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photogirl894 · 1 year

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"The Flower of the Lanes"

Chapter 4

"A Jinx In the Plan"

An "Arcane" fanfic!

Pairing: Silco x fem OC, Viktor (friendship/platonic)

A/N: Good grief, I am so sorry, everyone for taking so long to get back to this fic! I had a bit of block with this one for a while and I also ended up concentrating more on my other bigger Star Wars fic, so my apologies!

There's a new player in Azaela's game of back and forth! 😜 This one will be interesting, for sure!

Taglist: @darthzero22 , @oneshot-one-kill , @ilikemymendarkandfictional , @tech-deck , @crazytookalady , @ladykatakuri

《 Chapter 3

》 Coming soon!

All chapters

Explanation: After an alluring first encounter with the Eye of Zaun, Azaela can't seem to get him off her mind and returns to the Undercity once more...only to find herself in the company of a young, blue-haired girl instead.

That damn Silco just would not leave her mind!

Since meeting him for the first time, Azaela found her thoughts drifted to him constantly over the following couple days. She was spacing out at the dinner table with her parents to where her mother finally asked if she was paying any attention. Naturally, her excuse was just that she was tired and having trouble focusing.

She'd also received a message from Viktor asking for her to look over some of his notes for another upcoming Hextech project, so she met with him on the bridge between the two cities, where she found him sitting on a bench. He greeted her warmly like always and she sat down beside him as he handed her his notebook. She started to glance at his notes...when the orange and black void of Silco's deformed eye came to the forefront of her mind again. His smooth voice sounded in her ear, repeating the words he had whispered into it:

"It's going to get you into trouble one day."

Why was that haunting her? The man was just so beguiling and she couldn't understand why. After all the signs she'd been given or told, she should be scared of him, but she wasn't. She was fascinated by him and she couldn't fathom why. He was just unlike anyone she'd ever seen or met. He was dangerous yet exciting, scary yet enticing, trouble yet a challenge and fierce yet charming. He was a mystery that she was more than determined to solve.

"Azaela?"

Viktor's voice saying her name broke Azaela's thoughts and her head snapped back into reality as she looked back up at him. He had a puzzled but also concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I asked you a question and you were...quite out of it."

"I--I'm sorry, I was...distracted," she responded.

"Coin for your thoughts?" he inquired.

Azaela really debated on whether or not she should tell Viktor about her recent ventures to the Undercity. More than likely, he wouldn't react well, but at the same time, he was her friend and she trusted him. It would be hard to keep something like this from him for long.

Clearing her throat, she then said to him, "I...I went back to Zaun a few days ago...and I met Silco."

Viktor closed his eyes and sighed quietly. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head. Then he followed that up with, "So what happened?"

"It went all right...I think," she answered with uncertainty. "He remembered me and let me speak to him alone. I did something stupid near the end and I left after irritating him, but before that...he seemed almost intrigued. He was surprised at how open I was with my thoughts."

Viktor snickered. "Everyone is usually surprised by that," he countered.

She gave him a small, teasing sneer back. "I know you warned me against him, Vik, but I honestly didn't feel in any danger around him. He didn't want to hurt me. In fact, he gave me a replacement canister for the breathing mask and told me to keep it."

"Does he know you're from Piltover?" he asked.

"Uh...no," she admitted sheepishly. "I'm pretty certain he thinks I'm from the upper levels of Zaun...and I gave him a different name."

Viktor seemed to contemplate that briefly before saying, "Well, that won't matter because you're not going back again, right?"

Azaela averted her eyes and chuckled nervously. "Um...actually...I was hoping to go back and...maybe see him again."

"Z, that's only going to get you into more trouble," he warned.

"I know and yes, I lied to him, but if he knew my real name, then my cover would've been blown immediately and things would've gone differently."

"And how do you expect things to go when he learns the truth?"

"I...I haven't thought that far ahead."

"You never do."

That struck a nerve in her. "Viktor, I know what I'm doing," she spat.

He replied, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"You didn't know what you were getting into either when you trusted Jayce and his Hextech, but that didn't stop you." she fired back. "You still took the risk, even though you didn't know him or if you could trust him."

Shaking his head, Viktor refuted, "That is not the same thing, Azaela. Jayce, I could tell was a brilliant scientist whose ideas were revolutionary to me. Silco is also a brilliant scientist whose ideas are dangerous and he is a violent criminal. The risk I took with Jayce is far different than any risk you take with Silco because they could all result in you getting hurt or worse."

"I don't doubt he's dangerous," she said, "but I get the feeling he's only dangerous when necessary. I wasn’t in fear for my life when I was in his office. There were a couple times I thought he'd be angry, at least, but he wasn't. I'm just...fascinated by him."

He groaned and put his fingertips to his forehead. "Why couldn't you have been fascinated by Hextech like me?"

Azaela snickered. "My mind works differently than yours, Viktor," she said. She glanced back down at his notes in her lap, skimming back over them. "Though not that much differently to where I can't tell you that your notes look well in order to me." She closed the book and held it out to him. "I think your next project is looking promising. Keep me informed of the progress."

Taking the notebook back begrudgingly, Viktor said back, "Only if you keep me informed of things with Silco. If there is even the slightest hint that you could be in any danger, I want to know."

"I will," she said.

After that, Viktor took up his cane, stood up from the bench, slipped his notebook into a satchel and declared, "I'd best be getting back to the lab. Jayce is expecting me Please, take care, okay?"

She nodded. "You too."

He started to walk forward, but then stopped to lay a hand on her shoulder. They exchanged smiles between good friends and then Viktor went ahead and moved along, leaving Azaela alone on the bridge.

For a moment, she watched him hobble away. One of these days, she hoped that maybe his Hextech would be able to cure his disability and he could walk again. He didn't seem to mind, but she had a feeling that it was still something he thought about in the back of his mind.

Her gaze shifted to the other side of the bridge that led to Zaun. Despite Viktor's warnings, she just couldn't help but feel drawn back to that place.

Back to Silco.

It had already been a couple of days since she'd been back and the pull was getting stronger. She wanted to see more and learn more about the Underground...and Silco, too. No amount of research or technology had ever bewitched her as much as he had.

Though, would he even want to see her again after how their first meeting had ended? He hadn't seemed too happy with her. She could always try apologizing, but would he even care?

"Well...guess there's only one way to find out," she thought to herself.

With a turn on her heel, she walked back in the direction of the Undercity.

Even though she didn't have her cloak with her to conceal her normal attire--which she knew Viktor would be frustrated with her about--she'd at least had a mind to bring the breathing mask with her, knowing she was bound to return to Zaun eventually. She was following Silco's advice and using it as sparingly as possible so she could get acclimated to the Underground atmosphere, though it was a very difficult thing to do. The air quality was incredibly bad, it was a miracle that people lived in it.

Azaela continued winding her way down into Zaun, keeping her head low so as to avoid eye contact with any unsavory characters and to take quick breaths from the breathing mask. It amazed her how quickly the sunlight faded the further down she went, even though it was mid-afternoon. She could tell people were watching her as she walked by, but so far, no one was really paying any mind to her.

Surprisingly, she got down to the Lanes without anything happening. It seemed too easy and she even kept stopping and checking over shoulder, paranoid that maybe she was being followed, but every time she looked, there was no one that could see following her. Eventually, she came around a corner and found a small courtyard in the middle of part of the city block and saw a statue was in the process of being built out of scraps of metal. It looked almost finished, from what she could tell. It was a large man holding a pipe that had embers inside of it standing on top of what looked like a wagon in pieces. Whoever this man was, he had to have been important to Zaun to be memorialized like this. He looked intimidating, but he he had a kind face. A very curious thing. Not wanting to get in the way of the builders, she continued on her way.

"Maybe I should head to the Last Drop now...," she thought on her way out.

However, she'd only been walking a few more minutes when she heard yelling nearby and it seemed to be coming from an alley up ahead. Just as she came to the entrance of the alley, someone slammed right into her with a loud "Oof!" and they both went sprawling to the ground.

"Watch it!" she heard a younger voice say.

When Azaela looked up to see the other person getting to their feet and putting their back to her, she saw it was a young teenage girl, probably around thirteen or fourteen, with two long, blue braids running down her back, ending just below her hips. She was in a black crop top, striped purple pants cut off below the knees, loose boots and long leather gloves on her hands. There was a leather bag slung over her shoulder that was clearly filled to the brim with a few things. On her belt, she had what looked like weird metal contraptions as well as a gold pistol.

"Good luck finding me!" she jeered at the people Azaela could now see coming up the aisle. Then all of a sudden, she pulled one of the contraptions off her belt, pulled something out of it and threw it into the alley. A few seconds later, it exploded in a cloud of pink smoke.

The girl then whipped around and looked down at Azaela. "Come on, let's go!" she said, grabbing Azaela's arm and pulling her up off the ground.

Before Azaela could protest, the girl was pulling her along down a few winding streets before ducking back in another small alley. The girl shoved her into the wall and covered her mouth, shushing her. It was then Azaela realized the girl had big, bright blue doe eyes outlined in heavy black eyeliner, dark painted lips, long bangs that fell over her face as well as blue cloud tattoos along her arms and exposed sides. The two of them stayed pressed up against the wall quietly as they heard voices approaching.

"Where did she go?" one voice demanded.

"Damn it, I think we lost her!" cried another.

There was a frustrated groan. "Can't believe she got away with our stuff! We'll get her eventually."

A minute later, they heard footsteps running off. Whoever was chasing them was gone.

The girl removed her hand and stepped back, snickering and grinning to herself.

"Ha, those suckers!" she said with triumph. Then she glanced at Azaela, looked her up and down and stated, "Sorry I had to drag you along for that. Those guys were the biggest jerks."

Still taken aback by everything that had suddenly happened, Azaela stuttered out, "Uh...n--no, no problem. Why...were you running from them?"

"Oh!" The girl revealed the inside of her bag, showing a bunch of different metal parts, and giggled. "I stole all of these from them. Pretty neat, huh?"

"I suppose so," Azaela replied. "Though, it's also pretty dangerous, too."

The young girl got a mischievous look on her face as she flashed a toothy grin and stated excitedly, "I know. That's what makes it so fun!"

To Azaela, this girl was incredibly peculiar. Though, knowing where she was, she wasn't all that surprised to have come across someone who found stealing fun.

The girl looked her over, put a hand on her hip and said, "Don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"

"Zaeli," she responded. "Who are you?"

Gesturing to herself with her thumb, the girl said back, "The name's Jinx."

"And what are you doing with all of those parts you stole, Jinx?"

"I make things with them. I'm pretty big into gadgetry and stuff like that."

"Is that so? How interesting."

Jinx gave her a grin and inquired, "You wanna come with me and see what I'm working on?"

Zaeli was a bit taken aback at such an offer from this young girl that she'd only just met. Jinx certainly seemed very open and friendly, which was a change from just about everyone else she'd seen in the Undercity, sort of apart from Silco.

"Uh...sure," she answered hesitantly. "Though, why, may I ask? You only just met me."

With a shrug, Jinx just said, "I don't know. You seem cool and you're the first person who didn't yell at me for running into them."

As she listened to Jinx's answer, Zaeli took notice of the young teen's eyes. There was a sadness in them that it seemed that she was trying to hide with her words. Zaeli figured out the meaning behind it almost right away. While she believed Jinx's answer was truthful, there was more to it.

The young girl was lonely.

Something about this realization made Zaeli suspect that Jinx probably didn't have many friends, which tugged at her heartstrings. While there was a bit of an age difference between them, it appeared as though Jinx didn't care. She just wanted some company and wanted to share her gadgetry with someone. Zaeli didn't think she could say "no" to that.

"I think you're cool, too, Jinx, and I'd love to see your projects," she told her.

Jinx's eyes lit up in response and she clapped her hands with glee. "Oh my gosh, nobody ever wants to see what I work on! This is the best day ever!"

Zaeli chuckled at Jinx's reaction, pleased that she was able to make her smile.

Jinx grabbed her by the wrist and cried out, "Come on, let's get going!" Then she proceeded to pull Zaeli along behind her excitedly.

It didn't take terribly long before Zaeli found herself in what seemed to be an abandoned mining shaft in one of the lower parts of Zaun. Not only that, but the area Jinx led her to was one giant set of flat propellers suspended over a deep chasm, which made her incredibly nervous. Though, Jinx didn't seem to mind as her entire set up was on these propellers. She had a work station near the center and other furniture and decorations spread out on the rest. It seemed as though the girl lived here. Personally, Zaeli couldn't imagine ever living in a space like this, but then again, there were plenty in Zaun that she was sure weren't lucky enough to even have a small apartment or house. There were still many that lived on the streets or in improvised spaces like this. If Jinx seemed comfortable here, then she supposed that was all that mattered.

As they were walking in, Jinx informed her, "Just a heads up: my old man's also probably coming by here soon. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I can get out of your hair before he shows up," Zaeli replied.

With a dismissive wave, Jinx said, "No, you don't need to do that!" Then she got excited again as she added, "You should stay and you can meet him!"

Zaeli chuckled. "Sure, all right."

That being said, Jinx jogged over to her work station and gestured to a large metal contraption laying on the ground that had a couple metal tubes sticking out of it.

"I'm making my own rotary cannon," she told Zaeli. "It isn't done yet, but that's what I needed the parts for."

That was definitely not what Zaeli was expecting to hear was one is Jinx's projects. "Wow...that's quite an undertaking," she commented.

"Oh, I know," she groaned. "You won't believe how long I've been working on it."

Out of curiosity, Zaeli started walking around the work station to the other side of the giant propeller, wanting to see the rest of Jinx's area, as Jinx was explaining how she was building her cannon. It was such a peculiar place with a bit of a chaotic aesthetic. Seemed to fit the young girl well.

A few seconds later, she then heard Jinx call out, "Hey, old man! You got here quicker than I thought."

"Hello, Jinx."

The voice that responded to Jinx on the other side of the propeller was one that made Zaeli freeze up. She recognized it and it was the last voice she thought she would hear there.

"Oh shit...!" she thought in a panic.

Then Jinx exclaimed, "I have a new friend I want you to meet!" Before Zaeli could protest, Jinx came around from the other side, grabbed her arm and yanked her forward excitedly. They moved around the propeller and Zaeli found herself once again face to face with Silco. He didn't have as shocked of a reaction as she expected. His eyes widened ever so slightly, but he kept a still demeanor in his face.

"Zaeli," he simply said in greeting.

She bowed her head nervously. "Silco," she replied.

Puzzled, Jinx looked between them. "What? You didn't tell me you already knew each other!" she stated.

"I didn't know he was your dad," Zaeli said in defense.

"That and we only just met a couple of days ago," Silco added.

"Well, at least we can skip the introductions, then. Those are always so awkward," droned Jinx. Then all of a sudden, her eyes went huge and she cried out, "Ooh, I need to get some drinks! Don't you guys go anywhere! Be right back!"

