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#like the code’s all bad and all over the place and I have no clue where i’m trying to go with it

apuckishwit · 1 year

Text

When Your Boyfriend's a Reformed Mean Girl

100 percent inspired by this tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTR75sjkf/

Time seems to do wierd things for Eddie Munson.

It's something Steve has gotten used to, in the year they've been dating. Eddie is attentive and affectionate, always makes sure Steve needs are being met, always goes the extra mile to let Steve know how much he loves him, how much he cherishes their time together. In many ways, he's the best partner Steve's ever had.

Just...sometimes things like approaching deadlines and important dates seem to literally not register in his brain until it's almost too late. And not even then, sometimes.

Eddie acknowledges that it's a problem. He puts every effort into finding workarounds. There is a calendar hanging at both his (brand new, government-funded) trailer and Steve's house, hanging right by the door with color-coded schedules and a pack of Post-It notes and a cup of pens sitting on a little table below it in case something changes or comes up. Steve has a dedicated half hour every night where he's allowed to remind Eddie of things they have coming up, or ask if they've been added to the calendar and Eddie is one hundred percent not allowed to gripe about being nagged in that thirty minutes. Not that he would, because most of the time there's at least one, "Oh, shit, forgot about that." When something slips through the cracks, he apologizes promptly and sincerely if it's something that affects someone other than him and he is always trying to do better.

Steve understands. Hell, after as many concussions as he's had, details get away from him too sometimes. There's several color-coded blocks on the calendar for Steve, as well. Sometimes, Eddie just forgets things despite his best efforts.

But their anniversary? The date that Steve has been carefully planning for almost a month to celebrate their first (of hopefully, many) year together as a couple? Really?

Eddie is going to be horrified.

He is going to feel so bad, and so guilty, and he is absolutely going to go all out to make it up to Steve. Steve knows this. He knows Eddie loves him, and that Eddie was looking forward to tonight as much as he was, and that this is just an instance of Eddie's brain betraying him, and not him actively trying to hurt Steve, or be dismissive of him. Eddie is going to feel awful when he realizes that he stood Steve up on their one-year anniversary to fight imaginary dragons with the boys. Hell, the boys are probably going to feel awful when they realize they gave Eddie something else to focus on in the lead-up to his one-year anniversary.

Well. Dustin, Lucas, and Will are going to feel awful. Mike will probably think it's hilarious.

The point is, Steve knows Eddie didn't do this on purpose, and it's not that Eddie doesn't value his time with Steve enough to remember the date, and so he's merely irritated. Maybe a little exasperated. Not truly angry.

All he has to do is radio over to Wheeler's place and remind Eddie what the date is. His boyfriend will literally drop everything, will probably not even bother to pack up his precious miniatures and dice before he's tearing out of the driveway and breaking every traffic law imaginable to get to Steve's house. Steve doesn't actually want Eddie to get a ticket or anything, though. Besides.

He's feeling a little petty.

There's steaks waiting to be tossed on the grill, twice-baked potatoes in the oven, and a fucking homemade chiffon cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream chilling in the fridge. Eddie's gift is sitting on the counter, in an elegant little gift bag tied with black ribbon.

"Hey Rob, you wanna come over for dinner?" he says into his walkie, deciding to let Fate decide if his boyfriend is listening and catches a clue.

"Do I get a piece of that cake you made?" Robin replies immediately, amusement already dancing in her voice because she's his (platonic) soulmate and she can read his mind.

"You can take the leftovers home," he says.

And then his (romantic) soulmate, who can usually read his mind, comes over the channel as well. "Have fun, babe!" Eddie says brightly. "This is probably going to run later than I thought. I'll probably just pick you up for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. "Okay."

"Love you!" Eddie says, and signs off.

Robin brings a bottle of wine she stole from her parents' pantry and they demolish the dinner and half the cake. Steve does get another package of steaks out to thaw in the fridge for tomorrow, though, and blows out the fancy candles he'd lit before they burn too low to be used again. Fuck if he's making another chiffon cake, though, persnickety little thing. He calls Enzo's and orders a chocolate marble cheesecake to be picked up tomorrow.

"So you gonna milk this for a nice present or what?" Robin asks as Steve is packing the remains of the cake for her to take home, as promised.

"Nah. He's fucking perfect like 90% of the time...I'm not gonna get mad at him for the other ten." Robin smiles at him, a little gooey-eyed. Steve returns it with a smirk. "But I'm not letting him off the hook entirely."

He has just finished putting the dishes away when he hears the rumble of Eddie's van in the driveway. He glances down at his watch, laughing to himself a little when he notes that while late, it is far, far too early for a gaming session to be done. He scoops his little gift bag off the counter and saunters to the front door just in time for a frantic knocking to sound. He schools his features and opens the door.

"Steve! Stevie, baby, I am so, so sorry. I swear to God, I had tonight written down in like five different places, but Dustin wanted to try a new character class and we haven't done this campaign yet, and I got so excited...I'm so sorry I forgot, but I'm here and I SWEAR I will make it up to you!" Eddie pauses for breath, wild-eyed and panting.

Steve holds the silence for a moment, and then shakes his head, leaning forward to drop a kiss on Eddie's cheek. "You're such a nerd," he says, affection dripping from his words. He sighs. "I hope you know, now I'm expecting flowers tomorrow. And I get to pick the movies for, like, two weeks with no complaints."

Eddie almost wilts in relief. "Absolutely none," he promises, reaching out to grip Steve's hand. "I will make tomorrow night AMAZING. I promise."

Steve smiles at him, his chest aching with the love he feels for this man. But he's still feeling just a little bit petty. He holds the bag out to Eddie, tilting his head coyly. "You can still open this tonight, though."

"Babe! I thought we said no gifts." He takes the bag in his hands, plucking at the ribbon.

Steve's smile turns just a little sharper. He worked fucking hard on that cake. "It's kind of for both of us, really. It's what I was gonna wear up to bed tonight."

Eddie peeks in the box, his brow furrowing. "Stevie...there's nothing but strawberry lip gloss and a bottle of lube in here." He looks up, and freezes as his brain catches up with what his mouth just said.

Steve leans forward and kisses him, hard, long, and absolutely filthy. "Suffer," he whispers against his boyfriend's lips.

Then he shuts the door in his face.

#Steddie #Steddie fic #stranger things #Stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #adhd eddie munson #My writing #I couldn't resist!

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lonely-cowboy · 3 months

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HEY HEY CAN I REQUEST ANYTHING FLUFFY W CONNOR X FEM READER

YOU WORK IS SO GOODDD

MY DARLINGS FORGIVE ME

requests started coming in hot right as i started my midterms so pls forgive me for taking so long to get through my requests (which i'm loving btw i'm so excited to get to all of them)

with that being said i'll stop yapping and let you read in peace

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

framed

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: you're very confused when you find a photograph of yourself on connor's desk.

word count: 1k

warnings: none

author's note: i said i'm done yapping and i mean it i have nothing to say. (except i do wanna say this was inspired by the person that said my connor was very you are in love coded bc that made me happy and got me thinking)

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What do androids do in their free time, anyway?”

“Plot against humanity? I dunno.”

Hank’s laugh came out in a quiet huff, one that indicated he didn’t think your answer was too far from the truth.

You had come into the precinct hoping to interview Hank and Connor on their latest investigation surrounding a human cult determined to wipe out every single android. As head journalist for the Detroit Free Press, you were desperate to get word before everyone else. And as Connor’s friend, you were sure you could sweet-talk it out of him.

But when you got to the precinct, Connor was, strangely, nowhere to be found. Usually, he trailed behind Hank like a lost puppy, but not even Hank knew of Connor’s whereabouts. His unusual absence only led to conversations about what the hell an android could be doing on his lonesome. Neither of you had any clue.

“Have a seat, kid,” Hank offered, nudging his chin over to Connor’s desk. “You know he’d feel bad if you were standin’ around waiting for him.”

Rounding the table, you took a seat in Connor’s chair. You sat stiffly with your hands atop your thighs, the exact same way Connor would. The realization made you chuckle softly to yourself. Even when he wasn’t here, his presence always made itself known in the subtlest of ways.

Your eyes wandered across Connor’s desk, noticing that it was relatively barren. Hank’s desk was littered with mementos– old donut boxes, Detroit Gears merchandise, anti-android propaganda that he’d crumpled up and intended to trash. But Connor’s desk was plain and organized. A single blue pen sat exactly parallel to his recent case file that had been neatly folded. On top of his case file was a quarter like the one he always fidgeted with. You wondered idly how many quarters he had lying around, having never seen him without one. But the only belonging of actual interest was a picture frame right beside his terminal.

Your brows furrowed as your gaze latched onto the photograph. You were staring directly at a picture of yourself.

Believing it to be a trick of the light, you reached for the picture frame and brought it closer. Sure enough, it was you.

You stared at a version of yourself who was mid-laugh. You could almost hear your own laughter ringing in your ears. It was that genuine kind of laughter, you knew. The kind that was an obnoxious cackle you always wanted to hide. Why on earth would Connor have a picture like that framed?

Come to think of it, where did Connor even get this picture? You didn’t recognize it at all. You couldn’t even place where it was taken. There were zero clues in the photograph as you were the only focus. Nothing else, just you.

You were about to ask Hank about it when a voice over your shoulder startled you, “I really like that picture.”

An inhuman yelp escaped your lips as you spun around in Connor’s chair. You found him looking down at you with a pleasant smile, not even remotely embarrassed to be caught having a photo of you.

“Why… what even… what?” you stammered.

Connor cocked his head curiously, waiting for you to get your words out. But you couldn’t. You were so utterly confused that your brain couldn’t remember a single word in existence. You just stared at Connor with a gaping mouth, holding the picture up for his viewing pleasure.

When you didn’t say anything, Connor’s eyebrows furrowed for only a moment before easing. An endearing habit of his that made your heart flutter. He definitely was not helping you find the right words.

“I’d like to clear your confusion as best I can, but… I’m afraid I don’t understand its cause,” Connor said gently.

From behind, you heard Hank’s quiet snort. He wasn’t helping either.

“Well… Connor,” you started slowly like you were gradually putting the puzzle pieces together. No matter how hard you tried, the pieces weren’t fitting. “Why do you have a picture of me?”

The corners of his lips raised into a small grin, his hands moving to clasp in front of him. You knew this stance to mean he was about to tell a story.

“I asked Lieutenant Anderson about the keepsakes on his desk. I was curious as to why these particular items were objects of significance and what classified them as such,” Connor explained cheerfully. “As I recall, he said ‘I don’t know, they’re just alright, I guess.’ Perhaps my interpretation was incorrect, but I took that to mean those items made him happy.”

Connor’s smile widened slightly. That meant he was finished. He didn’t clear any of your confusion.

“Okay…?” you prompted.

“I wanted to do something similar. I thought it could help me accommodate to deviancy, so I decided to surround myself with things that make me happy.”

Your mouth clamped shut as your confused look turned to one of shock. You were almost sure you hadn’t heard him right, but another laugh (hidden behind a cough) from Hank made you confident that you had.

“I… make you happy?” you clarified.

“Yes,” Connor answered curtly. There was another long pause as you waited for Connor to continue. He seemed to get the hint by now, elaborating further. “I always enjoy your company. I look forward to seeing you when we have scheduled plans. This wasn’t a scheduled visit, so I was pleased to see you were here. It made me smile. Seeing you makes me smile.”

With all his talk of smiling, you couldn’t help cracking one of your own. Seeing your smile made Connor brighten.

“Like that,” he said. “If I could photograph and frame you right now, I would.”

You were so giddy with affection that you couldn’t help but laugh. You had never known Connor to be so poetic with his words.

“You know, Connor,” you said with careless laughter. “I came here to sweet-talk you into an interview for the Press. But here you are sweet-talking me.”

Connor looked pleased with himself, standing a little straighter. “I hope that made you smile.”

“It certainly did.”

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Omg I LOVE your konig!cowboy story, it's entertaining just how dumb bee is around this whole farm life, but what if she wasn't really that stupid? Like imagine konigs computer completely shuts down, and he's not the most tech literate but bee sees the problem and goes full city slicker tech bro mode and fixes it in no time, showing she is in fact competent, just not about her current life

Congratulations on unlocking Bee's expertise.

This is almost exactly what I had in mind when I was trying to figure out how she could just up and move and do wfh and generally have no clue how to own a farm. I think she's 100% a tech jockey of some kind, maybe a little bit of a hacker type. She's very smart but only about her areas of expertise.

König's laptop is open on the kitchen table when you drop by, the blue screen staring at you like an angel of death. You wince a little. You hope he wasn't working on anything important. You set your fabulously not failed cookies on his kitchen counter and pull out the chair in front of the computer.

"König, you mind if I poke around on your computer a little?" You call, straining to hear any movement before he pokes his head into the kitchen. He narrows his eyes at the computer for a moment, and damn you've never seen someone think so long about having their tech salvaged. "I won't check your browser history or anything if that's what you're worried about, just wanna get it running again."

König makes a noise of surprise and embarrassment. "I am not worried about that!" He sputters, which tells you he actually was worried about that. You shrug and flex your fingers a little. "Don't poke around too much." He relents, you grin, men are all the same.

"I'll stick to drivers and operating files only," he gives you a blank look, you press a few command keys to pull up your favorite little black box, "I'll just get it back to working."

You spend a few minutes manually filling in code and resetting the garbled muck that's filling your neighbor's computer. It's not too bad but he's got a nasty worm that seems to have been installed through a lousey torrent. You wipe the last few installs as best you can, calling König over to translate every so often. It's bad enough reworking an operating system in English, you're losing your mind trying to parse German files.

Eventually he finds a chair to sit next to you and watch. You pull your feet up onto the chair, your posture atrocious as you concentrate.

"I don't even know what half of this is," You grumble, staring at what looks like a matrix of some sort, a really sparse one.

"Which one is giving you trouble," König follows where you point on the screen, eyes narrowed against the brightness as he reads through named files, "Ah, this is security."

"Your place has security? We're in the middle of nowhere," You shoot him a look, he hums half agreeing, "I'll leave it."

"Braves Mädchen," he breathes, "you're very good at this."

"I hope so, can't exactly fall back on farming." You grumble, fingers working to finish your repairs to Königs frankly ancient laptop. This thing is going to be running marathons when you're done with it. Probably best to avoid any major changes to the OS though, König doesn't seem like he'd be willing to learn new shortcuts.

This is good though, you feel like you're paying him back for helping you out so much. Especially when you hit the button for the final restart and everything springs to life with a pleasant chime. You smile at your work, typing in König's shitty password to check that everything is working alright. You check the time, updating the clock to the correct time zone.

You stop, dread making your stomach roll. Is it really that late? "We were supposed to see a movie," You frown. König shoos your hands off the keyboard and shuts his laptop, it rings like a death bell on your ever present forgetfulness. "I'm sorry, I didn't even realize, and now we've missed it," König raises a hand to stop your apology.

"I don't mind," He's so sweet, his eyes smiling at you over his bandana, "I enjoyed watching you work, it was very... informative." You offer a hesitant smile, that's certainly one way to put it.

König watches you straighten up from your position over the computer, knees dropping from where you'd pulled them up by your chest as you arch your back to stretch out the kinks. The satisfied little noise you make at the quiet pop is going to bounce around his mind for a while yet. The same way your focused stare and the silent movement of your lips as you read will stick with him.

He would have asked you for help sooner, but there was too much about you on that laptop to be safe. Still, your discretion was a credit to your professionalism. Although your flagrant dismissal of what you must have thought were his porn habits was... telling. How many men have jumped to get their computer out of your hands?

"I better go home, gotta feed the critters and all." You stand, grabbing your bag from the floor, "Thanks for letting me fix your computer."

"Of course," König stands as well, walking with you to the door, "Danke Schön, hummelchen." He tells you quietly, holding the door above your head.

"Bitte schön, König," your pronunciation is hesitant, but still leaves him wide eyed staring down at you, "I Googled a few basics." You explain, as if that could be the reason for his silence.

"I see," König tries to keep his voice from sounding too tight, thinks he even succeeds at it, "Then, Gute Nacht."

