#i mean i already knew he would be but going through his route is cementing it for me

[protect-namine]

I think mitsuki is my favorite character so far

[desolateice]

 Headcannon time:

When writing Root Beer Floats and Green Tea I had this genre I wanted to take a crack at which was, dating games. I wanted to have hints at all these other possible routes laid out that I would eventually get to. Which with the cobras was easy but when I got to the second film I tried to figure out how I was going to deal with Chozen. And as I watched the second film very very very slowly I realized how short the timeline was and to my amusement how many costume changes happened in essentially a few days time that made time wonky the way it always is in The Karate Kid universe I tried to figure out why. Why would Chozen, who wears Okinawan formal wear all the time and is upset about Daniel, an outsider being there, be trashing a dojo where his uncle learned karate? Would would he be digging up vegetables and destroying bonsai so readily for his uncle? And the answer I came up with was grief. One of the threads that continues to pull through all the films is grief and how we deal with it. It really cemented as a head cannon when I watched the fourth film, which I did want to include and originally planned to include in Root Beer Floats and Green Tea, however at that point the story was already massive and I was grieving myself and so what ended up happening was hints.

But in the Next Karate Kid, for those who haven’t seen it, Julie Pierce is being raised by her grandmother and she’s angry all the time. Snapping and rude and her grandmother keeps mistaking her for her dead daughter. And I realized while I was watching it again for the first time since I was little, that Julie is grieving. But it’s not a quiet sob in a corner type of grief, it’s an explosive angry grief where sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean and she doesn’t know what to do and she’s lost. And I looked at Chozen, living in a small village on Okinawa whose uncle taught karate, without any parents seemingly being raised by a somewhat distant unhappy uncle (at the time the new season hadn’t come out to confirm that). And the guy who left the village and upset his uncle returns right when the man who taught his uncle is sick and shortly after passes. And I thought oh, there’s no way Chozen doesn’t know Miyagi Sensei. And if you’ve ever lived in a small community and a person dies it tends to effect people. But Chozen isn’t just some village kid. His uncle was supposed to marry Yukie, the person taking care of Miyagi sensei. His uncle was taught by Miyagi sensei, was best friends with Miyagi sensei’s son once upon a time. There’s no way Chozen didn’t know Miyagi sensei better than just the average person in the village. So maybe he’s angry on behalf of his uncle. But what if he’s also angry on behalf of Miyagi sensei, whose son didn’t come home until he was on his death bed? That, to a kid who knew Miyagi sensei and respected him would feel extra cowardly. A level of cowardly that just confirmed and sealed everything his uncle believed. I mean okay the uncle jumps straight to fight to the death, but I mean people used to fight to the death over honor all the time and for dumb reasons. (See Hamilton, The Count of Monte Cristo, countless times throughout history, ect.) But the for all of those is that you usually had an out. A second or someone who could go talk to the other party and try and figure out a solution that didn’t end up in bloodshed. And I truly like to think that the original fall out could’ve been avoided. But Mr. Miyagi was a kid. He was what? 18? The love of his life was going to be married off to his best friend and he panicked? A duel of sorts is kind of a...normal thing for embarrassment of that level. But surely someone could’ve talked it out, come to an agreement of sorts. But from how Mr. Miyagi talks about it, he just ran off. Which I totally get. You don’t want to kill your best friend, you don’t want to even fight your best friend and you don’t want your death to be on his hands either so your best option is to flee. I mean he was 18. (ish) He hadn’t gained all that Miyagi wisdom. But to never contact your family? To never write your dad again? To not say hey pops I fell in love, we’re getting married, we have a kid. Well he probably couldn’t have actually because during the war I’m sure there was a lot of scrutiny on him for being Okinawan and if he wrote home who knows what would’ve happened? And it sucks. But to have never contacted his father again later? After the war? To never even sort of wonder, did my village survive the war? Did my father? Heck, what happened to his mother? Did he miss saying goodbye to her? Did she pass before he left? Anyway, I went on a tangent, let’s go back to Chozen and I’ll set my Mr. Miyagi and Sato and Yukie feelings aside for the moment. (There are so many!) Chozen is close(ish) to Miyagi Sensei. Just through his connections. It’s one degree separation at most. Not just some dude in the village, a small village, that everyone knows. But someone from stories he’s grown up his entire life with. And then he dies. Chozen already isn’t particularly popular right? Because of his uncle? I assume he’s already a grumpy kid. And then Mr. Miyagi has the gall to return and bring some American kid with him? Mind you, America and Okinawa have a rough history, heck the USA occupies a ridiculous amount of the island still. I know, Sato teaches American soldiers, but I assume based off of how Chozen interacts with Daniel in CK that they didn’t teach Miyagi secrets. But to pass on the knowledge to an outsider? And it could also be construed as Mr. Miyagi brought back up. Like some mob boss returning from the USA. We know Daniel’s not there for that, but Chozen and them know nothing about Daniel and his relationship with Mr. Miyagi.  Heck they don’t know what Mr. Miyagi has been up to. And then Miyagi sensei dies. So all that tension, all that “I’m gonna fight you you coward” that Sato’s been fanning these flames of and Chozen is just lost and confused and grieving. Because here’s the thing, what if they were close? Instead of getting to spend time at Miyagi sensei’s death bed he’s got to be out of the way because Yukie is in charge and Mr. Miyagi is there. So he got shoo’d out by this guy who hasn’t been there for 40 years and his American student. Oh he’d be pissed. Heart broken and pissed and it’s so easy to be pissed when you’re grieving. And he’s not mad at Miyagi sensei no, he directs that anger at Mr. Miyagi and Daniel. Outsiders who came, who weren’t there when they should’ve been, and who brought death. Even if it wasn’t their fault at all. But he’s throwing it on them. And he’s backed up by Sato, who probably is also grieving, but that’s a different post. And then Daniel keeps making a fool of him. Poking holes in his scam, winning the bet with the ice, and it’s like salt in a wound. And he’s looking bad in front of his uncle. Who is his only family and all those emotions. Oof. Trying to keep his uncle proud of him and not letting that angry grief his uncle is feeling turn on him? And then his uncle he think dies in a storm and he’s just so lost. Like he’s lost everything. And he’s scared. Because I mean CK cannon, his parents are gone. All he has is his uncle. And he’s filled with so much grief that he’s just frozen because it’s stunning to have lost both Miyagi sensei and his uncle in such a short time. But then Daniel is out there, going into the storm saving people. Being a hero. And so is Mr. Miyagi. Proving Sato and Chozen wrong. They’re not cowards, they’re heroes and they’re brave. And the final straw is his uncle being alive and saved and rather than a reunion or a hug which I think he desperately needed because I doubt they’ve talked or worked through their individual grief, Chozen is cast out. All he has left that he is clinging very tightly to is fighting to the death, something I think got skewed terribly in his mind as the only option after hearing about it his entire life and it being Sato’s primary goal for the film. Because if he wins his uncle will see him again, if he looses, well his uncle will still see him. Because his uncle hasn’t seen him the entire film.

He’s not really family, he’s a lackey, a yes man, and he’s now a ghost. And it’s not like he has anyone else to go to. As Sato’s yes man he was already sort of not liked and then Miyagi Sensei is gone and he’s hurting  and that makes you do dumb stuff. And I think he’s self destructive. He’s got all this anger and nowhere to direct it so he picks a choice. The story he’s heard over and over again. The fight that was supposed to happen but never did and that will solve everything. Sato versus Mr. Miyagi. But instead it’ll be Chozen versus Daniel. If he wins then he was right. If he loses then, he won’t be in pain any more. And maybe he’ll see Miyagi sensei again. But either way he won’t be a ghost. He’ll be able to move forward again in a straight line.

And I think Daniel showing him mercy in a playful way like Mr. Miyagi shocks him to his core. It’s an option he hadn’t thought of. He hadn’t thought he deserved mercy. He probably was looking for someone to punish him for not being there when the people he loved needed him, his uncle in the shrine, Miyagi sensei at his deathbed. And instead he’s allowed to live and no longer is a ghost. He’s been freed and his uncle isn’t the same as he was, and I like to think that they’re made the better for it. That they figure out how to grieve and grow and how to make things for the village and island better. Because they’re no longer in pain and full of hatred. And Chozen might get the chance to be his own person and not just a yes man, because he’s finally seen and no longer a ghost. TLDR: I view Chozen’s entire actions of the second movie propelled by grief stuck in the stage of anger and denial. That he was close to Miyagi sensei and blocked from being by his side at his death and it propels him to self destructive and projection.

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[tloujm]

Part XXVII: Captive

Author’s Notes: N/A

Genre: Angst

Summary: Joel and the rest of his patrol group find themselves in danger. You become emotional after receiving some startling results.

Ship: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Joel leaned forward against the counter as he wrote his entry into the log book. There wasn’t much to say. The little log cabin that acted as their first checkpoint was clear of any danger and showed no signs of tampering since the last entry. He closed the book and looked back at his two patrol partners. Marcus and Glen were resting in their respective spots. Joel figured it was time for him to do the same when he saw a shadow pass in front of one of the living room windows. His brows furrowed as his focus heightened. It could have been a number of things that he saw. Glen noticed his hardened demeanor and asked what was wrong. All Joel did in response was put one finger over his lips and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the handle of his pistol.

One of the floorboards that made up the porch creaked. The sound went away just as quickly as it appeared as if a competent being had known they made a mistake and removed their foot from it. It was at this point, Joel knew it wasn’t just some lost deer roaming around the premises. The other men followed suit and aimed their guns at the entry points. The air was very still save from the dust particles that floated in ray of sunlight across the living room. It was also eerily quiet. The three of them exchanged quick glances. Joel was about to walk up to the door when it swung open from the outside. A small group of men rushed in and immediately opened fire. 

Joel ducked and crawled over to the kitchen. He flipped the table over to use it as a shield. His thoughts immediately settled on the safety of his partners before he peeked his head out to see where everyone was. Marcus was hiding behind the couch. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he stuck his hand out to shoot blindly at the attackers. Joel popped up from behind the table to shoot them. A bullet hit one of the men’s shoulder while another managed to hit another in the cheek, rendering him useless. He ducked back behind his makeshift shield a split second before a bullet could graze him. 

The attackers were currently distracted by Marcus shooting at them again. Joel took this opportunity to crawl away and find another place for cover to catch them at a different angle. As soon as he peeked his head around the other side of the table, he saw a pool of fresh blood. His eyes followed it to the source to reveal Glen laying on the floor. His eyes stared blankly out at the wall in front of where his body laid. Joel quickly took cover behind the table again and gathered himself for a second before making a run for it. 

With a rush of adrenaline, Joel shot at the attackers which inadvertently covered Marcus as he ran to another place of cover. He managed to wound them, but not kill any. They took cover behind the same couch Marcus used. During the few moments of stalemate, he noticed that only two took cover and if he killed one early, then that left one more…Joel’s vision suddenly went black a split second after a sharp pain shot through his head.

A pounding ache tormented Joel’s entire head. His vision first came back blurry then all at once clear. He pushed himself up from the cold cement floor into a sitting position. He noticed that it was significantly colder than before as he instinctively shivered. Large hunks of meat hung from hooks attached to the ceiling. His legs almost felt foreign under his weight as he got up. The sound of metal hitting something hard echoed into the room he was in. Following the source of the sound, he accidentally bumped into one of the hunks. As it swayed back and forth on the hook, Joel noticed features familiar to him. His eyes darted from the hair around the belly button to the nipples at the top. They widened in realization that the hunks of meat were human torsos and that the men who attacked him were cannibals. 

A loud chop brought his attention back, leading him to cautiously follow the sound again. Quietly, he picked up a lead pipe off of a shelf on his way. He came to a halt at the doorway. A strange man’s back was to Joel as he hovered over a naked body on the table. One of the legs was already detached and pushed aside, almost falling off the table. The cannibal lifted his hand with the cleaver to do the same with the other leg when Joel ran up to him and pressed the pipe against his throat from behind. He gagged as the knife fell out of his hand. Joel applied more pressure against his windpipe as he brought his arms into his chest. His eyes flashed over to the bloody body on the table. If it wasn’t for the cannibal leaving the head on, he wouldn't have recognized him as his patrol partner, Marcus. Just like Glen, his eyes looked blankly on. They focused on a spot beyond Joel. 

He released the pipe from its position against his throat and let him drop to the floor. Rage overtook him as he instead swung the pipe against his head. He kept at it until he was sure that he was dead. Even then, he wanted to add a couple more swings, but he knew that he wasn’t the only one he’d have to fight to get out of there. It wasn’t worth getting caught or spending extra energy on if he stayed to beat his head into a pulp. Hesitantly, he approached the dismembered body on the table and closed his partner’s eyelids before moving on to the next room. 

******

Your foot tapped against the floor almost uncontrollably as you waited. You let your head fall into your hands as to avoid staring down at the stick on the counter. The sound of the door swinging open caused you to pop your head up to find Ellie on the other side of the bathroom. 

“Uh, sorry. I forgot to knock.” She said in a low tone. It looked like she needed to pee, so you swiftly ushered her in and closed the door behind you. As the door clicked, you forgot to take the stick with you. Pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door, you listened as she flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet. Surely she saw it just sitting there. You only stopped when she opened the door again. She stood there in front of you silently for a few moments. “Is that yours?” Her head nodded in the direction of the counter. 

“Mmhmm.” You hummed and nodded. “Is it ready?”

Ellie turned and hovered over the stick. “Does two lines mean it’s ready?”

“Oh my God.” You whispered. “Fuck.” You began repeating the expletive before sitting back down on the edge of the tub. 

You grabbed the stick to double check for yourself and there it was, two very distinct lines. If one line was faded, you would try to convince the nurse to administer you another test, but this seemed pretty definitive. You didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, you wanted this, but you still couldn’t help the nerves that flared up across your body. Guilt began to rise as you regretted not waiting for Joel to do this with. He would know how to feel. You continued to sit there, imagining him sitting on the edge of the tub with you. He’d take the test from your hands and double check the instructions from the box before smiling. You would imagine him engulfing you in a hug, tucking his head in your neck and mumbling some words of joy that you couldn’t quite discern. 

Though the daydream offered a sense of comfort, you were snapped out of it when a real pair of arms wrapped themselves around your middle. You looked down and saw Ellie sitting next to you on the edge of the tub. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Her presence, while an accidental invasion of privacy, was welcomed. You repositioned yourself in her arms to hug her back. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to curse in front of you.” You whispered into her hair.

“I’ve heard worse.” She replied with a playful tone in her voice.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Mmhmm.” She hummed lightly.

“That this stays between us.” You wipe a tear away. “I have to talk to Joel and then the doctor.”

“Who am I going to tell?” She said, referencing the fact that you’d never seen her converse with anyone else since she first spoke in front of you and Joel. 

*******

“Hey, Tommy, give me a hand with this.” A resident of Jackson yelled out. Your head whipped around in his direction. You’d been looking for Tommy all day. The resident was sitting down near the stables trying to get a horseshoe off a huff. Tommy stepped out of the shelter and came into your view.

“Tommy, hey! I hope you’re not busy now. I’ve been looking for you actually.” You said when you got closer to them.

He bent down to get a closer look at the huff. “I always have time for you; you’re family. Now what’s wrong?”

“Well, Joel and ‘em aren’t back yet from their patrol. They were scheduled to be back two days ago. I know sometimes things happen that delay their travels---”

“Exactly.” He finally pulled the horseshoe off and tossed it into the dirt. “Any number of things could have happened out there that caused them to veer off plan. Those three are some of our most experienced patrolmen. We both know firsthand what Joel is capable of.” He noticed that his words were not easing the worry written across your face. “Did you know that I spent five extra days out on one of my patrols. It was the toughest route I ever did, but every decision we made as a group was for the betterment of our survival even if it meant staying out there a little longer. Five days really isn’t normal though. I’ll tell you what, I’ll get on the walkie and ask our scavenging group to see if they see any signs of them heading back. They should still be close enough to catch Jackson’s frequency. Their route is right next to Joel’s; it should be no problem for them.”

“And what if they don’t see any signs?”

“You know what our emergency policy is. We send out a search and rescue crew if the original group is not back within six days.”

“Does that not seem like it’s too long to you?” You asked.

“Like I said, especially on longer routes, they can be delayed for a number of reasons. I know it's not what you want to hear, but we’ve wasted resources and lost lives in the past to premature rescue missions.”

“Tommy, that’s your brother! Wouldn’t you want him to go out looking for you if you were out there possibly in trouble?” You said frustratingly.

“I know he would go out and look for me when it was time. Everybody who is cleared to patrol knows what the emergency rescue policy is. They were trained for situations like this just as you were. I’m sorry.” Tommy placed a hand on your shoulder as he tried to find compliance in your eyes. “I left my radio in the stable. I’ll go and try to contact the scavenging group now. Hopefully they are still in range.” You nodded before he walked off.

[thewidowsghost]

Stay Strong, Alex - Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

"Detective (L/n)," Rick sneers. "And they say there's never a cop around when you need one."

"So you know me?" (Y/n) asks, her voice soft.

"Of course," Rick answers. "I took a whole year planning this. Watching Alex, preparing," (Y/n) folds her hands together and she can hear Kara pacing behind her near the door. "I know everything."

"How did you know I was Supergirl?" Kara snarks.

"That day at the beach," Rick replies. "Before you started wearing glasses." He pauses. "I had no idea that Alex would end up playing for the other team, so to speak." (Y/n) swallows thickly. "I was just happy she showed up on the date. And then there was a crash. And Alex's kid sister walked away without a scratch," Rick says calmly, looking up at Kara, who standing over (Y/n)'s shoulder. "People at school said it was adrenaline, but, uh . . ."

"But you didn't believe that," (Y/n) finishes, her head tilting a little.

Rick nods, "I saw Kara Danvers do something amazing. And it stayed with me. I knew Kara was living in National City, and then Supergirl showed up in National City . . ." Rick chuckles. "I put two and two together. I knew it was you."

"What happened to you?" Kara asks softly. "I remember when Alex had chickenpox, I was eating lunch by myself," Kara's voice sounds a little wistful as she remembers the Earth portion of her childhood. "You came and sat with me."

Rick chuckles again. "I was fourteen," as Rick begins, (Y/n) rises from her chair to lean against the table. "And I didn't have the nice house or the perfect family that you and your sister had."

"You think we had it easy?" Kara asks skeptically. "You have no idea what Alex sacrificed for me. Or what I was going through!"

"Why?" Rick sneers. "Because you had to hide your superpowers? I was hiding bruises!" Rick is yelling now and (Y/n) had taken half a step backward. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have your mother tell you your garbage every single night?" The blonde man makes eye contact with (Y/n) and the young woman crosses her arms. "A belt whenever you had the wrong opinion? And then I found a lifeline. A father my mom kept from me. And he saved me from her and he moved me away from Midvale. And even though he was always struggling, he always made sure there was food on the table and he got me enough money to go to college. And then three years ago, the state took him from me."

"Your father killed two people," (Y/n) says, her voice low. "He confessed."

"They had it coming," Rick growls and (Y/n) straightens, her arms still folded over her chest. "And now I'm going to rescue him like he rescued me." Rick pauses. "I can't believe we're still talking about me! You have twenty-four hours and eleven minutes." Kara stiffens as Rick continues, "Come on, Kara, show us some of that rah-rah Midvale Junior High Spirit." Rick is yelling now. "Free my dad! Or your sister dies."

Kara growls, zooms over, flips the table, and pins Rick to the wall.

"Oh, you use half this much gusto in springing my dad, you'll have your sister back for game night."

"Kara! We're done here!" (Y/n)'s voice cracks.

Kara lets go of Rick and the man drops to the ground. "Hey. You know what'll be fun?" Rick asks. (Y/n) frowns, an eyebrow raising as she steps back from the man. "Finding out which one of you loves her more." (Y/n) closes her eyes momentarily, a wave of anguish washing over her. "Honestly, I wouldn't know where to place my bet," Rick sneers and (Y/n) swallows thickly.

