#Hawke could tell her about their boring ass day and as long as its near the fireplace she's content | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hotwings0203 · 3 years

Text

I feel like Dabi would be the type of dude who would bully you incessantly at the LOV and for the life of you you can’t figure out why. He’s always around you and making snarky comments or pulling your hair, trying to catch you messing up on missions. You’re sure he hates you, and you do well to stay out of his way, or sometimes when you feel bold you’ll offer a quip of your own. The bullying increases whenever you talk to other guys at the bar, especially when you make Tomura crack a smile, Dabi’s breathing down your neck the second your leader leaves, calling you terrible names and pushing past your boundaries.

Cw: language, nsfw, noncon, manga spoilers, some angst?

In a perfect world, Touya would not have been abandoned and rejected by his family. In a perfect world, Dabi would not exist, and Touya would be eating dinner with his family right now as he shows his little brother how to properly wield fire to its fullest extent.

But there was no such thing as a perfect world, and therefore Dabi did exist. And Dabi doesn’t care for anyone, or anything.

Or so he tells himself.

“Slut”

“Nothing but eye candy, and shitty eye candy at that”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore him

“What was that all about, huh? The fuck are you and crusty snickering about?”

Fed up with his continuous antics, you decide to mouth off a little too.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how adorable you and Hawks would make as a couple. And wipe that sneer off your face, it looks like some of your staples fell out of your mouth.”

It’s nothing too snarky, but in a second he’s shoving you in some dark room, forearm pinned against your throat as his hand is lit up with blue flames merely inches away from you, snarling in your face.

“You wanna be funny, bitch? I got jokes of my own too, why dont I show you what happens to dumb little girls who don’t know their fucking place? I think that would be real funny.”

But his hand is stopped from drawing near your wide eyes when you both hear Twice and Toga calling everyone for their next meeting.

He pushes you away from him, giving you a murderous look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, not paying mind to the way you slide down the wall in the dark.

You take extra precaution to try avoiding him for the next few days, not even making eye contact with him when you two get teamed up for tasks. He never mentions the room incident, if anything he acts as if it never happens. It’s like whiplash for you, he tries to weirdly talk to you more but all you offer him is mumbles and hums of agreement.

The conversation is never long, but it starts to be less talk of degrading you and more of begrudging questioning of what you’ve been up to. You never engage, opting to pretend like you never heard him, and strangely enough he leaves it be.

You give him a side eye one day as he joins you at the bar (much to your discontent), downing your glass just to fill another.

He says nothing as he slides into the stool right next to you, and pours a glass of whiskey for himself as well.

It’s awkwardly silent, you’re not sure if you should leave or not, but you’d be damned if you try to initiate small talk with this psycho.

But then, he speaks.

“Is Shigaraki sending you on the mission to get that UA kid?”

His gravely voice rumbles and cracks from his usual lack of use, and he clears his throat after he talks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This is excruciating, you think to yourself as he mulls over the drink in his hand for a silent minute or two.

Toga calls you over thankfully at the exact same moment, and you breathe out an inaudible sigh of relief as you slip off the stool to join her.

“Wait-“ Dabi grabs your arm and you flinch out of instinct, expecting a slap or a burn to come from him.

He sees your reaction and shakes his head dismissively, letting you go and muttering a “Nevermind”. You don’t ponder over it as you trip over your own feet to join the eccentric blond.

A week passes, and then two. With each day you maneuver your way around him, request to be partnered up with different people in private, and busy yourself in random tasks. Every time you pass him by the bar he lifts his head from whatever he’s doing and tries to maintain eye contact with you, even going so far as to open his mouth to say or ask god-knows-what.

You try to ignore the foreign hopeful glint in his glacial eyes as you walk right past him, ducking your head as you do so.

It drives Dabi crazy.

He can’t handle any more rejection, he thought his family would be the last straw for him to ever want recognition or love validation from again. He wants to talk to you, to hear your voice as it snaps back with witty comebacks of your own that he secretly enjoys so much, even if it means he has to force it out of you with hateful words. He wants to feel your hair underneath his scarred hands, even if he has to mask the soft wanting of you in forms of yanking the strands. He wants nothing more than to see your eyes fill up with no other sight than him and think only of him, even if it means he has to corner you and scare you into submission.

But your silence is something he’s not used to.

Well, to be fair, you weren’t silent completely, but the only sentences he was hearing from you nowadays was when you were speaking to Shigaraki or the other League members.

You were the only idiot who didn’t notice the smoke curling from his nostrils and ears comically when he’d finally see you stop your stoic act just to open up to other men apart from him. Spinner, Twice, and Compress backed off almost immediately from talking to you for too long when they’d see the look on his face as he watched you surrounded by them, but Tomura would merely smirk from behind your shoulders and keep a level gaze with his subordinate, knowing fully well why he was so pissed off.