Before either Silco or Zaeli could say anything, Jinx darted off somewhere, they weren't sure where, leaving the two of them alone. Zaeli was unsure of what to say and just stood there, awkwardly holding her arm.

Finally, Silco broke the silence, stating "What a surprise to find you here."

"You're surprised? I just found out you have a kid and it's that blue-haired spitfire who I just came across on the street!" she said back in disbelief.

He hummed in agreement. "An apt description of Jinx," he said, looking back in the direction Jinx had run off.

Feeling as though she was now intruding, she suggested, "I can leave if you'd rather not have me here."

Turning back to her, he asked in response, "Did I give any indication that I wanted you to leave?"

"Well, no, but...this is time I'm sure you want with your daughter and our last meeting didn't exactly end on the best note, so I thought--"

"It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, one we can both leave behind us. Do you agree?"

That wasn't the response she was anticipating. She thought after how she'd left things in his office before that he wouldn't want her around, but he didn't seem to think too badly of her because of that incident. That at least brought her a sense of relief.

"I guess I do," she said back, a small hint of a smile on her face.

Silco simply nodded in return.

"Now that I know he has a kid, this would explain the chalk drawings I saw in his office," she thought in her head. Then she spoke out loud, moving back to the previous conversation, "Jinx is quite the character. Probably the most charismatic and outgoing person I've ever met."

"That, she is," he agreed.

"With her firecracker attitude, I assume she takes after her mother," she said, starting to feel more comfortable with the situation.

However, he said back to her, "There is no mother."

"Oh damn it!" she inwardly cursed, now thinking she'd messed up yet again.

Though, he went on to explain, "She isn't my daughter by birth. I found her and adopted her a few years ago."

"I see. Ugh, I'm sorry. Me and my big mouth again," she said, embarrassed once again.

"You're not the first to make that assumption," he simply assured her, seemingly unbothered.

She slightly shrugged her shoulders. "That makes me feel a bit better, I suppose."

All of a sudden, Jinx reappeared between the two of them, having dropped from somewhere above them and making them jump back. "What makes you feel better?" she questioned, handing the two of them cups of something.

Taking the cup from Jinx, Silco lightly chided her, "A conversation between two adults is not any of your business, Jinx."

The young teen scrunched her face at him and whined, "I'm almost an adult!"

Unfazed by her whining, he just took a sip and said in reply, "You still have a few years."

"Ah, whatever. You're no fun," she droned. Then she whipped around to Zaeli and asked with begging puppy eyes, "Zaeli, will you tell me?"

"Nope. Not if your dad says otherwise," she countered, not even taking a chance at going against Silco.

Jinx rolled her eyes and let her head fall back, frustrated. "Ugh, you’re supposed to be my friend!"

After taking a drink, Zaeli replied to her, "Who says I can't be both your friend and his?"

Zaeli glanced at Silco and saw he had a bit of a taken aback look on his face. She supposed he hadn't expected her to refer to him as a "friend".

Jinx bobbed her head back and forth in contemplation before rambling off, "I guess I can live with that. Though, most of my dad's friends don't like me. Then again, a lot of them aren't girls. I mean, there's Sevika, but she's a miserable troll and she definitely doesn't like me, so she doesn't count. It's nice to meet another girl who isn't incompetent."

"Jinx...!" Silco scolded her with a warning tone of voice.

Hoping to move past that little snag, Zaeli told Jinx, "I don't have a lot of girl friends either."

"Well then, you and me, Zaeli! We gotta stick together!" declared Jinx, nudging Zaeli with her shoulder.

Chuckling, Zaeli told her, "Sure thing, kid. Though, I really should go. I don't want to impose on your guys' time and I should get home."

"Oh, all right...! Promise you'll come visit me soon?" Jinx held up her pinky to Zaeli, a serious look in her face.

Zaeli hooked her pinky with Jinx's and said, "I promise."

Then she was surprised by Silco stepping forward and stating, "I'll walk you out."

Though she hadn't expected such a gentlemanly move from him, she wasn't going to refuse, so she gave him a bow of her head, waved one last time to Jinx and then walked out of Jinx's hideout with Silco in tow.

As they made their way down the tunnel back to the lift that brought them to Jinx's hideout, Zaeli commented to Silco, "I suppose I should make sure it's all right with you first if I can spend any time with Jinx."

He answered nonchalantly, "She is free to do whatever she wants as long as it doesn't interfere with my work or involve me getting her out of trouble."

"And how often does that happen?" she asked.

With a small groan, he told her, shaking his head, "More than I care to admit."

She snickered. "I would imagine."

Almost a minute later, they could see the lift up ahead and Silco said to her, "I had wondered if you would return to the Last Drop after last time."

Zaeli looked down as they walked, a nervous pit forming in her stomach. "I won't deny, I certainly thought about it," she admitted to him. "I figured I might make a better impression this time instead of coming in and immediately passing out in the doorway. I was considering going there before I ran into Jinx." As she said this, they reached the lift and she pulled the gate to it open.

"Do you still wish to?" he inquired.

She shrugged. "Maybe." Then she stepped inside the lift, but then halted when she heard him say behind her:

"Then come back to the club tonight."

Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst it open at the Eye of Zaun's statement. He wanted her to come back to the Last Drop, even after last time. She supposed that maybe their last encounter hadn't really irked him as much as she thought after all. As anxious as she was, though, she had to play it cool in her response.

Turning back to face him, she smirked at him and asked in reply, "Is the infamous Eye of Zaun extending me an invitation?"

He frowned slightly. "With that attitude, I may just withdraw it."

"Oh, what a pity," she said, feigning disappointment. Then she grinned and stated, "I'll be there. Give me about four hours."

Silco folded his arms across his chest. "Three," he countered.

Zaeli raised her eyebrows challengingly. "Three and a half."

His nose turned up at her and his eyes narrowed, seemingly weighing his options as he surveyed her, before he finally responded, "Very well. Until then."

Satisfied, she closed the gate in front of her, pressed the button to activate the lift, gave a small wave to the Eye of Zaun and said, peeking at him through the bars, "See you soon, Silco."

He watched as the lift raised up until it disappeared from view with the peculiar lavender-haired woman inside. There was something about her that he still couldn't quite place. Any other time, he would've never invited a random woman he barely met to his office. He wasn't that quick to trust. Then this woman...Zaeli...something about her was different and somehow, it intrigued him. That and he couldn't deny, he was moved by how much Jinx seemed to like her, even after barely meeting her. That was definitely a contributing factor to it all.

Soon, he made it back to Jinx's room in the cavern and she was sitting cross-legged on her desk, her head propped in her hands and grinning deviously from ear to ear.

"Ooh, did you just ask Zaeli on a date?" she asked eagerly.

Supposing Jinx had followed them somehow and overheard the conversation, Silco cast her a warning look and clarified, "It is not a date, Jinx."

However, Jinx wasn't convinced and she let out a laugh. "You invited her back to the club and I assume you're both just going to be alone in your office. Sure sounds like a date to me," she teased.

"It'll just be two acquaintances having drinks and conversation. Nothing more," he told her.

She narrowed her eyes and smirked, still not buying it. "Mmm-hmm, sure, whatever you say." She pushed off of her desk, put her hand behind her back and said as she walked up to him, rocking back and forth, "She is pretty, though."

"Enough of that," he stated sternly.

Jinx simply giggled, wagged a finger at him and replied in a sing-song voice, "You didn't deny it!"

Silco rolled his eyes and was about to lecture her, but she quickly changed the subject by taking his hand, pulling her to her desk and stating that she wanted to show him her newest project. He relented easily enough and paid close attention to what she said as she went on. Jinx held a lot of influence over him that sometimes he feared it would end up being his own undoing.

He would spend a little time with Jinx and then return to the Last Drop to prepare for his rendezvous with Zaeli...which, deep down, he had to admit he was actually looking forward to.

#arcane #silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #silco x oc fic #flower of the lanes fanfic

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ptergwen · 3 years

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stranger danger

w/c: 1.7k

warnings: swearing and peter being a smartass

summary: you befriend a certain crawling creature while out on a late night walk

a/n: hello my loves! it’s been a minute since i’ve properly written anything so i’m pretty psyched to share this with y’all :,) this was a fun one and i hope you enjoy as always hehe

a cool breeze cascades over you as you saunter down the sidewalk. you push your earbuds deeper into your ears, walking with purpose towards your destination. the usual horns honking and sirens sounding are drowned out by the music that’s playing.

you’re the only occupant of this particular avenue, trekking through the night in solitude.

just how you like it.

you happily continue on your evening stroll until out of no where, a figure swoops off the fire escape up above. they land directly in front of you. you jump, a surprised squeal slipping past your lips.

the unexpected encounter leaves your heart racing.

your fear quickly turns to irritation, however. how could someone be so careless? they really should have watched where they were going, especially at this hour.

you remove your earbuds so you can give this dipshit a piece of your mind.

“yo, what the hell? what’s your problem?” you demand. the disturber of peace cocks their head to the side, and very animatedly so. “what’s yours?” they deadpan.

you’re hardly able to make out their face in the darkness, which is unsettling.

“um… i asked you first,” you challenge, arms crossing over your chest. “fair enough. you wanna bite?” the stranger wonders. rhetorically, because they answer their own question.

“it’s you.”

oh, the absolute audacity.

“i beg your pardon?” you seethe, much to their amusement. “yup,” they shrug their shoulders. “i’m just saying, my job would be way easier if you weren’t out wandering the streets so late.”

“it’s barely midnight,” you justify, then think better of it. “not that i have to explain myself to you.”

your eyes narrow at the mysterious specimen before you. they let out a low chuckle.

“what does this job of yours entail, anyway?” you have to inquire.

the stranger steps toward you, finally withdrawing from the shadows. you gasp upon the reveal of their identity.

“spider-man, at your service,” he introduces himself, saluting you with his gloved fingers. “well… friendly neighborhood spider-man, is my official title.”

you’ve been sassing freaking spider-man?

“you shouldn’t be out here all alone, you know,” spider-man chastises you. he casually leans against the ladder of the fire escape. “says who?” you scoff back.

since he’s giving you attitude, you’ll continue to do the same.

spider-man looks you up and down. you can tell because of the way the eyes of his mask shift.

“says me,” he clarifies. “a pretty young lady such as yourself is, like, bait for bad guys.”

ignoring the borderline misogynistic part where he referred to you as bait, that sounds an awful lot like flirting.

interesting.

“suppose you were doing your so-called job instead of bugging me…” a smirk spreads across your features. “i wouldn’t have to worry about said bad guys, now would i?”

spider-man claps a hand over his heart in feigned offense.

“touché,” he compliments, the smug smile evident in his voice. “but, bugging isn’t the word i’d use. i’m an arachnid.”

not only is he a dipshit, but he’s also a sarcastic shit.

“whatever. clear the area, arachnid-boy,” you huff, swatting spider-man’s arm so he’ll move aside. alas, he stays put. “nah. i’m good right here,” he decides.

he’s blocking you from your route, body still rested against the fire escape.

“for real? don’t you have places to be?” you complain. spider-man hums thoughtfully. “nope. besides you, it’s been a pretty slow night. i’m gonna wrap up in…”

he glances down at his wrist, where one of his webshooters resides rather than the imaginary watch he’s checking.

“uh, now. i’m gonna wrap up now,” he informs you. “a perk of being your own boss is that you get to choose your own hours.”

that’s his first joke that earns a laugh from you. you shake your head at him, spider-man grinning under his mask.

you might be warming up to the guy.

might be.

“since you’re free, then,” you preface. “and, so adamant on me needing an escort home… how about it?”

spider-man likes what you’re suggesting.

“that’s where you’re headed, huh?” he implores, gesturing to the path ahead of you. you nod. “it’d be my honor to take you. we could both use the company,” spider-man concludes.

you embark once again on the journey to your apartment, this time with new york’s most infamous wall-climber following beside you.

he trades his usual transportation method of swinging for walking, wanting to chat with you a while longer.

“so, spider-man,” you prompt him. “how’d you come up with… spider-man?” the hero in question laughs softly. “crazy story, actually. i got my powers from a spider bite, and i’m a man.”

his explanation makes you giggle. spider-man beams, pink tinting his cheeks that you thankfully can’t see.

“a silly little spider bite gave you super strength and a sixth sense? that’s ridiculous,” you snort out. spider-man bumps his shoulder into yours. “it was radioactive, mind you.”

he’s far less cocky than he was when you initially met him, though he’s goofing around just as much. you’re into his humor sans the snark.

“tell me about you, though,” spider-man requests, inching closer to you. the two of you turn a corner. “personally, i’ve never been bitten by a radioactive spider… believe it or not,” you play coy. he breathes out another laugh.

“seriously. tell me something, anything,” he tries. “like… what’s your name, for starters?”

it hadn’t crossed your mind to share that, although you do owe it to him at this point. you owe him something for accompanying you the whole way home.

“it’s y/n,” you reply with a half smile. spider-man’s eyes widen as he processes this new information. “y/n,” he mumbles. “that has a nice ring to it… y/n.”

he instantly commits it to memory, which he’s normally terrible at.

“thanks. what’s yours?” you attempt to discover the name hidden behind his alias. “you already know it,” spider-man surprises you by saying. you clutch onto his arm. “wait, what? i do?”

“duh. first name spider, last name man,” he smoothly responds, not missing a beat. “keep up, y/n.”

you squeeze his bicep, a grin painting your lips.

“you’re kidding. i told you mine, tell me yours!” you almost whine. “i did,” spider-man sighs.

accepting your defeat, you release his arm and resume your shuffling down the pavement. he already misses your touch.

“ok, mr. man,” you concede. “could i get your initials, at the very least?”

there’s no harm in him revealing a couple letters to you, in your opinion.

“you sure can. SM,” spider-man cleverly retorts.

it seems he’s back to being cheeky. or, he simply isn’t comfortable disclosing that to you.

you forgot you two are new acquaintances because it feels like you’ve known each other forever.

“fine, fine. i get it,” you assure him. “it’s top secret, confidential and whatnot. i won’t press anymore.”

the pair of you then drift into silence. it leads to you scraping your shoes against the sidewalk to fill it, and spider-man nervously fiddling with his fingers.

he’s reconsidering.

“uh… PP,” he speaks up after a few minutes. you’re not sure you heard him correctly. “hm?” you murmur, spider-man letting out a rather shaky breath. “my initials. they’re PP,” he repeats, with more confidence.

it’s quickly shot when you bust out laughing.

“your name is pee pee? like, piss? urine?” you literally cackle, elbowing spider-man’s side as you double over. “no, that’s… no way. you gotta be fucking with me, dude.”

spider-man frowns.

“i’m not,” he quietly states. “and, technically, with my middle name… it’s PBP.”

gazing up at him, you find that spider-man isn’t messing around for a change. his shoulders slump shyly, head hanging.

damn.

you feel kind of bad for making fun of him.

he trusted you with part of his true identity, and now he’s probably regretting it.

