#He still stands strong on his own two feet and from all the video footage I've seen of him he is BRIMMING with energy.

[seastarlily]

Not to be a "Negative Nancy", but if anyone, and I mean anyone thinks any member of the main voice cast sounds "too old" to be playing their characters and should retire, you're ageist and we cannot be friends.✌

[3terna15unshin3]

Consumption

Este sees 'Consumption' in person

2259 words

warnings: !! 18+ !! smut, minors dni, public unprotected sex, dom!matty if u squint, filth in general

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a/n: Heyyyyy nobody requested even anything similar to this but I had a vision and needed to fulfil it ok thank u love u enjoy

(I wrote an entire 15 chapter fic of this universe! Read it here if you want more Matty and Este😌)

—

Luckily, by the time the UK and Ireland leg of their tour came around, Este was able to work remotely and travel along with them. It was cold and gloomy—London pulling through with its regular dreariness—so she was happy to have at least a bit of a change of scenery.

Until now, she was forced to watch from afar, only seeing photos and videos of the North American shows back in autumn. But of course, Matty was completely open with her as the show as a whole came to fruition; its set design and artistic concepts always shared between the couple. So none of it (even the parts that were as jarring as watching footage of her boyfriend chowing down on raw meat) came as a surprise for Este. That was until she got to experience it in front of her own two eyes.

Brighton was the first show. 8th of January. Her feet were perched to the side of the stage, swaying happily to the familiar songs and watching Matty perform them with an inflated ego and sly smirk on his face.

She thought the persona was quite hot. The heat in her cheeks heightened every time he made cocky gestures and pranced around with purposeful pride. Este had already seen plenty of videos of ‘consumption’, and had her own fun with them; teasing Matty about how much the concept exposed him and how crazy it made the crowd go. They were feral for him. So was she, to be fair.

Seeing his bare chest heave up and down—too similarly to how Este easily made it move when they were alone together—made her go insane. Her eyes stung when she refused to blink, busy staring at Matty’s hand trailing over his crotch. Este wasn’t expecting it to have such a strong effect on her, assuming that either the thousands of people also watching him or the fairly profound purpose of the act would water down the sensuality of it. But fuck, it was hot. She could practically hear the sound of his moans in the back of her ear even though he was metres away.

That first night was difficult enough; having to stand and look as if she wasn’t hot and bothered by what went on in front of her eyes. Watching it over and over, night after night, served even harder.

So over half way through the leg, now in Glasgow, Este couldn’t help herself. She’d been particularly touchy during the day but that wasn’t all that unusual, so Matty still wasn’t expecting her to whisper “Come fuck me after consumption,” in his ear before he went on. She meant business. The sentence replayed in the back of his mind as he strummed at his guitar, internally begging the set to move faster so he could climb through the little telly and flip the place upside down to find Este.

When the time finally arrived and he plonked his bum on the sofa, Matty imagined it was her hand on his skin and slipping past the waistband of his pants. He even discretely gave his nipple a quick squeeze and whined at the sensation. It wasn’t very convincing, feeling the roughness of his hand and how it contrasted to how delicate hers were, but fantasizing about Este wasn’t anything new to him—so he had to snap himself out of it before his arousal began to show.

Matty shook his head and chuckled to himself as he did press up after press up. The power those short 5 words uttered by his girlfriend was unfathomable. She knew it would make him less focused and throw him off his game; but that’s why she did it, and he could tell. Este wanted the upper hand. He considered giving in to it—but today he wanted to toy with her. It was only fair if she was clearly trying to toy with him.

So, right as he stood up after crawling off stage, he grabbed George and the first stage manager in sight.

“Loop the Too Shy intro. I need it to play twice,” Matty instructed.

They looked as confused as ever. “What are you on about?” asked the drummer.

Matty glanced past George and caught sight of Este. Leaning against a random doorway and burning her gaze into his. He didn’t waste any time and bee-lined towards her.

“Just do it. And maybe a warning through my ears at 90 seconds out? Please? I owe you one!” He trailed off, eventually turning fully away from them and jogging to Este with desperation. Before he could leave completely, Matty remembered to grab the small pile of clothes that sat ready for him, taking them with.

Este grinned at the conversation she overheard and at the state of Matty, who suddenly yanked her hand to drag them both into the room she stood in front of. It seemed to be a storage room, cramped full of random stage equipment and dimly lit. He slammed the door behind them.

“You found me.” She commented.

Instead of responding, Matty pulled her in by the back of her neck and kissed her with an open mouth. His new outfit for when he had to re-enter the stage was discarded to the floor. She smiled into him, grabbing his hips so they were flush against hers. Her back thumped onto the back of the door, Matty holding her there as their mouths moved in sync with hungriness.

They broke apart to gasp for air. “The fuck are you doing asking me to fuck you right before I go on?” he intensely whispered, dipping his lips down to her neck. Este panted and clenched her thighs together.

“I didn’t ask you to fuck me, I told you to.”

He continued nipping at her skin, then shoved his leg between Este’s—the top of his thigh rubbing her clit through her pants. She moaned, reaching her hand to grip him over his pants.

Matty shook his head and removed her hand from his crotch. “Uh uh uh. You don’t get to touch me,” he scolded, hearing her giggle in response. “Think it’s funny? Making me have to try and not get hard in front of all those people?”

She nodded.

Warmth grew in Este’s stomach within seconds, already wet beneath her knickers. His thigh kept at it as their lips reconnected and their tongues licked into each other’s mouths, before he reached a hand into the front of her pants, using his fingers against her instead. She moaned loudly, making Matty clamp his other hand over her lips. Even the now muffled noise made blood rush to his cock.

“I bet you always get this wet when you watch me up there,” He rubbed circles on her clit at a dizzying speed.

“I do,” Este whispered behind his hand, choking her words out as she tried to hold in her moans. “There’s no time to faff around. Fuck me, baby, please—“

Matty abruptly turned her around with his arm still wrapped around her and hand still down her knickers. His swollen lips pressed to the side of her jaw.

“Beg for it, then.” he breathily called next to her ear.

Mouth slack and gasping now that Matty’s hand was no longer trapping it, Este’s eyes rolled back into her head as he increased the pressure on her clit and teased further south to her entrance. It was slick with wetness and she clenched with need, whining at how empty she was.

“Fuck me now, Matty. Please, I need more. I need you,”

“So fucking needy. Such a slut for me,” He saw her face twist with at his words. “Think you can take it?”

He bent her over and held her wrists behind her back. With his other hand, Matty took down her trousers—pulling her underwear to one side and revealing her dripping core.

“Yes, I can take it,” she panted, “Use me however you want, please,”

Este looked over her shoulder to see him then free his cock; so hard it looked painful. He gave himself a few pumps before sliding in at an annoyingly slow pace. She gasped at how he filled her up.

“Fuck,” groaned Matty, revelling at the tight feeling around him. “Always so tight.”

He pulled out almost all the way just to shove himself back in at the same speed.

“More, baby,” Este begged, beginning to lean back to meet his sluggish thrusts half way, desperate for a quicker release. Matty listened, suddenly pounding into her relentlessly. He still had her wrists in the grip of his left hand while his right steadied her hips. In complete control, like he wanted.

The new speed and the sound of his hips slapping against hers slipped Este deeper into the trance of pleasure she was buried in. She felt him deep inside of her, grazing all of the right places over and over. Mindlessly, Este clenched around him, craving every inch of his cock and wanting to feel even closer to him.

The action drew a low groan from Matty’s throat and encouraged him to mutter, “You’re perfect, E,” with passion. He stared down at the way he disappeared inside of her and snapped his hips even harder.

Their heads were so hazy that they couldn’t tell if there were minutes until Matty had to be back onstage or if they’d been fucking for far too long. And at that point, neither of them really cared. But the thrill of having only a few thin walls and a bit of stuffy space between the two of them and thousands of other people had them both not lasting very long. The door wasn’t even locked.

Matty finally set her arms free, pulling her upright and sitting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His chest pressed against her back. One hand found itself wrapped around her throat while the other teased her clit again as he railed into her. Este cried out at the sudden pressure on her sensitive core and leaned her head over to bite on his neck, in attempts to silence herself.

“Keep going and you’ll make me come,” she spluttered through the euphoria.

His bottom lip sat pinned behind his teeth, eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl.” whispered Matty. He was focused—chasing his high as his girl milked him—wanting the same for her.

Este’s legs began to quiver, knees almost buckling beneath her, but the rush of Matty’s fingers pressing firmly on either side of her throat pushed her over the edge. The ecstasy in her lower belly snapped and she leaned further back in his neck, whimpering his name as she came.

He wasn’t far behind her; only seconds going by before he struggled to sustain the pace and force he’d set for himself, feeling the edge of his climax. The slickness that grew within her cunt as she was coming felt unreal around him.

“Where do you want me, love?” Matty grunted, now holding most of Este’s body weight up with an arm across her lower stomach—overstimulated and in so much pleasure it was painful.

“Inside me. Come inside me,” she pleaded messily, peering over her shoulder at him again. A few pieces of his hair stuck to his forehead with the layer of sweat that built there. He breathed with an open mouth and stared back at her, completely fucked out and looking like sex itself.

He listened, thrusting one last time and shooting his cum far into her. Este moaned at the warmth she felt when it happened. “Shit,” Matty said with a shriek.

Their hot and heavy breaths fell into sync with one another as they attempted to catch them, Matty still buried inside her. She grabbed his jaw to turn it and sloppily tangle her lips in his.

And before he could even pull out, he heard the stage manager through his inears, followed by Too Shy’s instrumental.

“90 seconds. Matty stand by, please.”

They froze in panic for a second but quickly realised that stopping was the opposite of what needed to be done. So, he pulled out—though he really didn’t want to—Este hissing at the overload of sensation. She bent back over, knowing the sight of his seed dripping out of her would rile Matty back up.

It did. And he didn’t appreciate her teasing him when he had seconds to get himself stage-ready. Getting hard again would be extremely inconvenient, unfortunately, thought Matty, as he tucked himself back into his boxers and began stripping completely to get into his second outfit.

Watching his white cum flow out of Este did hypnotise him. So the only thought that popped into his foggy post-sex brain was to take his tongue and lick it up.

Este gasped and whimpered once more at the feeling, before Matty turned her around and tugged her jaw open. Then, he forcefully spit it—a combination of his saliva and both of their cum that he’d just cleaned up—onto her tongue.

“Swallow it.” he commanded. She followed his word. “We always taste so good together, don’t you think?”

Slightly stunned, Este nodded her head up and down to agree. He pecked her on the lips, all while doing up the final buttons on his shirt and shrugging on the suit jacket. Then, he slipped out of the door.

“Break a leg,” she joked before it shut behind him.

Matty rolled his eyes with a smile and Este heard his hurried footsteps disappear towards the sea of Scottish fans.

[countessofravenclaw]

Like the Red Rose blooms in the Oxford Garden: Chapter one

Sometimes when your heart breaks... it feels like there is no way to fix it. No matter what you try. All the memories get left behind as something unfinished... But maybe, there is to way to fix it, A second chance. Some way to finish the story you two started writing because it was never the end, but just a part of the story... even if you have to travel far to achieve it.

I forget about you long enough, to remember why I needed you

Breathe.

Just stand still and breathe… she could do this. 

Just breathe, in and out. 

The noise of everyone clapping and cheering rang in her ears. It felt like the noise was drowning her. 

Breathe. Inhalar y exhalar. No one would notice. She could do this.

Nina felt her hands going numb as she tried to control her ever more shallow breath. She could not move. The video Delfi and Jazmin had shown had left her in a trance. It had woken something inside of her that she had thought had been buried… she had convinced herself that she had buried it. 

She had to get out of there. Out of the crowd. She could not ruin Luna’s party like this.

She willed her feet to move. Nina glanced around the yard hoping that no one had noticed her. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say to anyone…

She quickly found her way back inside the mansion and started climbing up the staircase before collapsing at the top, her head in her hands.

Everything was still spinning in her eyes, as she tried to balance out her breathing. She could not afford to have a panic attack right now. She couldn’t… 

In and out. Just breathe. Why had she been under an impression that she was able to keep her panic attacks under control? She took another shaky breath. 

The spinning started to slow down and she could not hear her racing heart so loudly anymore. The attack had started to subside and Nina was able to take a deep breath again. 

She ran her hands through her hair and tears started falling down her face. Why was this happening to her?  Why had the video gotten to her like that, she… she knew why. She just had been convincing herself that it was not true, it could have not been true anymore…

…what was so wrong with her that she was not able to get over it? Over him. She already should have, she thought she had. But just those unexpected glimpses —why had she even been caught up off guard? She knew that he had been there, she had also been there— had brough such a surge of emotions… just like when she had heard his voice again after so many months, a months ago. Everything had just come crashing back. The joy, the pain, the way she missed him… she still did, because she love—

NO! No, no no. She could not do this, she had Eric…

…Eric— What was she doing? She did not know. She didn’t know anything. More tears came from her eyes. 

How had it come to this?

“Nina?” Suddenly she heard a voice from behind her.

***

Matteo was walking around the grounds of the mansion with Luna after they had all sung happy birthday to her and the girls had showcased that video. The party was still going strong, and the energy was still being super high. Knowing Luna, the party would definitely go on until midnight if not longer. 

Matteo's own mood didn’t exactly reflect everyone else’s, but he was able to keep it to himself. It was Luna’s day after all, and he did love seeing her so happy, and Luna really was having time of her life, basically leaping on every step she took. 

“Wasn’t the video so nice?” Luna asked after trying to do a pirouette in heels on the grass, and almost falling on her face onto said grass. “I legit almost cried. We have been through so much, and so many adventures are to come, as long as we are all siempre juntos.”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Matteo agreed, lowering his head just slightly, “if only we were all together,” he said mostly to himself. Yes, it was true that the video had dampened his mood. It just brought back some memories and it was not the easiest seeing the footage of all the times with Gastón. 

They hadn’t talked that much during the past month after that call about Nina and Eric. Gastón was clearly closing himself off, even towards Matteo. Matteo knew Gastón and knew that being in denial was never good for him. He was not coming back to Buenos Aires for the summer, saying that he had gotten a coveted internship at London and could not afford to miss it… well he was the son of Isla and Marco Perida after all.

He had made sure Luna had invited Gastón to the party, but he had declined, even if it would have only been for couple days. Matteo though knew the real reason why he was keeping himself at the other side of the Atlantic. 

“What did you say?”

“Oh nothing.”

“Do you see Nina anywhere?” Luna asked looking around

“Hmmm,” Matteo said glancing around. Eric seemed to be talking to Simon and Pedro, so Nina at least was not with him. “I don’t know, maybe she went to the bathroom or something, don’t worry.”

“Oh I am not, just wondering,” Luna shrugged, “I feel like she kind of vanished after the video. I wanted to ask her opinion on it.”

“She’ll probably come back soon.”

“Hopefully. Because this party got me thinking about that we should have a graduation party…”

“Luna, grandpa wants a picture with us, right now.” Ambar suddenly sprinted in front of Luna and Matteo. Mateo still did not understand how all the girls could maneuver so smoothly with those deathtrap shoes. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there,” Luna let go of Matteo’s hand and dashed off. Matteo was about to follow her before Ambar stopped him. 

“Matteo, I left my phone to my room and Simon is too busy with the band. Can you get it for me?”

“Actually I was going to—”

“I was not asking, Matteo,” Ambar looked at Matteo with her more threatening eyes, “Go get my phone.”

“Okay, okay,” Matteo shook his head and started walking towards the door. If you were the boyfriend of the birthday girl, your job apparently was the delivery boy of the hosts. Okay, not that he really minded. He could go get Ambar her phone and be nice.

Matteo walked back to the mansion and climbed over the side staircase to Ambar‘s room. He grabbed her phone from her bed—how had she even forgotten it there?

He was checking his own phone as he came out of Ambar’s room. Matteo sighed of relief when he noticed that Gastón had actually answered to his latest message. They still needed to talk but full on phone call would need to be left to the next day. Matteo also was thinking that maybe he should take some time, probably after Luna’s graduation, to go visit England. They needed to talk face to face, as he was getting quite worried about Gastón…

He was about to turn back towards the side staircase when he heard a noise that seemed to be coming from down the hall. 

Matteo did not know if this was against his better judgment —Well he had been told multiple times that he had no “better judgment”— or not, to go after a suspicious noise in a mansion that could as well be haunted. Also, disturbed people had attempted to burn it down too, multiple times, but his curiosity got the better of him. He could fight off a burglar if it came to it. He slipped Ambar’s phone to his pocket and started moving.

As Matteo walked further in the hallway, he heard the noise again. Now more clearly. It sounded like someone was crying. 

There was no doubt about it as he approached the grand staircase of the Mansion. As he walked closer to it, he saw a figure huddled at the top of the stairs. 

Matteo instantly knew who it was, even when they were not facing him. He had witnessed Jazmin working on all the girls’ hair before the party, because she had insisted of doing his and Simon’s hair as well —Pedro had ran away. That brown straight hair with a half updo, as Jazmin had called it, was unmistakable. 

“Nina?”

Matteo saw her jump and frantically turn around. He had obviously scared her. Her glasses were in her hand and face tearstained.

“It is me, Matteo. What are you doing here?” He asked as he started walking towards her, “Are you okay?”

“...Yes…uhm, Well… no,” She was trying to wipe the tears off her face. “It’s stupid.”

“I doubt that if you are like this.” Matteo pointed out. “Do you want me to get someone?”

“NO! No, please … don’t get Eric.” Nina’s voice had quickly gotten fast and desperate… before she buried her face into her hands and, burst back into tears. Matteo furrowed his brow. It was pretty interesting that she had said that… specifically not wanting her boyfriend present. 

Hold up a second, were they even boyfriend and girlfriend? Matteo honestly had never heard Nina call Eric that. Not that Matteo had even meant him. He was never going to lie and say that he even liked the guy or whatever he had with Nina, but as Luna had said, he was not really allowed an opinion… but you gotta have some solidarity with your brother.

Matteo stepped on the stairs and sat down next to Nina. He did not wanna leave her alone while she was like this. He had gotten to know her much better during the past year, and he definitely held affection and protectiveness towards her, as she was extremely important to two people Matteo loved the most: Luna and Gastón. 

“Did something happen?” Matteo draped his arms around her, as he remembered that Gastón had mentioned in passing in some side sentence that Nina calmed down easily from physical contact. 

“No, nothing happened.” Nina sobbed, “That is the problem. I— I don’t feel anything… or at least the right things.”

“Are we talking about Eric…?” Matteo questioned carefully. Nina just nodded. Matteo tried to mask the smile on his face. He had been right, and had not just imagined the nothingness between Nina and Eric. He had always failed to see what ever Luna was always gushing about being so cute. 

“I have no right to be unhappy. I shouldn’t be, but I am. I can’t help it. Everyone was so happy for me, I just thought that, since it seemed to make so much sense to everyone, it would make sense to me too.” Nina seemed to start calming down, even when her voice still seemed quite shaky. 

“No one can tell you how you should be feeling,” Matteo responded. “I learned that the hard way.”

“I thought that I was over it. That I could move on. But I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know what I am doing.”

Matteo absolutely knew who the topic had changed into. “Honestly, we both know that I won’t be unbiased on that front, but it never is a good idea to lie to yourself. Everyone will understand.”

“Matteo, he doesn’t love me anymore. He said he was happy for me… ” Nina shook her head, “...I, I wasn’t happy about that. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say. That he would come back and fight for me? I just convinced myself that I could get over it.”

Matteo really wanted to tell her the truth about that phonecall but he knew that it was not his to tell. They needed to talk that out themselves. “Nina, you know Gastón as well as I do. Do you really think he would ever stand in the way, if he thought he was in the way of your happiness.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Small smile formed onto Nina’s lips. “But I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, about my future, about anything. It is a blurr. I have messed everything up for myself and I can’t see a way forward.”

“I know how that feels.” Matteo responded, “Trust me, it will all become much cleared if you really think what you want and care about. And do not think that you will disappoint anyone. Everyone loves you.”

Matteo got up and offered his hand to Nina. “I think we better head back. They’ll be having all the fun without us.”

“I can’t go back out there,” Nina shook her head. “I can’t face Eric… this is not the time and place for it. I need to get my head in straight. And… Luna will know something is wrong. I know I need to tell her, but I can’t do it here, she’d drop everything. It is her party, I can’t do that.”

“I can make up an excuse for you, if you want to slip away.” Matteo offered as Nina got up from the stairs. 

“Thank you,” Nina hugged him.

“Someone once asked me to take care of you,” Matteo hugged her back, “I don’t think I succeeded in that, but maybe I can still redeem myself. You are my friend, and we all stick together.”

“We do.” Nina smiled at him and started walking down the stairs. Matteo turned around and took the route he had come from.

“Here’s your phone,” Matteo threw the phone at Ambar as he got back to the garden. Ambar, Simon and Luna had been chatting with Delfi and Pedro next to the band gear. 

“Finally!” Ambar said as she effortlessly caught the phone. “What took you so long?”

“I could not find it.” Matteo remarked as he joined the others. “Maybe you should have sent someone that actually knows the current layout of your room… like Simon.”

Ambar looked like she wanted to snark something back at Matteo, but she just rolled her eyes, flipped her ponytail and wrapped her arm around Simon’s arm. Matteo grabbed Luna’s arm and pulled her a little further away from the circle. 

“I ran into Nina while I was on the goose chase for Ambar’s phone,” He started.

“Oh, did she come back out with you?” Luna questioned.

“No, she went home.”

“Why?”

“She had a huge migraine,” Matteo lied smoothly. That was something that would sound believable and not make anyone too worried. “Probably from the sun. And the festival this morning was probably exhausting for her as it was her performance. So not really surprising.”

“Oh noh,” Luna looked alarmed, “I should call her, make sure she is alright.”

“Luna, she knew you would make a huge fuss,” Matteo took Luna by the shoulders, “and she didn’t want to take attention away. It is your big day after all, she didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Oh,” Luna looked down, “okay then.”

“Call her tomorrow,” Matteo suggested, “Now come on. Are we just going to let that delicious looking cake melt in the sun?”

“Oh, did I tell you that Mom made it double chocolate?” Luna started pulling Matteo towards the cake. Her attention was successfully diverted. 

***

3:00 AM. Nina rolled on her side in her bed. You should never look at the alarm clock when you were having a hard time sleeping, but there she was. 

Not that it could make things any worse than they already were. Thoughts swirled in her head and she was unable to get them in order. 

Matteo was right, she should just be true to her heart and listen to it and not her head. 

In her head, being with Eric made sense. He was nice and sweet to her. He reminded her of herself… when she had been younger. She should give him a chance, she owed him that… Everyone thought so… but did she think so? 

What did she feel? She had felt content at the start because… because everyone had been so happy. Happy for her, because she was happy. Had she actually been? Been happy? 

She tried of thinking of Eric. Being with him had not been unpleasant, just, something was missing. She was not really sure about what she felt for him. Did she feel anything for him? The only thing she felt right now, was guilt. Not the overwhelming warmth and happiness that made her heart race. Everything that just a voice over the phone could cause.

She didn’t not feel the buzz when she touched his hand or the constant need to be close to him. There was nothing physical about the relationship. No attraction… Maybe it would come with time…

Be honest with yourself Nina … the truth was that… she did not want any of that. She could not even imagine it. It was not just nerves because she was inexperienced, because it was not true. She had done it before. 

She and Gastón had gone all the way just three months into the relationship. She could never regret it, it had been incredible. Any time he had even just touched her, the feeling was indescribable. She had not felt something like that since… 

Even just the way he had known something was wrong from her voice after saying once sentence. She missed that too.

