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letarasstuff · 3 years

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Ranting

(A/N): This was requested by an anon, I hope you like it :)

Summary: In the middle of midterms, Spencer's daughter has enough and for the first time in her life, she rants to the team

Warnings: one swear word, school, school stress, mental breakdown, shitty friends, a bit of angst (but there is fluff to balance that out), weird grammatical sentences that are according to google correct

Wordcount: 2.3k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________ As a teenager, Spencer was pretty closed off. But this had several reasons, like being a child (or moreover a teen prodigy) at college and getting his first Ph.D, or that he hadn’t had a safety net of people he could have gone to. So as he became a father himself, he tried everything possible to assure his own daughter that her feelings and thoughts are always welcome and valid.

Unfortunately (Y/N) herself has developed the same habit starting high school and ever since Spencer can’t do anything to get her to open up to him. It’s not like they don’t have a good relationship, they have one of the strongest father-daughter bonds the BAU has ever witnessed. The girl simply has other ways to cope with her feelings and how to act them out in the safety of her own four walls. Her father learned to accept it, knowing that he can’t and won’t force her to talk to him.

So what follows now not only shocked Spencer. But also his work family.

It’s the time every teen in high school dreads: Midterms.

A word a teacher can mutter and a shiver goes through the rows of students in the classroom. Or at least it feels like it to (Y/N). She takes her school work very seriously. In her mind every single grade determines her future.

The rational part in her knows that the grades in her sophomore year doesn’t matter. That they are even long forgotten when she graduates. There is just so much pressure on her. But it isn’t coming from her father.

Spencer is pretty laid-back regarding school. He knows his daughter is trying her best and that it’s just the tenth grade and not the end of the world. School is not everything life has to offer, especially he has to know it as a scholar and profiler flying through the country in a jet back and forth.

It’s (Y/N)’s classmates, who pressure her to get good grades.

“We depend on you and your notes”, Tyler exclaims as he jogs next to her through the busy hallway. “Ty, I know. But I don’t have the time to get them done for all of you to understand by tomorrow. They are still a mess that only I know to see through. I still have to finish my history project and I go to my Dad’s work this afternoon, which means I won’t get much done and I still have to do the homework I got today before sorting my notes for the test in two days.”

At her locker, the boy still doesn’t let go of the subject. “Do you want to say that our grades don’t matter as much as yours? Because this would be a true selfish statement.” Maybe it is the lack of sleep, because she pulled three all-nighters in two weeks, or the fact that she is slowly getting fed up being treated like an unpaid private teacher, but (Y/N) can’t stop her sassy answer. “Tyler, you wouldn't even know how to tell apart your ass from your head if it weren’t for me and my help in biology. You wouldn’t even know how to spell selfish if I didn’t let you copy my answers in spelling tests in elementary school.”

Done with the day and her friend’s shit, she slams the door of her locker shut and leaves a flabbergasted boy behind. Half an hour later the teenager enters the bullpen with her visitor badge clipped to the pocket of her sweater.

On the way there she was fuming. The audacity of her friends. It’s not only Tyler, who tried to get her notes of a unit, she was the only one listening, even though the teacher said loud and clear that this will be important for midterms. A few other friends out of the group she usually hangs out with texted her the same question of when her notes will be given to them. Understandably, (Y/N) comes into the office in the worst mood anyone from the team ever saw, including her own father.

“Hey Sweetheart”, he tries to greet her with a hug. Even though both of them are not big on touch, they are extra affectionate with people they are close to.

To everybody’s surprise, the girl takes a step back, effectively avoiding his open arms. “Hey”, she grumbles out before taking a seat in the chair already waiting for her. Nobody is allowed to sit in this one, except for her. Not even Derek has ever put his butt on this one, knowing the sacredness of it.

Without sparing anyone another glance, (Y/N) gets the needed stuff for that history project out and continues working on it. The team resorts to throwing a questiongly look to Spencer, who shrugs his shoulders with a look of despair. So everyone resumes their work without even daring to say a word.

The general silence is occasionally broken by an unnerved sigh leaving the teenager’s lips. “Is the conference room occupied?” She asks, her voice clearly showing how annoyed she is. Her father shakes his head. “No, not that I know of. Do you need help with your school work?” This is obviously the wrong thing to say. “Do I look like a baby? I don’t need anyone to help with that, I have been going to school for ten years now, I think I can handle this project as perfectly fine as I did since day one. It’s just your keyboard typing that will be the reason for my first grey hairs if I don’t get out of here soon.”

Quickly (Y/N) gathers her stuff and storms off into the conference room. Immediately the team crowds her father’s desk. “What happened?” “Who hurt her?” “Go, talk to her!”

“Guys, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m at the same loss as all of you. The only thing I know is that (Y/N) is under pressure, because it’s midterms. But judging by the way she reacted, I don’t want to go near her. It’s safer to try to defuse a bomb than talk to her in that mood. Last time I saw something similar, her favorite show was declared finished, got a revival and then didn’t get one and nobody mentioned it again. She was so mad, I think it took three years of her life.” A silence of uncertainty spreads through the room.

“What about we give her some room until she calms down?” JJ suggests, being unsure herself how to deal with a teenage girl. But the rest agrees and goes back to filling out their paperwork.

This continues for about 20 minutes, till a loud bang and a frustrated scream is heard followed by “DON’T THEY WANT TO GET IT OR ARE THEY JUST STUPID?!” Alerted by that, seven people (yes, even Dave and Aaron leave their offices, while Penelope was already in the bullpen) storm into the round table room only to see a more than outraged (Y/N).

“Sweetheart”, Spencer speaks to her in the gentlest voice they ever heard from him and slowly moves towards his daughter, “What’s going on?”

Her response is delayed by several deep breaths she has to take in order to be able to talk without seething. “ALL OF MY SO CALLED FRIENDS ARE ASKING ME FOR MY NOTES, like do I look like a personal tutor? And when I tell them that I got a life, a life outside of school and grades, because otherwise I go completely bananas, just like all of you say, they get mad. Now they act like I’m the most selfish person in the whole world. I’m so done, can’t they understand that they are old enough to take care of their own stuff? I’m not responsible for them, their grades or anything regarding their lives. Otherwise I would be the mother of at least four toddlers and one baby and at the age of sixteen I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility. I know friends are there for eachother, and I really don’t mind helping them from time to time. But what they are doing is terror. Terror.

“Oh and don’t get me started on their tormention if I get something lower than an A-. Then they suddenly transform into geniuses, like they suddenly know everything possible. Of course, I’m the dumb one. I should have studied more.

“I am under an insane amount of pressure, because I know they rely on me, but enough is enough. I tell them that if anyone asks me for anything school related again and they act like I owe them an answer, I’ll cut off all ties to all of them. What am I, a roboter just there for their needs, without some of my own?”

After her long rant, (Y/N) takes a couple more breaths. It’s pretty much the only sound right now, because the team is stunned. None of them heard her talking, no ranting, like that. Not even her Spencer has seen her like that.

Realizing what she just said, the teenager fidgets nervously with her hands. “I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know, blow up like that. I, I really don’t know where this came from.” Nervously she scratches the back of her head. It really wasn’t her intention to let it out like that. Her plan was just to come home tonight and deal in the confinement of her own four walls with all of her feelings. It’s easier to be honest to yourself when you are alone than having an audience watching you losing it.

Suddenly (Y/N) finds herself engulfed in a massive bear hug. “Oh, my sweet sweet summerchild. You needed to rant to us and I’m so happy you did. Even though your uhm, friends, sound like big douchebags, we can help you sort something out”, Penelope tells her while keeping her arms around the teen.

“Just like lil mama said, we are here for you, Baby Reid. Don’t ever be afraid to tell us something, may it even be as small as you having stubbed your toe.” Morgan ruffles her hair and gives her a reassuring smile.

Just like them everybody shows her their support, be it encouraging words or affectionately gestures. Rossi invites her to a calm and quiet dinner at his mansion, cooking class included. Hotch assures her that she will get through this rough patch, with or without these fake people. JJ suggests (Y/N) comes over to her home and she can participate in a family game night at their home.

When it’s Emily’s turn, she makes sure to get her message loud and clear by looking the teen in the eyes (not as deep as it sounds, because some people make an intense stare really uncomfortable): “If those kids give you a hard time again, tell me. I’ll pay them a visit in classic protective godmother fashion, because nobody traits MY godchild like this. Just give me their names and I’ll handle the rest.” Obviously she doesn’t say this aloud in front of everyone, else Hotch will have her head, knowing she goes through with her threats. Instead she whispers it into the teen’s ear. Still, it makes (Y/N) smile, having such a strong support net.

Sensing the family’s need for time of their own to talk about the whole situation, the team leaves the room. Spencer gestures to her to take a seat after moving two chairs opposite each other. He wants her not to feel trapped.

“Do you still want to talk about it? It doesn’t have to be now, we can do it tonight, tomorrow, in a week or in a month. Just, please don’t shut me out. I know it’s difficult to be a teenager, especially in times like these. But it won’t do you any good keeping all of this for yourself. Today you took it out through anger. How will it look next time?

I don’t want to pressure you into talking. We don’t need to. We can find other coping mechanisms. We can try and reduce your stress. Anything. But we both know that this is not the right way.” While speaking, he takes his daughter’s hand, making her look up to him.

(Y/N) nods. Her eyes fill with tears. “I just can’t keep going like this.” She whispers, feeling all the stress, pressure and the intensity of the last few weeks crashing down on her. Quickly Spencer gathers her in his arms, letting her cry in his embrace.

After calming down, she looks up to her father with bloodshot eyes. “We can talk tonight. But I need you to do me a favor.” “Anything”, he assures her, stroking a hand along her back. “I, uhm, I need a new phone. I may or may not have thrown mine against the wall after getting a text from Tyler.”

Spencer looks at the crooked cell laying on the floor, the screen cracked. “I think we can get that sorted”, he tells her with a smile and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

The two of them leave the office earlier, having many things to talk about and many problems to solve. But with the help of her family (Y/N) gets through this, a time where people unfortunately only like her for her smarts and not being herself.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #Emily Prentiss x teen!reader #Penelope Garcia x teen!reader #Derek Morgan x teen!reader #x teen!reader #x daughter!reader #reid!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert

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t00turnttrauma · 2 years

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Westerberg: A Cautionary Tale

Part Two: Entering The Real World

Warnings: bulimia, eating disorders mentioned and depicted, bullying

I wasn’t supposed to post this until tomorrow morning but I have no self control. I also really want to just stick it to that anon from last night.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Tag list: @teddiie @parodsal000 @wordvomit-foryourmind @doodle417 @gretasmokerising @theweightofstardust

Songs: Beautiful, Candy Store, Apex Predator, Stupid with Love

The semester was beginning to settle in. The first two weeks were over, and routines were beginning to cement. Every day, Danny went to class, ate lunch at the special table, and then spent the night reliving his lunch time with Damien and Y/N. They would laugh, talking over some Netflix series that they were barely watching. They came up with potential plans to mess with and topple their social standing. The two boys laughed it off, thinking nothing of how adamant their girl-friend was about ‘taking Sam Kiszka down once and for all.’

Danny was still on the fence about hanging out with the Kiszka brothers. He felt a little out of place, having to have things explained to him, things that Damien didn’t even know about. He also noticed that people paid more attention to him. Girls stopped him in the hallway, flirting shamelessly. They would grab his bicep, smiling up at him and inviting him out for drinks or to their dorms. Despite being prepared, Danny denied every time. He wasn’t sure how to feel about all the attention. He’d never had it before.

Sam was even scarier up close. He had a certain energy of him that was hard to discern. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning every room he was in and seeing who he could manipulate into doing his bidding. While he was on edge about him, Danny couldn’t help but admire how Sam took complete control of any room he was in. All eyes were always on him, and he loved the attention. He basked in it, flashing smiles at the girls who would do anything for a chance to be with him.

Jake was nervous. His eyes darted around the room, just like his younger brother’s. Instead of finding people looking at him, they looked at Sam. He was cool and collected on the outside, but on the inside, he was chittering to himself. He walked with his head high, but his shoulders were permanently slumped. He tried to help Sam, giving him insight into the world like a normal older brother would. Instead, he was shot down immediately. He often looked to his older brother for comfort, but Josh was never paying attention.

The oldest of the three, Josh, wasn’t stupid or dumb, he was a little bit of a ditz though. It was probably credited to the amount of pot he smoked in the mornings, clouding his brain. His grades were less than average, but good enough to stay in school. He’d giggle at the times Sam snapped at Jake, his brain unable to see the pain on his twin’s face or see the seriousness in Sam’s vicious words.

Classes were beginning to become easier. Danny learned the way of the textbooks, being able to decipher the meaning. He found the answers quickly, usually two sentences away from the definitions. His only struggle was Partner Sciences. For two weeks, he had worked with almost everyone in the room, Damien and Y/N included. They’d played board games during class as Professor Turner observed who took what role. She took diligent notes. Danny often took charge of the games, consulting the rules and defusing any potential bombs. Damien was like Danny in that way, using humor to tone down other student’s annoyance. Y/N was the opposite. She worked herself up, getting angry when the game didn’t go her way. Now, the class was beginning to gear up for the semester long project. They would have to create a presentation on any topic of their choosing, no matter how obscure, and give a ten-minute long presentation for the final. If he had it his way, Danny would partner with Damien. The two could easily find a topic they both liked and talk about it for about five minutes each. Monday morning, though, Professor Turner handed out partner assignments.

“Mike and Y/N. Damien and Blaine. Victoria and Carly. Danny and Erin.”

Danny felt his body tingle as he quietly smiled to himself, glancing at Erin who was looking at him. Just his luck, he was paired with the hottest girl he’d ever seen. She smiled at him, moving her backpack from the space in front of her and motioned for him to sit down. He took a seat, introducing himself.

“Danny.”

“Erin,” she smiled. “So, what are your hobbies?”

Danny told her all about himself from his favorite color to his preferred golf club. She giggled when he mentioned that he’d named each one he had this season. He felt proud of himself as he listened to her. She was a cheerleader, president of the celibacy club, and in Student Government. She was spread pretty thin across her schedule, making meeting times hard. They agreed on Sunday afternoons, meeting after lunch and then walking to the cafeteria together. As the project neared, they would be able to meet more often, which he was looking forward to.

Damien hadn’t had much luck with Blaine. Since getting to know him, Damien had become a little desperate, pining after someone to love him back. The thought depressed Danny as he believed his best friend and teammate deserved the world and someone to love back. He’d had his eye on Blaine for a while, but learned that he had a boyfriend in Los Angeles, waiting for their next break. Y/N and Mike had made the most progress of the three of them. They’d already picked a topic, which they were keeping secret, and planned to meet later that afternoon.

Danny met with Josh after class by the library, walking to the cafeteria together. They met with Sam and Jake. The younger brother looked incredibly annoyed with Jake. He talked on and on about something he’d heard through the grapevine the entire time they were in the lunch lines. Danny stood to the side, waiting for Josh to finish ordering. He noticed how the girl behind the counter hadn’t looked away from Josh. With other customers, she watched their hands or their plates to see what they were ordering next. Instead, when it was Josh’s turn, she stared and made eye contact until he turned away. He also noticed how after he thanked her, her cheeks turned red, and Josh had a goofy grin on his face when he turned away.

“What’s that about?” Danny teased, nudging him lightly.

Josh shrugged. “I think she’s kind of cute, y’know?”

The taller of the two glanced back at her, seeing how focused she was on serving the lasagna. “I see it.”

Once back at the table, Sam rolled his eyes. “That girl again?” He scoffed. “Josh, you can do so much better.”

Josh shrugged. “She’s nic-“

“Jake, I bet that you won’t go ask her out.”

Jake rose from the table without a second thought. He sauntered over, going directly to the food, and leaning over the counter. She turned around, asking a question. He nodded his head, motioning for the girl to walk around the counter. He lowered his head, flashing a smile at her, leaning casually against the nearby counter. She smiled back politely, but she looked completely uninterested in whatever he was saying. She shook her head for a moment before tilting it to the side and apologizing. Jake returned, slumping into the seat. “She said she can’t give me her number because she’s working. She said that if I saw her around campus, I should ask again.”

Josh was staring at his plate, a red hue on his cheeks and ears. Danny changed the conversation. Jake was majoring in music or something similar. Danny followed them to their table. He searched the room for his friends, but they were nowhere to be found. He was half-listening to Sam talk about a bassline. The brothers had a band in high school. Danny was never cool enough to get into the bars they played. He spotted Y/N walking in, waving. She nodded her head at him, scanning her card and walking away. He watched her go through the line, spotting Damien by the soup bar and finding a table.

“Y/N is, like, totally weird,” Sam said, breaking Danny’s train of thought. “So is Damien.”

He followed Sam’s gaze, landing on Y/N and Damien who were laughing at a sandwich they’d carved a hole in the middle. “I think they’re okay.”

Josh sipped his drink through his straw, sharing a glance with his younger brothers. “If you say so.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Danny asked, genuinely curious. He internally cringed at how he phrased his confusion. He glanced back at his best friend who was now sitting alone as Damien had a class to get to. She scrolled through her phone, unphased. Jake nodded. He started to open his mouth, but he was cut off.

“Shut up, Jacob,” the youngest snapped, ripping open a bag of carrots. His brother dropped his head, staring at the food on his tray while mumbling out an apology.

The four of them ate lunch in silence, stopping by the bathrooms after and standing around. Sam was fixing his hair in the mirror. Jake stood by one of the stalls, meekly calling out for Danny. He wordlessly raised a single finger to Josh, going to do a real friend’s job. He covered his nose with his shirt, helping Jake deposit his lunch once again. He pretended that the was unbothered by the bile on his finger. After two retches, Jake was satisfied with his results, asking Danny to step out of the handicapped stall first.

“God, Jake, bulimia is such a girl’s thing,” Sam scoffed.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Josh offered, concerned for his brother.

“Yeah, Josh,” Jake whispered as he pulled a toothbrush from his jacket pocket. “Maybe I should.”

Danny ignored the comment. Jake was a wrestler before Sam came to school here, having lost and gained pounds quickly. He developed unhealthy habits, throwing his lunch up every day was part of it. He washed his hand, focusing on the finger that was just down the younger twin’s throat. The door creaked open, Damien standing there. Sam didn’t care, continuing to fix his hair and button up. Damien walked back out, but not before sharing a look with Danny.

“What are your plans this weekend?” Josh asked, glossing over the tension.

Danny shrugged. “I had practice, but they canceled so I was thinking about going home for a day or two.” He immediately cursed himself for mentioning his plans to go home, but they didn’t seem to catch it. Instead, Jake hesitantly opened his mouth, glancing at Sam to see if he’d snap. Seeing no reaction from him, he asked what the practice was for. “I play golf.”

The three brothers gasped, immediately chattering over one another.

“Ew, golf is for old men.” “Only losers play golf.” “That’s like social suicide.”

Danny was immediately embarrassed, changing his attitude to match the disdain for the outdoor sport. “Yeah, I wanted to quit but I got a scholarship which was cool. Now I’m kind of stuck.”

Sam smiled. “I will gladly slam your hand in a car door so you can get out of it.”

There was a twinge of honesty in his voice, a glint in his eyes that made Danny’s stomach churn. Sam then invited to give him a ride home. Danny was unsure of what that meant. Turns out, that he could return his train ticket and carpool with them for the four-hour drive home. It was a little tiring, but they dropped him off at the rose bushes his mother spent years perfecting.

It was a surprise visit, one that he was sure his family would enjoy, until he realized that the front door was locked, the garage door was also closed, and all the lights were off. He peaked through the kitchen window, checking for the tell-tale sign that his family had gone out for the weekend. Sure enough, the toaster was unplugged, and the fish tank was turned off. His mother had once read a horror story of a family’s house that had burned down when a gust of air from an opened vent knocked a paper into the toaster and set everything alight. The fish tank was the first thing his sister took care of in the morning after brushing her teeth. She’d wipe the sleep from her eyes, feeding the pets and watching them swim around happily for a few minutes before getting along with her day. He tested the windows and doors, finding all of them locked. He sent the Kiszkas a text.

Hey, I guess my family went away for a while. Can I stay with you guys? It’s totally fine if I can’t

He took a seat on the front porch, hoping that his family was just grocery shopping or something. He heard back from Josh within minutes. He then barreled around the corner in the same car, throwing the passenger door open for him. The drive to their house wasn’t super long, but it was heart racing. Josh took the corners sharply, practically going on two wheels. Danny was pretty sure that he hit a curb at some point and he also didn’t remember there being a speed bump on the main road out to their neighborhood. He followed Josh into the house, seeing Jake at the counter cutting up an orange and his mom standing at the stove.

“Hi, Mrs. Kiszka, it’s nice to meet you.”

She turned around, a glass of wine in hand. “Danny, I have heard so much about you,” she gushed, pulling him into a hug. “I’m going to make some drinks after I finish this.” She pointed at the bar. “Let me know if there’s something you prefer. My boys usually have margaritas and salty dogs, but I was a little crazy back in the day. I was a bartender for a while so I can whip up almost anything you’d like.”

“Alcoholic?” Danny gulped. He’d never had a drink before.

“Of course!” She poured herself more wine. “If you’re going to drink, I’d rather you do it in the house. God, I love my boys.” She took a sip. “Listen, our house is your house, so do not be afraid to ask or anything. Snacks, drinks, condoms.”

Danny nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Josh took him on a tour of the house, leading him to the basement that the three of them shared. There were three beds and a pullout couch. The room smelled of vanilla, oranges from Jake’s plate, and the faint smell of weed. Danny set his things on the pullout couch. There were dividers pushed back, probably pulled out when it was time for bed. Sam was laying on his bed, barely acknowledging Danny’s presence. He read a magazine, circling something on the glossy paper.

Josh ran his fingers along the bookshelf, looking for recommendations. Danny watched curiously, looking at the titles. There were classics like Huckleberry Finn, Emily Dickinson poems. The most well loved book, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Danny pulled it from the shelf, recognizing Sam’s writing in the annotations in the margins.

