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plounce · 3 months

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researching stuff for a post about misinformation regarding girl scout cookies and man this article (10/28/23) about this palestinian-american girl scout nearly made me burst into tears

In her short 17 years on earth, Amira Ismail had never been called a baby killer.

That’s what happened one Friday this month, Amira said, on New York City’s Q58 bus, which runs through central Queens.

“This lady looked at me, and she was like: ‘You’re disgusting. You’re a baby killer. You’re an antisemite,’” Amira told me. When she talked about this incident, her signature spunk faded. “I just kept saying, ‘That’s not true,’” she said. “I was just on my way to school. I was just wearing my hijab.”

Amira was born in Queens in the years after the Sept. 11 attacks. She remembers participating as a child in demonstrations at City Hall as part of a successful movement to make Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha school holidays in New York City.

But since the Oct. 7 attack by Hamas, in which an estimated 1,400 Israelis were killed and some 200 others were kidnapped, Amira, who is Palestinian American, said she has experienced for the first time the full fury of Islamophobia and racism that her older relatives and friends have told stories about all her life. Throughout the city, in fact, there has been an increase in both anti-Muslim and antisemitic attacks.

In heavily Muslim parts of Queens, she said, police officers are suddenly everywhere, asking for identification and stopping and frisking Muslim men. (New York City has stepped up its police presence around both Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods and sites within the five boroughs.) Most painful though, she said, is the sense that she and her peers are getting that Palestinian lives do not matter, as they watch the United States staunchly back Israel as it heads into war.

“It can’t go unrecognized, the thousands of Palestinians that have been murdered in the past two weeks and even more the past 75 years,” Amira said. “There’s no way you can erase that.” That does not mean she is antisemitic, she said. “How can I denounce one system of oppression without denouncing another?” she asked me. The pain in her usually buoyant voice cut through me. I had no answer for her.

Many New York City kids have a worldliness about them, a certain telltale moxie. Amira, a joyful, sneaker-wearing, self-described “Queens kid,” can seem unstoppable.

When she was just 15, Amira helped topple a major mayoral campaign in America’s largest city, writing a letter accusing the ultraprogressive candidate Dianne Morales of having violated child labor laws while purporting to champion the working class in New York.

“My life and my extremely bright future as a 15-year-old activist will not be defined by the failures and harm enabled by Dianne Morales,” Amira wrote in the 2021 letter, which went viral and helped end Ms. Morales’s campaign. “I wrote my college essay about that,” Amira told me with a slightly mischievous smile.

In the past two years, Amira has become a veteran organizer. Last weekend, she joined an antiwar protest. First, though, she’ll have to work on earning her latest Girl Scout badge, this one for photography. That will mean satisfying her mother, Abier Rayan, who happens to be Troop 4179’s leader. “She’s tough,” Amira assured me.

At a meeting of the Muslim Girl Scouts of Astoria last week, a young woman bounded into the room, asking whether her fellow scouts had secured tickets to an Olivia Rodrigo concert. “She’s the Taylor Swift of our generation,” the scout turned to me to explain.

A group of younger girls recited the Girl Scout Law:

“I will do my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong, and responsible for what I say and do, and to respect myself and others, respect authority, use resources wisely, make the world a better place and be a sister to every Girl Scout.”

Amira’s mother carefully inspected the work of some of the younger scouts; she wore a blue Girl Scouts U.S.A. vest, filled with colorful badges, and a hot-pink hijab. “It’s no conflict at all,” Ms. Rayan told me of Islam and the Girl Scouts. “You want a strong Muslim American girl.”

At the Girl Scouts meeting, Amira and her friends discussed their plans to protest the war in Gaza. “Protests are where you let go of your anger,” Amira told me.

Amira’s mother was born in Egypt. In 1948, Ms. Rayan told me, her grandfather lost his home and land in Jaffa to the state of Israel. At the Girl Scout meeting, Ms. Rayan was still waiting for word that relatives in Gaza were safe.

“There’s been no communication,” she said. When I asked about Amira, Ms. Rayan’s eyes brightened. “I’m really proud of her,” she said. “You have to be strong. You don’t know where you’re going to be tomorrow.”

By Monday, word had reached Ms. Rayan that her relatives had been killed as Israel bombed Gaza City. When I asked whom she had lost, Ms. Rayan replied: “All of them. There’s no one left.” Thousands of Palestinians are estimated to have been killed by Israeli airstrikes in Gaza in recent weeks. ... Ms. Rayan said those killed in her family included six cousins and their children, who were as young as 2. Other relatives living abroad told her the cousins died beneath the rubble of their home.

As Ms. Rayan spoke, I saw Amira’s young face. I wondered how long this bright, spirited Queens kid could keep her fire for what I believe John Lewis would have called “good trouble” in a world that seems hellbent on snuffing it out. I worried about how she would finish her college applications.

“I have a lot of angry emotions at the ones in charge,” Amira told me days ago, speaking for so many human beings around the world in this dark time.

I thought about what I had seen over that weekend in Brooklyn, where thousands gathered in the Bay Ridge neighborhood, the home of many Arab Americans, to protest the war. In this part of the city, people of many backgrounds carried Palestinian flags through the street. Large groups of police officers gathered on every corner, watching them go by.

The crowd was large but quiet when Amira waded in, picked up her megaphone and called for Palestinian liberation. In an instant, thousands of New Yorkers repeated after her, filling the Brooklyn street with their voices. My prayer is that Amira’s generation of leaders will leave a better world than the one it has been given.

i believe she recently got her gold award (which, if youve never been in girl scouts, is really difficult - way more difficult than eagle scout awards), or is almost done with it. i hope she's doing okay.

this article (no paywall) about muslim and palestinian girl scout troops in socal also almost made me cry (it's like 2am). i really really hope all these kids are doing alright. god. they and their families all deserve so much better

#chirps

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kafkasapartment · 1 month

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EMPIRE STATE EXPRESS / NEW YORK CENTRAL SYSTEM, 1941. Leslie Ragan. Lithographic poster.

#poster #posters #train #railway #graphic design #design graphique #design grafico #1940s #vintage #new york #futurism #art deco #engineering

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allthecanadianpolitics · 11 days

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An investment firm led by former Conservative Prime Minister Stephen Harper that is devoted to launching security companies in Israel has a new “success” story: helping that country’s military conduct secret mass surveillance of Palestinians in Gaza.

According to The New York Times, hundreds of Palestinians have been targeted by an “expansive and experimental” spying effort to “collect and catalogue” the faces of Palestinians. At times, civilians have been “wrongly flagged” as Hamas militants and then interrogated and tortured. [...]

Three out of five members of the Israeli company’s board of directors are Harper’s partners at Awz Ventures, meaning the former Canadian Prime Minister’s firm effectively controls Corsight.

Using Corsight’s spy tech, the Israeli military picked out Palestinian poet Mosab Abu Toha at a checkpoint in central Gaza in mid-November, as he was attempting to flee with his family to Egypt. He was separated, detained, and beaten. [...]

A former commander of this unit, retired Israeli Brigadier General Ehud Schneorson, is another of Harper’s advisory partners at Awz Ventures. According to a report in Israeli outlet +972 Magazine, Unit 8200 has also overseen an AI-based targeting system that has marked tens of thousands of Gazans for assassination. [...]

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland, @vague-humanoid, @fairuzfan

Note from the poster @el-shab-hussein: The murder of tens of thousands of Palestinians, and possibly my own extended family members, wouldn't have been possible without the investment of Stephen Harper. It wouldn't have been possible without the settler colony known as "Canada" and its bloodthirsty genocidaires.

#cdnpoli #Stephen Harper #genocide #ethnic cleansing #torture #zionist occupation of Palestine #what is there left for me to say #western imperialism

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reticulating-splines · 5 months

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WIP - West 70th

1880s-1910s row of Upper West Side townhomes.

Been working on this row of late 19th c. brownstones on and off for the past year now, so needless to say when I heard about For Rent I was hype.

Download Here

This initially started because I was homesick for NYC during the pandemic. Specifically for the area of the upper west side my dorm was in while I was a student. I mainly blame this experience for my obsession with historical architecture - walking along central park west past the Dakota on the way to the subway, smoking on the stoops of the brownstones late at night, going to classes in the wedding cake that is the Ansonia - it was just everywhere, and so, so beautiful to look at.

Except a lot of it is faded glory - buildings subdivided, details chipped or covered in the thickest coats of grime or paint. So I wanted to replicate some of the old New York from around the turn of the century. The one I read about in the Luxe series and saw in the Samantha movie lol.

The basement or garden level of each four-story brownstone will be dedicated to the original purpose as the main workplace of the service staff. Unfortunately no room for the actual garden, so laundry lines and planters are on the roof. There are bedrooms and bathrooms for a cook and a housekeeper/butler, along with the staff dining and the kitchen. The butler's pantry is directly upstairs from the kitchen, and the top floor is almost exclusively made up of staff bedrooms and washrooms.

