#i think we rolled like twenty investigation checks

[glove23]

what dnd actual play shows don't show u are just the long stretches of silence while ur players take notes/look through their things and the DM just stares off into space contemplating how little they prepared for the session

[belovedspector]

Leap Year

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader (mentions of Steven Grant x gn!reader and Marc Spector x gn!reader)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Jake has never celebrated his birthday. He didn’t even have a birthday, until you urged him to pick a date. Of course, he picks the most chaotic date possible.

Content: Fluff, one use of a pet name (honey)

A/N: I was thinking about the fact that it’s a leap year, and this idea sort of just came to me. I don’t have much else to say about it. Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

“When’s your birthday?” you ask out of the blue one day over dinner.

Jake pauses, forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. Carefully, he places the fork back on his plate and says, “Don’t have one.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Jake shrugs. “I know Marc’s is March ninth. I didn’t exactly check the calendar on the day I first showed up.”

“What about Steven?” Your food is now totally forgotten.

“Same as me, I guess,” Jake says. He looks into the reflection of his glass, likely listening to one of his alters.

You sit there for a few moments, deep in thought. Finally, you look up at Jake. “Well, then you’ll have to pick one.”

“What?”

“You and Steven should pick your own birthdays.”

Oh, boy. Jake knows that look in your eyes, knows from the way they’re sparkling that there’s no way you’re letting this go.

“Look, I dunno—” he tries.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” you encourage him.

Jake knows there’s no getting out of this. “Fine,” he relents, pretending to be more annoyed than he actually is. Really, he thinks your enthusiasm is adorable, and he’d do just about anything to make you happy.

You cheer. “Great! Do you want me to help you pick a date? I should have some astrology books around here somewhere—”

“Astrology?” Jake scoffs. “I don’t need astrology. I already know what date I want.”

“Oh? Which one?” You lean forward in anticipation.

“February twenty-ninth.” Jake sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“February twenty-ninth?” you repeat. “Why?”

Jake shrugs. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, I—” You sigh. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ll put it in my calendar,” you say with a smile. “Now, we just need to find a birthday for Steven.”

“He’s already blabbing on about it.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “I think he’ll take you up on the astrology book offer.”

“Perfect!” you say. He can see the moment you get that faraway look in your eye, no doubt already analyzing which sign would match Steven best.

Seasons change, time marches on, and Jake completely forgets about the birthday conversation. Sure, Steven had made a big fuss over choosing his own date for a while, but, once that was settled, there was no need to think about the matter anymore.

So, it comes as a shock when, on a random winter day, Steven has called out of work and insisted that Jake take the body. Jake tries to argue, to get Marc on his side, but it’s no use. His alters slip deeper into the headspace, leaving Jake alone for the time being.

He notices you’re already out of bed, and it’s at that moment he hears movement coming from the kitchen. He throws on a t-shirt and sweatpants and gets up to investigate. Sure enough, there you are, singing to yourself as you stand at the stove.

Jake has spent a lifetime creeping in the shadows, so he’s gotten very good at sneaking up on people. Silently, he moves across the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from behind. You startle before laughing and leaning into the touch.

“Good morning, Jake,” you say brightly.

“Morning, honey,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. “What’re you doing?”

“Making pancakes.”

Jake perks up at that. “What’s the occasion?”

You laugh. “Don’t you know what today is?”

Jake thinks about it. “March first?” he tries.

“It’s a leap year, silly,” you correct him, “so it’s February twenty-ninth. Happy birthday!”

Oh, right, that.

“You didn’t have to do anything special,” Jake protests.

“Are you kidding? This is the first-ever birthday you’re celebrating. We’ve gotta make it special.”

Jake feels something warm blooming in his chest, a feeling that is occurring more and more often when he spends time with you.

You plate the now-finished pancakes—banana, his favorite—and lead him over to the kitchen table, which has already been set. You dish out the pancakes and pour two glasses of juice before joining Jake at the table.

“Is this why Steven and Marc were being weird this morning?” Jake asks as he cuts into his pancakes.

You chew thoughtfully. “Probably. I swore them to secrecy.”

Jake grunts. “Really, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Oh, Jake,” you say with a grin, “we’re just getting started.”

Jake hates drawing attention to himself. It’s the antithesis of his being; at least, it used to be, when he was still keeping himself hidden from his alters and working for Khonshu. Now, even though he can be more present, it still makes him uncomfortable to be in the spotlight. So, being the center of attention, the “birthday boy,”  isn’t really his style.

Of course, you know all this, and you plan the day around it. There will be no impromptu singing of “Happy Birthday” by waiters and random patrons in a restaurant—not on your watch. Instead, you spend a nice, quiet day together, walking around the city like a couple of tourists. It’s a mild day, not nearly as cold as it could be, so you even get to spend some time in the park, one of Jake’s favorite spots to relax.

It’s rare for Jake to get to spend a whole day with you like this. Sure, he and his alters have figured out a pretty fair schedule, but between work and life, it doesn’t always work out. Some days, he only catches glimpses of you in the morning, and come evening you’re so tired that he practically has to carry you to bed.

On the way back to your home, you make a quick stop at a little building with a pink awning. “Lily’s Bakery,” the sign reads in looping cursive. You pop in quickly and return moments later with a matching pink box.

“What’s that?” Jake asks.

“You’ll see,” you say with a glint in your eye.

After you’ve cooked and eaten Jake’s favorite dinner, you bring out the pink box again. You tell Jake to close his eyes, and, with a little eye roll, he complies. There’s some rustling, the sound of a box opening, and the click of a lighter before you say, “Okay, open!”

Jake uncovers his eyes, and he’s shocked by the gasp that leaves him. In front of him is a chocolate chip cookie cake that you’ve added candles to. Blue letters spell out, “Happy Birthday Jake,” and there’s even a little taxi cab drawn with frosting.

“I hope this is okay,” you say quickly. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of cake…”

“Are you kidding? This is perfect,” Jake assures you, blinking back the tears in his eyes.

When you sing “Happy Birthday” to him in the comfort of your home, Marc and Steven join in from the headspace.

“Okay, blow out the candles and make a wish!” you say.

Jake doesn’t need any wishes. He already has everything he could ever want right in front of him.

“What about next year?” Jake asks as the two of you lay in bed that night.

“What do you mean?” You roll onto your side to face him.

“My birthday next year. Do we skip it?’

“Of course not,” you say. “We’ll just celebrate the day before or after.”

Jake hums.

“Is that okay?” you ask.

If you had asked Jake that a year ago, the answer would have been a flat-out “no.” He hated drawing attention to himself, hated being fussed over. He felt like he didn’t deserve it.

What a difference a year makes, though. Instead, he smiles at you and says, “That sounds nice.”

“Happy birthday, Jake,” you whisper, leaning over to kiss him softly before returning your head to the pillow. “I love you.”

By the time he murmurs back, “I love you, too,” you’re already asleep.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! Also, I have some ideas for follow-ups with Steven picking his birthday, plus celebrating Marc’s birthday, so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in! :)

[preciouslandmermaid]

"as the tides turn" (c.m.)

summary:

The BAU, joined by Emilia Wren, are called to Florida to investigate a case where the unsub drowns their victims and then dumps their body at a secondary location. Can they locate and stop the killer before it's too late?

This story was written using the "showrunners challenge", so at the end of each chapter, I rolled a D12 and followed whatever prompt was listed...which resulted in only minor hiccups.

cw/tw: mentions of drowning. it's a case fic, so they're talking about murder and unsubs and all the usual things that happen during a CM episode.

(read on ao3) || fic has 5 chapters

CHAPTER ONE: "as the tide rolls in"

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.” - Werner Herzog

Florida's oppressive, wet humidity ran its sticky fingers down the middle of Spencer’s back and cupped the nape of his neck in clammy rivulets of sweat. He shifted uncomfortably and swatted away an errant gnat that flew into his face. The rank of low tide and the sound of crying gulls surrounded the team, though he suspected they would soon be overwhelmed by white vans and clamoring reporters. This was, ironically enough, their few seconds of peace before the storm hit.

“Man was out walking his dog and saw her,” Deputy Roman said, “called it in right away.”

Hotch asked, “No other witnesses? And he didn’t approach the body?”

Roman shook his head. “I think it’s pretty obvious she’s been here awhile,” the deputy said while lifting the yellow police tape for Spencer and their newest member, Emilia, to enter the crime scene. Although considering Emilia was barely five feet tall, she didn’t need to duck as much as he did to cross the line. They maneuvered past crime techs taking photographs of the beach, and the body, and collecting samples of sand and seaweed.

“The unsub has familiarity with the tides,” Emilia said as she crouched next to the body, her short dark brown hair swaying in the seaside breeze, “he knew when to dump the body.”

“So, the unsub wants the victims found.” Hotch’s dark brow furrowed.

Spencer shot a glance toward Emilia, though his attention was swiftly drawn to the deceased—murdered–woman on the beach. She was Caucasian, likely in her early to mid-twenties, with blonde hair and dark roots. Her cheeks were puffy and ashen, and he could see her eyelids' delicate, blue veins. The deputy said the body had been here a while, but that couldn’t be accurate.

“A coastal area like this one would experience two tidal bulges,” Spencer said, “and it takes about six hours and twelve and half minutes for the water to go from high to low tide.”

Morgan crossed his arms and looked at the tall, blonde-haired deputy. “This is a small beach for residents only. How many go through here in a day?”

“This time of year? Not many, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his mouth. “Most of the residents in this area are snowbirds. They start flying to their second homes by mid-June.”

“Her body has started to bloat which means she’s been dead for at least seventy-two hours,” Emilia cut in, “and based on the tidal bulges, as Reid said, there’s only a six-hour window before the sea would’ve swallowed her.”

“We need confirmation from the medical examiner,” Spencer said, “humidity increases the decomposition rate.” He met Emilia’s honey-brown eyes framed by long lashes clumped with mascara. She tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment but said nothing more. A surge of relief swept through him. He had lived with himself long enough to recognize that sometimes his instinct to fact-check or correct, could rub people the wrong way, and put them on the defensive, and thankfully that had not happened with Emilia. Not ever, actually, now that he considered it. Usually, she’d reply with a soft and pensive ‘thank you’ whenever he’d share an anecdote.

Hotch said, “Either way, it’s clear the unsub killed her and then moved her here.” He took his phone from inside his blazer pocket. “Reid, head back to the station and start the geographical profile. We’ve got two bodies and two different dump sites that are miles away from one another.”

Spencer nodded.

“Deputy Roman, I need your people canvassing the area. If there’s a chance any of these homes are being rented while their owners are away that means someone could’ve seen something.”

“I think if someone saw or heard a woman being murdered then they would’ve called 911,” said Roman smugly.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but Emilia beat him to it.

“Our suspect likely drives a van or truck, considering they were able to transport a body,” she said, “have your guys ask about suspicious or unfamiliar vehicles within the past week or so.”

“Week?!”

“This unsub is organized and would’ve vetted the area beforehand.”

“Garcia,” Hotch said into his phone while walking toward the car, “we need catastrophic incidents in the area within the past five years.”

“I shall wave my magic wand and return with your wish granted, sir,” Garcia said, as chipper as ever before disconnecting.

“Wren–” he looked at Emilia, “I want you and JJ to interview the first victim’s mother.”

“Yes, sir.”

Spencer slid into the backseat next to Emilia. The leather interior stuck to his palms, though he was grateful for the rush of air conditioning that expelled in a rush from the vents and tousled his light brown hair.

Morgan twisted in the passenger seat, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, and his attention on Emilia. “Nothing like returning to your hometown, huh little bird?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and Spencer’s body went taut and quiet. Hometown?

“First of all, we lived fifty miles upstate,” she said while leveling Derek with a flat, intense stare. “And it hardly constitutes a ‘hometown’ when I lived there for a mere two years when I was fourteen.”

Derek smiled. “Fourteen is an impressionable age. You could’ve been a lifeguard instead of an FBI agent.”

Her lips quirked. Derek had that easy-going charm to him that most – especially women – found either irresistible or endearing. He scanned her face, checking for the telltale signs of attraction: dilated pupils, quickened breath, flushed cheeks, or mirroring body language. It was instinctual to him. He had to consciously turn off the parts of his brain that profiled and analyzed. But, Emilia leaned into her seat, crossed her legs, and replied to him with a casual, and straightforward tone.

“I think my innate sense of morality and justice would’ve put me on this path one way or another.”

“Nature versus nurture.”

Spencer found his moment to chime in, “John Locke said that ‘the mind is like a tabula rasa, a blank slate, which is later filled by experience,’ and that we, with the freedom of our individuality, must fill our lives with experiences to gain knowledge and understanding. If we follow Locke’s philosophy, then we wouldn’t be born with a sense of justice built in, but rather experience hundreds to thousands of different moments and memories that shape our perception towards the world, our interpersonal relationships, and our relationship to the concepts of justice, morality, and ethics.”

“Says the boy genius with an 187 IQ,” Morgan teased.

“Hey, his mom was a professor,” Emilia said, rising to Spencer’s defense with a light smile which in turn made his chest glow with warmth.

Before Morgan could make a counter-argument, his phone rang and Garcia’s bright voice sang out over the speakerphone. “Hello, my beauties. I’ve got the deets on our first victim, Mary-Anne. She was majoring in fashion design, although, she took several of her general education classes at the local community college before transferring.”

“Nice work, baby girl,” Morgan said, “how’s the staff look? Has anyone fired or filed grievances in the past six months?”

“No terminations, although one professor was put on academic probation.”

“Keep digging, Garcia,” Hotch said, “until we identify our Jane Doe, Mary-Anne is the only link to the unsub.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Chapter Two ->]

Some general housekeeping if you are curious: 1) Every roughly 1k words, I end the chapter and roll my d12 to see what happened next. 2) I told myself that this fic would take place over a single case and would end once the investigation did (much like the in TV show). 3) credit to this challenge goes to Runawaymarbles (also sorta by sprintingowl) on Tumblr 4) I'd love to hear any feedback considering this was my first time writing a challenge :,) Enjoy!

I rolled my D12 and got the number 3 which reads: Fan favorite. Your most recently mentioned character (or named object) is now beloved by the audience. You must give it a bigger part in the story, a special destiny, or an important new romance or friendship. If you get this twice for the same character or object, the adoration cools and you must go back to treating the character or object normally.

[angel-kyo]

koi no yokan

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

4.

"What are we looking for again?"

That was Yu.

"A scroll.", Nanami replied dryly, kicking a pile of papers on the floor.

You three had been sent on a mission to retrieve a cursed object from an abandoned library. The building had stopped functioning as a such about twenty years ago and was to be demolished soon. These days, it was only attracting unoccupied teens who thought the place was haunted and wanted to check for themselves. All harmless fun until there were actually three disappearances last month.

Upon investigation, it was determined that a cursed object had been hidden in the library to protect it, but it was probably left behind once the place closed, and it was now attracting curses.

"Yeah, but what does it look like?", Yu sounded unusually helpless. You couldn't blame him though; you all had been searching for a while now with no luck.

You snickered in an attempt to light the mood and looked at him. "I don't know. Cursed?"

Nanami rolled his eyes and opened his flip phone to show you both a picture. The image was low quality, but it showed what the scroll should have looked like thirty years ago, in a sealed small wooden box especially crafted to protect it, but not the box or the scroll had been found yet.

"It is cursed," Nanami looked at you, "so I doubt it would have deteriorated much in terms of appearance. It should still be recognizable".

The mission was not expected to be dangerous, but the three had been sent because the place was big and searching could challenging, so the more eyes searching, the better.

The Six-Eyes... Wouldn't he be helpful here?

It seemed your thought reached Yu, because next he said "If only Gojo was here. He would have found it already, don't you think?"

You almost did not want to agree with him, but nodded slightly, nonetheless. Truth was you were feeling bitter about your upperclassman since that last day of training when he had told you were still weak.

"Well, there is one floor left above", Kento finally spoke, "If it's not there, we might actually have to return to the school empty-handed", he moved in direction of the stairs. You and Yu followed.

You wondered what it must be like being the user of the six eyes. It was silly to even entertain the idea.

Yu had gotten a few steps ahead of you as you climbed the stairs, and you were looking at his back now. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"Hey, Haibara?", you looked down, watching your step, "have you ever wondered what it would be like to be like Gojo?"

"I have not...", he replied promptly without hesitation, but stopped for a second and looked down at you; he was smiling, "But maybe we should ask him what is like to be him."

You were going to say you had not meant it like that, but looking up at him, something caught your attention. It seemed you had reached the last floor, but...

"Where is Nanami?", you asked, "Wasn't he right ahead of you?"

Confusion passed through Yu's face as he looked ahead. "He was right here".

