#Red-haired save file exploded when I was setting this up

[sapphire-rb]

Instructions unclear

[flying-nightwing]

Double Cross (Jason Todd)

Hi people! So this is my little project I was talking about. A sudden blurb of inspiration led me to this and uh. Here it is! Once again, this is super experimental so yeah idk about its potential. You’ll be the judge of that I guess

This time I worked on time jumps back and forth and perspectives, so let me know how it turned out!

Masterlist in bio/pinned!

Pairing: Jason Todd x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 6937

Warnings: swearing, uhhh idk it’s dc so you know what you’re into 

-- 36 hours ago --

Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage as you flew down Washington DC's streets. Your motorcycle was burning under you, and you had a feeling you were on the clock to get off of this ticking time bomb before it exploded and brought you down with it. The bullet holes broke the black paint, decorating your bike in a way that flagged unwanted attention. About six blocks ago, unmarked cars had joined your fast paced parade across the city.

A terrible mistake, all of this was. That was certain. 

You took a sharp right, your knee scraping on the asphalt on the way. An infernal noise came out of your bike, but you still willed it to accelerate on the straight alley. You shot back on the main roads like a bullet, swerving around the black police car that had tried to cut you off. But soon enough, you saw the blockade on the street in front of you. You could never jump it with your bike so in disarray, and there were no viable alleys to sneak into. You shut your eyes tight for a moment, then exhaled.

"I'm sorry Jason" You muttered to yourself. "But you left me no choice"

With a firm grip, you pressed the brakes and came to a stop a fair distance from the blockade. You turned off your bike and kicked the foot to hold it up, slowly getting off and pulling your hands up. Shouts erupted around you as the police mobilised themselves in tight formations, guns up and ready to shoot. With one hand up, you undid your tinted black helmet and let it fall to the ground. 

"On your knees!" An officer shouted as he approached. "Keep your hands where I can see them"

You complied.

-- Now --

The white of the neons glaring down on you made your already tired eyes hurt, saturating your vision with a harsh and constant flash of light. You were left alone with a room temperature glass of water on your left and your own reflection on your right. You couldn’t hear them, but you knew they were there, observing you. Instead, all you could see was the dark bags under your eyes and your messy greasy hair. 

You perked up when two men in suits came in by the door in front of you, thin files in their hands and calculating glances. They were nicely dressed, one with a gray suit and the other, black. Both suits were obviously tailored to them. They sat down in front of you and observed you before the one in the gray suit spoke. Dark hair, blue eyes, taller than the other, maybe around six feet.

“Good morning, Agent”

You only nodded, looking down to the table. 

“My name is Agent Baker,” He said. “My colleague here is Agent Tanev. We will proceed to your debriefing”

“Sure” You nodded again.

Agent Baker set a recording device on the desk and turned it on. “Please tell us again why you are here today”

“I am--” You paused, clearing your throat. “I am here today to deliver crucial information on a wanted criminal in exchange for a pardon” 

“Which wanted criminal should that be?”

“The Red Hood” You said, meeting his eyes. “I have names of associates, safe houses locations, frequent territories of operation as well as his specific m.o.”

“How come you know all of this?” He asked, his voice neutral. “No seasoned agent has ever managed to get this close to him, let alone a rookie. We want to know how you gained his trust, start from the beginning, spare no details. Leave nothing out”

“I met the Red Hood during operation 7381 in northern Lithuania” You began as Agent Tanev started to take notes. “I was in the back up team for the extraction of General Kradiev from a local opposant group. I wasn’t supposed to even see action, as it should have been simple enough against an untrained mob, but when is it ever…”

They had known you were coming. A whole grab and go operation had been compromised by the feeling of invincibility of the CIA, that looked down so much on whoever they went against that they never stopped to think that maybe--maybe--they were prepared.

So when the Alpha team stormed the country house where the General was supposed to be kept and found it empty, all action plans were thrown out the window. The Beta team was mobilised to close off all the roads surrounding the area and to search for the hostage. You were ordered to search a single decaying house in between two pine trees because the structure was so old, so  nobody could have ever been hiding in its debris. However, as you were leaving, you heard whimpers coming from the cellar a few feet away from the foundations. Carefully, you made your way to the wooden doors on the ground, and after making sure your magazine was full and the safe of your semi automatic off, you kicked the doors open and raced down the stairs.

“Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off” You yelled, pointing your gun at the first person you saw. It was clearly a man, wearing a bright red helmet that shone under the single lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling. He slowly held up his hands, but he didn’t seem so bothered. Your eyes found another man next, tied to a chair and wearing a bag on his head. The military uniform was a dead giveaway of his identity, so you returned your full attention to the red helmet guy. “You’re going to back up and face the wall now”

“Or what?” He challenged. “You’ll ‘blow my head off’?”

“Shut up!” You barked, taking a step forward. Your firearm was ready to shoot. “Do as I fucking say”

“You’re CIA uh?” He changed the subject, looking down at your marked bulletproof vest and not listening to you. In fact, he didn’t seem worried at all by the situation he was in. “Should have known. You guys have never cared who lived or died. What fucking difference does it make, as long as they’re good pals with the good ol’ US of A right?”

“God would you just fucking shut up and back up” You were getting impatient, but also nervous. You were alone without backup, with a guy in a red helmet who was clearly taunting you, and you had never shot anyone before. It was your first oversea mission, and already it was fucking catastrophic.

“See, that’s the thing” He held a finger up. “You’re pointing a gun at me like I’m the bad guy, while you are trying to rescue the scum of humanity. You’re going to extract him, give him a nice long life on Florida’s golf courses with the taxpayers' money and wipe out from History the mass graves in the woods two miles away”

You remained silent.

“Oh, did you not know about the mass graves?” He asked rhetorically in a mocking tone. “Your friend here decided he wanted to test the new shipment of automatic weapons, because their bullets per minute capacity had been expanded. And what better targets than the group of students that opposed the american military presence in the country? The youngest was 16 and her name was Vera Beliskava. Isn’t that right, Kradiev?”

He pulled the hood from the general to reveal his bloodied and bruised face. He had been gagged and beaten, that was obvious. He looked at you, pleading. 

“You’re the only one who saw” The man in red said, softer this time. “You don’t have to save that piece of trash. Just say your search came up empty and I’ll make him disappear from the Earth's face permanently without leaving so much as a trace. Nobody else will know, and you will go to sleep knowing you made the world a better place”

You took a breath, a million thoughts running into your head. Who was that guy? Why was he here? Why did he not attack you, while he clearly had a handgun strapped on his thigh? Could he be right about Kradiev? You knew he didn’t have the cleanest record concerning human rights, but mass graves? 

“Beta team, report”

You both froze as your comm broke the silence. He gave you a challenging look as you were still debating. You wanted to do good, that’s why you went into the secret services. Being complicit in mass murder wasn’t something you signed up on. 

“Nothing to report on the north road”

“Clear in the valley”

“Farmer’s house empty”

“No traffic on the south road”

You knew it was your turn now. Slowly, you reached for your comm, not breaking eye contact.

“Pinetree house’s clear” You spoke in a flat line, decided and direct as you lowered your gun. You shut down your comm and glanced at Kradiev, whose relief morphed into fear once again as your decision registered. You averted your eyes. 

“You made the right choice”

“I hope so, or I’m dead” You mumbled. “I’m going back now. Don’t make me regret my decision”

“You won’t”

“So just to be clear,” Agent Baker frowned. “You just… Believed him? And you let General Kradiev in his hands?”

“When I left, I went to check, and the graves were there. Kradiev was guilty”

“That was not your decision to make” He pointed out.

“I know” You sighed. “That was my first mistake. I-- I lost it for a moment. He mentioned the graves and the victims and there were so many people the same age as them I could think about and I decided with my feelings rather than my judgement. And I’m paying the price today”

“Alright” He mumbled, passing a hand on his face like he was already done with this debriefing. “When did you cross paths with him again?”

“We were back in America” You continued. “By that time, I was no longer on training wheels. It was a little more than a year later, in Newport Oregon during operation 9004. We were busting a trans pacific drug dealer on the docks when we got unexpected company…”

You were running as well as you could through the maze of freight containers on the docks, trying to push back the pain of the bullet in your leg. You had drawn the fire of the hired gang so your colleagues could proceed, but things went down the drain when you were met with heavier fire than the briefing stated. Outnumbered and outran, you stopped in your tracks and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You wouldn’t go out as a coward, that was certain. If you went down, you’d take as many of them as you could with you. 

You reopened your eyes and checked the magazine of your gun, letting it drop on the ground and pushing a full one in. You loaded and clicked the safe off, flexing your fingers on the handle as footsteps surrounded you. You spun around and pulled the trigger, but before the bullet even reached your target, two men dropped on his side. 

You weren’t the only shooter. 

Thinking it was backup from your team, you allowed yourself to back up against a container, trying to stop the bleeding. You were starting to feel light headed, but you still had a bit more fight in you. Soon enough, all hostiles were down, and you were in for a surprise. Instead of the black uniform of your colleagues, you looked up to a red bat, a leather jacket and a familiar red helmet. You squinted your eyes and let out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Do I even wanna know?” You asked.

“I owed you one” He shrugged. “You okay?”

You looked down to your leg, your pants soaked in blood that was already cooling, then back up again. “Peachy” You gave him a thumbs up. “You were right about Kradiev. He was a fucking trash bag”

“It’s often the case” He said as he rested his hands on his hips. 

“You here for Hiko?”

“Yep” He nodded, then snorted derisively. “Any tips?”

Ever since Kradiev, you have developed a habit of researching your target better. Most of the time, it was a capture or an execution on site, so it didn’t matter the extent of their crimes. But there were moments when you were extracting the package without knowing what came next, and those times usually meant they’ll make them disappear under a new identity, without giving them any repercussion for their actions. This one, Hiko, was the later case, without any plan revealed for when you get him back. He was a known drug trafficker, but he was also rumored to smuggle people back and forth between Asia and North America through the docks he owned. The Red Hood’s appearance was well timed, to say the least. 

“Sneak past the squad through the east” You panted. “If you can move on top of the containers without being seen or heard, you’ll cut them off with about two minutes to spare. Make sure you’re gone with Hiko when they bust through the door, or neither of us will ever find him again”

He paused, studying you. “Thanks…” He trailed off. “Why are you telling me this again?”

“Well, you said it yourself” You managed to smirk. “If I can go to sleep knowing I made the world a better place”

He didn’t answer with anything else but a quick nod before he climbed the containers and disappeared from your field of vision. You sighed, then reached for your comm. “Alpha 003 to central, I’m down and need medical attention, Northwest entry of the docks”

“So if I understand correctly, not only you let him go again,” Baker exhaled, looking bewildered. “But you told him how to get there first? You realize those are becoming serious crimes right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” You snapped, before recomposing yourself. Both agents had backed away just a little at your outburst. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry. I’m just tired, it’s been a crazy last two days” 

“Did he offer you any medical help then?” Baker returned on topic. 

“No, I called the medics and I was extracted with the chopper” You replied. “I knew he was there for Hiko, not for me. It was a coincidence we crossed paths, and at that point I thought it was the last time I’d see him. I mean, what are the chances, right? But you see, that here was my second mistake”

“How so?”

“The CIA goes after threats to national security, but so does he, in his own way” You said, locking eyes with Baker. “The guy’s everywhere, even where we don’t go. And he’s at least three steps ahead of us at any turn. He has good funds, good intel and exceptional skills. You don’t find him, he finds you. And that’s what he did”

“He contacted you after the affair on the docks?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We could say that...”

You finished washing your tea cup when you heard a thud coming in from your living room. Slowly, you grabbed the gun hidden in your cupboard and held it up, quietly making your way to the next room. You rounded the corner and pointed your gun to the man standing with his back to you, registering his identity as he turned around. You must have been a sight in your baby pink pajama shorts and mismatching turquoise tank top, pointing your handgun to a man in a shiny red helmet. 

You scoffed and lowered your gun, clicking the safe back on and putting the firearm on the lamp table. “Breaking and entering, really?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst crime I’ve committed” He shrugged, and you could just imagine him rolling his eyes, whoever he was under that helmet. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms against your chest. “How did you find me?”

“Like I find anyone” He answered like it was the simplest of evidence. You waited for him to continue, but he seemed to have no intention to reveal his methods. This time, you rolled your eyes. “And I’m here because I wanted to check on your leg”

“No you’re not” You snorted. He would have come months ago if it was about that, and even then, the little you knew about him told you he was not the kind to just check upon people who didn’t mean anything to him. “But I’m doing fine, thanks”

“You’re welcome” He nodded. “And you’re right. I need something from you”

“Well, go ahead, since you’re already in” You gestured at him to go on.

“Wait wait wait” Baker held his hand up. “He broke into your house and you just let him? You put your gun down and didn’t call anyone?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said” You replied slowly. 

“And it never occured to you that he was dangerous?”

You paused, thinking your answer over. “No, it didn’t. I mean, if he wanted to get rid of me, he would have done it on the docks where I was an easy target”

“Fair point” Tanev muttered under his breath, earning him a glare from Baker. 

“Now do you want to know what happened or not?” You said, annoyed at the interruption.

“Please, go ahead”

He reached inside his jacket and handed you a file. You took it and opened it, staring at the picture and the description beside it. “This is Ian Markstrom, he has been suspected to kidnap young women, mostly tourists, to sell them on the sex trafficking market” He began. “Not only is he friends with your big bosses, but those who were brave enough to try and get him locked up never got anything to stick, and that was the best case scenario. The others either disappeared or ended up dead, so I’m assuming someone in this government does not want Markstrom to stop”

You nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a secret auction strictly reserved for the elite, Markstrom will sell his best teenagers there” He explained, a hint of disgust in his voice. “The CIA chief of operation received an invitation. I want to know what it says on the card”

“I’m not sure I’m good enough to reach anywhere near it” You mumbled. “But sure, I’ll try”

“No, I believe in you” He said, and he seemed pretty sure of himself. You raised an eyebrow to hide your surprise at his compliment. “What I’m wondering though, is why you’re not asking questions”

“Well, you are two in two so far about targeting the bad guy” You said after a moment. “You seem qualified to spot ‘em, and you’d be real twisted to to make up that scenario for a petty revenge, so I’m guessing you’re on the mark again”

“Huh. You might just be the only smart CIA agent I’ve ever met”

You snorted. “Well, the more it goes the more I’m questioning the integrity of my employer”

“You keep impressing me” 

“With what I saw, I believe the bar was pretty low to start with”

“Keep talking like this and I might need a cold shower”

“You’re an ass, you know that?” 

He let out a short bark of laughter. “If only you knew”

“I’ll do my best for the invitation” You brought him back on topic, closing the file and putting it beside your handgun. “How can I contact you if I get it?”

He paused, then took a step forward and grabbed your wrist. He fetched a pen from his jacket and wrote a number. “This is a burner phone, which I will destroy after this whole deal. Don’t try and trace me with that, it won’t end well for you”

“Yeah yeah” You rolled your eyes, pulling back your arm when he was done. You cleared your throat, trying to ignore his overwhelming proximity. “I gave you two fast passes just to trick you into seeking my help to finally bag you, I’m busted”

“Hey, listen” He backed up, holding his hand in surrender. “I make that threat to everyone. It’s only a disclosure thing, I didn’t doubt your motivation”

“To each their own I guess” You shrugged. “Alright. If this is all, please get out of my apartment”

“Oop, sure”

Baker blinked slowly. “And did you? Communicate him the details?”

“Yeah” You nodded. “I managed to get into the chief of operation’s office, break into his safe, memorize the date, time and place of the auction and communicate it to Red”

“Red?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Short for Red Hood” Tanev clarified, and judging by yet another glare from Baker, he wouldn’t speak anytime soon.  

“He kept it on the quiet, but after that the chief of operation did seem a changed man” You smirked, before dropping it instantly. “And I didn’t hear anything from Markstrom, it was like he disappeared for good, which he most likely did. So I guess the Red Hood succeeded in taking him down”

“Jesus Christ” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why do I have the feeling it wasn’t the last law you broke?”

“Because it wasn’t”

“Are you going to make a habit out of dropping out of nowhere to ask me for favors?”

This time, you knew who had broken into your property without even looking. You put the keys into your car and turned the engine on, trying to warm yourself. The Red Hood pulled himself upright from your backseat, shaking his head.

“Your car is very comfortable,” He declared. “You have good taste”

“So that means yes”

“Back at it again with your superior deduction skills” 

“What do you want?” You went straight to the point, but you were just a little amused. You could have a worst stalker. 

“I’ve been thinking this through,” He began, moved his legs so he was properly seated on the backseat. “You are skilled and you’ve got balls of steel. I could use your help more often. A partnership, if you might”

“Why do I have the feeling it took a lot to admit that and reach out?” 

“Because I don’t just trust people” He said plainly. “They disappoint me, among other things”

“So why me?”

“Like I said, skills and balls of steel” He repeated. “You went against the fucking CIA not once, not twice but thrice to do the right thing. That’s enough of a test of will for me. And besides, your job would be an advantage that is hard to turn away”

“Makes sense” You mumbled as you put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. He buckled his belt like it was a reflex. “Will this partnership imply me shooting bad guys?”

“If that’s what you wish for” He shrugged, leaning forward in the space between the two front seats. “I won’t be the one to limit you”

“Okay, yeah” You nodded. “Where do we start?”

Baker was looking into nothing, processing your words. He shook his head slowly in disbelief before he met your glance. “I shouldn’t be surprised” He spoke after a moment. “But this is Everest high levels of stupid”

“At that time it did seem like a good idea” 

“Yeah, might as well jump off of a bridge…” He trailed off, eying you suspiciously. “Did you do that too?”

“Well, if we consider the time when--”

“You know what, don’t tell me” He cut you off. “Please go on”

“Alright” You held your hands up in surrender. “So, where was I?”

You and the Red Hood operated on the field like a well oiled machine. Your expertise and contacts with the CIA helped him get into places way more easily than alone, and your somewhat reckless ways were compatible with his mode of operation. You knew who he was as well, you found out after he nonchalantly took off his helmet after a stakeout. You had not been prepared for what you saw then, when you were faced with what you could qualify with the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

“Hey, you okay?” He waved a hand in your face, making you snap out your daze. You blinked a few times, shaking it off.

“Yeah” You replied. “I just wasn’t expecting this”

“Expecting what?”

“I mean, the helmet did give disfiguration vibes… Obviously I was wrong” 

“So you think I’m hot then?” He snorted derisively.

“I do” 

His head did a whiplash. “Huh?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” You backed away. “Sometimes my filter doesn’t work”

“No it’s--” He tried to find his words, then sighed. “I’m just not used to that, I guess”

“What’s the point of this?” Baker groaned, his head in his hands. 

“It’s a turning point that brought me here today” You explained, turning your palm up briefly. “You asked for details, I’m giving you details”

“I kinda wanna know what went down, to be honest” Tanev added sheepishly.

“Tanev, I’m going to drive you through the mirror if you do not shut up”

“Jeez sorry” He mumbled.

“As I was saying”

That day was the moment things changed in your relationship. There was this tension that hadn’t been there before, the little brushes of hands when you were side by side, the staring at the other while they weren’t looking, the unspoken invitations to stay a moment longer after a mission for a cigarette and a good conversation. He was one of a kind, you had to give that to him. He was passionate, driven, smart in a way that told you he never really had it easy but always made it work somehow; the way he always thought of the less obvious way to do things, how even his messes seemed calculated. 

It was raining in Chicago and the air was crisp. Your muscles ached from the fight in that warehouse against drug lords that enrolled kids in their schemes, that and from the unforgiving cold of January. You had one too many whiskeys back in that little studio flat he rented under a false name, and it led you straight to his bed. Trying to find warmth, trying to find a connection, it didn’t matter why, as long as you were as close as humanly possible to him. 

And it didn’t stop there. The night after, and the night after that, always in his company past the business hours. Your chemistry translated way beyond the field, for you found him in a partner in more ways than one. You grew quickly to feel love for him, more than you had ever felt for anyone. The number of times you woke up naked and tangled with him--

“Okay I don’t need to know this-- I do NOT need to know this” Baker yelled. If he could have flipped shit from the table, you’re sure he would have. 

“You told me to spare no details!” You argued. “This is a detail. I’m being as thorough as I can”

“You know what-- Forget it” He brushed his hand in the air aggressively. “Just get to the part we have interest in, for God’s sake please just skip to that”

“Okay, okay” You muttered, rolled your eyes. “It went well for the first months or so, it was great. Nothing to say on that front, I was happy and fulfilled in this new englobing partnership we had going on. That was my third mistake, to get into that kind of involvement with him. Because then, like all good things must come to an end, mine slowly began crumbling down in my hands”

“Okay” He sighed, half in relief. “Tell me more about that”

“Well, he started to show his true colors” You admitted, pulling your hands under the table. “Sometimes, he became something else. Something dark. And sometimes became most of the time, but I was too in love to see it. He became manipulative, controlling. He was everywhere, in everything I did. It’s like I didn’t even have control on my life anymore…”

“Where do you wanna eat?”

You looked away from the car window, your feet comfortably up on the dash. You took a deep breath and shrugged. “Dunno, where do you wanna eat?”

“Don’t really care” He shrugged too. “You decide”

“What about chipotle?”

“Sure” He nodded. “Chipotle sounds good”

Tanev shook his head sympathetically. “He wouldn’t even let you choose a restaurant?”

“Never” You looked down, sadness weighing your voice. 

“I’m so sorry you had to live through that”

“Thank you” 

“Alright, moving on” Baker broke the moment. “What happened next?”

“Next? Next came what comes every time in screwed up relationships” You answered, returning your hands on the table and crossing your fingers. “We burned like a meteorite as it tears through the atmosphere, falling to our demise to high velocity and taking everything in our wake”

“That was poetic” He pointed out sarcastically. “What the fuck does it mean?”

You raised an eyebrow. “We got dangerous for real, Agent Baker” You paused to take a reserved sip of the water. “If you thought I was reckless before, you’ll need to reevaluate your scale. I was in for real. I was his battle horse, his wildcard, his whatever that he needed to succeed. And I was good at it. The worst was, I didn’t even realize he used me as a smoke screen. He put me more and more often in fucked up situations that were way more dangerous for me than him, and I was naive enough to think it was love”

“No. This is not up for discussion”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You said you would let me choose--”

“I said I would let you choose, not let yourself get killed” He interrupted, slightly raising his voice. “This plan of yours is stupid dangerous. If it backfires, you are almost guaranteed of not making it out free, or alive for that matter. I’m not allowing you to take that risk. Not for me.”

“Again, ‘if’ being the keyword” You insisted, following him as he stomped out of the storage room. “I am capable of executing it flawlessly. I know I am, you’ve always told me I am”

He halted his steps, hesitantly turning to face you. His eyes softened as he sighed, taking your hand. “I know you can, it’s not about that” His voice was back down, even lower than his usual volume. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you for something I dragged you into in the first place, I would never forgive myself”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead on his. “Okay” You finally said, nodding lightly. “We’ll find another way. Another plan. But we’re hitting that ball out of the park either way, I won’t let Preston get away with it”

He smiled. “Oh no, we won't indeed” He kissed the top of your head. “We’ll get him one way or another, I promise”

“I almost feel sorry for you now, Agent” Baker gulped. “I cannot begin to imagine what terrible things the Red Hood forced you to do under his manipulation. We however must continue this debriefing”

“Of course” You nodded quickly, breathing deeply. “So we planned our next move, but he wouldn’t tell me the final target. I found it weird, he always told me the targets. I don’t know, maybe he sensed I was trying to find a way out”

“And that plan was…”

“Yes” You didn’t have to let him finish his trailing thoughts, you knew what he was getting at. “So this brings us to 36 hours ago”

“Be as thorough as you can” 

“So the Red Hood gave me those instructions to follow” You began. “I was to draw the attention of the authorities to me in a city wide chase. Now, I am rather good with a bike, that I won’t hide, but outrunning police and secret services? That was impossible. I still don’t know how they got there, but it saved me. He would have never dared to come into the melee to get me back, and risk getting caught”

“Was he not afraid you’d talk to us?” Baker asked. “That was a pretty big gamble”

“He thought I wouldn’t talk I guess, probably for the same reasons I stayed with him for all this time” You said, biting the inside of your cheek until it bled. You hated to think about these words. “Because I believed I loved him”

“I guess that wouldn’t be too far fetched” He hummed. “Wouldn’t be the first time we saw it happen”

You nodded, remaining silent. Baker made eye contact with Tanev, then looked into the reflecting glass. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to you. 

“We are going to get you back to the holding cell while we process this information” He said. “But once we do that, you’ll be free, and with a new identity if you wish, as your agreement states”

“Thank you” 

“Just one more thing before we wrap this debriefing” He leaned forward. “You must know his name"

“Of course” 

“Then what is it?” He asked. “What is the Red Hood’s name?”

You looked down, taking a deep breath, then back again, locking eyes with Baker. Then, you spoke. 

-- 36 hours later --

The sunset over the valley was gorgeous. The mixes of pink and orange on the yellowed sky was straight out of a fantasy world, and Jason couldn’t help but appreciate the scenery. It was soothing, like it could swallow up his anxiety at least for a minute or two. He leaned on the wooden ramp, the sightseeing roadside station seeming not so cheesy at the moment.

He only tore his eyes from the burning sun when he heard a motorcycle approach from behind. He pushed himself off the ramp and faced the sleek black bike--the lack of use on it showing him it was brand new--then, the driver with a black tinted visor. 

You took off your helmet and smiled at Jason’s stern expression, whose eyes showed relief anyway. You turned off your bike and parked it, then got off and walked to him. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

You walked past him and leaned on the ramp he had been on moments ago, and he joined you. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered you one. He lit up both with his lighter, and you took a long draft before speaking. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice” You smirked, bumping your shoulder to his. “I did save your sweet ass, after all”

“I thought we agreed not to do that” He glanced at you sideways. His annoyance was also mixed with playful disbelief, like he both wanted to throw you off the cliff you were admiring the view from and do celebratory shots with you. 