"Gute Nacht!" You reply enthusiastically, giving a wave as you turn to leave. His fingers tighten on the door, grabbing something other than your throat. If you were going to speak his mother tongue so prettily, you should have at least warned him. Maybe then he wouldn't have to close the door half hard. You are going to be the death of him.

#cowboy!König #Bee very excited to have a fun movie night with her good friend and neighbor #könig coaching himself in the mirror that this isnt a date and he will not ruin this for Bee #oc: Bee #könig x you #könig modern warfare #könig x oc #colonel könig #könig cod #cod x reader #x reader #cod mw2

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ramons-elevator · 7 months

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As much as I want the eggs back, its gonna be so bittersweet.

We have people like Fit and Foolish who arent letting it get to them. They know their kids are gonna be okay. They will sit and wait and know things will fall into place when need be. Yes they are sad and mourning, but they need to keep a level head and be hopeful.

Then we have everyone else.

We have Bad who is actively hurting himself and doing stuff that will have consequences.

We have the favela 5 who are held with a thin but very strong string of hope. Forever is coming back from a drug overdose, but had to go through horrible things during it. Pac is also coming back down, but lost his soulmate and his home is haunted by things he has done. Mike is kidnapped and there's no trace or clue to where he is. Cellbit has to cure his friends and has the whole island relying on him while also investing the federation to try to figure out what their plan is. And Felps is Felps.

Phil is kidnapped all because he wanted an answer. He wants his kids back. Thats all he cares about. He was mindfucked seeing Chayanne's floatie in the middle of the circle.

Baghera just came back after finding out she was created by the Federation and that she might be the reason her family is stuck here. She also found out that she isnt the only experiment. There were more like her.

Etoiles is constantly fighting the Code and while he is winning and getting more powerful, he was given a task to protect. He already was ready to die for everyone, but now its something he has to do. No matter what.

Can you imagine the eggs coming back? The eggs, who have been for god knows how long, just want their parents and to feel safe come back to their parents who have changed.

Dapper and Pomme coming back to Bad who is littered in blue marks. Dapper knows what Bad has done. They know how much it hurts and how deep Bad's marks are. Pomme not quite understanding how bad it is, but she knows her dad isnt the same.

Richarlyson comes back and is engulfed in a giant hug, but he notices how badly everyone is shaking. He notices how broken his parents are. How tired and worn they all are. He notices how Pac has new scars on his arms. How quiet Forever is. How dull Cellbit's eyes are.

Chayanne and Tallulah coming back to see only Tubbo and Niki. Or they see Phil and engulfed in a giant hug and noticed how tight he holds them. They know Phil is paranoid, but never like this. He doesnt let go of them. His eyes never leave them for a second.

Pomme comes back to see Baghera crying they hug. Pomme can barely hear her mom saying "Im sorry" over and over again. Etoiles joins the hug and he tells her that he failed. He couldnt keep her safe. She has two lives, but now she is cracked.

The eggs just want to come home and feel safe, but now they dont know where safe is

#qsmp #qsmp eggs #qsmp pomme #qsmp dapper #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp cellbit #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp forever #qsmp philza #qsmp baghera #qsmp etoiles #qsmp pac

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prentiss-theorem · 11 months

Text

Whispers of Spring

You take Melissa on a date to one of her favourite childhood spots.

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader

CW: kissing and a single swear word, that's it I guess

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1400+

A/N: Covers the "Flowers" square of @storiesofsvu birthday bingo! Written as a little gift for @maybe-a-humanbean <3

also tumblr being the hellsite it is keeps hiding a part of this fic and it looks like i just dropped it mid sentence, i promise it’s there it’s just the hellsite hellsiting 😭

“I told you it’s a surprise! You’re not getting any clues until we get there.” you laughed as Melissa rolled her eyes, though you could see the smile she tried to suppress making its way onto her face.

“Oh, come on, not even a single one? Dress code maybe?” she said trying to push you to give her any sort of idea where you were planning on taking her tonight.

“Something nice and comfy” you giggled “But don’t worry I’m not dragging you out for a hike.”

“Thank fuck, I think I’d have to break up with you if you did” the redhead laughed.

“Okay that’s a bit dramatic Schemmenti, don’t you think so?” you didn’t even try stopping your laughter as the older woman rolled her eyes, now standing up from her chair and placing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You have been dating Melissa for close to a year now. Never in a thousand years would you have thought that this is what would happen when you first started working at Abbott. As it turns out the unapproachable woman was not that unapproachable after all, she just needed some time get used to the new teachers coming to the school, always wary of the young ones. You were more than happy to give her that space, trying to stay out of her way as much as you could so you wouldn’t make your way onto her red list. Janine told you there was no coming back from there and you weren’t about to take any chances.

And your tactic worked, it only took her a few weeks to warm up to you and realise you weren’t that bad after all. From there she would invite you to sit with her and Barb during lunch, which quickly progressed to her inviting you over for a dinner at her house.

After a few more weeks she gathered the courage to ask you out on a proper date, to which you happily agreed.

And here you are now, basically living in her house (which she didn’t complain about, she loved having you around, always bringing some life to her otherwise empty and quiet household), madly in love with the redhead, who was equally in love with you.

The two of you often opted for staying in for your date nights, preferring the comfort and peace of Melissa’s house (or less frequently your apartment) rather than surround yourself with strangers. This week though, you decided to plan something a little different. A little picnic date in a park that Melissa has previously mentioned to you, the same one she used to frequent as a child. Coming from a big family she would always be surrounded with her cousins, spending most of their summers together. One of her favourite memories from her childhood was going to Penn Treaty Park for a family picnic, spending the day basking in the summer sun and running around with the other kids. She’d treasure those memories, knowing they were far in the past and her family relationships became much more complicated as the time passed.

It would be a huge waste to not take the advantage of the sunny and warm spring evenings of Philadelphia, you were planning to make the most of it.

You spent the previous day preparing everything you needed at your apartment. You made sure to pack the picnic basket with everything that was necessary, only waiting to add the food the next day. You opted for a simple charcuterie board, choosing a selection Malissa’s favourite cheeses and meats accompanied by fresh grapes and figs. For dessert you made sure to get a little assortment of Italian treats, the very ones the redhead never stops talking about: a tiramisu, fresh pistachio cannoli and her beloved, Torta della Nonna. It wouldn’t be like you to not include some wine, carefully chosen by the store assistant as your wine knowledge was still lacking.

After school has ended the two of you parted your ways, heading to your respective residences to get ready for the evening. Your outfit of choice consisted of a simple floral dress, one that Melissa adored seeing you wear.

After placing everything in the boot of your car, making sure you didn’t forget anything you drove to your girlfriend’s house, pleasantly surprised to find the chronically late woman ready and waiting for you. The drive to the park was short, only taking about 30 minutes, and you were thankful for that as the redhead did not stop bashing you with questions where you were going. You looked at Melissa as you pulled into the parking lot, a wide smile spread across her face.

“Come on, we’re having a picnic in your favourite park” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car, heading to the boot to take everything out. Your fingers interlocked with the older woman’s as you headed towards the entrance.

You walked through the park for a while, trying to find the most perfect spot to settle, the smile never leaving Melissa’s face. You finally settled under an old willow, across from a field filled with wildflowers, with a full view of Ben Franklin’s Bridge. You unfolded the blanket, laying it on the soft grass and proceeded to take out the food you brought one by one, while Melissa took her spot on the comfortable material.

You opened the wine, reassuring her that you were not the one to choose it, and poured each of you a glass before settling right next to your girlfriend. You chatted for what simultaneously felt like minutes and hours, taking bites of the delicacies you brought and sipping on the wine.

“Those flowers are beautiful, aren’t they” the redhead spoke, looking at the wildflower field spread ahead of your eyes.

“They really are” you smiled as you held her hand. In this exact moment an idea popped into your mind, one that you wouldn’t miss out on and your girlfriend definitely saw the moment of epiphany in your eyes, which caused her to raise her brow in question. You let go of the other woman’s hand and quickly stood up, practically running to the field.

“What are you doing?” Melissa chuckled as she watched you get further away from her.

“You’ll see in a second!” you shouted back, starting to pick some of the daisies growing from the ground. It only took a few minutes before you came back with a messily assembled bouquet that you gently laid on the blanket. Melissa raised her brow at you again, but you didn’t bother with a reply, instead you separated the long-stemmed flowers one by one, carefully platting them together until they formed a long chain.

“Hon, care to explain why you carry a sewing kit around?” the redhead questioned as you pulled out a not so small bag full of threads, needles and a questionably shaped pair of scissors.

“It’s my emergency sewing kit Mel, you never know when you need one!” you replied as you untangled the threads allowing you to cut a piece. “Like right now!” you added with a smile spread across your face.

“Emergency sewing kit?” the older woman chuckled as she watched you tie together the two ends of the flower string with a piece of thread “You really are an old lady at heart, aren’t you?”

You giggled in response, leaving a soft kiss on her lips as you finished securing the pieces together. You gently placed the daisy crown on top of her head, adjusting her softly curled hair as you did so.

“There we go” a blush creeped onto her face as you took in the beautiful sight in front of you, the flowers perfectly complimenting Melissa’s features. She cupped your cheek with her hand, slowly leaning in until your lips connected in a passionate kiss that continued until the need for air became too much causing you to separate. You rested your forehead against Melissa’s as both of you caught your breath.

“Thank you for this y/n” she whispered “I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect evening”

“You’re getting soft Schemmenti” you teased and kissed her again before she had a chance to fire any snarky remarks back at you, both of you smiling into the kiss.

You spent the rest of the evening snacking on the food as you were watching the sun receding in the horizon, filling the sky with a rainbow of colours. You stayed there until the sun completely set, the darkness starting to dominate the sky.

“Come on, it’s getting cold, let’s get out of here” you said in a hushed voice as your head rested on Melissa’s shoulder “I have more surprises waiting for you at home”.

Taglist: @nightmarish-fae @storiesofsvu @maybe-a-humanbean

Join my taglist here!

#k2023bdaybingo #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #fluff #Melissa Schemmenti fluff

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goodnightmemes · 1 year

Text

GONE GIRL (2014) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ What have we done to each other? ❜

❛ I'm the guy to save you from all this awesomeness. ❜

❛ I think it's your chin. Yeah, it's quite villainous. ❜

❛ I have to kiss you now. ❜

❛ Life. I don't remember the point. ❜

❛ Go home, fuck her brains out, slap her with your penis. "There's some wood for you, bitch." ❜

❛ Now, I don't panic easily...but it's weird, right? ❜

❛ Should I be concerned? ❜

❛ I love your parents...but they really can be assholes. ❜

❛ I love having strangers pick at my scabs. ❜

❛ You have a world-class vagina. ❜

❛ We are gonna take this very, very seriously. ❜

❛ I feel like I'm on a Law & Order episode. ❜

❛ Should I know my wife's blood type? ❜

❛ Marriage is hard work, and compromise, and more work. ❜

❛ You naughty minx. ❜

❛ We're so cute. I wanna punch us in the face. ❜

❛ Everyone knows "complicated" is code for "bitch." ❜

❛ It seems like the kind of thing that would happen to [name]. ❜

❛ Just because I don't like to be around [name] doesn't mean I don't care about her. ❜

❛ Anyway, whoever took her is bound to bring her back. ❜

❛ Well, we have our first clue. ❜

❛ You've been up all night. You wanna look like you've been up all night. ❜

❛ Hey, be careful today, okay? ❜

❛ I'll balance on the exact fucking edge of your emotional razor. ❜

❛ I knew you never should have moved back here. ❜

❛ We are all worried. We are all scared. ❜

❛ We had to file a restraining order. ❜

❛ I'm hoping you can tell me what this means. ❜

❛ Hello, stranger. Fancy meeting you here. ❜

❛ Are you following me? ❜

❛ Promise me we'll never be like them. ❜

❛ If it happens, we'll deal with it. ❜

❛ We have each other. Everything else is background noise. ❜

❛ You don't trust me. You don't trust my judgment. ❜

❛ I don't get why you're daring me to be someone I don't wanna be. ❜

❛ You look like hammered shit. ❜

❛ You really don't like him, do you? ❜

❛ Could you please not share that with anyone? ❜

❛ It's like you're the goddamn Homecoming King. ❜

❛ It looked like you were having fun. ❜

❛ I am in a nightmare! ❜

❛ My God, this place literally smells like feces. ❜

❛ Hey...have you told me everything? ❜

❛ All I want is to come over here, have a beer with you, and not be judged. Can we do that? ❜

❛ I'm gonna go Benadryl myself to sleep. ❜

❛ I feel like I could disappear. ❜

❛ I called you a hundred times. You gotta pick up your phone! ❜

❛ I needed to see you. I know this is a bad idea. ❜

❛ Can you at least tell me you love me? ❜

❛ Did you, by any chance, tell anybody anything about us? ❜

❛ Did you leave a pair of red panties in my office? ❜

❛ Never say that out loud again. ❜

❛ It's our last time together. Let's make the most of it. ❜

❛ Last night, I went from desperate to pathetic. I became someone I don't even like. ❜

❛ We could have had this fight four hours ago. I'm late. ❜

❛ You're a fucking coward. ❜

❛ For Valentine's Day, I thought I'd buy a gun. ❜

❛ I'm being paranoid. Crazy. It's just... I'd sleep better with a gun. ❜

❛ You fucking idiot. You fucking asshole! You fucking lied to my fucking face! ❜

❛ If anybody finds out, you're totally fucked. ❜

❛ I was scared for you before, and now, I'm fucking petrified. ❜

❛ But the truth is, you'd have to be a sociopath to behave normally in this situation because it's the most abnormal situation in the world. ❜

❛ I'm so sick of being picked apart by women. ❜

❛ I have nothing to hide. ❜

❛ You have to fucking talk to me! ❜

❛ Why have you kept this stuff? It's like a little box of hate. ❜

❛ I love you no matter what. But you need to tell me. ❜

❛ Are you asking me if I killed my wife? ❜

❛ Because sometimes the way he looks at me I think...He may truly kill me. ❜

❛ I am so much happier now that I'm dead. ❜

❛ Let the punishment fit the crime. ❜

❛ You need to bleed. A lot. A lot, a lot. ❜

❛ But, then, we never really existed. ❜

❛ He loved a girl I was pretending to be. ❜

❛ "Cool Girl. " Men always use that as their defining compliment. ❜

❛ I was fucking game. ❜

❛ What's the point of being together if you're not the happiest? ❜

❛ You think I'd let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? No fucking way. ❜

❛ I need 20 seconds where you don't judge me, interrupt me or get angry. ❜

❛ You married a complete psychopath. ❜

❛ Part of me was relieved when I thought she was gone. ❜

❛ As long as you don't own a python and blast death metal at 4 AM, we're gonna be best friends. ❜

❛ Least you could do is not keep his secrets for him. ❜

❛ I believe you. It's just the craziest thing I've ever heard. ❜

❛ I always wondered why you kept in touch after...everything. ❜

❛ The whole thing just feels hinky. ❜

❛ Whatever they found, I think it's safe to assume that it's very bad. ❜

❛ Don't take it personally. ❜

❛ I thought we were steering clear of men for a while. ❜

❛ I'm not sad. I'm angry. ❜

❛ Why should I die? I'm not the asshole. ❜

❛ That sounds like a very bad idea. ❜

❛ This is a ticking time bomb. You've gotta throw yourself on it. ❜

❛ Where is the money, sweetheart? ❜

❛ You're hiding. I don't know why, and I don't really care. ❜

❛ There are a lot of people out there a lot worse than we are. ❜

❛ Every time you look smug or annoyed or tense, I'm gonna hit you with a gummy bear. ❜

❛ Knowing you were out there was the only thing that's kept me going these past few years. ❜

❛ Why are you so good to me? ❜

❛ Why is she dressed like a babysitter? ❜

❛ Come on, you're staring at ghosts. ❜

❛ Not that I don't appreciate Bait Shop Chic. ❜

❛ There are cameras everywhere. ❜

❛ You are more than safe, and I am not letting you get away again. ❜

❛ You're probably the most hated man in America right now. ❜

❛ Just because I am not a murderer doesn't make me a good guy. I'm not a good guy. ❜

❛ And if you come back, I promise I will spend every day making it up to you. ❜

❛ They disliked me, they liked me, they hated me. And now they love me. ❜

❛ I gave you the benefit of the doubt over and over. Every time you said something stupid, I thought, "Maybe he's just stupid." ❜

❛ I've forgotten how to behave. ❜

❛ Fire doesn't erase blood. ❜

❛ Come home. I dare you. ❜

❛ You fucking bitch. ❜

❛ She slit his throat with a box cutter. ❜

❛ All right, you can stop pretending now. ❜

❛ You do know I was just telling you what you wanted to hear, right? ❜

❛ You know me in your marrow. ❜

❛ Take off your clothes. I need to make sure you're not wearing a wire. ❜

❛ You killed someone. You're a murderer. ❜

❛ I'm a fighter. I fought my way back to you. ❜

❛ I'll make sure that no one forgets the pain you caused me. ❜

❛ When two people love each other and can't make that work...that's the real tragedy. ❜

❛ I swear, you two are the most fucked-up people I've ever known. ❜

❛ I would never, ever hurt you. ❜

❛ I don't care. I am leaving you. ❜

❛ I won't have to teach your child to hate you. He'll do that all by himself. ❜

❛ You fucking cunt! ❜

❛ The only time you liked yourself was when you were trying to be someone this cunt might like. ❜

❛ I've killed for you. Who else can say that? ❜

❛ Yes, I loved you. And then all we did was resent each other, and try to control each other. And cause each other pain. ❜

❛ You're breaking my heart. ❜

❛ You're my voice of reason. I need you with me on this. ❜

❛ Of course I'm with you. I was with you before we were even born. ❜

❛ We've been through the darkness. We've come out, united. ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #sentence meme #rp prompt #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #sentence starter meme #rp memes #rp prompts #*Movie #idk i just rewatched this

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gojocumdumpster · 8 months

Text

”Take all of me, I just wanna be the girl you like.”