I usually do the service areas first because they're the most interesting, and there was nothing more interesting than a full edwardian brownstone kitchen. Lots of exposed piping, beadboard, subway tile, and shelves of clutter. Has a separate scullery, pantry, and stairs down to a basement storeroom to keep your best champs-le-sims nectar in. There's also a servant's bellboard in the kitchen and the staff dining room. It along with the "boiler" system are made with tool and CC-free.

The main entrance and parlor are doing their best to continue the gothic revival theme of the exterior. The library and dining room follow in the enfilade starting in the parlor. Since this first house is a corner lot, it has a bit more width and space than a true brownstone. The only actual brownstone I've been inside of is Lady Mendl's, so ofc I had to have an extensive tea setup. Def took a lot of inspo from these two pics alone for these rooms.

The main stairwell and picture gallery lead to three large bedrooms on the second floor, and then up to the children's room and nanny's bedroom on the third floor. I really like skylights. I learned the importance of decent lightwells in staving off depression one semester when my window looked out onto a brick wall

The master bedroom and the children's room above it both have their own private sitting rooms and bathrooms. All rooms have either fireplaces or cast iron radiators.

There's no way this is going to be finished by the time For Rent comes out, so im just going to release it in whatever state it's in when it does come out. The exteriors and interior room layout for all the townhomes will (hopefully) most likely be set by then anyway.

Now available for download!

Also the anniversary of Chez Cromwell is coming up! Ive been gone for the better part of the year due to starting a new job, but I havent been idle. C.Cromwell has been updated for infants and ceilings, which led to me redoing the exterior and almost every room, so a rerelease is coming v soon! Sneak peek below. Happy Thanksgiving!

#sunblind by softerhaze #picture amoebe #drift reshade #heyharrie #lilis-palace #felixandresims #pierisim #reticulating builds #west 70th #the sims 4 for rent #ts4cc #the sims 4 #ts4 build #ts4 wip #sims 4 apartment

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rjzimmerman · 10 days

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Excerpt from this Op-Ed from the New York Times:

At first glance, Xi Jinping seems to have lost the plot.

China’s president appears to be smothering the entrepreneurial dynamism that allowed his country to crawl out of poverty and become the factory of the world. He has brushed aside Deng Xiaoping’s maxim “To get rich is glorious” in favor of centralized planning and Communist-sounding slogans like “ecological civilization” and “new, quality productive forces,” which have prompted predictions of the end of China’s economic miracle.

But Mr. Xi is, in fact, making a decades-long bet that China can dominate the global transition to green energy, with his one-party state acting as the driving force in a way that free markets cannot or will not. His ultimate goal is not just to address one of humanity’s most urgent problems — climate change — but also to position China as the global savior in the process.

It has already begun. In recent years, the transition away from fossil fuels has become Mr. Xi’s mantra and the common thread in China’s industrial policies. It’s yielding results: China is now the world’s leading manufacturer of climate-friendly technologies, such as solar panels, batteries and electric vehicles. Last year the energy transition was China’s single biggest driver of overall investment and economic growth, making it the first large economy to achieve that.

This raises an important question for the United States and all of humanity: Is Mr. Xi right? Is a state-directed system like China’s better positioned to solve a generational crisis like climate change, or is a decentralized market approach — i.e., the American way — the answer?

How this plays out could have serious implications for American power and influence.

Look at what happened in the early 20th century, when fascism posed a global threat. America entered the fight late, but with its industrial power — the arsenal of democracy — it emerged on top. Whoever unlocks the door inherits the kingdom, and the United States set about building a new architecture of trade and international relations. The era of American dominance began.

Climate change is, similarly, a global problem, one that threatens our species and the world’s biodiversity. Where do Brazil, Pakistan, Indonesia and other large developing nations that are already grappling with the effects of climate change find their solutions? It will be in technologies that offer an affordable path to decarbonization, and so far, it’s China that is providing most of the solar panels, electric cars and more. China’s exports, increasingly led by green technology, are booming, and much of the growth involves exports to developing countries.

From the American neoliberal economic viewpoint, a state-led push like this might seem illegitimate or even unfair. The state, with its subsidies and political directives, is making decisions that are better left to the markets, the thinking goes.

But China’s leaders have their own calculations, which prioritize stability decades from now over shareholder returns today. Chinese history is littered with dynasties that fell because of famines, floods or failures to adapt to new realities. The Chinese Communist Party’s centrally planned system values constant struggle for its own sake, and today’s struggle is against climate change. China received a frightening reminder of this in 2022, when vast areas of the country baked for weeks under a record heat wave that dried up rivers, withered crops and was blamed for several heatstroke deaths.

#China #climate change #renewable energy

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zponds · 11 months

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Now with the New York Central hudsons being iconic, I thought I’d have Hudson, Steele and Mark be shown in one post, and as usual, these images will provide Grantgfan with images of my TTTE OCs when the time comes for them to show up in The Genie Team season 9.

Hudson⬇️

Steele⬇️

Mark⬇️

Now since some of the j1 hudsons have different numbers; Grant can edit them to match Mark’s number: #5396.

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alightinthelantern · 2 years

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The New York Central System’s “Empire State Express” service, which rain daily between Buffalo, New York and New York City, a distance of 436 miles (702 km), was revamped in 1941 with an all-new streamlined consist of two identically-streamlined black and silver locomotives, #5426 and #5429, and brand-new lightweight all-silver passenger cars built with fluted stainless-steel carbodies. The train consisted of sixteen coach and parlor cars altogether, including a rear observation car with rounded end, with most of the cars named for past governors of the state of New York. The train was debuted on December 7, 1941 to lukewarm receptions and depressed fanfare at all its stops, and it was only late in the day when the busy company employees and executives learned of the attack on Pearl Harbor that morning which had overshadowed their day.

Photos:

1940s poster advertising the new streamlined Empire State Express.

Locomotive #5429, a 4-6-4, J-3a Hudson-type locomotive, one of two locomotives given identically-streamlined locomotives in a striking black-and silver color combination, posed in an unidentified railyard.

Locomotive #5426 pulling the Empire State Express, here with a heavyweight baggage car between before the streamlined lightweight train, through an unidentified railyard.

Publicity photo of the Empire State Express, undated.

Locomotive #5426 pulling the Empire State Express alongside the Hudson River in downstate New York.

Empire State Express, publicity illustration.

Photo sources: X, X, X

#New York Central #New York Central System #Empire State Express #trains #1940s #streamliners

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zepskies · 10 months

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Break Me Down - Part 12

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst central, a touch of PTSD, and a surprise ending…

Part 12: All Your Wicked Ways

Something was wrong.

It was a gut instinct, but yours was far too often right.

Ben had been sleeping for a long time. After he’d fallen asleep yesterday, you did shortly after from the combination of fatigue, pain from your broken ribs, and the painkillers in your system.

But even after your keepers had woken you with a tray of food, Ben still hadn’t woken up.

“Ben?” you tried calling to him, but he didn’t rouse from where he laid in his cot, one arm pillowed behind his head and the other across his stomach.

You got up, your pain making you slow as you made sounds of struggle.

You went to the large window and supported yourself with your hands on the glass. You called his name again, louder.

His face scrunched a little, but your voice couldn’t penetrate the Novichok haze—the poison being pumped into his cell to dull his senses and keep him too drowsy to function.

You paused as you heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. It turned out to be several, in fact, as a team of Vought security guards came to your cell.

“What’s going on?” you asked. No one answered you as they grabbed and handcuffed you with your arms in front of you. You struggled, but you didn’t have the strength or energy to give much of a fight.

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted. Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

“Where?”

“To a lab with better security.”

“Why? Where’s my father? I know that bastard’s still alive,” you demanded, but it seemed you weren’t interesting enough for the doctor.

You spied her last name, Baker, embroidered above the breast pocket her lab coat. You finally recognized Dr. Tonya Baker; you hadn’t worked with her much during your time at Vought, but you knew her by reputation.

Your heart fell into your stomach.

You struggled against the stern grip of the guard holding you and shouted, “Ben, wake up!”

Between your voice and the commotion outside his door, he started to rouse.

“Get her out of here,” said Dr. Baker.

Your guards tried to drag you, but you dug your heels in and made it as difficult as possible. Meanwhile, Ben could hear you—when you called his name and now, while you were struggling. He finally drew enough energy and strength to open his eyes and sit up in the cot.

Once he saw you being manhandled against your will, his fury sparked.

“Hey!” he barked. He managed to rise off his cot and draw himself to his feet. The first door of his cell slid open for the guards in their hazmat suits. Once that closed, the second one disengaged, and they came pouring in.

Ben fought them. He managed to punch the first one into the far wall, shaking the fortified glass. He snapped the second man’s neck and broke a leg on the third, but they just kept coming in batches of three or four. The room was misty as hell, slowing Ben’s stamina, and he gritted his teeth in frustration.

Their strength was in numbers, and gradually, they were able to latch onto his arms, kick behind his knees to bring him down to the ground.

He saw the mask coming towards his face, and the well of panic, hearing your distressed yelling of his name—it gave him the strength to break the chain of men holding him down.