You climbed the remaining stairs swiftly, surpassing Yu, and landed on a long corridor. You looked left and right; the atmosphere felt different.

Nanami was not the type to leave his team behind without uttering word.

"If this is what I think it is, I don't think we should split", you turned to face Yu, but he was no longer there.

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

previous < four > next

[iviarellereads]

Rogue Protocol, Chapter 2

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which Murderbot tries to figure out why this feels different.

(As an aside, my apologies if I use she/her pronouns for Miki at any point during its presence. For some reason, I have no problem tracking Murderbot as it, and I only rarely get the impulse to gender Art with he/him, but my brain will not stop trying to she/her Miki because it's so soft and sweet and a perfect cinnamon roll, even though that's not necessarily gendered at all. Incredible how we internalize our perceptions of gender, even after a good ten years of trying to deprogram myself, and spending most of those out as nonbinary myself!)

MB takes a shortcut off the transport, so it doesn't have to spend more time with the doomed humans it can't save. It's becoming old hat to hack SecSystems to allow it through weapons scans. It stops to buy some data clips, noticing that its hard currency card still has lots left on it, and thinks that Tapan and crew must have paid it generously.(1)

MB finds the transport headed for Milu, and confirms its details. It's on a 47-cycle schedule, and expects to be cleared within two cycles. MB normally likes to negotiate passage, but this one is so limited in scope, it just hacks its memory to board. MB scouts the ship and its capabilities, and settles on a bunk, not realizing the bedding in one of the lockers is there for a reason.

Twenty-ish hours later, the life support cycles on. MB queries the transport, and gets word that two passengers are boarding, and the transport is now filing a departure time. MB hustles to a less-accessible locker, and stuffs itself into the back, hiding itself behind supplies. With the transport's drones, it has a decent idea of what's going on outside, even without security cameras.

Sixteen minutes later, the lock cycled and two passengers came aboard. Two augmented humans, carrying traveling packs and a couple of cases I recognized immediately. Combat gear, including armor and weapons.

MB is a little surprised, as its understanding is that bots are much more commonly used for combat than humans, even with the corporate and political entities that have treaties against combat bot use. Or, at least, those sorts of entities finding a way around the restrictions is a common plot on serials from outside the Corporation Rim.(2)

The humans don't talk much, but it was too much to hope, really, that they would say why they're going to Milu. MB sets the drones up to record, and settles in with its shows until it has enough to run analysis.

It took twenty cycles by Ship’s local time to get to Milu.

MB thought it would be fine, as it can remember being shipped in transport boxes and cubicles for longer trips. But, it's gotten accustomed to traveling as a human, not cargo. In the end, it's used to having freedom of movement.

It's rather relieved when the ship reports it's on approach to Milu. Only, the station feed is completely lifeless, and it creeps MB out, even knowing the station is approaching final shutdown for the same reason it's here to investigate.

MB checks the analysis of the drone recordings, and finds that the two humans, Wilken and Gerth, are security consultants, subcontracted for GoodNightLander Independent, or GI. They filed abandonment on GrayCris's deserted facility, trying to take possession and prevent its disintegration. The research group these two are hired to work for were sent by GI to report on the station's status. It's exactly the job MB and its model are designed for, but there's no bond and no SecUnits involved.(3)

As the ship docks, MB puts all the memory chips into a space under the skin next to its right arm's energy weapon, since it's going to leave the knapsack in the locker. It disembarks a safe time after the humans leave, poking around to see if they left anything behind first, but no luck. It leaves the ship in a maintenance status, and makes it think it needs MB's permission to leave, so it won't be stranded.

It disembarks, and follows Gerth and Wilken on the working security cameras, using its code to delete itself from those same cameras. The humans head to what a schematic says is the Port Authority/Cargo Control office. A motion-sensitive ad goes off in front of MB as it makes its way, and it barely doesn't scream. It's never seen emergency marker paint used that way before and hates it very much.

MB finds a maintenance/weapon scanner drone, and repurposes it for spying. The humans have found two other humans, and a human-form bot. MB has complex feelings about all-construct bots like this one. They aren't popular, because their capabilities are unremarkable, and they're often used to portray the evil SecUnits in the media, which MB isn't annoyed at one bit.

The new humans are introduced as Don Abene and Hirune, and the bot as Miki. Introducing a bot is highly unusual, and the consultants mostly ignore it. Abene hopes they won't need security, but there's no way to be sure before they go in.

They go over some possible scenarios, and MB feels a little smug about two things: one, that it knows more about terraforming than these clown security humans, and two, that even humans sometimes find it hard to hide their facial expressions.

As the humans head inside and keep talking, though, Miki looks up, directly at the drone MB is watching through. It focuses directly on the camera.(4) MB looses the drone, wiping its memory, and letting it go back to its normal patrol route. Miki doesn't move, but does send a ping into the aether, as it were, to see if anything will reply. MB, for its part, makes sure it's not leaking any signals and tightens up its walls. It assumes Miki picked up the ad MB set off, or a whisper in the feed, and tries not to think about it.

Eventually, MB finds a place where it can get a connection to the yes, just two cameras inside the Port Authority offices. It catches enough to gather that their first trip will be short, just twelve hours, then back for a rest period. This should give MB plenty of time to find what it needs, but there's one problem: getting onto the ship they're taking.

I was going to have to make friends with the stupid pet robot.

While the humans take a rest period, MB has about three hours to seduce Miki into helping it onto the transport. Miki, for its part, is extremely friendly and completely guileless. When MB asks Miki not to tell anyone that it's here, Miki says it tells Don Abene everything, because she's its friend. MB realizes it's going to be even more annoyed than it expected.

MB explains to Miki that its existence must be secret to keep the humans safe. Miki asks it to promise, and after a moment of hesitant flabbergast-ery, it does. When Miki asks for a name, MB offers Security Consultant Rin, and Miki immediately calls that it's not MB's real name. MB says that's what it wants to be called, and Miki accepts this, and says it will be Rin's friend and help the team.

When MB asks for access to the shuttle's system, Miki hands it over, no further questions asked. It finds that there's no bot pilot, and no SecSystem. This tracks with what it's heard about the regions outside the Rim, that they focus on external threats, not internal ones, but that's not what MB is used to deal with. It does think about what Preservation might be like to live in, but squishes that idea as fast as it can.(5)

MB figures there's no problem to find a place to hide out in the shuttle, but it will have no monitoring capability whatsoever when it does. So, it debases itself again, and asks Miki if it will agree to be Rin's eyes and ears, warning that sometimes Rin might have to speak through Miki to warn Miki's… friends. Miki, again, agrees eagerly.

This felt way too easy. I almost suspected a trap. Or … Miki, have you been directed to reply to every query with a yes? No, Consultant Rin, Miki said, and added, amusement sigil 376 = smile. Or Miki was a bot who had never been abused or lied to or treated with anything but indulgent kindness. It really thought its humans were its friends, because that’s how they treated it. I signaled Miki I would be withdrawing for one minute. I needed to have an emotion in private.(6)

=====

(1) I dare say they were all grateful for its help and them all coming out the other side alive. (2) I think this is actually a really important and telltale spot. Wells, through MB, is telling us that MB doesn't know everything about the society in which it lives, only that for which it has context. Which, nobody knows the full context for their society, not really, not even political leaders. But we're so inclined to take MB at its word, to take its statements as fact. I think this is a really important reminder that that's not always the case. (3) How odd. Why might they not want a SecUnit involved in this one? (4) Even our old pal Murderbot might be underestimating this one. (5) The thought process makes out like it thinks Preservation would just be boring, but I can't help but think there's some longing behind the comment. (6) What do you think Murderbot is feeling here? Jealousy? Embarrassment? Guilt? Anger? I don't think just one emotion can really capture it all, myself, but "an emotion" is punchier than "emotions".

[takeariskao3]

Chapter 13 Sneak Peek

big thanks to everyone who helped me cope with yesterday!! i can definitively say that we (finally) have a chapter opener 💜💜

“And that’s when we stunned him.”

Just like with Hermione, Clarence’s Pritchard’s words sent a lance of heat through Harry’s middle. He tried not to let his imagination conjure up the situation, but it was all too easy to picture. Rolling the tension from his neck, Harry sucked in a breath with the hope it would stop him from throwing something. 

“Did he say anything?” Harry asked, intentionally keeping his voice even, but the underlying seething was still there, even to his own ears. 

Pritchard shifted awkwardly in his seat across the table. “Nothing I care to repeat.”

That was fine. Hearing it once from Hermione was enough. Harry scratched out a few notes and slid the parchment across the desk. “If you can sign and date the bottom, please.” 

Signing his name in one clean motion, Pritchard finished with a flourish then sat back in his chair. 

“How-” He hesitated, watching Harry with clear blue eyes. “I understand if you can’t tell me, but how is Miss Weasley?”

Harry didn’t respond right away, because he honestly didn’t know. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours overseeing Morgan’s transfer into MLE holding, and attempting to check out a pensive from Administrative Services, and dodging Padma’s attempts to schedule a follow-up appointment. 

Ron had made it his personal responsibility to check in on Ginny every few hours or so, but beyond reporting back that ‘she’s fine, just quiet’, Harry had no idea how she was processing the incident. He had the sneaking suspicion that if he tried to find out for himself he would just make everything worse.  

“She’ll be a lot better once all this is over,” Harry answered noncommittally.

Clarence nodded and rose slowly from his chair. His joints looked like they pained him with each minute movement. Harry stood as well, tapping his knuckles on the table and chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“Mr. Pritchard?” Harry blurted, before he could lose his opportunity. “You’re somewhat of an area historian, correct?”

He smiled like Harry made a particularly funny joke. “Town crier most would say.”

“Can I ask you-” Harry faltered, caught between protocol and intuition. It was a risk, sharing theories, let alone unconfirmed ones. Privileged information during an ongoing investigation could make or break a case and in Harry’s experience it was usually a calculated shot in the dark. He didn’t want to take unnecessary chances, but at the moment, he needed insight more than he needed secrecy. “Can I ask you about Harpies?”

Pritchard blinked a few times, clearly confused. “The Harpies? Surely Aidan Hughes or Coach Bodimont would be better suited than I?”

“No, sorry,” Harry clarified. “Not the Harpies, but the ones from the stories. The ones Rhiannon conjured to help her rescue her son.”

If possible, Pritchard’s brow furrowed even more. “Is this to do with what happened to Miss Weasley?”

Harry kept his expression intentionally blank. “Call it a passing curiosity.”

“Well,” Pritchard sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s not much to tell. Most of the old tales refer to the birds of Rhiannon as mystical beings that acted as omens of death, as opposed to carnal creatures. They’ve been described as impossibly large ravens, angels, or even demons. Some say they do Rhiannon’s bidding, others say they were merely her companions with their own autarchy. Very little is known to begin with. They haven’t been documented in modern times, certainly.”

Harry took this onslaught of info and filed it away for later. “How did she conjure them?” 

Pritchard seemed to think on his words. “All sources can account that Rhiannon was a singularly gifted witch, however magic was much, much different a millennia ago. How she found or mastered them remains a mystery. If there is such a ritual or a ceremony, it is lost to us now.”

“Sources,” Harry didn’t mean to sound so skeptical, he really didn’t. “You mean the storybooks?”

“All greatness becomes legend,” Pritchard explained patiently. “Eventually, legend evolves into fable. One day, Harry Potter, you may even be a fairytale.”

***

tagging the people who replied: @valfromcall @sleepwalkabouter @cloudywerewolf @blondelunaa @curse-04 @horseneighbor @magical-vibes00 @severedestinytheorist @corneliastreet28 @heartstopping-waves 

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Night of the Living Dummies

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 10

I wasn’t expecting to write again so soon. But I missed it. It’s fun. Especially this AU :) Jackie spends some time recovering from his injury, and then, in a move much like last chapter, he and Spitfire try to track down the Specter. But somehow, things go even worse this time. And an unexpected face emerges from the shadows. Have fun reading ^-^

===============

Bring bring! Bring bring!

Jackie groaned and rolled over. The Red Line was ringing, vibrating on his dresser just out of arm’s reach. He held out his hand and got a gust of wind to push it closer. In the process, he also knocked over his phone, his notebook, and the small moon-shaped lamp he kept close to his bed. “Shit,” he muttered. Well, he could pick that all up later. Right now, he accepted the Red Line’s call. “Hello?”

“Hi Windstorm.” Leapfrog’s voice came through the speaker clearly. “Are you busy?”

“No, no, I was just taking a nap.” Or trying to, at least. Sleep wouldn’t come. He rolled back over onto his back. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to check on your investigation into the SepTech break-in,” she replied. “Have you had any luck finding the Specter?”

“Uhhh...kind of. We—I ran into him again a couple weeks ago. But he, uh, didn’t say anything. And then got away.”

Exactly twenty days ago, Jackie and Spitfire had managed to confront the Specter. And since then, there hasn’t been any sign of the villain. Jackie had been patrolling the city constantly, out looking for him, investigating robberies in the hopes that Specter was behind it. It got to the point where Chase had noticed he was spending most of his time out of the apartment. He’d asked Jackie if everything was okay, and Jackie had said he was taking on more overtime hours in the hopes of getting a promotion at work. An excuse that wouldn’t hold up under further questions, but luckily, it had been enough for Chase.

“Just don’t overwork yourself, okay bro?” He’d said. “I get that it’s important, but your health is important, too. Schneep told me specifically to remind you that you needed rest.”

Because of the leg injuries, yes. Jackie was aware of what Schneep was saying. Apparently he’d also asked JJ to tell Jackie that, which Jameson did when he stopped by Jackie and Chase’s apartment for a chat. Jackie kept reassuring everyone that everything was fine and he was being careful. Which he was. But he couldn’t exactly tell them that he could fly, could he? Therefore not actually moving his leg for most of the day? That was another reason he was going out on patrol. Even if not much was happening in Daindover crime-wise these days, at least he could pass the time by swooping through the city.

“Well, you can’t win them all,” Leapfrog sighed, bringing Jackie’s mind back to their conversation. “Anything else? Progress of any other sort?”

“Uhhh well.” Jackie sat up, gathering his thoughts. “I have a theory. I think the Specter might be working for this other villain. Have I told you guys about the weird strings that are controlling criminals?”

Leapfrog was silent for a moment. “No, that’s news,” she said slowly.

“Oh. Right. Well it started back in early August. There was this rise in crime, and a lot of the criminals had strings around their wrists that they said were controlling them. I-I saw these strings before myself, they were...weird. They come from a villain, the Puppeteer—at least, that’s what I’m calling them—who I think is using some of the stolen SepTech items as a costume. And since we know Specter has stolen from SepTech at least once, there’s a chance he’s passing this stuff to the Puppeteer.”

“Uh-huh,” Leapfrog said. “Are the local police aware of this?”

“They’re aware of the strings,” Jackie answered. “But I haven’t confirmed the Puppeteer-Specter theory yet, so I haven’t told them that. Uh, you can probably ask them for police records about the string-controlled criminals. Those sightings have started to die down recently. I-I think the strings were causing the crime wave all through the last month or so.”

“Interesting,” Leapfrog mumbled. “If this is a new supervillain with these...string powers, then we’ll have to keep an eye on the situation. I suppose that’s what you’re for, isn’t it?” She chuckled. Jackie laughed a little as well. “Are you still tracking down the Specter?”

“Yeah. No leads yet, but I’m...keeping an eye out.” Or, at least, Spitfire was. His contacts in the criminal underworld seemed a lot more useful than Jackie’s efforts on the more legal side of things. But even he was struggling to find anything new. All this time with nothing? Jackie thought he should be relieved that nothing big was happening so he could focus on resting his leg. But in reality, the lack of news was just stressing him out, convincing him that he was missing something going on behind the scenes.

“Great,” Leapfrog said. “Did you see the Specter in your last encounter? Enough to get any confirmed information for their file?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” Jackie nodded and pressed the Red Line closer to his ear. “So, they’re definitely a guy. Or...born male, at least. The costume was covering all his features, but I can confirm that he can turn invisible and intangible. He also has these...these gadgets. At least two, these smoke bombs and one of those throwable weighted-rope-things. I think they’re stolen tech that he uses.”

“Got it.” In the background of the phone call, he heard the clacking of Leapfrog’s mechanical keyboard. “Intangibility...that does make capture rather difficult, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” Jackie muttered. “He was running through everything that I had to dodge or fly around! I couldn’t keep up.”

“Hmm.” Leapfrog paused for a long moment. “Alright. We might be able to help. Have you heard of neutrinalin?”

Jackie inhaled sharply. “Of course.” Every super knew what neutrinalin was. A chemical that could temporarily block their powers. A chemical created—and controlled—by the League of Heroes.