“We did” You nodded, chuckling. “But circumstances changed. You weren’t out by the time I reached the monument, so I had to draw them away from you, or we would not be having this conversation. ”

“Still” He tilted his head to the side, before his head snapped in your direction. “Wait, did you call the secret services after yourself?”

You shrugged half heartedly. “Mayhaps” Your lips curved upward, while he shook his head. “I mean, it kinda was my fault too. I misplaced the bomb and it barely detonated. I had to flip to plan B, then they shot my bike. They had me surrounded, and my it was running low on life, so I skipped directly to plan fuck this”

“So you gave yourself up”

"Played the victim, pretended I wanted to exchange information on you for my freedom” You sighed, taking a drag of your cigarette. “None of which was relevant enough for them to even get close to you, worry not”

“They must have asked for a name” He hummed, now turning his full body toward you. “What did you tell them?”

“My grandpa’s name” You snorted. “He died two decades ago. Let me tell you, when they found out the last update on him was in the necrology of the 2001 Sunday paper, they were not happy campers”

“Then how did you get out?” He squinted his eyes.

“Oh, do not underestimate me, sweetheart” You grinned. “I’ve spent my whole career getting to know the buildings and the procedures for people like me. It was a piece of cake”

You were escorted out the interrogation room and into the small, yet cozy holding cell. You were on the clock, because the lies you’ve slipped into your story would unravel pretty quickly once they discovered that the name you gave them was a farce. Then, you wouldn’t be put in a minimal security room, but probably somewhere way less fun. 

“Hey wait” You called after the guard before he could close the cell door behind you. He paused his actions, waiting for you to speak up. “This wasn’t there last time”

He frowned and took a few steps into the cell, trying to spot over your shoulder whatever you were talking about. When he didn’t see it, he got closer and closer until he was all the way into the cell. “What wasn’t there before?” He asked, annoyed. 

You smiled. “You” 

With a quick jab of your elbow behind his head, he fell down unconscious on the floor. You grabbed his keycard and exited the cell, locking the guard in. You winked at the camera on the upper left corner of the hallway and made your way down to the garages as the alarms blared through the whole building. That meant it entered lockdown, closing all the escape routes. But you had your own fool proof plan.

Agent Baker began swearing when the hallway was plunged into the red glow of the lockdown alert. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out you had led them in circles, and he had appeared a fool in front of his colleagues when he proudly revealed the name of a long deceased old man instead of anything tangible. He had been on his way to your cell when he realized the depth of this foolery, understanding you had been stalling them for this opportunity. 

“Sir, we are reporting engine noises in the garages”

“Fuck” Baker shouted, pushing the other man aside. Tanev was a step behind, his weapon drawn. They had stored your bike there, you must have gone back for it. “All units report to the garage, we’re having a break out. I repeat, all units to the garages”

They all flocked to the lower levels, ready to enforce the barrages at the doors and trap you with no exit. It was an excellent execution of emergency measures, but they definitely weren’t prepared for what came next. As they kicked the storage unit of your motorcycle, they came face to face with the bullet ridden bike with no driver in sight. Baker lowered his gun, squinting his eyes. Then, they widened comically as the dark smoke coming out of it and the strong smell of gasoline registered in his brain.

“Motherfucker” He spat. “Everybody out!” 

Seconds later, it exploded.

“You’re unbelievable” Jason scoffed, shaking his head. However, he now had a full blown grin to match yours. “I gotta give it to you though, blowing up your bike as a distraction was smart. Balls of fucking steel”

“Of course it was!” You replied, then reached in your pocket for your phone. “And it’s not even the best part, look”

You unlocked your phone and passed it to him, showing him your most recent picture of the CIA’s chief of operation dead with a letter opener through his neck. His eyes widened. “You got Preston?”

You turned around from your position, now leaning back on the ramp with your elbows resting on it. “The bike opened a window big enough for me to get the target” You said, finishing your cigarette and disposing of it in the ash bin on your right. “And with all those idiots guarding an empty garage, t’was easy enough”

“After all this time, you’re still impressing me” He nodded, holding up his fist. “Good fucking job”

You bumped your fist sideway with his, laughing at his baffled expression. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, but the air was still warm. You could hear the crickets in the high grass, and the silence was a peaceful one. You could admit that you had cut it close this time, that this gamble could have very well turned to shit, so you just took a moment to let the pressure slip away from your muscles, at least for now. You had the time to smoke another cigarette before you spoke.

“So now what?” You hummed, looking up to the bright stars above your head. “Markstrom’s ring is no more, and I’m pretty sure I not only lost my job by pulling that stunt, but also bought myself a ticket on at least three intelligence services’ most wanted list”

“Well, that’s nothing a good ol’ fake death can’t fix” He shrugged. “But until we find the right moment for your tragic public demise, I’m sure we can manage to find on our own some domestic assholes to beat up. What do you say?”

You met eyes with him, then raised your eyebrows. “I say let’s get to it”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 280: I Am Red Riot

Previously on BnHA: The pro heroes over at Gunga Mountain struggled against Gigantomachia and the League until finally Midnight was all, “fuck it, let’s just put the kids in charge.” Momo immediately got to work organizing a sophisticated counteroffensive involving an exploding swamp, a bunch of sedative cans, and a massive coordinated team attack. I gotta tell you guys, it’s really something to watch a large-scale group attack in which all of the team members are actually competent. I don’t know what Japan put in the water when all these sixteen-year-olds were growing up, but that shit has paid off big time, and basically the only reason Machia hasn’t gone down yet is because he cheated and was all “sneeze” and the kids all got blown away because they are little and because he is really, really big. Anyway so then Dabi set the forest on fire because he loves doing that, and the chapter ended with Mina using her Acid Man attack to make herself FUCKIN’ FIREPROOF so she could charge through the woods ready to save the day and stuff!

Today on BnHA: Mina launches herself straight at Machia like the beautiful corrosive wild child she is, but then everything goes to shit when she recognizes him from that one time she almost got murdered while giving a strange man directions. Just when it’s looking like she might get killed for real this time, KIRISHIMA SHOWS UP TO SAVE THE DAY AND SHOVES HER TO SAFETY AND IS ALL “BOTTOMS UP” AND HEAVES A LITERAL CAN OF WHOOPASS RIGHT IN MACHIA’S MOUTH. At this point the grown-ups are all “oh wow look at that, time for us to take over for you kids now, don’t worry we’ve got it all under control” because Oh Those Wacky Pros and all that, but at least Majestic finally deigns to show his face so that’s a plus! The chapter ends with us cutting back to the Jakku battle, where Tomura is curled up in a little ball all “curse you heroes, how dare you [checks notes] save people all the time”, which is a real take and a half. Anyway so things are looking up, which can only mean everyone is about to die. That’s how it works, right. Shit.

HOLY SHIT LOL

THIS IS MINA. SHE’S REALLY COOL AND SHE CAN MELT PEOPLE. um, the hell kind of tagline is that?? holy fucking shit?? “melt and succumb”?? IS THE SUCCUMB PART REALLY NECESSARY. IS THAT NOT ALREADY IMPLIED. it’s like saying “die and then perish”, which actually sounds really badass and I’m about to make it my new go-to threat actually so you know what never mind. where the fuck were we anyway

“IS EVERYONE SAFE” some absurdly bad-at-gauging-situations kid from class B is yelling while the forest is on fire and all the kids are recovering from having been catapulted fifty miles by King Dodongo’s windy yeet breath. of course they are safe, sweet child. of course everyone is absolutely fine, why the fuck would they possibly not be safe after something like that

KAMINARI NOOO MY POOR SWEET BABY

AT LEAST HE’S STILL CONSCIOUS ENOUGH TO MAKE STUPID JOKES. holy shit this baby got concussed to hell and back and then Machia turned him and the others into precipitation and he wasn’t in any kind of state to even try to land safely, I hope to god someone caught him

Sero is all “is there anyone still in range!” and damn, I like that he’s taking charge and trying to regain their momentum. he is so criminally underrated. I feel like he’s in the top six or seven of class 1-A kids who I would most trust to take charge. which is very high praise because that class has a lot of charge-taking kids

SPEAKING OF

it “probably” can’t get through her acid, she says. my god. sometimes the spirit of Plus Ultra just takes ahold of these kids and it’s like, I want to ruffle their hair proudly and then grab them by the shoulders and shake them vigorously because WHERE EVEN IS YOUR SELF-PRESERVATION WHY DO NONE OF YOU HAVE IT GODDAMMIT AIZAWA REALLY SHOULD HAVE EXPELLED YOU GUYS AFTER ALL

man. and yet I really do love this “be the one who can do it” stuff. what a heroic fucking attitude dfjfklks. I’ll just go put on my humongous sandwich board that reads GIANT FUCKING HYPOCRITE and go stand in the corner

damn it this week’s scan is annoyingly dark, it’s really hard to tell what’s going on but it looks like the pros are attacking Machia and the League at long last. way to go guys it only took you seven years but you finally hopped to it

MINA WHY IS THE ACID COMING OFF OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. PUT IT BACK!!!

I KNOW SHE’S NOT GONNA DIE DAMMIT BUT AHHHHH AHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH

okay what the hell is up with these weird zen proverbs though

“your fear stricken heart”, “the shortest path”, what the fuck even is this. whose thoughts are these. normally these translations are honestly decent enough but I gotta say this time around I’m totally being thrown for a loop lmao

(ETA: FYI I’m only just now realizing that he was saying the shortest path to Master, as in Tomura, not “master” as in to master something fjkldjskf lol some delayed reading comprehension there. so basically he’s just bitching about how annoying these little “flies” are proving to be.)

JESUS CHRIST

okay is it just me, or is Gigantomachia suddenly showing intelligence in his eyes instead of mindless animal instinct the single most pants-shitting thing you’ve ever seen?!! holy shit. the way he just LOOKS at her out of nowhere all of a sudden?? holy fucking shit DO NOT HURT MT. LADY OH MY GOD I’M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. AND DON’T YOU DARE HURT MINA EITHER!! JUST FUCKING DIE AND PERISH

but also though, is that recognition in Mina’s eyes?? because even though this dude is 80 feet tall now, her encounter with him a couple years back had to have been one of the more memorable experiences of her young life. damn I was wondering when this would finally come into play

OKAY YES THE NEXT PAGE IS A FLASHBACK OH SHIT

this has nothing to do with anything but Mina just has the prettiest hair, btw, and this “just woke up covered in acid” look is a particularly good one on her. it looks so soft and fluffy, like damn. this is like Shouto-hair-billowing-in-the-wind levels of pretty here

NOOOOO

oh my god holy shit?! putting her back in the school uniform to show the slip in her mentality is a PUNK MOVE, HORIKOSHI, and I respect the shit out of you for it you manipulative bastard. goddammit. bracing myself for the incoming wave of Mina feels... here they come... they’re a lot... let’s see if I can latch on to anything I can actually figure out how to describe in words

okay well here’s one, my respect for Mina’s bravery just went up like a thousand percent in this instant, because now we know this was actually such a traumatizing event for her that hearing Machia’s voice again years later immediately sent her into a full-blown flashback. she was that scared and yet she still stood up to him and didn’t hesitate. and now I’m remembering how her knees just buckled right afterwards, and just...

and this visual, though!! what a brutally effective way to show that in her mind she went right back to being that scared middle schooler again for a moment. god fucking damn. holy shit you guys is Kirishima fireproof because if he comes waltzing out of the woods next I don’t even know what I’m gonna do. lolo kids getting traumatized left and right this arc is fucking merciless

um eXCUSE ME!?!?!

YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT LET GO OF HER RIGHT NOW OR I AM GONNA LOSE IT!!

THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!

holy shit he could have fucking snapped her neck like that??! I don’t like this at ALL WHAT THE FUCK

OKAY SERIOUSLY

I’M GONNA NEED ANOTHER KID TO STEP IN HERE WITH A LAST MINUTE SAVE LIKE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, OR I AM GOING TO THROW MY COMPUTER OFF A FUCKING CLIFF AND MOVE TO THE DESERT AND BECOME A HERMIT AND NEVER READ MANGA ON THE INTERNET AGAIN

OH THANK GOD

TODAY WE SPELL “REDEMPTION” K-I-R-I... ETC. THERE’S A LOT OF LETTERS BUT YOU GET THE DRIFT!!!

holy fucking shit y’all. I mean, it’s not like it came out of nowhere, like the setup could not have been more obvious, but let me assure you that none of the predictability lessened the actual impact of this moment in the SLIGHTEST. Horikoshi really wrote a flashback scene one hundred and thirty five chapters ago and planted it, watered it once a day, and patiently waited for THREE LONG YEARS until he could finally harvest the badass fruits of his labor in the midst of his most epic arc to date. I’m so fucking hyped I’ll even forgive him for sacrificing Mina’s big moment and having her get rescued, because it’s such a good reversal. he didn’t freeze up this time. he promised himself he’d never freeze again and he didn’t and he saved her and god fucking damn. anyways so now Machia is going to treat him like a fucking action figure though but he’s a solid little dude he can take it hopefully

NO WHAT IS THIS!!! STOP KILLING MY MOOD!!!

she better not be dead!! SHE BETTER NOT FUCKING BE DEAD I WILL RUN MY PC THROUGH A PAPER SHREDDER AND GO AND LIVE ALONE WITH MY FEELS ON A MOUNTAIN IN TIBET

CHINTETSU!!

well we know he’s fireproof. another callback at the least expected of times lmao

so Tetsu’s all “yeah Kirishima’s not really all that fireproof but he totally ran over here anyway to save you. oh wait that probably wasn’t very comforting of me to say.” maybe that’s why it seems like he might not have actually said it out loud, now that I’m reading this over again. good call Tetsu

ARE YOU STANDING UP AND CASUALLY STRETCHING OUT YOUR BACK

I CAN’T EVEN BELIEVE HOW MUCH I HATE THIS GUY RIGHT NOW. WE’RE REACHING LEVELS OF HATRED RESERVED FOR NAZIS AND PEOPLE WHO WALK TOO SLOWLY IN FRONT OF ME IN A GROUP SHOULDER TO SHOULDER INSTEAD OF SINGLE FILE SO I CAN PASS IN FRONT OF THEM. YOU’RE A FUCKING TOURIST IN NYC YOU PIECE OF SHIT

lmao he’s just dropping this random hero person and letting him fall to his doom wheeeeee

remind me to leave all of the League of Villains’ texts on read for the foreseeable future. goddamn. I still love you guys but also, fuck you so damn hard

OHO A LIL RED SCALY BOI ISN’T DONE YET!!

real talk, just between you and me, I’ll lower my voice so that Kirishima can’t hear. so uh. we all agree that even if Kiri is fireproof and squishproof, that little can of tranquilizer juice technically shouldn’t have been, right? but we’re all going to hush and pretend like it was anyway for the sake of not spoiling his big moment. even though I am crossing my arms and tapping my chin with my finger while doubtfully glancing to the side

anyway here he goes!

YEAH KIRI GO GETTIM [stage whisper] there it is, in his pocket. should’ve burned. we won’t discuss it

OH FOR FUCK’S

TOGA YOU LITTLE WIENER BUT WHAT’S THIS ABOUT “MY HALF” NOW????

DID HE GRAB MINA’S MID-AIR?? IS HE REALLY REACHING INTO HIS BACK POCKET AND FUCKING UNZIPPING IT RIGHT NOW WHILE HOLDING ON TO NOTHING AND PRESUMABLY FALLING THROUGH THE AIR. DID A LITTLE BIT OF OCHAKO’S QUIRK RUB OFF ON YOU OR WHAT

OH SNAP SON HE REALLY DID THE THING HOLY SHIT???

AND TOKAGE FLEW OVER AND SAVED HIM AND NOW TANKS ARE SHOOTING AT MACHIA, LMAO WHAT IS THIS. MOMO HOW MANY GUNS DID YOU MAKE

Shouji standing there trying to be useful any way he can. are eyeballs really that much more effective if you make them the size of tennis balls and hold them up above your head. legit question, I don’t really know how eyes work

okay after 45 seconds of googling this my impression is that no, they are not. well good on you for giving it the old college try anyway though Shouji

oH MY GODLKDLK?!?!

DID SHE SAY WHAT I THOUGHT SHE SAID, DID SHE SAY MAJESTIC, ARE WE GONNA SEE MASJKESLTKCI DSFLKJL

oh my god he really is the Magic Man dude??? TIME TO DUST OFF MY INVENTORY OF ADVENTURE TIME QUOTES

(ETA: AHH FATGUM AND GANG ORCA ARE THERE TOO YESSSS!)

“that’s enough depending on some interns” oh, okay. now that they’ve done all your work for you. I see, I see

so now Gigantomachia is LITERALLY UNHINGING HIS JAW I can’t fucking believe this dude you guys. everything he does is just like, ARE YOU SERIOUS

please go to sleep already. thanks to you I have my keyboard set to capslock as the default for the duration of this chapter

ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU FUCKING WAITED UNTIL MAGIC FUCKING MAN SHOWED UP TO TEACH US MAGICAL LIFE LESSONS AND NOW YOU’RE CUTTING BACK TO THE TOMURA FIGHT?? WHY DO WE KEEP LETTING THIS MAN GET AWAY WITH THIS

oh my god you guys they really fucking did it

I guess that Howitzer slash fire punch combo really was that potent huh

anyway so now Endeavor is standing there making a big speech instead of reaching into Tomura’s pocket and taking the bullets that he doesn’t know about and shooting him with one asap. dammit Endeavor

aaaaand Tomura is firing back with the wisdom of Shimura Fucking Kotaro of all people

well you sure convinced me. damn I don’t know what I was thinking. heroes suck you guys. how dare they help other people all the time

so now he’s all “PERIOD, EXCLAMATION POINT!!”

take that Endeavor. you heard the man. it’s not destruction without conviction, as god as his witness he will have you know it is destruction WITH conviction. something something the great sage Shimura “I hurt my family for absolutely no reason at all, fuck this ‘helping others’ bullshit” Kotaro. I hope you packed your textbooks because you just got SCHOOLED. I hope the person who ordered you signed up for delivery notifications because you just got SENT. I HOPE YOU LIKE CAPITALISM BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT OWNED. I HOPE YOU CHOSE PAPER AND NOT SCISSORS BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT ROCKED

what an absolutely, unreservedly bizarre place to end the chapter lol. we’re really just done with this week, just like that. Majestic showed up and Gigantomachia opened his chin like a garage door and Tomura is all “you may have won the battle but you suck” while he buys time for Aizawa to suddenly sneeze or something so he can make his terrible comeback and continue Horikoshi’s Traumatize Every Kid in Class 1-A 2020 campaign. what an arc this is my friends. what an arc

[huearmy]

The Smell of Truth - I

Summary: After years being forced to fight in clandestine hybrid ring, Jungkook is now living in shelter, but life remains bad, the place is abusive, and nobody seems to want adopt him. Until one night a pro-hybrid activist group invades the shelter, and a woman in black smelling like truth promises that things will get better, and he decides to follow her wherever she goes.

Pairing: pitbull!Jungkook x human!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut maybe.

Words: 3090

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Light descriptions of violence, nothing much. For now. Jungkook is just a cute pie here ok dont touch me.

 Chapter II  Chapter III  Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

gif is not mine

The gray walls of the silent shelter were cold as it were since day one, the bed was small and the blanket could be softer, from the window a yellow light of a light pole bringing the sensation of isolation. Not so different of the last home of Jungkook.

There were two main differences, though. First and more important, now he didn't need to fight to not die in the rings. And - he was thinking if it is good or not - for the first time in so long he could have a prospect of hope, after all, some people seemed interested in adopting him.

But all of them feared him too.

Some days he spend all his time thinking about how to improve his own image so that someone may want to take him home - trying the hardest to look good in his padronized white clothes, fixing is hair, and maintaining a good posture always. Other days he is just a damn pessimist, knowing that anyone will want a pitbull hybrid. But okay, so if they can't acept him with his disturbed past, he won't acept them neither. He want to be loved after all, high standars... Thats what he tells himself often.

Tonight he don't really care.

Like in his previous home he was going to bed feeling like trash, bones hurting like hell and taste of blood in his mouth. In the reflection on the window he could see the cut and swell in his lips and the hematoma below his left eye. Earlier he got beat up by the shelter's guards. They were four against one, and they had batons to hit and electrocute him. All of this just because he wanted to be alone in his corner and growled for another dog who was annoying him by pulling his tail, maybe they thought he was going to do something violent, but he wasn't. Despite his past, Jungkook hate fighting. And then he just tried to defend himself.

Hours passed and he couldn't sleep, something in his gut telling him he should be alert. The night watchman should've passed by his door ten minutes ago. But he heard nothing. He waited to hear the now familiar sound of the watchman's steps... But instead when the sound came it was of a lot more of feet hitting the ground, coming in his direction, and fast.

Suddenly the door of his room opened with a bang, a tall figure in all black and with a gun in it's belt looking at him from the door frame. 

Jungkook hate guns. More than he hate fights. So before he knows it, he is against the wall, protecting himself.

The man said something taking a slow step closer, but Jungkook couldn't hear it clearly - he was too afraid to. Only two types of pople use guns: Cops and the bad guys, sometimes the person is both, like his past owner. He don't like it. Other hybrids were leaving with more people in black in the corridor, and he couldn't understand why. The man reached out for him, and he growled, his ears flat against his head, tail between his legs. So the man steped back, calling for someone.

Poor thing. A million things were crossing Jungkook's mind, all of them horrible... They found me... my old owners found me... They will kill me... They will make me kill... I need to scape...

He was ready to fight his way free, to jump against the tall man and run the faster he could. He was ready to fly through the window even if it was a fall of three floors. Anything but going back to that hell...

His thoughts got cut by a smaller person appering from behind the man. You were all in black too, with tactical boots and all. But no gun. 

"Go help with the others..." Your voice came demanding but soft. When the man disappeared, you tried to approach Jungkook. He growled again. "It's ok..." You said pulling down your mask, revelling your face, and a soft smille. "My name is Y/N. I'mma friend, we are here to help.". You took a step closer, and Jungkook let you. You saw it as a hint to continue, crouching down to stay on the same level as him - he hadn't even realized he was huddled in the corner - and reaching out so he can smell you. "We know this place is no good... So we came to rescue.".

He sniffed you once. In the next second Jungkook was all over you. Practically jumping around you, wagging his tail and smelling you. You smell like truth to him, also something sweet, so he'd follow you anywhere.

"Hey, easy boy." You laugh. Automatically Jungkook got embarrassed for being so excited, a little bit more and he would've crushed you in a hug. "What's your name?"

"Jungkook."

"Well, Jungkook... Nice to meet ya." You reach out to greet him, and he took your hand in his. But before he could say anything back, the man appeared in the door frame again, now caring a little cat hybrid girl.

"Y/N, all the bombs are in place. We need to go."

Bombs? Jungkook ears lifted in alert. Like bombs that explode? He looked to you waiting some reaction.

"Oh crap. Is everyone out?" You casually answered.

"We are the last ones I think..." He said as if it was about the weather, carefully accommodating the sleepy girl in his arms.

Maybe bombs are not that big of a deal. Jungkook thought to himself, accepting the odd perspective of both of you.

"Ok, Jungkook, this place is going down. If it there is anything you want to take with you..." 

Before you finish the sentence he was putting a tiny wallet in his pocket, and wearing a old cap from the nightstand.

"Ready." Jungkook said with a nod.

You smiled, pulling your mask back up in place. "Let's go then.". You took his hand and ran through the door, Jungkook close behind.

Out side almost all the other hybrids were already safe in the couple of vans of your group, approximately twenty people in black escorting them. You lead Jungkook to one of them following the orientation of another woman with mask and high ponytail. "You go with Youngjae, Y/N.".

"Ok, thanks."

A lot of the hybrids were totally ok with the action, others, mostly the youngers, were sleeping or half asleep. Despite that, a rabbit girl were crying to not enter the van you were supposed to go in.

"You are not understanding... I was going to be adopted on Monday, I need to be here when they came to get me... " she sobbed.

"We know, it's ok... " Youngjae rubbed her arms to comfort her. "We read your file, and I promise you will be with your new owners soon. Okay?"

The girl entered in the van, still a little reluctant, sitting in the passenger's seat - where you were supposed to sit. You didn't think much about it though. You made Jungkook enter and sit in one of the only two available sits, and even if it were more options for you, he didn't let go of your hand, practically pulling you down. He wouldn't make eye contact with you, preferring to keep his gaze down, and wouldn't initiate a conversation, but he would not let go of you neither...

Actually he was holding your hand for dear life.

This is good. You through to yourself. 

Hybrids need to feel safe, and if he feels this way right now... It's good. You read all the files of all hybrids days before this of invasion, to know how bad the situation was. Not all of the poor creatures had a sad past before the shelter - all of them were suffering abuse in the shelter  - but you remember specifically of Jungkook file, and his violent precedence in rings. When you saw the pictures  of how he arrived at the shelter, bruised and curled up in the corner you felt sick and sad. Employee reports said he didn’t allow proximity and showed passive aggression, save for one of the vets, so you - experienced in hybrid behavior - volunteered to be responsible for him. Definitely you didn't expect him to be so easily trusty of you. And that's really good. 

"You ok?" You murmure to him just in case. He just nodded, still staring his feet.

A whimper caught the attention of both of you. The dog hybrid that was beside Jungkook, that must've be sixteen, was shrinking up against the window and holding a bunch of stuffed animals as a shield, apparently afraid him. Jungkook scoffed it with a low growl, turning his eyes back to his shabby shoes, choosing to ignore the boy. This kid was the one invading his space earlier that morning. You got alert to intervene in case of a fight, tensing up.

But Jungkook hate fights. Even more if it happens in tight places like a van. He wouldn't do anything even if he wanted to, and it wasn't the case. There is no one who can force him to fight again.

"Everyone is here? Ok. LET'S GO!" That other woman closed the van's door that started moving. In the shelter's external wall, Jungkook saw the enormous words 'SET US FREE' written in red. Just after the last van passed through the gate the building they all were just a few meters before exploded.