“This is the burn book,” Josh said, pulling out a scrapbook. Sam glanced over before going upstairs. “We write all this shit about everyone we don’t like.”

Danny was curious if he was in the book. Before he could get his hands on it, though, Jake had opened the book and ripped out a page. He folded it up and tucked it in his jacket pocket. “Go ahead.” He opened it and read through it. He recognized a few faces from high school.

Amber DeLessio, gave a blowjob to a hot dog

Josh pointed at the cut-out yearbook photo. “Yeah. That birthday party was weird,” he chuckled.

Bethany Price- uses super jumbo tampons- can suppress her gag reflex/ super slutty

Y/N Y/L/N- probably a dyke, Dresses like a librarian who can only find the statues of Jesus attractive

Kaitlyn Warrens is a fat virgin- only half true

Jake nodded. “That one was me.”

Danny wondered what half a virgin meant, making a note to google it later. He flipped through more of the book, reading the insults. Freak, slut, loser, short bus, white trash, poser, burnout, bug eyes. The handwriting switch between three different forms of scriptures. He was horrified by the time he reached the end of the book, where there were three blank pages. Josh pulled a school magazine out of his backpack.

“I’ve been dying to put this guy in here, but I never had anything to write about.” He flipped it open and ripped out a photo of Damien. “This guy just pisses me off. I’m sure you have something about him.”

Danny shrugged, his mouth blurting out faster than he could stop himself. “He’s too gay to function, I guess.” He instantly felt guilty.

Jake wrote it down for him, smirking as his twin cut and glued the photo onto the page. One of them added lard ass at the bottom. Mrs. Kiszka came downstairs, bringing a tray of drinks with her. She took a laundry basket with her, the washing machine whirring upstairs soon after. Danny took a drink, swallowing down the burn and wincing. He felt his body relax with the alcohol. He settled into the couch, spilling every secret he’d learned. When he realized what he’d done, he could have sworn that Jake’s hair grew another inch, confirming Damien’s theory. Danny stopped drinking soon after, but the damage was done. Sam was eerily quiet the entire night, stirring up a feeling in the guest. Josh and Jake enjoyed having a new friend around, so maybe it was just that. Jake liked the idea that he wasn’t snapped at for saying something that could be considered stupid by some people. Josh just liked Danny’s company. He was nice and didn’t have a mean bone in his body, a decent change from his younger brother. The night soon came along with dinner, and they ate together downstairs, their conversation still going strong well into the night.

In the morning, they played a few rounds of croquet in the yard. It was only September first, and the weather was mild. It was a little muggy in the morning, but it was nothing compared to the region’s humidity in the summer. Danny picked up a mallet, the red one. Sam walked up.

“You can be blue,” he said, simply trading the equipment and setting his designated ball in the grass.

The guest didn’t fight it. He understood that things like that were sacred. Jake took green while Josh picked up yellow. The four of them played for an hour, sipping on mimosas, and munching on finger sandwiches. Between round six and seven, they decided to take a break. Josh silenced the group, taking in the sounds of nature. It was only nine am. Birds chirped happily, and squirrels ran in the branches of the soon to be yellowing trees. The wind wasn’t too strong yet, giving a gentle caress of their cheeks. The moment was ruined when their neighbor decided to turn on their lawnmower.

With the moment ruined, Jake leaned on the mallet, using the stick to support his weight. “Have you seen any cute girls you like?”

Danny adjusted his sunglasses. “There’s this girl who I was partnered with for a class.”

“Who?” Josh asked, taking his shot. The ball tinked off the arch, rolling away. “It’s your turn, Kiszka.”

“No, it’s Kiszka’s turn.”

Everyone turned to look at Sam, but he was gone. Danny took his turn. “Her name is Erin Samuels.”

For the second time in the past 72 hours, the twins gasped. They quickly warned them of Erin and her situation. “She’s Sam’s ex. They were steady for a year.”

Josh agreed. “They lost their virginities to each other and everything. Trust me, you do not want to get in the middle of that.”

“It’s also against the Bro Code.” Jake then outlined a few rules in the unwritten Guyble. Pretty much, it was a long, complicated list of who Daniel could and couldn’t date when it pertained to Sam. Besides their sister, Erin was the only girl he cared about enough to keep on the list.

Interestingly, Erin hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend or any other kind of partner. She flirted with Danny much stronger than he had been with her. He was confused, taking all of the information in. He saw the appeal. Erin had it all, the looks and the brain and the reputation. Sam had the looks and popularity. Together, they had enough ambition to run a company that would stomp Amazon out of business. He decided that, for his own safety and not just because the twins told him so, he would see if Erin went for him.

The morning faded into the afternoon, and it was soon time to leave. Stopping by his house, Danny still found it empty, just like it was Saturday morning. He was disappointed, but his family couldn’t wait around for him to surprise him. He’d learned his lesson, reminding himself to tell them when he was coming home.

The drive back was boring. Sam was still quiet, texting at lightning speeds before putting his phone back down. About a minute or two later, he would do it again, this time with an eye roll or a scoff. Danny was in the backseat with Josh, a suitcase between them. Jake drove, fiddling with the stereo. He finally found a station he liked, bobbing his head along with the music. Instead, Sam turned it off by slamming his hand on the button. It sounded like he grumbled something, but it could have just been how he stretched his legs and placed his feet on the dash.

“We should go shopping,” Josh said, pointing at the outlet mall they were about to pass.

It wasn’t too late in the afternoon and there was only about an hour left in the drive. Still, Danny wanted to make it back to campus before dinner closed. Sam nodded. In response, Jake turned the wheel to the left, pulling into the parking lot. Danny was not a big shopper. He was more of a ‘have a list, get in, get out’ kind of guy. His new friends were not like him. They perused the stores, going to each and every rack. They tried on outfit after outfit, debating which ones they looked good in so they could pick up more girls. Josh didn’t look too interested in flamboyant outfits. While his brothers looked at scarves and jewelry and other accessories, Josh looked at a few t-shirts. Danny walked over, nudging him.

Josh let out a heavy sigh. “That girl from the caf. Her name is Kelsey.”

“When did you learn her name?” Danny asked. He was genuinely curious as they’d been together constantly in the cafeteria.

“Someone called her name one night.” He held up a shirt. It was a band tee for Rush. “I wore one of Jake’s shirts one day and she complimented me. Then I went and listened to all of their music in hopes of talking to her about it.” Thankfully, Josh kept talking. “Every time I see her, I get all flustered and nervous.”

Danny clapped him on the back. “The time will come, my friend. The time will come.”

“Danny, come try this on,” Sam called, holding up a green bomber jacket.

He put his arms through. It fit well, reached his wrists. He stretched his arms around, trying to ignore Sam’s smirk in the reflection. The fabric, overall, was comfortable. With the soon to be changing weather, this could be his staple piece for the season.

“I don’t know…”

Sam approved of it quickly. “This is made for you, Daniel. If I was a girl, I’d tap that.”

Josh nodded. “Very symmetrical.” He turned him around. “If you cut it into two parts, you’d have matching halves. That’s very important.”

“Of course, if you were to lose a little bit of weight, like two or three pounds, you’d look great.”

“What do you say?” Sam asked. “Erin is sure to love it.”

Danny stared at his reflection. Sam was peering over his shoulder, the twins standing in front. Despite being loyal to Damien and Y/N, he saw this as an opportunity to better himself.

“Okay!”

When they were back on campus, they all went their separate ways. Danny knocked on Damien’s door but received no response. Y/N’s dorm was also unsuccessful. He returned to his own dorm, finally alone. He kicked his shoes off, dropping his shirt in the hamper. Despite the grumbling in his stomach, he was more tired than hungry. He chugged some water, lifting the covers. The cafeteria was closed by now and the contents of his mini fridge were leftovers that had been sitting there all weekend. He was about to climb in when someone knocked on his door. Expecting Damien, he whipped the door open.

Instead, there stood Erin, smiling up at him. “I think we should get started on our project.”

He let her in, quickly finding a shirt and putting it on. The two brainstormed ideas, setting up a strict meeting schedule outside of class. The two were obviously attracted to one another. Their knees touched when they looked at her laptop. She would gingerly touch his arm, testing the waters. He would smile, asking another question about the project but he had that grin on his face. When they were happy with their progress, Erin left, promising to see him later. She seemed to be drawing out goodbye, slowly inching her way to the door and bringing up new topics. Then she checked her phone, to which she left abruptly.

Danny fell asleep, dreaming about Erin. He liked her brunette hair, long and flowy. It looked soft, like she took extra good care of it. Her nails were just as well-groomed, probably manicured on a routine basis. He wondered what would happen if he asked her out on a date. The dreams soon turned into nightmares, Sam ruining his life at Westerberg College.

In the morning, Danny was well-rested despite his disturbing dreams. Erin promised to see him in class, but she was nowhere to be seen and he couldn’t do much of the project without her input. He pretended to work diligently, wondering where his partner was. Y/N caught Danny’s arm after class.

“Have you seen Damien?” She asked.

Dan didn’t even know he was missing. “I haven’t seen him since Friday, I think.”

She hummed, walking the opposite direction and probably to her dorm. Danny made his way to the cafeteria, his stomach shouting at him for some kind of sustenance. He observed Josh, watching him look around the cafeteria for Kelsey. He watched his shoulders slump a little when he noticed that she wasn’t there. When he turned around, Josh was wearing another band tee, this time with a Motley Crue logo on it. Danny felt for him and wanted to give him a pep talk. Instead, someone shouted his name.

Damien ran up, shoving a red envelope into Danny’s face. “I got back to my dorm last night and this was taped to the door. Can you believe it?” He gushed.

Danny took the envelope, reading the note inside.

Hi Damien, I know that you don’t know me, but I really like you. I was hesitant about writing this to you, but I might leave more. From, Secret Admirer

Sam walked past, flashing a smirk at Danny. His stomach dropped, realizing that he beans he’d spilt over the weekend were coming back to bite him in the ass. Danny tried to talk his best friend down, telling him that it could just be a prank, gently hinting at the truth. Instead, Damien brushed him off, spotting Y/N at the other side of the room. He ran over, showing her the note. Her face lit up, happy for her friend. Danny went to the Plastics table, angrily taking a seat. While he was fuming, he wouldn’t show it, but his mouth would express it anyway.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Sam looked offended. Jake turned to his tray, refusing to look up. Josh watched the test of egos at the table, sobering up in an instant. “And why not? You’ve been with us this entire time, and now you’re pulling at my dick?”

Dan shrugged. “That’s messing with people’s emotions, Sam. You’re better than that.”

“Are we going to have a problem?” He snapped. “Listen closely, Daniel Wagner.”

The raven-haired boy could feel his fear rising, but he didn’t dare move or show any sign of weakness. Despite Sam’s control, he couldn’t have someone challenging him in such a public place.

“I’m like a kid in a candy store,” Sam scoffed. “I can do whatever I want to anyone I want, and no one says shit to me.”

Danny swallowed, looking at how happy Damien looked with the envelope in his hand.

“Are you in, or are you out?” Jake asked.

“I’m in.”

18 notes · View notes

violet-knox · 4 years

Note

Hey, can you do Adult Severus/Muggle. Reader finds Severus and takes it upon herself to look after him? Can it be fluff and cute af, please?

Long Forgotten

Pairing: Severus Snape x Muggle!Reader

Summary: You’re infatuated by the man in black who hangs around the school where you work until one day you approach him out of concern.

Word Count: 6112

A/N: So I got a bit carried away with this one. The fluff comes a bit after and in this story they don’t actually end up together (yet), it’s rather slow paced, but it was a lot of fun to write. I may end up doing part two for this one when I get the chance. I feel so unsatisfied 😅

Your stomach growled and you knew it was time to pack up the essays you’d been grading and head home for dinner. But once again, the shadow hidden behind the tree at the edge of the playground wiped any thought you had of leaving the classroom. The same man, always dressed in black, always dragging his feet like he held the world on his shoulders, had been lurking around the edge of the school grounds every day for a little over a week now and the sight of him always sent shivers up your spine. You were wary of his presence, always caught in the corner of your eye as you stayed behind in your classroom despite better judgment.

Common sense told you to speak to someone of the man’s daily visits to the school, yet you were reluctant to say a word to anyone. He would always show up well after the students had left and he’d never wander anywhere past that tree. He didn’t seem like a threat to you, his sadness instead reflected by the way he’d hang his head low, one hand on the tree trunk, sinking down to the ground as he continued to stare at it. You knew he had a story, a reason for being there but you’d never once thought of approaching him to ask, fear striking you back. You were conflicted and so you stayed the observer, watching him from afar, his movements never changing, his intentions never present. He was a mystery that you weren’t sure you’d ever solve.

“You’re still here?” Looking up from the desk you saw Ms. Simmons at the door of her classroom with a smile as large as her optimism. She was such a sweet woman, under appreciated by her students and misunderstood by the staff. But you were happy to have been assigned to her, helping and learning from her. Most of your mates from college complained about the teacher they got placed with but not you. Ms. Simmons was the one good thing about the miserable placement you got: the worst ranking elementary school in Cokeworth. Many saw it as a joke of a school, yet children of varying households would attend it nonetheless.

“I’m just finishing up the essay’s they handed in today,” you informed her. She walked over to her desk where you were sitting and pulled open one of the drawers and reached inside. You watched her pull out an empty flask and stuff it into her giant purse, shattering your perfect, innocent view of her.

“I’ve worked here since the day this school has opened and never have I seen someone as dedicated to work with these students as you are.” She spoke with such glee in her voice but when you looked back into her eyes, all that optimism you’d previously admired sizzled away, replaced with the burden of working as an underpaid teacher in such a horrible school district. Your eyes drifted away from her face, unable to take the sight, your mind rejecting what you saw as your probable future. Instead you found your thoughts returning back to the man in black as you watched him hunching over the tree with one hand leaning on it’s trunk as he slowly kneeled down to the ground, his head hung as low as ever.

“I’m just delighted to have the opportunity to work with you.” Your words flowed like you were reading off a script, your mind completely detached from where you were, wondering why that man was so obsessed over that tree.

“Well don’t stay too long.” You snapped back in time to watch Ms. Simmons walk around you and back to the door. “Have a nice night!”

“You too,” you said, trying to reciprocate her fake kindness as she disappeared down the narrow school halls. Sitting back in the chair, you tossed the pen in your hand back on the desk in defeat. This job wasn’t worth it and you’d been lying to yourself, believing it was anything but a waste of time. You’d only gone into education thinking you could make a difference in the sad meagre town you grew up in when in reality, any impact you could possibly have wouldn’t make a shred of difference to anyone.

With a loud groan, you closed your eyes and threw your head back in frustration. What would you do if you quit this job? Four years of college down the drain and even if you tried to move to a different city, London perhaps, you knew your credentials wouldn't hold up amongst the competition that awaited you there. You had no choice; you had to stay in Cokeworth and make what you could of the path you chose, else you’d have to back pedal completely and find a way to head down a different road.

Looking back towards the window, you looked for the man in black, trying to get your mind off your own life because pondering over the mystery of someone else's was better than dealing with your reality. The man’s figure was nowhere to be found when you looked at the tree. Squinting you thought perhaps his shadow had merged with the trunk he’d been sulking over for so long, but you still couldn’t catch a glimpse of him. He couldn’t have left. You knew that because you’d always refused to leave before he did. He was the reason you’d eat dinner so late, why you’d been living off of four to five hours of sleep every night. Curiosity taking over any sense of logic, you stood and walked towards the window, realizing you couldn’t see him from the desk because he’d somehow found himself lying on the ground. Taking a step forward, you placed a hand on the window, your brows furrowed as you tried to make out any sense of movement, any indication the man was alright but you were given no such luck.

You stood there a moment, praying he would move but as the seconds slowed, your heart beat faster and your concern for the stranger grew. Against better judgment, you turned on your heel and ran out the door. The sounds of your quick footsteps echoed down the empty hall as you pushed open the door leading to the playground and ran towards the man, slowing as you approached him. He was in the exact same position you’d seen him from the classroom window but as you drew nearer, you couldn’t fathom why he was unconscious on the ground.

“Hello?” You tried to speak to the man. No response. He looked young, perhaps even a bit younger than you and you couldn’t spot any wounds on him though the black trousers and jacket surely didn’t help with visibility. “Are you alright?”

No response. Stepping a little closer, you kneeled in front of him, your hand hovering to reach for his shoulder but you hesitated. This was a bad idea. You didn’t know the man and for all you knew, he could have been stalking you this entire time, peering into the classroom window which was much more exposed than you thought it was from here.

“Can you hear me?” You tried again, your hand pressed against the thin material of his jacket, gently squeezing his shoulder. No response. You swallowed hard, your chest heaving for air. What were you to do? You’d never trained for something like this, never been told what to do in a situation like this. Desperately, you peered over the man and his surroundings, no open wounds found but his chest still rose and fell with every breath he took; he was alive at least.

Standing, you looked at the tree the man had spent so long near and saw an engraving, one that was clearly done a while ago, the wood browning as the tree healed from its carving. Judging by the height and sloppy handwriting, you assumed the two names that were spelt were written by children: Lily and Sev. Sev, what an odd name, or perhaps it was a nickname of some sort. Strange how you’d never noticed it before, but there was no time for your curiosity right now. Sprinting back to the school, you made your way to the office, panting as you picked up the phone and called the police, informing them of what had happened.

With the assurance that an ambulance would be by within a few minutes, you put down the phone and made your way back to the man, immediately peering at his chest to see that he was still breathing. The women on the phone had asked if the man had a pulse but you were unsure. You’d seen people check a person’s pulse in movies, but you’d never done it yourself. You felt absolutely useless talking to that woman, unable to tell her a single thing, not even a proper description of the man.

Peering at the man’s face through the hair that showered him, your eyes ventured down to his neck, his hair long enough to cover any skin that wasn’t cloaked by the black button up he was wearing under his jacket. Cautiously, you moved a hand to ever so gently brush away his hair and expose his face and neck. It felt as though you were defusing a bomb, fingers so gentle, gliding against his skin which seemed colder than it should have been. Pulling your hand away, you looked back down at him, realizing how awkward a move you’d just made. He wasn’t anyone you knew, yet you touched him as though you were waking up to your long-life partner in the morning.

It was odd seeing his face for the first time after recognizing him from afar for so long. He wasn’t anything like you imagined, his features though prominent, grew much softer the longer you looked at him. His eyelashes were long and thick, much like his hair and eyebrows, his lips were thin, his cheeks sharp along with his jaw and his nose was hooked. Looking at him now, you weren’t sure how old he was. You’d initially assumed he was in his early twenties but something about him made you think otherwise. It was as though he’d lived a life long enough to stretch over a century, but you knew that wasn’t the case, it couldn’t have been.

Shaking your head, you tried to get your mind off of filling in all those questions you’d wondered about him this past week and reached over, pressing two fingers on his neck, searching for a pule, unsure of what you were truly looking for. No resp-

You gasped at the sudden grasp on your wrist, the charcoal eyes of the man staring back at you as his nails dug into your skin. Your heart nearly stopped as you looked at his stern expression, his body too weak to project the alarm on his face.

“Are-Are you alright?” You croaked, your throat suddenly dry as you tried to pull your hand away from him. His grasp was too strong despite his obvious need for medical attention. Where was that damn ambulance!?

“Who are you?” His voice was raspy, like there was a frog in his throat but his tone confirmed he was on the defensive, unable to let go of your hand in fear of your intentions. His words at least answered one question floating around in your mind; he hadn’t come around the school this past week to stalk you, he was likely here for personal reasons, something to do with that tree and the engraving it carried.

“I-I work at the school, I-I'm a student teacher,” you said, reluctant to give your name, still completely clueless as to who he was. The man looked down at the school you gestured to, his expression suddenly changing as if he had some sort of awkward realization. “I think you’re hurt.”

You could still not identify the source of his wound, but people don’t just collapse, they don’t struggle to speak or move if there isn’t something wrong with them. You wanted to help the man despite his less than friendly attitude towards you, but you still had no idea what to do.

“I’m fine,” he replied, finally letting go of your hand only to press his palms into the ground and try to stand up. Instinctively, you grabbed his arm, trying to keep him from falling as his legs shook failing at supporting him. He was skinny, his limbs looking like twigs the kids would play with, pretending they were swords. How he’d managed to sit up was beyond you.

“I don’t think you should be moving.” You protested as he tried pushing you away, too weak to counter your own strength. “I called for an ambulance. They should be here any minute.”

“No,” he said all too quickly. “I don’t need them.”

His sudden reaction to the mention of an ambulance was rather alarming. Who would turn down help when they so obviously needed it? Even if it seemed that the ambulance would never arrive, at least he could have found comfort in knowing help was on its way.

“But-”

“Leave.” His tone turned cold as he summoned every fibre of strength left in his body to push you away. “I don’t need you either.”

You looked at him, stunned by his attitude. Sure, you were a stranger, but in his position, you wouldn’t have questioned taking any sort of help from anyone. His body trembled under your touch as he tried to get away from you, like if he’d stayed here any longer, all his secrets would be spilled, exposing themselves to you. You let go of him as he got to his feet, his body immediately seeking aid, throwing itself onto the tree to keep himself upright. You heard a low groan escape his lips as his entire upper body placed its dependence on the tree he’d been obsessed with this past week.

“I can’t just leave you here,” you said, your hands grasping him to ease the pressure off his frail legs. He seemed to finally accept your aid at first until you felt him regain some of his balance enough to push you away once again.

“I told you-”

“I’m not leaving!” you exclaimed in protest, your grip on him returning stronger than before. Clear shock was written all over his face as he looked at you blankly, wide eyed. You’d surprised yourself with your own assertive demeanour and clearly it had the same effect on him. You were inclined to give credit to your position as a teacher for your need to help the man, but it was more than that. He was a book you wanted to read, one filled with sadness and loneliness. You could see in his eyes the abandonment he’d been through, something you were all too familiar with. He wasn’t used to depending on anyone, thus the resistance he showed you now, your own determination countering it as you insisted on providing him aid, any sort of aid, no matter how little. “Let me at least help get you inside”.