I have no clue what the fuck i’m doing..just gonna do another story but for daddy jackie might do a part 2 depending on how i feel and how this story goes. Also sorry for not being active so much school assignments, sports,cooking class,band, ect ect..

Type of story:🎂

Afab reader

Songs to listen to while reading: partition by beyoncé.

You were invited to a pool party by one of your close friends, she had a house to herself and a huge backyard with a pool, hot tub, and some space in the back that had fresh green grass. You been to her house before to hang out and do projects for school and study as-well, this wasn’t new she loved to party. “Hey y/n! You coming to my pool party at 8?!” she said over the phone. “Yeah i’m getting ready right now.” It was 7pm and you were getting ready for the pool party. You had a crush on this dude name Jack. Jack hanma. He was big, buff and tall not many girls or people in general liked him, but on the other hand you did. “I wonder if he’s coming” you said in your head.

You had got up from the couch and headed over to your bedroom, you had went into your closet and saw this cute bathing suit you bought online not so long it was a bikini (in any color) it was your favorite color too. “The baddest bitch is on her way.” you said grabbing the bathing suit. You got done changing and went to go look in the mirror, there you saw a bad bitch with a swimsuit who hugged you tight showing off your curves. You put on sunscreen you grabbed your beach bag that had a towel,sunglasses a hat and your phone. You put a pair of extra clothes over you and headed out, your friend lived in a gated neighborhood you typed in the code and the gates opened.

When driving to your destination you saw huge ass houses that were literally mansions, you pulled into the street she lived at and you instantly knew which house was hers because of how much cars there were and because you’ve been over there countless of times. You parked on the side of the street since her driveway was full, you got out and you could hear the music from the backyard, You walked up to the front door with your purse on your shoulder. You rang the doorbell a couple of times because nobody could hear you but the door opened in the background were people dancing with drinks in there hands, games, food…ect. When you opened the door your friend had opened the door, “Hey y/n! Thanks for coming!!!” she said opening the door for you to come in, you walked in and boy was it crowded.

You went upstairs and into her room and took your extra pair of clothes off and walked off in your bikini. Everyone turned there heads as you were walking outside. Outside had people doing water ballon fights, water guns, people in the hot tubs and the pool. There were also beach chairs with umbrellas that you could rest on, you placed your sunglasses, towel and phone down. You walked towards the pool and sat down on the edge placing on your feet in the water. You were having a blast talking to friends and making jokes. That was until you saw a familiar tall blonde figure walk out. And there he was, Jack hanma had came to the pool party he had swim trunks and a towel.

You friends were smirking at you as they rolled there eyes laughing at you, he had placed his stuff down on a beach chair that was next yours. You were just like a statue staring at him with every chance you had. Jack wasn’t really a social person so it wasn’t very common to see him at places like this. This is your chance y/n. Just get your ass up and go talk to him. You said repeating in your head, you had got up and slowly walked towards him. He was laying down on the beach chair watching everyone. You had walked to him fiddling with your fingers. He had looked away and looked at you and then at your body and back up lifting one eyebrow up at you. “Is it okay if I can sit here?” you said nervously. “Yeah sure.” His voice was always deep, “So what made you come here because I never see you at events like this.” You said confused, “Well I haven’t done anything for a long time so I wanted to see what was the hype about.” He said looking at you.

You guys continued to talk as time passed you started to go checkout the bar with Jack. There you guys talked about y’all’s interests and other things, but that vodka drink got you real good. There were doing karaoke and people were hopping on the stage singing and dancing there hearts out. “Jackkkk I think i’m gonna go on the stage” You said hugging his muscular arm. “Okay have fun” he said chuckling. He watched you in the stage until this one particular song came on. And did you steal the mic? Yes you did. You were singing your heart at and people were cheering you on. Your favorite part was coming on, you saw jack smiling at you crossing his arms. You looked him directly in his eyes and sang. “Take all of me, I just wanna be the girl you like.”

#baki x reader #pickle baki #baki the grappler x reader #baki hanma #baki son of ogre #baki headcanons #baki the grappler #baki dou #jack hanma #jack hanma x reader

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wisdomssdaughterr · 1 month

Text

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER THIRTY → THE RETURN OF THE LOST GIRLS AND BOY

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 4.4k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

All there was left to do was wait, and Steve hated waiting.

The anticipation left him feeling jittery and he couldn’t sit still. He had no clue what to do while they waited, not when the only person he could have a non-awkward conversation with was fast asleep on the couch.

Granted, Steve knew that Sunshine needed the rest for a multitude of reasons. She was their best line of defense if Will figured out he was in his backyard and sent the monsters after them. That, and she needed the rest. It was clear that she was exhausted between their ambush at the junkyard and their detour to the Hawkins Lab.

Steve saw Sunshine scared before. When she stood wide-eyed and bloodied in the middle of his kitchen the night she escaped, he knew that there was pure terror in her eyes. But kneeling in front of her outside the Lab, trying to stop her fingers from clawing the tattoo out of her arm, Steve started to realize how deep her terror ran. He knew very little about what had happened to her over the ten years she was missing, besides her acquirement of superpowers, but that look in her eyes both the night she ran away and when she found herself back at the front gate told Steve enough.

Whatever went on inside that place was nothing short of a nightmare, he was sure. If it could make someone like Sunshine, someone who could face down monsters without flinching, no wonder she was so scared to end up back there. But Steve meant it when he said he and everyone else in their odd little group wouldn’t let that happen. If those people ever came back, they’d have to go through all of them to get to her; Steve was sure the kids' pure determination and sass would be enough to deter any bad guys.

Bad guys. Monsters. Superpowers. It was insane to think that if Steve had stayed home that November night last year if he had quit his pursuit of Nancy, he’d probably have no idea what was going on in his hometown. Hell, Steve would probably be at home, drinking his father’s beers with Tommy and Carol with no clue to the fact that monsters lurked under their feet. But Steve’s entire life had changed in one week.

He had taken up residency in the living room, a couple of feet away from where Sunshine slept on the couch, covered with a quilt that Hopper had placed over her before he snapped back into his tough guy mode and stomped his way out of the house and into the backyard with a couple of the kids trailing behind him with a plan.

Steve swung his bat half-heartedly and was tempted to sink further into his head, but his thoughts were cut off by the sound of the back door slamming shut. Peering into the kitchen, he saw Hopper rejoin the group from the shed. Steve joined the crowd at the table and awaited the latest news about Will.

“What happened?” Dustin asked.

“I think he’s talkin’, just not with words,” said Hopper as he wrote down a series of dots and dashes on the sheet of paper.

Steve furrowed his brows. “What’s that?”

His question was answered in unison by Dustin and Lucas. “Morse code.”

“H-E-R-E.” Hopper read his translation of the dashes and dots. “Will’s still in there. He’s talking to us.”

The group sprang into action, ready to decipher Will’s message before whatever possessed him took complete control of the kid.

Hopper rejoined the group in the shed and relayed Will’s code through the walkie-talkie. Lucas listened closely to the series of clicks and repeated them to Dustin, who copied them down on a sheet of paper. Then, it was Steve and Max’s job to find the corresponding letter to each dash and dot to figure out what letters they stood for. They’d shout out the letter and Nancy wrote down the message on a sheet of paper.

They all worked quickly, unsure of how long they had. Within a couple of minutes, they managed to gather the two-word message. Nancy held up the paper with furrowed brows as they all gathered around her, eager to see what Will had said.

C-L-O-S-E-G-A-T-E.

Close gate. The message was confusing and somewhat underwhelming to Steve, but he assumed the group of scary smart children knew exactly what their friend was talking about. Steve didn’t get a chance to ask any questions, though, because the phone rang with a shrill scream, startling everyone.

Dustin was the first to feet. He ran to the phone and hung it up quickly. A tense moment of silence passed, and they thought they were in the clear. But the phone rang again. Dustin moved to hang it up again, but Nancy pushed the kid aside and ripped the entire receiver from the wall. It crashed against the ground and stopped ringing.

“Do you think he heard?” Dustin asked.

Steve shook his head. “It’s just a phone ringing. That could’ve been anywhere, right?” It was a common ringtone, nothing unique, Steve wanted to believe.

→←

Alarms blared through a smoke-filled corridor. Seven stumbled over her bare feet as she raced down the hall. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand in an attempt to keep herself from inhaling the smoke, but she couldn’t stop it from stinging her eyes. The world before her blurred as unwelcome tears formed. The alarms mixed with booming voices that came from all directions, disorienting her further as she ran deeper into the maze that was Hawkins Laboratory.

Rounding the corner, she was met with a thick cloud of smoke and flashing emergency lights. The fire and burst lights were no doubt the doing of one little girl. And Seven needed to find her.

Large, shadowy figures of soldiers came into view, and in between them and she stood Dr. Brenner with his hands clasped in front of him. The familiar, stoic, and remorseless expression on his face she had come to resent with every bone in her body. He nodded, a signal, and the soldiers dropped their weapons before they advanced toward her.

Seven stood her ground and tried to shield the fear that knotted in her chest. “Where are they?” she screamed. Brenner didn’t answer, but he walked closer as the soldiers grabbed her shoulders with harsh fingers that dug into her skin. “What did you do?”

Standing in front of her, he towered over her small frame. He looked down at her like she was lesser, a child but hardly one at that.

The soldiers tugged harshly on her arms, holding them in an awkward position behind her back in an attempt to stop her from using her abilities. Seven struggled under their steely grip, but she didn’t break eye contact with Brenner. His eyes were nearly lifeless and rimmed red from the smoke. He was like a void, dark and cold and unforgiving. His eyes gave himself away; they reminded her that he’d burn the entire world to the ground to get what he wanted, and he didn’t care about the casualties caused.

“I’m afraid there was nothing else we could do,” he said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “Actions have consequences, Seven. They knew what would happen if they tried to escape, and they paid the price for it.”

Any sadness that lingered in Seven’s body was replaced by a fiery rage that ignited in her chest and pumped through her veins. A scream tore from her throat, and she thrashed against the men holding her like she was some wild animal. Her mind was much too scrambled to get a proper hold of her abilities, so she fought like the animal they treated her like. Seven twisted her body, bared her teeth, and kicked her legs for everything she was worth, but it still wasn’t enough.

“This is your fault! This is all your fault!” she wailed, lungs burning from the smoke and her own fire. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

Oh, there was so much hate. She hated him for everything he was worth. She hated what he had done to her and to every single child who had met the cruel fate of entering the Lab. She hated how she had been conditioned to believe love was something only to be received if she shut up and did what she was told. She hated trying so hard to listen, to be good, to be quiet, to be violent only when asked. She hated that every single death that haunted the building had never been for the greater good, but only for the benefit of a madman.

A void had been carved out of her chest and it bled senselessly on the tiled floor. The number of children had dwindled to two. Two out of too many to count. Only she and Eleven remained, and what was to come of them?

The ringing of a telephone tore Sunshine from her nightmare. She sat up with a strangled gasp as the image of a smoke-filled hall was replaced by a warmly lit living room. A rush of voices followed, accompanied by a slamming door and loud footsteps. Sunshine slid off the couch but paused as she stood. The world around her swayed and her vision blurred for a moment before it corrected itself. Her head still throbbed, and her bones still ached, but she tried to fight it off. She rubbed her eyes and winced as the fresh bruises settled into her skin.

Everyone flooded into the living room, looking frantic and moving in a whirlwind that made her even dizzier. “What’s going on?” she asked.

All of the kids, minus Will, jumped onto the couch and looked out the window. Dustin flickered his gaze between the outside and Sunshine, his face drained of blood. “Will figured out where we are and sent the Demo-dogs after us.”

A chill ran down her spine and her lungs ached as if they were still filled with smoke and screams.

Hopper entered the living room with two guns in his hands. He yelled at the kids to get away from the window, which they immediately did before he looked pointedly at Jonathan. “Do you know how to use this?” Jonathan sputtered in response. “Can you use this?” His voice rose with authority and panic as he waved the gun around in his hand.

“I can,” Nancy said. The weapon was tossed to her, and she immediately readied her grip in the center of the living room. Nancy and Hopper had their guns, Steve had his baseball bat, and Sunshine tried to jumpstart her abilities.

Light sparked in her palms, but it fizzled out like a wet match before she could get a proper hold of it. She cursed under her breath as blood began to flow freely from her nose, quicker than normal due to her body being unable to fight off the side effects of her abilities.

As she kept trying, she felt Hopper watching her. “Kid, maybe you shouldn’t-”

Sunshine cut him off with a stubborn huff. “No. I can do this,” she insisted. Hopper looked ready to protest, but something stopped him.

She focused all of her energy on her hands and silently begged her mind and body to work with her one last time that night. She had to save her friends and the group of kids all huddled behind them, scared out of their minds.

The growls and howls of the monsters grew closer and the tension inside the home was suffocating. They were grossly outnumbered, and Sunshine couldn’t get another spark. There was no telling how far two guns and a baseball bat would get them. She was the one with abilities; she was supposed to protect them.

“Where are they?” Max asked fearfully from behind the shoulder of Lucas. No one had an answer for her. It sounded like the creatures were all around them.

A loud screech startled everyone, and they all shifted to point their weapons at the window where the noise had come from. The monster made a strangled sort of cry before silence fell. The only noise was a light rustling from outside and the labored breathing of everyone inside. Somehow, the silence seemed worse to Sunshine; she didn’t know what waited on the other side of it.

Sweat beaded across her forehead and light refused to catch in her hands.

The silence was broken abruptly by the shattering of glass. Through the living room window flew a monster. A mixture of screams and gasps followed. The monster slid across the floor over the blanket of broken glass until its body was stopped by the bookshelf in the far corner. Sunshine expected the monster to jump up, ready to attack, but it remained motionless.

Hopper slowly approached it with his gun aimed and finger on the trigger, but when he tapped the monster with his boot, nothing happened.

“Holy shit,” Mike breathed out from somewhere behind Sunshine. “Is it dead?”

Before Hopper could answer, a click came from the front door. Everyone’s attention was pulled away from the seemingly dead monster. They watched with bated breath as the latch on the door moved on its own, unlocking without any assistance. The chain fell, as if pulled by the hand of a ghost, and swung down before the doorknob was slowly twisted.

No one in the room muttered so much as a breath as they waited. None of them were prepared for what stood on the other side of the door.