"Wooow!" You cheered along Youngjae and some hybrids.

Jungkook turned on his sit to see the flames through the back window, flames red and high likng the black sky of the night, illuminating all around. You observed the look of amazement in his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. Well, the shelter is what saved Jungkook from his old life. In the shelter he could eat three full meal a day, have his own things and shower every day - his favorite part. But he was always surrounded by crowds what make him anxious most of time, and always getting scolded by the shelter employees that clearly didn't really cared for him, getting beaten up more than once. So he couldn't name the feeling in his chest. He could be sad... Or it could be satisfaction... A mix of both maybe. He just imagined the face of the guys that beat him up seeing the ruins and that written wall next morning and chuckled.

"Jungkook sit straight and put the seat belt, please." You squished his hand lightly.

Another feeling that he couldn't name... "Oh. Ok."

A silence settled in the vehicle, cutting trough the night city at high speed. Most of the hybrids were falling asleep, feeling the euphoria of getting free of the shelter going away, long night after all - and it didn't even ended yet - you couldn't blame them to be tired. You knew that in the moment the job ended and the adrenaline lowered, you would be dead tired yourself, ready to sleep till next year. Unfortunately you must keep your image intact and free suspicions, what means going to work normally next day. But in the moment you needed to be alert and ready to protect. Or at least awake.

Just like Jungkook. This boy was wide awake, looking through the window, paying attention in how the  Youngjae drives super fast, and gazing you by the corner of his eyes. If he had more space he would be jumping around, his dog excitement exploding out of control. Or he would get shy and only imagine it while looking trough nothing. Something in his mind was, where were you all going? That girl apparently was going to be adopted soon, do that mean he would be adopted too? What kind of owner he would get? But can he trust it would happen? Or trust in these people in black? He didn't know you or your group. What if you were the bad guys, kidnapping hybrids to do bad things...? Jungkook stared suspiciously to you, who was talking quietly with the driver. You didn't seen bad, or mean, or evil. Quite the opposite, you look cute and sweet and beautiful, almost too good to be real. He could say you look totally harmless too if it were not for the shock weapon in your waist and tactical boots ... or the whole situation in general. You're just like every ordinary people that usually look at him fear and mistrust.

"Is everything ok?" You asked again. He just made 'no' with his head. You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Jungkook's face. "This bruises... What happened?"

The poor boy considered what to say, fearing that you would not believe him if he said that he got unjustly beaten, which is true, but obviously you would think he deserved it. Maybe he should stay quiet, so you wouldn't hate him. He should at least look like a good boy to impress. Before Jungkook decided between truth or silence - lying was out of question, he was horrorible in it - a voice besides him awnsered.

"The guards were bored and attacked him for no reason." You both looked to the young boy who had a guilty expression. "I'm sorry, it was my fault, I just wanted to play..."

"Oh". Both you and Jungkook cooed. He didn't expected do recieve a out side help, much less a apologise, the feeling was unprecedented. 

"And well, you were the only one who didn't know about the rescue, I wanted to tell you."  

Jungkook was confused. "Everybody knew?"

"All the hybrids..." The boy said, suddenly super comfortable around Jungkook.

"And some employes who helped us from within." You added, pulling Jungkook's face for you to see again. "Did someone treated this cut?" You questioned. 

Jungkook made 'no' with his head once more and than completed with a low voice. 

"The doctor who likes me wasn't working today.".

You sighed in understanding.

"She was one who helped us, we got her an alibi away from here."  You leaned forward, talking to the driver through the rear view mirror. "Youngjae, do we have a first aid kit?" 

"Under my seat."

The boy stared at the stuffed animals for a good time and then extended one to Jungkook. “Keep him.”

Jungkook looked at the stuffed bunny closely and smiled. “Thank you.”

With the white suitcase open on your lap and letting go of Jungkook's hand - for his dislike - you puted some hydrogen peroxide in a piece of gauze and faced him. "Can I?" You asked permission with a smile. Just like the sweet doctor did when the shelter welcomed him you took care of him - with a little less skill, but lovelly still, making him feel safe. Ok, he absolutelly trust you now.

___________________________________________________

Durig the next hour you received on the radio  news of the vans that took different paths  arriving at the meeting place, yours being one of the last ones. Gladly no one had any unwanted encounters or problems on the way. The place in question was a freight train station, the secondthe van stoped, Youngjae was out to open the lateral door and you waking the hybrids up. "Lets go my sweet things. You can go back to sleep in a little while." You picked up a sleepy little hybrid, and along Youngjae helped all of them to get aou of the van, to follow the group to two big wagons open for them. Outside, those who saw would see only a common freight train, but inside the cars were adapted to take those hybridos in comfort and safety to a farm, one of the places where your organization guarantees a dignified life for hybrids, especially those who have not had an easy past, whether living there or going to good owners - whatever they choose. Jungkook tried to accompany you in the crowd by holding your hand, but he lost you by a few meter, almost not being able to see you between so many heads and the low light, just following your voice, biting his lip anxiously. For a moment his focus leaved you to the rabbit hybrid girl, she got separated from the group, having time to just quickly  say goodbye to another girl, before she run to a car where a couple was waiting for her, the three of then huged, the man took her bag and putted in the trunk. She was really being adopted. Oh man, Jungkook want this so bad. If he is a good boy will he be adopted soon too? "Please, get in." A man in black putted a hand in Jungkook shouder, making him came back daydream. He got surprised for a momente, this man had dog ears to, the men in black have hybrid in their crew. "Please, get i the train." "Wait. No... Y/N..." Apparently he was the only one disturbing, all the other hybrids obeying quietly or already inside the car, looking at him as if he was a weirdo - at least Jungkook felt this way. "Y/N?" "I'm here." You emerged from the crowd. "It's okay, Jungkook, you can get in." "Ok." He smiled to you taking your hand again. He trust you so... But he stoped midstep when he noticed you didn't move. "Aren't you coming too?" You seemed surpresided when responding. "No." He thought for half a second and decided, setting his feet on the ground. "So I'm not getting in neither." "Jungkook..." you tried to argument but he interrupted you. "I'll go where you go." You both held each other's gaze for a moment. All the hybrids were now accommodated in the train wich was about to leave. That women from before came to hurry you, but you wheren't listenning at all. "Does it mean you want to go home with me?" You firmily asked. Without a second thought he vigorously nodded. "Yes." You released a sigh of relief and smiled.  "They can close the doors. This one I'll take with me." You say to the woman, making Jungkook jump in his spot from excitement.  "Are you sure?" She questioned.  "Yep"  You guided a super happy Jungkook to the oposite direction the train started to move to, the sound of the locomotive and loud honk blinding the little sounds of joy coming out of his mouth as he takes your hand again, swinging it back and forth. Your organization companions looking at you with knowing eyes. Never before you even consider adopting any of the rescued hybrids.

______________________________________________________________

this gonna be a series too. pls give love to it.

[amrio]

The Jacket War

Not that he was one to blame his daughter on anything, but Drake absolutely blamed her for starting the war for Launchpad's jacket. Sure she was just pushing his buttons at the start, but by the time that they were quite literally chasing each other for a coat, it had turned into a downright competition. One that neither of them had any intention of losing.

Launchpad was never one to forget things, as he rarely had anything with him to misplace, but his jacket? The pilot never left anywhere without it. You never know when you might take a nosedive into the side of an icy mountain after all. The only time Drake ever saw him without his beloved bomber jacket was when he stayed with him and Gosalyn after a night of patrolling and he took it off to sleep. Even then, it was never far away—either thrown over the back of the couch he was sleeping on, or on one of the bedposts if he managed to make it to the bed they had set up for him without falling to the ground snoring in that ever so loud, but quite endearing, way he does when he's truly exhausted.

So when Drake got up one morning and found the leather coat on the back of the couch, with no sign of Launchpad anywhere, he was certainly surprised. The pilot must've gotten up early that morning and left in a rush if he forgot it. Not to mention that he managed to leave without either Gosalyn or himself noticing. The two of them were such light sleepers that they were normally able to send Launchpad off with a tired goodbye before stumbling back to bed. Not saying goodbye was almost as depressing as having to say goodbye at all was.

McMoneyBags probably called him, Drake figured to himself as he stared down at the article of clothing. It looked so out of place without it's owner. Upon further inspection, he found a new tear and a few scorch marks on the back. They weren't from their patrol last night, he knew that much for certain. They had been dealing with another liquid type villain that had escaped from a lab and sought to wreck havoc on the scientists that created it. McDuck better not let this happen often, he groused picking up the jacket and feeling the worn leather between his fingers. He's my partner. If anything ever happened to him...!

It took the man all of two seconds to realize what he had just admitted, despite being in his mind. Drake quickly whipped his head around and scanned the area, lest he find that his thoughts had been projected for the rest of the world to hear. Or worse still, Gosalyn. She had been poking fun at him ever since she found them curled up together on the couch after a particularly rough night.

They had been tired, beaten, battered, and emotionally exhausted after Darkwing had accidentally gotten captured. None of them had the strength to even look at the stairs leading up to their bedrooms and instead flopped over onto the couch dead on their feet. Launchpad had fallen asleep first, three hour drives between St. Canard and Duckburg taking up a more obvious toll with the additional stress of the night. Much to no one's surprise, Launchpad was a sleep hugger. And okay, maybe Drake enjoyed the sleepy affection too. It was something he was very unaccustomed, but not entirely opposed to. Launchpad was warm, he was tired, and with Gosalyn safe and nearby he may or may not have allowed himself to cuddle into the much bigger duck's chest and fall asleep that way.

The thought of that comfortable evening brought more warmth to his cheeks and a nervous twitch to his fingers as he looked around. Thankfully the pale morning light illuminating the tower was his traitorous thinking's only audience.

Launchpad could handle himself. He had proven it on any number of occasions, matching Darkwing's battle prowess with ease. Now...what that had to do with the sudden worried possessiveness that his brain had just given words to and his fondness of that sleepy evening...well...Drake wasn't going to sit there and ponder that while it was still so early. That was a problem for several cups of coffee and some breakfast. Yet he found himself holding on to the jacket for a few moments more, looking it over and marveling at just how big it was (and how big it would be on him), but it ended up being for a few moments too many.

"Hey nerd! Whatcha doin'?"

Drake yelped and quickly dropped the coat back over the couch as a warm red re-exploded on his face. "G-Gosalyn! Uh! I'm not doing anything! W-what are you doing?" He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands as his ten year old eyed him suspiciously and ended up shoving them into the pockets of his purple bathrobe before they gave away his nervousness.

Gosalyn stared him down, her eyes taking on that glint that he often saw when she was trying to work out how to save her grandpa. Her analyzing look. Much to his horror, he watched her gaze drift to the couch and land on Launchpad's coat. Oh, he really didn't like the look on her face now. She was grinning in the same way that said she was going to try a new trick shot with her crossbow that would absolutely send his coffee mug spilling to the ground.

"So, have you tried it on yet?" she smirked, knowing exactly why her father had gotten flustered.

"No! And I have no idea why you would suggest I do such a thing," he said trying to grapple for at least a little bit of his dignity. "Why are you up anyways?" It was a Saturday and neither of them were much for mornings.

"I heard you up." She crossed her arms over her green pjs with a huff. "Why are you awake?"

"Oh you know...uh. Just trying to get a jump start on those files from yesterday." He gave a nervous laugh, knowing full well that WANDA had already sorted and sifted through them the moment they were uploaded.

Gosalyn wasn't impressed. "If you say so."

After a staring contest that Drake quickly lost to the knowing eyes of his daughter, he ended up trudging to the kitchen for some coffee. In the back of his mind he was aware of how empty the spacs was without a certain pilot serving up coffee with a cheery grin. Drake would never understand how Launchpad was such a morning person. He got less sleep than the average college student and yet he still managed to shine brighter than the sun at six in the morning when he woke up either to a demanding phone call from Scrooge or to the sound of Drake struggling with another nightmare.

As he was pondering this he all but choked on his coffee when Gosalyn wandered—and almost tripped—into the kitchen.

"What? You weren't using it," she said as she struggled to climb into her seat at the table.

She was wearing Launchpad's jacket.

If Drake had thought the coat would be big on him, it was downright gigantic on Gosalyn. It all but swallowed the girl whole as she looked up and challenged him to do something about it. She wasn't a dress kind of girl, but that's the only thing he could even remotely compare it to. It buried her at the table and hung over the edge of the seat, hiding her arms and feet entirely. Well, maybe a king sized blanket would be a better comparison.

"Isn't that a little uh, big for you Gos?" he finally asked as he tried to decide if the sight was more adorable or comical.

"Nope," she said, somehow with a straight face, as she got situated. All of her moving and struggling with the coat had thrown her bed tousled hair into her face and she ended up pulling her arms out of the sleeves so she could shove it away and reach for the mug of tea he had made for her. "It's comfortable. And really warm." She sipped at her drink before grinning around the edge of the mug. "You should try it on. LP certainly wouldn't mind."

"I—! You—!" he sputtered trying his hardest to keep the blush out of his feathers. "That's none of your concern, Waddlemeyer."

Though she gave a genuine smile at the name, glad to hold onto her grandpa's name for a little while longer, she couldn't help but taunt him in her reply. "No? Or are you just too afraid to take it from me and find out?"

Should he stoop to the level of his competitive ten-year old? Probably not. That wouldn't sound very good on paper now would it? "I'm not fighting a child for a coat."

"Chicken."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Darkwing Duck is no chicken."

"Prove it then!"

Well if that's how it was going to go, screw the paper and how it would sound. Drake set his coffee down and narrowed his eyes at the girl only to find her mirroring his actions.

Some part of him knew how ridiculous they were being, but that was heavily outweighed by the fact that A) he wasn't going to back down from any challenge no matter who it was from and B) Gosalyn was smiling more this morning than all the other mornings combined. He had seen her sleep-fits often enough that they were probably tied when it came to who had nightmares the most. Mornings were fragile things unless Launchpad was there to comfort them or snap them out of it. Now it seemed that his jacket was doing a good enough job at keeping them light-hearted in his place.

So yeah. He was totally going to steal that coat from Gosalyn.

If the fact that she pulled a hair-tie off of her wrist and pulled her wavy red hair back in a messy ponytail said anything, it was that she was more than happy to make the challenge as difficult as possible.

When Launchpad came back to St. Canard later that day after returning the Duck family to the mansion from an adventure involving magical dirt...? he hadn't caught the name of it; all he knew was that it was blue and turned Dewey into a mini dragon (it took them an eternity to convince him to change back). Regardless, he certainly wasn't expecting to find Drake and Gosalyn chasing each other around the base in some sort of game before lunch.

"Hey guys! Guess who's back!" he hollered stepping through the main door.

"Hi LP!" Gosalyn greeted as she sprinted in front of him. She had something in her grasp, but she was moving too fast for Launchpad to figure out what it was.

Hardly a second later, Drake ran past him as well and gave a distracted hello before he jumped up and off the wall at his daughter. The two of them ended up in a roll as they fought for whatever item the girl had until Drake was the victor. Not for long though, as his rather loud victory "HAH!" was cut short when Gosalyn snagged the item out of his outstretched grasp and made a mad dash in the opposite direction.

Launchpad couldn't help but laugh at the frustrated growl from Drake. He had no idea what they were doing, but he was happy to see them getting along. Drake had formally adopted Gosalyn a couple of months ago, but they were still adjusting to the whole family dynamic thing. Gosalyn was stubbornly independent and Drake got caught up in his nightly alter-ego all too easily. There were good days and bad days, but today just happened to be an exceptionally good day.

Eventually Drake got up from his dramatic pouting on the ground and gave chase to his daughter once again.

Seeing the determined look on Drake's face and the cocky grin on Gosalyn's made the pilot realize, not for the first time, just how much he adored them. They were chaotic and a little bit of a mess—he noted Drake's bathrobe abandoned on the couch—but they were a family. He knew Gosalyn couldn't say it yet and that Drake would hesitate to admit it, but it was true nonetheless. They were his adventure family. So he let out a fond sigh and rested his arms against the railing to watch their antics for a time.

As the green blur of Gosalyn sped down the stairs, Launchpad realized that she was struggling with the something in her arms until it unfolded into something he recognized. She had his coat! So that's where he had left it! He knew it had to be here with them, or at the fast-food place he frequented between cities. It was a good thing it was here and not the fast-food joint, because he forgot to stop there in his excitement to get back to them.

Gosalyn fought with the gargantuan jacket until she managed to get her arms into the sleeves and continued running with the rest of the coat trailing after her. She tried to scrunch up the sleeves so she could use her hands, but there was simply too much jacket so she gave up and let the sleeves flap as she ran. It was adorable to say the least. What was even better was how much she resembled her father. At some point, Launchpad couldn't remember when exactly, Drake had stolen one or two of his shirts for pjs. So now both Drake and Gosalyn were running and jumping around in Launchpad's clothes and both of them were absolutely dwarfed by the bigger sizing

Launchpad couldn't have squashed his grin if he tried. But he didn't try. He smiled openly at the sight presented and laughed when the much-too-long sleeve of his coat got caught on a desk and brought Gosalyn to a screeching halt. Drake jumped at the opportunity and immediately scooped up his daughter so she couldn't escape again, holding her in front of him to avoid her kicking feet.

"Ha-HA! Can't get away this time can you!"

"That doesn't count! I got stuck!" she cried trying to fight out of his hold.

Before Drake could retaliate with some sassy remark or another, Launchpad spoke up with a laugh as he made his way down the stairs and to them in the living room. "So...you two haven't seen my coat anywhere have you?"

Their responses were immediate.

"Nope haven't seen it."

"What coat?"

When Launchpad got closer it finally sunk in that they were still in pjs. "Wait...you two aren't dressed yet...don't tell me—" his voice rose in concern and too much volume "—that you haven't had anything for breakfast?!" Because he could see the kitchen, and there were no plates or bowls or even orange peels left out to indicate otherwise.

"Um. About that," Drake started nervously. He was no stranger to "Uncle Launchpad's" mothering and neither was Gosalyn.

"We got...distracted?" Gosalyn supplied after a beat.

Launchpad was having none of that. Drake and Gosalyn were quickled ushered into the kitchen and to the table, their game of keep-away momentarily forgotten, while Launchpad set about righting the wrongness of no breakfast. It wasn't long before Gosalyn had a stack of waffles drowned in syrup in front of her and Drake had a bowl of cereal and half an orange to dig into. As Launchpad brought over refills to their coffee and tea, he marveled at how small his family was.

His coat was filling more chair than Gosalyn was and she had to reach out from behind the zipper to reach her sugary meal even sitting on her knees. He had no doubt that she could shut the zipper and hide in the thing and no one would know the difference. Meanwhile on the other side of the table, one of his green t-shirts was hanging loosely off of Drake's wirey frame, looking more like a night-gown than a shirt. Warmth blossomed in the pilot's chest as he really took that information in. His little adventure family really was little. They could handle themselves, but he would always be there to have their backs and protect them. How could he not? They didn't even fill his shirt!

"You good LP?" Drake asked, snapping him out of his thought. "You stopped talking."

Was he talking? Oh right! He had been telling them about the adventures of Dewey as a fire-breathing dragon while he fixed their food. "Buh...Uh ye-yeah I'm good. Sorry about that."

"Where did you go?" Gosalyn asked around her mug.

"Where did I go? Did I leave the kitchen too?!" He hadn't thought he had left the room, but he wasn't paying attention. What if he did and he didn't know it?!

"What? No!" She snorted at his stricken expression. Her mug was set down so she wouldn't spill it as she clarified. "I meant what were you thinking about."

"Oh! Ok yeah that makes more sense." He wasn't one to lie, so he didn't and told them. "I was thinking about how small you two are."

Drake gave an indignant "hey!" in response while Gosalyn just giggled at how offended he got.

"I think it's the other way around LP," she said lightly. "You're big and so are your clothes. Look at this!" She gestured to the jacket surrounding her. "It's like, way bigger than me!"

"I guess so... hey! Speaking of my coat, can I have it back?"

"Nope!"

[urmysilverlining]

Demons

- Your eyes, they shine so bright, I want to save their light

I can’t escape this now, unless you show me how -

“Mac, please don’t-”

Detecting your will to prevent Mac from taking that hard choice, Taylor held your arms and pulled you back away. 

“Leave me!” you wagged, with all your strength left.

Heat statistics were finally dropping. “What have you done?” you whispered, the same moment Mac pressed the red button.

No answer. You three just stood there: witnesses of the death of a good man who was just trying to do his job, in order to save the city and his family. Not moving his eyes from the screen until the very end, Mac half turned to you, lowering his gaze right after. Russ lose the hold on you, and you got close to the screens and those deadly buttons. But the “reverse” button wasn’t on that console.

“There had to be another way!” you burst out.

“Y/N, that was the only way-”

“It’s okay, Russ.” Mac stopped your British colleague with a little hint of his hand, then turning to you: “Y/N, if you want to fight me, if you hate me...I won’t blame you.”

Russ newly set it, trying to calm spirits down: “It was him or the city. It’s mathemat-”

You screamed: “Well, fuck math! When guilt of having watched a man dying without moving a finger will strike tonight, it won’t be math that’s going to help me sleep”

——————————————————————————

You lay your hand on the shower’s silver knob and turn it on. The warm water jet hits your skin as you close your eyes. 

The feeling of two strong arms rounding your waist, and pulling you in. Back against his chest, you rest your head on Mac’s shoulder. His breath caresses your neck’s skin as he whispers something that makes you smile. He can literally make you smile out of nothing. You look at him through your wet eyelashes, and meet his blue eyes. The same blue eyes stuck on that screen, so still, despite of being filled by tears.

You open your eyes with a gasp. When this job has become so complicated? You remember times of getting home to drink a beer with Mac and your friends around the fire pit. Evenings, holidays, birthdays filled by jokes and laughters. 

You close the water and get out of the shower. With just a towel wrapped around your body shape, you walk around the house, alone, in the darkness. You head for the kitchen, take a bottle of wine and drink a couple of glasses: the ultimate remedy to make you sleep since your thoughts had become more persistent. 

The bruise of the door opening and the light from the street get your attention. Mac leaves his keys on the little dish and walks in the kitchen, sure of you already being sleeping. 

He slightly widens his eyes seeing you standing there.

“Hey, you still awake?” 

Despite of you not having been the best in showing your affection lately, you still want Mac to find a caring person when he gets home. You’re tired of falling asleep alone and waking up to him sleeping on the couch. 

“Guess who couldn’t fall asleep without you by her side?” you speak softly, putting your arms around his neck.

He’s surprised by your reaction, but a genuine half smile shows up anyways.

You go on, joking: “I’ve heard you always coming back late from work these past nights. Has Matty been covering you with work or is it just you and Russ looking for conspiracy theories as usual?”

After a silent moment, he cautiously answers: “Since you seemed to need more space, I offered Matty to finish some extra work.”

“Well, if this means you doing crazy hour at work, I am not okay with it anymore.”

Mac spots a drop of water falling from your hair, and follows with his thumb its path down your neck, collarbone, shoulder. “You’re so beautiful. I don’t deserve you.” he whispers, kissing you where he started.

You breath out of relieve of that much needed contact. He grips the towel on your sides pulling you closer, as you cup his face moving down to the collar of his shirt. His hands run up your back, to stop below your nape, fingers locking in your wet hair. You kiss him fondly for a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Detaching his lips from yours and giving you a corned look, Mac murmurs: “Have you drunk?”

“Just a couple of glasses before you got home” you state, without giving too much weight to that detail.

As you get closer for another kiss, he takes up the subject: “Why?”

“I felt really tense and I thought this could have helped us to relax” you caress  his arms, trying to keep a contact with him.

“Wow, I am such a fool. I really thought all of this came naturally. That you needed to be with me again.”

He walks towards his room, letting the distance between you grow.

Not being able to keep the true for yourself any longer, you explode: “It’s just, it’s just I keep seeing that man falling on the ground, dying under our eyes, again and again. The image on that screen is stuck on my mind. But I don’t want this to ruin everything between us.”

“Well, it already happened. You stopped seeing me in the same way after that day. You are barely able to look me in the eyes. I know that you blame me for that death...”

“I’m just scared this job could have changed us. I feel like I can’t move on, not yet, at least.”

Tears fall from your eyes as Mac answers: “You’re right. I’ve changed, and it’s wrong making you to accept what I turned into.” ------------------------------------------------------------

“So, how’s your relationship going? Have you managed to fix things with your partner?” 

“Pretty bad.” You answer your therapist’s question “I’ve tried to establish a connection with him, instead of keeping avoiding the problem, as you suggested me, but it didn’t work out very well. I feel like I ruined everything.”

“Why do you talk like this?”

“I had drunk, then we had a moment but he noticed it and thought everything happened just because I wan’t completely sober. But it’s not like that, I really wanted to be close to him as we used to. Then, I told him how I felt since we came back from that mission and he started saying I blame him from all that happened back then...” You massage your temples, closing your eyes and forcing you to breath in and out regularly.

“Y/N, it has been awhile now, and I’ve read all the files about your past missions multiple times...Could it be you can’t get over what your partner was obliged to do, because you still can’t forgive yourself for that one time you had to take the same decision by yourself?”

One tear fall from your eyes: “I had promised to myself that I would have never let that happen again...”

Before you can add other words, Matty breaks in the room: “Y/N, I’m sorry to interrupt your session, but we need you on the field, now...”

“O-okay” You discreetly wipe your tear and get up, nodding to your therapist and to your boss.

“They’ll explain you as you go. Now please take this and leave it in the war room.” Matty handles you a file and disappears in an office of the Phoenix’s base.

Once in the war room, you lay it on the small table and look for your bag to put away files from your past missions and your therapist’s report about the sessions. You’ll consign them to Matty after the mission. 

“Y/N, we need to go” Mac enters in the room.

“Yes, I just need to arrange some things” 

“Please, just do it later” he prompts you.