“You’re not technically supposed to be approved for handling it yet,” Leapfrog said carefully. “But you’re doing such good work that I might be able to get it early.”

“Whoa, are you serious?!” Jackie felt himself floating a little bit off his bed. “Really?!”

“Really. But there’s no guarantee. And it’ll be a long process, so don’t expect it within the month, if at all. In the meantime, keep working on this. Maybe you’ll be able to take care of the Specter without it. But if you can’t, then the neutrinalin will help. If you can manage to inject him with it. I understand that will be tricky.”

“No, no, I-I’m sure I could figure something out.” Jackie squeezed the Red Line tighter. “Thank you. R-really.” A small breeze fluttered through the room in response to his excitement. If he was doing good enough to be approved for something that important, maybe being a full Hero was closer than he thought!

“You’re welcome. Please call or text me with any updates. If you don’t, I’ll call you again in a week or so. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Jackie said, and the call dropped just as he, in turn, dropped back down onto his bed. He winced a little as the motion twisted his injured ankle a bit, but quickly brushed it off.

How was he supposed to take a nap after all that?!

================

Henrik wasn’t joking about you getting your rest, you know.

Jackie, sitting on the edge of a roof with his legs dangling over the side, sighed as he read the text. I know he wasnt, JJ, he replied. Im resting.

Apparently he thinks you might not be. I swear he’s going to FaceTime you one day to see if you’re laying down right at that moment.

He better not. Jackie wasn’t sure how to handle a FaceTime while he was out on patrol. The only time that ever happened was with his mom, but she wasn’t looking at the phone when she called. Well he doesnt need to worry, Im not putting any weight on my leg, Jackie said. And Im RICEing!

What???

RICE! Rest Ice Compression Elevation. As he typed, Jackie turned and lied down on his back, resting the back of his head on the shingles of the roof. He stuck his right leg in the air. You couldn’t see it through his costume, but his knee was wrapped in bandages, and his ankle was in a brace that was just barely thin enough to fit inside his boot. True, he wasn’t putting ice on it every moment of every day, but he did whenever he was at home. Im surprised you dont know that with your fancy cousin doctor.

No I know what R.I.C.E stands for, JJ said. I just have never heard of it being used as a verb.

It works. Any noun can verb if you try hard enough.

Lol, I suppose you’re right. A moment passed before JJ’s next message. I hope you’re not too annoyed with his shouting and badgering. He really cares about people, you know. Really wants to help, despite how grumpy he can seem. That’s why he became a S.D.E.R doctor. And you’re his friend, so he cares about you even more.

Jackie smiled a bit. Yeah, I know. Hes a good guy. I appreciate it, even if it can be a little annoying. He glanced out at the city. It was late afternoon, almost sunset. He should probably go home and have dinner. Then if he’s up to it, he’ll do an evening patrol. Im gonna make food now. Talk to you later?

Yep :)

And with that, he put his phone away and rolled straight off the roof. The wind caught him and he flew in the direction of home.

================

After having a quick pasta dinner and chatting with Chase for a little bit, Jackie headed back into his room. Before his patrol that day, he’d sent an email to Spitfire Cat, asking him if he’d heard anything new yet. He wanted to check for a reply really quick before heading out again.

But it wouldn’t be “really quick.” Because Spitfire’s response wasn’t the short, snapping reply that it had been for the last few emails, saying that he hadn’t found anything. It was longer. And it was considerably more important.

Maybe. A source contacted me earlier today. Apparently word has got out that I’m asking about the Specter. She said there’s an abandoned facility a little ways out of town. It used to be owned by a car company or something, but they abandoned it when it got partially destroyed in a fight between Timekeeper and some villain. Rumor has it that the Specter is hiding out there. We could probably check it out, at least.

Jackie stared at the message on his screen. No way. There was no way. He picked up his laptop and carried it over to his bed, where he sat down and leaned against the headboard, resting the computer on his thighs. Really? That’s big if it turns out to be true. Is this a reliable source?

Reliable enough to go look at this facility. I believe that she’s telling the truth, but there’s no telling if the rumor is real. It could be a trap to try and grab anyone who’s after the Specter. We’ll have to be careful if we decide to go see it. If we do, I’m not free until the 28th. That’s the earliest we can go look.

Who would set up this trap? Jackie asked. The Specter himself?

Why not? He should know we’re onto him after that night at the U-Storit.

Fair enough. There’s some risk, but...I think we should go for it. The 28th works for me. We can do another stakeout, or we can try to go all stealth and explore this abandoned facility. I think I know what one it is. Was it owned by Ergo Distributions?

Yeah, that’s the one. And if we’re going to do this, we’re not just staking out. That won’t tell us anything. The building is huge, we can easily miss if the Specter is coming and going just by staking out the wrong side. We’ll have to go in.

Fine by me.

The rest of the email chain was spent talking about how and where they were going to make up. It was kind of boring, but Jackie couldn’t help but still feel a thrill. If this was real...if that rumor was true...they had another chance. He was starting to get seriously worried that they’d scared the Specter into hiding and missed their only opportunity to find out more about the SepTech break-in...and the Puppeteer. But no. They could do it again. They’d be able to get to the bottom of this whole thing and stop whatever was going on.

And maybe, just maybe, if he managed to pull something like this off, it would bring him even closer to being a Hero.

================ 

Jackie already knew where this abandoned facility was. So when he set out on the 28th, leaving just as the sun was setting, he flew right there. It was some ways out of town, but Jackie was a fast flyer, so it only took about half an hour. Soon, he saw the facility. An irregularly shaped building that looked like someone had put a bunch of boxes together. It was mostly made of metal, with high ceilings, spread out across an empty field. A small road branched off the main motorway and led to the building, surrounding it on all sides with asphalt. There was also a chain-link fence around the facility, but parts of it had fallen down, so that wasn’t a problem.

The building had two notable features. One, the giant label above the front entrance that read “Ergo Distributions,” faded with time. Two, the much more noticeable hole that had practically destroyed the west side of the building.

Jackie saw a small figure standing near the fence on the west side. Spitfire Cat. Somehow, he’d gotten here before him. Jackie dived downward. Then stopped, hovering a few inches off the ground right next to Spitfire, who jumped and spun around to look at him. “God, couldn’t you say something before doing that?!” Spitfire scowled. He flexed his hands, and the metal claws on his gloves retracted.

“You’re jumpy,” Jackie noted.

“Of course I am. We could be walking into a trap.”

“You know, I really doubt that,” Jackie said skeptically. “Logistically, it just wouldn’t make sense. I mean, it would require that the Specter start spreading a rumor, which has no guarantee of getting to us, and then proceed to stakeout this building all the time because he has no idea when we’ll get here even if we hear the rumor. It’s a big building. There’s no way he can keep track of the whole place.”

“Could’ve set up security cameras,” Spitfire muttered. “Made it so they alerted him when there was movement inside.”

“Okay, yeah, but people trespass here all the time,” Jackie pointed out. “They call it ‘urban exploration.’ It’s, like, fun for them. He’d get so many false alarms. It’s just not practical. Hell, I’m surprised nobody’s here right now.”

Spitfire said nothing, just stared at him, eyes narrowed behind his mask.

“Also it was your idea to go inside,” Jackie added. “So...are you really that concerned about a trap?”

“I am,” Spitfire said, turning away. “I’m ready to shoot solid-heat beams at anything that moves.” He started walking forward.

“Well, don’t. If you kill the Specter, we lose the only lead we have.” Jackie hurried to follow him.

“I know, I know. It’s an exaggeration to get a point by.”

“Well you’ve tried to kill people in the past. Forgive me for taking it literally.”

The two of them fell silent for a moment, cautiously approaching the facility. It wouldn’t be hard to get inside. The gaping hole would serve as an entrance. Even so, Jackie’s eyes darted around, looking for other ways in and out. Just in case Spitfire was right and someone was planning to ambush them. It was starting to get dark, so he reached up and turned on his new night vision function. Spitfire didn’t move to do anything. Maybe he could see better in the dark than Jackie could.

Stepping through the hole, they found themselves in a wide, empty room. Like a warehouse without any goods. Random shapes of rubble cast strange shadows on the walls and floor. Jackie looked overhead to see broken industrial lights hanging from wires, and he unconsciously avoided stepping under them. “So, do you know what caused this?” Jackie asked.

Spitfire glared at him and made a shushing noise. “Not so loud.”

“Sorry,” Jackie whispered loudly. “But do you know?”

“Super fight. Timekeeper. Someone else. Not the details.”

“Yeah, the villain’s name was Tides of Chaos. Some sort of reality warper. It was one of Timekeeper’s greatest battles. Unfortunately, the villain died in the fight, and Timekeeper never spoke, so we don’t know the details of what went down.”

“Why do you sound like you’re a kid describing a scene from their favorite cartoon?” Spitfire grumbled.

“I—well, excuse me for thinking it’s cool,” Jackie said defensively. “Can you imagine? Space and time colliding, rubble flying everywhere, maybe some big explosion—”

Spitfire laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re just so...naive.” Spitfire shook his head. “It’s almost impressive, especially for someone who’s been doing this for over two whole years.”

Jackie glared at him. “Hero work isn’t easy. I find joy wherever I can in it. And part of that comes from thinking super fights are cool. Okay? Now, let’s just go. There’s nothing in this big empty room.”

“Heh.” A small, almost sad, smile flickered across Spitfire’s face before he turned away. “You’re right. This is a big building. We can’t waste time. There’s a door there.” He pointed at a square doorway in the wall, big enough to drive a car through. “Don’t walk through it before I check to see if everything’s alright.”

They stopped briefly in front of the large doorway while Spitfire examined the frame, making sure there weren’t any sensors or tripwires. And then they headed deeper into the facility. It quickly grew darker. There weren’t any windows built into the walls, and aside from the west side, most of the building was sturdy, without any holes. Jackie was never more grateful for his night vision. Meanwhile, Spitfire conjured a small ball of solid-heat energy, casting a faint orange light in a circle around them.

Jackie wasn’t sure what this place had been used for. Ergo Distributions was involved in the car business somehow—which explained why every room and hallway in the facility was so wide and empty—but he didn’t know exactly what they did. There weren’t any cars left in the facility. Ergo had probably cleared everything out when they abandoned the building. So no clues there.

Thirty minutes of wandering later, they walked into another room, one that was smaller, probably meant to serve as an office or something. And the moment they did—“Gah!” Spitfire shouted, and threw his ball of energy forward at a vaguely human-shaped figure in the corner. The ball immediately sank into the figure’s chest. But the figure didn’t move at all.

“Dummy,” Jackie said.

“Fuck you, too!” Spitfire hissed.

“No, I mean, it’s a dummy.” Jackie floated over to the human figure and pushed it. With no resistance, it fell to the floor, limbs clattering, glowing from the burnt hole in its chest. “Like a crash test dummy. You know?” Indeed, the figure on the floor was an old crash test dummy, with plastic skin and black-and-yellow circles dotted over its body.

Spitfire spluttered. He fidgeted with the edge of his cape. “You said it that way on purpose,” he muttered.

Jackie chuckled. “You’re the one who took it that way.” He floated back over to the entrance. “Anyway, that’s the only thing in here. Unless you want to examine the walls all over?”

Spitfire glared at him. He conjured another energy orb and threw it, causing it to circle around the room before returning. “There’s no cameras or anything in here. We’re good.” He spun on his heel and left. Jackie followed him. They walked down the hallway in silence for a moment, until Spitfire glanced back at Jackie. “Um...your leg.”

“What?” Jackie asked.

“Your leg. You got injured the last time I saw you.” Spitfire pointed at Jackie’s right leg. “You haven’t set foot on the ground once since we got here. Instead, you’re always hovering. Is that cause of your leg?”

“...Yeah,” Jackie said slowly. “Why would I limp around when I can hover?”

“You can just do that forever?”

“Well, not forever. As long as I can concentrate on it. And I’ve had nearly thirty years of practice, learning how to focus on my powers, so that’s a while.”

Spitfire stared at Jackie. His eyes flicked up and down. “You were born with your powers?”

“How did you—oh.” Jackie sighed. “I guess I don’t look older than thirty, huh?”

“Not at all.”

“Well you don’t either. So ha, I know how old you are, too.” A bit petty, and not entirely accurate, but Jackie didn’t like how Spitfire knew more about him than he did about Spitfire. So he would grasp at whatever straws he had. “But...yeah. Born with them.”

“That doesn’t happen often.”

“No, it doesn’t. But in my case, it was genetic, sooo...lucky, I guess.” Jackie shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how long you’ve had your powers?”

“Nope.” Spitfire turned away, facing forward again. “I think that’s the last room in this part of the building.” He pointed at the end of the hallway, where a pair of heavy-looking sliding doors were embedded in the wall. “After this, we’ll turn around and take that other turn.”

“Got it.” Jackie hurried forward, reaching the doors before Spitfire. He stared at them, trying to judge how much force he’d need to open them. Then, bracing himself, he grabbed the edge of the door and pulled. It squealed loudly as it slowly slid sideways.

“Subtle,” Spitfire muttered. He did his usual checks for anything around the doorframe, then stepped through, with Jackie close behind him.

This wasn’t the biggest room in the facility, but it was by no means normal sized. There was some sort of strange metal fixture in the center of the room that looked like a car seat surrounded by machinery. And clustered around the walls, standing and sitting and lying down, were crowds of crash test dummies.

“Ohhh this is creepy,” Jackie muttered.

“They’re just mannequins,” Spitfire said, walking up to the car-seat-machine in the center. “I’m more concerned with this. What is it?”

“Uh...I don’t know.” Jackie floated closer to it. “Maybe it’s...for crash tests? Cause of all the dummies.”

“Well, crash tests are to make sure car models won’t hurt people when they crash, right?” Spitfire gestured at the seat-machine. “This isn’t a specific car model. I think. And this room isn’t big enough to get a good crash. You couldn’t get enough speed.”

“Maybe...it’s for testing the dummies,” Jackie guessed. “To make sure they can...give accurate results...or something. I don’t know.” He looked around the room. “Why did they leave all this stuff behind? Everywhere else is empty, except for random bits here and there. This is so full.”

“I don’t know. All I know is that there’s nothing in here.” Spitfire turned away. “Let’s just go back the way we—” Then he stopped. “Windstorm?”

“What?”

“Those weren’t there before, were they?”

Jackie turned around as well. When they walked into the room, they had a clear path straight to the center. Now, there were about a dozen crash test dummies standing in front of the room’s only door. “No...they definitely weren’t,” he said slowly.

And then the lights turned on.

Bright white light filled the room, flickering slightly but still covering every inch of the floor below. Jackie tensed and spun around, scanning the rows of identical dummies for something that was different. But no. They were all worn-down, lifeless dummies. Spitfire conjured a second energy orb and looked around the room as well. He didn’t see anything either.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Windstorm.”

That voice. It didn’t sound human. It sounded computer generated. Jackie glanced over at Spitfire, who had tensed up the moment that voice spoke. That told him everything he needed to know. “So, you’re the one behind all this,” Jackie said, looking towards the source of the voice: a speaker mounted high on the wall. “You’re the Puppeteer.”

“You’ve already given me a name? You could have at least asked me what I wanted first. And you’re looking in the wrong direction, Windstorm.”

Spitfire nudged Jackie’s side, drawing his attention. His eyes were locked on the next wall over. The top half of this wall was glass. No, it was a window. An observation room that looked down at the proceedings below. And standing right in the middle of the glass was a man dressed entirely in black.

Jackie immediately knew this was who they were looking for. The man wore armor, something that looked both medieval and robotic at once, occasionally accented with spikes. A black hood covered his head, and a featureless black mask covered the entirety of his face. The man raised a hand and waved, and that dark, blank mask changed. Now, there was a glowing face on it. Green circular eyes and a green jagged smile. “So glad you two could come,” said that voice.

“It was a trap! Shit!” Spitfire raised his hands, and the energy orbs glowed brighter. “That fucking rumor was bait!”

“No, it wasn’t,” the Puppeteer said. “How could it be bait, when there was never any rumor in the first place?”

“Don’t bullshit me! I know my source wouldn’t lie!”

“You’re right. She wouldn’t want to lie to you. But did you check to see if she sent it herself?” The Puppeteer put his hands together, then pulled them slowly apart. Green strings now connected each of his fingertips.

“Y-you...” Spitfire paled beneath his mask. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” Though it was hard to hear the tone in that computerized voice, Jackie could have sworn that the Puppeteer sounded smug.

“Motherfucker!” Spitfire cranked his arm back and started to throw one of the energy orbs at the window. Jackie shouted wordlessly, reaching out to try and push Spitfire aside, try to upset his aim—

But something beat him to the punch.