Tears crept their way back into her eyes. The searing pain in her heart returned in waves. She could not keep going like this. He was gone, but that didn’t change the things with Eric. She could not keep doing this to him. She had seen firsthand what happened when the relationship was stretched too thin while there was nothing left. .

She almost instinctively reached out to the drawer in her nightstand. Her hands found the fabric easily, she never could have been able to get rid of it. Nina wrapped the green scarf around her left hand and laid back on the bed. 

Next morning she was not feeling that better, so she tried to keep busy. Alongside all of her personal problems, she still had to figure out, well, the future. 

The graduation was going to be in three days and she still had not finished any college applications. Her mother had surprisingly not been super overbearing on the topic, but Nina had the feeling that if she didn’t present her with some answers soon, Ana’s patience was going to run thin. 

This should be easy, if only she actually knew what she was doing. 

Nina was sitting on the floor of her room and had probably a thousand different university leaflets in front of her. Yeah, honestly, she was trying to focus on this to avoid the eventual conversation with Eric. But this also needed to be done, so what better time than now?

She reached for one of the leaflets and looked it through. Why was this so hard? She had thought that after figuring out the major, picking the school would come automatically. 

“Could I just get some kind of sign?” She leaned into her bed and sighed. How had she let this come to this? 

She thought back to year ago. She had had the perfect plan then, which would have given her everything she had ever wanted. But she had let that all go. She really didn’t know what she wanted, huh? Why had she stayed? Staying for the writing post seemed ridiculous right now, but she had not known it then. She had given up all her happiness, all her clarity for that, and had ended up here—Why had she done it all?

Suddenly her phone started ringing, making Nina jump for a second. She frantically looked around to see where she even had left it before getting up to get it from her nightstand. That must have been Luna, probably wanting to ask why she had disappeared last night… the call was coming from an unknown number. So it was not Luna.

“Nina Simonetti,” Nina answered the phone. 

“Nina, Hello,” a vaguely familiar male voice rang from the other end of the line. “this is Manuel Ramirez, the headmaster of Blake South College.” That's why the voice had sounded familiar.

“Hello, Mr. Ramirez,” Nina answered, not really sure why she was receiving calls from the headmaster.

“First I want to say how sorry I and all the faculty are that you won’t be giving a speech at your Graduation ceremony this Saturday.” Probably about two weeks ago after they had gotten their final exam results back Nina had received the news that she was the top student of their graduating class. Traditionally that would mean the she would have been required to give a speech at the graduation, but thankfully she had been allowed to turn it down. She would never have the courage for a speech. From what she knew, the one giving the speech was the student who had gotten highest results after her. She did not know who that was, but thats how Gastón had given the speech last year. 

“I know, but as I told Mr. Perez already, I don’t really like to give speeches and I am sure the one who has been offered the honor will be more than up to the task and I am really looking forward to hearing their speech.”

“We understand that,” Mr. Ramirez continued, “and that is not what I called you to discuss. Well, as you know already, you received the highest marks across the board. So, I have the honor to inform you that you have received the Educación Internacional Para Jóvenes Prometedores Del Mañana scholarship. It is sponsored by the city hall of Buenos Aires, and is highly coveted. Blake is one of the rare schools that has the qualifications for its students to even receive it.”

Nina was too stunned to speak for a second. She had not expected this at all. “I am sorry… I don’t think I have ever heard of that.”

“Only the top graduating student can qualify for the scholarship, and even then it is not guaranteed,” Mr. Ramirez explained, “No one at Blake has received it in a couple of years due to varying circumstances.”

“Yea, but, what is it exactly?”

“Like the name suggests, it is a scholarship for international study programs. It covers five-year University tuition, which means to masters, plus the student accommodations for a one year.”

“Wow… uhm, that is a lot,” Nina was still wrapping her head around all of it. “Does this apply to all the schools?”

“Not all of them, of course. All the Universities included in it are ones with teaching languages other than Spanish. This excludes most of the Spanish and Latin American universities. The latest schools added to the scholarship are from the Nordic region of Europe including The University of Helsinki and the Aalto University.”

“So this is for learning new cultures?”

“I won’t beat around the bush Nina,” Mr. Ramirez continued. “This scholarship is for you to go to an Ivy League school. Harvard, Yale, Stanford, and of course Cambridge and Oxford. Blake is a coveted upper secondary school and we expect great things from our alumni. We have not had an alumna in a noteworthy school outside of Argentina in five years until last year when one of our graduates went to Oxford. He is keeping the name of Blake South College up, and we have all the faith that you do the same.”

“Of course, but I need time to think.”

“I’ll sent you all the detail via email. I am sure you’ll make the school proud.”

“Thank you.” Nina said and heard the call to be disconnected. 

Wow. She had had so much on her plate that scholarships had not even crossed her mind, not to mention massive one like this. It was huge. 

Somehow automatically her hand had reached for another university leaflet… Oxford. The looming, beautiful building stared at her right from the page. The Head Master just had to mention Oxford. 

Was this the sign? Did she believe in signs? She didn’t know. 

Just… after everything had happened, she had just thought that she would spend the rest of her life in Buenos Aires. Moving away had been a fleeting dream, a burst of courage… because she would have not been doing it alone. Now… she was afraid. 

The scholarship was way too good of an opportunity to not take advantage of it. She wasn’t an idiot. Right after they had divorced, her parents had set up a trust for her future education, which they had put in a certain amount monthly. Nina’s Blake tuition had been covered from that. Of course, her parents had tried to one-up each other on their contributions, plus Mora had made couple of donations to it as well. Nina did not know the full amount, but she knew that it was a fair amount. But there definitely was something super tempting to not needing to rely on it. 

Gastón had gone to Oxford with Isla and Marco paying everything out of pocket for him, and of course he had been extremely grateful about it, but Nina knew that he had felt some kind of way about it. Being the sole child of millionaires was not as easy as it maybe seemed. 

“Why are you in my head again?” Of course, she had ended up thinking Gastón again.

All a sudden her phone rang again. This time it was Luna. 

“Hey Luna,” Nina picked up the call.

“Ninaaa!” Luna’s bubbly voice came from the other end. “Hiiii!”

“I am glad you called,” Nina started speaking, “I am so sorry that I left yesterday. I didn’t want to make a scene…”

“It’s all good. Matteo told me you got a headache.” Luna responded, “How are you feeling? Any better?”

“Yes, it went away during the night.” Headache? Matteo clearly was quite good at the excuse game, which should have not been surprising. Nina did get stress migraines from time to time. “I am fine now.” She felt really bad about lying to Luna like this, but she didn’t know what to say. She needed to figure everything out. But she would tell Luna the truth. 

“Okay well, what are you doing now?” 

“Universities. Trying to sort all that out before Mom’s patience runs out.”

“Uuuuu, me too!” Luna’s voice got even more excited. “I can’t believe that we are graduating on Saturday. Matteo has been helping me and Ambar is taking me shopping today. What are you wearing?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Nina questioned. “Mora sent me a dress from her upcoming collection.”

“Take a picture. I wanna see it. Can you come over tomorrow? I wanna talk to you about the plans I have made about community college.”

*

“I missed you!” Luna jumped to hug Nina as she opened the Mansion door the next day. 

“You didn’t see me for a day.”

“Yeah, but still.” Luna did a small twirl. “What are those?” Luna was gesturing the pile of booklets Nina was holding-

“University pamphlets. I wanted to talk with you about all of that and you mentioned community college.”

“Yes of course,” Luna said as she skipped ahead when Nina walked inside. “Simon and Ambar are out, and so is Pedro, so only Matteo is here with us. We can talk in peace. Mom just brought some cookies to the living room… I left my phone upstairs. I’ll go get it real quick.”

Nina shook his head laughing as she watched Luna run up the stairs before realizing that she was getting up the wrong staircase. 

“She still does not know how to navigate here,” Nina turned around and saw Matteo shaking his head behind her. He had appeared from nowhere. “I was sitting on the couch, so I heard what you were talking about.” 

“Yeah. It is maybe time to actually make decisions about all of this,” Nina gestured to the brochures in her hands. “Luna mentioned leadership and teaching classes at community college.”

“Yes, that idea came to her in a dream yesterday. You know how she is. She will probably tell you more about it soon.” Matteo explained, “Monica and Miquel are really happy about her actually having a plan.”

“It is a good one. Academics are not really her and that way she can have her career in skating as she wants.”

“Yep… How are you doing?” Matteo changed the subject. “You look better than couple days ago.”

“I don’t know how I am doing.” Nina shook her head, “I made some decisions, but totally lost with others.”

“What decisions?”

“Eric,” Nina shook her head, “I just… I can’t keep doing this to him. He deserves much more than me. But I don’t know how I am supposed to tell him that. I don’t want to break his heart.”

“Well, truth is always a good start.”

“I know.” Nina said looking down, “I better put these down on the table.” she gestured to the leaflets she was carrying and started walking toward the living room. 

“Hmmmmm… Oxford huh?”

Nina turned around and to her horror, she saw Matteo holding the Oxford leaflet. When had she dropped it?

“Uhmmm, well, I just had it there.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are pretty bad liar?” Matteo said looking at her. “Look, you don’t need to tell me, but I want you to know that you can trust me. I am your friend.”

“I know. Okay. The headmaster called me—” Nina started to explain, “—and told me that I have gotten a scholarship called: Educación Internacional Para Jóvenes Prometedores Del Mañana.”

“Wow, thats big.”

“You know what it is?”

“I am pretty sure Dad was just and just able to mask his disappointment that I didn’t get it.” Matteo laughed, “But yeah, I know what it is. So you were thinking about Oxford?”

“Well…” Nina struggled to find the right words, “...the scholarship kind of came out of the blue. I don’t know, honestly.”

“Wasn’t it your dream to go study abroad last year?”

“Well, yes, It was, but…”

“But now it is not anymore?”

“No, thats not it. I guess, it still is? Maybe. I would love to go, learn and live like an adult, with no Mom hovering over my shoulder and England is an amazing place.”

“Then what is the problem?” Nina saw Matteo to furrow his brow. “If you say Gastón, I won‘t believe you. I know him and you do too, he would never have a problem with you following your dreams.”

“I know that.” Nina smiled. “Guess part of that is the fact that I felt like he closed the door on that path for me, but I wanna open it again, but I don’t know how. And how can I leave everybody? All my friends are here and the team…”

“Nina, Roller will always be important part of all of us, but we are all also growing up.” Matteo started talking, “Simon and Pedro are trying to keep the band afloat, I have the label plus the studies I am doing, so do Jim, Yam, Delfi and Jazmin. Ambar is going to law school. Everyone will be going their separate ways, and I think you know that. If you want my opinion, I think you should do it. Taking risks can be worth it, especially if its for something you really want. Plus it seems like you have already made the decision.”

“I have?”

“You got a scholarship that basically enables you to go study basically in any school in the world, but the only thing you are thinking about is Oxford.”

Matteo was right, and Nina knew it. Maybe she had always known it. “But how do I tell Luna?”

“Tell me what?”

Nina turned around and saw that Luna was standing on the bottom of the staircase.

{}

Aaaaaa! It is honestly quite weird that I have been writing for the soy Luna fandom for about two years and have not yet written about how Gastina got back together. Well here it finally is, the Gastina Oxford story as we could say. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter

You all know what I think about the dynamic Matteo and Nina were never allowed to have, because you bet Matteo was never fan of Eric. He is the one who knows the other side of the whole mess and is able to help Nina through it.

Additional note: This will in no way shape or form be an accurate representation of what it is like to study at Oxford. I don't study there and there is only so much research you can do. Plus if I'd try to keep things 100 % accurate, the story would suffer, and the story itself is not all about Oxford or their studies. That being said, if you are a student at Oxford and reading this... I am so sorry.

[4dtk]

“32, 37 hand holding and 3, 26 kissing with rookie actor mark and experienced actor s/o on their first drama together?” yes sure!!! excuse me but i don’t watch that much k-dramas so i’m doing this purely from youtube videos LOL + if it mirrors any other k-drama or is similar then it’s purely coincidence!! just conjuring something up in my mind lol

hand-holding, 32 & 37: not really paying attention, both doing something else, but still holding hands / not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

kisses, 3 & 26: smiling while kissing, giggling while kissing

“what’s that supposed to mean?” mark glances down at you in the field, saying his line that he’s practiced with you countless times. the poor boy was so worried about the outcome of it, having only acted as side or filler characters for the past year. although, with every gig he gets, you’re there to help him reach his fullest potential: practicing his lines with him, going through the different variations of how he could’ve executed it, accompanying him to sets.

even the staff couldn’t mask their shock when they see you walking together with a boy who was sweating his ass off, the familiar murmur of his few lines said under his breath as someone led you two to a common break room.

“don’t mind me,” you raise a hand, used to the starstruck faces that looked your way once the door opened. patting mark’s arm, you said something about supporting your boyfriend before settling beside him to work on hair and make-up. you conversed with him easily, briefly stopping at times to entertain autographs or pictures from the other side actors in the room.

it’s been like that since mark made his debut a year ago, taking up many gigs that you always supported. mark struck jackpot when he lucky to have someone to catch onto his talent, running an audition by him that got him the job (with a bit of persuasion on your side).

a job with you, where your embraces and kisses were not just reserved for the two of you in the comfort of your home, or where your affection was held back due to the intrusive cameras. this was an entirely new variation: of moments taken in private mixed with the recognisable traits of korean drama.

the touch of your skin is familiar to mark, but the words that come out of his mouth feel foreign instead. it’s not often that he spouts something so poetic written by the hand of skilled scriptwriters, but at least now he has more words to tell you when he can’t do it in his normal, unique way.

“exactly what i said. why do you need an explanation?” you giggle, hand wiggling out of the expensive coat that your stylist put on you for this scene.

you can tell mark’s arms are struggling to hold himself up, with a teasing glint in your eye that suggests you’re making fun of his strength. your laugh deepens when you realise he’s waiting for you to say your line, pleading with his eyes. he's not used to it yet.

you wait for dramatic effect. “after all, my love for you needs no explanation,” you swear you see mark release a sigh of relief, able to finally lower himself to you while he rests half of his body weight onto your person. his character’s kisses are soft, not much different from your own boyfriend’s as he deepens the kiss.

“remember how i wondered about how you taste like?” he pulls away to ask, the line referencing an interaction from one of the earlier episodes where his character said the same thing.

“what do i taste like, han jiwoo?” the foreign name rolls off your tongue easily now.

“hm… if i’m being honest, i forgot. i might have to kiss you again to find out,” mark delivers the line perfectly and doesn’t hesitate to lean again for another kiss. you’re sure he’s not acting now.

your mouths do a great job of hiding things, before his tongue swipes across your lips. there’s a squeeze from your hand when he does that, but you grant him access either way, melting into it with a cheeky smile that grows and a heart that feels full.

you can taste the incoming snort from mark but he manages to hold it in with a mere giggle. your kisses start and stop, struggling to get in even a bit of contact from how much you’re laughing. like always, you two hold your kisses to make sure there’s sufficient footage, but you have to admit that it was partially indulgent, too.

the scene was almost over, and when mark brings you to your feet you’re able to breath easier, both from your boyfriend’s weight on you and the released tension in having laid in wet grass for the past fifteen minutes.

his hand twines around yours, dragging you along the field as you run off into the distance, shoving and pulling playfully while the camera prepares to pan up. the last shot is of the two of you holding hands, swinging it like a pendulum before the green of the field disappears and the blue of the sky appear. soon, it fades to black.

“and that’s a wrap! thank you, everyone!” the director shouts. claps are heard and you’re dragging mark by then, stripping off the coat that’s overheating your body. it drapes over your elbow easily, responding to the other’s searching hand as you take it in yours. all the way to the dressing room you head seemed to permanently stay down, continuously bowing to directors, producers, staff members.

all you’re focused on is getting to your next schedule, promising to the cast that you’ll treat them to a meal soon as your shout resonates throughout the space. everyone cheers and you reply with a grin, slipping into the dressing room.

as you remove the hairdo with one hand, you ask randomly, “so? what do you think of han jiwoo?”

mark looks up from his phone, pulling a face while he thinks of an answer.

"well, for one, i'm jealous of him for kissing you." that elicits a laugh out of you, giving him a squeeze with your hand before he goes back to his social media with a smile, "but he's a cool kid. i'm glad i got the chance to portray h..."

a thud from the doorframe snaps you out of the moment.

"ah! s-sorry, mark-sunbaenim, (y/n)-sunbaenim," they bow immediately.

"i hope you don't mind b-but, i just came over to tell you how much i loved your chemistry on screen! it's such an honour to be on set with the both of you, especially you, mark-sunbaenim."

you grin as the other flushes at the compliment, but the side actor continues. you don't mind.

"i'm hoping to get a big role like you too, mark-sunbaenim! i've been watching your other shows, too. the way you give life to a character is always very refreshing," your boyfriend takes refuge in your connected hands.

"and i can't help but notice the love you have off-screen too! it's endearing, (y/n)-sunbaenim. i hope i'll have a love as strong as your hands are held right now!" mark barely manages a thank you as the actor excitedly bows again before making his leave.

once he's out of earshot, you giggle at the scrunched up expression, face warm from the comment about him to your interlocked hands and your relationship.

"that was unexpected," similarly, you packed your things again with a single hand when mark reluctantly stands up, overwhelmed.

"y'know, i didn't even know our hands were connected for that long until he said something." mark groans. you laugh.

"please stop talking, i might actually explode," your lover calmly says, letting you drag him out the back door with your hand in his.

with a small peck, your lips meet the back of his hand, "well before i do, i need to tell you that i vouch for every little thing that guy earlier mentioned. talent in every bone in your body, mark lee."

you flag down your manager's car too fast to see the smile on mark's face, but he's grateful for your heartfelt words as he thanks you with kisses and cuddles later in the night.

[justatidalwaveoffeelings]

Ok, so I don't write. I have never written a fanfic. This doesn't have a name and it's probably poorly written. It's Rachel's point of view around the time of Cammie's second kidnapping attempt. I was bored and I had this idea stuck in my head so here it is. I debate not even posting it but what the hey🤷🏼‍♀️

@averagejoesolomon you totally got me hooked on the Rachel only calls Matt, Matthew. So all the credit to you on that one!

This whole thing is basically read at your own risk. Haha

Just like that, what she had left of her world was crumbling. It happened so quickly. Rachel hadn't seen what had happened. She just knew that one moment she had been talking to Cynthia McHenry and the next she felt her instincts as an operative hit her like a swift punch to the gut.

Something was wrong. She looked around the ballroom looking for Cammie but she didn't see her. She didn't see any of her freinds or even that Goode boy. Never one to be dissuaded from her mission, she  decided to look for Abby. She at least she might know where her neice was.

As much as her sister annoyed her, she was happy to have her back in her life. However temporary it might be. She was aware how an operative's life gets crazy. She knew her sister was dedicated but she didn't know how far they would be pulled apart when she stepped out of the field after Matthew's passing. They had just recently talked about why there hadn't been much contact between the two of them in recent years. Why Abby had walked farther away from Rachel and Cammie and deeper into her various covers. Rachel knew the guilt the came with losing Matthew. The countless nights that kept her up thinking about what might have happened if she told if him to stay home. If she had pulled the "wife card" and asked him not to keep secrets. She knew that Abby had been hurt. Rachel had never lived through anything harder. It didn't surprise her that everyone else who also loved him felt the same. When he died there was a very real whole in each of their hearts. She had suspected Abby just didn't know how to miss Matthew with her. After all, her sister had never been one to grieve in front of others. Rachel hadn't know just how deep routed her sister's guilt and regret had dragged her. Rachel regretted not going to get her baby sister back sooner after Matthew's passing but she hadn't wanted to press Abby too hard in a time of grief for both of them.

Now, if only she could FIND HER.  Her sister always had a knack for being where she wasn't supposed be. So, if Rachel could think if the most inconvenient spot for someone to be she might find her.

When she had finished looking around the ballroom the hair on the back of her neck started to stand on end. She felt a cold sweat start. Her blouse was too tight. She pulled at her collar and silently chastised herself being so obviously uncomfortable. Rachel wanted to tell her instincts to shut up, that nothing was wrong. She knew better though, something was off.

She felt eyes. She pretended to check her make-up in a small compact while checking behind her. She locked on a familiar pair of green eyes staring back at her. Of course he was there. She had just checked the whole room and hadn't spotted him once. If Joe was about to poke fun about her being off now was not the time. When she turned to face him she realized that he wore an expression just as grim as her own.

"You got the same sick feeling in your gut?"

Before she could respond something seemed to dawn on Joe.

"Where's Cammie, Rachel?"

"I don't know. I've been looking for her, or her roommates. Even Abby."

"Zach". Joe mumbled the boy's name. "He's probably with her, right? Did you see them slip out?"

"No, well maybe, but if I knew that I wouldn't be so gosh darn worried now would I, Joseph?!" She hadn't meant to snap but she was feeling worse by the second. Now her instincts seemed to be at work on her stomach.

When the shot went off they didn't question where it had come from. They didn't need to wait for some sort of command. Old habits did truly die hard.  They were across the ballroom in seconds. Not drawing the attention of a single onlooker. They slipped out the back door into a dark ally. The Circle. They were there. Beside her Joe started to speak into thier comms unit. There was a big problem. Rachel looked for Cammie. She was being snagged back down the ally, toward the safety of the door by Zach. Neirher of them was bleeding. She was able to breath agian. The bullet could have been a warning shot. It didn't feel that way though. Where did it land?

She brought herself back to the scene. They were after her daughter and she had to protect her daughter. The kids were fighting like operatives. That was something the headmistress in her couldn't have missed and was quietly proud of. Now only if they could all get out of it. Other gallagher girls rushed out beside her, ready for the fight, ready to protect Cammie.

The second that Rachel could she ran at Cam. Yelling Cammie's name she threw herself against her daughter, deeper into the shadows of other gallagher girls. Farther into safety. Only after the immediate securing of Cammie did Rachel realize that people were still screaming. It was Macey standing over.....

Abby. Abby. Abigail. She knew Cammie was secured. Joe would help make sure of it. She needed to get to her sister. She needed to help her sister. She was bleeding from the shoulder, there was so much blood pooling beneath her. Rachel couldn't breathe. She couldn't catch her breathe. Rachel had always been cool under fire; a natural operative. This felt so different. The operative in her was mad for missing the fight. For not getting there in time. The mother in her was scared and hurting for her daughter. The sister in her felt cheated and so very crushed. She couldn't lose Abby on top of everything else. Her heart beat to one terrible pulse-  She was not ready to lose anymore family. She dropped to her knees beside her sister. She didn't know if she had told Macey to go back to her roommates but she got up and walked away. Rachel pressed some leather jacket into her sister's wound. She didn't realize that she was crying until she saw her own tears falling on Abby's face. Rachel was screaming. She really. couldn't. breath. She heard screaming and crying in the background. Cammie. She couldn't take this or rather she didn't want to. Her sister way dying in front of her and her daughter was being emotionally tormented. She debating getting up, but she couldn't stop crying. She didn't want Cammie to see her so emotionally distraught and she couldn't bring herself to her feet. Cammie would have to be strong.

Joe was on the seeminly knew what she was thinking because instead of coming toward Abby he commanded the women around Cammie. Keeping her safe. Cammie's sobbing became softer. Rachel's didn't.

She didn't get up when the paramedic team arrived. She wasn't going to leave Abby. She couldn't lose her. She didn't feel like a good operative in control. She felt like a big sister, weak from all that crying. She felt Joe behind her. Pulling her up from her knees. Trying to tell her to let go of Abby's hand. She forced Joe to let go of her arms. Desperate to be the one who fixed it. To do something, anything. All she could do was tell the medic what she saw, and tell Abby that she was going to be ok.