No monster awaited them. Three pairs of scuffed tennis shoes stepped across the threshold of the home, and the energy in the room shifted dramatically with the unexpected arrival of three familiar faces.

Sunshine’s hands dropped to her side as if they suddenly were attached to weights. She was sure her heart stopped for a moment, and her legs threatened to collapse under her from sheer disbelief.

Three children stood in front of them; two children with bloodied noses and one with his hands carefully tucked in the pockets of his coat. They stood right there, right in front of Sunshine as they had time and time again in her dreams, but they were always out of reach inside her head. Maybe she was still dreaming.

While she tried to figure out if what she was seeing was real Mike stepped forward toward the group of three.

“El,” he whispered. He saw her too. Maybe it was real.

El was there, alive and breathing. Her arms wrapped around Mike and the two kids hid their faces in each other shoulders, covering their sniffles in the fabric of each other’s jackets.

The two kids who flanked El’s sides stepped around the reunion and headed toward Sunshine. Their hair was just as blonde as she remembered, and their eyes were still little pools of bright blue. They looked almost the same; their noses were still pointed and their cheeks full. But they stood a couple of heads taller and with a could faded yet scars across their pale skin.

Neither the twins nor Sunshine said a word for a long moment; they simply stared at each other until Sunshine broke from her daze. “Are you really here?” she whispered, scared of the answer. After all of the tricks and lies she had endured, it was hard to know. That was until the young girl crossed the short distance between them and curled her lips up in a smile.

“Yes.”

Before Sunshine could say anything else, a set of bony arms were wrapped around her torso with so much force and both of them fell to the ground in a fit of happy tears and unreal laughter. Sunshine hugged her back tightly and buried her face in the mess of blonde curls that tickled her chin.

El pulled away from Mike and wiped her happy tears before she fell to her knees and joined the girls on the ground. The three sisters embraced, each with similar tattoos on their wrists and enough power between them to bring the world to its knees.

They were back and they were alive; Sunshine couldn’t believe it. She brushed her trembling fingers against the flushed cheeks of Eleven and Ten to ensure that they were indeed really in front of her.

“How…” Sunshine rasped out with a shake of her head. “How is this possible?”

“It’s a long story,” Nine said, standing beside the three girls with a small smile of his own.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were okay?” Mike asked El, his glossy eyes not moving away from her until another voice spoke up.

“Because I wouldn’t let her,” Hopper said. El sighed and stood to her feet before she approached Hopper, earning a series of confused gazes. “What the hell is this? Where have you been?”

“Where have you been?” El bit back. Hopper pressed his lips into a thin line and pulled El into a hug, much to the shock of the group gathered in the living room. Sunshine kept one hand in Ten’s as they both stood up and watched the interaction with confusion.

Mike was the one to figure it out first. “You’ve been hiding her.” His words were bitter. Rage flashed across his freckled-covered face as he raised an accusatory finger in Hopper’s direction. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time!” he yelled.

It felt like someone struck Sunshine in the gut. She nearly doubled over, but Ten squeezed her hand and kept her grounded.

Hopper knew El was alive the whole time? Why didn’t he tell her? Hiding El from the party was one thing; they were just kids, and she understood the dangers their knowing could have put them in. But Sunshine was El’s sister. El was the only family Sunshine had for years. While Sunshine was mourning the death of her sister, it had been a lie, and Hopper never said a word.

“Let’s talk. Alone.” Hopper ushered Mike down the hall, sparing Sunshine a quick look of mixed emotions before he disappeared into a bedroom with the raging pre-teen. Sunshine almost followed, but her hand was tugged on, and she was brought back to the fact that two more children from the Lab, who she also thought had been dead for years, were very much alive and standing before her.

“Who are they?” Dustin asked, pulling away from the group hug between him, Lucas, and El. His gaze was pointed at the twins, who stood close to Sunshine’s side.

El’s lips quirked upwards in a smile as she said, “Sister and brother.” Family, not Sunshine’s blood but a family bound by something else.

“No way!” Dustin gasped. “You guys are like El and Sunshine?!”

With a quick nod, Nine replied, “I’m Luke and that’s Leia.”

“Like from Star Wars?” Steve asked, earning a series of looks, mostly from Dustin and Lucas.

A million questions raced across Sunshine’s mind. She didn’t understand how the twins and El were all alive and seemingly unscathed.

For years she believed the twins had died in a Lab escape gone horribly wrong. And El, sweet El, freed from the Demogorgon that they all believed killed her the night at the middle school.

“How are you here?”

“Kali,” El said, earning a questioning gaze from Sunshine. “Eight. I found her. They were with her.”

Eight. Eight was another child of the Lab with abilities that Sunshine never understood. From what she remembered, Eight was a lot like Ivy. Both of them were angry, but Eight never showed any softness like Ivy had. Maybe it was because Sunshine hadn’t spent as much time with Eight, but it wasn’t unreasonable for anyone from the Lab to lack softness under the circumstances.

Sunshine believed Eight had died alongside Nine and Ten that fateful night, but they all had been alive the entire time.

“Jane said you were alive,” Ten, Leia, said. Her hand was still gripped tightly in Sunshine’s. “We missed you. We missed you so much and we had to see you for ourselves.

Nine, Luke, sighed and looked down at his shoes. The scared little boy Sunshine knew all those years ago still lingered in his eyes and the way he stood almost folded into himself. But he was taller and there was a matureness carved out in the circles under his eyes and the frown of his chapped lips. Inside his head was a storm Sunshine could only pretend to understand.

“We tried to come back for you and Jane. We really did. But…” he trailed off.

Sunshine felt anger bubble up inside her chest. “Brenner lied.” Of course he had. He had told her that the twins and Kali were punished for their escape attempt. He didn’t want her to know they made it out, probably because he was worried that she would try to do the same. But it didn’t matter whether she knew or not, she still broke out with El regardless and made his worst fears come to fruition.

“This whole time I thought you guys were gone,” said Sunshine.

Tears gathered in Leia’s big eyes as she whispered, “We’re so sorry.”

With a careful hand, Sunshine wiped the tears from Leia’s face before she cupped the girl’s cheeks. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.” They were so small when they left; she couldn’t imagine how scared they must have been. At least they were alone, they had Kali. “And none of that matters anymore. You’re all here. That’s what matters.”

“Family.” El smiled brightly, despite the dark makeup smeared around her eyes.

Despite the horrors the night had held, Sunshine couldn’t shake the relief that rushed into her chest. Each loss carved a piece out of her heart, but some of those pieces had returned. She felt hopeful for the first time that night.

From behind the four of them, Dustin cleared his throat and tapped on Sunshine’s shoulder, shooting her and expecting look. “Oh, right. Luke, Leia, this is Dustin and Lucas.” The kids waved as they were introduced, with a newfound excitement lighting their eyes.

“We know,” Leia quipped. “Jane told us all about you guys on our trip here.”

Moving from Lucas’s side, Max held out her hand to the closest kid to her, which was El, and introduced herself. El looked between the outstretched hand and Max’s face before she stepped around the redhead and went straight for Joyce. Max’s smile deflated, but before she could drop her hand, it was grasped by Leia, who shook it with enthusiasm.

“Hi Max.” Both girls giggled.

Sunshine worked to introduce the rest of the group. “This is Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve.”

A sudden, sharp gasp startled the group, who was still on edge from their nearly missed, second monster attack of the night. Nancy, who still had a gun gripped tightly in her hands, snapped her head toward Dustin and asked, “What?”

“We have our own team of X-Men.” The look on Dustin's face was one of pure amazement. To his defense, he wasn’t too far off. There were four Lab kids with their unique share of abilities. To a couple of kids who grew up reading comic books, they found themselves living inside of one.

Mike and Hopper concluded their conversation and seemed to be at somewhat of an understanding, for the time being. Everyone regrouped around the kitchen table that held Will’s message.

“You opened this Gate before, right?” Joyce asked, earning a nod from El. “Do you think if we got you back there, you could close it?”

“It’s not like it was before,” Hopper cut in. “It’s grown. And I mean, that’s considering we can even get in there. That place is crawling with those dogs-”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin blurted out.

Hopper glared in the kid’s direction. “What?”

“Demo-dogs. You know, like Demogorgon dogs…” Dustin cut himself off with a shake of his head. “Never mind. Not important.”

El ignored all of them and looked at Joyce with pure determination shining in her eyes. “I can do it.”

“You’re not hearing me,” stressed Hopper, but El was too stubborn.

“I am hearing you. I. Can. Do. It.”

At El’s side, Leia spoke up. “I can clear a path.” Everyone shifted their attention onto her, making her cheeks redden at the attention. “The, um, Demo-dogs. I can fend ‘em off and keep a clear path for El to reach the Gate without having her waste energy.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hopper tried to reason with the determined kids. “No. Listen to me-” They didn’t. Leia fixed her eyes on the light fixture that hung above the table and upturned her palm. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath as the light flickered and sparked before it cut out. It only lasted a second, and when the lights returned, little waves of what could only be described as lightning danced between Leia’s fingers in a flashy display of her powers.

“I can do it,” Leia said, extinguishing her hands with a shake. “We can do it.”

“Even if they can, there’s still another problem,” added Mike. “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

Max asked, “I thought that was the whole point?”

“It is, but if we’re really right about it, if El closes the Gate and kills the Mind Flayer’s army, Will is a part of that army. Closing the Gate will kill him.”

Something shifted in Joyce’s expression. She stood up straighter before she bee-lined to Will’s room. Everyone had no choice but to follow. Will lay motionless on his bed, his skin slick with sweat and deathly pale. The window was open and filled the room with cold November air that brought goosebumps to Sunshine’s arms but didn’t seem to be doing the same to Will.

“He likes it cold,” Joyce said. She hurried over to the window and slammed it shut with a small grunt. “That’s what Will kept saying to me. He likes it cold. We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is like a virus and Will’s the host, then we need to make the host uninhabitable.” Nancy stood at Will’s bedside, beside Jonathan. “If he likes it cold…”

Jonathan finished her thought, “Then we need to burn it out of him.”

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know this time,” said Mike.

There was a beat of silence as they all thought of somewhere they could take Will. After a moment, Hopper grumbled something under his breath before he said, “I know a place.” And the next step of their plan was set in motion.

Tagged (let me know if you'd like to be on the list!): @sattlersquarry , @leptitlu , @echoing-oursong

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x reader #el hopper #jim hopper #joyce byers #jonathan byers #will byers #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things 2 #project sunshine

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fire-fira · 2 years

Text

Okay, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while but kept getting derailed. Thankfully I’m fully caught up on Rise (though it took me forever) and I was able to mostly sort out the in-universe order for the episodes.

Because fun fact-- something I noticed way back in season 1-- is that the episodes weren’t released in in-universe order. This was true on cable, this has held true on netflix and hbo-max paramount+ (I goofed, oops), and while [turtlepedia] does have them listed in tv broadcast order and has the episode production codes listed, neither of those entirely match up with the various in-episode context clues for what order things happen in.

And believe me, some of those context clues, those in-episode “signposts” are subtle enough to be blink-and-you’ll-miss-it details (like the fact that the background video for Donnie and Mikey in Hypno! Part Deux! implies that it’s happening at the same time as Repomantis). Needless to say it’s taken a lot of work and a lot of paying attention. And thankfully season 2 wasn’t as all over the place (mainly due to more of the episodes not having any distinct signposts beyond things that made it obvious they took place after season 1).

(I’ve done my best to get it as nailed down as possible. Episodes that occur at the same time are listed on the same bulletpoint in recommended watching order.)

So good news if you’re like me and you’d like to watch the episodes in in-universe order, because this is that list!

Without further ado, I give you:

The In-Universe Rise Episode Timeline

Season 1:

Mystic Mayhem

Origami Tsunami

Donnie’s Gifts

Smart Lair

War And Pizza

Newsworthy

Repomantis & Hypno! Part Deux!

Down With The Sickness (Due to not really having any more than one possible signpost, this one could take place either before or after the previous point or The Purple Jacket. I don’t think it’s any later than that, but it’s debatable.)

The Purple Jacket

Minotaur Maze

The Longest Fight

The Fast And The Furriest

Stuck On You

Hot Soup: The Game

Mascot Melee

The Gumbus

Shell In A Cell

Pizza Pit

Bug Busters

Mrs. Cuddles (Like Down With The Sickness this one has very few signposts, only two that I spotted and one of those is debatable, but it does take place sometime after The Fast And The Furriest.)

Al Be Back

The Evil League of Mutants

Late Fee

Bullhop

Portal Jacked!

Mind Meld

Nothing But Truffle

Warren And Hypno, Sitting In A Tree

Shadow Of Evil

You Got Served

Operation: Normal

The Mutant Menace

Sparring Partner (This is another one where the placement isn’t entirely certain, but it is after Origami Tsunami, The Fast and the Furriest, and Shadow of Evil.)

How To Make Enemies And Bend People To Your Will

Mystic Library (This is another one where there aren’t enough signposts to be sure where this one belongs exactly, but this was my best guess.)

The Purple Game

Jupiter Jim Ahoy!

Cloak and Swaggert

Man Vs. Sewer

The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek

Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man

One Man’s Junk

Snow Day (Yet another one where the time placement isn’t certain and this is my best guess, though it does take place sometime after Late Fee and possibly Jupiter Jim Ahoy!)

Insane in the Mama Train

End Game

Season 2

Many Unhappy Returns

Todd Scouts

Goyles, Goyles, Goyles

Flushed But Never Forgotten

Lair Games

Breaking Purple

Repairin’ the Baron

Air Turtle

Pizza Puffs

Sidekick Ahoy!

The Hidden City Job

Always Be Brownies

Mystery Meat

Donnie vs. Witch-Town, Raph’s Ride-Along, Hidden City’s Most Wanted, Bad Hair Day

Fists of Furry

The Clothes Don’t Make the Turtle

Battle Nexus: New York

Finale Part 1: E-Turtle Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Finale Part 2: Shreddy or Not

Finale Part 3: Anatawa Hitorijanai

Finale Part 4: Rise

Rise of the TMNT, the movie

Go forth and enjoy!

(And if anyone wants my rationalization on any of this, just hit me up and I can go in detail.)

#TMNT #ROTTMNT #Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #episode list #I'm a nerd and you're welcome

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idolatrybarbie · 3 months

Text

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader, marcus pike & f!reader

word count: 7.8k

rating & summary: mature - 18+ only! | You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut.

tags: heavy dubious consent - kissing, lies and manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, discussion of canon acts of violence, obsessive behaviour, controlling behaviour, misogyny, allusions to stalking. dead dove; do not eat.

notes: the behaviours of marcus pike are based upon the misogynistic and predatory philosophies of pick-up artists (link) and personal experiences with stalking. i would like to emphasize that these are bad people doing bad things. thanks to @wannab-urs for the beta and for being my revisionist history expert.

You drive to the car rental business housed in a hovelling little building next to the runway. The airport itself is huge for such a small place devoid of anything else, though you figure things worked out that way for that very reason. Lubbock Preston Smith treats you just fine, and your short flight to Dallas is distinctly unmemorable. The layover lasts a little over an hour before Southwest Airlines is herding you back onto another airplane.

It’s been a day and a half. You haven’t called Marcus back yet. What are you supposed to tell him?

Hey, I’ve decided that I want to help this criminal because…it’s what I want to do?

Terrible.

You wonder what Frankie’s life would look like, now that you’ve been in it for all of one week, if you weren’t in contact. Probably the same as it has been for the last eight months: quiet. Blow-your-brains-out quiet, solemnity trapping him inside his busted trailer. Seriously, that thing needs a bath.

The moon keeps you up. Truly, you let it. One slide of a curtain and you could fall asleep in half darkness, dead to the world. But you can’t. You don’t want to. Growing back into having that word—want—after years of doing what’s best is about as strange as Francisco is.

Somewhere between twinkling stars, your phone buzzes next to you on the nightstand. It usually stays silent, your alarm the first thing to wake you right before sunrise. When you pick it up, an unknown number is scrawled across the screen. You can’t quite place the area code.

“Hello?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hey.” Frankie.

“How did you get this number?”

“Luck?” he asks. When you don’t say anything, he gives you a real answer. “Aren’t too many of you in this digital copy of the New York City phone book.”

