#anyway i did that fucking raid so many times and only just got the gloves

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

swagmode activated

[vampiresuns]

Power Couple | JC Sanlaurento x Saoirse

⚡︎ POWER COUPLE ⚡︎

1.7k words. JC Sanlaurento and Saoirse make a comeback for the prompt ‘who to see’ from @midsummer-masquerade​.

All Saoirse, Theo, Meredith and the rest of her crew belong to @apprenticealec​. Just like ‘Wouldn’t You Love to Love Her’, this is also set in the Janiverse.

You can find Sanlaurento’s outfit here, and the rest of City of Delights here.

Julianus examined the invitation —the luxurious paper and printing work— and hummed. 

“So, what you’re telling me is that Vesuvians host secret sex parties?” They asked Saoirse, who was sitting on their bed, watching Julianus sway in their place from side to side. 

“That’s a way of looking at it.”

JC snorted. “It tracks for me. What doesn’t is that Meredith knows the former Count.”

They left the invite Saoirse had given them next to Saoirse’s own as they went to sit on the quartermaster’s lap. Saoirse began telling them what they knew about Meredith’s and Lucio’s friendship, as the two of them sat unnecessarily close to each other. Saoirse liked it that way, they liked the way their Julie’s rib cage moved as they spoke, or the way their heart beated inside their chest. 

“Who got the fourth invite?” 

Saoirse’s smirk told them the answer was going to be good. “Theo.” 

Jules was already vibrating.

Vesuvia wasn’t that different from what they remembered. They had travelled to the City a handful of times when they were studying in Firent and  the plague was no longer a risk. Julianus liked it — lively and cosmopolitan, the atmosphere vibrated with magic, making it seem like anything would happen. 

As soon as they reached port, Elizabeth and Tariq dragged Meredith their own way, Drew walking calmly behind them. That left Julianus, Saoirse and Theo to go search for their outfits on their own. They walked the streets together, Jules holding Saoirse’s hand while they animatedly talked with Theo about fashion, textures and the like, sharing jokes as they browsed through the Red Market. 

When they ran into Meredith, Julianus couldn’t help but to tease Theo a little bit. Theo replied with some teasing of his own, telling his friend he was sure Saoirse and them wouldn’t even make it out of their room at the party. 

“Let’s see,” Jules said, that little smile on their face that no one in the crew knew if Saoirse had copied from them, or them from Saoirse. 

They didn’t have much more time to stroll around the City after they got their outfits. Not wanting to be late, they made their way to the Palace, meeting with Meredith on the door. While Meredith and Theo had separate rooms, Saoirse and Jules had one together, as it was customary for couples who didn’t request otherwise. They didn’t remember saying anything about it, but the pink-haired servant that was guiding them through the Palace said one could tell. 

Jules felt Saoirse short next to them, quickly followed by their arm around their back. 

They wanted to ask the name of the servant, to thank her, but she was gone before they could say anything as soon as they were shown their room. Julianus soon forgot about it anyway, as Saoirse pressed against them from behind.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were impatient.”

“How about ‘curious’? It’s hard not to be when you have been very insisting about me not spying on your outfit. Despite you helping me choose mine.” 

“You’ll have to tame that horse because I want to shower before I begin getting ready.” 

Saoirse just made a deadpan comment about their woes, that Jules fully knew they didn’t mean. Saoirse was a patient person (because Saoirse was a person, eldritch existence aside), and Saoirse liked to indulge whatever little ritual Julianus came up with in situ. They found them entertaining, and they could see why their partner liked to come up with little explanations and decorative reasons for certain things.

They just were fun to follow. Not that Saoirse ever expected to think that, but that was their Julie. 

Saoirse asked if they were allowed to have a bath with them, and they were, though of course it ended up being half bath, half make out session. Yet, the moment they began getting ready once they were out of it, Julianus shooed them out of the bathroom with a gentle push. 

“You’ll get many rewards for your compliance, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I’m the one getting the rewards tonight? I thought you liked being the one getting them.”

“For being a void with eyes and I being the horny human, you’re absolutely incorregible.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I do,” they said, asking Saoirse to lean down to kiss their lips.

Saoirse kissed them back before going to get ready themselves, looking around their room when they were ready, and seeing how soft the bed was. It was very, to their discovery. Julie was going to like it, they thought — it had not gone past them that while they were not even close to Theo’s original royal status, or Elizabeth’s for that matter, they had come from a very economically comfortable background. To begin with, they were a lawyer who had studied in Firent. That said something on itself. 

While their Julie wasn’t conceited in the slightest and had separated their choices from those of their family, out of what Saoirse knew and could tell from having observed humans for so long, there were some things that, like Theo, they couldn’t shake off. Luxurious bedding was one of them: Julie always raided rich people’s quarters for certain possessions and home making elements were one of them. Saoirse’s bed in the ship had never looked nor felt plusher. 

Lying back on the bed, waiting, they began making conversation with them. They talked about Vesuvia, about Theo and Meredith, and the party itself. Julianus revealed they didn’t know if they would come to something like this otherwise. 

“I don’t think this is the kind of party to come alone, or at least I wouldn’t attend alone. I don’t mind doing things on my own, but again, this isn’t it.”

“I’m sure there’s going to be a lot of people looking for other people.”

“Well, it is a sex party,” they said, their voice carrying into the bedroom from the bath, “I just have a bit of trouble thinking about the hypothetical.”

Julianus did not know how the conversation turned from there to if they’d be interested in someone else, if they weren’t a thing. They couldn’t help trying to figure out why Saoirse was asking, even though they knew Saoirse was asking simply because that’s how they explored things they didn’t quite understand. Asking.

“I think I’m answer is not going to be as interesting as you think it will be. Though I honestly do not know what you’re expecting— the thing is I just can’t picture myself with anyone else other than you now? I know you wouldn’t care if I let you know I wanted another partner or to sleep with someone else, but unless I had a specific itch, I just… don’t see it.

“Like, okay maybe if Meredith wasn’t my boss, but Theo has the right of way there because he is my friend and I want him to be happy, Tariq is very handsome; If you make me think of other ships Jade and Louis are very pleasant to the eye, and maybe in another life I would flirt with them. Maybe in this one too as a joke, and to piss Rodrigo off. Even then they’re all very nice hypotheticals I care little for when I have you right here.

“Your all the private devotion I will ever need.”

They came out of the bathroom. They had their hair in waves, two red flowers pinned to the side of their head. Julianus was wearing a black bustier styled corselette, it had garter straps hooked to black thigh high socks, and was wearing black boots that went almost as high up as the socks. They were fitting into each arm a pair of above the elbow, black gloves. 

They looked stunning. They always did. It wasn’t the outfit that made Saoirse look at them like that.

“Mo grá?”

“Aside from the Queen, I don’t think anyone has ever chosen me like that.”

Jules walked towards them, who was now sitting on the bed, and stood between their legs. They kissed their forehead. “Well, to you, to love is to protect. For me, to love is to choose, too. You’re a wonderful person to choose, Saoirse.” 

For a being as old as Saoirse, loneliness was something they had to be used to. For a being as old as Saoirse, who also spent so much time around humans, they don’t think they would ever notice what loneliness was if it wasn’t for their proximity to them. Saoirse’s hand found Julianus’ side, as their mouth pressed itself against their skin and their clothes. 

“No comments on the outfit? You look very handsome. I am most definitely the luckiest person in this Palace, sorry to Theodore.”

“You look, you look—” Saoirse didn’t know how to finish their sentence. How human of them. How odd. How misplaced. How very Saoirse. Them and Jules were both like that: misplaced. Yet right then they looked beautiful, inviting, sexy, like the sea, like freedom on Saoirse’s hair and like not a wave, but a tsunami changing their coastline forever. 

Saoirse didn’t need to finish their sentence for Jules to get it. “See, this is what Tariq means when he says you’re bound to make me mad with power.”

“You like it.”

“Oh, I do. Nothing like being loved and fucked by my favourite eldritch entity. Like I said: my own private devotion.”

Saoirse smiled at them; a kind of smile only reserved for Julianus, one that carried a different complicity than the one they had with the Pirate Queen. 

“Do you want to have a look around, or do you want to prove Theo right?”

Sanlaurento snorted. “Never. Let's go make people jealous of how good we look.”

Saoirse was happy to indulge them. Out of their room and into the party, Julianus hooked their arm around Saoirse’s. It made them stop. Looking at them with a little smirk, Saoirse crouched down to sit Julianus’ on their shoulder, turning their head to kiss their thigh. 

“Why walk when I can carry you?”

“Mad with power, and it’ll be your fault.”

“I’ll have to find something to keep you in line then.”

“Please do,” they said, catching the innuendo in Saoirse’s tone. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 20

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

~~*~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

~~*~~

Read Chapter 20 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

As Edge was walking towards the vehicle shed, he caught an acrid hint of cigarette smoke in the air. He followed it, not inside but around the back and sitting in the shadows of the halogen lights was Rus.

Edge could hardly disguise his approach, the crunch of his boots in the hard-packed snow would have carried in the still icy air long before he came around the corner. But Rus made no attempt to hide. He stayed where he was, a burning cigarette dangling from his gloved fingers as he gazed up at the aurora-filled sky.

He’d already been out here for some time while Edge and the others spoke with Toriel and Gaster. The cold would soon be seeping through his outdoor gear no matter how good it was, sinking its chill into Rus’s bones. Monsters felt the cold less than Humans did but they were by no means immune to it. They could be sickened, frostbitten, and some, like Alphys, tolerated it even less than Humans. As a skeleton, Rus’s endurance should match Edge and Red’s.

Then again, who knew the boundaries of a skeleton from an entirely other universe.

Edge sat down next to Rus, drawing up his knees to rest his arms on them. He looked up at the swirling aurora overhead, the blur of colors rippling together in tangled waves, a sky ocean born of solar particles colliding with the atmosphere.

“it’s so beautiful here.” Rus’s voice was almost too loud in the hush.

“Yes,” Edge agreed in a voice to match.

It was. His intention when they’d first arrived here was only to find a safe place for those in his care, Alphys and Undyne and his still-wounded brother, and later, for Bonnie. Somewhere they could be certain of their meals and shelter. Nothing more than a job to replace the one he lost with the guard and a feeble attempt at that.

He hadn’t expected to find beauty in the glacial whiteness, nor in the endless night sky. He never anticipated the satisfaction that came with seeing another group off, knowing he’d protected them and guided them through this dangerous beauty. He couldn’t have known how Undyne and Alphys would blossom here, both their love for each other and their lives, settling into their place. Or that Red would slowly find his own footing and perhaps he’d never adore the Humans that came here, but he had his own pride in his work, kept all the equipment in top form and helped Alphys in her designs for new additions for the station. And Bonnie, who’d come to them later and never discussed her own inner wounds, yet still seemed to be healing from them. Together they’d created a place of safety for them, a home.

Even after all that, he never could have braced himself for Rus. Who’d settle into their home like he belonged here, their missing puzzle piece. Only it seemed as if he’d come not from their picture, but an entirely different box.

“he told you, didn’t he.” It was impossible to tell if the fog of Rus’s breath was from the cold or the cigarette.

Edge said nothing. His promise to Toriel specified he couldn’t reveal what they’d spoken about. It did not preclude discussing it at all and he only waited as Rus chuckled bitterly, filling in the silence on his own.

“it’s funny,” Rus drawled, flicking ash into the snow, “i came all the way to the end of the world to escape my past and it still came after me.”

Edge thought of Toriel, currently cramped into one of the spare rooms and probably trying not to scrape her horns against the ceiling. “I know the feeling.”

“yeah, i know,” Rus said, grimacing, “i’m sorry. part of the deal of tori sponsoring me was i’d keep mum about back home. i promised.”

“I understand.”

“yeah, well, if i’d known they were gonna pop in unexpectedly, i would’ve warned you about that much, anyway.” Rus’s expression crumpled slightly, going brittle around the edges. “look, i love tori, she’s been nothing but good to me. moms her way into everything. but you guys got your reasons to not want her around, i get that.”

“Rus,” the cloud of his own breath briefly obscured his vision as Edge sighed, “even if they are here because of you, that doesn’t make it your fault.”

“doesn’t it? think what pissed me off most is i know dings is right,” Rus murmured. “he’s can be a little rough saying it, but he means well.”

The resignation in Rus’s voice made Edge bristle, “He accused you of being nothing more than a key made for a particular lock.”

“truth hurts.” It was startling to realize how he’d categorized Rus’s smiles in his own head, the bright, fake one and the softer, shyer truthful one that came with a measure of trust. This one was entirely new, tainted with deep bitterness, “bet big brother didn’t fill in the details, so let me give you the highlights of our family tree.”

“see, our pop was the royal scientist in our world, the real deal. i call him pop, but that’s mostly because it annoyed him. he wasn’t really our father, he was a dna donor. he didn’t even name us, we named ourselves.” Rus was sitting right next to Edge here in the deep cold and still seemed miles away, no, not miles, he was in another world entirely. “dings took his name. not like he really knew there were many options past that or just getting called number one. just as well, i guess, looks more like him than me or blue. dings named blue and they both named me.”

He slanted a glance at Edge, his bright eye lights dimmed behind his goggles. “dings was still really young when blue popped out, what did he know about names? baby bro’s magic was blue, so that’s what he went with. i came a few more years down the line and by then, they’d raided the librarby and found out that papyrus is a traditional skeleton monster name.” He chuckled then, some of the bitterness of his smile invading the sound. “like anything about us was traditional.”

“we were his own personal test tube babies, homegrown like fucking cabbages, and gaster made us to fulfill a specific role. see, the core was important work, sure, but what he was really trying to do was make a machine that could get us past the shield. turns out, third time is the charm for our old man. he made dings and blue first but neither of them could use void magic. i was his hail mary, his last shot, and whaddaya know, it worked.” Rus scowled, tamped out his burning butt into the snow. He dropped it into his little tin and lit another, inhaling deeply and breathing out a cloud of smoke. “he never let me forget what i was for, but dings and blue always tried to be the best brothers they could. after pops kacked, it wasn’t until dings got that machine working that it even came up again.” He shrugged, barely visible through the layers of his heavy coat. “i got to forget for a while, at least.”

Edge said nothing, what could he say? His childhood was hardly one ease and joy; it more resembled the fairy tales that Red sometimes read to him when he still the shorter of the two, listening with wide sockets to gruesome tales that seemed all too possible. It seemed Rus had his own experiences with a sort of wicked stepfather and it was every bit as terrible as those stories. The urge to pull him close, to keep him safe, was itching in Edge and he forcibly held it back, let Rus tell his story.

“i never expected the machine to actually work,” Rus admitted. “dings was messing with it for so long. then we were here. my bro was only supposed to talk to the royal scientist and we were gonna hightail it back. easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Rus chuckled darkly, “turned out the lemonade was too sour after all. dings was pretty upset to find out the guy he was looking for was gone and so was his successor.”

Rus’s smile eased into something warmer, familiar, “it was tori who got me to start studying, you know. my bros always kept me on a tight leash back home, it was dangerous to even go outside, but here? i went out, tried to make some friends, ended up sleeping around some. wasted time,” Rus admitted, “tori suggested i work on my degree. i didn’t see the point at first, our pop always told us our purpose. i was there to power the machine. but, tori has this thing about being everyone’s mom.”

“Indeed, she does,” Edge murmured, recalling his days imprisoned after the coup, with good meals and care instead of execution.

“i think maybe that’s why she’s such a good queen. she told me pops was wrong,” Rus laughed a little in a puff of smokey breath and shook his head. “told me he was an asshole, actually, and that i deserved to have what i wanted out of life.”

“we argued about it, me and dings. drove blue nuts. blue was…he was the failure, pops said. at least dings was a scientist, but blue couldn’t even manage that. dings always told him his purpose was to be our caretaker and he tried damn hard at it.” Rus sighed, dropping his head back against the shed siding with a muffled thunk, “he hates it when we fight.”

“But you did it,” Edge said softly, “you got your degree, you’re working on your PhD and you’re doing a good job of it, at that.” Even through the growing cold he felt an inner warmth at the smile Rus flashed him, the real one.

“i did. i got so close.” Rus’s voice broke slightly, “things were horrible when we left, i can’t even imagine how they are now. and dings, he needs to fix the core. that was the skill that was built into him.” His smile soured back into bitterness, “it’s a compulsion, i don’t think he can help it. he has to be better than our pop. he has to be the one to save us all. blue believes everyone is worth saving, but he’s a protector, and me? i’m just a battery. i was never meant to have any of this.”

A honey-tinted tear slipped out from beneath his goggles and wound its way down, slowly freezing against the chilled bone of Rus’s skull and Edge’s control broke. He crawled across the short distance between them, scuffled through the snow and pulled Rus into his arms. He held on briefly, achingly tight before drawing back far enough to shake him, a little, and Rus looked at him with wide, startled eye lights.

“You are more than simply your father’s intentions,” Edge told him fiercely. “You’re brilliant and kind, and…and funny…wonderful…” He choked, unable to express the wild emotions burning in his soul; if there were words for it, Edge did not know them. Love was too shallow a word, too small, it couldn’t possibly hold everything Edge was feeling, all of it strangled in grief.

Rus reached up and his gloved fingers were gentle against Edge’s cheekbone. “it’s okay,” he said, softly, “i always knew we’d have to go back. i got to see this. i got to be with you. it’s okay,” he said again, crooned it, as if Edge were the one in pain. Perhaps he was, his soul ached as fiercely as if it was threatening to crack. “i saw so much here on the surface. i got to see the stars, i got to come here and see this.” He looked up at the sky, at the brilliant colors still churning within it along with a million twinkling lights looking down on them. “i was never going to get to stay, but i got to see this.”

“It’s not enough,” Edge said hoarsely. Not enough, Rus was supposed to leave here and go back into the sun, and instead, he was going where Edge could never follow, couldn’t protect him, and again, Edge would have given a portion of his own grieving soul not to see that sadness infecting Rus’s smile.

“i love you, you know,” Rus told him, achingly soft. “i know it’s not fair to tell you now, but i can’t keep it to myself. i need you to know it.”

Edge closed his sockets, shutting out Rus’s face and the aurora, saw only blackness and it wasn’t the cold that sent a tremor through him. Then he opened them again, looked into Rus’s face and saw the truth of it, the yearning. And the hopelessness. The need to say it back burned, words already forming on his tongue, but instead Edge blurted, “Stay the two weeks.”

Rus blinked, startled. That was clearly not the reaction he expected to his quiet confession, “but, the people—"

“It’s been two years,” Edge countered, “two weeks means nothing to your world and everything to you. Don’t let your brother’s compulsion drive you. Toriel—"

He almost said she was on his side, couldn’t, his knowledge was gleaned from their talk and words already thickening in his throat, his promise threatening to choke him when Rus kissed him softly, stopping him.

“i can guess about tori,” Rus said quietly, then, softer, “two more weeks.” He looked up again and even behind his goggles, the auroras couldn’t match the soft beauty of his eye lights. “there’s no stars back home. i’m gonna miss them.”

He fell silent, leaning against Edge’s side. Edge wrapped an arm around him and pulled Rus in closer, holding him tightly through the layers of his coat. He was starting to shiver; they were both getting too cold and he was about to suggest they move into the vehicle shed at the very least when Rus spoke again.

“it got so bad towards the end,” Rus whispered, “we stayed holed up in the lab, mostly, but we could see what was happening. monsters were getting more violent, losing control, gaining lv. pops’ diagrams on the core were incomplete. it was dings’s idea to come to another world and check theirs. i had to come, of course and we couldn’t leave Blue alone, so we all came.”

Rus kicked one booted foot idly, scraping up snow with his heel. “s’weird. even the snow is different here. back home it seems…stale somehow. used. maybe it’ll be better when dings gets the core up and running.” Rus sighed. “i never would have come to the station if i’d thought he was close to a breakthrough. it’s weird, i thought i had enough time.” Rus drew back a little, looking at Edge with that soft smile back in place. “but it sure wasn’t a waste.”

Almost, Edge kissed him again, hesitated with their mouths a breath away. Something about what Rus said niggled, something… “Weird.”

“heh,” Rus chuckled, “it’s double weird hearing you say weird. doesn’t seem like your kind of slang, bossman.”

Edge barely heard him. His brother had a breakthrough on the core, Rus said, an unexpected breakthrough. Edge cursed himself, replaying what Rus told him. He'd been foolishly focused on the information about Rus and why they were here, not on what changed to bring them to the station.

"What was your brother studying, exactly?” Edge demanded. He took Rus’s shoulders in both gloved hands, holding him, “You said he was looking for information about the Core."

Rus blinked uncertainly, his browbone furrowing, “um, papers, mostly. tori has lots of stuff from the old royal scientist, dings was wading through tons of it. i didn’t see much, he didn’t want any help. he was afraid we’d miss something. guess he found what he was looking for.”

“Yes, I think he did,” Edge said sourly, “A patsy.” Edge climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help Rus, “I’d like to know what was in those notes your brother found and I think we should ask the former royal scientist.”

“what?” Rus wobbled for a second, catching his balance after sitting for so long, “seriously? you think they’d talk to you? tori said they don’t—

“I should hope so,” Edge said, dryly, “she’s in her lab.” And very likely watching them on her cameras.

Rus went still, croaking out, “alphys??”

“You didn’t know?” Edge slanted Rus a look, but he believed him.

“no!” Rus spluttered, already heading back towards the station, Edge trailing after him. “tori didn’t talk about it, i didn’t even think to ask anyone else, why would i?”

“Maybe your brother isn’t as discriminating,” Edge said, under his breath, letting the wind tear the words away. It was more than a little suspicious that his brother solved the issue of core technology when Rus was in the only place that possessed a replica of the original. Edge didn’t believe in coincidence.