You began to notice the weird energy at the base soon after the rest of the men would keep curt conversations with you in comparison to your long talks about video games, sex, and life after you would all win the war.

So you thought it would be best to ask the most semi-normal person there that wasn’t fueled with testosterone and aggression.

“I just don’t get it, why are they all being weird? I mean, we all used to talk so much and now they just...try avoiding me. Except for Tomura of course, he’s still normal I guess. But he always has this smirk on his face when I’m with him and I can’t figure out why.”

Toga stops cleaning her blood-laced needle to give you a sly look, all fangs and glinting white.

“And Dabi?”

“What about him?”

She sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at you. “You really don’t know what’s happening here, do ya?”

“No,” you roll your eyes in exasperation. “But I’ll gladly take any theories here, since apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t get it.”

“He likes you.”

You gape at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What? That’s crazy, he doesn’t like me, he hates me!” He can barely stand being in a room with me, all he does is talk shit and harass me.”

The blond curiously licks at a bead of red from the top of the weapon and you cringe when her own tongue rips from the sharp point.

“You say he can’t stand being in a room with you, so then why is it that he’s always there? He might talk shit, but he talks to you out of everyone else right? Regardless of if it’s something mean.”

You’re thoroughly flabbergasted. She had a point, but it was too much to wrap your head around. She cheerfully hums and gets up to flounce around the room, cleaning her already-tidy room up to a T.

“And that little silent treatment act you’re giving him isn’t helping either. I swear, Jin told me Dabi almost burned his mouth off that one day you, him and Spinner were talking about GTA. He totally cornered the poor guy and threatened his life if he didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not. He wanted to do the same to Tomura but I figure he wants to keep his job, so he won’t. Doesnt make it any better for him when you’re all chummy with the one person Dabi can’t stand the most, though.”

No wonder your leader was so smug whenever you two were in the same room, your attention solely focused on him.

You run your hands down your face, moaning about the whole situation being fucked. It’s just your luck that you couldn’t take a clue, but to be fair, how could you? Being called worthless and a waste of space wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for flirty banter.

“Soooo what’re you gonna do now? I heard he’s gonna try talking to you for realsies like, tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow?” You yelp, jumping up to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t face him!”

“Oops,” she giggles, twirling with outstretched arms around her room and falling down onto her bed.

“Oh god, I can’t do this. I don’t even know if I like him! He’s such an ass, and even when he tries to come off as normal he’s just so..unsettling. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good conversation with him.”

Toga props her elbow up to rest her chin on her hand, frowning in thought.

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

You snort and fold your arms. “Yeah, because the psycho arsonist is really gonna take the word no well.”

“Hmm.. I see what you mean. Oh well, whatever you choose, I’ll support you!”

And with that she skips out of the room sing songing for Twice to make a clone for her.

You were fucked.

And sure enough, the next day he approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets and an almost bored look on his face.

“Yo newbie, I gotta talk to you for a second. Come with me”.

You look blearily up at him through eye bags and mussed hair, a direct telling of your sleepless night. Your stomach drops when you hear his words, but you nod your head and take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself of the speech you practiced till the sun rose.

No one else is bothering you both today, Shigaraki having gone to visit All For One and the rest of the League left to their own devices. It was something you weren’t so comfortable with, but you doubted a hero would come to save you.

He leads you through the short winding hallways, each step of his growing louder and heavier as the space started growing smaller. Finally, he reaches a dimly lit room and stops outside the door, gesturing for you to go in with a casual wave of his patched wrist.

“After you.”

You raise an unsure eyebrow at his uncharacteristic show of consideration, and do as he says. You’re sweating bullets, fists balled so that your nails are digging into your palms, and vision going in and out of focus as your eyes begin to adjust to your surroundings.

A loud bang pulls you out of your stupor, and you whip around at the sound.

Dabi is already staring back at you with lidded eyes, leaning his weight against the door, his arms crossing over each other.

You shift on both feet, picking at your nails nervously.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He says nothing, but just observes you, his head slightly tilted as if you were some abstract art piece.

“Dabi.”

“You got a lot of nerve, y’know that?”

He pushes himself off the wall and advances slowly towards you, hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets.

You immediately back up with raised palms, sputtering indignantly at his offensive movements coming closer and closer. However you thought his ‘confession’ would go, this was most definitely not starting out like how you planned

“Excuse me? What’re you talking about-“

“I know what you’re doing. You think whoring yourself out to ol’ crusty and the rest of the guys here is gonna make everyone forget just how useless you actually are. What the fuck do you even do here? You fuck up half the missions which I have to come bail your ass out of, you constantly put us in jeopardy by being all friendly with everyone, and you can’t even keep your mouth shut when I need to let off a little steam, as I rightfully should.”

