervous ranting. Dinah’s screams as officers pulled everyone out of the now crime scene. All she could focus on in that moment as Tori’s hand rested on the small of her back, guiding her out of the room was Camila’s face. It looked so… different.

The fact that she had just come face to face with her supposedly dead wife hadn’t hit her yet. She allowed herself to be guided out in silence, looking in Camila’s direction until all she was was a white wall.

Head facing straight, she stood in silence. Moments later, a city ambulance pulled up, three men rushing in with a gurney Camila would soon be brought out in. She felt numb. Insanely so.

It wasn’t until she saw Camila’s unconscious body being rushed by – her body strapped down in the gurney – minutes later that it all hit her like an eighteen wheeler. It wasn’t long before the tears came and she felt as though the air was leaving her body.

One minute she was having a decent conversation with Tori in the car, the next she arrives at the home Camila and Lola have been staying in, then finally she was walking in on her near dead wife. Traumatized would be too much of an understatement.

Not long after, the tears started to fall rapidly. The air in her lungs seemed to decrease with every breath she took, Tori having to reach over and hold her up as she felt her body slowly falling to the ground.

“Lauren, Lauren! Look at me,” Tori pleaded. “You need to breathe and calm down, alright? Right now Camila needs you. She really needs you.”

As Tori’s words echoed in her head, her breathing slowed as the tears stopped. She needs me.

“Go find your mom,” Lauren got out after a few moments.

“I’m not leaving you here a–”

“I’m fine. Camila needs me and your mom needs you,” she whispered.

Tori froze as Lauren’s bloodshot green eyes gazed into her dark brown ones before nodding slowly, removing her body from Lauren’s, trusting she could now hold herself up. “Call me if something else happens. Okay?”

Lauren found herself nodding blindly as Tori headed to the car they rode in, telling the driver something before hopping in the front side passengers seat.

Lauren found it in her to calm down enough to walk over to Sinu. Everyone else had entered the cars, getting ready to head to the hospital, following Camila’s ambulance but Sinu stood outside as she held onto the side of a brick wall. Her chest heaved up and down searching frantically for more air as her tears nearly blinded her.

When the older woman sensed Lauren’s presence, she instantly clung to her. “Please tell me she’s going to be alright.”

Lauren felt her own tears come as she wrapped her arms around the light haired woman. “We have to go,” was all she could muster up, her voice weak and tired.

***

“Karla has suffered an extreme submersion injury. There was a lot of water blocking oxygen from entering her body, meaning for quite a long period of time, her brain nor her heart was getting any much needed oxygen. Usually with submersion injuries or near drowning experiences, it takes roughly around 24 hours for the to fully shut down and… die. Karla was nearing that threshold dearly, our team speculates that she’s been under for around 17 hours. Her brain flow seems to be showing normal signs but with things like this when the person survives, brain damage can take anywhere between 48 hours and 72 hours to actually start formulating.

So while it may look normal and fine in there, it could be a complete jumbled up mess. The only way to really tell is for Karla to wake up. That way we’d be able to properly go about assessing whether or not her speech patterns are normal or of those in early stages of brain damage, whether or not her heart is working as strongly as it normally should and so forth.

Currently Karla is in what we like to call a barbiturate-induced coma or also known as, a medically-induced coma and her waking up solely depends on her progress within the next few hours. For someone her size to sustain such an injury, we’ll have to monitor her quite carefully.

Now about her pregnancy, the baby is too premature to be delivered right now with an emergency c-section. He won’t survive the night. We’ve checked his vitals and there is a heartbeat although it is awfully faint but the faster Karla recovers, the face he does as well. We’re hoping Karla’s state of unconsciousness does not affect anything going on with him but from what we can see, he’s healthy and fine for now.”

I hardly knew how to process anything the woman before us had just said. My brain felt like it was melting as I gawked at her. Nothing about this was pleasant to here. “Are we allowed to see her?” I found myself asking.

She smiled sadly at us, “Unfortunately only imitate family.”

I felt as my blood boiled and my eyes turn to slits as they narrowed at her. “I’m her wife.”