You gestured to the school, your grip on his arm loosening when he finally stopped resisting you. You looked at him and you felt time stop, something new appearing in the depths of the darkness in his eyes. Hope was a powerful feeling, one that showed up in many forms. You’d felt it the day you met Ms. Simmons and now, you could see it emulated in the eyes of the man in black.

“No. Not here.” Whatever spell grasped you to his mind was broken when he looked back towards the school and as he spoke, you could sense a drastic change in his tone. He was much more relaxed, much warmer towards you, a sense of trust growing between you for reasons you couldn’t understand. “I-I need to go home.”

His lack of energy emulated itself in his voice. He seemed to have accepted the situation he was in, yet still seemed reluctant to accept proper help. There was only so much you could do for him, a hospital being the best place for him to be not his home.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” you protested his request, feeling rather nervous about his odd behaviour. It was human to accept help when offered so why was he so adamant on rejecting it?

“Please, if you want to help me, leave me be.” He sounded desperate, as if it was imperative for you to leave him to his own demise, like he’d die if you dare give him any aid. “I cannot go to a hospital. They cannot help me there.”

“Why?” His words told you one thing while his tone spoke the opposite. He’d been claiming he didn’t need you, that he didn’t need anyone’s help yet you sensed something entirely different from the way he spoke, the way he eased into your touch when he began to trust you.

“That is beyond your concern, now please let me go,” he said, his body making no motion to push you away either out of protest for his words or he was simply too weak to do as he wished. You couldn’t tell. His voice was still so raspy, even more so than before now that he’d started to let go of that defensive behaviour he’d taken with you.

“If you insist on going home, then at least let me drive you. My car is just over there.” You pointed towards the parking lot to the side of the school, not too far from where you stood. The man looked over to where you pointed and took a moment before hesitantly nodding in agreement to your suggestion. Slowly, you helped him walk down the hill to cross the school park, making your way to your car. You opened the passenger side door first and helped him in before jogging to the other side of the car.

“Your seatbelt,” you reminded the man, pointing to it as you fastened your own. Surely if he had enough energy to push you away, he would have enough energy to clip in a seatbelt. The man looked at you with that blank expression again before he rolled his eyes and slowly reached for the seatbelt. Funny how the man who seemed to be on the brink of death not moments ago continued to elude any sort of aid, even if it was from something as simple as a seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

“Spinner’s End,” he mumbled, the click of his seatbelt your queue to turn on the engine and leave the parking lot. You kept your eyes on the road but could feel the man’s black eyes on you, like he was studying you as you’d studied him over the past week. Fate must have a twisted sense of humour if this was where you were meant to be, driving an injured stranger to his home after pondering over the mystery that surrounded him the past few days.

“You know where Spinner’s End is?” The man asked, clearly surprised you hadn’t asked for directions.

“I used to live in the neighbourhood when I was growing up,” you explained, knowing most people in this town would rather pretend like the area around Spinner’s End didn’t exist before acknowledging there were actual people leaving there. It was reputations like that that made you adamant on changing the town, on trying to impact its youth. But of course, it was reputations like that of Spinner’s End that would live past the lifetime of the city itself.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said, his voice sounding a little weaker but at least he seemed to be relaxing in the car instead of fighting to get away from you under that tree.

“You say that as if you know every single person on Spinner’s End,” you said, smiling at his claim, trying to lighten the mood a bit after everything that had happened. For a short moment you felt like you were driving with a friend, someone you’d known for years but the awkward silence thickening the air broke that illusion all too quickly. You looked over towards the man and saw that blank expression on his face again, like his mind had wandered somewhere else as he stared at you. “I-umm, I moved away when I was old enough, went to school in London and came back to teach here.”

No response. The silence was quite deafening, but the awkwardness had begun to fade when he took his eyes off you, choosing to stare out the window instead, leaning his head back on the headrest. The feeling of friendly company returned as your grip on the steering wheel loosened. You didn’t mind the silence, for some reason, it felt soothing with him sitting beside you and you didn’t even know the man’s name.

“You chose to work here?” His delayed reaction took you a bit by surprise, but you found it rather warming. There was something about him, something about your dynamic with him you couldn’t quite get your finger on. All you knew was that you needed to find out more. You needed to find out more about him and why you felt such a connection to him.

“I wanted to make a difference,” you shrugged in response, feeling as though your story wasn’t interesting enough to go into. You arrived at his home a few minutes later, spending the rest of the car ride accompanied by the man in black and the settling silence that surrounds you. Turning off the engine, you undid your seatbelt, hearing the sound of his own coming undone. Quickly opening the door, you ran over to help him out of the car, the man already stepping out, trying to get to the door on his own but his body was still so weak, still so fragile.

“Do you need-”

“No-” He’d rejected your help before you could even offer it, trying and failing to get to his porch by himself. Neither of you said a word as you helped him up to his door, carefully letting him go, watching as he reached inside his pocket to fish out his keys.

“I-I can take it from here,” he said as he went to unlock his door. You stood there like a rejected puppy wanting to come home but the man had barely opened the door enough for him to slip through, leaving you on the other side of the door.

“My-my name is (Y/N), I-I realized I never introduced myself,” you said quickly before he could close the door on you. You didn’t want to leave him, whether it was because of the infinite amount of questions floating around in your head or simply to make sure he would survive the night you didn’t care. All you knew was that you couldn’t leave him, this wasn’t the end of your interaction with him. He wasn’t going to close the door never to be seen by you again.

“I- umm-” The man had frozen when you spoke, the door neither open nor closed and for a second you thought perhaps he’d obliged to you offering your company. “Thank you for your help.”

His words rung in your ears, his tone stuck in your mind as you watched his cloaked self disappear behind the door. He was gone, but your worry for him remained. You heard the sound of the lock clicking into place, followed by a loud thump. You stepped forward, placing one hand on the door, the other balled into a fist, your knuckles pressed against the etched wood, ready to request entrance. But it was your heart that pounded instead, begging him to open the door, to let you know he would be okay.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were tired of being pushed away and you were afraid of what might happen if he put any more effort into rejecting your help. Afraid you may do more harm than good, you slowly took a step back, trying your best to let go of that compulsive need to care for others until you found yourself back in your car.

Looking back at the house, you examined each window, trying to find any sign of life, anything to let you know he hadn’t dropped dead the second he locked the door. The house looked back at you offering you nothing but more questions. The place looked like it was uninhabited for years. Like the owners had decided one day the house wasn’t worth caring for, that it was a waste of space and that abandonment was the only solution.

Against instinct, you put your keys in the ignition and turned on the car engine. A small sigh escaped your lips as you put the car into first gear, slowly pressing down on the accelerator to drive away. Your eyes shifted between the road and your rear-view mirror, your mind still hoping the house would come alive but you were given no such luck.

Sleep didn’t find you that night. Your mind instead continued to replay the events of that evening over and over again. The more you thought about it, the worse you felt about leaving him there. More than once you contemplated driving back over there if not to simply observe him from afar like you had this past week at the school.

The sun finally rose, and you immediately jumped up to shower and make yourself a cup of coffee. You made your way to the only supermarket you knew would be open this early in the morning and went shopping for a few items before hurrying back to your car and making your way to the man in black on Spinner’s End. You once again found yourself frozen in place, staring at the forgotten house, waiting for it to come alive. Nothing had changed from last night, not one single movement was found through the windows that remained shut. The house was locking what it held away from the rest of the world, never to be seen by anyone or anything.

Despite its uninviting vitality, you still pushed open your car door, locking it as you gripped the paper bag in your hand tightly. Your heartbeat grew heavier with every step you took towards the house until you felt it stop the second you found yourself in front of the door. Once again, your knuckles were pressed against the wood, waiting for your queue to rap. Your heart settled in your chest, quiet in anticipation as it approved your request and let you knock on the door four times. Knock, knock, knock, knock.

No response. You could feel the protest in your chest, the ache from the silence of the morning but you made no motion to walk away. Instead, you tried again: knock, knock, knock, knock.

Was it you? Had he seen you from the window, identified your car and decided you weren’t worth opening the door for? Or had you made the grave mistake of leaving him to his injuries last night? You were no longer concerned with knowing the man, of having your questions answered, you needed to know he was alright, that you hadn’t killed a man by fulfilling his request of being left alone.

Knock, knock, knock-

The door opened and your mind drew blank. Staring back were the same black eyes you’d spent all night thinking about, his expression blank once more, his hair the same stringy black streaks, his cloak removed to show his lanky body.

“It’s (Y/N). From-from last night,” you croaked out, your throat suddenly dry. His face softened when you spoke, the door opening just a little wider. “I just wanted to see how you were doing and give you this.”’

You showed him the bag in your hand, but his eyes kept lingering on yours. He stared at you, into your soul, reading your empty mind, flipping through your emotions like a book, or at least, that’s how it felt. His stare wasn’t one you’d ever seen before. He looked at you like you were a puzzle to be solved, a mystery to be discovered. Like he was seeking for something he could never really find. Your thoughts were interrupted by his gaze shifting down to your hands, his face giving away nothing but more questions.

“It’s not much. A few home remedies, some tea and a first aid kit,” you tried to answer whatever questions were lingering in his own mind, hoping he would return the favour as you took a closer look at the man. He looked perfectly healthy, not a single sign of injury, like yesterday never happened. The way he looked at you now like he was shuffling the puzzle pieces in frustration, unable to figure you out. You began to wonder if you’d indeed hallucinated the entire evening and we're intruding on the home of a complete stranger.

“Why would you give me this?” he asked.

“You were hurt yesterday, or so it seemed. And I-I just thought since you didn’t want to go to the hospital you could use something to help you recover.” You tried to explain, to justify your presence not just to him but to yourself. Of course, you hadn’t spoken the whole truth, leaving out the fact you felt drawn to him, that you wanted to figure him out, listen to his story. But it didn’t matter as it seemed your words had eased him enough to open the door for you.

“Would-would you like some tea?” His offer took you back. He’d been so cold yesterday, his immediate reaction when he first met you to push you away and now here he was, inviting you in for tea. It was now your turn to stare into his eyes, frozen in the moment. Loneliness and despair stared back at you. You felt bad for the man as he started to open himself to you, his expression finally displaying a hint of his emotions. With a smile, you took a step inside, watching as he closed the door behind you, gesturing for you to take a seat on the old and forgotten couch.

“Why are you so insistent on helping me?” he asked as you placed the bag on the table in front of you, the man taking a seat on the armchair adjacent to you. He was trying to solve you again, his eyes narrow, his hands folded in front of his chin.

“I-I don’t know really. I’ve seen you around the school before and when I saw you weren’t moving yesterday, I thought something horrible had happened.” you said, finding his glare rather intimidating. You sank back in your seat, your back hitting the couch as you placed your hands on your lap. “I just wanted to help.”

He looked away from you, his hands falling onto the armrests. His defences had fallen once more, your words somehow assuring him of your intentions. He believed you and you weren’t sure why.

“Thank you,” he said, speaking to his lap more so than to you. His reluctance to accept help was rather astounding. He seemed hurt somehow, as if showing his gratitude to you would be to show weakness, to admit he was human. “I haven’t… It’s-it’s been a while since anyone has shown me kindness.”

You looked at him in surprise. Yes, the people didn’t take kindly to those living in this part of the town but surely he didn’t mean what he said. “That’s an awfully sad thing to say.”

You spoke softly, feeling rather nervous, not wanting to offend the man in any way. He however didn’t seem to care much for your thoughts, his eyes meeting yours once again.

“Perhaps,” he said simply, letting the silence settle in as you both sat there, wondering about each other.

“Have you lived here long?” You’d shifted through your many questions, trying to pick the best to ask without sounding horribly eerie.

“I grew up here,” he said, indulging you in the small talk you’d requested, but his answer only kept you guessing, feeling rather excited as you began to wonder if the name ‘Sev’ from the tree back at the school belonged to him or someone he knew. “And like you, I’ve recently returned.”

“And you chose to return here?” You giggled, referencing the comment he’d made last night about your job choice. The man smiled in response, a singular chuckle puffing out his chest. Your own grin grew, his elated expression contagious. He looked rather sweet in this moment, the harshness of his defensive nature gone, the sadness in his eyes replaced with temporary joy, his smile softening his features. You felt like you could speak with him all day in that moment, but it was gone all too soon, his smile fading along with your own as his anguish returned.

“I needed a reminder.” he said, his eyes fixed on his lap, his hair falling in front of his face, the curtains closing on that brief moment of bliss you’d found with him.

“A reminder?” You asked hesitantly. Silence fell once again and you felt the air thicken, the room around you somehow darker than before. The man slowed his breathing as he stared blankly into his lap, keeping his face hidden behind his curtain of hair.

“I’ve recently lost someone.” His voice was as low as his posture, his shoulders hunched defensively as if he wasn’t worthy of receiving comfort for his loss.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said simply, knowing nothing you could say would help ease his mind from whatever pain he felt. You sat there a while, waiting patiently for him to collect himself, the curtains opening not long after, a look of wonder and empathy meeting you. You happily eased into a different subject, speaking of your time as a teacher, hoping he would bring up the story behind the engraving on the tree but it was clear whatever memory attached to that story was too painful to hash up right now. You still indulged him in some small talk until you realized it was time to head to work.

“I’m sorry. I invited you in for tea and neglected to make you any,” the man looked guilty, liked he’d offended you in some way but you simply smiled, preferring the conversation you’d had over awkwardly sipping tea anyways.

“That’s alright,” you chuckled. Turning around, you faced him as he opened the front door. Taking a small step forward, you felt the heat rise to your face as you tried to summon up any courage you had left. “Perhaps you could make it up to me this evening?”

You could hear nothing but your heart beating, waiting for his answer, fear that you overstepped bubbling up in your mind. But you waited patiently and watched that blank expression of his soften, hope staring back at you as he nodded in agreement. Your smile returned to your face as you told him you’d be by tonight after work. As you stepped out of the house, the man spoke, turning your attention back to him one last time.

“My name is Severus.” Sev. “Severus Snape.”

Your mind was wiped clean, replaced with an abundance of new questions, Who’s Lily? Was she the one he’d lost? Is she the reason he’d hung around your school this past week? Is she the reason you’d met this mysterious man?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Severus Snape.” Your smile stretched from ear to ear and you felt a spark of joy ignite in your chest, one you thought would never return since you’d come back to Cokeworth. Extending out your hand to him, you felt his thin, ice cold fingertips graze your palm as he captured it. You walked back to your car and Severus Snape, the man in black, kept his door open as he watched you buckle in. He was too far to read his face yet not far enough to know how he felt; serene, rejuvenated, content. For the first time in a long time, you were happy to go to work, looking forward to the day as you were sure he must have felt. For the first time in a long time, you’d pushed aside your worries and focussed on the present. You’d found yourself again and all it took was a simple conversation with a mysterious stranger.

@raven-hopeflyte @sleepysnapesnake @wanderingtrails @darkthought15 @bush-viper-cutie @fluffymadamina @dracos-mudblood @mitchiesdungeon @severuslovebot

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“Survivors” Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader

GIF CREDIT: http://gph.is/2h2hmM4

Request from anonymous: hi! i really love your writing so i was hoping i could make a request. could you do a daryl x reader where he meets reader at hill top when jesus takes them there for the first time. she’s like the person who handles a lot of their defense and she’s really tough and badass and she doesn’t really trust any of them yet. only if you want of course! 💘💘

Word Count: 2230

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Mustang Kids” by Zella Day

Note: I did end up making this GN. I am going to try and get more GN fics up, but I do tend to write with a more female centered voice and always have, but I am workin on it! Anyone have some tips on writing for Gender Neutral?

------

Daryl didn’t like Jesus, he didn’t trust Jesus, and he definitely didn’t want to meet any more of his people.

However, they needed food and Rick decided to accept the invitation. Daryl kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to play nice with the new people and that this was just going to be a transaction, nothing more.

After rescuing some of Jesus’ people on the road, the group headed into what Jesus had introduced as The Hilltop. Daryl wasn’t thrilled when their people suddenly began pointing spears at them. As soon as Jesus defused the situation, they walked through the tall gates of Hilltop and were surprised to see a semi-thriving community.

The Hilltop was vastly different from Alexandria. It looked as if the community lived more in the past rather than the present. Where Alexandria had solar panels, running water, and modern-day houses, The Hilltop focused on trailers, a blacksmith, and a large Colonial house that stood proudly at the center.

“That's called Barrington House,” Jesus explained, “The family that owned it gave it to the state in the '30s. The state turned it into a living history museum. Every elementary school for 50 miles used to come here for field trips. The place was running a long time before the modern world built up around it. I think people came here because they figured it'd keep running after the modern world broke down. Those windows up there let us see for miles in every direction. It's perfect for security. Come on. I'll show you inside.” Jesus gestured the group forward and they followed, keeping their hands on their weapons.

As everyone moved into the house, Jesus explained more about how they used the former museum and how they planned to grow Hilltop even further to account for the future. As he finished explaining the living situations, a new voice cut into the conversation.

“Jesus. You're back. With guests,” an older man said as he stepped out of a room on the main level. Jesus gave Rick a look that said ‘here we go’ and then turned to pleasantly greet the newcomer.

“Everyone, this is Gregory. He keeps the trains running on time around here,” he introduced. Rick decided to take the high road and go and introduce himself when Gregory cut him off and offered the group a place to wash up. Michonne was wary at first, but eventually, some people took him up on the offer, but not before Rick took Maggie aside and told her that she should be the one to speak to Gregory first.

As Maggie began negotiations with Gregory, Abraham and Daryl stood watch by the front door. While Jesus had been telling the truth about who the man was they saved, the community’s doctor, and that Hilltop was an actual place and not a trap, Daryl had relaxed slightly. However, he was still not dropping his guard completely.

When the front door to Barrington opened, Abraham stood up straighter. As the door shut, Daryl finally got a look at you. Just by the way you stood and examined Abraham, Daryl knew you were someone who held authority.

“You must be the crew that Jesus brought in,” you said, a slight twang to your voice. It wasn’t as thick as most Southerners, but Daryl could tell that you had picked up on the accent from just living down South.

“Abraham Ford,” Abraham introduced. You shook the hand he offered, returning his strong grip with one of your own.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said, “I’m the one behind all the defenses here.”

“I do like someone who can be strategic,” Abraham said with a nod of approval. He then nodded towards Daryl and you turned to greet him, however, you did not offer your hand as his own stayed by his side. “That’s Daryl.” Dixon nodded to you and you returned the gesture with a small smile.

It wasn’t much but it told Daryl that you were attempting to show that you weren’t there to fill them with lead, considering the Glock on your hip. In fact, that was the first gun he had seen since walking through the gates.

“Speaking of Jesus,” you continued, “know where I can find him?”

“He’s with your boss,” Daryl commented.

“Gregory?” you asked and he nodded. You sighed with a roll of your eyes.

“Not a fan?” Abraham asked, easily reading your body language.

“Gregory is an imbecile who thinks he can run this place better than Jesus and I,” you said, lowering the volume of your voice. “Word of advice, listen to Jesus before you listen to our ‘boss’. I’ll talk to him later.” With another nod, you turned on your heel and walked right back out into the sunlit community. Abraham then grinned at Daryl.

“Okay, them, I like.”

------------

After the meeting with Gregory, Maggie and Rick looked at Daryl with a look that said “this isn’t going to be easy”.

Daryl had figured as much. While Gregory thought about a few things, Jesus invited the group to take a turn about Hilltop. After vaguely learning about everything that was going on around the area, Daryl didn’t want to think about having to fight again. He had done enough fighting since Atlanta. However, he also knew that Alexandria was a good thing for them and Rick was willing to do whatever it took to keep their new home.

Daryl walked with Michonne, Rick, Jesus, and Maggie, taking in everything that was going on. He could see Sasha and Abraham ahead of them, their tactical eyes scanning everyone and everything.

“If ya ain’t supposed to have guns,” Daryl said, pulling Jesus from his conversation with Maggie, “why does (Y/N) have one?”

“You met (Y/N)?” Jesus asked.

“They were lookin’ for ya,” Daryl explained.

“Ah, well they’re head honcho around here,” Jesus explained. “They’re former military and they know how to keep us safe. Without (Y/N), this place would have been overrun a long time ago.”

“If you have them,” Maggie said, “why do you still have an issue with whoever is messin’ with you?”

“Our enemies’ guns are bigger,” Jesus said with a sigh. “(Y/N) keeps theirs hidden whenever they come around and only ever takes a shot when it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Secret weapon,” Michonne said with an impressed look.

“More like secret Nuclear Bomb,” Jesus said. Daryl didn’t like the thought of an unknown enemy, nor did he like that The Hilltop was being run by an apparent moron. Gregory reminded him of the Governor but without the intelligence and military-grade weapons.

The mystery threat became very real when a sudden commotion drew Daryl and the others to the main area.

“Ethan, what happened to everybody else? Where's Tim and Marsha?” Gregory was asking a man that had just returned to Hilltop.

“They're dead,” Ethan said.

“Negan?

“Yeah.”

“We had a deal!” Gregory exclaimed. Rick looked at Daryl with wariness, causing the latter to shrug.

“He said it wasn't enough. Was the drop light?” Ethan asked.

“No, of course not,” Gregory said, but Daryl could sense a lie.

“They still have Craig. They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us, if I deliver a message to you.”

“So, tell me,” Gregory urged. Instead of answering the man approached his leader and frowned.

“I'm sorry,” he said before sheathing a blade into Gregory’s abdomen. Chaos ensued after that.

Across the yard, you watched on with an exasperated expression on your bored face. This wasn’t the first time inner fighting had happened and you were honestly tired of it.

You watched as the woman you heard the leader call Michonne, take one of your own to the ground in a single move. Daryl had taken down another who went for Abraham and in a major shock, the leader, you believed his name was Rick, slit open Ethan’s throat.

It wasn’t until the ground was covered in blood that Jesus finally noticed you. “A little help would have been nice,” Jesus said. You pushed off the post you were leaning against and approached the body on the ground.

“Cowboy here had it handled,” you said and then pulled your knife and stabbed Ethan in the head. “Besides, he was an asshole anyway.” Jesus sighed and then helped get Gregory to Dr. Carson. Glancing around at the new people, you weren’t sure what they were thinking.