Kara frowns at the man and after a minute, the two women go to leave the room, (Y/n) pausing for a second.

"Go Stallions," Rick grins.

Just outside the room, Kara speaks, "I'm giving him one minute, then I'm going back in there."

"No," (Y/n) says and Kara turns to look at her, Kara's eyes blazing.

"Why?" Kara snaps.

"Let him sweat it for a while," (Y/n) tells her, her voice softer than usual as she talks to her girlfriend's sister. "We got what we wanted."

"What?" Kara asks. "All we know is how he knows my identity."

"We know that Rick's pinned his whole sense of self-worth on Peter Thompson," (Y/n) explains, her voice still soft. "Thompson is the key to getting Alex back."

Kara's blazing eyes seem to extinguish as she considers (Y/n)'s words.

. . .

An hour or so later, (Y/n) and Peter Thompson walk into Rick's integration room.

(Y/n) closes the door behind Thompson.

Rick grins down at the table, before standing up after a moment.

"Ricky," Thompson says with a smile.

"Dad," Rick says, and the two embrace.

"All that time in prison, I imagined a day when . . . I could talk to you without a pane of glass between us."

"The DEO moved heaven and Earth to free this man," (Y/n) says. "We did what you wanted. Now, tell us where Alex is."

"No. No, not until my father and I are far from here," Rick says.

"You think we're stupid?" (Y/n) asks. "I showed you mine. Your turn."

"So you can toss us in Gitmo?" Thompson asks. "Not gonna happen."

(Y/n) shakes her head in disbelief.

"Maybe he gives you a piece. A little token of goodwill," Thompson adds. "You gotta give them something, Ricky. That's how it works. Just tell them where she is." Thompson narrows his eyes at his son.

"Well, you really nailed his essence, I'll give you that," Rick says.

"What?" (Y/n) asks, stepping forward, her arms crossing.

"I mean, that thing . . ." Rick says, studying his father's face. "He couldn't decide whether to hug me or not. That's vintage Dad." Rick sits back down in his metal chair.

"What are you talking about?" Thompson asks, walking up to stand beside the table.

"My father would never be playing these games. He'd be wanting to get the hell away from here and making sure that he never went back to prison," Rick's expression is one of anger. "I've been planning this for a year. Do you really think I didn't prepare for you," Rick pauses, looking up at Thompson, "Martian?"

Thompson walks over to (Y/n) and shifts back into himself.

"You're down to twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes," Rick says as he gazes at (Y/n) and J'oon. "And counting."

(Y/n) closes her eyes, pressing her index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose.

. . .

Winn runs down the hall. "Guys! We found Alex. I found her."

Kara - who is standing with Mon-el - turns to face Winn. "You did?" Kara asks frantically.

"We got a ping from her subdermal tracker," Winn explains. "She's not far!"

. . . 

Back in the interrogation room, (Y/n) is sitting across from Rick, her hands folded and resting on the table in front of her.

"(Y/n)," Kara says, opening the door to the room. "Winn found Alex."

"What? How?" (Y/n) asks quickly, rising from her chair to look at Kara.

"I guess you underestimated my sister," Kara says, looking past (Y/n) to look at Rick. "Let's go."

But (Y/n) pauses, turning to look at Rick. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You're delusional," Kara sneers. "And the second we get back here with Alex, you're going to prison with your dad."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Rick says with a shrug, and fear surges through (Y/n)'s heart.

Kara strides out of the room and (Y/n) meets Rick's eyes, holding the stare for a moment.

(Y/n) runs out of the room. "Watch him," (Y/n) tells the guard as she runs past him after Kara. "Hey, stop," (Y/n) tells Kara. "Malverne still thinks he's in control," (Y/n) tells her.

Kara turns, looking highly annoyed with (Y/n) at this point.

"He's not acting like someone who just lost," (Y/n) continues. "He didn't even flinch. It's like he expected this."

"No, no, no, we are not listening to that psycho," Kara says, walking closer to (Y/n). "Every minute we wait for matters."

"I - I want to get her as badly as you do," (Y/n) retorts, "but we can't punch our way out of this. We've got to get this right."

"If the shoe were on the other foot, Alex would already be out the door. I'm not waiting," Kara argues.

"You're not the only one who cares about her!" (Y/n) says, her voice rising.

"I'm going!" Kara yells over her shoulder as she strides out of the DEO.

(Y/n) swallows thickly and looks at the ground.

. . .

Kara flies across the city and lands in a warehouse, crashing through the roof.  

"Kara!" comes a faint voice.

"Alex!" Kara yells in reply.

"I'm down here!"

Kara runs over to a metal plate on the floor and bends the metal, puling up the plate. Throwing the plate aside, Kara freezes, reading the writing on the wall: 'NOW YOU HAVE FOUR.'

"Four?" Kara asks. "What . . ." There is a rapid beeping and the timer next to the computer screen flashes to four hours.

. . .

In Alex's cell, water begins rushing into the cement cage. Alex, panicking, grabs her jacket to try to plug the pipe.

. . .

"Oh, my God," Kara whispers, her voice full of fury.

. . . 

Kara walks back into the DEOs' headquarters, holding the laptop in one hand. 

Entering Rick's room again, Kara sets the laptop on the table. 

"Where is she?" Kara asks, her voice steely. 

"I told you not to go . . ." Rick says calmly. 

"Tell me where she is now!" Kara thunders, slamming her hands down on the table. 

"I gave you thirty-six hours to break my father out of prison," Rick replies. "But you didn't listen. So now, that room is gonna fill up with water in less than four hours. I think it's time you got moving."

Kara's lip quivers. "Let me talk to Alex."

Rick leans forward and presses a few of the keys and there is a beep. 

Kara turns the laptop around and leans down to talk to her sister through the computer. 

"Alex," Kara says, her voice quavering. 

"Kara! I sent out a signal, I thought you were coming," Alex says, the water up to her waist now. 

"He re-routed the IP address. He sent us somewhere else. Do you have any idea where you are?" 

"I was unconscious. I could be hours away or I could be in the city," Alex replies, a frown spreading across her face. "I don't know."

Rick leans forward. "Alex, it's Rick. It don't want to hurt you. I keep on telling your sister that. Tell her to get my father, and this can all be over. You can come home and get dry."

"No. Kara, no," Alex says, pointing at the camera. "You do not give that terrorist what he wants. You cannot let yourself be blackmailed. You cannot open yourself up to that, ever. Do you understand me? Supergirl is better than me."

(Y/n) enters the room and, seeing Alex on the screen, runs over. "Alex!"

"(Y/n)?" Alex asks. 

"I'm right here," (Y/n) replies. 

"(Y/n), I need to speak to you alone," Alex says, and (Y/n) grabs the laptop and walks out of the room. 

(Y/n) stands down one of the hallways. "Hun, everyone here is working hard and we're going to find you." 

"The water is rising fast and there are things that I need to say," Alex says, her voice cracking a little. 

"No," (Y/n) says, tears welling up in her eyes. "Don't start talking like this is the end."

"I don't want it to be, but in case that it is . . ." Alex says, pausing for a moment. 

"It's not," (Y/n) whispers. "It can't be. You're a badass, Alex. And if anyone could figure out a way to get themself out of there, it's you. You're gonna hold on until I find you," (Y/n)'s voice cracks, and a tear slides down her cheek. 

"(Y/n), listen to me, please," Alex tries to get out.

"No," (Y/n) argues desperately. "We just had our first Valentine's Day and I want to do more with you. I want more firsts. I want a first vacation. We haven't even argued about where we're gonna go yet, and it's bound to happen. Or what to name our first dog. Do you want to get a dog?" 

(Y/n) lets out a watery laugh. "See, there's a lifetime of firsts that we're going to do together. So," (Y/n)'s voice quavers, "you hold on, okay? Hold on until I get to you. You promise. Promise me!" 

"Yeah, um . . ." Alex pauses, scratching the back of her neck. "Let's name her Gertrude or we could adopt one from the animal shelter you volunteer at." 

"I -" Alex tries to say, but the video cuts out. 

"What?" (Y/n) whispers, typing furiously on the keyboard. "Alex!" (Y/n), frustrated with worry, tosses the broken laptop to the ground. 

"What happened?" Kara asked, striding over to (Y/n). 

(Y/n) meets Kara's gaze, her eyes alight with barely controlled anger. "I-I told you not to rush in. N-now you've made things worse."

"I did what I thought was right . . ." Kara argues. 

"I should have been heard," (Y/n) says, her eyes narrowing. "I should have been listened to. I'm her girlfriend."

"I'm her sister!" Kara argues angrily. 

"And you think that trumps me?" (Y/n) asks. "That you know what's right for her. I . . ." (Y/n) falters. "I got her to be herself, Kara." (Y/n)'s voice cracks. "I-I have just as much to lose as you." (Y/n)'s eyes burn. "You should have listened to me."

Word Count: 2,305 words

Taglist:

@procrastinatingsapphictrash

@makegoodchoices

@fanboy7794​

@theofficialzivadavid​

@confusinggemini612​

[lofitojii]

PART [I] Guardian Angel

*★*――――*★**★*――――*★**★*――――*★*

Summary: You are a new sidekick to the number two hero of Tokyo, Hawks. You team up with another sidekick, Bakugou, in an ongoing investigation on a serial killer. Unexpected interactions happen that flip the whole case around causing new, confusing feelings which alter your relationships in ways you never saw coming. 

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: Minor Swearing 

A/N: It’s HERE!!! The new series I’ve been working on for the last month is finally planned out and I’m super excited about it! Please let me know what you think, there will be posts made for discussions before the new part is released. 

NOTE: This is not following the current story at all. The League of Villains do not play any part in this at all, only Dabi. 

Guardian Angel Master List

*★*――――*★**★*――――*★**★*――――*★*

The fall air was crisp, every inhaled breath chilling your body from the inside out. The leaves looked as if they were on fire, the deep crimson, the burnt orange, lighting up the grey world they resided in. This was your favorite time of year, when you could visibly see the seasons change. Despite the fact the darkest part of the year was right around the corner, you were looking forward to all of it. This year was going to be different, you could feel it ridden within you.

It was your first day at your new job, completely unaware and new to the area. You had moved in the weekend prior, receiving the job through a simple phone call interview. You had no idea who or what your new boss looked like. All you knew is that you were hand picked from a group of qualifying sidekicks to the number 2 hero, Hawks. Apparently he is a very busy man, and the only thing you knew about him was that his quirk was similar to yours. Except he can’t put his wings away. 

How can you not know who the number 2 hero is? Well, coming from a rather small town where you worked 7 days a week kind of took up most of your free time, and when you did get a moment to yourself, you were either reading or spending time with the locals. You didn’t care much for TV or the news or social media. You enjoyed quality time and company, something most people didn’t really understand. 

Your quirk was known as the ‘Angel Quirk’ meaning you had white wings that grew in size under your control, whenever you pleased. You also had a healing factor to your quirk, using your feathers as a type of medicine as well. You were a Pro Hero’s sidekick back in your home town but received an email one morning that read: 

Dear Y/N,

After doing intense research and speaking to your most recent employer and university teachers, you have been chosen to accompany Japan’s number 2 hero, Hawks, as his personal sidekick with the goal of becoming one of Japan’s very own perosnal Pro Heroes. According to your employer, he has said he feels you have greater potential that you can’t utilize in your small town. Please give us a call or email us back. Thank you!

-Hawks Agency

You had no idea your previous employer had reached out until you received that letter. You didn’t mind doing small hero work here and there in your small town but when your boss stressed to you that you could be and do more, you decided to reach out. You didn’t know what you were expecting but you had received the job within the first 10 minutes of your interviewl. 

So that’s where you are now, downtown Tokyo, trying your best to understand how the train systems worked. Yeah, you could’ve just flown there but you didn’t want to make a scene before debuting with your new boss. It was just something you had decided, thinking that maybe an article would be released about a new hero coming to town rather than being seen with Hawks himself first. You didn’t want to come off as rude or arrogant, even though you knew you were probably overthinking the situation. 

You just wanted to make a good impression, regardless of what your old boss had said about you. They already have this idea of you, and you wanted to live up to that idea. Your boss did speak highly of you, you didn’t want to let anyone down, mainly yourself. 

“Damn, this city is huge,” you cursed out loud, looking up from the city map you had picked up at the subway stop before you hopped on. “So if that’s the coffee shop, then I still have about a good mile or two before I get to the agency building. Maybe I should use my wings to get the- OOF!” you were hit in the back, causing you to choke on your words and stumble over onto the cement. 

“Sorry!” You looked up to see a man, his red wings casting a long shadow over you. “Didn’t see ya there! Sometimes I’m too fast for my own damn good.” He reached his hand out, letting you tightly grip it as he helped you up. 

“You’re good, I was the one standing there like a mindless idiot,” you joked, reaching down to pick up the things you had dropped due to your collision. When you stood up, you noticed that he was already gone. Wow, so much for being polite. He said sorry but what does that mean when he just flies off without saying anything else? Whatever, you had to get to work so you just decided to brush it off. 

You expanded your white wings, trying your best to fly higher than the city clouds in order to keep people from seeing you. You thought to yourself that maybe this was the best route to work, clear yet cold skys. Not to mention you would cut your full trip in half. You landed in front of the office building, retracting your wings back to its original, small size before entering the building. You approached the girl that was sitting behind a desk, tapping away at her keyboard. You cleared your throat before interrupting. “Hi, I’m the new sidekick Y/N. Just wondering where I need to go?” You asked the front receptionist you guided you towards the elevators. 

“It’s the top floor,” she smiled. “Good luck, Miss Y/N.” You let out a sigh of relief as you stood in the elevator alone. Your day had just barely started and yet you could feel yourself already growing tired of everything. Your temper was rather short today, that man setting something off in you when he left without saying anything. Thank god you didn’t have to worry about him anymore. Tokyo was a rather large city, what are the chances of running into him a second time? You tried your best to shake off the incident that took place this morning, not wanting it to ruin your full day ahead of you. 

You walked up to the giant wooden doors, knocking twice before opening them. You were greeted with a huge open window, a single desk sitting in the middle of the room with a beautiful view behind it. There were bookshelves lined with literature you had read or had planned to read. “Similar tastes,” you whispered as you traced along the backbone of the books. The room was empty, leaving you alone to examine the things you found interesting to you. 

“You like what you see?” Wait a second… That voice... “You must be the new sidekick. How’s it going? I’m Hawks.” You turned around and were faced with the man that had knocked you over earlier. For some reason, dread took over, your actions visible to the man standing in front of you. “Why the long face?” 

“You’re kidding me, right?” you scoffed, the man giving you a blank look. “You literally knocked me off my feet earlier? I dropped everything?” He was still giving you that stupid blank look. “You’re joking…” 

“OH! I remember now. Yeah sorry about that,” he scratched the back of his head nervously. “I was in a hurry.” Wow...

“Obviously.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, unimpressed with the lack of remorse that came through his tone. You felt as if this relationship would be decided here, right now, just based on the way you were feeling as he stood there, a stupid grin plastard on his face. You let out a deep sigh, trying to regulate your breathing so you wouldn’t lash out on your new boss who was standing inches away from you. “I guess I’ll introduce myself since we’ll be working together. My name is Y/N L/N, I’m from a small town about 4 hours out of Tokyo. My quirk is known as the ‘Angel Quirk’ meaning I can do anything you can but better.” 

“Woah, woah,” he stopped you, waving his hands in the air. “That’s a pretty bold statement, newby. What do you mean ‘better’?” 

“I mean I can hide my wings if I want to, and also can expand them when I choose. They regenerate within the hour, I can use them to heal both internal and external wounds depending on how severe the injury is. I can also use them as weapons, hardening them as I please.” 

“Okay but can you use them to listen to things? Do you have the ability to use them as an extension of you? As in, can you use them to listen or to track?” He was grilling you with questions, almost as if you struck a nerve with him. It was quite amusing to see him all flustered like this.

“I can use them to track things within a certain radius, the further away from the feather, the harder it is for me to make things out.” He furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. 

“Okay yeah, your quirk is better in some parts but that doesn’t make you better than me.” 

“I never said I was better than you, I only said my quirk was better. You’re the number 2 hero for a reason, I have no doubt in your skill at all.” He really got his feelings hurt that bad by your comment? Talk about a fragile ego. 

He let out a sigh, sounding a little grumpy in his words as he went through the paperwork with you. “Oh and take this,” He handed you a bag, his cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know what it looks like but the design team came up with it since we do have similar quirks.” 

“A new costume?” You raised an eyebrow, looking at the fabric with the paper bag. It was a body suit, like an actual teddy style body suit, a pair of sheer tights, and some knee high boots. There was also a pair of yellow goggles, matching the ones Hawks were wearing. “What if people think we’re dating?” You didn’t really think about it much until Hawks gave you your new costume that was almost identical in color to his. It was balck and gold, just like his shirt, the cropped jacket being a deeper shade of brown, just like his jacket. 

“And? So what if they do? I wouldn’t mind faking it,” he smirked, winking directly at you. He began to laugh as you reached your hand to hide your crimson cheeks. They were warm, you knew his comment made you blush, and so did he.

“Shut the hell up,” you responded, biting your lip. “I’m going to request a new jacket at least. I’m sorry but this color is hideous with the black.” 

“You really think so?” he asked, looking at his own jacket. “Well in that case, I’ll ask for them to give us black ones.” 

“White,” you stopped him. “I want a white one.” 

“White it is, m’lady,” he bowed, getting up from his seat. He leaned over his desk, transitioning from his bowed state, coming face to face with you. He was so close you could smell the lingering fragrance of mint coming from his breath. “I’m excited to work with you.” You quickly got up, bowing in response all in one quick motion, knocking your head with his. It was loud, painful, and embarrassing all within the 30 seconds that it took place. “Ow ow ow ow ow,” he rubbed his forehead, exposing the red bump that was getting ready to form. 

You were quick to pluck two white feathers from the right side of your back, leaning over the desk and pressing it to his forehead. “Hold still,” you struggled to get out as Hawks winced in pain. You let out a deep breath, focusing on the feather in your hand. It was quick to dissolve, leaving Hawks in awe with what had just happened. He sat back down, watching you apply the same treatment to yourself. 

“Wow,” he breathed, still in shock from what just took place. “Your quirk really is cool.” 

“The only downside to my healing is that it’s only possible with the right side of my wings. The left side doesn’t have the same ability,” you admitted while sitting back down, your wings returning to their smaller size so you were able to sit more comfortably. Hawks just sat there, gobsmacked with the events that just occurred. “To be honest, we gotta get this whole bumping into each other thing under control.” 

“You’re telling me,” he whispered, leaning back in his own seat. He finally snapped back into reality after being lost within himself. “Go change into your new costume and I’ll put the order in for the white coat. You’re going on patrol today with one of my other sidekicks. He’s newer to the team so it will be good for you two to get comfortable with each other. I will warn you though, he’s a bit of a hot head. Short temper, super egotistical. Great guy though, you’ll love him.” 

“He sounds wonderful,” you noted sarcastically. You were soon interrupted by the sound of the door opening, being greeted with a blonde haired man with quite the aggressive scowl. 

“What the hell did you say, you damn bird?” You turned your head, taking notice to his rather large grenade equipment covering his forearms. Those have to be super heavy, the look like they weigh more than the man himself. 

“There you are! Bakugou, I’d like you to meet your new partner, Y/N! You guys are going to be working together from here on out. You’re still my sidekicks, so we’re still a team here but when it comes to the more lowkey stuff, like investigations and patrolling, you guys will be working together.” Did he really just say ‘lowkey’? How old is this guy? He’s got to be older than you, having started his own agency, right? 

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou growled. Hawks wasn’t kidding when he said this guy was a hot head, the vibe he was giving off really intimidated you. But then again, you weren’t one to take shit, not even from some punk coworker with a short temper. “I’m leaving in 10. Better hurry you noob.” 