In a perfect world, Dabi would be the light of your eyes, the hero of your world. In a perfect world, Dabi would be able to hold your hand in his smooth one and tell you that he wants you so much that it impairs his rational judgement and makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He’d tell you that your presence is like a weight lifted off his chest, your presence means he doesn’t have to think or worry about the outside world, he just wants you all to himself without anyone interfering.

But this is not a perfect world, and Dabi is not a hero, but rather one of the worst villains.

So he does exactly what one does as a villain.

Instead of a loving look that he knows he’s incapable of, Dabi looks down into your horrified gaze as he traps you against the wall between his scarred arms, spewing misplaced venom at you.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill out. First you go ballistic on me ‘cause I talked to Tomura for no reason, then you act all weird and quiet as if you’re some decent person, and now you think you can just bring me in here and tell me how worthless I am? Go fuck yourself, seriously.”

You scoff and make your way to push him but stop when he does what he did a couple weeks ago. You hold bated breath as he casually brings an inflamed hand to scratch at his face as if he can’t feel the hellfire emitting from it, and let out a whine of distress as he lowers his head mere inches from yours, lips almost touching.

“Stop talking to the rest of the guys,” he breaths. “Stop smiling, laughing, or going near anyone who isn’t me.”

You wonder if he knows how insane he sounds. He does, but that’s nothing he doesn’t know already. If anything, it solidifies in his mind that if he is to be as bad as the world has made him out to be, then he is acting exactly fit for the role.

“Why?”

“I don’t need to give sluts like you a reason. It should come as easy, right? What’s putting out for one more person?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, your stoic facade showing cracks as you sniffle a little bit.

He eats it up and groans watching salty rivers cascade down your cheeks. Suddenly, he feels as though he can no longer hold back anymore, he feels as though if he thinks for one more second he’ll combust.

So, acting on instinct, he surges forward and presses his lips against yours, swallowing your cries of distress and holding your hands above your head in midst of them frantically beating on his chest.

Your lips are so, so soft compared to his and it’s making him sink deeper into this instinctual daze. He puffs against your writhing lips as he thrusts his hot tongue in your mouth.

You try to bite him but when his hands heat up against your skin you resign to your fate and wail, allowing him to pull his hips flush against yours and start humping your thighs.

He draws back and bites your lips, teeth clacking against yours as he does so. You open your terrified eyes and blanch when you see the look on his face.

Lust is clearly drawn everywhere, from his blown pupils to his heaving chest, all the way to his flushed face and wild eyes. He looks as though he’s about to eat you alive and it’s appropriate that you feel like a lamb about to be slaughtered.

“Dabi, wait, please stop-“

But he cuts your pants off again in favor of slamming his hips against yours again and grinding impossibly hard on your legs, the friction of his jeans catching on your clothed cunt and forcing a mewl out of you.

“I’m not gonna stop. I’ve had enough of you teasing. You’re mine now, and if it takes burning our dear leader alive and this whole place down for you to understand that then I’ll fucking do it.”

He thought that terrorizing you would ease the empty feeling in his heart, that continuously berating you would force him to see you as what he always said you were, just another empty headed cunt. He thought that distancing himself from you and focusing on other things would make him forget about the soft feelings he longed to share with you, feelings he thought perished in the fire he was in when he was a young boy .

Even now, there is an ache in his chest as he hears you beg for him to stop, to let you go, that you’re sorry for whatever you did.

But this is not a perfect world, and not everyone gets their way in life.

You should really learn that, because Dabi already has.

And so Dabi will act accordingly to what life has put out before him .

#dabi imagine #yandere dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha imagines #bnha smut #mha smut #yandere dabi #tw: noncon #touya #bnha touya #touya todoroki #Dabi #dabi x reader

1K notes · View notes

words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

Note

If you are in the mood to write pain (and, really, when aren't you in the mood to write pain): Rachel/Tobias during the early war

*mean cackling* So when I’m in a very particular moodabout the little girl I used to be and how much she was screwed over, I tend totake it out on my characters. Ergo, I ambanned from touching my Alleirat story until our houseguest leaves, and willinstead be writing Animorphs because how much worse could I make it. Sorry. And since this got pretty long and also there’s not exactly loads ofAnimorphs fic, I crossposted it to AO3. If you like Animorphs, maybe comment on thatshit or something.

here we stand (with our arms folded)

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours sincethe disastrous attack on the Yeerk pool, the sun still over the trees at theedge of the forest where it butted up against Cassie’s farm. The horse she’d morphed, whose quick legs hadsaved Cassie and one single woman the night before, was loose in the field, andRachel was cross-legged on a crate in the barn as Cassie murmured to a woundedrabbit. Rachel felt dazed, withexhaustion and shock, as if every blink and turn of her head demanded a freshcalibration of her brain, a new moment of I’malive and nothing is okay. She’dspent an hour in the shower after getting home, with the water as hot as shecould stand, but she could still feel the grit of the Yeerk pool floor on herpalms and feet, and kept expecting to catch a glimpse of Hork-Bajir blood onher human teeth in the mirror.