“Okay, but remember me to pick up these things before going home” you reply, leaving all the dossiers on the table and following him out.

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

Despite of the tiredness due to the long day and mission, you keep replaying the words of your therapist and the memories that they made surface on your mind, on a loop.

You get in the hallway and stand in front of Mac’s door. You raise your fist, ready to knock. Once done, you receive no answer. You change your mind multiple times, repetitively approaching the door and stumbling back, until you lower the hold and get in. You look for a sign from Mac, but he seems peacefully asleep on his side. Your gut tells you to go on, so you crawl on the mattress and lie next to him.

Rubbing an hand on his face, Mac asks: “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Checking you’re okay.” you whisper.

“I am. Good night.” He lets slide an arm under the pillow, and close his eyes.

You caress his hair, then his cheeks, noticing he cried: “I knew something was wrong. But I won’t let you face your demons alone”

“That’s not on you, Y/N. I made my choices and have to take the burden.”

“It was the right choice. I’ve always known it. I guess I wasn’t able to forgive myself for something I did much time ago, and seeing you doing the same was like history repeating without having the power to change things.”

“Y/N, I have to confess you a thing...”

“Of course”

“You left those files in the war room today, and then you forgave to recollect them, so I thought to bring them back home for you...I opened one of them to see if it was work related, and then I read they were about you having suffered from PTSD in the past and resuming therapy...I’m so sorry, that was so not me, but I wanted to know you were okay...”

“Mac, you don’t have to worry about me” you reply.

“So why you didn’t you tell me you were seeing a therapist? I’ve read you talked to her about us. I could have helped you. I could have come with you.”

“Mac, we haven’t talked a lot lately, don’t you think? It would have been unfair to let you know about my problems, seen what you were going through, too...”

“Okay, but why you never talked to me about that mission? The one you had to shoot to that girl?”

“I should have done it, I know. I should have let you know everything about my past, so you could have chosen if staying or leaving. It’s just, when I met you everything changed. It took me so much time to move on, that I wasn’t ready to share this with anybody. Relieve all the guilt, the pain...”

“I wouldn’t have changed my mind on you, even if I knew that.” he reassures you.

“Well, maybe I can tell you now...”

“You don’t have to do it-“

You interrupt him: “I want...Me and the team I worked with at that time were following a group of terrorists. Late teenagers brainwashed since young age, in order to make them enroll and commit crimes. We had been reported they would have attacked civilians on a public event. Once on the place, the situation escalated quickly. They have already hurt some people, my colleagues were able to separate and catch most of them, but it missed a girl. I was able to follow her and noticed she got a very dangerous weapon with her, one able to make way worst damages than what they had already caused to those people. As soon as I got her under fire, I shot to kill. The stakes were too high. I didn’t think about it twice. Just when paramedics brought away her body, I realised. If she only was born elsewhere, or met different people, maybe she would still be alive, she would have had a family... »

« So why do we feel so bad? It’s like I can’t go back to be the person I was, the person you loved. » Mac asks, resigned.

« The person I love is right in front of me. I love you, Mac, and nothing in this world will ever change that. »

« Neither me deciding who lives and who dies? »

“ You would have never done it, if there only had been another way. It would have been less painful for you to sacrifice yourself, rather than pressing that button. And your tears make a clear example of it.” “Yeah...”

“I wish I would have acted in your place to save you this feeling...” As you cup his face and kiss him, Mac takes you under his arm like you were his last and most important thing left.

“Do you trust me?” you wonder.

“With all my life.” he replies.

“Nothing inside of you has ever changed.”

[vegalocity]

The Arrangement, Fluff 42 while Red is working on moving out?

Prompt meme  42. “For (her/him/them), (I’ll do) anything.”

I went with the moment of because i was listening to the Shrek 2 soundtrack and got really excited during ‘Ever Fallen In Love’

--

He had to be fast. He couldn't afford to pause for anything. But if he used his teleportation every magical being within a half a kilometer would be able to sense it with his nerves as frayed as they were. This had to be on foot if he wanted to do this without confrontation.

He had two bags on either shoulder, one full of the essentials, the other with his clothes and hygiene products and things. Of the Bull Clones an approximate twenty of them wished to remain with him and he had their AI's saved in separate hard drives in his bag, ready for new bodies once the ones they'd been recently using were destroyed to cover his escape. The last message he made on his home setup played in the back of his mind, repeating the words he'd spoken and hoping they sounded right.

“Start Recording....Hello Mother. Hello Father. I'm half sure you're going to destroy everything I left behind in retribution for my departure, but if you did decide to try and keep my files for whatever use you may be able to glean from them—doubtful, I've been working on a purging bug that should get rid of 90% of my old blueprints and research into any artifacts of power—Then consider this my farewell.”

The security system was shorting out, all the traps and precautions he'd spent decades setting up were going out in flames, making a clear exit through the Bull Clone's passageways just big enough for one fire demon to slip his way through. His parents likely distracted with a large majority of what kept them comfortable in their underground lair all acting up and going on the fritz at once. And if that was all resolved with a resounding 'break every piece of tech around them' then the handful of favors he'd called in would come in handy and he had a small yet aggravating set of demons ready to cause some distractions (and leave before they were actually in any danger, they weren't there to fight after all) until Red Son was long gone.

“Surely this must have come as a shock, to think that your ever loyal son would decide he'd rather run away and join Team Good Guy. Well... I suppose that makes sense, granted the five hundred years of pointedly ignoring I've been basically singlehandedly keeping this family afloat one might forget that I might be capable of making my own decisions, but I digress.”

One more turn, slide past the charging station he'd put up here, hope beyond hope when he undid the secret exit into the streets that there'd be no one waiting for him. He had one clone shell, AI gone running on simple manual commands, set up to explode right as he left to cover the exit as he left so he couldn't be tracked as easily.

Sure enough the charging station and the secret exit beside it were only guarded by one robot. The one he'd set up there. He punched in the exit code and the secret door slid open. He glanced at the panel again and shrugged, might as well. He lit up his fist into a flame and punched the panel, it cracked beneath his knuckles. The street was right before him. He nodded at the clone. “Self Destruct, access code 'Clean Getaway'”  The Clone beeped once and he had three seconds to clear it.

-Or not.

The explosion just barely grazed him, and it wouldn't have hurt at all if it were just the flame of the explosion, but with the explosion came the shrapnel, and with a stinging sensation and the warm feeling of blood creeping down his hand, Red Son realized he'd been nicked with some stray metal.

He had a garage nearby with a stealth truck—just as tricked out as his more iconic truck, just designed to blend into the city traffic easily—and he had to get there before he was in the clear.

“See, the truth of the matter is, I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life and what I want out of it lately, I'd thought that all I desired was the three of us together again. If our family was complete then everything would slot into place, but it didn't. And I realized I'd spent half of a millennia chasing after ideals and blurry memories. And I came to the conclusion that... I don't really know much about myself outside of the context of the family. But I used to know, And as it turned out, it was when I wasn't trying to plunge the world into darkness, so I figured I could probably do that again, see if it sticks this time.”

He heard a roar behind him, and his blood turned to ice. He didn't care if it would alert his parents to his presence nearby as his equipment went to shit around them, he teleported, a flash of fire zipping through familiar roads and ending in the hidden garage, The wind was howling outside amplifying his father's rage, but his parents didn't know which garage was the one he kept his personal vehicles in.

It was just the injury making his hands shake as he slid into his stealth truck he was sure—the purple one with red flames painted on the hood and sides, but to the outside observer simply a normal truck owned by a normal person who simply liked flames and purple—and quickly shed his more distinctive clothes and pulling a nondescript coat from the camping bag in which he'd shoved as much of his clothes as he could fit. Quick as he could he bundled his hair into a hat and replaced his trademark sunglasses with a big pair that covered most of his face—both of which he already had in this truck for this exact purpose.

He started the car and drove out as calmly as he could possibly make it look.

“So take this as my formal declaration: I'm moving out. Now, You're still my parents of course, so I'll avoid confrontations if I can, but I'm not playing this game anymore. I'm not being manipulated or tricked or forced into this. This is my decision. About time I made one for myself, right?”

Though after the explosions of rage went off, the city was not laid waste to, and the people in this area were used to threatening noises anyway so nobody seemed to care.

He'd probably change back into his normal clothes once he could ensure he'd driven in enough circles around the city he would be virtually untraceable and could made the trip to Xiaotian's home.

Xiaotian...

Only hours away now.

Four months, five days. And not a single one of those days went by without thinking about him. Without reminding himself why he was doing this, reminding himself why it was worth it. To have a future with Xiaotian. To be able to be with him without constantly looking over their shoulders for prying eyes. To have that smile, that laugh, that stupid sense of humor and that dumb thing he does when he's working on a picture where he scrunches all of his face up at once and twitches his nose like a rabbit.

“You're my parents, and I still love you. And I hope, by the end of this you'll understand why I had to do what I have done. If not, then at least you can understand this: doing anything for the person you love has turned out to be a genetic trait. And for him, I'll do anything.”

Five hours of driving around aimlessly. He grabbed a snack and saw one of the bull clones whom decided to stay loyal to his parents from the corner of his eye

Four. He saw the delivery cart dart through an intersection and leaned forward to try and grab a glance, unfortunately it was already gone by the time he could.

Three. He could sense his mother laying out a searching enchantment and rolled up his window, the protection charm on the truck keeping him from prying eyes.

Two. The sun had set and twilight blanketed the sky

One. He changed back into his normal clothes and fixed his hair as best as he could. His wound had mostly stopped bleeding, but that would likely change if jostled. He wanted to make a nice first image after four months, but he couldn't look anything better than driving around for almost six hours would do to a person. Though he wouldn't care if Xiaotian looked a little more rugged than usual, so he consoled himself with the idea that he would have a similar mindset and simply be happy that the waiting was over.

And now, a future.

“I’ll see you soon, but I doubt it will be on good terms. Goodbye for now. End Recording.”

--

Send me stuff! 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Cage

Somewhere just outside the Mexico Border

It is a rusty metal warehouse in the desert in front of which is a vast gravel parking lot filled with trucks left running with the high beams on. Kingpins as well as landowners wearing button down shirts and jeans file past burly looking men in muscle shirts, flashing their credentials. A short man had his arm around the waist of a model as he flashed his. “She’s with me.” He said of the model who kissed him on his balding head.

There is no visible security. This area is an agreed neutral zone, a privileged spot where the turf wars and smuggling routes could be forgotten in favor of sport and fun, and yet was not a haven where these criminal masterminds would ever admit existed to their families. It was protected by both a silent agreement of non-violence, and the fact that it was every low level drug dealer’s dream to be here.

The Warehouse is a fighting arena that only opens once a year and sends out invitations to its exclusive clientele. Even these Kingpins saved up money to come and bet on the fighters here and there was no limit to their wagers. It was not unheard of for millions and even a billion to be lost in a single match. Land was negotiated here. Trade routes were negotiated here. The existence of entire gangs were negotiated here. War and peace between violent factions were negotiated here.

People in the small border towns had a feeling that the government and the police weren’t really what changed the situation on their street. But they could never guess that what did change things was the winner of a match in an arena in the middle of nowhere.

As for the fighters themselves, no one knew where they came from. They had names like Cobra, Diablo, Demonio, and La Muerte. Their identities were a mystery. But their appearances seemed to suggest that they came from all over the world. Those who had the privilege of coming here, would whisper about these fights, saying that the fighters seemed like animals, something beyond human, or like monsters. They would compare them to famous action heroes like ‘The Hulk’ or ‘Superman.’ While it was true that regular MMA fighters could do amazing things, they were limited by their humanity.

These fighters… they didn’t stop fighting, even if they were gasping out their last breath.

Francisco Pererra had somehow stumbled on one of those fighters. He was just appointed as head of a cartel in Aguascalientes and had come upon a small fortune in the form of a free and open water route up through Corpus Christi. It wasn’t just the route, but also his method, using a combination of decoy boats and submarines to constantly distract the meager Coast Guard and keep them away from the actual cargo -- fentanyl and cocaine. He’d gotten rich very quickly, but before he spent on anything else, he wanted to spend on this gambling ring. This was his debut on the world stage.

When he was approached by a young man in his private residence, introducing himself as a fighter, he thought it was too good to be true. The owners of those who fought were the upper of the upper class. He was doing well as a startup Surely, this man wanted something.

“I just need entry into the Arena. The rest does not concern you and it's best you not get involved any further.” The young man opened three large briefcases. “This should be more than enough to cover the entry fee, plus compensation for your cooperation.” The young man was stiff but polite and spoke fluent Spanish with an American accent.

“Is this a bust? I won’t be responsible for it…” He shook his head. “I won’t live very long if I am responsible for something like that.”

“I have nothing to do with any government or law enforcement.”

Francisco Pererra did not believe him. He smiled and said, “Oh of course and of course.”

As the young man was leaving, Francisco pointed a pistol at the back of his head. Before he could pull the trigger however, the gun glowed red hot and exploded in his hand, taking off two of his fingers. When the young man looked back at him, his eyes were glowing gold. 

He calmly helped Francisco collect his severed fingers and put them in ice and drove him to the nearest hospital for reattachment surgery. When the nurses asked what happened, Franciso just said he had an accident with a firework.

That young man was no law enforcer. He was a true Demon Fighter.

Now Francisco Perrera came in, not from the front, but from the back. Wheeled horse trailers backed into a garage door and ramps were brought to them as they opened. Wheeled cages meant to house zoo animals rolled down the ramps and attached to a four-wheeler. Each cage was covered with a double layer of black fabric. Francisco’s champion was in one of those cages, but once they were in the arena, there could be no further contact between the sponsor and the fighter.

Francisco presented his entry fee in the suitcases on a cheap white plastic fold out table. Large men with assault rifles stepped forward and took the suitcases while Francisco waited. They were counting the money. He cleared his throat of dust and stood there, watching as one especially huge cage was rolled off the trailer. It was so heavy that it bent the ramp.

“Perrera!” 

Francisco turned around, his heart rate jumping. 

“Your entry fee is sufficient.”

Feeling validated, Francisco straightened his tie and tipped his cowboy hat and made his way to the VIP stands through a white door in the sheathing wall. The whole area smelled of alcohol and smoke. A group of big shots looked up from their game of cards. He gave them a proud greeting. “Good evening, I’m…”

They all turned their backs on him and continued their game. He let out a breath. Of course, they wouldn’t humor his attention. He was a newcomer after all. But maybe, with this fighter, he might actually get on their radar. Securing a treaty with a larger cartel had its risks and benefits, much like gambling but if you hit the jackpot you were set for life.

He sat down in a cracking folding chair. The arena was huge. Built for rodeos, it was temporarily reconfigured to house what could only be described as a gladiatorial contest. Bullet proof glass protected him from the rest of the lower level seats. And a double layer fence that stretched all the way to the roof protected the rest of the guests from the contestants themselves.

“Welcome Mr. Perrera.” A sweet young female voice greeted him and lowered a shot glass with a bottle of black label tequila in front of him. She was dressed in a tight red shiny vinyl dress. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, looking quietly seductive. “Good luck on your first entrant.”

“Because you are a newcomer, you should be lower on the ranks, however, many in the crowd have thrown welcome money in the pot in your support.”

“Oh really?” Francisco had good instincts and didn’t rush to sip on the tequila.  “Sit and drink with me. Tell me more about this.”

She obliged and he took his glass and poured a cup for her and handed it to her. She gave a knowing chuckle. “You really are new. All the death and violence is restricted to the Cage. But if you’re still nervous…” She tossed back the tequila and then slid the cup back to him.

“One can never be too careful. If I disappear it's not a big thing, no matter where I am.”

“It’s rare to get a new fighter and a newcomer. People are betting on you because they’re excited and want to encourage more fresh blood. No one wants to see the same fighters every year from the same people they’ve known for years. What’s more… the name of your fighter… they like it.” Her lips turned up. “Caimán!”

“I had heard these fighters had the look of a devil, but I found out this was… something more grounded than I realized. The first thing I thought when I looked at him was ‘Caimán!’ He looks at me like an alligator! He’s not some boogeyman. He looked like he could actually eat me.” 

She didn’t leave his side as the PA system announced that the matches were going to begin. She slid a paper roster to him. “This is the line up.”

Caimán was going to be up against ‘Gigante’ in the first match! For the first time, Francisco felt upset to be here. How could they put a newbie up in the first match in an elimination contest and give him a chance to win? Even in the case of a champion, such fights were exhausting. He would have to defeat everyone of the beasts in the ring to have a shot at winning.

He stilled his expression and looked over the arena. Well, of course he wouldn’t have a chance at winning. The truth is, he shouldn’t be here at all. He was here on a stroke of luck. Winning was not in the cards for him. He should just enjoy his time and make the most of his good fortune. It was a shame this young man had to sacrifice his life. Despite his crocodile look, he had kindly expressed regret about the gun blowing up in his hand. He’d personally and quickly driven him to the hospital and then paid the bill. He even left him a wound care spreadsheet after the nurses forgot. It wasn’t the behavior of a tough as nails fighter or an alligator. More like a neglectful son come home to bother his father again. Much like he was once, years ago. Perhaps why he had taken a liking to him so quickly?

A roar interrupted his reverie. A roll up metal garage door clattered open and a giant of a man nearly eight feet tall of pure muscle, painted near black with tattoos, ran out, howling like a vicious animal. The crowd screamed and banged on the lids of garbage cans. The noise was deafening. The man clapped his hands over his ears and rushed the chains. Bright sparks like the sun snapped and popped.

The Cage was electrified!

Francisco reflexively crossed himself as the man didn’t react at all to the electrical current. When he let go of the fence, his hands were smoking. He rushed to the other side to menace the other spectators. Francisco saw it. The golden eyes!

Gigante suddenly stopped and turned. Another metal cage door was opening. Francisco could scarcely contain his grin! He pulled a napkin from his shirt and wiped his sweaty face. 

Caimán was acting true to his name. He was slight in figure, hilariously shorter than Gigante. Despite the heat and humidity in the air and the dusty dirty surroundings, he wore a black Burburry trench coat that reached near the floor. In his hand was a long sword that shined with a blue tinged light even though it wasn’t dark inside the arena. Weapons were allowed in the arena so long as they weren’t heavy firearms. Especially given the size difference of these contestants, having a bit of an equalizer was viewed as permissible. He took two steps into the arena with the air of a mother who had caught her children doing something naughty.

Gigante and Caimán faced each other. Gigante was panting, his mouth running with drool, his eyes bloodshot. He looked rabid, but didn’t rush towards his much smaller opponent and rip him in two. The crowd murmured with the suspense of the wait. Francisco felt the hairs rise on his back. He didn’t know why he got this feeling, but the thought came into his head that Gigante was being suppressed, that the whole crowd was being suppressed! It was like a pall had been cast over the entire crowd. Everyone was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, weighted down by a strange fear they didn’t understand.

Caimán walked around the edge of the Cage taking the longest route to his opponent, strolling with a slow, measured gait. He took his time, looking Gigante up and down.

“What is going on?” The woman next to him was shocked. “Gigante never acts like this.”

Her kind welcoming demeanor had vanished, she now glared at Francisco fiercely. 

Francisco sipped his tequila. “Ah… so Gigante is yours. No wonder you wanted to talk to me!”

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Had this been any other place, she would have drawn a pistol and shot him in his smugly smiling face. Her nervousness grew as Caimán approached a still and silent Gigante. “Where did you find him?”

Francisco was silent. His intent was to use this opportunity to gain advantage for his business. The fighter had his own agenda beyond him and he shouldn’t be involved any further. This young man had walked into a room full of the highest ranking cartel members and had taken ownership of the entire space.

Gigante chuckled. “So… you’re finally here to put us out of our misery?”

Caimán didn’t answer for a long time. The crowd was getting restless in the silence, but that terrifying aura prevented anyone from speaking. “It’s my intent to free you.”

“Free? No one ever… gets free.”

When Gigante raised himself to his full height, Caimán raised his blade and that aura became more intense. He pointed it at him, like a knight facing off against an ogre. “Don’t.”

Gigante leaned back a bit as though struck by a strong wind.

“How are they controlling you? Answer.”

Gigante looked at Caimán, his eyes suddenly stopped glowing. “Get out… Get out while you c-”

A tattoo that hadn’t appeared before suddenly flashed red in the shape of an eye, right on his forehead, and the glow of his eyes lit up again. All humanity in those eyes froze, his pupils dilated wide until they became black save an eclipse ring of gold. Caimán for the first time in the match showed a touch of emotion, his eyes widening slightly as his Aura suddenly collapsed.

Gigante took a strong leap and closed the distance between them. Caimán reacted with a powerful thrust that slid the metal blade between the bones of the giant’s large knee. That leg was rendered useless in an instant but Gigante did not so much as flinch or cry out in pain. His arm whipped around and seized Caiman around the throat. That blade flashed again, neatly severing the hand. He didn’t have a choice. If he had waited more than that instant his windpipe would have been crushed. He rolled and staggered away from Gigante’s remaining fist. It slammed into the ground with skull-crushing force.

The crowd regained its former noise, cheering “Gigante! Gigante!”

At his tiny size and miniature build, one would think that they would have cheered Caimán as the underdog, but Caimán had walked in like a tyrant, barking orders like he owned the place. He’d humiliated not only Gigante but also all the spectators who were all predators in their own right and had been forced into silence by this newcomer. The sight of him fleeing Gigante was galvanizing. They wanted Gigante to smash this newcomer into a pulp!

Gigante was faster than a man his size should have been, it was like an ancient giant wolf, running his opponent down and forcing him to retreat or die. Even though he was running with blood, lame in one leg an missing a hand, he grinned and licked his lips in an intense desire to kill. Caimán however danced around every attack, not returning a blow if he didn’t have to.

Francisco was confused. Why didn’t Caimán go in for the kill? He had more fights after this. Why waste so much energy running his opponent around the ring? His female companion was only annoyed with Gigante. “Hit him! Hit him you bastard!” 

He then noticed her ring. It was red and glowing. 

The eye appeared on Gigante’s head again and the man suddenly screeched in a high voice. Caimán closed the distance and split the skin of the man’s forehead right through the middle.

The man’s eyes suddenly rolled back and he sank to his one knee. He went from a massive intimidating fighter to a hunk of empty flesh in an instant. Caimán who was still anticipating another motion suddenly lowered his sword and rushed forward, putting his fingers on the man’s neck. But there was no need to check his pulse. Gigante was dead.

The woman banged her fist on the table and stood up. “Spy! He’s a spy!”

Guns were suddenly pointed at Francisco. “Why are you saying this? You’re just angry that you lost! Put those guns away, this place is a place of non-violence!”

Her eyes turned cold. “You have no idea. You don't know anything.”

“He’s right.” Another voice came from the table to his right. An old man in a suit sat one leg crossed over the other, his white hair long down his back, his dark eyes like empty holes in his face. “Put the guns away. No need.”

The guns were put away and hackles lowered. 

Caimán stepped away as a worker arrived with a forklift to carry Gigante’s body away.

“Perrera. I will buy this fighter from you. Name your price.” The old man said.

Francisco didn’t know what to say. The truth is the fighter didn’t belong to him, it was the other way around. The fighter had bought him with the intent to enter the fight for his own agenda.

“My price? You know I have a route, sir. I would like your protection on that route. Your protection of my assets. I am a small operation. Even with a lot of money, I can’t buy what you already have.”

“You are a very smart man! That humility has brought you here. Then… Welcome to the club, Pererra.” The old man raised his hand and again, he was wearing one of those rings, just like the woman. He waved his hand twice and Caimán’s reaction was instant. He clutched his head and fell on his knees.

“Oh… he is a strong one.” The old man continued to wave and stood up, walking up to the bullet proof glass. “He will make excellent food for my Tigre.”

Caimán turned his head, his golden eyes blazing, he started to speak, snarling like an animal. That voice generated dark waves of black heat that ignited the sawdust. The heat was enough to melt the chain links on the Cage. The heat was so intense that the spectators started screaming and fleeing. Even at this distance, all the people in the VIP area started backing away.

The saw dust arena had turned into a pit of flames but Caiman was kneeling in all of it. Clutching his head.

Francisco had no choice. He turned and ran from the arena, leaving him behind.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 10: Get Out Alive

by @dracusfyre​

    Now

“Save who you can,” Tony said to himself as he splashed water on his face.

He blindly grabbed for a towel and dried off, meeting his eyes in the mirror for what felt like the first time in years. “Don’t look back.” He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and went out into his bedroom. He picked up the photo that sat on his bedside table and took it out of the frame, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. Glancing around his bedroom, he nodded once, and went down to his workshop. He saluted the painting of Howard on the wall then dug out the photo of the Winter Soldier from his desk and set it on fire, dropping it to the concrete floor and watching it burn.

 “Ready, JARVIS?” he asked. He ground the last bit of embers into the concrete to put them out.

 “Are you ready, sir?”

 “Yep,” Tony lied. “Let’s rock and roll.”

“Let it Burn Protocol initiated.” As JARVIS spoke, Tony felt the first explosion rock the house, rumbling through his feet as he stepped into the matte black suit in the gantry in the middle of the room. The facemask closed over his face as cracks appeared in the walls of the lab, and as the ground fell away from his feet he was already in the air.

36 days ago

Once he was sure that Stane was gone for good, Tony went down to his work shop and said, “Wake up, JARVIS, we have work to do.”

Sitting down at his workstation, he opened up the master file with the suit schematics and eyed the hologram critically. The hardest part of the suit to master was going to be the flight system, so he isolated and magnified that part from the diagram, studying the repulsors built into the gauntlets and boots with stabilizers along the back. “Start machining the parts I’m going to need for these,” he said. “Circumstances have changed and we are going to need to hit the ground running, so to speak."

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, and the whirring of machinery became a low hum, punctuated by sharp bzzts as parts were cut and de-burred. Tony studied the prototype, exploding the diagram, moving it around, and after a while came up with a short list of non-critical design items he could spoon feed to Hydra to show his ‘enthusiastic’ cooperation. An hour later, the whirring stopped and the sudden quiet broke Tony out of his concentration. He sat up and stretched, wincing as his back popped. Standing, he went over to the coffee maker and started a new pot, then dug under the counter for his emergency stash of scotch, splashing a fingers worth in his mug while he waited for the coffee.