That’s when he noticed the star bolts zipping outside his cell.

You were still fighting against the guard’s hold. You ripped back his sleeve and bit into the man’s wrist, eliciting a yell of pain. His grip eased up enough for you to steal his secondary gun on his belt, and despite your cuffed wrists, you shot him in the leg twice to bring him down.

You raised the gun at your next attacker—Frenchie, who raised up his hands in friendly surrender.

“Cherie! It’s surprising to see you alive,” he said. You grinned.

“A good surprise?” you asked, and you shot another guard approaching from behind him.

Frenchie flinched slightly, but after he watched the man fall to the ground, screaming and clutching between his legs, Frenchie’s lips raised in a more genuine smile.

“Yes, I think so,” he teased.

You looked past him and watched as Kimiko, M.M., Annie, Hughie, and Butcher took out the rest of the guards. You didn’t see Dr. Baker anywhere; in all likelihood, she’d fled the scene when she saw her opportunity.

Ben still remained in his cell, and you went to the glass window. He looked all right as he met your gaze, but there were about ten bodies lying around him. His face was firm and assessing. Still, you read the uncertainty behind it.

You sighed and turned to your team. “Hey, guys. Good to see you.”

Annie went to you first, grasping your shoulders. Her large eyes peered into yours.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Well, more or less,” was your weary reply. Your ribs were throbbing, but you raised your cuffed hands. “Think you can help me with these?”

Annie raised a hand over your cuffs and concentrated her powers into melting them, just enough for Kimiko to strike through them. You slid off the remaining metal pieces and rubbed your stinging wrists.

“All right, let’s get a fucking move on,” said Butcher.

“Hello to you too,” you replied, raising a brow.

“Oh, just you wait. You’ve got plenty of fucking explaining to do,” he said, leveling a finger at you. He slid it over to Ben, who watched him right back.

“Ello, gov.” Butcher smirked. “Look at you, all gift-wrapped for us.”

He turned to M.M., who approached with an especially terrifying-looking gas mask. Your eyes widened.

“Ready?” Butcher asked him.

“Ready to knock this motherfucker out and bring him into custody,” M.M. grimly agreed.

“Wait,” you said, stepping past Annie to get between M.M. and Butcher.

With your back to the glass, you didn’t see how Ben’s eyes followed you. They hid a thread of uncertainty. He had a feeling you might do this, but he didn’t know what to expect from your team.

“It doesn’t have to go down like this,” you told them. “He took out Homelander. He could help us bring down Vought. This fucking tower, the whole thing.”

“Is that why you ran at the airport?” M.M. asked. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. We don’t have time to debate this.”

You held out a halting hand. “Look, clearly they're not done making supes if they brought back a new and improved Black Noir. Now they’re selling V24 to the military. They need to be stopped, and with our help, Ben could do it.”

“Oh, it’s Ben now, is it?” Butcher stared at you shrewdly, then at Ben himself. The latter just tilted his head, his mouth quirking with an edge of cockiness.

Butcher raised a brow. His gaze returned to you, noting the way you stood your ground, but pursed your lips. You were hiding something…a guilty conscience, perhaps.

“Bloody hell. You two’ve been fucking,” he realized.

Shocked silence spread through the rest of the team.

Your embarrassment radiated off your flushing cheeks, and it took everything within you to resist looking back at Ben. You didn’t want to see what kind of expression he wore, but you could guess.

“No,” Annie regarded you with shock.

“Seriously?” Hughie remarked in a high voice.

“That’s…well, that’s none of your goddamn business, is it?” you tried to be stern, but your embarrassed shuffling made it lose some of its effect.

Kimiko shared raised brows with Frenchie, who just looked amused. M.M., on the other hand, grimaced with disgust. That actually stung, but you crossed your arms. You didn’t have a good answer for them. Not one you wanted to say in front of Ben, anyway.

“I think we can come to an agreement here,” Ben said at last.

You turned around, and he gained the attention of the others as well. He briefly met your gaze before he shifted to Butcher.

“Worked for us once, before you tried to double-cross me,” Ben said.

“You want to take out Vought.” Butcher glanced at their surroundings, specifically Ben’s cell. He gave a snort of amusement. “I could understand that.”

“Butcher,” M.M. said sharply.

“We–we should probably get out of here now,” Hughie pointed out. He looked back down the hall nervously. You agreed with him; any moment now, more guards could be coming.

“Think about it,” said Ben. “The only way you’re getting that mask on me is with a fight. One you’ll probably lose, fucking miserably. We can have the same deal as before, no strings. Until Stan Edgar and Noir are dead.”

It took Butcher all of seconds.

He turned to Frenchie and said, “Open her up.”

“Butcher, what the fuck!” M.M. argued.

“What do you fucking want from me, eh? Their special ops security will be all over us soon,” Butcher said.

But he shared a meaningful look with the other man that you didn’t miss. It sparked your suspicion.

You stepped back as the first door unlocked after Frenchie hacked the commands. Then the gas misting up the cell receded.

There was an immediate reaction from Ben. He blinked in relief as he started to breathe easy. The brain fog making it almost impossible for him to stay alert slowly ebbed.

He took one step into the hall before it happened—all in a rush, but not unexpected. He blocked M.M.’s punch and tossed him across the hall.

Someone jumped on his back. He heard you shout, but before he could rip off the hanger on, Kimiko slipped the mask over his face and deployed a heavy dose of nerve gas. It was enough to drop him to his knees as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Lights out.

On the way to Supe Affairs, you weren’t happy, but there wasn’t much you could do.

You were still in your Vought-issued gray pajamas, bare footed as you rode along with your friends in Frenchie’s van. In the very back was the haul of Ben, laid to rest in a chamber keeping him sedated.

You had to explain to the rest of them that your father, Jonathan, was Stan Edgar’s Chief of Security. You were a cog in Vought’s wheel once upon a time, but joining the S.A. helped you escape. Ben offered you a way to achieve what you couldn’t at the S.A.—taking it all down.

Still, M.M. looked at you like he didn’t even know you.

“How do you explain fucking him?” he asked.

You shot him a tight frown.

“First of all, none of you know what the hell I went through,” you said. “At first, I was just trying to learn how to read him. How to survive and somehow get back home.”

Emotion clogged in your throat when you thought of seeing your sister again soon, and your mom. You thought of all you had gone through in past two months, and knew that it had changed you…

For better or worse, you didn’t yet know for sure.

“But for all his arrogance, his chauvinism, his massive ego and general bastardry, there’s still humanity in Ben,” you said, looking up at your team. You thought they had become your friends…but you supposed you would see.

“Why else would he save me?” you said.

They didn’t answer. You turned your head to Annie, but even she didn’t look convinced. Though you could see she wanted to be on your side, it was difficult for her to reconcile her own feelings about Soldier Boy. You certainly understood that.

“He’s too powerful to kill,” you also pointed out. “Putting him to sleep like this will just make it worse when he wakes up…but if he’s properly motivated, he could do some good.”

“Or off anyone who looks at him sideways,” Butcher wryly replied. “He’s dickmatized you, love.”

You could tell the others sided with him on this.

“You can disagree with me,” you said, “but do you have a better way to kill Noir and take down Vought?”

At the S.A., you were able to shower and get on proper clothes in a black tracksuit and some sneakers. You weren’t allowed to find out where they’d taken Ben yet, but Grace Mallory oversaw the transport, just as she called you into her office for your immediate debriefing.

It felt more like an interrogation, not unlike the one you underwent to be recruited for the manhunt of Soldier Boy.

You felt like a different person sitting across from her. This time you sat up tall, not intimidated by the ice blue stare that greeted you. The lines in the older woman’s face were drawn, but there was an unyielding wall within the woman that you could admire.

It just didn’t change the fact that right now, she was your opponent. And the chess game had begun.

“You went way off-road with this assignment,” she said at last. You raised a brow.

“I’m sorry my kidnapping inconvenienced you,” you remarked.

“Don’t be cute. You know what the hell I’m talking about,” Grace said. “At this point, I’m debating whether to bring you into custody along with Soldier Boy.”

“I’m the one who got him back to the States,” you pointed out, sitting back in your chair with your arms crossed. “I had to get in contact with my father to make that happen. Do you know what that cost me?”

You resisted an uncomfortable shudder. They’d given you more painkillers for your ribs, but it wasn’t enough the relieve the damage of that encounter. Not to your mind.

“Aside from any other self-debasing tactics I used in order to do my job, not to mention save my own life. Without me, and the sacrifices I made, Soldier Boy wouldn’t be in a cell downstairs,” you finished.

Saying those words stung. Like you were somehow betraying yourself.

“That doesn’t fool me,” Grace said. In fact, her shrewd gaze was much like Butcher’s. It saw straight through you as she tilted her head in wonder. “You care about him.”

Your lips tightened.

After a moment, you answered.

“He was tortured for forty years,” you said. “Whether he admits it or not, he’s got scars just like the rest of us…but more importantly to you, he can help us take down Vought once and for all.”