Cassie didn’t seem much better, her handsstill where she would usually be smoothly going through her tasks and her voicemindless nonsense, as if she was as numb as Rachel. The silence wasn’t quite tense, but there wasan unmistakable taut feeling that kept even the noisiest patients subdued andquiet.

“Did Jake say why he wanted to talk to us?”Rachel finally asked, and Cassie glanced up, shaking her head.

“No,” she said.

Rachel nodded and sat quietly for anothermoment, fidgeting her fingers over the seam of her jeans and trying to hold theanxious question tightening her chest behind her teeth. Letting out a breath that carefully didn’tshake, she asked, as casually as she could manage, “Have you talked to Tobiastoday?”

Cassie paused for a longer moment at that,considering, and her eyes were more focused when she looked up. “No, I haven’t,” she said, and offered Rachela small smile, an attempt to reassure. Cassie was good at that, Rachel thought distantly, at beingreassuring—Rachel had never mastered the trick of it. “But I’m sure he’s fine. We’re trying not to stand out, remember? We didn’t exactly run in his social circlebefore, there’s no reason he would have come to find us today.”

Chewing at her lip, Rachel tried to feel reassured. It didn’t take, and she said, “I didn’t evensee him at school, though. What if he’shurt, or–”

“Rachel,” Cassie said, peeling off her heavywork gloves and closing the rabbit’s cage. “Calm down. I barely knew Tobias’name until…yeah. He’s good at blendingin with the crowd, I’m sure you just missed him.” She walked over and pushed at Rachel’s legsuntil she dropped them to let Cassie perch beside her.

Cassie’s close-cropped hair crinkled againstthe skin of Rachel’s neck when she pillowed her head against Rachel’sshoulder—the same shoulder Tobias had perched on the night before, before theywent down into the Yeerk pool, Rachel couldn’t help but think. Rachel tucked an arm around Cassie’sshoulders and rested her cheek against Cassie’s hair, trying to feel more atease. She and Cassie had sat togetherand watched movies and talked like this for years, Cassie taking cheerfuladvantage of Rachel’s taller frame to curl up against her side, and under anyother circumstances, Rachel would feel calmer just being able to smell her bestfriend’s cocoa butter and hay scent.

Rachel hadn’t felt calm since theconstruction site, and couldn’t begin to imagine what would repair her.

“I would have noticed him,” Rachel muttered,low enough that she wouldn’t have minded if Cassie had pretended not to hearher.

Cassie straightened up, a curious glintshowing through the layers of weary shock in her eyes, and opened hermouth. She was cut off by a quiet knockon the barn door.

“Come on in,” she said, a note of forcednormality in her voice. “It’s just meand Rachel in here.”

“It’s us,” Jake said, pushing the door openand preceding Marco through. He offeredthem both a faint smile, but Marco, uncharacteristically, looked downrightgrim. “We need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” Cassie asked, shifting tostand, and a shadow swept over the dirt floor before the red-tailed hawk sweptthrough the door, flared, and landed neatly on an empty cage.

“Oh, God, Tobias,” Rachel said, jumping toher feet so quickly a caged fox squalled in surprise, eyeing human and hawkalike with suspicion. “We were worried,we didn’t see you at school.”

Tobias said, soundingstartled.

Cassie stood, more slowly but just asserious. “Jake, what’s going on?”

Tobias said atonce, and when they turned to look at him, he flared his wings, ruffling thefeathers uncomfortably. He trailed off and Jake sighed.

“Tobias was trapped in the Yeerk pool,” Jakesaid after a moment, and Rachel, in all her years of knowing her cousin, hadnever heard his voice so heavy. Not eventhe revelation that Tom was a Controller had weighed on him so clearly. “It took him more than two hours to make itout.”

There was another silence, uglier and darkerthan the one that had hovered between Rachel and Cassie, and Tobias was the oneto break it.

he said bluntly, andhesitated.

“Don’t be sorry,” Rachel said automatically,and although she recognized her voice in the air, she didn’t seem to be the onespeaking. Her body seemed to be outsideher reach—somehow, until this precise moment, she didn’t think the reality oftheir situation had quite sunk in. Thedazed exhaustion from before started to clear, and left something hot andbitter and vengeful in its wake.

“It’s not your fault you were stuck downthere,” Cassie said quietly, and thank God for Cassie, who could always say theright words as Rachel stood and tried to wrestle her voice into obedience. She could feel her body again, imagined gritand all, and it was trembling with the need to hurt someone for doing this tohim. She knew that feeling, the burn inher gut as if something toxic wanted to eat through her skin, but now there wasthe wicked murmur at the back of her mind that she could, and it shook her. “Even if you’d been human going in, you’d have been stuck. And you saved me.”