He had realized two very important things today. The first was that the Soldier needed saving even more than Tony did; the knowledge that the man was Hydra’s slave, kept ignorant and locked up until Hydra needed an attack dog, had shifted Tony’s world view like a kaleidoscope, shaking up everything he thought knew and making an entirely new pattern. The second was that he couldn't keep waiting around for a chance to escape, he was going to have to make one.

This suit, he knew, was the key to both of those realizations. But this half-baked, insane plan to rescue the Winter Soldier was going to kick the anthill big time and Tony also knew he needed to have some kind of plan for dealing with Hydra in the aftermath. This wasn’t going to be like Afghanistan, where he thought he was out and got pulled right back in again. The stakes were way too high this time.

With that thought in mind, when the coffee was done, he filled up his mug and went back to his desk. He pulled up the operating program for the suit and created a subroutine to overload the reactor, ignoring the flash red warning that said that this would result in a critical core breach and an uncontrolled chain reaction, and set the activation code as “Last Resort.”

One way or another, he thought as he sipped on his doctored coffee, this suit would be his way out.

  32 Days Ago

Tony stared tiredly at the news as he took a swallow of stone-cold coffee. The breaking report was about the assassination of an Iranian nuclear scientist. Iran was already blaming Israel, who was of course denying it, but in response Iran was threatening to pull out of the treaties against nuclear enrichment and swore they could split the atom within the year. Political and military analysts were seeing storm clouds on the horizon unless someone backed down and talking about how another war would tax America's already overstretched military. Tony, meanwhile, could tell that this assassination had Hydra's fingerprints all over it, and knew that this was almost certainly the work of the Soldier. "JARVIS," Tony said, muting the television. "I need you to break into Hydra’s servers and find everything you can on the Winter Soldier. Cross reference it with the name James Barnes.” There was a chance that Stane had made the name up, but it seemed unlikely – from what he could tell, the Soldier would have responded to anything, and ‘James Barnes’ was a lot more specific than a simple ‘John Smith’ or ‘Joe Blow.’ “Actually, while you’re at it,” Tony said, having a sudden thought, “I want all of Hydra’s files. Copy them to one of SI’s remote servers.”

Hours later, Tony was just finishing up the wiring assembly for the repulsor system when his computer dinged. Setting down the soldering gun, Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly and turned on his monitor to see what JARVIS had found. To his dismay, there were thousands of files on the Winter Soldier; as he scrolled down the list, he realized that they went back decades. “Fuck,” he said aloud as he looked at the dates and the file names, most of which were a string of letters and numbers that no doubt made sense to someone in Hydra but gave no clue as to what the file contained. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry at the enormity of the task in front of him. He was so tired that his eyes were blurry and his head was pounding, but every time he tried to close his eyes he kept seeing James’s body arching with pain and hearing his screams.

“Sir, it has been twelve hours and thirty-six minutes since you last ate,” JARVIS said. “And you’ve made four mistakes in the past fifteen minutes. You need to rest.”

“I have?” Tony pulled his magnifying glass back over to the circuit board and saw what JARVIS was talking about. “Shit. Alright, fine.” He pushed away from the desk and went to the bar sink next to the coffee pot and ran his head under cold water for a second. He came up and wiped his face and the back of his neck, shivering as water dripped from his hair down his back, and went upstairs to look for food. Leaving his work shop felt like he was crossing into hostile territory, like he could be attacked at any moment. And he could, he thought as he opened the refrigerator. Stane had made sure that he always had free access to Tony’s home, because a locked door meant secrets and the only secrets Hydra allowed were their own. He wished he could just walk away from this place, blow it up and find a place to live that Hydra had never stepped foot in, a place that would feel like it was his –

He froze with a jug of orange juice in his hand. He stood there, thoughts racing, for so long that the chiller on the refrigerator came on with a hum. Then Tony said “Huh” to the boxes of leftovers and absently shut the fridge door, OJ still in hand.

25 Days Ago

“JARVIS, this doesn’t make sense,” Tony said, rereading the file for the fifth time. “This thing is saying that the first Winter Soldier was James Barnes, but the current Winter Soldier is James Barnes.” It was hard to think that it was a clerical error, since the earliest files went back to the 1940s and consisted of paper files that had been scanned into a computer sometimes in the 80s. “Is it an alias? Are all Winter Soldiers called ‘James Barnes’ as a security precaution?”

“Facial pattern analysis indicates that it is the same James Barnes,” JARVIS said, and it flashed up an image that looked like a scanned-in polaroid; in it the man was unconscious on an operating table, face dirty and bloody and pale. Next to it JARVIS pulled up an image from Hydra’s own security footage of what the Soldier looked like without his goggles and mask on. There was a vague resemblance to Tony’s eyes, but as the facial recognition algorithm measured the features in each photograph, the conclusion was mathematically precise – there was a 99.7% chance that it was the same man in each photo.

Tony’s face went slack with shock. “How is that possible? He’d have to be almost 100 years old!”

“That part I don’t know, sir.”

“Holy shit.” Tony went back to the original file, reading it more carefully. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he read. “Born 1917. American POW.” He paused at that and sat back in his chair. “Why does that sound familiar?”

In response, JARVIS pulled up a Wikipedia page on Tony’s screen. As he read it, Tony was speechless; for a long moment, he flipped screens between the dead-eyed man from Hydra’s surveillance footage and the smiling man with his arm around Captain America, but this time he didn’t need JARVIS to tell him that it was the same man. The implications made his stomach turn, and as he stared at the screen he exhaled shakily and covered his mouth with his hands. 80 years. James Barnes had been in Hydra’s clutches for 80 years.

He stood suddenly, sending his chair rolling backwards. “We’re doing another flight test. Right now.” 80 years was already far too long, and Tony wasn't going to let it be one more day longer than it had to be.

19 Days Ago

“Tony!” Ms. Potts said with surprise. “I didn’t expect you in the office today.”

Probably because Tony had been dodging Stark Industries for a while now, only coming out of his lab long enough to get her to leave him alone before burying himself in work again. It had occurred to him as he got in his car to go to SI headquarters, blinking in the bright sunlight, that this was the first time he had been outside of the house since Stane’s forced excursion. “Yeah, I wanted to meet with you,” Tony said, shutting the door behind him.  He set a stack of papers in front of her as he sat down.

“What’s this?” She said, flipping through the papers. There was a line of confusion between her eyebrows which only deepened as she started reading them.

“I’m making you CEO of Stark Industries,” Tony said. “Effective two weeks from now. Should be an easy transition, you do most of my job anyway.” He grabbed a pin from her desk and clicked it, the sound loud in the sudden silence. “Sign on the highlighted line, please,” he added, holding the pen out to her, and despite everything he had to smile at the stunned look on her face.

  11 Days Ago

Tony put a hand on Rhodey’s arm and met his eyes, willing him to understand. “I’m saying that Afghanistan wasn’t a random attack,” he said urgently. “I think I was being targeted, and I think whoever did it might try again.” He palmed a thumb drive from his pocket and slid it across the table. In the Hydra files, JARVIS had found that a senator named Stern had been behind the Afghanistan attack, apparently trying to get Tony out of the way so that his good buddy Justin Hammer and his company Hammer Industries could take over SI's lucrative military contracts. There was all of that and more on here, just enough information that if Rhodey put all the threads together he would start getting the bigger picture. Pierce, the STRIKE teams, all of it. “If anything happens to me, I need you to finish what I’ve started.”

“Tony, if you are afraid for your life-“ Rhodey started, still looking dubious but starting to get alarmed.

“Not just me. You. Ms. Potts. Anyone I'm friends with. I can’t do anything to make these people suspicious,” Tony insisted. It was strange to feel like he was lying even though every word he’d said was true. “No unexplained bodyguards, no sudden trips, and absolutely no cops.”

“I don’t like this,” Rhodey said emphatically. “You’re asking me to sit back and wait to see if someone kills you!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tony said. That part was a lie. He had a plan in the broadest definition of the word; mostly he was making it up as he went along and praying he could handle the fallout. “I need you to trust me.” Rhodey’s mouth was a grim line and his jaw was tight, and Tony knew he wasn’t convinced so he pulled out his trump card. “I can’t do this unless I know you are safe,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “I won’t risk you.” It took a long minute, and Rhodey looked like he was swallowing something unpleasant, but he finally nodded and put the thumb drive in his pocket. Tony exhaled and sagged with relief. “Thank you."

“When this is over, you better have a good damn explanation,” Rhodey said threateningly, and Tony barked out a humorless laugh.

“You won’t even believe me when you hear it.”

  8 Days Ago

After Tony hit save on the final design of the suit, he stumbled over to the couch and landed on it face first, exhausted. He was laying on the couch, eyes drifting shut as he went over his plan for the hundredth time trying to figure out if he’d missed anything when the lab went dark. “What the hell, JARVIS?”

“Sir, it’s been 56 hours since you last slept,” JARVIS said. “I’m turning off your systems for a minimum of twelve hours.” The light in the stairwell going up to the main floor turned on, its glow just enough to let Tony get from the couch to the door without running into anything.

Tony stayed stubbornly on the couch. “We don’t have twelve hours to waste,” he said. “Turn my power back on.”

The lights stayed off. “Sir, you are a hazard to yourself and others.” Tony scowled and wondered if he had actually programmed JARVIS like this or if he was channeling the man himself. "Also, there's nothing for you to do while I assemble the suit."

“Fine. Ten hours.”

“Ten hours," JARVIS repeated. "I will be monitoring the situation while you sleep,” he added, and Tony knew that he meant not just monitoring Stane and James, but also Tony’s vital signs to make sure he actually slept.

“You’re insufferable,” Tony accused as he made his way up the stairs.

“Yes, sir.”

 2 Days Ago

“Sir, there’s something you should see.”

Tony looked up from the fine-tuning he was doing on the suit’s shoulder-fired weapons to look at the computer screen. JARVIS had maximized the window where he was constantly monitoring Pierce’s communications and highlighted a text that had just been sent. It was to an unknown number and all it said was lvl 10, CovJer10131973 nlt 200810162200Z. The first part was clearly a target identifier and Tony knew enough about the military to recognize the latter as a date time group, set for five days from now. “Bring up the camera feed,” Tony said, and sure enough when Tony looked at the video surveillance of the room where James was kept, he could see that the lights in the room were on and a technician was already in the room powering on computers. They’d found out a while ago that what Tony had taken for a hyperbaric chamber was in fact a cryostasis chamber, which partly explained why James was almost a hundred years old but looked younger than Tony.

“Shit." Tony exhaled long and low, feeling his heart rate spike with nervousness. "How long it takes to thaw him out? Was that in his files?”

JARVIS was silent for a moment. “Evidence suggests approximately 24 hours from the time the procedure is first initiated,” he said.

“Right,” Tony said grimly, turning back to his work with a new urgency. “Guess it’s time.”

 Now

Tony flew north along the coast as his house collapsed into the Pacific Ocean behind him, throwing billowing clouds of dust and smoke into the air as carefully placed explosives reduced it to a smoking ruin. It was thrilling and terrifying to know that for all intents and purposes Tony Stark was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He'd become a dead man after all, and now the only thing left was this suit and his mission: rescue the Winter Soldier then burn Hydra to the ground.

“Pull up James' video feed for me," Tony said as he flew. Since he was over water, he set the suit to autopilot and shifted his attention to the small window at the corner of his HUD.  James was out of the cryostasis chamber, sitting on a chair as a medical assistant appeared to be taking his vitals. Every now and then he shivered, still shirtless. Other technicians were milling around, tending to the computers, and standing guard were was two members of the STRIKE team, hands on their weapons as they kept an eye on him. His records had indicated that he was prone to ‘erratic violent outbursts,’ which Tony figured was code for “periodically tries to fight back.” Tony had actually been happy to read that, because it meant that Hydra hadn't managed to break him completely. Right now, though, James just seemed willing to numbly submit to whatever the technicians were doing, his long hair a curtain in front of his face as he stared at the floor.

“Sir, we are approaching the facility,” JARVIS said, and minimized the video. Tony flew lower to the water, navigating around the giant cargo ships at dock. Even for a twenty-four hour facility it was late, and there were only one or two ships that had people still unloading shipping containers. He landed close to the Hydra facility but out of the line of sight; he had managed to camouflage the suit to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t hide the bright lights of the repulsors so he made the rest of the approach on foot.

JARVIS’s scanners found four total guards around the building, patrolling in pairs. By sticking to the deep shadows cast by the stacked shipping containers and the orange-yellow glow of the sodium-vapor security lights, Tony got within hearing distance and hit them with a pulse of high-pitched wave frequency. They both stiffened and fell over, paralyzed, helmets bouncing off the pavement hard enough to knock them unconscious. Tony bound them with their own zip ties and hid them out of sight, then used his backdoor access to the security system to unlock the doors and set all the surveillance cameras on a one hour loop. As he strode through the door into the lab, all eyes turned to face him, and before anyone could even speak there was a brrrt noise and they fell to the floor, killed by the precision targeting system Tony had built into his suit.

When JARVIS confirmed they were all dead, Tony took off the helmet and looked down at one of the bodies; the one closest to him had been here a month ago, monitoring James’ vitals as they wiped his mind. This was the first time Tony had killed anyone and he expected to feel..something, sad or upset or even vindictive, but he didn’t really feel anything. It all felt too easy, and Tony knew it was because he had designed a suit that had made it that easy. All the more reason that Hydra couldn't be allowed to get their hands on it.

James was still sitting in the chair, watching Tony as he approached; he hadn’t even gone for cover as everyone around him had died. Tony wondered if it was out of surprise or indifference. “Do you know me?” He asked, coming to stand in front of him. James studied his features for a moment and shook his head. “My name is Tony Stark. You are James Buchanan Barnes, and I am here to rescue you.” Tony offered him a hand to get to his feet, but James didn’t move, he just stared at Tony with those glacier blue eyes. There wasn't blankness in them now, only a narrow-eyed look of consideration. “Come on,” Tony tried again. “We’re escaping. We have to hurry before more people show up.”

James didn’t move. “There is no escape from Hydra. The only way out is-”

“Death, I know.” Tony kept his hand out but gestured expressively around the room with the other. “But they never said whose death.”

James studied him again, then turned his gaze to the dead bodies. Finally, after a long moment, he took Tony’s hand and let him pull him to his feet.

[psychemeanscure]

PART 19

He was right on relieving from consciousness, flashing the dark orbs of his eyes into its exact track. He was welcome, by the illuminating red lights of an empty four walls. Yet even between the repulsive hue he has seen, its emanating features can still awe someone in appreciation.

He starts turning his head side to side hoping to seek anyone who can possibly explain his dumbstruck situation. But no one other than its dark corner. Pure eerie silence for it starts to creeps him up. It feels like he was alone even if he sensed it. He was being watched. He tried remembering anything that had happened to him before he ends up the empty space, however nothing aside from blackout. Gulping an invisible lump in his throat, he takes the courage.

“Hello! Is anybody here? Hello!”

Then again, nothing. He wasn’t reciprocated thus he tried once again. “Hello! Anyone? Hello! Help! Help me please!” His bellowing plead already as he begins to move his body just to realize its certain numbness for he can’t assert further except slight thrashes. So he decides to give up that the only thing he could do was to look down by the cold pavement he was on.

When a droplet fell onto his head. Then another, with another so he starts cupping it then. Realizing what that is, panic came after him for it only takes him a second to lift his head up. Mr. Kim was terrified.

Helpless shriek echoed with terror. “What the f*ck.” As he forcefully pushes himself to dodge being under it. For the dripping blood onto his forehead now, was actually from a dead man tied up into upside-down. Parted lips full of gruesomeness, eyeballs were no longer apples but white. He was stuck in fear looking at it. Words left unspeakable.

Just before he finally heard the first sound he was searching all along. The portion which he failed to look into. A podium with three steps lit up with a leather single sofa set as the person behind the diligent rhythm of shoes comes into light.  

Jang Taeyoung arrogantly slumps onto his single couch, pulling out the sunglass he was wearing while his men came after the dark corners which the prosecutor thought empty. “Good to know you’re awake Mr. Kim, you almost got me boredom watching from my monitors you know.” Sighing, he spreads his arms with proudness. “Anyhow. Welcome to my humble abode.”                

His playground. The underground he was talking about, was actually a pretty leisure red room exclusive for bastards shamelessly prying against him. His execution space. But the prosecutor can’t attain to entertain any of it for he’s too concern of his own life. “Jang Taeyoung! What did you do to me, huh? Why is my body like this!”

“Tss. A simple lidocaine won’t kill you bulldog, such a puppy. What, you expect me to tie you instead? Such an old school.”

“F*ck you Jang Taeyoung. I’m going to kill yo--- f*ck!” he tried attacking by standing indeed just to remember his own situation bouncing back on the pavements, hearing the menacing chuckle from him instead. “Oh yeah? Are you sure about that, Mr. Prosecutor? How sad, you look helpless.”

“Is this about Ms. Sung? Jang Taeyoung I swear, I already told you everything I kn--- No! No, no no, Shit! A-argh!“

Before he could finish his sentence Jang Taeyoung already crossed the boundary between them as he easily struck a stiletto knife on its thigh as a continuous slapping of his palm is the only strength he could think of. “As much as I appreciate you remembering my lady. But everything? Then what the fuck your prosecutor general doing the day she was taken!”

His lashing words for he digs the knife deeper on its thigh, earning a growl as the heavy breaths of heaving pain erupts the poor prosecutor. “I was used too! The last time I interrogated you, I don’t have any idea our General Prosecutor is also working for Alcaziar. The next thing I know I was already dismissed from my service. I swear Jang Taeyoung, I’m broke!”

Looking by its appearance of simple shirt rather than its usual office style. For a moment it halts him that he had to gawk his assistant who is just meters away from him, waiting for a confirmation he needed. A simple nod was answered before he mercilessly dug out the dagger much more for another growl from the latter. Absorbing every detail that was given, it is his turn to nod in consideration then as he intentionally took out his gum to putting it through the wounded thigh of Mr. Kim. Unworried by the screeching result he did.

“Alright. Fine, fine. Seems like your excuse were convincing, quite a saving. Now talk.”

His stone cold command which only leads the prosecutor shudder in silence that instead of giving him answer a plead was uttered otherwise. “J-Jang, just please promise to spare my life aft--- Agh!!!”

He wasn’t able to endure his last words indeed as Jang Taeyoung scooping the gum he just covered, digging it in further on its thigh. “Can’t you see that I spare too much of my time on you assh*le that I have to do this single patch on you, so f*ck off and give the damn answer I needed before my patience will no longer get into you!” 

“Ahh!!!” Digging it much harder, the latter squirm. Lidocaine feels useless upon its repetitive screams. “F*ck! F*ck. Okay!” Punching his own hand on the floor, he surrendered. Thus Jang Taeyoung slips out his hand as well, setting to position himself by the bottom stair of the podium just behind him. Resting an arm on his bended knee as stroke the blood from the stiletto knife he’s holding like a savoring threat against the prosecutor.

“Now, what?” Sensing it with a sigh, he begins. “The involvement of our General prosecutor isn’t the end.”

Twitching a brow, it awakes his interest. “Cut the chase.” His mere impatience then before he’d been bestowed with another one. “The old hag had approached a former police commissioner who has a close contact with the current NIS chief which also was one of the connections of Ms. Sung.”

“Was?” his knowing question as Mr. Kim only cleared a throat. “You’re not surprised I guess you knew she does.” Of course! How can he forget his betrayed look the moment he saw her own access to it? For so he listens to its next word.

“Apparently, Ms. Sung isn’t aware of the close relationship between the two. Turns out this former commissioner has a bad history with her for she was also the reason why he got dismissed by his service. Waiting for the right agenda to counter, and it did.”

“It did, what?”

“The last time she seeks help from NIS of course. The moment she digs in with Xi industry which I presume she found me as well. The rest? I think you know what comes next.”

“They’ll going to file a lawsuit like she had it against their will, you saying?”

“Obstruction of authority, compliance for own benefit.” The latter tiredly shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

The precise information from the latter, yes for he could only curse a lot. “F*ck this!” He expected it to go far but not this too much further. This is getting serious the way he actually foresees it. Looking back from standing this time, hands pose to both sides of his hips as he walks back and forth. He’s totally pissed, little not knowing that there is more than that as Mr. Kim speaks again.

“It’s still strange for me though.”

Frowning, he looks down to the latter. “What do you mean?”

“Her, learning about Alcaziar’s plan using Xi industry but still chose to clasp a hand. I do think she has more personal reason other than that. I’m not quite so sure but I think it has something to do with her foster parents. You see, following Veeros Alcaziar for a short time I heard one of his call concerning the Martins and it seem liked he knew her true identity. Like she had been set-up all along.”

Confound. That’s maybe the only thing he could describe for himself right now. He was left off guard at every information he received. The dismissed prosecutor knowing the Martin identity of Sung Eunyoung. The probability that the old hag had tried to use her foster parents as baits. The set-up that has being planned way too long than he projected. It all makes sense.          

“They are trying to ruin her. Shit!”

His fume while the dismissed prosecutor simply watching him sensibly. “The power of money that holds, what else. You didn’t expect the Alcaziars being a dimwit, do you?”

He had already enough yet after hearing another blabber from the latter’s mouth, he’s not so sure of his own identity anymore. ‘Alcaziars? So this isn’t just the work of one but two, huh?’ He thought. “That son of a b*tch.” Stroking his hair with madness, he explodes. “That’s it!” Murderous eyes turning to shoot the dead underling’s body as well as the pulley holding it, gushing blood spread all over its fall, he decided. “Wait, wait. No! this isn’t right. Jang Taeyoung, please!”

For fright has come into the dismissed prosecutor. He can feel it. Just by seeing the dark orbs of his sight, he’s in pit of losing his life. But it’s too late. They had awakened up a sleeping beast. Tossing the bloodstained stiletto on the podium, he glanced once again. “That is...”

“If you could kill me with that knife, I guess.”

With him walking out through the transparent curtain doors indeed, the resonating sound of bullets field his satisfaction.

Another scumbag has dump.

~

Going back to his penthouse now, he felt empty. He had kill two and all yet not enough. It’s been a day but he’s in the middle of finding her still for he felt useless not doing anything without thinking. He needed a better plan. He cannot just barge in knowing that this battle isn’t just as simple as it seems. There’s too many involved, he can’t be reckless.

Brushing a hand on his face while the other’s gripping his scotch drink, staring at nowhere. He stayed slouching like that. On the floor, leaning by the glass window of his living room, he chose to seek the darkness. He’s nervous for her.

When a sudden chime from his touch phone came in. Unregistered number pop-up into its lock screen. He was confused at first as if in an instant he became a corrupted workstation processing to reboot, until he snapped out. “Sung Eunyoung.”

The only name he can think of. Pressing it hastily, it was a pre-scheduled voice message. With a trembling hand, he listened after its beep. For there he was, hearing the voice he had longed already.    

“Hey there, Loco.”

For some reason, closing his eyes he saw her. His lady leaning by her parked car, a hand in coat pocket while the other’s talking to him by its phone, smiling. He savor the moment. Thus a snicker came after from the other line. “Have you been well?” And as if on cue they converse like it is the current. Groaning him, answered.

“What do you think, woman?”

“Tss. Fine. My bad.”

“You, stubborn volatile.”

Then another snicker was heard again. “I know. I’m sorry… You’ll forgive me, right?”

Looking up through the ceiling now while she’s looking down at his mind. He replied. “As if I can win over you, even.”

Seconds after, silence erupted and he waited. “You see I’m actually planning not to call you but I’m pretty sure by now you’re already had a headache because of me, so might just send you something beforehand. I hit the spot, aren’t I?”  

“You really did. Very much that I f*cking hate you right now.”

Squinting eyes, she speaks the obvious. “You’re cursing at me, I can tell.”    

The next thing he knew he’s chuckling like there aren’t problems waiting for them. He should be angry by her but this woman takes him turn so easily. “Jeez, woman. You and your cunning instincts. Can’t you spare me once even over the phone? You’re so unfair.”

He pictured her shaking a head, teasing him before giving in a delighted sigh. “Anyway! Guess where am at.” He anticipates.

Looking by the ocean, she continued. “Gyeonggi-do coastline.”

‘So she recorded this during her visit, I see.’ He thought. “The view’s breathtaking as always. You must see it sometime, you’ll going to love it.”

“Perhaps, have I ever told you that I have quite obsessions with coastlines? I didn’t, but now you know.”

For he can only react on dazed. “Are you surprised?”  

“I am.”

It was almost a whisper as if hiding his disappointment for not knowing a simple hobby she does, but after sensing the smiling coyness of her, he’s happy. “Glad, you are.” She replied as another silence calls once again. It takes her long this time for he could only hear the waves of the ocean and her calming breath. She’s thinking.

“Jang?”

With a deep sigh, he retorted. “Hm?”

“Mexico.”

It left him confused. Fortunately, not long before he heard her next words. “Well, I just want to remind you about my favorite coastline.”  

And for the nth time silence came back once again. He sensed. It isn’t still the end of her soliloquy. ‘And?’ as if his intuitive opt to her. He felt her embarrassment.

“If… If things might not be rough in time.”    

“How about a ride together, what do you think?”

Relieve when he senses her composing herself for a better idea. “No, let me rephrase it.”  Chin up, feeling the breeze of her air, she speaks.

“Let’s just put each other’s smile the next time we meet, alright?”

It was a statement, and the voice has ended.

And like a crazy man laughing like a worthless cub, he cried.

[buggiesbuzzing]

AMARANTH [ c. cullen ]

TITLE :: Amaranth

CHAPTER ZERO :: The Beginning of the End

PAIRING :: Carlisle Cullen x reader, various x reader

GENRE :: Drama

SUMMARY :: Once leading a life of what she seen as relative normality, a sudden change sends poor y/n into a disastrous spiral.