The woman’s eyes slightly widened before she looked down sheepishly. “Oh my, I’m so sorry. Then of course. You and any other immediate family such as parents, children, siblings and such. But that cannot be as of right now. Visiting hours begin at 6 AM to 12 PM then 6 PM to 12 AM. It’s only 3:47 AM right now.”

Sighing in frustration, I turned around and headed back over towards the waiting room chairs, everyone else following behind me. Dinah, Normani, and Ally have barely uttered a word since all of this. Sinu’s been crying, Ale has been trying to be strong for his wife but it was visible that the strength he held was soon going to come tumbling down, Dinah’s family had gone back to the hotel, my mom and dad as well, all having been tired and exhausted from today’s hunt. My siblings sat beside Sofi who had come down with my girls as soon as she heard what had happened. I could see it in her eyes that she was trying her best to keep it together.

Tori had found her mother. Turns out she was locked in the basement, nobody being able to hear her with everything going on with Camila. She had been checked out then released on her own recognizance hours later. Tori decided to go back to the hotel with her mother but promised to be back in the morning.

The hunt for Lola, Lucy, and Janelle was still ongoing, all three women having a warrant out for their arrest. Fans have been going crazy, many utterly outraged. Mostly at myself for “not realizing Lucy was a snake from the start.” The funny part is, Lucy wasn’t a snake from the start. I still wasn’t over the fact that she was somehow tied into this. My heart ached every time it crossed my mind. But I knew that no matter what her reasoning was, she was to be punished for this. Because she withheld the fact that Camila was alive all these years. She lied to my face for years at a time. Even trying to get me to believe that she was still dead when she was attempting to make me move on. Disgust coursed throughout my body at what she’s done.

As for Janelle, the reasoning for her association with Lola is still foreign to me. No wonder Tori found her sketchy…

My leg bounced up and down in restlessness as I sat beside my daughters who busied themselves on my iPad, playing a game. I still didn’t know how I’d tell them that Camila is alive and we’re here to see her when the time came. After what Lana said, I almost didn’t want to tell them.

My heart thumped in my chest over and over again, faster and faster each beat at the thought. Too many things have gone down today, this was probably the least of my concerns.

My eyes filled with tears for the hundredth time that day at the though of all the suffering Camila’s gone through. If only I knew sooner… when the doctors told me that there were several signs that aligned with either rough sex or sexual assault, my world stopped. I knew it wasn’t rough sex. That just… that wasn’t something Camila has ever been into. Just the thought of Lola forcing herself onto Camila made me sick to my stomach. And to think that she’d been going through all of this alone made me hate myself for even doubting this to start with.

Staring up at the ceiling, I blinked away the tears as best as I could. Tori’s words echoed through my head again. She really needs me.

***

“What are you running from Lola?! There’s nowhere to fucking run! Soon, we’re gonna need gas and it’s not like we can just walk into a gas station. Our faces are plastered on every fucking news station there is. Everyone in the country is looking for us. We just have to turn oursel–”

“If you don’t shut the fuck, I swear to you, I’ll kill you and dump you on the side of this fucking highway,” she hissed as her hand reached over to grab a fistful of my hair. Her hand grew shaky as she started swerving around the road, cars honking at us as they sped by. “Don’t you think I know that? I have a fucking plan Lucy. So shut the hell up and sit quietly.”

My mouth grew dry as I nodded slowly. Tears flooded my vision while I gazed down at my hands that rested in my lap, my mind thinking of the one person who drove me to act this way.