“Rus,” Edge jogged to catch up, taking hold of Rus’s elbow to stop him as he asked, “Do you trust me?”

“yes,” Rus said, unhesitatingly.

“I trust you, too,” Edge said, softly, and leaned in to give him a brief, chilly kiss. “Come on. You’re freezing and I have questions.”

“you’re the boss,” Rus said. It was only a shadow of his normally teasing self, but it was something. He took Rus’s gloved hand in his own and together, they made their way to the main building.

tbc

[enkelimagnus]

Cookbook

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1694 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

Bucky walks home from a long day of paperwork. On his path is a garage sale and a tired woman.

TW: cigarettes, smoking

Read on AO3

Part 2 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series, Part 1 here, Part 2 here

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

Bucky smokes on the way home from work.

Everything that brought some sort of pleasure was a currency back in his day. That was why they sent cigarettes to the front. It was easy to make them necessary, when you were under constant fire and needed something to keep you going. Anything that got you out of that hell was traded for, fought for. Some days, it was like nothing mattered more than the next ration shipment and its load of cigarettes, pin-up magazines and six-pence books.

In truth, he doesn’t have the habit he used to have. Hydra wouldn’t have that. Upside of brainwashing, he guesses. And it’s not like it burns the same way anymore. That’s the serum for you.

Still, sometimes, he pulls a cigarette out of its gore-decorated cardboard box, lights it and pretends it has the same effect on him now than it did back in muddy camps or candle-lit living rooms.

The day has been long. No raids, but he’d been stuck behind a desk doing fucking paperwork for the last two weeks-worth of missions. His reports are tired and concise, he hates doing them and he’s pretty sure it’s obvious to anyone who reads what he writes.

He wishes he could smoke then , at that stupid cramped desk, to make the endless signing and reading and writing easier, but you’re not allowed to smoke inside anymore. So he finds himself doodling on other pieces of paper when his mind drifts. His focus is not the best outside of missions.

He used to love writing shit. Steve had his drawings and Bucky had his words, in between everything else. They wrote stories on notes they passed in class in high school. When it got taken by the teacher, no one could understand what they were talking about. He used to make up worlds and think of men walking in space, and he wishes he could tell his 14-year-old self that there are people in the sky, and that he’ll meet them one day. That he’ll see aliens, real ones, and punch them in the face.

He would tell him all the good things about the universe, all the people in it, all about partners in crime and arms like Dugan or Morito or Jones, or Sam or Natasha, how he not only met Howard Stark but was his comrade, how Stark knew him as “Sergeant Barnes” or “Sarge”.

He’d tell him all the good, and none of the bad, none of how his dad would die in two years and he’d be leading the family in shabbos prayers at 16, none of how the people in the world could be cruel for the sake of their own fun, none of how Howard Stark said his name in shock before he punched in his skull with the metal fist that was now his left hand.

Those conversations with his younger self -- barely a man, already smart-mouthed and charming and cocky in the way teenagers are and in the way Bucky had tried to remain for as long as he could until the war drained it out of him -- evaporate in the smoke, in the cold Brooklyn air.

He doesn’t love writing anymore. His mind can’t create the worlds it used to make. He thinks in three languages on a good day, only knows how to write one of those, so whenever he tries, something’s always missing. On a bad day, he can barely string along one sentence, let alone tell a story.

And he’s got no one to tell them to, anyway.

It’s 7pm and the streets are dark and icy. In the last few weeks, the gloves he always wears to hide his left hand have not been an incongruous fashion statement.

It’s January now. There was snow last week, a soft blanket that made him fucking cry out of nowhere when he saw it through the window. It was gone soon, but it was there. And for once, it didn’t fall on Siberia. It fell on Brooklyn again. He never would have thought he’d seen snow on Brooklyn again.

That kind of shit pulls memories out of him like nothing else, and he’s thankful for them. They make it easier and harder at the same time.

He told Doctor Raynor about the shul that’s now a church, about how it was the worst pain he’d felt since he’d last been wiped. How that’s another reason why he doesn’t want to walk into Becky’s retirement home and see her as she is now. The pain of time lost is the worst one to bear.

That, and he’s pretty sure she knows what he’s done. His name and photo have been blasted on every news channel and every social media website after the UN bombing. There’s no way she wouldn’t recognize him, when he looks so similar to the brother she lost.

He has no desire to face his Becky now that he’s a murderer and a weapon of mass destruction, Hydra brainwashing or not. You don’t do that to your little sister.

Besides, she doesn’t need him. She’s got kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, and nephews and nieces and every sort of relative you can imagine except for parents and siblings. She’s taken care of, they visit her often, she doesn’t need the grief he’d bring. He can’t be selfish.

He stops to stab the butt of the cigarette into a wall but his eyes catch something else.

In the cold evening, there’s a few lights set up on the sidewalk, over some makeshift tables threatening to crumble over all the items on it. Everyday items mostly, kitchen stuff, books and a clock and some candlesticks.

At first glance, all of the pricier stuff has been sold already, and there’s a tired-looking middle-aged woman sitting on the stairs of the house behind the tables. She has a look on her face, heavy with emotions muddled so well they’re impossible to tell apart.

“Buy what you want,” she says. Her voice doesn’t carry. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have heard more than a mumble if his hearing wasn’t enhanced. “Pay what you want.”

How many times has she said that today?

He looks down at the items for a moment, the cheap metal candlesticks, some old plates decorated with blue flowers, a still plastic-wrapped, never used, frankly hideous challah cover, and a pile of various books. Most in English, a couple in what he assumes to be Polish, some in Yiddish. His eyes fall on one in particular, a cookbook. It looks old.

“Can I touch?” He asks, pointing at the cookbook.

The woman nods. “Yeah. Nothing very modern in there. Bubbe barely even made this anymore,” she explains. Ah. A bubbe passed and the stuff they can’t keep, they’re selling.

The cookbook’s unremarkable. It’s been used, obviously, there are stains of chocolate-covered fingerprints on some of the dessert pages as he flips through. It seems to be half in English and half in Yiddish. He reaches the page where the publication date would be. He doesn’t even know why he’s checking.

Entire Contents Copyrighted 1949 The B. Manischewitz Co. Printed in the U.S.A.

1949. It’s close enough. Really close enough.

“How much do you want?” He looks up at the mourner.

“I told ya, it’s how much you’re willing to give.”

Bucky makes an annoyed sound at the back of his throat. He rephrases the question. “How much do you want me to give?”

The woman makes eye contact again. She looks deeply surprised by his question. Hesitant, too. She has no idea what to reply.

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, starts going through the cash he has. He barely uses his credit card. Every month, when he gets his money from the army, he immediately withdraws most of it. It’s safer that way, and he knows how much he’s spending.

He counts out 180 dollars. It feels like a ridiculous amount for a cookbook, but the woman’s selling her bubbe’s shit like this, she’s still out at 7pm in January in Brooklyn and Bucky doesn’t have a lot of expenses anyway. He doesn’t really have expensive taste. 18’s a good number too, at least, it used to be, in his day.

“Peace be upon her,” He says quietly, when the woman opens her mouth at the bills he places in her hand. “It’s getting cold, you should go back inside,” he adds, quiet and coaxing, the tone he used to use when the neighbor’s son, Aaron, had a tantrum and sat on the stairs all evening, pretending to be mad at his parents.

Did he know the bubbe in question? Was she one of the kids from Hebrew school? It’s a little too far from his old neighborhood to be sure. He’s not going to ask.

The woman sighs a little, putting the money in her pocket when she realizes he’s not going to take any of it back.

He eyes the tables for a moment. “You need help packing up?”

She hesitates. He gets it, he’s a weird stranger who just bought an old cookbook for 180 dollars, it’s nighttime… He can’t tell her he’s not a serial killer, because he is one, and there’s going to be a moment where she remembers where she’s seen his face before. There usually is.

He holds his hands up, seemingly showing he’s harmless. It’s hilarious, really, because he’s never harmless. But contrary to Steve, he’s not massive. He’s more on the lean side of things, especially with his new arm.

“No pressure.”

She hesitates still, but he sees the exhaustion working away at her until she nods. The cookbook is put to the side and he helps her pack up the tables and the remaining things. He is careful not to display too much strength, and he’s also careful to keep his face in a neutral but positive sort of mask. His resting expression is meaner than needed.

He comes home much later than he thought he would, but he’s got a cookbook and some ideas of how to occupy his amnesia-riddled nights.

[damnprussia]

First Date

May, 1992

Maria slowly spun around slowly in an office chair inside her cramped office. It was adjacent to her boss, the “distinguished” but also “mysterious” and “unprofessional” Gilbert Beilschmidt. She had been his one and only intern for almost four months now and she knew almost nothing about him. She also could not believe that she had been roped into some “extra credit assignment” on a Saturday morning that she thought involved community work, but it was actually just helping her boss change into a date outfit from the adjacent room. “It’s an ex, and it ended badly,” was all she was told.

He would come strolling in, flash some corny pose, and she was tasked in judging him. She certainly did. How many clothes did he have in his office, anyways?

“No.....absolutely not....Terrible. Serial Killer vibes.” She shot down look after look. After one, she frowned. “Is that just your military dress uniform?”

“Well, I like it,” Gilbert said, looking down at himself. “I figured-”

“You said she was an ex, right?”

“Well, yes - “

“Then absolutely not.” She shook her head vigorously.

Gilbert frowned. “But, well, I feel most comfortable -- “

“Change immediately.”

He sighed and did so. Several changes later, she approved him - a simple button-down, a casual blazer, loose skinny tie, and denim jeans. “Lose the tie and you have it,” she said. Finally, her assignment had come to an end.

Her boss was absolutely pleased. “Wonderful! Maria, you are a lifesaver.”

“Can I go home now?”

“Yes, yes.” Gilbert went forward and tugged her to her feet. “Full marks, for the semester! Go home.”

Maria watched him practically waltz down the hallway before she shook her head. Well, her work was finished. Looking around, she realised that he had left her completely alone in the building. It was time, then, to raid the staff fridge.

****

Several hours later, Gilbert found himself in Budapest, Hungary, sitting in a rental care, taking deep breaths. “Okay, Gilbert. Don’t fuck this up,” he told himself slowly. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of pills. Taking out several, he swallowed them dry and put them back. Then, with one more deep breath, he got out of the car and went to the front door. He knocked carefully before stepping back, his hands immediately going to his trouser pockets. Well, here went nothing.

@ezusthiid

[minaa-munch]

@furrymakerkid asked:  writing request for you sweet mun. Minato was too smart to know no feeling was good. How did he cope with it? He didn't have Jiraiya Kushina or his team in the beginning.

Here’s a short answer: He didn’t.

Warning: Kinda dark and maybe NSFW if you squint. Possible triggers may include blood, gore and morbidity [it’s war, ne? Although I’ve restrained my descriptions...er, tried to. I hope you can read it, @furrymakerkid]

Disclaimer: This is my interpretation. Yours may be different and that’s okay - to each their own.

Image credit: Rurouni Kenshin

The trees whispered in soft, breathy murmurs as a gentle wind meandered past their many, leaf laden branches. All was calm, almost eerily silent sans the constant patter of boots against the bare crumble of rock; hushed whispers that were broken by the faint whistle of weapons and the occasional intake of breath. The usually relentless, rough soil was wet, almost muddy; yet there had been no downpour in weeks.

The land of Tsuchi no Kuni wept, while the heavens above bled. The glowing embryo of the sun surrendered to a cocoon of fluffy cumulus, lofty rays bleeding shades of red and orange across the darkening skies as a massacre quietly unfolded below; a beautiful painting, if only in the nature of its innate, organized chaos.

It would be nightfall soon.

“...”

It didn’t matter who raided which settlement first. What mattered was the fact that both sides had to keep an even body count. The dictum regarding warfare they were taught in the academy hardly covered such tactics; a few measly lectures so that bright eyed academy students wouldn’t take the trade less seriously.

It was all fun and games until someone lost a limb on their first field mission. Minato, in that regards, had been rather lucky. Where most cadets would rely on a team to ensure the success of a raid, all he needed was a handful of kunai.

He had always been ridiculously fast - even by regular standards.

The metal loop settled comfortably against his palm as tan digits curled around the hilt, seamlessly pushing it through with one, smooth movement before wrenching the weapon sideways, slicing the unexpected chest like one would tear open a package. Bloodied entrails followed the blade’s wake; peeking out of the soft folds of uneven, torn skin as the still pumping organ convulsed uselessly against twisting branches.

It was a quick execution; a means he had devised after their last field run. The metal loop of his kunai swung easily around his index finger as the waste was swiped off with a sharp flick of the wrist. Blue hues barely caught the woman’s expression as she dropped to her knees; he was already moving, the chakra signatures from his earlier sensory scan twinkling like quaint little targets.

They would be quick kills, for Minato hardly had the time for mercy. A kunai through the eye for anyone stupid enough to look his way, the splattered remains of a skull of a nin ambitious enough to try and sneak up on him, whereas most of the others barely got a chance to blink before deft digits pierced their forms with relative ease. Pure chakra would bounce off his skin like a controlled gale, as his natural wind affinity reduced muscle to fleshy ribbons.

It wasn’t needlessly cruel, per se; it simply happened to be the most effective in ensuring a kill. Besides, he had stopped feeling the warmth of skewered innards ages ago.

“Kami willing may you choke on your own blood”

The words drifted into the faint breeze that swept past their drenched fields; the scent of copper and compost intermingled into a sickly fragrance which sunk into his skin, down to his very bones.

Kami willing? As if Kami existed for people like them.

And then he heard it; a constant low hum that swelled to a certain crescendo, painting his subconscious in a murmur of static. Minato blinked curiously at his quivering fingers before casting a furtive glance around the field of littered innards and crimson. Hardly a soul in sight and yet...trailing off, blue hues returned to the tremble that had somehow seeped into his wrist. He couldn’t feel the slash decorating his palm, but he could definitely see the discoloration associated with poisoned weapons. Ugly strokes of yellows and blues bloomed all over his hand like pale, deathly flowers and he nearly dropped his weapon.

Fuck.

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

“Er...it wasn’t your first kill, was it?” The question was asked nonchalantly enough, as practiced hands wound a roll of gauze around his discoloured counterpart. Minato shot him a flat, unimpressed look which was met with a barely concealed smirk as he tied both ends with a vicious tug.

“I mean...you never get injured.” He continued, as Minato retracted his hand, giving it an experimental poke. “Lucky for you, you got back in time otherwise you’d lose your good arm.”

He was making fun of him, wasn’t he? “Yeah. Lucky.” the blond replied, tone as dry as the man’s wit before he curled his bandaged digits, “What about the hallucinogenic side effects?”

Would it have even mattered if it had been his first kill? The nin had been alive one moment and then he just…hadn’t. Was he supposed to feel something special about that? Besides, he had attacked Minato first.

Regardless. It had been so long ago, he hardly remembered the face associated with the deed. Since his deployment at Kusa, he had killed so many more with seldom a thought that he couldn’t be bothered to remember what they looked like. His last count had been, what, thirty three consecutive solo kills in thirty minutes? That was more than one life a minute.

Mere statistics. It didn’t matter.  

“Noise huh? It's the first I'm hearing of it.” Cue the methodical tap of wood against an unshaven chin, “Say, ever considered signing up for the psych evaluation thing they proposed back at HQ? I mean...there's nothing physically wrong with you. Maybe it's in your head." He placed his brush down on the makeshift table before letting out a snort, much to Minato’s chagrin.

“If what they’ve been harping about at HQ was true, we’d all be classified as nuts anyways.” The medic laughed, his grey hair reflecting warm honey in the dim lighting of the medical tent. Bemused, he took off his glasses to wipe a tear, before shooing him away with gloved digits. “Get going, Namikaze. We need you on the patrolling grounds. The war will be over soon, ne?”

Coloured hues met dark counterparts, bleeding ink and whispering false nothings.

“Ne?”

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

Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and the persistent whine in his head refused to shut up. Many an evening would witness the blond shifting his reading scroll to the side, just to press rough finger pads against his closed, burning lids.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had slept. Granted, Minato wasn’t one to sleep much to begin with; he was young, ridiculously curious and had the collective energy of twelve hyperactive gerbils. Still, he had always managed to clock in a few hours before, but this...

It was so damn loud. Minato couldn’t even concentrate for more than a few minutes before the constant low hum poked at his subconscious like a poisoned senbon. It tore at his mental-scape and sensory peripheral akin to flames consuming dry bark. Gone was his natural, healthy tan that had stayed resolute despite their meagre military rations, only to be replaced by a yellowish pallor, along with dark smudges underneath his weary hues.

A part of him was tempted to write to Jiraiya; the man always had answers to all the questions. They were in contact, of course, despite the state of the war and whatnot. Courier runs were few, but very dependable - but could he really divert the Jōnin’s attention from the frontlines where he was undoubtedly needed?

No, he couldn’t be that childish. Their local medic had dismissed his concerns too, so clearly it wasn’t that big a deal.

Right?

His seniors had different answers. Some blamed the weather, some considered the possibility that an enemy had contaminated their food supply [“I’ve been feeling kinda itchy myself.”] While some had nothing to offer at all. No answers. They figured he was finally losing his mind, after killing so many - in fact, most were still wary of him since even the older Chunin in their unit showed a little hesitance when it came to those child scouts who were no older than academy students.

But Minato? He operated on autopilot. For someone so young and without a hint of malice on his features, he was surprisingly cold hearted. Most of the new Chunin cadets steered well away from him, either in awe or fear whereas his older, more experienced counterparts often regarded him with complacent silence.

Not exactly friends, but comrades. They could probably share a few drinks together. Not converse though. Perish the thought.

The constant, low drone was driving him mad.

Arizuwa Yana; an experienced Chunin from the reserve strike unit apparently had a few theories. Said theories were dry at best, with little speculation as to the nuance of phantom sensations, though with plenty of promises of actual sensations.

Somehow, one thing had led to another and they had ended up intertwined together in one of the darker corners of the many, many tents in their unit. He was a few years younger than her, but apparently that wasn’t a problem.

Age didn't matter, gender didn't matter - nothing did.

The problem was that despite the hands ghosting his clothed sides, he still couldn’t feel anything; it was like his insides were frozen with nothing sans the constant thrum of sound for company. A frown settled between his brows at the thought as slender, yet calloused fingers tangled themselves within his hair, tugging with an odd sort of insistence.

It did nothing to quell the static he alone could still hear, could practically sense crawling under his skin like wild, feverish ants.

Static. It seemed that was the only thing he could feel these days.

And this…this wasn’t helping. Blue hues flickered to dark, older counterparts before tan digits removed themselves from the soft swell of her pretty face. “I’m sorry, senpai.” Is all he managed to say, not really sorry at all before the same fingers found her forehead, jutsu a mere whisper against her flushed skin.

Yana senpai was out cold in the span of a heartbeat. Dull orbs stared at her peaceful features for a few precious seconds before he rolled over, gaze fixed on the sloping ceiling and a forearm resting against his forehead.

Maa...what a waste.

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

Jiraiya sensei,

How are things at the front lines? Yuuhei taicho told us that Amegakure had officially joined the fray and you would be deployed there soon. Gambatte, sensei.

Ano…sensei, I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’ve stopped feeling things. It started out as a weird sort of numbness, as if I was looking at the world through someone else’s eyes. I don’t even feel the sting of a cut anymore.

I’m scared. Is this a good thing? Oh by the way, you won’t believe what I found about that fuuin combination you told me about that one time. If it’s truly what you say it is, the Nindaime might have been on to something. See, if you swap the earth and wind constructs then the combination gets altered. I tried something with one of my fuuin tags today and the results were kinda wonky but in a good way. Let me know when you get this and I’ll send you all the workings I did.

Minato

He purposefully left out the bit where a part of him wanted to hide behind the elder, shaggy white mane and all, and stay in the comfort of his towering shadow. He had wanted to, though - desperately, too. But his writing brush had paused, a lone drop of ink blotting the parchment and upsetting his neat signature.

That had decided it then, hadn’t it? Gloved digits had rolled the parchment in a neat scroll, bound it with a convenient little fuuin and handed it in for the next courier run.

His paranoia was silly. Kusa was one of their priority outposts; full of experienced comrades and they were armed to the teeth. They were as safe as they would ever be. Besides, he had a near perfect kill streak - no one in their right wits would target him; Konoha’s number one rookie genius.

He felt so horribly alone though.

You’re not a child anymore, Minato.

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

Three weeks. No reply. The constant fighting was taking its toll on all sides; with dwindling numbers and increased recklessness. Their tiny little outpost presently served as the main rendezvous point between the frontlines fighting Iwa and the reserve forces that had set up camp a few miles away. The war would enter its final phase soon and everyone was too bone tired to complain.

Minato wanted to send another message, but if Jiraiya hadn’t had the time to respond to his previous letter…

Sigh. Clothed shoulders sagged a little while the side of his face met loosely curled digits, expression forlorn. Next to him, Inuzuka Saito quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. They were both stuck with watch duty, in case the platoon that had been sent out to assist their frontlines against Iwa a few days ago came stumbling back.

Initially, Minato had been a part of it too, but Yuuhei taicho had ordered otherwise. He and a few others would be used to sneak from behind and attack Iwa’s unguarded backs. His experimental jutsu was perfect for the purpose, and he had a near flawless strike record so far.

And in the off chance he failed? It would be...understandable. The wars saw their fair share of victims and the Memorial was an honour for any loyal, Konoha nin.

The very thought made him taste bile. Tan digits curled into a trembling fist at his knee, as frigid blue hues glared a hole through the encroaching shadows of dusk that surrounded their camp. Kusa was known for its rich forests; gigantic fauna and rivers that made it the perfect terrain to hide and lie in wait. Nightfall usually witnessed the shadows that clung to its natural, beautiful scenery slip from their places and creep inwards, bathing all matter; living and non-living, in its eerie, peaceful silence.