However, you knew right then that even after knowing Negan, Rick was the scariest man you had ever met. “If it’s any consolation,” you said approaching the bloodied leader, “if it came down to a fight between you and the big bad, my money’s on you.”

---------

Later that night after Jesus had finally explained who Negan was and what the Saviors had done to The Hilltop and other communities, Daryl needed some air.

He walked around the community as Rick and Maggie talked with Jesus, trying to make a plan who would then talk to Gregory. Essentially, Alexandria was willing to take out the Saviors if The Hilltop was willing to share its resources. Daryl was also willing to bet that Rick would throw in a few extra guns if it meant the group got both food and allies.

As Daryl approached the main gate, he saw you standing on the watch post, a pair of binoculars in your hand. He hesitated for a moment before tightening his bow on his back and climbing the ladder.

It wasn’t just that you were a warrior in the new world, but Daryl felt drawn to you because he could sense that you were like him. Someone who had seen horrors before and after the end of the world. It was rare when someone came out harder on the other side rather than breaking down. He respected that greatly.

“Lookin’ for anything in particular?” Daryl asked. Dropping your binoculars you shook your head.

“Never really am,” you explained. “The Dead tend to keep their distance this far from larger plains and forests. As for people, well, they don’t come around since the Saviors put their boots on our necks.”

“Jesus explained who they were,” Daryl said, leaning on the makeshift railing.

“Real sons of bitches,” you said.

“You gonna lead any of yer people in the raid?” Daryl asked.

“I ain’t goin’,” you said, taking a swig from a flask on your hip. You offered it to the archer who shook his head. In the dark of the night, Daryl looked dangerous. You could tell by the way he watched the others around your home that he was a hunter. He may have just hunted animals back before the Turn, but now he had other targets in mind.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I prefer to be on the defense rather than the offense,” you explained. “Especially when it comes to these assholes.”

“Sometimes you gotta do both,” Daryl said. You laughed under your breath. Daryl reminded you of your old Sergeant. He was always telling you similar things when you were in basic and then more so as you moved up the ranks.

“You seem like a smart man, Daryl,” you said and he raised an eyebrow. “Try not to die, will ya? We need people like you.”

“Ya just met me,” Daryl said. “How can ya tell what kind of person I am?” he asked. Your brow furrowed as you thought about his question.

“I’ve known people like you,” you explained. “Survivors.” Daryl nodded and thought about all the survivors he had met and how they were now dead. Shane, Dale, Lori, Beth… he didn’t think it was enough to just survive anymore. Which is why he was willing to go along with the raid, kill as many Saviors as possible if it meant that his family could be safe.

“What about you?” Daryl asked.

“What about me?” you asked, staring out over the dark landscape.

“You a survivor?”

“So far,” you agreed. “I managed to tough it out this long without getting my throat torn out so I suppose that’s a start.”

“Have ya always been here?” Daryl asked, gesturing to Hilltop.

“No, I stumbled across Jesus one day. Needed a place to go, told him I could fight and so he offered me a place to stay for the night. Then, I just never left. Figured someone should be able to keep these people safe and Jesus couldn’t do it alone.”

“Right with his Ninja moves that look like somethin’ from a damn old action movie,” Daryl said with a snort.

“Seen those, have you?”

“Unfortunately,” Daryl sighed.

“He’s a good guy. Knew that the moment I met him.”

“So, yer good at readin’ people, are ya?” Daryl asked and you nodded.

“I am,” you admitted.

“And what’s yer opinion on me?” he asked. You were quiet for a moment and then decided on telling the truth.

“I don’t trust you, any of you. At least, not yet,” you admitted. Daryl seemed happy with that answer and then gestured to the flask. You handed it to him and he took a pull.

“Good,” he said, staring off into the night.

“Though,” you said, “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Don’t count on it,” he said with a scoff. Smiling at him, you took another pull of your drink, relishing in the subtle burn.

“I never do.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @yes-sir-hotchner

#twd imagines #the walking dead #Daryl Dixon x reader #twd #walkerwords #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine

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strawberriestyles · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Here is a post containing links to a bunch of petitions. Please take some time out of your day to do some good. Also let me know what you think about the story if you have a chance. ;)

Bea was watching Harry trace the edges of the picture frame in his hand, his eyes unfocused, his jaw set. She leaned against the open door and sighed.

“So,” she said, “we gonna do this or what?”

“Or what.”

“Harry—full offense—you look like a toddler came at you with a pair of safety scissors.”

He set the photo off to the side. “Well, I don’ like my hair short.”

“Trust me, anything would be better than how it currently looks.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes, glanced out the window, where the sun was at its peak, and then finally gave in. “Fine. How d’yeh know what yeh’re doin’?”

“It’s hard to find stylists that can work with black hair. Outside of the city, at least. I’ve been cutting my mom’s since I was eight.”

Somehow, that dulled Harry’s nerves. He nodded. Bea took that as her cue to come and help him up. She stepped through the doorway and squatted down to slip an arm around his waist, supporting him as he attempted to shift onto his feet. They shuffled out into the dining room together and Bea sat him down in one of the chairs that she pulled out from the table.

“Let me just grab my shears.”

Harry was bitter as Bea slipped into her bedroom. Melody, he felt, was trying to push him. She had to be. She was coddling him and she’d stolen his job and she thought that he was going to be supportive of her desire to step into a ring. He remembered the bruise that had painted her cheek after her run-in with those cops last winter. He remembered how tender it had been and the way she had teared up whenever anything pressed against it. And he remembered the way her face had looked all swollen when she’d appeared at his first therapy session with Aiden. This was not a life for her. She was strong and confident and tenacious, but she was not a born fighter, and he would not pretend that he was proud of her for volunteering herself as a punching bag.

And now Melody had left him alone with Bea and a pair of scissors that looked sharp as carving knives when she reentered the room.

“We could do it really short, you know. Buzzcut style. Clean,” Bea suggested as she rounded Harry’s chair and set a tote bag of her things down on the table. “I have an electric razor. Or maybe I could—”

“Just as short as it needs to be, okay? Nothin’ fancy, Bea. Seriously.”

Bea thought that was the very first time he’d ever referred to her by name. Progress. She dug a large spray bottle out of her supplies and began soaking Harry’s hair. He stiffened as water collected along his neck and sat up straighter as she began to drag a brush through the locks. Her hand stilled as she approached the left side of his head.

“Does, uh— Can you feel where the bullet—”

“No,” Harry answered before she could finish. “’S fine.” His voice was gruff.

Bea heard him, but she still only skimmed his scalp as she untangled the shorter curls. Water dripped from the ends and darkened the collar of his t-shirt.

Harry watched as Bea traded the hairbrush for a fine-toothed comb, and when she picked up the scissors with her other hand, they seemed to glint in the sunlight that filtered through the living room window, ominous. An even more frightening snip sounded, and inches of Harry’s hair drifted down his shoulder, settling over his chest. He glanced at the loose strands and then lifted a hand to press his fingers over his eyelids.

Bea laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

Harry only grunted. She sheared off the rest of the hair that reached his shoulders and then began to comb sections out from his head, sliding them between her fingers and snipping off the ends. Harry’s muscles looked stiff beneath his shirt.

“What are you and Melody arguing about?” she asked after a few minutes of silence, when his hair was falling to the ground in a wide circle around his chair. He looked better with every cut.

“Nothin’.”

“Oh, come on. I have a pair of scissors in my hand and your hair in the other. Tell me.”

It took a substantial amount of control for him not to jerk himself out of the chair. But he remained still. “She wants me to come to her match.”

“And you won’t?”

A few loose strands of hair stuck to the collar of Harry’s shirt and tickled uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “No, I fuckin’ won’.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s it’s very fair for you to just dismiss her without even checking out—”

“‘M not goin’ to her match,” Harry ground out. “Tonight or ever. ‘M not gonna just stand there and watch her take hits from the sideline."

Bea sighed. She dropped the chunk of hair that she’d been holding and began to comb backward from the front of his head, rougher than necessary, he was sure.

“Look, Harry,” Bea began, “it’s not ideal. You think I’m happy about it? I told her to turn and run as soon as I found out about you.” She paused to collect herself, to brace for impact, then snipped off some damaged ends when Harry didn’t react to her words. “Sorry. But she didn’t, and now here we are. She’s just trying to make things work the same way you were. And she’s damn good, too, by the way.”

Harry’s head was feeling lighter by the second, and he didn’t like that feeling one bit. “Just drop it, please.”

“No, I think that you should go and see her fight, even if it’s just one time—”

“I said, drop it,” he snapped.

Bea glared into the back of his head—he could feel it—and cut more viciously than before. That was even worse than the glaring. His shoulders tightened even further, but it was only another few moments before she tossed her scissors onto the dining table with a loud clatter.

“There, I’m done,” she announced.

“A mirror?” Harry asked. He felt jittery.

“In the tote.”

She stood beside him, her arms crossed, as he pulled the bag toward himself and dug out a dirty mirror. A reflection stared back at him, but he didn’t recognize it.

“Tha’s shorter than yeh had to fuckin’ cut it.”

“Yeah, I took some liberty,” Bea agreed. She sounded smug and he’d never felt so much anger toward a single woman. “But it looks better than it would’ve otherwise, I’m telling you. You would’ve ended up with a bowl cut, Harry. Now, you look handsome.”

It was like she’d defused a bomb. His anger dissipated, but he still stared at himself like he was trying to learn his own features. His hair hadn’t been this short since the fourth grade. The sides were tighter, straight and clean, but the top still held some curl. He felt like a boy, like the boy that his mother had pruned him to be before she’d fallen sick. And he sort of hated it, but there was also something cathartic about it. He lifted a hand to run his fingers through his hair; it scratched at his palm toward the back of his head, and his hand was left empty far too soon, and this was all too uncomfortable.

“So.” Bea slid into one of the other chairs and folded her hands together atop the table. “Is it really true that you don’t remember anything from your coma? Or were you just lying so Melody didn’t know you heard all the shit she talked about you?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and was about to open his mouth when Bea laughed. “I’m just kidding, obviously. She’s in love with you."

Harry swallowed back his unspoken words. “Did yeh know yeh talk too much?”

“I’ve been told.” She pulled on one of her tightly wound curls until it bounced back into place. “And I’m not offended, if that’s what you were trying to do.”

“’S not.”

“Good.”

Harry set the mirror down. He didn’t want to look at his strange reflection anymore. Bea stared at him and he shifted uncomfortably.

“You confuse me.”

“What?”

“Well, Melody loves you, and I can’t tell if you love her, which pisses me off. I thought at one point that you just loved yourself but that’s not true, either—”

“I do love myself—”

“No, you don’t.”

Melody chose that moment of relief to stomp up the stairs, when Harry was considering throwing himself onto the floor to escape Bea.

“Woah.”

Harry and Bea watched as Melody froze in the doorway. She had a single paper bag of groceries that seemed only to be about half full and she clutched it loosely against her hip as she stared, lips parted, at Harry. He wanted a hat. He had never wanted a hat so bad. A fucking sombrero, anything.

“You look…woah.”

“Thanks?”

Melody stumbled into the apartment and shut the door with her foot. She dropped her groceries on the countertop as she moved toward Harry, her eyes glued to his hair. Her hands slipped over the top of his head before he had a chance to prepare himself, and he tipped back with the force of her touch.

“You’re welcome,” Bea said. She gathered up her supplies from the table and retreated to her room. “Would you vacuum up that hair?” she called as she left.

“Yeh like it?” Harry felt her hands fall to the sides of his head, where his hair was shorter and rougher, where his scalp felt unfamiliarly cool. Her fingers burned.

“Yes.”

He grunted. “Well, don’ get used to it. ’S not your—”

“No, I miss the length,” she corrected him. “I do like this. It’s different. But it’s not you.”

“Hmm.” Harry let her run her fingers through his curls once more before she stepped away from him and began putting away the few things she'd bought.

“Uh, Josie’s gonna be here,” she said.

“What?”

“Bea’s coming to watch me and I don’t wanna just leave you alone—”

“I don’ need a babysitter, Melody.”

God, did she hate hearing her full name on his lips. It was like a weapon he wielded. She watched him reach to yank on the ends of his hair before realizing those ends were no longer there.

“I know you don’t, Harry. Just if you have to go to—”

“What about Sean? He—”

“Harry,” she pressed. “He’s my cornerman.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, fuck you too.”

Melody glared at Harry and he narrowed his eyes at her. After a moment, she folded up the empty paper bag and tucked it into the recycling. Then she hurried into her bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Harry was beginning to regret his attitude as he sat alone at the dining room table. But Melody reemerged only a few moments later with a sports bag slung over her shoulder and a beanie pulled low over her forehead. She started toward the door, fury evident on her face, but paused halfway through the kitchen.

“Harry,” she began, swiveling around just enough to see him from the corner of her eye, “I love you. Please be nice to Josie.” He didn’t say anything in response. “Bea, I’m leaving!” she called out. She gave Harry one more meaningful look and then left.

“You know,” Bea said, startling Harry, who was still listening to Melody stomp down the stairs to the door of the building, “if you’re not nice to her, I could always smother you with a pillow while you’re sleeping.”

“Josie? Or Melody?”

Bea propped herself against the doorframe and shrugged. “I meant Melody, but let’s say both.”

***

“Sometimes, I could just—” Melody made a vicious gesture with her hands and then smacked her wrapped knuckles together, hard. “He’s fucking infuriating.”

“Yeah, that’s his default,” agreed Sean.

Melody yelled unintelligibly, because the only other thing she could think to do was hit Sean, and Sean didn’t deserve that. Not without a couple layers of padded protection.

“I sympathize completely,” he said with a quick chuckle. “Let’s see that same anger in the ring, okay?”

She grunted.

“Focus, Melody. Harry’s not here right now, but there’s gonna be a girl ready to slip into your blind spots. Don’t let her. Focus.”

Melody closed her eyes. She pictured Stella Klatt, the boxer she’d be fighting, her thick arms and tough core and quick swings, but her slow balance. Sean slipped Melody’s gloves onto her hands as she planned steps and imagined slipping through Klatt’s defenses. Over the past few months, it had become easier and easier to think her way through an entire match, to predict her opponents’ moves. Sometimes, she even dreamed about a fight.

“Wrap it up fast, take as few hits as possible. Then you can show Harry that you know what you’re doing, okay?”

“I could knock her out with one hit and I don’t think he’d care, Sean.”

“Fine. Then fight to make me proud of you.”

Melody opened her eyes and fought to keep a smile at bay. Sean held her with a level gaze and nodded. “I have a lot of faith in you, Melody. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known. And one of the most determined.”

“Tenacious,” she muttered.

“What?”

Melody shrugged and glanced down at her sneakers. “Nothing.”

Sean made an exasperated sound. “Listen. If Harry doesn’t see how much time and energy you’ve put into boxing, then he’s blind. He doesn’t wanna see it. You never said you were gonna do this for the rest of your life. It doesn’t meant to you what it does to him, but you still have a passion for it, and he needs to accept that.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before striding across the room and opening the door out into the hall, the one which led to the arena and the boxing ring, where Melody could already hear the buzz of spectators.

“In the meantime,” Sean continued, “don’t lose sleep over how he feels about it. Just keep doing what you’re doing, because it’s gotten you this far. Sound fair?”

“Do you hate it?”

“No. And it wouldn’ matter anyway, would it? Doesn’ matter.”

It really didn’t make sense to her, this total apathy Harry seemed to have toward her fighting. How could he be so shrewd when it came to her body and the hardness that had replaced her soft spots, when he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around her boxing? Why was he allowed to judge her for one but not the other? She couldn’t understand how he didn’t see the correlation.

Melody took a long breath and knocked her gloves together again. She gave Sean a tight nod as she passed him and stepped out of the room, beginning the short walk up the hall. “Fair,” she agreed.

Chapter 9

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles series #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #boxer!harry #boxer!au #harry styles ferocity

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shishisblindspot · 5 years

Text

Genma Fic Recs Pt.1

Fallen here to grace

Genma is a very good assassin. He takes a job, takes a life, comes home, repeats. Then one day a stray genin shows up on his doorstep. And then another. Lonely assassin? Not so much. Try resident shinobi den mother.

[In which Genma is a (very manly) mother hen, his apartment attracts strays, and all of his (bastard) friends are quite amused.]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147991

The sound of pulling heaven down

For a ruthless assassin, Genma's got an embarrassing weakness for little kids with big sad eyes. Still, Minato's son shouldn’t have to grow up alone and hated—not when Genma is more than willing to provide a family, crazy and chaotic though it may be.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013143

There's beauty in the breakdown

Of learning curves and the evolution of understanding. They’ve got a ways to go before they're anything like a cohesive family, but sometimes the attempt is worth everything.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339649

It rises with the fall

Minato knows from the start that his newest bodyguard isn’t quite like the rest, but it takes almost twenty years and a resurrection to see just how special Shiranui Genma really is.

(Parallels the other works in the series.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354151

Leave me breathless

Two moments of awakening, almost a dozen years apart, but for Gai at least there's always been one constant between then and now, and his name is Shiranui Genma.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755773

Genma Shiranui: Mother Hen Extraordinaire

Years later, Genma would look back on this first meeting with mixed emotions. But at the moment it happened, he just didn't feel right about leaving a kid outside in the rain... Genma adopts the Konoha 12 in every aspect but legal. Kakashi and Raidou tease him about being a fully fledgedmother hen. The rest of the jounin don't dare mess with him though. The kids are too many and too dangerous to do so.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214298?view_full_work=true

Learn to Be Content

5+ AU Headcanons rambling (sort of) fic: Naruto + AU where Team 7 gets a different sensei?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168068

Pulling My Weight

During their mission to Wave, Sakura realises how behind she is in her training and decides to do something about it. She vows to become a shinobi her Village and her teammates can respect and depend on. But Sakura has always been a paper-ninja, so her first stop for inspiration is the library where she finds unexpected help in the form of one very bored tokujo who quickly goes on to become an integral part of her life. Soon, despite the neglect of her sensei and all odds seemingly against her, Sakura's destiny begins to change.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737008?view_full_work=true

The Many Perks of Parenting (Or Not)

Genma just wants a relationship. Really, at this point any will do. Kotetsu, Izumo, and Iruka are simply not having it. Anyone who wants to get their grubby paws on Genma is going to have to go through them first. (Let it also be said that Kakashi is definitely not above cheating when something he wants is on the line.) An alternate, somewhat slapstick coda to Fallen here to grace.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163711

Soulmate Story Collection

Genma/Raidou - The one where you and your soulmate have matching tattoos on your wrists

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512390/chapters/24871653

Genma/Ino - The one where your soulmate can make your scars disappear by kissing them

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512390/chapters/31123776

Genma/Sakura - The one where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your arm at birth

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512390/chapters/36708198

In This Game Together

He has a daughter. Genma's heart is pounding like the first time he defused a bomb on the fly, no gear and no plan, just adrenaline and determination and pigheadedness in equal measure. He’ll get through this, they’ll get through this, no matter what.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167377

Heaven on Fire

Maybe Valentine’s Day shouldn’t find him packing three guns and a bag full of military-grade infiltration gear, but then, Genma's never been normal. Nor has he ever particularly wanted it in his life. This works for him. And apparently it works for Kakashi too.

( I recommend reading the entire series though)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003022

Our Hearts Are Dynamite

Legacies, Genma thinks wryly, must be the heaviest thing in the known universe. Especially the failed ones.

[this one’s good but it’s not complete :(]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631716?view_full_work=true

could be the start of something new

For the prompt "You’re the cute nerd that keeps getting pushed around but you just punched your bully and I gotta save you"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089464

all we have to do is start

For an ask on my Tumblr: I had this crazy idea about Genma/kakashi like, imagine Bookstore-Owner!Kakashi chilling behind the counter reading some porn when his door slams open and this very annoyed but super sexy Florist!Genma storms in heading straight for Kakashi. Genma slams his hands down on the counter, glaring at Kakashi and says "I swear to god if you don't have a book on flower meanings I'm going to murder my customer." And Kakashi discovers Genma's hot and florists couldn't give 2 shits about flower meanings.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659873

#genma #genma shiranui #naruto #fic rec list #genrai #gengai #and like many other genma pairings i cant remember

87 notes · View notes

fordarkisthesuede · 6 years

Text

At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 15

IT’S THE ONE YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.

(And guess what, kids???? I made another big mistake! Turns out the Gotham Train Line, aka the Sky Line, already has a map! And I totally got the colors wrong. I knew there was the standard yellow-blue-green-red, but I got it a little messed up – the Gold Line is the one that runs all the way through Gotham. I'm going back and fixing everything in the last chapter asap. I’m really glad I got the urge to re-watch Season 1 or I’d be…(gasp) inaccurate!)

Important Spoiler Tags: Canon-typical violence, non-con drug use, hallucinations

(Read on Ao3 or continue below:)

Chapter 15: At the Brink of Midnight

“Are you kidding me?! It’s practically five to midnight on the doomsday clock, and you’re going off over my flying skills?!”

Bruce would have covered his face with his hand if he hadn’t been gripping the steering wheel so tight while talking to Gordon through the microphone in his cowl. He knew having John and Tiffany work together would be difficult, considering both of them held onto grudges and had tempers, but he didn’t imagine it would be like this. This was more like having two bickering kids, rather than two adults baring teeth at one another.

He supposed he should be grateful, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on talking when he heard three other voices in his ear. If he wasn’t so annoyed, he’d wonder if this was what John felt like while he was off his medicine, constantly hearing voices chatting at him in the background.

Tiffany huffed over the ear-piece. “Those are my drones! You have no idea how long it takes me to repair them! And I’m driving, how the hell am I supposed to watch you fly them?! If you break one-”

Joker was practically steaming at the ears in the passenger seat, a laptop perched on his knees, flying a drone through the cityscape of Old Gotham, heading towards the Green Line’s train depot. Bruce knew it was smaller than the Gold Line, where they were heading now, but it was still important that they scout it out first. Tiffany had made a good point before they left, advising they look into it first as it was closest to Crane’s hideout and more likely to have unmanned gas bombs. “I’m not going to break one! Just because I learned to fly them in a day-”

Bruce was very close to just reaching over and slapping his hand over Joker’s mouth to shut him up. Iman Avesta thankfully came to the rescue, sounding appropriately tired: “Both of you, please, stop arguing – it’s way too early in the morning for this. And Tiffany, concentrate on the road. Our drones are doing fine.”