“Noob?” You questioned, grabbing your things and following Bakugou out the room. You stopped before you reached the door, turning around and bowing towards Hawks. “Thank you!” 

“Good luck, kid!” He waved back, his smile sweet and reassuring. You had experienced something rather unpleasant that morning with Hawks, only to find out he was your new boss. He seemed to be quite the air head, or at least spacey in some aspect. He was interesting to you, and for some reason you wanted to know more about him. The fact he had asked for you specifically out of all the other applicants was even more interesting to you. Did he choose you for another reason? Was it because you had a similar quirk to his? As time goes on, you can only hope that you’ll uncover these hidden secrets you were so focused on. He didn’t need to tell you he was hiding anything, you could just feel something in his aura. 

You followed Bakugou who led you to the women's locker room, telling you he would wait outside the door for you to be finished. He actually told you to ‘hurry the fuck up’ but you just rolled your eyes at his demand. You thought to yourself that if anyone else would have been paired up with this guy, you were sure they would resign due to his attitude. You weren’t one to give up, though. You were here for a reason, having a set goal that wasn’t about to be ruined due to some smart asses comments. Not to mention, the children in the foster home you grew up in were mean as hell. 

When you put on the outfit, you were flustered by how revealing it was. You did mention that you needed flexibility in your costume but you didn’t think it was going to be some kind of lingerie set. Hopefully the coat you requested is available soon, thinking that maybe it would help cover up some of the more revealing parts. 

You exited the locker room, only things on you being your Hero License and your outfit. Bakugou handed you an ear piece, letting you know it’s used for the both of you, two other side kicks and Hawks himself. “So what exactly are we doing today?” You asked, exiting the building with Bakugou by your side. 

“We’ve been asked to investigate the west side of town. Rumor has it that some dick head guy has been spotted frequently in the area who has been linked to a chain of murdered victims. All the bodies have similar burn marks, as if it’s this guys sick way of marking his work. Our job is to try and see if we can narrow down his exact location.” You had read over the file prior to moving to the city, being asked by the agency so that way you weren’t too behind on what was going on. 

Description: Black hair, scars covering majority of his body, black coat, black shoes, distressed jeans. Last known location: West Tokyo. Number of bodies linked to crime: 12. 

“Well then,” you started, letting your wings grow to their full capability. You reached your hand out towards Bakugou, signaling for him to grab on. 

“What the hell? What are you doing? I don’t need your fucking help.” 

“I get that but if you let me carry you, we could cut our trip time in half and with it being fall, almost winter, it’s going to get dark soon. I have no doubt that you can get there by yourself but if we want to play it smart and more efficient,” you sang, reaching your hand out again for him to take, letting your actions finish your statment. He wasn’t happy about the idea but he knew you were right, making it obvious by his aggressive huff. 

You wrapped Bakugou up in your arms, taking off the second you knew you had a secure grip on him. With flying to the west side of town, it really did cut the travel time in half, leaving you an extra hour or so to investigate, much longer than what the estimated time stated. “Land there!” Bakugou yelled, pointing at the roof of a mini mart that was placed in between two rather tall buildings. You released your grip on him, his immediate reaction being annoyed and bothered by the ‘wind’ and you ‘flying too damn fast’. You just ignored his remarks, letting him take the lead on the investigation so he would stop complaining. 

“How long have you worked for Hawks?” You asked, taking a seat next to Bakugou. He lowered his glasses that matched both yours and Hawks’, using them to enhance his sight towards the ground below. 

“Why do you care?” He growled, avoiding any sort of eye contact with you. 

“Well I don’t but if we’re going to be working together, I think it’s important that we have a bearable relationship, don’t you agree?” 

“No I don’t. I don’t care who you are or where you come from. We’re co workers, that’s it.” You didn’t expect Bakugou’s words to hurt as much as they did. You barely met the guy and he’s already made his decision on how the relationship was going to be. A part of you wanted to just let it go, to just accept the fact that he didn’t care for personal relationships, but the other part, the part of you that always got you into trouble, wanted to know and be more with him. 

“Well I care,” you finally blurted out, causing Bakugou to finally look over at you. “I’m not saying that we have to be friends but if we want to be a strong team, we have to get to know each other on a more personal level. I can see you’re very strong and I also know that we could be really good together. So ignore me all you want but I’m not going to stop asking.” He looked puzzled, as if no one had ever bothered to speak to him like this. It was as if he was thrown into foreign territory and had to figure out how to navigate to the sudden outburst. 

“3 months,” he answered, immitadly turning away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at the small achievement you had accomplished. It wasn’t something drastic or something to celebrate, but you took it as a win regardless.  

After sitting on the roof for a good half hour, you had decided to take street view, letting Bakugou keep the high ground. You were told that the suspect wore a black coat, had dark features, but the main identifier being his scars. He wore the black coat to hide his arms and body and wore a face mask to hide the scars that are suspected to be on his face. 

After mindlessly walking for what felt like forever, Bakugou finally came through the ear piece. “Angel, there’s a man fitting our description on the other side of the street, walking towards your direction.” You were quick to react, trying to spot any signs of a man in a dark coat. You thought you were going to lose him in the crowd, having to make your way through groups of people walking in your opposite direction. 

“Bakugou, I don’t-” You were suddenly cut off, being pushed back by the force of colliding with another person. You lost your balance, falling straight onto the concrete sidewalk below you. “Ouch…” You winced in pain, the collision of your bum hitting the hard concrete rattling you a bit. You looked up to see what it was that you had bumped into, Bakugou screaming in your ear before you could put the pieces together. 

“THAT’S HIM!” You made eye contact, complete shock written across your facial features as you stared directly at the man you had been looking for. 

“Here,” he reached his hand out, offering to help you up from your fall. “Sorry about that. It’s easy to get caught up in these crowds.” You were hesitant to take his hand but did it anyways, knowing that you had to diminish any sort of suspicion. His hand was rough to the touch, as if it was scared more so than dry skin. You noticed his stitches that held his scars together, slightly grazing over them as you released. “Oh uhh.. I got these cause my quirk is too strong for me to really handle.” The man seemed to be around your age, his whole appearance matching the description you were given. 

What do I do? 

“Oh I wasn’t meaning to stare,” you hesitantly assured him, trying to awkwardly laugh off the situation. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he finally changed the subject, the new topic being just as stressful as the last. 

“Oh yeah I’m new to town! Just doing an internship so I’m still kind of new to all of this. I’m just out patrolling the area, making sure nothing bad happens. Ya know, the normal hero stuff.” You awkwardly scratched the back of your head, avoiding eye contact as best as you could. In all honesty, you wanted to cut this conversation short and let Bakugou track him to wherever he was planning on going, but your mind had gone blank. You were unable to think of an out so instead, you had to let the conversation carry on until you found an opening. 

“Well I bet people will feel better having such a pretty hero like you around to keep them safe.” Woah woah woah… Did he really just call you pretty? And are you actually blushing right now at his comment?? Get it together Y/N! 

“Eh- haha. I mean I’m just doing my job, just like any other hero.” Please leave. Please go away. Please give me an opening to get out of here.

“I guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you then?” His smile was everything but welcoming. You could see that this man wasn’t someone who found heroes pleasant to begin with. The uneasy feeling you had when you made eye contact the first time started to grow, causing you to internally panic. “Cute wings. Reminds me of another Pro Hero I see flying around here sometimes.”

“Uh… Who?” You asked, trying your best to play dumb. He furrowed his brows, your response coming off more suspicious than before. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m new here and I don’t even know who I work for. I was just sent here as soon as I got there so I haven’t really met anyone.” 

“Huh. Well I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. Especially if you have wings like that,” he said, pointing to your enlarged wings. “He’s a pretty big fan of people who have similar quirks to his.” 

“I’ll definitely have to keep an eye out then. Sounds like we’d get along.” 

“The names Dabi, by the way. And you are?” Did he really just tell you his name? Was the whole ‘play dumb’ act really working? Could this be some kind of message that he wants to send to Hawks since he was the one who mentioned him? 

“You can call me Angel,” you responded, knowing it was better to offer your hero name rather than your real one. You chose the hero name ‘Angel’ because it could be taken as either a hero name or even a birth given name. 

“Angel,” he repeated, barely above a whisper. “Fitting.” You didn’t respond this time, wanting to let the conversation end there which Dabi caught onto. “Well I’ll let you get back to work Angel. I hope I see you again.” And with that, he was gone, disappearing from your view into the crowd of people.

You were quick to make your way around the block so that way you could communicate with Bakugou without having to worry about Dabi overhearing anything if he had happened to still be in ear shot distance. “Angel what happened!? Did you get anything?” 

“I’ll come find you! Just keep tracking him! I’m on my way!” you told Bakugou before lifting off above the city. You were quick to spot Bakugou who was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, keeping a steady pace and decent distance between him and the suspect. Once Bakugou stopped, you took that as a sign to land on the closest building and follow Bakugou’s actions so that way you could keep a low profile since the suspect now knew who you were. You mentally kicked yourself in the butt, knowing that you should’ve just left after he helped you up. 

“What did he say?” Bakugou barked, his vision focused on the cluster of buildings in front of him. 

“Well I got his name.” 

“And?” He looked over at you, his expression completely unreadable. Were you going to get in trouble for making contact? And on the first day too? 

“Dabi.” Bakugou’s face went white, his expression telling you that maybe they knew more about the suspect than they were telling you. “Bakugou, who’s Dabi?” 

“I pinpointed the location. Let’s get back to the agency and report to Hawks what we found.” 

“I’m not taking us anywhere until you tell me who this Dabi guy is!” 

“Suit yourself you dumb bird.” He was quick to blast off, making his way back in the direction of the agency. You were in shock by his sudden outburst, creating quite the distance between you two. What is going on? You were so confused, only being left more in the dark as Bakugou ignored your multiple questions. 

Snap out of it Y/N! Follow him! 

“What- Bakugou!!”

[zosonils]

who are your top six undertale characters?

oooohghgh this one is hard [except my number 1 y’all know exactly who the fuck is up there lmao] but here we go

6. mad dummy/mad mew mew - bit of a niche pick but mad dummy has always been one of my favourite minibosses and her return as mad mew mew in the switch and xbox ports cemented her as a character who i really love. she’s completely fucking unhinged in the best way possible AND she’s a trans icon to boot literally what more could you want. i’ve seen her referred to as maddie sometimes which is really cute?? i love you maddie

5. alphys - i’m one of the probably like 5 people who found her constant status updates endearing/funny rather than annoying and i’m entirely okay with having bad taste. i think she’s a pretty good depiction of a character with severe social anxiety/self-esteem issues, and it’s really interesting to take a bit of a dive into her psyche through the true lab [which is one of my absolute favourite segments in any route of the game and which you can literally trace every pixel of my taste in horror back to, by the way, so i appreciate that alphys gave me that even though the whole scenario is supremely fucked up]

4. frisk [and/or chara] - yeah the human kids have pretty much no personality save for what you give them as you play but that just means i can make up whatever i want and i have already gotten ludicrously attached to my funky little interpretation of them. i know it’s cheating to kinda put two characters in the same entry but i’ve kinda mentally gone Do Not Separate Them so there you go. i will refrain from dumping out my entire truckload of completely made up human meta here but they’re good kids trust me

3. undyne - genuinely she’s such a cool character both in-universe and from a meta standpoint stop fucking sleeping on undyne you COWARDS. i love how much range she has as a character, depending on where you are in what route she can go from the single most genuinely threatening presence thus far to a socially awkward complete dork to a hero whose will to save monsters rivals even yours at your best and it never feels out of place. her hammy demeanour makes her one of the most entertaining characters in the game, her big sister energy is really sweet, and she canonically smooches her girlfriend. undyne is so fucking powerful. stan undyne

2. sans - something something funny bone man go dodo do do but sans is legitimately a really good character. he’s funny as fuck, every time he shows up on a run where papyrus is alive i instinctively relax because hey hey that’s my cool buddy sans, the snippets of information about him hidden throughout the game/code [like his singular hp and heavily implied knowledge about/memory of resets] all serve to make him such an interesting character to deconstruct. he’s also incredibly well-written as a character with really, really severe depression, in a way that hits a little close to home if i’m being honest. my otp is sans and a fucking therapy session

1. papyrus - Y’ALL KNEW THIS WAS COMING PAPYRUS IS SO FUCKING GOOD AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. this skeleton is an autistic aroace king, let’s put those facts right on the table where everyone can see them, and he manages to be both the funniest and most heartwarming character in the game in my opinion, often at the exact same time. the sole reason i don’t plan on doing a genocide run is because i know god damn well i won’t be able to kill papyrus after he shows me nothing but compassion without it legitimately taking a toll on my real life mental health. he has so many subtle moments of hidden depth to explore [my personal favourite is that he’s the only character in the entire game who can never, ever kill you under any circumstances, to the point of dealing 0 damage when necessary, but just getting into that would take all night], but even at his most mysterious he’s such a genuinely and wholeheartedly loving and loveable character. papyrus fucking RADIATES good vibes, it’s nearly impossible for me not to go :) when he’s on screen. papyrus believes in me. i fucking love papyrus

[kitkat1003]

Oh it would be so Sweet, if I could be Cruel

Being King isn’t easy.  Being kind to those who’ve hurt you when you’re King is much, much harder.

Or: After the Wishing Star, and after Yakko is made King,-with co-rulers Wakko and Dot-he is put in charge of weeding out Salazar’s supporters from the kingdom.  That means confronting people he’d rather not.

Warnings: Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Dark thoughts and themes.

@asilcorner :)

From rags to riches, one might say.  Yakko remembers, after the wishing star, when they were told that they were of royal blood.  He knew it already, knew that they were special, because he remembers the castle walls.  Remembers the crack just beneath one brick that he’d feel when he ran down the hallway and let his fingers skid across its surface.  Remembers the royal colors.  Remembers his parents’ smiling faces that mirror the portrait that is all that is left of them.

Remembers fire, and screaming, and his parents finding a secure closet and locking them in there, shushing Dot as she cried, placing a kiss on each of their heads, faces smiling and yet looking so sad.

Take care of your little siblings, they’d said.  They need you.  We love you.

And Yakko had only remembered that last part, for a long time, and had stuck to it.  

He sometimes remembers Salazar’s guards, ripping him and his siblings from the closet, the blood on stone as they were dragged, screaming, to the throne room.  How he’d clutched Wakko and Dot close, curling his body around them like a shield as they wailed, shushing them and trembling as Salazar looked down upon them as if they were less than nothing, dried blood caked under his fingernails, with familiar black fur, before throwing them in a carriage and having them taken far, far away from Home.

He had kept his siblings away from danger at the orphanage, from unruly orphans or cruel adoptees, and then he did odd jobs to pay for food when the orphanage shut down.  No one would adopt them, no one wanted to take in three children at once, and they all refused to be separated.

Yakko had, once, entertained the idea of letting a couple who only wanted two children take Wakko and Dot, because then at least they would have a home.  He decided against it when he realized that would mean he wouldn’t be able to be sure that they were okay.

And the orphanage had closed down, and Yakko had dealt with it.  He’d let Dot and Wakko play and be kids-though they never did, not really, too busy making the house clean and making sure Yakko came home to a warm meal and bed after work-while he did the work.

And then Dot got sick.  And then the economy dried up, as the tax collector took more and more from the people, and Yakko couldn’t get a penny.  They saved, he sold what meager things he had.  Cut off the extra fabric and turned his overalls into pants-they were the last thing he had from Mom and Dad, but they told him to take care of his siblings, and dammit he’s doing his best-, used the extra pieces to fix Wakko’s hat when it tore and he cried, and sold the rest for scarves, because it’s getting cold.  His glove tears, and he desperately wants to buy a new one, because it’s a cardinal sin to have a glove like his, but there’s no room in the budget.  So he deals.  Dot is sick, Wakko can’t handle not having food for too long-he nearly died not eating enough, and it wasn’t just starvation, so Yakko makes sure Wakko gets bigger portions and deals with the hunger pangs in the dead of night when they’re asleep and can’t hear him groan-Yakko can deal with a ripped glove.  It’s fine.

And Dot gets worse, and Wakko leaves.  Goes off on an adventure to get money.  Works for a year to get a penny, a hay penny that is just enough to make Dot well, and Plotz, the tax payer, makes up taxes and takes it to add to his pile, and Dot suffers more.

And Yakko had nearly broke, when Wakko left.  Because he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t know Wakko was safe, could only make promises that felt like lies to Dot and hope, and hope, that Wakko was fine and happy and healthy.  They don’t have enough money for postage, can’t send letter, so Yakko doesn’t hear from his brother for a year, and it’s all for naught in the end, because of cruelty he should have known to expect.

And Wakko blames himself, too.  Yakko has to hear his younger brother apologize for not working more, for not bringing more money home after a year’s worth of work, and Yakko’s heart aches.  The cheer he tries to impart in his younger sibling then doesn’t stick, and the despair clings as he comes home and sees Wakko playing on the strings of a makeshift harp.

And then the wishing star happens.  His siblings almost die more than once, he thinks he’s lost them both too many times, and it is a miracle that everything goes right, that Dot gets better and they have money and food and soon a castle and kingdom.

Yakko asks, one day, what exactly Wakko wished for.  Because despite the fact that Wakko showed off the two hay pennies, they never actually heard what it was that Wakko wished for.

“I wished that everyone would get what they deserved.  What they needed,” Wakko had told him.  “Figured that was vague enough to give me plenty, and the townsfolk deserved something too.  They were hurting just like us, that’s why they tried to beat us there.”

Yakko marvels at the empathy within a single child, but he loves his brother more than life itself, and the truth only cements that fact further.

But now he’s King, and now, while Dot and Wakko decide what paintings and random knickknacks to get rid of from Salazar’s time, he has to go through all of the people who enforced Salazar’s laws and make sure they won’t start an uprising.  Brain is an advisor, and he’s quite harsh.  He says that Yakko should lock them up, Yakko wants to the let them try and take the new home from him, see what happens, now that he has a taste of something better than abandoned orphanages and stale meals.  

They settle on making the guard and any who worked for Salazar to swear loyalty to the Warners-however awkward the process is-and have more trusted people put in battalions with those less trustworthy to try and stymie an uprising.

His authority is shaky, and he and his co-rulers are young and inexperienced.  But they have lived through enough to have knowledge of what the people need, and with the true rulers on the throne the other countries are opening up trade routes, so prosperity is returning to the Kingdom.

So long as their people are happy, and everyone is taken care of, Yakko can almost believe they’ll be okay.

But now he sees Plotz, kneeling in front of him as the next person to be judged by him, and he wants, so, so terribly, to be a cruel King.  He can feel the distaste, not just from him, but from Brain, of the cruel tax collector hanging in the air, and he can see Plotz sweat.

He thinks, good.  Let him sweat, let him feel fear when he looks at the kid who he was all than happy to take money from, now as his King.

“Thaddeus Plotz,” He says.  “Plotzy,” He amends, grinning.  It feels strained.  The bored and relaxed air in the throne room vanishes into something still and tense, and his grip on the throne’s armrest tightens-he has fixed gloves now, but he still expects to see a flash of black when he looks down at his hands.  Nothing here feels real, yet.  He expects to wake up in a shack, to the sound of Dot’s worsening cough, and this man is part of the reason for it.

“Y-Your majesty,” Plotz says.  Not repentant, but nervous.  Flattering.  The fact that he thinks he can say sweet things and get away with what he’s done makes Yakko’s blood boil.

“I know you will swear your loyalty to the crown,” Yakko starts.  “Because you will follow anyone you know is more powerful than you to make sure you stay safe and comfortable.  That isn’t the issue here,” Brain raises a brow, and he looks as if he wants to speak, but he takes one look at Yakko’s face and decides against it.

“Do you know what you did, to our town?” he asks, because he wants to know what Plotz would have to say.  “When you bled us dry to feed yourself?  That’s almost forgivable,” Plotz opens his mouth to say something, but Yakko raises a hand.  “You had to take taxes, it’s the law, and Salazar was not a kind King.  Whether or not you took joy out of it is irrelevant.  I could forgive you, even, for trying to kill us, because it was under Salazar’s orders, and I saw how he would punish you.  See, the only thing that makes me reticent to let you off scott free is...a hay penny.”