Grace considered you with a shifting light. “I didn’t think that mattered to you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you retorted. “But make no mistake. You will pay me what you owe me for this mission. If you think you’re going to welch on your end of the deal, then I’m about to be your long-term problem.”

Grace huffed in wry amusement.

“I have a feeling you will be, regardless,” she said.

“And to that end, I will be checking in on Ben,” you replied. “He’s a person, not a weapon or a lab rat.”

“Mind yourself, young lady,” Grace snapped, her eyes narrowing. “I admire your sense of loyalty, but in this case, it’s misplaced. That man is a bastard and a murderer, with a devastating power he can’t hope to control. And you, frankly, don’t have any standing to make demands.”

“And what’s your body count, agent?” you challenged. “Have they all been sanctioned kills?”

When she didn’t answer, merely staring back at you, you stood up.

“You’re right, he can’t control it. Yet. Maybe that’s something productive you can get your damn scientists on,” you said.

And before you left, you added one more thing.

“I may not have your security clearance, your power, or your money,” you said. “But I’ve got a big fucking mouth. So unless you want me to use it, my clearance now includes seeing Ben.”

Grace stared back at you for a moment.

Her nails tapped on her desk as she assessed you.

Releasing a long sigh through her nose, she relented. A little.

“Fine,” she said. “If you can convince him to ally with us on the Vought issue, I’ll allow you to see him.”

You nodded. For all that Grace hated Soldier Boy, she was a practical woman. She saw the same opportunity you did, and was willing to take advantage of it…even if you both knew that convincing Ben to play ball would be damn near impossible.

In fact, this would probably be your biggest challenge yet. But this, you were willing to fight for.

“I can start tomorrow,” you said.

It seemed that Vought and the CIA had been thinking similarly on how to confine Soldier Boy.

You spent one strange night back in your musty apartment before you returned to the S.A., bright and early, so that Grace could lead you to a lab below the main building. It was dark and made of pure concrete, encased in titanium.

In it was a state-of-the-art cell with three metal walls that had to disengage before you could reach the inner room. Inside those four corners of fortified, bullet-proof glass were scarce furnishings. Ben himself was strapped to a bed, with a mask held over his face.

At least he was out of the coffin, but it was difficult for you to watch, even as the scientists and guards unstrapped him and left the cell. The mask disengaged from his face, allowing him to breathe real air as he started to wake. But gas flooded into the compartment, not unlike Vought’s setup.

You and Grace stood outside the glass. She glanced at you with sharp nod. Then she left you alone.

Well, relatively speaking. There were guards posted at the entrance of the three walls behind you, controlling who got in and out of the cell area.

Once all the walls were back in place after Grace’s departure, you let out a shaky breath and stepped forward with the plate of food you brought, along with a few bottles of water.

Ben was moving off the bed, trying and failing to clear his head as he took in his surroundings with a furious glare. It only dimmed slightly when he realized you were there.

He made his way toward you, and you pressed a button that would allow you to safely pass his meal to him without letting any nerve gas escape the inner cell. Ben removed the lid from the plate, inspected the chicken and vegetables with an unreadable expression.

Then, with a burst of force, he took the plate and tossed it as hard as he could into one of the glass walls.

You flinched. But by the time he looked back at you, you’d schooled your expression, merely raising a brow.

“That was real fucking mature.”

“Suck on my balls, sweetheart,” he retorted. He cocked his head to the side. “Oh wait, you did. Last Tuesday.”

You glared at him with a hot blush spreading across your face. That was not, in fact, last Tuesday. But you didn’t rise to his bait.

“Are you really willing to partner with the S.A. to take down Vought? Or was that just you bluffing?” you asked.

Ben started to pace in irritation. You knew he was upset, and itching for revenge on anyone that would dare confine him again. You could guess what being in a cell was already doing to his mental state.

Which was why you were here, desperately trying to help him.

“Really, would you rather be hunted all your life, or would you rather just play ball here?” you tried to reason. “Become a real ally with the S.A. Show Mallory that you can operate within the law.”

Ben looked up from his pacing just to glare at you.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to with all these demands, huh?”

“You, Ben. I’m talking to you!”

He ignored you, resuming his pacing. “I’m a solo act for a damn reason.”

Oh really? you wanted to say. That’s why he needed your help to try and get to Stan.

“That got you here, now didn’t it?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. It made you think you weren’t going to get anywhere with him today. Maybe he needed some time to cool off.

You sighed and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“You’re just going to leave me in here?” he asked in disbelief. And you thought you could read a throughline of hurt behind his eyes. “I saved you…shit, I’ve lost count how many times now. And still, you fucking betrayed me.”

“Don’t you do that,” you warned. Though you felt a prickle of guilt run down your spine. “You know very well what got you here. I tried to stop it. And I’m the only one who’s on your side right now.”

“Doesn’t fucking look like it from where I’m standing.”

You sighed in frustration. “I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t want to leave you in here. But if I can’t trust you, they never will.”

“I don’t know what delusions you have about me,” he said, coming closer.

“But when I get out of here, I’m slaughtering anyone who gets in my way!” he shouted savagely.

He banged his fists into the glass so hard that it trembled, making you flinch with a gasp. A more concentrated fog smoked up the cell. Ben coughed and cursed as he stumbled back, and eventually, he fell unconscious right there on the floor.

You watched in dismay. Despite his rage, it still hurt you to see him like this. Like a caged animal.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced yourself to leave the cell before the cameras caught them. You knew Grace would be monitoring this exchange later.

She would probably feel vindicated at what she saw.

The thought disgusted you as the outer walls parted, allowing you to leave. M.M. was waiting for you at the exit. He’d seen the entire thing through a monitor at the control desk, where two guards sat eating their lunch.

“You want to protect that piece of shit?” M.M. said, jerking a thumb towards the cell. “That’s what he really is. And he clearly don’t give a fuck about you.”

Your jaw tightened.

“I’m not going to justify my actions to you, M.M. I know what he’s done, especially to you," you said. "But he didn’t just let me live. He protected me, saved me, more than once. From his own men even. And…he was kind to me, in his own way. I have to think that counts for something.”

M.M. shook his head at you in disbelief.

“Maybe he went soft for a pretty girl, but that doesn’t mean he ain’t a monster,” he said.

“That’s not all there is to him,” you said. “You didn’t see it, M.M.”

The other man watched you for a moment, before he let out a deep sigh.

“You actually think he can be saved,” he said.

“Maybe,” you said. “We’ll see.��

He crossed his arms. You understood how he felt, but you couldn’t deny what your instincts told you about Ben…and your heart as well.

“He’s right about one thing,” M.M. said. “You are delusional.”

A few days went by as the team went back to work at the S.A. as usual. But your days during your first week home became marked by your strenuous visits to Ben.

Once again, he’d rather pace than look at you. You had a feeling it helped him stay awake.

“I fought for my country,” he groused. “I don’t fucking deserve this.”

“Oh, would you stop lying?” you said in annoyance. “You’ve only ever fought for yourself. You didn’t even fight in World War II! You’ve never been a soldier. And unless you get a fucking clue, you’re going to continue being the massive man-child your father saw in you.”

Maybe it wasn’t kind, but you were fed up with his stubbornness. You turned to leave.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” Ben shouted.

You raised a brow, and you turned on your heel. The man was livid, standing in the center of his cell.

“Or what?” you challenged.

But you soon relented at the way he withdrew–into himself.

You had checked the monitors before you came in; he was trying not to sleep, wasn’t letting his body rest. This place was like an open wound: complete wall-to-wall glass, no privacy, nowhere to go, and nothing to do. He couldn’t distract himself with drugs, or TV, or good food, or even good sex and conversation.

This was terrible for him, and you knew it.

“Ben, I want to help you,” you said, letting out a shaky breath. You laid a hand on the glass. “Let me help you.”

His gaze was angry and unyielding.

“There’s only one way you can help me,” he said. “But you won’t fucking do it.”

The team was giving you a wide berth. Even Annie greeted you in the office with more politeness than warmth.

Above all else, you remained professional, but it was a simple fact that your team was no longer your team. They didn’t trust you, or your judgment. And you refused to show how deeply that hurt you.

However, until you all got a breakthrough on taking down Vought and Noir, there was still work to be done. So you fell into step back in with the Surveillance team.

That meant taking your place as second-in-command to your manager, as well as returning to your cubicle next to your coworker Jess. She hugged you when she saw you, even shed tears.

You’d hugged her a bit awkwardly, but you were touched. You hadn’t thought she cared about you that much.

She told you that the entire Surveillance department had been worried about you. That they’d missed you, especially your calm, supportive leadership. (Apparently your manager had been stressed handling the entire department without you.)

That at least buoyed you throughout the rest of the week.

When you returned home on Thursday, however, you received an unexpected call. But when you saw the caller ID, you inwardly kicked yourself before you answered.

“Louisa?”

“What the hell is wrong with you!” came your sister’s sharp voice.