Yet he had not experienced any blissful silence in so long; the static was a constant thrum in his mental-scape, one he had learned to accept. The Namikaze would be damned if he lost what constituted as his sanity to a useless murmur of sound; he had not survived through the countless murders to plead death by insanity, had not endured the constant stench of rot and copper which hung around his frame like the scent of mustard oil that he used to maintain his weapons.

Had not sliced through flesh despite the whimpers begging for mercy--

Cue a shuddering sigh as eyes squeezed shut and he felt the urge to rip out his own hairs. Trembling digits inched upwards, intending to do just that before Saito’s voice broke the spell.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Namikaze Minato was going insane. Maybe he had always been insane and by Kami, he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. Blue hues snapped open, staring listlessly at the dark and he swallowed thickly against his now dry throat. His frame tipped forwards; forearms resting against his knees as long, blond bangs hid his terrifyingly monotonous expression.

They would learn to loathe him, to fear him and he would slaughter them like the pointless sacks of meat that they we--

“Mail call!” A second interruption, though this time something actually managed to hit him in the back of his head. Fumbling hands barely caught it before it could hit the ground as the designated courier nin giggled, “Sorry, Namikaze.” Boots crunched against the leaf littered floor before he moved inside the camp, similar calls echoing in his wake. Minato blinked owlishly at the nin’s retreating figure, before shifting his gaze to the messy paper wrapping and miniature scroll that hung listlessly from one of the many corners.

It wasn’t from Jiraiya sensei.

Minato no baka,

Heard you were stuck in Kusa. That sucks ne? You’re surrounded by giant weeds and laughing shrooms. I’ve sent you some of those weird sticky quail egg things you like to cheer you up.

Guess who’ll be deployed soon. Me, that’s who! Maybe we’ll even be at the same outpost. You can show me all the nice napping spots ne? We got news the other day that the war wouldn’t last long. It’s been years already. I hope you’re still…you know, you. I miss you. Why did you stop writing?

Take care of yourself. Better not die or I’ll drag you back from the clutches of the shinigami just to kill you myself.

Kushina

Weird sticky quail egg things? Wait, was she talking about the sticky sweet beans he had accidentally spilled on her once?

“What are you grinning at?”

“Hm? Nothing, nothing.” And yet, there was something. He couldn’t help the silly little smile that tugged at his lips while his current patrol mate shot him a weird look. He was about to open his mouth to ask a second time, but then he saw the half open wrapping resting in the crook of Minato’s arm and made a quick swipe for it.

“Is that natto? Kami it’s been so long! Can I have some?”

“Sure.” Minato wasn’t even paying attention to the greedy fingers that had grabbed the miniature treats as soon as the words left his lips. Blue hues were still trained on the inky scrawl that denoted the kunoichi’s kanji. Kushina had always been an unpredictable little oddball. He didn’t even remember the last time he had written to her, but she clearly did. It made him feel strangely warm.

---And now he wanted to rip his own heart out and squeeze the treacherous, woeful thing until it would beat no more. Trembling digits rolled the scroll before a sweaty palm was pressed harshly against his aching forehead, the fingerless, leather glove providing little comfort to the uncomfortable warmth that stung his tightly closed lids.  

Kami...what was wrong with him?

As if Kami existed for people like them.  

Endnote: This took me far longer than I thought I would. Apologies! Ano, extra trippyness can be accorded to Koko, ne? She mentioned insanity, and since you had already tempted my inner crazy...

[hazza-bear-care]

Please Don’t Leave Me (Blurb)

Pairings: Negan x Reader 

Description: During a raid of Alexandria, you get shot. 

Warnings: blood, swearing (cuz it’s fucking Negan), mentions of death.

A/N: I’ve never actually seen an episode with Negan, let alone written for him, so this might not be great. Enjoy anyway!

~~~~~~~

You were scared to say the least. On the way to Alexandria, you knew that people were gonna die, you just didn't think you’d be one of them. When the bullet ripped through your abdomen, a shrill cry of “NEGAN!” left your lips before falling to your knees. The man in question was on the other side of the field, Lucille bashing through skull after skull as he made his way over to you.

Gunshots rippled around you as the raid gone wrong continued. Black spots started to fill your vision as your breath thinned. Negan appeared by your side, the blood saturating your shirt scaring the shit out of him. 

“Shit, shit, shit. Simon! Get your ass over here!” Negan panicked, scooping you into his arms and laying you on the ground. Negan’s number two scurried over to his boss and froze, taking in the sight before him. Simon kneeled over you, investigating the severity of the wound. 

“Negan, take off your bandana and apply pressure to the wound. We need to get her back to the truck and then to the Sanctuary. I can fix her up there, but only if we leave now!”  The red ascot was ripped from Negan’s throat as his huge and situated it around your wound. He pushed hard on your stomach, causing you to grimace loudly. Simon lifted you from the ground and ran you to the truck, laying you out across the back seat. Negan climbed in beside you, still pressing his bandana as hard as he could. He gently placed your head on his lap and began running his fingers through your hair. 

“Negan, I don’t wanna die,” You whimpered quietly, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“You’re not gonna fucking die, okay? We’re gonna fix you up and you’ll be back before you fucking know it.” You could hear the panic in his voice, but you chose to ignore it. Every bump pushed Negan’s hand harder into your stomach, and the black spots grew to a bigger diameter. Your eyes started searching for something other than Negan’s features. You closed your eyes briefly, wanting just a moment of peace to distract from the pain and panic you were feeling. 

“Baby, open your eyes. You need to keep them open as long as you fucking can. We’re almost there.” You forced your eyes open, squinting against the brightness of the sun. 

“Negan, you need to distract her. Keep her talking. Ask her questions-”

“Yeah, fucking got it! Just drive, Simon! Y/N, what’s your favorite color?” You smiled at his attempt to distract you. You looked up at his hazel eyes, the usually hard features now incredibly soft and teary. 

“Green, like forest green. What about you?”

“Fucking red, of course. Is there anyone you miss from before this shit happened?”

“My mom. She was my rock, and I watched her fight until those fuckers tore her apart.” More tears fell as you thought about your mom, but you knew that’s not what she would have wanted. 

“What do you miss about your mom?”

“Her smile.” Negan smiled down at you and met your eyes, the fear hidden behind the tears shattering his heart. The truck lurched to a stop and the doors opened, a stretcher waiting to transport you to the hospital. You were adjusted accordingly as Negan kept his fingers in your hair. Simon nodded and Negan stopped touching you, instantly sending panic coursing through your veins. 

“Negan! Please don’t leave me!” You pleaded, reaching back and clawing at the leather of his jacket. 

“Baby, I’m not fucking going anywhere. But you need to get fixed up, okay? I’ll wait for you right outside.” 

“I love you.” That was the first time you said that. Negan stood frozen outside as Simon wheeled you away. He followed until you were taken into a room and did as he promised: waited right outside. He heard you scream twice before silence and he had to refrain from kicking down the door to make sure you were alright. When pacing wasn’t helping time move faster, Negan sat down and quickly fell asleep amongst his worry. 

~~~~~~~

When he awoke, Negan was met with a frightened Simon standing above him. 

“Is she okay? Simon, you better fucking answer me, and the answer should be ‘she’s okay, alive, and gonna fucking recover.’“ Negan’s gloved hands clenched into fists as he towered over his number two. 

“She’s alright. She’s alive... for now.”

“For now?! For fucking now?! What the fuck does that shit even mean, Simon?!” Negan yelled, punching the wall behind him. 

“It means, Negan, that she’s lost a lot of blood. We don’t know her blood type, so we couldn’t perform a transfusion. Her body can only produce so much over time, and unfortunately, she’s not going to make it. I’m so sorry.” Simon quickly walked away from Negan before the angry man could punch his right hand. 

Negan ran his hands through his hair and entered your room, his knees almost buckling at the sight that greeted him: you, paler than usual, being swallowed by the sheets you were wrapped in. Your breathing was still thin, stuttering every few seconds as it continued to keep you alive, barely. Negan regained his posture and tiptoed over to your bed. He gently wrapped your hand in his and leaned forward, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too, sweets. But listen to me right fucking now, you can’t leave. I’ve had too many fucking people leave me behind, you can’t be one of them. Please don’t leave me, Y/N. I need you.” Negan let a few tears fall as he squeezed your hand tightly. He watched through blurred vision as your breathing stuttered again, and then stopped. 

“No! Shit! Simon!” Negan screamed, pushing the sheets off your body and starting chest compressions. 

“Negan! Step back. Allow me.” Simon replaced Negan, the compressions shaking your body. The burly man crouched in the corner as he watched Simon struggle to revive you for just a few more minutes. After a few more minutes, Simon stepped away from your body and shook his head. From his place in the corner, Negan nodded and gestured for Simon to leave. Negan slowly made his way to you and lifted you out of the bed, the countdown starting as he left the room and carried your lifeless corpse to a field. 

He placed you gently on the ground and stood over you. A couple Saviors had followed their leader down to the field, prepared for what was coming next. Two men had brought shovels and broke ground for the grave, digging a deep hole as quickly as they could. Another had offered Negan a gun, the weapon feeling strange in his hand. He pointed the weapon at your head, hand shaking so intensely that he had to re-aim multiple times. The fourth time he had steadied the weapon, he fired instantly. 

~~~~~~~

Your grave was decorated with flowers, your name carved into the makeshift cross marking your final resting place. Your go to weapon, a pick-axe, leaned against the marker. Negan visited the grave everyday, regaling the details of raids, killings, and anything else you two managed to enjoy together. He swore he would kill the bastard that killed you, which he was successful at. Negan always left with an “I love you” and a kiss hastily thrown into the air, a promise to come back. No matter what, he always returned. He loved you too much to ignore you completely. 

~~~~~~~

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! Send in some requests and let me know what you though of this blurb. Love ya!

[wftc141]

Voltron: Global Military Intelligence and Counter-Terrorism Unit-Chapter 11: Revelation

1700 Hours

"So you're saying these guys aren't jihadists but Middle Eastern anarchist kind of terrorists?" Lance asked as paramedics gathered up the bodies from the safe house.

"Not just Middle Easterners," Allura corrected, turning back to the team. "It's an international terrorist organization intent on overthrowing governments worldwide."

"That's one helluva terrorist group."

"The militia we dealt with at the slum raid were also the Galra too, weren't they?" Pidge guessed.

"I'm afraid so," Allura nodded. "Cardozo confirmed it. We also have bad news from them. Earlier today, the Palácio do Planalto was just bombed before the attack on our safe house. There were no survivors."

The team were silent but Allura could read their shock and disgust and she could understand that. The Galra were willing to take innocent lives for a greater good.

"This is fucked up." Lance muttered.

"Where are they gonna strike next?" Keith asked.

She shook her head. "We're not sure."

"What about Shiro?"

Allura glanced at the floor in doubt, which was enough for an answer. She wasn't sure what Sendak was going to do with him but she prays that Shiro can hold his own.

Shiro was awakened by the bright illumination of light, flashing into his face. As his vision caught up, he noticed two looming figures standing over him. The only thing he remembered was getting hit by an explosion in the room before blacking out while trying to stop Sendak. Shiro found himself on a chair with his hands tied behind his back. He then got a clear look at the two figures' faces. Both were Middle Eastern and definitely part of the Galra. The two exchanged some words before one of them went up to Shiro.

"سگ آمریکایی! (American dog!)" the Galra terrorist yelled in farsi, punching Shiro.

The terrorist was then forcefully pulled away by the arm. Shiro's gaze locked onto Sendak as he stood next to the terrorist, holding his arm tightly.

"آیا از شما خواسته ام به او صدمه بزنید؟ (Did I ask you to harm him?)" he hissed in the same tongue.

"متاسفم ، برادر! (I'm sorry, brother!)" the Galra terrorist replied. "ما باید این سگ آمریکایی را حرف بزنیم! (We must make this American dog talk!)"

Sendak simply pulled out a pistol and shot the terrorist in the head. After ordering his partner to remove the body, Sendak turned back to Shiro.

"My apologies, Shirogane. I'm not here to harm someone who's treated me humanely." He said, holstering his pistol.

"It doesn't matter what you'll do to me." Shiro muttered, avoiding his gaze. "I'm already dead."

Sendak softly chuckled. He approached Shiro and stopped a couple feet away from him.

"I admire your courage but you have been misunderstood. I need you alive."

"Why?" Shiro growled. "Ain't I a liability? Ain't I just a soldier in your way?"

"You are...I'm impressed that your team managed to get this far but you're no use to us when you're dead."

Shiro refused to look Sendak in the eye. Whatever he was asking, he won't give in to his demands.

"You see Shirogane," Sendak said. "We're both warriors...we're both lions in a waging conflict riddled with deception. Our masters of war only see us as machines to fight pointless battles for empty glory. They sent me and my unit to Turkey to assassinate the prime minister so they can pin the blame on terrorists from their country.

It was a dirty operation because my master didn't want the Turks to step foot into our country. They had us pose as Al-Qaeda terrorists and ordered us to start a mass shooting at a football game where the prime minister was. I've killed so many men, women and children that I've lost count…"

Sendak paused before continuing.

"You know, those soldiers I killed in Iraq destroyed the hometown where I used to live. My father was trying to surrender when they shot him. My mother and sisters...they were raped before they were killed. I murdered them all when I found out what they did and all of a sudden...the government marked me as a terrorist. I am what I am because of what they did and I have no shame for that."

Shiro looked up where he faced Sendak's back of his head. He could understand his pain but that alone wasn't enough to forgive him.

"This does not change that you're responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. You killed my team and my brother."

"Hmm. I understand," Sendak turned around to approach Shiro. "Which is why I'm not going to kill you. In fact, you have a choice. You can join us and together we'll bring those government tyrants to their knees..."

His gloved hand then latched onto the back of Shiro's head and forcefully turned it to his direction, locking gazes with each other. Shiro glared intensely at the eyes of his enemy.

"...or you can be my prisoner and watch the government fall and your country burn."

Shiro remained silent. Just staring at his eyes makes him want to spit at him. He was sure as hell not willing to work with Sendak. However, keeping his mouth closed may have saved his life. Sendak let go of his head and stood up.

"I'll leave you to think about it," Sendak said, heading for the door where one of the terrorists was waiting. "I expect an answer by the time I return."

The door slammed shut and the lights went off. Shiro looked down to the ground. He can't let this slide. Sendak is not going to get away this time. But first, he needed to get the zip-ties off his wrists. They were surprisingly tighter this time.

1800 Hours

The first thing he saw as he slowly opened his eyes was the pale-coloured ceiling. Jem only remembered getting shot and passing out while getting dragged through a chaotic shootout by Stacy. It felt different to his field missions while he was with Interpol. Jem felt the dry insides of his mouth as he licked over it. He needed water.

As his vision began to clear up, Jem found himself on a bed with curtains surrounding him. He must've been taken to a nearby hospital. Jem helped himself to sit up, only to tense up. His waist hurts like hell, much as if a soccer ball hit his ribs. Looking down, he noticed he was in a gown as well as some needles injected to his hand. He couldn't lift up the gown to see where his wound was but hopefully it didn't puncture anything fatal. But after all, he was the youngest and the most vulnerable of the family.

Suddenly, the curtains opened, jolting him. Jem cursed, spinning towards the source of the sound while holding his arms in defence before noticing Stacy standing at the curtains with a water bottle on her free hand. Judging by her face, Jem must've surprised her too when he almost got scared. Something is giving him déjà vu vibes.

"He-," he uttered. "Bloody hell, you scared me."

Stacy snorted, letting slip a smirk. "Five years and you still haven't changed. How're you feeling?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Hurts when I sit up."

Stacy approached him and sat on the stool by the bedside. "The anaesthetic must've worn out while you were asleep. You want water?"

Jem nodded eagerly and took the bottle from her, downing about half of the water inside. He made sure not to move too much to avoid friction from the needles injected into his hands. He let out a sigh of relief as he took the bottle out of his mouth and handed it back to Stacy.

"Thanks, Stace. You're a lifesaver."

Her smile grew as she took the bottle off his hand. Jem couldn't help but stare at her short, ash blonde hair accompanied by the eyebrow piercing on her right eyebrow. He at first didn't recognise her when they met again five years later while Coran introduced him to Voltron. Still, he missed that long hair of hers and the feeling of running his hands through that silky sensation but changes happen in the end.

"You know..." Jem said, breaking the silence. "This is...some reunion."

Stacy glanced at him.

"I mean, it's been like a week since we met after five years and shit happened so fast, you know? Like, we caught a leader of a terrorist organisation and then we got attacked and lost him and I got shot and almost died. Crazy, huh?"

Jem began to titter and Stacy chuckled with him. "Yeah, it's crazy."

The moment of letting out their stress stopped. Turning towards her, Jem noticed her grin was still on as she stopped chuckling. Her eyes however give Jem a different meaning. Silence befell. Both were unable to think of anything to say. Then Jem figured something out that he didn't get to ask between the week.

"How's things?" The way he said it felt forced.

"Hmm?" Stacy looked up.

"I mean, we haven't seen each other since we…you know…"

"Broke up?"

"Y-yeah," Jem nodded, hiding the awkwardness in his voice."You must've been doing well, right?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"So...you got into the FBI, right?"

She nodded again. Stacy always wanted to be an analyst after graduation and was quite fond of the FBI whenever they talked about their careers.

"I almost didn't, actually" Stacy said. "I messed up the final test at the Academy but fortunately, there was some sort of error in the system so they let me off on this one."

"Really? What happened?"

"Dunno. But anyways, I was an ace at my job. Caught a lot of criminals, including that one terrorist that the FBI has been trying to catch for twenty years. You should see the look on his face when he found out I was part of the team who raided his hideout. Still doesn't believe women are capable of anything."

Stacy began to chuckle. Jem did the same but then stopped himself.

"W-Wait, you were involved in the raid?" He asked.

"Oh, right. Forgot to tell you," she replied. "I also applied as a field agent halfway during my five years there. I had to keep myself in shape and work out and take up a different diet. It was a pain in the ass but those years definitely paid off."

Jem glanced at her and noticed there were some changes in her body. Her arms were slightly toned and her shoulders fit the shirt well. Honestly, compared to his skinny build, she was quite in shape. Although Jem wasn't that skinny, he still felt inferior to her build. In other words, he was kind of envious.

"How about you, Jem?" Stacy asked. "Anything interesting happened? Apart from that raid while you were in the Intelligence Corps."

Jem sighed. Other than taking part in the field, nothing big happened in both the Intelligence Corps and Interpol. Jem leaned back onto his pillow behind him.

"Nothing much. Just paperwork and coding, the usual."

Stacy slightly nodded. Another pause between the two. Stacy then got up from the stool.

"Well, since you're fine now, I'll just head on out. Coran's waiting for me." She said.

"Y-Yeah. Got it," Jem muttered before realizing something. "W-wait! Stacy! I have something to tell you."

Stopping near the curtains, Stacy turned back to him. "What's up?"

Even though she was his ex, Jem still felt like his chest was going to burst. He needed to say those words.

"Thank you," He said. "For saving me."

A smile spread across her face. "You're welcome. Just don't...well, get shot again, okay?"

Jem snorted. "Promise."

"The way you said it is kinda making me concerned." Stacy blinked.

"Relax. I swear, I won't."

She nodded and turned away, heading for the door. "Alright. As long as you keep your end of the bargain. I'm heading out now. See ya."

"Later."

And then she left. Jem heard the door close as footsteps distances away from the room. Letting out a sigh, Jem placed his hand over his chest where he could feel his pulse punching its way out before slowly calming down. Were those feelings back in highschool resurfacing? He thought he had let it go ever since then. Or maybe they were just hibernating for years until he met Stacy again? Whatever it was, Jem couldn't figure out why. He slapped his hands over his face and groaned.

"Why now, Stacy? Why'd you gotta make me go through this again?"

While following Lance and Pidge, Keith and the two noticed Hunk just coming out of a room with one of his hands in his pocket.

"Yo, Hunk!" Lance called, grabbing his attention. "Where've ya been, ese? I had a feeling that you ran away."

"Lance!" Pidge and Keith hissed at the same time, prompting Lance to raise his hands.

"I'm joking."

"It's fine," Hunk assured. "I just got off a call with Shay and got some more information about the Galra Empire. She told me who they really are-"

"Yeah, we know they're buncha anarchists." Lance said.

"But there's a reason why the Galra is operating in Brazil."

"Which is?"

"The president has scheduled a meeting with the presidents of Colombia, and Venezuela for tomorrow morning. They're planning to discuss about a potential combined military and defence agency in response to the spike of crime and terrorism across their countries."

Pidge and Lance were surprised to hear it. They did hear about the meeting between the presidents but there wasn't any info about why.

"The news didn't say anything about this." Keith said.

"Sounds overkill for these three to come up with something like this." Pidge added.

"Kinda makes sense when you think about the stats on both crime and terrorism."

"And the Galra sees this as oppression." Hunk said.

"Wait, how does a journalist like her have access to information like that?" Lance asked.

"She has her ways apparently."

"Also, wouldn't the meeting be cancelled? Did they not get the news that a Brazilian government building was just bombed?"

"No they're still gonna go with the meeting despite what happened to Palácio do Planalto. She isn't sure about when or where the meeting's gonna happen but it's only a matter of time before the Galra begins their attack on the presidents."

"Team?" Allura called, grabbing everyone's attention. "I have some bad news."

The leader stepped in with the group, forming a circle.

"I just got off the phone with the higher ups...They want us to leave Brazil and return to London immediately."

Allura could tell nobody was happy with the news as she looked at the team's faces. She wasn't happy with it either. They'll be letting the Galra run amok and take more lives as part of their goal and worse, execute Shiro.