“PBP is cool,” you correct yourself with a nudge at his arm. “yours has a nice ring to it, too.” spider-man’s tense body relaxes. “thanks, y/n,” he rasps, you flashing him a smile. “you’re welcome, PBP.”

you have the sudden urge to reach over and grab his hand, which is dangling between the two of you. as if he’s aware of this, spider-man holds out an open palm for you.

right, his sixth sense. his spider sense.

wordlessly, you slip your fingers through his suit clad ones. you’re honestly pretty geeked to be hand in hand with a real life superhero. spider-man chuckles, letting your intertwined hands fall back to your sides.

“you never told me what you were doing out here,” he mentions as you near your apartment.

you chew on your bottom lip, slowing down your pace. you’re not ready to say goodbye just yet.

“going for a walk. i do it most nights, whenever i need to clear my head,” you reveal. “it’s just me and my carefully curated playlists. it’s very… refreshing.”

“sounds refreshing,” spider-man agrees, locking your fingers tighter together. “maybe you could use a buddy, though.”

did PBP just invite himself to join you again?

you’re down, but you can’t let him win so easily.

“give me one reason why,” you muse.

spider-man didn’t realize you’d be putting him on the spot.

“i… you…” he stammers, snapping when he thinks of it. “you gotta have someone there to look out for you, right? that would be me.”

“aw, you’d protect me? from the bad guys?” you coo. “it is my job,” spider-man reminds you.

you sway your hands back and forth, peeking up at him.

“i can protect myself. because of your kind, i’ve had no choice but to learn how to,” you click your tongue, spider-man blinking curiously. “my kind?” he echoes. you exhale, “men… derogatory.”

spider-man snickers at your response. you two come to a stop, outside of what he assumes is your building.

already?

“gimme another reason,” you command, turning to face him. spider-man mirrors your stance. “‘cuz, uh…”

he raises his free hand and wiggles his fingers, a signal for you to take it. you do so with the hint of a smile on your lips, spider-man bringing both your connected hands to his chest.

“i like you, y/n. i have a tingle you like me, too,” he admits. you furrow your eyebrows, smile growing wider. “a tingle? guess i can’t argue with that.”

you meet his big, cartoon-like eyes that desperately search for your own.

“i do like you, PBP. we should definitely do this again.”

as much as you cherish your solo walks, you’ve honestly enjoyed having him around. you could get used to it.

spider-man runs his thumbs along the back of either of your hands, so gently that the simple action gives you butterflies. he grins.

“i’ll pick you up, same time tomorrow.”

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #spiderman #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine

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i-am-the-balancing-point · 2 years

Note

Why do you hate Greg?

Hi anon, I am really glad that you asked!

Many people have said it before me and worded this much more eloquently but it boils down to Greg Bryk being an entitled pos who does not take the pandemic seriously at all, topped off with some nasty flavours of ableism, borderline conspiracy-theorist-bullshit, being a little cop bootlicker, and just generally making a ton of inappropriate tweets showing him being completely out of touch with his own privileges.

As far as I am aware it all started with him making tweets about the pandemic, complaining about safety measures, and pretty much downplaying the dangers of COVID, spreading misinformation about it while doing so and just... evolved from there. I'd appreciate it if you took a look at the first post I linked and his twitter and formed your own opinion. The latter has since been deleted but there are a few captures of it on the wayback machine.

Yes, I get that common hygiene measures to stop the spread of COVID are not exactly fun. I was sick of the lockdowns too. I am sick of living in self-isolation for over two years now. What I am much sicker of however are the people not taking this pandemic seriously (no matter if not any more or never at all) and just making things worse and worse, especially for vulnerable people, healthcare workers, and everyone who has been doing anything they possibly could and made lots of sacrifices to protect them and others. Spreading rhetoric like Greg has done is harmful and a slap in the face of every responsible person who does not buy into this crap.

I did not particularly care about him before the outbreak of the pandemic. To me he was just an actor that did a good job on a game I like. COVID has been massively impacting our lives for the worse though so I am taking every person, who has not come to their sense after over two fucking years of something that humanity could (in my personal opinion) reasonably get under control by working together in solidarity and just a tad bit of discipline, personally af. People like Greg Bryk are educated and privileged enough to know better or to at least learn and he has done nothing but be a useless manbaby in regards to the pandemic. There is no way to separate him as a person, as an actor, from his stance on COVID and how it's been handled, and everyone who still supports him despite knowing better also supports the harmful shit he spews.

I am glad you asked because, while we do have access to all this information, I do not expect anyone to know everything and to always have unfailable opinions. I wouldn't have known either if I didn't come across the post linked first on here a while ago. So I hope you learned something and maybe a few other people reading this did too.

To anyone else however still refusing to get vaccinated, refusing to wear masks and wear them correctly, refusing to test before meeting others, pushing for things to open up again, refusing to socially distance, going to crowded clubs, theatres and concerts, refusing to quarantine upon exposure, flying around to the world to vacation, and to anyone echoing these "opinions": fuck you. You are not only endangering yourselves but many many other people with your bahaviour. Please block me. Please come to your senses.

#he is a grown-ass man he should know better #if he at least made up his mind after a while but the only thing he's displaying is prime clown behavior #anon #answered asks #Greg Bryk

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afishlearningpoetry · 3 years

Note

Still seeing people call us a cult in 2021 😑 🚬 Is there anything that broke this blogging website's brains more than a 2010s BBC show?

Tbh and I’ll get to why it connects to what you’re saying but what really broke this website’s brains is the crab bucket culture of disposability and cycle of online abuse that it nurtured for years until it spread to the rest of the internet... like the early social justice awakening to the yfip blogs and call out posts and anonymous stalking and commenting (that carried over partially from livejournal/older fandom, tbf) that’s translated into like, faulty, second-hand sourced fanwiki websites tracking the perceived dancing with the devil transgressions of some person, a random stranger essentially, has made in their online life, and for what reason, really? For what purpose? Like I think a lot of us gained some awareness at a certain point that these tactics were thinly veiled guises to harass and take personal shots at basically random people for mostly petty reasons (clearly plenty of people are pretending that’s not what it is and went back to it), but I also wonder what it did to the brains of like the youngest people on here, who started using the website since they were children, not just high school age or close to, but even younger people.

That frame of mind is everywhere now, especially with younger fandoms, not just on here. Twitter is pretty terrible. I was watching the Mask Off video from Lindsay Ellis recently and it’s just horrifying to me the way this website essentially birthed that form of harassment. Every step of the way, the way that she (and Natalie, in her own video) detail how it happened is absolutely identical to how it happens on here, except it’s happening in daylight where public figures are in the same fight-to-the-death arena as the rest of us, which is what makes it easier to articulate. This is not to dismiss anything someone like Lindsay has to go through, considering what she disclosed in the video and that she’s been harassed by the alt-right for years, but she also has enough of an online standing to publicly face those charges and refute the majority of them. Like Natalie also said, but what happens to someone else? Someone with no name, or social or financial security, and that’s basically what I’m getting it. That kind of online abuse happening over and over and over and over again trickles down to everybody else. That’s what broke people’s brains. That’s what ruined this website.

And it isn’t just the reactionary, cringe culture post-fandom nihilism that shifted into online culture in 2016 and onwards (I’ve mentioned this before, like, the constant jokes about bad and infamous moments from tumblr), but harassment that still happens on here. You can accuse people of being a pedophile with no credibility, harass them about their eight year old fandom history, or dox and shame them out of public life without much effort, granted there are enough people willing to hop in the crab bucket with you. It has nothing to do with genuinely caring about anything but being an asshole. So for most of that to be distilled into people hate following tjlc (which was named such as a self-aware joke) for literal years when it was largely one of the most fun, positive, creative and dedicated fan spaces I’ve ever been in, and then finally having the wind at their backs to essentially cut everyone down and collect some heads because series 4 finally got the critical backlash they were waiting for to do so with widespread permission (they tried this with series 3, but it just didn’t take because the quality was too consistent), is severely aggravating.

I’ve had plenty of other, smaller negative experiences on here, whether they be trends or staples, and I’ve certainly contributed, but there’s always been enough good for me to stay. But after series 4 that was no longer the case. I just hit a breaking point where I couldn’t be as personally invested anymore, it got so bad. As much as I still want to come here for specific reasons and contribute what I can, I have a lot of trouble engaging with anything because I’m ready to see any new blog or topic I follow to dip into those same habits all over again, which is inevitably what happens. To watch anti-intellectual post-fandom nihilism — and if you’ve been here at all between end of 2016 to now you know the kind of attitude, posts, rhetoric and style of speech, and blogs I’m talking about — kind of dominate this website, has been a large part of why I only pop up sporadically. After Nov. 5th it’s been ironic watching so many people I’d describe that way unironically get into the paranormal show again. Not because I think that’s bad, I follows blogs that talk about it and think it’s cool, I made an edit at the time, or that anyone should be “above it”, we’re on tumblr after all, but because that kind of venomous behavior is still there underneath, like we’re not all also blogging specifically about superwholock shows.

A few months ago when someone accused me of being part of a q anon-level conspiracy and that we’re all “monsters of your own making”, this being before the capitol riot where dozens of members of the US house were nearly murdered en-masse, one of the things they said was that we couldn’t admit that our show was bad, but it was fine what they were doing with the other show because they were just having fun, and that we couldn’t, I don’t know, do anything or whatever about it until we were ready to admit our show is also bad. Which is a pretty revealing look into how that line of thinking, all the way from the early tumblr days, to other places like twitter, all the way back to here again has evolved despite staying the same. This bizarre blend of ironic detachment, self-deprecation, moralizing over a show’s perceived wrongdoings as perceived personal transgressions, bullying, rumors, fan wikis, and years of witnessing or being in on online harassment rewiring people’s brains to the point where not only is it impossible to do anything without jumping through twenty mental hoops before you do it, it’s essentially a both a constant threat and entry-level trial by fire into having any kind of existence in an online fandom space.

Of course it’s not just the barraging from people on here that’s contributed to that kind of culture, it’s everywhere else, because it spread everywhere. Think pieces by people not involved in the space, summaries of what happened mostly written by people who were hate following it to begin with, academic papers by ex-fans, faux-investigative pieces from wanna-be media critics trying to canonize their version of what happened into definitive internet history after preemptively blocking everyone involved so no one can respond to what they say — it’s extremely exhausting every step of the way. I can’t blame ex-tjlc people for just abandoning this place or any online space completely, because it’s still relentless four years later, and if the initial experience of series 4 wasn’t already distressing enough, whatever you think about it now, everyone’s faced the same challenge of being gradually smothered into relinquishing any ties to it through that cycle of shame that’s been perfected and streamlined right down to quick and recognizable beats on this website for over a decade.

#this was really long but I’ve been thinking about it for a while #and have said similar things before #sherlock bbc #fandom #tumblr #tjlc #YouTube

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yeenybeanies · 3 years

Note

Could u do #36 with Hawkeye? If not Hawkeye then could u do Logan?

you can still send prompts & questions -^w^-

36. “ what do you want me to do about it? i’m three inches tall. ”

clint would be great for this but i gotta go with my favorite manlet this time :> also i am once again spending time designing characters that i’ll only use once smh

marvel | logan howlett / wolverine & joy fredericks / heartbreaker ( oc )

1,394 words

mild language warning

thanks for sending!!

A guttural growl rumbles, sounding like something that would come from a beast more than a man. There’s a familiar pressure in his forearms, but he holds the metal claws housed within at bay. They wouldn’t be particularly useful in this situation anyway.

“ I could use a little help here, ” the man snaps. He glances down at his flannel shirt, at the pocket on his breast.

“ Hmm. Looks like you’ve got it to me, ” comes a reply from within the pocket.

“ Kid. ” He growls again, both in frustration and from exertion. He shifts his grip on the crumbling concrete to try and hold it better. It’s only just barely keeping together. Every second, every movement, threatens to bring the whole wall and ceiling down.

“ Yes, Logan? ”

“ Ghrr––help me with this damn wall! Before it buries the both of us! ”

The pocket shifts. Out pops a little head-full of tight, red curls. From underneath them, proportionally tiny eyes look up at Logan, and then at the wall, unimpressed. Her lips purse.

“ What do you want me to do about it? I’m three inches tall. You’re Wolverine. ”

“ Kid, I swear to god––– ” Logan starts, but another jolt in the wall cuts him off. He leans into the weight, eyes closed, features pulled into a snarl.

The little one rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated. She pulls herself further out of the pocket, then summons up her mutant abilities. Her minuscule weight lifts into the air, powered by her telekinesis. The casual clothes on her body start to glow a bright pink and morph, leaving her in her pink-and-black uniform when it fades. A black mask appears on her face in a similar fashion.

“ Fine. Heartbreaker clocking in for hero duty. ” She flies out from between Logan and the wall and raises her hands, fingers splayed. With another breath, she channels her energy, her willpower. For several seconds, nothing happens, much to her alarm.

“ Any day now . . .! ” the man says. His arms are shaking. “ Joy! ”

“ I’m trying. Hold on––– ” She pushes again, willing the concrete back with growing desperation. Under her breath, she curses. Focus, she tells herself. Push. Lift. She squeezes her eyes shut in concentration. The concrete is much heavier than she’d anticipated.

Fucking LIFT!

The rubble starts to move, no longer pulled by gravity, but by mind power. Joy moves the large chunks away from Logan, using her hands to guide her energy. Her breath is heavy. Once the weight is off of his shoulders––literally––Logan backs away. Any abrasions from falling and scraping concrete quickly seal shut, vanishing as though they’d never happened to begin with.

“ Attagirl, ” he says. His hands lift up to cup around her tiny body. With her in his hold, the man turns on his heel and breaks out into a sprint, making for the door. Cracks in the ceiling match his not-inconsiderable speed. “ C’mon, Joy, hold it for another minute . . .! ”

A minute is about all she has left in her. Logan only just makes it through the door as the ceiling comes down behind him. The shock wave pushes him down to his knees. Acting on instinct, he curls around the little one, surrounding her, using himself as a shield from any flying debris.

Though her efforts were not physical in nature, Joy still suffers physical and mental fatigue from her exertion. She lies limply in the man’s hand, her chest rising and falling with exhausted breaths. Logan stays curled around her for several long moments––longer than she’d normally allow without some sort of snarky comment. Luckily for him, she’s too tired to come up with any such comments.

Only when he is sure that the rubble has settled does Logan unfold himself. He pushes himself to stand, hands still cupped around Joy. He spares a quick glance over his shoulder to the collapsed building, then turns his attention to the little mutant.

“ Hey. Still alive? ” It’s a rhetorical question; he can hear her breathing and her heart’s beating.

The initial answer he gets is a groan. Joy sits up, a hand to her forehead to try and nurse her rapidly-worsening headache. “ No, ” she says flatly. Dust covers her, muting the fiery red of her hair. Everything hurts.