When she turned back around he was there. Teary but not crying yet.

"She's strong. She'll pull through". He tried to reassure her but his voice shook. His hand on her arm felt unsteady. Joe never cried. It was going to be a long night. She had to keep busy. She went to check on her daughter. She couldn't lose any more of her family. 

Rachel saw the footage. She knew in that it all happened in a few minutes. It felt like this night would never end. She watched that security footage obsessively outside of her office, sitting on the corridor floor with her head on the wall, right underneath Gilligan's sword. Cavan's sword. Maybe Abby was right. They should have thrown it in the lake. Her daughter was asleep inside her office, away from danger for now. Abby was in surgery. Abby might of died. Abby could still die. Every time she let herself linger on that fact she felt like crying all over again. So, she didn't let herself think of it. She watched the security clip again waiting and watching for a clue. Something. She couldn't truly focus on it though. She was too tired or emotionally distraught. It didn't matter the reason, she knew that a truly great operative had to know when to wave her white flag. In that moment she didn't even feel a little guilty about turning off the video.

Joe stepped out of her office. She did a double take, the last time she had seen him look that way was the night he told her about Matthew. He had been crying. Joe Solomon does not cry. There he was though. He face was streaked eith tears and his shoulders shook slightly. She braced herself for the worse but he just stood there. He looked awful. She moved forward to give him a hug. She couldn't help herself, she started crying again too. Rachel hated to cry in front of anyone but she figured that this secret was safe with him, just like any of the other she had shared with him.  She was thankful that she had a freind in him. Thankful that someone else loved Cammie and was willing to fight for her. 

After a moment they separated and sat down on the corridor floors.

"I'm so sorry Rachel. I'm so so sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything."

"Joe. After everything that's happened tonight, we are not going over this again..  Its not your fault". Joe started to cry again. Rachel hadn't seen Joe cry so much. She couldn't resist asking him

"What?"

He looked at her pitifully. "You don't know whats my fault, belive me. I.... I think you should think it's my fault."

She wasn't suprised that he was saying these things. She knew of course that he felt guilty. Matt went on the mission he was supposed to. She just wished that he didn't get so hung up on it.

He continued "This never would have happened if Matt were here. He would have taken care of it, you know?"

Of course she didn't know that to be true but she had felt it as well. She didn't want to dwell on what it could have been so she told him that they didn't know that. That he couldn't control who the director sent on that mission. The circle might have come after Cammie even if Matt was alive. Matthew was just a human being, who made mistakes. They didn't know if Matthew being alive would change everything. Joe didnt seem convinced though and Rachel couldn't blame him. It was well worn territory in a familiar conversation. They didnt truly fight, but when it came to blame about Matthews death they didn't exactly see eye to eye. Rachel thought about Matt. It struck her though that as bad as it was at times it could also be worse. Rachel thought about losing Cammie or Abby or even Joe and shuddered. She didn't want to lose anymore family.

She tried to reassure him

"Hey, it will be ok. We will take care of it together ok? We'll all take care of one another. We will do the best we can. Just promise me we will try. Ok?"

Joe had stopped crying but his attention seemed to be drifting.

"I'll try...ok?" It sounded so defeated. Rachel didn't want to press him further. Everyone had already had such a rough night. She let the conversation go until he quipped.

"I feel like I should be telling you these things."

They couldn't help each giving a small laugh

They sat there. They waited for a doctor to come tell them that Abby would make it. They sat and waited for Cammie to wake up. Theorized ways to keep her out of harms way. They talked about surviving. All of them. Together.

Rachel rested in knowing that at least for that day. She wasn't losing any more family. 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Bio-Terrorism

The gaping maw was the most imposing location on the entire planet of Savan VI. 

Since the dawn of Gillden’s civilization it had been an almost holy place for their people. A place that judgement was cast upon the accused and should they be found wanting their bodies would be cast into the bottomless hole and their memory erased from existence; a fitting end for those whose crimes were monstrous enough. 

As the ages had passed and the Gillden’s had become more technologically advanced building was built around the maw which became known as the “Hall of Justice” while the surrounding area became known as the government district of the world. While more modern facilities were built as the Gillden entered the galactic stage they still held to their old beliefs and still held trial for their most severe crimes at the maw. 

Criminals were led into the hall from a narrow walkway to a grav unit podium in the center of the room. As the accused reached the podium the walkway would retract leaving the accused on the floating island of the podium while being observed by those around them held aloft on similar grav unit benches and stands. 

In the event the accused was found guilty the podium they stood upon would slowly tilt sideways until flipping upside down and casting the guilty into the gaping maw below. Before righting itself again for the next case.

The hall of justice today was a chorus of hushed voices; its occupants speaking in hushed tones, eyes darting at the nearest sound louder than a whisper. 

The Arbitrator General sat atop a large stand opposite the podium slowly going over papers strewn across his desk.His thin fingers slowly turned each page with the dexterity of a archaeologist handling the find of a century, the thin strands of his hair being casually flicked out of the way more by reflex rather than conscious action. 

Finally having read enough, the Arbitrator gave a subtle nod and the doors to the hall opened opposite him. 

A lone figure was shoved forward through the door and fell to their knees. They wore the grey garments of a prisoner of Saran VI yet they themselves were not Gillden.

The human stood to their feet unsteadily and after a moments hesitation continued walking along the gangway to the podium. 

“Prisoner 47893″ the Arbitrator spoke as the human reached the podium and the gangway retracted. “You stand accused of crimes against the Gillden people. How do you plead?” 

Shielding their eyes with their right hand the human took in their surroundings for the first time. They saw the faces of the Arbitrator and the onlookers all watching them with their crimson eyes. It was like being watched by demons in the dead of night waiting for the campfire to die out. 

“Not guilty.”

The onlookers raised their voices in uproar at the humans words, waving their fists and some even trying to hit them with thrown objects. 

“SILENCE!” 

The Arbitrator’s voice was deafening and the onlookers fell silent like school children. 

“The prisoners stance is recorded. Accuser, you may begin.”

One of the onlookers stepped out of the benches and on to a separate platform that drifted towards the center of the room. 

“Noble Gilldren’s,” they began as their platform slowly spun in place so the Accuser could see all of the onlookers, “I have come here before you, to our most holy sight, to prove that this human is a monster beyond all recognition.”

The Accuser pointed at the human with what the human thought was meant to be an intimidating star but if stares could kill than this Accuser’s was about as deadly as a water pistol. 

Pulling up a data pad, the Accuser hit several runes and large hologram display panels appeared overhead. “State your name for the record.”

“Silva Torris.” the human spoke. 

“What is your profession Ms. Torris?” 

“I am a biochemist.” 

“And what does a biochemist  do?”

Silva cocked her head to the side. “Are you people fucking stupid or have you not advanced past the dark ages yet?”

More clamor came from the onlookers but a slam of the Arbitrators fist against their stand silenced them. 

“Permission to treat the prisoner as hostile?” the Accuser asked the Arbitrator General. Receiving a subtle nod the Accuser pressed another key on their data pad and the shackles of the human sent a strong jolt of electricity coursing through Silva’s body.

The suddenness took her off-guard and she recoiled as if she had just been punched in the stomach. She was bent over when the Accuser repeated the question and she straightened herself out. 

“I study the chemical reactions of living organisms.” 

“Do you know why you are here today?” 

She shrugged. “Clearly not for my sense of humor.” To which she was then shocked again by the Accuser. 

“You are here,” the Accuser began as his platform circled Silva’s podium slowly, “because you released chemical agents on Savan VI that have resulted in the deaths of more than 400 souls.” 

They leaned in close to Silva. “Do you deny this?” 

Silva looked at the Accuser, matching his stare. “Before I answer your question, would you answer one of mine?” 

Silva received another shock but this time was better prepared for it. 

“You can shock me all day but you won’t get an answer from me until you answer my question.”

The Accuser was about to shock her again when the Arbitrator held up a hand to forestall it. They looked down at Silva with a inquisitive look. “What is your question, human?” 

Relaxing slightly at not getting shocked again, Silva rolled her shoulders to stretch them out and looked at the onlookers. 

“Is a human or Gillden more biologically perfect?” 

The onlookers and Accuser laughed and even the slamming of the Arbitrator’s fist was not enough to silence them this time. 

Floating in front of her again the Accuser looked down at her. “Gillden’s are clearly superior to humans.”

“And how do you know that?” 

The Accuser looked at the human in puzzlement. “It is a simply a well know fact.” 

“Do you have proof of it? Reliable sources” 

The Accuser seemed unsure how to answer and coughed before attempting to regain the initiative. 

“We are getting off topic now. I have answered your question now you mus-”

“But you haven’t.” Silva cut in, “You have answered my question with a statement supported by nothing but ones beliefs. Belief does not change the world around you. I could believe that I can fly and escape this prosecution but that does not make it fact nor will it change my situation. Therefore your belief that you are superior holds as much weight as your belief that I am guilty.” 

The only sound to come from the Accuser was a series of starts and stops of replies of sentences of rebukes and counter arguments not being made and dying in his throat. Rather than say anything the Accuser reached for their pad and triggered a shock causing Silva to bend over again in pain. 

When the shock finally stopped Silva coughed several times before spitting out a blotch of blood on to the podium. 

“Is that how the Gillden do things?” she mockingly said. “When you are proven wrong by facts you seek to undermine those who have proven you wrong? Do facts mean nothing?!”

The Accuser was bristling in rage now. 

“Since you seem so keen on facts let us bring up some.” 

With a wave of his hand the holograms changed and showed footage of a crowded plaza near the market district. The footage was from a floating security drone that monitored the area so the quality was immaculate.

Out of the corner of the busy plaza came a large moving van. It came to a stop on the outskirts of the plaza and the drivers cab door opened just as the Accuser paused the video. 

“That is you Ms. Torris is it not?” 

“It is.” she confirmed as the video continued playing. 

Hopping out of the van’s driver side door and approaching the back she slapped the side of the van three times and the back opened up. Two cargo bots stepped out carrying between them a strange metallic cylinder. Once it was set down Silva stepped forward and began twisting and turning several nobs on the device before leaving it and returning to the front of the van. 

The two loader bots hopped back into the van as the back closed and the vehicle drove away leaving behind the strange device. 

Several seconds passed and everything on camera appeared normal until an elderly Gillden collapsed to the ground near the cylinder. Those nearby rushed to their aide but upon getting within a foot of the collapsed Gillden they too began to spasm and collapse to the ground. 

Spreading out from their like a wave as the seconds passed more and more of the people in the Plaza began to convulse and collapse to the ground clutching at themselves wildly. Some tried to grab their young and carry them to safety only to fall and crush them under their own weight. 

In a matter of minutes the entire once bustling plaza was left littered with the bodies of the dead. 

The Accuser turned back to face Silva. “The fact is that three days ago you entered the market district and unleashed a deadly chemical agent. Within the hour the entire district was sealed off as the contagion began to spread from person to person like fire and rages on even now.”

They glared down at her, her mask of disinterest all the more infuriating to him as he seemingly nailed her to the wall. 

“Do you deny that it was you in the video who murdered those Gillden?” 

Silva shook her head, but before the Accuser could pronounce her guilt she continued. 

“That indeed was me in the video but it was not murder.” 

Rounding on her in surprise the Accuser had to stop themselves from physically striking her.

“What else would you call such madness?!?”

She once again shrugged her shoulders. 

“A scientific experiment.” 

The Accuser’s mouth hung open in disbelief so Silva continued. 

“For centuries the Gillden people have proclaimed themselves as you have just now to be the most supreme species in the entire universe. I put that question to the test with a common mutagenic from my homeworld and released it into your populace to study the results. I was unimpressed by the results.” 

The calmness in which she casually described this horrific act shook everyone present to the core. 

Wrongfully thinking she had correctly assumed the expressions of those around her Silva continued. “My first case was somewhat inconclusive as you interrupted me before I could finish gathering data so I prepared a second test to further disprove your superiority belief and replace it with hard facts.” 

This was a surprise to all present. “What do you mean “second test”? Have you planted another device on our world?!?” 

Silva shook her head. “This time I thought it best if I witnessed the results first hand.”

Before the Accuser could continue his line of questioning he felt his muscles begin to tense. His eyes began to become blurry and he wiped them away as he tried to focus. He looked down at his sleeve to see to his horror that it was smeared with his blood as his eyes became blurry once more. 

Coughing and gurgling could be heard behind him and he turned to see the onlookers and even the Arbitrator General showing similar side effects as their eyes began to bleed and their muscles locked up. He saw the Arbitrator begin convulsing rapidly to the point they lost balance from their stand and fell into the great maw below them in a silent scream of horror. 

The Accuser collapsed to their platform and nearly fell themselves before they grabbed hold of the edges. He looked up through blood clotting eyes to see Silva kneeling over him looking at him with an ponderous gaze. 

“The chemical agent is neutral in liquid form,” she began calmly as if the Accusers dying gasps were nothing but a nuisance, “but once the liquid evaporates it becomes active and turns into an airborne agent. Frankly rather hard to design chemically but I would settle for nothing less for my experiments.

Silva slowly knelt down and drew her finger across the dried blood she had coughed up earlier. “It is amazing when one species is so completely immune to something they can even carry it in their body as if it was nothing more luggage.” She looked over at the Accuser with a look of disdain. “Your people really should have spent more time doing medical checks than beating me in prison.” 

The Accuser attempted to make a lunge at her with one of his free arms but missed as his body suddenly convulsed. He lost his grip with his other hand and to his horror he could feel his body begin to fall into the gaping maw below. 

“I guess you weren’t as superior as you thought.” 

Silva’s final words to the Accuser rang out to him as the darkness of the maw swallowed him whole.  

[isthisthingeven0n]

where does loyalty lie? : d.d

brief summary: whilst editing a vlog, david comes across footage of your boyfriend cheating on you at a party

word count: 1.1k requested: yes by @squishybebe​ thank you for requesting this! warnings: some angst, heartbreak and strong language

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

“Jason!” David yells from his bedroom whilst his eyes remain glued to the screen, rewinding the footage to ensure what he’s seeing is real.

Moments later, Jason rushes through the door to see David perfectly relaxed on his bed. “David,” Jason sighs as he pants heavily before walking closer, seeing David furrow his brows together.

“Watch this.” David pushes his laptop toward Jason, scanning his expression as the footage plays.

As it comes to an end, Jason’s expression remains neutral. “What?” Jason questions, causing David to roll his eyes before replaying the footage.

“Look closely, okay?” David sits beside his friend this time, watching closely as he presses play.

David relives that night as the screen pans around the room of people drinking, talking and dancing. Snippets of Zane doing shots, you singing with Carly and Natalie pouring vodka into Todd's mouth all play. Yet, hidden in the last clip is a crucial detail David can’t comprehend is real.

Hitting the space bar to pause the video, David turns back to Jason. “Did you see it?” He questions once again, but Jason shakes his head.

A sigh leaves David’s lips as he rewinds the clip by a few seconds, pausing on the exact moment and points it out.

“Oh my fucking god.” Jason covers his mouth as he focuses on the image before looking up at David. “She’ll be heartbroken, Dave.” Jason sighs as David nods, now in a dilemma.

“What do I do?” David thinks aloud, running his fingers through his hair. “I, I can’t upload that. I’ve searched through the rest of the footage and there’s more to prove it wasn’t just a one-time thing.” David admits, knowing the footage is saved in a separate file.

“Fuck.” Jason stands up, pacing around the room whilst David is unable to tear his eyes from the screen. “I mean, you have to tell her. You can’t let her carry on and not know.” Jason explains, knowing it won’t be easy, but necessary.

“I, I don’t want to hurt her, she’s our friend, Jase.” David speaks up, seeing your face beside Natalie as you wear a bright smile, mid-laugh across his screen. “How am I supposed to tell her this?”

Jason walks over, perching on the edge of the bed as he rests a hand on David’s shoulder. “It won’t be easy, but she needs to know the truth.”

*

“Hey, David!” You happily walk into the house with everyone's coffee orders, passing them around to Natalie, Jason and David.

Everyone quietly thanks you, but you watch as they all keep their eyes remain fixated on the ground.

“Something up?” You question with a light laugh, looking around as David lifts his eyes up, focusing on you. “David?”

David sighs under his breath before he stands up. “I wanna show you something.” He motions for you to follow him, and silently you oblige whilst Natalie and Jason exchanged a concerned look, knowing what you’re about to witness won’t be easy.

Wandering into David’s room, you stand by the doorway still holding your coffee. “What’s going on?” You ask as David sits on his bed, grabbing a hold of his laptop and putting it on his lap.

“You know the party the other night?” David questions, watching as you nod in response. “Well, I was going through the footage from that night, and I saw something that you need to see.” 

“Okay.” You hesitantly answer, walking over and sit beside David. 

Opening his laptop, David pulls the footage as you shuffle closer next to him. Your armrests against his as you focus on the screen, a small smile lining your lips as you watch back a condensed version of that night.

“It sure was crazy.” You chuckle, but David remains quiet as a frown crosses his lips. You continue to watch, but as the footage of Natalie, you and Todd play you can’t help but look behind Todd and tense up. “Replay that for me?” You ask David quietly, wondering if it were just a mistake.

Glancing down at you, David can see you focusing intently on the footage. Your eyes fixate on the corner, and as that clip plays you immediately rise to your feet as a cocktail of emotions hits you like a tidal wave.

“Y/n-” David calls out as you storm from his room, heading to the front door without saying anything.

As you march through the house, both Natalie and Jason try to stop you, but it’s no use. You’re wearing determination heavy as you shoved Jason aside, slamming the front door behind you without another word being uttered about what you just witnessed.

Walking out from his room, David exhales heavily as Natalie and Jason turn to face him. “She didn’t even say anything.” David speaks up before grabbing his keys. “I need to calm her down.” He mutters before leaving the house, following you back to your own place where the issue lies.

Within minutes of you having pulled up, David was hot on your tail as he rushes inside your house to hear you screaming and crying.

“Who the fuck was she?!” You scream as tears slide down your cheeks whilst your boyfriend is frozen in the corner of your bedroom, watching as you force his clothes into a suitcase. “You threw away two years for some fucking girl! Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

Before you can lunge forward, a pair of arms hold you back. “Y/n, don’t.” David comments as you collapse down into his arms, sobbing into his chest. “Go, now.” David spits at your now ex-boyfriend who grabs his things, exiting without even apologising.

“He never said sorry, he, he’s been doing it for months.” The words struggle to leave your lips as it doesn’t feel real. “I, I can’t believe it.” You choke on your sentence as another sob erupts from your chest and you bury your face further into David’s hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Y/n.” David rubs his hand up and down your back as your cries become silent as the pain sets in, the strings holding your heart up finally fraying until broken.

“What if that was it?” You whisper, looking up with a watery gaze as your lower lip trembles. “What if I never find a good guy, what if that was as good as it’ll get?” Doubts circle your thoughts as you look over to the dip in the bed, the creased pillow he was lying on minutes prior.

“Hey,” David brings his hand up to your cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb. “it’ll get better,” He mutters as he leans down, kissing the top of your head as you close your eyes. “you just have to give it time.”

[salems-hq]

in-game dates included in this drop: september 11th-12th system hack: evening of september 11th, 6:47pm.  town hall mob: immediately following the hack, reaching its peak at 7:26pm. warehouse: the morning of september 12th, 5:28am trigger warnings: violence, murder, dead bodies, gore, horror, and supporting themes, religious themes

setting: all across salem, affecting all powered televisions, mobile devices, PCs/laptops, and radios

it’s a normal saturday evening in salem. daily activities are winding down, transitioning into family dinners, game nights. businesses are booming as the sun begins to set, jaunting near the horizon for a final show before giving way to nighttime. main street is crawling with life. it seems as though the city has come to terms with its last jarring occurrence, and things are almost back to normal, even amidst looming threats- which have thus far failed to prove credible. birthday parties, retirement dinners, sport championships, engagement parties: there’s no lack of celebration on the street. this is what makes the interruption that much more memorable. 

the sound of static alters the music coming from various speakers that adorn main street’s lampposts before pushing it to a halt. few people pay it any mind, until a voice chimes into the air, through the speakers on the street, radios, phones, laptops, and other affected devices. “good evening, salem.” the voice brings with it the simultaneous shutdown of all powered screens in the city. one by one, people cry in surprise as the single image of a skull appears in the center of their screens, the spoken words written underneath it. the disguised voice continues. “don’t be alarmed. i’m merely here to indulge you all with some secrets our dear mayor has decided to keep from us.” the skull vanishes, and the captions continue as video footage comes onto the screen. a single figure can be seen in the footage, standing near the edge of the recognizable forest river park.

FREDERICK B. FREEMAN stands center frame. unknown to the public, MIKKO THROMBEY is behind the camera, having recorded this incident himself after receiving an anonymous tip about the mysterious civilian. he stands in the shadows, having followed frederick all the way from downtown. mikko’s breath hitches, which can be heard on the video footage, as he watches the man double over, almost as if in pain. limbs can be heard cracking, shifting, as the man slowly morphs into an animalistic, hideous creature. the camera zooms in on the gruesome transition, catching it in its entirety before the creature’s head suddenly snaps up. its gaze points straight into the camera, holding there for a few moments before turning into the forest at full speed. 

“this footage is from the computer files of none other than the dashing mayor JULIAN AUSTERE. how many things has our city kept from us? what other dangers do we not know about? what ELSE are they keeping from us? freddy here isn’t the only monster among us. where have all these missing persons victims come from? why are they here now? our city officials have known about these suspicious arrivals for weeks and have kept us in the dark.”

as the voice continues, various files are shared through the screens. official city hall documents, emails exchanged between officials and contracted employees, and images of the mentioned ‘returned missing persons’. “have these demons come here to infiltrate us? why are we still in the dark?”

a smiling image of MAYOR AUSTERE appears on the screens, followed by the edited effect of invisible claws slashing diagonally through the image. “wake up, salem. we deserve the truth.” the same skull appears on the screens before the message disappears, and all devices are released from the hack. 

                                    ___________________________________________

setting: town square

one would think images such as the video leaked to the public would shut everyone in their homes out of fear, but then again...salem has never been known to follow the meek mentality of fear. instead, hysteria rises. as if driven by a hive mind, the majority of the city has taken to marching down the streets, headed for the same location: city hall. 

julian austere had been in his office at the time of the hacking, wrapping up a day’s work. he had been on his way out the door when the radio in the upstairs accounting department suddenly switched channels, playing the hacker’s recording through the second floor. as expected, the mayor heads to the city hall’s tech department, where the employees are doing their best to counteract against the hack- to no avail. the hacker’s message comes to an end, and it isn’t long before the all too familiar sounds of a mob reaches the building’s steps. 

the mayor exits the building to meet the growing crowd, narrowly dodging garbage and other such articles that are thrown his way. he comes to a stop at the top of the stairs, looking down at the crowd, at a loss for words. how can you call yourself our mayor?! why are you keeping secrets?! what else is there what else don’t we know are you even on our sidehowcanwetrustaliaryoudon’tdeservetob-

“people, people, please!” his voice cuts through the shouted questions that threaten to crumble his already wavering psyche. the worst possible case scenario has just shown up on his doorstep- and he finds himself struggling to deal with it. “i assure you it was never my intention to keep secrets from you,” he continues, brows furrowing over a sincere gaze. however honest he’s being, the mayor is clearly not in top condition to deal with the situation. he opens his mouth again to stammer out his explanation, when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.  