"We can't go back."

The team looked at Keith who was the first to break the silence.

"We can't!" He raised his voice. "Do they even know what happened to Shiro? Not only that, the Galra is going to attack the presidents and nobody knows but us! We can't just sit aside and let them take more innocent lives, let alone leave Shiro with the Galra. Somebody's gotta do something and we're their only hope. If we let them kill the presidents, what do you think's gonna happen to all of us?"

There was silence. It was the first time they heard Keith let out an outburst like that.

"He's right," Pidge spoke up. "We need to do something."

"I'm in too. I can't walk away on this either." Hunk said.

Lance hesitated for one moment. "Fuck it. I'm always up for some action."

To them, they assumed Allura's planning to give up and return to base, leaving Shiro to die. But she was impressed that they were willing to risk their lives to stop a catastrophe.

"I never said we were going back to headquarters."

The team looked at her, surprised.

"To hell with orders from the superiors," Allura said. "As far as we know, they could be on this like General Sanda. From now on, this is an unsanctioned operation. This means we won't have any support and we'll be disobeying commands which may get Voltron shut down and court marshalled. If any of you want to step down, you're free to do so right away."

Nobody said anything. They were all willing to fight back.

"We're not going to let the Galra commit another attack and we sure as hell are getting Shiro back."

The team nodded with their decision being final. There was no going back from this but if it's to ensure their leader is with them, nothing matters. That is, if Shiro's still alive at this rate.

"So what's the plan, Major?" Keith said.

"Брат, как поживает заключенный? (Brother, how's the prisoner doing, over?)" Fakhoury asked through the radio.

The only response that returned was the ear wrenching static. Barad was supposed to keep watch of the Voltron infidel Sendak wanted. He hasn't responded for the past thirty minutes and at this point, Fakhoury was sure Barad was slacking off as usual.

Letting out a hoarse sigh, Fakhoury got off his chair and snatched the AK-104 off the table before leaving the room. The gun itself was actually more efficient and comfortable to use than the old AK47s he and the insurgents used to carry. The Galra sure knows their weapons. Fakhoury headed downstairs, taking in the sweaty stench of the Brazilian streets. The city may be impressive but they will be leaving a message for the government so they could prepare for their fall.

Fakhoury arrived at the room where the Voltron infidel was. Barad wasn't at the door. Where could he be now, he wondered. He knew Barad wasn't fond of doing patrols and keeping watch to the point he would wander off to have a smoke. Fakhoury let out a sigh and got out his radio.

"Барад, где, черт возьми, ты? (Barad, where the hell are you, over?)" he asked before pausing.

Fakhoury thought he heard his voice from the room. Now he was getting confused. Without thinking it through, Fakhoury opened the door which for some reason was unlocked.

"(Bara-)"

He froze, holding his breath short. There, lying on the floor, was Barad and the chair that the Voltron infidel was supposed to be on was empty and tumbled. Fakhoury rushed towards Barad and bent down to check on him. His wide, soulless eyes stared at the ceiling as he checked for a pulse. Fakhoury noticed red marks over his neck, fresh and warm. He was too focused on his friend's demise to radio in Sendak.

Standing up, Fakhoury felt a strange aura behind him. He spun around and glanced across the room. There was no sign of the infidel at all but Fakhoury still felt like he wasn't alone. He wasn't sure what to do now. Turning around to the body, he noticed the barrel of a pistol aiming at him from the side of Barad's head.

He pulled the trigger, letting the loud bang rip across the room. Shiro heard the round hit the terrorist and pushed the body off him. Pulling himself up, he approached the wounded terrorist holding his neck while stumbling back and gurgling in his own blood. Shiro fired two more well-placed rounds to his chest, enough to make him trip over while dodging the terrorist's misfired rounds.

Once Shiro made sure he wasn't getting back up, he flicked the safety of the Glock 18 back on and rubbed his bruised wrists. It stung like hell but it was the only way to get off these zip ties. He approached the terrorist he strangled just after breaking free of the zip ties and took the suppressed AK-104 and his plate carrier fitted with ammo.

After putting his plate carrier on, Shiro then heard faint footsteps from outside. His prediction was correct. Raising his rifle, Shiro walked out of the room and cautiously checked his surroundings as he moved down the hallway. The footsteps closed in from the corner and the last terrorist appeared. Shiro let single fire rounds rip and dropped the terrorist before he could react. Approaching the body, he fired two more rounds to the head just for precaution.

As he went upstairs from where the terrorist came from, he noticed the rusty, metallic stairs and the industrial-like setting surrounding him. Shiro would assume this is a warehouse that the Galra set up as a hideout. Arriving at the upper floor, he found a room with an open door. Entering the room, he made sure to check every corner throughout the room before confirming it was clear. Shiro's eyes then landed on something that caught his attention. At the very middle of the room among the tables filled with weapons and ammunition was a wide board with everything stuck together in one piece. There were sticky notes and strings connected to the pins holding up photos.

Shiro was able to read the entire board to realise how capable the Galra was. They knew everything about Voltron. Their tactics, their movement, everything. That was how they got the upper hand. The ambushes in Pakistan, Dubai and Qatar were all tests to prove their exploitation.

Shiro then read the rest of the board and noticed a photograph of a building which looked to be the Palâcio do Planalto with a red X crossed over it. The Galra must've done something to the building. Shiro looked over and found three separate photographs of men in suits with flags attached to it and red X's crossed over each of their faces, as well as a cutout of a newspaper article in English. There was Brazil, Venezuela and Colombia. These three are the presidents of those countries. Shiro needed to know what their relation is to Galra.

He took the newspaper cutout off the board and read it. It seemed to be about some sort of 'secret' meeting between the presidents which was cancelled due to the bombing of the Planalto in Brasilia. The word 'cancelled' was circled in red with the word 'LIES'. Then Shiro noticed another photograph of a building which looked to have been taken recently with a red circle over it. The building itself was strangely different compared to the Planalto. Was it their secret hideout? He noticed a sticky note attached next to it with the address written on it. Shiro realized that the Galra must've seen through the cover story of the meeting and somehow figured out where the presidents were going to be at. He then noticed another sticky note saying:

'Tomorrow

9:30 AM

We strike'

There was only one final conclusion to this. The Galra is going to kill the presidents and possibly abolish the countries' system.

Thankfully, Shiro found a phone lying on the table as he frantically searched for a way for contact. They need to know this. Shiro dialed Allura's number and held the phone to his ear. The beeps repeated multiple times as a couple of seconds had passed. Shiro's fingers tapped on the table as he anxiously waited.

"Pick up, pick up." He muttered.

The beeping stopped shortly.

"Hello?" Allura answered.

"This is Black Lion." Shiro responded.

There was a brief pause. "Shiro? Is that you?" "Yeah. Listen, Sendak and his men are gonna attack the presidents-"

"I know. We're sending the Lions there to stop the attack. Where are you-"

Shiro needed to get his message through. "Do you know where the presidents are meeting at?"

A brief pause filled the air. "Not yet. We're getting Coran and his analysts to pinpoint their location. You found something?"

"Yeah, I'm looking at it right now. They have a secret hideout in Goiânia and the Galra must've figured out their location. That must be where the presidents are going to be tomorrow. I got the address too."

"Alright. I'll relay this to the team. What's the address?"

Shiro took the sticky note off the board and read the address aloud. "R. 15, 32-148, St. Central."

"Got it," Allura said. "I'm gonna send the team to pick you up. Where are you right now?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll meet the team there."

As soon as he hung up, Shiro immediately crushed the phone with his boot, making sure the chip inside was destroyed with the phone. Now to get out of this place and find the team. As he made his way out of the room, Shiro turned around to look at the board one more time. The Galra were smart and dangerous. Possibly more dangerous than Al Qaeda or ISIS, especially with their motives and views. But no matter their perspectives, Voltron's purpose is to take down and prevent terrorism around the world and that is what Shiro and his team is going to do. Looking away, Shiro left the room and set off to put a stop to Sendak's mission.

[santoteez]

In The Bronx- Hongjoong (6)

Part: 6 of 7

Genre: Drugdealer!Hongjoong, Drugdealer! SeonghwaAU, Eventual Fluff

Word Count:  2.5k

Requested: no

Warnings: MC is a black female, swearing, Hongjoong’s brother is inspired by Mingi, mentions of abuse and police corruption

NOTE: This fic does NOT, in any way, shape, or form, portray the way I view any member of Ateez nor does it depict their true personalities or actions. This AU is just that. An AU.

Santana stared at the window, watching the snowfall onto the streets. It had now been 3 months since Hongjoong was taken into custody, but she remembered that day like it was yesterday.

*flashback*

The address Seonghwa had sent was to the new warehouse. The location was noticeably smaller, but the crew resumed their work as if nothing happened. As they suspected, the old place was raided. A raid in which nothing was found, damaging the Coca Twins’ credibility. They tried multiple times to convince the police of Seonghwa’s involvement, but with their lack of home security cameras and the solidity of Seonghwa’s alibi, it was impossible to incriminate him. They were several people (all of who were friends of Hongjoong’s) vouched for him being at his “job” at Panera. There was even video footage. Of course, the video was several months old, but the police didn’t need to know that.

Santana and Minjoon were escorted to the back office upon arrival. Seonghwa locked the door when they walked in, gesturing for them to sit. This office was much more put together, with brand new furniture and white carpet.

“How’s he looking?” Seonghwa sat down behind the desk.

“He hasn’t slept, that’s for sure,” Minjoon said. “I feel like shit. Has he always been that tired and I just never saw it? So many times he could’ve gotten killed while I was sleeping.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Don’t think like that. That’s the last thing HJ would want. It’s the reason he never told you. He wanted you to have the childhood he didn’t.” Seonghwa said, shutting down Minjoon’s worries immediately. “Anyway, I called you over here because I found out-”

He was interrupted by Santana’s phone ringing. “Someone’s calling me private.”

Seonghwa stood up. “Answer it. It might be him.”

Santana answered. “Hello?”

“You have an incoming call from an inmate at Sing Sing Correctional Facility. The inmate calling is *Kim Hongjoong*. To accept the charges and connect the call, press 5.”

“It’s him. It’s him!” Santana shouted, dialing in the number. The phone went silent for just a second until she heard Hongjoong’s voice.

“Baby, I miss you.”

“HJ, I miss you too.” She sighed in relief.

“Listen, is Minjoon there?”

“Yeah, he’s here. So is Dragon.”

“Yeah? Put me on speaker.”

“Okay.” She removed the phone from her ear and put it on speaker, the hustle and bustle of the prison filling the silent room.

“Minjoon. Dragon.”

Seonghwa walked over to the other side of the table. “We’re here.”

“I need y’all to listen to me. Bianchi is crooked, man. The public defender, too. I spoke to her earlier, and she said she wanted me to confess to the Paredes case for a reduced sentence.” His voice was muffled from speaking directly into the receiver.

“Is he nearby? Is that why you’re whispering?” Seonghwa asked.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong said, much clearer now.

“Don’t say anything else. Luckily, that’s why I called Santana over. I’m already ten steps ahead of you.”

“Minjoon, you listening?”

“Yeah, what’s up?

“Keep going to school. Remember you wondered why I forced you to get your license but never let you take the car? This is why. Drive yourself, and drive Santana to work. If there’s a party, I’m not telling you to not go because that will raise suspicion BUT make sure Santana and Seonghwa know where you are. For fuck's sake, buy a portable charger because I know your phone dies every other second. And wash your damn clothes! Coming here to see me in a shirt I saw you in two days ago. I don’t spend money at the mall for you to walk around musty.”

Minjoon rolled his eyes. “This is also not the time to talk about this, but alright.”

“You should get going, HJ. You’ve been on the phone for a while. I’m sure you’re almost up. I’m gonna head up that way to see you in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Alright, bro. I’ll see you then. Santana, take the phone off speaker. Lemme talk to you real quick.”

Santana placed the phone to her ear. “Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“And I love you.”

“I don’t have much time, but I had to tell you that. I know you never wanted to be with a jailbird, but I need you to hold me down while I’m in here. Even if you wake up one day and think I’m gross and disgusting, please don’t leave Minjoon alone. I know he’s over there saying he’s grown and shit, but he’s just a kid and I don’t want him doing this alone. Please, tana.”

“I wouldn’t leave either of you. No matter how long it takes, I’m gonna be right here.”

“Let’s go, inmate. Time’s up.”

“I’ll come see you as much as I can! I love you.” Santana shouted.

“I love you, too,” Hongjoong said before the call cut off.

*end*

Three months later, she kept her word. Every day, she was dropped off to work by Minjoon, who picked her up after doing homework or before heading to a party. She’d attend his games and ignore the ridiculous claims that she was his girlfriend. Although she didn’t need it, Seonghwa provided them with money and the occasional grocery shopping. Santana and Minjoon visited Hongjoong as much as they could and waited for his call every night. Minjoon got a weekend job at the local diner, cursing himself for not thinking of getting a job before.

Seonghwa continued to run the warehouse, as well as collect evidence on Bianchi and Sarah. Turns out, the pair had been terrorizing not only the neighborhood of Soundview but the entire borough of The Bronx. Everyone Seonghwa spoke to knew at least three people who were fucked over by them, and each of those three people know more people. Upon his findings, Hongjoong refused to work any further with Sarah and requested to hire his own lawyer for the trial. Seonghwa found the best lawyer in New York City who, after carefully reviewing his evidence, decided to request a mistrial due to police corruption.

“Are you ready?” Santana asked Seonghwa. The day of the trial had finally arrived, and they were about to head into the courtroom to hear Hongjoong’s fate.

“I should be asking you. You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.” Seonghwa laughed. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ve got a solid case. C’mon. Minjoon, we’re going in.”

As the trio was about to enter, they locked eyes with the Coca Twins. Daedae and Nunu turned their heads quickly as their eyes averted Santana’s worried gaze and Seonghwa’s icy glare.

Once they were all in the courtroom, the bailiff addressed them.

“Please rise, the honorable Judge Johnson is now presiding.” A short, black woman entered the room. “You may be seated.” He said once she was seated.

“Case #157, Claremont vs. Kim. The charge is attempted murder.” The bailiff handed Judge Johnson the case folder.

“Mr. Kim, how do you plead?”

Hongjoong’s lawyer spoke up. “Not guilty, Your Honor. As a matter of fact, the defense requests a mistrial due to police corruption and tampering with evidence.”  

Gasps and murmurs were heard throughout the courtroom and the Coca Twins looked at each other in despair.

“On what basis do you support these claims, Attorney?”

“The defense team and I have conducted a private investigation along with Mr. Kim’s longtime friend, Park Seonghwa, which was approved by the lieutenant and commander. Over the course of three months, there has been evidence collected which proves that the arresting officer, Carlo Bianchi, has been wrongfully incriminating the people of The Bronx alongside his partner, Anthony Manganiello, as well as District Attorney Sarah Fawcett. May I present to the court Exhibit A.” A surveillance tape was pulled up on a TV. “Here, at 10:40, we have my client, Kim Hongjoong, exiting the Claremont residence. Note his calm demeanor and lack of a weapon. This behavior is not common of an individual who’s just failed to kill the persons they intended to. Here at 10:50, we see Officer Bianchi arrive at the scene. Not only is he out of uniform, after reviewing the schedule with the lieutenant, it has been confirmed that Bianchi was also off the clock. We see him walking through the same gate my client just walked out of, touching it without gloves and therefore tampering with what is supposed a crime scene. So, if Officer Bianchi responded to a call as severe as attempted murder without his partner, off-duty AND without securing the crime scene, who could’ve possibly dispatched this call? Easy. No one. See, the police were never called and an official report was never made. In the eyes of the law, there’s no possible way Bianchi could’ve known of the crime or gotten there so quickly.”

Santana's mouth fell agape in disbelief. This was far more than she had suspected. There was evidence even Seonghwa had failed to tell her.

“Exhibit B. The injuries inflicted on the Claremonts. Here we see the shoulders of Timothy and the hands and wrists of Clarence. All badly bruised and tattered. There’s only one problem. Here are the hands and arms of my client.” She pulled up another picture. “This photo is an enhancement of his mugshot. His hands have not one sign of strenuous activity, much less indication he beat anyone up. These pictures were taken less than 24 hours apart. According to the medical examiner, in order for those injuries to have been made by Kim Hongjoong, there would have to be some type of defense wounds on him as well. Do you know who did have signs of a fight visible to the eye? Officer Bianchi. The same man who arrived at the Claremont residence almost instantly after my client, as well as the man who falsified a police report for a crime that did not take place. They entered my client’s house without a warrant and slammed him into the ground in front of his girlfriend of almost two years, possibly scarring her from such a traumatic event. May I also mention, Your honor, that this isn’t a first offense. In our investigation, we have discovered dozens of citizens who were victims at the hands of Officer Bianchi and DA Fawcett. Here are our findings.” The lawyer handed Judge Johnson a folder.

At this point, the Coca twins are sweating through their suits. Sarah’s face was beet-red, and the court was at the end of their seats, as was the jury.

“My final, and possibly most incriminating piece of evidence. This is video footage from DA Fawcett’s first meeting with my client before he blatantly refused to meet with her and requested a switch.”

The lawyer played the tape and the jury watched in disgust as Fawcett’s spiel about Hongjoong as well as the people of the Bronx was exposed for all to hear.

“Note how DA Fawcett makes her stereotypical belief of Bronx citizens clear to Mr. Kim. A true defender of justice shouldn’t see race, background, or education as a factor when trying to portray the truth. As Mr. Kim stated in the clip, he was nowhere near the crime scene, as building management provided us with surveillance that shows Mr. Kim entering his apartment at 8:30am, exiting at 2:50, and returning with his younger brother at 4:00pm. May the jury keep in mind he is his brother’s legal guardian and only known blood relative. Since Mr. Kim’s arrest, Kim Minjoon has had no other choice but to step up immensely and, with the help of his sister-in-law Santana, find a job to help support himself, since my client was his only source of income and the sole breadwinner of the house. This entire ordeal has caused the Kims are great amount of pain, and all for naught. It is, for this reason, we request a mistrial and demand that Kim Hongjoong be released to his loved ones immediately.”

The judge took a moment before saying, “I will appoint a recess in the time I take to review the evidence given to me. Jury, your verdict will not be needed. I thank you for your time and you will be compensated. I will call you all back when I have made my decision.”

The recess lasted almost an hour, in which Santana and Minjoon went to grab a bite to eat. They brought back a sandwich for Seonghwa, despite him insisting that he wasn’t hungry.

“You may all re-enter; the judge has made her decision.” The bailiff called.

“Let’s pray this was enough,” Santana said, rubbing her hands nervously.

Seonghwa placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s enough.”

They once again sat behind Hongjoong and his attorney as the judge addressed the court.

“Before I make my decision known, I would like to address DA Fawcett. Sarah, I am utterly disappointed in you. The great people of the Bronx have time and time again been prejudiced against. Discriminated against. Been robbed of opportunity. And called liars and thieves and burdens. And this instance is no different. May I remind you, you’re in the courtroom of an impeccable Bronx citizen. You wanna charge me of a crime too? It is for this that you, as well as Officers Manganiello and Bianchi,  be placed on UNPAID administrative while this evidence, as well as the list of witnesses, are further investigated. As for Mr. Kim, given the evidence delivered today in this court, I hereby declare this case a mistrial and order that he be released from custody effective immediately. Mr. Kim, on behalf of the judicial system, and from one Bronxite to another, I sincerely apologize. You are a good man, and from what I can tell, you’re an amazing boyfriend and you’ve raised your brother to be a well-mannered, poised young man. I wish you nothing but the best. Court adjourned.” She slammed her gavel, getting up from her chair.

The court erupted into cheers, Santana tearing up almost immediately. Three long, hard months. It all came to a close in a matter of hours. Hongjoong turned around and motioned with his cuffed hands for her to lean forward. When she did, he trapped her lips into a tight liplock, eliciting oohs and aahs from the onlookers.

“I’ve wanted to do that every time I saw you for the past three months.” Hongjoong looked deeply into her eyes.

The guard came over with a smile and uncuffed him. “Good going, kid. Remember our talk?”

Hongjoong nodded, smiling and rubbing his wrists. “Absolutely. Thank you, sir.”

He shrugged. “Just looking out for someone that reminds me a lot of myself.”

The courtroom had long emptied out, and the trio waited for Hongjoong to emerge from the courthouse, sans the jumpsuit. When he walked down the steps in a black coat, jeans, and sneakers, Minjoon broke into a sprint.

“There he is! I wore clean clothes today, just for you.” He said, gesturing to his suit.

“As you always should. That’s how I raised you. “Hongjoong said, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, lil bro. For everything.”

Minjoon shook his head. “You did it all for me. I understand now. Now, I’m gonna go to college, be somebody, and I’ll pay it all back. But for right now, let’s go home.”

Hongjoong laughed. “Couldn’t” have said it better myself.”

*STAY TUNED FOR THE LAST CHAPTER!!*

[askthiscpblog]

Hehe sorry to be a bother, but I still ship Jane and Imani... could they meet? Sksksks sorry I know you must be tired of romance asks, especially these Jane and Imani ones but they're so,,,, cute,, feel free to ignore this if you want!

Jane was out and about during the day, more often than anyone else in the house. It was the little magic boon she got, able to cover up what EJ could never fix about her burns. She was wearing a shorter black dress, around mid-thigh, with a t-shirt top and fishnets down her arms. It was one of those days she decided to look nicer than her usual. Jane was going to downtown for a night on the town. Being that Sally is too young, a girl’s night was an alone night for her. Doesn’t mean she won’t find any fun though.