A plastic hand with a black-and-yellow circle shot out and grabbed Spitfire’s arm, stopping him from hurling his energy orb. One of the crash test dummies. Spitfire stared at it, speechless. But Jackie saw the black string wrapped around the dummy’s wrist. “What the fuck?!” he yelled.

Jackie immediately punched the dummy in the head. It snapped back, then bobbed forward in a bouncy motion. The dummy didn’t let go of Spitfire’s wrist. “Fuck fuck fuck!” Spitfire shouted. The energy orb in his other hand flattened into a fan-like shape, and he swung it towards the dummy, using it to slice its arm in half.

Then there was a squealing noise. Jackie spun around and saw the other crash test dummies closing the door to the room. His eyes widened, and he shot into the air, looking for a second door. There wasn’t one. “Hey!” He spun around and flew towards the observation room window, heading right for the Puppeteer. “What’s the big deal?!” he demanded, stopping just shy of the window glass.

The Puppeteer took a step backwards, then seemed to recover from the surprise and folded his arms. “Consider this a test,” he said. “For both of you. I wish to see what you are capable of. If you pass, you go free to fight another day.”

“And if we fail your stupid test?” Jackie asked.

“You can ask Spitfire about what would happen next. Now if you excuse me.” And the Puppeteer turned his back to Jackie and walked away.

“Hey! Asshole!” Jackie banged a fist on the window. “Don’t fucking walk away! Don’t you know that leaving the hero alone in the death trap is the number one way to guarantee they get out?! Are you stupid as well as evil?!”

The Puppeteer laughed, a strange sound in his computerized voice. “I will still be watching, Windstorm. I am always watching.” Then he disappeared through a door at the far end.

Jackie punched the glass again. Maybe it wasn’t too thick. Maybe he could break through this window with enough speed and—

“Holy fucking shit!” Beneath him, there was a flash of yellow-orange light. “Windstorm!”

Jackie looked back down towards the ground. Every single crash test dummy in the room was moving, walking like zombies as they converged on Spitfire. He was blasting them away with beams of energy, sending dummy parts flying with the smell of burned plastic, but there were too many. Spitfire’s head darted back and forth, and then he raised his hands. Shields of solid red energy sprag up from the ground. “How are we getting out of here?!” Spitfire shouted, looking up at Jackie.

“I’m working on it!” Jackie scanned the room one more time. On second glance, not all of the dummies were heading for Spitfire. There was a wall of them blocking off the door, and some of them were making their way to the seat-machine in the center of the room. They were starting to climb it, clumsily but still gaining ground. They were...trying to get to him. 

“Oh hell no!” Jackie shouted. He flew higher, almost touching the ceiling. At the same time, a strong gust of wind blew through the wind. It managed to dislodge some of the climbing dummies, and push over some of the ones on the floor, but not enough. And they all immediately started moving again. “It—it’s going to be fine!” Jackie tried to sound reassuring. “We can get through these guys easily! They’re just dummies! It’s not like they have weapons. We just need to—” Then he stopped. “Do you smell something...smoky? A-are you doing that?”

Spitfire didn’t say anything. He was busy trying to shoot down any dummies who tried to climb over each other to get past his shield. But then there was another squealing noise, and the dummies pulled the door open to reveal flames raging in the hallway.

“What the fuck?! This guy is crazy!” Jackie shouted. He sent another gust of wind to knock down the climbing dummies. Even less fell this time. And they were starting to pile over each other, getting ever higher, ever closer to where he was. “Spitfire! The—the door! Fire!”

“What?!” Spitfire looked up at him, annoyed, then noticed where Jackie was staring. He followed his line of sight. He saw the bright orange of the hallway fire. The effect was instant. Spitfire went very still...and his shields flickered and died.

The crash test dummies surged forward. “No!” Jackie shouted, diving downwards. A blast of air accompanied him, sending the dummies flying. Spitfire had been pushed to the floor. Jackie didn’t hesitate to grab him, pulling him upwards as he flew back towards the ceiling. Plastic hands clawed at them both on the way out. “Jesus fucking christ,” Jackie breathed. “A-are you okay?”

It took a second for Spitfire to respond. His eyes were fixed on the fire in the doorway, his body hanging limp in Jackie’s grip. Then the moment passed. He blinked, and immediately started to squirm. “Wh-what the hell, Windstorm?” he said, though his voice was devoid of its usual snappishness.

“Try not to move, please.” Jackie had carried countless civilians in the course of his superhero career. But that didn’t change the fact that squirming people were harder to hold than still people. “I really don’t want to drop you back into that. God, are there more of them?! Where did they come from?!”

“There were a lot lying down in the corners, it made the crowds look smaller,” Spitfire muttered. “We have to get out of here.”

“Yeah no shit. Have any ideas? And be fast.” The dummies had all started walking towards the seat-machine in the center. There were so many climbing it that the machine itself was almost invisible beneath a sea of almost-human limbs and black-and-yellow circles. It was only a matter of time before they reached them, even up here near the ceiling.

“The only other way out of here is that window.” Spitfire pointed towards it. “Do you think you could break through the glass?”

“Not while I’m carrying you like I’m Tails from Sonic,” Jackie grumbled.

“Not the time for jokes, Windstorm!” Spitfire shouted, his snappishness returning.

“Okay, okay! Uh—maybe you could destroy it? If your energy blasts are enough to destroy the dummies, they can destroy glass.”

Spitfire nodded. “That could work. Can you move a bit? Turn, like, ninety degrees so we’re facing the window.”

“Got it.” Jackie swiveled to the side so they were both staring at the window. Below them came the near-silent noises of crackling embers and plastic things bumping other plastic things. He breathed deeply, keeping them as high in the air as possible.

Meanwhile, Spitfire stared at the glass window. He, too, took a deep breath, and then raised his hands and pointed at the observation room. Two thin orange beams came from each of his fingers. And carefully, he used them to carve out a roughly circular part of the glass. The moment he was done, that circle of glass fell forward, shattering against the floor of the room below—which was now almost entirely empty of dummies as they all piled upwards. “Go!” he cried.

Jackie immediately flew forward. The circle was just barely big enough for both of them to fit through, and they tumbled over each other as they skidded across the floor. Jackie yelled in pain as the impact aggravated his leg injuries.

But there was no time to recover. There was still a fire in the building. Spitfire scrambled to his feet, grabbing Jackie’s arm and pulling him upright as well. “Can you still concentrate on that hovering thing?” he asked.

“Y-yeah, I got it.” Jackie shook his head to clear it, and after a second, his feet lifted off the ground. “Let’s get out of here.”

================

A few minutes later, the two of them burst out from the facility’s front entrance. They turned around in unison to see if anything was following them—either crash test dummies, or fire. But it was still. By this part of the building, at least. That fire was still raging somewhere else deep inside.

“God...fucking...fuck.” Spitfire ran a hand through his hair. His breathing was shaky. “Th-that was...that was...”

“Yeah,” Jackie muttered, nodding. “So...so much for the Puppeteer being a Type C.” He laughed.

“Wait, you’re right. How did he manage to control all those dummies if his powers are mind control?” Spitfire asked. “There’s no way that all those dummies in there were, like, actually people or something. I saw inside of them when I was blasting through them, it was all plastic and metal all the way through.”

“I don’t know, man. That’s...that’s not supposed to happen. Mind control and—and whatever that was back there...they’re not related, are they?” Jackie paused. “Other than them both affected human-shaped things. That being dummies and, you know, humans.”

“So...I guess the Puppeteer has the ability to control anything that looks human? As long as that thing—or person—has the strings around their wrists,” Spitfire summed up.

“What a weird fucking superpower,” Jackie mumbled. He sighed...and sat down on the asphalt of the facility’s parking lot. “I guess we’re no closer to catching the culprits, then. He was right there, a-and he got away!”

“Hmm.” Spitfire folded his arms. “Well. You could’ve got him. I’ve seen you punch through glass, you could’ve gone after him the moment he left.”

“I wasn’t going to just leave you in a room with murderous crash test dummies!” Jackie protested.

“I would’ve been fine.”

“Yeah, until that fire caught up to you.”

Spitfire inhaled sharply. Jackie noticed how he rubbed his arms, and he remembered the burns underneath them. “Well...thank...you,” Spitfire said haltingly. His words came out a bit strangled, as if he didn’t want to admit that Jackie had helped him.

“No problem.” Jackie grinned. “What are heroes for?”

Spitfire laughed. “Of course you’d say that.” He went silent. For a moment, they both stared at the facility’s front entrance. Waiting for something to appear. “How did you get all the way out here?” Spitfire finally asked.

“I flew. It’s remarkably fast.” Jackie shrugged. “What about you?”

“Rented a car. Parked it down the road. I didn’t see any other cars on the road here, or in this parking lot. Well. Do you want to do a quick fly around the building? Make sure there’s no sign of the Puppeteer guy?”

Jackie sighed. “Might as well. Just to be sure.” Even though he already knew he wouldn’t be able to find anything. He stretched his legs, and the wind helped him get to a standing position, then to a hover. “Do you want to walk around the building and check?”

“Hm. One second.” Spitfire leaned down, reaching into a hidden pocket in the pants leg of his uniform. He pulled out an old-looking watch and checked the time. “I want to. But I don’t think I’ll have the time.”

“You have somewhere to be?”

“I have something to do tomorrow, and before I go home and sleep, I want to check on Ka—my source. The one who sent me the email that got us here.” Spitfire spoke carefully, giving Jackie a suspicious side-eye.

Jackie sighed. Well, it was only expected that Spitfire still didn’t fully trust him. That was fine. Even though he had saved him back there. “You do that. I’ll...see you around, then.”

“I’ll see you around. In the emails.”

“In the emails.” Jackie nodded. He looked skywards, and flew up, quickly gaining height. He didn’t see Spitfire stare after him, standing there silently for a moment, and then turn and leave.

There was no sign of the Puppeteer or how he’d gotten all the way out here. That left Jackie feeling uneasy. But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. So finally, he turned and flew back home.

[meganmackieauthor]

I Can't Get the Vampire Rogue to Romance Me - Ch 13

The door stood in the middle of the hill, a carved stone slab partially obscured by vines that didn’t grow anywhere else on the hill. It couldn’t have looked more like someone was trying to “hide” a door there. Still, her new companions took the approach to it seriously, with the others falling back without being told to, leaving the rogues to move forward. 

Evangeline would have walked straight up to it, but Valerian threw out an arm to stop her, his eyes scanning the small grass-covered ramp of ground leading up. It took her a heartbeat to realize he was checking for traps. 

“It’s fine,” she said, pushing past his hand to go the rest of the way up to the door. 

The whole group behind her reacted, jumping at her cavalier approach, but she ignored them and turned the handle on the door.

“What in the hells are you doing?” Valerian hissed, snatching her hand away from the door faster than she registered that he had done it. 

“There are no traps outside the shrine. We’re fine. We just need to unlock the door and go in. I don’t exactly want to wait twenty minutes out here for you to figure out I’m right.” Then she realized something. “Oh crap. We don’t have lockpicks yet, so we can’t pick the door. How did I get it open bef—” Stopping herself before hearing what she had almost said. 

“Hence why we should investigate,” Valerian gritting his teeth. And granted he was making sense, but Evangeline was certain there were no traps.

Valerian didn’t wait for her to figure out where her logic was going wrong. Instead, he turned back to the group. “Hey. Do any of you happen to carry larceny tools?” 

That got everyone to start digging in their packs, looking for bits of wire or anything to possibly craft a set of larceny tools. 

Evangeline ignored all of it and studied the door before her. With a thought, she summoned up her stat table. As before, the Meta Knowledge winked at her, tempting her to just take the easiest answer and spend another of her special skill points, but she ignored it this time. 

It would be more fun to figure it out.

She studied the list of skills below her special ones. It was then that she realized a few of them had spouted branches since the last time she looked. Now, instead of just Thieves Skill, there was a little plus sign behind it that opened into several more lines of individual skills, such as pickpocketing, lockpicking, and larceny. All of them had fairly low numbers in them, too low to open this door even if she rolled well. 

“How did I open you before?” she asked the door. Not surprisingly, or rather thankfully, it didn’t answer. 

She next studied the reliefs carved into the stone surface, the edges rubbed smooth and rounded by implied “time” and “rain.” Then she heard the rattling sound and her Meta Knowledge: History activated. 

Many of these ancient temples would seal their doors with a special sequence of impressions that when touched would unseal the door. You notice three such impressions here.

And the lighted circles highlighted on the door’s surface. 

“Okay, I think I can unlock the door with this,” Valerian said, literally shoving Evangeline out of the way so that he could kneel before the door. While he settled himself before the door, to set up his lockpicks, Evangeline returned the favor. She hip-checked him, knocking him off his perched knee, and stuck her fingers and a thumb quickly into the three depressions.

Inside the door was a metallic click click click, and then the door shifted back.

Satisfied, Evangeline grinned down at Valerian, whose surprised face darkened at her success.

Then she did the cheekiest thing she could think of. She held up one finger and circled the other at him. “1-0,” she said as she passed through the door. 

“Oh well, that was easy!” Hagor said, unknowingly twisting the knife on Evangeline’s win. 

They all followed her in, Valerian bringing up the rear. Just inside the new space, what would have been a sort of foyer of the temple, they gathered to take the place in. 

As far as epic halls went, it wasn’t that grand. It had four pillars going down each side of an aisle with alcoves between each pillar on either side. Within those alcoves were destroyed statues of whatever gods used to be in residence there. Evangeline heard the rattle as her Meta Knowledge: Religions popped up, but her roll wasn’t high enough to identify any of them. The others all marveled as well.

“Look at that. She was right! This is one of those old pantheon temples,” Artmond said, giggling with delight. 

“I don’t recognize any of them though,” Sigismund said, wrinkling her nose in consternation at that fact, but the fact that she wasn’t making the roll either made Evangeline feel a little better. Because, clearly, if the cleric, whose Knowledge: Religions stats were higher, couldn’t make it, none of them would. 

“Oh wait, I think that is the Sky Lord!” Artmond cried, pointing at the nearest alcove, while stepping toward it.

“No! Wait!” both Valerian and Evangeline cried, reaching out too late to stop their companion from stepping on the trap plate right in front of him. 

The room exploded with fire. Firebolts were shooting across the space back and forth as well as diagonally. Artmond took a direct hit to the chest with the first one, knocking him down and thankfully back amongst the rest of them. 

Sigismund crouched immediately by his side, to pull him the rest of the way to safety in the foyer, while Hagor startled back against the wall behind them. 

“I thought you said there weren’t any traps!” Sigismund screeched. 

“Outside the temple!” Evangeline cried, but it was hard to hear over the roaring fires. 

Then, all at once, it stopped. The room was pitch black and smoking except for what light filtered in through the still-open door. Unsure of what happened, Evangeline looked to Valerian, who had reached around the corner. 

He shot her back his shit-eating grin. “1-1.”

To be continued...

To read the latest chapter join my newsletter at meganmackieauthor.com

[warsamongstthestar-keen]

Chapter Twenty-Four

Only moments after the Clone Captain leaves the room, a light knock is heard on the door. Keen's head turns, calling out, "Come on in."

Leia steps through the open door, beaming at the Jedi. "So," she starts, "I really want to be able to go on missions with you." Keen opens her mouth to respond to the girl, but the Princess continues on. "I know, I know. I can't exactly show up fighting Imperials, that could be terrible for Alderaan, but I was thinking. All I need is a mask like yours, or something that hides my face."

The Jedi Master smiles at her Padawan. "Alright, here," she says, tossing her a Clone Trooper helmet from the table near her bunk.

"A helmet from the Clone Wars?"

"It belonged to a member of the Coruscant guard. Right after the fall of the Republic, a group of Clone deserters and myself were on Kamino, just to save a kid. I knocked the Clone unconscious, and took his armour. Worked well for me for years, I'm sure it'll work for you too."

"Really?" the Princess asks, eyes widening. "Thank you, Ari!" she says, hugging her Master, before turning to the door.

"You should ask Sabine to paint it." Leia stops, her hand hovering over the button to open the door. "She'd be happy to do it. If you're using it to keep your identity from the Imps, might as well shove it back in their face."

"Can I take your mask, get her to paint it. We could match." The Jedi rolls her eyes, grabbing her bag. Fumbling around inside she tugs her mask from inside, tossing it at her Padawan as well.

"Knock yourself out kid."

***

About twenty minutes later, the door slides open, her student standing on the other side. The Princess walks in, the helmet resting snugly on her head. It's once white and red paint job now painted in a pale lilac. An orange Starbird covers the top corner of the right side. On the left top, in Aurebesh, is the phrase, 'Long Live the Republic.' The Padawan lifts the helmet from her head, a small smirk across her face.