I’m sorry Lauren…

***

a/n: well… guess camila’s found. lmao.

this chapter was a little sloppy, i felt like i could’ve done better but i hope y'all liked it nonetheless. i have a habit of putting chapters up in the middle of the night and i have no fucking idea why aha.

but please let me know your thoughts, did you enjoy? answer end of the chapter questions and thanks so much for reading.

for my tumblr readers, thank you so much for reading as well. don’t forget to add this story on wattpad and follow me there as well @ wthbello for quicker updates, to answer end of the chapter questions and so on.

ily all

#UPDATE #series #non AU #AU #slash #trigger warning #camren #angst drama #family #romance fluff #submission #our broken white rose

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instantdeerlover · 4 years

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Will a Cafeteria Tray Solve All My Problems added to Google Docs

Will a Cafeteria Tray Solve All My Problems

Africa Studio/Shutterstock

Four months into quarantine, a regression back to the safety of middle school dining

“Do you have kids that hate when their food touches?” reads the first line of an email that popped up in my inbox this morning, advertising corrals that separate foods on a plate. I am, in fact, childless, and slightly too old to be child myself, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to delete the pitch for these bright orange plastic dividers, one holding back a small mountain of peas, the other containing a soupy plop of mixed fruit salad that will haunt me. (Like Kool-Aid jar and Kool-Aid liquid, fruit salad and plastic peel-top container should never be separated.)

I’m not a particularly picky eater, and at some point in most meals I mix my food into an unrecognizable — but delicious — pile of intermingling flavors and textures. Yet I find something about these weird plastic dividers deeply soothing. They’re a reminder that while I am neither child nor parent, I can do whatever the hell I want during this global crisis, and what I want is to eat like a baby. Suddenly, I find myself longing for the OG food-separating device, which has been putting in the work for decades: the cafeteria tray. There’s the little circular compartment for the cup of fruit (never poured out of the container, please!!), a slightly larger rectangular trough to house mashed potatoes, and another that I’d always ask the lunch cook to fill with a double portion of fish sticks — truly the greatest gastronomic invention of our time.

I can’t stop looking at cafeteria trays online. I think I’ll skip the cute vintage ones geared toward Millennials Who Picnic, and buy a couple bright red plastic trays, probably from the same supplier my middle school used. Those school lunches weren’t great, but I remember looking forward to them. I’d check the menu posted on the gym wall every morning, and when 12 o’clock came around, I walked my way down the cafeteria line, filling the tray with an intentionally mismatched hodgepodge of foods. A hamburger, canned peaches, pretzels, and a little tub of yogurt wouldn’t have ended up on the same plate at home, but on my tray they formed a (sorta) perfect meal. I knew my lunch was composed when the last outlined section was filled with a cookie or a small carton of chocolate milk.

I don’t miss school lunches, but I crave the variety and simplicity that these trays created. In my own kitchen, the two contradict: If I want variety it means more cooking, and my desire for simple dinners usually sees me making two dishes at most. I can’t remember the last time I fixed up a salad to accompany dinner, the washing of lettuce and the making of dressing feeling like entirely too much work. In the before times, shaking up a jar of oil and mustard was effortless. Now, boiling a pot of rice sometimes feels like a commitment I can not make.

Like any good internet purchase made on a whim, I’m fairly certain this one will change my life. A plastic tray, one that could drop from a rooftop and ricochet back, doesn’t leave much room for pretension. It lowers expectations that a meal will be perfect, that it’ll be complete, that one element will complement the next. Each little corral will be filled with something — even if it’s just a handful of nuts or a cup of granola. In place of chocolate milk, a gin and tonic will sit in the Drink Circle. I’ll do away with the pressure to make a “real” meal, and I’ll eat in front of the TV with my dinner balanced on my knees.

There will be no Instagram photos of my little pre-portioned scoops of tuna salad with crackers on the side, or my baked chicken with a handful of raisins and a spoonful of peanut butter. Months ago, I couldn’t snap a photo fast enough, broadcasting my pancakes, my burgers, my bread to the people of the internet. Now, I’d rather assemble my tray of mismatched snacks and leftovers, and eat my mini tray buffet in peace.

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/2020/7/31/21349957/cafeteria-tray-for-quaratine-dining-appreciation

Created August 1, 2020 at 03:26AM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

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selanpike · 6 years

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Unfinished Trollcops thing

I remembered I had this thing, and figured I’d post it because it’s good, but it is never going to get finished.

I had this idea that I wanted to write a big Trollcops AU fic, from Team Sleuth’s perspective, but it sort of collapsed under its own weight. I wanted to include all the trolls, plus the kids, PLUS Team Sleuth (including the girls), the Crew, Kingpin.... I couldn’t find things for all these characters to actually contribute, and also, I’m not great at writing all the trolls!!