So many things, you thought with a weary sigh. You held your phone to your ear while you tried to find something to cook for dinner in your pantry. All you found was a box of spaghetti…which dragged up bittersweet memories you’d rather not think about.

“I meant to call you as soon as I got back,” you tried to explain. “But I’ve been in full debrief mode. It’s been a circus since I got back, Lou.”

You slammed the pantry shut and went for the frozen dinner in the freezer.

“I don’t care. I didn’t hear from you for almost two straight months…”

You knew the S.A. hadn’t told her anything about your kidnapping, but you knew she had to have been worrying when you didn’t check in at all after that first time in Medellin. The sound of her emotion-choked voice made your own eyes sting.

“I’m sorry, Lou. I’ll come visit you this weekend, okay? I’m still taking care of some things at work.” Namely a grumpy supe on lockdown. “How’s school?”

“School is fine!” she snapped. You heard her take a breath, presumably to calm herself. She had a bit of a temper, just like you, but your sister managed herself much better than you. You supposed being more well-adjusted had its perks.

“Mom was worried too, but I kept her calm. Focused on work,” she said.

“I appreciate that. Thanks,” you replied. You knew you had to call your mom soon as well. Maybe you’d stop in on her after your sister.

“I better see you this weekend,” she grumbled. You smiled.

“Love you too,” you said.

“Love you…okay, I’ll let you go for now. But don’t forget!”

Once you said goodbye and hung up, you held the phone to your chest and heaved another sigh. You were exhausted, really. Sleep hadn’t been coming easy to you ever since you got back. But you knew it was nothing compared to what Ben was going through.

Which was why you visited him every day.

The next morning, you made your pitstop to the “cellar,” as you’d been calling it in your mind.

You’d brought whatever Grace allowed you to give him, like books and magazines, and an old iPod to listen to music on, but he mostly ignored you.

This time, however, he seemed in a different mood as you sat in a plastic fold out chair and ate your breakfast with him, on your side of the cell of course. You took another bite of your blueberry muffin while he pushed aside his bland-looking eggs.

“So, how much did you get paid?” he asked. His tone was nonchalant, but his gaze was accusing. You let out a breath and looked up at him.

“Enough to put my sister through college and pay off my mom’s debts,” you told him. “I took this job for my family, Ben.”

His finger tapped on his arm, but he didn’t relent. “Selling out is selling out.”

Wow. He really had the nerve to compare you to the way his team sold him out.

You’d tried to be nice. You really did. But he could be such a massive pain in the ass.

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you said.

Ben mustered up some strength and got up from his cot. He drew near to you, crossing his arms.

“If this is your idea of doing me a fucking favor, then I don’t need it,” he said angrily. “I don’t need a naive little girl like you to help me do jack shit.”

You set down your muffin and stood to your feet, matching his glare.

“Like you didn’t need my help to get into Vought Tower?” you pointed out, satisfied by the way he piped down. Silently simmering.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be awake right now,” you added. “You’d be back in an ice coffin.”

And that could still happen if you couldn’t convince him to cooperate with Supe Affairs.

“Fuck off,” he snapped. “And fuck you.”

Oh really? You frowned. At this point, you wanted to slap him. It seemed to be his sheer stubbornness and ego that was keeping him from his own freedom, and that, you just couldn't tolerate.

“You know what?” you said, grabbing your muffin and your fold-up chair. “Suck my dick, Ben. When you’re ready to talk to me like a human being, tap on the glass.”

You left him behind to do your real job, and this time, you didn’t let him halt your steps.

You’d scarcely entered your apartment that evening, when a shadow on the living room sofa gave you a small heart attack.

You flipped on the lights and found your younger sister, arms crossed with a raised brow. On the coffee table in front of her was a glass of soda. It looked like she’d made herself comfortable while waiting for you.

“Louisa! What are you doing here?” you exclaimed, with a hand on your chest. “Why the hell are you sitting in the dark?”

“I heard you coming up those rickety stairs and thought I’d pay you back for disappearing in South America,” she said.

But soon enough, wide grins took over both of your faces.

You pulled her into a big, warm hug. Tears burned in your eyes, and one or two slid down your cheeks as you tried to get ahold of yourself.

“I missed you so much,” you confessed. You were just slightly taller than her, able to comfortably pet her hair and press a kiss to her cheek. Louisa was just as emotional, her pretty eyes filled with happy tears.

She was about to speak when the glass on the coffee table suddenly shattered.

You both flinched, and your sister gasped. You held onto her shoulders tighter, more protective as you assessed the room. You listened closely.

A shot rang out, but it hit the wall beside your head. You moved at the last moment and narrowly avoided the third shot that would’ve struck you between the eyes.

“Get down!” you yelled, forcing your sister to crouch along with you and move across the living room.

Bullets tore with a vengeance through the windows, crashing into vases, picture frames, shattering the surface glass of the wooden coffee table, and ripping into the sofa until its internal fluff rose into the air like cotton confetti.

You protected Louisa’s head as you both took shelter behind the sofa.

“What’s happening?” she shouted over the cacophony, but you didn’t have an answer for her yet.

Your front door burst open and shattered the lock. You tensed, looking for where you stashed the spare gun you kept at home. The S.A. hadn’t gotten around to issuing you a new glock yet.

Heavy boots came through your apartment. You grabbed a piece of broken glass and told Louisa to stay down.

But when you stood and met your attacker, he was nearly three times your size. He grabbed your wrist in a firm, but not painful hold. He pulled his black ski mask down with a hand and revealed a familiar face.

Your eyes widened, your mouth gaping in shock.

“Frank?”

AN: 😏 Did I get'cha? Did I? Let me know in the comments. 😂

Next Time:

“Wait, wait. You’re not getting out of this.” Louisa leaned over and grabbed your hand. “What’s the deal with you and Soldier Boy? I thought the whole point of your mission was to capture him.”

You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I was on the job, things went sideways, I got captured, and things got…complicated.”

Frank huffed. “I think the kids are calling it Frenemies with Benefits.”

Keep Reading: PART 13

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#All Your Wicked Ways #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 12 #zepskies writes

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cameronspecial · 1 month

Text

Little Subway Things

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Rafe and Y/N like each other, but haven't defined their relationship and Rafe is ready to take the next step.

A/N: Inspired by something I saw on the subway once. It was cute.

Masterlist

So far, New York is everything Y/N expected it to be. The tall towering buildings give her a sense of claustrophobia not experienced in the open skyline of the Outer Banks. She smells new, often familiar with some sort of bodily expulsion, scents that remind her that she isn’t the first person to have explored this area of land. The people are exactly like she sees on the screen; always in a hurry to get somewhere unknown. Yet, despite this short experience not surprising her, she is still engrossed with the city. She and Rafe have been here for three days now and they’ve been to most of the sites already. The 9/11 memorial. Rockefeller Centre. The Empire State. The Brooklyn Bridge. The Statue of Liberty. Central Park. All the historical landmarks she’s wanted to see. They’ve been moving from place to place via the driver Rafe hired for their trip. Now, that they are slowing down in their activities, Y/N gets to experience something she’s never got to do in the Outer Banks. The island barely has a transit system, let alone a subway, so the girl is curious about the idea of travelling underground on a train. Rafe doesn’t understand her excitement, but this trip is all about her and he would do anything for her happiness.

She bounces on her feet as Rafe pushes in the information on the kiosk’s screen. He slides his card in and quickly removes it when prompted. The screen displays a reminder to get the MetroCard. He holds out his hand in the direction of the card, telling her she can take it. Her hand snatches it and holds it against her chest. He smirks at his girlfriend with a shake of his head. His arm wraps around her shoulder to pull her into his side. They get to the turnstile and he takes the card from her hand. He tries swiping it, yet the machine seems to reject his attempt. She waits patiently in front of the bars for it to work. Eventually, she gets nervous from the stares of the city’s natives. “Baby, why don’t you let me try?” she suggests. Rafe could be considered the human embodiment of machoism, except all he wants is to get out of this public place. So he sighs and hands over the card to her.

Her smile is small and it reassures him. She steps away from the gate, allowing Rafe to take her place. Once she slides the thin rectangle through the machine, the bar finally moves and lets him through. Y/N repeats the process, so she can join him. He intertwines their hands and navigates her to their platform. As they wait for the train, her back faces the track while she peers upward to talk to her boyfriend. Wanting to be out of here, his eyes dart to the screen that tells him how long until the next train. “So we are going to the pizza place now, and I was thinking maybe we can go to the all-romance bookstore?” she wonders. He looks down at her with an arched brow, “You don’t read tho, Cupcake.” “I know. The place looks aesthetic though and maybe romance books will get me into it,” she shrugs. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” Having been on the subway a few times before when he visited the city, he knows the signs that the train is coming. Y/N seems to be oblivious to the slight rumble of the floor and even though she is behind the yellow safety line, Rafe grows worried she isn’t far enough. The subway approaches fast and he instinctively reaches out to tug her into his chest. She bumps into him, turning in his arm to watch their transportation zoom by. His leathery-scented cologne fills her senses and she takes it in. He sighs at her content, gently shoving her onto the now-open train.