She holds the old mask out to her master. It's been painted a very pale green, an orange Starbird in the exact center of the forehead, around the corners are a checkerboard of colours that relate to the other members of the Ghost crew. She smiles at it, taking it from the Princess' hands gently. Keen places it into the bag, turning her attention back to Leia. "I'll tell you when the mission comes in, till then, either go work on form one, or find Ezra and give him a hand.

The girl nods, turning from the Jedi, walking down the corridor. The door barely closes before it opens again, this time revealing the Jedi Knight, lounging against the doorframe. "Busy day?"

"You have no idea, seems as if it's about to get a whole lot busier. What's up?"

"Ahsoka's here, wants to see you in my cabin. Official Jedi business."

Keen sighs, climbing slowly to her feet, trailing behind the Knight. As they head for the bunk, Ari'abel senses the presence of the two Padawans following them both, as discreetly as they can.

The two enter, a smiling Ahsoka greeting the Jedi Master. Her face falls to a much more serious frown. "I've been monitoring transmissions from Mustafar to find out more about the Sith Lord."

"And?" Kanan asks, side-eyeing Keen.

Ahsoka sighs, also looking at Ari'abel, "Information about him eludes me, but I've learned more about his Inquisitors. It seems they have a secondary mission to make retrievals."

"We already know that they excel at hunting what remains of the Jedi. What else could they possibly be after."

"At this point, I could only guess. I managed to decipher two sets of coordinates. I'm on my way to investigate the first one, I was hoping maybe you would accompany me?" she says, asking Keen.

"Course, I'd never pass up the chance to hang out with you," she responds, beaming at the Togruta.

Kanan shakes his head, chuckling slightly. "I assume you want me to check out the second?" he asks, to which he receives a nod. "I'm in."

"You should have Ezra join you. And I was hoping Leia could join us."

Keen chuckles, "Well, I guess it's a good thing that they're already briefed on the mission." Ahsoka looks at her confused, but Kanan walks to the door, opening it.

Both Padawan's fall through the doorway into a heap on the floor. Leia is the first to her feet, tugging Ezra up behind her. At the exact same time, they both say, "You did say it was Jedi business."

The Togruta merely sighs, shaking her head, "Bring Zeb as well, Kanan. He proved himself against the Inquisitors before." Kanan nods, leaving his bunk, and the other three behind in his room.

"So, where too?" Leia asks the two.

Keen not having an answer, turns to face the former Jedi Padawan. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. "Chandel, or nearly."

"We wanna take my ship?" the Jedi Master questions, the trio making their way for the docking port.

"Fine by me."

***

The trip to Chandel, although not very long, is filled with questions from the Padawan, mostly about the old Jedi Order. The two take turns answering questions, until a mostly destroyed public shuttle comes into view just outside the Chandelian atmosphere. Ahsoka and Keen glance at each other, the Jedi flipping switches, as she guides the ship to dock with the other.

Once fully hooked up, the three start through to the shuttle. Stopping just before entering, Keen turns to her Padawan, "I want you to stay behind me, and don't do anything reckless. Be mindful, trust the Force."

Leia nods, pulling her new helmet securely over her head. The Jedi turns back around, pulling her own mask on, gesturing for Ahsoka to lead the way. The three cautiously pick their way through the partially destroyed vessel, using the Force to guide them to where they need to go. Walking down a corridor, Keen faintly hears a woman's voice rasping, "Help."

The Jedi Master signals for the trio to stop, holding a finger to her lips. Through the creaking of the ship, the voice is once again discernable, still rasping. "Help. I'm here."

Ahsoka approaches the woman, Keen and Leia right beside her. Kneeling kindly beside the older woman, the ex-Jedi says, "It's okay. You're safe now."

The woman gulps, looking relieved upon seeing the three kind faces, "Help me. Help my grandchild."

"Your grandchild?" Leia asks, glancing at the Togruta, before moving her head to face Ari'abel.

"They took her. They took Alora. The red blades, they knew that she has it. Find her. She has it..."

"Shh'" Keen says, taking the woman's hand, "Rest. You need to rest. We will find her."

The elderly woman lays her head down on the hard, metal flooring, her eyes drifting closed.

[mlmxreader]

Hot Older Guy | Holland March x m!reader

Anonymous asked: How would Holland March react to a younger male reader openly flirting with him at a party? Like, maybe he’s on another case and for some reason he finds himself at a very queer party and gets hit on. In my head he‘d probably go "ah no I‘m straight sorry buddy" but eventually comes back to the reader and buys him a drink bc fuck this guy is pretty.

summary: Holland is trying to work, but when he gets distracted by a hot guy, he starts to question things here and there. 

tws: swearing, drinking, smoking 

word count: 1182

“You’re twenty-one, you’re unemployed, permanently house-sitting for your aunt, and you’re queer,” your friend scoffed. “Would you pick a fucking struggle?”

You flicked the straw from your drink at her as you shook your head, doing your best not to laugh; she wasn’t exactly lying, but you didn’t exactly agree to a night out at some randomer’s house party just to get told the same shit time and time again. Your family kicked you out, you didn’t have any stability other than the money that your aunt gave you for house-sitting, most of which was spent on food so you could survive, and being openly queer in the fucking seventies… you weren’t exactly having an easy time of it. 

“How’s Delilah?” You asked. “Has she started oestrogen yet? I know she mentioned it last time we met up, but I forgot when you said she’d start.” 

Your friend nodded, smiling as she cleared her throat. “Yep, and she’s going in for bottom surgery next week.” 

You smiled back. “Nice. Do you want me to give you a hand with the house?”

“We’d appreciate it,” she agreed. “Thank you.” 

You were about to say something, when you noticed him; white shirt, orange tie, dark blue blazer and trousers, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a moustache that looked like it should have belonged to Robert Kerman. You licked your lips, and hummed softly. “I don’t mean to be rude, Stella, but uh… check out the one o’clock.” 

She did as you were told, groaning softly and rolling her eyes. “Really? (y/n), he looks like he’s someone’s dad.” 

“Exactly,” you mumbled, downing your drink and grinning at her as you stood up. “Wish me luck, yeah?”

“Good luck,” she sighed. “If you need to be driven home later, ask Delilah to do it.”

“Thank you,” you chuckled, kissing her forehead before making your way over to him. He was making his way out to the back garden, so you followed. Daring to clear your throat and smile at him as you lit up a cigarette. “Hi, I’m (y/n).” 

He looked you up and down, nodding slowly. “Holland.”

“You’re a bit handsome for a place like this,” you told him, not even trying to hide it as you checked him out. “Don’t tell me you’re a cop.” 

Holland shook his head, furrowing his brows a little. “What? No. Private Investigator - I’m looking for, uh, a guy called Tony. His… his boyfriend said he’d be here.” 

“Yeah, Tony’s here,” you nodded. “Can I ask why you want him, though?”

“I’ve been asked by his parents to take him back home,” he explained, “something about a will needing to be read. I dunno.” 

You nodded slowly. “Well, he’s here. He won’t go back, though.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Look around you,” you told him with a grin. 

“I don’t get it,” Holland shook his head. “So, what, there’s men kissing other dudes and- oh.” 

You couldn’t help but to laugh, putting your arm around his shoulders and shaking your head. “This your first time at a queer party?”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry,” you told him softly, stealing a look at his lips. “I’ll keep an eye on you, handsome.”

“I, I, I appreciate the offer, really, I do, but, uhm…” he pulled away, running a hand through his hair and chewing at the inside of his lip. He swallowed thickly, checking you out for a second; sure, he did have a few crushes on guys throughout his life, but… he wasn’t queer. At least, he didn’t think he was. “I think I’m straight… and you’re, like, half my age.” 

You nodded, flashing him a fucking brilliant smile that made his knees go weak. “Good luck finding Tony, by the way. If you need me, I’ll be doing shots in the kitchen.” 

Holland nodded, thanking you for your time as he backed away, tripping over his own feet as he made his way through the party; sure, he had had crushes on guys before and he had found certain guys incredibly attractive, but he thought he was straight. Yeah, he did think a few times about having relationships with men, and it was something he knew he wanted - but he thought he was straight. Then again, he also thought that Jaws was real for, like, a solid week. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and picking up the nearest drink he could find; downing it and leaving the glass on what he guessed was a solid surface. He couldn’t get you from his mind. 

You were handsome, like, really handsome, and you were certainly charming; the way you smiled at him made his knees weak and his heart was starting to pound as he thought about it; his hands were shaking a little as he lit up a cigarette and sighed heavily. Maybe he wasn’t straight. Maybe he was into men and women. That would explain it. But he definitely was not straight, and the more he thought about it, the more he started to realise that he swung both ways and batted for both teams; he managed to make his way through the entire property before he found himself back in the kitchen. 

And there you were. 

So fucking handsome as you laughed with a couple of what he guessed were your friends, but then you saw him, and with a grin, you excused yourself and made your way over. 

“Everything okay, Holland?”

“Can I, uh, can I get you a drink?” He asked, and when you told him what you wanted, he got it for you. Pressing the glass into your hands shakily and doing his best not to tense up and grin when your fingers ghosted his. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you agreed, leading him through the crowd and down to the very bottom of the garden, sitting him down in a black wicker chair and before you stole a seat at the edge of the black wicker table. “So, what is it?”

Holland cleared his throat, wishing he had gotten a drink for himself. “I don’t think I’m straight.” 

You smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “And I’m attracted to you, I really am, but I’m meant to be working, and-”

You got on his lap, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe or speak, wide eyed and smiling as he swallowed thickly; you leaned down, kissing him gently, and he couldn’t stop himself, putting one hand on the back of your neck, the other on your hip as he kissed you back. But then you pulled away with that fucking smile that made his knees weak. “I’m attracted to you, too… forget your work. Let’s go get a fucking… I dunno, a kebab or something.” 

“Sure,” Holland whispered, and although he was a little nervous, he pulled you back in for another kiss. “You’re really fucking hot.” 

“So are you,” you told him. “I just gotta do one thing.” 

“What?”

“Tell my friend I’m not going home tonight,” you whispered. “And that I pulled the hot older guy after all.” 

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

    (   PREVIOUS   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST  |   NEXT  )

“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Bad Romance - Joaquin Torres X Reader

Song: Bad Romance - (961) lady gaga - bad romance ( s l o w e d ) - YouTube

Summary: The reader is an enhanced individual with the ability to replicate other people’s abilities. A member of the Avengers, she has been working alongside Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes to investigate the Flag Smashers but the man calling himself the next Captain America poses an obstacle when he takes interest in her abilities. 

Author’s Note: Hello! So this is my first time posting a fic I've written. I’ve been writing since 2018 but never had the courage to post anything so I hope you all enjoy my story. Torres has only been in ‘The Falcon and The Winter Soldier’ for like five minutes but I’m in love with him. There obviously isn’t enough fiction out there about him so I took it upon myself to write one. This is an idea I came up with in my head, aside from the plot of the show. Listen to the song for added effect. I’ve inserted timings as well :)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS, Canon-level Violence, blood, romance

Word count: 2.5K

Darkness is all you’ve known these past hours.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours since you’ve last had contact with anyone. Sam would usually check in with you about now, but that didn’t seem a likely possibility. 

Your right eye is almost swollen shut and you’re pretty confident that you have a few broken ribs from how difficult breathing is. The sound of metal creaking echoes in the empty room as you rattle your restraints. 

You’ve been quite literally chained to the wall. 

They weren’t taking any precautions.

Especially after witnessing the dozen agents you could take down all by yourself. 

Leaning against the wall, you try to reach some semblance of comfort, laying some of your weight against the hard-rock. Your neck burns from the collar they attached when you caught you off-guard. 

It was during a recon mission, you were chasing a lead about the Flag Smashers’ next meet up when they showed. Half a dozen armed men in tactical gear. 

They snagged a collar on you, disabling your powers.

You didn’t anticipate this.

All you heard was a piercing noise and then you blacked out.

You couldn’t access your powers as soon as that light buzzed. Trying to summon fire warranted a little electric shock to your system. Little, meaning severe enough to take down an elephant. 

Yeah, so getting out of here would be tricky.

Isn’t it always?

Five guards have remained in the room for the past two days, monitoring, watching. 

For what? 

You have only the slightest idea why.

The double doors which have remained close for the past two days creak open. The blue uniform is familiar to you but the face donning the outfit is not. He’s an imposter wearing a costume, a mock of the real thing. John Walker, along with his so-called ‘American squadron’, had grabbed you as a statement. Sam and Bucky certainly weren’t going to stay out of it because someone told them to. You all followed a code, to protect those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, it's been a while since we met last...I’m sorry for the way you were handled on the way here but it was the only way I could get to talk to you.”, he said, looking at the bruises beginning to form.

He talked nonchalantly as if this were a normal conversation. Your wrists were raw from pulling away from the cuffs, clothes covered in dirt and dried blood. He strode up to you, pulling his helmet off and placing it carefully on a metal crate.

“Now, I know Bucky and Sam had a lot to say about me, but you, you were always silent. I thought we had an understanding.”

‘An understanding?’

You refuse to look at him.

“You talk big words for someone who couldn’t begin to understand the legacy of that uniform.”

“I earned this! I put in the work. All they want is someone to look up to. To show them that justice still exists.”, he paces in front of you.

“Justice. Is it?”, your eyes narrow.

He pauses in thought, seething with internalised spite. Pacing the floor, he turns his back to you.

“Have you had time to think about my question?”

You remain silent, glaring at his mockery of Steve’s uniform.

“No? Okay. That’s fine,”, he whispered.

Walker signalled for a guard to open the doors once more and two more men entered, dragging someone along. You squint your eyes to identify the person as they dump them in front of you. 

“No”, you whispered desperately, your breath caught in your throat.

You spot Joaquin’s dark hair and tan complexion, more so, the blood staining his clothes. The men dragged Joaquin next to Walker, letting him slump to the floor. From what you could see, he had been beaten pretty badly, the bruises already beginning to form on his face. His hands are cuffed behind him and he’s unable to hold his own weight. 

Panic fills Torres as he notices the chains securing you to the wall. The last he heard over the coms was a struggle. He and Sam had been surveilling to get anything they could on your kidnappers.

You could only hear the rapid beating of your heart in your throat as blood rushed to your face. Your breathing quickens as you don’t quite know what will happen next. 

John broke the silence,

“I’m going to ask you again.”

“Then, I'm going to count from three.”, he said, pulling a silencer out from his waistband and cocking it at Joaquin who rested on his knees.

“What are you?”

You stare at him incredulously, unresponsive. 

You look down at Joaquin as he gazes up at you, helpless to move with guns trained on you. He’s telling you to stop, to lie, to do anything but give yourself up.

“What answer do you want?”, you asked, using all your strength to lift your head up.

“You want me to say I’m a freak? A mutant? An experiment? What good does that do you? Everyone knows it.”, you huff, sharpening your glare.

He stares down at Joaquin and kicks his foot out against the ground, clicking his tongue. Walker threw his foot into Joaquin’s back, pushing him into the floor.

“Not that.”

You watch as he points the gun harder.

“Tell me. What. You. Are.”, he grits out.

You clench your jaw hard, shutting your eyes tightly. A burning sensation fights in your chest, spreading to your arms. You suck in a breath desperately, a whimper tearing from your throat as your head drops.

The click of the safety echoes loudly.

(1:26s of the song)

Your eyes shoot open, blazing red and as the chains snap free from the wall. The metal clangs loudly against the floor, triggering the five weapons now pointed at your chest. A surge of fire ignites as you swipe your leg, knocking the agents back. The two standing closest raise their guns as you tilt your head and launch a blast of fire from your hand. The next agent replaces him, firing his gun consecutively, but you strut towards him, swiping them away with blasts omitting from your hands. You send a roundhouse kick with a wall of fire, propelling him through the exit. The remaining three encircle you with their weapons, clicking the safety off.

Your hands burn, glowing red with the heightening energy,

“Okay, you got me.”

You raise your hands in surrender as one of them steps towards. Faltering a step, you inhale deeply as he grabs your arm. Once he sets a hand on you, you exhale, breathing out a stream of fire. You twirl in a circle, the fire pushing them back and blocking their sight of you as they flinch from the heat. Dropping to the floor, you strike the cement and crack the surface. The building’s structure shakes as a cloud of energy dissipates from the contact, incapacitating the last of the soldiers.

Walker fixes his gun on Joaquin but you focus your glare on him. You wait as he stares at you, knowing he has the advantage.

"I'd stop right now, if I were you."