Plotz looks pale.  Good.

“Wakko worked for a year to get that penny.  A year.  While you sat and ate good food in a warm house, as my sister slowly got worse and worse, Wakko worked for a single hay penny.  He came back with it to pay for the operation that would save Dot’s life.  And, the moment you heard of it, you made up taxes to take it from him,” And Yakko remembers the despair, how the whole town deflated.  Remembers hearing Dot cough and wondering if he should try for a heist, to steal it back, because she wouldn’t make it otherwise.

“Tell me, Plotzy, did you know what that hay penny was for?” he asks.  Plotz shakes his head.  “Would you have cared?  Hardly.  Would you have cared when I laid my sister to rest?  When I buried her, because she never got better?  Because you took the money we needed to make her better?  Would you have cared then?”

He gets no reply, for a moment.

“I-um-your Majesty-I,” Plotz stammers out, but the fury that Yakko has felt for years comes to a head then and there.

“I could have you executed in the town square, and no one would feel bad for you.  You’re a cruel person, you only care for yourself, and you would have let the whole town die if it meant you had a warm house and plenty of money to hoard,” He spits the words with vitriol.  

Plotz flinches.  

He can see the guards are shocked, as is the Brain.  Before now, Yakko had just sort of waved off the people who had been tasked with enforcing the laws of the old King.  And, well, before now, Yakko hadn’t felt anything because no one who’d entered had been personally cruel to them.  To his family.

He wrestles with the desire to make Plotz suffer.  He’s the King, he could.  No one would blame him, either.  It might even discourage dissenters of his rule to try anything, to see what Yakko will do to those who are bad to his people, his family.  And yet, he can’t find it in himself to.

“But, hey, the past is the past, huh?  That’s what this whole shindig is about,” The abrupt change of tone is startling to everyone, but Yakko moves on as if it’s nothing.  “You’re fired from your position, obviously.  You will be stripped of all of the riches you took from the townspeople,” He continues, and then winks.  “Save for a single hay penny.  Seem fair?”

“Y-yes-of course, your majesty.  Thank you for your ever gracious mercy,” Plotz bows low enough that his nose brushes the floor, trembling, and Yakko rolls his eyes.

Plotz is escorted out.

“That’s enough for today.  I’m done,” He gets up, and the crown feels heavy on his head somehow, heavier than normal, and he walks to his room, face planting onto the bed with a sigh.

He needs a nap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up when he feels the bed dip with the weight of his two siblings.  Flipping himself over, he puts on his best smile and sets his hands behind his head.

“Hey sibs, how was your day?” he asks, and they grin at him.

“We got to blow up a bunch of stuff,” Wakko says.

“All worthless.  Not stuff that could be sold.  Just Salazar’s royal portraits and other nonsense,” Dot assures him, as if she could already tell his train of thought.  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the explosion.”

“Guess talking to all those guards really knocked me off of my feet,” Yakko replies with a shrug, and Dot gives him a look.

“Was it the guards or was it Plotz?” She sees straight through him, and the question stings.

“Brain mentioned it,” Wakko says.  “I don’t get why you were that mad.”

“He stole the hay penny,” Yakko says, through gritted teeth.  “He took the money you worked a year for, the money we were gonna use for Dot’s operation,” Just saying it brings back the fury, and his expression goes dark.

“Well, yeah, but I shouldn’t have let everyone know about it, or at least brought more than one back.  My bad,” Wakko shrugs, a little self conscious

“And that’s the issue!  You blame yourself!  Wakko, you went out at the age of 12 and worked for a year, you have no reason to be guilty,” Yakko sits up and stares right into Wakko’s eyes, dead serious as he points to Wakko.

“Exactly.  Plotz was clearly just looking for another bit of money to take from us,” Dot agrees.  Yakko turns away, looking down at his hands, clenching them into fists so they won’t shake.

“I wanted him to die,” Yakko admits.  “I wanted him to be as terrified as I was, when I thought you were going to die, and there would be nothing I could do to stop it,” Because it wasn’t fair, and it still isn’t, because even though he’s got everything he could ever want it doesn’t erase the years shivering in the cold because the wind would tear through the old planks of wood, the years of small serving sizes and pinching pennies and then pinching those pinches, for the most he could get from near nothing.  And Plotz made that worse, without a care in the world.

“But you’re better than that,” Dot leans against him, smiling up at him, and Yakko sighs, wrapping arm around hers and Wakko’s shoulders .

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yakko says with a dramatic sigh, hugging them close.  It’s easier to forget they were hurt when they’re like this, happy and loved and safe.

“You’re gonna be the best King ever,” Wakko’s as sincere as one can be, and when he looks up Yakko looks shocked.

“Don’t be so surprised!  If you can deal with that type of anger at 14, just imagine how good you’ll be at making decisions ten years from now!” Dot adds.

“And we’ll be here the whole time,” Wakko continues.  “Helping you out the whole way,” Yakko feels like his heart could burst, and he laughs.

“How’d I get so lucky with you two?” he asks, and Dot scoffs.

“Hey, you raised us!” She shoots back.  “This is all on you!”

And it is, Yakko knows.  The kingdom, the happiness of his people, it’s all on him, even as a 14 year old.  He doesn’t know how to handle it, all the responsibility.  He barely handled raising two kids.

He wonders if Mom and Dad would be proud.  When Dot was dying, he dreamed of their glares and disappointment, and no matter how many times he apologized, he was always a failure, and the dream would turn to blood and fire and he’d wake up with a silent scream on his lips, shaking.  But now, he thinks they might be proud, and it makes him smile more sincere than he has in years.

And his siblings are still here, beside him, and for once he can be sure they aren’t going anywhere, because they’re happy and healthy and safe.  And they’re only like that because Yakko did his best, and made it work, and had them helping him, too, just like they will be until the end of time.

And suddenly the weight doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.  Now, if only the crown would fit.

It’s fine, though.  He’s got plenty of time to grow into it.

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Twenty-One

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part twenty-one of this fic. Rescue team re-assemble... with more members? 

Word Count: 2,800 +

Warning(s): Self-inflicted injury, mention of guns, blood, cussing

A/N: I am very excited for the next (last?) few chapters! Hehe, I hope you guys are enjoying the series! Lemme know how you feel about where things are going (-;

The pad of Hopper’s thumb traced over the old wallpaper of Joyce’s home. He looked at the long scratch carefully, like he was in a museum and it was an art piece displayed in a fancy frame. And then he huffed, like he was irritated, and turned around to face Joyce again. He didn’t have any words, though, and they both looked at one another blankly. 

Steve had returned himself to the couch, sullen and uninterested in Hopper’s investigation. He turned his left hand over and held in in his right, his own thumb feeling over the line across his palm; the scar, the one he gave and healed himself. The stitches — how many did it take? Six? Eight? And when he bandaged it in white, how many times around his hand did he wrap the cloth? How long did it take to bleed through?

“We have to summon it,” he said. 

Hopper and Joyce turned from one another to face Steve, and he picked himself up from his seat in a hurry. He didn’t look at them as he rushed, a few steps around boxes and debris, straight to the door. Neither Joyce nor Hopper had found any words before he was through it and on route to his car. 

Hopper sighed — that irritance again — and took a few strides to plant his hand on the door knob. He swung it open, the force rustling miscellaneous papers scattered across the room, and called out at the retreating teenager. 

“Where are you going?”

Steve tugged on his car door and leaned in over the driver’s seat. His hand felt around on the floor of the passengers side, and he grabbed for the bag of forgotten first-aid. He picked himself up swiftly, plastic bag swinging at his side, and turned to march right back up to the porch. 

Hopper was still stood in the entryway when he climbed the steps, and without even looking at him Steve swerved around his figure back into the home. Hopper followed the kid’s movements with his eyes, studying him like he had the wall. Joyce stood like a centerpiece in her own home, her presence losing saturation by the minute. A simple box of bandages was dumped onto her table, a second one sliding out and knocking into the first. Steve dropped the bag and progressed towards the kitchen, his plan still unspoken. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Hopper spoke after him with a second effort. He shut the front door again, a distracted push of his hand sending it to a close. “Hey!” he called out to the disappearing figure. 

Steve came as he left, quickly, only this time he held in his grip a knife. This did not silence Hopper. 

“Woah, woah woah! What the hell? What are you doing? Give-”

“Just calm down, okay? I’m not-”

“Give me the knife, Harrington”.

He dangled the blade in his hand as he gestured, hands tossed in the hair nonchalantly. “Just listen to me!” he said in defense. 

“Just put the goddamn knife down,” Hopper told him troublingly. 

Wide eyes on the verge of being rolled, Steve slapped the knife to the table. “There! Will you just hear me out?” The silver spun against the hardwood as silence stilled the rest of the room. One hand drifted to Hopper’s hip — fed up, tired — and the other wavered in the air — yielding, tired. 

“What?” he asked his question in one word. 

“We have to summon it,” Steve said matter-of-factly, like Hopper should have picked up on what was happening. Keep up!

“Summon it. With a knife.” The return was dull.

“No, with blood”.

Hopper’s face jumped, exasperated but in a way that was partially a performance. “Oh!” he bursted, his free hand thrown in the air to hit his thigh with a smack when it came back down. “With blood”. 

“It showed up because Nine’s arm — it was bleeding. She told me. She knew it came because of the blood. If I just cut myself, minimally, the blood will lure the thing back here and I can-”

“You’re not going to cut yourself-” Joyce started.

“We aren’t summoning a nine-foot-tall creature that almost killed you a few hours ago!” Hopper voiced sourly. 

Steve’s hair flopped in front of his eyes and he sighed. It stayed there for a moment, himself gearing up to continue the argument, and then he tossed it back into place as he brought his head up again to look at his opposed. 

“Look, wherever that thing took her, she said Will is there, too. She thinks she can find him,” he said, eyes drifting between the two adults but settling on Joyce at the mention of her son. Her mouth twitched as she watched him, and he continued his speech; something between an explanation and a plea. 

“And I have to believe that she’s okay, that she will. But she’s hurt, probably pretty badly, probably exhausted.”

Hopper shifted on his feet, his cold stare dwindling for a moment, internally fighting with the idea of giving into this askew reality. The things he had been told of — the superpowers and the alternate dimensions (she called it the ‘upside-down’, right?). He had yet to see any of these things for himself, and instead stood protected by the shadow of ignorance. If he let this happen, when would he face everything he had been told of? 

When blood started leaking from the cut Steve had proposed, slow to drip in thick red splotches against the floor? Would the wall shake and rumble like Joyce had described, and if so, is that when he’d face it? Would it take until the creature emerged from the wall for him to truly realize, and, could he ever go back to the shadow? 

“We have to help her. That thing created a portal when it showed up, and that’s the only way we know how to find it. We can get them both back. It can be over,” Steve said. 

Over. What did that mean, exactly? The word came from his own mouth, but Steve was still unsure of its promise. For Joyce, the idea was easy. It would mean having her son back home, ending the search. And for Hopper he’d return to work, Steve would guess, unburdened by this nagging supernatural side-story in his life. And for Steve… ? What would it mean for Steve? Going back to school, regularly, perhaps? He couldn’t imagine things being over for himself without needing to conceptualize a life for Nine, too. A new life. She wouldn’t go back to the lab, that wasn’t an acceptable normal anymore. So she’d take up residence… where, exactly? He let himself envision her at his own home for only a second, nipped in the side soon after by the teeth of realism. Hiding wouldn’t do long term, and his parent’s wouldn’t take her in like a stray dog to sleep at the bottom of their son’s bed. He’d also have to consider the people of Hawkins’ Lab. They didn’t just go away, excuse themselves as a problem simply because Will would be found. 

Where would she go?

Where was she now?

“Okay,” Joyce said pensively. Her brows trembled a little as she looked at Steve, an earnest smile sent his way as he looked back at her. 

Hopper dropped his chest, closed his eyes. Two against one, now. He raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head, and opened his eyes to the stare of Steve: wide-eyed, expectant. 

“Okay,” Hopper said, his voice still a little rough as not to show too much compliance. 

Steve’s head rose from his shoulders, a bit dazed by the agreement. 

“Not… not right now, though,” Hop said. Steve’s expression dropped again, and even Joyce turned to face the sheriff with a look of displeasure. “I need time, I’m expected at the station. And I need to prepare, too. If we’re fighting some giant monster and possibly entering another dimension, I need to get some things together.” Steve wanted to roll his eyes (they have to move, now!) but he stopped himself. Better not to be that bold when Hopper agreed in the first place, be grateful for the win. 

“Well- well when? Hop, I need to find him. I need him back.”

Joyce’s words, so tender and so broken. The monster in the wall, the mental image she had saved and sealed tight in her mind, began to shrink; a threat no longer so potent. With the voice of a small child, she begged for the chance to save her own. 

“I-” Hopper started, and he looked down at her, rethought his plan. More wide eyes trained on him. “Tonight. I’ll come back tonight and we’ll do this. I promise”. 

-

Jonathan Byers, or as some may call him: the one still standing. Lanky, awkward, but not without allure. Perhaps someone his younger brother would emulate with personal charm when he grew up. To each their own appeal, but both without a doubt amiable and compelling characters. 

Maybe it has thrown off Jonathan’s stride, though. Being something of an outcast is cause for hardship, even if it shapes a person nicely. And it did, but he stumbled up the steps of his front porch like he was made of sticks.

What he saw when he made it through the door threw him off further: Steve Harrington and his own mother, an intense conversation happening between the two. Sure, Steve himself wasn’t so bizarre. He drove around the kids, Jonathan’s little brother being one of them. He was a friend to them, a more evolved version of a babysitter, and his presence wasn’t too jarring as a casual act. But Will wasn’t around. He definitely knew that. And Steve had already given his help to the investigation, deeming his occupancy unsettling. 

“Mom?” Jonathan asked, still a shadow in the doorway. 

Joyce turned, Steve’s eyes following the same path. 

“Oh! Uhm- Jonathan,” Joyce said, that same awkward energy the person she spoke to often adopted himself. 

Joyce wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Steve participating in the evening’s plans. He was a teenager, though physically bigger than her, a kid nonetheless. She’d rather take the task on herself (okay, she’d allow Hopper, he’d be of great help), but his company was cemented. She wouldn’t be able to shake him, and she knew that, and maybe it would be okay. Her own son was different. She wanted to protect him too, of course, and maybe he was shakable. She realized now that she might have to lie to succeed. 

“Steve wanted to see if he could help out in any way.”

“The house is a mess.” 

This was an uncomplicated response, but also a touch unsettling. Joyce stalled. 

“I know. Things just piled up so quickly,” she said to him.

“What’s going on, mom?” he asked coldly. 

Her ability to lie faltered, she shifted on her feet. “I’m- I’m just trying to find your brother,” she said, voice partially cracked. Steve stood next to her unmoved. He longed to excuse himself, but didn’t see it a viable option. 

“If Steve can help,” Jonathan started, a hand hidden in jacket sleeve motioning to Steve, “then so can I. What’s going on?” 

Steve looked back to Joyce, eyes ping-ponging between the two as they carried out their tense conversation. He really wished he had left with Hopper, at this point. 

“It’s just some routine work with Hopper, nothing you’d need to be here for. You should get out of the house for a while. There are some- some more posters. You could hang those up. That would be a big help,” she said, turning to the table to reach for posters that weren’t actually beside her. Her hands fell back to her sides as she faced Jonathan again, acting as if she hadn’t just looked for something that wasn’t there. 

“Mom,” he said, and he looked at her the way he had been doing a lot recently. “Don’t just push me out of the house. I want to help. Let me.” 

“It’s just-” Joyce stalled again, progressing forward a few steps to land herself closer to Jonathan. She reached a hand up to touch his face, but pulled it back before making contact. Her hand shook and she looked at him with a quivering mouth. “It’s dangerous, honey. I can’t put you in danger.” 

Jonathan had to stop himself from taking a step back, started by his mother’s demeanor. “Wh- what do you mean? It’s okay, I can protect myself, just let me help,” he said, voice beginning to sound frantic, words stacking up against one another. 

“I just. I can’t have you here. Not with Will gone. I need you as my constant, okay?” 

He swallowed once, then a second time when he felt his eyes water. 

A new sound filled the silence as a truck pulled in the driveway, headlights flashing through the window as the sun had recently started it’s descent. All three Byer’s house occupants turned, and Chief Hopper became a figure in the window. He slammed his driver’s door, shuffled around back to take something from the truck bed, then started his stride up the porch. He entered, blatantly (they were well past knocking, right?), but then froze at the sight of the newly arrived. 

“Oh. Shit,” he said. The gun he held was readjusted in his grip. 

“What the hell? What are you guys doing? What’s with the gun. Mom, you don’t even like guns.” Jonathan turned between the two adults. 

“It’s just a precaution, kid. That thing isn’t going to hurt your mom, I promise,” Hopper said, taking Joyce’s place in the conversation. 

“Thing? What thing?”

“Oh…” Hopper trailed off. “Not even the… ? Okay, sorry. I’ll just…” He let himself all the way inside now and closed the door, excusing himself to the sidelines. 

“I’m not leaving.”

“Jon-”

“No! Not with whatever’s going on! I need to be here!” 

-

Whatever’s going on was a fitting description for someone of Jonathan’s isolated position, and someone had to fill him in. 

It took a while. Longer than Steve would have liked, for sure. Hopper wasn’t certain who was in a further state of denial: him or Jonathan. And Jonathan wasn’t leaving, that was decided; or more or less declared. It wasn’t favorable for Joyce, and her knee rattled against her hands as she bounced on the couch. 

“So, blood will draw this thing here?” Jonathan asked from beside her. He was talking to Steve now, and the teenager, older by just one year, confirmed the statement. He picked up the knife he had set down hours ago and held it in his hand, watching the blade reflect colors of red, blue, yellow, and green from the Christmas lights hanging above. 

“Wait, no, no,” Joyce said, standing from the couch in an attempt to gain control over just one thing happening in her home. “You shouldn’t do it, one of us should,” she said, motioning between Hopper and herself. Hopper winced at the proposal, uneasy with the idea of being nominated. 

“Joyce, it’s okay. Really, I need to,” Steve said to her dulcetly. “I'll bandage my hand right up, no worries. I owe it.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” she said. 

“I know. I owe it to Nine,” he spoke softly, a smile somewhere between kind and somber stretching his lips. 

He twisted the blade in his hold, Joyce moving to prepare the bandages he had promised he’d use. He contemplated his hand, where to add a new scar. Opening his fingers, he eyed the line already present across his palm: the old scar, self-inflicted as well, from that first time he’d sewn stitches. He thought about tracing over it, refreshing his memory with the same pain, but closed his fist and opened his other hand. A clean slate. 

He drew a new line across his alternate palm, slowly as not to cut too deep, and breathed out a huff of distress as he created a new cut. The blade came back red (it had fulfilled its purpose), and he practically dropped the knife back down on the table. He gripped his wrist, holding his newly-bleeding hand steady, and turned his grip around for the blood to run down his palm in a thick line of cherry-red. A single drop led the way, and a tiny puddle of his own blood formed at Steve’s shoes. 

Joyce moved promptly, taking Steve’s hand and wrapping it in cloth as soon as the damage was done. He held his breath, a squint on his face as he tried to disregard the pain. 

It happened almost as rapidly as it did the first time, and Hopper and Jonathan looked around, panicked, at the flashing lights. The shaking followed as expected, rattling the house like a bad storm. Jonathan, standing now, turned towards the more experienced. 

“What the hell…” he started, his question falling limp. 

“Back to it,” Steve spoke, a tad blasé.