“your mayor neglected to inform you all per my instructions,” the figure booms from beside mayor austere. the crowd seems to silence at the sudden arrival, entranced by the stranger. to them, the man seems to be glowing with an unsourced light. “i am the archangel GABRIEL,” behind gabriel stands MICHAEL, who is known around town. “joined by my brother Michael. we asked your mayor to investigate a breach in hell’s gates for us, and report directly to us to avoid a panic like the one we have now. please, be still.” incredulous mumbles scatter through the crowd, but they are quickly dispersed when the two angels standing by the mayor unleash their wings. to many, it might be too difficult to stare directly at. the light they resonate is celestial. “but now that things are in the open, we can assure you that this creature you saw on your devices is on your side. they are a select few who have been allowed to return to their human forms. they protect the town in exchange, per our orders. mayor austere hasn’t lied to you. dark threats loom over this city, and i fear the worst is yet to come. please, go home for now. continue your lives as you have been. my brother and i will be available to you from here on out, but for now...get some rest.” the angels ignore the questions being thrown at them and usher the mayor back into city hall. the last thing the crowd sees before the double doors close are michael’s large, blindingly white wings, which sends a gust of wind into the crowd strong enough to push people a few feet back. 

                                    ___________________________________________

setting: the old lumber mill warehouse, just between salem and eastrath 11:51pm.

“that makes 13.”

“i count 14.”

ANTHONY LORENZO and ORION GREYSON stand amidst 14 bodies, protected from detection and watchful eyes by azrael’s own blessing. the imp raises a bloodstained hand to his mouth. a tongue hovers near the ruby red substance when a crash comes from the other side of the warehouse, earning the interest of both men. matching grins, sharper than an assassin’s knife, stretch as eyes full of bloodlust meet each other. 

“you know what’s better than 14?”

claws unsheathe from the imps hand, the sound slicing through the still night air. the sound of bones cracking follow as the siren cracks his neck. the two are in the outer hallway immediately, allowing tony a glimpse of a new victim fleeing out the back door, into the woods outside. they expertly dodge each other as they rush through the hallway and out the door. it would be clear that this is not their first massacre together, were anyone watching.  

“15.” 

shadowy figures move out of the warehouse and into the night, their supernatural speed causing them to look more like electrically charged figures bounding from spot to spot. it doesn’t take long for them to catch up to the fleeing civilian. they follow him into a clearing in the woods, where he stops in the middle, out of breath. “please! i have a family! i can get you money!” in unison, the boys chime. “oh, shut up.” the last thing the man sees is red: the color of his own blood staining tear-filled eyes. 

                                     ___________________________________________

the police are at the warehouse the following morning, responding to a 911 call at 5:22am from a warehouse employee. the warehouse’s main hall is covered in blood, and a few dozen of the bodies have been posed in the center of the floor. torsos, severed heads and limbs, are littered on the floor in the shape of a pentagram. the pentagram’s shape is lined underneath the bodies in blood. found in the woods, half a mile from the scene, is old farmer abernathy, strung on a pole in a fashion similar to that of a scarecrow. his throat has been slashed and stuffed with some of the dry grass that covers the clearing’s floor. his hands are purple from the ropes tightly wound around his wrists. surrounding the figure on the pole is a much larger pentagram, this time made of fire. 

the fire crew are the next people on the scene, soon followed by local news stations. the story is broadcast on the first news of the day, the 7am session. headlines read: MASSACRE AT THE MILL. a moment of silence is given on the news for the following victims: 

Melody Pearson, Katrina Brock, Patti Cooper, Isaac Hernandez, Jaime Greer, Janie Briggs, Austin Hammond, Valerie Bradley, Lee Grant, Betsy Fletcher, Carroll Schneider, Clayton Abernathy, Gordon Delgado, Mindy Chandler, Sylvia Summers

                                    ___________________________________________

PLAYER NOTES: players may post threads surrounding/involving the events of this plot drop. if you want your muse to have known any of the listed deceased, go ahead and add it into your interactions! if you would like your muses to have plot specific interactions (i.e meeting with the mayor, any of the exposed angels, etc), or have part in any upcoming plot drops, events, etc, please approach any admin. 

tldr; first of all :’) ow. second of all, ANGELS have appeared in salem, specifically the archangels MICHAEL and GABRIEL 15 bodies have been found with no suspects thus far. NEWS ANCHORS announced an 8pm CURFEW following the murders, effective immediately. 

[gojifan97]

Dads For Deku-Family Bonding

“Alright Izuku, are you ready to come out?” said Gentle, knocking on Izuku’s door. La Brava was standing a little behind Gentle, staring expectedly at the door.

“Y-yeah! I’m ready!”

“Excellent, then show us what the newest member of our show will look like!” said Gentle, dramatically flourishing his arms. After all a showman must always be practicing, he never knew when the camera would turn on.

“Behold…” Izuku said. The door slammed open and Izuku leapt out, “KILLER RABBIT!” He landed on the floor and struck what seemed intended to be an intimidating pose. Seemed to being the operative term.

This wasn’t helped by his costume. It looked like a giant bunny costume. It consisted of a black jumpsuit, with elbow and knee pads, a dark green waistcoat with gray geometric highlights (how did he even get that?), a utility belt partially hidden by the coat, white gardener’s gloves, his red sneakers (throwing off the color scheme), a dark mouthpiece with a fanged grin painted on the front, and a cowl that covered his head topped by massive bunny ears. All in all, he looked ridiculous.

Gentle struggled to hold in his laughter. Beside him, he saw La Brava doing the same. He began to frantically fake-cough to get it out of his system.

“Gentle are you alright?” Izuku asked running up to him. The failed attempt at being intimidating now replaced with his regular sweet and harmless demeanor.

“Yes, yes. Just had something in my throat,” Gentle said. An idea began to form.

“Oh good. You were just coughing so hard, and it sounded so weird…”

“Hey, Izuku,” said La Brava, shuffling awkwardly, “About your name…”

“Huh? Is it bad?” Izuku said, his eyes looking like a sad puppy under his mask. La Brava stumbled slightly, so Gentle took this opportunity to jump in.

“Not at all! However I think you should drop the “Killer” part from your name. It creates a negative image for our viewers!” he said. La Brava sent him a confused look.

“Oh ok, that makes sense,” said Izuku. “Then I shall be Rabbit! And while they may have once underestimated me, seen me as something weak and helpless, the evils of this world will soon learn I am a threat to all those who harm the innocents!”

“Oh, so that’s why you went with that motif. That makes sense,” La Brava said. But when Izuku looked away she still eyed his costume skeptically.

“Now, I believe we have other things to do now. The sun is down, it is time.”

“Wait now? Tonight?! I thought I was just trying on my costume today!”

“Not to worry Izuku, you said you’ve been training in that on your own right?” said Gentle.

“…Yeah…”

“You have me and La Brava to handle the lion’s share of the work and protect you if needed right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you need to start eventually right?”

“Yeah! Ok. I’m ready to have my first outing tonight!”

“That’s the spirit!” said Gentle, who began walking to grab his disguise.

“Come on! La Brava said to Izuku as she went for her own. “You’ll do great!”

The three ran across the rooftops. Whenever they came to the edge of one, Gentle would take the lead and use his quirk to make the edge of the roof a trampoline for them. They stopped on the edge of a roof overlooking a street in a more run-down neighborhood. Gentle looked and listened for any sign of wrongdoing. He heard the sound of crying. He looked and saw a little girl sobbing in front of a tree, her cat near the top loudly meowing, stuck.

“Follow me!” He said, leaping down. After a few light bounces he and La Brava were securely on the ground. Izuku stood on the edge, staring down.

“Come on Izuku! You can do it!” said Gentle.

“We made it! Gentle made the ground soft!” said La Brava.

Izuku snapped to look at them as if he’d forgotten about them.

“Trust me,” Gentle said, “You’ll be fi-“

Izuku raised his hand in a “wait” gesture, then began scrambling down the building, using any handholds available and even dropping himself once or twice, using the parkour skills he’d shown Gentle so happily last week. Gentle felt proud. Until Izuku slipped and fell onto an awning. He rolled down and Gentle softened the ground just before Izuku landed into a roll. That did not terrify Gentle at all. Only slightly concern him.

“S-sorry, I guess I have to work on that a little more…” Izuku said. “I wanted to try getting down myself so if you’re ever not there I’ll be able to do it on my own…”

Gentle smiled, “Excellent forward thinking. And don’t be afraid to try again. As long as I’m here I’ll be ready to help catch you.”

“I am too! Even if I’m not strong. I will even use my quirk to help you if needed.” La Brava said. Love of surrogate little brothers was still love after all.

Izuku began tearing up, “Thank-OH MY GOSH THE CIVILIAN!” He leapt to his feet and began racing to the little girl with the cat in the tree. La Brava got out the camera.

Gentle tried to introduce himself, but he didn’t even make it past “I AM” before Izuku was kneeling next to the girl.

“Hi there, I’m Rabbit. Do you need some help?” said Izuku.

The girl stopped crying, turned to Izuku, and pointed, “My kitty Cupcake is in that tree and can’t get down. Are you a hero? Can you help him down? Be careful, he scratches.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him right down!” said Izuku. He quickly climbed the tree until he made it to the wailing cat. He carefully lifted the cat into his shoulders and climbed down. “There you go!” he said, “The cat wasn’t any trouble after all.”

“Oh good! I guess he was too scared by being up in the tree!” said the girl. Izuku smiled, until her words seemed to sink in. The rest of them picked up on it too, just as the cat began growling.

After Izuku escaped that ferocious little cretin, the girl gave him a hug, calling him her hero, thanked the rest of them. She picked up her pet monster and walked inside. The three of them ran off to their next adventure.

“I didn’t get any footage of you Gentle, but I got plenty of Izuku. It makes for a great debut!”

“Excellent work La Brava!”

“I’ve got a question though,” she glanced at Izuku, who was running ahead and upwind of them, then she continued in a tone too low for him to hear, “Why’d you let him keep that ridiculous name and costume anyway? It doesn’t even match our theme!”

“Well La Brava, that’s because I realized Izuku has a different appeal. His attempts at intimidation are so horrendous to regular people that they will endear them to him. That, his soft demeanor, and how obviously bad he is at looking “cool” will make them all love him causing our videos to, what were your words, ‘go viral for sheer dorky adorable?’”

“I guess. He will have cuteness appeal with a lot of viewers, especially younger ones” she said, “but why not tell him?”

Gentle smirked. “Because he’d never believe me. So, I’ll let his unexpected popularity be a pleasant surprise.”

They soon came across a group of muggers harassing a trio of teenagers.

“Greetings! I am the GENTLE VIGILANTE, here to make my vigilante debut!” said Gentle.

“I am his faithful butler and partner in ending your ungentlemanly behavior, La Brava!”

“And I am here to protect the innocent, underestimate me at your own risk, for I am Rabbit!”

The last one caused the criminals to break into a fit of laughter. It lasted until Rabbit punched one in the face.

After a brief fight the muggers were all subdued. Izuku seemed to be gleeful about defeating two of them quirkless, Gentle was happy to have tried out Izuku’s suggestion of carrying and rubberfying a rapier (quite good for slapping those hooligans), while La Brava struggled working the camera.

“It won’t turn on!” she said, pushing the button for the fifth time.

“That leader guy said that his quirk disables all communication and recording devices that get too close and keeps them that way for twelve hours,” said one of the teens.

“W-what?” she said, looking like she’d just been told Christmas was cancelled.  

“Yeah, sorry. My phone got the same. Hope I don’t lose anything already on there.”

“But that means…” she groaned, “never mind. You guys ok?”

“Yeah! Did they hurt you? Or take anything? You know, before we showed up?” said Izuku.

“Aside from some incredibly crass comments? No.” said one of the teenagers.

“Ungentlemanly filth,” said Gentle, “No matter. You all run along, find help, and call the police. Tell them where to find these ruffians. In the meantime my associates and I will be off.” He, La Brava, and Izuku bounced away.

“That was, a fine experience. Worthy of some fine tea,” said Gentle.

“Yeah, even though we won’t have any footage aside from maybe Izuku helping the girl. Still, it was nice to do all that,” La Brava said.

“I got to be a hero. I got to save people,” Izuku said, taking off his hood and mouthpiece, “I know I’ve said it before but, thank you for taking me in Gentle. You’ve given me so much I never thought I could have.” His eyes glistened with tears.

“You’ve repaid it in full with all you’ve given us Rabbit, from your smarts and strategies, to your moral compass that lead us to becoming the vigilantes we are today. It is an honor to have you with us,” said Gentle.

“He’s right you know. You’ve helped us as much as we’ve helped you,” said La Brava.

They shared a group hug. They eventually broke off and La Brava said “With the camera shot, what are we gonna-“

They heard another scream. Izuku was already running toward it. As they neared the alley they heard it from, La Brava said to Gentle, “About your plan. With Izuku?”

“Yes?”

Izuku got into the alley just ahead of them and shouted, “Stop dirtbags! I am the terror that hops in the night! RABBIT!”

She smirked, “It’s totally gonna work.”

[dazzlingstarlight]

25 words for Jubal Valentine

Hi everyone, thanks for sending so many words! Thank you to the anon who asked for some Jubal sentences – all of these 25 words are for Jubal and I hope you like them!

1. Talents

Jubal is surprised when the new SAC asks about his team, and he tells her that Maggie and OA are great partners and Kristen is a highly talented analyst, and Dana stares at him thoughtfully for a long moment before she nods and says, “Okay then, let’s get to work.”

2. Experience

A year later, Jubal repeats the experience with another new SAC, but this time he tells Isobel that Maggie and OA are rock solid together, and while Kristen is green in the field, he has no doubt that she’ll learn fast from her new partner Scola.

3. Hug

It wasn’t an easy search, but it’s a happy reunion when Maggie and OA finally bring two missing children back to 26 Fed, and their parents squeeze them as tightly as they can through tears of joy and relief, and Jubal decides that maybe he should stop by and see his kids tonight and make sure to hug them tight.

4. Enough

There are two suspect photos posted on the screen in the JOC, and Jubal looks over Ian’s shoulder as he combs through their financials, and when he finds a series of simultaneous deposits into each one’s bank account, Jubal gives Ian an approving clap on the shoulder and tells him to call Maggie and OA because it’s enough to bring them in.

5. Secure

Ian is having trouble downloading some security footage and he’s a little surprised when Jubal asks if there’s a secure server with double firewalls and triple encryption, and then Jubal gives him a smug grin and says, “What, you think I don’t pick up any of this stuff from hanging around you guys in the JOC?”

6. Ring

Maggie and OA have been chasing a drug smuggling ring for a couple of weeks, and they think it might help to put someone on the inside, and Jubal tells them he knows a guy and when they ask where they can find him, Jubal says it’s one of his old aliases, so they’re already looking at him.

7. Please

Jubal adjusts the camera and the wire hidden in his shirt, and he hears Scola confirm that the audio and video are loud and clear, and OA asks if he’s ready for this, and Jubal scoffs a little and says, “Please, boys, let me show you once again why the ladies call me Mr. Valentine.”

8. Distraction

Jubal is calm and confident – and maybe even a bit cocky – as he strolls up to the front door, sporting an expensive designer suit with two beautiful women hanging attentively on each arm, and the two guards that block the door can’t take their eyes off Maggie and Kristen which creates just enough of a distraction to let OA and Scola knock them out from behind.

9. Longing

Sometimes when he and Sam are cheering on the bleachers at his son’s soccer games, Jubal thinks that they look like a normal, happy family – and then he thinks that maybe he’s longing for something that just isn’t there anymore.

10. Helpless

As FBI agents, they’re committed to helping people every day, but when it’s one of their own lying in a hospital bed, Jubal hates the way he feels so helpless, and he keeps snapping the elastic band around his hand again and again and again.

11. Affection

Jubal has had just about enough of the CIA agent chattering in his ear, telling him why he can’t send his field agents barging into a suspect’s home, and he finally faces the man and growls enough to make him back off a little: “Okay, sir, I realize there’s never been a whole lot of affection between the FBI and the CIA, but you’re on FBI turf now, and that means we do it our way.”

12. Bond

The elderly man sitting in interrogation has refused to talk for a good hour, and Jubal knows they’re losing valuable time, so he tries a new approach in a gentler tone: “Mr. Carson, I know you don’t want to betray your son because I have a son of my own and I know there’s a bond between a father and his son that shouldn’t ever be broken, but we need your help.”

13. Trust

Mr. Carson’s eyes are glistening with tears, and he shakes his head hopelessly, mumbling over and over that he just doesn’t want his son to get hurt, and Jubal kneels next to him and says, “Sir, I understand that, and that’s why you have to trust that we’ll do everything we can to get your son home safely.”

14. Pair

Whenever Jess LaCroix’s team rolls into town, Jess and Jubal always make an interesting pair as Jess follows his hunches and Jubal follows his facts and somehow they both manage to put the criminal behind bars and get the job done.

15. Reaction

Jubal isn’t sure how Scola is going to react to another partner – Tiffany is the third partner for him in less than a year, now that Kristen has moved on and Emily was only temporary – but he introduces her anyway and Scola is his usual self, shaking her hand and saying “looking forward to working with you” and then getting right back to work again.

16. Anger

It’s the alcohol that made him angry then, when he spent every night so wasted that he couldn’t even stand on his own two feet, and it’s still the alcohol that makes him angry now, for how much he hurt himself and his career and his family.

17. Sweat

When Jubal tries to remember his relationship – or rather, his affair – with Rina, he’s ashamed to admit that all he can remember is a few steamy, sweaty nights in bed – and the strong stench of alcohol.

18. Addiction

While Jubal has worked hard to overcome his addiction, he’s always wary of the little things that make it all too easy to remember the way he used to be, the cases that he should have worked harder on, the cases that he should have been sober for – and the cases where the victims struggled with their own substance abuse and he couldn’t do anything to help them.

19. Beginning

That’s why Jubal is proud to become a sponsor – to be there for someone else from the very beginning – because he’s been through it all and he knows how hard it is to explain to someone who hasn’t, and because he doesn’t want anyone else to make the same choices and he wants to give someone else a second chance.

20. Break

Isobel gives him a disapproving look, and Jubal knows the sting he’s proposing is risky, but he has faith in his field agents’ skill and his analysts’ intel, so when Isobel tells him that the ADIC will make their lives very difficult if things go wrong, Jubal just shakes his head and tells her that this team isn’t going to break.

21. Training

Jubal has been negotiating a hostage situation for hours and when it escalates to the point where there’s imminent danger to the civilians, he makes the hard call to take the shot, and he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh because no training can ever really prepare an agent for endings like this.

22. Bed

His daughter’s grip around his neck is cutting off his air supply, but Jubal can’t complain too much because she’s just so excited to see her father, and he sets her down and tells her to go put on her pajamas, and even though it feels awkward, Jubal still tells Sam thank you for letting him tuck his kids into bed that night.

23. Grief

When Jubal just happens to know a strip club on the East Side because he walks by it on his way to the subway, he doesn’t miss the smirk that Kelly and Elise share and he wonders how much grief they would give him if they knew he accidentally bumped into a woman on the street outside of the club and he’s thinking about asking her out for coffee…maybe.

24. Help

When OA tells Jubal that Maggie will be gone for a few days because she’s getting her sister settled in at the rehab center, Jubal is more than understanding and privately he wishes that someone like Maggie had gotten him that kind of help before it was too late for his own addiction.

25. Morning

Scola and Tiffany fall into the easy routine of bringing morning coffee and pastries to the JOC, and Jubal is grateful to them for fueling his crew because there’s always another new case, and he calls “eyes up!” so their focus is on the screen, and then it’s time to go to work again.

[moonah-rose]

King Takes Knight (Part 5)

Shawn gets just what he hoped for.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

(TW: Torture, captivity, ‘nails’)

This was a glorious day. Victory Day. Maybe he’ll make it a national holiday to commemorate the occasion. Every employee will have a microsecond less work to do than usual. He can be generous like that.

Shawn watches from the stage as a Bad Janet enters, bending the arm of that pesky mutated Good Janet in front of her as she marches her down the steps. Behind them are some generic demon guards who he will have to learn the names of, if only so he can reward them for grabbing a human each between them. The four irritating losers who are behind this whole mess. 

He can’t help but laugh! How stupid can they be to have all come at once? Now there’s no one left to run their ridiculous experiment.

“Good evening, dickweeds!” He greets them cheerily, amused by the defeated looks on all of their faces - though Mendoza looks as gormless as ever; “So glad you could attend the show.”

“Oooh, what show? Is it Shrek the Musical?” Jason asks, lifting his chin up.

The large guard holding him gives his arm a painful tug, making the dumbass yelp like a cat with its tail caught in the door.

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll definitely be keen on making you sing soprano when I have them saw your balls off.” He gloats.

With a wave of his hand, he instructs the guards to walk the four of them forward, up the steps, and then force them to their knees at the front of the stage. The Bad Janet struts to stand next to him and Shawn allows her to give him a low five at his side in celebration.

Not that it took much effort.

“I applaud you for trying. But that really was a pathetic attempt to save Michael. You really thought we wouldn’t have Molotov-proofed the doors after last time?” 

Tahani turns to tut at Jason; “Told you!”

“Well I told you guys it was a trap but none of you listened!” Eleanor hisses.

Oh, this is wonderful. He would be happy to simply lock them in a room and watch them blame and scrap with each other, just as Michael originally intended, rather than all this wholesome chummy crap that ended up happening. How ironic.

“Such a shame that Chidi couldn’t be here to join you all. I guess he’s busy getting all loved up with his fellow nerd Simone, right Eleanor?”

He grins as that hits a nerve and Shellstrop darts forward, looking to go for him, before the guard grabs her hair and yanks her back down.

“Don’t worry. I have to keep my word to the Judge, after all. So I’ll be happy to let the experiment carry on, with Chidi and the others under the ‘safe’ guardianship of my employees wearing your skin suits.” He taunts them, “They won’t even notice you’re gone...especially as they will, literally, be the same skin torn from your bodies!”

“You twisted wanker.” Tahani glares at him, the British brat suddenly baring fangs; “Where is Michael?!”

“Y’know, she’s so right...Michael should be here to watch us slowly slice that fat skin off of them, shouldn’t he.” Bad Janet sways her hips, looking knowingly to Shawn with that glint in her eye; “Want me to go fetch him and give him the front row seat?”

This Bad Janet must not have got the memo.

“Oh I wasn’t foolish enough to have Michael be here. I just needed these filthy rats to think that’s where he was by the video.” He brags, watching the shock quickly drain the anger on their faces into hopelessness; “I had Michael moved a nice, cosy location far, far away. You weren’t even close to getting to him, idiots!”

“FUCK!” Eleanor swears, not even looking as though she can enjoy the opportunity to curse; “I told you all, it was too easy!!”

“No biggie.” Bad Janet rolls her eyes; “I can still stream him the footage to wherever that dingus is, can’t I? I sooo want him to see us cut Tahani’s hair into an uneven bob.”

“No! No! NOOOO!” The wannabe princess screams until the guard gives her a slap.

The Bad Janet has a point though. It wouldn’t be worth torturing Michael’s precious humans unless he was there to watch it, even if the plan with the Michael-suit fell through. Damn Vicky and Glenn both being blown up meant he had no duplicate to use, especially as he forgot to share the design with other skinsuit manufacturers (shut up, Glenn!). 

He’s certain there is very little of Michael’s awareness left after how much they’ve inflicted on him over the past few...well, it was only a handful of months but, thanks to Jeremy Bearimy, he’s endured a lifetimes worth of restraints, freezing, impalement, whipping, electrocuting, bad Adam Sandler movies, and soo much worse. There had been a time when he’d looked into those blue eyes and seen so much raw hatred. Now, whenever he took a glance at his wretch of a former employee, the light was flickering out, as if he’s conscious of nothing except the constant pain and loneliness. 