You silently stare at him with blazing fire burning in your orbs. The clicking of the safety reverberates in your mind as all movement stops. The muzzle of the gun is inches away from Joaquin's head.

“Alright, you’ve had your show now.”

You've got mere seconds to make a decision here.

He remains still, as Joaquin’s eyes meet yours and you nod your head slightly. 

It’ll be okay because you’d never let anything happen to each other.

"Walker, you've made your point. Look, it's me you really want, not Torres.", You snipped, grabbing his attention. 

Joaquin’s heart raced faster, 

What were you doing?

You could see the gears turning in Walker’s head, his eyebrows perk up.

"C'mon, this whole thing was to get to me, right? To weaponize me. It's my power. So take it. Just let him go." 

Walker pauses in thought,

"I don't think I will." 

You knew that'd be his answer but he was too busy looking at you to notice anything else. Joaquin threw his leg out, kicking Walker’s shin to knock him off his centre.

Moving quickly, you roundhouse, knocking the gun from his hand and driving your foot into his knee. He lets out a pained yell, ducking your elbow jab and rolling behind you. You roll forwards, swooping your flames across the floor to knock Walker on his back. He rolls to the side, standing again to flick open a compact switch from his pocket. He struggles for a moment as you strut over, but he presses the button down with conviction. 

You falter in your steps as a loud piercing sound breaches your cranium and hearing. It’s overwhelming, threatening to shatter your skull. A whimper falls from your mouth as both hands grasp your head. You can faintly hear Joaquin yelling your name from behind. The pain is unbearable. Joaquin bangs the cuffs on a metal crate behind him, forcing them to break. 

Your vision blurs as you clumsily move towards Walker. Once you’re close enough to him, you throw an uncoordinated right hook but he catches it and returns with a kick to your chest, knocking you to the floor. The pain continues, eliciting a moan from you as it grows worse with each second. Joaquin watches as you scream in agony, sprinting towards Walker and tackling him to the floor. Walker loses the switch from his hand, punching Joaquin in the jaw to get him off. Joaquin hisses as his head hits the floor, but he’s quickly grappling for the switch before Walker can get his hands on it. Scanning the floor, he sights it inches away from where you’re curled up in a ball. He’s crawling over to make it but a grip on his shoulder halts him, flipping him over and punching him repeatedly. 

Over the intense clanging, you see black dots form in your sight as you want to pass out. You hear grunts nearby and the sound of a fist making contact with skin. You flicker your eyes upward to see Walker’s figure looming over someone. 

‘Joaquin...where’s Joaquin?’

You close your eyes and force yourself up, struggling to gain your bearings. Upon opening your eyes, you notice something within your reach. Crawling forward, your fingers barely touch it. You try again and again before you feel the metal beneath your fingertips. Finally, you have it in your hands and crush it. The metal crunches and the ringing ceases. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you push yourself off the floor.

More coherent now, you angrily send a blast of energy to knock Walker off of Joaquin. Scrambling off the floor, he brings his fists in front of him, but you've already there, standing in front of him.

"I’m going to count from three.”, you said.

Striking a wave in his direction, you blast fire into his chest, your eyes imbuing fluttering embers.

‘Three’

You continue your onslaught, attacking him with multiple blows of rage. 

Your figure looms over Walker, blocking Joaquin from his sight.  

‘Two’

Your hands emit a fiery glow as you project flames, igniting a huge blast which sends Walker crashing through the window and down below.

‘One’

Gazing down the terrace, you saw Walker’s unconscious body laying on the crushed roof of a car. The authorities would show up eventually. 

Looking back inside, you finally start to feel the adrenaline rush declining. You move away from the window to find Torres leaning against a crate. Joaquin's face is bruised and cut-up as he holds his side with a grimace. 

"Joaquin, are you okay?!", 

You rush over to hold his other arm, scanning him for serious injuries. 

He stops your moving hands to grip them,

"(Y/N), I'm okay, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about. You almost died. How did you do that?", Joaquin asked, concern lingering in his eyes at the magnitude of your powers.

"I-I don't know. I guess my powers have always been linked to my emotions and then you were in danger. It was kind of instinctive, you know?"

"I could never let anything happen to you. Never.", She whispered silently, not noticing if he had caught it.

Joaquin moved to grasp her chin in his hand, pulling her head up so he could look into her eyes.

"You saved me."

You glanced over his face and the clear pain he was hiding from his injuries. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay. I-I was afraid...It shouldn't have been you.", You said to Joaquin, tears glinting in your sight.

"I'm not going anywhere. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.", he said, moving closer as your eyes meet his deep and endearing gaze.

"We should call Sam.", You suggested.

"I'll call him later."

Yours eyes met as he leaned his forehead on yours. You inhaled deeply as he gripped your hands tightly as if you would fall out of his grasp. Joaquin's arms encircle your waist and pull you in his embrace. Your arms rest around his neck, nestling your head against his shoulder.

You hold each other tightly in a moment of calm, seeking comfort from that person. The one person you would always seek out. 

You pull away, but his arms remain around your waist.

"You're so beautiful.", He whispers.

Your breathing shudders for a second before you decide to go for it,

"I-I love you, Joaquin."

You gauge his reaction as his eyes widen slightly. He leans in and guides his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly and passionately, his hands still gripping your waist. You sigh and stand on your tip-toes, tugging the hairs on the back of Joaquin's neck to bring him closer. You both pause, gasping for air for a moment. Kisses linger in between breaths as you both wind down from the intense 24 hours you've had, emotionally and physically.

"For the record, I love you too.", He grins, laughing at your eye roll.

"I didn't quite catch that, why don't you show me again?", You winked, biting your lip as his arms swooped around you again and tugged you closer. 

Barely brushing your lips, he looks between your eyes and then your lips.

"I think we can arrange that."

Your breath catches as your lips brush his. You smiled, closing your eyes, as does Joaquin. You swayed in his arms as his lips encased yours once more. 

Suddenly, red and blue flashing lights breach your vision from below. Sirens surrounded you both. You separated, glancing outside the broken window. 

Police cars surrounded the building. Reinforcements had arrived. His hand still grips yours and you motion to help him take some of his weight, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

"We should get of here.", You pushed open the door to exit down a flight of stairs. 

"Yeah.", Joaquin replied, grinning down at you as you walked out together.

Reblog, like, comment if you liked it and any thoughts xx

[oh-for-fic-sake]

They Hung Up

Masterlist

Summary: August can always fix your problems, especially when someone is ripping off his princess.

Warnings: fluff, ddlg, daddy kink

A/n: inspired by my chat with ebay this morning. Apparantly ebay will charge buyers import and customs VAT on items that aren't even being imported into the country... or going through customs. And they don't charge this at checkout they only charge it when they take the actually money. When i told the lady thats stealing your taking more then the agreed amount from my bank she hung up on me telling me to 'speak to the tax office'

Taglist: in reblogs.

"No but you cant charge import tax on something that isn't being imported.... No they cant that's illegal look I just want my money beck for the tax-what do you mean no?!... Hello? Hello?" You could have cried you were so angry and upset. You closed locked your phone screen and sniffed shaking your head in frustration.

"Princess what's wrong?" You snapped your head to your daddy, august was scowling. You could see the aggravated look as he took in your tears. Your daddy never liked you wasting them on other people. Your sweet pure tears were only meant to be shed for him! Every droplet was his to pull from you, be it tears of rapturous pleasure or shed from being spanked for being naughty.

"August? I? they hung up on me!" You hissed quickly running over to him tucking yourself into his thick frame pressing your head into his chest trying to soak in the smell of his aftershave. The spicy scent was heady and a little overbearing, you could tell why. Under the spice was the metallic twang of blood and deep sooty smell of fired bullets. You both loved and hated it, as safe as it made you feel remembering just who and what he was if frightened you, one day he could be hurt.

"Who? Sweetpea?" He purred softly needing to calm you down before he could make heads roll. His arms encircled you squeezing you tightly and he rested his chin on your head the  began swaying with you slowly.

"The support desk! They charged import tax! And nothing was imported! Daddy I was careful and-and I checked and double checked there was no warning not on check out or nothin' then they took another ten dollars on top and now my bank is angry and charging me for going over!" You said quickly panicked that he would be mad at you for spending too much again.

"Okay pumpkin slow down... Tell daddy what's going on slowly... Don't miss anything out okay angel" he said pulling you back a little to let you catch your breath. But you quivered and opened your mouth wiping at your eyes before trying to argue.

"Yeah but!?"

"Shh shh no buts take a deep breath... Now out, good girl now start from the beginning" he coaxed slowly cooing at you as you took a few breaths and calmed, settling down n his arms feeling safe and secure, even if you were still angry.

"I got that lamp with the shelves... It was fifty four dollars and ninety nine cents" you started explaining from the beginning and waited for August to nod.

"Yes I know, I remember you showing me to see if it would fit in the corner" he spoke remembering the little pull cord box lamp and three shelves, you wanted it for the internet router and house phone to sit on so you had more room for snacks on the side table.

"Well I got it and paid but then when paypal billed me they charged sixty four dollars and ninety-nine cents... I messaged them and they said it was import tax!" You cried out getting yourself all angry again, cheeks puffing out sweetly as you huffed and growled even throwing you hands up in frustration. August made to speak but you continued your tale of the mean support desk and their money thieving ways.

"I looked it up and cos its coming for inside the state I don't have to pay! So I called and they said I had to because the shop was registered outside of the USA! But its wrong! They're wrong and when I asked for my money she hung up on me! She said I have to talk to the tax office people!" August frowned that wasn't right and he knew it. It was clear you were being taken for a fool. These bastards were at it all over the place he'd seen some of it on the news, instead of tax evasion as we know it there was a new crime. Stealing tax from buyers and classing it as profit. Because its tax most people don't question it.

"And then my bank sent me this! Saying I was over my limit and in the minus! So now they are taking twenty dollars when my next allowance goes in!"  You cried quickly pulling up an email on your phone from your bank showing a notice of charges you now had on your account.

"Its not fair I didn't do nothing wrong daddy but now I'm loosing the tax and twenty dollars of my allowance!" You yelled and began sniffling again your lip wobbling. His heart melted as he watched you try so hard not to break down and cry again. You were being his big brave girl.

"Okay pumpkin i will sort this out give me the phone" he said plucking the phone from you then turned around heading to his office.

"But you cant! Its a withheld number-" you said sniffling following him one hand fisting the back of his jacket as he strode through the pent house to the secure room.

"Oh come on sweetheart don't tell me I'm going too soft and you've forgotten just who your daddy is~" he cooed opening the door and ushering you to the small teepee in the corner that had a large iPad and a few fuzzy scatter cushions .

"Go sit and watch YouTube or something okay? Let daddy fix this mess" he said pulling your headphones from the drawer and handed them to you ushering you to the small cozy spot he had made you.

You watched as he plugged your phone into his computer and made a few quick clicks before picking up his own phone and dialled a number with a smug look the  clicked his fingers at you pointing to the headphones wanting you to pop them on and stop worrying. You pouted but slipped on the large pink headset  and pretended to loom at your screen and select a video in reality you were listening to your daddy.

"Yes you wouldn't recognize it. How? Well this is a government number, you just told a young lady to inform us about taxes?" You flicked your eyes up at him grinning hearing the professional growl to his voice the 'daddy means business' tone that made you quiver with want and fear. It never meant good things, most of the time he used this tone when you were a bad girl. You only hoped the mean woman on the phone felt bad now too.

"Why yes, yes she did a miss y/n yes that's her. I would like for you to put me through to head office" you bit your lip hearing him begin his assault. No one not even the lady on the phone and her jargon would out smart your daddy!

"Pardon me I'm sorry I'm Mr Walker...I work for the tax office in her state and have decided to open an investigation about tax fraud over the issue, we have had many complaints... oh yes she informed us of everything, she was distressed over the tax miscalculation? Which has caused her to go over drawn on her account and incurred charges" he spoke firmly and turned looking to you as you giggled watching him in his huge leather spiny chair. You gasped when he frowned and pointed a finger to your iPad clearly telling you to stop being nosey and watch your videos.

"Yes I am aware of that but the shop is registered overseas, it doesn't export from overseas... so there is no international import tax due." He continued spinning around in the chair making a few notes on the large paper pad in front of him.

"Yes that's why I'm calling I've been on your website and your policies are in fact breaking the law and infringing on the rights of consumers. Do you understand? What you have done is illegal and fraudulent and I can see it isn't the first time so I would like to speak to your head of office now- thank you" you quickly looked down as August spun once more and grunted at you pointing to the door with a scowl catching you eavesdropping again.

"Poppet either watch your videos or go and have some lunch" he said covering the mouthpiece on the phone making you pout and flick your legs at him and cross your arms stubbornly. You wanted to watch!

"Decide or I will decide for you" he said raising his brows at you but you just huffed pleading with your eyes at him to let you stay and listen.

"Right lunch it is come on up! Off you pop go make a sandwich and have some juice" he said holding out his hand for the headphones.

"But I want to see you tell them off daddy!" You huffed non to impressed at being set out of the room so quickly.

"No, now do as I've asked daddy will be out in a few minuets this wont take long" you held his gaze for a few moments before you lost your nerve then stood with a pout handing him your headphones and left the room closing the door when you were told to.

It was twenty minuets alter August came put of the office and padded to the kitchen seeing you at the breakfast bar swinging on a chair whislt munching a chocolate spread sandwich a few candy wrappers on the side and packets of chips and un touched apple. He sighed giving you the stink eye but didn't say anything. You found a loop hole he said lunch and sandwich... he hadn't specified what type of lunch and sandwich.

"All sorted poppet! Your being refunded and getting compensation which will be debited into your account in forty eight hours" he said rounding the breakfast bar snatching the apple opening the cutlery drawer fishing out a knife.

"That's quick daddy... I thought they can only do it in five days?" You asked watching as he sliced the apples and began cutting the core out for you.

"Oh princess its amazing what people can do when they think the big bad tax man is on to them~" he chuckled at your face as he placed the apple on your plate. You didn't want to eat it but you would . Quickly. Because if you left it too long itd go brown and you would whine about it, get a warning and end up having to eat it anyway.

"Will you get in trouble? you pretended to be the tax man daddy" You said cautiously lifting a small apple wedge to your mouth and nibbled it.

"Me? Of course not daddy has many different identities love, and I can use them when I want love... besides we just uncovered a company that not only evades tax but it stealing it!" He grinned. If there was one thing he liked it was justice. Everyone should pay their dues. Especially someone who rigs a system to benefit themselves.

"And.. My bank charges?" You asked still unsure if he will be mad a you for over spending...Again

"All gone, daddy will cover them princess; now just how much chocolate spread is in that sandwich?" He said leaning over your plate trying to pry apart the two slices of bread.

"Err a little" you shrugged still eating your apple whist trying to smoosh your sandwich and hide the super thick chocolatey layer.

"Mm hmm there's more chocolate then bread poppet~" he hummed unimpressed but let it slide, again you'd found your loophole, the last thing he'd do is punish you for being a smart ass. It could save your life one day.

"Sorry daddy" you said whilst pulling the plates closer to yourself protectively worried he would steal our chocolate.

"Oh don't be poppet once its gone its gone its you that will miss it not me" he chuckled and spun around crossing the kitchen to make his own lunch. You grinned happily, what had been a bad day was getting better and better! You were getting your money back, compensation,  your daddy was paying your and charges and you got to keep your chocolate spread! What more could you ask for? Well there was one more thing you could ask for.

"Daddy can I have a puppy?"

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoilers (6)

One of my favorite scenes where Port Mafia went all out on Verlaine in CODE;4. I like this part because it introduced a lot of Port Mafia’s skill users that have never appeared in both the manga and the other novels. It was so fun to read. 

Dazai made some interesting statements and theories here too. I like the dialogue at the end, where he kinda slipped and let out some of his real emotions. 

PS: I can’t believe I actually typed out 5000 words! I was drafting this on my phone so I didn’t notice the actual amount of words. I know it’s not gonna be perfect and I am gonna make mistakes and I will want to punch myself so much but gosh, I am so proud of myself now!

...

The train driver put one hand on the handle, his eyes staring at the darkness in front of him.

Twenty-seven years of service. He is a veteran. He has held this handle through rains and winds, through the Great War where the bombs poured down like rain, messing up the landform.

Even for him, today’s job is unusual.

The train company he works for was bought out overnight. Together with the trains and the service schedules. Then he was ordered to operate a temporary ride. Yet there is only one passenger on this train. Even when he protested to his boss, what he got was only “stop questioning and just drive.” And then one more thing, “If you run away, it will be even worse.”