They can’t find a seat once there so his hand rests on her waist while the other tightens around one of the poles above to keep them stable. She squeezes against him in the packed environment and looks up at him with adoration in her eyes. The little thing he does to keep her safe always melts her heart. “I love you, Baby,” she whispers. He grins down at her and presses his lips against her forehead, “I love you too, Cupcake.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe #obx

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mangoisms · 8 months

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter eight: where did i go wrong? | read chapter seven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 3.7k

━ warnings: canon typical violence, blood, etc

━ masterlist

━ a/n: sorry for disappearing! essentially, i started grad school and it is So Much Work. but if you'd like some unnecessary rambles on tim and wally's relationship here and in light of their og meeting in robin (1993), you can also find my thoughts on that here <3

The next day, you don’t hear much from Steph.

She does text you a few times, mostly reassurances and that she’s working to pull something together. You don’t quite understand but she was so convincing the day before, you let it go.

You mostly spend the day—after sleeping in—learning your new phone, excited at having something new and so high-tech to play with. Flash texts you several times during the day. Blurry selfies and equally blurry pictures of Keystone and Central. Even a couple of the New York skyline, as he informs you he decided to drop in and visit a few friends.

You can’t send him much. The clouds that hang in the sky, waiting to pour down on unsuspecting Gothamites at a moment’s notice. The feral cat that hangs out in the alley by your apartments, who you get close enough to to catch mid-hiss. The person on the subway carrying what you suspect to be a possum in their bag but Flash insists is actually an opossum. Whatever the difference is.

There is a difference!

idk sounds made up

You’re from the city. Of course you think that.

ok WOW

you’re blaming my dead parents for where they settled????

Yes.

wow

You go into work in relatively high spirits, considering everything.

Black Bat stops by for some gummy worms and a can of Red Bull and you tease her a bit for it.

“Signal’s influence?”

“Better than coffee.”

“Fair enough.”

Red hasn’t been by, you think, watching her go. Not yesterday and not today, though it’s early. He usually stops by nearly every night, if not for a couple minutes. But nothing specifically decrees that he comes by… You’re just used to it, you suppose, and last night’s absence was noticeable.

There’s still time, though. Maybe you’ll see him later tonight.

Overhead, the AC turns on. They fixed it, along with that electrical issue Red Robin caused last week. It works a little too well, though. These last few days have had you uncomfortably cold, so today, you come armed with a hoodie—Tim’s hoodie, the only piece of clothing you’ve ever managed to steal from him. A bit baggy on him and even more so on you, it’s a pleasant shade of azure blue. One of your more precious possessions since it’s, like you said, the only thing you really have from him. Also a bit of an indulgence right now but… you’re past the point of caring.

Maritza pops by a little while later, waving at you.

“Hey, Mari. Here for a Slurpee?”

“That, and I was wondering if you guys have any pain cream… Abuela’s back is hurting her and we ran out yesterday,” she says, lips pursed, glancing at the aisles.

“Pain cream,” you repeat thoughtfully, stepping around the counter. “We should. Let’s see.”

She follows you to one of the center aisles.

“How’s summer break been so far?” you ask, running your eyes over displays of toothpaste, disposable toothbrushes, and other basic items.

“Boring,” she sighs. “It’s too hot to do anything.”

You chuckle, tucking your hands in the pocket of Tim’s hoodie; your fingers are cold. They always seem to be. “Books are excellent ways to preoccupy the time.”

“Think I’ve read every book at the library,” she grumbles, which probably isn’t that much of an exaggeration. Gotham’s public library system is drastically lacking; it was only in May did Wayne Enterprises announce that they were investing more money into it. By now, they probably haven’t reached the library here in the Upper West Side.

“You should check out GU’s then. Kids get free library cards and our selection is fairly expansive. I’m sure you could get away with checking out some things for your abuela, too. At least until they fix everything in the one here.”

“Huh. Maybe.” She moves ahead of you, scanning the rest of the aisle. “Oh, hey, you guys do have some.”

She reaches for a box.

The door opens. You turn.

The wink of the kitchen knife is the first thing you see, then the trembling hand, and then the owner to whom it belongs, too. A scrawny man wearing a grey hoodie, the same hood pulled over his head.

It’s not great at hiding his face, you think dimly, every muscle inside you locking into place. Mari freezes behind you, breath audibly catching in a gasp as he turns the knife sharply on you.

For a second, the three of you just look at each other.

You break the silence first.

“All the money is in the register. Take it.”

A lengthy pause, one that amplifies the dread petrifying your insides. Your new phone, with Flash’s contact info, sits in the pocket of your hoodie, weighing it down; your fingers are laced together, cold, hovering right above it and you recall the rundown you’d been given by Flash last night, the… other not-quite-normal aspects of your new phone.

“Okay, so, on top of the League encryption stuff, there is something else.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“Not… exactly.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Your location is logged with the League,” he admits. “But it’s secure. You’re registered with me, so only I can look at it. My wife’s phone is like yours. Her information is there, too. A lot of us do it with our families. Not just to keep sensitive information secure, but there’s… a risk that comes with being with us.”

You frown at him. “Does she know?”

He looks horrified. “Of course she does. I don’t go around just tracking her without her knowledge. That’s weird. And messed up. I don’t even actively do it. Not unless she’s been kidnapped or she wants me to. That’s what I’m trying to say. Your location is being tracked but I’m not peeking in on it. No one is, unless a need comes up. An emergency kind of need. And that brings me to my next thing.”

He pauses, looking at you, calculating, but you just nod for him to continue.

“You have my number,” he says. “So, you can call me. For emergencies or if you just want to talk about your day. But in the case that you can’t call me, if you’re in some kind of danger…” He plucks the phone out of your grasp, turning it over in his hands, pointing to the power button on the side. “Press this three times and it’ll send an SOS signal to me, along with your location. I’ll come. Okay?”

“Are you… sure?”

He seems affronted. “I don’t just do this for anyone. I thought you’d have seen that by now. You’re…” he stops, frowning deeply. “You mean a lot to me, kid. If I can save you, if I have the opportunity to keep you safe, I’ll take it. I wouldn’t ever ask you to leave Gotham because it’s your home and I know the Bats hang around but… this just makes me feel better. You have a direct line to me. Use it.”

“Batman probably won’t like that.”

“Batman can suck it,” he says petulantly. “Especially after what he did to you last week. I take care of my own. No matter where they are. Got it?”

You got it.

The thought still astounds you even now, that Flash cares that much about you and how ironic it is that you don’t even know who he is under the cowl but maybe you don’t need to. This is still him, isn’t it?

And you would heed his words. Of course you would. You have no interest in dying. You have no hangups about being saved. Flash didn’t think you incompetent, it was just a precaution, a necessity for living in the world you do.

That is true now more than ever.

Especially with how aware you are of Mari behind you, too.

“Take your hands outta your pockets,” he says.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Just take the money, man.”

You have to be careful but quick. If you could just unlace your fingers and reach for your phone…

Of course, you have no idea how quickly the signal will reach Flash or how fast he’ll even be able to get here…

You guess you’ll just have to trust him. Trust him and his capabilities.

A step forward. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You can hear Mari behind you, her breath quick and uneven. You’re most worried about her, to be honest. If you go down, what’s going to happen to her? You dread to think about it.

“Take your hands out of your fuckin’ pocket,” he hisses; despite the severity of his voice, his hand is trembling. You don’t get why he won’t just grab the money and go.

He must think you can call the police or something but even then, it’s not as if the GCPD are reliable. As if they can do anything.

As for you, there is nothing else you can do. You need to call him.

“Mari, run!”

Your hand grapples for your phone at the same time.

You hear the snick of sneakers on the tiled floors, your fingers slip over the sides of the new case currently hugging your phone, and he surges forward and then—

Just a mere spark, one that jolts you as you realize what happened. It’s small at first, then bigger, then massive, a forest fire eating you alive from the inside out, burning white-hot.

You can’t do anything.

You stare at the man in front of you, closer now, close enough to dig his knife right into the soft flesh of your belly. His eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t believe he just did that. Neither can you.

But the worst of it comes when he pulls the knife out.

The sound that escapes you is foreign to your ears. Your knees give out. One hand presses to the source of your pain, the other lands hard on the tiled floor; your wrist smarts, your arm trembling as you hold yourself up.

You’re barely aware of anything other than the pain. Throbbing heat, warmth rapidly spreading through the front of your shirt and hoodie. Your vision blurs, from tears and from the pain, your heart pounds so hard, you feel it in your teeth, hear it in your ears above the rush of your blood.

You manage a glance behind you, relieved to see Mari is gone and hopefully back in the safety of the apartment building next door. Ahead of you, the man is scrambling to get the cash register open, cursing like a sailor and eventually yanking it off the counter and smashing it on the ground, ducking out of your view.

God, you need to call Flash. Not 911, they won’t get here in time, no way, you need him. Before the man decides to cut his losses and kill you. You hope he’ll just take the money and run, but you’ve seen his face, surely he knows that puts him in that much more danger of being arrested—

The door opens. You hear your name from a familiar voice and then someone steps into view.