Setting that aside, you say, “It’s late, Frankie.”

“I know that.”

“Why are you calling?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That’s what television is for,” you say. “Or…porn.”

“Trust me, you’re a last resort,” he says. Then he asks, “Is it weird for you?”

You resign yourself to having this phone call. “Is what weird?”

“Knowing I’m guilty.”

Is it? Surprisingly, no. In the eyes of the law, you’re just about as bad as him. Just about.

“What answer will make you sleep better?” you ask instead.

“I don’t know,” Frankie says. “Honestly, I had no clue what was goin’ on. Will told us to lay low for a while—”

You want him to continue, but you have to stop him. For both of your sakes. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You have to stop. Might not want to incriminate yourself over the phone. It’d be better if you—”

“Stop? Yeah,” Frankie agrees.

“What else can I do?” you ask him.

“Well, if you can’t listen,” he says, “…stay. On the line. Just like this.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For an hour, you listen to Frankie Morales breathing. You can tell when he slips unconscious, exhaustion winning out. Your heart beats a little faster when you hang up, tempted to re-dial only to hear him pick up. You don’t, of course; doing that would wake him. When you fall asleep, you picture Frankie dreaming. It’s peaceful.

In the morning, you gather your notes on Frankie Morales together. Here is what you know so far:

The government is planning to extradite him and his retired special operations team members and friends, Will and Benny Miller, and Santiago Garcia for their illegal actions in an unsanctioned operation in Colombia. Their travel spanned into the Peruvian Andes, leaving jurisdictional territory a little murky without legal help.

Frankie Morales is single, fourty-two, living (or hiding out) in Lubbock, Texas. He’s lived there for eight months after having his pilot’s license revoked a second time for an apparent relapse using substances. So far, you haven’t noted any signs of addiction or using, but he could be hiding it. God knows his closet is crammed full of skeletons already.

He grew up in Texas, just like you did. He had a little brother (status and whereabouts unknown) and a mother (deceased). He was in the flight academy straight out of basic training, finishing his degree in mechanical engineering at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley. Frankie’s mother died two months after he got home from a second tour in Iraq.

He’s guilty: of the espionage, the theft, the murder. All of it. The government has photos, surveillance footage, and probably a haul of eyewitness testimonies. The odds are unequivocally stacked against you—against him. Yet for some reason, you still want to try and save him.

This is it. You’ve officially gone insane. You’re going against everything Marcus has ever told you, any reason you’ve ever learned or logic that has managed to worm its way into your head. All on a whim. What? Because he’s nice to you sometimes? Anyone can whip out a pitcher of fucking lemonade!

No, this is something else. A pull, a fascination. The darker parts of you are drawn to him. You are so sick and tired of everyone else saving you. You want to be good because you are good. Not because Marcus tells you so. Not because your mother can finally bear to flash you a smile at annual family dinners these days. Because of something you have done; earned and given to you by yourself.

A text from Marcus interrupts your thoughts.

Are you still alive?

Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone and call him. It starts to ring. For some reason, you seem to be able to hear both ends: your dialing, and his obnoxious Mick Jagger ringtone. The song is muffled, sketchy pop beats stowed away by the limits of sound travel.

A knock at your front door surprises you. Getting up, you tie your robe at your waist, unlatching the deadbolt before unlocking the door.

“Marcus?”

"Would it kill you to answer your phone?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't call me back."

"I was getting to it."

"I thought you were dead," Marcus says. "You hang up on me, and you were still at that Francis guy's place..."

"Frankie," you correct him.

"Yeah, him. Whatever." You don’t know why the dismissal in his tone irks you so much.

"I can't talk about this right now."

Marcus huffs out your name, staring out at your kitchen before facing you. Him in his work suit and you in pajamas, you rest on uneven footing. “I told you he’s bad news. Get yourself out of this.”

“Can we reconvene for this lecture later? I have to go to work.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Marcus—” You already know he won't budge. “Okay. Fine,” you say. “But you have to behave.”

“Me? Always,” he says.

You roll your eyes, shooing him to the couch as you start to get ready.

There are two sides to your identity as a journalist now: what you’ve been sanctioned to do, and everything else that you haven’t. The job you fill at the Post is pretty mindless. You’re a staff writer, barely entry-level enough to get you acknowledged by upper management. You write up quick stories pulled from blind lead wires about how the economy isn’t doing well, or submit story ideas on housing that always get shot down. All of this means it lets you focus way more time on Frankie than you should.

When you're ready, Marcus takes your purse from you, freeing up your arm. He leads you to the street, hailing a cab. When the vehicle rolls up to the curb and sloshes a mix of rainwater and slush onto his shoes, Marcus doesn’t even blink. He opens the door for you, letting you get in first. Chivalrous, gentlemanly. Laying it on a bit thick, but when is he not?

The ride is quiet. You watch slick streets pass by from your window, listening to the cab’s tires rolling through dirty snow and pools of water. When you glance over, Marcus is doing the same. You're dreading the conversation waiting for you, but you can't bring yourself to regret the decision made. Marcus was right about your gut. You believe that Frankie deserves a shot at redemption. Each piece of the puzzle pulls you closer to him. He reminds you of yourself. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with the help of people like you and Marcus, maybe he can rebuild a life after all this—whatever is to come.

You get out of the car first, leading the way inside the statuesque building as you shake off the soggy snow that’s settled over your jacket. Taking the stairs two at a time in your shoes is a struggle.

“Here,” Marcus says. He offers you his hand halfway up to the second floor.

Seven flights of stairs later, you welcome him to the Post’s offices. The floor is barren of another living soul, just as you’d predicted.

Marcus stops short, standing next to the Tetris maze of cubicles. You shake your head, beckoning him around a shadowy corner to your cozy nook of the building.

“An office?” he asks.

“You're surprised?”

“Is it bad if I say yes?”

You put on an exaggerated frown, unable to keep a straight face when he holds his hands up in surrender. “They seem to like me around here.”

“You make that part easy.”

“For now,” you say. Taking a seat in your plush rolling chair, Marcus sits down across from you. “I have a feeling the story ideas I push aren’t exactly winning me any favours.”

“‘Cause you want to write about something real?”

“Exactly,” you say. “I’m sick of business puff pieces and reports on the next Amazon stock shift. I want to write about the people. What’s going on, what they’re going through? I’m working at the fuckin’...diet Financial Times.”

“When what you want is full sugar Wall Street Journal,” Marcus says.

You sigh. “A pipe dream.”

“Not for you.” Fixing him with a hard stare doesn’t stop him. “Look at what you’ve done with only a couple years under your belt. In another five? Ten? You’ll be running this place, babe.”

You let air punch out from your nose, ignoring the pet name. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Marcus says.

He sounds so confident, unshaken in his sureness. But you don’t live in Marcus’ world. You don’t get the things you want. You work for them. Not that he doesn’t, but of course Pike’s the guy to get a promotion that seemingly falls from the sky.

“Alright, Mr. Agent Man. Enough optimism from you,” you say.

The next hour is all but silent as you open up a spreadsheet, scrolling through digital receipts stored in your work email. You continuously switch between the two browser tabs, reading numbers and typing them in. The expenses of your White House trip trickle into their appropriate boxes as software organizes everything automatically. Marcus sits with you, eyes caught on something through the glass side wall of your office. He gets up and leaves, returning moments later with red licorice vines.

“Want some?” he asks, offering you the bag.

You bite your tongue between your teeth, dialed into your task. “Pass.”

“More for me.”

When your neck starts to hurt from hunching your spine, you sit back, shoulders stretching wide. You don't know if Marcus has been watching you this whole time, or if the movement caught his attention. The intensity of his gaze has your heart jumping to your throat. The moment you take notice, the force in his stare melts away.

"What?" you probe.

"You ditched the case, right?”

"Seriously? Right now?" Marcus doesn't speak, waiting for an answer. "I didn't. We can’t just give up on him.”

"You never listen to me."

“Since when have you been my boss?” you ask.

A beat of silence. “Since when have I not?” Marcus retorts.

You scoff. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“It’s always—Marcus, I don’t know what to do. Marcus, please help me. And it’s fine—”

“Sounds like it isn’t. I thought we were friends,” you say.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“This is my wheelhouse. You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll say it anyway. On this, I know better,” Marcus says. “And honestly? You know it too.”

You know what I’m talking about.

“That’s low,” you say.

“But it’s true.”

You stand up, walking away from your desk—from him. He follows you out of the office, his dress shoes catching on the carpet tile. Marcus won't let up that easily.

“I want to make it all go away,” you say. “The indictment, the investigation. All of it. And if we can’t do that—”

“We can’t,” Marcus interrupts you.

“Then I want to make sure that Frankie stays here. In America. No extradition.”

"I don't think you know how this works," he says.

"I've worked in this business just as long as you have.”

"As a journalist. You are not a political animal. You are not a monster. You can't rip this apart for yourself. For him."

"And you?" you ask.

"This favour stopped being for me the moment you stepped on his porch," Marcus says. "You are not one of them—you are not a senator, you are not the District Attorney. Most importantly, you are not a lawyer. The girl who gets the congressman of Rhode Island's coffee every morning has more political clout than you do."

"Well I'm glad to see you have so much faith in me," you say.

"This isn't about faith! You think this is about belief? It's about not getting yourself fucked over in the process. You are not the thing that goes bump in the night, or makes a phone call to execute a cell block over in Oklahoma. You play the game. I play the game. Frankie played, too. And then he stopped playing, and he went against their rules which is why we're standing here, discussing whether or not we can save him when that's not for us to decide!"

You've never seen Marcus this angry. You've never seen him this anything. His emotions never really leave gift box range: happy, nicely wrapped, and convenient when you need them.

"You imagine yourself as the immovable object to the unstoppable force. You're not. You're a little girl who has no clue what she's doing."

"And you do?" you spit back. "You did? Didn't we all learn our lesson the first time? Or is your memory so short that you've forgotten sitting at that table with me."

He remembers. That temper of his liquifies, Marcus' eyes soft before he coaches his face into a hard mask once again. "An innocent man doesn't run."

"Bullshit. Innocent men run all the time. It's how they get shot in the back," you say. "Just because you have made up your mind about what he is doesn't mean that I have to."

"You should. It's all laid out there in front of us both."

"You are the one who led me to this case."

"I didn't have all the facts then. Going to San Antonio was rash. I wasn't thinking," he says.

"You were thinking. You were thinking that these men didn't deserve extradition. You were thinking that I owed you a favour, and it was the perfect time to call in. And now what? Now that you know they're not cookie-cutter American patriots, what? This is what they're owed?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's what he deserves. All four of them. It's what's right. What's fair."

"When has anything we've ever done been right or fair? You think what I do here is saving lives? Feeding the public articles about how billionaires fucking the everyman is a good thing?" you demand. "And you? Is sending another crime boss for a cushy plea stint at club fed saving the day? We aren't in the business of right or fair, Marcus. I thought you knew that."

"So what, you and this pilot? You think saving him is gonna right all your wrongs?" There's an edge creeping into his tone. He's hedging too close into the territory of implication.

"I never said stopping that extradition order was the right thing to do," you say.

"It's selfish," Marcus says.

"And so what?" you ask. "We're already here, aren't we?"

The two of you in this room, you're both shiny and candy lacquered to hide the filth on the inside. Sometimes you used to wonder if Marcus was the exception to that rule, but you know better now. Good people don't do what you do. They never make it this far.

Marcus is simply better at hiding it.

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Roles reversed, you would do the exact same thing."

"Hell would freeze over first." He spits your name out with an edge that's not an edge, but a tender hint of concern—no, pity. A dichotomy only Marcus Pike could manage. "You're not a fixer. You can't fix this."

"And you're not my keeper. I'm not asking you to save me this time, Marcus. I'm asking for your help."

"What if I say no?"

"You don't want to do that. You don't want to make me do that."

Marcus scoffs, walking towards you. He's in your space in an instant. Instinctively, you step back. He meets you there despite it. Marcus is so close now; you've never seen him like this. You don't want to.

"So you're all big and scary now?" he asks. His whispered breath over your lips makes your skin crawl.

He takes your jaw between two fingers, forcing you to look at him. The touch prods at that empty part of you, dark and deep, exposing you. When Marcus kisses you, a ghost of connection, you let him. It feels wrong; your stomach churns in the two seconds between its start and end. Marcus doesn't kiss you like he wants you—at least, not in the traditional sense. This isn't about love. It's for power.

He lets you go, walking away without another word. You hear the door to the stairwell swing open with a whine. You can only breathe again when it clicks shut.

You stay frozen in time for the next twenty days. Every blink has you reliving that moment. Your dreams are precariously empty. Marcus is gone again.

Hot breath chafes at the back of your neck, a delusion your mind has concocted to justify the fear that pumps through your blood at a constant. You can finally put a name to the feeling that’s overtaken your gut, swaying every thought and decision you make. Marcus has you, but not in any way that’s comforting.

He doesn’t call. Frankie does. A lot. Twice one week grows to twice a day. The worst starts when he grows bolder, leaving messages. He sounds about as scared as you are, more desperate with each voicemail. You start to really worry when he stops calling altogether.

You find a little bit of wiggle room in your vacation days, flying back to Lubbock close to Presidents’ Day. Texas has taken on uncharacteristically moody weather, the sky swampy and grey as rain drowns out any hope for sunshine. You get the same truck to rent, filling it at a Gas n’ Sip on the way out of town.

The backroads flood with rainwater, puddles gathering into small ravines on the scarred asphalt. You splash through them at sixty miles an hour, racing in the rain. After taking your sweet time to get here, a sense of urgency floods you. Scraping together the last minute trip, your mind filled itself with nightmare scenarios. Maybe he’s gone even further off the grid; maybe you’ll never find him again. Or worse, maybe he’s taken up all of that mindblowing quiet literally.

The trailer park is about as flooded as the roads, if not worse. The sea of gravel has been swallowed up by water. All you can see in pretty much every direction is a gathering of murky liquid. The truck is absolutely drenched by the time you park in front of Frankie’s home. His own truck is there too, a weak flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the truck, your shoes are immediately submerged. It soaks through to your socks, but you can’t muster up enough care to notice. Trying to dodge the wind, you rush up the steps of the trailer and pry the screen door open. You knock five times in quick succession, then step back and wait. Air blows violently against the right side of your face. Squeezing your eyes shut only does so much; you’d rather press your face against grimy siding and get out of its path entirely.

When the wooden door behind the busted screen opens, Frankie’s face goes on a journey. Moody to shocked in a millisecond, and shocked to something you can’t quite parse in the next. He’s still in his pajamas.

“Hi,” you say. His eye has recovered, for the most part. The last remnants of a yellow-green bruise smear his skin.

“You’re back,” he returns.

“Can I come inside?”

Frankie seems to think about it, giving you a onceover. You almost think he’ll tell you no. When his eyes land on your sopping wet shoes, he frowns. Leaning forward, he opens the screen door towards you.

Inside, you take your shoes and socks off.

Frankie says, “I guess you got my messages.”

“You stopped calling.”

“You stopped answering.” Touché.

“I got worried,” you say.

The words make Frankie freeze, pausing his ambling through the kitchenette. Facing the broad expanse of his back, you watch his shoulders relax. He turns to you. His jaw ticks before he sighs.

“If you don’t wanna help me, you could just say that. Not hearing from you—”

He worried. Well, you knew that. But this is different. Nothing selfish here, it’s not anxiety over the situation at hand. Just you. Frankie worried about you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Things got complicated.”

“In New York?” Frankie asks. “City girl too busy for a poor old country bumpkin, eh?”

It’s a joke, you realize, a laugh hiccuping from your chest. “Something like that.”

Frankie smiles then, mustache hiking his lip up to show you a flash of teeth. “I was just about to make lunch,” he says. An offer.

“Sure,” is all you give him.

You sit at his table once again, flipping through notes stuck together with raindrops. Frankie silently cuts up part of a head of iceberg lettuce right against the peeling surface of his countertop, the thick noise of chopping lulling you into focus. You haven’t looked at any of this in a while; time to play catch up.

A light clatter distracts you. By the time you look up, Frankie’s already standing at the sink, water running. A plated sandwich sits in front of you, lettuce and lunch meat jutting out at each side. Frankie finishes up in the kitchen, wiping his hands off on his jeans as he finds you staring.