Imani almost never left her house aside from business, and that’s what she was on. Well, not her usual business. She wasn’t heading out to fuck anyone, not that she would complain if the night led to that. She was out to find someone to have fun with while she rode out her manic episode. She had traded out her tight curve-hugging dress for a faded Marvel t-shirt and skinny jeans. She was going to play it casually, but of course, she still had her heels on. After all, she had to have a weapon on her even when she wasn’t carrying her purse. The heels had blades in them. Blades sharp enough to make the paranoid woman feel secure as she walked down the street, ignoring people’s occasional bewildered stare at the towering masked woman. Her eyes roamed the streets, looking for someone interesting to charm into wreaking havoc with her.

Jane kept her purse around her, looking around for a place to head to. Alright, it was still a little too early for the clubs tonight. So instead she decided to go to a classier bar, drinking a martini watching the crowd. Imani spotted something that sparked her interest. A bar instead of a person like she had anticipated but her intuition was telling her to go, and she wasn’t one to ignore her intuition. So, she did. She walked directly to the bar, ordering a shot of whiskey to fuel her fire. As she drowned her worries with the liquid, she noticed a woman with a martini in her hand and a mask on her face and she couldn’t help but turn her body to get a better look.

Jane looked over at everyone, trying to pick out who would be an easy target for a fun night. Granted, she was going to head to the gay club tonight. Better chance of picking someone she liked up than here. But after a little, her gaze moves over towards the woman who also had a mask downing whiskey. She was looking at her too, so it was a contest now. Imani crossed her arms over her chest, not breaking eye contact. This woman was gay. Hella gay. The gayest. And if she wasn’t then she was in for a shock when she came home with Imani. Imani set her now empty shot glass down on the bar and walked over to the masked woman. She looked down at her before she spoke, a smile forming under her mask.

“Hello there beautiful. I happened to notice that pretty mask of yours, and it sparked my interest. That, and the aura of glamour magic you give off.” She stuck her hand out to shake, “I’m Imani.”

That made Jane smile under her mask, seeing how quick this woman was to pick up what was around her. Yeah, she wasn’t stupid. Or at least, she was observant.

“Well well, aren’t you a clever person? Nice to see that someone has some brains around here,” she responded, bringing up her drink to her mask. For a second it looked like it melted to her face as she took a sip, acting it was like her real face. But blink and it’s gone, just back to a normal mask.

“Jane.” The one eye that Imani had left widened, and she eyed this woman, Jane’s, mask.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady… and you have got to teach me that trick. I guess I’ve been doing things the hard way this whole time, eh?” Imani crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head to the left, analyzing. Jane didn’t come off like a threat, she wasn’t radiating bad mojo, so Imani decided not to give bad mojo back and to be friendly.

“What brings you here this evening Jane? Usually, ladies like you don’t drink alone at places like this unless they’re on a mission.”

“Well, what makes you think I’m not on a mission? Waiting for the more fun and welcoming places open up,” she mentioned, putting the glass down onto the counter and circling the rim with her gloved hand. She gave a sly smile under it, though it couldn’t be seen If she focused more it’ll meld into her face again, this woman already figured out the magic. So, what more could she do?

“But no, otherwise I am here to have fun. Love your name too, by the way. Unique, and I like unique things. And I could teach you if you care to sit and talk with me until the other place opens.”

“I would love to, after all, I’m never one to turn down the attention of stunning women. Especially when they’re offering to teach me new things. Learning is one of my favorite things.” A smile made its way onto Imani’s face under her mask as she watched Jane. This woman radiated a certain kind of energy, one that Imani hadn’t tasted before.

“Who taught you that trick, if you don’t mind my asking. I know some teachers don’t like to be talked about. It’s not somethin’ I’ve seen before.” Jane froze at the question for a split second when asking who taught her. Technically, she taught herself. But the power came from something else, her boss which she didn’t want to talk about. At least, not now with a stranger after a raid in a bar.

“I picked it up from my boss, but I could show you a thing or two. Thing is, you gotta have the talent for it. Think you got it pretty lady?” she responded, smiling under that mask. Imani let out a small chuckle, looking down before looking into Jane’s eyes.

“Oh, believe me, I know I do.” She leaned back, raising her brow at the woman in front of her. She usually kept her practices a secret, a secret for her sisters and brothers and other siblings from Africa only. But she supposed that if this woman was going to show her something, she might as well give something in return. She twirled one of her coils, watching it spring back after she stretched it out. It was therapeutic.

“If you’re interested, I might be able to teach you something too… that is if you’re not too white meat for it. Well, more than I was already planning to teach you the second I saw you.” Oh, this woman had spunk, attitude, and everything that made Jane smile. She was good, and she knew the game that Jane played. It was obvious to the trained killer, as a person who talked one of the most famous ones. And found him, countless times.

“Alright, so what are you wanting to know the most then? Trade for trade. Also depends on how long we plan on being together, for this night anyway.” Jane leaned forward, taking the martini glass but kept her posture. Almost challenging Imani, but not in a dominance way. Imani noticed the change in the way Jane was leaning, and smirked.

“I’m dying to know that little mask trick of yours. I do hate giving everyone a flash of my scary lookin’ face every time I take a drink or smoke.” She answered the subtle challenge with a change of her own body language, leaning forward a bit and putting most of her weight on the foot closest to Jane. She had to admit she did like this woman. She was classy, more so than Imani was used to, and wasn’t challenging in a way that made her a threat. Instead, she was challenging enough to be a turn on.

“What do you want to learn most, hmm? Hoodoo is a powerful tool if you get someone who knows how to work it right. I surely wouldn’t mind spending the night with you to teach you some of my tricks.”

Jane watched her change her posture, seeing how it shifted to mirror match hers. Oh, this girl was good. Picking up her martini, she stands up to walk over to a booth off in the corner. Her long black dress trailed behind her in the wind she made, not touching the ground due to the clack of her heels against it. Getting to the booth, she spins around and slides on in, to graceful for a basic human as she does so. Her other hand was held out, using her finger to wave “come over here” to Imani. Imani couldn’t help but enjoy the view from where she had been standing when Jane walked away and followed when Jane beckoned for her. She walked in her steps of threes, her heels clacking against the floor. She sat opposite to Jane, crossing her left leg over her right and putting her hand under her chin.

“My, if you had told me the view from the back was as good as the view from the front, I would have suggested we move much sooner.” She leaned forward a bit, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Now, I know you didn’t get me over here away from the rest of the bar to do naughty things, so why move? Are you gonna teach me your lovely trick?”

“Maybe because I could teach you a thing or two without others…interfering or interrupting anything,” she told to her with a devilish grin under her mask. Jane took the drink she had and lifted it to her mask again, it fades in and out like it did before. But instead of a sip, she drank the entire glass before setting it aside.

“Hoodoo sounds interesting, please do tell me more.”

“Hoodoo… is everything to me. It’s called many things, rootwork, juju… sometimes devil worships by ultra-religious bitches.” Imani couldn’t help but enjoy watching the mask fade in and out, it was so fascinating to her. A part of her started to explore the science behind it, if there was in, or if it was all magic.

“Hoodoo was made by slaves trying to preserve parts of their culture while in shackles which is why we prefer it to stay to people with…” she lifted her hand up, “melanin. But I can teach you some things without giving away everything. Judging the glamour magic, you’ve got going on, I’m going to guess you are the type of woman who likes to lure in her prey instead of running around for it like a savage. I can respect that.” Imani ran her nails over the surface of the table, looking down at it, thinking for a moment before looking back into Jane’s eyes. Imani couldn’t help the grin that came to her face before she spoke. She was really fucking gay and this woman? Definitely her type.

“I can teach you a little trick to help you dispel suspicion. I use it to make my sugar mommies and daddies ignore the whole scarred face thing. Of course, if you want, I could teach you much more than that… although it would probably stop being me teaching you hoodoo and me teaching you other things.”

“Oh, you think I am that easy of a catch, do you? I would like to see you try.” Jane responds immediately, giving the same devilish grin under her mask.

“And yes, apparently you and I don’t fall far from the same tree. Sure, let’s start with the dispel suspicion then and the melding mask. I think it will go smoothly if everything doesn’t end up getting tossed to the wind in conversation.” Jane put one hand on her cheek and leaned in on it, the other one having her nails thrum against the wooden table in a smooth pattern.

Imani let out a small laugh, “I think you’ll be one of the hardest women to get in my bed. But whether we end up there or not, I’ll be happy getting to talk with someone that isn’t a total asshole or completely boring.” The sound of Jane’s nails tapping against the wooden table made Imani relax, it was a soothing sound. She shifted, cocking her head to the side.

“Do enlighten me, Jane. Do I have a chance with you, or are you going to keep me on a hamster wheel? I’ll be more than happy to continue to chase after that fabulous ass of yours, but I’d like to know before I waste too much energy making gris-gris bags to try and get you in my bed.” Jane thought about it for a minute or two, about getting into bed with this woman. Yes, she was pretty, nice, tall, and overall gay as hell, and she loved that aura about her. At the same time, she was a killer like herself and didn’t want to change anything after the raid. Gotta be smart about this sort of stuff.

“Sorry to say, not tonight. But I do believe however you have my attention enough to warrant a second, maybe even a third depending on how tonight goes,” she responds, moving to pull her mask up and off to the side some. Her skin was white, but not as bleached as her attackers. More like a very pale person, someone who doesn’t go into the sun often. Good eyes will show some burn scars creeping up her face from her neck. Her guard lowering the magic to show this woman. It is obvious that she has had surgery on most parts, it’s smoother than it should be for scarred skin. Patchy skin grafts. Imani couldn’t help but smile at the sight of this woman’s true face. She took it as a sign of trust, even at a superficial level.

“I’ll focus my efforts on upping my game for next time. Maybe show some cleavage, wear a nice wig, get my nails did…” she tapped her nails against her mask, “I don’t mind being blessed by seeing a part of your beautiful face, but I really don’t think you want to see the hellish thing that’s under this. I don’t want to give such a gorgeous being such as yourself a reason not to want to see me again, now do I?”

“If you think I am a picky person, you’re absolutely right.” Jane joked, waving over a waiter. She ordered them both a bottle of wine, chilled, and not to dry. Even added in some small snacks for them to eat while teaching one another. “You have nothing to worry about, I have no right to judge anyone. I count myself fortunate to know a very good doctor who did the best he could.”

“He definitely did an amazing job, you’re stunning. Give him my compliments.” Imani unclipped her mask, taking it off completely and shaking out her curls that were pressed down from the tight straps. Her hand ran over the scars that covered well over half of her face, feeling how they swelled above what was her normal skin. Redish and inflamed, she never let them heal. Too paranoid for medical help from her friends, she let them be. A smile inched its way onto her face, “Now that you’ve seen my face are you still certain you don’t wanna tap this right here and now?”

She snorted as she giggled, “Sorry… it’s been a long time since I’ve been interested in someone that wasn’t paying me to be.”

Jane saw the balls this woman…Imani takes off her mask to show her the face. Well, that was something. Seeing her scars, she gives a small smile under the mask before taking off her own. And her burn scared face was revealed, matching something like Imani. It folded in over itself, twisting and turning with pits and sunken in sections. And this was all after she got the surgery, seeing the off colored patchiness of where old and new skin overlaps. She had no eyebrows either, drawn on with makeup. Looking at the surface, it was obvious she had burn scars, but the makeup works to distract it.

“Hey, no worries here about that. I don’t plan on paying you for anything more if I can help it.” Giving a wink, their bottle shows up with two glasses and a bucket of ice. Imani couldn’t help but smile at this woman, no matter how self-conscious she was about the lopsided dumbass smile that she had.

“My, you do know how to flatter a girl.” Imani tapped her nails against the wood, looking at Jane for a minute. She couldn’t help but admire her, her makeup skills, her obvious good taste in fashion. And her speech. And… well, everything. She took a deep breath, preparing to summon some energy and a cocky smile appeared on her face.

“Now… I’m gonna teach you some juju.”

[galactichxpe]

day in, day out ❦ jjk, jhs, myg [last of us au]

◜ 　　　　　 ◝ characters » jungkook, hoseok & yoongi (main pov is jungkook)

genre » the last of us au. zombie apocalypse & a little angst

word count » 1,624

warnings » strong language, light gore

a/n » inspired by the game "the last of us." what is the last of us? the last of us is an action-adventure survival horror video game. in which the world is overthrown by infected (of different species such as infected, bloaters and clickers.)

its basically a zombie apocalyptic game with the best storyline and amazing graphics. it's my favourite video game. anyway-

enjoy !

◟ 　　　　　 ◞

he had woken up in the silence of his room. the light from the moon casting upon him causing his face to contort, rubbing his tired eyes. a hand of the clock on the wall had just ticked to 2, 2 in the morning.

he came out from under the covers, placing his feet on the floor before switching on the lamp on the bedside table. the warm light illuminating the room as he stood on wobbly legs, still feeling drowsy from waking up suddenly.

making an advance toward his door, he took a couple steps before his cellphone rang, startling him momentarily but he still picked up the vibrating device. clearing out his groggy 'morning' voice as he read the caller id.

'mom'

he answered the call without a second thought, putting the phone to his ear. "hey? it's late-"

"jungkook! thank god you picked up, i was so worried, i- your father didn't answer any of my calls or texts- is he there? i need you to put him on the phone somethings-" her rushed, shaky rambling was cut short when the line went dead, the ground shaking slightly simultaneously; jungkook gasping quietly in shock.

"mom? mom?!"

he called into the receiver and got no reply. his nerves were shaking along with his heart that was beating two times faster than before. he tossed his phone onto the bed before rushing out of his room. met with the darkness of the hallway.

"dad?!"

his steps were heavy as he jogged through the corridor, in search of his father who apparently hadn't been answering his wife's calls. "dad?" his voice grew softer as he entered the kitchen. his eyes caught sight of a yellow sticky note placed on the marble countertop, it read

"working late, be home tomorrow. feel free to raid my snack pantry :)" jungkook sighed. the sigh was of somewhat anxiousness; didn't explained why he wasn't answering any calls. he placed the note back as red lights and sirens blared past a window in the living room. and just as he was about to walk into the living room, something slammed into the glass door leading to the backyard behind him. spinning on his heel in an instant only for a gasp to leave his lips; eyes widening as his jaw went slack.

"dad?"

there his dad was. bloodied and battered, his guts threatening to pour out of him as he slammed his body against the glass again. and again, and again. jungkooks first initial thoughts surprisingly weren't to help him, but to run away. his instincts were kicking in; a gut feeling telling him that his dad was going to hurt him. his fathers actions progressively became more violent. letting out inhuman shrieks and guttural noises that made jungkook uneasy, practically terrified of what happened to his father... and what his father was going to do to him.

the glass shattered and jungkook bolted for a his fathers desk; pulling open the drawer. clasping the metal of the gun firmly in his hand before turning around. his father was heaving on the ground, bones crunching as he sloppily stood back up from the blood and glass shards surrounding his feet.

"dad?"

he groaned in response, his bleeding eyes seeming to need time to focus as they soon landed on jungkook who was in the other room, gun clutched in both hands.

"d-dad? what're you doing? are you... are you o-okay?" jungkook knew damn well his father was far from okay. he was no where near okay yet he wanted to see if his father responded rather than groaning more. the man who raised jungkook. the man who taught jungkook everything he knows. the man who loved his son unconditionally... then screamed, running toward jungkook in a harsh-violent manner.

"dad!"

he hesitated for split second. and in that split second... he saw for the last time, what little life his father had left in his eyes; before squeezing the trigger.

[ten years later]

his shirt stuck to him like a glove as he treaded through the crumbled streets of boston. the rain coming down heavily as he adjusted the weight of the backpack on his shoulders. the others were following close behind, looking as much of a mess as jungkook; mud smothering their boots and water dripping down their noses. and by 'the others', that's means the two men jungkook had met five years ago when he was scavenging an abandoned neighbourhood; that happened to not be as abandoned as he thought it was.

hoseok and yoongi; his two best friends that started as companions, which turned into acquaintances, then blossomed into trust. he could count on them, feel safe around them. they were his best friends after all.

"hey. why don't we hold up somewhere? we can stay in one of these buildings until the storm passes." hoseok practically yelled over the claps of thunder, water running down the sides of his face as he gestured to the tall, slanted buildings that had moss covering parts of the exterior, rubbled rooftops and foggy windows.

"sounds good." the two others agreed and they proceeded to climb into a hole in the side of a promising looking building. the least damaged one that is. they soon found themselves in a dark, messy corridor of an apartment building. their flashlights being of use as they cautiously walked through the halls of the creaking building. trash suddenly crumpled beneath yoongi's foot; quite loudly. withdrawing his boot thinking it didn't draw much attention; only to hear an echoed guttural cry at the end of the hallway.

a body staggered into view. fresh blood dripping from its chin as it jerked its neck suddenly, catching view of the three men watching it closely. "is it just one?"

"i think."

"it better be." jungkook muttered as he already had a rusty long pipe in hand. approaching the infected who began running at jungkook the moment he advanced toward it. he was quick to react, swinging his weapon at the shrieking man's leg. toppling forward having no time to pounce up at jungkook before he began to violently smash the infecteds head in with the pipe. crushing it's rotting brain and shattering its disgusting skull.

"alright. now that it's dead. let's find a place to crash for the night." jungkook spoke with heavy breaths as he dropped the pipe to the ground; having no more use for it. jungkook was about to return to his friends who nodded in agreement; already opening a door. when a group of infected suddenly burst through another entrance at the end of the hall to his left. he estimated ten as they started to sprint toward him, screaming. without a doubt drawing more attention to the three men.

"shit, run!"

the three boys could have easily taken out ten. but what made jungkook loose confidence was the large bloater; stomping toward him, throwing a chunk of its flesh at jungkook but missed as the man dashed down the hall. spores bursting from the bomb-like piece of flesh. it's yell was loud and rumbled through the building. it's steps shook the ground as it followed the three men closely; it's height helping it move faster with its long strides despite being large in size.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" yoongi shouted as he took a few pot shots at the infected and bloater. managing to take a small infected down before catching up with the two others.

"this way! this way!" hoseok ordered, busting through a door waiting for jungkook and yoongi to enter before pushing a large cabinet over; barricading the door. presumably the bloater crashed against it, shaking and shifting the cabinet out of place slightly before ramming against the door again.

"that's not gonna hold." jungkook stated the obvious before everyone's eyes searched around the room; in dire need of an escape route, and fast.

"uhh.. oh! here! jungkook, give me your knife." yoongi hurriedly flipped a couch over from adrenaline. revealing a decently large sized vent, capable of allowing the three men to crawl through. he pried the vent open in record time with the blade. throwing the grate elsewhere before standing up, gesturing for the two others to lead the way. "go! go!"

they wasted no time in getting on their knees, crawling through speedily as they heard the door hinges snap. yoongi watched as the bloaters arm shoved through the crack of the door; the cabinet thankfully holding in place long enough for yoongi to crawl through the open space. but before he followed the other two he placed a fallen painting in front of the hole; hopefully hiding it enough so the infected wouldn't crawl through as well.

attempting and successfully surviving the night in the ventilation system.

┆        ┊        ┆        ┆       ┊       ┊

the three men did everything humanly possible to survive just one more day. scavenging, thieving, killing, lying... they did whatever they could if it meant they'd live to see the sun rise and fall again. half of the threat wasn't just the infected; but the people as well. all the good people died in the beginning. and all the dangerous ones lived. the good people jungkook lost... were his father, his mother, his brother, park jimin...

and himself.

he was once your typical, reckless teenager. and he grew up a killer. a dangerous man who didn't take chances... he no longer loved. no longer smiled. and no matter how many times hoseok and yoongi tried... he never laughed; not even a chuckle.

jungkook had let the world ruin him. shape him. he was gone. jungkook had died the moment he killed his father all those years ago.

now it was just day in... and day out.

[blackleatherjacketz]

You’re The Boss: Chapter 7

(Gif by Negangifs)

Negan (The Walking Dead) x Female Reader

Negan comes back from his raid, wounded, and you confront him about his wives.

Warnings: NSFW, Face Grabbing, Nipple Rubbing, Wound Stitching, Threatening/Flirting

Read Chapter 6  (Further links within.)

Tags: @sonnshineandrainbows @acutecupidity @hughxjackman @destiel-lover321 @collette04 @lokisaveus @littlepeachwhispers @sleepylunarwolf @haleyea @dramaqueenarg @negans-network

Negan walks into the office with his hand clutching his left side. He shoves the door open and shuffles in like a belligerent drunk. Bright red blood stains his hand and leather jacket as he drips little circles onto the floor before resting on the exam table.

“Negan!” You walk over to him, unzipping his jacket and taking it off of his arms for him. “What happened? When did this happen?!” You tug the black leather off his wrists and throw it onto the bedside table. “Take off your shirt.”

You walk over to the sink and start washing your hands. What happened out there that he got attacked? Was everyone else okay? Was there a security breach? Was Bob okay? Why did he have to come back when Doctor Carson was out in the garden? He would be much better at this than you.

You look over at him and see that his white t-shirt is almost completely soaked in blood on the left side. “I said take your shirt off. NOW.” You haven’t had to use your “mom” voice in years.

“Jesus, okay!” He starts to take it off, but can’t quite lift his arms enough to finish the job. You know he’s in pain if he isn’t talking, and he’s always talking.

You cut through his shirt with your surgical scissors and toss it on top of his leather jacket. “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic before I sew you up…” You grab a pair of gloves and put them on, touching his wound to see just how deep it goes. It looks moderately superficial, but you wait to make sure there isn’t any arterial spurting with his bleeding. You stick him with the anesthetic, making him groan and squeeze the side of the exam table.

“Oh come on, you big baby.” You laugh under your breath as he shows a moment of vulnerability.