The driver took another look at the scenery in front of him. The trees have sunk into the darkness. All he could see were the silver railroad tracks and the yellow headlight. Those are the only guidelines to tell where the train is heading.

What his boss said might actually be true. Putting other cities aside, this is the unorthodox Yokohama. Anything can happen. Even if there is only one passenger, he has no intention to talk to them. If he does so, he might end up having to catch his cut off head with his chest.  _

At that moment, from the eternal darkness of the night that looks no different from the bottom of the ocean, he felt something moving.

His well-trained eyes managed to capture it from the distance. Is that an animal? No. Is it just the trees rustling? No.

That’s a person.

A person is standing on the track.

He pulled the break even before his brain went ”Oh no”.

The compressed air was released, and the train’s speed reducer made a violent metallic noise. But it was too late. The train bumped straight into that human figure.

However, that figure took the train’s hit. A tremendous force was applied on the train. The first car jumped forward. It was like they were being pulled, the rear cars also jumped off, derailed, rolling over into the woods. Like a rampaging huge iron snake, the train hollowed out a big area around it, knocked down a bunch of trees, before finally stopping.

The person who witnessed the whole event, Verlaine, smiled with satisfaction. He took the train head-on but suffered no scratches. He started walking. Towards the car with Mori Ougai. Jumping over the cars half-buried underground, getting through the cars whose electric system were starting to catch fire, he reached his target.

Mori Ougai was lying face-down. The train was fully flipped sideway, the walls become the floors and the ceilings became the walls. He was facing away from Verlaine, not moving an inch. From beneath his body, a pool of blood is slowly spreading.

He did investigate the target’s skill in advanced. It’s not the kind of secret that a formal spy like him cannot find out. Mori Ougai does not possess a skill that can withstand such an impact.

“Too easy.”

Verlaine muttered and approached his target. He is not as stupid to walk away without confirming if his target is really dead or not. He is going to check and if by some rare chances the target is still alive, he will finish them off for real.

Verlaine flipped Mori Ougai’s body over. Then his eyes opened wide.

That was not Mori Ougai.

That was a man he had never seen. He was wearing a wig and clothes to disguise as Mori Ougai. But Verlaine’s assassination preparation was thorough. He had set up a hidden surveillance device in the last station. And the images taken from there were definitely Mori Ougai’s.

When he grabbed the man trying to confirm his identity, suddenly a hand was put on his chest.

“Too easy.”

A powerful repulsive force coming from a skill blew Verlaine away. He flew through the glass windows and landed on the humus soil outside. He rolled further while scattering the soil, and hit his back against a tree before finally stopping.

”... Not bad.”

Verlaine push his hand on the tree to stand up.

He brushed off the dirt from his clothes and started thinking. The face he saw at that moment moment, the repulsive force coming from his palm. That was probably one of Port Mafia’s constituent members, the one who with the repulsion skill, Hirotsu Ryurou.

A double!

They knew about the hidden device and let Mori Ougai’s image captured on purpose, then quickly switched the double in. In other words, Verlaine’s assassination plan was seen through. Ever since he came to this country, he only knew one person who has the ability to outsmart him with such finesse. 

“Hello, Verlaine-san.” A small was sitting on the edge of a car, on top of the overturned train.

“Dazai-kun”, Verlaine said as he picked up the hat that had fallen to his feet. “I have heard the saying that age doesn’t matter when it comes to talent, but you are really frightening.”

“You are just bad.” Dazai said with a dry voice as though he was lecturing Verlaine. “This time you acted on your personal feelings too much. When you are like that, I can read all your moves. Why are you so obsessed with Chuuya?”

“Is it that strange for someone to be concerned about his brother?”, Verlaine said as he dusted the mud off his clothes.

“It is, a lot.” Dazai affirmed. “First of all, what made you believe so firmly that Chuuya was your brother?”

“What?” Verlaine narrowed his eyes.

“You saw that too, right? Chuuya’s original experimental body. Turned into bones and died.” Dazai spoke while swinging his legs that were dangling out of the train top. “That looks almost the same as Chuuya in terms of appearance. In terms of abilities, too. And a lot of other things in common. What if that thing was actually a skill-containing artificial life form, and the Chuuya who is living outside, whose only redeeming trait is being energetic, was the original one? Can someone like you who is not an expert, someone who has only browsed through limited materials from the past, see through that?”

“That is impossible.” Verlaine shook his head. “I’m not as stupid as to mistake the target in my infiltration mission. What I stole away from the lab nine years ago was undoubtedly the same as me, an artificial life-form.”

“If I look it up I will understand right away.” Dazai said casually. “Fortunately this time, the guys from the labs has demonstrated the method to rewrite the code formula inside Chuuya. If I capture some of those researchers using Mafia’s power, they will be more than happy to tell me how to read those codes. And then I will know which one Chuuya is actually. We have all the time in the world.”

“You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don’t you?”

“I am”, Dazai laughed with a sigh. “There is no way a man-made string of code could create such a personality that I detest that much.”

Verlaine signed then started walking towards Dazai. His footsteps were heavy, as if he had to clean up a lot of tedious work.

“I can gently whole-heartedly explain to you the reason that was a misunderstanding... but now I have another job for you.“ he said, walking up the gentle slope that he fell from. “That is to spit out where Mori himself, not his double, is. It’s a painstaking job. Literally”

“So you have no intention to back off?”

“Of course not.”

Dazai didn’t look at anything, he gazed aimlessly into the air, “Is that so?”. Then he spoke with a disappointed face, “Then it is your loss.” A sniper bullet went straight for Verlaine’s head. Verlaine bent his upper body, and felt down the slope of humus. He rolled three times then looked up, looking at Dazai with stern eyes.

“Sniper?”

Before he could finish his sentence, yet another bullet struck Verlaine’s forehead. He almost fell to his side, pushing his hands against the ground to support.

“Your ability only works on things that you can touch.” Dazai said, swinging his legs as he looked down on his opponent. “That’s why the bullets that hit you will hit you. They just stop immediately. However, if we aim a larger sniper bullet, which has several times the velocity of a normal bullet, then it will still give you a blow the moment you use your gravity to stop it. Also...”

Dazai casually raised his hand.

From the top of the hill, through the gaps of the trees, from inside the humus, on top of big trees, more than fifty sniper bullets were fired at Verlaine at the same time. All the bullets pierced him, Verlaine growled.

Verlaine tried to hide under the shades of the trees while protecting himself by gravity. But even in the places he ran to, he got attacked from behind. Even if he tried to lower his posture to hide, the attack would come from above the trees. He had nowhere to run.

“To be able to set up this many snipers... in such a short time...”

A bullet pierced through Verlaine’s clothes and slid through his skin. It’s not a wound that could make him bleed, but there are so many of them. Ten shots in one second, then twenty, and more kept coming. It’s like the air that surrounds his whole body has become his enemies and attacked him.

Verlaine had no choice but to protect his head with his two arms and rolled himself up.

“You picked the wrong opponent, Verlaine-san.” Dazai chuckled. “I am an expert when it comes to dealing with gravity. Because no matter if I wake or sleep, the only thing I think about is how to annoy Chuuya.”

“Don’t underestimate me!”

While enduring the rain of bullets that were striking him, Verlaine grabbed a tree close by and pulled it out of the ground.

“You think you can kill me with this kind of rock throwing play? Verlaine swung the tree, trying to throw it. He planned to use the tree as a spear to crush the snipers who were hiding faraway in the dark.

However, that hand of his stopped halfway.

It was because the tree had been cut into pieces.

“Hoho, if I look closely, you look terribly like my subordinate.”

There was a flowing female voice as graceful as the sound of harp.

The burning bright red hair, eyes of the same color. Her crimson red

ombré looked like the color of ripen maple leaves. The most eye-catching thing was what floated beside her, a masked demon in a kimono. The demon was tall with long hair. She carried a sword of almost the same height as a child, as if it had no weights at all. The golden kimono melt into the air from her knees downwards, showing that it was not a real body.

“However, it was Mr. Brother who selfishly tried to poach our boy from us. I guess I can let that go after cutting off one of your limbs or two. So you’d better get lost quickly.”

Ozaki Kouyou. The Port Mafia’s young sword-woman. A powerful skill user who took Chuuya as her subordinate, accompanied by the golden demon, an embodiment of her skill, a beautiful beast.

Kouyou rolled a bright peony-colored umbrella on her shoulder. And then she twisted its handle and pulled it out. A silver blade appeared. A hidden sword.

“Mafia’s skill user?” Verlaine smiled like a beast. “But what can a mere ability user with two swords can do against gravity?”

Verlaine lowered his posture, ready to jump at Kouyou.

“Who said that I was alone?”

Verlaine’s body sank in.

Startled, Verlaine looked at his feet. The ground undulated like a snake, swallowing his two legs and even crawling up. 

Verlaine was caught by surprise. He got rid of the gravity of his own body and jumped up. He landed on a trunk of a tree nearby. But even the trunk that definitely looked tough started to liquify the moment his shoes touched. It reached for Verlaine, trying to eat him up.

“This is...” Verlaine leaped again. However, the spot he planned to land on already turned into a mud with a will of its own, opening its mouth to wait for him.

“Hahaha. Keep running, young man. Youngsters like you exist to entertain this old man. Please die quickly and offer your head to me.”

Coming from the darkness of the woods was a big, strong man who looked just like a big tree. A military uniform that has faded in places. His bristle looked like a sewing needle. He wore a judo belt around his waist, and wooden clogs on his feet The arms folding in front of his chest were as thick as a tree that has lived for hundred years.

Port Mafia’s elite, a veteran who survived the Great War. His nickname in the organization is “Colonel.”

He swung his arms like an ancient tree and squeezed his fist tightly in front of his eyes. At the same time, the ground started to muffle. The liquified soil, trees, even the overturned train, all rushed to attack Verlaine in the air. An skill user who can manipulate objects and turn them into liquids?

Verlaine kicked the first wave of liquified soil that came towards him and retreated backward. But the soil was also coming from that direction. Even if he tried to change his orbit to run, liquified soil was still coming from beneath his feet and above his head. If they touched him they would still be blown away by the gravity, but the liquid will start to cover up from the top again, giving no time for Verlaine to prepare a counter attack.

On top of that, as if to stitch up the gaps, there were sniper shots coming from all directions.

“Tch...”

Verlaine densified a small amount of dust in the air, and stepped on that to leap his body up. He wanted to take some distance. Abilities that manipulate things like Colonel’s, in most of the cases won’t work for things that are out of their sights. That’s why he planned to hide deep in the wood then throw a huge rock enforced by gravity to finish them off.

An odd thing entered Verlaine’s field of vision at that moment.

A watch.

A watch was floating in the air.

From the outside, it looked just like a normal pocket watch. A dial with numbers, a long hand and a short hand, a crown, and the internal mechanism peeking out from the edge of the dial.

The strange thing about it was that it had a size of a man’s upper body. Also, it kept turning around as if it was staring at Verlaine.

Verlaine, who possesses a wide range of knowledge on skill users, sensed the danger from that watch almost immediately.

He tore off one button from the sleeve of his suit and amplified its gravity until it weighted dozens of kilograms. Then he threw it towards the watch.

That button comet holding enough power to knock down a building, however, couldn't interfere with the watch. It smoothly slipped through the watch, knocked off trees and disappeared into darkness.

“You can’t destroy that thing.”

A gloomy voice came from the ground.

Verlaine diverted his gaze and without his notice, a boy was already sitting on the ground. He was hugging his knees with his two arms, looking miserable. He looked up at Verlaine.

“It’s no use. That thing looks at everyone. Including me, and you. We have no choices but to die. One day it will find us. One day it will catch up with us. It’s　“time”. It’s the enemy of us all.”

He looked and sounded miserably. His clothes were so long it became awkward. The hems were all frayed. The boy who was so skinny you could see his bones through his clothes glared at Verlaine and waved his finger as if he was telling him “Come here, come here.”

The two hands of the watch clicked and pointed to the number 12 at the same time. Immediately afterwards, the watch in the air was sucked into Verlaine.

That was not a metaphor, it was literally sucked into him, into his chest.

Being wary of the disappeared watch, Verlaine stiffened his body. But nothing happened. There is nothing within his sig...

The liquified soil twisted around his legs.

Startled, Verlaine shook the liquid off by gravity. Then he looked around. He had got pretty far away for sure. It was so strange that the liquified soil could chase him this close. Right after that was a shock. A sniper bullet hit his head. Verlaine span halfway in the air. He landed on the ground, scraping the humus to stop.

It was weird. The speed of the sniper attack went up. The speed of the bullet by the moment it reached him was so fast that even if he used gravity to bounce it back, he was also blown away by a corresponding force.

“Did they replace their guns or bullets with more powerful ones? No, this is...”

The ground liquified again. Verlaine jumped out to dodge, before being eaten by the soil. But the speed of the liquid tentacles that extended and followed him also increased. Verlaine took a quick look around. From the treetops that were hit by the sniper attack just now, leaves were falling down. They were not fluttering, they were dropping as if they were stabbing the ground. This means, the attack speed didn’t get faster...

“Was my time... slowed down?”

“Everyone will die before me.” the gloomy boy stared at Verlaine with dubious eyes filled with hatred. “Brothers, parents, everyone will be killed by time. But I will get away with it. With this special power of mine”

A skill user who meddles with time. For the first time, Verlaine got a cold sweat on his forehead.

Time manipulation is not just a powerful skill, it is a extraordinary skill out of this world. As far as Verlaine knew, there were only a few cases reported in the world. The fist on the list of those time manipulation skill users who are separated from the world’s reasons, was a former skilled mechanic, H.G. Wells. After creating the skilled weapons called the “Shell”, she disappeared and became the world’s worst terrorist.

The time manipulation type of skills tinker the basic principles of this world, and rewrite them at will. Because if you look from the universe’s perspective, time and space are equivalent. The time manipulation skill users hold the same power that can alter the world, just like Verlaine’s gravity. Verlaine whose movements have become dulled because of the time delay　was flooded with Mafia’s attacks. All the bullets, the swords and liquified soil.

Even if he tried to retreat, because his time has been delayed, he could only move sluggishly as if he was under water.

Verlaine’s expressions became stiff.

Dazai gracefully looked at the wooded area echoing with gun shots and roaring sounds. He looked down at the battlefield that had turned into a hell, with such a carefree expression that cooled down in the night breeze._

“This is the rule of this world.” Dazai spoke like he was singing. “It applied in all times and ages, all creatures, the absolute truth. In this world, a group is stronger than an individual. A skill user is stronger than a group. And then...”

Feeling the pleasant cold breeze coming from the blasts of the battle on his cheeks, Dazai smiled.

“... a group of skill users are stronger than one skill user.”

Verlaine pushed his body’s gravity to the max. With a powerful driving force that surpassed the effect of the time manipulation skill, he quickly escaped from the battlefield. Verlaine’s bones cracked at the sudden speed acceleration that exceeded his limit.

Even when the danger struck in front of him, Verlaine’s judgement did not falter. It was not yet a hopeless situation. He would retreat as much as he could, taking as much distance he could from the waves of skill attacks. Then he would fix his posture, manipulate the gravity of the bullets that managed to reach him, repel them and knock down the skill users, one by one. That would be his win then.

Only three skill users. Not too much of a difference in strength.

Suddenly, blood came out from his skin.

Verlaine looked at his cuffs. The skin under his clothes was peeled off, exposing the flesh inside. But only a little blood came out. He felt almost no pains.

He landed down on the ground as a reflex. Upon touching the ground, the skin inside his shoes also came off. He could tell by the slippery feel from it. But again, there was no pain.

That was a new skill attack. But the true nature of it immediately became clear.

His breath was white.

His skin is frozen, there was frost on his eyelashes.

“Let us be held. By the frozen love. Let us be held. By the frozen flower that breaks in its full bloom.” the new skill user appeared, singing with a thin and screechy voice.

Long, white hair, white fur around her shoulders, white breath. And a crimson red rose on her chest. Every time the woman takes one breath, the trees around her froze, cracked up and snapped due to the water inside it freezing and expanding.

Verlaine understood it right away.

A skill user who can cool off the temperate. The reason why his skin was peeled off earlier was because the skin was exposed to the low temperature and got stuck to the inside of his clothes and shoes. His body really became that cold in just an instant. He was frozen from flesh to born, but not much time has even passed.

A super dangerous skill user. Freezing attack does not involve physical clashes. That’s why he can’t dodge them using gravity. It is his natural enemy

Another sniper bullet hit Verlaine’s shoulder. He groaned in pain.

The bullet was cold. It froze by the time it touched his skin, forming a frost pillar. The low temperature invaded into him through the wound, eating up his flesh.