---

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[mysteryartisticwriter]

Body Stealing Black-Eyed Bitch // Jack Kline/Belphegor X Reader

A/N: I was a fan of the show ‘Supernatural’ WAY before I started to write on this account. I’ve always wanted to write for it but I lost interest in it before I could. But lately, since the show is ending, I got back into my love for the show. My favorite character is of course, baby boy Jack. I just love him so much

TAKES PLACE DURING 15x01 (SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT YET)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTW

Requested: Nope

Warnings: Blood, death and some angst

PART 2

Not my gifs!! (Please tell me if you, the owner, would like me to take the gif down!)

-

Seeing the love of your life die right before your eyes, knowing you couldn’t do anything, was one of the most traumatizing things you’ve ever encountered.

Jack Kline, the sweet Nephilim, was being killed by someone you thought was a friend right in front of you. No one could see it coming, Dean was just about to kill Jack until he managed to come to his senses and lower his gun. Chuck apparently didn’t like it.

With a snap of his fingers, Jack’s screams echoed through your ears and a bright light showed where his eyes and mouth would be. He fell to the ground in pain.

“Jack? Jack!” Castiel asked fantically, kneeling down next to him.

“What’s happening?” Dean asked Chuck.

“Stop it. Stop it!” You screamed, starting to run towards him.

Chuck waved his hand and sent you flying back to a nearby gravestone, breaking it in half and causing you to black out for a few moments. Your head pounded as you tried to sit up, your body aching.

You looked up to see Dean and Cas still trying to help a screaming Jack on the ground, not knowing what to do. As Chuck walked away, Sam looked around for anything. He picked up the gun (the one Chuck said could kill anything) and pointed it at the man.

“Hey Chuck!”

The man turned around and Sam fired the gun straight towards him.

However, once he shot the bullet, it just bounced right off of Chuck’s shoulder and into Sam’s. Sam fell to the ground and Chuck looked at his damaged suit with a displeased face.

“Fine! That’s the way you want it?” Chuck said, looking over all of you.

Each of you looked towards him, scared of what was going to happen next.

“Story’s over. Welcome to the End.”

Suddenly, the sky went pure black. The graveyard was quiet as the rest of you laid on the grass in defeat. Chuck disappearing without a trace.

Groaning in pain, you stood up and tried to run over to your friends.

“Hey, you okay?” You asked Sam.

“Yup. Y-Yup, I’m good.” He replied, obviously still in pain from the bullet.

As you helped him up, you looked over to wear Jack laid on the ground from before, Dean and Cas leaning over him with distraught faces.

“I thought Chuck said that the gun was the only thing that could...” Dean stopped his sentence midway.

Cas looked off far into the distance, trying his best not to break down crying.

“He’s a writer. Writers lie.”

Once you managed to get a closer look at Jack’s body, you covered your mouth trying to muffle a sob. Tears ran down your face as you saw the body of your boyfriend, lifeless and his eyes burnt out. A sign showing that he was gone forever.

You dropped to your knees in despair, doing your best to cover your crying. Dean crawled over to you on the ground and held you in his arms. He had always been like a father figure to you, seeing you so broken was terrible for him. You all had lost Jack, one of the kindest and innocent boys to ever exist.

You felt a rumbling sound come from the ground and you looked up, cheeks full of tears. All four of you stood up in confusion, looking around and off not too far in the distance, you could make out the figures of something escaping from the ground.

At first only a few flew out, then dozens of them came out flying in all directions.

“What the hell is happening?” Dean yelled out.

“The souls,” Castiel told you. “They’re all souls from Hell.”

You and Sam glanced at the angel in horror. Somehow, Chuck had managed to let the souls of Hell escape? As if things weren’t already bad enough.

You kind of spoke too soon. Cracks in the graveyard ground formed and an explosion appeared in front of a stone. When the dust disappeared, the rotting corpse of a man replaced it, walking towards you.

The same thing happened with other gravestones as well, souls flying into their old bodies and popping out of the ground.

Dean had found two iron spears for him and his brother, while you and Cas only had your angel blades, yours being a gift from him. The zombies started to walk to you four, enclosing you in circle. You got into your fighting stance, ready to attack.

Dean went first, trying to kill the clostest ones to him and then the rest of you followed. Cas expelled souls from their bodies, Dean and Sam fighting off as many as they could, and you were going all out on stabbing and killing them.

“Sam! Dean! (Y/n)!” You heard Cas call.

While still trying to fight the corpses, you focused your attention on your friend. You saw him out of the corner of his eye take Jack’s body over his shoulder and run off, the rest of you behind him.

You helped Dean and Sam kill off the ones that were in the way, making a clear path for Cas.

“This way!”

Sam had directed you guys toward into a mausoleum for shelter. You all ran inside and shut the doors tight. Taking a moment to catch your breaths, Cas set Jack down on the ground.

You were trapped in the crypt like flies in a venus fly trap. Maybe Chuck was right, maybe this is the end. While the Winchester brothers and the angel tried their best to think of a way out, you sat on the ground and laid on a wall, your boyfriend’s body not far away.

You felt tears build up in your eyes again, close to breaking down once more. You could hardly look at his body, knowing you could never seen his bright smile or hear his soft voice again.

Memories came back from Kevin Tran, your old best friend. Both of them with their eyes burnt out and dead. You failed to save him too, you failed both of them. Now, they were both gone and all you wanted to do was go join them.

A sound in the walls drew your attention. It wasn’t a familiar sound but it didn’t mean it wasn’t good either.

“Guys.” You tried to call out to the three men.

But they continued to talk and argue amongst each other. You rolled your eyes and yelled to them again.

“Guys!” This time, you got their attention almost immediately.

“I hear something. Something inside the walls.” You said, pushing your ear against the wall and followed the sounds to another one.

“Could be just a sewage pipe line.” Dean suggested.

The sounds in the wall started to get louder, like a pounding. You backed away from the wall and Dean walked past you, pulling a thick concrete slab off the wall to reveal a bunch of bricks.

The brick wall was broken open by another corpse, all of you jumping in shock as the zombie snarled at you. You whipped out your angel blade as the brothers held their spears.

“Cas, a little help here.” Dean said.

The said angel picked up the large cement block and dumped it right onto the dead body. It died and you watched as the soul left its body.

“Well so much for the pipes.”

“The hell are we gonna do now?” Dean questioned.

You and the boys looked around the chambre for anything that could be used as a weapon or an escape route.

“Hello.”

Your heart stopped, you knew that voice. You turned around quickly to see Jack- or at least the body of Jack standing across the room.

You looked at him shocked, wondering what was happening. Was Jack alive? No, he couldn’t be. His eyes were burnt out by Chuck, God. But then, who was the one standing across from you?

“Jack.” Sam whispered in disbelief.

You and the others looked over him, he seemed as alive as ever but just without eyes.

“You’re alive.”

“That’s not Jack. It’s a demon.” Cas said, staring down the body of his son.

“What?” You asked, shocked and confused at the same time.

You knew it wasn’t really him, but a part of you wanted to believe it was.

“Yeah...sorry about that.” The demon apologized, shrugging.

“How in the hell...?” Dean started to say.

“Look I just got here and uhh...I needed a body. So...”

“So you’re a demon?” Sam wanted to confirm.

You started to get angry at this demon. There was no way in hell that you were going to let your love’s body be used by some black-eyed bitch.

“Yeah well I-I would do the whole eyes thing but,” He waved his hand over where his eyes would be. “No eyes.”

He clapped his hands together and looked around the room before setting his eyes-err eye sockets onto a pair of white sunglasses in the corner. A pair that belonged to Jack.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked in anger.

The demon picked up the glasses and set them on his face, making him look like a real human. Making him look just like Jack.

He smiled. “Blending.”

“Get out of him.” Castiel sneered.

“Look, I-I know it’s weird. Okay um,” the demon sighed. “Where do I start? Like the first day of school, I guess. Hi! My name is Belphegor and I’m here from-“

You interrupted him by pushing him against one of the tomb’s pillars, your angel blade against his neck.

“Get out of him.”

The demon just laughed in amusement.

“Cute, I’ve heard about you. You’re much hotter in person than what people say.”

In response, you just pushed him further against the pillar. Your eyes full of fury.

“I won’t ask again.” You hissed.

“No, I can help. Okay, I can help!” He pleaded, looking towards the three men still across the room.

“Why the hell would be want your help? You body stealing black-eye bitch-“

“(Y/n), let him speak.” Dean interrupted you, walking to your side.

“No, don’t, he’s an abomination!” Castiel yelled as he came next to you.

“You’re an abomination to wear that stupid, dumb trench coat.”

You just forced him more into the concrete pillar and glared at him.

“(Y/n), (Y/n), listen to me,” Dean pushed you off of the demon in your boyfriend’s body and directed your focus to him. “We need the help.”

“Like hell we do.”

“He is defiling Jack’s corpse!” Cas tried to tell Dean.

“But if-if he can help,” Dean pointed to the demon. “Jack’s gone! Alright? So let’s listen to what the demon has to say. If we don’t what he says, then we stab him.”

“Cas, (Y/n),” You looked to the taller Winchester sibling. “Dean’s right.”

Not really agreeing but backing off anyway, you slowly walked over to the demon.

“You try anything and I will send you back to where you came from.” You threatened him.

He just wolf-whistled back at you as you went over next to Sam. Belphegor then proceeded to walk to the middle of the room.

“Got a lot of fire in that one. Good thing I like fire, then.”

“Shut it.”

“So we are-“ Sam was about to say before being interrupted by Belphegor.

“The Winchesters. Ah, I know. I read the papers.”

“You have newspapers in Hell?” Dean asked.

“Yeah the wifi sucks. Anyway, I’m guessing this whole thing is kinda of uh...you?” Guessed the demon.

“No. It was God.” Cas corrected him.

Belphegor laughed for a moment, thinking he was joking until he noticed that no one else had laughed.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“It’s a long story.” Sam told him.

“Okay, okay well listen. I’m not some cross road demon, I’m not even one of those black-eyed goons who crawled his way up here and eats virgins, puppies...or virgin puppies.” He joked.

“Look, downstairs I punch a clock. A soul comes in, I torment it- it’s what I do.”

“What’s your point?” You impatiently asked.

“The point is, sweetheart...I like my job! I like Hell the way it is or was. So all those bad guys,” Belphegor pointed to the sounds of the dead souls still pounding on the door. “You want them back where they came from, right? Well, me too! Okay we’re...we’re twinsies, guys!”

“We are not twinsies.” Cas growled at the demon.

Sam gestured up to the sounds of the zombies. “Can you fix this?”

“Umm...no. But I can get you out of here.”

“How?”

“Oh just a little spell. You know, nothing major. I just need some graveyard dirt,” he said as he picked up some soil on the ground. “And some uh, angel blood.”

Cas held up his hand until you grabbed his wrist, protesting against the action.

“No, no he’s not handing over his blood to you!”

“(Y/n)-“ Sam tried to convince you but you ignored him.

“No! What if he’s not actually helping us, hm? He could take Cas’ blood and end up making us...into those zombies outside.”

Dean looked tired, not wanting to deal with you at the moment. “Do you wanna get out of here or not? We could always stay trapped down here until those things eat us alive.”

You bit your lip anxiously, a habit you’ve always had.

“Come on, doll. Don’t you trust me?” The demon inside your boyfriend asked, grinning.

You said nothing and let go of Castiel’s hand, allowing him to cut his palm open with his angel blade and pour his blood over the dirt in Belphegor’s hand.

The man walked into the center of the room, holding out his hands then clapped. The pounding outside the doors silenced right away and the ingredients fell to the ground after the clap.

The guys ran to the doors to check the outside while you stayed back and stared down the demon. He noticed you looking at him and smiled.

“What? No thank you?”

You scoffed. “As if I’ll ever thank you.”

-

A/N: This is only part one! I wanted to make this longer and do the whole episode but this was already pretty long in itself so I’ll just do a second part later

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged in my Supernatural stories!

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 14

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Warning: Unhealthy eating habits! 

___

Remus blinked his eyes open. There was a sound. The ringing of a doorbell? Oh, yes right. He was in Logan’s store. He had been half-asleep and the bell was ringing whenever a customer came in or left.

Logan probably believed he was sleeping. Which was why he had tucked him into this warm blanket. He had come very close and put it down so gently and much more deftness that Remus had had an astoundingly hard time to not just stop pretending to be asleep and let his hand tussle through Logan’s slicked back hair.

“Did you sleep well, Remus?”

With an over-exaggerated yawn Remus stretched his arms and turned to see where Logan was standing right now. And oh, wonder, beside the counter he found him. still a little dozy from his half sleep Remus winked at the man and slowly got up from the chair. Absentmindedly, he folded the blanket he had been given and walked towards the counter.

“Well, I surely was relaxed, so that’s good,” Remus said and placed the blanket next cash register.

Logan let out a huff and told Remus thereafter: “I am happy to hear you found some rest here. Your timing to wake up is quite meticulous; it’s almost five so Roman might get back soon.”

Remus nodded and looked around the shop. There were no more customers around and he assumed Logan wanted to close up soon. He looked back down to the smaller man in this indigo polo shirt and black low-cut jeans. Let-me-help-you, but I-never-need-help. He was not a man who followed his own advice, Remus felt like and grinned a little. Something he definitely shared with his brother.

“Can I help you close up then? Until Roman is back?” Remus asked and flashed him a small smile.

Logan hesitated for a second but then let Remus help him. Remus was quick to get himself busy and asked him how the afternoon had passed and if it had been a usual day for him in the shop. Logan answered all inquires in great detail and did not notice how Remus sometimes took a moment to pause and just watch him talk.

In just one of these moments Logan looked over to him and asked: “Are you ready to talk with your brother tonight? He was terribly upset the last night and he did not seem very well when we saw him over lunchtime. Would you like someone to be with you during that confrontation?”

Remus brain short-cut. For a few seconds he just looked at Logan until he recognized the tiny hints of concern wandering over his face and caught himself.

“That’s a nice gesture,” Remus said and brushed with his right hand over his moustache, “but I can deal with him. He’s – He’s not someone who dwells in rage. And he’s a lot better in talking than I am so… We’ll figure something out, I guess…”

Logan wanted to say something but the sound from a car engine stopped him. Remus looked out of the display window and saw his brother pulling into the parking lot next to their store. He turned to Logan, smiled dryly and looked back to the disappearing car.

“Time to go I guess,” he exclaimed half-heartedly and started walking towards the door.

“Remus!”

Just as Remus was about to exit, Logan had called for him and he looked back over his shoulder.

“I hope your talk will be a success.”

The wording was weird but the sentiment wasn’t lost on Remus. Everything but actually. His face softened for a moment, something sincere and small reaching his eyes and he simply nodded at Logan. A last short wave and he left the building to walk towards their third hand fiat punto.

Remus felt his steps getting a little slower as he neared the vehicle. His brother still sat inside. Head pressed against the headrest of the driver’s seat and hands loosely on the wheel. With a sigh, Remus approached and knocked against the side window. Roman looked up.

Simultaneously, both looked down and huffed.

Remus stepped back from the door and Roman got out. The smell from Chinese Take Away hit Remus in the nose and he stretched out his hand for Roman to hand him one of the bags. There were three of them and the brothers wordlessly walked towards their building and got inside. Once up in their flat, they sat the bags on the table, in wordless familiarity Remus set the table while Roman washed his hands before getting out some of his favourite sauces. Then they sat down and ate in silence for a few minutes.

Remus didn’t eat much. Not too little that he was still feeling hungry, no, just enough that he did not feel quite full yet and ended up watching Roman eat the rest. Watching him eat like this made him sad. Reminded him of all the ways they had been hurt and had been abandoned. Eventually there was a last box with noodles and Remus reached over the table and held Roman by the wrist.

Roman looked up, noodles mid-air between his chopsticks.

“What?” Roman said in a tone which was meant to be passive-aggressive but lacked any venom. “I’m already fat. So, it doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Remus just tilted his head to the side not looking away from Roman. Roman gulped, snorted and laid the chopsticks down. He looked away from Remus, to the floor, angered frown on his face.

Remus took a deep breath and clasped his hand in Roman’s.

“Hey,” Remus said softly waiting for Roman to look back to him, “I know you don’t want us to throw this away. But I don’t want you to stress eat anymore. Because, you say it doesn’t matter but it does to you.”

Roman’s eyes flickered away and Remus took a moment to come up with some sort of compromise.

“What about this;” Remus prompted as Roman glanced to him, “I’ll eat the noodles and tell me what you saw while driving. Is that acceptable?”

Roman’s eyes were wary.

“I’ll sleep in your bed with you, if you do it,” Remus added with a sigh.

The ghost of a smirk rushed over Roman’s face and he took the chopsticks and handed them over to Remus. Gallantly, he pushed the box over to him as well and said: “Alright.”

And with that Roman began to ramble about the route he took and what he had seen. Remus ate slowly and listened how his brother spun a tale of fantasy and mystery out off the most common and ordinary things he had seen on his ways. How a flashlight had turned green just when he was driving towards it and how a boy had danced over the crosswalk when he had stopped for him to cross the street.

Roman could see so much beauty and adventure in little things. He could find solace in a dandelion breaking through the cement and Remus was glad he had this ability. He was glad that despite everything, this remained to be a part of Roman.

But eventually the noodles were empty and both knew they had to have a talk. Quiet again, Roman put the empty food containers into each other and took a sip of water before he met Remus’s eyes. Remus had pressed his lips together and sighed a little. Then he got up and sat down on the chair next to Roman. This would be easier if they didn’t have to look at each other for the whole time.

“You’re angry with me,” Remus said quietly.

Roman’s hand squeezed his for a second before he pulled away and ran his hand down his face.

“Yeah, to some extent I am. But that’s not – that’s not the issue here.”

Remus knew the tone. The I-don’t-understand-and-I-need-to-understand-it-now tone. Cautiously Remus put his arm around Roman’s shoulder. He leaned into the embrace and continued talking.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore… I thought this would fix it. This final move would finally fix it. This is where we wanted to-”

“We didn’t want to be here, Ro. That’s the thing. You wanted to stand on a stage and I wanted to learn in a hospital right now or to work on my newest collection for the fashion week. This isn’t what we wanted.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?!”

Roman turned his face around to look at him and Remus forced himself to level with his look.

“Of course, we wanted something else! Do you think I’m happy I turned out this way? For – I know we’ve been fucked, okay?! I’m – I’m m-might not be a goddamn genius but I know that we’re not okay! And I understand that this move would not automatically make everything okay! I know it needs time and all but – You wanted to go out for the first time in over a year… I have a theatre group… I just… I just thought… I was right to hope for once…”

Roman let his head sink and Remus pulled him into a full embrace. Roman buried his head in Remus’s chest and Remus petted his brother’s head for a moment. Remus sniffled and rubbed his nose with his free hand so it would stop. It didn’t and Roman sat back up again.

“I get it,” Remus said while scratching is arms and nervously looking around, “I know you want to start new but the thing is. It still haunts me. It’s not over yet. And I don’t know if it can ever be over if I don’t end it.”

A tear slipped over Roman’s cheek but he brushed it away and took a deep breath. They needed to tackle this honestly for once.

“So, you will try to kill yourself again?”

This was Remus’s time to push a tear away from his cheek.

“Re?”

Roman’s hand found its way on Remus’s shoulder and he leaned against it.

“I don’t know anymore…” Remus admitted in a small voice. “I don’t care if I die, I think, but you all seem to care so much and – I’m not so numb sometimes? Like, there are moments when things get through. When, when I want to hope with you or am okay to be with the others. Or am uncomfortable to be with them because I don’t want them to judge me? That was gone for so long and now it’s here and it is so much. And I just want it to stop. To stop from ringing my brain, as if it was a fucking gong!”

Remus waited for Roman to rejoice in happiness. To jump from his chair and just focus on the part that he was feeling again.

But that didn’t come.

“Rem,” Roman said ever so gently with a concerned look but no fear, “I don’t know what that means. But if I had to guess I’d say you’re waking up a little. That you finally start leaving the past a bit. And it seems to be very painful for you and I don’t know what to do, but I don’t think it’s bad. I really don’t think so.”