Just like the humans he adores so much that end up here, where they belong. Because they’re terrible and that’s all that needs to be known. He should have left well enough alone. 

At least now, finally, Shawn gets to have some entertainment.

“You’re right, Bad Janet. Set up a connection to the Tenth Circle, Sector B. I left one Bad Janet on duty there with Nicole who’s currently ‘taking care’ of Michael. And by that I mean making him very miserable.” Just in case the humans are too dumb to get the expression.

Bad Janet texts on her phone, popping another piece of gum.

“Tenth Circle...Sector B....Got it.” She raises her head, an oddly pleasant smile spreading across it, eyes suddenly bright and pleasant; “Thanks for that!”

“What-?”

The not-so-Bad Janet karate chops him in the side of the head and knocks him to the floor. He hears her make a shout, the theatre spinning around him, unable to find his feet quick enough before the humans get to their feet and surround him.

Shawn blinks, rapidly, as they proceed to take out some rope and tie his wrists and ankles together.

“What is the meaning of this?! GUARDS! DON’T JUST STAND THERE! GET THESE STINKING HUMANS OFF OF ME!” He rages, trying his best to break out of their puny hold but they’re, for some reason, freakishly strong.

The Bad Janet continues to smile at him.

“Oh they’re not your guards...and these aren’t the humans. You were being so smug that you didn’t see what’s right in front of you, did you?” She says.

Shawn frowns. What is she talking about?!

He glances up at Tahani leaning over his head, trying to spot the....Oh. Farts.

They’ve fooled him again. That’s no Bad Janet. And these humans have no auras. They don’t even smell! They’re the same as her. They’re...

“Meet my Janet Babies. I produced a bunch more to come with me. We just needed to know where Michael was really being kept and now we do. And I’ve forwarded that to our Team Two so, thanks!”

She gives Shawn a kick in the teeth before her group stand back at her command.

He spits, wriggling, bound and prone on the wooden floor.

The fake Jason stuffs a green stress ball into his mouth to gag him before all of them leave him there, muffled curses being hurled at them, before they lock the door and leave him in the empty theatre. He fucking hates Good Janets!

*

*

*

She likes to use the metal hooks to dig into his flesh and give them a tug, eager to get a reaction out of him despite his near frozen state. Every now and then she’ll manage to hit somewhere extra tender and a whimper will break out of his lips. 

She has a schoolgirl's giggle.

“This is like ice fishing. And you’re my big piece of frozen shrimp.” She teases him as they sit in the inside of a giant glacier. 

She doesn’t seem to be affected by the code, only wearing a pink slip dress. There’s not even any goosebumps on the arms of her suit.. 

The new one they’ve left with him is one he hasn’t seen before. She seems new to torture, possibly even new to the slim skinsuit she’s been given, still fascinated by the way her own fingers move. The way she caresses his face and sticks her tongue out makes him suspect she’s some kind of giant leech monster. The kind they used to let suck humans brains out with straws. Or cut their skulls open and lick them out like a kid with a bowl of cake mix.

Definitely not a fire squid, whatever she was.

“I bet Shawn’s almost finished making your buddies feel at home here. If you’re really good to me, Mikey...I might ask him to bring you their heads as a treat.” Nicole, as she said was her name, informs him.

He’s beyond attempting to beg for them to be left alone anymore. He’s beyond expecting any sort of mercy.

Everything he had tried for so long....everything he had hoped to avoid.

All of his efforts for the past few years were for nothing.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... He thinks as more tiny crystallised tears sting from the corners of his eyes.

A loud bang outside makes him start.

Nicole turns to the Bad Janet at the door; “What was that? Go check on it, will you!” she orders like a spoiled brat to her butler.

The Bad Janet rolls her eyes, flipping the bird and then doing as she’s told.

Nicole turns back to kneel in front of Michael.

He tries to escape into his hallucinations but she wants his focus on her. Her hand grips his cheek and squeezes tight.

“I dunno what you did to get the Boss to hate you so much, I don’t really give a toss about current affairs...But m’just glad I get this as my first job! Punishing a dirty traitor...” She runs the tip of an ice pick up his face, towards his nostril; “...And all the other dirty things I hear about you...My mate Kath said you had the hots for one of them humans...You creeps should keep that fetish on the internet where it belongs! Look where it’s got you now...”

She takes a small hammer out from her pocket and puts it to the bottom of the ice pick, shoving it up Michael’s nose.

“I wish you had a brain in there so this could get the same effect it does with those creatures...But the simulation is good enough.”

He wishes he could laugh through the binding in his lips. He wishes that her wish could come true. Give him a lobotomy? Take away his memories of constant failure? Make him oblivious to how he’d loved for nothing and lost everything? She would be doing him the greatest favour.

As it is, he’ll just sit there and take the pain of a nail through his fake skull. He’ll let her have her fix until she gets her reprieve and he’s left alone to his own personal inner torment. His guilt. His regrets.

Just let go, Michael. Just...forget.

Nicole leans in close, ready to fiercely tap; “Hold still. This will only hurt a-.”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her taunting before her skin suit explodes, sending a wave of pink goo across Michael’s face. 

He blinks. Something happened.

The ice pick and the hammer clatter to the floor.

Wha...

Eleanor Shellstrop stands at the door, clutching a Bad Janet marble in one hand, pointing Janet’s demon exploder in the other. 

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (7)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.2k warnings: torture, angst™, graphic descriptions of violence,  🖤series masterlist // series playlist

It was unlike anything you could have imagined, even in the worst of your nightmares. The scar upon your forehead from an accident as a child, the identical wounds and swelling you’d sustained in your captivity, the flicker of a softer hue in your irises as the light touched it, the delicate fall of your hair, the curve of your nose. The clothing you had been held in for weeks, the same tear in the top right shoulder, the dirt smudged over your skin.

It was you. Entirely and completely you.

Except that it wasn’t.

The woman, wearing your face, laid upon the ground, still bound and restrained to the chair though her body slumped toward the concrete, lifeless. Her eyes open, unseeing, as a deep red pool surrounded her head from where the bullet had torn through the cavity, blood expanding along the floor and nestling into the cracks of the concrete.

“Freaky, ain’t it?” Cain chuckled, nudging the woman’s body with the toe of his boot, only for her to slump back into place.

You stared up at him, wide eyes, shock paralyzing your ability to speak.

“She’s enhanced,” Cain explained, an amused smirk upon his features. “Shapeshifter. Watch this.”

With the end of his gun, he prodded at a spot behind the woman’s ear, your ear, as the woman’s skin rippled over in scales, like cards bridging in a deck, replaced by an entirely new body. Skin and hair that was not your own, eyes staring far beyond the wall a different hue, scars and wounds that covered her face and arms now clean and replaced with small nicks and scratches of her own.

“Been holding onto this one for a special occasion,” Cain goaded, “so consider yourself special, princess.”

“You’re sick,” you spat, unable to tear your watering eyes away from the body of the woman at your feet. You tugged at the men holding you back. Strong, unforgiving arms wrapped around you; your body too weakened to do any damage. “You murdered this woman for what? To prove a point? That—That the Avengers are human?”

“To keep your fucking brainwashed boyfriend from finding you before we’ve completed what we have planned!” Cain bellowed, rushing at you in one fowl swoop and pressing the barrel of the gun under your chin. The metal was hot on your skin as he pushed it against you enough for you to stretch your neck higher, searching for a relief from the pressure. You struggled to swallow.

“Now, we can get to work in peace without the Avengers breathing down our necks,” Cain barked in your face, split flying onto your cheek and forcing you to wince. He stepped away and let the gun fall from your neck. You coughed to find the air the barrel had suffocated from you and shot him a glare. Cain only seemed to smile wider at that, amused by your pain. “Not going to keep searching for a dead body, now are they?”

You sucked in a harsh breath and the men dropped you from their grasp. Too weak to stand on your own, you hunched over on the floor, eyes darting over at the body of the woman lying just a few feet away.

Cain snapped his fingers and one of the men grabbed a harsh grip of the woman’s arm, hulling her into the air and tossing her body over his shoulders. It was too rough, too cruel for the way he carried her and you parted your lips to say something, but bit down on your cheek. This woman who was killed wearing your body was just that... dead.

She didn’t know the humiliation or the desecration with which these men handled her body. She didn’t know the pain of being hulled over a man’s shoulder with little remorse. She didn’t know anything. She was dead, as you imagined you soon would be as well. 

You crawled over to the mattress at the corner of the room as the door slammed shut, trapping you with the pool of blood staining into the concrete. Body slumping onto the hardened surface, stray springs poking at your skin, and despite Danny’s whispered calls of your name, the urgency and worry in his voice, you closed your eyes and cried until sleep was merciful enough to pull you under.

***

Familiar clicks startled you from your rest just hours later as Cain pushed his way back into your cell, rolling along with him a television from the early 2000’s strapped to a tall, plastic cart. He shot a wink at you as you turned sheepishly upon the mattress to face him, too weakened to goad him or even warp your face into a glare. He was alone, without his lackeys, which was unusual for his daily visits.

“Got something fun to show ya,” he taunted as he pressed a single click to the television. “Hope you enjoy, princess.”

Without another word, he retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.

You swallowed, the bile painful in your throat as you starred over at the television as it warmed up, the picture on the screen slowly fading from a dark black to reveal the picture beneath.

“What was that about?” Danny asked cautiously through the wall.

“Not sure yet,” you mumbled back, pushing yourself to your feet despite the aching cries in your muscles.

Upon the screen, a blonde woman came into view, wearing a navy blue blazer as she handled a stack of papers in her hand, tapping the edge of a pen on the desk she sat behind.

“It has been five hours since footage airing the assassination of renowned Avenger Agent Y/n Y/l/n of SHIELD was streamed live to every screen in Times Square,” the woman reported and an image of your headshot from your early days in the academy appeared on the top left corner of the screen. With a bright smile, skin free of oozing scars, and a light behind your eyes, you hardly recognized yourself.

“This comes following almost two months held as a prisoner in Hydra’s captivity. While the Avengers have been tirelessly searching to rescue their fallen teammate, it appears all roads have led to this fateful moment.”

You heard Danny curse under his breath, having heard the reporter through the speakers. The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, a heavy breath exhaled before she spoke again.

“We have obtained footage from the scene in Times Square where the Avengers were subjected to watch Agent Y/l/n’s murder live in real time, along with the civilian population.”

The screen filtered away from the newsroom to show a young man and woman standing in the middle of Times Square, posing in front of the series of colorful billboards, holding up a peace sign with wide smiles brimming on their cheeks. The film was in a vertical angle, with thick black bars filling the rest of the screen, filmed on a phone’s camera.

“Oh, my bad... it’s a video,” a voice chuckled nervously from behind the phone to which the subjects of the intended photo rolled their eyes and began to laugh along with him.

Then, over the man’s shoulder a silver van shot into frame, electric sparks flying from metal scraping the concrete, tires long gone. A horrible screeching sound had the couple pressing their palms to their ears. It crashed into a parked car and drew the attention of every pedestrian within the frame.

“Holy crap is that the Avengers!?” the voice shouted, zooming the camera in on Tony as he flew above the van in his Iron Man suit. The camera followed Sam as he touched down on the other end of the van, winds folding into his suit.

It was strange, to watch your friends from the point of view of civilians. It had a certain kind of theatric to it and you understood why the people adorned your friends as heroes.

Heart in your throat, you collapsed into the chair used to torture you as Bucky suddenly came into view, sprinting towards the SUV, not stopping until he ripped the door from its hinges and tossed it several yards down the street. The man recording the film was shouting, cheering him on, as the lens flashed to his friends’ excited faces.

The camera zoomed in closer as Bucky dragged someone from inside the van. Too far away to hear what they were saying, but Steve walked into the frame, shoulders stiff enough for you to recognize that he was advising Bucky to stand down, carefully reaching for his friend’s shoulder, only to be shrugged away.

Hair shielding his face, Bucky began to beat the man until blood splattered over his hands. The recorder of the video only egged him on, like he was watching some kind of fight in the halls of a high school. He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.

You heart was in your stomach.

“Oh-- Oh my God. M-Miles, look!” the young woman to the recorder’s left gasped, the lens now aimed at the dozens of screens lining the street with your face, the shapeshifter’s face, upon it.

You pressed your hand to your chest in an attempt to ease the race of your heart, but it did nothing to aid you. The film followed Bucky as he rushed forward and you could see how violently his hands were shaking, even at this distance. A lump in the back of your throat and tears welled in your eyes, watching as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the hundreds of screens surrounding him.

The blonde woman appeared back behind the news desk, a solemn look upon her face. “We have cut the video as it displays the violent and graphic image of Agent Y/l/n’s death. The recording will pick up again after the Hydra stream cuts out.”

As she stated, the feed cut straight back to Times Square, only this time you could make out the faint sound of people crying in the streets, the couple who had posed for the picture just moments ago, now huddled together, reaching for their friend behind the camera. He shook them off, aiming the lens back at Bucky as he was lowering a gun that had been aimed at one of the screens.

The video was shaking, the hand of the teenager capturing it trembling, as Bucky stumbled on his feet, grasping at his chest before he collapsed to his knees. The scream that fell from his lips shook you to your core, goosebumps trailing over your skin, and a puncture so sharp in your chest, you wondered if you would survive it. Your hand pressed against your lips to keep the sob from escaping you as tears blurred your vision, a lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

The camera panned to the rest of your team, your family. Tony was punching holes into the silver SUV before he took off into the sky. Natasha was hulled against Steve’s chest, her shoulders shaking as Steve ran his large hands down her back, nervous glances back in Bucky’s direction. Sam was kneeling just a few feet away, head bowed, like he was praying.

Slowly, the camera returned to Bucky and his hands were horribly shaking, trying to grab onto fabric, something, anything, to ground himself how you taught him but nothing was working. His whole body shook.

You pushed yourself from the chair, wobbling legs carrying you to the television and you skimmed your fingers over the static of the screen, touching the pixelized image of Bucky as if it could reach him in some way, as if it could tell him that you were alive, but it was useless. A suppressed cry hitched at your breath and you wrapped your arms around your chest.

“Memorial services are being arranged all over the country to honor the fallen Avenger,” the reporter stated soberly as the image of Bucky faded away. “For more information, please visit our website at—"

The screen went black and you fell back into the chair. The first time you saw Bucky in nearly two months, just the blurry outline of his figure in the distance, the movements seen from fifty feet away, and it was worse than you could have imagined.

You’d never heard his voice like that before, not even when he woke up screaming in the dead of night with the horrors of his part flashing through his dreams in twisted memories.

This, was something else entirely; the crack of his voice, the desolation, the hopelessness, the worst of his fears coming true in front of his eyes, on display for the entire world to see, and he had no way of knowing it was a trick. A horrible, cruel illusion by Hydra to persuade the Avengers to stand down, to keep them from finding you as Cain put whatever his plan was into action.

They had proof that you were dead, watched the bullet tear through your skull on live television. They had no reason to believe it was orchestrated. If you had any doubts your family would find you, this newsreel only confirmed it.

You were never going to see the outside of this cell again.

***

Days later, as Cain continued to come for you each morning with a tray of knifes at his disposal, he was displeased to find you hadn’t submitted to him completely.

While you had lost your hope, you still held onto your anger with every ounce of your will. Anger for what they did to you, what they’ve done to Danny, for murdering that woman for no reason other than theatrics, for putting Bucky and your team through hell and subjecting them to a trauma they would never recover from.

Anger that festered and burned aflame each time Cain walked into the room and it only urged him on as he ripped and tore at your flesh until he chipped at the very edge of your sanity.

Soon, Cain grew tired of your unwillingness to submit and he began to bring you to a different room, one that you had only heard stories about, described through panicked breaths in the dead of night from the man who was all too familiar with the horrors that lied inside.

The room was dark, and cold, and surrounded by lab equipment and monitors. The unsettling high-pitched beeping of machines as they ran through their intended algorithm. Men and women in white lab coats stared at you with intrigue, dehumanizing you to your very core.

You fought them every time they led you to the chair, knowing what it would do to you, to your free will, but your body was weaker than your mind and they strapped you down with ease. Metal clamps snapped over your wrists and a lab tech shoved a mouth guard between your teeth as the machine roared to life, electric sparks jumping from the ends of paddles they soon would affix to the side of your face.

A scientist by the name of Dmitry Petrov hovered over you as he tapped at the edge of his clipboard, observing intently before they brought the paddles down to you. You had spat the mouth guard out at him as he dared to touch the side of your face, studying the wounds you had sustained from your time with Cain.

“You should learn some respect, princess,” Cain seethed from the side of the room, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, watching.

“You’re a fool if you think you can restart the winter soldier program and get away with it,” you shot back, voice cold, unattached, like you had become.

Cain laughed at that, shaking his head as he exchanged amused glances with the men in the room. “Seems like you’ve missed the point, princess. We’re not making an army. We don’t need a whole team of soldiers to accomplish our task. Just you and you will serve your purpose.”

You gritted your teeth. “Which is what exactly?”

“Not your concern,” Cain smirked and Petrov shoved the guard back into your mouth. He pulled a lever and in one shift motion, the machine clamped down on the side of your face, electricity pulsing through you, singeing your skin, your hair, and with a pain so unimaginable, you blacked out after your voice had gone hoarse from screaming.

***

Nearly two weeks following your supposed execution on live broadcast, you were dragged back to the room with the machine on a daily basis. You tried to keep Danny in the dark about what they were doing to you because you didn’t want to scare him, make him question if there would be a day you didn’t come back to the cell, because each day you wondered it yourself; if today would be the day the machine fried your brain or rendered you permanently unconscious.

On the third week of the machine, Cain shoved you back into the chair with a grunt and though you tried to fight him, he clasped the restraints around your boney wrists.

“You need to start feeding her better,” Petrov commented, examining the bones protruding from your chest. The way his eyes trailed over your body made your stomach twist; clinical, unkind, and with a disgust that made you sink into yourself. He turned to Cain. “If she is to do what she is meant for, she will need her full strength.”

Cain rolled his eyes, thought he eventually relented.

***

It was the fourth week of being hulled into that room when they attempted to use the trigger words for the first time.

They were unfamiliar to you, words that were not a part of Bucky’s list, and in a language you didn’t understand, but eventually as they paired each shock of the machine with the words in a small, red book, Petrov explained that they must carry personal meaning for it to be effective.

You decided that the translation of the words didn’t matter, not with the electricity coursing in your veins and pain so excruciating you relished the moments your body gave out, lulling you to the safety of your unconscious and the cool blanket of darkness.

Petrov was infuriated each time you blacked out, like it was an affront to him in some way. He’d start the process over again after they injected you with some kind of serum that swept through your veins like fire. Your body didn’t allow you your sanctuary after that.

“Tell her what the triggers mean, doc,” Cain taunted one day from the side of the room. He sat upon the edge of the counter, gripping at the lip. He wore that same grin on his face that made you sick to your stomach.

“It is not necessary,” Petrov replied flatly as he gripped the side of your face to get a better look at the burn marks on your skin.

Cain jumped down from the counter. “Maybe not, but it’ll be fun. She’ll know their meaning and I want to see the look on her face when she realizes. Get her all emotional. See if it helps.”

He stared at you, lips curving in that sickening smirk and you gritted your teeth. He was always trying to find new ways to torture you, to break you down to nothing. Your upper lip twitched as you struggled to contain yourself; a staring contest of wills.

“If you must,” Petrov replied offhandedly, thick Russian accent as he adjusted the settings on the machine. He pulled out his book, flipped on a switch and a surge of energy ran through your veins. You tried to bare it, to grit your teeth and push through the pain because you knew Bucky had once been subjected to this chair and maybe you could tether yourself to him in some one, hold onto him enough to guide you through this.

“Марафон,” Petrov recited, pacing down the room, watching your vitals.

“Marathon,” Cain spat, a translation you could barely hear over the roar of the machine and then, a flash of Bucky running at your side swept through your vision.

Even as you screamed out in pain, as voltage ran through your bloodstream, you thought of Bucky’s light breaths as he jogged beside you, slowing down in pace when your muscles started to ache and he thought you didn’t notice.

“горький,” Petrov continued, sending a watchful eye in Cain’s direction.

“Bitter,” Cain sneered the translation at you and you could only think of coffee at five in the morning, hunched over the counter; a watchful eye as you stretched in the corner for weeks before you heard his voice for the first time.

“Бруклинский,” Brooklyn. The first time you took Bucky to New York. You screamed out; the pain unbearable as it pulsed through your head, like a damn about to break.

“скаут,” Scout. The little girl in To Kill a Mockingbird. Bucky’s favorite character in the first book in a series of novels you had put together for him. His catch-up list. The stench of burnt hair filled the room.

“боевой,” Combat. Sparing in the ring. Fighting alongside him in the battlefield. You couldn’t breathe. The heel of Petrov’s boot clicked as he paced down the room.

“возлюбленная,” Sweetheart. You let out a guttural cry as the translation hung through Cain’s vicious voice. A name so loving, so revealing, that hearing it come from a man so cruel, so opposite to Bucky in every way, was an act of violence in itself.

“мелодия,” Melody. Tears streaming down the sides of your face as you thought of sitting at the end of your bed, curled up on the floor, laptop between you as the soft strum of a guitar filled the room and Bucky’s sweet voice asking you to play it again.

“вена,” Vienna. Your first mission together. Cain was laughing out of view. Petrov tapped his pen against the clipboard.

“шестнадцать,” Sixteen; of twenty-sixteen. The year you met. You were teetering on the edge of consciousness, pain too excruciating to hold onto.

“страсть,” Petrov called out, one last jolt of electricity through your veins and slowly, the machine released from the sides of your face and your body slumped in relief. Breaths heavy in your chest, jaw locked around the mouth guard and hands clenched so tightly around the armrests you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to pry them away.

Cain stood from his seat at the corner of the room, strolling over you to and grabbed a firm hold of your jaw, forcing you to meet his eye as he spoke the last translation, his breath hot on your skin.

“Desire,” he purred the final translation before he leaned in closer, lips pressed as if he were to kiss you and you spat at him, a growl in your throat and daggers in your eyes.

Cain stepped back with a fury over his face you hadn’t even seen in the months he’d been torturing you and he slapped you hard across the face.

You barely felt it from the lingering ache of the machine.

“It’s not working,” he spat at Petrov, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I thought this was supposed to make her compliant! Does she look compliant to you!?”

“It takes time, Cain. You must be patient,” Petrov sighed, scribbling on his clipboard as he examined the monitors displaying your vitals. “Our fathers’ generation had years to perfect the winter soldier and I have been given months. Even knowing that the Avengers will not come for her, her will is too strong. That is the difference between her and the asset. She still has something keeping her from giving in to the conditioning; something to live for.”

Cain nodded, turning to glare at you over his shoulder. The curve of a knowing smile that etched against his lips was enough to make your stomach sink.

“Then we’ll destroy it."

***

That night, you curled up on your side, thinking of the words they used on you, words that were meant to be personal, words they shouldn’t have been able to know about you, about Bucky. His favorite fictional character wasn’t something they’d be able to find in a newspaper. None of it made sense, but your head now had a constant unpleasant ringing at the base of your skull that made it difficult to focus on much of anything.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

You stared up at the ceiling, struggling to keep your eyes awake as Danny’s tired voice carried through the small crack in the wall. Slowly, you turned to face the hole, the blurry figure of ginger hair and tan camouflage barely in view.

“I think I’d go back home, apologize to my ma,” Danny continued, answering his own question with a careful nod of his head. “I wasn’t always a good kid growing up. Caused a bit of trouble. It was a small town, you know? What else were a bunch of idiot teenage boys gonna do? She... she didn’t deserve the stress I put on her. I think she should know that I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure she does,” you said softly, your voice raspy and raw from the machine. Danny hummed in response, thankful.