The enemies attacks were too synchronized. Time delay, freezing, sniping. Apparently, it was a tactic that had been put together to block all of Verlaine’s strengths and exploit his weaknesses. There is still something strange about this. He has been retreating at a considerable speed since a while ago, yet the gunshots never stopped. His escape route was totally seen through. Normally if he ran at this speed in the woods in the middle of the night, he would immediately disappear from the telescopic sight. Losing the targets, sniping attack would definitely become impossible. So why?

“Hihihihi, what a sweet face. Hey, just between us, but if you cry and slobber and apologize here, maybe I will let you go this time?”

The voice was close. Really close.

Verlaine turned to that direction.  No one was there... No.

In the middle of no where, a hole the size of a coin was opened. It was like the space was burnt and hollowed out, and on the other side of the hole was another different space. From that side, a black eye was staring at this side through the hole.

“Yes, it’s me. You are being watched. From now on, you can be assured even if you lock your toilet door hihihihi”

The hole was so small to see the entire thing. But that eye alone is enough. The eye was filled with malice. It had been watching Verlaine, chasing him and reporting about his positions all the time.

Verlaine fired a rotary kick by reflex at the hole.

“Oops.”

Right before being hit, the hole closed up and disappeared.

“I’m here.”

The voice came from behind. When he turned around, the same hole had been opened in a different place, looking straight at Verlaine.

That was the type of skill that connects space and monitor the targets. The skill user was probably sitting in another safe place, and monitoring the whole battle using their space connection skill. He couldn’t attack the actual skill user. If he tried to touch it, it would close immediately so he wouldn’t be able to destroy it using gravity.

Just how many skill users they have thrown in this battle?

“Hihihi, I have a present for you. From Port Mafia with love.”

From the coin-sized hole, flower petals flew out. Countless petals surrounded Verlaine then started to shine white. Yet another new skill.

The moment Verlaine tried to take a quick avoidance action, all the flower petals exploded at once.

From the train where he sat, Dazai could see the light from that explosion very clearly. The white light split open the woods at night, the afterglow burnt into the night sky.

Dazai looked at that scene, he was grinning.

“How is it going, Dazai-dono?”

From inside the train, a middle-aged man appear. He was wearing the boss’ outfit. He was the one who played the boss’ double, Hirotsu.

“As you can see, it is going well. So well that it is boring.”

In the direction he was pointing, the explosion sound was echoing, trees were falling, sniper flashes and low frequency noises were ringing non-stop.

Hirotsu took off the wig, put on the monocle he always has on, and narrowed his eyes.

“As one would expect.”

“Of course, I had to earn a lot of time to prepare all this. “ said Dazai, who was crossing his legs elegantly like a royal. “Chuuya and I had a terrible hard time fighting Randou-san. So this time I came prepared. Just to kill Mr. Assasin King from Europe, I had to gather a total of 422 people from the combat troops and 28 skill users. That is the full strength that Mafia can put in now.” At the scene where they were looking, the cold air and gun flashes kept shining. Verlaine tried to escape by threading his way in between the trees but a yellow-white ray burnt off the whole night sky, blocking that escape route. That was yet another skill user.

The plan was extremely simple. Setting up a trap and waiting. Chuuya and Adam drafted the same tactic before to defeat the Assasin King. The plan that Dazai carried out was basically the same. Identify the next target, set up traps around that target, and ambush Verlaine from behind when he appears.

The only difference between this and Chuuya’s plan is the scale of those traps. What have been set up as traps this time, was the entire Mafia’s overwhelming combat unit. The result was a one-sided destruction.

“We can keep this battle going for the whole night.” Dazai said as if he was whispering to Verlaine from far away. “Verlaine-san, you are a flawless assassin. With that vivid skill of yours, you have never once been traced down and surrounded like that, haven’t you? That’s why you have no experiences when being cornered by such a skill users organization. Even Randou-san was afraid of that dangerous flawlessness of yours.”

Dazai took out the leather notebook.

Rimbaud’s memoir. The journal Rimbaud had kept about the birth as well as full accounts of skill user Verlaine.

“I mourn for you, Verlaine-san.” Dazai put his hand on the notebook and said as if he was praying. “I mourn not for your death, but for your birth. No one mourns for you for being born. The only one who does is you yourself. That is the reason you fights... I think you are amazing. You despise the fact that you were born, you despise your own power, you despise the world. And by doing that, you came to accept your meaningless life. How wonderful that is. I don’t have that kind of courage. That’s why I wanted to talk with you more. But this is already goodbye.”

Dazai stood up, turning his back on the battlefield in front of him. He walked away.

“Dazai-dono?”

“Report to me when it is done.”

Dazai’s voice powerlessly fell to his feet. He walked away.

The next moment. A black way swelled over the battlefield.

...

[undercoveravenger]

Closing Cases

Written for my 2021 Halloween event

Pairing: EJ Caswell x Male!Detective!Reader

Prompt: EJ with a Nancy Drew/Scooby gang reader investigating something haunting the school and EJ steps up to help. With “I am running on two hours of sleep and fifty tiny candy bars” and “Can we go five minutes without talking about ghosts, ghouls, or goblins?”

A/N: This is prompt # 2 for my Halloween event! The next prompt will be posted Thursday, October 7th.

-------

East High was being faced by an unexplainable problem. Each night, lockers were being broken into and various class and club rooms had been found vandalized. The faculty had examined the footage from all of the security cameras near the areas that had been attacked, but weren’t able to see anyone in the videos; only that the halls looked normal in one frame, and had been trashed in the next.

As someone who had spent his entire childhood looking up to all of the great detectives, you took it upon yourself to get to the bottom of the situation. You had told Miss Jen, the theater teacher, that you’d be missing rehearsals one afternoon in order to conduct your investigation, but she had been the only person you told.

You supposed that was why it came as such a shock to find EJ Caswell, a popular senior and star of the water polo team and drama department, leaning against the locker beside yours after school.

You disregarded his presence, moving to open your locker and tuck away your textbooks.

“So I hear you’re not going to be at rehearsals today,” EJ said after a moment, turning to face you. “Care to share why?”

“I’ve got more important things to do,” you said easily. You knew it was kind of a weak response, but it was the first thing that’d come to mind.

He rolled his eyes, lips quirking up into a grin. “Yeah, we both do, I guess.”

That gave you pause. You turned to look at him incredulously, and you had to force yourself to ignore the way the amused glint in his pretty blue eyes threatened to make you smile. “Excuse me?”

“You’re investigating the break-ins, right?” EJ asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you.

“I’m not convinced that they have been break-ins, but yes,” you said, grabbing a different backpack entirely out of your locker and leaving the one with your school supplies in it before shutting the door. “Is there a reason you’re talking to me?” You turned away at that, making your way down the quickly emptying halls.

EJ scrambled to keep pace with you, weaving around the remaining students and faculty to stay at your side. “I want to help! I’ll be the first to say I don’t really have experience with investigations, but I want to help stop what’s going on.”

You let out a sigh, turning abruptly to face EJ. “Fine. You can help,” you held up a hand to interrupt him when he made to let out a victorious whoop, “But if you get in the way of my investigation, I will tell you to leave and you will listen. Do we have a deal?”

The brunet nodded vigorously, falling back into step beside you as you resumed your previous path, “Deal. So,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Where do we start?”

“Here,” you said as you came to a stop outside of a janitor’s closet on the second floor.

EJ’s brows furrowed in obvious confusion. “Our investigation starts at the janitor’s closet?”

You nodded, twisting the door open and entering the small room. You sat down, nestling your way between a set of shelves and several empty garbage cans. “Well, this is where we’ll be waiting until the time is right.”

“And when is that?” he asked as he crept into the closet with you, wincing as the door slammed closed behind him.

You snickered, pulling out your phone to set an alarm. “Well, the thief only strikes at night, right? They’ll probably emerge at around nine o’clock, which means we have,” you glanced back at your phone, “About five hours to kill.”

“Five hours?” EJ asked incredulously, blue eyes wide as he looked at you. “What the hell are we going to do for five hours?!”

“Well, I was going to play games on my phone since I wasn’t planning on having company until a few minutes ago,” you said, glancing pointedly down at the device. “You’re still more than welcome to leave, if you don’t want to wait?”

EJ shook his head stubbornly, shifting to sit with his back against the opposite wall from you. “No, but my phone definitely isn’t going to hold up for that long.” He paused, thinking, “Maybe we could play twenty questions while we wait?”

You shrugged, figuring that humoring a cute boy wouldn’t kill you. “Alright, sure. But since it was your idea, you have to go first.”

He smiled widely, clearly delighted that you’d agreed. “Okay!” He hesitated for a moment while he thought, but a question seemed to strike him pretty quickly. “So, do you make it a point to hang out in sketchy janitor’s closets often?”

You barely managed to bite back a snicker, but the upward tilt of EJ’s lips made you suspect that he knew about your poorly concealed amusement. “I do when my cases require it,” you said by means of explanation, but you found yourself elaborating further at the confused-puppy expression on his face. “Today’s a Tuesday, which means that the cleaning staff isn’t in tonight, so no one will be checking this closet for stragglers like they would the library or a classroom. Waiting in here means that I’ll be able to remain in the building after the doors are locked, which means that I’ll be able to find out if anyone else comes into the building after it’s locked down for the night.”

“Wow,” EJ said, eyes wide as he processed everything you’d just said. “You put a lot more planning into this than I would’ve thought?”

“What, you thought I’d just wing it?” you teased. You had to admit, you were enjoying his company far more than you had anticipated. “I like to think that I take my job pretty seriously.”

He gestured wildly with his hands, like he was trying to wave away his previous words. “No, no, no; that’s not what I meant- I meant that-” He cut himself off as he noticed you beginning to laugh, “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” He faked offense, but the appearance of his dimples gave away his amusement. “Fine, you got me.” His grin widened as he looked at you, “Alright, Mr. Holmes, what’s your leading theory?”

You let out a thoughtful hum, “Currently? Vengeful spirits.”

EJ let out a surprised laugh. It was deep, uncontrollable and infectious, and you were helpless to hide the grin it brought to your face, though it faded after a moment, “You’re serious?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what else to think,” you started softly, fingers twisting nervously in your lap as you were forced to admit that, for once, you really weren’t sure about what the outcome of your case would be. “Any normal person would have been caught on camera, and the only people in this city that have the ability to manipulate the footage to make it look like no one was there either wouldn’t care enough to do it or they’ve got an alibi.”

EJ’s brows furrowed, “And none of them could have lied about the alibis?”

“Mr. Mazzara could’ve, I suppose,” you mused, “But I double-checked it with Miss Jenn and it sounds legit.”

“So ghosts then, huh?” he prompted, scooting a little closer to you until his knees brushed lightly against yours. “Seems like a little bit of a leap in logic.”

You shrugged helplessly, a tired grin forming on your lips, “I am running on two hours of sleep and fifty tiny candy bars. Ghosts weren’t the least probable option, if I’m being honest.”

“How would you even get rid of a ghost-” He stopped as the rest of your statement caught up to him, “Wait, you’ve had fifty candy bars?!”

“Just the little ones.” You said, waving off his concern and checking the time on your phone. “Depends on the type of spirit, but I’ve talked to some sophomores who practice witchcraft and they say that sage and pure intention to banish it should take care of whatever we’re seeing, as long as it’s a normal ghost or spirit. I just want to eliminate any other options before I take action.”

“Can we go five minutes without talking about ghosts, ghouls, or goblins?” EJ demanded, taking your phone from you and setting it aside so he could get you to focus on him, “You’ve gotta take better care of yourself,” he said quietly, normally bright eyes turned stormy with concern, “You’ve got a lot of people that care about you-”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Like who?” At his stunned silence, you pressed on, “Everyone at this school thinks I’m a weirdo. You don’t think I’ve heard people call me Scooby-Doo or Nancy Drew or Sherlock?” You shook your head, pushing yourself to your feet as your frustration mounted, “This was a mistake. I’m leaving; I’ll solve this case on my own.”

“Wait,” EJ exclaimed, shooting up to his feet and grabbing your wrist to stop you from going. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?” you asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as you looked up at EJ. “About what part?”

He nodded seriously, eyes locked with yours, “About no one caring about you and about everyone thinking you’re weird.” He took a deep breath, and, for the first time since he’d joined your investigation, you watched his confident facade falter. “I care about you,” he started softly, like he was afraid to finally say it. “And I really like that you’re so passionate about solving mysteries.”

Your brows furrowed as you turned to look back at him, “You… like that?”

“I like you,” he said, so quiet that he was barely audible, but when you didn’t pull away he continued, volume picking up as he did so, “I really like you and I can’t believe I get to help you do something I love, and that probably sounds pretty dumb since we don’t really know each other that well, but I would really like to get to know you better and maybe even take you out to dinner sometime if that’s okay with you?”

It took you a long moment to find your voice again. “Okay,” you found yourself saying as you tugged your wrist from his grip to link your fingers with his instead. “Okay,” A wide smile spread across EJ’s face and you could feel an answering one as it tugged at your lips, “When we close this case, I’ll let you take me on a date.”

“Really?” he asked, like he almost expected you to tell him it was some cruel joke. He let out a breathless laugh when you nodded, “Then what are we waiting for?” he asked joyfully, tugging you towards the door by your joined hands. “We’ve got a case to solve!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you were led out into the long-abandoned halls of East High, glad to have finally found someone who matched you. After all, all the greats came in pairs; Daphne had Fred, Sherlock had Watson, and now you had EJ.

[wildxwired]

Prompt: they go groceries shopping together and some stranger is hitting on one of them, the other comes to the rescue. literally just them being domestic af pls <333

This was a fun step back into speed writing. Hope this is what you wanted! ❤️

Hawaiian Print - Southside Style

“Hey, they have Hawaiian shirts on sale,” Ian says, glancing off to the side where the rail of brightly coloured half off monstrosities hang.

“The fuck would you wanna wear that crap for?” Mickey grumbles.

“Okay, one - I was talking about you, and two - don’t act like you don’t own several.”

Mickey stops in his tracks, clearly offended. “Yo! My shirts are from quality establishments, not some southside shit heap where they’re half off in the same aisle as baby powder and canned soup.”

Ian arches a brow at his husband. “You stole them.”

“Okay,” Mickey sighs dramatically. “My shirts are *stolen* from someone who got them from quality establishments, not some southside shit heap where they’re half off in the same aisle as baby powder and canned soup!”

Ian rolls his eyes and continues pushing their cart towards the cereal aisle, grinning to himself as he hears his husband slowly search through the rack.

He takes a few moments to search for an adequate cheap alternative to Lucky Charms, but his investigation is interrupted when he hears Mickey snap, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ian whips around to see Mickey scowling at an older man who's got his greasy little ham hand all over his husband’s bicep. The man is a total stranger, but it’s a face Ian has seen a million times before in the clubs. He recognises the leer, the cheap blazer and the arrogance that a couple twenty dollar bills can get him anything he wants. Mickey looks far from defenceless, but that does nothing to quench the protective flame burning in his chest.

Ian abandons the cart and marches straight for them with purpose, a sense of justice for his younger self driving him forward as he approaches them. He rips the man’s hand off his husband, pulling Mickey behind him.

The man doesn’t even look offended, he just grins at them both with creepy delight. “Ow, a two for one!”

“You think you can just trawl the southside looking for vulnerable guys to pick up?” Ian snaps.

The man brushes down the sleeve of his jacket, rubbing a thumb over the silver cufflink in a cringe worthy attempt to draw attention to it. It’s a crappy power move that Ian’s seen before.

“Well, what else are the slums for if not for a little lean meat? What do you say, boys?”

Ian can feel his skin warming until his fingers itch to clench into a fist. He moves quick, slamming a hand down on the man’s shoulder in an iron grip that actually manages to make the creep look threatened.

“Well this ain’t Macy’s, bitch, and you ain’t window shopping. So get the fuck away from my husband before I punch your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be able to get a cavity check and a prostate exam at the same time.”

When Ian loosens his grip, the man quickly scurries away. Watching him flee like a cockroach, Ian feels oddly satisfied. He feels powerful and just, like he’s done his younger self proud and the whole world a favour.

From behind him, Mickey clears his throat, and when Ian turns to face him, he finds his husband staring at him with his eyebrows in his hairline.

“Uhm,” Ian starts, ready to answer questions about his med schedule and mental health status.

Mickey reaches behind Ian and snatches a few shirts from the rail. He grabs Ian’s wrist and begins to drag him towards the back of the store. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

Mickey glances back and licks his lips. “That was the second hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say so you’re gonna fuck me in the back room.”

Ian grins, the fire from before now dripping hot amber arousal into his groin. “What are the shirts for?”

“Clean up.”

Other prompt fills