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MASTERLIST

Y/n had a normal life, as normal as she could possibly have, and she was happy with the mediocrity. She was rather successful; she was getting married soon, she was working as the personal assistant to a regional manager for some big corporate business and made good money — hell, she even made an effort to reconnect with her parents, before they passed away, that is — she even planned on going to college after getting married so she could pursue a career as a pediatrician. But, of course, life hardly ever goes as planned.

Her life came crashing down towards the beginning of January, during her bachelorette party with a few of her close friends. At first, she hated the idea of having a bachelorette party, but after endless pestering, her friends convinced her to go to a club with them. However, Y/n happened to more introverted and somehow came up with an excuse to hang out in the empty alley behind the club for a breather, and sneaking a secret smoke. She lit the tobacco and inhaled the chemicals, her lungs stinging since she'd abstained from cigarettes for a while. She knew they were toxic to her health, but in overly stressful situations, she would break out the ol' cancer sticks for a bit of relief.

The cool night breeze sent shivers down her spine. She was not wearing the most comfortable winter outfit. Quite frankly, she was freezing her tits off at the chill. The outfit she was in was a pretty small dress with a pair of black boots, revealing a lot of skin, which was borrowed from one of her friends’ closet.

Her cigarette had almost completely burned out when she heard some gravel being kicked around while feet quietly shuffled around on the ground. She became slightly paranoid at the thought of someone being in close proximity to her. She dropped the cigarette butt and stomped out the faltering flame, picking it back up once it was out and tossing it in an outdoor trash bin. When she turned back to see if an animal was causing the little noises, but she was met with a man who had stunningly pale skin and blond hair held up in a ponytail. She was terrified, and her eyes scanned him, looking for any sign of familiarity. Alas, she found none. He was wearing a pair of jeans, but no shirt, which she found strange, especially because it was January and there were flurries of snow falling to the ground.

Y/n had no idea what was going on, but couldn't help the small, scared whimper that she let out when he clamped his cold hand around her mouth with fast, bruising force, ensuring that she couldn't scream out for help. Tears streamed down her cheeks as he sunk his rather sharp teeth into her clavicle. She was terrified, she could only see a glint of red in his eye, before a rush of intense pain coursed through her veins. The blond pulled away from her neck, a bit of red liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. She choked out a sob and fell to the ground once his hand left her jaw, bare knees hitting the rough, loose gravel.

The doors of the club opened, to reveal a couple of Y/n's girlfriends, worriedly chattering; the stranger darted off, not wanting to be caught. She struggled to stay conscious, her vision becoming worse by the second, black dots spotting her surroundings. She squeaked out a small "help" before collapsing on the ground entirely, the ache still running through her body.

The girls panicked, seeing their dear friend fall unconscious in their peripherals, turning and running toward her. At first, they thought she was a goner, but one of them thought to pull out a small mirror from their purse and stuck it below her nose. Although it was minor, her breathing caused a slight fog on the mirror, letting them know she wasn't dead yet. They let out sighs of relief and did their best to pick up their friend, but the heels they chose to wear were no help to them. Instead of attempting to lug her out and flag down a cab, they focused on trying to find out exactly what happened and who they had to kill for causing this.

One of the girls, Stephanie, looked her up and down, seeing if she had any injuries, and came across a large, bleeding wound on her neck that looked like a bite if you squinted. Stephanie pointed out the spot to the other girl, Lisa, while she fished a makeup wipe out of her purse. She used a wipe to clean up the injury, but Y/n hissed in pain as the wipe made contact with an open part of the wound.

Y/n's eyes opened, and she took a moment to regain herself, pressing her back against the wall of the building. "I. . . I'm gonna go home." She grumbled, bending down to pick up her clutch.

"Are you kidding, Y/n? You need to go to the hospital! That thing on your neck is disgusting!" Stephanie was shocked, she was clearly concerned about the wound, but Y/n didn't seem to care as much.

Lisa chimed in, "It could get infected if you don't get it treated, Y/n, you should have it checked out."

The corner of Y/n's mouth twitched upwards, a weak smile appearing. "Steph, Lis, I can take care of this, it's nothing," It was definitely not nothing. She could feel an ache all throughout her veins and her head felt like it was about to explode. Y/n didn't want them to worry, she knew them all too well and she knew that if the weirdo who bit her gave her some disease they wouldn't stop blaming themselves. "I'll go home, get some bandages and antibiotic ointment, then I'll be good as new. Don't worry."

The girls, very reluctantly, let her go — trusting her instead of arguing with their stubborn friend. "Do you want me to come with? I can help, it's kind of an awkward spot to be fixing up on your own." Stephanie offered.

Y/n shook her head and politely murmured, "No thanks, Steph." They respected her wishes and headed back inside while she caught a cab driving by.

It took only about fifteen minutes for the cab to get her home, opposed to the usual twenty — the driver had seen the dried blood that had stained her skin and decided that it would be best to get there as fast as he could. She thanked the man and paid her fare, plus a hefty tip, before stumbling into her home. It was around midnight when she decided to stop waiting on her fiancé, Tyler, to get home since he was working late, yet again. She dressed her wound in bandages and took some pain killers along with a shot of whiskey to dull the ache, then retired to bed.

The next morning, she felt nothing but the raging pain of her blood coursing through her veins like poison. She swallowed it down with a few shots of hard liquor and her daily medicine. The entire day she was on edge, always looking over her shoulder. She took the day off from work, but her husband hadn't; something about extra paperwork to file before dinner. His parents were coming over to celebrate their engagement over dinner, and although Y/n wasn't feeling good, she wasn't going to up and cancel.

Instead of making a meal, Y/n called a nearby Japanese catering company, ordering a few plates of assorted sushi rolls to be delivered by four o'clock. She didn't worry over the cost, but rather plopped down on the couch, trying to rest before she'd have to deal with her to-be in-laws.

She must've lost track of time because before she knew it, there was a knock at the door, and she was mindlessly getting up to open it. There stood an awkward-looking teen with a few insulated cases in hand. "Ms. L/n?" In response, she nodded and he gestured to a receipt sitting on top of the boxes. "Sign on the dotted line," The delivery boy pulled a blue pen out of his pocket and handed it to her, which she took with hesitation. She signed for the food and took the boxes. "Have a nice day!" He spoke quickly as she shut the door.

"Why can I still smell him? He smells like Frito's dipped in guac," Y/n grimaced, however, the stench made her hungry. "Whatever, I can dig in once they're here." She sighed.

Only moments passed before the door opened, revealing her soon-to-be husband, Tyler, and his parents. Tyler took it upon himself to set the table and help his parents settle in for their stay. Y/n stood in the bathroom, observing her neck and shoulder — whatever used to be there was now but a faint ring mark. Unfortunately, that didn't mean her pain stopped. Thankfully, she had a higher tolerance than most, and a bit of liquor helped.

They were part-way through dinner, and Y/n was picking at her second California roll. She could just barely stand the scents her nose was taking in — and the sushi wasn't the cause. She could separate the smells too; one of them smelt like rotting pears, another was a variation of sour wine, and the final one was by far the one that made her hunger plunge deeper — it was floral, and yet bitter. The sushi was no longer of any interest to Y/n; those smells, though, they were mouthwatering.

"Oh, dear, Y/n," Tyler's mother, Jill, started. "I just don't understand why you couldn't have made the food yourself; then again, you've always been quite a lazy lady." The last part was more of a reminder to herself but still, hurt Y/n nonetheless.

Y/n smiled, but everyone could tell it was fake, and there was nothing but pure rage behind it. "Oh, Jillian, you always critique my cooking skills anyways, so I thought why not save you the trouble and just get food elsewhere." Bitterness seeped from every word she spoke as she glared daggers at Tyler's monster of a mum.

"How thoughtful." The father, Wayne, added, shoving a spicy tuna roll down his gullet.

Jill obviously wasn't happy with the retort and turned to her beloved son. "I can't see why you didn't try to get with that Jessy girl at your office, she was an absolute sweetie; but I guess you like the sour bunch."

Wayne chuckled. "Yeah, if I were in your situation, I'd take the bait," He paused, taking a bite of another sushi roll before speaking up again. "Put in some extra hours, if you know what I mean." He spat, a piece of rice shooting out on his mouth and onto Y/n's nearby plate. Tyler let out a nervous laugh, looking towards his fianceé.

As she got angrier, the smells got more intense and the sound of rhythmic beating and rushing liquid filled her ears. She snapped her eyes shut so she could try to focus, but she just couldn't. Tyler attempted to bring her out of her pained expression with aggressive shoulder tapping, he was met with a push with massive force behind it. Said push sent him hurtling backward into a wall, causing his body to leave a hole in its place before he fell to the ground. Wayne stood up in shock, confused at what had just happened, and something had completely taken Y/n over.

No longer could she ignore her hunger, or the pent up fury within her. She leapt at Wayne, smacking his head against the wall harshly, before looking at Jill, who was going through her purse desperately looking for her Blackberry.

"No phones at the table, Jill." Y/n hissed before, kicking the leg of her chair, snapping the wooden block off, and making Jill fall to the floor.

To Jill, all hope was lost. Within seconds, Y/n fell to the floor and grabbed Jill's arm, biting it. The latter cried out, but Y/n quickly grabbed as much sushi as she could handle and shoved it into her mouth, muffling the screams.

Sharp and strong teeth replaced Y/n's former ones and she mercilessly sucked the blood from Jill's arm. Y/n's eyes had gone dark, and that was all Jill saw before she'd lost a large amount of blood and lost consciousness.

Y/n physically had to rip herself away from her would-be mother-in-law to prevent herself from draining the body completely. Once she had seen what was done, tears streamed down her face. Panic set in, and Y/n stood up and looked around at the mess she made.

Something felt off. Her hands wandered to her mouth, poking at her mouth to realize that her teeth felt much stronger than before and there was a thick layer of blood on her bottom lip. "Holy shit. . ." She gasped, scared of what idea came to mind. "Am I a fucking vampire?"

It sounded even more ridiculous out loud.

Her mind circled back to the blood dribbling down her chin and onto her blouse. What a shame. It was one of her favorites. How was she ever going to rid herself of this mess? This was her house, people in the neighborhood knew her, she would obviously be suspect number one and she had zero idea how to drop off the face of the earth.

Y/n's eyes shifted around the room, looking for some sort of sudden solution to her problems. Sushi, blood, candles, broken wood. . . Candles. . . Fire. She could burn the evidence. Her mind wandered back to the gas canister for her lawnmower; Tyler always kept it full so it would be there when he needed it. She rushed out to the garage, surprised at her speed, and retrieved the red can.

She poured gasoline on the floor, making sure the bodies were doused in the extremely flammable liquid. Let's be honest, if the bodies burnt enough, the police of this town probably wouldn't care enough to look too far into it — they'd most likely mark her off as deceased as well.

She had changed into a pair of thick spandex, a pair of comfortable sneakers, and a hoodie two sizes too large; and at the ripe, late time of '1:27 AM', Y/n snatched one of her lighters and her pack of cigarettes and went outside. She lit a cigarette and took a couple of moments to reminisce. She adored her house, but it could no longer be her home. She wouldn't be safe there, and she couldn't come back. She needed to be far, far away. She couldn't spend a second more there, so she took one last hit and flicked her lit cigarette through the door of the house and took off as flames spread through the house.

Hour, upon hour — they simply passed like minutes. It felt exhilarating to not be tired. She ran all night and the sun was starting to peek over the horizon, soft rays of light filtered through the crowds of trees. She was in a forest of some kind, and she had absolutely no idea where she was. After a couple of minutes of nothing but trees for miles, she stopped.

Somehow she felt absolutely no exhaustion from the obscene amount of physical work she'd just went through. She must've been at least a couple of states away, she should be safe.

tags :: @whattheheckisevengoingon​

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

The Best Things ~ J.V. (Part 1)

A/n: I'm so sorry but I DESPERATELY needed to get this off my chest before I exploded because I have absolutely NO self control.

I made a playlist

Word Count: 5000+

MASTERLIST

Come in sets of two...

Y/n was an oddball.

At least that's what his parents said- a lot.

"You're such an oddball."

It seemed that they meant it endearingly, but the words stuck with Y/n much more than they probably should have. And maybe that was less because of his parents or even his brother and more because of the media and the other kids that treated him very differently than they usually treated other people.

It probably didn't help that he was a Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was an absolute golden boy. He was responsible, driven, intelligent. He was a staple for Boys Going Somewhere. A face to an idea that everyone absolutely adored. It was known very well that Bruce was going to be the successor to Wayne Enterprises- even though Y/n was two years older. Bruce was good to the core, with a wide smile but a certain professionalism that most adults didn't ever master.He was level headed and figured things out very easily. His parents were incredibly proud of him and held him very dearly, and it showed.

Y/n wasn't anything like him. He preferred staying up late and watching the stars or the sun set and then rise again, compared to understanding anything about business. He was somewhat of an artist. He had notebooks full of drawings and his room was covered with thumbtacked paintings he'd put on his wall with pride, even though most of them were what he was known for: people, animals, or objects that he'd fixated on long enough to paint them... except that they were often multiple things in one painting, and they were all mashed together in a rather alarming sight. He walked around with paint in his hair and on his clothes, his eyes bright and shining and his energy completely uncontained. He had no sense of self control or when to be quiet or calm. Most often he wasn't even found at home, as he went to school and then hung out with friends he'd made on the streets.

It was instantly incredibly obvious the drastic difference between the two boys, and people had been bidding on which one would succeed and which one would flop the very first second Bruce had been born. Every bet was on Bruce making it.

Despite everything, Y/n and Bruce got along very well. Y/n was rather emotional and got upset very quickly when he was ignored, which worked quite nicely with Bruce's curiosity. Y/n could go on for hours about the same thing and Bruce would listen. Bruce could ask questions about one painting for just as long and Y/n would eagerly answer each one, going into as much detail as possible. Y/n pulled Bruce out of his comfort zone and gave him a little fun outside of the expectations that were constantly pressing down on him. Likewise, Bruce took up the mantle and allowed Y/n the complete freedom to be himself and be appreciated for it.

Even the boys' parents had a pretty steady relationship with Y/n. They found him to be a little much, but with Bruce leaving them reassured that their company would be in a pair of capable hands, they were perfectly fine with letting Y/n go absolutely wild. As log as he was safe and everything he did was legal. They might live in Gotham, but the Waynes were good people and that wasn't changing anytime soon.

Overall, they were a very happy family.

Everything changed the night Thomas and Martha Wayne were shot dead on a way home from a movie they'd taken Bruce to.

It had been a night out like any other. Y/n stayed home as usual- it was the only time he could turn his music all the way up and completely lose himself in whatever he wanted to. The others didn't mind. It let Y/n blow off steam and made him much calmer for a while; in addition, they had a night out together and got to bond with Bruce. Sometimes they'd take just Y/n, and sometimes Y/n and Bruce would go out together without their parents, but most of the time it was Thomas and Martha and Bruce, and each Wayne was okay with that.

Y/n was staring at a half painted canvas, eyes wide and fingers trailing the path of his lips. He was loving the loudness and the thumping of the beat under his feet. Like it was in his blood. He smiled, raising the paintbrush.

The door busted open. "Y/N!"

Y/n spun around, startled. In the sharp movement, he knocked over a tiny bowl full of paint. Alfred reached over, turning the music off. "Your parents were shot and killed. Bruce is home early." Red paint dripped down the easel and over Y/n's shoes as the words tried to sink in but failed.It was like looking at something see through or invisible. Like feeling the breeze and wishing to catch it, but never able to close your fingers around empty air. Y/n just couldn't comprehend what Alfred was saying. Sensing his shock, Alfred moved closer. His voice was softer when he repeated, "Y/n. Bruce needs you. He won't admit it, but I can't help him lone.He won;t even admit he needs help. He might open up to you."

"No," Y/n choked out. Martha Wayne was far too kind and gentle. She was warmth and safety incarnate. Something so good and bright wasn't allowed to fade. Like yellow paint,or the sun. She always came back in the morning Always. And Thomas Wayne was... unbreakable. Unshakable. Impossible to even faze, let alone kill. He was unbeatable. Nothing could kill him. He'd live forever. Or, at the very least, go out at his own time when he was completely sure he was ready to. "No."

"Yes," Alfred insisted, shaking Y/n's shoulders violently. Y/n flinched. "Please-"

Without another word, Y/n pushed away from Alfred and sped to Bruce's room. He didn't even knock. Bruce was sitting on his bed, his eyes haunted and his lips resting in a soft frown. His hands were in his lap as he perched on the edge of the bed like he was planning to run any second, but he also seemed cemented in place as if he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to. He was scary still, and as his eyes slowly moved from the floor to meet Y/n's gaze, the older Wayne shivered at the darkness in his gaze. "Bruce?"

Bruce nodded stiffly in forced greeting. "Y/n."

Y/n bit his lip. Bruce's gaze fell to Y/n's feet and widened, his hands tightening on his knees. Y/n looked down to see the red paint still on his shoe, beginning to dry, and immediately felt sick. "So-" he cut off, his throat burning like he'd swallowed acid."So they're really-"

"Yeah," Bruce interrupted.

"You were there."

"Yeah."

Silence fell like a piano from a fifth story building. Even when the silence left, the feeling didn't. Both boys were suddenly being crushed under the weight of a ginormous object neither of them could see let alone explain or find the strength to remove. It stayed through the funeral, and onward. It manifested differently for each boy.

Bruce began to dig into his parents' murder, sifting through file after file, night after night. He got little sleep and ate even less often. At least he wasn't hurting himself anymore. That he had done a lot right before Alfred, Y/n, and Jim Gordon had all teamed up to knock him out of it.

Y/n was thrown into the world of business. He was torn away from everything he cared about. His freedom and dreams were stolen ad he was forced to clean up and get into a suit and start taking care of the family company- at least until Bruce was ready. In a few months he lost not only the things he enjoyed and his parents, but also his friends and the easy going way of life. He was beaten down and forced to be calm and collected. He was taught how to not deal with emotions like real men do and handle business that needed to get taken care of. He wasn't a person anymore. He was a tool.

It was unbearable for Bruce. He was losing all of his family in one go and as he tried to fight to make sense of it or keep anything of his old life, people kept trying to knock him down a peg and remind him that he was a child. Even though Y/n, barely 14, was apparently old enough to have the world on his shoulders when he was completely and totally not able to handle it in any way. It was supposed to be Bruce's job.

Finally he managed to prove his capabilities, but not in time to save Y/n. He had been rung out by the press and pushed to the brink and then over by the people at Wayne Enterprises. When he got his free time back, he didn't spend it watching the stars or the sun rise and fall. He didn't spend it painting dogs and lamps. He didn't spend it doodling and ranting to Bruce about all the things he found wonderful about the world. He spent each and every second he had locked in his room, painting.

The colors of each work began to get darker, the themes more twisted. They got better as he fixated on one thing only... unfortunately, that thing was death.

Y/n was spiraling. He didn't take care of himself and sometimes didn't come out of his room for days. Bruce tried to get through to him, but it seemed that something really bad had happened while everyone had expected him to be in charge. The thing was, there were no hints about it and of course no one at the company would fess up about anything. Y/n wouldn't talk about it. Anytime anyone even mentioned Wayne Enterprises, he would pull away and become unresponsive.

Then the Maniax began wreaking havoc.

Y/n's focus suddenly changed. He wasn't fascinated per say by the horrible things going wrong, but more the people that were committing the heinous acts. One day Bruce finally got him to talk about it, and all Y/n had to say was, "I mean, who does that? Who goes around just killing people like it doesn't mean anything? For no reason? Look at the redhead- he shoots one of his own guys for no reason- Look, right there. What kind of mental state would someone have to be in to be so flippant about taking a life?"

The obsession with the Maniax was soon followed by an obsession of killers in general. He was found constantly reading history books about some of the world's worst killers. Then, about Gotham's worst killers specifically.

That was why Bruce went to him when he began to get involved with that same redhead that had set Y/n down this path in the very beginning. "What do you think drives him? I mean, why do what he does?" Bruce asked his brother one day. It had been quite a while since they'd sat down and talked like this. When Bruce would ask questions about something Y/n fixated on and Y/n answered with pure eagerness. This had been the first time the information had been useful or had a realistic application, and it was upsetting.

"Probably some mental disorders. Perhaps some childhood trauma. He's probably immensely desensitized..." He paused. "Jerome Velaska is actually quite odd. He's probably just psychotic, with some serious abandonment issues and a sort of god complex. He wants to be seen and known and craves endless adoration and attention. He'll do anything to get what he wants, and doesn't have the patience or tolerance for anything else. That's why he acts out- it's like he has the mind of a child. He didn't get his way and now he's going to pitch a fit and chuck his toys. His toys being people and the fit being murder."

Bruce swallowed. "That's demented."

"Hm?" Y/n hummed. He blinked then forced himself to nod. He had zoned out and not blinked to bring himself back to the present. "Yeah. He's totally messed up."

Bruce tried not to ask Y/n about Jerome again after that. There had been a strange light in his eyes. A dangerous interest that made Bruce... nervous.

Everything came to a climatic bang when Alfred took the two brothers out to a charity banquet held in honor of a children's hospital. He'd only managed to get Y/n out because he'd been more energetic recently. More in a good mood. A little more like himself. In favor of seeing Y/n be so much like he used to, neither Alfred nor Bruce questioned it.

Boy did they wish they had though.

The night was seeming to pan out rather dull until the Magician came out. Y/n loved Magicians. He always had. He found their skill to pull off even the most obvious tricks was rather impressive. So when the Magician on stage asked for a volunteer and Bruce was chosen, Y/n was a little disheartened.

Bruce, however, seemed that he would rather do anything else. He had been nagging to leave anyway. Y/n stepped forward. "I can go up for you if you want," he offered.

The woman smiled and on stage, the Magician announced, "Ah yes! Just as well, just as well. Please, join us." The woman held out her hand for Y/n and he took it immediately.

Gotham hadn't seen Y/n in a very long time. People tittered and clapped and Y/n felt nervous. He hadn't been in front of a crowd since-

No, he wouldn't think about that. Tonight it was just some good fun and he'd be okay with that. Wasn't he allowed to have fun every once in a while?

The Magician greeted Y/n then opened a box, motioning for him to get in. He did, with a bounce in his step and excitement in his eyes. The box lid closed over top Y/n and the slats were put in place. It was the classic "sawed in half" trick. Y/n was immediately put off though. It would ruin the magic if an audience member did the trick. The assistant always did this trick, because it required a lot of trick of the eye to work. This way, he'd just get cut in-

Y/n's eyes went wide. The Magician above him smiled deviously.

"Does this handsome gentleman have a name?" Suddenly Y/n's body went cold. He knew that voice. Had heard it again and again and again on tv. He had seen that exact smile accompanying it. He was torn between the horror of the very real possibility of death at any second, and awe at finally meeting the man he'd been unable to get out of his head for the last significant amount of time. Since the whole bus full of high schoolers had almost been set on fire and that soon-to-be familiar face was all over the screen during the news broadcast about it. That face that had been and would be on every news broadcast for quite sometime. The Magician hummed, raising his eyebrows, and Y/n swallowed.

"Y/n," he said. There was no point now. He was trapped and at this man's mercy. What could he do? Cry for help? The most anyone would do is laugh it off, even if he could manage to get the lump out of his throat and get any coherent message across. Plus, something far more demanding kept him silent.

An extremely dangerous sense of curiosity.

If he was going to die tonight anyway, he might as well take his last moments to see what Jerome Valeska was like up close.

"Y/n," the not-magician repeated, musing over the name. "Well, Y/n, this won't hurt a bit." He clanged the two large saws together and Y/n felt breathless. What was he doing?! This was absolute madness! "Is there a doctor in the house?" The crowd laughed. The crowd LAUGHED. Of course they laughed. They always laughed. No one cared about Y/n Wayne.

Suddenly Alfred's voice sounded out, rather panicked. Y/n looked over, surprised. Of all people, Y/n didn't think it would have been Alfred who would have intervened. Alfred had been much too wrapped up in taking care of Bruce. Such as everyone was. Despite that, it was him to stumbled out, "Just- wait- excuse--" He held up a hand, everything going quiet and still as he tripped forward. "Just wait, wait, wait one second."

Jerome didn't wait.

The saw came down.

To his own shock, Y/n was fine.

The assistant rolled away his lower half and then returned it just in time for Jerome to lean close and whisper, "Give em a wave." Y/n looked directly into his eyes and his smile wavered. They were a pretty color. Brown, littered with slight blues and green that came alive under the stage lighting.

"I know who you are." The words wouldn't have been heard by anyone else other than Jerome- even if it wasn't for the clapping. Jerome froze, but Y/n didn't wait. He stood, waved to the audience to show he was alright, and then allowed the assistant to take him back to his place next to Bruce and Alfred.

When Jerome spoke gain, his words seemed to be a little different. Y/n placed the emotion when he turned back around again and saw Jerome's eyes glued intently to Y/n. He wasn't blinking. "Some say Y/n here has a split personality." The audience laughed at the pun and then his voice lightened again as he moved onto his next trick. As he called up the mayor an the set up began, the assistant's mask fell off.

Y/n gasped. He knew that face too. Unmistakable. Barbara Keene. Of course. How did Y/n not see that far sooner?

"I should warn you," Jerome teased lightly. "No one is getting out of here tonight alive." The audience laughed and Y/n thought he would feel terror at the words. What was stopping him now? He could whisper to Bruce or Alfred. To that nice lady from before-

It was then that Y/n realized Lee Thompkins was gone.

Jerome flung a knife straight into the Mayor's gut and Bruce stepped forward, gasping in time with the crowd. Y/n was torn. Why was he torn?! This was simple! Stop this! Right? Surely he could do something.

And yet... he found he didn't want to. God what the hell was wrong with him?