“ Yeah you are. ” Logan gently hooks a thumb under her chin and tips her head up towards him. One corner of his mouth is quirked up in a half smile. “ How ya feelin’? ”

Joy does not resist him. She meets his eyes, her brows furrowed. “ I feel like shit, Logan. ” On top of her exhaustion, she feels a sense of shame. She couldn’t hold the collapse. Any other psionic mutant wouldn’t have had a problem with it!

“ You did good, ” Logan says, sensing her internal turmoil. “ Maybe a little less lip next time. ”

Joy rolls her eyes and groans. Logan picks the worst times to make jokes. “ It still came down. ”

“ It was coming down anyway, ” the man says with a shrug.

“ I should have been able to hold it, ” she huffs.

“ Nah. You did fine. You’re still learning your powers. ” He looks back to the debris, thoughtful. “ I’m more curious about what caused the collapse. I didn’t detect anyone else in there with us. ”

“ Neither did I . . .. ” Joy shakes her hands through her hair to try and clear some of the dust, then gathers her focus and levitates up from Logan’s hands. His head whips back around to face her. Were she in better spirits, the little mutant might tease him for being so outwardly concerned. Unfortunately, both her spirits and energy are pretty low. She only manages to hover for a few seconds before dropping back down. Logan, having not moved at all, easily catches her again. His fingers curl, giving her something to lean on.

“ Easy now, pipsqueak. You’re gonna have to rest a while. ”

Joy huffs indignantly and supports herself against the man’s thumb. This is embarrassing. She hates feeling so weak. “ I’m fine. ”

“ Uh hunh. And you’re gonna rest while I investigate. ” Before she can offer any sort of retort, Logan stuffs Joy back into his breast pocket. She squeaks in protest, but he pays her no mind.

“ Logan! ” Once she’s regained her bearings, the little mutant pushes her head out from the pocket and glares up at the underside of Logan’s jaw. She narrows her eyes and pushes with her mind, but finds a familiar barrier blocking her out.

“ Can’t read me, kid, ” he says knowingly. There’s a smug twinkle in his eye. He gives his temple a tap. “ Steel trap. Well––adamantium. ”

“ I wasn’t going to read you, ” she says. “ I was gonna insult you. Telepathically. ”

Logan pushes a sharp, amused breath through his nose. “ Heaven forbid. ”

“ But that’s fine; I can just do it out loud. ”

“ Can’t wait. ” He shoves Joy’s head back down into the pocket, more teasing her than anything, and makes for the door he’d come through. For the most part, debris obstructs it. He can’t squeeze through. With a contemplative hum, the man lets his eyes wander, looking for alternative entrances.

There.

“ Hold on, ” he says. He jumps to grab a handhold in the cracked brick face and clambers his way up to a barred window on the second story. Joy peeks out from the pocket in time to see the Wolverine’s famous claws slip out through his knuckles with their characteristic snikt!

Gross.

She grimaces, but keeps her comments to herself. She knows it’s worse for him; he has to feel the pain every time he pops those claws.

Logan makes quick work of the bars, dispatching them with two easy slashes. His claws slice through them like a hot knife through butter. They retreat back into his knuckles with another sickening noise, freeing his hand to punch through the glass.

“ The building was already unstable before we got here, ” Joy points out. “ It was probably, like, a cat or something that stepped wrong and sent it all down. And you weigh more than a cat. ”

“ Guess you’ll just have to catch me if I step wrong then, ” he says. Though his face doesn’t give anything away, Joy can hear the implicit smirk in his voice.

“ Ugh. Y’know, I don’t think I could yet, even if I wanted to. ” She sits up further in the pocket, arms folded over the lip. “ So if you fall, you’re shit outta luck. ”

#g/t #g/t fiction #g/t writing #marvel #g/t marvel #logan howlett #joy fredericks #hyena ocs #hyena writes #sometimes you gotta spice up your tinies by givin 'em powers

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firstdatedaisy · 2 years

Text

Do Not Disturb

I went out of town with Gold Coast Guy. It was horrible. I could walk you through everything that made the trip so bad but I will spare you having to buy a new phone after you accidentally throw yours out the window in anger. Here are the highlights:

Mansplaining

“You have to press the button to get the ticket in the parking lot.” - My response: “I’m sorry do you think this is my first time in a parking lot?”

“You have to press the button to call the elevator.” - My response: “I did.”

Control Issues

He told me to drive the speed limit even though he chilled in the left lane the whole time picking music on his phone, making people pass in the right lane and not understanding the directions that were displayed and being said to him. I still had to tell him where to go and which exits to take and he still didn’t believe anything or anyone except his own brain. At one point I yelled at him saying “DUDE, drive 50 more feet and turn right around that building. Do it. Now.”

He told me he would let me play my music when I drove because he didn’t like my music. *cue 3 hours sitting in silence while he listened to his music even though we had made a playlist together for the trip.

When the GPS stopped working when we were in our hometown I told him I knew where I was and would get is back. He checked his GPS multiple times and just started clicking everything on the dash to get the navigation person to stop talking. I asked him to trust me to get us home safely.

While I was driving he reached over and turned on the windshield wipers. Yeah. I had to explain how the drivers area is my area and he can ask if he wants the window clean.

He told me to drive in the same lane the whole way back.

He told me I didn’t have to wear a mask because Ohio has no mask mandate and if I wear my mask no one can see my face.

He told me not to talk to homeless people or give them money because they won’t spend it on “good” things.

He tried to give me permission to drink wine.

He didn’t want to do anything I recommended and then told me he was board.

He wouldn’t believe me when I told him e-cigs have nicotine in them, but he would believe google.

He wouldn’t believe me when I told him there are women athletes who can dunk as good as Lebron, but he believed 3 men when I crowd sourced the question.

He wouldn’t tell me the plans and just expected me to follow him blindly in this new city.

General Bullshit

He smoked his e-cig in the hotel room even though I told him I had quit smoking almost 6 years ago.

He refuses to go down on me but expects me to suck his dick. That didn’t last long.

He accused me of asking “political” questions. Questions like “What did you think of the Tinder Swindler?” “Why do you put a high importance on financial gain?”

He asked me “Why do you hate your country?” and when I started to respond he interrupted me and said it was a rhetorical question. (I don’t hate America, by the way)

He was too tired to make conversation with me at the bar but then had a full blown conversation with the Lyft driver.

Every time I asked what led him to his opinion on something or how he learned about the avocado shortage that is happening right now or like why he thinks Gary is a shit town - he would tell me to google it.

This “man” took me to his hometown and had to google how to get to everywhere. Including the bar that was DOWN THE BLOCK and we could see the sign. I could have helped but like I said above, he wasn’t sharing any plans.

He got off on a random exit saying we were going to Taco Bell for breakfast (thanks for asking I would like some coffee but hey, fuck what I want) and when I looked it up there was no Taco Bell for 50 miles. He told me I was wrong and then he looked it up and got the same results. We went to McDonalds.

He didn’t go see his parents. Turns out a week ago he found out they got Covid but didn’t tell me until we were an hour out of Cincinnati. I asked him why he didn’t tell me he said “Why does it matter I’m telling you now.”...............So we went on this trip for no reason.

He doesn’t listen at all.

He never cooks and orders delivery for every meal- in real life, not just on vacation.

Moving forward: I will not be seeing him again.

My catch phrase for the weekend was - “Hey guess what, I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want to do. “

His catch phrase for the weekend was - “I don’t know, google it.”

#road trips #vacation with strangers #general bullshit #google it #the fuck I will #mansplaining #control issues #manchild

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brywrites · 4 years

Text

Partners in Crime

A/N: This is one of the earliest Reid x Reader stories I wrote and never published, and I figured, why not? Reid and the Reader often go undercover as a couple to bait an unsub, and this time things don’t quite go as planned. CW: for non-consensual behavior, mild physical abuse, reference to rape

It’s always the two of them. She figures it’s because they’re so close in age, and such good friends. After months of working together, and plenty of free time spent hanging out, the chemistry comes naturally. Whenever there’s a case involving couples, and the profile alone isn’t enough, she and Reid end up masquerading as boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, all varieties of people madly in love with each other. Sometimes it’s enough to just lure out an unsub, twice they’ve been kidnapped, but never for long. They do good work together. Garcia has even taking to calling them Partners in Crime, or The Dream Team.

Deep down she knows it’s not just her profiling abilities or friendship with Spencer that allows her to play the part so well. That chemistry has become absolutely natural, too much so. Long after the game is done, she finds herself stealing glances at him, staying up late at night wondering what it would be like to really be in love with him. It’s an impossible dream. Reid is brilliant, handsome, and her co-worker. Strictly off limits. And yet those fantasies continue with every smile he gives her, and a part of her hopes that maybe, maybe…

“Baltimore PD have requested our help with a serial killer,” Hotch announces in the conference room. “Over the last six months, six people have kidnapped and murdered. There’s evidence of torture and sexual sadism, though preliminary ME reports don’t indicate any sign of rape.”

“Why would they think it’s consensual?” JJ asks, skeptical. They’ve encountered incompetent medical examiners before.

“Because of the victims he chooses,” the unit chief says, nodding at Garcia to move to the next slide. Six photos pop up on screen, in groups of two. “Jeremy and Renee Lagher, Tyrone and Nina Davenport, and Louisa and Ryan Sheffield.”

From across the room, Y/N catches Reid’s eye, the two of them realizing where this is likely headed. “He’s using married couples,” Rossi observes. “Is there any indication to how he finds his victims?”

“Social networking,” Garcia chimes in. The internet has made it all too easy for predators to hunt. Oversharing can be fatal. “The couples all used Instagram, had no privacy settings, and shared photos that made it clear they were married. Their last posts were just before they went missing, and all of them used the location feature to check-in at a local restaurant.” The team throws out ideas and questions, possibilities about how he finds them and why he chooses them. It seems to be the general consensus that he must stake out the restaurant, and wait for the couple to leave after dinner.

Y/N is distracted through the discussion, unable to ignore the feeling that there’s something Hotch is keeping from them. Sure enough, the chief has one last thing to add before they get ready to head out. “Given the lack of evidence and how this unsub targets his victims, I’ve spoken with the Baltimore PD and we’ve come to the conclusion that the best way to find him is bait him. Reid, Y/L/N, are you up for this?”

The question is less of a request, more rhetorical in nature. What choice do they have? It’s their job to hunt down criminals, no matter what it takes to find them. And so they agree. On the plane, once the briefing is complete, the go about preparing for the undercover work. Garcia has worked some Photoshop magic, pulling stock photos and personal pictures alike to create two different accounts for Spencer and Y/N Fitzgerald. Over time they’ve gotten into the habit of choosing last names inspired by famous literary and scientific couples. Scrolling through the one created for her, she tries to memorize the details. They’ve been married for two years, they live just west of Baltimore in a studio apartment, they have a cat. She is a librarian, he’s a high school chemistry teacher.

Since no other couples have been reported missing, the police want them to get to work as soon as possible. That evening, she slips on a black dress and a pair of heels, her hair and makeup done much nicer than she would typically take the time for. If this is going to work, she needs to look the part. Reid is waiting for her in the lobby of their hotel, wearing a simple suit and a smile that widens at the sight of her. “You look beautiful,” he tells her.

“Thanks.” She can feel herself blushing, and reminds herself that this is all a part of the game, of the job. None of this is real. Still, when he holds out his hand for her to take, she can’t push back the happiness that bursts in her chest. They walk the few blocks to the restaurant that way, close enough that their shoulders touch. Once he’s put in a reservation, they stand in the dim light of the waiting area to take a photo. Reid wraps his arm around her, holding her close to his side. At the last second, he presses a kiss to her temple just as she snaps a photo on her phone.

“How was that?” he asks. Too good, she thinks. In the picture they look just like a couple, very much in love. It’s soon posted to Instagram, documented along with the rest of their fake relationship. She adds their location just as a waiter comes to whisk them away to a table. Dinner is wonderful, filled with long gazes and laughter and moments where his knee will bump hers, or her fingers will rest over his hand just a little too long. This is just a show, just in case the unsub is lying in wait somewhere inside. It’s a damn good performance, more convincing than it needs to be. Does she really need to look at him that way? Does he really need to give her that devastating grin? They steal all these small moments for themselves, lingering in a soft state of bliss.

It’s only temporary, and soon enough they’re on their way out the door once more. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to meet with your friend,” he says, trying to sound casual. Every so often his eyes dart along the sidewalk, trying to check their surroundings without making it obvious he’s looking.

“Me too, but I suppose plans can always change.”

Reid starts to respond, but the words never come. Instead, a hand clamps over her mouth, and something cold presses hard against her head. Metal, round. The barrel of a gun. “Do what I say,” a voice growls. “Or she dies.” Neither of them are armed, and he has no choice but to comply. A man in a ski mask leads them to a dark colored sedan, yanking open the door of the backseat. Before shoving them inside, he reaches into the pocket of Reid’s suit jacket to extract his cell phone. The device, along with her purse, is tossed onto the sidewalk, leaving them no way to contact the team as the car speeds away.

It’s hard to say for sure how much time has passed since they’ve arrived in the dingy cellar. Hours at least, though not a whole day. The room is dirty and cold, and Reid insists on giving her his jacket. He holds her hand still, and that small amount of physical contact is a silent promise between them that everything is going to be okay. They haven’t heard from their captor since the abduction. Does the team know they’re missing? Is Garcia trying to track them down? What’s going to happen to them?

The metal door swings open, and the man enters. His mask is gone, revealing a middle-aged white man. He is balding with a cruel sneer and empty eyes. One hand holds a gun, the other a bag surely full of the tools he tortures his victims with. Their profile was spot on. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he says. “I’m going to give you instructions. You will comply exactly. If you refuse, or mess up, I’ll kill you. If you try to escape, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” They both nod. “Good. Kiss your husband, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“How do you know our name?” Reid demands, though they already know the answer. It’s like chess, all about making the right moves.

“No questions,” the man growls. “Do as I say.” Tentatively, Y/N stands on her toes to close the distance between them, kissing him gently. Chaste, soft, nothing that requires too much of either of them. But that isn’t good enough for their abductor. “Do it like you mean it.”

So she kisses him harder, deeper. If she closes her eyes, it’s easy to pretend that they aren’t here at gunpoint, that it’s just the two of them, that this kiss really does mean something. That this is the moment she’s been imagining a thousand times. He returns it, his hands settling on the small of her back in order to pull her closer. “Now, hit her.” At the sound of the bald man’s voice, Reid freezes, then pulls away. An apology is written on his face, and she braces herself for the slap that stings her cheek and sends her stumbling backwards a few steps. This isn’t going to be a romantic fantasy, apparently.

“Take off her dress, Mr. Fitzgerald.” On his tongue, their names are taunts and not identifiers.

Reid hesitates, but she gives him the slightest of nods. If they’re going to get out of this, they have to play along. It’s their only hope of staying alive long enough for the team to find them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His hands reach up her back, unzipping her dress in one fluid motion before easing it down her body. The black fabric falls in a pile at her feet, and she shivers. Standing in only her bra and underwear, the air is colder on her skin now, but it’s terribly unnerving for him to see her so exposed like this.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t supposed to be the first time he kisses her or sees her undress. This isn’t the fantasy she replays on the jet each time they close a case and stop pretending to be a couple.