But I did write the first three chapters, which were the introductions for Sleuth, Pickle and Ace respectively, so here u go. Abandoned Trollcops fic.

Chapter One

“Problem Thleuth.” Sergeant Captor reads from your file, standing behind his partner. “Thirty-five yearth old. Prothpitian. Failed out of polithe academy at age twenty-four. Ith that right?”

“I wouldn’t say failed,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “I jus’ didn’t like how y’all--I mean. I wasn’t a fan ‘f the bureaucracy.”

“Is that so,” Terezi says.

You nod.

“So you dropped out and became a private investigator,” she says. “Is that right?”

“You know the answer to that,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Don’t pretend like we’re strangers.”

“You’re charged with being an accessory to arson,” Pyrope tells you.

“Do me a favor ‘n arrest th’ guy who actually did th’ arson-ing,” you mutter.

“The alleged perpetrator is one Thpades Thlick,” Captor says, reading the file. “Damn, man. Thpades, really?”

“I ain’t an accessory t’ nothin’ that asshole does,” you say, slamming a hand on the table. “I was tryin’a stop that goddamn arson!”

“We have multiple witnethheth who thay they thaw you making out with the thuthpect before the fire broke out,” Captor says.

You wilt under their stares.

“I was tryin’a distract ‘im,” you say, weakly. “He’s a dangerous customer, after all. ‘S the ol’ honey pot maneuver, y’know?”

“It didn’t work,” Pyrope says, grinning her sharp-toothed grin.

“N--no,” you admit.

You jump when Pyrope snaps the folder shut. She puts it down on the table, sliding it to the edge.

“I’m going to admit,” she says, slowly. “That, considering your history of making trouble, we took this opportunity to get a warrant to search your office.”

“You--you what?!”

“So, what? You gonna charge me with murderin’ th’ District Attorney now?”

Pyrope and Captor look at each other, then back at you.

“We’ve been investigating the DA’s death too,” Pyrope says. “But we haven’t turned up a thing.”

“And here you are,” Captor adds. “With evidenthe we never even thought to look for.”

You grin a little. “Oh darlin’s, are you jealous?”

“Stop bein’ such a joke, then.”

She stands up, slamming her hands on the table. “Take this seriously!”

You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to get to the point.

“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” she says. “We’ll ignore this latest… indiscretion, and you’ll help us put Kingpin behind bars.”

You laugh.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I musta misheard. Y’ couldn’t possibly be askin’ for my help. I mean, I ain’t a cop or nothin’. I ain’t got no authority.”

“Don’t be a jackathh,” Captor snaps.

“This is in your best interest,” Pyrope says. “You are, after all, still under arrest.”

She does sorta have you, there.

---

You have your hat back when Sergeant Captor takes you outside, to the back of the department. The sun has definitely risen by now, and you’re treated to all the sounds of the city waking up.

“As long as I don’t trail it back to you,” you add.

“Obviouthlly,” Captor says. He pulls out his phone and types into it. “But we need one of ourth with you. Making thure you’re not fucking up too bad.”

“Think of it like exthtra security,” Captor says, still typing into his phone.

“I know you,” he says.

“I get around,” you reply.

“You’re that drunk fucknut that’s always making a scene in Crew territory.”

“Guilty as charged. Y’all’re jus’ gettin’ me on ev’rythin’ t’day!” You nudge Captor. “Sorry officer, looks like y’ gotta charge me for another crime.”

Captor groans and rolls his eyes. He slaps the newcomer on the back and mutters, “Good fucking luck,” before heading back inside.

You wait for the door to click shut before you say, brightly as you can manage, “The name’s Problem Sleuth. Solicitations for my services are--”

“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who gives a fuck?”

You drop the friendly act. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Vantas,” He says. “Karkat Vantas. I’m the undercover guy. I figure I got stuck with this because they figured I could tell the Captain I’m investigating you.”

“‘N I’m sure she’ll buy it,” you add.