The Mayor fell and people began panicking. The gun shot started and Y/n moved without thinking, slipping behind a curtain and out of sight. He began to move through the curtains until he was far enough fromAlfred not to be stopped, then he was ducking to make sure he didn't get shot- and he waited.

He saw Jerome and Barbara tie up Lee and then make a call. He spoke loudly- it wasn't hard to make out at least one side of the conversation. His demands didn't make sense. They didn't line up at all with his character. Why...?

His maniacal laughter suddenly cut off as he turned to face his newly terrified audience. The moment was interrupted, though, by a new voice. "Enough!" Y/n stepped out from hiding to get a better view, only to see a man he didn't know. That was a new experience on this night where Y/n seemed to be able to put a name to ever face in this room that mattered. "It's time for you to pack up your little sideshow and leave," the man continued. Jerome was still grinning. That didn't make sense either. Why didn't he seemed bummed that his fun was getting interrupted, or a little tentative around the new player he hadn't planned his game around? How had this guy even gotten in, with all the guards outside? It felt off. Y/n could sense it immediately. Even the man spoke like he was... reading lines.

And Jerome responded in the exact same way. Like he was in a show. Like he was acting.

The movements of the two men and the way they formed words seemed so out of place. Even the shot of the gun Barbara used... none of it seemed natural.

Without thinking, Y/n stepped forward. The small noise his steps made immediately caught Jerome's attention. His eyes light up, his smile relaxing to a much more natural place. This was Jerome. The change was impossible to miss for Y/n, who had been carefully studying him so long.

"You," Jerome called, pointing directly at Y/n for the first time tonight. This felt even more thrilling than when Bruce had been picked. Now there was no charade or manipulation. It was just Jerome and Y/n. "Come here." He held up a gun, obviously ready to threaten someone's life to get Y/n to obey, but he was already moving before the words could leave Jerome's mouth. "What a nice boy." Y/n should have been at least pretending to be phased, but he was far too caught up in analyzing Jerome that he didn't think about how his step was confident and unfaltering, taking him to Jerome without any hesitation. He didn't think about the expression on his face, but how it made Jerome specifically respond. By simply having an emotion other than fear, Y/n had caught Jerome's attention and was reveling in it. Jerome could see that too, and it seemed to entertain him even more.

"You just gonna stare at me all day?" Y/n whispered softly, trying not to let his lips twitch into a smirk. Was he... flirting? It felt like he was suddenly outside of his body, watching this train wreck happen, unsure of who was in control or why he was doing anything he was.

Jerome seemed to be absolutely loving it. "Stand here with me." His voice was soft as silk, near purring. Y/n moved to where he motioned and stayed silent. The problem with his new placement: everyone could see his reactions now, not just Jerome. It was time to start acting at the very least.

Turns out he didn't much need to.

Jerome was easily terrifying as he was charismatic.

Every time Y/n thought he had caught on to Jerome schtick, he did something that threw Y/n off completely again. It was all fun and games, playing at murder but then pulling out some joke shot that didn't really make any sense. Did he actually want to keep all of us hostage? Wasn't it enough to have a few? Bruce, me and Alfred because Bruce was Gotham's golden boy, and he wouldn't let anything happen to me or Alfred. Lee Thompkins because she was his bargaining chip. The four of us would be plenty enough of a bargaining chip, maybe a handful more just in case. Why spare everyone, if he really did like killing so much?

There was something to Jerome that really intrigued Y/n. He wondered what the maniac was really thinking. What really drove him to act this way. To take control of a whole room full of Gotham's richest of the most well meaning... only to ask for ridiculous, nonsensical demands and not kill a single one of us.

Again Y/n got that sense, like something else major was actually happening here.

Y/n was zoning out. Missing things. He couldn't focus on the act going. The show that had more layers than what was originally apparent. He missed the whole throw down with Barbara and Lee as well, but caught the gist: Barbara was apparently in love with JimGordon and fancied that they'd end up together. Lee was apparently getting in the way of that. Blah, blah, blah. Girl drama and psychopaths and romance and delusion. Barbara almost killed Lee. Jerome stopped her. So on and so forth.

Then, Jerome attention was on Y/n again all of a sudden, even though he'd been carefully ignoring the boy he'd called up on stage until that point. He grinned at Y/n, the knife he'd taken fromBarbara manifesting in Jerome's hand. The redhead used it more like a finger than a weapon. He ran the dull side of the back of the blade under Y/n's chin, the flipped it so the blade was pressed gently to Y/n's skin. "My favorite volunteer," he said slowly, stepping far too close for what should have been comfortable. "You know, I've seen you on TV."

"And I, you." He hadn't meant to respond, but it had slipped out before he could stop it.

Jerome's head tilted as he popped his chin in pride. "Well, of course. I was meant to be on the big screen. I made my own way. It was my choice to end up where everyone could see me." He took a deep breath in. "You, however... what a scandal." Suddenly Y/n couldn't breath. Jerome roared in giddy, insane laughter. "There he is!" He turned to the audience, motioning to the slight shake of Y/n's body and the sickly pale tint to his skin. "There's that fear! That fear or hate or disgust or whatever it is you all feel for me... except for you." He looked back at Y/n. "We're so similar, Y/n," he sighed. "I'm an orphan too, you know. I don't fear death either."

"You killed your parents," Y/n managed to get out through gritted teeth.

Jerome tilted his head back and forth. "Details, details." The knife was at Y/n's throat again. "You're no fun anymore, you know. Everyone stops being fun at some point. I will give you one thing: you lasted longer than most." The knife pressed further into Y/n's throat and he sucked in a sharp breath as it broke skin, a single drop of blood making a vibrant path down his pale skin.

Gun shots. Suddenly Jerome spun, pressing Y/n's back to his chest, moving the blade so Y/n's was a hostage instead of the focused on target. There was a bit of chaos in the crowd, and Y/n's eyes widened to see Alfred and Jim Gordon of all people mowing through Jerome's lackies. Jim turned his barrel toward Y/n and Jerome. "Let him go!" He shouted. Jerome's giggle rang right next to Y/n's ear. Whatever weird spell from before that had Y/n controlled and calm and still broke and he flinched back away from the blade. Unfortunately, that only brought him closer to Jerome. After a second Jim defeatedly announced, "I don't have a clean shot. Jerome shifted, obviously eager in his moment of victory.

"Stay calm, Y/n," Alfred eased. Bruce was shuffling, knowing it wouldn't help to rush in but having to use every bit of his self control to stop himself from doing just that. He couldn't lose Y/n too. His brother was part of the quickly dwindling family he still had left.

Jerome's breath sounded in Y/n's ear as he gritted his teeth, switching from plying a game to planning an escape. Of course he wanted to get out of here alive. "It seems like we've got ourselves in a bit of a pickle. "What do you say Sweetheart?" Jerome mumbled in his ear. He was twitching, rocking a little from foot to foot. "Why don't we boost our ratings, hm?" The knife moved from one side of Y/n's throat to the other, drawing the smallest line of blood. Y/n gasped, his body shaking in suddenly very real fear. He wondered if this is how his parents had felt, or if they'd died too fast to really be afraid of dying at all. "Smile." Jerome began his wild, broken chittering of a laugh again.

This was familiar. Jerome had been waiting all night to kill someone, and for whatever reason he hadn't. Unfortunately, that meant he was definitely not going to hesitate to now. Y/n closed his eyes, and echoing, "NO!" Coming from his younger brother before he was sure he was about to be enveloped by darkness.

"I said, enough." Jerome let go of Y/n in surprise and both boys turned, unsure where to move from here. Not knowing how to switch gears. There stood the man from earlier. Theo Galavant. Theo grabbed Jerome by the color and drove a knife into the side of his neck. Y/n made a weird, half-choking, half-squeaking sound as the blade made impact into flesh, the audience gasping behind him.

Y/n couldn't move. He fell backwards, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself as he made his way off the stage and to the ground. Theo must have thought he was further, but he heard it. He heard what the man said next. "I know, I know, I know," he cooed as Jerome choked, dying. Y/n blinked, trying to clear his head. So many thoughts were swimming through it and his chest had begun to tighten and twist. He couldn't breathe. He could still hear though. "This isn't what we rehearsed. I'm so sorry Jerome. You have real talent! But no, you see, the plot thickens. Enter: the hero."

Something horrible settled into Y/n's stomach as Jerome spoke again, his voice weak and raspy. "You... said... I was... gonna be..." He died before the sentence could finish, and Y/n was running. Ramming into Bruce, the boys holding each other tightly as Alfred enveloped them both with his arms.

"It's over," Alfred reassured. "You're safe now, Y/n, it's okay."

The words sounded sincere and full of relief, but Y/n couldn't shake that things were far from over. In fact, he was sure they'd only just begun.

-

[captainjimothycarter]

Director Carter, Badass peggy being in charge of everyone and everyone being scared/intimidated by her, especially the newbies, including but not limited to coulson, hill, may, etc

Oh my God Y E S. So I’m sorry I just kept rambling on. You can figure out the timeline, because I can’t, lmao.

--

Director Peggy Carter knew she was a hard woman, knew she was intimidated by extreme means and that’s how she wanted it to be. She’s lived her life, a woman in this career where she’s frowned down at for being a woman while working in the military. Where doors have been shut in her face, where she’s been talked down to, looked over for promotions despite she’s the best choice for the matter next to another Agent, bluntly ignored, or even had her sex used against her.

Peggy Carter was a hard woman because life her that way, because she knew the life of an agent because she knew that the world would not be easy on an agent because he was new. There were crazy things out there and she had the feeling they were just barely scratching the surface – starting with Schmidt and Steve and there was no end in sight.

Her age was not something these agents would use against her either – they knew better. She was harder and stronger because of all she’s done in her age. Sneaking behind her officer’s back as Captain America’s liaison, ignoring bluntly given orders? It was the first of many things she’s done quite illegal that should have her still sitting in jail if she did her math right. Her only saving grace was her quick wit and skills – and of course a few close friends in good places.

Howard Stark and Chester Phillips had pulled her ass out of the fire more times than she could count and Peggy was grateful for them. Phillips knew her worth better than anyone but also knew how to play the game. He knew how the world worked and fought back against it in his own means. What may seem like him yelling at Peggy for disobeying an order was his way of giving her what she needs. It wasn’t like he could stop her anyway – a lesson he learned quite well during the war and after.

Phillips had appointed her Director of Shield when he was ready to retire, claiming he was tired, and Peggy knew it was his age getting up to him. He’d left her in the perfect position with people they trusted to continue the work that he’d started and left his own files and notes for her, so she wasn’t alone. His death had hit her hard and reminded Peggy no one was immune to death – not that she needed a reminder. It just reminded her all the same of what was at stake here and how she had to do her job, no matter what these agents thought.

--

The knock on the door caused the Director to raise her head, glancing down at her withered watch to read it was nearing midnight. She hadn’t been aware of the time or the fact she was burning the midnight oil – no wonder she was exhausted. Her eyes were burning and she had to sigh and rub at her face.

“Come in,” she croaked, standing up to pour herself a glass of water. She wasn’t surprised when the door opened to see their new agent enter – a young Phillip Coulson. “Ah. You’re finally back. I was wondering when you would be coming in. Are you hurt?”

Her eyes scanned over his body, taking note of the gauze peeking from his collarbone and the burned ends of his dress shirt.

“A little,” Phil admitted with a slight shrug. “No more than normal. I wasn’t sure if you were in but I wanted to drop off the mission report before I left. The mission was a success – we retrieved the 084 and it’s currently being investigated by Stark and his men.”

Poise. Proper. This man would make a fine agent, Peggy was sure once she’s whipped him into shape. She can’t think she’s had any problem with him actually. While it wasn’t her job to train agents, Peggy liked to give a personal hand unless something called her away. She wanted her agents to be aware from day one when she recruited them that she was their direct boss, that she not only signed their paycheck but was the reason they were here. She handpicked every single one of them.

“That’s great.” She tossed the file on the desk, intending to take it home and read it while in the bath. She deserved that at least. “You may leave. We’ll resume training tomorrow. Be sure your friends are on time this time. I don’t feel like waiting.”

--

“What was that?” Peggy asked, her tone sharp as she rounded on Hill. “Agent Hill, I believe I asked you a question. What. Was. That.”

The woman’s head snapped up, a strand of her hair escaping the high bun and sticking to her sweaty forehead. She looked on the edge and devilish, unable to focus. Good, that’s how Peggy wanted them. It was beyond boiling in this room, the thermostat read nearing 90 degrees in a small room. She wanted nothing more than to strip down to her slip but the Director hadn’t even removed her scarf.

The sand beneath them blew across their face, feeling like sand hitting her and making her skin raw. No doubt a cold shower was in their future. If they got out of this room. They stood in a room simulated to be a desert, the humidity quickly rising by the hour, making their throats ache for a drop of water. The weather was designed to put them on edge, to stress any agent out. They were to think and act. A few agents were spread out in the room, hidden behind various objects. Hill had just an hour beforehand to read the files quickly and choose which was her current target. She had one choice, one ‘bullet’.

And of course, Hill chose wrong.

“A mistake, ma’am,” Hill replied in a soft tone, her eyes snapping to Peggy. “I-I panicked.”

“You panicked.” Peggy’s fingers snapped and all at once the simulation ended, an agent slid down from the top of a dune and tumbled down to end up at their feet. She helped pick him up and brushed him off. “Agent Hill, I am aware of how this situation is, how you’re in a stressful situation, but this is what life is like on the field. You have very little time to choose and remember which one is your enemy, your target in a stressful situation. Sometimes you don’t even get files, sometimes you don’t even get five minutes. If that had been a real bullet, a real situation then that man would be dead and I would be left with the fact to tell his family that their father is not alive because of your mistake.”

Peggy’s sharp eyes never left Hill’s face, seeing the realization they both knew sinking in. Her head slowly nodded before she looked down at the agent she ‘killed’, his vest splattered with red paint. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“No, you won’t. Let’s take a break, then we’ll try this again. Go wash up, Agent, and get some water.” She patted the young agent on the shoulder, watching Hill being the first to leave the room. Peggy sighed heavily and rubbed at her temples. Agents made mistakes, she told herself, Gods know she’s made a few of her own.

--

“What do you call that?” Peggy mused, cocking her eyebrow at Coulson as they looked in on the darkened figure sitting chained to the desk. A faux interrogation, but Coulson believed it to be real. To his knowledge, they’d gotten a suspect in for the deadly gas that was threatened to explode half of Manhattan.

It was an interrogation they’d set up for weeks, slowly spreading information, letting it seem real as possible, to even Howard designing a fake formula for their use. They had to go to these extremes, clean up included to train her agents. Peggy would not take anything less here, damnit.

Coulson’s eyes snapped to her from the side of the room, licking his dry lips. He’d become nervous and wary of her over the past few weeks, her clear reputation getting around Shield. “Ma’am?” He turned to look at her, finally turning his back to the perp. “Call what, ma’am? I looked at his file, I asked him questions.”

“You asked him questions that anyone could fake answers to! You need to get in his head, you –“ Peggy was cut off at the perp running into the glass, Coulson jumping away and turning to see the man standing against the glass, dragging the table with him despite he was cuffed. “I want you to handle him. Now. I need to go on a conference call but when I come back, you better have some answers – more so than I can find from reading his file.”

She paused and turned to read Coulson’s expression. He was soft, too soft and it made her heart pull at a reminder of Daniel. “Agent Coulson, you must become used to these interrogating techniques and think outside the box because I can guarantee you that half the perps that we have in there have already thought of what to say when they’re in here. And fifteen different ways to get out of those cuffs and to get into your head. You have got to be five steps ahead of them or I’m afraid you won’t make it as an agent. At least not fieldwork. Now, excuse me.”

The call lasted less than an hour, plenty of time for the brunette to grab a cup of coffee and wander back into the interrogation room. She found Coulson sitting on the other side of the glass again as if he’s never left and staring down at the file. She could see his scribble and notes he’s made while she was gone. The man on the other side, she noticed as the lights flicked on from her arrival sported raw spots on his wrists.

“He has a fear of snakes,” Coulson mused, snapping the file closed. “The wonders you can do with Stark technology at your hand and a few scenes from Indiana Jones. I believe you’ll find everything inside is all you need to know on the formula and the counter effect.”

Peggy’s fingers closed around the file and snapped it open, her eyes skimming over the pages. A smile pulled on her red-stained lips and nodded. “Very good, Agent Coulson. Remember these techniques for later.

--

“Director?” Fury stopped in his steps, looking down at the small file that Peggy had given him two days prior. It was late at night, meaning this man had stayed up late, not like she was in any better position. Two agents had just gone missing out of the blue and she couldn’t figure out why.

“I thought we talked about knocking?” Peggy sighed, waving the man inside and watching him collapse in the opposite seat of her desk.

“No, you talked about knocking. I pretended to listen.” Peggy’s eyes snapped to him and all the co-director could do was a smirk. “Listen, I’ve been reading over this proposal you gave me and…no.”

“What do you mean no, Agent? Those are your only two options. You are Co-Director and have to make decisions without my regard. Yes, the files will pass my desks but not all of them I will be able or have time to approve of. Are you telling me you want to take back your promotion, Agent?”

Fury was silent for a beat, Peggy counted watching his chest rise and fall. She could see the gears turning in his head. The way he held himself, his hand gripping his kneecap to a frightening point.

“No,” he said finally, breaking the silence between them. “I do not, Director. I mean that I am not listening to your asinine directions here. I mean no disrespect, ma’am but I believe there’s another course of action here that won’t put so many lives at risk and still give us the intel that we need, and rescue our two missing agents.”

Peggy smirked as she sat up and take a long drink of the bourbon she’s had sitting on her desk. “I see,” she sighed, as if it pained her to look through the file Fury had given her. “Very good, Director Fury.”

“This…was a test?” She could see the frustration growing in his eyes. “I already sent my agents out!”

“Of course this was a test! You will be tested many times while under me. You need to know when to make the hard calls when to see that your only two options are not your only options. You need to see there is much more than what meets the eyes.” She paused in her sip of the drink and cleared her throat. “You already sent your agents out?”

“Of course I did! I-“

“Good.” She cut him off, Fury raising a brow at her. “Because then you’re two steps ahead of me and the situation. Because that’s what I want. You’ve done well. Now go monitor your agents and the situation and report back to me when they’re home. You might make a fine Director just yet.”

--

Agent May. Melinda May. Her mother had shortly worked for Shield before being recruited elsewhere, claiming Shield’s life was not for her. If her daughter was anything like her, Peggy knew her hands were full and that was fine with her.

Just the challenge of Agent May was far more challenging then Peggy had imagined. The woman was a fine agent, she was great at combat, never wanted a weapon until she needed it and by then, she’d get it herself. She was great in training, and in just about every area but one.

Espionage. Keeping a low profile. Pretending to be someone else. To keep your head low and level and keep to the situation, until you had no other choice.

“I have not forgotten my spy days,” Peggy told May with a roll of her eyes. “I am still a spy, a codebreaker if you want to add another term to it. What you’re doing….” She waved her hand with a frustrated sound. “You’re awkward. You need to fall into the role easily, at the drop of a hat. You can’t help who you will be working with or what you’ll have to do to survive and get out of the building.”

“Knowing you it was guns blazing,” May smirked, leaning into the opposite wall and pulling her hair up into a bun.

“Don’t believe rumors that you hear,” Peggy mused. “It was not just guns blazing. It was sneaking around my own agents, my own bosses back to get the information we needed, that I needed. I’ve had to dance with many sexist men who loved to squeeze my ass in order to just get out of the building. Did I want to knock some sense into them? Yes, I did but I refrained from doing so.”

May looked at her up and down, chewing on the inside of her lip. She knew her problems in dropping her guard and trusting her partner if she had one. She knew the problem to fall into a role, keep that guard up, but not act if things went wrong. It was a frustrating feeling.

“Let’s go through this one more time?” She asked, causing the Director to rise from her seat and smile. “You sure you should be walking on that broken leg?”

“Don’t you worry about me, Agent. I’ve had much worse. Remind me to tell you about the time I was pierced by a piece of rebar.”

--

It was another late night for Director Carter. Save for the night crew, she was one of the few remaining people here. Fury had just left a few hours ago, muttering about not hearing from Coulson for a few days now. Last she checked, the man was still on a mission Fury had set him on with a suspected 084 in the Arctic.

Habit caused her to think of Steve and the fallen plane, but she knew better than to give herself false hope. She couldn’t survive on false hope alone.

Her personal phone ringing caused her to jump, frowning at the undisclosed number. No agent had her personal number, so who would be calling her? Frowning, she had no choice but to answer.

“This better be good,” she sighed. “Enough to risk calling my personal number, Agent.”

“Ma’am? Director.” It was Coulson. She could hear the wind-breaking up the man’s words. He had to practically shout in her ear. “I had no choice, ma’am. Too many bugs.” Wherever he moved to, Peggy could hear him a little better. His words started to echo. “We found him.”

Her heart leaped to her throat, but still, she couldn’t allow false hope. “Him who, exactly?” Could it be…

“We found him, ma’am,” Coulson murmured just for her to hear. “We found Steve Rogers. He’s alive.”

[redhawtriot]

Caught in the Act: You and I (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Hiiii bbys

Back by popular demand: The Sequel to Caught in the Act!

This story shifts perspective like a mother fucker so take some pepto-bismal and enjoy the ride. 

PS: You and I both have the same name

HnM 💕

What… just happened? You turned back around to face the door and placed your hand on the knob. You let it sit for a moment before you slowly retracted it, cursing under your breath. His soft, sad smile replayed in your mind over and over again as you stared at the handle—each run through of the scene causing you to fall deeper into uncertainty.

You had never seen him smile like that before. You had, of course, recently been exposed to a new, vulnerable side of him—raging and begging like a caged animal as you struggled to separate yourself from him, yet you had never seen him accept his defeat so solemnly. Actually, you had never seen him accept defeat in general. 

Your face settled into a hard expression.

Was he really going to be okay? Did he finally crack after everything? Maybe you should turn back around, just to make—

“Y/N!”

You jumped at the sudden voice before a set of familiar, firm hands were pat down on your shoulders, “Sorry! I am so sorry!” It was only Kirishima. You relaxed from your tense stance as he continued, “I didn’t know Bakugou had left the hospital, I swear! I would have never sent you here!” You whipped your head toward Kirishima’s frantic expression as he profusely apologized, clasping his hands together and praying for your forgiveness. His sudden appearance sent a jolt of realization into your being: Katsuki cheated on you—that’s why you left him.

That’s why he was feeling the way that he was now-- why you were feeling the terrible way you were now. 

No matter how much you wanted to make sure that he was okay, you needed to give yourself that pleasure first. You owed yourself at least that much after dealing with his bull shit for the past months.

You shook Kirishima off of your shoulders, startling him slightly; however, you sent him a reassuring smile, “You have to take care of him...” you didn’t mean for your voice to break toward the end of you sentence.

“W-what?”

“I…” You cleared your burning throat in an attempt to save your voice from cracking again,  “I can’t-- won’t take care of him anymore, so I need you to, okay?”

“O-okay. Well—uh. I-uh… I was not expecting that,” he nervously laughed—breaking himself off mid-chuckle to search your eyes for any distress signals, “You okay?” He had an eyebrow raised.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you so much Kiri,” You once again smiled at him before you made your way to your car.

“N-no problem, I guess… You are really not okay right? I feel like that is what I am gathering from this situation,” his eyes continued to dance across your expression in an analytical matter. 

“Don’t worry about me. You’ll have…” you signed a load of air that you hadn’t even realized had been stored within your heavy chest, “...a lot on your plate,” you finished before turning around to walk towards where you had left your car.

You could only manage a few heavy trundles before you felt strong arms wrap around you, “You’re solid, Y/N. I am so sorry you had to go through this, but if anyone can handle it, its you,” he whispered into your hair before placing a light, friendly kiss on your forehead, “Love you,” he bid his farewell as he pulled himself from you.

Kirishima watched as you made your way to your car to make sure you made it safely since it had grown dark outside. He noticed the tired way that your shoulders drooped as you walked. The dense man was never thought to be the most perceptive of the bunch—he knew this, but he swore that somewhere within your somber stance, was a hint of relief. It was as if your drooping form was due to a sudden weight being lifted off of you. You were only contoured to the emotional baggage that had weighted you down and soon, like the resilient, wonderful woman you were, you’d eventually mold back into yourself.

Kirishima felt the corners of his lips tug into a warm-hearted smile as he watched your car pull off—exchanging one more wave to you before you left.

It was bitter-sweet for sure. After all, who knows when the next time he’ll see you will be?

Never mind that though; He’s got another buddy to worry about right now. The man’s red eyes uneasily shifted to he front door of his crisp, worn down apartment, wherein he knew a train wreck resided.

Would Bakugou even listen to him after all that they had been through that day: the tree villain, the argument, the fire? 

‘That night, you told me that you didn’t want her to leave us. There is no us, you delusional bastard. It is me and her.’ Bakugou’s words rang in Kirishima’s ears worse than any one of his explosions had ever managed to. Obviously, there was still some unresolved issues between them, so what chance would he have in being the comforting friend that Bakugou needed in that moment?

Kirshima suddenly shook his head in a crude attempt to get rid of the swarm of doubt infesting his mind, and pushed his chest out strongly as a man should,

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath as he opened the door to the home, “Bakugou?! Bro? You in here?” He knew very well that he was, but it felt right to give him some sort of alert to his presence. He read that about feral bears once when he used to hike with Bakugou a lot. It seems as if it could apply in this situation a well he guessed…

“Come get your crap,” the sudden rough voice shook Kirishima out of his his wandering thoughts. He looked up to see Bakugou holding a large plastic crate, “I only brought two bins, so make sure not to pack like a dumbass.”

“Huh?” Kirishima was expecting him to be much more of a... mess. The dull shine that your hazy eyes had held a few minutes ago was very similar to those of shell shocked veterans, yet this scene in front of him was far from war-- actually pretty domestic for Bakugou standards.

Bakugou’s expression hardened as he slammed the crate down in front of Kirishima. It sounded with a loud clang as he spoke up once more, his pressing voice just as booming, “We are going to Racoon Eye’s aren’t we, dumbass??”