“Shit, that hurts.” He keeps his arm up so you can access his wound.

“I’m sorry.” You grumble, remembering your interaction with Sherry a few days ago. Okay, maybe you aren’t that sorry for hurting him. Maybe you’ll take a little extra time stitching him up just for that. “I’m just going to sew you up. Try to sit still, I know that’s a challenge for you.”

You clean his wound with betadine and hook your needle into your surgical thread. Bending down at the waist, you insert the half moon shaped needle into his flesh. He winces again, still grabbing onto the exam table as you pull the red wire through his layers of skin.

“These stitches dissolve by themselves, so don’t come in and ask see me to take them out.” You tell him, making your second and third stitch.

“Did I do something while I was gone to PISS YOU OFF?” His voice deepens, getting louder with each word.

Yes. You saved my friend’s life while stealing all of our weapons, and then transported us here. You did this while making me feel wanted, desired, and attractive. You finger-fucked me in a walker-filled hospital and gave me the best orgasm of my life. You took the only real friend I have left on a raid with you while I gave your wife a pelvic exam. A pelvic exam! And then I find out that she’s only one of five wives. Five!

“No.” You lie.

You continue to pull the wire through his skin as his lungs expand and contract. “You shouldn’t talk so much while I’m stitching you up.” You make your last stitch and tie off the end, snipping the excess off with your scissors. You take the gauze out of the package and tape each side carefully before running your hand over it to ensure it’s security. “There. You’re done.” You turn around and start cleaning your scissors in the sink.

“Excuse the fuck out of me? ‘You’re done?’” He stares at you as you keep your back to him. “Are you going to look at me when I’m talking to you, or are you going to make me bust your goddamn handiwork over here and make you have to do it all over again?”

“What?” You turn around and raise your eyebrows.

“I thought we were going to have a Florence Nightingale moment here, but,” He stands up slowly, reminding you exactly how much smaller you are than him. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.” He takes a step forward.

“How would you have me look at you? Like Sherry does? Or maybe one of your other four wives?” You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head.

He laughs that satisfied slow drawl of his, licking his lips as he approaches you. “Oh, baby, is that what’s got your panties in a twist? Little old Sherry?” He smiles and places his hands on your shoulders, moving a strand of hair off your arm.

He’s trying to minimize the problem, twist your words, and somehow make this your fault. You’ve played this game before, and you refuse to do so again. You keep your silence and look up at him.

“What’d she say to you, anyways?”

“I can’t tell you, I can’t breach patient confidentiality.” You look down at his fingers as they trace the fine hair on the back of your arm, sending shivers up your spine. Why does he have to have five wives? Why does he have to be so handsome? Why does he have to make you feel so good?

“Okay.” His fingers move up your arms and to your chest, sliding both straps of your tank top off your shoulders. “Then don’t. What do you really think about me having five wives? Because I see that mouse running so goddamn fast on that wheel up in your head, I’m afraid it’s going to fall off its hinges.”

“I don’t…” You start as he pulls your tank top down to your waist. “I can’t…” He pushes it down past your knees so that it falls to the floor. He unfastens your bra and pulls it forward, his eyes darkening as you reveal yourself to him.

“Holy shit, you have great tits.” He smiles and cups them with his large, warm hands. His thumbs rub your nipples as they grow hard against his fingertips, his hips pinning you in place.

“I don’t like to share my things.” You whisper before he licks your mouth playfully. Goddamnit, you had so many other things you wanted to say to him. How is he doing this to you?

“No?” He pinches your nipple in between his fingers and sucks on your bottom lip, grinding his erection into your jeans.

“I get jealous very easily.” You whisper into him, opening your mouth to his as your run a hand through his hair. “I’d want you all to myself or nothing at all.”

“God, that’s hot.” He pulls your hair and kisses your neck, licking and sucking with a tongue so skilled you wish you weren’t about to reject him.

“Negan…” you push him off of you. “No. I can’t… I won’t.”

He pulls back, sliding his hands down to your hips. “Is this about my wives again?” He raises an eyebrow and laughs as he watches your face turn serious.

“I want you, but I can’t be involved in something like this.” You smooth your hands over his wrists, letting his hands stay where they are.

“Honey, you already are.” He pauses, looking you over with a grin. “And ‘something like this’?” He furrows his brow, offended. “Jesus, you’re just jumping the gun on the judgement train, aren’t you? Christ! I save your friend’s life, give you your old job back, and this is the thanks I get? You don’t even know what it’s like to be one of my wives! I take care of them! Make sure they don’t have to work for anything. You might actually love it.” He removes his hands from your hips and walks over to the exam table.

“Love it?” You bend over and pick up your bra, sliding your arms into the straps.

He puts his shredded shirt back on for lack of better options and turns to you. “I didn’t ask you because I need you here, stitching up dumb fuckers like me.” His tone is defensive.

You fasten your bra in the back and look over at him. “I don’t want you to ask me, I just… I can’t let this keep happening while your wives come in and tell me how you’re trying to get them pregnant. I can’t…” You bite your lip and sigh. “I can’t handle it.”

“You can’t let this happen?” He walks over to you again. “The only person that’s ‘letting’ anything happen here is me.” He grabs your chin, staring at you. “You don’t like sharing your things?” He raises his eyebrows. “Neither do I.”

You stare back, the intensity of his eyes heating you up slowly.

“You belong to me. Your friends out there? They belong to me. I let you live because I need you here, so you can think that you can’t handle it, but you’re going to have to.” He moves his eyes over the features of your face.

“I don’t want you to be my wife if you don’t want to be there. That’s fine.” He swallows hard, breathing deeply. “But you’re done making demands and rules. If I want to bring one of them in here and fuck them in front of you, I will.” He squeezes your jaw so tight that you can barely speak.

“Please don’t.” You whisper, already imagining him on top of Sherry on the examination table.

“Don’t make me.” He pulls on your bottom lip with his thumb before releasing you.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

Summary: Rus is all by himself for the day. Finally.Surely he won't manage to get into trouble.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

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Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

This morning was probably as alone as Rus had been in weeks. Ever since a little spark showed up to orbit his soul, he felt like he'd been under constant supervision from one person or another. But not today.

Today, his brother was already gone to train with Alphys. Edge was gone, back to his own world to go through his own morning routine that Rus didn’t ask too many questions about and Red wasn’t downstairs stinking up the sofa with his mustard fumes. Guard duty seemed to be over, for now. Red still checked in from time to time to raid the fridge and Rus thought maybe he caught a flash of a tragically emo jacket out of the corner of his socket once or twice, but the danger time was before the souling descended. Once it moved on to baby mode, all that was left was the wait.

(And if Red’s sudden absence was disturbing his peace, niggling thoughts of something he almost remembered, Rus wasn’t gonna dig in too deep. He had plenty of his own shit to worry about without adding Red’s nasty soup du jour)

Yep, all alone—except for the kid who was making a pretty good attempt to give Rus a matching set of bruises on either side of his spinal column. He wasn’t complaining too loudly about it; he’d known what he was signing up for, but damn, the kid would have to take after Edge in the energy department. Sometimes it felt like they were trying to use his rib cage as a jungle gym.

Anywho, now seemed like a perfect opportunity to take advantage of the lack of supervision and head out to take care of something before Rus managed to put it off. Again.

Rus dug through their hall closet, pawing through mittens who’d lost their mate and sandals that never got worn, a tennis racket, the leash for the pet rock. Searching until he found a pair of boots in his size. Normally, Rus alternated between his fuzzy slippers and his sneakers, but then, normally he didn't end up standing in the snow for very long. His morning exercise routine used to be a quick shortcut to his sentry post where his tootsies would be propped up out of the slush as he settled into nap mode.

But since it’d been unanimously decided that he shouldn’t teleport while he was smuggling skittens under his shirt, this trip would have to be made on foot.

Yay.

Wasn’t a quick little stroll around the block, either. Once he got out of Snowdin proper, his path led through the woods. Past all the Buns’ sentry stations with a few quick pauses to scratch behind ears, trying to fend off any excited rabbity enthusiasm. Everyone in Snowdin knew by now, his little butterball belly might not be real obvious with his loose sweatshirt, but he’d told Muffet when he went to pay off his tab, just to explain why he wasn’t stopping in as much.

There was no gossiper like someone with hundreds of spiderlings at their disposal.

So far, seemed like everyone was okay about it. Not that he was thinking anyone was gonna kick them out of town or anything, Monsters didn’t usually roll that way, but it was kinda nice to have it confirmed. His own link in the gossip chain told him the big question buzzing around was who is the daddy. On the Undernet, there was a betting pool and there were a lotta names from some of his old one-nighters on the list.

He really hoped Blue was the one with a hefty bet on ‘other’.

Scrolling through the list only made Rus scoff. It was almost insulting, really. Sex was one thing, one great, messy, fun thing, but did anyone really think he would’ve shared his soul with any of them? Not likely.

(He still had a hard time believing he’d done it with Edge; impulsive, sure, but not usually that impulsive. The memory of it was blurry, pleasure-soaked and sweet, Edge desperately asking and him blindly agreeing, the hot press of souls, the brilliant surge of magic between them)

Seeing the Buns was good, though. Once he’d been taken off sentry duty and toned down on the visits to Muffet’s, he didn’t see them much anymore, and he couldn’t help laughing as all of them hopped over to wriggle excitedly around him. Even Greater Bun scrambled out of their armor in the hopes of more pets.

They were too polite to nose at his brand-new belly, (most of them, anyway, Lesser Bun gave it a hopeful nudge, but sighed sadly when Rus stepped back before he obligingly went back for the normal scritches, teeth chattering happily)

But they all loved little ones of any kind, had to really when they had that many of their own. Bunaressa accepted pats almost solemnly, whispering to him. *I am knitting something for your baby.*

“that’s really sweet of you,” Rus said, honestly. He crouched down where Bunamy was flopped in the snow and gave him a furious scratching behind his long ears while he huffed out a contented groan, “don’t forget, they aren’t gonna have a tail, so only four limbs and a head.”

Both of them laughed in their bunny way even as Rus struggled to stand back up. His belly wasn’t that big yet, but he wasn’t exactly used to having one at all so it threw his balance a little off. He wobbled unsteadily, almost dropping back into the snow.

Bunamy caught his elbow, steadying him, “Careful, there. Do you need us to come along?”

*Yes, we can come along, keep you safe!*

“that’s super nice of you guys, but i’m good,” Rus grimaced. The last thing he wanted was another bodyguard, he’d only just kicked the habit.

Bunno was the only one a little distant, eh, no surprise there. He’d been that way since Rus shut down the pussy factory. There was probably some pun in there about cats and rabbits, but Rus wasn’t much in the mood to figure it out. He left Bunno smoking his carrot, heading further down the path.

Out here, the woods were quieter, the only sound his boots crunching on the frozen path. He went past his own sentry post where no one was currently stationed. Not much to see there and Rus wondered if Alphys would assign him back after the kid was born. He wasn’t sure. He had to work, no option there, he wasn’t about to let Blue be the only one bringing in the G. But he also wasn’t sure yet what they were gonna do about the skitten. He kicked idly at a pinecone as he walked, shoving that thought out of his mind. One thing at a time.

Onward, ho. Through the too-wide bars on the bridge that were almost not too-wide enough for his growing belly. He squeezed between them and earned a hearty kick in his floating rib for his trouble. Seemed like the kid didn’t care for the walls closing in, who could blame ‘em? Rus gave his belly a soothing rub, murmuring, “easy, baby, no more squeezing.”

Until they went home, but eh, that bad news could come up later.

The walk was taking more out of him than he’d expected, and Rus was panting by the time he got to the door, wiping his sweaty forehead on his sleeve before it could freeze to his skull. Probably Red would have a fit if he heard about the lack of hat and gloves, but it turned out building a skitten from scratch made a fella pretty damn hot. There were times Rus felt like steam should be sizzling off the top of his skull whenever he stepped outside and chilly as it was, right now the cold was soothing on his overheated bones.

He dusted snow off one of the steps and sat down, catching his breath even as it fogged out around him. Once he was as comfy as he could be, all things considered, Rus reached back behind his head to rap his knuckles on the door he was leaning against. “knock knock.”

Rus waited, not terribly surprised that there wasn’t an answer. It’d been weeks since he’d come.

The minutes ticked away and Rus reached back, tried again, “knock knock.”

Again, nothing. Rus pulled his lighter out of his pocket, flicking it open and shut absently, the sound of it loud in the quiet. He’d quit smoking, but it felt too strange not to have his lighter with him, the weight of it a familiar, comforting presence when everything around him was strange. He thought about knocking again, wondered idly how long he was planning on sitting here alone with the wind whispering through the trees around him.

Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

“when you decide to make an appearance, kid, the first thing i’m doing after we shake hands is having a smoke.” Rus flicked the lighter closed decisively. “course edge might have a thing or three to say about that. blue’s already been at me, says since i’ve quit for this long, i should keep it up. edge would probably agree.”

Rus trailed off. Edge. Yeah.

Every time he thought he had things figured out with that guy, Edge threw a curveball for him to fumble. Like the past few nights, going from sleeping in his bed to putting it to a better use. He hadn’t really been expecting it considering that Edge hadn’t made a move on him since he’d learned about the baby. Thinking back on Edge walking in on him three fingers deep was a little embarrassing now, but hey, it got results.

Now Rus only wished he knew what it all meant.

“curveball, yeah,” Rus sighed. He slipped a hand under his sweatshirt and the cold bones of his hand against the firm swell of encasing magic made him waffle between flinching away and leaning into the soothing cool of it. The baby stirred under his touch, shifting inside him in that weird, alien way it had. “see? you know what i mean.”

Rus had been perfectly happy with his life before they got the machine working. Okay, maybe happy was an exaggeration but the point still stood. He’d been getting by, content to spend his days sleeping at sentry stations and his nights behind Muffet’s bar, finding ways to feel alive stay awake. It was fine, Blue never said a word about it except to scold him a little on mornings he stayed out too late, because his bro was awesome that way.

Then he met Edge and his whole daily schedule was fucked along with him.

“completely fucked up,” Rus sighed, then he winced, rubbing a thumb along the stretching pseudo-skin where the itch sometimes threatened to drive him crazy. “don’t make that your first word, okay, papa edge would never let me live it down.”

He hadn’t even liked Edge when he first met him. The way he dared to show off as a smug, self-righteous prick when he was touting around that much LV. Took a little while for Rus to pull his head out of his pelvic cavity enough to recognize that maybe someone from murder world might need that kind of control over themselves, because fuck knew there wasn’t much else he could control.

“he tries, though,” Rus murmured. A flutter of movement under his hand and Rus nodded firmly. “that’s right, your papa tries so damned hard.”

Once he got that figured out, didn’t take too long for Rus to decide that maybe a little narcissism was okay, especially when it let you sleep with your smokin’ hot alternate for another world. That Edge went along with it was the real surprise; Rus liked to think he was pretty irresistible when he actually kicked on the charm, but he hadn’t actually expected it to work. That first time, Edge’s hands were shaking when he cupped Rus’s face, leaning in for a kiss—

Rus shifted, a different sort of heat warming his pelvis. Yeah, time to think about something else, damn, why did being pregnant go hand and crotch with being horny all the damn time?

But whatever, he’d been okay with doing things the way Edge wanted it. Casual. Occasional. Rus didn’t really do relationships either, thanks. The couple times one of his part-timers put in an offer for a full-time position, Rus knocked them off his list.

Until Edge.

They’d never even talked about what they were.

“not even sure there are words, kid,” Rus sighed and the baby kicked in commiseration. “friends with benefits? only, i’m not sure we even got the friends part.”

It was something, though. Once they got going, Rus found that nights in the alley behind Muffet’s with bricks rough against his back while someone fucked him against the wall wasn’t appealing anymore and neither was getting the knees of his pants soaked with snowmelt while he moaned around someone’s cock.

What he got from Edge was a lot less often, but Rus wanted it, so much more.

“quality over quantity, kid, make a note,” Rus murmured. The lighter clacked shut in agreement.

He wondered if Edge knew. They’d never talked about it and it was pretty obvious Rus wasn’t sleeping around now. Even if anyone out there found his shift from stick figure to pumpkin appealing, the state of their new nightly entertainment was proof of that much.

But then, Edge also never questioned that the baby was theirs.

“wasn’t supposed to go this way.” The words sounded too loud in the stillness but they were true. A few random nights were supposed to be all Edge had to offer. That was fine, wasn’t like Rus was some kind of hot catch either.

Until the skitten showed up and knocked them off the rails.

“not that it’s your fault,” Rus told his belly reassuringly. “you didn’t ask for us to drag you into this.” It was always the innocents who got screwed up by other people’s bullshit, wasn’t it. Screwed up, fucked over, left behind, left alone. “not you, though, kid. i’m gonna take care of you. we will. we’re gonna be good. i promise.”

He could taste salt-sweet tears at the back of his throat, stupid fucking pregnancy maudlin shit. Rus reached back with a clenched fist, pounding it against the door, “knock, knock!”

He almost fell off the fucking step when deep voice replied, muffled through the door, “Who’s there?”

Rus closed his sockets, exhaling shakily. His voice sounded normal enough, pitched to be heard through the door, “otto.”

“Otto who?”

“otto tell you i didn’t mean to be away so long.”

They both laughed and if Rus was a little too loud, giddy with relief, his pal through the door said nothing.

They’d spent plenty of afternoons like this, calling jokes back and forth to each other until Rus was practically rolling in the snow, the miasma of apathy that always seemed to hang threateningly over him blown away.

Rus sighed, his breath clouding the air. Today wasn’t gonna be one of those days, but he felt like he’d owed his friend this much. For a promise he wasn’t gonna be able to keep.

“listen. i’m sorry it’s been a while since i was able to visit,” Rus told him. Even through the door he could hear his companion shifting his weight as he sat and he wondered, not for the first time, exactly what sort of Monster was hiding in those ruins. “but this isn’t a return to the status quo. i wanted to give you a heads up i might not be able to make it back for a while.”

“Is something wrong?” Concerned, yeah, that much Rus expected. His pal always struck him as being someone’s dad. Maybe someone who used to be someone’s dad; there was an undercurrent of sadness in his deep voice that no amount of puns could chase away.

“depends on your definition of wrong,” Rus admitted. “i’m...uh...well, i kinda traded knock knocks for knocked up.”

“You’re pregnant?”

Rus grinned and said teasingly, “you sound surprised.” Fuck that, he sounded shocked, and Rus was kinda curious to hear why.

His buddy didn’t let him down. “I am. I knew all skeleton monsters can carry, but, and please accept my apologies for assuming, you didn’t speak of anyone in your life except your brother.”

That seemed like a great question to avoid, but luckily, he had another good one to latch onto. “how did you know i’m a skeleton monster?”

“Your accent. Skeletons have a certain hollow ring in their voices, I’m assuming because it echoes within your skulls.”

Rus sat up straight, turning to stare at the door behind him. An accent, really? Fuck, he’d never noticed it, maybe cause he was used to the sound? “you serious?”

“Of course not.” Rus huffed out a laugh, settling back down as his pal went on, “It’s the puns you make. A skele-ton of them. Even then, I wasn’t certain, but you seem to have confirmed it. How far along are you?”

It was the sort of question he’d been avoiding with anyone in town, but out here with a door between them, it was easier somehow to say. “soul descended a couple weeks ago and by the way, that sucked, no one told me it was gonna suck, i’m gonna write my own damn pregnancy book when this is over and the first chapter is gonna describe all the ways it sucks.”

From the other side of the door came a sound of pure commiseration. “Ah, but it’ll be worth it in the end, when you’re holding your child in your arms.” A pause, then hesitantly, “Are you keeping the child?”

“hell yeah, i am,” Rus grumbled. “i’m not digging through all this cereal not to have a prize at the end.”

“Yes, of course. Of course you are.” There was something odd in his pal’s voice but before Rus could ask, his tone changed entirely. “You should head home. There’s a storm coming.”

Rus frowned, glancing upward. The air in between the ground and the cave ceiling was as clear as Snowdin ever got. “you sure?”

“No jokes this time, I’m afraid. I can feel it.”

Snowstorms in the underground were caused by magic, not any sort of weather pattern. That his pal could feel that incoming surge of power was another clue about them, but now wasn’t the time for games. Bad storms were rare, but they could be dangerous as hell. Rus pushed up awkwardly to his feet, struggling to get properly upright. “i’ll try to stop by after the kid is born, yeah?”

He never could’ve guessed his pal’s reply, “I think it would be best if you didn’t. Take care, my friend. Goodbye.”

“wait, what? hang on!” He could hear movement behind the door, the sound of a heavy bulk moving, standing, walking away. He pounded on the door until his fist ached. “come on!

There was no reply, but Rus didn’t really expect one. He scrubbed a hand over his face, impatiently brushing away the dampness that was starting to leak from his sockets. Fuck it, the snow was starting to fall, he didn’t have time to be crybabying. Rus turned on his heel and started back towards Snowdin, let his long legs eat up the distance.

It was no use. By the time he was past the bridge, the snowfall was constant. It was already getting hard to see, there was no way he was gonna make it back to town, not when he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.

What he could see was his sentry station looming up ahead and Rus managed to wade to it through the rising snowdrifts. It wasn’t much, but it was partially enclosed, he wouldn’t be getting buried at least.

The chair inside was a spindly piece of junk and Rus wasn’t about to trust it with his new weight. He went all the way to the back of the shelter, sitting down in a corner that was least touched by the blowing wind. He tucked his hands into his pockets, tugged up the hood of his sweatshirt. A quick check on his phone told Rus what he already knew; the storm was cutting off his signal, he wouldn’t be sending messages anytime soon and he hadn’t told anyone where he was going because he wanted some time on his own.

Well, he was sure as fuck getting his wish now, wasn’t he.