Tim’s eyes are wide as he looks at you, horrified, but behind him, your attacker shoots up from the ground and you choke out a warning, an urging to run, to get out of here, you don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to him, no, no, you can’t lose him like that.

He whips around just as the man swings himself over the counter, letting out something of a war cry, cash held in one hand and the knife in the other. It gleams red under the light. He lunges.

“Tim!”

But his fatal injury does not happen. Instead, you watch him duck out of the way, moving faster, more gracefully than you’ve ever seen, like he’s done this before and the man doesn’t expect it, stumbling with his own momentum. Not stopping, either, Tim grabs the man’s wrist, heaving him over his shoulder until he slams into the ground hard. It’s brutal. It’s violent. It’s nothing you’ve ever seen from Tim, your Tim who… who hates needles and always bemoans going to get the yearly flu shot with you and Steph, your Tim who can get impatient, snippy, but not violent.

You don’t understand. With the haze of pain, that fact feels oddly upsetting.

The door opens again. He whips around, geared up for another fight, but it’s just Spoiler, it’s—

Golden hair, familiar blue eyes. A face you know by heart. Even with the bottom of her face hidden.

They’re both at your side in an instant. In good timing, too, because your arm gives out but before you can crash to the ground, Tim catches you, turning you over in his arms and gently laying you back onto the tile.

“You’re okay,” he says quickly, eyes scanning you frantically. “You’re okay.”

All the movement tugs at your belly, flames flaring for a brief moment, making you dizzy with pain, choking out your voice, leaving you to blink the tears out of your eyes and look up at your friends.

You don’t like the look on their faces. Horrified. Full of dread. It hurts you.

“Fuck,” Stephanie Brown, also known as Spoiler, says, digging through pouches in her utility belt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oracle, where is the nearest hospital?”

“I know where it is,” Tim says, snapping into action, his hands reaching for the hoodie. “Off Murphy Ave.”

Rrrrrrip.

He tears through the front part of your hoodie—his hoodie—like it’s nothing. Both their faces drop as they see your shirt underneath it but you’re more focused on the first part of what just happened.

“Did you—have to tear it?” you whine. “This is the only hoodie I have from you…”

“You can have all of my hoodies,” he promises, reaching for the hem of your shirt.

Another ripping sound.

Steph reaches underneath you. “Didn’t go through.”

Tim nods. “The sooner we get her to the hospital, the better. I don’t like how much blood she’s losing.”

“I can hear you, you know,” you mutter, more petulant than you want but considering you are bleeding from a stab wound, you think you get to be.

They both let out strained chuckles. Tim reaches for one of the pouches of Steph’s belt. You wonder how he knows which one to open. You wonder a lot of things. Where he learned to kick ass. Whether he has always known Steph is Spoiler. How he is so calm right now. It tickles at you, like you have all the pieces to the puzzle but the full picture still isn’t coming out.

And oh, yeah, the burning throb of the stab wound is really sapping your concentration, too. Cold creeps in at the edges, your fingers feeling icy as you clench them. You shiver violently, though it hurts to move like that.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Steph says soothingly, squeezing your hand. “We just really need to get you to a hospital to guarantee that.”

“You should—fuck!” The gauze Tim presses to the wound sends shockwaves of pain through you. Black spots appearing in your vision, breath squeezing in your throat.

He says your name loudly. “Breathe.”

“Fuck you,” you wheeze out, trying and failing to curl away from the pressure he is currently applying to your wound. “That—hurts—”

“I know,” he says, pained. “But I have to. We have to. I’m sorry.”

“He’s right,” Steph says, brushing some of your hair away from your face. “Come on, talk to me. Ignore what he’s doing. What were you going to say before?”

“My phone,” you mumble, shivering. “Flash gave it to me. S-Said if I press the power button three times, it sends a distress signal to him.”

“That’s kind of him,” Tim mutters, sounding, dare you say it, jealous, which, in your haze of pain, just pisses you off.

“You absolute asshole, you don’t get to—”

“Stop it!” Steph snaps, lunging for your phone. “Tim, focus on saving her life and not on being an ass right now, okay? I’m calling him. We need that kind of speed. She’s losing too much blood and the hospital is too far.”

He sobers significantly. A bloodied hand reaches for yours. You’re only aware of it because you see it, the sight of his pale skin covered in your blood, his fingers wrapping around yours. He squeezes.

“Can you feel that?”

“K-Kind of.”

“Do it, Spoiler.”

“I’m doing it, Timothy.”

She is. She holds your phone in gloved hands, pressing the button three times, then scoots away from your head, lifting your feet over her lap.

Tim continues his work, the pressure he continues to apply to the wound making your head spin. Exhaustion creeps in at the edges, making your eyelids drag with each blink.

No, no, falling asleep is bad. You’ve seen enough movies and TV shows of injured characters to know that. You have to stay awake.

Steph watches you, concerned. “How long—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a sharp gust of wind hits all of you. It knocks things off the shelves and then, all of you are blinking up at the Flash, blue lightning fading away.

He breathes your name and in the next blink, he’s next to you, on his knees.

“Hey, Flash,” you croak.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, a gloved hand resting tenderly on your forehead. He looks at Tim and Steph. “Hospital?”

“It’s—”

Tim cuts Steph off, staring hard at Flash. “She’ll most likely need a blood transfusion. Her blood type is AB positive—”

“And she’s allergic to penicillin,” Steph tacks on quickly.

“Got it.” He sweeps you into his arms and you whimper at the movement. “And the hospital?”

“Intersection of Murphy Avenue and Elliot Circle,” Steph tells him.

“Be careful,” Tim stresses.

Flash gives him a frosty look. “I got it. You’ve done enough.”

Stop fighting, you want to say, but Flash is delightfully warm and you’re so tired. If you rest your eyes for just a little bit, that’s fine, right?

“Flash—!”

A sharp tug in your belly, gravity pulling on you, and darkness falls over you like a blanket. You surrender without fight.

Voices puncture the veil of darkness. Soft murmurs, soothing tones.

“She’ll be okay, Red,” a woman murmurs. “You got her here on time.”

“I know, Lin,” someone else says and wait, you know that voice. It’s Flash. He sounds so… harrowed. “But I just… I don’t know.”

“You know what the doctors said. The danger is gone. And with you here… maybe…” she trails off, tone implying something you aren’t privy to.

A deep breath. “Do you think so? I could’ve, earlier, but I didn’t know if it would hurt her and I didn’t want to take the chance…”

“Well… I think you’re a big softy and she means a lot more to you than you ever realized. So… maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoes back and you want to know, want to ask what exactly it is he and this mystery woman are talking about but you slip back under again.

The next time you resurface, it’s to cutting words and a tension so thick, you feel it, too, even with all your senses muddled, knee-deep in a haze.

“I don’t mind her,” Flash says coldly. “But you, too?”

“She’s my friend. I have a right to see her, too,” someone else says—Tim, you realize. It’s Tim, his tone cutting, temper on the rise.

“The way you’ve treated her these past two months doesn’t say much about friendship to me.”

“I was going to tell her—”

“Oh, you were going to tell her? Only after you finally fucked it all up being caught hanging out with your friends when you explicitly said you were too busy to hang out with her? Yeah, that’s real great.”

“You haven’t told her,” Tim points out petulantly.

“Really mature,” Flash scoffs. “I have a good reason to keep it from her. What’s yours? It’s not like you were deprived of her attention. You’re friends. Why the hell would you favor Red Robin over Tim Drake?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand—”

“No, I bet you don’t, because it’s easier to excuse yourself that way, isn’t it?” he seethes. “You’re just like him, you know. Just like him.”

You don’t know who they’re talking about. Or maybe you do and it’s just not coming to you. But the comparison isn’t a kind one. The way Tim snaps back in the next second affirms that.

“She wasn’t talking to me! I was—worried!”

“So, you should’ve talked to her! Instead of going behind her back and befriending her as Red Robin! What the hell did you achieve by doing that?”

“We were going to tell her, too, you know,” the woman from before says, her tone disapproving. “Very soon, in fact. But his situation is different from yours and you know that.”

Silence stretches on.

“Well, I still want to see her,” Tim says quietly, the fight leaving his voice.

“How—” Steph. Her voice cuts out, thick in a way that is unfamiliar to you. She clears her throat. “How is she?”

“Stable,” the mystery woman informs her.

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Tim asks. You can just hear the frown in his voice and the vision of him forms easily in your mind, that familiar wrinkle between his brows, pretty pink lips pursed.

“Anesthesia still needs to wear off,” the woman says. “She’ll wake up soon.”

“But until then,” Flash cuts in, tone still severe. “Feel free to make yourself scarce. Stephanie can hang around. But you? No way in hell.”

“You think she wants that?” Tim shoots back, anger returning. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea. You’re assuming—”

“Yeah, I am. She’s not awake. She can’t tell us. Until then, I—we—can make those decisions.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’m sure she’ll love that—”

“I know what you’re thinking and we’re doing this with good intentions. You can’t say the same, can you?”