Remus gulped and looked down at his fingers. They were shivering. Roman’s hand was still steady on his shoulder.

“Patton asked me to consider to go to therapy.”

“Do you consider it?”

Remus looked up. And there was the spark of hope.

“I do.”

Roman didn’t know how to react to this. He hadn’t expected that this could be a possibility, so soon after Remus had tried again.

“And I think you should too.”

Roman’s face fell and he was about to pull his hand back. Remus caught it and continued.

“I’m stuck in the past but you can’t run away from it. Not forever. You’re being more forgetful, you still look at yourself with disgust, I know you still take the blame for a lot of it. I know it. And living in the present is all well and good but not when it left you scarred and sick. You need to face it. I don’t know how but you need to-”

Roman launched himself in Remus’s arms and knocked the breath out of his lungs for a second. And then he just held him. Held him while he whined in Spanish, knowing all too well that Remus didn’t understand him through his mumbling but knew nevertheless what it was about. That it was about not feeling to be enough. That it was about feeling tired and exhausted. That it was about wanting to stop feeling this way.

Because Remus knew Roman felt the same way. That it just showed itself differently and tortured them differently. That in the end of the day they just suffered all the same.

And lost in his thoughts he almost missed it when Roman mumbled Janus’s name. Emphasis on almost.

“What’s with the Jazz Daddy?” Remus asked and gave Roman a quick shove.

With a sniffle Roman pulled away and ran his hand over his damp eyes before answering: “And Janus hates me now because I am a wreck of a person.”

Remus blinked. Pressed his lips together before breaking out in a grin.

“He didn’t sound like he hated you when we ate lunch together,” Remus said trying to keep the smugness mostly out of his voice.

Luckily Roman seemed to focused on Remus’s statement to register the not so well-hidden smugness and asked like a begging puppy: “What do you mean? What did he say?”

“He was very concerned about you because you were taking a drive. Like straight up upset. I thought he was only this close to throw his stick away and ran after you and stop you.”

“You’re kidding,” Roman said breathless and Remus chuckled.

“Yeah, probably not this close but he really was upset. And angry with me for letting you do this. And he was also concerned about the stories I told~”

“REMUS!” Roman yelped and jumped from the chair almost making Remus drop from his chair.

But Remus didn’t care and laughed loudly while Roman began shaking his hands and pacing around the room, trying to comprehend the information he had been given. Only for then being interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell accompanied with the short flashing light.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

Tagged for this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@croftersjam15

[koreanfilmjottings]

kim jiyoung, born 1982 (2019)

i knew this film was going to be depressing. depicting the quotidian everyday of a housewife’s life, kim jiyoung, born 1982 sheds light on the daily injustices women face. even if the daily injustice is on its own tolerable, the accumulation of tiny cuts can suddenly make life unbearable.

jiyoung, played by the reliable jung yumi, is not okay. she is chronically depressed, constantly aggravated by the marital bliss that surrounds her and that she is expected to feel grateful for. in trying to meet societal expectations of her as a daughter-in-law, a wife, a mother, a daughter, jiyoung loses her sense of self and the courage to pursue her dreams. jiyoung summarises this the best at the end of the film, where she tells her therapist, “sometimes i am filled with gratefulness and joy when i look at my family and the love around me. but sometimes this suddenly makes me feel trapped. i try to escape, but i run into a wall every route that i take.”

none of the micro-aggressions of gender inequality surprised me in this film. none at all - if it surprised you, you probably belong to the privileged group that society’s structure protects. from how jiyoung’s father tells her to cover up more to prevent boys, who cannot help themselves, from sexually harassing her, to how jiyoung’s mother-in-law’s kneejerk reaction against her son going on childcare leave, to how jiyoung’s girlboss mentor at work had to retaliate against a chauvinistic colleague indirectly through a joke. these are ordinary incidents that happen every day, every where. it’s only now that it’s captured in excruciating detail in film.

and this is not to blame men. yes, yes, not all men. and definitely not gong yoo, who shows us that even husbands with the best intentions can fall short, as they are inhibited by the inevitable unawareness by not being birthed as females. when jiyoung was upset by his family’s pressure on them to give birth to kids, his (well-meaning) response was “let’s just do it - we have to do it anyway, so why not do it now? i’ll be good. i’ll come back early, i’ll help change diapers, i’ll earn money.” when jiyoung replies “but things will change for me. i will feel suffocated”, he doesn’t understand, and not for the lack of trying. but because he continually tries to put himself his wife’s shoes, he finally does somewhat understand the sacrifices she has had to make, and starts making them in return.

does this film provide any resolution? apart from demonstrating the importance of men stepping up in the household, i saw two ‘outs’ that the film posited. (i) women should continually to press at pockets of opportunity they are presented with, and (ii) other women should have their backs when they are doing so, even when their sons eventually marry the women they love.

if i were to put a stern critic’s hat on, this film would be an 8-9, because the source material was already so strong and cemented in reality that botching the adaptation would’ve been harder than pulling it off. but because i can’t think of another film that so realistically portrays the modern woman’s uphill challenges, kim jiyoung, born 1982, to me, deserves a place amongst korean film classics. 

when the book first released in korea, and later the movie, it gathered a lot of controversy. many keyboard warriors reprimanded the book for inciting societal instability and promoting feminism, and even burned photos of celebrities who had endorsed this book. casting gong yoo and jung yumi was a conscious decision to give this film and its feminist perspective a larger voice, but even gong and jung weren’t spared, and to date the book continues to rile up the anti-feminists. this simply shows that the film’s ending is optimistic and rare in reality, and that we have a long way to go in holding the hands of the many kim jiyoungs that exist in your society and mine. --9/10

[daydreamingfics]

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,056

From the time you woke up, you felt off. As if a storm cloud had hovered directly above you, poised to cast a downpour at any given moment. From your hair to your attire, nothing cooperated and had only further solidified that it was going to be one of those days. Despite the mornings series of unfortunate events, you'd remained hopeful. Concluding that maybe, just maybe, the universe would shine a little light upon your gloomy day if you forged ahead optimistically.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Your usual café was closed for renovations, meaning that you had to get your fix from someplace else that wasn't nearly as satisfying and double the price. Although said café was expensive as hell, it still garnered large crowds, which lead to you missing your train. An occurrence that wouldn't have been the end of the world had it not been the last morning train en route to your office. With a frustrated sigh, you ventured back out into the street to hail your last resort, a taxi. You stood under the half-covered train station awning, as unforeseen rain droplets began to scatter along the paved roads. Of course, you didn't have an umbrella. So a maximum effort was required to remain dry but also visible to any approaching cabbie. 

With the weather now mirroring your internal mood, you felt all traces of optimism vanish as you sulked in silence.

Yep, the day was going to be crap from beginning to end.

Much later than intended, but still on-time, you scurried through the halls of SM Entertainment, attempting to remain incognito. Sitting through a mandatory meeting on truancy and the importance of arriving on time, wasn't high on your to-do list. Your supervisor's patented, 'five minutes early is on time, and on-time is late' playing on a loop in your head as you reach your department. As fate would have it, your supervisor waltzed out of her office the moment you were inches away from your workspace. You inwardly groaned as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as she beckoned you into her office with a blatant scowl grazing her features.

Well, shit.

For being 'late,' you were assigned the mundane and undesired task of reorganizing the main wardrobe closet. A job that genuinely required more than one person, yet you were expected to somehow make sense of the slightly organized chaos all on your own. 

You were hoisting a rubber tote above your head in an attempt to pivot it onto a shelf when a faint knock caught you by surprise. Gathering your nerves, you refocused on the task at hand.

"I'm just organizing in here. Did you need help finding anything in particular?" you inquired with your back to the door.

"No, already found exactly what I was looking for," the voice let out calmly.

You froze on the spot, instantly knowing who the voice belonged to as a swarm of butterflies began dancing in your stomach. 

There, standing meters away looking sexy as sin stood Taeyong. 

The feel of his eyes electrified your senses as he thoroughly scanned your body from head to toe. Your eyes raked over every inch of his lithe frame— neither of your stares the least bit subtle. When your eyes finally met, heat pooled low in your belly and caused you to forget how to breathe momentarily. 

"Alone?" Taeyong mouthed with one eyebrow raised, to which you nodded. 

He held your gaze with a boyish smile prominently displayed as he sauntered toward you. It'd been weeks since you'd seen each other in the flesh, as Taeyong had been away on the North American leg of SuperM's, We Are The Future Tour. Despite keeping in consistent contact, nothing compared to the feeling of the boy finally being within arms reach. 

"I missed you so much, Y/N," Taeyong cooed as he leaned forward and whispered the sentiment directly into your ear, cementing his words with a tender kiss pressed onto your ear lobe.

His fingers reached up to raise your chin slightly, pulling you into his magnetic gaze. The simple action caused your heart to beat so fast you thought it'd pop out of your chest at any minute as Taeyong cupped your cheek. His thumb rubbed gently along your soft skin before he snuggled you into his broad chest. You savored his embrace, reveling in how incredible it felt to be this close to him again before Taeyong pulled back slightly to admire you once more. His intense stare fell to your lips as your arms locked around his neck. His hands dropping to your waist as he finally leaned in and gave you what you'd been longing for. 

The kiss started gentle and got a little more daring as you allowed Taeyong's tongue to part your lips. When you finally pulled away for air, nothing but the sound of your combined heavy breathing echoed throughout the space. For obvious reasons, your relationship with Taeyong was very secret, and the last thing either of you needed was to be caught in a compromising position by an onlooker. Especially within the walls of the office.

With one last lingering kiss pressed to your awaiting lips, Taeyong begrudgingly unglued himself from you. Unhurriedly taking backward steps toward the door, he had come in. 

"I'm taking you on a date tonight," Taeyong said matter-of-factly with a devilish grin.

"Tae, you just got back. We don't have to do anything tonight, it's fine, really," you proclaimed in a reassuring tone. Truthfully, you yearned for private time with Taeyong, but you knew just how much was on his plate and never wanted to be a burden.

"Do you know what kept me going when every muscle in my body wanted to give up on tour? You, Y/N. Knowing that I would get to come home to you at the end of it. So please... spend some time with me tonight? I'm fine, I promise. Being with you heals me." Taeyong stated, his voice soft with affection.

It was at that moment you realized that even the most disastrous of days could have a perfect ending if spent with the right person. And Lee Taeyong, without a shadow of a doubt, was your person.

[wolf-555-writer]

Target On My Back Part 7

This one’s kinda long xd. Oops. Enjoy, enjoy.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow x Reader

Summary: After confessing your feelings, Natasha and you are now together. But will it last? Working as SHIELD Agents together seems to be going perfectly, but how about your personal life? The past still seems to haunt you in the nights, but will it only stay in your dreams? Can it all be fixed, or is it way too late for that?

Word Count: 5,523

Tossing and turning. Trying to escape. Trying to run away. Far, far away. A sharp inhale of air, followed by a contraction of all the muscles in your feverish body, you scare awake. Wrapped up in the sheets and the slightly oversized T-shirt sticking to your clammy back. A trembling sigh leaves your mouth, now slightly relaxing. You check your left and your eyes shift over a small picture frame on the wooden bedside table. It holds an old photo, one edge torn off and wrinkled, portraying two people in love - beyond a doubt - who both were stupidly unaware of that at the time. Eventually locking your sleepy eyes on the alarm clock next to the frame. The illuminated numbers read 3:41.

Great… Another restless night. Rubbing your sweat-stained face with your hands in desperation when a calm voice eases, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just a stupid nightmare”, you answer the woman who was peacefully asleep beside you but woken up by some troubled movements. Or was it a memory? You wonder. Natasha sits upright in bed and runs a hand through her messy, red hair before gently placing it on your shoulder. “Was it about…”, she strokes your back softly, “you getting shot? Like the last time?”. She hesitates a bit with the question, knowing the tension it brings. “No it wasn’t”, you grunt, making it sound more resentful than anticipated. Now that your eyes have fully adjusted to the dark room, you’re able to see her upset expression clearly, without a doubt caused by your last comment.

“If it were possible I would take it all back, but I can’t, okay”. Meanwhile the redhead had let go of you, her warm touch replaced by a cold sensation. “I have to live with the choices I made. All the things I did”. Lying down on the mattress again, she has turned her back towards you and pulls on the sheets to cover herself completely. She keeps her secrets, especially about the time in the Red Room. It’s a difficult subject for her. No surprise, judging by the information SHIELD has on the KGB-owned Academy. But you’re hoping that one day she’ll let you in. Under her breath Natasha mutters, “It’s all easy for you”, which was meant to remain inside, but managed to slip out. Unfortunately, a little too loud.

You scoff. “What is that supposed to mean?”. With a quick roll - and heavy sigh - Natasha turns to face you. “Like I said, I have to live with my choices. With all the scars I can’t erase. All you have left are the physical ones. The only reminder. But with a clear, carefree mind, pretending like it never happened”.

“Pretending?! So you think it’s all rainbows and sunshine for me huh? No horrible things haunting my mind?”, you snap. She’s got a point there though. It’s not a contest, but if it was, she would be by far the winner. All the trauma she needs to cope with. And mostly on her own. You're not the only one who has restless nights. 

“Okay, just- forget about it. Forget about what I said. I’m sorry”, you sigh tiredly and let your body plump down on the mattress next to the one you’re sharing this bed with. “I’m sorry, Nat”. Caressing your cheek with the back of her index finger as she whispers, “It’s okay”, causing a small smile to form at your features. A second attempt. “But, the bad dream. I think it was about... when I was younger. Like really young, when I was just a kid. I felt grief and-”, taking a deep breath in, “and anger. A lot of anger. A rage inside of me”.

I can clearly see that ‘rage’, Natasha thinks. Maybe a good thing she didn’t say that out loud. You look at Natasha, expecting an answer, a memory you don’t have anymore. But she turns away, deliberately breaking eye contact, and murmurs, “Just go back to sleep, it’s late”. “Are you kidding me?”. “It’s complicated”. “Complicated? Is that all?”. Oh no, here we go again…

“Well, what do you want me to say, huh? Recruited by the KGB when we were only innocent kids. Raised, trained and forced to kill in the Red Room, and after the mandatory graduation ceremony operatives at that same KGB, doing the most unspeakable things, no questions asked. Do you want to hear that?! Is that it?!”

You remain remarkably quiet, a bit blown away by Natasha’s sudden outburst of words, who in the meantime sat upright in bed again. “We’re both broken. You as much as I am. Don’t you dare deny that”. With that final statement she lays down, facing the wall and not you, tucking herself in tightly. This time there’s no turning around.

After a few minutes Natasha's breathing has become slower and more rhythmic, telling you she's asleep again. Twenty minutes of mindlessly staring at the white ceiling later, you climb out of bed and feel the coldness hit the bare skin on your legs. You really stepped out of line tonight. Did you just assume you both could pick up where you left off? Obviously forgetting about the trying-to-kill-each-other part for a moment... A splash of cold water hits your face, now in the bathroom you stare into the mirror at your own reflection, wide awake. “It’s complicated”, you mutter faintly and scoff. “No. We are complicated...”.

A true balance - that’s the key. It’s not a weakness. In fact, it even makes you a better SHIELD Agent. But you gotta admit, sometimes emotions and feelings can be damn difficult. Like right now. 

“On my way back. All the intel acquired”, you report over the communication device in your ear. “Almost at the rendezvous point, Coulson”. After a not-so-well-rested night, and plenty of coffee, a new assignment for Agent Romanoff and you was waiting in the morning. With a strictly professional attitude you managed to get through the briefing. Or so you thought, because as always you were not that good at hiding your emotions. Keeping that so-called true balance is easier said than done. Fortunately, it was a pretty standard op, also where the two of you conveniently needed to go separate ways. Maybe we’re not meant to be, thinking back to last night's heated discussion still occupying your mind. Maybe it’s better if we’d go our separate ways, because, like Nat said, we’re both broken. Some things just can’t be fixed...

Too caught up in thoughts, you almost didn’t realize you reached the intersection. Agent Romanoff is not there yet. She’s probably right behind you, as she had to cover a greater distance to get here. After 15 minutes of waiting you’re certain she missed the agreed upon meeting place. However, she can take care of herself, so the question to wait for her or to continue the mission is easily answered. You carry on. And besides, you’ll see her at Headquarters for the debriefing anyway. Right? 

“Agent (Y/L/N), how many minutes out till pickup?”, you receive in your earpiece. “Don’t wait up for me”, you inform calmly, though anyone could hear that you’re slightly out of breath. 

“Excuse me? What do you think you're doing?”

“I took a small detour. Might be a little later”. Well aware you’re disobeying a direct order, but it’s not the first time. And above all, it’s for a specific reason. You would do it again in a heartbeat, because something doesn’t feel right. She should’ve given an update about her status. “I tried her comm, but I couldn’t reach her”, you explain. Whatever goes on in your personal life can’t affect you in the field. Both of you know how to be professionals during work. She knows that. You know that. And that’s why you’re worried. It stays silent on the other end, meaning they already knew her communication device is not working. You continue, “Coulson, could you give me her last known location”. Again, total silence. “I know you can hear me. I’m going after her either way, you can’t stop me. So if you could give me the location of Agent Romanoff it would save a lot of time and the faster I’ll be- no, we will be back”. You recalled Romanoff's route from the briefing this morning, but technically she could be anywhere. A sigh is heard through the static crackling, followed by a definitive answer, “... Okay. I couldn’t change your mind anyway. Before the comm went dark she was last seen near a parking garage, 0.5 kilometers south, in the direction you’re now heading”. “Thank you, sir”.

Your gut-feeling was right, because what you encounter on the ground level is nothing good. Nothing good at all. A rush of adrenaline is taking over all of your senses as you spot them. Bodies. Scattered around. Dead. Bullet holes in concrete pillars and in parked cars that their owners safely left behind, unknowing what would happen today. But no Natasha. You’re starting to regret that fight last night more and more. Out of instinct you grab your gun from the holster and proceed with caution, following the path of destruction. You know she can take care of herself, pretty good actually, but that doesn’t mean the situation hasn’t gotten you worried. “Coulson, something has happened here. I don’t know what, but I’m gonna find out”.

How did they find me? Natasha ponders while landing a brutal elbow on a guy’s temple who thought he could easily take her. That was his first mistake, the same all the others before him made. When the ex-spy turns around, leaving the knocked-out idiot behind her, a gun is pointed at her head. “Never turn your back on enemy, makes you easy target”, he mocks with a thick accent. Then a shot is fired. The guy with accent releases his finger from the trigger and leans forward, landing face-first on the cold cement. A dark red hole in the back of his head. Natasha looks up. Standing in the distance, behind a red station wagon she spots a familiar SHIELD Agent.

“I got your back Nat. Always”. She sends a loving smile your way and starts filling you in. “I got ambushed on my way to you and lost signal on my comm, my guess they’re jamming it, so I decided to take cover here. Not so exposed and easier to conceal myself than out there in the street”. “Copy that. I figured, ran into the same problem with my comm too. And good thinking. How many and who are-”

The conversation is cut short, caused by the sound of metal colliding with metal. No time to talk. Both take a stealth position behind the red coloured vehicle and use hand gestures to make a strategic plan. At Natasha signalling ‘Go’ you both dash to a different side, Glock ready, and shoot until you’ve reached the next parked car. 

You listen to their ongoing discussion as they’ve taken cover too. Who are these people? And what do they want? They appear to be talking in a foreign language. Could it be... Russian? You fire a couple of shots and take a quick peek. Your suspicion is confirmed when you identify one of their weapons. Definitely Russian-made.