Bruce saw Joker stick his tongue out, like either of the women on the communicator could see it, but continued to pilot the drone like he was supposed to.

Commissioner Gordon’s voice crackled slightly over the line. “Batman, I’ve got cars already heading out to the Blue Line’s holding station and the last station at East End, just in case anything’s there. You said the Green Line’s station might have some?”

“We’re checking that out now,” Bruce answered, his voice distorted into a growl by his cowl’s modifier, “I’m on my way to the Gold Line’s depot now.”

Joker tilted his shoulders like he was flying along with the drone. “You know, the more I think about it, the more familiar this sounds,” he commented, his piercing green eyes never leaving the screen nestled in his lap, “Wasn’t there something about a train being tampered with a couple of years ago?”

Bruce couldn’t answer, still being on the phone. “Gordon, we’ll tell you the second we’ve got confirmation on the Green Line’s bomb placements.”

“Thanks, Batman. I just hope they’re easier to take dispose of than last time.”

Click. Bruce’s phone disconnected, and he was instantly transferred back onto the cave’s communication line.

Joker continued. “Something like, ‘blah blah blah, train dismantled, heavy commute traffic, blah blah Children of Arkham’?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered, “Vicki Vale and the Children of Arkham had tampered with one of the train cars so it would disperse her drugs through the sprinkler system at the busiest station. I stopped them.”

Joker giggled, his voice coming out cold and mocking. “Ohh, old Scarecrow’s not going to like hearing that. He always prized his originality.”

Now that he thought of it, the Fear Toxin Crane made was a little similar to the drugs Vicki Vale had created as Lady Arkham. It made him wonder if Crane hadn’t been somewhat inspired by her, despite the vastly different ingredients to their formulas.

Iman Avesta’s voice phased in from the ear-piece. “If you guys are right about what he’s planning, it sounds like Crane decided to take the idea further.”

“I’m kinda surprised Lady Arkham didn’t think of using all the cars,” Tiffany chimed in; Bruce heard tires squealing in the background and wondered if she didn’t take a very sharp turn at a red light.

“Ehh, that was just a terrorist gig,” Joker replied, tilting himself as he flew into the Green Line’s train depot, “Scare the bourgeoisie and all that jazz.”

Bruce practically heard Tiffany’s eyebrow raise in mild derision. “I didn’t think they took public transport.”

Joker didn’t seem to notice dry tone, and continued as if it was a casual conversation. “No, no – middle class are included in that crowd, too; you need to brush up on your French! Hey, Iman, you manage to open the pod bay doors here?”

“Almost… Are the lights inside on?”

“Yup!”

“Good – I’m looking around the Gold Line, I saw a van parked below… Okay, the train doors at Green should be wide open. Batman, how far away are you?”

Bruce calculated his speed and time as quickly as possible. They had sped away from the cemetery while Tiffany was still bundling herself into her car – they had needed all the headway they were going to get. Bruce didn’t like the idea of Tiffany finding Crane first; he was too dangerous, and she still needed some serious combat training. Jackie had watched them leave, leaning against the door of her battered sedan, looking almost dreamily at the nitrous burners. “Two minutes. Three at the most.”

“Right. I’ll start scouting for Crane’s whereabouts. Joker, you find anything yet?”

“Patience is its own reward,” Joker replied with a haughty sort of air to his lower tone. “Though this heat-seeking feature really isn’t helping…”

Bruce took a sharp turn, causing Joker to clutch the laptop as he forcibly leaned in his seat. “The bombs at the diner weren’t professional grade – he had a timer on the one made from the fire extinguisher. He’s either using more basic timers, or clocks; neither will put out much heat.”

“Would’ve been nice to know before I wasted power,” Joker grumbled. “Ooh, wait, I found one!”

Just like that, his tone had shifted from annoyed to genuinely excited. Bruce wondered if that was just how he was, and Bruce had just kind of been ignoring it, or if the fact John hadn’t had a mood stabilizer in his system for nearly three days was enough to make his emotions fluctuate more than normal. It was a part of him that Bruce always liked – the unpredictability, the fascinating range of emotion John could put in a single sentence – but he knew it wasn’t an entirely healthy thing to have. Six months of being back on his medication had made him seem a little more balanced, making it more obvious where he was going to go next… Of course, John had just been around him for a couple of days. The past few hours he’d managed to talk to more people than usual, and two of them were still wary of how he was going to pan out. Maybe Bruce just noticed the fluctuations more because he knew John was being scrutinized, or maybe it was just because of the very stressful situation they were running towards.

“…now what?” Joker asked, a little bit of the thrill leaving his voice. “This thing doesn’t come with any lasers or anything to cut the cables with, does it?”

Tiffany swore under her breath, and Bruce heard a car horn in the distance. “All the drones come with an EMP pulse generator. It should be enough to shut it off.”

“For someone who calls themselves ‘Oracle’, you don’t seem to have God’s all-knowing eye firmly connected to yours,” Joker panned, the corners of his reddened mouth pulling up in Bruce’s peripheral vision, “I’m preeetty sure that an analog alarm clock isn’t going to be hurt by an EMP.”

Tiffany swore again, sounding more frustrated than before, and Bruce took another sharp turn down an alleyway acting as a shortcut. “Iman,” Tiffany grumbled over the microphone, “which drone are you flying?”

There was a clicking noise – Iman was probably looking at the Batcomputer’s remote drone map. “…Fox-2.”

“Does Joker have Fox-3?”

“Yes.”

“Joker, yours has a laser installed on the front, you can control it by pressing Alt.-Function-L and moving the W-A-S-D keys. It’s only good for short bursts. Don’t you dare break it.”

“Really?!” Joker squealed, “Oh, that’s so cool! But…wait, does the other one not have one?”

“No,” Tiffany growled out, suddenly honking as a pair of tires on the other end of the line squealed, “Hey, watch it, asshole! Ugh, if the rest of the bombs are like that, I’m going to have to cut them by hand.”

“You can borrow my knife,” Joker added helpfully, “I’ve always got some aces up my sleeve… Say, Bats, is it always the red wire, or the blue wire your supposed to cut?”

Before Bruce could even open his mouth to correct him, Iman’s voice cut in with a sense of complete control. “Joker, let’s switch drones – I’ll defuse it.”

“…oh, alright,” John muttered with a dissatisfied pout, “Take away my fun… Then again, I guess you’re the expert in this kind of situation! But it is the blue wire first, right? One of my newer neighbors in Arkham told me he always switched up the colors so no one could guess what the negative one was.”

“Generally speaking, yes,” Iman replied coolly, “keep your drone on the floor, and we’ll switch at the count of three.”

Bruce tried his best to tune everything out. He had to think, had to go over the memories of the last time he encountered someone in the train station… There were six trains held there at once, four of them he was sure were for the long Golden Line alone. The other two were likely for the Red and Blue tracks, despite the Blue Line having its own holding station at its tail-end. More than likely, Crane would move numerically, which meant he was likely somewhere between stations four and six, depending on how much work they had gotten done in a night.

He tried very, very hard to pay attention to his mental map of the facility, planning for the inevitable and the potential, while Joker insensitively asked Tiffany why she was so concerned over flying machines, and got the firm reply of ‘they were my father’s,’ which sent him fumbling for an attempt at an apology he didn’t know he had needed to give until now.

He knew that having three other people working around him at once would take some getting used to. He knew it was just technically noise.

But he used to have just one person to worry about, outside of the slim worries regarding his own mortality. Now there were three, two of which were about to be put in mortal danger.

He wasn’t even counting the fourth person he fretted over, currently sleeping on the other side of the world, who was going to wake up to some grim news, regardless of what happened tonight.

“Batman,” Joker called, his voice shaking Bruce from his thoughts, “I’ve found a bomb in the first train car. It looks like it’s glued under the back seat.”

“Then there’s going to be one in the second. Pull out and look in the third docking station. If Crane or his goons aren’t there, look in the fifth. I have a feeling he’s farther along than we want.”

“On it.”

Tiffany’s voice crackled slightly, and Bruce wondered if there was something interfering with the line. (Iman’s hearing aid, perhaps? But no, that should only be on her end…) “What’s the plan here, exactly?”

Bruce took a steady breath. He felt Joker’s eyes on him. “Joker and I are dealing with Crane. You’re going to dismantle the bombs in the rail-cars he’s already tampered with.”

“…okay.”

He heard the disappointment in her voice. Slight, but there, mixed with worry. Over him, or his choice of combat partner, he wasn’t sure. “Iman, have you found any more bombs?”

“Yes. There was another in the front, by the operating cabin. I can dismantle these in about a minute, provided they’re all made the same.”

“Good. Keep disarming them and send a message to Gordon when you’re sure you’ve found them all. His men should be on the way there.”

Joker stopped moving for a moment. “I found them.”

“Where?”

“Train five. Looks like they’re wrapping up… They’ve got a cart with them.”

He was transporting them all at once. “Oracle, how far away are you?”

“Less than a minute!”

“Good – we’re here.”

Bruce jolted the Batmobile to a stop in the Sky Train Depot’s parking lot.

The exterior of the station was as gloomy and utilitarian as before, the vaguely art-deco shapes of the roofs blending in well with the rest of the surrounding city. The orange lights perched near the giant doors did nothing to soothe him. They were candles in the gloom, mere glowsticks in the mouth of the path leading towards destiny.

Beckoning him forward, even as the wind pushed at him, swirling his cape the second he opened the car door.

Even through the layers of tight Kevlar and metal, Bruce could feel it was going to rain again.

Tiffany’s tires screeched to a stop beside the Batmobile, and Bruce heard the laptop John had been carrying click shut.

Bruce saw two unmarked vans in the distance. Crane was still there.

His stomach clenched along with his fist.

“Tiffany,” he said firmly as her car door opened, “Head to dock one and start dismantling the bombs.”

“What do I do if they go off?”

Bruce opened a hatch in the side of the Batmobile. There, amongst the empty spots for his gear, laid the gas mask for his cowl. He had several shots of antitoxin on his person, and several more stored in the car, kept stable.

Joker knew what to expect when hit with the toxin; Bruce had a fairly good idea of it, seeing the effects first-hand.

Tiffany had no idea.

He pushed the gas mask and one of the antitoxin shots into her hands. “These should help. Are the goggles you were wearing earlier real?”

“They’re older than you,” she answered, cocking a smirk, “but they’re waterproof. I don’t cheap out on my costumes.”

“Then wear them. If you start to hallucinate, get out of the area and take the antitoxin. I’ve got more in case we need it.”

Tiffany stuck the orange-hued injector into her own belt and let the black gas mask hang around her neck. “What about you two?”

“Oh, we’ll be just fine,” Joker answered for him, throwing his hat behind the car seat. “I’ve got more experience with Crane’s little formula than either of you two – I’ll make sure to take the hits in your places.”

The red smile and dark gleam in his green eyes spoke of yards more confidence than Bruce had thought he had. If the situation had been any different, Bruce might have likened it to when John had laid back on the Wayne’s king-size bed, ready and willing to take all of him on.

“Let me know if you need help. The drone can still send out enough sound to distract or deafen them…at least temporarily.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Bruce replied as Tiffany geared up her tablet. “Get going.”

The Batmobile locked itself down, and Bruce whirled away with John keeping right behind him, his grappling gun in hand.

With the trains being held below, it meant Bruce couldn’t waltz in through the lower door. He’d have to take the elevated one. They had a good chance of being heard, but it was the best way.

He turned to Joker as they carefully made their way in, stepping softly over the metal plates.

He looked determined. Poised. Fiery.

For once, he didn’t meet Bruce’s gaze. He was entirely focused on the group of people below them, working in low light.

Bruce peeked over the railing.

Several people were below.

One of them – Kip, he realized – was lifting one of the gas canister bombs off a small hand cart with the help of a very burly-looking woman with a buzz-cut. The train car next to them was empty, it’s lights on, and another woman with a dark purple ponytail was fixing a smaller-looking canister to the front cabin, where the operator sat. Bruce wasn’t sure what she was using to keep them in place, but she kept reaching for something on the floor. At least he was sure they weren’t being held in place by duct tape.

“Oracle,” Bruce whispered into the comm-link, “there’s a second bomb placed in the driver’s cabin. One of you send a warning to Gordon.”

“Got it,” Tiffany replied; Iman cursed in Farsi, but Bruce felt that was an agreement.

A fourth person was speaking, but Bruce couldn’t see them. It must have been Ivan, guarding the doorway below.

“You don’t have to hover over shoulders,” Ivan grunted, his Ukrainian accent just as thick as ever, “We have experience with delicate weaponry such as this.”

“I don’t care how many years your old boss made you cart dynamite around,” Dr. Crane’s voice replied, just as calm and stinging as ever, “You’re handling delicate gas canisters that are rigged to release its entire contents in half a minute. One slip-up will cost me more than just what I’m paying you.”

Joker was frowning in disgust, his teeth bared as he gripped the railing, acting like he wanted to leap over it.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. “”Don’t,” he instructed in the quietest voice he could muster, “Wait for my signal.” He ignored the frustrated look he got in return.

Bruce made to softly walk around the catwalk, to get a better vantage point. It would be easy to glide down and start punching, but he’d have to wait until the bombs were placed. He didn’t want to risk the chance of the gas leaking into the air.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like a scarecrow had walked off its pole and wandered into the station.

Dr. Crane stood underneath the doorway railing, clad in a wrinkled flannel shirt, dark jeans, and oddly crisp work-boots, with what looked like a very dirty old square flour sack pulled over his head. There were two holes for his dull eyes – Bruce could see the gleam of glass underneath them reflecting the red light nearby – and a shoddily-stitched frown for a mouth. It was as if he had cut a hole there and decided to fix it back up with wide x-shaped stitches, not knowing how to sew. Dark stains were littered around the mouth and the frayed edges of the base, almost looking as if liquid had seeped out of the mouth like blackened drool or excess drink.

“This is my life’s work on the line,” Crane continued, flat and threatening, his voice lightly muffled by the rag-like mask, “If any of you ruin it in any way, I will ruin you… And it will be far worse than what your pathetic excuse for an imagination tells you… Now do what I tell you and keep a look out for me. You have only yourself to blame for Kip taking your place.”

Ivan crossed his arms and stood still with a ‘hmph’, surveying the place and the main doorway for any sign of movement that wasn’t of their little crew.

Dr. Crane moved back to the train car, where the woman at the front had just finished mounting the bomb, and seemed to be inspecting her work, truly hovering over her shoulder as the other two thugs worked on applying some kind of putty to the space underneath the back corner seat, away from the eyes of the doors. The canisters were long and painted beige, matching the interior paint of the train car, and once mounted Bruce could see how no one would notice them.

He thought quickly. The bomb was on the floor – it was still volatile, but if he yanked the woman out of the car with his grappling hook and threw a Batarang at the other, they shouldn’t be able to touch it… He might just have to wait until those two left the car, or else make a distraction to get their attention. The woman at the front was more of a liability, but with such a small amount of gas, it wouldn’t be as dangerous, and Bruce could easily apply the antitoxin. He should be able to hit Crane easily in the confusion -

There was the telltale whirr of a grappling cable, and Bruce knew his plan was practically moot as he turned to see Joker use his own colorful gun as a rope swing, descending with his back at Bruce as he swung out wide, stopping the cable just enough to stretch his legs out and plant his boots into the back of Ivan’s head.

Bruce took a glided leap down onto the floor.

Ivan shouted as Joker landed on his feet, grinning wide and brandishing what looked like several playing cards between his fingers.

Bruce threw a Batarang at Kip, aiming for his exposed shoulder as Tiffany’s voice rang in his ear, telling them she’d finished cutting the wires in the second train car; the woman beside Kip noticed the movement and pulled him out of the way.

“BATMAN!”

The thick-set woman stood, and Bruce saw her reach for the small of her back.

Dr. Crane finally looked up, the light in the train glinting off the glasses behind the holes in his hood.

Ivan cried out, and Bruce stole a glance - several playing cards were stuck into his shoulders and chest. Joker was already sliding out his riot baton, readying himself to swing.

Bruce threw several more Batarangs as he dodged a shot, managing to hit the collar of Ivy’s thug, and made for the head of the car, where Crane had whirled around, scrambling for his pistol.

Bruce dodged another shot from the woman, readying one of his electric bombs – he could easily throw one through the open doorway.

Except he heard the thundering footsteps of Kip.

Kip was roughly the size of a retired quarterback, and he was making his way to slam into Bruce with full force, a knife in hand.

Bruce held up his left arm defensively, the dull spines on his gauntlets jabbing into Kip’s outstretched arm. His heart pounded in his ears as the weight still barreling forward attempted to throw him off balance.

He saw Joker in the distance, jabbing the baton into Ivan’s stomach and sweeping his leg under the grunt’s feet, and felt a surge stem from his gut.

Bruce turned, letting Kip fall forward, and felt the flesh of his throat give into his fist.

Several loud bangs echoed in the station, and Bruce felt something push hard at his side and arm as little metal dings sounded at his feet.

Bruce met the woman’s steely eyes for only a second before they squeezed shut with a loud shout as several playing cards hit her forearm.

The handgun clattered to the floor, and Bruce felt something slice into the back of his calf.

One quick electric bomb to the floor took care of Kip, but Bruce felt the familiar hot ache of something being jabbed into raw muscle – the knife was buried in his calf.

At least he hadn’t needed to waste another Batarang – a barrage of playing cards hit the Ivy goon, and she fell to her knees.

“That’s quite enough,” Dr. Crane called out, his voice ringing from inside the train car.

The other woman tried to reach out for her partner from the front of the train, but she was being restrained in a choke-hold with the muzzle of Crane’s pistol pointed at her temple. “Mary…!”

“Hush, child,” Crane hissed, pressing the gun firmly into her head, “or I squeeze the trigger. I see you managed to escape just fine, Mr. Doe,” he said, seeming to shoot a glare over at Joker, who was advancing towards the car, “And you brought a new patient for me… How thoughtful.”

Bruce clenched his fists. “Let her go, Dr. Crane!”

“Oh, it’s not Crane any more. All of your foes have titles, don’t they, Batman? You can call me Scarecrow.”

Joker snorted, his grappling gun clenched in his hand, aiming at Crane’s head. “Ooh, very original. Decided to steal that off a movie poster, too?”

“Better that than a playing card,” Crane shot back coolly, “and I am quite original, thank you. At least I made my own look, rather than deliberately molding myself into someone else’s image. We all know how well that turned out, didn’t we?”

“Let her go,” Bruce growled, feeling his blood simmering dangerously.

“No. You see, I’m very annoyed right now. I’m going to have to dispose of three more bodies later, plus yours if I’m lucky, on top of having an experiment to oversee.”

Joker blinked, casting a look at the fallen goons on the floor. The woman dotted with sharp cards was still bleeding on the floor, but she was semi-conscious, watching everything unfold, her eyes trained on the woman in Crane’s choke-hold. “But they’re not…”

“I don’t like paying for services not fulfilled; those three obviously weren’t up to snuff. So I’ll tell you what, Batman – you step in here, let me probe that bat-brain for a little bit, and I’ll let her go. I’ll even tell you where the rest of my bombs are.”

“I know where the rest of your bombs are. I’ve seen your plans, Crane.”

“Scarecrow, please, let’s be formal. And I doubt you know about the ones I left behind in Arkham. All those so-called innocent lives… I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see any of them hurt.”

His blood might have run cold, if it hadn’t been on the edge of boiling.

The woman on the floor spoke up, her voice heavy. “Boss… Please, don’t hurt Dotty…”

Crane didn’t even spare her a glance. “That’s not up to me, my dear. That’s up to Batman.”

Bruce couldn’t risk the lives of Arkham, even if he could find it in himself to risk the life of the gang-banger in Crane’s arm.

Stepping into that train might as well be a death sentence. There was little room to run from a bullet, and with a life on the line, Bruce couldn’t risk much.

He stepped forward, forcing himself to breathe steady. “Fine.” He heard Tiffany and Iman’s voices on the earpieces, but he tuned them out.

“Wait!” Joker cried out.

“Not another step, Mr. Doe. I’m sure Dr. Leland would be very disappointed to find that you were responsible for a hostage’s death.”

Joker looked furious, and his shoulders and fists were as stiff as boards. He was clearly forcing himself not to just run at him. “Just… Leave Bats out of this! I’ll take his place; I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”

“No. I’ve already exhausted what I can from your pathetically clingy brain. I want to have a personal insight into Gotham’s dark knight.”

“Joker,” Bruce breathed steadily, meeting his eyes – beautiful, brilliant green, full of anger and desperation – and hoped it wasn’t the last time he’d see them. “It’ll be alright. Move those two out of the way.”

“Helping the people you just beat up? How noble of you,” Dr. Crane jeered.

Acid greens bore through white lenses for a moment. “You know I’ve got your back.”

Bruce nodded.

“Batman, I’m running out of patience. Please enter through the end door there.”

Bruce did as he was told, hating every moment, feeling heavy even without the additional sting of the knife in his leg.

“Very good. Now I’ll just close these so we can have some privacy – my dear, can you reach over and hit that yellow button for me? I’m afraid I can’t move my hands.” Dr. Crane moved backwards, tugging the nervous young woman with him to the control panel, keeping the gun muzzle pressed against her head. The doors closed with a weighty swish and a thunk that made Bruce’s heart feel like it was sinking. He heard John’s voice call out along with the wounded Ivy gang member. Bruce couldn’t hear anything over the comm-link; the thick metal of the train must have been blocking the signal. “That’s better; thank you.”

“Dotty,” Bruce said, trying to meet the gangster’s eyes, “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Dr. Crane lowered his head, and Bruce got the impression he was frowning. “No talking to the hostage, Batman. I know our arrangement isn’t ideal, but just pretend she can’t hear you.”