He wasn’t actually too worried; the sentry post made for a pretty crap shelter, but he had some food in his inventory, his craving for spider donuts was endless. The storm would probably blow over by morning and then he could head for home.

No, what worried him was Blue and Edge not knowing where he was. The last thing he wanted was the two of them out in the storm looking for him. Wasn’t much he could do other than fret about it and Rus was sure he’d be doing that plenty.

A couple hours later Rus wasn’t so confident. The wind was howling ferociously, whipping through the little sentry post and carrying with it painful specks of sleety snow. Rus gave up on his pockets and pulled his arms into his sweatshirt, wrapping them around his belly to offer whatever meager warmth he could. It was so cold, so much worse than he’d been expecting. This storm was a much worse tantrum than Snowdin usually offered, no gentle snowfall here, but howling wind pounding against his little shelter.

Rus still had his lighter, a heavy weight in his hoodie pocket, but the only thing around to burn was the sentry post. Probably be a poor life choice to burn down the roof over his head.

No, over their head. The baby was wriggling vigorously; their souls were still attuned, and they were picking up on his distress.

“shhh, it’s okay, kiddo,” Rus mumbled through numbed teeth. “it’ll be fine. we’ll be okay.”

He suddenly remembered Red’s rough voice telling him that his soul would let go of the souling before letting his HP drop to zero. It hadn’t been the comfort Red seemed to think it would be, Rus didn’t want either of them to…to let go. He curled up tighter, murmuring soft reassurances to his baby, who surely couldn’t hear a word.

He was too cold, teeth chattering, his shivering constant; he needed to do something.

The chair.

Rus staggered to his feet and picked it up with numb hands, smashing it down on the floor. It splintered apart instantly, fragments scattering. Rus gathered them up awkwardly, kicking them into a pile. There wasn’t much in the station, not even his usual scattering of honey bottles. Blue must’ve cleaned up one day. In his inventory, all he were the spider donuts, each wrapped in their own square of wax paper.

He crumpled those up to use as a sort of kindling, tucking the paper balls around the splintered wood. For a minute, the lighter refused to work, the blowing wind and his frozen hands working against him.

“come on, you motherfucker,” Rus muttered. He held it in both hands, thumbed down on the rasp as hard as he could and a wavering flame leapt up.

The paper caught easily, Rus shielding the flame as best he could with his body until the broken bits of the chair began to smolder. The warmth was pathetic, wavering outward and Rus hunched desperately over it. His hands were so cold the pain was starting to fade, but he couldn’t worry about that. He curled as close to the fire as he could, trying as much as possible to direct that heat to his belly.

“sorry, kid,” Rus mumbled. He was so cold. “i always was a fuck up, don’t know why i thought this time’d be different.” He tipped his skull back so the tears he could feel forming didn’t slide down to freeze on his face, instead tasting them on the back of his tongue, nauseatingly sweet.

At first, he thought the sound was only the wind, howling in the distance. Slowly, Rus started to realize it wasn’t from the storm but from something getting closer, something living.

Something living that whipped open the little door on the side of the sentry station, letting in a painful spray of snow and cold but also a huge body, ducking and turning sideways to even get inside.

“greater bun?” Rus croaked out. He wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t imagining this, his mind painting him a rescue that wouldn’t be coming.

Greater Bun wasn’t real chatty on a good day. He grunted once, happily, his large pink nose wriggling as he scooped Rus into hefty arms, carrying him outside into the storm. Where a sled was waiting, Bunamy at the lead with Lesser Bun and Bunaressa harnessed behind him.

Greater Bun settled him into the sled into a nest of blankets before abandoning his armor, diving into the sled to lay against Rus. He burbled out an encouraging whine and Rus gratefully buried both hands into that heavy, silky fur, nearly crying at the aching warmth.

A screech from Bunamy cut through the howling winds and they were off.

The ride back to Snowdin wasn’t as fast as a shortcut but it felt pretty damn close. Long Bun legs leapt easily through the snowfall, the sled careening after it. Rus drew a blanket over his face to protect it from the slashing wind, clinging fiercely to Greater Bun. He didn’t protest the grip, snuggling in close and setting his head on Rus’s knee. The warmth was lulling and Rus didn’t even notice falling asleep, only jolting awake as the sled came to a stop.

He looked up blearily, taking in the blinking Gyftmas lights from his own front porch through the heavily falling snow and…oh. His brother was standing with an expression of such concern Rus would only swallow against his guilt. Next to him was Edge and the fury in his expression made Rus cringe. He didn’t have a single fucking excuse, he’d risked their kid with his own stupidity, not even bothering to leave damned note to say where he was going when a dozen or more careless post-its surrounded a sock in his own living room.

“i’m sorry,” Rus began, miserably, already knowing Edge wasn’t going to forgive him. Why the fuck should he. Rus deserved that anger, deserved whatever choice words Edge used to rip him open, idiot, fucking idiot, and—

Being scooped out of the sled, blankets and all, into Edge’s arms where he was held with fierce tenderness was probably not anything he deserved, but fuck if Rus wasn’t gonna take it. He wrapped both arms around Edge’s neck and held on tight, ignored the warm tears he could feel seeping down his cold face. Fuck, why was crying all he could do right lately?

“Never worry me like that again!” Edge growled against the side of his skull, but it wasn’t anger Rus heard. It was a plea, desperate and thickly said.

“i’ll try,” Rus whispered. The world whirled around, Edge carrying him towards the house. A crowd was gathering, voices from Snowdin, congratulating the Buns on a rescue well done, wondering curiously and a little too loud about the skeleton carrying Rus away.

Welp. Wasn’t much question of who the baby daddy was anymore. He really did hope Blue won the betting pool.

The second they were in the house, Edge peeled the snow-crusted blankets away, kneeling to help Rus off with his boots. Rus tried to help and wobbled unsteadily almost doing a somersault right over Edge’s head. Edge braced him even as Rus caught his uncertain balance. The baby squirmed, a weird rolling movement that made Rus wince, “don’t worry, the baby is fine.”

“Are you fine?” Edge countered, glaring up at him.

That made him blink. “um. yeah? i really wasn’t out there too long, probably get to keep all my toes.”

He waggled them in Edge’s grip, wincing as Edge rubbed them firmly, checking each one for feeling. “That’s not funny.”

“sorry,” Rus said, softly and Edge paused, his head dropping briefly. He looked back up at Rus, the crimson of his eye lights softened.

“No, don’t apologize. I don’t mean to yell,” Edge said heavily. “It wasn’t your fault. Blue said the storm came on unexpectedly and you couldn’t know how long the walk would be. You’re too accustomed shortcutting everywhere, your perception on distances is probably skewed.”

“must be.” Rus agreed. Edge was so agitated, he probably would have agreed to anything. His hands moving over Rus restlessly, checking toes and fingers for frostbite, brushing over the slight ridge of his nasal canal, the delicate rims of his sockets.

“You seem fine,” Edge murmured distractedly. His fingertips were sharp, his touch careful as it drifted along Rus’s cheekbone.

Rus swallowed hard and managed, “i must remind you of red, huh?”

That snapped Edge out of it. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“cause i passed mustard.”

Yeah, that was the face of someone who was regretting a lot of life choices.

Except, maybe not, because he was cupping Rus's face in both his gorgeously warm hands, leaning in to brush their mouths together. Edge always smelled faintly spicy, the kind that made Rus think not of tacos, but gingerbread cookies, fresh from the oven. That kiss moved to brush across his forehead instead, affectionately, testing his temperature as much as—

(affection? does he get to call it that?)

— as anything.

Then Edge sighed and drew away. “Sit down, get wrapped up,” he ordered. “There’s soup heating on the stove and I’ll get you some tea."

Never let it be said Rus couldn’t follow orders after he nearly died out in a snowstorm. He settled on the sofa, dragged the pile of blankets over him and it was only when he was tucking them in that he realized Edge hadn’t even touched the little rounded pot of his belly. All that concern had been directed at him.

Huh.

The door opening and his brother coming in blew that thought away as Rus was absurdly caught in a different storm, this one of his brother scolding him vigorously, “What were you thinking, Pappy, why did you want to go out to that nasty Sentry station anyway, what would you have done if you saw a Human!”

He let Blue ramble on. His bro didn’t even pause when Rus snagged him by the scarf and reeled him in, tucking his warm little body next to him like his own bony hot water bottle.

Edge came out with soup and tea, and they all sat together as Blue turned on the television, bundled in blankets, and it was like…like…

Like family.

But the thought of family made Rus wonder where Red was. He should be here too, there was plenty of room on the sofa. His memory of the souling descending was vague and clouded with pain, but there was something there, something Red told him, what was it?

Eh, he was too tired to figure it out today. But he stuck a note on his mental fridge, that he was gonna need to corner Red. Just as soon as he figured out the questions.

tbc

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 13

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go.  Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems?  As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 13 - ...Will Go Wrong

By sheer force of Will, Jefferson kept himself from blacking out, even for a second, from the force of the impact and the sudden deployment of the airbags. He knew that if he did they were either caught, or dead, and neither option sounded good to him.

“You’ve nowhere to go, Milnor.”

So they knew his name. It didn’t make much difference to him at that point. They could just as easily have been the bad guys, and he’d blown his cover during that clusterfuck of a takedown, or they could really be agents, with orders to take him in. He’d been under so long it was a distinct possibility that many agents had ‘missed the memo’ as it were, and he didn’t much feel like spending the next several hours locked up before he could get word to his handler and maybe… maybe somehow keep his cover intact. Besides, he didn’t really trust anyone but himself, or the man to whom he was taking Belle to keep her safe.

“No one has to get hurt.” A different voice, but no more friendly, “just step out of the vehicle, and surrender. Give up the girl.”

“Over my cold, dead, and decomposing body,” he murmured as he leaned over to take the gun from the glove compartment. He’d seen it when he was looking for the handcuffs. When he had it in his hand, he pulled out the clip to check that it was loaded, before replacing it, and then doing the same for his own weapon. Then he turned his head to Belle, and released the seat belt before gently pressing on her shoulder to encourage her to slump lower in her chair. “Stay down, and still, no matter what you hear,” he told her softly.

He reached beside him to tug on the handle to release the door, hoping like hell that the impact hadn’t jammed it shut. Luck was with him. It still took a good nudge with his shoulder - and he growled to push back the ache he felt when he did - to get it open a crack before he called out, “Why don’t you just toss your keys on the ground and back away. Let me go!”  He took a deep breath and fearing he spoke prophetically added, “That’s the only way this is going down without a fight.”

“No can do,” the first of the men replied. “Be reasonable.”

“That is me being reasonable,” he came back at them with barely a breath. “Walk away, gentlemen. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

He started to slide carefully through the widening gap in the doorway, but was force to duck back inside in a hurry as a shot rang out, accompanied by the whine of a ricochet off the metal of the, now dented, recycling container beside his car.

“That’s the way you want to play it then,” he asked the air in a surprisingly mild voice, given the situation. Then he took a deep breath, pushed open his door as far as it would go, ignoring the way it bounced back off the metal box at his side and, committed, he slipped himself first to one knee behind the door for cover, and then stood suddenly, fired one round in the direction from which shot had come, and turned, a second toward where he estimated the other man to be.

As quickly as he moved out of cover, he ducked back in, sparing a glance for Belle, who was now almost curled up in the foot-well. He felt for her, but knew that if he didn’t get them out of there, things were about to get very complicated.

He huffed a sigh. They were alread complicated anyway, and about to get more so, and as if to prove his point, several more shots rang out, and ricocheted off the trash container by his head. He swore softly, and gestured to Belle with an outstretched hand to stay down; stay low, before slowly backing away along the length of the car.

He figured that they thought they had him pinned down behind the door. If he were going to get the better of them he had to move from that position; get somewhere where he might be able to see a better way of getting out of the mess they were all in, and to prevent them from forcing him some place he really didn’t want to go. He didn’t much like the odds of that happening though.

The darkness was his ally if not his friend, and he almost made it to the deeper shadows beside what looked as though it used to be a free standing ATM kiosk, before one of the men spotted him. The man called out to his colleague to tell him where Jefferson had gone, and for a moment Jefferson found himself pinned down again by a flurry of gunfire.

As best as he was able under the current assault, he tried to keep an eye on the car, and Belle within it. He knew he couldn’t let them keep him pinned down for long, not if he were going to keep her safe and as if they read his mind, one of the two men began moving toward the car in which Jefferson had left her sheltering from immediate danger.

“Fuck!” he hissed.

With no choice remaining, he had to take action, even if it mean he risked getting shot. If he got hit, or if they got to the car, they’d take Belle anyway, so what was the difference? He couldn’t let them take her. He drew in a deep breath, and using the muzzle flash as his guide, stepped out from cover, weapon raised, and released two shots in quick succession in that direction, before swinging around to fire again into the ground between where he’d last registered the other assailant, and the wrecked car.

He was rewarded by the sudden shuffling of feet as the man that had been heading in that direction pulled back, and having bought himself another few seconds, he ducked back into the lee of the abandoned ATM.

“Give it up, Milnor.” The call came from the man he’d first fired on. “You’re outnumbered. You got no place to go.”

He didn’t answer, but used the respite to circle around the back of the ATM, moving as silently as he could. If he could reach the other side without them realizing he had moved, he’d have the chance to get to at least one of them; to incapacitate the man without resorting to anything more drastic. After all, he still wasn’t sure on whose side anyone truly was.

It wasn’t to be.

Whatever luck had held for him so far gave out and as he moved, light spilled out from somewhere he hadn’t anticipated, revealing his position and drawing a shout of warning from the man he’d driven back away from the wrecked car to the other man, who immediately turned and sent a volley of bullets his way.

He threw himself sideways, into a roll, felt the heat fly past his cheek as he did and thanked whatever gods were looking out for him as his completed his roll and came up to one knee. He fired three shots in quick succession, then heard the soft thud of a body hitting the asphalt.

Knowing he didn’t have time to waste he came to his feet, weapon leading as he half ran, half sidestepped toward where he knew the man had been, kicking the gun away to a safe distance, before leaning down to check the man still had a pulse.

As he straightened up, the darker shadow well over him, and light and heat seared across the top of his shoulder. He turned on pure instinct to see the other man standing barely a car length away, gun outstretched. He raised his firearm, reflexes sharp in spite of the pain. As the other man opened his mouth, no doubt to tell him to surrender, Jefferson shifted his aim and squeezed the trigger.

**

As silence after the last single gunshot extended past a few breaths, Belle risked uncurling from the ball she’d squeezed herself into and peeked out through the windshield. She drew in a sharp breath as she saw Jefferson leaning against the hood of the other car - the one that had been chasing them.

Was he hurt?  Was she going to be stuck here, not knowing where she was, no phone, no money…

She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. No sense in panicking. That wouldn’t get her anywhere. She felt tears welling in her eyes in spite of the talking to she was trying to give herself. She felt shaky and a little sick. Part of her realized she was probably in shock

She jumped, and gave a little squeak of a cry as the door beside her suddenly opened and Jefferson reached inside to hook her by the arm.

“We gotta move,” he told her. “Come on.”

“What?” she stammered even as she let him help her from the car. “Where? Why?”

“I promise you, I’ll answer your questions,” he said as he began to hurry her toward the other car, “but right now we need to be away from here, and quickly. In a neighborhood like this, someone is bound to have reported the gunfire.”

She looked around her as they hurried across the dim lit parking lot, all but running to keep up with Jefferson’s long stride. Her breathing quickened and she tried to pull away from him as she saw two men lying on the ground, but he held fast to her arm, though he did stop moving.

“I had no choice,” he told her, and in his tone she detected something almost reassuring - frustration, recrimination… sorrow? “I promise you, as soon as we’re out of here, I’ll call for help for them.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then nodded, caught somewhere between suspicion and trust. Tears of uncertainty and confusion brimmed in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If she started now, she was afraid that she would never stop.

As if he read her mixed emotions, Jefferson relaxed his hold a little on her arm, and more gently, began moving again toward the car, and helped her to climb in to the passenger side, before he walked around the car - the second, she noted, but only to herself, that he had ‘commandeered’ that day - and leaned in to pop the hood. She heard him, but could not clearly see what he was doing, as he rummaged around in the engine compartment. After several more minutes, she heard the sound of something being wrenched free, and Jefferson’s small grunt, before he dropped the hood back into place and climbed inside the car.

“Okay,” he said softly, “that should give us a little room to breathe, but it would be better to find a car that doesn’t belong to Uncle Sam.”

“How?” she asked, her voice trembling between fear and anger at the thought of him stealing a car from some poor, unsuspecting civilian. He looked over at her as he began to drive toward the exit of the parking lot.

“We’ll drop this off somewhere away from here, and take a Ryde to go pick up my car,” he answered, adding, as though he was once again reading her mind, “No more desperate measures.” She nodded then, feeling a kind of relief until he added, “I hope,” then she turned to look at him again, examining him in the dim light of the abandoned retail lot.

That was when she noticed the tear in his jacket, and the blood stain that had seeped over the front of his shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” she gasped softly, frowning when he shook his head.

“It’s nothing - grazed is all. Jacket came off worse than I did.” Then as though talk of injury had jogged his memory, hi fished out his cell phone and quickly dialed 911. She bit her lip as she heard him answer the rescue dispatch officer on the other end of the line. “This is Agent Jefferson Milnor, FBI. Badge number JTTx97584211, We have agents down…”

She closed her eyes and the rest of his words faded into the the fog of exhaustion that came creeping over her.

****

End Notes:  Quick word on badge numbers: Quick research leads me to understand that not all agencies use badge numbers, and if they do, not all agents within that agency have badge numbers. I therefore confess that the inclusion of Jefferson's badge number is entirely literary license. No need to hit me up in the comments over that on

[feverhalo]

@thefevertrope said:

Here's a prompt, not super good at them so I hope it's okay! The gang goes back to the space mall (reason being of your choosing), but part way through Lance begins to feel really pretty bad, everyone is split up, and Lance accidentally falls asleep in one of the stores he isn't supposed too, queue security, and the rest of the team ends up having to break him out, only to realize how bad of a fever he has.

This one was super fun too! I kind of took a few liberties and made it a kind of different trouble. I hope you like it! Its a little long at 3711 words. I fully intend it as a one-shot too (but if anyone wanted to work off it go for it). I know the ending is kind of, like, leaving it open. I just felt bad sitting on it for so long- I had some trouble with netflix when i kept going to check out some stuff from the mall episode.

I do apologise too for any errors, Its late and I haven’t edited, so if you see any please shoot me a message and let me know and I’ll fix them up.

quinteb= made up alien word for “brat” sort of. kinda like how quiznak is kind of “fuck”/”damn it”

Space Mall, Take 2 

 “I don’t know why you even brought the cow back with you in the first place,” Keith sighed.

“What do you not understand about ‘it was free with purchase’. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you,” Pidge had their arms crossed and was kicking the back of the seat in front of them. “We better get that adapter while we’re here.”

“Okay, first we are returning the cow. Second, you two are apologising for raiding the coin fountain,” Shiro pointed towards Lance and Pidge. “Third, we need to figure out how to earn some GAC, unfortunately. And no. Not from the fountain. We’re paladins. Find some quick work, unfortunately the Galra have too tight a control on many planets. And if we want to help them, and supply ourselves, we need to be able to keep our presence under the radar sometimes. I know, it sounds less than ideal, but sometimes it’s more dangerous to start a revolution. Not to mention we’ll burn out if we do it every time.”

“You need to stay away from that knife shop,” Shiro jabbed his finger towards Keith before turning to point at Hunk. “No more trouble, Keith. Hunk, I need you to go see if you can strike up a deal with Sal. Maybe take Keith with you, its far enough away. I don’t know if that guy would remember your face, but he sounded way too interested in your knife for me to be comfortable. And Hunk could probably get this guy to vouch for you, after hearing the story.”

“Ok, and? What do we do after we take back the cow, make Lance sing for coins?” Pidge raised their eyebrows.

“Offer to sweep stores, see if theres a contest with a cash prize somewhere. If you wan’t the adapter, you need to earn the GAC, like I said, we’re trying to earn it so we can do things like this more easily, more covert. No more cows. No more security chasing you out.” Shiro prodded the screen, double checking their progress. “We’re almost there now. I’m going to go apologise to security. Despite everything Coran said, this could be a good stop for us, to learn new information and pick up necessities. Better to not draw unwanted attention.”

“Okay, Shiro, I hear you. But wouldn’t walking right up to Galra security be a little… maybe just a teeny bit… the opposite of what you’re saying?” Hunk, proudly sitting shotgun, looked over to Shiro.

“I think its reasonable. It was about a week ago this all happened, on Earth you’d get a mall ban. If I go in and explain that it was ‘kids being kids’ and how ‘sorry’ you all are, we might be able to use this to our advantage, right under the Galra’s noses.”

“That’s kind of badass,” Pidge stopped kicking the back of Shiro’s chair for a second, “Its kind of great, actually. We’re kicking their butts and they can’t even find us in their own territory!” Pidge cackled to themselves for a second.

“Exactly.”

 ---------------

 “Shiro, do we really have to take the cow back?” Lance was patting the cow, pouting up at Shiro.

“Lance, we can’t realistically keep it,” Keith snapped.

“Even though its cute?”

“Lance, you need to take it back. Its not fair to the cow, we have nowhere for it to live,” Shiro unconsciously stepped between Keith and Lance to diffuse the situation before it escalated. “Come on, guys. Go on.”

With some grumbling, everyone dispersed. Keith hung back for a second, staring at Shiro, before following Hunk.

“I can’t believe he was serious,” Hunk surprised Keith by saying it first. “I mean, I am super excited- don’t get me wrong. I just can’t believe it. It was actually pretty cool to work at Sal’s, up until that security guy showed up-“

“Hunk.”