3… 2… 1, now! Natasha jumps up and slides over the hood smoothly, kicking the approaching goon in the neck without breaking a sweat. You’ve also jumped up at the rear and deliver a precise hook on your attacker's nose, hearing it crack, and follow up with a powerful uppercut on the chin, launching him backwards. Simultaneously grabbing your own guns, Romanoff and you hit the others in sight until both mags are empty. Words such as 'get that traitor' and 'who’s the other one' are echoing through the large, concrete structure accompanied by multiple footsteps. Guess your Russian remained somewhere in your brain after all. Nice. But first things first, considering you're outnumbered judging by the amount of voices, you both have to get the hell out of here. Squatted and leaning against a blue sedan, out of sight for now, you slide in a new magazine when Romanoff says, “We’ve got to do something before they pin us down”. Several rounds pierce the metal of the sedan and the windows above the two of you explode into tiny glass splinters. As a reaction you lift your arm to protect the face and slam your eyes shut. “Totally agree with you, Nat”, you shout back over the loud gunfire. “Good. Cover me”.

“I got you”, you return and steady your gun to fire multiple rounds at a shiny new BMW where the attack originates from. Romanoff runs as fast as she can and you prevent her from getting shot. Although, you can’t prevent the weapons from being fired and bullets start to snap off the concrete. Luckily, she’s able to evade those meant for her and slides the last couple of meters over the rough floor to her desired spot. Lying on her side on the ground, now shielded by a bulky, black SUV, she observes the four targets along the underside of the vehicle, positive she can hit them. And she does. Eliminating every last one of them, till her final bullet.

It’s gone silent. All the lifeless bodies, not making a single sound anymore. Struck by at least one bullet, but most of them by more. In the meantime you jogged to Natasha and she asks, “I'm out of ammo, you got any?”. “Nope, this one’s empty too”. You make a small wave-motion with your Glock and suddenly spot movement in the corner of your eye. A gun, gripped by a short guy appears from behind a concrete pillar close to the shiny, now heavily damaged car where the others came from seconds ago. Patiently waiting for his perfect moment to strike. Unexpected. Both you and Natasha dive to the ground, desperately searching for cover, knowing damn well there isn’t any. Natasha is faster though, as always, but instead reaches for your ankle, followed by two short pops and a thud, resembling a body hitting the ground. “How did you know I carry a spare gun with me?”. She gives a brief glance. Your past. Have you become too predictable? Or predictable to just Natasha? Maybe that's why you two are such a good team. As long as she doesn’t betray you that is. She has done it before, turning her back on you. No, stop it. She won’t do that. Not again, I know her. Right?

“All clear?”, Natasha sort of asks, snapping you out of thought as she sweeps the surroundings with your spare gun. “Let’s not find out and get away from ‘this’ here”. With the coast clear for the moment, you both go searching for a vehicle - one without a flat tire - and decide to split up. Unfortunately, there are not many cars in the parking lot, so you go a level higher, but abruptly come to a halt.

“Wait! (Y/N), just-”. Natasha pauses. “What’s up?”. Is there something she wants to tell you? Something she should’ve told earlier? 

“Be careful okay”. You look at her confused. Not what you expected. You can handle yourself too, she knows that. Then a smile forms. “You know I always look over my shoulder, right”. Yet your answer doesn’t seem to ease her mind. The expression she has, you've never seen before. The worry in her eyes, it’s as if she’s scared. For what? “Fine, I’ll be careful. But for you the same”. She gives a small nod but still doesn’t look convinced. “Let’s see who can score us a ride the fastest”, you challenge and sprint away.

The SHIELD Agent has found a possible getaway vehicle and smashes the window on the driver side to pieces. No car-alarm, that’s why she chose this one. Jump-starting the old pick-up truck that she is about to borrow and without making too much noise Natasha speeds away in your direction. Or so she thought. After searching for what seems to be the entire parking garage multiple times, there’s no sign of you. Only the engine sound of the truck can be heard, nothing else. No Russian-talking, no gunshots, no screams. Everybody is gone. And so are you.

I won't turn my back on you (Y/N). Not again. Never again, she pledges, clutching the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles have turned white. Already blaming herself for not warning you enough. She only wanted to protect you. Yet, this wouldn’t have happened if she had just told you the truth. Right?    

Natasha closes the door behind her with a loud bang followed by a muffled grunt. Thinking back to the conversation that just went down, if it were to be called a conversation. A lot of shouting and wide arm gestures were involved. And anger. “Are you questioning my ability? Or my loyalty?”, is what she’d said to Director Fury. Yet getting the same response back as before. No. SHIELD won’t send a team, stand down Agent Romanoff. Another grunt manages to escape. “So we are all just expendable operatives to you?”, was her last comment before the Director showed her the door.

“So, that didn't go very well I guess?”, a voice eases. “You guessed right”. She marches away, almost so fast that Barton can’t keep up. “Talk to me Nat, who were those guys again?”. “Some people I knew”. “Ah, old buddies of yours”. “That's one way to describe them”. “Not so friendly, got it”, Clint states, barely able to follow Natasha’s pace. “I need to find Coulson”, she eventually speaks. She doesn’t care about losing her job. All she cares about is getting you back. Whatever it takes.

Something in his features tells Natasha that he already knows. “Is this what I think it is?”, he asks the former spy. “Unresolved family issues”, she answers the SHIELD Agent. Maybe it's a good thing (Y/N) can't remember, she reckons while listening to Barton’s astonishment. “Wait- family?”. “It's complicated”, Natasha responds curtly and turns to Coulson again. “You know there’s nothing I can do Romanoff”, he says. “If the Director won’t approve a rescue mission, then my hands are tied too”. Natasha is about to walk away, constructing what seems to be Plan E at the moment - hijacking a quinjet and hacking every possible camera, database or whatever needed to find your position - when Coulson’s words catch her attention and make her stop in her tracks.

“Off the record, I may have the location of Agent (Y/L/N)”. “What do you mean?”. “You have to understand, we had to take the necessary precautions because of your past”. Natasha finishes his explanation, because she understands what is implied here. “A tracker”. The silent nod of Agent Coulson confirms her statement. “Great. So we both got a tracker. Just great. I’m guessing somewhere underneath our skin, around our ear maybe. Undetectable. Am I close, Phil?”. The tone in her voice is close to blame. It cuts deep. It feels like betrayal. Loyal to SHIELD, but is SHIELD loyal to you? No time to dwell on that however. Maybe even give the guy a bit of credit, now she’s at least able to find you. “I care too, you know. Very much actually. Please, just- bring (Y/N) home, okay”, Coulson says with a low tone, feeling as if he failed to protect his own Agent. His responsibility. “Good luck, Agent Romanoff”. 

“Count me in”, Barton offers as he managed to track Natasha’s sprint towards the elevator. “What?”. “Let's save (Y/N). I’m in”. “But I thought that you guys weren’t speaking, that you hate each-”. “Keep up Nat, we had some beers and what’s in the past is in the past”, Clint interjects. She stares at her friend for a moment, “...Okay”, and accepts. “Then let’s go”. The doors open and both get in. “We’ll get (Y/L/N) back”, Clint reassures as he places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder while waiting inside the elevator. “I just- I can’t lose…”. She doesn’t finish her sentence, preventing a trembling voice from being heard. “I know, Nat. Me too. But you do have a plan, right?”. “Of course I do. Plan H. Let’s pay my old pals an unexpected visit they won’t ever forget”.

Waking up. Disoriented. A sharp pain originates from the back of your neck when you try to lift your head up. Earpiece gone. Weapons gone. And hands zip-tied against the back of a firm, metal chair. Ankles secured too. Very, very tight. They’re thorough, you have to give them that. You carefully look around, a dimly lit, chilly, abandoned warehouse. The windows covering the high ceiling are barely providing any sunlight to pass through, coated by layers of filth. Seriously in need of a proper cleaning. Which basically applies to this entire grimy place. Long overdue. It’s better to just demolish the ghost property into a pile of useless bricks - with your abductors still in it. Well, one can wish. A cold shiver passes through your spine. Why not some central heated motel room of sorts? Guess that’s not how the KGB does things. Counting three grumpy, square-shouldered guards watching over you. Maybe more behind, you don’t know, they’re out of your field of vision. The eyes of the three in sight are burning right through you, definitely not thinking friendly thoughts. What do they want with me? Are they after SHIELD intel? Or do they want to settle an old score? Meaning, I’m dead.

Someone enters. An officer it seems, judging by the uniform. He appears overly confident. Full of himself. Someone who uses others to do the dirty work for him. Because he can. Though, he seems more than capable of committing horrible acts to a human being without even feeling a pinch of remorse. At the sight of him your heart starts beating faster, throbbing against your chest. A wave of pure rage flows over you. Why? Maybe it's his attitude that you don’t like, seeing that the other men are afraid of him. Or simply because he's the reason that you're here.

“Tying off loose ends? Shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble”, you mock, sitting straight up and squaring your shoulders, meanwhile trying to find a way to break free from those zip-ties that are eagerly digging into your skin. He laughs. “Kill you?”. With a small wave of his hand the now less crouchy, more anxious-looking guards lower their guns which were cravingly pointed at you this whole time. “That’s what you guys do with traitors right?”. He laughs again and a stern expression surfaces. “It hurts you’d ever think I would do such a thing to you”. To me? What the hell does that mean? You stop moving your arms. It seems as if he recognizes you, as the other men around also seem to. Not that strange considering you’ve been a KGB operative once, but you obviously don’t recognize them. Not even your own dad.

“I'm certain (Y/N) is still alive”. “How so?”. “You really want to know Barton?”, she requests over the loud mechanical humming, giving him a choice before there’s no turning back. A positive nod from Barton made Romanoff begin. As clear and concise as possible she explains her past, starting in the Red Room. “One day a new ‘recruit’ arrived, only a few years older than the rest of us girls. An outsider. Everybody would think twice before engaging. But I didn’t. We stuck together through it all, trying to survive, and became inseparable”. Clint notices the pain in her eyes. She continues and tells that after spending time together, you began to trust each other. You’d told her about the life before, because you, apart from the others, remembered. That your dad was a fierce man working for the KGB, probably the reason why everyone avoided you. Afraid of you, but especially for your dad. “I suspect that (Y/N)’s mother is the reason why she turned on the KGB later on, knowing all too well what the consequences were”. “Why?”, Barton asks, who until now hasn’t spoken a word and is listening attentively. “Well, the KGB officer didn’t deserve the-father-of-the-year award by a long shot. He was an abusive man. A monster. So one night they ran away, (Y/N) and her mom, who was a real angel in living form”. Natasha clearly has respect for the woman, yet she hadn’t had a chance to meet her. “But it didn’t last and he caught up to them. Taking (Y/N) to the Red Room Academy to fuel all the anger coiled up inside, to turn it into something they could exploit”. “Anger? What anger? You just told me (Y/N)’s mother raised her well, good conscience and everything”. “Because-”. Natasha pauses and swallows the lump that has formed in her throat. “Because the father shot her loving mom for taking his child away. Killed, in cold-blood, right in front of the poor kid”, she says as her voice cracks. “And now he learned that his lost child is somehow very much alive and well. So I doubt he’d kill (Y/N), who by the way doesn't have a clue”, she points out ashamed and thereby wrapping up the story. Clint probably has more questions, which Natasha won’t answer, not at this moment anyway. She looks outside through the small, square window. “Besides, it's me who they want to kill. At least, he wants that”. “Wh- And you're telling me this now?! The moment we're about to storm the place, just the two of us?!”, Barton shouts out. “Told you it was complicated”. Romanoff secures the harness she’s wearing and slides the door open. “It's time”.

The uncleaned glass ceiling breaks into a hundred pieces and scatters on the dirty ground below, finally letting the bright warm sunlight in. Eyes closed for protection, you hear the whirring of a helicopter. Something drops down through the roof, guns entering first, secured to a rope and accompanied by multiple shots. Well, that sure as hell is one way to make an entrance.

After mowing down the guards - of which there were apparently six of - she makes a perfect landing on the metal chair located in the middle of the room where you happen to be sitting on and unhooks the rope. Staring into a pair of green eyes you tease, “Took you long enough”. The redhead grins and moves even closer which sends a ripple of pure energy through you. “Sit still for me”, she whispers in your ear and cuts all the zip-ties with her knife in three, quick movements, freeing you. “Oh, for the record, I had it totally under control over here”, you confidently state while rubbing the red, painful skin on your wrists. “Is that your way of thanking me?”, she returns with raised eyebrows and rests her arms on your shoulders while you put yours around her waist firmly. “Nah, I actually had something else in mind”. “Hmm, that sounds more like it”. Both leaning forward, about to properly thank your rescuer, but seem to have forgotten you're not in complete privacy. “Care to do this some other time?”, Barton interrupts flatly, throwing a Glock your way as the two of you quickly got up from the chair - saving it for later. “Thanks for being here”, you say, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Don’t mention it. You would do the same for me”. He hands you something else. “This might come in handy too”, something he and Natasha already slipped on as an extra precaution, “you already got enough scars, no need for more”. “You know Barton, I heard ex-assassins dig scars”, you reply while connecting the velcro straps of the bulletproof vest he gave you to protect your torso. Natasha grins. “Real cute”, then replaces that mesmerizing grin for a serious expression.

“I won’t ever turn my back on you. Never again, you hear me”, Natasha voices just before the action’s about to start. You send her a quick hand kiss and silently mouth, I know, while aiming at the rusty doors that are about to open.

More KGB assholes start to flood the old warehouse space from two entrances thrown open with force, alerted by the sound of broken glass and gunshots. What they don’t know is that the SHIELD Agents have taken cover, hitting the handful by surprise. A shoot-out goes down until the first men are able to reach your hiding ground. Barton and you start to throw brutal punches while Romanoff uses her widow bites, jamming her charged fists into the attackers.

“I’ll go sweep the rest of the warehouse”, Barton states after picking up a rifle from someone who doesn’t need it anymore as the three of you are currently the only people not unconscious, or dead, in this part of the building. “I’ll join and take that way”, you state and grab a new weapon too, whereas Natasha answers, “I’ll find us a vehicle. Be sure to meet me this time okay”. You grin. “I’ll do my best, Nat”.

After searching half of the unconscious, or dead men on the ground, she’s about to hit the jackpot. A set of car-keys. But before she can get a hold of it, she hears a sound. She's not alone anymore. “Natalia, so nice of you to join”, someone says, “or should I say, Black Widow?”, accompanied by a set of footsteps becoming louder. Without turning around she speaks, “Yeah I wish it were under different circumstances, like you six feet under with me holding the shovel”. He laughs. “How thoughtful of you”. “Guess your men weren’t that thoughtful, they might have underestimated me”. Still her back turned towards the person speaking to her, continuing her search meticulously. “I know they underestimated you. Something I would never do, Natalia”. The sound of a gun close to her loading up for its next shot made her spin around. Car-keys in one hand, her Glock in the other.

Someone is pointing a weapon, but hesitates to pull the trigger. Like she also had, merely one time before. “Why aren’t you doing something?!”, you shout at the KGB officer in anger, a steady grip on the gun handle. He isn’t even defending himself. The three of you positioned in a triangle, you look at the man claiming to be your dad and then to the person you love who stares at you with worried eyes. “It’s okay (Y/N). You don’t have to do this”, Natasha eases, but it doesn’t calm you down. She sees the hatred burning in your dark, dilated pupils. It’s strange, you don’t know who this man is, or what he did, but he makes every fiber in your body scream. There's so much pent-up rage. And yet, nothing happens. The trigger isn’t moving. “So? What are you waiting for?! Do something!”, you shout again, noticing the gun quivering in your hands. He shakes his head. “You’d always let emotions get the best of you. It’s weak. But I wouldn't kill my own child, you know that”, he answers calmly, looking at you. “And what about the mother of your own child?”, Natasha says accusingly. “What? My… mom?”, you speak softly, even more confused, and meet Natasha's sorrowful eyes.

He laughs once more. The evilness in it makes Natasha shiver. “Love is for children. It's pathetic. And traitors…”, in a flash of a second he grabs his pistol, “we all know what happens to a traitor”, and aims. It's not a regular weapon. Not like the ones his men were using. He probably kept the best for himself. Selfish bastard. Regardless if you remember him or not, he isn't aiming at his own child. No. Following the barrel’s trajectory your eyes stop at the sight of another barrel. A Glock held by a beautiful redhead now less than two meters away. Oh shit...  

Two shots are fired, and two people hit the cracked, cemented floor. It all happened so fast. One of them deserved it a long time ago. The KGB officer, your cruel father. Dead. And the other one… Meanwhile Barton made his way back, having cleared the whole building but freezes when he enters. With an open mouth he stares, speechless, and his eyes getting watery. It wouldn't have been a problem and led to this outcome if the now dead officer had used any of the other guns here present. Yet, the rounds from his pistol were not standard. These were able to pierce one’s body armor. Your body armor.

“Don't leave me. No... Not again. Not now. I just got you back…”, Natasha says hoarsely, fighting back tears and holding you in her arms. Her recently fired gun now next to her on the cold ground. A tear rolls down her cheek and she presses her soft lips on your forehead. After the delicate kiss she whispers,

“I love you. Till next time, (Y/N)...” 

PART 8       

Tags: @5aftermidnight​​​, @ohfuckno​​​

[viltrumitesuperboy]

From Villain to Hero (Peter Parker x Male Reader)

So. This took forever. Lack of motivation and stuff like that. Here’s a real dumb fic. Plot holes and things.

Sorry about the gif, there aren’t any good movie ones cause they all show his face. Peter’s like 17-18 in this one.

Word count: 2823

Much like your best friend Wade Wilson, you had been experimented on. As a PI, you knew how to find him, and you got a little too close. It wasn't fun and it left you both with trauma, but you bonded over your unfortunate times. He took the route of killing people and you didn't. He was kind of an antihero, and you were just trying to look out for yourself, which kind of made you one too. People normally called you the bad guy just because you were trying to survive in this capitalist society.

When you got into the whole "bad guy" business, you didn't want to hurt people and you never hurt anyone. So it was only a little bit of a shock when you had a run-in with Spider-Man.

"You could just put the money down and turn yourself in, you know?" Spider-Man suggested as he shot another web at you. "You're not directly hurting anyone, but you still affect parts of our economy."

"No can do, Spidey," you calmly replied, easily dodging the shot. "I got things to do, people to date, food to buy... and sorry about ruining our wonderful date, so you can put it under my tab. Name's (Y/N)."

You held the bag tight as you made for a quick exit. There was no signature exit because you didn't want people like Spider-Man stopping you once they realised there was a pattern. You squeezed the handle of your weapon and smashed a window. You broke the weapon in half, chucked it towards Spider-Man to distract him, and jumped out of the two-story window.

You disappeared before Spider-Man could catch you. You casually limped onto the subway car with your duffel bag, the bones in your leg definitely out of place. You could hear some of the passengers make sounds of disgust or shifting uncomfortably when you dropped into a seat to snap the bones back in place. You felt less pain, no thanks to the experiments done on you.

You went to yours and Wade's apartment. You dropped the duffel bag, then yourself through the window.

"Hey, kid. What's this?" he asked, going right past you for the duffel bag.

"Hey, I'm a legal adult. And this is our rent, food, and other expenses covered for 2 months," you replied, flipping onto your back and panting from having to climb up. "One and a half if you keep treating Spidey to food when you hang out."

"Whatever. Don't you have that other thing? You sell your bones so people can make weapons and shit?" Wade asked, inspecting the money.

"They're valuable. Not everyone's going to want to pay thousands or close to a million for a single adamantium bone," you explained. "Lower quantity means higher demand. Higher demand means higher price."

"You sound like a fucking capitalist."

"Only way to live in this world, Wade."

He nodded in agreement and tossed the bag into the corner, then grabbed your forearms to help you up.

"Someone called earlier about your PI shit. It's some HR dude who wants to make sure their interviewers aren't criminals. You know, the usual," Wade informed you. "Gave him your email."

You thanked him and grabbed your phone to check the email. You started making food for yourself and waved goodbye at him as he left to find Spider-Man.

The first time you had a civilised conversation with Spider-Man, he called Deadpool and you sat there, tied with his webs, containing your laughter. Of course Wade never mentioned you.

"Spidey, how're the wife and kids?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, first of all, bold of you to assume I have a wife. Or kids. Or like girls. Second, how are yours and Deadpool's masks so expressive?"