Her words cut through the tight-wound airlike a blade, and Jake let out a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as heleaned back against a sturdy wooden table. Marco shoved his hands in his pockets, and Cassie sat down on the crateagain. Rachel, hands knotted into fiststo keep them from shaking and not quite sure that she could bear to sit justyet, leaned against the nearest empty cage to where Tobias had perched.

The five of them looked around at each otherfor a moment, trying to decide what needed to be said. “What are we going to tell people?” Marcoasked.

“Try and give a crap about the situation fora minute, Marco,” Rachel snapped, the heat flashing into something cutting fora moment. She regretted the words thesecond she’d spoken them, and Marco bristled at her.

“No, Marco’s right,” Jake said, interveningsmoothly. He was looking at the ground,near Cassie’s feet, with the wrinkle between his brows that said he wasthinking hard. “We have to find a way toexplain where Tobias went, we can’t tellanyone.”

Tobias offered, and he sounded like he was trying to make the situation easieron everyone.

“Dude, you’re missing,” Marco pointedout. “Like, milk-carton-kidmissing. We have maybe another day, you can’t file a missing person’s report for afull twenty-four hours.”

Tobias said, pragmatic and blithe.

The fire in Rachel’s chest changed, goingbright white-hot, and she felt her lips twist into a snarl as she pushed awayfrom the cage at her back. It clattered,and voices called, but she ignored both—she needed out, she needed to be somewhere where it didn’t feel like she was aheartbeat from punching someone she cared about, her best friend or her cousinor even Marco.

The sun had started to drop behind the trees,outside, and the air was cooler, less stifling than in the barn. It cooled something in her throat, unwound abit of the tension in her shoulders as she skirted around the wall to the backof the barn, where the shadows of the trees stretched across the field. Not for the first time in the last week,Rachel wished she’d let Jake convince her to do karate rather than gymnastics,when they were both six and he didn’t want to do it alone—punching somethingwould be really gratifying rightnow. Instead she pressed her backagainst the wood of the barn and blinked against the burn behind her eyes,fingernails cutting into her palms.

Nothing was fair. Nothing had been fair, not ever, and shecouldn’t do anything about it. Theirattack on the Yeerk pool was a failure, the Andalites were God knew how faraway, and Tom, her cousin, who hadn’t questioned her sudden habit of turning upunannounced during the divorce and had just handed her whatever book he’d beenassigned lately for school ‘because Jake only reads comics and boring-ass warstories sorry-for-the-language-Rache’, was a Controller. And now, God, now Tobias was stuck as a hawk,sweet gentle Tobias who she’d always smiled at in the halls and worried aboutwhen he showed up with bruises. She’dtried, when she saw him getting into trouble with the bigger guys at theirschool, had dropped a murmur in Jake’s ear and been relieved when she saw hertrustworthy, reliable cousin towering over two guys with Tobias behind hisshoulder.

And now he wasn’t ever going to be that sweetgentle kid with the solemn eyes and sad smile again, and he believed, reallybelieved, that no one was even going to miss him.

Rachel wanted to kill something. MaybeTobias’ uncle, or his aunt, or his absent parents, but she’d settle for apunching bag if one made itself available. Maybe the gymnasium had one.

Rachel wasn’t sure how long she’d stoodthere, eyes fixed on nothing and hands clenched so tight it hurt, but theflicker of movement in the corner of her eye startled her. Red and brown—Tobias, fluttering down to landon the fence near her.

“Sorry,” Rachel said, barely a whisper, andhe cocked his head.

hesaid, almost teasing. But he was seriouswhen he spoke again. am sorry, Rachel.>

“You don’t need—I’m not angry at you!” she burst out, and found she wasbreathing hard, the hot thing in her chest shaking to pieces without anoutlet. “I’m just angry.” She closed her eyesand scrubbed at them with one hand, catching a stray drop of salt water anddashing it away before more could follow it.

Tobias didn’t say anything as Rachel tried toswallow down the acid in her throat, and she was briefly, desperately, gratefulfor his silence. She needed it, neededthe space to get herself under control again.

“You shouldn’t be the one being nice to meabout this,” she said at last, when she thought her voice was reliable.

Tobias was quiet for another moment, then hesaid, Rachellooked up to meet the fierce eyes of the hawk, and he continued, slow andcareful, as if unsure about his words. He ruffled his feathersagain, a vague approximation of a human shrug, something vaguely sheepish.

“I’d miss you,” Rachel said withoutthinking. “If you just up anddisappeared.”

Tobias’ voice was quiet, almost shy, when heanswered.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “This whole stupid war and your whole stupidfamily and this whole stupid two-hour limit. None of it’s fair, and I can’t doanything about it, and I’m just—angry.”

Tobias said, thoughtful.

“It’s not enough.”

Tobias said, and fluttered into theair again, this time landing on her shoulder. His talons were a careful set of pricks against her skin, not quitepainful, more…itchy. He was lighter thanhe looked, but a comforting weight on her shoulder nonetheless. Rachel tipped her head slightly to touch hercheek against his wing, as she had before the Yeerk pool.