“Touch her,” the man commands, pointing at her chest. This is easily the most humiliating experience they’ve been put through since Hotch first started pairing them up for assignments like this, and it’s quickly devolving into the most humiliating thing they’ve been through, period. Any chance she has hoped for at some future relationship is dashed away. After something like this, how will they ever be able to look at each other the same way?

She sends a silent prayer to the team to find them soon, then meets Reid’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Spencer, it’s okay.”

The pained look on his face cuts her deep. Is he repulsed by the situation? Or by her? She tries to keep as still as she can, tense under the scrutiny of the bald man. Reid’s hand covers her breast and she oscillates between trying to pretend she’s not in this body, and trying to pretend that she is but it’s just the two of them here. Every so often they are directed in new ways, as if this is just a play and they’ve become actors in some sort of twisted production. It’s quite possible this is reminiscent of an event that occurred in the unsub’s life at some point. Reid is instructed to nibble her ear, she to grope at his backside. Every so often an interruption demanding a hit or a punch. His commands become increasingly more rough, Y/N receiving most of the abuse while Reid tries to be as careful as he can with her, touching her gently, trying to make it look like a slap is harder than it is.

“Remove her bra, then take off your pants.” No no no no no. She knows where this is going. She knows how this scene is supposed to end. They both balk for a brief moment, until the click of the gun cocking jolts them back to their senses.

Reid is shaking his head, but she squeezes his hand. He can feel how badly she’s trembling. This isn’t pleasant for either of them, but her voice is firm. “Do what he says. Just do what he says Spencer. We’re going to get out of here.”

Just as he reaches towards her, there’s a loud bang from somewhere beyond the open door. “Ronald Horton, FBI!” Morgan’s voice echoes down to them. As the man – Horton – turns away to see what’s happening, Y/N bends down to pull her dress back on, Reid pulling his jacket back over her shoulders so she won’t have to waste time fiddling with the zipper. She’s grateful that he’s looking out for her, trying to save her any embarrassment. It’s hard to recall if she has ever been more relieved to see her team storming down a flight of stairs.

Hotch and Morgan drag Horton away in handcuffs, and Rossi turns to the couple who stand together, visibly shaken by the turn of events. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“It is now,” Y/N sighs.

Ronald Horton is violent sociopath whose marriage broke apart two months before the killings began. Oddly enough, his ex-wife was the more dominant one in the relationship. To keep up appearances, he relented to her physicality, though didn’t spare her the emotional abuse he was so apt at causing. The murders were a fantasy of his, using surrogates the enact the revenge he never had the chance to. He is booked downtown, and after a long day all of the agents are relieved when Hotch informs them they’ll be staying in Baltimore one more night to catch up on sleep.

She tosses and turns in her bed. Her mind races through everything that happened, and everything that could’ve. If the team hadn’t arrived then, what was he going to force them to do? How far would they have to go? She tries to untangle the violation, the awfulness of it, from the fact that the romantic actions were things she had wanted from Reid. But not like that. Never like that.

Her skin doesn’t feel like her own. She still feels exposed, wrapped under two blankets. She wants to forget it, but she doesn’t want to forget him.

There is a knock on the door late that night. At this hotel, sets of two rooms are connected by a door in the wall, and she knows who is on the other side before she opens it. “Hi,” Reid says softly. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not at all,” she replies. “I couldn’t sleep.” She motions for him to come in, and he does so somewhat reluctantly.

“Um, listen, Y/L/N, I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened before. That must’ve been… uncomfortable for you, and I’m really sorry.” His pause makes it clear that uncomfortable is an understatement, but neither of them knows what word to place there.

She tries to brush it off. “It’s fine, Reid. Really, it is. This isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this.” It is however, the first time they’ve had to be quite so physical with each other. There’s no reason for him to come apologizing though, it wasn’t his fault. The blame belongs solely to Ronald Horton.

“It’s not fine, though. What happened wasn’t okay. And I am so sorry for hurting you.”

“I had to hurt you too,” she says. Not as much. But neither of them were able to consent to what was done to them.

“I just… I feel bad.” He sighs and looks down at the floor. Conversation between them has never felt so strained. “Doing this, it’s embarrassing,” Reid mumbles.

The awkwardness she feels turns to anger, to hurt. Perhaps it was her that he had a problem with before, not the situation itself. After months of friendship, the idea of being with her is somehow abhorrent to him, and when she likes him so much, that knowledge is like a punch to the face. “If you’re so embarrassed by me, maybe you should stop agreeing to go undercover with me,” she retorts, starting to storm away from him. She’s too tired to deal with this.

“Y/L/N!” he cries. When she doesn’t stop, a strong hand grabs her wrist, pulling her back. “Y/N. Please, wait. That’s not what I meant. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me. You always have to pair up with me, and I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m sorry I-” He’s cut off by her mouth on his, kissing him hard. Like she means it. Because she does.

“That’s how you think I feel about you?” she gasps, when he pulls away. “Why do you think it’s so easy for me to pretend? Why do you think I never complain about the assignment? I like being with you. And I really like you.”

“You do?” Positively astonished, he is.

“Spencer, I love you. God, I love you so much. How can you not see that? If anything, you should be the one embarrassed by me.” He’s so smart, so good-looking.

“That would be impossible,” he says. Reid takes her hands in his, taking half a step towards her. He’s so tall, looming over practically, but his eyes are kind. Then he leans down to kiss her again. The depth of it surprises her, when he slips his tongue into her mouth. In response she bites his bottom lip gently, enticing a sigh from him.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“I want to feel like I have a choice again in who touches me and how,” she answers. “And I want it to be you.”

It occurs to her they could be moving too fast, but when he moves his hands to her hips and she tangles her fingers in his hair, she decides she doesn’t care. After all, they’ve been dating for months. Fake-dating albeit, but every lie has a bit of the truth in it. And besides, it just feels too good to stop.

“I don’t think it’s quite fair,” she manages to find the air to say, “that you’ve seen me undress, but I haven’t seen you.” Her words give him pause, and Y/N reaches up to loosen his tie, pulling it away before starting on his shirt. The row of buttons is slowly undone, slower than is necessary. She wants to savor this, steadily revealing more of him as she goes. Reid shrugs out of his shirt, and she trails a hand down his torso, his skin warm beneath her fingertips. Feeling a little bolder, she places her lips on his neck, working her way down to his collarbone. Every soft moan spurs her on, until he captures her lips once more. It’s so good to finally touch him this way, to be touched by him. No instructions or unsubs or commands here. There’s only a warm room, dim light, and movements making up for lost time.

He’s pressed so close to her, close enough that she can feel him, hard against her. This has been so long in the making, she’s not surprised it doesn’t take long before he’s aroused. Especially not after all of the early physical stimulation between them. She’s feeling quite excited herself, the room too warm, her heart beating too fast, falling faster than she can keep up with. This man before her is like no one she’s ever met before, and she can’t remember loving someone as much as him. Needing someone as much as him. Reid’s hands slide up her sides until they find hold on the zipper of her dress. “Let’s get you out of that dress,” he murmurs.

This is how it was always supposed to be. Nothing about this is rough or difficult. In this hotel room, he is incredibly gentle with her, though his previous hesitation is gone. He knows what he wants now, they both do, and they’ve both given permission for it to happen. In a way, it’s like they are reclaiming every gesture they were forced to perform. These touches, theses feelings don’t belong to Ronald Horton. They belong to the two of them, tangled up together as they slowly explore the geography of the body. The fear is gone, wholly absent from their frantic exchanges. Love, desire, need, fills the place of that uncertainty and awkwardness.

He hurries to undo his belt, step out of his trousers. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, she teases the bulge in his boxers as he continues to find new places on her skin to place his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She tries to bite back a groan, knowing that walls are never quite as thick as they appear. Eventually she pulls him down the bed with her, and it takes only seconds before there’s no layers left between them. Just him, just her, just now.

It is even better than she’d imagined it would be. Spencer proves that he excels in every endeavor, this being no exception to the rule. It’s beautiful, the way he looks at her. How she wishes she had his eidetic memory, so as not to forget a single sensation. And when she calls out his name, when he answers with her own, nothing in the world has ever sounded so right. It seems over too soon, but they find themselves both breathless between the sheets, utterly delirious with joy. His hair is messier than usual, her face is flushed, but neither can stop staring at the other. Like stars in the night sky, it’s so hard to look away from something so wonderful.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he tells her. “I have been since the day it snowed in October, and you started a snowball fight with me on our way out of the office.”

“You lost horribly,” she says, laughing at the memory. Reid had been stunned by the unseasonably cold weather, and after hearing that he’d never had snow days growing up in Vegas, she promptly lobbed a snowball at his back. The ensuing war had been short, marked by short ceasefires so she could attempt to demonstrate proper snow packing techniques. As a term of surrender, he’d bought her hot chocolate, and the day was among her favorite memories of their friendship. This night would certainly have its own place in the rankings.

Spencer simply brushes her hair back, smiling at her. “I think I won, in the end.”

“Isn’t this technically against the rules?” she asks, thinking she should’ve read those fraternization policies a bit more closely.

“Mmm, probably. I suppose that makes us… what is it Garcia always calls us?”

“Partners in crime,” Y/N laughs. “I never thought that would be so true.” It’s absolutely worth it, she decides, because, “I love you, too.”

At breakfast the next day, Spencer seems visibly happier, and she can’t help but feel delighted at well. Once or twice she swears she catches Morgan looking at them funny, but she brushes it off. The older agent walks over to Reid and whispers something to him that makes their resident genius turn as pink as a pair of Garcia’s heels. Y/N is hoping things are still okay, until Morgan catches her on her way out the SUVs.

“Congratulations on finally breaking all that sexual tension. I thought you two were never going to get a clue. But hey, I guess life imitates art?” She’s tempted to slap the smirk off his face, but then Derek adds, “Thin walls, Y/L/N. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

#fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #brywrites #partners in crime

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carynnhalen · 3 years

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Club Olympus was one of Carynn’s favorite spots in Gotham to visit. Usually because security was lax and it was easy to sneak in without paying the cover fee. Maxie Zeus was doing another stint in Arkham, and that meant it would be easy to score free drinks. Carynn weaved her way through the crowd of dancing people and headed for the bar, shoving her way between a couple of frat boys who were trying to work up the courage to ask Deadshot for a photo.

The guy behind the bar sent her a nod in greeting. “Sup, Carynn. You workin’?” his name was Nick. She’d met him a few years ago when he worked in a hole in the wall bar Josie’s that was in Hells Kitchen. He was nice enough. He was one of the only guys Carynn knew that still had a mohawk, but he was nice enough.

Carynn scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “Taking the night off,” she shouted over the music. “Needed some peace and quiet.”

Nick laughed, setting two glasses out in front of her. “The usual?” it was a rhetorical question. Nick filled one glass to the brim with whiskey, the top shelf option tonight, and the other filled with a vodka soda. “You stay out of trouble.” he said with a wink, pushing the two glasses towards her.

“Always do! Later, Nick.” she scooped up her drinks, expertly heading back through the crowd and up to a balcony that usually served to be a little more quiet than the rest of the club. She hadn’t really had much of a plan for her night off. Mostly she just needed to blow off some steam. Between Captain America showing up to her apartment, and her phone ringing almost non stop with calls from Bruce, things were getting a little too mysterious and heavy all at once.

Carynn plopped down in a booth, her kicking up her booted feet up onto the table. Taking a generous sip of her vodka soda, she pulled her phone out of her jacket and unlocked the screen. More calls from Bruce. A text from Cel. A few notifications from Dante commenting on her Instagram.

She scrolled through her contacts; Bruce (even though she kept deleting and blocking his number it still seemed to find it’s way back onto her phone), Cel, Dante, Oliver, a few numbers of work contacts...was that it? Carynn sighed, downing the rest of her drink and picking up the glass of whiskey.

“I see you still have no manners.” a voice said in Russian just before Carynn’s feet were shoved off of the table.

Carynn’s frowned, looking up from her phone. “What the fuck do you think you’re-...oh, Christ. It’s you,” she rolled her eyes at the woman that was now sliding into the booth across from her. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere skinning a puppy or something?”

Isabel Rochev. She was the current owner of Queen Industries and a certified nutjob. She smiled sweetly at Carynn, almost like she was happy to see her. She folded her gloved hands onto the table, leaning towards Carynn with interest. The large rock that had once belonged to Oliver’s mother was almost blinding in the flickering lights above them.

“I’ve missed you too, Carynn.” she said again in Russian, passing a glance over her shoulder quickly before looking back at the red head. “You are hard to find. Not because you’re in hiding, but because you can’t seem to sit still. I almost thought I’d have to forego my little proposition.”

“You could tell me Keanu Reeves is downstairs waiting to use me as a chew toy. I’d still tell you to fuck off, Isabel.” Carynn said, kicking her feet back up onto the table.

Isabel laughed a genuine laugh. Like they were good friends catching up. “Unfortunately, that is not the offer I have for you. My contacts have told me that Oliver is on his way back to Gotham. I was hoping you and I could come to an...agreement. I know you and Oliver are not in the best of places. And I know that for the right price you remove problems.”

Carynn had to admit, this was a first. She’d never really expected anyone to offer her cash to off Oliver. And maybe, if it had been anyone else sitting across from her, she might have considered the job. “If you want him gone you should do it yourself. Nothing says girl boss like killing your sugar daddy’s son...” she frowned, tilting her head. “Was he your sugar daddy? I’ve never really understood your relationship, at least aside from him definitely being married to someone else the entire time...”

Isabel pursed her lips. “Do not patronize me, Carynn. You and I are far more alike than you will ever admit. You know this deep down. I am offering you a solution to both of our problems.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Carynn spat. “And Oliver isn’t my problem anymore. I don’t waste time thinking about him. I have bigger shit to worry about.”

“Well, what are these problems? Perhaps I can help you. We could form a partnership. Take what belongs to us. I have come a long way since I last saw you-” Isabel looked to her right, into the crowd below them. She visibly froze, her eyes set on something.

Carynn leaned forward, trying to follow Isabel’s gaze. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bar was a little less crowded now. Carynn could spot one of the exit doors nearby. There was someone standing next to it. She couldn’t really make him out. Long, dark hair. A leather jacket. The black mask covering his nose and mouth stood out the most, but in a place like Gotham it was definitely not the craziest thing she’d seen.

Isabel looked over her shoulder once more, nodding quickly. A tall man, who Carynn assumed had to be Isabel’s security, stepped towards them. He looked down into the crowd, surveying the area before speaking into an earpiece. Isabel turned her attention back to Carynn, her smile more nervous now than genuine.

“I must go. Something has come up...please, think of my offer,” she set her clutch on the table, fishing through it before pulling out a business card. “This is where you can reach me. The number is safe, don’t worry. I hope to hear from you soon, Carynn.”