“What?”

“You didn’t make one for yourself?” you ask.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

Disregarding any manners, you pick up the sandwich—already sliced in half—and take a bite. It’s a little more leafy greens than anything else, but you aren’t one to complain. Frankie sits across from you, waiting.

You say, “I wanted to circle back to what you said on the phone,” with bread still in your mouth.

Frankie shakes his head. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

All you do is blink at him, swallowing the bite before you speak again. “You mentioned something about Will Miller a few weeks ago.”

“Right. Will, he told me to get outta dodge for a while. All of us to go dark. I’m living my stupid fuckin’ life, and then a few hours later my sergeant is giving me orders again.” Frankie prods his tongue into the side of his cheek, silent in thought. “I did it. Of course I did it. You get an order, you take it.”

“Even if you’ve been retired from Special Forces for almost a decade?” you ask.

“It’s not an if,” he says. “It’s an always.”

“And why is that? William Miller hasn’t been your army sergeant in—”

“Look, I’ll level with you. I get that you don’t understand. It’s not something I can explain for you to understand,” Frankie says.

You like a challenge. “Try me.”

“The training…it’s like a switch. Once you turn it on, you can’t—The people, your team. They’re family. They’re more than family. Your mother isn’t operating an AR-15 to save your life or dragging you to safety from a frag. I owe that man my life. That’s never going to change. They are the men that will always have you, no matter what. So when he asks you to do something, you do it.” He pulls at the whiskers of his moustache. “There’s no turning that off.”

Hot pants of breath beat down the stretch of your neck, your eyes stuck wide as you try to reign in the flood of sick crawling up your esophagus. Frankie looks confused as the quiet draws on longer than socially appropriate. Clicking your pen once, twice, three times, the beast at your back disappears.

“Could I use your bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” Frankie says. “First door that way.”

He points further into the mobile home, down what’s barely a hall with two doors on either side. Spotted wood flooring turning to chipped tile as you step inside, the door pulled shut behind you. Your knee knocks against the lip of the sink, oddly low to the ground; you have to hunch to reach the tap. Cool water pours over your hand after a moment of anticipation.

The cold flow relieves some of the burning in your body, splashes of it against your eyelids running to your lips and tongue. Your mind is scattered, heartbeat in your ears. You can only grasp one thought through all the noise. This is what it feels like to be haunted.

Marcus owns you. You aren’t sure when exactly that happened. When you let that happen. So many moons ago, back in Austin? Or that diner, maybe, when he got you back after years of interim silence.

He was right. You are not a monster. He is. The world of politics is an ugly one, full of ugly people. Still, you don’t like to get acquainted with things that go bump in the night. You never noticed there was already something under your bed.

The door opens again with a creak. Frankie slouches in his seat, chin resting against the heel of his hand that’s propped against the table. You watch him, spotting the way he shakes out his shoulders. His arms let the fabric of his t-shirt loose before pulling it taut again. You want to trace your hand along the line of his spine.

Frankie refuses the rest of your sandwich, so you finish it alone. You ask him to recount the whole story, beat by beat: how he got involved, when, what the original plan was. He says that after the recce, they were supposed to hand off their gathered intel to Colombian authorities, but Santiago—Pope, he calls him—had other ideas. They went into Lorea’s estate expecting your average narcos cash stash, and wound up with a mansion spilling American dollars from the drywall.

You can see the anger in his eyes when he talks about the helicopter, the crash. Frankie slips in a mention of some pretty Colombian girl, but she’s gone from his story as quickly as she appears. The helicopter was overweight, sending them into a tailspin over the grassy plains of Peru.

“There were people there—villagers. We, uh… They were scared. A bunch of big Americans drop down from the sky with guns yellin’ English at them.” Frankie takes a long pause, staring at his hand. “I don’t know if Tom shot first, or if I—”

Oh god.

“There were a few of them dead. Pope worked out a deal with their leader. Gave him some money. We took a pack of mules, and we were on our way.” Frankie looks up at you. “I thought I’d never think about it again, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. And then Tom died. It all just went to shit.”

“Your friend died. You killed some people. In the process of all this, you broke some laws. From the sounds of it, that’s been your whole life. So what makes this different?” you ask.

“We didn’t…” he trails off. “There was no flag on our shoulder this time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not it,” you say. “That’s the reason the government is after you. That’s not why you are the way you are about it.”

A well of anger and loneliness. Self-pity has stained the man known as Francisco Morales.

Frankie bristles. “Maybe it’s just sad, hey? Maybe I wish I’d done better. Been better. Maybe Redfly wouldn’t be dead.”

Redfly. Tom Davis. From what you could unearth of the man all those months ago, you don’t think it would have mattered. He seemed more likely to stick a shotgun in his mouth than Frankie, probably in one of those shit condos he was trying to sell. Better to die in those mountains.

“What happened to the money?” you ask.

Frankie shakes his head again. A silent no.

“You know I could just find it. Make this easy.”

“We gave it to his kids. Two daughters.”

“Offshore accounts?”

Frankie gives you a look: what do you think?

You hold his gaze, half challenge and half fascination. Abruptly, you switch gears. “I’ve got one rule.”

“A rule?” Frankie asks.

"I don't give a shit what you tell the D.A., or your lawyer, whoever. But you don't lie to me. If this is going to work, it's because you're honest. And I'll be honest too."

"Fine," Frankie says. "But I have some terms of my own.”

“Such as?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“You haven't told me a thing about you and this case," Frankie says.

“There is no me and this case, Frankie. I didn’t do anything illegal here.”

“But you know about it,” he says. “If the government was going to move on me right now, I’d already be in a cell somewhere…which means they haven’t. And yet, here you are.”

You wish he was as stupid as he looks.

“And?”

“How do you know about this case?”

“I know someone at the Justice Department. He brought the case to my attention,” you say.

“Brought it to your attention,” he says flatly.

“Yes, Frankie. He brought it to my attention.”

“Bullshit.”

“Frankie—”

“I think that your friend went looking for something he shouldn’t have. And fuck, did he find it,” he says. “The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is how you’re the one sitting here, not him.”

“It’s complicated,” you say.

“Don’t lie. You’re bad at it.”

Fuck. Fuck. You’ve painted yourself into a corner here, no way out.

You deflate, tired of keeping up the brave face. “Everyone’s got their marching orders.”

Anything left of that unsure sense of judgement in your chest melts away as Frankie’s face falls. He’s a good little soldier. So are you.

“Marcus Pike…he wanted me to drop this. You. He thinks you deserve jail, that you aren't any better now than the man you were in Colombia. Probably worse. He says it’s the right thing.”

“And what do you think?” Frankie asks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You don't want to see him go away for it. The Colombian government will demand to see him rot, but that's never sat right with you. Now the thought makes you sick, gut rolling whenever it crosses your mind. But like it or not, Marcus has gotten into your head. You need something to drown him out.

Frankie takes your empty plate and puts it in the sink. He pulls a bowl out of his cupboards. You grab your phone, tapping at the screen to wake it up. No messages, no missed phone calls.

“I should go,” you mumble, already reaching for your shoes. A warped water line has formed on the canvas upper, like brown and grey watercolour paint. You shove your damp socks in your pocket.

Frankie stops what he’s doing, pouring milk into floating bits of instant oatmeal.

He says, “It’s still raining like hell out there.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Frankie doesn’t have a pithy comeback for you, simply standing by. “I’ll be back tomorrow—early. So be up this time.”

Frankie nods wordlessly, putting his bowl of brown sludge into the microwave. He stands in the kitchenette, watching it spin and spin behind glass. You head for the door, looking down into your purse in search of the truck’s keys. When you look up again a few steps from the exit, Frankie is there too.

His nose is inches from yours now. Frankie looks at you with something—a feeling you can’t quite grasp. It rolls off him in waves, overwhelming. He’s standing just out of reach. He is always standing just out of your reach.

When you stretch a hand up to his jaw, it feels normal. Natural. Like you were meant to hold him, like he was meant to be held. His stubble is prickly against the skin of your palm.

Frankie leans into your touch, his hand moving to hold your own in place. With your fingers splayed across his cheekbone, you can feel the fine lines around his eyes. Up close you can see the tiniest of sun spots along the column of his throat. The loose collar of his shirt creeps up and back down again with every rise and fall of his chest.

He turns his face, still in your grasp, and presses his lips to the skin of your wrist. Immediately, you yank the limb back to your own body. Like a jolt of sparking electricity, his face flashes through your mind. Marcus and his ugly, docile kiss. The scent of his cologne, eyes so close they could burn through flesh.

The memory of him this close, closer… It holds you in a tight grip, overtaking the present and launching you into the past. Back to the cost of doing business. The price of helping Frankie. But you cannot do this—this with Francisco Morales. Neither of you get that luxury.

You say, “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock.”

Then you watch him expectantly, waiting for Frankie to step aside. The trailer door squeaks open at your pull, whining when it slams shut again. You feel eyes at your back crossing the short distance to the truck. Whether they belong to Frankie or Marcus, you aren’t quite sure.

You eat again at a place called Taqueria Jalisco. The chicharron en salsa feels like an undeserved treat. You eat half of the food, washing it down with two strawberry mojitos.

Your waitress—Carla—comes back around to your table in the middle of a staring contest with the remnants of dinner. You order a Long Island Iced Tea for dessert, smiling politely as she clears your dishes. The alcohol settles a hum in your body. You feel like a live wire, unrestrained in your power to damage and destroy. So far, you seem to be your only target.

The Palm Tree Lodge happily accepts your business again, even giving you the same room as your last stay. Wrapping yourself in bedsheets, you close your eyes. The first thing that appears behind them is Frankie’s face, soft and careful as you held him. You feel a whisper of touch where his lips had been against your skin, rubbing over the spot with your thumb.

You should be scrolling through your phone, dredging your mind for any of your old classmates that went on to law school and owe you a favour. You should be thinking about any lawyer at all, but you aren’t. You can only think of him. Sweet brown eyes staring out from that despairing face. The look that makes you want him.

He is failure, primed and bottled. That makes you want him more.

Focusing, you find a place for his trailer in your mind. You’re standing by the steps, but it isn’t raining here. The sun-mottled sky shines blue and canary yellow as a glass of something cool sweats in your hand. You urge yourself to advance, taking careful steps up to the door. Before you can pull it open, you slip inside all on your own. Frankie sits at the kitchen table with his back to you, shoulders stretched beneath the thin fabric of an undershirt.

You go to him, taking a sip of the drink you’re carrying before you set it down on the table. Candied cranberries wash onto your tongue, fizzing up in your mouth. Hands empty, you rest them over each one of Frankie’s shoulders. He leans into the touch, the whiskers of his moustache brushing against your fingers as he sets a kiss to your skin.

You’re chasing a disaster. You shouldn’t want him. Wanting has only ever brought you bad things. You get the sense that if you told him to, Francisco would do it, no matter the ask. It’s hard to tell if that is a scare or a solace.

You and Frankie are the same in the exact way that you and Marcus are two of a kind. Fair is foul and foul is fair.

It continues to rain, worse today than before. You make good on your promise, knocking on Frankie’s door again at nine o’clock sharp. The door opens two seconds later. Frankie is dressed, just like you’d told him to be; a pink button up that’s been through the wringer, unbuttoned to the middle of his chest as it reveals a white undershirt like the one haunting your imagination. He lets you in without much fanfare, offering you something hot and warm from the brewing pot of coffee.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie says. “I don’t have any creamer, only sugar. It went bad a few days ago.”

“No worries. I like it black.” You do not, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You and Frankie continue this stilted little dance as he sets down the mug on the table, not even trying to hand it to you lest your fingers touch. He seems to sit a little further out from the table today.

From your bag, you produce a scribbled list of twenty names you could scrape up on the drive here, eyes dividing their time between the paper and the splashy roads ahead.

“What hoop am I jumping through today?” Frankie asks you.

“No circus tricks for you. It’s all on me right now.”

“That’s a relief.”

Typing out the first name to locate them in your contacts, you say, “I’m sure it won’t stop you from being a clown.” You hit dial as a snicker wriggles its way out of him. Let’s hope you can find Chuckles a lawyer.

By the fifth phone call, neither of you are laughing. Pacing across the stretch of floor between the kitchen and the living room, you listen to another one of your peers professionally shoot you down.

“No, Alex. I get it. Thought I’d try anyway, right?” you ask. “Thanks. Yeah, bye.” You hang up, hand sliding from your forehead to your jaw. “Fuck.”

Frankie’s crossing out the names on the list for you, drawing a squiggly line through the name of your old friend from Rice.

“Who’s next?” you ask.

“Aditi Patel. Oregon area code,” he says. Frankie feeds you the numbers as you type them in, both of you waiting on the dial tone. She doesn’t even pick up, sending you straight to voicemail.

This cycle continues for the better part of two hours: another phone call, a rejection or an answering machine, followed by another line on the page.

Hanging up again, you ask Frankie who follows Ryan Treho on the list.

“No one,” he says. “That’s it. That’s all of ‘em.”

“Let me see.”

He hands it to you, gazing up as you look it over. Frankie is right. Every name on this list has been called, every one giving you some variation of no. The hum you thought was Frankie’s ancient-looking fridge ratchets up an octave in your ears, noise crowding around you as you stare at the piece of paper.

You can barely hear Frankie’s question of, “What do we do now?” as the rattle reaches a peak, squealing like static. You’re drawing a complete blank, breath halting as you will yourself to fix this.

Frankie grabbing your hand pulls you out. You’re standing beside his seated form, facing forward while he slouches in his chair at an angle.

“I’ll figure something out. Call some people. Don’t worry about it.”

“A little difficult, don’t you think?” Frankie asks. “What are you going to do?”

Call Marcus.

You don’t want to tell him that, though. You know your eyes are glossy, hot tears threatening to spill at any time as you try to put on a brave face. Cool, calm, and collected; that’s who you are supposed to be. Strong in the face of an adversary. So why do Frankie’s brows knit together, his face coloured in concern?

“I don’t know.”

The chair drags loudly against the floor when he kicks it out, nodding at you to take a seat. You do, folding yourself in half the moment your ass hits the chair as you duck and hide from him. Saltwater streaks down your cheeks, never making it past your lips as you wipe harshly at your skin.

“I’m scared,” you say.

“Everything is gonna be fine,” Frankie says. It feels warped for him to be comforting you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—”

You can call him. He could help you. You already know he would.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Him.”

Living in this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nightmare has turned your life inside-out. There’s nowhere to run, no one to go home to. There is no home anymore.

You try to backpedal, mumbling a quick, “I’m being dramatic,” as Frankie takes in your broken face. “It’s fine. I’ll have to call Marcus. Figure out a new game plan.” The very last thing you ever want to do. More likely than not, you’ll have to see him; he’ll want to see you.

“I never told you why I punched out my neighbour’s grandson,” Frankie says.

“You didn’t. What does that matter?”

“Can you just—?” Frankie purses his lips, restarting his story. ��He was talking about…you. Calling you names and—it was offensive.”

“So you beat the shit out of him,” you say. “That’s great, Frankie. I can’t pummel the fact that no one wants to represent you.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m saying, if your friend at that fancy Justice Department ever did anything to you…y’know.”

“You’d go to prison for assault on a federal officer,” you say.

“Seems like I’m headed there regardless,” Frankie says. He waits on you for an answer.

“I’m fine. The stress is fucking with my head.” Lie. You know it, and Frankie knows it too, judging by the scowl on his face. “I’ll be okay.”

You grab your things, making for the door.

“What happened to being honest with each other?” Frankie asks.

“This is me being honest. And the truth is, I’m going to be alright. Okay?” He doesn’t anything. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Rushing to the truck, you yank open the door to get out of the rain. Settling yourself, you put the keys in the ignition. You reach to turn them…and then you don’t. Nothing you want is at the other side of this truck’s engine rumbling to life. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to leave. You don’t.