“What do you want, Scarecrow?”

“Just a few answers. I’m a man of science first and foremost. You see, I was studying you for some time, before your mysterious disappearance, and I was quite intrigued by you. A man who tries to stop crime by dressing up as a flying rodent – you either belong in a room next to John Doe, or at the head of the Agency. I’ll decide which.”

Bruce tried to concentrate on his breathing. The smell of old metal and dust lingered in his nostrils. He stared firmly ahead, at the burlap sack of a mask, rather than at the anxious face of the woman with the gun pointed at her face. He would not linger on the sight of the gun, and would not think back to that alleyway.

“I take it you decided on this…crusade because of a personal loss, due to a crime? What was it that drove you to do this?”

He was not thinking of that alleyway, and the smell of gunpowder. He was not thinking of pearls clattering to the concrete.

“And no lying,” the doctor instructed, “or Dotty here dies.”

He could lie, at the risk of the woman’s death. He could speak outright and risk exposure.

He knew Dr. Crane had suffered loss, too. His parents had also died by accident. Perhaps he could reason through that.

“You also lost something, Doctor. Your parents died almost thirty-three years ago, at a haunted house that caught fire. Was your survival what triggered your fascination with fear?”

“I’m the one asking questions, Batman,” Dr. Crane pressed, “Though I’m guessing by such a vague reply that you and I suffered a similar tragedy in our formative years. I’m sure it had a factor in both our lives’ paths, but it wasn’t the ultimate driving force behind it, was it? Mine was watching the birds on my aunt’s farm learn to scatter at the sight of me, or else risk an untimely demise. I’m guessing yours had something to do with watching a bat fly over the city…or perhaps flap by your face at just the right moment of reflection.” He was quite wrong; Batman was born in Crime Alley, he just hadn’t chosen his unique look until he rediscovered the cave underneath the house a couple of years later. “Let’s try a different approach – if there are a group of strangers strapped to one track, and a close personal friend one strapped to another, with a train on a split track careening towards them at high speed, who would you divert the train to save?”

Bruce frowned. He always hated that question. “I’m not working alone, Scarecrow. I can easily find a way to save them all.”

“Of course you would,” Crane groaned. “Such a heroic idealism you have… You know, I’m surprised you’re working with Mr. Doe. Did you know what his answer was? He’d save the single person. I can understand saving someone like Dr. Leland, given that she has almost a maternal role in his life, but I found he’d risk the lives of innocent strangers to save the likes of someone like Bruce Wayne. Can you imagine, choosing to save the greedy son of a notorious mobster who only visits him out of guilt? He’s really not cut out to be a hero, is he?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He knew Crane was just trying to rile him up. “I’m not here to talk about him. You said you wanted to talk about me.”

“Oh, but I can do both,” the doctor emphasized, squinting across the train car at the vigilante. “He’s fixated on two things, you see, and you’re the lesser of them. I want to understand what he sees in you – especially given that he almost killed you. Do you still think of it, sometimes? Sitting in that control room, watching him struggle to get your ridiculously-shaped tool out of his hand? How does it feel, watching someone who looked up to you fall so far from the proverbial tree?”

Bruce didn’t want to answer; he scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t let Crane know he was getting to him. The doctor actually let out a little laugh in response to his brief moment of silence – it was disturbing, to say the least, to hear a man with almost no expression let out an actual chortle.

“Oh, your expression says a thousand words… I’ve heard a great deal about you – from both my patients and my little colleagues, like Dotty here. They tell me you’re quite the rough customer; intriguingly enough, though, you’ve never reportedly killed anyone. How curious.” He tilted his head, like an animal trying to puzzle out an unusual toy. “Are you afraid of death, Batman? Does the idea of having blood on your gloves keep you awake at night?”

He seemed to be asking, more than taunting. Bruce willed himself not to move. It would take nothing to rush him, but it would cost the young woman her life.

He wasn’t about to prove Crane right by example. He thought back to the doctor’s published papers.

“It’s human nature to fear the inevitability of oblivion. It’s what ultimately drives us as a species,” he quoted, keeping a level tone, “but I strive to save lives, Scarecrow, not destroy them.”

“…you’ve read my work, I see. Plagiarizing me to append your own run-of-the-mill heroism isn’t getting any points from me, Batman. You must know you can’t possibly save everyone… I suppose I should have set the bar lower for you. Still, I’ll keep my bargain – Dotty, child, I need you not to struggle when I pull my hand away, or I’m going to have to shoot you. Nod if you understand.”

Dotty nodded, her frightened eyes flicking to the gun, and then back to Batman. Pleading.

Bruce wasn’t going to move a muscle until she was out of the car. He wouldn’t put it past Crane to shoot her the second she got free.

Bruce cast a look out the train’s side window. Empty. Joker had clearly moved the two thugs out of the way, likely near the door.

Dr. Crane released his hold on the young woman’s upper arm, and reached behind him into the control panel. “On the count of three. One. Two.” He threw the smaller gas canister into the middle of the car, the nozzle spewing green smoke, and suddenly every nerve Bruce had was on edge as he gave a helpless gasp, reaching for his belt automatically. He could get his grappling hook, fire at Crane-

“Don’t even think about it, Batman. I’ve still got a hostage.”

Dotty was clawing at Crane’s arm, struggling to kick away from the fumes filling the car, but Crane’s grip was clearly firm, just as the gun replanted against her head was.

“I did tell you not to struggle, Dotty.”

“You said you’d let her go!” Bruce shouted, his voice sounding more distorted than usual.

“And I am. I just want to see how my little drug affects you. It doesn’t really do anything to me, you see – I don’t fear anything.”

Bruce’s mind was whirling. He was becoming very aware of the lights, the sounds, the weight of the armor on his body…

“Three.”

The train doors opened, and Dotty was all but tossed out. Bruce stumbled forward, his blood pumping as he clutched a Batarang.

He had to hit Crane.

Had to get out of the train - the gas was filling the whole place.

Had to cut him, drive a blade into his chest, hurt him for everything he’d done…

Bruce lurched forward with an electronic whirr.

They were moving.

The train was…moving.

He heard distant shouts…screams…

He looked out of the window, only to see the bone-white paint peel away like rapidly decaying skin, revealing rust and black metal. There was no reflection in the glass there; only black, and two glowing white lights.

He could hear something new whispering in his ear. Groans. Gasping breaths. A strangled, rattling noise that sent his nerves on edge.

Familiar sounds of injury. Death.

He turned to look at Dr. Crane, and the length of train car between them seemed to expand like a long tunnel. White lights winked at him beneath dark holes of the Scarecrow’s eyes, and something dark and coppery dribbled down its mouth.

“Normally people grow quite aggressive, due to the adrenaline rush they get, but it doesn’t usually work instantly. It takes a bit of seeing their worst fears come out. What are you seeing, Batman?”

Bruce was hardly listening to the eerie voice coming from the scarecrow’s mouth. His eyes darted over the rusting car. The walls were warping, bubbling with something pressing at them like thin membranes.

Figures.

Faces.

A crowd of people pressing towards him from the walls of the train, groaning in pain. He recognized them.

The Children of Arkham. Oswald. Harvey. Alfred. Iman. Edward Nigma. Selina. Frieze. Bane. Harley. John. Tiffany. Jackie.

And scattered among them, those he knew were dead. Vicki Vale. Hill. Falcone. Countless citizens he’d witnessed the death of over the years, the bodies he’d seen.

Lucius Fox reached for him; his burnt face was gaunt and mangled, his glasses askew on his disfigured nose.

Thomas and Martha Wayne, pale and judging, watched from the ceiling, in the middle of the throng.

The windows were dark, but the outside showed a ruined city. Decayed. Corrupted.

He couldn’t save them.

He could never save them.

“Most people would have throttled me by now. Stabbed me, perhaps. I saw a man come out of the Main Street Diner brandishing a steak knife – he stabbed the first person he saw, thinking they were something from his hallucinations. You truly don’t want to kill anyone, do you?” Scarecrow taunted, tilting his head slightly. “That’s why you and Mr. Doe fell apart, isn’t it? You couldn’t stand the sight of him after that little bloodbath he made in the chemical plant.”

Bruce looked at his own hands. They were sharp and stained red. Dripping.

His fault.

“He couldn’t either, of course. He’s still attempting to put himself back together. I’m not sure he actually thinks what he did was wrong – I believe it’s more like he’s afraid of disappointing you. Does the thought of him killing again frighten you? Can you still see him there, blood on his mouth and hands, laughing at you, making a mockery of your pathetic beliefs?”

He could see John, reaching for him, black and crimson smeared on his face.

He could feel his blood surge. He was finding it hard to breathe.

The floor was rusting, red, and shining like liquid.

“They are pathetic, you know. There’s nothing wrong with doing everything to get your way. It certainly helped me – I finally fulfilled my goal of getting to work in Arkham. All it took was the lives of two doctors. It wasn’t a big loss for the asylum, anyway – they wrote such drivel. They didn’t understand what I wanted to do – what I’m doing now. I’m sure you can understand, now, can’t you? How I want to save people?”

Bruce blinked, stepping forward, his muscles tense. Something dull ached in his leg. He heard a sick splash, like he’d stepped in a puddle of something thicker than water.

He had to do something.

He couldn’t save the people around him.

But couldn’t he save just one?

Just one person, outside, in those ruins?

“The only way people can truly live is to be set free – and the only way to set them free is by having them overcome their fear. The undercurrent of your worst nightmare is always death… Facing death changes you. You said it yourself: my parents died when I was young, and it changed me.”

Scarecrow faced the window, looking out into the decaying, rusting ruins of the city, not seeing the corpses that made up the wall.

He couldn’t save him, could he?

He couldn’t stop him, could he?

He was a man. Just that.

Just one person.

He’d tried. Tried to save them all.

But how could he do anything – save them, save the city, clear away the corruption, the disease, the past – when he was just one person?

“I lost them from a simple accident. I blamed myself, as children do – but I realized I didn’t have anything to fear again.”

Gun. Alley. Pearls. Death.

Darkness shrouded them.

Bodies squirmed and moaned, pressing against the flesh of the train.

“I already saw my worst fear come alive, after all. But this formula – my work – it brings you that fear without the true cost. There are bumps, of course. People kill other people in fright. Kill themselves, too. They’re unpredictable like that. It’s quite fascinating, really… But sacrifices must be made for the future. The deaths of some will rebirth more.”

Terror.

No more death.

Guilt.

He’d survived. They had not.

Resolve.

He could try. He could be something. For them. All of them. For Gotham.

Renewal.

B a t m a n.

He lunged. His fist connected with Scarecrow’s chest.

A snap and a scream.

Scarecrow stumbled back.

Bruce hit the window where the mask had been. The armored knuckles made a spider web.

The control panel door slammed.

Bruce tore it open, the sliding metal screeching against the slotted floor, mixing with the yowls of the walls.

He felt a kick to the stomach.

Pathetic.

Bruce yanked Scarecrow into the air and threw him into the train car.

The train was slowing, the brakes squealing, the lights flickering back on and off, casting shadows.

“You think you can intimidate me?” Scarecrow coughed, scrambling to stand, reaching for the small canister. Bruce advanced on him, ignoring the blood splashing and sticking to his boots. “I’m not scared of you.”

Bruce heard his voice come out low and guttural. “You will be.”

He swung for his jaw – Scarecrow ducked and slammed the canister into his chest. Bruce stumbled a little, feeling a new dull throb under the black bat symbol. A Batarang found its way in-between his fingers.

The train doors opened, and Scarecrow ran.

Bruce’s feet splashed through blood momentarily before pounding on decaying asphalt. He threw hard, aiming for his back, missing by inches.

“Is that all you’ve-?”

There was the grotesque sound of meat being stabbed, followed by a gurgle.

A Batarang was sticking out of Scarecrow’s shoulder.

“You scum.”

Joker stood there, at the top of the station’s cracked concrete steps, his red lips stretched in a wide grimace.

Scarecrow backed away into the space between them, reaching for his wounded shoulder. (It looked familiar.)

“You think you can just run?” Joker continued, the dark green hairs of his head flickering like smoke in the wind as he skulked forward. “From me – from us?”

Bruce stomped towards the masked man, his fists clenched, blood pounding like a jackhammer.

(Adrenaline. Fear. Determination. Excitement. How it always was.)

Scarecrow aimed the pistol at Bruce. “Take one more step and I’ll-” Playing cards sliced into his hand, and he fired with a shout.

The bullet hit a crevice between Bruce’s chest and shoulder. He recoiled, hearing pearls clatter to the pavement.

He still stood, ignoring the pain, trying to tune-out his mother’s voice behind him.

More playing cards. Bruce’s fist smashed into Scarecrow’s jaw.

The gun smashed against Bruce’s head, tossing him aside. His ears were ringing.

There were fast footsteps, and Bruce blinked, his vision blurring for a moment as he refocused.

A knife jabbed into a spindly arm, and brown leather fists curled into flannel. Holding him still.

Bruce threw another punch, landing into Scarecrow’s stomach. A loud cackle reached his ears, high and familiar – so he did it again. And again.

Blood seeped from the burlap mouth. Disgusting.

Bruce shoved the thin figure to the ground.

Joker’s eyes were wild, the acid green pools practically boiling.

“Batman…are you alright?”

His leg and shoulder hurt, but he wasn’t alone in the decaying mess of Gotham. Not anymore. Maybe he never really was. Maybe the city watched him back. Like the gargoyles on the buildings. “I will be.”

Scarecrow coughed at their feet. “You’ll…be having nightmares…for weeks…” Dark holes stared up at him from the pavement. “Knowing…that I’m out there…”

Joker’s lip curled, his eyes blazing with what looked almost like real fire, and pressed a hand to Bruce’s back to guide him towards a rotting, wooden bench that surprisingly held his weight.

“You’ll have…to kill me to sleep! But you won’t!” Scarecrow taunted, wheezing a laugh. Then he was out of sight, blending in with the bloody concrete like he had melted away.

He didn’t care that Joker’s red mouth was too wide and dark, and that the dark tresses of his hair curled and whipped in the air, dissipating at the ends constantly. He couldn’t feel anything but a rapid heartrate, the aches in his body, and the weight of everything on his shoulders – he wanted to feel him, taste the blood and flesh to make sure he was as real, that he wasn’t the body in the pile of people he’d failed, that he wasn’t going to crumble and bleed in front of him.

“Wait here for me,” Joker whispered, pressing leather fingers against his cheeks for a moment.

Bruce watched him go, reaching out for him. His body told him to move. To run to him. He couldn’t let him be hurt. Not by Scarecrow. Not by anyone.

Bruce’s will held. He was told to wait. Joker would be back.

Joker was stepping towards the train, his low heels clicking on the pavement. Stopping at the red lump on the ground.

“You want to know the difference between you and me, doc’?” Joker taunted, anger and humor bending together, “People will say you’re crazy, after all this. They’ll say you’re a psychopath, or a sociopath, or something like that. But I’ve known since I met you – you’re not crazy. I’m legitimately ill. You’re just a monster.”

A cough.

“You liked watching us all writhe in front of you, didn’t you. Watching us suffer.”

The lump cried out – Joker’s heel was grinding into something on the ground.

Joker laughed. (Bruce blinked – he was not at Ace.) “Aww, what’s wrong? Can’t take a little pain?” A grunt. “This isn’t even the worst of it, you cheap pencil! You know this whole scheme you’ve got? It’s not original. Lady Arkham tried this kind of thing two years ago! Batman stopped her at the Sky Rails, too!” A crunching noise, like joints popping, following by another grunt. “Terrorizing the city? Planting chemical bombs on trains? All the same!” A crack, like breaking bone, near the front of the red thing. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Thomas Wayne had been using patients as lab rats before we ever arrived! You’re nothing but a knock-off!”

A wheeze from the ground. “You…don’t scare me…”

Joker frowned, amusement slipping from his face like it had been washed away. Thunder rumbled from above. “Oh, yeah? I know what might.”

Joker moved, dragging the lump into the empty train car.

Bruce strained to stand. He couldn’t… He wouldn’t…

“Revenge, huh… How selfish…”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Scary. This isn’t personal. This is for Arkham – for Gotham – for all those people you’ve hurt with your little experiment,” Joker spat, tugging the large gas canister forward, “See, I know you. You’re a monster - you’re going to heal, and then you’re going to talk, and that will cause a lot of trouble for Brucie and little Jackie – she says hi, by the way.”

Scarecrow’s body was in the doorway. The canister was in the middle of the car. He was straining to move as Joker backed away, a playing card in his hand.

Bruce strained forward. No…

“People will say you’re crazy anyway – so why not just make that the honest truth?”

In the blink of an eye, the proverbial clock was one to midnight, and Bruce was standing on the precipice of a choice all too clear to him as he stood in one of Gotham’s corroding Sky Rail stations: Bruce Wayne’s potential life or death.

A potential leap into darkness.

Someone’s sanity, in exchange for his normal life, the man behind the bat.

…he couldn’t.

It was too cruel. It was something his father would have – had – done.

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to become that. He couldn’t let Joker become that, either.

(There should never be another Thomas Wayne roaming the streets.)

“Joker,” he gasped, “no…”

Green eyes met his, fiery and dangerous, wild and manic. “You…! Don’t you understand?” His hands clutched at Bruce’s cape, desperate and pleading for mercy. “I can’t let him ruin Bruce’s life! Not again!”

“Please,” Bruce begged, his hands finding Joker’s arms and clutching. (He’d held them before.) “Please…” He pulled him forward, not feeling the aches or pains, just a weight pressing against his. Just his arms around him, like they were the only two humans left in their broken city. “Don’t go backward.”

He felt a breath release against him. The hands on his cape relaxed. It was like something washed away from the rust and decay surrounding them.

Scarecrow laughed weakly, crawling towards the center of the car. “You’re afraid. You think…dirtying your hands will ruin you…” His hand clutched the nozzle of the tank, and dark eyes glinting white leered at them both beneath the burlap hood. “And you’re afraid…of letting him down…! You have to…confront your fears…to be reborn…!”

Bruce reached out, desperate to save what he had tried so hard to stop. “NO!”

Joker pushed Bruce away with all his might, rolling to the ground as pressurized gas sprung into the air with a hiss.

Bruce’s vision swirled as dark laughs floated into the air, disturbing and gasping, like nothing he had ever heard before.

A rattled breath came.

Not his…not Joker’s…

“Wait…what is…”

Bruce winced, looking at the green smoke billowing out of the train car, and the lying figure looking at him, with wide, brown eyes glinting behind glass, all hidden beneath the Scarecrow mask.

“What… No…! NO!”

A shriek the likes of which Bruce had only heard on film screeched at him. Scarecrow writhed, flinching backwards, trying to curl in on himself as he hit the back wall of the train.

“I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO…!”

Bruce took shallow breaths. He was far away enough from the train car, but the gas might still have an effect. He sat up, feeling his leg scream at him as he jostled the handle of the knife still buried in him, and tried to stand.

Scarecrow flinched further away. “KEEP AWAY FROM ME!”

Joker blinked from the ground, rubbing his head. “Did he…?”

Bruce shook his head. “He inhaled it.”

“…I think I missed the set-up,” Joker mumbled. “Why did he go and gas himself?”

“He wanted us to confront our fears - to be reborn, like he thinks he was, thirty-three years ago.”

“Yikes,” Joker grunted, standing and straightening his back with a wince, “and I thought I had image problems…”

Scarecrow retreated further into the car, kicking and trying to get away as if Bruce and Joker were advancing on him.

Joker put something in his ear from his pocket and wriggled his finger. “Oracle?” He winced, and Bruce heard someone shouting. Oracle…Tiffany. “Look, just – WILL YOU SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE? Geez… Look, Bats and I are fine, Crane is…uh, rounded up, so to speak…”

Silence, for a moment, and Bruce decided to go back and sit on the bench. He’d gotten fear gas into his system, hadn’t he? That was why everything was looking…wrong. Gotham wasn’t like this, normally, was it?

“No, he’s just gone off the deep end… What? Ha! No, no, he got a face-full of his fear toxin…”

Bruce looked on his belt. He had something for these situations. He usually always did.

“Oh..? Oh, good, I was going to ask, I just… Yeah. Um…thank you. We’ll be waiting.”

Bruce found a syringe. Was that it?

Joker parked a seat next to him. “Clean up crew is on the way.” Green eyes darted down to his belt. “You got hit by the gas earlier, didn’t you? I saw the smoke as the train was barreling away. Oracle had to use her shot on that hostage girl – she was screaming like a banshee in heat!”

Bruce blinked, and his vision wobbled. “Joker… I can’t…”

“Oh! Yeah, no worries, let me.”

Bruce felt the frigid air hit the skin of his stiff arm, and a moment later felt a pinch there.

“Don’t worry, Batman,” Joker grinned at him, his eyes soft despite the sharp edges of his face, “I’ll take good care of you…”

With a red grin blurring in his vision, Bruce fell into darkness’ waiting arms.

Notes: Ahhh, wasn’t that fun? I hope it was. I can write emotion and horror and romance, but fight scenes are always hard. >:T Tell me if it turned out okay.

As always, thanks to all of you for supporting this story by any means. I’m truly honored and flattered that so many of you enjoy my work!!!! You guys make me feel like I can take on the world!!! >:D (And a super special thanks this time to @i-bet-you-wish-i for this sweet fanart!!! Remember, if you have fanart, I WANT TO SEE IT! @ me or tag me so I can find it easily on here, please!!!)

We’ve got at least one more chapter, and the epilogue. Expect it within 1-2 weeks, and keep circulating the links. :)

#batjokes #telltale batjokes #atbom #telltale batman #juce #at the brink of midnight #fight scene guides are all the same #and none of them are helpful :(#at least it feels like it #please tell me what you think #and if you have any pointers so i may write better in the future #i love you guys very much!!!!!!!!!!#see you next time!#^3^#canon-typical violence #non-con drug use #hallucinations #horror #what do you expect it's fear toxin

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jaycewriteslikealot · 6 years

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Last Line Tag!