#animorphs #rachel #tobias #rachel x tobias #otp: way past romeo and juliet #agony inc #starlight writes stuff #asked and answered #fic request #anonymous #can we talk about how niche this fucking fandom is #rachel my bold beloved bloodied sister #tobias my poor lonely warforged child #the title is from 'way beyond' by bastille and i do not recommend listening to 'wild world' while thinking about animorphs #also #you will pry the headcanon that rachel had a bit of a crush on tobias pre-war from my cold dead hands #they just click so well #this has been my favorite ship for like years and years #also i am still in that particular mood so how about you all send me some more early war animorphs prompts

12 notes · View notes

theliterateape · 4 years

Text

Muffled in German Luxury

By Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming novel Call Me Z by Paul Teodo and Tom Myers.

I HAD NOTHING TO REPORT, AND NO ONE TO REPORT IT TO. It was barely noon. I lived alone. I hadn’t spoken to my ex in twelve years. My two boys were gone, one in Fiji teaching yoga and meditation, the other living in the city at a job he’d just started. They didn’t need my grief. My dog loved me, but lately I bored him. Most likely when I got home I’d find a pile on the floor to welcome me.

I’d clean out the office later. I found my car in the visitor lot where I always parked. I pressed my fob. Nothing, not a twitch or honk or anything. Again. Nothing. Dead. Just like me. I stabbed the key into the door and twisted the lock open. I slid into the seat. My soggy suit stuck to my chilled skin.

And yes, Rebecca was gone. After four years she left the ring on the nightstand and shut the door. She had pushed for that ring. But we never set the date. Never called me her fiancé. Walked out with a sad look on her face, but not enough sadness to get her to stay. Maybe we weren’t a good fit either. I don’t think it was the drinking. I kept that from her pretty good. And the few times I didn’t she joined in. Her reasons were just as clear as Greta’s. “We’re going nowhere. We don’t communicate. You’re far away and we have no future.” Stuff I knew was more true than not. So instead of fighting for us, I let us drift away.

A triple Dewar’s White Label with a splash of water would go good right now, but I almost had a year. The last time I had that drink I woke up in Mexico, lying on a cot embracing a bearded goat. Turns out I’m not a farm animal kind of guy. So I wouldn’t let Rebecca’s rejection and the evisceration by Greta with all its accompanying humiliation drive me to the bottle.

I could hear Tommy telling me, “Cunning, baffling, powerful.” He talked like that. He worried too much. He was my sponsor.

I should call him. I always felt better when I did. He’d chew my ass. But I was sixty, not a kid. And I just got fired.

I started the car. Cold air blasted my legs. I was jumpy, rubbing my hands together, waiting for the warmth. Some idiot was barking on sports talk radio. I didn’t need his big mouth yelling at me. He was trying to make everything sound important or profound, but like he was from the neighborhood. He probably was a media-wise shill from an Ivy League school knocking down a couple hundred K a year selling Viagra to guys who didn’t have anything better to do in the middle of the day. Now I was one of them. How long before I started calling in?

I’ll call Tommy instead. He’d give me his crap, and I’d listen, then feel better, and then he’d throw in, “Let’s go to a meeting.” A meeting was his answer for everything. Sometimes, you know, it’s not. Sometimes, you have to hit the problem between the eyes. He’d always say, “Pause, pray, proceed.” Sometimes, it was just too much. I threw on Puccini’ instead. Tosca. Depressing as hell, full of torture, murder, and suicide, but the music was beautiful.

I backed up my Audi. The white Crown Vic patrol car I signed a requisition for just a few months ago edged closer. For Christ sake, what did Greta think? I was going to go nuts? Randy, the old guy, sat behind the wheel, Brylcreemed hair and weird handlebar mustache. Junior, his sidekick, a steroid pumped, over-caffeinated, blonde kid coiled next to him, ready to jump out of the car. Both carefully watching to make sure I left without incident. Security. Highlands’ finest.

I threw it into gear. Randy and Junior in pursuit. What the hell, give them something to do, I’d liven up their day, and make them earn their money. I drove slowly around the campus heading towards Greta’s office. Would they just follow me or flip on their lights? Training would indicate caution, but no lights. I shouldn’t be doing this. One was old, near retirement, and the other’s juice-strained mind was totally unpredictable. As I exited the campus they looked relieved, staring between the wipers on the Crown Vic. With a nod they each saluted, acknowledging my final departure. I was touched by their deference and disappointed in my behavior.

My phone buzzed. It was stuck inside my wet pants. I yanked it out, ripping my pocket. I flipped it open. “Boss, Joe. What the hell happened?”

“Just wasn’t working out, Joe.”

“You get canned?”