“It was kind of awesome, to sort of, forget for like an hour that we’re supposed to be- well, you know.”

“…” Keith was taken aback by how honest Hunk was, and how it was surprisingly sad. “Yeah. I guess, you’d probably be doing something like that while on a break from the Garrison, right?”

“Yeah,” Hunk smiled a little, “Actually, I kind of helped out one of my uncles once at his restaurant….”

 ------------

 “Do you think theres an arcade?” Pidge looked around the mall, trying to find the Earth store. “Do you think we could try hustling pool? I think we could pull it off. You kind of make people want to talk to you, or hit you. Lance?”

Lance was just pulling the cow along, looking around for himself.

“Lance! Hello? Are you ignoring me on purpose?”

“Huh? Sorry, spaced out.” Lance blinked and shook his head a little. He wasn’t feeling his best, but Shiro wouldn’t take no for an answer. Coran and Allura were going to be busy readjusting the warp drive again, and it was ‘strongly suggested’ that they go out for the next several vargas. “Sure, we can try that. I know a little bit about pool, though I’m better at skee ball.”

“People don’t bet on skee ball. I’ll be the cinch for it, anyway.” Lance quirked a brow as he stared at Pidge, “Look, before I met you and Hunk at the Garrison, I didn’t really have a lot of patience to try and make friends. I had to do something.”

 --------------

 “Hello?” Shiro knocked at the door to the security office. The maps had pointed him in the right direction, and he took a steeling breath.

“What?” The door opened, revealing the rather short Galra guard. Shiro kept his face carefully schooled, “Something to report? Lost and found is dealt with by the information centre.”

“Um, actually, I am here to apologize for my… siblings.” Shiro swallowed, “They came by… earlier. And caused a little havoc. We’re new to the area, and they dealt with the changes poorly.”

“Your siblings?” The guard narrowed his eyes, “Well, I’m busy. It’s a big mall. I’m not going to remember everything. And besides, kids aren’t on my radar, we’ve had pirate issues in the past and I’d-“

“They, um, thought it would be funny to dress as pirates. And from my understanding, caused quite a scene. I do apologize.” Shiro felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. This seemed like a terrible idea, the guard wasn’t responding how he had hoped.

“Are they back?” The guard shouted, startling Shiro into a slight jump. He calmed his initial reaction, stopping with his hands up, gloved palms facing the guard. It was still scratching in the back of his mind, this was trouble, this needed to end, he needed to run. He stilled his shaking.

“They came back, with me, to work to make up for the trouble they caused.”

“That’s… Responsible. I can accept that.” The guard backed off, and the alarms in Shiro’s head eased just a bit. He leaned forward with one last burst of aggression, “I’m keeping my eye on them. One more incident and I’m banning all of you. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Shiro took a step back and felt surprise break over him, this just might work. “I’ll make sure they work hard.”

 -------------

 “He’s a hard worker,” Hunk was nearly pleading with Sal, “Really knows his way around a knife.”

“I’m not cluttering up my kitchen.” The man was large and rather intimidating. His had his arms crossed and a snarl on his face.

“Oh, oh I’m sorry, your kitchen?” Keith smacked his hand to his face. “Your kitchen was a disaster. Your employee died in your kitchen and you strapped me to it, and I laboured and made you what you are now. Are you even still following my instructions? Have you gone all Kitchen Nightmares on me, and took the good I gave you and thrown it out behind my back?”

“What I do in my kitchen is my own business.” The man leaned forward, jaw jutting forward and chewing on a crumpled straw.

“Unless you’re doing it right, it’s a business doomed to fail.”

“Huh,” Sal, the huge intimidating guy wielding a knife while Hunk felt the need to get all up in his grill and kitchen quite literally, leaned back and barked out a laugh. “There you go, that’s how you veil a threat, kid. Not bad.”

“What the fuck did you manage to get up to in one, single, varga?” Keith asked from behind his hands.

“Who’s this schmuck again? Some friend, knows knives. Can he cook. Why’d you come back anyway, thought you were on the run.”

“We were, but now its all like, community service this, make up for the hassle that.” Hunk waved his hand dismissively. “You think I was trouble, this guy really pissed off one of those fancy sword shops upstairs. He’s not allowed anywhere without someone now.”

“Shut up,” Keith slapped his arm, “Its not that bad. You all act like I’m going to go buy an arms ship if you turn your back on me or something.”

“Would you?”

“… Just shut up and show me how to make this tuber paste.”

 ----------

 “That was surprisingly easy, I thought the guy would have been all offended we were returning the free gift,” Pidge looked back over their shoulder at the store.

“Yeah who would have thought the guy wanted it back,” Lance tucked his hands in his pocket, he was shaking no matter how hard he tried to hold back on shivering. “He seemed a little relieved. I mean, he did give you that.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised. Guess he grew attached,” Pidge tossed the small brick they held in the air, “Still, our gain! We can finally play Killbot Phantasm.”

“Yeah, that’ll be pretty cool,” Lance answered on autopilot, “Think Shiro still wants us to try and earn some GAC?”

“Ugh, probably. Pool?”

“Sure, sounds easy.”

 ----------------------------------

“Pay up, nerds,” Pidge held out their hand, waiting for the other two to hand over the GAC. “We agreed. I get the 80 tickets for that duck, too.”

“Nah. It was kind of a weak game, honestly. Don’t want to pay you now.”

“No way,” Pidge shook their head, “I won, fair and square, and I even sunk them all in order.”

“Nah, we said nah,” The taller alien with 4 arms shoved Pidge. They were knocked back into the table. “You’re not hustling us, quinteb.”

“Lance-“ Pidge turned to make sure Lance was on his way. He was still sitting across the arcade, where they agreed he’d sit to make sure nobody tried anything funny. He was asleep. Pidge felt a jolt of panic, “Lance!”

“Stop crying for your guardian,” The alien shoved Pidge again, “Shut up, okay. Don’t make a fuss.” They backed off, not really wanting to fight, it seemed. The two alien’s walked away, laughing together.

“Assholes!” Pidge yelled after them before whirling and stomping towards Lance. “Lance!”

Lance startled and fell out of his chair. He shook his head, bringing his hand up to cover his eyes. The quick movement made the world spin, and the arcade’s bright lights were dancing all over his vision. It was disorienting and made his head throb.

“What the hell! You were supposed to be watching,” Pidge was red with fury, and their eyes were watering ever so slightly. “What if they didn’t walk away!”

“What if who didn’t what?”

“I can’t believe you right now!” Pidge was starting to cause a scene, “They backed out on our game, and you were asleep, and things could have gone really badly and you just-! You just decided to have a nap!”

“I’m-“ Lance was having trouble following. The girl behind the prize counter was walking over now, looking less than impressed. Did he do something? Shit, the last thing he remembered was making a deal with Pidge to sit back and make sure nothing went wrong, since he was feeling so crummy.

“Excuse me,” the counter girl broke in, cutting off another tirade from Pidge, “You need to quiet down, little kids play here. I don’t want to make you leave, but you need to chill out.”

“Oh! So those guys can shove me over a game, but I can’t be mad about it!”

“Pidge, you need to calm down, okay. I’m sorry.” Lance stood up, none to steady, and put his hand on Pidge’s shoulder. It was as much to steady himself as to calm them down. Pidge shrugged him off, and he lost his balance.

“You know what, on second thought, you two need to go.” The employee crossed her arms, “Like, now.”

“Fine!” Pidge huffed and grabbed Lance’s hand to pull him up.

“Han’on” Lance slurred, it was too fast. He felt the room spin again, but he wasn’t on his ass on the floor already, so it was even more disorienting. “Pidge, hann’n-“ Lance’s vision was totally blacked out and he felt the blood drain from his face right before he dropped.

 ------------------

 Shiro had walked around a bit, and found some information on different colonies that might come in handy. Other places they could maybe trade physical labour for supplies, on the down low. A lot more places where the technology had adapted to be more like some of the cities on Earth.  

It was a lot harder to find something he could do for a few hours in this mall though. Most shops and stalls were staffed by disinterested twenty-somethings or teenagers. He got a lot of ‘let me call my manager’ type answers. And, he really wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He had basically gone right from graduating at the Garrison, to working there, to Kerebos, to… everything that happened, and then he found himself here.

He was just checking one of the maps again, trying to figure out if anyone else maybe had better luck than he had. Then he heard the mall scooter, and a newly familiar voice shouting. He spun on his heel and spotted the mall cop puttering off to some neon lit storefront, and he took off running.

The chances were slim, but trouble always seemed to follow them, so he wouldn’t be surprised.

 ------------------------

 “What happened?” The Galra guard climbed off his scooter. At his feet were the two pirate children, and the arcade employee was standing there wringing her hands.

“He-“ The one spoke, “He just dropped.” Pidge was sitting on the floor beside Lance, hand still hoolding his from when they tried to pull him up earlier.

“Pidge!” Shiro’s voice cut across the arcade. The music was quieted, and the lights had been turned on after the counter girl hit the silent alarm to get help. “Pidge, whats going on?”

“Shiro, he just, he just fell. He won’t wake up.” Pidge deflated as soon as Lance went limp and was shaken with the immediate loss of their anger.

“Hey, Lance,” Shiro brushed Lance’s bangs back, he could feel warmth through his gloves. “Come on, time to open your eyes. Can you go grab Hunk and Keith, Pidge? I think we need to head back...” Pidge just sat there for a moment under Shiro’s gaze.

“I-“ They swallowed uncomfortably, “I yelled at him.”

“Its ok, I kind of want to yell at him too, right now. He’s burning up, but right now we need to get him back to bed, okay?”

“Yeah.” Pidge stood up and brushed off their knees, “Yeah, you’re right.” They swiped their hand under their nose. It was scary to see someone dead faint for the first time, but the shock of it was wearing off a little.

 ------------------------

 “Here you go!” Sal served another customer with a huge smile. Things were going twice as fast as the last time now that Hunk was back and brought help. The two of them seemed to be able to read each other’s minds, it seemed to him.

“Another one up, Sal!” Hunk slip another plate across the metal counter. “Hey, Keith, prepped those cuts of meat yet? Got a handful of orders for those.”

“Yeah.” Keith nodded the affirmative. He turned back to the ingredients he was preparing, and to Sal’s prep employee. He was demonstrating how Hunk needed everything prepared for this new dish, one of the team’s favorites back at the castle. It was a little rough, they basically had to go it in silence with some gestures since neither of them spoke the other’s language.

“Awesome. Okay, now you guys need to pay real close attention here. You want to make the flavours sing just right,” he sprinkled on some shredded tree fruit, “It takes a gentle hand and this stuff is really potent. You can’t over do it or it’ll overpower the spice underneath.”

Across the food court, Pidge was coming through at a sprint. Hunk caught the flash of their hair and green sweater and perked up to see what was going on.

“Hunk! Keith! We gotta go!” Pidge was panting, and slammed into the order counter with full, bruising, force.

“What happened?” Hunk vaulted the counter before he even got the words out, and Keith was right behind him.

“Something’s wrong with Lance, we gotta go.”

“Sorry Sal, you got a new recipe, master that before I come back, got it?” Hunk put his fist up, and Sal bumped Hunk’s with his own. He did the same to Keith as the other boy passed by too. “Get it perfect, otherwise I’m letting this guy take his liberties with your kitchen sets.”

“You better come back, I ain’t messing around, kid.” Hunk gave a wave as he followed Pidge away.

 -----------------------

 “Hnn,” Lance stirred, finally, “Hold on, feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“You kind of already did,” Shiro had his hand on Lance’s shoulder to keep him laying down. “Take a minute. You okay?”

“I’m,” Lance paused. Shiro was the one talking. Where was Pidge? Did he really pass out? “What happened?”

“Looks like you fainted from that fever. Why didn’t you tell someone?” Lance looked up and saw Shiro’s face swimming above his. He blinked a few time, bringing the other paladin into focus.

“Didn’t feel so bad til we got here.” He felt drained. “Didn’t realize it’d be so long.”

“Well, I’m cutting it short now, we’re gonna head back.” Shiro moved his hand to start to shift Lance to sitting, slowly. Lance stretched, feeling sore and sick down to his bones. Shiro held him still for a moment. “Thanks for calling for help for him.”

Lance looked up to see the counter girl, she looked much more relieved. Just to her left was the Galra mall cop, and Lance nearly startled seeing him. He jolted slightly, and it brought back that sickening wave where he wasn’t sure if he’d throw up or pass out and his vision swam for half a tick again before settling.

“You doing okay? I want to carry you out, but I need to make sure you’re going to be able to hold on to me first.” Lance nodded a little numbly, still feeling that wave recede. “I need to hear your answer, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute, ‘m okay in a minute.” Shiro gave him a few minutes, he waited until Lance started moving of his own accord. Surprisingly, the Galra security guard helped get Lance situated on Shiro’s back. Shiro just stepped into the main hall again when the other three paladins ran up to join them.

 --------------------

 “103.7,” Shiro blinked in surprise, “Jeeze, you really were feeling fine before we left?” Lance nodded from the bed.

“Yeah, just a headache. ‘N then in the ship I started getting cold, but thought it’d be okay.”

“Well, take it easy. Rest up.” Shiro patted Lance’s chest. He left the boy under a pile of blankets and went into the hall outside his door. He shook his head, they’d have to be more careful about things. He thought on maybe having Allura start them on that ‘open-ness’ training again.

“Shiro…” He turned, Pidge was standing behind him.

“Hey Pidge, Lance’ll be okay. Heck of a fever, but he’ll bounce back. I think he still feels bad for falling asleep on you like that.”

“That’s good…” Pidge nodded. Something seemed a little off.

“Everything… okay?” Shiro started walking towards the common area where they had all separated.

“Mhmm,” Pidge looked a little out of it, “Uh. Keith said he wasn’t feeling right. So they asked me to come get you. Just in case.”

“Oh?” Shiro felt a little spark of worry start up.

“Yeah.” Pidge rubbed at their eyes, they seemed a little pale. Oh, quiznak.

“Come here for a tick,” Shiro turned, and Pidge blinked up at him. He placed his palm on their forehead. Two down. “You’re warm, feeling okay?”

“Keith said he felt sick.”

“And I think you’re sick too. Go on, bed.” Great, the mall was some sort of vector for disease. “I’ll go check on him.”

 Shiro ended up walking back to the common area with Pidge still trailing him. Keith was sitting on the couch with his head lowered between his knees, and Hunk was rubbing his back. Shiro ran his hand through his hair.

“He’s alright, just lightheaded,” Hunk answered. Shiro was glad he seemed to be okay. He sighed.

“Well, I guess we’re all taking it easy now.” Shiro shook his head, he hoped these two were just overcome with the excitement of the day, but felt like he’d end up with Lance demanding a movie day where they’d all sit on the couch in a shivering pile of misery. “Looks like we’re in for a fun week.”

Hunk gave a broken laugh.

[brothermouzongaming]

Warmind thots

Better if only by a bit

I understand that Vicarious Visions made this expansion, a fact that is a little troubling if you ask me and my pessimistic tendencies. Even with that information, I almost forgot another developer had taken care of this expansion because it was very much along the lines of Bungie’s typical format. I still feel that these thoughts and feelings are relevant and still perfectly appropriate despite Bungie doing this a little differently this time around. The fact remains: nothing is going in the game that doesn’t have Bungie’s approval. Hell, as far as we know Vicarious merely did what Bungie would’ve done anyway, following a template that was explicitly written by Bungie. From what I understand they did design the Raid Lair but I doubt they were given such liberties with dlc given what we have is reported to have been lined up for a while. Regardless, the overall message of this is that the Warmind dlc is an improvement. The subtext is that such an accomplishment means fuck-all in the face of what can only be described as a huge flop for both Bungie and Activision. Despite what the financial reports may say.  Changes to exotics are great and give us something to grind that improves our favorite guns. Escalation Protocol is a challenge that takes coordination but is still a great idea at its core. Nodes are another means of grind that again give guardians a reason to come back. Curse of Osiris was a low bar to step over, but at least they did it and did it fairly well.

“Dress-tiny”

Good god how is it that the dlc adds blander armors. I think the focus on armor is all wrong and centered way too much around looks but since it’s here; the least they could do is stand out. Hunters get straight up screwed with some of the least impressive and lazy designs I’ve ever seen. Literally solid color sleeves and a slightly different glove design. Titans are clearly the character type that inspires the artists the most because from the looks to the functionality they have it the best hands down in my opinion. My preferred class, Warlock, sits somewhere in the middle. With armor pieces that work like a dream in the field, some that are beyond useless and those are just the exotics. The legendary pieces rarely vary in any significant way beyond a couple points this way or that way between the whopping three stats you have to manage. So looks are really all that is left, and there isn’t anything definitive about a lot of these “legendary” pieces of armor. The shader situation is an absolute trash fire, hopefully, the Warmind dlc was gonna add some interesting tweaks to the color scheme...imagine my surprise when the color pallets are few and far between as far as anything really distinguishable. I put on four shaders on some pants and they all looked exactly the same. That’s one of Destiny’s many problems, it’s only half in with all of its ideas.

“Remember whoo you areee”

Lion King reference aside, I can’t be any more serious. *snaps fingers repeatedly* Hello Bungie, wake up! You are squandering all the goodwill built up in your past successes. I understand this is far from the team that brought us Halo: CE but I would’ve thought they would be fighting in its memory. The ambition is there, I commend and respect that much. The effort and execution, however, has been wildly lackluster. I can forgive a large amount of D1′s problems, it’s an ambitious idea that was gonna have some kinks and issues in it. 

Company’s like Ubisoft and Capcom are giving away the occasional free update to games like The Divison and Monster Hunter World respectively. For Destiny 2 to become essentially the biggest flop of this generation and offer no respite or token of gratitude to the fanbase that stayed is miraculously idiotic. Oh what’s that? They gave us the broken Prometheus Lens? Aw, that’d be nice if it wasn’t the only gesture Bungie has made, and it released so broken it singlehandedly turned the Crucible into laser tag. Yes, that was fun, but it wasn’t even something Bungie did, it was an accident. That accident for a short period of time was the most exciting and engaging thing that has happened in D2 for a while now. The initial concept of Destiny is very promising, especially when you find out it’s in the hands of Bungie. I can’t help but feel that somewhere along the way they realized that the idea was better than the actual physical manifestation of it. Now that they’re in way too deep, all they can do is press on through the self-made muck and mire. Doing what they want to expand the franchise rather than improve it; coming from a developer I once revered it’s both infuriating and deeply saddening. Please Bungie, get it together for your sake, not ours. I’m not buying D3 and I have a funny feeling a decent amount of people won’t either, you aren’t an indie dev with no experience. Why are you acting like it?

Copy and paste

Warmind’s loot pool is vastly more interesting and enticing than that of Osiris. The sharp geometric shapes, as well as the sounds and skills associated with the guns, are very distinct and dare I say enjoyable. They don’t drop quite as often, Destiny has reverted back to its old ways in that sense and I’m not against it at all. If we get everything in the first week what’s the point of paying so much/ what’s keeping us here? My issue is the recurring problem of both reskins and returning exotics. Osiris was fairly wrought with reskins and even worse with poor and just unsavory perks, these guns rained from the sky I practically had to set up a direct deposit to my trash bin. Even better, these weapons seem to be tiered and earned with different kinds of currency. Now getting that new auto rifle or sub-machine gun feels good when it drops and not repetitive. The bringing back of D1 exotics is nice, there’s no reason in the world why some of these guns can’t and shouldn’t exist in this game. When two of the four guns are D1 guns, that’s when I get peeved. There needs to be more, I’m not talking truckloads but half the guns shouldn’t be D1 guns not for dlc we paid for. Honestly, how hard is it to design a new gun, what are you guys saving it for D3? Why not put out as much as you can to satisfy a fanbase that is struggling in the here and now? Seriously would it kill you guys to throw us a bone beyond fixing the issues we shouldn’t be dealing with at all? I know I can come off as entitled, but realize that this is a game with so much money behind it that I’m genuinely uncomfortable with the figure itself. This money could’ve gone to like... help people. Bungie got $500 million for the franchise as a whole, let’s say it broke up evenly which is about  $166,666,666. Where the fuck did that money go? Destiny 2 is essentially one massive asset flip and when players like me were told D2 would progress the series, it’s done almost nothing but regress. So maybe as a paying customer who has been deceived and lied to since day one of this game, maybe in this instance entitlement is a little understandable. 

Change ‘Gon Come

The exotic changes are good, this is a big step in the right direction. Destiny beat its dick to no end about being a power fantasy, then D2 came around and took away the power. These guns are starting to feel exponentially better, really living up to the “exotic” term. Escalation Protocol is brutal, I’m worried it is more difficult than any random group of guardians can handle. The most I’ve done a run with is four or five and I’m suspecting it may take somewhere up to seven. Hard isn’t bad but it’s crushing to the point where I can see players avoiding the event entirely to go complete something they actually have a chance of achieving. The title of this segment is two parts, change is coming to Destiny in the form of the development end. Changes to the game that are efforts in the right direction to give this game a sense of life and purpose. We’ll see what E3 holds, this “Comet” expansion is gonna be featured due to their “brand new game mode” or whatever, something that’s “never been done before int he genre of FPS”. I have no idea what that means but it sounds like th same high aiming that got us in this mess to begin with, we will see. The other half is the changes in the form of who plays Destiny/ how many people will be playing Destiny. I said it earlier and I’ll say it again. Four years is too long for a big name dev like Bungie to say “sorry guys, making games is hard”. You signed up for this, you had time to prepare. No one asked for Destiny, and though making games is no doubt very difficult; I don’t see how you can use that as an excuse in a case of sheer negligence and outright maliciousness by Bungie. Change ‘gon come, one way or another.