“I’m gonna see a Yankees game, too. Think your pal Stark will help me out?” he asked with a slight chuckle in his voice though it sat against a deep unease that settled uncomfortably in your chest.

“Of course,” you replied as tears welled in your eyes.

Danny wasn’t naïve, not anymore. He knew he had as good a chance of getting out of here as you did, but this was how he hung on, how he kept himself from falling into the darkness. He imagined something better.

“Maybe I’d give college another shot,” he sighed. “I think I could do better this time. Maybe I could go for criminal justice or something. I’d have a pretty high up contact at SHIELD now.”

A laugh escaped you, broken, but the faint burn in the crack of your lips went unnoticed.

“What are you gonna do?” Danny asked, as he always did.

You usually gave him some short, convenient answer so you wouldn’t have to really think about, so you didn’t have to imagine what could happen, knowing that it wasn’t in your future. It was too painful and you needed every ounce of strength you could muster.

But you’d been put through the chair more times than you could count. Pain had become second nature and you had stopped seeing Bucky even in your dreams. You were losing him, details fading from your memory. He had a freckle on his forehead, something no sane person would notice, but it was something you caught onto in the moments he allowed you to be that close, to notice something so small and faint between the lines of his brow. It was a privilege to live in his details.

Only now you couldn’t remember if it was above his left or right eye. You couldn’t remember if his eyes were more blue or grey or if they were somewhere in between. You were losing pieces of him and it wasn’t the chair that was taking him away. It was time. Soon, you’d lose him entirely. You’d lose the sound of his voice, the crinkles by his eyes when he smiled, the curve of his lips. You’d lose him, more and more each day until he was gone from you.

“I’d tell Bucky he’s the best parts of me,” you confessed suddenly, surprising yourself as you brushed aside tears that had formed in your eyes. “I’d make sure he knew that none of this was his fault. If it took months or years, I’d remind him every day that what happened here wasn’t because of him. I’d tell him that he is so immensely loved and I’d spend the rest of my days convincing him if he’d let me because I know he’d have a hard time believing it. I’d get away from all this for a while, take Bucky to Alaska or New Zealand and just be with him like I always wanted... like I think maybe he has, too.”

“We’d come back home when we’re ready,” you continued, desperately trying to picture it all in your mind. “We’d come back and I’d spend time with the team; the only real family I ever had. We’d watch movies for hours and order pizza from Chicago and lobster rolls from Boston just to put Tony’s money to good use. I’d go back to that stupid hipster bookshop in Brooklyn and buy a thousand more books and sit in the grass down by the lake at the compound and read until I fall asleep. I’d finally convince Nat to teach hand-to-hand to the rookies with me and help Sam down at the VA. I’d thank Steve for taking care of the love of my life in the times I couldn’t. I’d... I’d find a way to forget this place.”

“That sounds really nice,” Danny said softly, and you closed your eyes, tears sliding down your temple as you laid upon the mattress.

Danny’s hand pressed to the wall, the lines of his palm barely visible through the tiny opening and casting shadows into your cell. You mirrored his gestured, your palm resting and the cool sensation of the concrete.

A silent acknowledgement of the fantasies neither of you would ever see.

Then, the sharp clicking of locks. Only, it wasn’t coming from your cell.

“Danny?” you called carefully as he pulled away from the wall in a sharp motion, scrambling into the corner. The door slammed open and hit the adjacent wall loud enough for it to send a jolt through your spine. You listened carefully, hands pressed to the wall now, sitting up on your knees as you tried to decipher what was going on.

“No, no, please,” Danny begged, his voice breaking and you clamped your hand over your mouth. “Please, no more--”

“Let’s go, kid,” Cain’s voice chuckled, muffled, through the wall.

Danny was scrambling away, instinctively fighting back. “Get off of me!”

A muted punch and Danny grunted, falling silent, and what was left of your nails dug into your cheeks to keep silent. Feet scrapped along the floor as footsteps retreated from the room and you could only picture them dragging Danny behind them. It wasn’t the first time it happened, that they took him off to some unknown room only to return hours later, bloodied and beaten, but it was never any easier.

You sat back against the wall, tapping on your knee anxiously and waited for the hours to pass before he came back. You counted cracks in the ceiling, wrung at your hands, fidgeted with the ends of your worn clothing to pass the time.

He’d be back. They always brought him back, you reminded yourself on an endless loop.

Hours passed and still nothing. You stood to your feet; body stronger now that they had graced you with meals again and you began to pace. Your legs had grown sore and tired and you lost track of how long you had been shuffling your feet.

Suddenly, clicks run out beyond the door of your cell and you narrowed your eyes, freezing into place as the door swung open. Cain strolled in, pleasantly surprised to find you standing, watching him suspiciously. His knuckles were broken and red with blood.

“Hey there, princess.”

“Where is he?” you spat, convinced now that Cain had discovered your friendship with Danny long ago. He’d been waiting for the right moment to strike, to do something about it. This was it.

“Who?” he grinned, feigning innocence.

“You know damn well who!” you shouted back at him, red faced and arms flailing out to the side, taking a step in his direction, only for Cain to pull out a gun and aim it right at your chest.

“Better watch your step, princess.”

“You won’t kill me.” You shook your head. Defiant. Confident. “You need me for something. Wouldn’t waste all that time trying to mess with my head for nothing, would ya?”

Cain shrugged, chuckling under his breath as he holstered his weapon, “you caught me. We need to keep your body preserved, healthy even, but your will to live, to fight what we will make of you, has been... irritating to say the least. Lucky for me, I think I’ve found a way to break you. Would you like to see?”

“Fuck off, Cain,” you rolled your eyes, arms folding over your chest. Hardened features against the burn marks on the side of your face from the machine and Cain only grinned at you. He gestured for someone beyond the door and the sound of rustling footsteps came from down the hall.

A man appeared in the doorway, in his right hand something that made your stomach drop below your feet. Ginger hair wrapped between dirty fingers, clenched in this man’s fist. Danny was on the floor, grasping at the man’s hand to find relief, blood pouring down from his nose and eyes widening in fear when he caught sight of you.

Your arms fell to your sides, lips parting in shock as you watched the man drag Danny further into the room, shoving him down by Cain’s feet. Danny groaned, curling up on his side as he nursed an injury under the fabric of his shirt.

“Danny,” you whispered his name, fear laced in your voice that only egged Cain on. Danny lifted his eyes, nodding subtly at you, enough to tell you he was okay.

“Danny boy and I have been catching up, haven’t we?” Cain taunted, nudging Danny with his shoe. “He has been so incredibly helpful. Ain’t that right?”

Danny grimaced, shutting his eyes as he turned his face to the concrete. You furrowed your brow, watching as he so intently avoided your eyes.

“Oh, she hasn’t figured it out yet, has she?” Cain snickered, laughing with the men behind him. He reached down and grabbed a fist full of orange curls and yanked Danny to his knees. Your heart lurched as Danny let out a whimper, wobbling and unsteady as Cain released him. “Go on. Tell her what you did.”

Heart beating wildly in your chest, you slowly sank to your knees, trying to find his eye, but Danny wouldn’t look at you. Seeing him now, in full view, only made your stomach twist further. He was so young, practically a child; hands quaking and tears in his eyes. Skinny and baby faced.

“Danny,” you soothed. “Danny, it’s okay. You can tell me. What happened?”

He shook his head, gritting his teeth. Cain, growing impatient, kicked him hard in the shoulder and he fell forward, barely catching himself on his hands before his nose hit the concrete. He pushed himself back up to his knees, arms shaking violently.

“I-- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his voice thick with tears.

Cain rolled his eyes, stepping forward and knocking his fist to the side of Danny’s face, sending him spiraling to the ground. On instinct, you lunged forward at him, only for the barrel of Cain’s gun to return its aim on you. You froze, glancing between Danny and Cain.

“If he’s too much of a coward to tell you, then I’ll do it,” Cain grunted. “This punk’s been selling you out from the beginning; every time we dragged the little traitor from his cell, he’d let us know all the new fun facts you told him. Feeding us information you wouldn’t even give under the threat of a knife.”

Your breath hitched, a dread settling deep in your stomach.

It was how they got the trigger words; words they intended to use to rip your will from you and replace it with something dark, something evil and sinister and render you a witness to your own crimes. They learned these words from the kid who so innocently acted as your sounding board, who you confessed your memories and pieces of your heart to. They beat him and tortured him until he gave them up, unwillingly.

“It was his only purpose here, though he didn’t know that for quite some time,” Cain continued, pleased by the devastation on your face. “We knew that you’d never give up those details to me or anyone who tortured you long enough for ‘em, but we knew you’d tell some pathetic little army brat just to hold on to some kind of misguided hope. So yes, we brought in a naïve kid for you to bond with and eventually, he gave up all of the stories you told him. Didn’t you, Danny boy?”

Danny let out a cry, arms folding around his chest protectively and you leaned forward on your hands, outstretched as if to reach him though you knew you could go no further. He shook his head, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, face flushed and red with a shame he didn’t deserve to bare.

“Danny, look at me,” you urged, voice as gentle as calm as you could manage despite the rage boiling under the surface. Before Danny’s eyes could meet yours, you shot a glare at Cain, fury in your veins for the torment he put this kid through.

“I’m s-so sorry, Y/n,” he whimpered out, his youth and innocence on full display. Bright green eyes hooded under freckled, bruised skin, looked up at you, though his jaw was quivering. “They-- they made me tell ‘em and I—I tried not to. You have to b-believe me, I t-tried.”

“I know you did, honey,” you reassured him, tears welling in your own eyes. “Danny, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

Danny shook his head, unconvinced.

“Not that this isn’t thoroughly entertaining,” Cain grumbled, “but we’re all gathered here for a reason and this little love fest ain’t it.”

“Just let him go, Cain!” you implored, slamming your hands against the concrete. “He’s practically a child! He’s done what you wanted! You don’t need him here!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he shot back, seething. “He was old enough to foolishly sign his life away to fly overseas and kill people for his government, maybe even get killed himself. I don’t consider that a child, do you?”

You were fuming, panting. It only made Cain smile wider.

“But you are right about one thing,” Cain shrugged, “I don’t need him. Not anymore.”

In one swift motion, Cain pointed the barrel of his gun at the back of Danny’s head. Your eyes went wide, breath caught in your lungs.

“Just so we’re clear, this is me destroying your last reason to live,” Cain smirked, pushing the gun against Danny’s head enough for his whole body to move in an attempt to relieve the pressure. Danny’s eyes were clamped shut; his trembling hands curled into fists.

You were frozen as Cain released the safety on the gun, the click of it echoing through the cell, deafening to your ears as time seemed to fall still. Heart pounding painfully, the thumping of it pulsing loud enough to hear, and your breaths coming out in shaky, uneven exhales.

Danny turned to look back at Cain and it kicked your adrenaline back into gear.

“Danny, no! Look at me!” you begged, urgency in your voice and you were met with the most stunning shade of green, hidden under layers of wet tears and red strain within the whites of his eyes. “Don’t look at him, Danny. Look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m here with you.”

Danny nodded; his cheeks wet though a sudden calm washed over him. His hands fell still in his lap as he focused on you, on your breaths and your words, though they were breaking through your cries.

“Just keep your eyes on me, okay?” you urged desperately, not daring to spare a glance at Cain’s direction. “I’m right here. I’m here.”

You knew what was coming. You’d seen it weeks earlier as it happened to a woman wearing your face, but nothing could prepare you for the soft, impossibly kind smile that Danny gave you, the world around you stilling and moving in slow motion, a whisper of a ‘thank you’ on his lips.

“Danny,” you cried, voice breaking, “I’m here, I’m right--”

Deafening sound. Blood on your face. Copper on your tongue and the echo of a gunshot pierced your eardrums. Ringing and muffled voices as you swayed on your knees, staring ahead to the space Danny had been.

Paralyzed. Every movement of your arms felt like you were running through water, resistance against you. You didn’t hear Cain talking with the men in the room, barking next orders, not as you crawled along the hard surface of the concrete towards the body of the boy who had kept you sane for nearly three months.

Your hands, shaking violently, grabbed onto his shirt, turning him onto his back and a sob broke through you at the sight of his eyes, staring far off and in-between, glossed over, unseeing. You brushed your hand over his lids, closing them softly, and for a moment you could pretend he was sleeping. This sweet, kind, and gentle kid who deserved far more than this world gave him, lying in your arms, blood soaking through your clothes.

A hand gripped onto your bicep and you could barely feel it as you were dragged away, Danny ripped away from your gasp as your body skidding along the ground. You watched Danny’s figure fade from view as you were pulled out of the cell. You kept your eyes on him as long as you could, the most you could offer him, until he was gone.

Barely able to string your thoughts together, unable to feel anything other than the cold, numb ache that sat in your chest, consuming and expanding through your body, and you were strapped into the chair.

Staring off to the end of the room, body numbed and outside of yourself, you hardly registered the panels clamp down to the side of your face; didn’t care when the jolts of electricity burned through your veins and metal singed your skin. The words spoken in Russian, cold and detached, held no meaning, no memories to hold onto.

The faint sound of a man’s voice, dark and deep, a scar upon his face, taunted, “if we cannot control the soldier, we will destroy him with what he loves.”

You didn’t know who the man was referring to.

When the machine released and the pain drained from your body, you felt no relief. Only a cold emptiness.

Then, a man in a lab coat asked you a question. Words in a language other than your own slipped from your lips.

“готов соблюдать”

Ready to comply.

---

so to those who were suspicious of Danny... you were half-right? I actually wrote him as a full blown double agent in my first draft but I wanted the reveal and his ultimate death to have more of an emotional impact on Y/n so she’d be numb enough to succumb to the triggers...... sorry yall 

but I will say the next chapter is one of my favorites. Get ready for Bucky perspective in the months he still believes Y/n to be dead 😬

also! if anyone’s interested, the official playlist for the Witness is available now, too! ✨

tags 👯‍♀️ @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13 / @thefandomplace / @wxstedhexrt /  @jennmurawski13 / @galaxkay / @moonlessnight14 / @kittybritty7 / @sweetheartbarnes

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

I’m posting an older fanfic to kick off my attempt to be more involved with the Tumblr Fandom community!

Museum Mishap  |  Chapter 6/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

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Museum Mishap Chapter 6: Safe

           It’s five weeks after Jason disobeyed Batman’s orders to drop the idea of investigating the rumor that a random rich kid knew the vigilantes’ secret identities.

           Five weeks since Jason let himself be kidnapped by the upstart drug lord Lorenzo Sabini in an attempt to protect the kid who was Sabini’s real target – the kid rumored to know impossible things about Batman and Robin.

           Five weeks since Jason’s leg was broken – in the line of a duty he never should’ve been asked to shoulder, never should’ve been allowed to feel bound to carry – and Bruce Wayne rediscovered the impossible duality of being responsible for the life of a child that he’d somehow managed to forget. That had faded from his mind when Dick had grown up enough to go off on his own – without his Guardian having any legal say in stopping him.

           Batman has been able to bury the raging concern, the guilt he bears for introducing Jason to such a dangerous lifestyle – for not doing more to discourage his interest. Batman is able to silence the voice that says Jason acted honorably, if stupidly, by insisting that Robin needs to do better, to be better, so that he can keep the boy inside the costume safer.

           But Bruce is having trouble letting Jason heal.

           ‘Suffocating’ Jason calls his attentions, merely ‘stupid codling he doesn’t need’.

           Jason submitted to three weeks of strictly bedrest – a godsend if Bruce could ever believe in such things. He’d offered only mild resistance to being benched for six weeks – to rigorous and thorough PT, and light, careful exercise and a slow return to the training regimen that kept shaping Robin’s growing body into something more heroic than the average simple human.

           But there was no point in even trying to bring up the idea of retiring Jason’s pixie boots for good – of trying to convince him to stand down from the Vigilante fight.

           Bruce knows that, but he still tries it – once, in a terse conversation that gets shut down before he even makes it to the first point of reasoning – and then he swallows the rest of the worry and buries it in silence alongside his fury at Jason’s constant reckless disregard for his own safety. Bruce knows he can’t stop Jason, can’t force him out of the cape, so Batman vows to train him harder, push him further, make him stronger, make him faster, more durable, more prepared – keep him safer.

           It’s a compromise.

           And it has to be enough.

           Because Jason is already back on his feet.

           He broke his own way out of the cast almost a week ago – refused to apologize or sit for another casting – and though Alfred’s managed to somehow force him into a sturdy brace, guilted him into maintaining his use of the crutches… Jason’s been back inside the Cave twice already while Batman has been out – at least twice.

           The Cave’s security cameras have caught him on the Salmon Ladder the last two nights in a row – going through two sets his first night back, and four the next. So that was two nights, at least, that security footage showed Jason working out inside the Cave, but it was possible there were nights he wasn’t tagged on the Cave’s security footage. Dick had certainly learned to sneak down without being caught on camera. Bruce doubted that Dick would share his secrets with Jason – but it was not beyond possibility.

           Bruce kept meaning to add more cameras, to ensure that every inch of the cave was covered by an unblinking eye equipped with filters in Starlight and infrared, but that project kept getting sidelined somehow. He kept getting distracted.

           Because his kids kept getting hurt.

           But it’s been five weeks since Jason got hurt.

           He’s getting better, and his bullheaded determination is just the same as it was before the injury – the stubborn streak still apparent, now even more so if anything had changed.

           But there’s something else about Jason that’s different.

           Bruce almost can’t see it – almost convinces himself it’s not happening, because he’s so damn hopeful that it is happening that his chest constricts with this strange kind of joy or pride or something and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

           Because Dick and Jason are talking.

           Not fighting, talking.

           Alfred’s caught them playing video games. Together.

           They were supposed to be doing homework – Jason’s been back at school for three weeks and while Dick’s purposefully selected freshman college classes don’t require constant attendance, they do give assignments that need to be turned in online – but still…

           Dick and Jason are getting along.

           His adopted sons are becoming brothers.

           Bruce notices.

           And wants it to be real so badly that it hurts.

           Batman notices, too.

           But Batman notices other things, as well.

           Batman notices how the Wayne Boys have befriended the kid Jason got himself kidnapped alongside.

           Batman notices how Nightwing volunteers to swing off on his own every night for a cursory once over of deterrence through Coventry and around the area in the Upper West Side where Sabini’s gang and the rumors they’d acted on had run amok – had being the operative word, seeing as how the entire area had been scared so straight there hasn’t even been a purse snatching in over a month.

           Batman notices how quiet the supposed-civilian kid at the center of those rumors is when he’s home alone – which is often – how the only thing he talks about out loud, in range of Batman’s listening devices, is how much he admires the caped crusaders and how much he wants for their ramshackle team to work together as brothers and sisters in arms – to work through their issues and be a kind of family.

           Batman notices.

           And he watches.

           And he’s concerned by what he sees.

           So tonight, as Nightwing swings off towards Coventry – with a big smile and a wholly unnecessary flip – Batman decides to investigate the kid firsthand.

           The civilian’s name is Timothy Jackson Drake and he is twelve years old, enrolled as a sixth grader at Gotham Preparatory Academy Primary Campus. His parents are Jack and Janet Drake, famed globe-trotting researchers and archeologists, and the second generation of Drakes to head up Drake Industries – a leading Wayne Enterprises competitor. The Drakes reside in the mansion that neighbors the Wayne Estate – another statement of how DI both complements and competes with WE.

           Timothy Drake seems mostly unremarkable.

           He’s skipped two grades, and his teachers say he’s got a remarkable mind, but he lacks significant social skills and spends most of his time alone – tinkering with some project or other. He’s never demonstrated a particular drive to be anything when he grows up, but he’s applied to the Wayne Tech summer camps three years in a row – despite being under the age requirement – and his bedroom is littered with DI equipment and half-finished robots he’s clearly engineered himself in the hours and hours he spends unsupervised.

           Lucius Fox likes him.

           In the way that some people like puppies.

           Bruce isn’t even entirely sure how Lucius Fox discovered the Drake kid, but it’s in his files in the Batcomputer – Fox has his name on a recruitment list, circled in red sharpie with a smiley face next to it.

           So, Timothy Drake is a smart kid.

           But he’s just a kid.

           According to all of Batman’s information, Timothy Drake is just a kid.

           A civilian who happened to have a bad stroke of luck and got his name wrapped up in a rumor founded on nothing more than a junkie’s word and some evidence that the kid in question was a vigilante fan.

           Is still a fan, somehow, despite the circumstance that admiration landed him in.

           Timothy Jackson Drake seems like nothing more than a dedicated fan – a child, not a threat. But the evidence is so peculiar – there are ridiculously strong indications that the rumor carried truth, and yet… the notion that the child knows nothing is so convincing that Dick and Jason agree on it… which in and of itself makes the evidence seem suspect…

           Thus, Batman is set on investigating the matter further for himself.

           A twelve year old civilian would be in bed at this time of night, tucked safely into the labyrinth of the Drake Mansion.

           So as Nightwing peals away to the west, Batman plots a course northward.

           He’s planned this carefully. His choice of direction does not immediately alert Nightwing to his intentions. He’s been rotating where he patrols after splitting off from Nightwing, moving counterclockwise by a dozen blocks every few days. Now he’s pointed right towards the Robbinsville area, where he’s stashed one of his getaway vehicles – a rather bland, all-black motorcycle that’s nothing special, but is quick and maneuverable enough to get him to the Drake Estate and back before Nightwing realizes he’s deviated.

           He even has Batgirl prepped to back Nightwing up if something happens – Barbara is visiting her father this weekend and doing research for her own case in Chinatown. She might not be actively patrolling, but Batman had been sure to give her warning of his activities.

           He trusts her discretion, and he knows she would be as worried as him about Nightwing's probable – and possibly willful – oversight of the threat posed by Drake. Batman does not want to think Nightwing would be so foolish as to dismiss a threat simply because it doesn't seem actively threatening – or worse, because he wanted to curry favor with his adoptive brother – But it’s always better to be safe.

           So, Batman is tracking north – from slightly further east than he’d originally planned, drawn off course by what seemed to be a mugging, but quickly resolved as Batman ID'd a drunk man resisting as his friend took away his keys – and he’s determined to get to the bottom of Drake’s capabilities and influence.

           He’s about to swing down to the last tall building before the midrises and family homes of Robbinsville take over Gotham’s footprint when he spies a figure huddled on the rooftop.

           Had Batman been approaching from his planned route, he wouldn’t have seen the figure until he touched down on the roof – within easy knife throwing distance of the stranger, with no chance to react if an attack was imminent.

           Carefully, Batman swings around to the far side of the building and climbs silently up to roof level after landing on a balcony. He creeps close enough to ascertain that the would-be assailant is small – even with a massive jacket attempting to keep out the late January chill, the figure is miniscule… a child.

           Concern leaps, unbidden, into his chest as he wonders what could possibly bring a child onto a freezing cold rooftop in the middle of the night. The apartment building is not the lowest rent residence in the region, but it has its fair share of alcoholics and abusers. It would not be unheard of for a child to sneak away for what respite they can get and the Bat knows that this situation takes precedence to his Drake investigation.

           Batman is just about to announce his presence – From far enough away to hopefully prevent the kid from falling off the roof in fright, though he has his grapple gun ready just in case – when the kid shifts.

           An eerie blue glow lights up the crouching figure’s face as his phone flares briefly to life.

           It's Timothy Jackson Drake.

           Batman frowns, continues to silently observe.