Carynn watched Isabel walk off with her security guard before sinking down further into her seat and groaning. So much for peace and quiet. She picked up the card, rolling her eyes at the idea of taking up Isabel’s offer. Another number to put in my phone, at least, Carynn thought with a sigh.

She tossed back the rest of her drink, slipping her phone and Isabel’s card back into her pocket before sliding out of the booth. Maybe she’d go to another club, maybe she’d head home, she wasn’t sure yet.

Carynn headed downstairs, waving at Nick before slipping out of the same exit that Isabel’s mysterious friend had been standing next to just a few moments before. Carynn didn’t really care who he was to Isabel. Maybe he was some pissed off ex boyfriend, maybe he wanted to kill her. Who could really know? Carynn just didn’t want any part of whatever shit storm Isabel was no doubt stirring up.

The alleyway outside of the club was quiet tonight. Usually there were a few people milling around, someone puking into the dumpster or arguing about what club to hit up next. Maybe it was still too early for that. Or maybe Batman was out patrolling and had spooked them all.

The closer she got to the mouth of the alley, Carynn realized she could hear another heartbeat. It was slow, very quiet. Maybe someone passed out in the trash? That was definitely nothing she hadn’t seen before. She slowed down a little, pulling her phone out to pretend she was busy as she approached the dumpster.

The smell wafting from it nearly smacked her across the face. It wasn’t a bad smell. Completely the opposite. Sort of a smoky yet spicy smell that made her mouth water like in the fall when Pauli’s Diner was serving pumpkin pie. Carynn leaned forward to try and get a look at whoever it was hiding by the dumpster.

Something hit her like freight train.

Carynn had been completely caught off guard. Her back smacked against the brick wall, pain radiating down her spine. Her attacker’s hand was around her throat, the gloved hand making her gurgle as she struggled to breathe. Her vision blurred in and out, but she could just barely make out the man that Isabel had been watching just minutes ago.

“How do you know Isabel? What were you discussing?” more Russian, great. This was very, very, very not good.

His hand was like an iron clamp around her throat. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. Carynn reached out, swiping blindly at his face to scratch him.

Mister tall, dark and creepy let her go with an eye roll. Carynn slouched against the wall, coughing. “Talk.” he spat.

He had gotten the upper hand on her once, that much she could admit. That wasn’t something that would happen again. “I don’t know anything,” Carynn snapped back in English. “It’s not like we’re friends. She’s a pain in the ass...! Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I don’t really have much info-”

She pulled the knife she had clipped to her belt free and lunged forward. Her mystery man moved quickly, but not quickly enough. The blade pierced through his jacket, grazing his skin.

He grabbed her throat again, slamming Carynn back into the brick wall. She’d been expecting something like that. She grabbed her knife, getting a better grip of it and kicking her feet up against his chest and using all of her weight to shove him away.

Carynn rushed forward, Dark and Emo blocking her physical blows easily. He moved just as quickly as she did. Now that they were both fully alert, it was difficult for either of them to get a good hit in. Carynn noticed that he didn’t guard his left arm as vigorously as his right, and she saw a window of opportunity.

She tried to bury her knife into his left bicep. It ripped through his jacket, but the sound that was almost like nails on a chalkboard made Carynn flinch and jump back from him. The blade of her knife had been almost snapped in half. “What the fuck...” she muttered, tossing the dagger aside.

Her opponent leaned down, pulling a large, tactical knife that was strapped to his boots. He lunged towards her, Carynn throwing her arms up in front of her to block his swing. She kicked down hard at his shin, throwing him slightly off balance as he tossed the knife from one hand to his other, the blade stabbing through her jacket.

Carynn slipped down and around him, jumping onto his back. Her legs wrapped tightly around his wait, she put him into a headlock. Terminator man didn’t seem very panicked, regardless of his airway being cut off. He spun around, slamming Carynn into the wall a few times in an attempt of knocking her off of him.

Her grip around his throat loosened, instead she decided to try and pull his mask off to get a better look at who was trying to attack her. Unfortunately that distraction left her open, and the man sunk his knife into her thigh. Carynn screamed out in pain, her opponent tossing her off of him easily.

She landed on the ground with a thud. She had to move quickly. He was stomping towards her, his hands clenched at his sides. Carynn ripped the knife from her leg with a grunt. This would definitely slow her down. She couldn’t afford to be slow.

Carynn tossed the knife. It was better to keep him from it than having it to defend herself. The Masked Douchebag bent forward to grab her ankle. Carynn kicked at him, but he easily smacked her leg away. He lifted her up, slamming her into the wall. Carynn fell face down, groaning loudly. Get up, get up, get up, she told herself.

The sound of boots stomping towards her made her panic. She reached inside of her bra as the stranger picked her up by her jacket, pulling out the pocket knife she kept there. Before he could throw her again, she plunged the knife into his side. This time it did more damage than ruining his clothes.

He dropped her, grunting in pain and anger. Carynn used the distraction to push herself up off the ground, rushing away towards the dumpster to put distance between them. Her leg gave out from under her, and she fell into a pile of trash bags.

Her opponent pulled the knife from his side, once again tossing it aside and heading straight for Carynn. She scrambled backwards, freezing at the sound of a phone ringing. The two went still, looking at each other as the ringing filled the alley way.

The man reached into his jacket, pulling a flip phone out. “We have spotted the target. Enough of whatever it is you are doing. Get to the bottom of whatever Isabel has planned.” someone said on the other line.

“Yes sir,” the Masked Asshole said. “Send me the address. I will find her.” he closed his phone, his eyes trained on Carynn. And as quickly as the altercation had started, it was suddenly over. He turned, grabbing his knife from the ground and wiping it clean on his pants. Without looking back at her, he strolled off and out of the alley way as if nothing had happened.

Carynn let out a loud, relieved sigh and sank back into the trash bags. “Holy fuck that hurts,” she hissed out, grabbing at her thigh. Her hands were covered in warm, sticky blood. “These are my favorite pants...I’m gonna find you you goddamn bastard!” she shouted after the stranger.

She groaned, pulling out her phone. She would heal eventually, but now there was no way she’d be able to make it home on her own. And taxi drivers didn’t like it so much when you bled all over their seats. She opened up a new message, pinging her location and typing the word help to Dante.

“I fucking hate this city.” she sighed, leaning back to look up at the starry sky above her.

#plot points

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creek-cryptid-deluxe · 3 years

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A Warning, dear reader:

this post will not be our usual fare in regard to Very Serious Subjects™, those posts in which I address the subjects with both levity & the gravity it deserves for the purpose of conveying an important message or information but in a way that is entertaining to read & digest. I'm sorry but I just can't muster it & if you read, you will understand why.

Everything I am about to put into this post is absolute fact. You have my permission to share because people need to hear what happened, but I do ask that if this leaves tumblr you block out my name. I am a very private person who uses this blog as a safe place to vent & I'd like it to stay that way please. However I understand stories like these should be heard.

Here we go.

Last night (Nov 3) my dad & I went to the park we always go to so I can hunt Pokemon & he can walk the dog. Since it involves long distances, I have to be in my wheelchair and with it already being dark (as it often is when we go) I plan to just park by a mural that is back off of the sidewalked running trail & conveniently between 2 Pokestops & a few streetlight style trail lights. Because... safety.

We are in front of the main playground, right at the parking lot, getting situated (poop bags, drinks, pokemon, ect) when 2 trucks pull up. 10 kids get out who look to be about 17-19, no masks, and a small dog that I immediately notice doesn't have a leash. Now my city has VERY strict leash laws. If your dog isn't on your property or at a designated dog park, they must be wearing a leash for their safety & the safety of other dogs. There are huge signs about it everywhere. So I keep an eye on this dog.

It gets closer. Closer. Nobody in the group of teens has noticed. Suddenly this shit BOLTS at my dog and starts VICIOUSLY attacking her leg. Now this dog looked to be a large chihuahua mix while my dog is a lab dane mix, but the thing is, we've experienced a dog attacking mine before & my sweet doofus just thinks they are playing as the try to rip her apart.

So my dad is kicking this little dog in a manner that will just separate them & I scream "YOUR DOG IS ATTACKING MY DOG! COME FUCKING GET IT!" All 10 of these "kids" run over & grab the dog & say 'Sorry' in a flip way.

Me: This is why leash laws exist. For the safety of all the dogs. If you can't be bothered to put your dog on a leash, don't bring it to the fucking park because the next animal it attacks unprovoked might not be as kind as my dog.

Kids: Lady your dog could have killed our dog! She's 11 years old & your dog probably provoked her. You need to show some respect!

Me: Kid, your dog literally charged over to attack my dog from about 5 yards away while my dog was just trying to pee. Additionally, you have done nothing to earn my respect so go fuck yourselves. I'm sure your parents would be super proud that you endangered a family pet because you're too lazy to use a leash.

Kids start to advance closer toward me: All you uppity cripples need to learn your place & learn to respect your betters because when Trump wins if you don't, you'll be exterminated!

Me shaking but trying to maintain composure: If you genuinely believe that, then I'm sure your parents weep for the 3 brain cells that you all apparently have to share. Fucking pathetic ignorant bigots. Get the fuck out of here before i call the cops.

They got back in their cars but as I drove to my spot, with my dad & dog, I was met with jeers of 'worthless cripple', 'uppity cripple needs a lesson', 'you're only alive because we can't exterminate you useless leeches yet'

My dog refused to venture more than 20 yards from me while my dad (his behavior during this is a whole other thing) walked her until their cars left.

All of this because their dog attacked my dog without being provoked & was unleashed.

Now I consider myself very strong & capable despite my body kinda being an unreliable dumpster fire. Like I said, I regularly go to this park at night & have never felt unsafe. But last night, as these 10 young adults advanced on me, all I could picture was a pack of hyena circling a wounded gazelle. For the first time in my life, I realized exactly how venerable I was.

Even after they left, any time someone was approaching I jumped.

Unfortunately this is going to get worse no matter the election results.

If he loses, they will be furious that their supreme leader has lost & will lash out in accordance with the violence he openly encourages & condones. Eventually it will stop, but it will probably take awhile & the damage will be serious.

If he wins, they will take that as a green light to do whatever they want for the next 4 years while he spouts his rhetoric of hate & violence.

I am privileged enough to live in a town in Texas that is generally very accepting & liberal leaning because we have one of the top art & music colleges as well as a second college. But for the first time, I am scared. Somewhere inside I know that if I give in to that fear & stay home that they win. But if I go out & end up attacked not only do they win, but my daughter loses. I can't risk that.

This is what living in "Trump's America" currently means. Being afraid to leave my home because I am a visibly disabled woman.

#disabled life #chronic illness #chronically ill #disability #disabled #ehlers danlos syndrome

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infinitefandomimagines · 4 years

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Consequences - Harry Bingham x reader

WARNINGS: ANGST, LANGUAGE, CRYING,

REQUEST: Hiiii, I saw that you were taking The Society requests and I was curious to know if I could submit a request for the reader being with Harry and finding out about Harry, Campbell and Lexie’s scheme with Allie and Will and being super conflicted. If possible could it be super angsty? I love your work so much, thank you for taking the time to read this even if you don’t decide to write it. Love ya xo

Hello!! Love your work, can I please request a Harry Bingham angst imagine?

You weren't supposed to find out, that much was obvious. The shock on Harry's face the second you confronted him in his room told you he didn't plan on telling you, and the disappointment on your face told him how screwed he really was.

"So what exactly was your plan, huh? Keep me in the dark forever, or just until you and Lexie were the new rulers of New Ham?" Venom dripped from each word as you tried to mask just how truly hurt you were, how betrayed you felt.

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but as far as you were concerned those questions were rhetorical, you weren't finished saying your part.

"On day one you said it was just you and me, that no matter what we could trust each other, that we would have each other's backs. We promised-You. Promised." Your voice was starting to betray you, shaking as your emotions tried to break through, but you refused to cry, refused to let yourself lose control. "Did you even think of how this genius plan of yours would affect me? How it would affect anyone who isn't you?"

"Campbell promised you'd be safe, I made sure-"

"Oh yeah, cause Campbell is so fucking trustworthy!" Your voice was slowly climbing in volume despite your attempts to stay as calm as possible. "Campbell doesn't give a shit about me, or you, or anyone in this town, he only cares about himself. Can't you see he's just manipulating you? You really think you're gonna be the one making the decisions? You're his fucking puppet Harry."

"Give me some credit, I have it handled, I-"

You cut him off again, "Can you honestly tell me that you've actually thought of the consequences of your little plan?"

Y/N-"

"I mean honestly Harry do you think of anyone but yourself? Did you even consider-"

"Would you let me fucking talk?" He yelled, a bit louder than he intended. The outburst startled you, the surprise clear on your face. Harry let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair, "I wanted to tell you, alright? But we couldn't risk telling anyone who wasn't involved and have the plan getting out."

"And what exactly was this plan of yours? Have the guard, the people we all trust to keep us safe, storm Allie's house, and what? Arrest her? Then what? Take over by force and arrest anyone who gets in your way?"

"I know it sounds bad-"

"Bad?" You were shocked at how ignorant he was, did he really not realize his harmful this could before the town? "Harry everything is finally working, stores haven't been raided, people are doing their jobs, an expedition is set to go out soon, and the committee on going home is actually making progress. This town is fragile, even the smallest shift in structure could cause a panic. Your plan would shatter this town."

"You're telling me you're seriously okay with picking up trash every day for what could possibly be the rest of your life?"

"Yeah it sucks, I don't like it either, but it works! What Allie is doing works."

"Yeah well not for me," he fired back, the two of you now in a big yelling match, "Okay, this place sucks! Everything about it sucks! The food, the jobs, the housing, the leaders." Harry felt bad for yelling at you, he hated fighting with you no matter how big or small the argument was, but everything was getting so heated that it was becoming too easy to say regrettable things

"We're on our own! We don't get to live in luxury anymore, Harry! We have to make sacrifices in order for things to work around here, I know you think you can do better than Allie, and who knows maybe you can, but this is our life now, we can't do much better!" Your voice was starting to get raw and scratchy from the amount of yelling, tears stung the back of your eyes, and you were beyond exhausted.

"Yes we can, we can do so much better! Why can't you just trust me on this? I thought we promised to have each other's backs?" He said the last part almost mockingly, and you felt your anger skyrocket, so much for trying to remain calm and collected.

"No!" You yelled in his face, "No, you don't get to throw that in my face, not after all the shit you've pulled! Going behind my back, lying to me, lying to everyone in this town!" Your voice got weaker with each word, finally reaching your breaking point.

Everything was so fucked up, Harry's head was so far up his ass that deep down you knew there was no changing his mind, and the right thing to do was so obvious, you needed to tell Allie and Will, so why weren't you already doing that? Why were you still here trying to convince Harry to change?