You rub your face. “Great. Good. More cops, beautiful.”

---

Unfortunately when you walk in, you find Spades Slick rummaging through your refrigerator.

You toss your keys onto the table and sit down. He turns around, cold pizza hanging out of his mouth, and slams the fridge door shut behind him.

“I figured they’d have ya’ in th’ slammer a few weeks,” he explains through a mouthful of pizza. “So y’ wouldn’t mind if I ate yer food ‘fore it went bad.”

“Y’ couldn’t possibly post bail for me?”

“No, nothin’ like that,” you say, reaching over and taking the coffee. Obviously sleep isn’t happening anytime soon, so what the hell. “They let me off.”

There’s a loud clatter as Slick’s chair falls over, and a knife is at your throat. It always amazes you how fast he is. You raise your hands in a conciliatory manner as he snarls at you.

“You fuckin’ snitched, didn’t you?”

“Slick, my most precious of darlin’s,” you say. “I would snitch on you all day, ev’ry day. But that ain’t what happened.”

“They hired me.”

He looks at you like you just sprouted a second head. He doesn’t move the knife at all.

You go on. “They’re investigatin’ Kingpin. They wanted my help.”

He finally pulls the knife away, but he doesn’t sit back down. “Great. Jus’ what I need.”

“Kingpin’s mine,” he growls.

Slick narrows his eye at you, before pocketing his knife and stealing the mug back. He chugs the coffee down.

“Fuck you,” he says, slamming the mug back onto the table. “I’ll do it my fuckin’ self.”

“Right,” you say as Slick grabs his jacket and makes for the door. “So I guess I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, then?”

He grunts in response, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

You’re going to do it. Your name is Problem Sleuth, and you are going to bring down Mobster Kingpin’s criminal empire.

The APD are definitely going to steal the credit when it’s all said and done, though, and that fact makes you sick to your stomach.

---

Chapter Two

> Be Pickle Inspector.

You feel as though you’re being punished for Sleuth’s poor life choices.

Uncooperative witnesses.

You asked Sleuth what he did to invite this upon you, but he won’t tell you. You suspect Slick was involved. Slick is always involved these days.

“I’m busy enough,” you whine into the receiver.

“That’s a shame,” says the smooth, dark voice of Diamonds Droog. “And here I had something I thought you’d be interested in.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Meet me on the corner of 34th and Feldings,” he says.

“D--do I have to?” you say, clicking your pen. “Can’t you just, just tell me? On the phone? Like a normal person? I p-promise the line’s secure.”

“34th and Feldings,” he says again. “Now.”

You stand up and fix your tie. “I have to go out.”

“Oh! Let me get my coat.”

She grins a catlike grin and says, “Nope!”

Droog is never going to let you hear the end of this.

---

This is par for the course, and you make an effort not to look exhausted when you get there.

He breathes out a long puff of smoke before speaking. “Is the detective business so bad that you had to take up babysitting?”

“I n--needed the second job to, to support my tea habit,” you respond.

“That’s a funny way to say whiskey.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Can she leave?”

“I don’t know.” You look down at Nepeta. “C-can you leave?”

“I can, yeah,” she says.

“A--are you going to?”

She shakes her head.

“Sorry,” you say to Droog. “It’s a, a long story.”

“All of these have gone missing in the past month,” Droog explains. “Obvious signs of a break-in, but no evidence pointing to a culprit.”

“D--do you think Kingpin was involved?”

“Absolutely.”

You think about that as you pocket the photos. “Do you think he’s trying to make a pact with the Terrors?”

“Perhaps,” he says, extinguishing the flame. “It’s possible he’s seen what we can do and wants that power for himself. I doubt he’ll be successful.”

“I’ll look into this,” you tell him. “Call me if--if you hear anything.”

“As usual,” he says, before standing up.

“H--how’s that?”

“All the wiretapping, and purr-tive meetings with shady guys,” she says. “You’re more like a spy.”

You let out a small laugh. “Don’t say that one to the others. They’ll start coming up with spy names for me.”