"The eyes. Same eyes I use to look for you just to commit a crime. I also use them to check you out. You have a nice ass."

In an attempt to cover it, he quickly turned his entire body to face you. It took him a moment to recover and he spoke again, sounding flustered.

"Okay, no, stop."

"Aw, c'mon, Spidey. I thought we had something going. I mean we've had like over 10 dates already."

"That's because you committed a crime!"

"Like you've never stolen before. Also, you didn't say they weren't dates."

"They're not. And if you say your heart, I'll drop-kick you right here."

"Hey, Webs. How's- oh," Wade said as he paused once he reached the roof of the building you both were on.

"Deadpool! I got the bad guy, the villain I was telling you about, he has those adamantium weapons. And I was thinking that he was the one buying the weapons online. I found a website and stuff, I'm sure I sent it to you," Spider-Man ranted.

"Spidey-Boy. This is the friend I was telling you about."

Spider-Man stopped and stared at Wade.

"My best friend who is absolutely wonderful, definitely around your age, and has an adamantium skeleton. So Wolverine but he likes me better. He gets money from selling his bones and looks out only for himself and people he cares about. He's like my little brother. And bonus: he doesn't kill."

You offered him an apologetic shrug as Spider-Man seemed to glare at you from behind his mask. After a few silent moments, he hopped off the roof and swung away.

"That could have gone better," you mumbled, breaking the webs with a quick pull.

"Let's get you home."

Over the course of a few months, you started making money off the adamantium once you dropped the price a bit. Turns out you didn't really need to. A certain "Howard Potts" was buying most of them. You knew it was Tony Stark, and you'd probably give it to him for free if he asked (you looked up to him a lot), but you didn't mind the money. Maybe you'd tell him someday.

You only ever suited up to bother Spider-Man. If Wade helped him out, you stood to the side and yelled and jeered at the "bad guys." Wade didn't really care. Spider-Man would always scold you afterwards, but you always had a reply.

"You can't just stand to the side and do nothing!"

"I can do whatever I want. And I can totally ask you out on another date."

"We haven't even been on one."

"That's not what you said last time!"

"Shut up!"

"Not hearing a no."

And you weren't sure if he was getting more flustered or more used to your comments.

"I've been thinking about why you reject me. You dating someone?"

"No.”

"Okay, so why not try out a date with me?"

"Because you're still a vigilante. Bye, Mr. Criminal!"

He took the last bite of the food you were both eating before packing it up and standing to leave.

"Oh, come on. 15th date and you won't even give me a kiss?"

His cheeks began to turn red, and he quickly yanked his mask down. You snickered as he swung away with the plastic bag of food following his movements.

When there was a bigger threat in the city that had to include the Avengers, you finally decided to jump in. You ended up bringing two weapons and wielding them like Deadpool would his katanas. You called and told him the intersection closest to you, and he was there in minutes.

"Okay, so what are this guy's weaknesses?" you asked Spider-Man.

Iron Man tossed you an earpiece which you caught and put it your ear, listening to the others.

"As far as we know, no weaknesses," Black Widow said. "He's just really strong and really good with weapons."

"Hey, you know the story of the Greek warrior Achilles? We got an Achilles' tendon for a reason. I mean, this guy doesn't really need it anyway," you scoffed.

"Kid, shut up," Iron Man said. "You got a name?"

"I would say Crossbones but that's taken. Call me uh... Bone... Breaker?

"Cause he has adamantium bones!" Deadpool suddenly shouted into your ear.

"We know," three voices said.

You ran and jumped on a slab of cement the dude was trying to pick up, stabbing your weapons in to keep it in the ground.

"Buddy, you need a therapist if your problems are that bad."

His already angered expression seemed to get a little angrier and he swung a lamppost at you. You grabbed your weapons back as you jumped clean over it.

"Ooh, are we playing helicopter?" you gasped.

Spider-Man had joined as well to attempt to web the guy down, jumping over the pole as it swung towards him.

"This isn't very family friendly," Spider-Man quipped as he webbed the guy's arms to his body and his legs together. "That won't stop him for very long."

After a brief moment of his struggling, he broke free, and the other avengers stepped in to try and keep him down.

"Get somewhere safe! Bone-whatever, try and get something made of adamantium to keep him down. He's not strong enough to break through."

It all happened in slow motion. From the corner of your eye, you watched Hulk running towards you to fight the guy in front of you at the same time the man pulled one of those (really cool) martial arts moves and leaned onto his arms behind his head and kicked his legs. Not onto the ground, but into your chest to send you flying really high up so you had no idea where you were. There were fucking clouds up here, Jesus Christ. How strong was this guy?

At the angle he kicked you, you were moving in a parabolic direction. Once you hit the highest you could go, you looked down and knew that you wouldn't survive this fall. Everyone else was occupied and didn't know where you were, so there was no one to save you. As you neared the ground, you saw that you would land in a park where there weren't too many people. A miracle, you supposed. Some of them looked up and they started to scramble and run away. Thank god for cloudy days.

The last moments of your life was an attempt to move your weapons so they wouldn't kill you first. That would kind of suck. So they were attached to your legs with the few moments you had left. You closed your eyes and felt yourself get closer to the ground. A brief flash of pain through your entire body, then you felt nothing.

Deadpool, thank FUCK, had supplied weapons. How they were going to stop the dude without Bone Breaker, they didn't really know. But Spider-Man had the wonderful idea of making a net  with the (somehow they were rods) adamantium and connecting them with nitinol. Deadpool suggested killing the dude to avoid the trouble, and everyone gave him disapproving looks.

"Wait, Bone Breaker!" Spider-Man exclaimed.

He ran and began to swing uptown, Deadpool following after. He felt something under his arms carrying him, looking up to see Iron Man.

"Mr. Stark, do you think he's okay?" he frantically sputtered out.

"I don't know, kid. That was a hell of a fall."

Deadpool was shouting after them, doing his best to keep up. He fell behind eventually, but Peter knew he would get there quickly.

An entire park that was about 4 blocks long on each side was pretty much gone. Towards one end was the hero's body.

"Oh god, Mr. Stark. Please don't tell me he's..."

"Go check on him, I'll be right here to call for help."

Peter was let down and he sprinted towards the figure he could barely make out. Tears marred his vision and he dropped to his knees next to you. He pulled off your mask, almost breaking down when he saw your bruised face and bleeding skull.

"(Y/N). Please be okay," he blubbered. "You can't- you can't leave me, please. You're one of my only friends, please be okay."

There was no answer and he slowly lifted you under your back and your knees to lay flat on the ground. Your eyes remained closed and your chest unmoving.

"(Y/N), please. We're getting help, come on. You're gonna be okay," Peter gasped out, pulling his mask off as he hunched over you. "You have bones made out of some of the strongest stuff known to humans, how would you not survive that?"

Peter was sobbing at this point, but he heard the sound of people shouting to get back and a vehicle come up close to them. He saw "Stark Industries" printed on the side. At least his identity wouldn't be revealed through his recklessness. But desperate recklessness. He pulled the mask back on and picked your body up, carrying you into the van and placing you down.

"I don't really have ambulances so this is the best I could do," Tony said quietly. "We'll do our best to help him, Peter. I'm-"

"Wait!"

Deadpool barreled straight into the back of the van and shut the doors, motioning for the driver, Black Widow herself, to go. She rolled her eyes but obliged.

"He'll be fine. Just give him a few minutes," Deadpool panted. "Jesus, you guys need to let me come with. I was gonna say that his healing powers are amazing, could even rival mine. Trust me."

Peter yanked his mask off once more and stared into the white eyes of Deadpool's mask.

"How- How good? Like, come back to life good?" he almost whispered.

"Well his bones aren't made of the same material as mine and if he breaks them, he just pushes them back into place — really gross by the way — and then it heals in minutes. I don't think his heart has stopped before but I think if he's anything like me, he'll be okay."

Peter grabbed Deadpool around the waist and hugged him, trapping his arms and all. Tony sighed.

"Okay, no hugging the murderer. If he's right, the most we can do is make (Y/N) comfortable."

A quick drive to the Avengers Tower and a medical room later, Peter could literally hear your bones moving. Honestly it was probably going to be one of the grossest things he's heard in his life an hour from now, but it was the most beautiful sound because he knew you were healing. He occasionally lifted your back to make sure your spine was aligned, and he would push something into place if it wasn't. The doctors didn't stop him, even encouraged it because they knew Spider-Man would have the strength to do this thing.

It felt like hours, but he looked up at the clock and it was only a few minutes. Like, 10 since you were found and placed in this room. That short.

Minutes after, you thought you were physically feeling your entire body turning back on as your brain repaired itself. Your body involuntarily jolted up and your eyes snapped open.

"That felt like I just did heroin and then it wore off and then had whiskey. And I've never had either of those."

Someone suddenly hugged you from the side, and you looked to see Spider-Man.

"Did I die and go to Heaven?"

"No, you died and came right back," Spider-Man sniffled, pulling his arms away.

"Were you... crying?" you asked cautiously.

"I didn't realise that you weren't actually dead but then Deadpool told us that you heal like he does. And that whole thing made me rethink my entire life like 'that criminal (Y/N) seems to like me and he died and I kind of like him so maybe we should date when he’s alive again' kind of thing," Spider-Man said all at once.

"I'm on a hospital bed and I feel like my brain is mush," you complained. "When I'm better we'll talk more."

He pulled his mask off and put his hand holding his mask over yours with a small smile.

“I’m Peter Parker. And I’d like to ask you on a date after you feel better,” Peter said.

You reached to take yours off and noticed there was nothing there.

“They said you should be comfortable so I told them to leave and took your mask off,” Peter continued. “I’ve been setting your bones into place and whatever.”

“Isn’t that like... really gross to you though?” you grimaced.

“Not as long as I know I’m helping you. Go to sleep and then we’ll talk later.”

He slowly pushed you back down to lay on the bed and kissed your forehead. You felt your face heat up just as his began to turn a bit red, and you managed a small laugh before allowing yourself to shut your eyes.

[dontshootmespence]

Aastha

Part 3 of 4

Summary: After an unimaginable loss, you discover your powers and become even more cemented in your faith. Sam experiences a similar loss and struggles with it. When you meet, how will your lives change?

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Indian!Superhero!Reader

Words: 1,922

A/N: This is for @bucky-smiles 2K Bollywood Writing Challenge! My prompt was Jab Tak Hai Jaan. The thing that stood out most to me was both of the protagonists’ struggles and/or commitments to faith, so that’s what I drew on for this fic. Although I know that Sam is an orphan in the comics, having lost both his parents to violence, I had him be raised by his mother, so she’s still alive here.

Beta’d by: The lovely @bucky-smiles herself. I wanted to make sure I did the culture and religion justice, so thank you! Also beta’d by another Indian lovely @emilyshurley​, who also made the above aesthetic for me. Thank you both for working with me. It meant a lot for me to get the culture and religion right because representation fucking matters, so your help was invaluable to me. <3

A relationship, or gasp!, love had never really been in the plans, until that morning at the Washington monument, bonding with a man named Sam Wilson about the infuriating whirlwind that was the 30-minute, 13-mile Steve Rogers. “He’s insufferable, right?” You asked, breaths heavy yet steady at your pace.

“Unbearable,” he laughed, letting go of the competition with Steve to hang back with you. “You’re Agni, right? New Avenger?”

“Been with them for about two years now, so not new. But newer. And the name’s Y/N. And despite the “A” it’s pronounced ‘ugh-nee. It’s the Sanskrit word for fire.” He smiled; impressed.

You’d never felt the need to hide your story – how you became who you were - but what Sam said next took you aback. “Sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks,” you replied, smiling fondly at the memory of her perfectly imperfect smile and shining brown eyes. “I can’t say for sure why I made it out and she didn’t. All I know is what I believe. I plan to do right by her memory.”

“That’s really admirable,” he said genuinely. “I lost someone too, and I think it broke my faith. I admire anyone who can keep it.”

“I have to,” you replied. “My faith grounds me.”

----

It was your distinct differences in regards to loss and faith that drew you closer. Sam was consistently inspired by your ability to hold onto something so intangible as faith when you’d lost so much. After every mission, you all needed to decompress, and you decompressed in your own unique ways, but time and time again, the two of you spent your time together, watching bad movies, eating popcorn, playing pool – or more accurately kicking Sam’s ass at pool – but hey.

Though he’d lost his faith in God, you’d encouraged him not to lose faith all together, instead channeling that belief into something tangible. “What do you mean?”

“Well, faith is a shaky thing for some people. Because you can’t see it. What can you see? What can you see that you believe in?”

“This team. People. I believe in people.”

“Then that’s where your faith lies. You still have it; it’s just changed course.”

“How are you so wise?” He asked with a laugh.

“Just gifted, I suppose.” Leaning over, you kissed the underside of his chin. Somehow, through all this, you’d just found each other. There’d never been any official discussion of what you were to each other – you just knew. He was your best friend and confidant; the man you loved. Another blessing you were sure. There was no animosity between you and anyone else on the team; you got along with everyone, but you found solace in Sam, and he in you.

No one questioned it either. Not even Tony. Though he poked fun every now and then, which you would of course return, because he had Pepper. After a week without any action, you were almost starting to feel left out, until you, Sam, Nat and Steve were called on a mission.

At the rendezvous point, Fury briefed you on your mission. “Pieter Sidorov,” he said, looking straight toward Natasha. “You know him, right?”

“The Russian scientist and mass murderer? Yea, I’m familiar with his work. Rescue mission?”

“Extraction. We still don’t like the guy. He’s still a grade-A asshole. But after the fall of Hydra here, everyone left that’s loyal has gone into hiding. And Sidorov is aiding what’s left of Hydra within KGB airspace. I need the four of you to get him and bring him back. We need him alive.”

The four of you nodded simultaneously, your mission clear. With the help of a few still-trusted SHIELD pilots, you made your way into former KGB airspace. “Okay, what’s the game plan?” Sam asked, already outfitted in the new and improved EXO suit; Tony had made a few adjustments in the likely case one or both of the wings were damaged, so hopefully he would never be down for the count again. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“Pieter Sidorov is a fucking genius. When you have that kind of intelligence, you go one of two ways, good guy or the worst guy. Guess which Sidorov is?” Nat started. “Anyway, he has no superpowers himself. It’s his suit. He developed a suit that allows him to suck the powers, and essentially life, from other super-powered people.”

“What can he do?” You asked. “He’s just any regular guy without the suit, but with? What do we have to look forward to?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, rattling off the list of abilities the suit imbued him with – telekinesis and telepathy. “With, obviously, the added bonus of sucking whatever powers you and Steve have,” she said, tilting her chin toward you. “So if he’s got the suit, don’t get caught.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you laughed. “We go in teams of two, yea?”

Tony and Steve were your de facto leaders, so you all looked to Steve for your assignments. “Yea. Nat and I will infiltrate the right side, you and Sam go left. Nat will hack us into the system and shoot the map of the inside of the helicarrier to your watches. You might think we need the suit too, but we don’t. It’s programmed to work with his DNA. Without him the suit is useless. We take everyone out in our way and grab Sidorov, unharmed, and bring him back to Fury. From there –“ He hesitated. “From there, I don’t want to know what Fury’s gonna do with him.”

You trusted Fury, but he was definitely a scary man. “Me either.”

“All of us will leave the way Nat and I went in. Sam, make sure your wings are operational. The rest of us, make sure our parachutes are ready to go. As soon as the pilots make the drop off, they’re out. When we hit the ground, Nat has a way out.”

“What way?” Sam asked. “Car, bus, train?” She didn’t answer, her face showing no indication of releasing her secret. “Secret underground base?”

When she raised her eyebrow, you and Sam exclaimed at the same time. “Shut the fuck up.”

Smiling, Steve ensured that everyone had their orders. “Alright,” he said, turning toward you and Sam as the pilot pulled into the hellicarrier’s airspace. “See you two on the other side. Be careful.”

“You too, Cap,” you said quietly.

After Steve and Nat jumped onto the roof of the carrier and made their way inside, the pilots swung around the left, letting you and Sam out before speeding away under the cloak of night. “Back me up,” you said softly.

“Always.” Your back was to him but he spoke with a smile. “Ten o’clock.” Sam hid in the shadows as a man, presumably a guard, approached. Your size, and apparently boobs, always made men underestimate you, leaving you the perfect opportunity to slip them into a chokehold and wait until they passed out.

The moment the guard fell to the floor, Sam emerged from the dark hallway. “Have I told you how sexy that is?” He asked.

“Not now, Sam,” you laughed. “But yes. And please tell me more when we get the fuck out of here.”

Within a minute of knocking the guard out, Nat had uploaded the map to your watches. Unfortunately, it also alerted the entire crew on board to your presence. You figured that would happen. “Alright, stay at the ready,” Sam spoke. “How many people on this helicarrier?”

“About 500.”

“Fuckin wonderful.”

Quickly, you glanced down at the map on your watch, charting the quickest and easiest way to where they were keeping Sidorov. “Right in the middle. Great. They’re coming after us either way. Wanna stealth it or make an entrance?” You asked.

“Baby, do you even have to ask?” Sam laughed.

“Entrance it is.” As you charged forward, Sam followed your lead, handling any stragglers that happened to make it beyond your wall of fire. Those that didn’t run scared, fell victim to your wrath, dissolving into piles of ash snaking through the grates at your feet.

From the opposite end of the vessel, you heard the cacophony of screaming voices. Of course, Steve and Nat were holding their own just fine.

A nearly 300-pound, 6 foot tall Russian made his way past you. Big dude, but agile as hell. He’d assumed you were the strength out of you and Sam, disregarding him to try and take you out. But that was his mistake. As the man put you in a chokehold, Sam pulled out a knife, dropping down and slicing both of his Achilles before spin-kicking him in the face and over the railing. “Thanks, babe.”

“No problem. Let’s go. I want outta here.”

Your well-oiled machine moved swiftly through the maze-like hallways. You’d have a few cuts and bruises, but since joining the Avengers, that was pretty much Tuesday. As you approached the room where Sidorov was being kept, you made your silent prayers for the successful completion of this mission. You’d always prayed beforehand, in one way or another, but in the thick of it, you couldn’t help but offer up a few more silent prayers.

Melting the metal doors before you, Sam barreled past you and grabbed Sidorov, before running straight into Nat and Steve. Sidorov’s eyes sparked with a hint of recognition. “Natasha?”

“Aww, so sweet, you remember. You’re coming with us.”

Steve took the front lines of your escape route, using his shield to push over everyone in his way, while Nat and Sam handled the scientist and you kept an eye on your six. “You ready to jump?” You yelled, wind whipping your skin as Nat opened the door they’d entered. She pushed Sidorov out, sans parachute, and was followed quickly by Steve, leaving you and Sam to bring up the rear.

“Go!” Sam screamed.

Despite having jumped out of planes with the team before, it never got any easier. As you sailed through the air, you chanced a glance back and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Sam jump too, only to watch a hook pierce the middle of his wings, ripping them off, and knocking him off balance. He spiraled in mid-air; you screamed into the wind, unable to do anything else but pray Tony’s upgrades kicked in.

Turning your attention toward the rapidly-increasing ground below, you waited for the right moment to deploy your parachute. When you ripped the cord, the parachute deployed, but apparently during your scuffle with the Russian guards, one of them had managed to slash it.

“Fuck!” Your heart raced as the ground approached, bracing for impact.

----

Sam panicked for a moment before his backup wings exploded out of the back of the EXO, giving him control once again. When he looked down, he saw his worst nightmare. “Not again. God, not again.” Y/N was fast approaching the earth with a slit parachute; she had a healing factor sure, but there would be nothing to heal if she pancaked into the pavement.

He retracted his wings and sped toward the ground, his hand stretched out in an attempt to grab her, the parachute, anything that might soften the fall. “Please God, don’t do this to me.”

Within a few hundred feet of the ground, he managed to grab her, only to have the chute make him lose his grip. For the second time in his life, Sam watched as someone he loved fell toward the unforgiving earth.