“Did you talk to Jenna?” Joe and Jenna got along. He said he had a daughter that reminded him of her. Gullible and kind of quiet. She and her three kids lived with Joe and his wife. The kids were all under seven. Joe joked that he’d take any overtime he could get just to stay away from the nut-house.

I took a deep breath. Why make it worse for Joe? I was his guy and his misplaced loyalty could screw up his job. He only had three years left to retirement. “Mutual understanding, Joe. Not my kinda place and Greta agreed. I’ll land on my feet, and things will keep going at The Highlands.”

Joe cleared his throat hard and coughed. He quit smoking years ago but he was still paying for his vice.

“Okay boss, wish you well. Keep in touch. You always had my back.”

“Joe.”

“Yeah?“

“Get that temp down in the OR for our good friend.”

He hacked again. I could see his neck turning red. “Fuck him, boss. And fuck his cold dead wife.”

“Take care, buddy.”

“Keep in touch.”

Nobody keeps in touch.

“I will.”

✶

I DROVE AROUND AIMLESSLY, THE SCOTCH CREEPING BACK INTO MY HEAD. I was done with Puccini. I put “Sona Andati,” the death aria from LaBoheme, into the CD player, trying to distract myself. It didn’t work. I shut it off before I looked for an oven to stick my head in. No real taverns in this town. I needed to call Tommy before I settled on a cocktail lounge attached to a sushi bar. It was noon and the streets were jammed with stylized fashionistas in hybrid SUVs driving their car-seated darlings who’d been born in our Taj Mahal Birthing Center to ballet, voice, or parent-toddler yoga. Having taken advantage of our Women’s Self Improvement Center, they wore their expensive yoga pants with great pride, bejeweled hands wrapped around a caramel low-fat macchiato, designer water bottle at the ready.

I couldn’t drive and dial. Even with this damn flip phone. I pulled into the parking lot of a dog groomer. An eight inch miniature something or other, tethered to a blue spring-loaded leash with a black satin harness, led its mistress towards an Audi A-8.

I pecked at the buttons like a hooded hawk. I could never remember his number. I had it stored in my phone but any attempt at technology made me sweat. First attempt got me a bakery, the next a Chinese woman, and the third an old guy who wanted to talk and didn’t care if it was the wrong number. Finally Tommy picked up. ”State your business.” His usual greeting.

“Tommy.”

“What’s up?”

“You got a minute?”

“You drinkin’?” Every time. Every single time.

“No.”

“Good.”

“It’s not just about drinking.”

“It is with us. We drink. We got no chance. So it’s all about drinking or not drinking. What’s up?”

I felt like throwing the phone out the window. Aiming at the miniature mutt whose shrill bark penetrated like a police whistle.

“What’s that?”

“Dog. Sort of. One of those squawkers.”

“Sounds like it’s being tortured.”

“I wish.” Its mistress lifted the horrible creature into her Audi. It spun in circles on the back seat. She closed the door on its high pitched yap, muffling it in German luxury.

“What happened? Did you shoot it?”

“I got fired.”

“Good. You didn’t belong there. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

Asshole. He didn’t even take a breath.

“Okay meet me at the 2 p.m. meeting at the firehouse.”

“No.”

“Really, what you got better to do?”

“No meeting.”

“I’ll meet you at Nina’s Coffee Shop at two.”

“That’s in the city.”

“That’s where you belong.”

Tommy clicked off his phone never giving me a chance to respond to his invite. It wasn’t an invite, it was an order. That’s how he operated. I hated it, and it was good for me. I was soaked. I should change. But if I went home and put on dry clothes I’d never make it by two. It was miles of busted up black top, potholes, trucks, smoke, and congestion. Two hours travel time, minimum. What the hell. I felt like a bum, just getting fired, might as well look like one. I’d fit in fine at Nina’s.

People snaking along this God-forsaken, cruelly misnamed expressway looked like zombies propped up behind the wheel in their seats. How the fuck did they do this every day?

For once the weather-guessers had been right. It had gotten colder and the drizzle turned to sleet. My teeth chattered. I banged on the vent, no evidence of warmth appeared. And my swollen prostate needed a place to piss.

I drove east. The gorilla inside me calling Tommy every vile name it could conjure. Traffic was surprisingly clear when I caught the 355 extension towards the Stevenson. You never let yourself think that in Chicago. The hell started as the ramp merged. First with the orange signs. Construction. Down to one lane. Forty-five miles-per-hour speed limit. And nobody, not one goddamn person around. Not a hard hat or yellow vest. Everything blocked off and not a soul carrying out construction.

A bearded, leather-jacketed asshole on a Harley, replete in red bandanna, shades and cigar swept by on the left claiming that all-important extra six feet of travel time, forcing me to jam on my brakes, skid and miss him by only inches. He raised his leather-gloved middle finger as I regained control.

Only thirty miles left.