Time passes blindly, the rain and the sky staying the same as water beats against metal. It seems almost everflowing, like it has always rained and it always will. The sound of precipitation lulls you into a dead stare, the upholstering of the steering wheel suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You don’t notice Frankie at the opposite window until he pulls the passenger side door open, scooting in along the leather bench seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Frankie runs a hand through his hair, dotted with wet drops as he smooths it over. This is the closest you two have been physically since yesterday, heat from his thigh radiating against yours. With the crown of your head against the headrest, you watch water through the windshield.

“I have a wife. And a kid.” The words appear from nowhere.

“Oh.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Well, had. I’m sure they think I drove off to shoot myself, wash away on the beach. We lived in Florida…Miami. Not great for the recovering addict.”

“Okay…”

“I thought I’d tell you because of the whole honesty deal. You know, and not to say—fuck.”

You start to ask him if he’s alright.

“Are you a friend?” he blurts out.

“Uh…” You fix your gaze on the dashboard.

“Sorry. Thought I’d ask.”

“I don’t know what I am. To you or to anyone else.” Dragging your eyes to his face, you meet Frankie’s baby browns. “Do you want me to be that? A friend?”

“I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this,” Frankie says.

The sky continues to pelt the truck with rain at all sides, heavy drops sounding off against the roof. Reaching up, you smooth out a crease in his forehead with your thumb. Worry ages him.

Your ring and middle finger cradle the ridge of his jaw. “You smoke?”

A curt nod. “They’re back inside.”

Next thing you know, Frankie’s jogging to the trailer as you wait under the short overhang, out of the wet. He comes out with a carton of Camel Lights. You take it from him, along with the butane lighter he offers. There are no chairs on his tiny porch. You opt for sitting right in front of the screen door, spine sliding against the mesh.

Frankie joins you on the ground. It doesn’t really surprise you. Keeping a cigarette pinched between your lips, you hold it between a peace sign and light it with an inhale. Then you put the lighter back in Frankie’s hand. After the first few drags, Frankie takes it from your lips with careful fingers. You watch him smoke, lips wrapping around the stains of your saliva. Instead of handing it back to you, he slips the cigarette back into your mouth.

When he lays on his side, head falling softly into your lap, you don’t even blink. A puff of white smoke leaves your lungs, the slow wind taking it up into the clouds. Frankie’s coarse curls slot easily between your fingers.

I want to turn back time and never have to meet you like this.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

#frankie morales #marcus pike #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #the mentalist #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: revisionist history

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nightghoul381 · 6 months

Text

Licht 3rd Anniversary Event

A Beast's Dream Realized by Beauty

Chapter 2

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Prince. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

I’m very sorry I don’t have screenshots for this translation until the epilogue!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

There are three things we can tell from Licht’s drawings.

The first is that every drawing has a big, round full moon.

The second is that there are no roses in bloom.

And the third is that he hadn’t drawn any people.

Relying on the few clues I had, I immediately headed out to town with Licht, but nothing came of it—

Fruit shop Clerk: “These are wonderful colors but I have no idea where the drawing is supposed to be.”

Grocery Store Clerk: “Miss Emma, is this some kind of riddle? Is there a hidden code or something?”

Passing Soldier: “I do patrols a lot, but I haven’t seen scenery like this… I’m sorry I can’t help you!”

Emma / Licht: “Hmm….”

Licht and I go into our favorite café and take a seat to rest our feet, tired from walking around.

Immediately after ordering our sweets, I let out a sigh.

Emma: “This is pretty tough.”

Licht: “The toughest thing is how bad my drawings are…”

Emma: “No!? I like how unique and creative your drawings are.”

Licht: “You don’t have to force yourself to like them.”

Emma: “I’m not forcing myself.”

Licht: “But it’s true that it’s not good enough to work as a clue.”

Emma: “That’s not true.”

I arranged the pictures on the table to see if there were any clues we may have overlooked.

(We went to all the places I could think of and asked the people in town.)

(Even so, the landscape drawing didn’t trigger any memories.)

Emma: “Maybe this scenery isn’t from Rhodolite.”

Licht: “We’ve searched a lot and can’t find a similar place, so I think the possibility is high.”

Emma: “That’s right. Bu what should we do when it comes to other countries…”

(It’s suddenly become even more difficult to find…)

The store clerk sets the seasonal peach tart on the table in front of me.

I hurriedly set aside the drawing and inhaled the scent to my heart’s content.

Emma: “Looks delicious…”

Licht: “You’re drooling…”

Emma: “You’re lying!?”

Licht: “It’s a lie.”

Emma: “…Licht.”

Licht: “I just wanted to see your cute reaction.”

Licht cut into the tart, putting a slice onto a plate and handing it to me.

After I took the plate and thanked him, he started cutting his own portion of the tart.

Licht: “I want to keep your current cuteness in a picture.”

Emma: “…If you say that, I’ll have to get revenge okay?”

The tart that Licht had cut into pieces had the most delicious parts.

While he had a somewhat melancholy air when he dug up the box, Licht was now smiling.

(Licht’s smile is a national treasure no matter when I see it.)

(…national treasure…)

Emma: “Ah!”

Licht: “What?”

Emma: “I have a good idea.”

(With this you might be able to find scenery from other countries!)

After savoring the seasonal tart slowly, we convinced the staff to package the rest for us to take home.

I took Licht’s hand and headed to a certain place.

Sariel: “You want to see inside the treasury?”

Emma: “Yes.”

I had approached the subject while offering tea and a lightly sweetened cake to Sariel while he took a break.

It was only natural that I got a questioning response.

Emma: “Rhodolite is the land of art and roses, so there are many works of art in the court, right?”

Emma: “I want to see paintings by artists from all over the continent.”

Licht: “… I see.”

Licht: “If there’s a similar painting in the court that would definitely be a clue.”

Emma: “Right?”

Sariel: “Are you looking for something? I’m not sure you’ll find it, but it’s fine for you to look in the treasury.”

Emma: “Eh…it’s okay?”

Sariel: “Why are you surprised?”

Emma: “Well the treasury is such an important place that it’s heavily guarded, so I didn’t think it would be possible to get permission so easily…”

Sariel: “Is it really that strange? You are Price Licht’s fiancée.”

Sariel: “You have the right to freely browse the treasury. Here you go.”

Sariel takes out a key from the desk drawer and drops it into my hand.

Emma: “Thank you—”

Sariel: “However, as you said earlier, it houses important cultural property that is under security.”

Sariel: “Don’t play hide and seek in the treasury and break the artwork like Prince Licht did in the past.”

Licht: “…don’t bring that up, Sariel.”

(That really happened?)

Emma: “I understand, I’ll keep my head up!”

The treasury of Castle Rhodolite was even more expansive than the dance hall.

(Even so, it feels cramped because there are so many things.)

As befits the name of the land of art and roses, countless works of art were stored in the treasury.

I froze… if I should fall, I would crash right into the ceramic vase displayed in front of me.

Licht: “You’re too cautious.”

Emma: “Aren’t you nervous, Licht?”

Licht: “Not really? Guess I don’t understand the value of art.”

Licht: “You are far more valuable to me than the national treasures here.”

Emma: “Ah, thank you…?”

(…Licht’s words are always so sweet and make me smile.)

Licht: “There are a considerable number of paintings alone.”

Emma: “Yeah, it’s rewarding to have this many!”

Licht: “Too excited.”

Licht: “…that kind of thing is cute though.”

Licht casually presses his lips against my forehead and immediately begins to remove the cloth from a nearby painting.

(The treasury…. it’s really warm.)

After hours of quiet work—

Emma: “I might have found it.”

Removing the cloths that were hanging on painting after painting…

That’s when I found one picture that stopped my hand.

The painting was a delicate depiction of a foreign dancer.

The dancer is beautiful, and takes your breath away in admiration.

But what caught my attention was the scenery behind her.

Licht: “Which one?”

Licht came closer to the sound of my voice.

The two of us stared intently at the painting like appraisers.

Emma: “Look. First, here’s the beautiful full moon, right? Then there’s the stage where the dancers are dancing.”

Emma: “The jumbled masses in your drawings look just like that, and most importantly, this…”

I compared one of Licht’s drawings with the painting in question.

In the picture that Licht drew when he was young, there are parts that were colored with yellow and green.

On the other hand, the painting depicts a beautiful sandy landscape that is almost transparent and green plants that are not seen around here.

(I don’t know if it’s really right, and it’s possible that it’s just a stretch, but…)

Emma: “The picture you drew was a desert, isn’t it?”

Licht: “…a desert…”

Licht: “That means it’s in Tanzanite, the land of divination and illusion—”

I try to recall the information while imagining a continental map in my mind.

Emma: “Tanzanite… I think that was the country neighboring Jade.”

Licht: “Yes. Tanzanite is the only country that has a desert, and it’s famous for its dancers.”

Emma: “So the person who told you the stories was talking about Tanzanite?”

Licht: “It’s very possible.”

Licht: “I heard that the country over there welcomes dancers and songstresses freely.”

Licht: “…and my mother was a songstress.”

I can hear my heart pounding heavily.

Emma: “Wait, Licht…”

Emma: “Who told you the story that made you draw this picture?”

Licht: “…”

Licht: “…my mother.”

An unfathomable shadow casts into his crimson eyes.

Licht: “This is where my mother wanted to go.”

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince translation #ikepri translation #licht klein #ikepri licht #ikepri licht klein #ikemen prince licht #ikemen prince licht klein

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wthelvetica21 · 1 month

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Boneheads ; Bright Orange Light

Prologue

Manny is cleaning the glasses behind the counter of the bar. Lewis and Manolo had to escort Brook out because he had a little too much for the night. Likely from being away from ‘pretty girls for too long’. Both Papyrus and Sir Daniel were cleaning up the rest of the cantina talking among each other. Most likely asking him more about knightly stuff he thinks. The tired former travel agent of the Department of Death gets startled from his thoughts by a familiar lackdascale voice.

Sans: “How's manning the bar been Manny?”

He puts up the last glass with a sigh and lights up a cigar from his coat.

Manny : “Same as usual Sans. But things have been monotonous lately.”

The skeleton with the blue hoodie shrugs closing his eyes with a light chuckle.

Sans : “Yup, a real ghost town you could say. No bones about it.”

Manny would roll his eyes if he had them in the way Lewis, Manolo, and a few others did as he lit his cigar at the pun. The only one he hasn’t seen in a while was…

Manny : “Oye, where’s Jack?”

Sans : “Oh him? Still mulling over that weird stone thing he and Paps found one day.”

Now that he hasn’t heard about.

Manny : “Si, what about it has him mulling over it?”

Sans : “It was shaped like a tombstone with runes I haven’t seen before. He’s been at it trying to crack what they mean but I may have a hunch but it's...”

He hasn’t heard Sans this unsure in a long time, but then again he’s the only one of the group who is way more savvy with things that would normally be unheard of where he was from. Hell anyone that wasn’t from San’s particular universe. But Manny admits it's interesting and knows Jack is a kindred spirit in knowing more about it. The door swings to the east wing open with Jack using his long leg to kick it open.

Jack : “Sans you won’t believe what just happened!”

In his spindly arms was tombstone-shaped slate. The runes seen to have a subtle glow to them and is making an eerie hum.

Sans : “Woah there! What do you mean by that Jack?”

Jack : “It spoke! Do you think it's a ghost trapped inside this headstone or…”

The seems to get louder as a disembodied and faded voice saying.

??? : “Not a ghost… a messenger… They will arrive in a bright orange light.”

Manny and Sans look at each other. Was this a bad omen? The slate is placed on a table. Lewis and the others save for Brook who was sobering up look at the strange tombstone. The hot-headed ghost with a magenta pompadour asks…

Lewis : “Well? Ya’ll two don’t think it's a trap ain't it?”

Sans : “No idea. Jack just came in with it and it just started to talk.”

Papyrus starts looking at it with suspicion crossing his arms.

Papyrus : “I have my eyes on you tombstone thing. What is your motives?”

No response but still that eerie hum persists before it pipes up again. It was still faded as if whoever was speaking through it was trying desperately to come through but the signal was weak.

??? : “No harm... The Coded, the Hero and the Alcoholic…”

Sir Danial huffs with the sword at his side. He was getting impatient with this thing.

Sir Danial : “Umm um um ummm um umm um?” / [Now what it’s talking about?]

Manolo looks concern putting his hand on the one eyed knight’s shoulder.

Manolo : “Coded, hero and alcoholic? Does it mean out of all of us?”

Papyrus : “The ‘Hero’ could be me or Sir Daniel right? But who is this coded?”

Manny shrugs and sighs. If this thing isn’t talking about either of them then he dreads he’s going to have another handful to deal with. Brook stumbles in, sober enough to process what’s going on.

Brook : “Can someone put an end to that dreadful hum please. My skull hurts… Oh? What is that?”

Lewis : “Notta clue. Donno if this thing is talkin’ about us or someone or somethin’ else.”

Brook : “Oh… A living tombstone? Haven’t heard of that but then again…”

Sans : “Living tombstone? Um…”

Sans has heard of that somewhere before. Now he recognizes the voice and can get a vague idea on who “the Coded” is but the other two not so much.

Sans : “Ahh! Now I get it. The Coded is one of the…”

Before Sans could finish the sentence all the sudden they all could hear and feel a loud hollow boom coming from the outside. Out the window there was a pillar of orange light that was nearly as bright as the sun in the moonless midnight sky.

Sir Danial : “Ummm um umm um umm?!” / [What the hell is that?!]

Manolo looks at Sir Danial with a stern look before turning to Lewis, Manny and Sans stepping outside. The orange pillar of light started to warp and distort into three thinner bands of light. The tombstone slate seems to be playing… music? The genre of music seems to be indie rock of some kind. It seems to be alternating between three songs like a radio with a broken scan nob.

“Then you will know what I am thinking…”

“But they told me, "Dance…”

“But now I'm feeling so beautiful…”

The runes are glowing the same shade of safety orange as the warping beams of light. Then the three beams meet back into each other causing a flashbang with three streaks streaming through the sky like shooting stars with one of them colliding into the lighthouse on the shore a few miles away from the cantina. The other two forked west into one of the beaches while the other east into the outskirts. The bonehead crow looks at each other with a mixture of concern and confusion as the voice from the tombstone slate coming clearly this time before glow from the runes die down and it becomes silent.

??? : “They are here… Find them.”

The Bonehead crew decides to split up into three teams to investigate what or who crashed down.

Sans and Jack head to the lighthouse.

Lewis, Manny and Brook go west to the beach.

Manolo along with Papyrus and Sir Danial go east towards the outskirts.

#boneheads #manny calavera #sans undertale #papyrus undertale #manolo sanchez #jack skellington #lewis pepper #sir daniel fortesque #brook one piece #fanfic #the living tombstone

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analysisn3rd · 11 months

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Erik (Phantom)

Morality

Erik’s morality is quite interesting yet obvious. I shall explain why I see it in this manner, but after placing him on my scale. He would be in the grey section, not near the dark but not near the light. This section is commonly associated with amoral characters and those who do know what morality is but don’t work with a moral code.

Technically speaking, Erik is amoral. This is because he has no clue what morality even is, which is something that’s stated in the book. He’s always seen cruelty and people using others to get to what they want, and, since no one told him that these types of actions are frowned upon, he does them as well. Even though the reason why he did all of his terrible actions is just to feel loved and appreciated much like everybody else, that doesn’t excuse his actions in any way. However, he didn’t know that what he was doing is “wrong”. He was never taught the difference between “good” and “bad”. The first thing that he was ever met with was, actually, cruelty and evil.

Although he isn’t aware of the concept of “right” and “wrong”, there were some things that he did which would be considered “good”, like how he was kind to Madame Giry and Meg Giry and treated them with respect, even though he did that in order for them to help him.

In conclusion, Erik’s morality doesn’t exist, and, as a result, he doesn’t realise that his actions are “wrong”. However, not all of his actions were terrible.

Personality and insecurities

Erik’s personality is quite interesting and very simple. All of the characteristics and traits which can be associated with him are quite obvious within the novel, and I shall explain why he acts in the way that he does.

He’s obviously quite creative, because he’s able to compose his own music and because he’s able to build brilliant, yet horrific, architecture within the Opera cellars. His creativity also shows that he’s quote smart as he’s able to understand architecture and is able to make so many trap doors that he’s called “trap door lover”. He’s also intelligent because no ordinary person would’ve formulated a complex plan as he did to get what he wanted.