Hey! So I was tagged by these amazing people: @elonanwrites @alextriestowritestuff @carrotgirl-weeb @sunflowersfor-amy and @creatinmaven !!! I already did this and haven't had time to write anymore since (😭) so I thought I'd just provide you with a nice length excerpt! This is from TSA, my wip about spies, and this is how Carol met her friends 😄

~~~

When she had initially received the scholarship, she hadn’t expected anything extraordinary to come from it. Sure, the fact that spies were real was unexpected, but it would still just be another school that she would inevitably get kicked out of for her impudent attitude. Another school filled with teachers that droned on about things she already knew and another grade full of idiots who took pleasure in attempting to degrade her confidence. It would just be another building of people whose IQs didn’t even come close to surpassing hers.

How wrong she was.

It was the first time since she was four years old that she was confronted by questions she didn’t know the answer to. She had never heard of the first spy to create a school, she had never studied how to defuse bombs, and she had never cared for Physical Education so she had trouble with combat training. For anyone else, the whole year would have been a disaster. Nevertheless, thanks to her IQ of 160, she was able to cram ten years of information into her brain in only one week. However, despite her swift adaption to the world of espionage, she wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms.

“And where do you think you’re going?"

Carol looked up at the boy who had spoken (whom she would later learn was named Zachary Layton). He was tall and gangly, with black hair, and acne covering half of his face. His appearance was completed by a glare. A posse of glaring students emerged from behind him, all slowly surrounding Carol.

“To class,” Carol said matter-of-factly.

“I think you’re in the wrong place.”

Carol looked very unimpressed. “I may be new, but I’m not stupid.”

“You aren’t meant to be here,” the boy spat. “You’re a Normo.”

“A what?” Carol asked with a laugh. The boy only glared more. “What is that, the spy version of a Muggle?”

“Your kind is not welcome here,” he said, shoving her backwards. She looked rather affronted after being assaulted, both physically and verbally, for no rational reason. He continued to force her backwards harshly. “You’re not a spy. You got in on a scholarship. You don’t belong here and never will. You’re a Normo. Normos are not meant to be exposed to the concept of secret agents. No matter what Miss Hope thinks of you, you will never be accepted. You will never be appreciated. You will never be a spy.”

Carol raised her eyebrows in impassive surprise. “Wow. Rude.” She squeezed past the students who surrounded her as they all glared. “Not exactly the welcoming party I was expecting, but I’ve never been liked before, so why should anything change at the first school that’s wanted me here?” She entered the classroom, ignoring how the rest of the teenagers filed in behind her. “Also, boy-whose-name-he-never-gave, I am able to fully one hundred percent guarantee that I will be a better spy than you.”

“What makes you think that, you scum?” A different boy had spoken this time, and Carol simply looked at him boredly.

“Wow, very creative insult. Truly, I’m hurt by your words,” Carol said, her sarcasm remarkably evident. “But, if you must know, I am a literal genius, with an IQ higher than you can count—although you bunch seem like you couldn’t get past ten without trouble.”

There was a small snicker from the back of the room and every one of the bullies’ eyes widened in horror. Carol turned to see two more students sitting in the back of the classroom; the boy, looking at her with an impressed smirk, and the girl, looking at her nails stoically. The boy had side-swept black hair and warm brown eyes, while the girl had a messy blonde bun perched atop her head with eyes of icy blue—they were a perfect yin and yang. She watched as the boy gestured for her to come sit with them. No hesitation was needed for Carol to make her decision.

“Another genius at school,” the boy said. “It must be Christmas.” Carol’s eyes widened in surprise and hope. The boy was still grinning widely. “We’re both geniuses too.”

Carol felt her heart soar.

“I’m Gideon Zones,” he said, “and this one,” he thumbed at the girl next to him, “is Moira Lake.” Moira barely glanced at Carol, but nodded curtly. “Don’t take her aloof personality seriously, she’ll come around,” Gideon said with a laugh. “Hey, do you want some of my shrimp chips?”

Carol smiled in awe, feeling like maybe, just maybe, she was finally home.

#thank you all for tagging me!!!!#feel free to send me a message anytime if you want to learn more about my wips #or if you want to be friends 👀👀👀💜💜💜#tsa #jayce tagged #creatinmaven #sunflowersfor-amy #carrotgirl-weeb #alextriestowritestuff #elonanwrites

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lanashellrey-blog · 6 years

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Time bomb

Sunday I returned to school.

I held on to all of what I had gathered throughout the past five days and I realized that it all had to be stuffed in my pocket. I had learned about some of his newest clothes on Saturday and I went back to carrying my anxiety in my chest. On the way down, I cried as we pulled out of the driveway. I said I hated school. I couldn’t bear going back there. I wanted it to all be over. Then, Mom and Dad launched into a tirade about how it’s my fault and maybe if I didn’t act so negative and glum all the time maybe I would feel better. I bit down on my lip to prevent from crying harder. We stopped to eat at a restaurant and I managed to eat half of a sandwich. My nausea still hadn’t ceased. When we got back in the car, I switched off between reading a book and sleeping. I was back at my university before I knew it.

We stepped into my empty apartment. Dad put together my new desk chair. We put away some of my things that I had brought from home. Mom snooped around upstairs in my bedroom. She said she wanted to “test out my bed” but I know it was to sneak around in my personal space and see if I was living actually living a normal life like I said or if it were just a facade. Mom should know better than to expect me to channel all of my emotional baggage into my personal space. All she found was my unmade bed, unfolded clothes, and crates of random items in the middle of the floor.

They double checked to make sure I would be okay. I said yes, even though I think I was lying to myself as well as them. Then they left.

I met up with Big and Grandbig before our chapter meeting. Neither of them mentioned what was going on. They asked me how home was. How are you doing, with that specific tone in their voice that said they only semi-wanted to hear what I was feeling. The tone that is asking to be polite, not because they’re concerned. I didn’t hesitate to say bad. I was through lying about my feelings. Neither of them commented. I think they were afraid of what I would unload on them if I did.

I sat through my chapter meeting, feeling like a hollow shell of a person. I laughed on cue like I was supposed to. I sang when I was supposed to and then I sat quietly. I smiled when I was supposed to. Said my cordial hellos and goodbyes. I didn’t take notes. My one roommate saw me and gave me a hug. She asked how was home? but she didn’t ask any more. Nothing specific either. Big and Grandbig invited me to coffee at our favorite venue. The social worker said no coffee after noon, so I decided to head home instead. I said hello to my second roommate when she was dropped off her family. Then I laid in bed until sleep came.

It was my first day back on my regular routine. I woke up and headed off to my internship and told my mentor that I had just had the bad stomach flu. Her mouth dropped as if in disbelief. I wasn’t even sure anymore if that was a lie. I lie to myself all the time, but I never believe me. While we were racing around the hallways, I heard the echoes of music honking and clattering. My stomach turned. My head spin. My chest tied into the anxiety-knot. I tore skin off my thumbs for the rest of the time that I was there.

Later on in the library after my internship, I was trying my best to kick myself back into gear. Being home had sucked up what little was left of my motivation. Reading was hard. I felt my eyes glazing over every time I tried. I was getting frustrated. I felt myself breaking down. I scrawled some final notes before I shoved off for class, feeling defeated. I was suffering through college and I couldn’t even do college anymore. Last year I had been a well-oiled machine. My color-coded planner was my lifeline. I worked hard, got amazing grades, and still had enough time and money to go for drinks with my friends on the weekends.My parents were so proud of me, they almost completely ignored the fact that I wasn’t even old enough to drink yet. I remember how I had told the social worker that I didn’t drink anymore because of the concussion I got when I was drunk in the spring. Suddenly, that didn’t seem like the truth anymore.

I was laying in my bed that afternoon when my roommate, the one who’d gotten home late with her family, came in. We talked about her weekend white-water rafting. We talked about the boy she’s currently seeing, we laughed at silly videos. She didn’t ask me about my weekend.

In the evening, my roommate, the one who I’d seen at the chapter meeting, baked some cookies. We hung up new decorations in the living room. We laughed together and sang songs. We planned our Halloween costumes. Something came up, and I told her a story about him. She laughed. But she didn’t say anything.

To everyone around me, I must look like a ticking time bomb. Nobody wants to touch me. Nobody wants to set me off. Nobody wants to mention anything around me. Nobody wants to see me explode. How nice it would be to share their feelings of safety, wanting to look but not touch. I desperately want to go back to the times when I could follow them to safety, get behind the yellow line. I wish it weren’t me this time, playing the one who needed to be defused.

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jmg714 · 6 years

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08/30/18

Last night I went skateboarding with my friends from elementary school. One who I consider one of my best friends and one who I haven’t seen in so long. I was learning to manual while skating and I would get it every now and then. I had to lean back and when I lean too much backwards I would skid the skateboard but I lean too little I just go back down on my board.

We went to Barcode near my house afterwards and grabbed a few drinks. They had The Patsy which was cool. They asked if I wanted to eat and I said sure so we went to The Wharf. I ordered $3 fries which is alot because they give you alot of fries for $3 and they’re probably the best fries ever. I asked my friends if they ever bought the bartender a shot and they said yeah and I told them I’m going to ask her. Not going to lie, the bartender was attractive. She was wearing a Pulp Fiction tank top so we talked about Quentin Tarantino movies. I told her how Pulp Fiction is probably my favorite film from him but Kill Bill was the first film I’ve seen from him and his other films before and after that are just amazing. We were flirting as I bought her a shot, we did a shot of Jameson together. Looking at how much she poured, it felt like a double. She had a hard time drinking it straight up so she gave me the rest. My friends were happy for me, seeing this soft-spoken, quiet kid that they met for the first time back in 4th grade and now he’s just talking to girls and taking shots with them like it’s nothing. We talked more about life. My friend asked if I was ever in love and I’ve only been in love with maybe one girl which was my 2nd girlfriend. Since then I haven’t felt something like that since, just because all the relationships I’ve been always felt shook. Whether it was insecurities, lack of trust, and everything in-between in both parties, I’m just tired of making things work when the relationship doesn’t need work to begin with, it just needs to end. We also talked about “The Catcher in the Rye”, how much that book really relates to us. I told them how at any second I could check myself in a clinic because I’m just done with everything. We went outside and we talked some more. The bartender said see you guys tomorrow, but I know that I can’t do that because going out with a bartender is highly unlikely, she was flirty, touchy, and super nice to me but at the same time it’s also her job to do that, I work tomorrow, and I also like someone else already. My friends hugged me and said that everything goes well on Friday. They can tell how the way I talk about her, that she’s different. It’s also on me too because while there’s equality and what not, I’m the one that has to let her know that I like her.

I had a really weird dream last night, I also don’t remember falling asleep. I was with this girl who I met on Coffee Meets Bagel. She was probably the last girl where I was really sad because she said let’s go out again but then she would never get back to me or she would always not compromise or make time for me. In the dream we were doing a “Escape Room”. It was coming down to the wire but I defused the bomb with one second left to spare and we escaped the Escape Room. The dream fast forwarded to us on a bus looking at the sites. Our arms are wrapped around each other while just being silent looking at the window. At one point she said, “This is nice”. I replied, “Yeah, everytime when we’re together is always nice”. I woke up without my clothes on. Fuck -_-.

Anyways, last night felt like one of those days that never happened. I don’t want to bring anything up in the future, all I can think about is going to work, going to my other job, going to the gym, and just having a good time enjoying Ashley’s company.

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noaksey · 6 years

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New Post has been published on http://noaksey.com/egx-2017-retrospective/

EGX 2017 - Retrospective

Join me as I cast my mind back over the 2017 EGX event in Birmingham, below I have decided to highlight some of the titles that left an impression on me, what kind of impression you ask?

Read on!

The Mystery Box – Milo Keeble

Ever wanted to play a box of many games, where every time you opened said physical box, you are treated to an amazingly entertaining game at random? Well, Milo and his team of wonderful developers have achieved exactly this bringing to you a box covered in buttons, sliders, switches and sticks all that have different effects depending on the game that is selected for you. During my playthrough, I had to defuse a bomb, drive a train and bounce coins. It was so exciting not know what game you were getting next and to change the game you just closed the box and reopened to find if the game selector had given you a new one or the same one again.

There’s this video I took of @NoakseyV1 trying out Hot Button, Tom’s first game for the box. c: pic.twitter.com/4voX51sWmW

— Chloe Goodchild (@genderTruckery) September 25, 2017

Smash Tanks! – Dumpling Design

Making successful use of AR (Augmented Reality) seems to only be seeing achieved by a handful of development teams, but, teams such as Dumpling Design are making it look easy to implement this technology with the introduction of their most recent title Smash Tanks! The premise of the game is super simple you take three tanks and you literally catapult them (smash them) into your opponents tanks. Adding to their premise the addition of skills/powers that will cause mines to drop or cluster bombs and rockets to fire across the playing field. At this time the playing field is applied using the mobile AR tech which can allow almost any surface to be the playground which means for more fun gameplay.

Ava Airborne – Laser Dog

Taking the concept of those side-scrolling flappy bird types and actually making a well thought out entertaining game, in my opinion, is next to impossible! Yet Laser Dog step up and take a casual yet challenging approach to the side-scrolling flying genre, bringing to it an air of beauty (pardon the pun) when they designed this with the art seemly taking the main stage then they mixed in simple mechanics which as you start to fine-tune your skills the game will incrementally become harder and challenge you more, the difficulty curve for this title is just too perfect!

Lost Words – Sketchbook Games

Mixing storytelling and gaming is something I love, the idea of following a story through like reading a book was one of the reasons I loved Tengami. Lost Words takes this to a whole new level, adding elements of puzzle, platforming and swapping between styles 2D and 3D throughout to help to set the stage for the story and to allow the adventure to played with and directly influenced by you. In an aim to not completely spoil the experience the game, you use the words placed on the pages/in-game to literally affect the world you are exploring and moving through.

Toast Time – Force of habit

This mobile title is very simple and fun, you play as a toaster that fires different types of bread in an attempt to save time from invading Inter-dimensional time-blob beasties. Packed out with plenty to do with the additional modes such as Ironman survival mode & bonus COFFEE TIME mode this game is something to sink your teeth into!

Forgotton Anne – ThroughLine Games

From the very moment I stood waiting to play and watching others playing this game, my mind immediately spoke to me in the form of an inner monologue “Hey Ghibli have a new game coming out” it didn’t take me long to realised I was mistaken and in fact this game is only inspired by Ghibli and was, in fact, its own game in its own right. Expertly mixing anime style with beautifully stylised back and foregrounds you play as a female lead who is the enforcer who keeps order in the Forgotten Lands, where the game world is based. There are rumours of a rebellion which she sets out to bring a stop to as failure might prevent her master, Bonku, and herself from returning to the human world.

Monster Hunter World – Capcom

Are very fun game where you hunt monsters, the newest release in an already well-established series of games. If you are looking for a challenging RPG monster hunting game in a 3D beautiful land. Simply purchase this game.

Yoku’s Island Express – Jens Andersson

Team 17 has a real talent to find, well, talented developers and bring their games to shows like EGX and show them off in the right way, in this game you play as a beetle whom dreams of becoming a postal worker, in this game you pinball yourself around the caverns and the underground collecting fruit to deliver to those that need it. It’s fun, entertaining and easy to pick up and play, everything you’d expect from a Team 17 produced title.

BFF or Die – ASA Studios

This title has been covered by me before, see here, however I felt it worth highlighting it as once again the game as taken onboard feedback from the players and have been expertly implemented into the game making is feel like a totally different game, while keeping the very essence of the direction the team were trying to achieve. I love this game for two very distinct reasons;

1) You quickly learn which of you and your friends are the “weak link”.

2) You find you encourage each other throughout the whole experience, not many games naturally achieve this, this game does!

Hyper Sentinel – Huey Games

This title has been covered by me before, See here, This game is very bloody good, the legacy of this team and the skill clearly implanted into this title is glowing like a radiated bed sheet in the deeps of the moon’s craters. But the reason I felt it worth mentioning once again is that I was given the chance to play this at the time the unannounced Switch version. The controls where tight the game played like a grade 1 musician in concert. If you ever want to experience what the sitch does well for games, get Hyper sentinel when it launches onto the Switch!

It’s Quiz Time – Snap Finger Click

OMG, I can not correctly craft the words, nor, explain exactly why this title is a massive deal to me, I’d have to go over about 3 pages of history and back story to perfectly paint you the story setting you up for the explosion of happiness I felt when I saw the team behind the Buzz games was back, with another question panel quiz show game. These guys did not disappoint either this game has all the perfect levels of with, fun and love I remember from those days old. Hosted by an A.I. avatar called Salli whom will store data on you as a player to personalise its interaction with you while you try to out quiz your friends and family. It’s so perfect, buy this game.

Silent Streets – Funbakers Limited

This title has been covered by me before, see here, A story driven game based on the user actually being rewarded for real-time events is not something to take lightly. You are an investigator who is trying to unearth overarching plot, however, to do this you will be expected to travel, and I mean travel. The game actually tracks your movement throughout a day adding to a step counter which when filled will allow you to unlock parts of the story and in some of the cases you can even interact with crime scenes using AR technology. There is a lot here to unlock and explore and if you are the type to want progress without adding to the step counter, well, there are microtransactions available, but this does greatly reduce the play time of the title.

Supremely Excellent Goblins – NFTS Games

So this game is a student project and as such will be given the same level of criticism as a developed title, this game is clearly heavily inspired by the likes of Undertale, the game focuses on a kid and their helper and defender goblin, but in this title the kid can not fight, at all, only the goblins can. you are encouraged to make your way through challenging dungeons with an aim to survive with the help of goblins. The art supporting the game is super cute and interesting, however, the gameplay was clunky, slow and frustrating. I found myself not giving this game much time because of the lack of gameplay fine tuning missing, but I can see that it had its gem qualities and there was really rough talent in the development of this title more time and experience and these guys will be making me eat my words I bet.

The Lost Bear – Oddbug Studio

One of the few VR titles I spent the time to play, this one was being shown on a PSVR (PlayStation Virtual Reality) system, in the game you are given the perspective as someone watching a “puppet” show but instead of wooden dolls you have paper-crafted worlds and characters which you control one of, during parts of the story the room you seem to be sat in gets affected by the game world and sometimes things will interact with both you the on-looker and the character you are controlling. It’s really entertaining and immersive, I loved it.

The Peterson Case – Quarter Circle Games

This VR game is a detective novel and interactive horror/thriller you play as a detective who has decided to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the entire Peterson family. You explore the past, future and present in a desperate attempt to unearth what happened to the family. While you unravel your own dark past and how all paths interlinks. It has all the hallmarks of a good story and horror title and the demo sets up whats to come well.

Sprinkle Palooza – NFTS Games

So this game is a student project and as such will be given the same level of criticism as a developed title, this game was without a doubt the most confusing and yet addictive title I played out the title NFTS students brought that I had played. You are a balloon animal moving around, well floating, well shuffling, no moving, yes moving around and you use Kinect power to charge up stuff you dodge cakes who are out to kill you. I found myself sat there playing this game for ages and I honestly can’t exactly tell you why but I really loved the game, despite all its weirdness and inaccurate controls and movement.

Megaquarium – Twice Circled

I have covered Twice Circled before, this title is something similar when you consider their last title Big Pharma. You are placed in charge of an aquarium and you are tasked with growing it and making a profit in this sandbox world. It is all about managing the aquarium until you achieve the challenges and then moving on and starting all over again.

2000 to 1: A Space Felony – National Insecurities

This is one of the gems of the show for me and not exactly what I was expecting, but something I gladly sat throughout until I successfully finished the build. You are a detective who is investigating an A.I. of a space colony who have had all of its crew murdered. You are tasked with finding out who the culprit is. You collect evidence and challenge statements with facts. Until you unearth the true criminal behind the mysterious deaths of all the crew.

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fultas01 · 7 years

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Hello Reader!

Hi mom! For the last three months I have been working on this post, which if you see the word count you’ll begin to understand why it took so long. With over 5,500 words this is my longest post ever. Sorry, not sorry. In this post I’m going to talk about a lot of my adventures in the month of December (I know its March, BUT I’ve been busy!). This post will talk about some of the dumber (more air-heady) things I have done in country, as well as discuss my first vacation in Europe! While there is a lot in these stories, there is also a lot omitted, so if you want to hear more about any of these things, you’ll have to ask me in person, or wait for an Angela-tells-all post (not coming soon). So just remember: this is going to be a looong post, make sure to see it as a marathon, not a sprint! See you at the finish line. :)

The first misadventure: Losing of the Phone.

After celebrating a lovely (and honestly completely different from I’m used to) Thanksgiving, I headed back to site with my site mate (sort of site mate, we live in different places, but he’s in the raion, so if I want anything I either go to his city or Chisinau), and about a half hour into the trip back I realized that I didn’t have my phone. Instead, I had completely forgotten that I had knocked it off the sofa the night before and left without it in the morning.

Some pictures from our fantastic Thanksgiving meal. Great food, drinks, and even better company.

We contacted our friend in Riscani and asked for him to look for it when he had time. He thankfully found it that night and texted to guard for me that I made it back to site, right before the phone died. He told me that it was like defusing a bomb, having to beat the clock to send a message as the phone was dying. After that, I tried to figure out a time when I could either make it to Riscani to pick up my phone from him, or if he could send it via rutiere back to Edinet for me. Unfortunately due to our schedules as teachers, and the rutiere schedule, there was basically no way to get to Riscani and back (without either missing part of the school day, or spending the night in the other town, neither were really acceptable). So, he being a great human being, said he’d take it to Chisinau that weekend and leave it in my locker for me.

Now I just had to make it a week or more without a phone. Normally, I don’t think that this would be difficult. Annoying yes, difficult no. But my phone has my alarm on it, which led me to being late two days of the week for school. I set the alarms on both my computer and tablet to help me wake up, and on the first late morning realized that my tablet had set the alarm for 8 am back in the states (not very helpful), and the one on my computer didn’t go off (no idea why… and now it will randomly go off around 8 am). Along with the fun times of sleeping in, I also found that due to random power outages, I had very little internet access. Every time the house lost electricity for a few seconds would turn off he motem, and I would be without internet on my laptop and tablet until it was turned back on by one of the kids. The lack of internet also was annoying at school, where if I was ever unsure of a grammatical rule or wanted to come up with quick examples of said grammar, I would google it. Without the internet on my phone, I was left to either guess at meaning or try some out of the textbook (and these textbooks are far from my favorite sources of information).