You knew why, and you hated it, hated how head over heals you were for him, hated how you still believed in him, hated how even after everything he'd hidden from you, you still loved him. You were stressed, angry, conflicted, but above anything you were just so tired. Tired of the fighting, the yelling, the chaos, the unshakeable feeling something horrible could happen at any moment, you just wanted to be home, back with your family. You'd give anything to have your old life back, Friday night football games, date night every Saturday with Harry, stupid high school drama and cast parties.

You sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, hunched over with your elbows resting on your knees and you head in your hands, the tears you'd been holding back finally finding their way to the surface. Your body shook as you took in ragged breaths, small sobs escaping your lips.

It seemed as though your breaking point happened to be Harry's as well, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, that's why he was so adamant with Campbell about you being safe no matter what, that you would have a say in what happened after he was finally in charge. He knew you wouldn't like the plan the second it was made, and maybe that alone should have told him there was a flaw or two with it, he considered you one of the smartest people in both West Ham and New Ham, but it was the only way to fix things and have a better life. Right?

But seeing you like this? It almost made him want to throw the whole plan out the window. Almost.

Harry took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he crouched down in front of you, his mind searched for some magic phrase that would make everything better, but he knew there was no such thing.

"Y/N," he whispered softly, "Baby look at me."

When you didn't budge he gently gripped your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face, revealing red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He held your hands in between his, lifting them to his lips and placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I am so sorry I didn't tell you, I should have been honest with you the second Campbell mentioned the plan," your jaw tightened at the mention of Campbell, telling Harry to keep him out of the conversation. "I never meant to hurt you, and if I could go back and do it all over again I would, I'm sorry, Y/N."

He was genuine, and that gave you the silver of hope you needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could stop him from doing something he couldn't take back.

"Then tell Allie, stop all of this before it gets out of hand, run for office and try to win fairly," you pleaded. "Please, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he prepared to answer. He didn't know who this would hurt worse, you or him.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he couldn't even look at you as he spoke, his gaze meeting the ground instead. The sliver of hope you'd felt before had been crushed, your heart dropping into your stomach when it finally hit that there was no changing his mind. You were now the one with a choice, tell Allie and betray Harry, or support Harry and go against what you felt was the right thing to do.

"It's not fair Harry," you said in a small, squeaky voice, "It's not fair for you to put me in this situation." You were right, he couldn't argue with that.

"You don't have to do anything, just keep quiet and I promise you will be safe, but if Campbell finds out you know and you're not on board. . . Just, can you promise me you won't say anything?" Harry's eyes finally met yours.

"I don't know, Harry," you whispered, looking down.

"What?"

"I don't fucking know, okay?" You raised your voice, standing up abruptly. "You're asking me to chose between you and what I know is right for this town! I- I just need some fucking air."

You pushed past Harry, wiping stray tears from your cheeks as you rushed towards the door. You gripped the cold metal knob and pulled the door open. However, a hand came down on the door, pushing it shut.

You whipped around to see Harry, his arm extended past your head, leaning against the door to prevent you from opening it again. You let out a sharp breath, scoffing at how actions. You looked up at him in disbelief, but it seemed as though he couldn't quite meet your gaze.

"Open the door, Harry," you said in a dangerous and low voice.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave." His tone held a sense of pain in it. He didn't enjoy what he was doing. Nonetheless, he shifted his body so that he now stood with his back pressed to the door, completely blocking your only way out.

"Fucking what?"

"I'm sorry, I can't until I know you won't tell Allie and Will."

You reached for the doorknob again, even though you knew your efforts would be unsuccessful. Harry grabbed your wrist, his grip was gentle, but that didn't do anything to calm the rage bubbling up inside of you.

You instantly ripped your wrist from his grip, giving him a few choice words in the process. Frustration and anger burned inside of you, and you could feel more tears stinging the back of your eyes.

You turned your back to Harry, walking over to the window at the far end of his room. Soft footsteps echoed from behind you as Harry hesitantly walked towards you, choosing to stop a couple feet away from you.

"Y/N I-"

"Just get out, Harry." You said coldly.

"What?"

"If you won't let me leave the least you can do is give me some space."

There were a few seconds of silence before you heard Harry sniffle. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a broken voice. When you heard the door open and softly close you turned around to make sure he'd actually left.

When you saw he did, you collapsed onto his bed, letting out all of your emotions.

Everything was so fucked.

#harry bingham #harry bingham x reader #harry bingham imagines #harry bingham imagine #the society x reader #the society fanfiction #society #the society imagines #the society #society x reader #society imagine #society imagines #the society imagine #grizz #sam #campbell #campbell eliot #grizz visser

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Re-posting this because I added an external link to my AO3 last time so Tumblr blocked it from the tags and no one saw it 🙄 Find it on AO3 under my username WizardGlick

Fear in Friendship (is an ugly trait):

5k gen PJO fusion oneshot featuring Roman, Remus, and Janus. I changed some of the rules of the PJO universe to make the story more fun to write 😊 CW for canon-typical violence, teenager-typical swearing, and one brief instance of potential ableism

Questions not answered in the narrative: Roman and Remus are children of Apollo, Janus is a child of Aphrodite. Janus' weapon is a war scythe

Three-Sentence Summary: Remus loses some blood. Janus has a No Good Very Bad day. Roman begins an illustrious career as a matador.

"Janice?" Roman asked, tilting his head at the new student Remus had brought to meet him. He was about to be late for after-school rehearsal, but Remus had come trotting up dragging the newcomer by the hand, and he'd looked so excited that Roman just couldn't bring himself to blow his brother off.

The new student glared. "Jan-US," he said, with an incredulous look at Remus, as if to say 'this idiot is your brother?' "Like the Roman god." He said it like it was obvious, like Roman was some kind of moron for not knowing. The sneering tone made Roman's blood run hot with anger and shame.

"I don't know all about that nerdy shit," Roman said, waving a hand dismissively.

Janus rolled his eyes. "Really? I would never have guessed; you seem so smart."

He was almost handsome, Roman thought, trying to study Janus' face without giving away that he was staring. He really might have been good-looking if it wasn't for the look of irritation that had been glued to his face ever since he'd entered Roman's field of vision.

A field of scarring spanned the left side of his face and traveled down his neck until the painful-looking swirl of pink and white disappeared under his high-collared shirt. The scarring itself was not necessarily unusual, just standard burn scars. What caught Roman's attention was how they just stopped, all in a straight, uniform line directly down the center of Janus' face. Almost like… Roman tried not to shudder as the thought came to him. Almost like someone had done it on purpose.

He swallowed hard and tried to get himself back on track. "Least I don't share a name with our librarian, Miss Janice."

"God, you're such a dick." Remus ran a hand through his unruly hair, shooting Roman a dark look. Roman stuck out his tongue. "Forget it." He took Janus by the wrist again and turned away. "Come on, let's go see if we can hack the vending machine."

"Oh, no you don't." Roman lunged forward, irritation coursing through him, and grabbed the top of Remus' backpack. "You're coming with me so I can keep an eye on you."

"No way!" Remus squirmed, but Roman kept his grip tight. "I don't wanna go to your stupid rehearsal."

To Roman's surprise, Janus chimed in with a keen and interested, "Rehearsal?"

"He thinks he's hot shit because he's playing Danny Zuko." Remus rolled his eyes, still trying to wiggle free of Roman's grip. "News flash, anyone can memorize lines and prance around in a leather jacket."

"So why don't you try out?" Roman asked rhetorically, starting to pull Remus down the hall.

Remus went along with it, though Roman knew full-well that he could have slipped out of his backpack and made a run for it at any time. "'Cause I'm too busy bangin'! Ba dum ch!"

As they made their way down the hall, Janus walked beside them in silence. Roman watched him out of the corner of his eye, frowning at the way he continually glanced over his shoulder like he was expecting to get in some sort of trouble. It was a look Roman was well familiar with. He had seen it on Remus and he had worn it himself far more times than he was comfortable with. Roman and his brother seemed to attract danger wherever they went, from stalkers to muggers to one stranger's memorable attempt at running them over in the crosswalk. It was never the same person twice, and each isolated incident could be chalked up to an accident. Roman didn't like to think about it for too long and worked hard to keep Remus from talking about it. After the first mugging, Remus had sworn for weeks that their assailant had had a tail. Roman had denied it out loud, but he couldn't lie to himself. Something wasn't right.

If Janus was equally as twitchy… Was he part of it? Did he know something?

"I understand the compulsion, since I am quite good-looking," Janus said, in a tone so dry it could have drained an Olympic swimming pool, "but you'd better quit staring at me before you walk into a door."

"I spaced out," Roman said, unable to think of a snappier retort. He couldn't help but shoot Janus suspicious looks out of the corner of his eye as they continued toward the Main building. "Where'd you transfer from, anyway? How old are you?"

Janus put his hands up like a cornered criminal. "You caught me," he said, affecting regret. "I'm a 43 year-old police officer trying to track down a drug ring. Promise me you won't tell?"

"Little does he know, I'm the distributor," Remus said, finally yanking free from Roman's hold. Roman let him go, knowing that if he had stayed this long, he probably wasn't going to run off.

Roman rolled his eyes. "Very funny, J Jonah Hill. But seriously."

"I'm 16," Janus said. "I transferred from a school in New York."

"All the way from New York? How'd you end up in Florida?" Roman yanked open the door to Main and held it for Remus and Janus. He was tempted to let it drop on Remus just to watch him stumble, but found himself distracted by a gold keychain on Janus' backpack. It was nothing special, just a shiny metal Gemini symbol, but the way it caught the light made Roman pause.

"Teleported," Janus said.

"Are you allergic to straight answers, or what?" Roman asked, unamused. Janus' mocking demeanor didn't sit well with him, and something about Janus' face didn't make sense. The scars seemed almost superficial, and didn't always move in conjunction with his mouth. Roman felt stupid just thinking it, but it was almost like they were masking something.

"What crawled up your ass?" Remus demanded. He turned to Janus. "Sorry, he's not usually such an asshole. He's probably just nervous about hitting all those high notes. I heard him practicing in the shower last night and it was like someone was skinning a cat."

"I sounded awesome," Roman said, blushing furiously. He paused before the theater doors, turning his back to them so he could directly address Remus. "Go find a seat. And I swear to God, if you cause any disruptions, I'll shave your drumsticks down into toothpicks."

"Not the Vic Firths!" Remus said, gasping in faux-horror. He dismissed Roman with a wave of his hand and motioned for Janus to follow him. "C'mon, let's go see if we can catch a cockroach."

Roman just shook his head and hurried backstage.

He had a hard time focusing during rehearsal, missing cues and tripping over himself on lines he had memorized days ago. But he was too distracted to even be bothered, subtly trying to keep an eye on Remus-- okay, on Janus from his vantage point on the stage.

Roman couldn't help it. He didn't trust Janus. The haunted look in his eyes, the way he was always looking over his shoulder… Something was off.

No matter how hard he tried, Roman couldn't force himself to focus. His thoughts kept whirling until they transformed into an overwhelming sense of dread that demanded all his attention. He barely even noticed when rehearsal ended, hurrying into the seating area to try to find Remus.

He wasn't there. Of course he wasn't there. Roman shouldered his backpack and strode off toward the bathrooms, trying hard not to panic. What if Janus was bad news? What if he had hurt Remus? What if Remus was lying bloody in a back corner somewhere because Roman wasn't there to protect him?

"Remus?" Roman called, checking both bathrooms. Nothing. "Shit." Where else did Remus like to go? Maybe the band room? Roman set off for it at a jog, his backpack bouncing against his back.

Nothing in the band room. Roman tried the handle anyway, just to confirm that it was locked.

"I'm going to kill him," Roman muttered, stalking off toward the football field. He swung by the vending machines on the way just in case, and came up empty. It had to be the football field, then. Remus had been talking about playing with the tackle dummies for weeks. That had to be it.

Roman forced himself to slow down as he approached the football field, not wanting Remus to know how badly he'd been freaking out. Of course Remus was there, doing cartwheels on the turf while Janus sat and watched.

"I told you not to leave!" Roman said, marching up to the pair of them.

"You didn't," Janus said, smirking. Roman glared at him. In the sun, his scars seemed to fade for a moment, revealing only the slightest hint of… green? Roman shook his head. It must have been the light reflecting off the turf. Janus continued, "You only said to find a seat and not cause any disruptions."

"I was gonna release a cockroach onto the stage and see if I could get it to go up your pants leg," Remus said, falling out of a cartwheel and landing on his back. "But Janus convinced me not to."

"You're welcome," Janus said.

Roman couldn't help but stare at him. His scars flickered in and out in the sunlight, the dark brown of his left eye flashing yellow. "Remus, get behind me," Roman said, deadly serious.

"What?" Remus lifted his head. "Why?"

Roman didn't answer, stepping between his brother and Janus. "What are you?" he demanded.

Janus' eyes widened before a look of realization crossed his face. "I'm a friend," he said in a silky, almost crooning tone. "You can trust me."

"He's a friend," Remus repeated. "Why are you being so weird?"

A sense of calm slid over Roman for half a second before he snapped out of it. "What are you?" he repeated, stepping forward into Janus' personal space. Now that he was looking for it, he could see it clear as day: Janus was half-snake. His entire left half was covered in dull green scales, and a slit pupil neatly bisected the sickly yellow of his left eye.

Janus put up his hands. "You're stronger than Remus," he said, almost to himself.

Roman grabbed him by the collar. "You have 30 seconds to explain what's going on."

"Look," Janus said. "You know you're not normal, right?"

"Bad start," Roman said, making a show of cocking his fist back. He'd never hit anyone in his life, save the occasional thrown elbow in wrestling matches with Remus. Should he go for the jaw? The eye?

"You have an absent parent, you get in trouble a lot, you've been in a lot of one-off dangerous situations that you can't really explain," Janus rattled off like he was reciting from a memorized list. "You're dyslexic, you make things happen like magic. Stop me when this sounds familiar."

"Some of those things, maybe," Roman said. Remus was dyslexic and they'd both had their fair share of dangerous run-ins. Distantly, he thought he heard the overlapping thumps of several car doors shutting. "What does that have to do with you?"

"You aren't human," Janus said.

"You aren't human," Roman shot back.

Janus rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Okay, look. You're the only one who can see my real face, right? Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know!" Roman said. Distracted, he let go of Janus' shirt. "What are you saying?"

"I'm trying to say that-- Okay, you know what? Let's just rip the blindfold off like a Band-Aid, sure!" Janus gave a hysterical-sounding laugh. "You're a demigod. You're both demigods."

Roman scoffed, unsure of exactly what else to say. A million questions raced through his mind, punctuated by that slamming car door sound again. What was that, anyway? He backed away from Janus and nearly stepped on Remus, who grabbed him by the ankle and bit. "You can stop harassing my friend now, you neurotic weirdo."

"Look at him!" Roman said. He bent down and hauled Remus to his feet, and was immediately distracted by a mechanical-sounding hissing and creaking. "I'm sorry, does anyone else hear a broken washing machine?"

"Whoa!" said Remus. "You're a snake!”