“Uh-- right, yeah!” Kirishima found himself being distracted by a glint of something else in Bakugou’s angry expression, “You’re… okay with that now?” he questioned as he moved around the apartment, searching for salvageable items to bring with him. 

Mina was the first and only one of their friends to come visit them at the hospital that evening, only because they were hospitalized for just a few hours and she was so close by.

She obviously offered to house her two friends until they got back on their feet since she had plenty of room in her duplex; however, before she could even get the words completely out of her mouth Bakugou had already begun protesting with “I don’t fucking need your help,” and “I’d rather live on the street than live in your garbage can house, Racoon eyes!”

The explosive man was now singing a different tune, “Well it’s not like I have much of a fucking choice now do I?” The blond man currently grumbled to himself as the two packed up their belongings. 

Kirishima simply shrugged in return-- a slight smile on his face. Bakugou seemed to be doing much better than he was when he left the hospital. Maybe he was afraid for him for no reason. 

The two men continued packing as a thick sheet of uncomfortable silence engulfed them. Kirishima didn’t mind though. He would much rather have this than have Bakugou explode the apartment again. Besides, the two were soon enough, finished packing up and Bakugou went to go “take a piss” one more time before they departed for Mina’s apartment.

As Kirishima placed his final item in his bin, a sudden gleam from Bakugou’s crate caught his attention. It was honestly nothing too vibrant or spectacular, yet something inside of the man told him to go investigate it. He shuffled the tightly packed items a little to uncover more of the object and turned it slightly to its side to unvcover its shattered face when suddenly—

“Don’t fucking touch that!” Bakugou roared, snatching Kirishim’a arm and tossing it away from the bin, but it was too late-- Kirishima’s eyes told that he had already seen what it was. 

“That was the sports festival picture of you and Y/N from high school…” Kirishima reported with a concerned expression.

“I know what the hell it is, you idiot,” he gruffly replied as he snatched up his bin and began marching toward the exit.

Kirishima hurriedly grabbed his own and followed Bakugou’s actions, “I... saw her leave when I came in,” he wasn’t sure how to start this conversation, but this seemed neutral enough. And it actually piqued the blond’s interest.

His eyebrows slightly furrowed in surprise. Kirishima hadn’t come in for a long while after you had walked out of the door. Were you really waiting out there for such a long time? What the hell did that mean?

“She looked a little upset, but not like usual.” well recently. Kirishima could only internally add that,  “You got the closure you needed, didn’t you.”

“Are you gonna just run your goddamn mouth all damn night??” Bakugou suddenly snapped, but upon seeing his friend’s worried expression a pit of guilt settled deep within his stomach. An awkward air of silence filed in between the two friends once more as a big Taxi van pulled up in front of them. Bakugou blew out a gust of hair as a pout rested on his face.

He would never say this out loud but maybe he would apply his new found methods of care to his best friend as he had planned to with you. It was no secret that Kirishima had pretty much been the only thing holding him together for the past few months, and he honestly didn't deserve all of the thrashing that Bakugou dished out toward him-- no matter how thick his skin was. 

The blond didn’t know what he would do if Kirishima left him alone like you had.

“I kissed her... I kissed her a lot actually,” Bakugou grumbled under his breath. Kirishima’s jaw dropped in shock as Bakugou continued, “It felt like good bye, but also really good,” His cheeks crept into a slight blush at the recollection of how amazing your body had felt on top of his. He shook this light feeling away as the Taxi trunk lifted open, “So it can only mean goodbye for now. I’ll get her back one day—if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll have her be my wife,” Bakugou knew that he wasn’t saying this fully because he believed it, but as Kirishima as his witness, he would be held accountable for his winning or failing. No. Fuck that. For his winning.

Surprisingly, Kirishima ate up Bakugou’s determination and made it his own, “Sounds like a plan,” his eyebrows tensed as his expression folded into a proud smirk,  “Just don’t do any thing irrational, these things take time.”

Bakugou grabbed the other man’s bin from him to load it, “Do you think I’m and Idiot or something?! I know that! That’s why I sent her out.”

“Wow…” Kirishima’s heart began swelling up, “That was really manly of you. Mature too! I am proud of you, bro.”

The other man simply rolled his eyes, “You haven’t ever even been in a real relationship, shitty hair. I don’t know what the hell makes you think that you’re better than me at this shit,” A sudden dull pain ripped through Kirishima’s chest at Bakugou’s words. He knew that he hadn’t meant it with more malice than typical, but for some reason, these words had reached him in a sore spot in his heart.

As Bakugou finally finished packing his final objects into the taxi, he slammed the trunk down, snapping Kirishima out of his wandering thoughts. Finally, the two made it back to Mina’s just as the sun had begun to rise again.

They walked up to her apartment, but just as Kirishima raised his hand to knock a loud screeching of metal could be heard from next door. A fumbling voice cursed under her breath before a face peeped out of the other half of the duplex. 

“You must be Mina’s new house guests! Sorry for scaring you! This door is stupid loud! It just needs some oil, but honestly, I like to call it my homemade alarm system,” Kirishima gave hearty laugh at the woman’s passing joke, while Bakugou only glared away.

“Yep! We’ll be hanging out for a little while! I’m Eijirou Kirishima!” the red haired man excitedly greeted, “And this is my buddy, Bakugou.”

“Nice to meet you Bakugou—Kirishima,” the way that his name rolled out suddenly made Kirishima’s blood pool into a hot mess near the surface of his cheeks.

I studied the two of their faces and gauged them with my serial killer/freak/pervert radar and found nothing too alarming, “I am her landlord, Y/N,” I continued with a smile as I made my way fully out of the apartment to properly greet them-- eyeing the light shade of pink dusted across the cute one’s expression. I was obviously too infatuated to notice that the other man’s face had crumpled considerably at the mention of my name.

“We didn’t ask,” the ignored man spat instinctively, causing my eyes to sharply snap in his direction. He looked almost hurt. I honestly have seen a lot of hurt men in my day—not because I’m some kind of heartbreaker or anything, but because my apartments are usually dirt cheap. The inevitable divorce that happens with two people are fed up with one another usually sends the male party packing, and guess where the sad saps end up?

My duplex apartments—or some other crappy place like them.

So, what’s this ‘Bakugou’s’ story? I looked to him with an intrigued expression; however, he still hadn’t found the resolve to look me in the face yet.

“Bro! Can you stop that!” Kirishima instantly reprimanded his friend. He was completely embarrassing him in front of the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, “I am so sorry for him! He’s just had a bad day.”

I don’t even entertain that bullshit as I keep my eye’s steadied on the angry, obviously broken man in front of me, “Uh-huh… So anyways,” I finally looked back toward the cute red-head, “Here’s the keys Mina wanted me to give you. She’s got a early shift today so she won’t be around, but I am always here... sadly,” it was true. Being a landlord was pretty much my only gig. I really should pick up a damn part time or something.

Yeah right. And miss out on sad sap soap operas like this? I stifled a laugh at my thoughts before walking back to my apartment.

I sharply turn around catching the red-head’s eyes lingering on my form, “Holler if you need anything, but don’t holler if you don’t because nobody likes a noisy neighbor, got it?” I wink at him before making my way into my apartment.

Bakugou finally averted his gaze from the metal rail that he had been glaring at in the distance and snatched the key’s out of Kirishima’s frozen hands, “You’re drooling, dumbass,” he snaps his friend out of the trance that I had left him in as he roughly shoves past him toward Mina’s front door. The blond felt his heart ache begin to creep up on him again.

 I just had to have the same name as you did. Who knew Y/N was such a popular name?

On the other side of town, you had only just returned home as well, “Todoroki?” you called out softly into the dark house. No reply came and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or upset. Your feet were still heavy from earlier as you tiredly shuffled into the living room and plopped down onto the couch, a huge sigh being released from your being as you threw your head back.

You sat like this for a moment, unable to feel much as a numbness began spreading throughout your aching body. Your eyes peeled open to stare at the ceiling above you. You forced your heavy head back up and took in the mess of papers scattered throughout your home from yesterday evening’s transgressions.

“Y/N,” The sudden voice made you jump, but your tense body was soon engulfed in Todoroki’s tight arms, “I was so worried when you didn’t come home last night! I--” the man found himself trying to calm down. He took a short breath and restarted his approach once more as he looked into your eyes, “You were stress driving again, weren’t you? I don’t like how we left things, Y/N. I can’t have you leave upset like that ever again. I love y-“

“Katsuki and I hooked up,” you abrupted his oncoming confession. You had to let him know. You were the mess of a human that ruined Fae’s love and stomped on Todoroki’s as well-- god!

A well of tears pooled in your eyes as you stared at the man who loved you-- the man you were definitely destroying. “W-what?” his stoic demeanor completely shifted into a zone of hurt. 

“Katsuki and I kissed. A lot,” you corrected, “God Todo, it was like melting back into home-- into what I am supposed to be! I-I am no better than him!” your voice finally cracked as your first tears began falling. You moved your body to walk away from him, but he tightened his grip on you just enough to hold you in place,

“You’re nothing like Bakugou. You’re caring and honest and considerate and beautiful and I don’t take back what I said. I do love you. I still really do,” regret began filing into his expression as his pursed his lips, “Maybe I shouldn’t have waited so long to show that. I know that actions speak louder than words,” His eyes flickered down to your lips.

He had wanted to wait thing long to give you the time to properly heal, but that approach was obviously was simply letting your emotions simmer and crust over. Maybe the Todoroki would have to take a more direct approach in showing you your worth.

“How I feel remains the same,” his breath reached your face in a warm blanket as he wiped away your tears, “Y/N, I’d like to know if you feel the same way,” he leaned in closer to you and waited. He needed you to close that last centimeter of distance, then he could fully show you how much you meant to him—No reservations.

“I... do...” you weren’t sure if you sounded too sure, but to Todoroki’s ears, he’d never heard anything so certain! Taking initiative Todoroki disappeared the final distance between you as his lips slowly found their way towards your own. He passionately pressed his mouth against your own as if he were desperately trying to erase any trace of Bakugou.

Fuck that bastard for hurting the woman he loved and then having the gall to keep you entranced in some sort of spell. He was going to erase that fool from your life no matter what...

“Achoo!”

“Damn, city flowers!” The sun was at full mast as Bakugou made his way back toward Mina’s apartment after his “hike.” Mina lived pretty much in the middle of the city’s most urban area and there was practically no tree’s in sight. What was supposed to be a refreshing walk was turned into an aggravating extra shift at work as he came across multiple attempted muggings, an assault, and even a flasher.

The man huffed.

It wasn’t like he had shit else to do. He fucking wished that he could be like Kirishima, sleeping like a baby. He was going on 40 hours without sleep, after all. The past two days had been, in lack of better words, a complete shit show.

But things were about to look up for him. He had a plan in place to get you back. All that he needed to do was follow that plan and nothing in heaven or hell could stop him from—

A feminine shriek snapped him out of his thoughts, “Get you damn hands off of me, prick!”

Bakugou growled in frustration. He was gonna explode the hell out of whoever this was he swore to god. 

The man angrily marched toward the bickering voices. They were near the base of Mina’s duplex. 

Bakugou paused as he walked straight into one of my frequent arguments with my on-and-off dick of a boyfriend, Ty. 

“Baby, you know that I love only you,” his voice hardly sounded believable. In, fact I was sure that I have heard toddlers be more persuading, “It shouldn’t matter what happened in the fucking past. Can’t you just let bygones be bygones?” A half-laugh, half-snort love child tore out of me as I rolled my eyes at the bag of dicks in front of me. 

“You’re full of shit, Maybe that’s why your breath smells like ass all of the time,” I tried to turn to walk back into my apartment, but he suddenly snatched me by my shoulder and roughly whipped me around toward him,

“Dammit, Y/N!” the sound of yours and my name caused Bakugou’s heart to race as his nervous system suddenly went on edge. An intense mode to protect suddenly activated within him as the man that I was arguing with continued, “If you’d stop being such a bitch for five seconds and let me explain!” he roughly snatched my face in his hands.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” 

Should Bakugou interrupt this lover’s quarrel? Or ignore the couple’s arguing and go home?

YOU DECIDE!!

Follow this link to cast your vote

[hanadoesstuffbadly]

‘Online’ ch I - RS&t7D University AU

Hello, I was looking for Red Shoes fanfiction when I discovered that there are little to no Modern AUs being written. So i figured, screw it, I’ll do it myself because I love modern AUs.

This is the first chapter and it is very long, so if you don’t feel like reading it, fair enough. I’m planning to write the whole thing anyway because I also love writing and it’s good practise.

Small warning if you do want to read this: Merlin is British. I am British. British people are very sarcastic and very moody all of the time. This entire first chapter is from Merlin’s perspective so there are a lot of British phrases and idioms used. If you are fortunate enough to not be an eternally grumpy Brit, don’t worry, the next chapter will be a very bad written impersonation of an American!!

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please don’t judge me too harshly, I am but a young peasant girl.

Sooooooooo.... Summary.

Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)

(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right.)

With that done... I hope you don’t hate it!

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Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness. 

Had he asked for counselling? No. 

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could “Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”? No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term Raptor-trainer) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he had, but the weather he wanted. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing. 

Like sleeping. 

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not  keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- as a student whom we have identified as being at risk- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction.  In spite of definitely not looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips. 

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading "Darth Vader was framed", betraying that 

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and 

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt. 

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron,  broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?” 

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair. 

The ‘So, Merlin.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, ‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead. 

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?” 

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

-

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’. 

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest. 

Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look.

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten. 

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

 The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

 “Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

 Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

 “Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

 Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

 Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

 “What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

 “I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

 “You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

 “No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

 “Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date. 

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

 And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

 Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

 “What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

 “She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar didn’t love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely. Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

Fairytale Island��was created by Avalon Games nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles were box-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning. 

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience.

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about this? 

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

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

Wow! Thanks for reading that!!! I hope you enjoyed it!

(Btw, Gwen, Viviane and Briar are my headcannons for the end credit characters and Morgan LeFey is the fairy princess)

Again, thanks so much. I’m putting the next chapter up at some point, this one from Snow’s perspective.

[mother-shipper]

Save Me (I Can’t Face This Life Alone)

Harringrove for Australia piece for @buildyourwalls. I definitely went over 2k and I can’t tell you how many times I completely overhauled this but it’s here! 

Steve had never expected an apology from Billy Hargrove of all people. He expected to end up getting along with the guy even less. Billy was okay when he wanted to be, when he wasn't fixated on usurping a throne Steve no longer wanted anyway. They had things in common. Billy was good at conversation and while he still busted Steve's balls, it didn't have the same bite to it as before. 

Surprisingly enough, it had seemed for a moment that Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove might actually be… friends. But then it happened.

Prom.

Steve and Billy had both decided to go stag. Steve didn’t have anyone he liked enough to ask. Billy said there were too many options to limit himself to one bitch for the whole night. And if neither of them had a date, they may as well pregame at Steve’s before heading over to the school gym. Steve had readily agreed and Billy showed up in his powder blue tux with a little something tucked in the inner pocket. 

“To get me through Cyndi Lauper,” he told Steve, rolling his eyes.

Looking back, Steve wasn’t sure how he missed it. They rolled up together in Billy’s Camaro. Every dance request Billy got was shut down in favor of sitting at the table people-watching with Steve. Then Billy had flashed the bag tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket and nodded to the back door. Steve had followed without a thought. They were friends. They were just going out back for a smoke like he and Tommy used to do all the time. 

They passed the joint back and forth, talking about the night, the people, the music. He hadn’t noticed Billy shifting closer, hadn’t picked up on the look in his eyes. One second Steve was laughing about Tammy Thompson’s choice of cowgirl boots and the next, Billy’s mouth was on his. 

He remembered how warm and soft Billy’s lips were. There was a spark of heat low in his gut and his mind went blank before everything seemed to explode. Billy was kissing him. Billy was kissing him! And he was enjoying it. It was a lot  to process and before he could orient himself, Billy was pulling away. The look in his eyes was pure panic. The easy, relaxed confidence was replaced with wide eyes and rigid posture. He looked ready to bolt. 

"Billy…," Steve tried. "Hey-" 

A hard shove to the chest put Steve's back against the wall, the brick biting into his skin through his shirt. He grabbed onto Billy's wrists and winced but Billy took a quick step back. Recoiled from Steve as if he'd been burned.

"Just… Just stay away from me," Billy snapped. He spun on his heel and was gone, heading for the parking lot at a clip and leaving Steve leaning against the wall, dumbfounded. Before long, he heard the roar of the Camaro. There were squealing tires, a flash of headlights and then Billy was gone. Steve was left leaning against the brick wall, staring after him and wondering what the actual fuck had just happened. 

He tried to get Billy's attention at school, tried to talk to him and sort this whole thing out but Billy never gave him the chance. He thought of calling before realizing he didn't have Billy's number. He didn't even know where he lived. Billy always came to him. …Maybe they weren't as good of friends as Steve thought. But Billy didn't give Steve the chance to make that right either.

He never got to talk to Billy before summer came. 

Scoops Ahoy was not the job Steve had hoped for. It wasn't hard work but it was draining in its own ways, not the least of which was the toll it took on his self esteem. Most nights, Steve would only have enough left in him to shower, maybe eat something, then crash face first into his mattress. He hasn't been able to even talk to the kids, let alone attempt to make time to visit Billy at the public pool. Even if he did, he didn't think it would help. Not at this point.

He was out of the loop, oblivious to the goings on that had been noticed by the kids. Then he was knee deep in an entirely different loop with Russians and secret codes. It wasn't until this Venn diagram of disaster met in the middle that Steve realized just what had happened to Billy.

  How he was still alive, no one could say. Steve believed it was sheer stubbornness. If anyone could live out of spite, it was Billy Hargrove. Knowing what he did now about Billy’s daily life, he could safely say he would have given up long ago. Billy was strong. Stronger than he thought even Billy realized. But this? Being a part of the darkness that lurked beneath Hawkins was too much for any one person to carry alone. He would know. 

Steve needed to be there for Billy. He needed to make up for not being there sooner and to see him awake and breathing. Because all he could see when he laid his head down at night was vacant, blue eyes, black blood soaking white cotton, soaking his hands. So much blood. Another nightmare added to the silver screen of his mind.

Steve knew you were supposed to bring something when you visit someone in the hospital. Flowers didn’t seem like Billy’s style. Neither did any of the stuffed animals lining the shelves of the gift shop. He searched through cards but they all seemed so formal. It didn’t feel like he was giving Billy something sincere. He put back a card, his nose wrinkling at the picture of a cat dangling from a tree branch that just said “Hang in There”. None of this seemed like anything Billy would like but he couldn’t show up empty handed. He wouldn’t. 

Steve was giving serious consideration to leaving and coming back when he had something good to offer when he saw it. 

It was tiny, maybe only about the size of a golf ball, sitting in its little terracotta pot. The green, waxy exterior was barely visible through the army of white needles jutting from it. The spines poked out in all directions leaving nowhere to touch it without getting bloodied in return. In contrast to the sharp barrier, at the very top there sat a tiny, pink blossom. Steve knew this was perfect.

Scooping the pot gently into his hands, Steve went up to the counter and happily paid for the angriest little plant he’d ever seen in his life. He was going to see Billy and they were going to talk. About everything. About that night at prom. How sorry Steve was. How much he wished he had been there for Billy when he needed someone, anyone, to recognize that he wasn't in control. That he wasn't himself. 

Steve went to the nurse's station, cradling the tiny cactus in his palms. A kind if tired looking woman glanced up at Steve from a clipboard, her brown hair tied up in a bun and lips painted red.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi. I'm looking for Billy Hargrove's room?"

The nurse nodded, sifting through paperwork before pulling out what must be Billy's chart. She flipped a page, looking at something that made her brow furrow. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name," the nurse said, voice suddenly cold as she looked Steve over. 

"Oh," Steve said, caught off guard by the rapid shift in tone. "It's Steve? Steve Harrington?"

Her lips pursed and she slid the file back onto the shelf, eyes on Steve's. "I'm sorry. He's not accepting visitors right now."

Steve's chest ached as he realized what was happening. There was a list. And Steve was on it. He wasn't going to get to see Billy. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut and he wanted to break down and cry right there. Instead, he swallowed, took a deep breath.

"I understand," he said softly. He stared down at the cactus, at it's tiny, pink flower. "If it's not too much trouble, could you just give him this?" Steve set the pot onto the counter. "I still want him to have it. And… if you could... tell him I'm sorry." 

When Steve looked up again, the nurse was watching him curiously. She still seemed wary of him but there was less hostility. Instead, she seemed like she just couldn't figure him out. Steve offered her a smile he didn't really feel and nodded once before turning to leave. Billy didn't want to see him and Steve couldn't blame him.

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

“You have to fix this.”

Steve looked down at Max, eyebrow raised in confusion. He’d opened the door, expecting to find Dustin standing there, trying to get Steve to leave his house again. He didn’t have nearly as many hours at the video store as he did at Scoops so Steve found himself with a lot more downtime these days. To say he hadn’t been using it wisely was an understatement.

“Nice to see you too, Max,” he grumbled, stepping aside for her to come in. She stepped inside and her nose wrinkled instantly at the sight of the place. There were empty pizza boxes and takeout containers scattered everywhere. Steve was still in his pajamas, third day in a row and he hadn’t thought to change them. Not like he was expecting company. 

“Boys,” she sighed before turning to Steve. “You have to talk to Billy.”

Steve snorted, walking past Max and into the kitchen. “Wow. Great idea. If only I’d thought of it sooner. Problem solved.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Steve,” Max huffed, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. It was something so distinctly Billy it made Steve ache. “You know you want to see him. And he wants to see you.”

“Right.” Steve pulled open the fridge, digging inside for an excuse not to look at her. “That’s why he put me on the ‘keep out’ list at the hospital. I tried, Max. I’ve been trying since school but he wants nothing to do with me.”

“He does so!” Max shouted. “He’s just being dumb! And so are you!”

“Max-”

“No! Don’t give me that ‘you don’t understand’ crap. He’s miserable, Steve.” Max gestured around the messy house. “You’re miserable. And there’s no reason for any of it.”

Steve paused, straightening and looking over his shoulder at her. Max looked near tears, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She was angry and worried and...scared. She was scared. Steve took a deep breath and sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“All I can do is try, Max,” he told her softly. “I can’t promise anything but I can give it one more try.”

Max broke. Her face crumpled and she threw herself at Steve, arms wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in Steve’s chest and sniffled. He hugged her back, wrapping her up tight against him and resting his chin on her head.

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

The house wasn’t a big one. The little one-level, ranch-style place was tucked back near the lake not far from Hop’s old trailer. If it weren’t for the Camaro on blocks out front, Steve would have wondered if he had the right place. Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe. Billy was in there. This was the closest Steve had been to him since that night outside the gym. It made his heart hurt and longing filled his chest. Steve gripped the handle of the sixpack in his hand. This was stupid. He was just going to get his heart broken once and for all. But he promised Max he would try. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve knocked  on the door and waited. He could hear movement inside, heavy steps coming toward the door. The knob turned and Steve felt a sudden panic grip him. The door flew open and Billy stood there, hand on his hip. 

“I told you, old man. I’m not going so you can just…” Billy froze. His blue eyes went wide and he stared at Steve in horror.

Steve glanced over Billy. The scars. God, the scars. There were huge starbursts all over Billy’s torso from where the mind flayer had hooked into him. Smaller spots littered his arms, one sitting just below his eye. The worst was right in the center of his chest. It was an angry, red, gnarled looking thing. Suddenly all Steve could see was blood. It was dark. There was a monstrous scream ripping through the air. White cotton soaked in black. Empty eyes. Heart pounding. Dead. Right in front of him. Gone. 

“Harrington!”

Steve dropped the sixpack, snapping back to the present only to realize his whole body was trembling. His face was wet and he met Billy’s eyes. They were bright and sharp, concerned. They were alive.

“You’re here.” Steve choked on a sob. He couldn’t stop himself from moving in closer. He looped his arms carefully around Billy’s waist and buried his face in his shoulder. “I,” he gasped, “I thought- you-” Any coherent words dissolved into desperate bawling. 

Billy’s arms curled around his shoulders, hesitant and uncertain but there nonetheless. Steve wasn’t sure how long it took but he eventually ran out of steam. He cried himself out and Billy just held him. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t push Steve away. He sniffed against Billy, not willing to let go yet.

“I thought…” he hiccuped. “I never got to tell you. I thought you were gone and you’d never have known.”

“Known what?” Billy finally asked. Steve pulled back just enough to look at Billy. He wiped at his eyes and nose furiously. 

“You ran away,” Steve said. “At prom. You kissed me and I didn’t expect it.”

Billy’s face was hard, closed off the way it had been every time Steve tried to talk to him since. He opened his mouth to say something but Steve cut him off, shaking his head.

“You didn’t give me a chance to realize what was going on.”

Billy snorted. “It isn’t that hard to figure out. You didn’t kiss me back. That’s all I needed to know.”

“We were fucking high, Billy,” Steve snapped. “It took me some time to process, okay? And if you let me get more than two words out-”

“I get it, Steve! You’re not interest-”

Steve cut Billy off, kissing him hard. He poured everything he had into it. All the hurt and fear and longing. He gave Billy everything there was to give and then some. Breathless, he pulled away, pressing his forehead against Billy’s.

“I’m not what now,” he challenged, catching his breath.

Billy tangled a hand in Steve’s hair. “I need to know you mean it,” he growled. “I need to know it’s not just because of…”

Steve shook his head. “I’ve been trying to tell you for almost a year now, idiot. You just wouldn’t let me.”

Billy held Steve tighter, making his heart flutter in his chest. They just stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, making up for lost time. Steve soaked in Billy’s warmth and presence. He was here. He was broken and scarred, but he was here. That’s all Steve needed. 

It was Billy who finally broke the silence, smiling softly. “Any particular reason you bought me a fucking cactus?”