The final weird thing about being without a phone, was the fact that my program director was planning a visit to see me teach, and I was trying to fill out my request for vacation. I informed my program manager that I didn’t have my phone for the week, so she was awesome and called me via my host family’s phone. A little awkward to first few times, but since she ended up calling at least four times I got used to using their phone and my host family understood.

At the end of the week I was happy to find myself going to the capital for a meeting and to grab my phone. Being reunited was absolutely fabulous.

Misadventure 2: Teaching in a ‘Winter Wonderland’

I have a theory that in the month of December all kids that live in a country that celebrates Christmas are the same. They are counting down the days until they have a break. During this month we had our first snows, and did the kids go crazy at that! Even the teachers asked if I went out and built a snow man (no, no I didn’t, it’s freaking cold outside). And so, as any teacher can tell you, teaching students in December is somewhat similar to herding cats. They only learn when they want to, and you end up bending over backwards trying to get their attention.

During the month I had a hard time concentrating myself, as I was counting down to my vacation, so for the most part the only people who were trying were my partners. Sorry guys, I was distracted. But we pushed through and continued to teach vocabulary and grammar points while everyone was bundled up in their winter coats. This is because while the school is heated, there are some rooms that are better heated than others, and I think the English room was just a step above freezer.

Our heaters were located below the windows and they lazily pushed out a little heat. Meaning that the seats closest to the windows were the most coveted, since they were the warmest. But, sitting next to the windows made it easy for the students to get distracted by any and everything that passed by. While my 12th graders were very studious and interested in learning, my 11th graders took to talking about everything and anything that passed by outside, and just generally hold full conversations in Romanian. And how do you deal with this? Well, you probably shouldn’t follow my example and just start being sarcastic and snarky right back at the student in English. It gets their attention, and for those that understand what I’m saying laugh, but the kid who was speaking in Romanian just continue by saying N’am înțeles (which means, I didn’t understand). Which I would then reply (in English, and sometimes in Romanian) either, I know, or put a hand over my heart and dramatically go: no?! Not the most professional answer, and I don’t recommend acting that way in class, but it just came out naturally, and it had a moticom of success in stopping conversation. I would also go and sit right next to the talkers and just stare at them, that generally had them blushing and turning to the front of the class real fast.

In the middle school grades I just generally let my teachers work their magic to make them behave (less rather than more) and we pulled teeth with my middle grades for the month. Did they learn anything? Maybe. Maybe not. But I definitely taught them the American move of hitting your head against a table or the chalkboard when frustrated. So….culture exchange?

In my youngest grades (2-5th) the students were still generally good. They wanted to learn, so we kept to our work and even played some games, sang songs, learned our ABCs and all that. :) I even taught a couple of my classes some Christmas carols. I hadn’t been planning on it, but when one of my second graders just started repeating “jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell…” over and over again, I couldn’t help go over to him and start singing the actual song. Which got the attention of everyone else in the classroom, and we quickly switched gears and learned the chorus of Jingle bells, because why not?

Misadventure 3: What’s in a Holiday?

Winter break began on the 24th of December, so I packed my book-bag and went to Chisinau, which was completely decked out for the holiday. When I arrived, I hung out with some other M31s, including the two ladies I was going to Romania with, as well as another friend who we were going to celebrate her birthday! We walked around in the beautifully decorated area, took photos and then made it to our hostel.

I was so thankful to get to the hostel, because after an hour or two of carrying a 10 lbs (I’m guessing, I have no idea how much it really weighed) backpack and my purse with my laptop in it, I was getting a little tired…. If you ask the ladies I was hanging out with, they might even go as far to call me whiny or annoyed. BUT I’m sticking with tired, and I just had a desire to put my stuff down. Either way, we finally made it to our hostel after looking around downtown Chisinau and going down a sketchy alleyway to find our hostel (IDK if it’s just Moldova, but I feel like all of their hostels are down sketchy alleys).

Once we sat our stuff down, we set out to celebrate Beth’s birthday in style. We went to a nice Italian restaurant, that I won’t be able to find again on my own. And whose name I don’t know (so sorry if you were hoping for me to give you a good restaurant in Chisinau, I have the attention span of a Labrador retriever and Dory’s memory). I can say that the food was delicious and the company superb. It was nicely decorated for Christmas, so we had to take a picture together. Unfortnately, I had not dressed for taking a picture, I had dressed for the 3.5 hour rutiera ride into the city, so I look like a hot mess.

That night, we stayed up late watching the movie Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them in our hostel. The movie was great, however the quality from my computer was lacking. :/

The next day was of course Christmas! And being in an orthodox country, December 25th didn’t necessarily mean a whole lot. But we decided to keep some traditions alive and went to see the new Star Wars movie in the theater (it was even in English :D ). Another really good movie, that I was happy that I got to watch, with Americans.

After the movie, we met other volunteers and had a little Christmas party together. We had food, nonalcoholic beverages, good company, ginger bread houses, and a piano! With the piano available, and a gentleman who plays the piano, we decided to sing some Christmas carols! Because, why not?

From the party, I left with my travel partners and we headed for the South Bus Station to catch our rutiera to Brasov, the first stop on my wonderful winter vacation! As we made it to the bus station it was already around 6 at night. So, we sat down to wait for our rutiera… and we waited….and we waited. During this wait, one of my friends reminded me that I still needed to turn on the roaming on my phone. With that thought in mind I looked around for an Orange store (our cell phone provider, not the fruit). However, all the little phone stores were already closed for the night (everything closes up when it gets dark, which at that time was around 4 pm). Cursing under my breath and heading back to my travel buddies, I began trying to turn roaming on from my phone. This, I thought would be an easy process, but NOOOOOO, it had to be difficult, and wouldn’t let me do it, without an added 200 lei (about 10 usd) to my account, something I couldn’t do from where I was. So I gave up and decided to turn it on the next day from Romania.

While I was messing around with my phone we were still waiting for our rutiera, and getting a little anxious that we hadn’t seen it yet. So we went to investigate, only to find that there had only been five tickets sold, so they were getting a car instead of a rutiera. No sense wasting the gas and the space when you could do it another way, right? So, we got to drive to Brasov in a minivan! Not what I was expecting, but it was more comfortable than a rutiera, so absolutely no complaints…. Okay, my only complaint is about Bethany deciding to wake me up by hitting me. Thanks bro. I will get even.

We drove through the night and made it to our hostel around 2 am. Which, was earlier than we had anticipated… meaning that we had to wake up the employee to let us in and pay for another night, that we hadn’t been expecting. But that meant we did get to sleep in a bed that night.

Misadventure 4: Yes I’m American, yes I speak Romanian aka. Romania

We spent the next 2 days exploring Brasov and the surrounding areas. The first day we walked around Brasov, had some good food, walked up to the two observation towers (the white and black towers), threw some snow balls, checked out a grave yard (because…because!), checked out the black church, and generally just walked around the city.

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Each of these photos has a little story behind them, so if you want to know more, try to find me some day and ask, I’d be glad to share my experiences.

In the mean time, I will say that the pictures of us in the woods was in the middle of an impromptu snow ball fight, the big church in the early photos is the black church which was closed while we were there, and we joked that the tree looked like an old lady who had hair coming out of her hair net in every direction. :)

That evening (and the next one too), we came back to the hostel by 8 o’clock and played card games for a while. This led to us finding out that Susan is a card shark who spent a lot of time playing cards (successfully) in Vegas for years before she came to Moldova. Thankfully we were only playing Uno and go fish! However, Susan did wipe us out on first time around during one of the go fish games. She literally guessed all of my cards, then guessed all of Bethany’s. It was insane. I can also say, that I never won a game of Uno, and I don’t think I won go fish either.

Our guardian at the hostel, she really liked my bed :)

On the second day in Brasov we went to Bran castle (Dracula’s castle) and to a fortress! It was a fun day trip away from Brasov, so we could walk up to the different castles (it was pretty dangerous getting up, and then down, the steep and snow covered slope to Bran Castle). However, I can now say I was at Dracula’s castle!

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One the 3rd day we traveled to Romania’s Capital, Bucharest! We decided to go via train and hang out in the city for a couple hours just seeing what they have. We decided that we would go to the Hard Rock Cafe in the city, which I was definitely cool with, since I knew I would be getting my Starbucks craving finally sated after 6 months without it.

Unfortunately, we didn’t know exactly how to get there, and ended up a little lost, and we walked for over an hour before we came to the restaurant. During the walk I had cut my heel (how? I have no idea), so I was kind of limping and trying not to be on my heel for the last kilometer that we walked. After our wonderful meal, we decided to ax the walking idea, and had the restaurant call us a cab back to a mall we had seen so that we could do some shopping. There, I finally had some Starbucks!!! (Twice <3)!

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We widdled away the afternoon and I left around 4:30 to make it to the airport for my flight to Budapest. This is where my luck changed, as the driver took me for a tourist and it took over an hour to get to the airport, and cost me 30 euros (nope, not how much it should have cost, at all!). There, I found out that I had missed the check in for my flight by 10 minutes. I could only reschedule the flight in the next twenty minutes for a flight in two days. Fml. I said no, and tried to not make a scene in the airport about how stupid this was, and decided that I officially hate airports.

I went back outside and flagged down another cab to take me to the train station. From the train station I was hoping I could get a late night train to Budapest. This second taxi ride took 20 minutes and cost me 30 Romanian lei (7 usd). I talked to three different tellers in the train station and was able to get an over night train to Budapest that was leaving in 2.5 hours. Thank god! After almost crying of happiness about being able to keep going with my vacation, I sat down and waited (in the cold) for my new train. It was not the way I wanted to spend my night, but I was able to make it onto my train and head for Budapest. I left Romania with a lot less money than I started out with, but I still left.

Misadventure 5: My Favorite City: Budapest

Before leaving the US, if you would have asked me what my favorite city was, I probably would have said Chicago. It’s close, it’s beautiful, and it’s a place where I could see myself living in the future. Now, I can say all of these things about Budapest, Hungary. The city was absolutely gorgeous, the people were nice, it has a cool night life, and I would give up a lot of stuff in my life to get the chance to live there (sorry Mom, I know that’s not something you want to hear, but it’s true!).

But back to my story!!!

When I left off, I had missed my flight to Budapest, and had to take a train. This train didn’t arrive in Budapest until noon or 1 the next day. Meaning, I had slept on the train, but I did get to meet two nice ladies traveling through Romania and Budapest and ending their trip for the New Year in Vienna. The ladies were from Denmark, and as soon as I spoke in Romanian they could tell I was American (American accents are ridiculously easy for people to pick out), so we were able to talk in English easily. They told me about their travels, and I told them about my time as a Peace Corps volunteer in Moldova. We spent the trip talking off and on about different topics, and we came away with me adding Denmark to the list of countries I would like to visit, and I talked them into visiting Moldova in the future (as well as talking up Chicago).

When I finally arrived in Budapest I got out some money, the Hungarian Forint. This monetary system was one of the only downsides (because why do I need a 10,000 forint note? Why can’t it be 100???? I asked myself this question my entire time in the captial).

So, after I had some cash, I followed the first directions to the hostel: get on the tram and take it to the next station. Got it, so far so good. Well, that’s when I got lost. I made it to the correct stop on the tram, then went the wrong way on the street. Then I backtracked, when the right direction, then turned the wrong way again! It took me over an hour to make the 15 minute walk to the hostel… not my finest moment.

I finally made it to the hostel (a very nice hostel too) and checked in. I messaged the volunteer I was staying with and decided to crash until I heard back from her. Being able to lay down on a bed was amazing, and I was almost asleep when I heard from my friend and headed out again to St. Basilica church.

Saint Basilica’s around Christmas time.

Afraid of getting lost again, I asked the receptionist to give me directions and a map (which she did). I made it to the Jewish Synagogue (about halfway there) and then got lost again, as I headed the wrong way. Again. This lasted a hour and a half (90 minutes of basically walking around looking at buildings, thinking that that building looks like it could be a cathedral. Then realizing that I walked past it like 3 times) before I was finally able to meet and find my friend in front of the church, which we didn’t go inside of because we were starving.

Once we finally met each other, we decided to walk back towards the center of the city to find a restaurant. And guess what? We went the wrong way!!! We ended up walking a same way I had just come from and walked all the way around until we hit an overpass that seemed to be going out of the main city. Funnily enough, while we were walking, an English guy (probably our age) literally ran up to us, because he saw our map and asked us where we were drinking. Thankfully he kept going with his friends, so we didn’t actually talk to the guy, but it definitely made me more aware of how much of a tourist we looked.

I can’t remember where we ended up eating that night, but I think we ended up going to a ruin bar (which those are fantastic) and we drank Starbucks and talked while sitting outside listening to some random band playing in the background.

Day 2 of Budapest: Let’s be tourists

So on my second day in Budapest, we got all sorts of touristy with paying to have breakfast at the New York Cafe and do a hop-on hop-off tour. But when we left the restaurant, we lost more than we expected. My friend lost quite a bit of money (no idea where) and I lost my ticket for the bus. So I had to buy a new one, spending more than I had planned on spending that day (oops).But I will say, the New York Cafe was really pretty.

From there, we tried to make things better and jumped on the bus touring the city and listening to the pretty insane stories of the city’s history (they threw a guy in a barrel and then rolled it down a hill into the Danube, not to mention all the floods, wars, and other disasters that have affected the area). We explored the city for a long while and split up for a little while exploring different areas. We met back up at the hostel and got ready for our big activity of our time in Budapest: a bath party. Budapest is known for their public baths, so we decided to go to the New Years Eve bath party (held on the 30th… no idea why).

While the idea was a really fun one, it was supposed to be like a huge night-time block/pool party. We didn’t consider the fact that the temperature outside at night was well below freezing. Not to mention what happens in pools when there is a lot of alcohol and drunk people. Also, I am not much of a party girl, as the DUF (if you don’t know this acronym, urban dictionary knows what it means) of every group of friends I’ve had since the age of 13 (probably), I was on babysitting duty, and my RBF (same as my earlier comment: urban dictionary) made me good at the job, but it made me cold and bored for most of the 4 hour party, not to mention that I was sober. So yay, gross water party where I wasn’t distracted by anything (person or anything).

With that said, I do think that the baths would be fun in the day time and when there aren’t so many people around, and I could actually relax, and not be annoyed. If asked to go to this party again, I’d laugh all the way to the nearest ruin bar, and tell you to go if you want, but I’ll be here having fun. Either way, I had a great day taking pictures then an okay night out.

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Day 3: Bye-bye Budapest!

On our last day in Budapest, my friend and I started the day out by going to the train station and buying tickets to Prague for that night (our way of saving money because a room in either city was more money than all the other nights combined, so no.). We then had some breakfast together and made a plan to meet back up together later. Then I went back out to explore the city by myself. To my mother, who very much might be hyperventilating reading about me going two days in a city by myself: I know you’re worried, but I made it without a scratch. And I honestly had a really good time, and if you’re afraid of me going it alone too much, you’ll just have to join me on my next adventures. :)

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This day, I got to try some local food, and had some mulled wine (delicious!), and took looots of pictures. It was a great day of traveling around and seeing different sites. I ended my time in Budapest by getting a local beer at a nice restaurant and then some waffles and a milkshake at a boutique cafe, that I will go to again when I visit again. Oh, and I of course had some Starbucks (the guy recognized me from the day before) before meeting my friend at the train station.

Misadventure 6: What’s your Prague-lem?

The final leg of vacation was to visit Prague, one of Europe’s top-rated cities. But, it is not on my top favorite lists. I went, I saw, I got the shot glass. I don’t have any strong desires to go again. That would be due to a lot of different things.

Our first day there started really early (like 6 am) and as I got off the train I was automatically cold and had to try and find my friend (she had sprung for the sleeper car, whereas I hadn’t). It took us a while to find each other, and then even longer to figure out where to go from there, since we couldn’t check into our hostel until that afternoon.

We went to the Old Town area and walked less than a block before we turned back around and headed for the subway, deciding that before we get any food we should find the hostel and drop off our bags. So, we were tired, and freaking freezing. Not a great start.

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Throughout the day my mood fluxuated from happy to annoyed and back again. We ended up lost at almost every turn, the guy at the hostel, while somewhat helpful flirted with my friend and ignored my existence so much that the next morning he didn’t even recognize me. But we had Starbucks and saw some of the sites. Unfortunately while we did have some fun, I think we were mostly tired, and just generally annoyed that we had gotten so lost and had to wait around in the cold for so long waiting on buses. If I had to give this day a rating from 1-10, it would have received a 4. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good either. Not every city can be Budapest.

Day 2: Do I look like D. Trump?!

Day two came early and I was annoyed to find myself ditched without a word. Not the best beginning of a day, but we were both annoyed from yesterday, so I don’t care about it now. But at the time, it had really pissed me off. That day, I missed out on everything I wanted to do because of getting lost (I had planned on doing a tour of a concentration camp a little ways outside of the city, then I wanted to do a walking tour of the city that talked about the history of the city from the time of WWII to communism, to the velvet revolution. However, I couldn’t find the place to save my life. So I walked around taking some pictures.

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I made my way back to the main area and decided to try some traditional food that I had heard about from a Youtuber from Prague. So I found the restaurant, which was more of a cafeteria. And sat down to eat. I was joined by a guy who began talking to me in (what I’m guessing) was Czech. But I quickly confessed to not speaking the language, and he happily switched to English, and we spent the rest of the meal talking about random things together.

After the huge meal that honestly I didn’t think was all that tasty. I walked to a nearby gift shop and bought my souvenir shot glass (I’m 22, I’m allowed to by tacky things as my souvenirs!). The clerk this time spoke to me in Russian (I can occasionally pick that language out now). And I replied, instinctively, in Romanian. When he just gave me a look I switch to English and he asked me where I was from. When I said Chicago (no one knows anything good about Indiana, so I almost always say I’m from Chicago), he told me he thought I looked German or Russian. Then he took that back and said that I look like Donald Trump. Which, if that isn’t the biggest insult I’d heard in months I don’t know what is. So, like a true lady, I had some choice words for him and left the shop with my shot glass (I’d already paid for it, otherwise I wouldn’t have given the guy my business).

After that, I settled down at a cafe and to make myself feel better about my frustrating day, I bought myself a ticket to a concert being held in the city. I left two hours early to make sure I would find it. And good thing I did, because I got lost again, had to ask for directions, finally find the the box office where my ticket was sold only to find out that it was closed. Basically crying in frustration, I quickly tried to find the theater and found (thankfully) with about 15 minutes to spare. I was surprised that they let me in, I got my ticket and even had a really nice seat in the first few rows (not that the show I went to see was heavily attended). The concert was amazing and it improved my mood tenfold. I finished the night going to a sandwich shop near the hostel and face-timed my brother, then went to the hostel and packed my things up for my early morning. And fell asleep before my friend made it back to the hostel.

Misadventure 7: Heading home

I hate airports. They are the bane of my existence. I hate, hate, hate, hate airports. My last day in Prague say me waking up at 4 am so that I could get around and leave for the airport. Which was an experience! consisting of a subway ride, then over crowded buses and having absolutely no idea where or when to get off. I arrived like an hour before I could even check-in and just hung out on the floor of the Prague airport next to a plug, as I charged my devices and tried to keep busy.

When I finally made it through check-in (not hard when you’re the 3rd person in line, and when the guy actually speaks English to you without looking like its a hassle). The only downside to going through security was they took my leave in conditioner (because I’m going to hold up a plane with the ability to have silky hair). Then my flight was delayed by a half hour (why? I have no idea, just because?).

From Prague I flew to Poland, Krakow. There I had a bit of an issue with my passport, since I had no stamps saying I left Hungary or ones that said I had ever been in the Czech Republic (great job, customs). So I had to stand there for a good 15 minutes while the guy checked on what to do. They eventually just let me through with a stamp saying I was leaving Poland (so according to my passport I entered Hungary, and then left Poland, not suspicious looking at all).

I then had something like 4 hours to kill. Which I did by first freaking out about not being able to find my flight anywhere on the list that would happen that day. Then found out that I was apparently looking at the wrong thing on my ticket. Then I freaked out about being at the wrong terminal and actually freaking out about thinking that I missed my flight, until I realized that Poland is an hour behind Moldova. So I had another hour of waiting and I was at the correct terminal. Talk about stress.

On the plane, my seat was taken by a mom and her kid, so I took her seat, and then listened to the baby cry and scream for the entire flight, plus the kid kicking my seat. Who says politeness doesn’t pay? Once back in Moldova, I was relieved to get to a hostel, but was over charged by a cabbie, only to find out that the hostel was booked full. So I called a friend and headed out of the city on the last rutiera to Balti of the night. And stood awkwardly close to people for a good 2 hours making my way to my friend’s house. I under shot where I should have gotten off, and ended up on the wrong side of her village and had to walk all the way through the village at like 10:30.

The next day, I made it back to my village. And that is the end of my adventures!

Final thoughts: aka the adventures of traveling alone

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Me and Czech Darth Vader, and my favorite picture from Budapest: sun setting over Hero Square.

Throughout my trips I spent some of my time traveling with friends, and some of the time traveling by myself. And I found myself meeting really nice people while I was alone. I met two women between Romania and Budapest, 3 gentleman between Budapest and Prague that I rang the New Year in with, David from Italy joined me at the cafeteria in Prague, and I ran into a couple different volunteers on their own vacations here and there too. All together, I had a really good time. Meeting new people, exploring new places, and just getting out of my comfort zone. The lesson here: go do something you weren’t planning on doing. Or travel! You never know what might happen.

Thanks for reading! Until next time,

Angela :)

The Misadventures Part 2: Or how I got lost in 4 different countries Hello Reader! Hi mom! For the last three months I have been working on this post, which if you see the word count you'll begin to understand why it took so long.

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