This is very obvious about him, but he’s evidently an appreciator of the arts. He’s able to see the beauty in music, musicals and plays. He adores music; it’s undoubtedly one of his passions, and I would even go as far as to say that it’s a form of escapism to him.

He’s obviously an introvert; he would much rather be alone than be with someone else. This is because, over time, he’s learned to fear people just as much as they fear him due to his appearance. They always cause him harm one way or another, and very few of them have actually done anything to help him. He also has no clue how to socialise normally, which causes him to be unable to communicate with anyone to begin with.

A characteristic that I find to be very apparent in him is loving forever. What I mean by that is that when anyone ever does anything kind to him, he will forever remember them and love them. People are mostly atrocious to him, so, as a result, he cherishes the memories of those who were anything but. The perfect example is Christine. She showed him what he wanted; love and kindness, so he wanted her to forever stay with him because he will forever love her for doing that to him.

Because he was brought up in inhumane ways, he doesn’t know or understand much about his own emotions. The only exception for this are extreme emotions, like intense love, which no one could help but recognise. The environment where he grew up in also taught him that he shouldn’t show emotion because, if he were to do that, it would make it easier for people to take advantage of him and use him for whatever they want. As a result of this, not only are the only feelings that he truly knows are sadness and loneliness, but he also isn’t able to realise that the Daroga is his friend. He doesn’t understand what are feelings of friendship, because they are usually not extreme. However, despite this being the case, Erik is quite comfortable around the Daroga as he was vulnerable, crying about Christine, in front of him at the end of the book.

Erik has two very obvious insecurities. He hides a lot about himself, which makes it difficult to determine what he might be afraid of, but there are two fears which make the most sense for him to have.

He undoubtedly fears abandonment. He has experienced abandonment for his entire life. All of his life, he was alone, hated and feared due to something that he couldn’t control, where the first time that he experienced friendship, and wasn’t even aware that he was experiencing it, was when he was a young adult with the Daroga, which resulted in him fearing being left alone forever, which is why he would’ve done anything so that Christine would marry him.

He also definitely fears vulnerability. I touched upon this in a paragraph above, but he’s fully aware that letting his guard down means that people could easily use him and take advantage of him. Besides, there’s no one to protect him for the most part. This is also why he most likely has trust issues.

Conclusion

Erik’s an incredibly interesting character, even if I feel like all of the details about his character and morality. I don’t know whether I like or hate him; my feelings regarding him are very much mixed because he did a lot of terrible actions, but he also was faced with a lot of inhumanity for the majority, if not all of, his life, so that type of behaviour would make sense. I hope that I did him justice either way, and I would’ve truly loved if there were more details about his childhood and adult life before moving to the Opera cellars.

#phantom of the opera #poto #erik #phantom #classics #classic literature #classics analysis #phantom of the opera book #character analysis #phantom of the opera character analysis #analysis #writing

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 3 months

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Dick & Rachel and the Invisible String theory (part 3)

Let's continue with season 2! (You'll find part 1 and part 2 here) Good news is, I fixed the problem of the image limit (silly me didn't know I can put up to 30 images in a post on my laptop). Also good news — season 2 has so many clues that I had to give ONE ENTIRE EPISODE a separate post!

Season 2 is interesting when it comes to the Invisible String because it all seems to be very chaotic and all over the place, which is kind of reflecting the state of both of Dick and Rachel's minds this season. Dick, quite literally haunted by his past, is fighting hallucinations of Bruce Wayne, while Rachel is trying and failing to rein in her newly upgraded powers and struggling with her sense of identity. Their problems are pulling them in different directions, making them deal with stuff separately rather than together. The String becomes frayed and loses some of its integrity. Until, finally having enough of the bullshit, it takes the matters into its own hands (ropes?), so to speak.

And in episode 2x11 "E.L._.O.", sends Rachel a dream.

It's a blaring alarm. A wailing siren. Code Red, it screams, he's doing something really really stupid and it's going to get him killed. It urges her to go, now, before it's too late.

But first a little reminder how we got there.

Dick revealed the truth about what really happened to Jericho. Mad that he kept it a secret and blaming him, everyone (including Rachel) leaves him and goes their separate ways — except for Kory, who leaves to deal with her own stuff but promises to be back, and Gar who ends up the only one staying at the Tower. Dick leaves as well, packs a bag and goes to visit Jericho's mother. After a confrontation with her and Slade, he heads for the airport, a plan to go somewhere remote and away from everyone on his mind. But once he's there, he experiences something like a psychotic breakdown, gets himself detained and sent to prison, being convinced that this is what he deserves for all his fuck ups and mistakes.

Rachel originally goes with Donna but ends up ditching her as well and finds her way to a homeless shelter, where she meets a girl named Dani. Dani invites Rachel to an abandoned house where she and her friends have their place, and tells her she can stay with them. This is where Rachel has the nightmare.

It's all very symbolic this time. A cemetery, a funeral, a gravestone with Dick's name on it. Rachel's reaction to it is heartbreaking to watch. Then Dick appears behind her, dressed in a suit and tie as if attending his own funeral, and begs her not to give up. On him? On Titans? Rachel grabs his hand to look into his mind and find out what's going on but all she sees is some place called Elko diner in the middle of nowhere, which at the time doesn't make much sense. She wants to ask, but a sword is driven right through Dick's chest, Slade standing behind him, and she watches in horror as Dick chokes on his own blood and dies. She wakes up screaming, tires to call him, but his voicemail box is full.

When she doesn't leave immediately, the String tugs at her again. Dani gives her a reading from Tarot cards and the reading is terrifyingly accurate:

"Your past. The Tower. Upheaval. It leads to a period of darkness." — fighting amongst the team, Titans breaking apart.

"Your present. The Moon. The realm of dreams. Your unconscious knows the way back to the light. You have to trust your intuition. It will guide you to your purpose." — THE REALM OF DREAMS!!! GUIDE YOU!!!! TO YOUR PURPOSE!!!! Do I even have to explain?!

"Your future. The hanged man. Brutality is coming your way. You must prepare to make a great sacrifice or... suffer a great loss." — explains the meaning of the vision and predicts the future. The hanged man is Dick, his life is in danger. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Rachel gets another scary vision:

Something insane hit me while I was rewatching this scene and making these gifs. Something that made my jaw drop to the floor.

Dani could be the personification of the Invisible String.

She's only in this one episode, we never see her again. Rachel doesn't get the vision of Dick's death until she's at her place. Her only purpose seems to be to have this scene with Rachel, read her from the cards and help her understand this dream. She's literally guiding Rachel on the right path, a path that will take her back to Dick.

Rachel leaves right after that and heads for the bus station. This is another example of the String working in mysterious ways, because it's a direct callback to the moment from the pilot where Rachel decides to go to Detroit. This time it's a little more intentional — Rachel picks Elko because she recognized the name of the diner from her dream — but the two scenes are done nearly shot for shot to remind us that neither of the instances is coincidental. Just like the previous season, the String is leading her to Dick.

On the bus she has another dream. She's in the same cemetery, sees Dick standing over his own grave. Deathstroke emerges from behind the trees with his sword in hand and Rachel tries to warn Dick but she's unable to move and he can't hear her. Deathstroke kills him again and Rachel jerks awake just when she's about to miss her stop.

Meanwhile, weird things start happening with some of the others. Donna gets a strange call from Rachel, but the static cuts off her voice. Kory, who ended up in Vegas, sees a commercial of the Elko diner on TV. Dawn hears Rachel's voice on the radio as she's driving. All three get the same message: get to the Elko diner.

When they get there, though, Rachel is actually shocked to see them all there and claims she didn't do anything. Then none other than Bruce Wayne walks in and has a nice little chat with them. (Btw Bruce is preaching in this scene. Amen to these words!)

He gives a speech about putting the gang back together despite all the hurt that broke them apart, then simply leaves. Kory, Donna and Dawn aren't too convinced, the latter two deciding to leave. But before they do, a small TV in the back of the empty diner turns itself on and shows news footage informing that Dick is in a nearby prison and apparently helped two men escape. Convenient, right?

All of this is so weird, isn't it? So random. You watch it and immediately claim it "shitty writing" because the way these events happen is so goddamn ridiculous. It feels like it doesn't make much sense.

Or does it?

Because it's not really Bruce. Because in the season finale, when Kory thanks Bruce for coming and his advice, Bruce tells her he doesn't know what she's talking about because he was never there.

But if it wasn't Bruce, who or what was it?

At this point, Dick is having hallucinations all the time. While locked in solitary confinement, he has no one but his mind's projection of his adoptive father for company. They talk, they argue, even fight. Bruce has been appearing to him throughout the entire season, most of the time uninvited (as hallucinations do) and Dick couldn't get rid of him. But the one time when Dick actually does want Bruce to appear, he doesn't.

Bruce doesn't show up, but a large bird appears in a window of the cell and catches Dick's attention.

The only way I can describe Dick's face when he sees it is relief. Man nearly looks like he could cry. He immediately jumps to his feet, eyes never leaving the bird, and softly calls to it, but the bird flies away and doesn't come back even when Dick is shouting after it. Left alone again, Dick hangs his head and drops back to the floor, where he curls, crushed and defeated, as if the last glimmer of hope he had just died.

Bruce comes back shortly after that, and at the question "Where did you go?" he ominously replies that Dick needed to rest, and then changes the topic.

Okay but why pay attention to some bird? It's just a random bird, right? Wrong.

It's Rachel. Her "soul self" as she calls it in season 4. Still linked to Dick's subconscious even after leaving the dream, she "borrowed" Bruce's projection to bring him to the diner and sent the Raven as a replacement. Even Kory and Dawn came to a similar conclusion in the finale:

What's more, Dick must have recognized her in the bird. Otherwise, why would the bird catch his attention? Why would it cause such a range of emotions on his face? The bird doesn't stay for long, it flies away almost immediately, but I'd say this way Rachel now knows where to look. The bird comes back, the tv turns on and now they have the location.

One extra clue that proves it is that the scene in the cell happens right after the scene at the diner, which implies that the two moments might be happening at the same time.

How did Rachel do all of that? Found her way to some random diner in Nevada, brought the girls and Bruce together, sent out a projection of herself to Dick and did it all unconsciously ? Is it her powers or is it the String pulling her forward? Or both? It could be her instinct, her fear, her helplessness and desperation because she's just a kid and she's alone, and she just had a premonition of Dick's death. There's not a lot of time and she needs help. Outside of the diner, she's begging Donna and Dawn to stay, tears shine in her eyes and her breath hitches while she explains to them how she saw Dick die, but ultimately only Kory stays by her side. She gets some of the help but not all, and Dick eventually finds them before they get to find him, but all these weird things didn't stop happening until the threat of Dick dying went away.

As for Dick's end of the String, it kind of only makes a cameo. In his last hallucination, after Dick and Bruce exchange a few kicks and blows, Dick finds himself standing in front of several screens showing some important, pivotal moments from his life, moments that shaped him into who he is. There's many different things here: Robin's violence, his parents' killer's death, cutting Bruce's tracker from his arm, Jason falling from a building — and two memories of Rachel. The first meeting in Detroit and the moment she appeared in Trigon's dreamscape to save him (which also proves something I'll be talking about in season 3, so remember that detail).

And honestly, I can't think of an explanation to this other than the String's mere presence. It doesn't do anything — the scene's purpose is for Dick to figure out a clue left by Jericho. But I find the choice of picking not one but two important memories of her for this scene a really interesting and thought-provoking detail. Especially that the way this entire section is constructed draws your attention to it. We hear Rachel saying "It's you, you're the boy from the circus" in the background and her voice doesn't drown in the cacophony of others from different memories, but it's distinct, standing out from the rest — we as the audience are meant to hear it and recognize it. All the memories on the screens change, some appear on different screens at different times, but everything, from the camera angle and blocking, to editing and effects, made sure these two memories were seen at the same time. They're not the focus of the scene of course but you can tell there's been a lot of thought put into making sure they end up where they ended up.

You know, it's funny how I used to not take this episode too seriously — like most of the fandom — because of all the stuff at the diner and how there's seemingly no explanation to it and it feels so random. Because of how stupid some of the characters decisions seem. We always blame it on the writing, shit on the writers for leaving plotholes and making retcons, and 99% of the time we are right to do it. But maybe we just have to look deeper. Maybe we're supposed to look deeper. Because after looking at these events through the perspective of The Invisible String, this episode will never not make sense to me again. It's not dumb anymore, it's not random. It's actually fucking brilliant. I think it speaks of something that I had to give it a whole separate post to explain it — and that was something I did not plan when I sat down to write this theory.

Now we move to seasons 3 & 4. And check out Part 4!

#dc titans #titans #dcu titans #tv: titans #titans season 1 #titans season 2 #titans season 3 #titans season 4 #dick grayson #rachel roth #dick and rachel #nightwing #raven #kory anders #garfield logan #graysonfam #titans meta #fathers and daughters y'all

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sunecito · 5 months

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Fire Emblem Fates: Agere Leo Headcanons !!

♕ His little age is around 2-6, though he mostly stays around 3 or 4.

♛ He’s a crier. Sleepy? Cries. Lonely? Cries. Bored? Cries. He can be a very clingy kiddo when he wants to.

♕ Ironically, he’s also the independent type. If you place him in a enclosed space with books and toys that jingle he can stay put for hours.

♛ He claims he can read by himself… But being honest, his baby intellect can best handle those cardboard books. (Especially the touch and feel and the look for the hidden object ones-)

♕ Doesn’t actually like physical touch. Camilla found out about his regression when he started tearing up and pushing her away after she tried to give him a hug.

♛ However, he actually loves being picked up, put on swings, sitting on his carer’s lap. He gets overstimulated with a lot of pressure, though, so hugs aren’t preferred by him.

♕ Elise wants to be his main caregiver SO BAD. But that role goes to Odin and Niles (mainly Niles), who treat the baby prince like they’re narrators of a story book. Needless to say, Leo loves it.

♛ Odin takes care of the stimulation: playing, reading, his personality makes the most interesting voices for characters. Niles prefers handling the more domestic duties: cleaning, bathing, cooking, Prince Leo doesn’t deserve any less than the best, after all.

♕ He still likes tomatoes. And by like, I mean that he still adores them. Once he snuck out regressed at night and ate 2 and a half tomatoes before he was caught by Laslow and Peri. (Xander scolded Peri for bouncing Leo and keeping him awake. She loves baby princey)

♛ He’s actually pretty intimidated by the horses, so he never usually goes by the stables. The few times he gets close to a horse is when they’re brought out for training or feeding. He brings his crayons and sketchbook whenever Elise takes her horsie for a ride.

♕ In the Birthright route, Leo finds himself regressed often, even when he tries to suppress it. Sometimes he simply collapses with stress, so Odin and Niles have kept little gear in the places Leo spends his time most.

♛ He cries a lot about his big brother and younger sister, he has nightmares where he acts like a witness. He wakes up in a cold sweat, and Camilla comes over due to his cries and screams. He often breaks down in her embrace, crying out for Big Brother and Sissy.

♕ In the Conquest route, Corrin is added to the close circle of his regression. Corrin was surprised at first (Leo didn’t fully express his regression until Corrin decided to side with them) but then fell completely in love with their babier brother! How could they not?

♛ In the Revelations route, Takumi and Leo grow more close. They still act cold and rival against each other when they’re big, but if anyone can understand Little Leo’s behaviors, it’s Takumi.

♕ Corrin makes a lot of play dates between both princes. (Leo will never admit that he genuinely likes them)

♛ He’s still quiet, as in, he doesn’t even babble. He responds in humming or with body language, other than that, he stays silent.

♕ 1000% a tether kid. He had a bad habit of biting others as a kid and thus likes to bite things while regressed. He has his own chewable paci and he uses it a l o t .

♛ When asked about how he’s feeling, if he says “I dont wanna talk about it”, then it’s because he’s regressing. It’s become like a code for his family and retainers.

♕ Of course, he isn’t public about this, but his family all know. Xander especially loves spending time with his baby brother, even if he has no flipping clue of what he’s doing half the time.

#fandom agere #fire emblem agere #sune'writes #i have more hcs for more characters coming soon hehe

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