We crawled through the deserted construction zone never topping fifteen miles-per-hour. My windows fogged. My suit grew musty. Forty minutes later traffic cleared slightly and we reached the breakneck speed of twenty-five miles-per-hour. People snaking along this God-forsaken, cruelly misnamed expressway looked like zombies propped up behind the wheel in their seats. How the fuck did they do this every day?

Eventually the construction cleared, I gunned it and shot between two semis belching smoke. As I passed the Harley, he saluted again. I didn’t wave goodbye. Then a jolt rattled the right side of my car, the vibration like an electrical shock through my hands. Pothole. Shit. The front end continued to shake. The steering wheel danced like it had a mind of its own and was happy with what just happened.

Pull off? Here, in the middle of semi-hell? The shoulders on this road were invitations for death. All I could do was slow down, and proceed. At best I’d wobble into Nina’s with a bent rim and malfunctioning suspension.

I exited at California near the Cook County Jail and immediately came to a stop behind a dirty green articulated bus. Four miles left. Inside the car was now a steam room. Droplets of foul smelling sweat dampened my seat. My disfigured vehicle no longer moved in a straight line, I relaxed my hands on the steering wheel, and tried to catch my breath. I unhinged my jaw which had been locked shut for the past ninety minutes. Just miles from my destination, I was trapped behind the world’s slowest moving vehicle and flanked by a continuous parade of broken cars dragging bumpers, tailpipes, and trailers overflowing with decrepit furniture, soon to be delivered to a home instead of the dumpster where it belonged. I loved this city despite its infamous traffic.

Thank you, Tommy, yeah, this is exactly what I needed.

The bus was a permanent fixture. It wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was housing for the homeless. It was definitely a stretch to call it transportation.

I saw an opening, snapped the steering wheel to the left and shot around the bus. The car responded angrily shaking and shimmying as if the front wheels were pointed in different directions.

Proud of myself, I looked in the rear view mirror to see how much distance I had put between me and the bus. My eyes were distracted by blue swirling lights following me. I didn’t need this crap. “Pull over, sir.” The cop’s loudspeaker blared. At least he gave me due respect. It’d been a long time since I’d been called sir by anyone.

I needed a drink. In a real tavern with a sticky stinking bar, dirt on the floor, and people who served you by just nodding their head. I could pull over, slide in, and drift away for days talking with construction workers, the homeless, and hangers on. Or I could be left alone. Those places knew how to leave you the fuck alone.

I momentarily thought of making a run for it. But with a wobbly front end, a foggy windshield, and congested streets I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. I put the bar on hold and adhered to the cop’s order. I slowly guided my damaged car into a lot that serviced a small strip mall containing a currency exchange, a cigarette store, and a beauty salon featuring nails, weaves, and extensions. A crowd of about a dozen young punks dressed in black, saggy pants defying gravity, some with braided hair, but mostly bald, shuffled about, music blaring, passing joints and bottles in brown paper bags.

Now I was grateful that the squad followed me in.

A freckle-faced redheaded cop exited his vehicle, hand at his side gripping his pistol. The crowd taunting, pointing back and forth between the two of us. The cop’s eyes constantly shifted between me and the group. I rolled down my window “License, registration, and insurance,” he said, eyes on the kids. “Slowly,” he emphasized as I rummaged through my glove box.

Methodically, I pulled the documents from the box and placed each, one by one, into the redhead’s hand. He didn’t belong here, nor did I. His eyes kept a constant scan on the parking lot. The music pounded louder. The wind chilled my still damp body through the open window. “Wait here.” He turned and walked back to his car.

Fucking Tommy. He drags me forty miles from home to a parking lot full of gangbangers. What the hell was I doing?

The young cop returned after running my stuff. He handed me an orange and white citation. “You can show up in court, or…” both our backs stiffened as the blaring music somehow grew more threatening, “or pay direct. Your choice.”

“Thanks.” I said. My window swiftly rising, providing a false sense of security.

He began to leave. He turned, “and your front end is out of whack. If you’re gonna be driving around here, you need a car that works.”

No shit. I acknowledged his advice with a wave through my closed window.

I studied the ticket. Improper lane use. $125. Do not send cash. Lucky me.

I eased slowly through the lot to return to the street. The kids didn’t move. My car wobbled even more. “Better get that fixed.” One of them laughed and kicked at the front end. I hit the gas and sped out of the lot.

Finally I pulled up to Nina’s. Soaked from the elements and my own fear. I exited my damaged vehicle spotting Tommy through the dirty window sitting alone at a table, his starched white collar peeking from under his gray hooded sweat shirt, his foot tapping to the beat of Wilson Pickett. He was fidgeting with the menu, his gnarled hands scarred from years in the ring.

I rushed in, the bell above the door jingling, my prostate screaming for a bathroom. I made a bee-line for the toilet. He looked up. “Any trouble getting here?”

#sobriety #Sobriety #South Side #Fiction #Chicago Fiction

0 notes