"I am not," Janus said.

Roman spun around, still searching for the source of the noise. It came into view a moment later and he froze for half a second, eyes widening. "Uhh, guys?" he said, backing up despite himself. He kept his gaze locked onto the massive copper bull that was striding directly at the fencing surrounding the football field, radiating heat that warped the air around it.

"What the heck is that?" Remus asked in obvious fascination.

"Listen," Janus said, his voice strangely calm. In the corner of his eye, Roman could just make out Janus as he removed his backpack and yanked the gold Gemini keychain off the zipper. "You need to get to my car. It's the blue Kia Soul parked by the main entrance."

In the distance, the bull backed up and smashed its way through the fence with a horrible clanging sound.

"Is that thing gonna try to kill us?" Remus asked.

The bull meandered closer, looking as nonchalant as a massive metal bull could. Roman fought the urge to back up, to grab Remus by the hand and get the hell out of dodge. "Why isn't it attacking?"

"It probably hasn't seen us yet," Janus said. He sounded as calm as ever, but Roman didn't miss the frantic rise and fall of his chest. "Walk off," he said. "Slowly."

"What about you?" Roman demanded.

Janus spun the keychain around his finger. The metal gleamed in the sun and lengthened into something Roman didn't recognize: a long metal pole with a half-moon blade at the end. "I'll hold it off."

"You can't seriously think--" Roman started, but the bull looked up and started to charge and the words died on his lip as raw panic choked out his rational thought

"Run!" Janus ordered. "Blue Kia Soul. Meet me there!"

Roman shrugged out of his backpack, grabbed Remus by the wrist and sprinted.

"Are you crazy?" Remus shouted. "We can't just leave him!"

"No shit!" Roman shouted back, still dragging Remus along. "We need weapons or something!"

"Hurdles," Remus said, veering off to the side.

Roman nearly tripped and was forced to let go of Remus’ hand. He wanted to argue, but there was very little of potential use on the field. The tackle dummies and tires left out by the football team were far too heavy for them to move. The track hurdles were the only things even remotely useful. Remus grabbed one and started hauling it back toward the fray, and Roman was quick to follow suit. He didn't want Remus going in first if he could help it.

The hurdle was unwieldy and made his hands ache, but he barely noticed, too wrapped in not tripping while he watched Janus in a state of adrenaline-riddled horror.

By some miracle, Janus wasn't dead. In fact, to Roman's puzzlement, he sort of looked like he knew what he was doing. More or less. He held his weapon with confidence and kept his center of gravity low. The bull seemed to have no other strategy than to aim itself at a target and charge, allowing Janus to dodge every time. Unfortunately, it seemed he could only dodge, as the long handle of his weapon, whatever it was, didn't allow for quick maneuvers.

They were locked in a stalemate, and it was pretty much a guarantee that Janus was going to tire out. He was already breathing heavily, keeping his moments sparing and conservative.

Then Remus came flying in and Roman could only watch as his brother flung the track hurdle with wild abandon. "Die!"

"I told you to run!" Janus shouted, barely audible over the clanging of the bull kicking furiously to try to dislodge its back legs from the hurdle

"We'll run after we finish saving your ass," Roman said. The bull's head swiveled between the two of them, as Remus was still behind it, and Roman swore he saw a spark of intelligence in its molten-metal eyes. Without any sort of warning, it kicked Remus in the chest and took off at a dead sprint for Janus again.

For a split second, Roman was paralyzed. Remus hit the ground hard and rolled and lay still; Janus stood frozen with guilt written all over his face.

"Move!" Roman shouted, already formulating a plan. If he could get the hurdle underfoot while the bull was charging, it might trip, allowing Janus enough time to… stab it or slash it or whatever his weapon was supposed to be good for.

Janas sidestepped again and dashed forward. He glared at Roman, too winded to speak.

"I need you to draw its attention again," Roman said, glancing at the bull. It left deep gouges in the artificial grass where it stopped, and the rubber smoked from the sheer heat it put out. It turned and pawed the ground. "And I swear to God, if you let it get to Remus again, I will end you."

"Like it was my fault," Janus panted, already in motion. He backed up, careful to step away from Remus. Lacking any spare fabric to wave, he threw his free arm out and shouted, "It's me that you want."

He used the same silken, commanding tone he'd tried on Roman earlier. Roman made a mental note to ask him about that when they weren't in the middle of a death match.

The bull charged. Roman threw the hurdle. Then everything went to Hell.

The bull did trip as Roman had intended, but it had so much momentum that it kept thundering toward Janus as it stumbled and scrabbled for balance on the melting rubber chips. A wayward hoof caught Janus in the ankle and knocked him flat, practically right underneath its massive chest. He gave a shout and dropped his weapon, and Roman realized with a feeling of sinking dread that it must have been too hot to touch.

Well, there went that.

He needed a new plan and he needed it now. Already the bull was finding its footing and turning its fiery glare on Roman.

Roman charged it, feeling more like Remus' brother than he had ever had before. "Die!" He rolled forward and grabbed Janus' weapon, barely noticing the heat that seared into his palms-- He didn't have time for pain or panic. Spotting a crack in the metal plating on the bull's back, Roman aimed the blade and shoved. The bull shuddered and Janus shouted something, but Roman had no room for thoughts more complex than kill, protect, kill, protect. He shoved and shoved until the bull gave a final hiss and went still, until sweat poured into his eyes and he could no longer keep them open, until the metal shaft of Janus' weapon snapped under his hand.

"Remus!" Janus shouted.

That got Roman's attention. He left Janus half-pinned under the steaming body of the bull and dashed for Remus' prone form.

He was already starting to sit up and self-assess, touching the back of his head and studying his bloodied fingers with an unsettling blank expression.

"Are you okay?" Roman asked.

Remus blinked hard, stared at him. "Is it dead?"

"Yeah, it's dead."

"Where's Janus?"

Roman frowned and looked behind him. Janus had extracted himself from the wreckage of the bull and was kneeling and wiping the sweat off his face. "Remus is asking for you," Roman said, trying not to let his bitterness show in his voice.

"You broke my scythe," Janus said, not moving.

"You could thank me for saving your life," Roman shot back, half-forgetting Remus.

"That was my best weapon! Now all I have is this stupid knife."

"Are you coming over or not?"

"I can't." Janus glared at Roman. "Somebody dropped a two-ton Colchis bull on me and shattered my ankle in the process."

"But did you die?"

"Can you stop yelling?" Remus murmured, burying his face in his hands.

Roman stared at him, heart hammering with renewed fear. "Are you okay?"

"I just want to go home."

"You can't," Janus said. Roman glared at him, but he continued without acknowledging it, "It's not safe. The monsters know about you now. You have to come with me."

"And why the Hell would we do that?" Roman demanded. "You almost got us killed!"

Remus peeked over the tops of his fingers. "I don't think it was his fault, Roman."

"Thanks for the backup, bro." Roman rolled his eyes and turned to address Janus again. "Why should we trust you?"

The look Janus gave him could have burned a hole in titanium. "Hm, let's see. Who has all the answers? Who just tried to save your ungrateful ass? Think hard now, Roman, don't be afraid to phone a friend."

"I get it, I get it." Roman got to his feet, surprised at how stiff and sore he already felt. He extended a hand to Remus only to yelp in sudden agony when Remus tried to grab on. He turned his hands over and found both palms bright red and shiny with small blisters on the centers. He offered Renus his forearm instead, and steadied him as he swayed. "You okay?"

"Super," Remus wheezed. "Fucking peachy. I got kicked right in the tit by a steampunk rodeo bull and busted my head open on the single rock in this entire field of soft-ass rubber chips. Can't wait to tell Mom."

"Shit!" Roman said. "Mom!" Realization hit a moment later-- she was out of town for a few days at some big-shot surfing exposition, no kids allowed.

"She's in for a nasty surprise."

"Very nasty," Janus said, "unless your godly parent warned her ahead of time. Is anyone going to help me up?" Roman forced himself to compartmentalize. One thing at a time. Remus seemed steady enough on his feet, so Roman stepped over to help Janus up. He couldn't seem to put any weight on his right ankle and clamped onto Roman's shoulder when he tried to step away. "You have two options," Janus said, "help me walk, or grab my keys and bring the car around-- Oh." He looked away, horror dawning in his face, and Roman followed his gaze to see what he was staring at.

"Let me guess," he said, examining the still-smoking remains of Janus' backpack. "They keys were in there?"

"The keys, my wallet, miscellaneous demigod survival crap. You know, nothing too important."

"I'll go see what I can find." Roman let Janus drop, privately amused by the undignified cry he gave out upon hitting the ground.

Janus' black Nike backpack had melted and fused with the rubber chips on the turf. Roman poked the mess with the tip of his toe and found it cool enough to touch for short periods, so he knelt and did his best to sort through what was left.

The Kia keys had miraculously survived, although the remote was unusable and the lanyard was nothing more than a pile of ash and melted orange polyester fibers. It sent flames of agony all across his palms, but Roman managed to extricate the car key and a few strange golden coins. He ignored the remains of a few Ziploc bags, but examined the orange Hydroflask with a critical eye. It had a hole in it, but whatever it had once held had a peculiar smell that cut through the stench of burning rubber and made Roman feel strangely at ease. It smelled like fresh-squeezed orange juice, and he could have sworn he caught a hint of guava and vanilla, like the nonalcoholic punch his mom made for the kids when she was hosting parties.

"Take your time," Janus called, pulling Roman back to reality.

Roman flipped him off, and it hurt like his hand was on fire, but it was worth it. Now that the adrenaline was well and truly gone, he just felt sick and wrung-out, and not at all in the mood to deal with Janus' ill temper.

"Got the keys," Roman said, turning around. "And these weird arcade tokens."

"Those are drachma."

"That's funny," Remus said, in a voice that was still much too quiet and calm for Roman's liking, "I thought they were ligma."

"Oh my God," Roman muttered.

"What?" said Janus, eyeing Remus with concern.

"Ligma nuts!" Remus said.

After a long silence, that Roman supposed was meant to restore some sense of dignity, Janus said, "Good to know you're not dying."

"So are we leaving or what?" Roman asked, jangling the keys.

Janus nodded, and gestured for Roman to help him up.

Roman was sure they looked ridiculous as they hobbled across the football field. Roman, who was the least injured, had to support half of Janus' weight as he limped along, and Remus kept getting lightheaded and grabbing Roman's other shoulder for balance. At least Remus was able to carry his and Roman's backpacks, though it slowed him down considerably.

Roman was winded when they finally reached the parking lot, his shoulders and obliques screaming in protest at the awkward position he'd held for so long.

"Can you drive?" Janus asked when they'd reached the Kia and he could finally let go of Roman.

"Uh, I have my learner's permit."

Janus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let me rephrase that: You're going to have to drive."

"Where to?"

"New York."

"New York?" Roman repeated. "Are you crazy? Why New York?"

"I'll explain on the way," Janus said, "but we really need to get out of here."

"Fine." Roman helped Janus into the passenger seat and then lifted Remus into the back so he could sprawl across the seats. His head had stopped bleeding on its own, but since they hadn't paused to apply any pressure, blood had dripped down his neck and dried on the collar of his shirt. "I don't suppose you have any first aid stuff?"

Janus yanked open the glove compartment and rattled off the contents. "Manual, registration, Taco Bell napkins, tire pressure gauge, plastic baggie full of mystery pills, novelty Medusa PEZ dispenser, Mapquest directions to the Lotus Hotel, titanium spork."

"Those are Aleve," Remus said, poking his head between the seats. "Can I have about 20?"

"You can have two," Roman said, snatching the bag of Janus' hands. His own fingers were stiff and clumsy and flared up with pain every time he tried to use them, but he couldn't deny the increasing compulsion to be in charge. He had to fix it for Remus, he had to make it better, he had to keep them safe--

"Like, now, or…?" Remus said.

"Sorry." Roman distributed the pills, then passed around his water bottle. "Okay," he said, struggling with the cap while Janus watched with a cool eye. "So, uh. Now I just have to drive to New York. With messed up hands."

"It helps if you get in the car," Janus drawled.

Roman said nothing, but as he walked around to the driver's side, he made a silent vow to hit as many potholes as he could.

"Road trip!" Remus crowed once Roman was seated. "Hey, Roman, how much money do you have?"

"I dunno," Roman said, trying to focus on backing out while only holding the wheel with his fingertips. "Like 20 bucks. You're the one with the backpacks, why don't you count?"

"I get to go through your stuff?" Remus asked, clapping his hands in delight.

"Just don't steal my good pens or I'll kill you." Roman put the car in drive and lurched forward.

"Accelerate with your toes," Janus said.

"No backseat driving."

"I'm not in the backseat."

"Keep running your mouth and I'll strap you to the roof." Roman turned up the radio before Janus could reply. He'd had enough; his hands hurt, his body ached, he was terrified. He couldn't deal with any more snark and attitude.

He took the on-ramp for I-75 North and started to sing, first to himself and then louder as traffic increased and he got nervous. In the corner of his eye, he could see Janus double-checking all their blind spots, peering in the rear view mirror, fidgeting with his seat belt.

It didn't help Roman's nerves any. He kept singing with the radio, privately grateful that it was already set to a pop station. He noticed two things at once as he switched lanes to let a bright red Maserati blow past him: First, a bone-deep exhaustion that left him so dizzy he nearly swerved onto the shoulder. Second, his hands no longer hurt.

He took one off the wheel and glanced at it, shocked to find the skin as smooth as if it had never been damaged at all.

"Did you do that?" Roman demanded, sparing a glance at Janus.

"What, make you hit the rumble strip? No, that was all you."

"My hands," Roman said impatiently. "They're better. Look!" He showed his palm to Janus, then to Remus.

"Lucky," Remus said. "I feel like somebody pushed me off a 69-story building."

"Nice," said Roman, unable to help himself.

Janus just rolled his eyes and turned back to face the road.

"So how about those answers now?" Roman asked, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

Janus nodded. "But no interrupting. If you don't believe me after everything you've seen, that's on you for being an idiot."

"Who said I was going to interrupt?" Roman said.

Janus looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. "Oh, I just have a feeling."

"We can be quiet," Roman said. He turned the radio off and sat back as much as he could without losing his grip on the wheel.

"Super quiet," Remus agreed. "Silent but deadly."

"Alright," said Janus. "The Greek gods are real. You're the children of one of them."

Roman pressed his lips together, determined not to make a sound. He kept silent as they continued to crawl down I-75 in rush hour traffic and Janus elaborated about gods and monsters and mythology.

It wasn't until the sun was well and truly down, until Janus had gone silent, until it was too late for it to matter, that Roman even realized he had been the victim of reverse psychology.

He scowled and doubled down on his vow to hit as many potholes as possible. Whether Janus was telling the truth or not, Roman didn't like him.

#okay let's try this again #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #janus sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #creativitwins #platonic dukeceit #platonic demus #spicywrites #spicywrites unnamed pjo fusion series

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