           Drake curls more tightly around his knees. He huffs – breath turning instantly to steam that catches in the city's light – And mutters, “He should be here by now... There’s no sirens, no breakouts, nothing to keep him away… unless he’s not coming this way tonight… but he should be… he’s been moving north… but maybe I miss-counted the interval, or maybe I’m too far north… but this is the best vantage to check on Robinsv-”

           His mumbled monologue – which Batman is certain he is not intentionally speaking aloud – is interrupted by a sneeze.

           “Bless you,” Batman says, stepping from the darkest shadows.

           “Thanks,” Tim returns.

           A beat passes, and then Tim whirls around with a string of oddly pronounced Chinese curses spilling from his tongue.

           “Batman,” Tim breathes, awestruck and a little bit fearful.

           “Timothy,” Batman returns, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

           It’s true, the kid had just mumbled as much. There was no one else he could possibly be waiting for here, not with the details he’d murmured about having tracked to find him.

           “Um, kinda,” the kid admits.

           He’s not as surprised by Batman’s recognition of him – of the Bat using his name directly – as Batman would’ve thought. He is nervous though, antsy. Batman scans him for weapons, but nothing notable shows up in any of his cowl’s filters and the coat is too cumbersome for any shapes beneath it to be positively identified.

           Tim does have something in his hands, though – something he’s clutched close to his chest. Bare fingers glow ghostly in the night, tremble in the freezing air.

           It’s not a weapon that he’s holding, or a camera – like might be expected and acceptable from a fan. It’s a set of note cards. Note. Cards. Like he’s practicing for a speech.

           On an ice cold Gotham rooftop in the middle of the night.

           Bruce Wayne is thrown by that. Far enough to make Batman pause.

           Batman regards the kid standing before him in the darkness.

           Timothy Drake stares back.

           “Did you have a reason?” Batman asks eventually.

           “Huh?”

           “To be looking for me, did you have a reason?”

           Timothy looks down at his hands, at the half-crushed note cards he’s holding. “Yeah,” he says slowly, quiet with the kind of resignation Batman knows is guilt.

           “Well?” Batman prompts when Timothy offers nothing more.

           The kid flinches, and Batman fights a wince of his own.

           The obvious reasons Nightwing has for underestimating this kid assert themselves plainly. He is a child, small for his age and easily frightened. There seems no reason to suspect him of anything – except that he was waiting on a rooftop for Batman, intentionally. A rooftop even Batman didn’t know he would be visiting until about a week ago.

           “I’m worried about Robin,” Timothy admits. “And Nightwing, and Batgirl, for that matter, but mostly Robin.”

           “Why?”

           Another flinch. Bruce Wayne consciously tries to reel back the Batman ‘grr factor’, as Dick has termed it. And yet… Timothy clearly knows more than he should. Perhaps the gravel and growl is worth it to extract that information.

           “Because they need you to listen to them – that’s why you fought with Nightwing to begin with, right? You, um, you passed his mantle on without letting him explain why he didn’t want you to?” Tim’s actively struggling to make eye-contact.

           Batman doesn’t verbalize a response.

           He’s evaluating how this kid could possibly know what he does without knowing the names beneath the masks – it’s possible, he supposes, but extremely unlikely.

           “I get why you didn’t, he was still a kid and not very good at making his important points clear, but when he went to California, he didn’t want you to let him go, he wanted you to bring him home,” Timothy rambles, losing his battle for eye-contact.

           Batman scowls.

           Timothy swallows dryly. Consults his notes.

           “They need you to help them,” Timothy says.

           Batman’s scowl deepens, and he must make some sound because Timothy doesn’t just flinch this time, he yelps and curls into himself. His cards get squeezed so tightly they pop out of his hands and scatter across the rooftop. Timothy dives after them, but the roof is wet with the afternoon's snow shower and the antifreeze that keeps it from becoming ice.

           There is no recovering the careful presentation Timothy clearly had planned for this meeting. But Timothy isn’t willing to admit defeat immediately.

           “Timothy Jackson Drake,” Batman says as the kid in question scrambles with his wet paper, frowning at the smudged and ruined ink like he should have been able to plan for that – like he should’ve had a contingency.

           At Batman's voice saying his full name, Timothy freezes and stares up at him like a frightened deer.

           “Tell me how and why you have come to know so much about the relationships between the Gotham masks.”

           “That’s not important,” Timothy says. Quick, dismissive, like the point truly doesn’t matter in his world-view, or to his understanding of his place in it.

           “It’s not?”

           “No. What’s important is that you’re not letting them do their jobs,” Timothy accuses.

           And then he promptly freezes and stares up at Batman like he just then has realized not only what he said, but how – how direct and confrontational it was.

           “They don’t have jobs,” Batman replies, level and calm. “They are children.”

           “Not when they're wearing masks,” Timothy snaps back immediately. “When the masks are on, they’re vigilantes. Nothing else.”

           Batman narrows his eyes at Timothy's temerity.

           And fights himself to keep from agreeing with Timothy’s point. But his disagreement doesn’t make it any less true. No matter how much he wants to remember that under the masks the heroes who have joined his crusade in Gotham are children, he can’t ignore the truth of Timothy Drake's words: when the masks are on, they’re not children – They can’t be.

           Batman cannot ignore that – can’t pretend it away.

           But he can insist on one smaller truth. “They do not have jobs.”

           Timothy glared – actually glared at Batman in full cape and cowl and scowl – and said firmly, “Their job is to make sure you remember why is it that you do yours.”

           Batman blinked behind the lenses of his cowl.

           “That’s not how it works,” Batman defends. Weakly – he knows.

           But he’s not entirely sure what to do with this child, this strangely mature tiny human with hope and sweetness and innocence – and uncomfortably valid points – lecturing him like Batman is the errant child here.

           “You can’t possibly be that stupid,” Timothy says – a moment later looking wide-eyed and horrified by his words, yet still going on with speaking as if his mouth had detached itself from is brain and was running on a will of its own. “They care about what happens to you, which makes you care about it. They need you alive, and you – on some level, at least – recognize that need. It keeps you safer. And it makes you be a better person, in trying to set a good example for them to follow. And that’s important.”

           Tim pulls more air into his lungs, enough for another leg of his tirade, and goes on, “Without Robin, Batman is too violent, too aggressive… like Green Arrow starting to gain ground in Star City; you’re too much like the criminals you hunt to make a genuine, lasting difference. Without Robin, you’re just scary. Robin tempers you; makes you an inspiration – makes people believe that you aren’t just hurting bad guys, but also protecting good ones.”

           Tim manages to close his mouth and keep it shut after that – if only by the simple force of his clear mortification sealing off his words.

           “Timothy.”

           Terrified eyes peer up at Batman.

           “What do you know about us capes? There was a reason Sabini had an interest in you and I’m not convinced it was just a junkie’s word and evidence that you’re a fan,” Batman lays out simply – calmly, regaining control of this discussion.

           “I know that you’re necessary,” Tim replies in a squeak.

           Eyes narrow behind the lenses of the cowl.

           Tim ducks his head, fully aware that he has not answered Batman’s question.

           “I know that Gotham needs you,” Tim reiterates. “I don’t know who you are beneath the masks, and I don’t want to know. I just want to help you keep Gotham safe. Because I’m not a mask, I’m just a fan… but I can still help.”

           Batman regards the young civilian carefully. He has Jason’s spirit and determination, Dick’s unyielding sweetness, and Barbara’s practical acceptance of humanity’s flaws.

           “You don’t know our civilian identities?”

           Tim shakes his head. “I don’t care about them.”

           Batman does not believe him – does not believe that he doesn’t know, or that he doesn’t care. Timothy Drake knows more than enough to be dangerous.

           Dick has always been a terrible judge of character – in some ways, he always sees the best in people, in their potential – so his support of Timothy Drake as a non-threat means little.

           But Jason is the most astute observer of humanity Bruce has ever encountered – he can read a person’s entire psyche in a gesture, find their cracks and weaknesses and apply just the right leverage to break them. And he’s never thrown from thinking that a seemingly innocent person is capable of doing a great deal of damage – would never underestimate a threat like that.

           Case in point: how he hadn’t let go of the potential threat Tim posed to begin with.

           Jason had decided Tim was safe.

           Batman decides to trust his Robin’s judgement; Bruce puts faith in his son.

           Batman heaves a sigh.

           “It’s time to go home, Timothy,” he says. “This is no place for a child to be, and you shouldn’t be out at this time of night.”

           Timothy frowns.

           “It’s my city, too,” he mumbles.

           Batman takes no quarter and as soon as he gets a nod of permission – Jason’s taught him how to work with children who aren’t like Dick, with an insatiable desire for physical contact – Batman hoists Timothy up and settles him on his hip. Batman holds tight to the child and shoots his grapple gun to carry them down to street level. He sits Timothy on his motorcycle and speeds across the city to Drake’s own door.

           There is no one home.

           Concerning in a very different way.

           Batman knew the Drakes were away. Bruce didn’t realize the implications of that beyond how Timothy was left unsupervised – hadn’t until right now.

           “Do you want me to come in,” Batman asks, awkward and uncertain of whether it would help at all to walk the kid to his bedroom. Batman should not linger – should not even consider the idea of tucking this neglected child into bed – but Bruce cannot quite bear to drag himself away just yet. He needs to know that Timothy is safe.

           Timothy is staring at him like he’s shown up as Batman to a career day at school.

           “Why?”

           “No one’s home.”

           “No one’s ever home,” Timothy replied blankly, adding. “I don’t need a real babysitter, let alone Batman. But Nightwing probably needs backup.”

           Batman nodded. Accepted that he needed to push the Bruce in him down until they finished with the night’s patrol.

           Tomorrow he could look into Timothy Drake’s circumstances.

           “Be safe, Timothy,” Batman fare-wells. “Stay off the streets, and be careful, or this will not be our last conversation.

           “You be safe, too,” Timothy replies. “Or I’ll just have to find you again.”

           Batman almost chuckles. He waits until Timothy locks the door behind him, and then he takes his motorcycle back to where he’d stashed it across the bridge from Robbinsville.

           He meets up with Nightwing and finishes patrol.

           If he’s more reticent than usual Nightwing doesn’t comment.

           The teenager is still wearing the blinding goofy smile of his, broader now after a successful sweep of Coventry – no new rumors of Tim Drake. And he’d saved a cat from where it had gotten stuck on a gargoyle after it had slipped out of its apartment and ventured off an inopportune ledge beside the balcony.

           And because that’s the kind of hero Dick is, he chatters on incessantly about the cat and how it wailed and scratched him at first and yowled as he swung around the building, but then it purred and refused to let him go when it realized he’d brought it home.

           Beneath the cowl, Batman almost smiles.

           When he and Nightwing make it back to the Cave, Jason is not down there – the only evidence that anyone has been down there since he and Nightwing left is the snack left out for them by Alfred. Jason is in bed, asleep and dead to the world when Bruce slips in to check.

           Jason is safe.

           And Dick is safe.

           And Alfred and Barbara are safe.

           His family. Safe.

           And Tim is… safe enough for the moment.

           Tonight, Bruce will sleep.

           Tomorrow he will reevaluate the child and his circumstances.

           But tonight, Bruce Wayne basks in the truth that has a Family.

           And his family is home, and safe.

           It’s a foreign feeling.

           But a good one.

||  Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon  ||

[sakuwriteshere]

The Apple Pie in My Life - Chapter 11: Uncertain Future

Summary: What happened between two best friends when someone messes with their lives? Can the past changes the future or can the future changes the past?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Female!Reader, OC Abbigail, OC James, OC Alex, OC Purson

Words count: 3407 words

Warnings: Angst, character death, mention of blood, violence

A/N: That’s it! We’re reaching the end, there’s just one last chapter after this one. So enjoy while you can and...please don’t kill me? ^^” 

As per usual, this is unbetated and I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes or error spelling. Comments are loved! 

Chapter 11: Uncertain Future

The sudden arrival made you feel a bit embarrassed, you didn’t know if Sam or the kids had seen that you and Dean had been hugging and you didn’t know why it bothered you if they did. It was a friendly gesture, nothing to be ashamed of. You cleared your throat and sat a bit farther from Dean, avoiding any stare.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. He had noticed your movement but didn’t mention it.

“While Uncle Sammy was waiting at the cashier, Abby saw Purson outside, so we followed him.” James explained.

You and Dean gave Sam a disapproving face, not liking the fact that he let the children wander while a demon was hunting their asses. Sam just shrugged, as if the simple movement was enough to justify his actions.

“He looks younger than what we’re used to but I swear it’s him!” Abby told you.

Sam, Dean and you shared a look, knowing perfectly that it wasn’t Purson but Alex, instead. A few days ago you told the boys what you could remember from the time when Purson held you captive and how you had recognized Alex. After a long conversation, you’ve deduced that Purson was possessing an older version of Alex and worked with the version of your timeline. The problem was you couldn’t understand their plan.

“What are we waiting for? Uncle Sam has the footage from the surveillance cameras.” Abbigail asked, visibly impatient. “Let’s go!”

“Wait a minute.” Dean stopped her as he stood up and held her by the shoulder.

“We’ve been looking for him for weeks and haven’t found anything and suddenly he just appears and waits for us to gank him? I don’t know kiddo, it seems too easy.” Dean told her and with a quick glance at Sam and you, he knew you were thinking the same.

The kids weren’t happy with that statement. By the way they were acting you knew they were eager to end this as soon as possible.

“Easy works for me.”

“The footage is way too good.” Sam started to explain as he walked towards the bed, stopping next to you and Dean, laptop in his hands as he clicked on the link to download the video from the store, new technologies were truly a blessing.  “The guy stopped just in front of the cameras, the licence plate is so obvious and it’s too easy to follow him once he left. I think it’s a trap.”

“Let’s just fall for that trap, then.” You said after a short moment of silence. Four pairs of eyes gluing to you.

“Yeah. Right.” Dean scoffed, shaking his head no as he walked towards the fridge and grabbed a beer bottle, he twisted the cap to open it and drank half of it in one go, then stared at you for what felt the longest minute in the world. “You can’t be serious?”

You shrugged. “Why not? We’re looking for them, they’re waiting for us. It’s the easiest way.”

“It’s the dumbest way.” Sam argued.

“As long as it works.” You argued back, walking towards Dean and grabbing his beer from his hands, drinking the rest of it. “You have a better plan?” you asked, your eyes jumping from one brother to another.

The heavy silence that fell was the proof they didn’t have a better idea. You watched the silent battle between the Winchesters and knew you had won the argument over when Dean closed his eyes and groaned from exasperation.

***

It only took half of the day for your little group to discover where Alex was hiding. Why did the bad guys always choose an abandoned barn in a secluded area as their lair? Was there some kind of a bad guys’ code? You thought as you stared at the old, rusty barn that stood in front of you.

“I don’t like it.” Dean said as he closed the trunk and let the duffel bag fall at his feet.

“Yeah. I think we got it when you said it for the fifth time one hour ago.” You sighed as you rolled your eyes. You forced a smile as you picked the gun he handed you and tried your best to ignore the bitchy face Dean was giving you.

“Mom! Dad!” The twins called you in sync, they stopped a few feet away from you and lifted their arms, visibly disapproving the handcuffs around their wrists that tied them together. Sam came just behind them, another pair of handcuffs in his hands.

“You can’t force us to stay on the bench.” Abby glared at you.

“This is for your safety. You’re not going with us.” Dean argued back.

“Yeah, because leaving us in the middle of nowhere, stuck in the car without any way to fight back if a demon attacks us is safer.” James grumbled.

Dean opened his mouth to argue back but he didn’t find the words, the kid having a point. He licked his bottom lip, his index finger still pointed at James before he turned around and faced you, giving you a disapproving glare.

“Why are they so smart?”

“Call me pretentious but I would think that’s because they’re our kids.” You smirked, a strange pride warming your heart for a second.

Dean was startled at first and you wondered if he was still feeling uneasy about the fact that you had- or will have, this notion was still difficult to wrap your mind around- kids together. However you relaxed when he smirked back at you. Sam tried his best to hide his amusement as he uncuffed the twins. Once they were free, they were both handed a bottle of Holy water while Sam ordered them to always stick behind him.

“If something goes wrong you and your brother run as fast as you can and you don’t look back. Am I clear?” Dean asked as he pressed the keys of Baby in Abby’s hands.

“Cristal.” Abby and James replied in sync, it was the first time you saw them so serious and you couldn’t help but feel bad for them. Despite what they had assured you, you still disliked the fact that they were in the middle of such a mess.

Silently your little group walked towards the barn and split in two groups once you’ve reached the main door. During the drive to get here, you suggested to use the effect of surprise as best as you can. You knew Purson was expecting you, so entering the barn from different entrances was your best shot. They were just two against five after all, luck was on your side, hopefully.

You headed for the back of the barn with Sam and the kids, while Dean stayed at the front. You took a deep breath to calm down your nerves and looked at Sam, waiting for his sign. Sam glanced at the kids, warning them silently to stay behind him, then looked at you, checking if you were ready. You both nodded and entered the barn as quietly as possible. With one hand safely curled around your gun’s handle, you entered first, Sam watching your back and keeping the children safe. The atmosphere was eerie and the deafening silence around you wasn’t reassuring. One thing was sure: Purson was waiting for you. As you kept walking you caught sight of Dean from the opposite side, the man hiding behind a rusty sheet metal next to the entrance. He motioned with a flick of his head to your right, informing you silently that he was going for that side. You nodded once and swallowed with difficulty as you went on the left side. There was no time to lose, the sunset gave you enough light to see where you were going but you knew that when night would come it would be pitch dark inside.

It felt like eternity, you knew you’d been inside for only a few minutes but seeing no signs of Purson or even Alex made you feel wary. Were they really here? Maybe you made a mistake and entered the wrong barn? If Purson was really in there he would have attacked you already. Dean joined you in the middle, his gun still in hand but letting his guard down slightly as he came to the same conclusion, Purson wasn’t here. The thought didn’t make you feel better, what was this demon trying to do? What was he waiting for?

“Mom. Dad.” If the fear in James’ voice wasn’t enough of a warning, the fact that Abby seemed like she was stuck in place was the last nail in the coffin. It took you only a few seconds to notice the kids were standing in the middle of a huge circle, covered with unknown symbols, the crimson red color wasn’t reassuring.

“Get out of it.” Dean hissed, checking his surroundings.

“We can’t.” Abby whimpered, she tried to move her feet but it didn’t bulge, like she was glued to the floor. James faced the same predicament.

Sam tried to break the circle with his feet but the red color moved on his own, reforming right away, the magic circle never breaking. Whatever this thing was, it only affected the twins. The next second, all Hell broke loose. Sam was pushed down against the floor at the twins’ feet, a strong invisible force restraining him while you and Dean were sent flying against opposite walls, all air leaving your lungs at the impact. The sounds of your guns falling on the dusty ground resonated before you heard the click of shoes coming in front of you. You struggled against the powerful force and ended face to face with Purson, two black orbs staring at you, a satisfied smile adorning his face. You tore your eyes from his as you heard the twins falling on the floor, gasping hard.

“I have to admit that I wasn’t sure it would work.” Purson said as one of his hands grabbed your chin painfully, forcing you to watch him, giving him your most heinous glare.

“Leave them alone!” Dean roared before he felt a cold silver blade pressed against his throat, that was when you noticed Alex was next to him.

“You have us where you wanted. Just kill us already and leave the kids alone.” You said between clenched teeth.

Purson let go of your chin and took a step back, watching you from head to toe.”You think it’s about you?” He laughed softly, then turned around and walked towards Sam and the kids.

“Don’t-” Dean threatened again before the blade cutting his skin reminded him to stay put.

“Dean!” You screamed as you noticed the tiny streak of blood leaving the new wound. Dean’s eyes fell on you, silently reassuring you that he was fine.

“It has always been about the kids.” Purson sighed in exasperation, stepping on Sam’s hand, making him groan in pain.

“I was respected by my peers. I was the most powerful, demons and princes of Hell came to get advice from me. As the guardian of the past, present and future, I knew everything, could see anything…” He trailed off before kneeling in front of James and Abby who started to suffocate.

“Until one day.” He whispered hatefully before standing on his feet once again.

“It took me a while to find them but of course I should have known that Winchesters’ offsprings were the cause of it. I thought killing one of you or both would do it but you can’t go against Destiny. Unfortunately for me, the three of you are important for my future, I need you alive.”

Purson kept on talking, revealing why he hasn’t killed you or the brothers. As he walked towards Dean. With a short movement of his head he ordered Alex to release Dean and go to you instead. Purson was still using his power against the Winchesters and you, preventing any movement.

“Not knowing what the future is made of is very troublesome. I don’t know how you’re doing it.” Purson joked while Dean’s eyes threw daggers at him.

“Are you always so chatty? It’s kind of boring.” Dean said and you couldn’t agree more with him.

“Don’t worry, the fun part is coming soon. Black magic takes time.” The demon threatened, an evil smile curling his lips as the red symbols surrounding the twins started to glow.

“Sam.” You pleaded with the younger brother to do something, he tried to move but he was still stuck on the floor, from your spot you could see he used all his willpower to move but it was in vain.

“I wasn’t expecting those rugrats to follow me here and ruin my plans. You see as long as they’re here, the past can’t change, they’re still existing in their timeline. I tried to kill them of course, but they’re like cockroaches, still breathing and coming back.”

You listened to Purson carefully, hoping that he would let slip a hint for you to get out of this nightmare. The only thing you were sure of was none of you, Purson included, knew what would come of this fight. You still had a chance, hope was your only ally.

“Alex, please.” You whispered as the young man stood in front of you, the hand holding the blade against your throat trembling. “I know this is not you. He’s not you, you’re still human, right?”

Alex averted your gaze, his hold around the handle straightening.

“You don’t want this. I don’t know what he promised you but I know you’re not a killer. You’re the one who brought me to the hospital, aren’t you?” You kept on talking gently, in hopes that he would come to his senses somehow.

Alex nodded, confirming what you suspected about your inexplicable rescue.

“He promised me immortality. After this mess is over, I’ll let him possess me and we’ll be together for eternity.”

“Alex…” You couldn’t believe your own ears. “He’s a demon, he’s lying. You really think that I’ll go with you after you’ve murdered my children? Just kill me right now if that’s the case because I swear I’ll-”

“Huh, huh, huh.” Purson cut you short, using his powers to mute your voice. You tried to speak but not a sound was coming. “Don’t bother my minion with your useless words.”

The cries of pain from the twins brought you back to the most important matter at the moment. Whatever Purson intended to do with the kids was happening, you needed to stop this before it was too late. The first change you noticed was Abbigail’s change of hair color. Her blonde hair slowly darkened, morphing into a long black hair. After a moment the twins stopped to groan in pain, their bodies relaxed as they laid on the floor, motionless.

“When I realized that I can’t kill them, I knew I had to use them. Those crossbreds could be handy.” Purson said as Abbigail stood up on her feet slowly. Your heart stopped beating when you noticed how pitch black her eyes were.

“All I needed was a few drops of demon’s blood and a lot from Mommy dearest.”

“You son of a bitch. I’ll kill you! I swear!” Dean yelled, struggling to get himself free from Purson’s invisible hold. Purson ignored Dean’s threats, his attention focused on the children standing in the middle of the circle.

Purson’s smile faded slowly once the circle stopped glowing. If Abbigail’s transformation was a success he couldn’t say the same about James’. The boy was still the same, no change could be noticed, except the fact that his body was strangely translucent.

“Dad…” James whimpered in fear, his eyes wide opened as he stared at his hands.

“What? No! I need both of them!” Purson roared, his attention now totally focused on the children, his powers having less effect on you and the brothers.

Sam grabbed Abbigail’s ankle as she stepped out from the circle.

“Abby you need to fight this.”

Abbigail cocked her head on the side, observing Sam for a moment before kicking him in the stomach. The youngest Winchester rolled on the side, clutching his stomach and groaning at the sudden blow.