You’re enjoying this flight of fancy, despite yourself. “I’ll need to imagine up some clever gadgets, to uh, to get me out of pinches.”

“And you’ll need a car,” she says. “A fancy one, that turns into a submeowrine.”

“And a, a dangerous love interest,” you add.

“Oh? You don’t have that already?” She grins up at you. “You and Diamonds Dickhead had an awful lot of chemistry. You aren’t caliginous?”

“What?” You shove your hands in your pockets and look towards the street. “No. Obviously not. Th-th-that’s just, just gross, ew.”

She’s still giving you that look. Fuck.

“A--anyway, the, the case,” you stutter, trying to get back on the subject of work.

“I know somebody,” she says. “That might help.”

“Who?”

She shrugs. “Old friend of mine. She knows all sorts of things about old stuff like what got stolen.”

“That would be, it’d be really useful,” you say.

“I’ll call her when she gets off work,” Nepeta says, adjusting her hat. “In the meantime we can get back to listening to your wiretaps. The part I was on was pretty juicy.”

You’re relieved she’s so easily given up the subject of Droog and gotten back to the task at hand. She might, despite your initial misgivings, be useful to have around.

“I’ve also started a shipping chart for everyone you’re surveilling,” she adds.

After she explains to you what a shipping chart is, you are simultaneously horrified, and intrigued at the new avenues this gives you when cataloguing and interpreting your data.

---

Chapter three.

> Be Ace Dick.

She shrugs, grinning. “It should be worth a laugh. He always says he can do better than us, so let’s see it!”

You shake your head. “Here ‘m always tryin’ to tell him to stay off that case, and you’re just eggin’ him on.”

“So you’re not going to help?” she asks, before taking a sip of coffee.

“Hell no,” you say. “I quit the force to get away from that malarkey. You at least payin’ him?”

She laughs. “Do you think he’s going to ask?”

“We’ll have to set up a collection,” she says. “I’ll put a little can in the break room. ‘Pay Mister Candy Corn’s rent’.”

Detective Vriska Serket walks over, whacking your hat off your head as she passes you to sit next to Terezi. “Can’t be too much, right? Doesn’t he live in a cardboard box?”

“That sounds right,” Terezi says. “But in this city that’s what, 500 bucks a month?”

“Depends on how new the box is, probably,” Vriska responds.

Terezi nods. “Either way, Kingpin owns it so it is absolutely drafty and leaks in the rain.”

“I’m not opposed to makin’ jabs at my dumbass not-boss,” you say as you straighten your hat out. “But I’m serious. You’re payin’ him. And Pickles too, if you got him involved.”

“We do,” Terezi says. “He’s got poor Nepeta bored to tears.”

“Now there’s an idea,” you say. “If you don’t pay up, I’ll go let Captain Peixes know what you’ve been up to.”

“Why Ace,” Terezi says, leaning forward. “Are you threatening me?”

“Might be.”

“Maybe if the Captain finds out she’ll get embarrassed enough to put me on the case,” Vriska says.

“Gettin’ tired of solvin’ murders?” you ask.

“I thought you liked racking up wins,” Terezi said.

“I fucking love racking up wins,” Vriska says. “But I want ones worth my time. Kingpin’s the biggest baddie there is, I gotta get in on that.”

“Maybe you should let her follow Sleuth instead of that angry kid,” you say to Terezi.

She snickers. “No, I’d give her to Tootsie Roll Frankenstein.”

“I’m glad you appreciate Pickles’ special sort of appeal.” You stand up, straightening out your suit. “Thanks for the tip, Pyrope. Now please stop takin’ advantage of my teammates.”

She salutes at you, and it’s dripping with irony. “No, I don’t think I will. You’re welcome to come get taken advantage of, though!”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, getting out your wallet. You pull out a few bills, enough to pay for your coffee and Terezi’s, and drop them on the table. “Take care of yourselves, ladies.”

You figure he’ll learn eventually. Kids like him always do.

(i can’t remember if this ace chapter was even finished but EYY THERE U GO)

#trollcops #homestuck #problem sleuth #midnight crew #mspa #writing #fanfiction

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