That doesn’t help. Fans the flames, if anything, as they keep arguing.

Ugh. You don’t want to hear this.

Like mercy, you slip under again.

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thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed · 1 year

Text

Unlucky

Word count: 2.1K

Warnings: blood, angst if you squint, blood, bad writing

Pairing: Tara Carpenter X Fem!Reader

Wrote this before watching Scream VI so don’t worry it doesn’t have any spoilers

———

You didn’t really like living in Woodsboro.

It was a small town, which meant that everyone knew everyone, there was literally just one high school and all the kids your age went there so if anything ever happened or one student did something, all town was going to know, all the kids were going to talk about you and make fun of you. This gets really close to what happened to you.

You used to be Tara’s girlfriend, and it also meant that her friends were your friends too. You’ve actually known Tara your whole life, her sister was your baby sitter and you were really attached to her and even when she left you found ways to stay in contact with her. She was to you the sister you never had, she cared for you like she cared for Tara and that was just good to know. Your parents were both alcoholic, so whenever you went at Sam and Tara’s Place, Sam would always be the one taking care about you, cleaning you up and even feeding you. No matter the countless times you told her she didn’t have to, she always insisted. It nearly was a tragedy for you when she left Town, for obvious reasons.

However eventually you broke up with Tara. Apparently her friends - mostly Amber and Liv - had convinced her that you were too damaged, too far gone to be helped and Tara needed and deserved a better girlfriend than you. I mean how could you blame them? You were indeed as they described you. Your parents had been killed by Ghostface when you were really young and for the first period of time, Sam took care of you like she always did, but then she left and you were put in the foster care system until you were old enough to be able to care for yourself and work and have your own apartment. It was nice you had to admit, being independent and not having to think of anything else but yourself… and your girlfriend.

But then Tara broke up with you, and everything went downhill. You didn’t leave your apartment if not for school or for groceries, it was all pretty a mess. But then ghostface appeared again. You were his first victim. You were helpless already, I mean you had no one, no one who cared for you so surely no one would mind if you were killed right?

You were right, no one did mind after all.

Not Tara, not Sam, no one.

After getting stabbed 10 times, you fell into a coma and when you woke up everyone had left town. Your old friends, your ex, her sister too. They had left and they didn’t tell you anything, they didn’t leave you a message, a phone call, nothing. They had disappeared, leaving you behind in that hellscape of a city and you were alone. And when you went back to school, everyone cheered for you, and gave you the nickname of “last one standing” and you didn’t like that at all. It was a nickname you hated, that would haunt you forever and keep the trauma inside of you alive. And you knew that nothing was over, you knew that every 10 years or so someone would put on Ghostface’s mask again and continue the job that the last Ghostface couldn’t finish…

…only it happened sooner than you ever thought.

You had organized a trip to New York. You had always wanted to go so obviously you agreed. The big apple has always been one of your dreams and even if you were going for a week as a tourist, it was still something, and you were going to make it work. You were going to have a lot of free time so you could go where you have always wanted to go… Central park Times Square, The Brooklyn bridge… yes, you were definitely going to make it work.

You decided to go alone, because ever since Ghostface attacked you, you didn’t know who to trust and to be honest you didn’t want to trust anyone. That’s why all your free time you were walking around NY alone. You were going to the underground train when your phone rang, and you answered it without taking a look at the caller ID “go for (Y/N)” you said, and waited for a reply. “Hello (Y/N)” a too familiar voice could be heard from the other side of the phone “long time no see” he continued, and you immediately got frightened. You looked around, the streets were getting empty due to the day arriving to an end. “W-what do you want from me? Haven’t you done enough?” You asked, speed walking to the station. “Oh no, my game didn’t even start last year. I didn’t finish my job” tears made their way up to your eyes “please leave me alone… I don’t even have a group of friends you can attack” you said, hoping that this would lead him somewhere else

“That’s where you’re wrong, (Y/N). Now I got you here, and Tara and the others already are in town so that’s going to be easy” you could practically see the smirk on his face just based off his voice. You finally got to the underground station. It was empty at this time of night, which only made you ten times more scared “please don’t hurt me” you sobbed and hid behind a wall “oh but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to kill you, by stabbing all of the organs that I missed last time” at that the call ended, and when you looked around he sprinted towards you, you tried running away but he was quicker. He grabbed you by the air and after pulling you into his embrace, he stabbed you repeatedly in your stomach, as you let out pained screams and grunts, no one could ear you because the station was empty… only you could be this unlucky. He stabbed you five times before you found enough strength to throw your head back and hit him in the face, making him fall down.

He lost his grip on you doing so, and you fell on the ground, face down as you grunted once more, one of your hands covering the wounds as you used the other to try and drag yourself away from him, all with blood spewing out of your mouth. “Where do you think you’re going?” He said after he got up and stopped you by kicking you in your stomach, exactly where your wounds were. You spat out more blood and he towered over you, knife in hand as you closed your eyes and waited for the final impact…

…that never came.

You heard a loud noise, a gun perhaps. And Ghostface, not being armed enough left in a hurry. You laid there, blood spilling our from your wounds and mouth, breaths becoming more erratic and wet as you kept your eyes closed. At some point you felt someone’s hands on you, turning you around to take a look at you and who you were. “(Y/N)? Oh my god what the hell are you doing here?” Another familiar voice… this time it was also another voice you knew too well, but it was… Sam. You opened your eyes, they immediately swelling with tears as you relaxed “S-Sam” you sobbed out and looked at her. “Please help me” you said and for a brief moment you saw her nod. Your eyes were starting to get blurry, and you could feel yourself lose consciousness but you knew you had to stay awake. “Chad, please pick her up”

Within seconds two strong arms were around you and carrying you bridal style, the position hurting you even more… good, at least that’ll keep you awake. You were almost a deadweight in his arms, and he decided to joke about it. “Damn, I didn’t think you were this light” he said. You have always been skinny, maybe too much but it was fine with you. He and his sister were the only ones that even back then never said anything bad about you “oh shut up” you joked back and the laugh made you even more in pain. You didn’t register if there was someone else aside the two of them, as you were swinging from unconsciousness to consciousness and the voices were confused. One thing you were sure of, when you were laying in a car’s backseat, you felt someone hold your hand… a hand you knew too well. Tara, maybe? You weren’t sure because you lost consciousness soon after that.

When you woke up in the hospital, the bright light bothered your eyes, but you squeezes them and rubbed them and eventually you got used to the light. Only Sam was in the room at the moment and she was on her phone. “I think I’ve been in this position before” you giggled as you tried sitting up, also letting out a grunt as Sam looked up and smiled at you. “How are you feeling?” She said and put her phone away. “Like I’ve been stabbed 5 times… for the second time” you joked again, and saw how she smiled slightly. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better… I’m sorry for, you know not getting there sooner” she said and you shrugged “it’s okay, at least I didn’t fall into a coma this time” you shot your arrow, looking away and making Sam look down, out guilt. “(Y/N) I’m sorry-“ she tried to say but you interrupted her: “Sam why didn’t you leave me a note or something, a voicemail… why didn’t you wait for me to wake up” you said

“Because we couldn’t! We had to leave for Tara’s sake and for our own safety and we couldn’t leave any trace back or he was going to find us-“ “he found you anyway. Tell me what did that change? You knew he would have found you either way yet you just had to keep me out of everything like everyone always does!” From all the yelling, the stitches on your stomach had popped and you were bleeding again. “Fuck-“ you said and pressed on the bandage. “I’m going to call a doctor” Sam said and left the room for a brief moment, and soon enough a doctor came in and did your stitches again, along with everyone else who looked at you worriedly. this time Mindy and Tara were there too, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them.

“Hey guys” you said, your voice kind of low and shy, different to how it was moments ago with Sam. You had all grown up, surely they didn’t “hate” you anymore… right?

“Look, I-“ you were about to continue speaking when Tara made her way over to you, hugging you tightly but avoiding the stitches. You didn’t know how to react at first, but you saw Sam and Mindy give one of those “finally” smiled and you knew that this was something good. You hugged her back and breathed in her scent, god did you miss her. You never stopped loving her, you knew that it wasn’t either of your fault that the two of you broke up… Tara had been basically brainwashed. “I’m so glad you’re okay” she whispered and you smiled slightly, when she pulled back you both smiled at each other before you gave her a nod and a small smile, as if to confirm her you were okay.

“So uhm… back to my question… what are you doing here in New York?” Sam asked and you scratched your head. “I always wanted to come as a tourist. Guess I’m safer in Woodsboro…” you said and Sam immediately replied. “You should stay here. He’s after you and he’s after us as well, we can help each other and I can protect you. I couldn’t protect you a year ago but I can now. Stay.” She said and you couldn’t help but nod at her proposition.

They had defeated Ghostface once, surely they could protect you.

#jenna #ortega #jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #scream #scream 5 #scream 6 #scream vi

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