“Abby stop!” James shouted, walking towards his sister, one hand lifted to grab her arm but his hand only went through the girl’s body. She turned around facing James and stared at him for a long moment.

“Abby…” James trailed off, fearing the worst when he saw zero emotion on his sister’s face.

“Get out of my way.” She said plainly, raising her hand, her palm opened towards James’ torso. She sent him flying against the wall behind him but instead of hitting the wall, James passed right through it, disappearing from everyone’s sight.

“No!” You screamed, Purson’s control over you disappearing as he was as shocked as you with what was going on. Visibly, his plans weren’t going as he wanted.

Dean didn’t waste his time, once he was in total control of his body again, he grabbed the demon knife tucked in his back pocket and charged towards Purson. The demon quickly reacted and blocked Dean’s arm, the knife dangerously close to his face. While both men fought, you pushed Alex, fighting with him over his weapon. The man wasn’t a hunter and you quickly had the upper hand on him, pushing him back, making him lose his balance and grabbing the knife from his hands before pressing him against the wall. Meanwhile, Sam struggled with Abbigail, he tried to tackle her but the girl with her new demonic powers wasn’t having it.

Everything happened in a blur. You fell on the dusty ground as Alex pushed you hard, you had to think fast before he did something deadly. You kicked his legs as hard as you could, the man waving his arms as he tried to keep his balance steady, giving you enough time to stand on your feet. You punched him in the face twice and spinned around before kicking him in the torso. Alex was thrown back with the forceful kick and landed on a rusty pipe that came out from the wall behind him, impaling himself. At the exact same time, an orange light glowed over Purson’s face as Dean jabbed his lower back with the demon knife.

“Told you I would kill you.” Dean seethed twisting the blade. “Stay away from my kids.” He said as he pushed the demon’s limp body, letting it fall heavily on the ground, dead.

Abbigail froze, her fist a few centimeters from Sam’s bloody face. Her green eyes rolling back in her head before she dropped unconscious over Sam’s torso. The man sighed heavily as he realized it was over. You didn’t give a second glance at Alex’s limp body, heading for Sam and Abby right away. Dean mirroring your movement.

“Abby.” You called her name gently, kneeling next to Sam and holding her in your arms.

A sob escaped your lips when you saw her eyes flutter. Her hair was back to its natural color and you’ve never been so happy to see the green color in her eyes. You rocked her back and forth gently as you stroked her hair lovingly.

“What happened?” Abbigail asked after a short moment, looking around her. “Where’s the demon?”

“Dead.” Dean stated sternly, kneeling next to the both of you.

Your lips pursed into a fine line when Abbigail asked you what you feared. “Where’s James?” She asked when she noticed her brother was nowhere in sight.

You glanced at Dean, not knowing what to tell her. Dean’s lack of answer wasn’t helping and your heart broke when you saw the sadness in his eyes. You couldn’t look at her when she asked you again where her little brother was.

“Mom? Where’s James? Dad?” Her voice wavered as she addressed Dean, pushing herself away from you so she could look at Dean. Dean’s face contorted in pain as the girl looked at him with teary eyes.

“No…” Abbigail whispered, shaking his head as she refused to believe her parents. She tried to free herself from your hold but you held her tight, pressing her face against your chest, Dean’s arms wrapping around yours to show you his support.

Tears started to fall freely as you heard the heartbreaking cries of Abbigail, calling her little brother’s name in vain.

TAPiML tags:  @fandomoverdose666​​​​​​ , @eternaleviee , @slytherinrising​​​​​​ , @vicmc624​​​​​​ , @music-is-all-i-need​​​​​​ ,

Pour Toujours tags:  @drakelover78​​, @akshi8278​

[blue-honeycomb]

Quiet Devotion 2 [Hawks x Reader]

Since so many people enjoyed the first and asked for a continuation, I decided to make one since I have the day off today. Be warned though, you know what they say about sequels. Also, beware of a possible (most likely going to happen) trilogy.

Summary: Continuation of 'Quiet Devotion'...

Reader Details: Emotional, humble, loyal, introspective.

Quirk: Unbreakable Silk.

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

---

The soft whisper of thread soothed your frantic heart, made calm that which should be a deafening roar. Too soon though, the sharp snip of your delicate pattern work unraveling under your unfocused touch roused you from your thoughts. Too late though, for three hours of work now lie ruined in your grasp, a reminder of your uncharacteristic distraction.

Beside you a crisply folded paper sits unmoving upon your desk, untouched since first you read its contents. Within its perfectly straight creases exists the reason for your distraction, your distress. You'd scold yourself had you the heart to, for though you knew this day would come you still felt overwhelmed by it.

You look around your workshop, taking it in with steady eyes despite the pain searing into the depths of your heart. Silk, cotton and wool creations from generations passed hang proudly along the walls, beautiful and ancient in a way few things are. On their surfaces stories great and small are immortalized, the deeds of heros born before the dawn of quirks, the labors of the common folk. All present, all important, a silent history captured by a weaver's guiding hand.

You look to the paper again, silent. You are not ready, but you doubt you ever will be. There is still so much you do not know, so many things your elders and peers have yet to teach you. Here, you have a life you've just started to live, a place you've begun to make your own: A quiet heaven.

Life moves forward though, as it always has. You know that. You learned that truth years ago in that dark and hopeless place that when life moves forward so must you for there is only one other option. Only one.

Setting your ruined work aside you reach out for the letter and take it carefully in your hands, as though it would burn you if provoked unduly. The first thing to draw you attention is the number sitting unchangingly at the top of the paper, neat and bold against the stark white of the lease notice. Your heart quakes at the sight, but you take a fortifying breath and continue on.

Life holds still for no one after all.

---

Hawk's half-lidded gaze scans lazily over the video footage as it plays mutely before him, head tilting slightly as the object of his attention moves ever closer to the security camera overhead. He'd expected that you'd linger for a while near the mail slot, as most do, but to his surprise you'd merely shoved the package into the slot and walked away without a backwards glace. He'd almost think you felt put upon by how quickly you left, but the smile on your face was more than enough to disprove those thoughts.

His rests his chin in his newly re-gloved palm, enjoying the silken feel of it resting against his skin and stubble. He takes a moment to regret not being able to wear the whole set, but the persistent chill and distracting vibrations that would ensue from it soundly nipped that impulse. Instead, he makes note to be a particularly troublesome nuisance for his support department to encourage them to make his soon-to-be newest outfit their top priority once they receive it.

He replays the video again for perhaps the fourth time that hour because there's something familiar about you he should remember. He's sure of this in a way that strikes him as unusual, concerning even, as he doesn't recognize your face despite his near perfect vision and excellent memory. In his hand he holds a single feather, letting it rest fulling against the glove and watching as it quivers softly against the smooth surface.

That subtle interaction is familiar too, but only distantly so as though feeling a shift of movement underwater or experiencing a phantom ache. It's one of the main reasons he knows he should recognize you from somewhere despite the lack of recognition though, because the sensory input from his wings is not something he's prone to forget or misidentify. Lives literally depend on him being able to control and interpret his quirk.

Leaning back into his chair he props his feet onto his table and smirks, dismissing the concern for now. He'd just have to meet with you in person, simple as that. No better way to get the ball rolling than by just getting it done. He didn't get this far up the rankings by thinking about it after all.

A large, cunning smile crossed his lips, maybe with a bit more teeth than was strictly necessary. Surely, making sure the creator of his newest hero uniform was on hand is what any good hero would do. It's a tough job. You never know when you'll need a patch job. Can't have the Number Two flying around in a tattered costume after all. Wouldn't fit his image.

And so a few calls later and a couple favors shorter, he had your file in hand, flipping through it nonchalantly between bouts of paperwork that never seemed to stop coming.

About halfway through the file he finally comes across what he's looking for, and this time the smile that crosses his expression is fond.

'You really are as pretty as I'd thought you'd be.'

---

Seven Years Ago

---

The feather in your hand has been trying to escape your gasp, likely to return to its originator, but for the life of you you cannot unfurl your fingers from around it. It is your lifeline, your only assurance that there is someone out there, a Hero, who is coming for you even if you cannot see them yet.

The feather tugs in your grasp again and you keen softly, bringing it to your chest to clutch it as tightly as possible in your weakened state.

It could hurt you, you know, slice through your flesh and bone like warm butter with just as much effort. You may not remember the name of the young hero it belongs to but you've seen enough glimpses of him over the news to know that the only reason the feather has not escaped yet is because it doesn't want to hurt you. That the only reason it's stayed this long is because you cannot let go of it. That as selfish as it may seem to an outsider, the trauma and desperation that'd once overtaken you was still there, stayed only by the tangible piece of hope trapped tightly in your hand.

You just cannot let go.

Time passes and the feather still vibrates, soothing your frayed nerves as they try to fill your mind with scenerio after scenerio as to what could have gone wrong up top, each one more convoluted than the last.

Then it happens. The vibrations are no longer just in your hand but all around you, low and quiet as though done with the utmost care. You realize very quickly that it sounds that way because that's exactly what's happening. It takes mere moments for the first ray of light to pierce through the darkness to your far right, followed promptly by the emergence of a helmet cover head you can just make out with your limited sight.

"Is anyone down here?" The voice of the man speaking was rough like gravel and just as grating, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds you'd even heard in all your years of existing.

Once more, for what was beginning to feel like a never ending cycle in your life, you begun to cry.

---

Your extraction was quick, though not nearly quick enough for your liking. Mostly you stayed quiet after your initial outburst of tears, not from embarrassment as some may be lead to believe, but from the sheer exhaustion that overcame you the moment large, warm hands came to help you stand.

After adjusting to the change in lighting you looked to the man helping you and found him dressed in something that looked suspiciously like a onesie/jumper hybrid. Though you suppose such an outfit made sense in his line of work in terms of functionality. Besides, not too many people care about what a person's wearing when they're literally plucking them out of the weckage of what could be the worst day of their lives. You certainly don't.

"Damn. We thought you were a goner. It's a good thing that Hawks kid showed up when he did. Awesome quirk, that one." The strangely dressed hero exclaims with a friendly grin while he supports your back and upper torso, perhaps trying to be assuring or funny but missing the mark on both accounts. "I mean, you were so far down even Radar couldn't sense you! That you survived at all is incredible! You must be a super strong person, no doubt about that!" He smiled even wider, eyes kind and genuinely happy for your survival, but the implications of his words stay with you even as he hands you over to the medics to continue his own hero duties.

'They thought I was dead,' You think numbly as the medic gives you a thorough check up. 'They weren't going to come for me.' Something like panic wanted to crawl up your throat, but you were too tired for it to truly spiral. 'They always recover the bodies last. It could have taken days before they got to that stage.' The implications were not lost on you.

It made sense, really. Why waste effort recovering dead bodies when there were people that needed rescuing and reassuring. Why waste precious life-saving hours looking for corpses that no longer had a time limit when the living had so much more to lose.

It was the right thing to do, you knew. Prioritizing the living was always the right thing to do, but it didn't stop the quiet hurt that settled in your heart. The living have worth, a corpse does not. It stung to think that even if you'd died down there you would have been a low priority issue. That for a while there, you were a low priority.

The feather tugged again and you startled- having forgotten about it in your daze- startling the medic in turn. When they turned to ask you what was wrong you merely shook your head, murmuring softly in reassurance. You knew that had the circumstances been different the medic would have pried, but as it was there was no time for a full Psych evaluation. There were still lives that needed saving and only so much time to do so. In the light of day you could see that well enough on your own, despite both your eyes being nearly swollen shut from the bruising and irritation.

What had started off as a small hero vs. villian battle had somehow devolved into a five block catastrophe of sinkholes and fires. Entire sections of road was missing, likely buried under the untold amount of sand scattered as far as your limited vision would allow you to see. No less than six buildings were near collapsed, some even gone entirely. It was mind boggling just to look at, let alone begin to make sense of.

Still, despite the devastation, one thought remained prevalent above all others.

'They thought I was dead but he checked anyway. He checked because they didn't know for sure and there was still a chance someone had survived the fall. He came when no one else would bother.'

The feather tugged again, and this time you let it go, watching as it dashed away into the chaos.

'I was his number one priority. Not because he knew I was alive, but because there was a chance of it.'

You took a deep breath, and despite the numbing pain all long your body and the hurt that still echoed in your heart, you were lighter for it.

'I'm alive. Thank you.'

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Gift that Keeps on Giving (Sternclay)

The second winter prompt fill for @ghostabek! It is NSFW, which should not surprise you given the prompt. I decided to make both Stern and Barclay trans for this one.

17: I get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend so...sorry about all the sex toys.

Joseph Stern has many regrets. 

He regrets getting frosted tips in high school

He regrets not switching from his chemistry major sooner. 

He regrets the actions that lead to that one meme. He will not name the meme. He is trying so hard to leave that legacy behind. 

But in this moment, he regrets not buying more wrapping paper.

Three weeks ago, his workplace set up its secret santa exchange. He, to his delight, pulled the name of his workplace crush: Barclay Cobb. 

Two days later, Barclay announced he was taking a sabbatical, for lack of a better word, to write a cookbook. Stern was excited for him; Barclay was an amazing cook, and had catalyzed the Youtube presence of the Foodie test kitchen (and he had the kind of body Stern wanted to lick whipped cream off of ). He deserved good things, and Stern just knows the book will be a hit.

And so Stern had said goodbye and good luck to him a week ago, with the rest of the test kitchen team, with a promise to bring his secret santa gift by his house when it came in the mail. He put it in a nice, rectangular box, and wrapped it in his cryptid christmas paper. 

It was only when Barclay opened the lid that he realized his horrible, horrible error. 

“Uhhhh” Barclay lifts the burgundy leather collar, confusion plain on his handsome face. 

“Ohmylord. Oh, I’m so sorry. That was for my...friend.”

“Friend?” Barclay raises a dark eyebrow.

“My ex.” 

“Okay, that I believe.”

“I...this is so embarrassing. I got you a copy of that super-rare vegan soul food cookbook you’d been wanting, I was so pleased with it and I must have mixed up the packages, they’re the same size and I like that paper so it’s all I have-”

“It is very you.” Barclay smiles, nodding his head at the torn paper covered in a pine tree motif with Bigfoot (wearing a santa hat) and mothman peeking out. 

“I’m sorry, it must still be at my house. I was looking forward to impressing you with my gift giving skills.”

“Dunno” Barclay sorts through the box, “if this is any indication, I think I can tell how much thought you put into it.” 

There is not a word, in English or any other language, to describe the mixture of mortification and desire he feels when Barclay takes the items out, eyeing them appraisingly. 

“I mean this, this is like the extra-fancy wand, right?”

“Yes.” He manages.

“And the strap-on in here looks real high-quality. Pretty cool looking too. Not to mention the underwear, looks like the kind of thing you’d want to take off with your teeth.” When Barclay meets his eyes, a dark curiosity glitters in them. Then he must notice the stress radiating off Stern, because his demeanor drops back to his usual gentle friendliness. 

“Hey, it’s no big deal okay? Remind me to tell you sometime about when I mixed up the present for my sister with the present for my boyfriend.” He looks down at the box again with a strange, secretive smile, “I know why you ended it with that guy. I still think he was serious dickhead if he was being that  shitty to the kind of guy who’d give him this.”

Stern laughs, bitter, “You don’t know the half of it. Two of those items are for me, with the idea being I’d wear them for him as part of the gift. The underwear and the uh, the collar. I didn’t even want a collar, but he was so into the idea and I thought it might make him happy.”

Barclay makes a noise Sterns’ heard in the past, the one that indicates he’s disapproving of something but trying not to be harsh. 

“I know, it was a flawed plan-”

“I’d say it was a generous thought directed at someone who didn’t deserve it.”

A smile creeps across Sterns face, and he glances at the fire to avoid saying something impulsive.

“Whelp” Barclay whacks his thighs and stands, “how about a drink? I’ve got some mulled cider I could heat up.”

“You don’t want me to go?”

“Course not, I want you to pass on all the hot office gossip I’m missing.”

“You mean like how Indrid managed to explode a container during the ginger beer episode of ‘Make it Ferment’?”

Barclay rumbles out a laugh as Stern follows him to the kitchen, “You’d think he’d have learned after what happened with the Kombucha. I think Duck’s camera still smells a little fermented after that blow-up. How’s ‘Make it Perfect’ going?” 

“Good.” Stern opens a cabinet and grabs two mugs, “I’m planning out the one for cheese plates, since it can go out before new years.”

“Nice.”

They talk shop for awhile, moving back to the living room. When they both need refills, Stern hops up to get them. When he arrives back in the room, it’s only through professional training that he doesn’t drop both mugs to the floor.  

Barclay is wearing the collar, examining his reflection in (mercifully curtain covered) window.  

“Dunno, might hold onto this, think the color looks good on me. That alright with you?”

“Guh.” Stern responds.

“Seems a shame to let a good gift go to waste.” Barclay turns to look at him. He’s never seen that expression on Barclay’s face before, most likely because if Barclay made it on camera, the video would get taken down for containing obscene content. 

“Ah, uh, you’re, you’re quite right.” Stern sets the mugs down on the coffee table, wipes his hands nervously on his jeans. 

“You okay?” Barclay leans against the mantle and stays put, and Stern realizes why; he’s not going to push this. He’s letting Stern come to him only if he wants to.

“I, ah, yes. Totally fine.” He crosses the hardwood, joining Barclay by the fire, “I was simply taken aback with the revelation of why my ex was so eager to see me in that.”

“Oh?” Barclay pushes off the mantle, turning so the two of them are face to face. He keeps his hands to himself, but there’s micrometer of space between their bodies. 

“I have no interest in wearing it, as I said. But seeing you in it…” a spark of confidence flickers up his arm and he reaches out to hook a finger into the small metal loop at the front of the collar. He pulls down just as Barclays hands fly to his shoulders, joining them in a kiss. Keeping one hand on the metal, he glides the other up to Barclays cheek, beard tickling his palm as the taller man deepens the kiss. 

“Is this really okay?” Barclay whispers, kissing his neck. 

“Yes, good lord yes.”

“Knew it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were checking my ass while I was shooting “Make it Gourmet.” Dani swore she noticed it when she was editing footage together.”

“Ohmygod.” Stern giggles, embarrassed, pressing his face into Barclays sweater.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she cut all those out. Probably.”

“Noooo, I can’t handle being another meme, Barclay, it will break me.”

“Shhh” Barclay pets his back soothingly, broad chest now shaking with laughter, “you chose a career on the internet. This is your fate.”

“Is that a better or worse fate than people writing in and demanding a do a video about making gourmet NERDS?”

Barclay shudders, and Stern kisses his nose. When their eyes meet, Barclay grins.

“Y’know, the rest of that gift doesn’t have to go to waste either.” Barclay laughs again, “and judging by how excited you look, got a feeling you’ve already thought of some ways to use them on me.”

“And on me. Do you have a harness?”

“Yep, in the bedroom, if you wanna-”

“Ah, um, actually” he glances over to his right, then back at Barclay, unsure if he should say it.

But Barclay is too quick on the uptake

“The table, huh?” He loops his arms around Sterns shoulders. 

“Please.” So much blood is heading south he’s amazed his other organs aren’t shutting down.

Barclay kisses him tenderly, “Get naked and wait for me.”

Stern does exactly that, being sure to fold his clothes and set them aside in a chair before heading to the table. 

“Now there’s a sight.” Barclay steps in from the hallway, naked save for the harness. Pauses to kiss Stern eagerly before retrieving the strap-on from the box while Stern rests his elbows on the polished wood. 

“It looks kinda monster-y. I like it.”

“It’s the uh, ah, ahem, ‘bigfoot’ model.” He mumbles.

Barclay laughs again, bending to kiss along Sterns shoulder blades as he teases at him with the toy, “Very on-brand, babe. Like a man who knows what he wants.”

“Even if what he want’s is strangeOH, fuck.” He spreads his legs wider as Barclay pushes in.

“Someone got a thing for size?” A kiss to the back of his neck. 

“Yes,yesyes.”  Stern presses back, demanding. 

“Easy, tiger, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Barclay, I have been fantasizing about this for months, please, if you don’t start fucking me I’m going to make an utter embarrassment of myself.”

“Don’t have to beg, baby, I’ll take good care of you.” Strong hands grip either hipbone, and then his arms are struggling to keep him up as Barclay pounds into him. 

“Shit, oh my lord that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Barclay growls, biting his ear, “gotta say, the way your ass moves when I fuck you is real fucking hot.”

“Nhmmmm.” Stern presses his forehead to the table. Barclays feet nudge his own aside, forcing his stance almost uncomfortably wide. 

“I’d hold tight.”

“How, it’s a tablAHahhhnnn, fuck, don’t stop, please.”

“Not unless you come or collapse. Fuck, Joseph, you’re amazing, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“As, fuck, as often as you want.” Stern tries to move one of his hands down to stroke his dick, finds he can’t manage that and balancing at the same time. Barclay suddenly shoves him forward, pressing his pelvis against the table. Barclay hunches over him, continues fucking him as one hand snakes around to rub him off. The other rests a top Sterns own, Barclay holding his hand tightly as he whimpers from the new stimulation. 

“That’s it, babe, that’s it. C’mon, I wanna make you come so bad, yeah, you like when I say that don’t you?”

Stern nods with a needy whine.

“Then lemme tell you, this is just the first course, handsome. Gonna find every way to make you come, gonna fuck you so much neither of us is gonna be able to stand for weeks.”

“Please, please, ohlordohfuck, yes, Barclay, yesAHhnnnn.” As soon as his orgasm hits, Barclay stops, pulling out carefully. He stays curled over Stern, stroking his hair and kissing up and down his back. 

“That was, that was incredible.”

“Got that right, babe.” Barclay straightens, and Stern does the same, turning to kiss him hungrily. 

“Take that off and get the magic wand.” 

Barclay practically rips the harness away. Grabs the vibrator as Stern hops up to sit on the table.

Barclay hands him the toy, “how do you wanna do this?” His words die into a gasp when Stern grips his collar. 

“I’d like to get you off with this” he turns on the wand, “would you like that too?”

“Yes.”

“Ask politely.” He tugs on the collar and Barclay moans.

“Please, babe, please, I want it so bad.”

“Mmmm, I can tell. You’re soaking.” Stern purrs, hovering the wand only an inch away from Barclays dick. 

Barclay makes a panting, pleading whine, and that’s good enough for Stern.

“FUCKfuck, oh baby yeah, fuck yeah.”

“What do say?” He tugs again. 

“Thank you, thankyouthankyou-oh shit, just little more babe please I’m so fucking close.”

Stern presses harder, yanking Barclay the rest of the way down for a kiss. The taller man whimpers into his mouth as he comes, shaking even after Stern pulls the vibrator away. 

Then he promptly falls to his knees, resting his head in Sterns lap. 

“So, uh, that was, wow.”

“I’m taking that as a sign you liked it unless you tell me otherwise.”

“Liked is putting it mildly, babe.”

Stern pets his hair, sighing happily. 

“Would you, uh, like to stay a bit longer?”

“Absolutely.”

“If you wanna put on your clothes, I was gonna make dinner. I mean, you don’t have to put them on.”

“Being naked is not in the least bit kitchen safe. And I should clean this part of your table before I join you.”

“True on both counts.” Barclay stands, offering Stern a hand he doesn’t need ut takes all the same to get off the table. 

“You know,” he muses as he pulls his underwear back on, “we didn’t get a chance to use the underwear.”

“Don’t worry,” Barclay only half-dressed, wraps him in a hug from behind, “you can wear ‘em tomorrow when I take you out.”

Stern turns, kisses him, “That sounds perfect.”