#it’ll be impossible for anyone in the mob to put them to sleep

[ashchoo]

I bring a gift 👁️👁️

They like it!! :D

[realcube]

LEAVING MIDORIYA

part one (nsfw) | part two 

tw// mentions of toxic relationships, drinking & mention of a bombing

honestly, if you were given enough time you probably could’ve figured it out on your own — without the assistance of a psychiatrist — but exactly one appointment later, you were left with the disheartening realisation that you weren’t having ‘bad dreams’ and the marks on your body weren’t inflicted by yourself during slumber. eventually, the fact set in that it was your sweet, gentle fiancée who was the cause of all these things. 

this whole time, you were under the impression that you were the problem, that there was a malicious part of you that wanted to paint deku out to be some sort of villain; and now you were finally made aware that a villain is exactly what he is. 

it was a hard conclusion to come to but the initial wave of relief you felt was enough to make you act on it quickly, as the more you waited around and let the fact sink in, the more you doubted whether or not to take action. but reasoning isn’t what you need right now, you just need to get away from him. 

where will you go? you had no idea, but any where away from him is good enough. 

midoriya didn’t even get enough time to try fill your head with even more lies. you came marching into the apartment with the intention of ignoring everything he says and simply pack your stuff so you can leave. no matter how much he screamed, begged or yelled, it was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall hence he eventually gave in, leaving you to collect your things in peace as there was clearly no way he was going to get through to you. 

you left without another word — not even a goodbye — and you were sure to sneak your engagement ring out with you. although it made you sick to look at, realistically you might need the cash since as soon as you stepped outside your shared apartment with your shit in bags, you were officially homeless. 

no need to worry though, you had arranged to stay the night at a friend’s house until tomorrow morning, then you could catch the train to your parent’s. from there, you’d stay with them until you manage to find a new apartment within your price range. 

one problem; your friend just texted you saying that they have to retract their offer because their landlord doesn’t allow over two people to sleep in the same dorm, and they already have a roommate. very unfortunate but hey, what can you do? plus, they apologised and offered to pay for your hotel but you reassured them that their money wouldn’t be necessary. 

now sitting outside your old apartment complex, scrolling through your phone looking for the nearest hotel. since both you and deku were well-paid pro-heroes and bought a penthouse in a rather affluent area, it was no surprise that most of the hotels that were reasonably close were from 4-5 stars.

although a 5-star hotel room for one night really wasn’t necessary, the post-breakup adrenaline was telling you otherwise. it also told you that treating yourself to a shopping spree, getting wine drunk at a bar and then shuffling back to the hotel with mcdonald’s take-out was a great idea! 

those emotional discussions you had with complete strangers must’ve really gotten to you because when you opened your front camera to take some pictures, you immediately grimaced at the sight of your mascara staining your cheeks. you were lazing around in the hotel lobby surrounded by name brand gift bags — waiting for your room key — looking like that? how embarrassing. 

quickly wiping away your tears, you put on a pair of designer sunglasses you brought earlier to shield your smudged eye-makeup from the world. not that you cared what anyone in this damn lobby thought of you anyway, you were only going to be here for one night, after that you would never see most of these people again. or at least, that is what you thought.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw flashing lights which prompted you to take out your earbuds but once you did, you instantly regretted it as all you heard was screaming and yelling from the entrance. looking up, you noticed an average-looking guy wearing a skull tank top resembling the fashion sense of a middle schooler, being followed by a mob of screaming fans, paparazzi and gossip channel reporters. 

“dynamight! thank you for everything!”

“you deserve to be number one!” 

“we are here at scene, pro-hero dynamight has just been seen entering what appears to be his five star accommodation, wearing his signature blac--”

the loud noises were suddenly muffled as the doorman shut the entrance behind him, leaving things just as they were, except now there was a muscular blond man encircled by bodyguards staring daggers at you.

in any other situation, you would’ve just tried your best to ignore him but some of that liquid courage was beginning to get to you, so your reaction was to snarl right back at him, yelling across the hall, “take a picture, why don’t ya? it’ll last longer.”

only upon processing your reply did the man finally snap out of his trance and storm up to, being hastily followed by his guards who looked as though they were ready to throw down at any given moment, so of course you cowered back in your seat, apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill until his face was hovering centimetres away from yours. 

your throat ran dry at his unexpected action, your eyes scanning over his chiselled features through the tint of your glasses. in a turn of events, you were now the one speechlessly staring at him. then, a deep chuckle erupted from his throat, causing the shock to show on your expression. 

“i knew i recognised you! you’re stupid deku’s girlfriend- fiancée or whatever; i saw the invite for your wedding in my mail and i just got a look at your face before i threw it away. small world.” the blond continued to laugh, talking to you as if you were an old friend of his despite the fact you’ve never seen him before in your life, “anyway, you like a hot fuckin’ mess. where’s deku?” 

why was he talking to you so casually? and how dare he say that!

“first of all,” you started, peering over your glasses to gaze at his face without the rose tint but to no avail, you still had no idea who this man is. using the soles of your palm, you pushed him away by the shoulders as he was a bit too close for comfort, but that resulted in all his guard looking at you with murderous glints in their eyes. “deku and i broke up--”

“when?” he cut you off

“let me finish.” you glared at him, fixing your sunglasses, “we broke up this morning. secondly, who the fuck are you?”

the man looked like he was ready to burst out laughing once again until he had a visible realisation, “eh, well, we’ve never met before but i’m sure deku has told you about me. if not, you’ve probably seen me in the news; i saved around a thousa--”

“no, i’ve not watched the news for, like, the past six months.” this time, you cut him off with a mischievous smirk which you tried your best to conceal.

“bitch! let me fuckin’ finish!” he barked, then had a sudden change in demeanour as he let out a sigh, momentarily silent as he scanned the surrounding area, “i’m bakugo. kastuki.”

your reply of a blank stare spoke a thousand words.

“y’know, dynamight.”

who?

“the number two hero!”

nothing.

“the one who saved that whole airline from blowing up just a week ago! c’mon, it was all over the fuckin’ news!”

“you look like a hotter version of my old maths teacher. oh, and i’m (y/n) (l/n).” was the only verbal response he was able to get out of you, even after all his explaining.

“why do you i feel like you are sayin’ that just to piss me off?” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth, followed by a sharp inhale which you assumed was an attempt to calm himself down. his carnelian eyes darted around the room, halting once he raised his arm to view his watch. his brows knitted together as he read the time, forming a concentrated look which was short-lived as his face was quick to relax, emphasised by a slight shrug as if to say ‘i’ve got time’, before slumping down on the couch next to you. 

“so why did you and shitty deku break up?”

“i may be a bit tipsy but i’m not just gonna tell that sorta stuff to a complete stranger.” each syllable felt like it had to be forced out one at a time, but you’d rather that than slur you speech as bakugo seemed like the type to poke fun at you for it. 

“i just wanna know how badly he fucked up this time.” bakugo smirked, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch to turn and look at you, “eh, i don’t think we’ll be strangers for long.” 

there was a certain purr in this voice which sent blood rushing to your cheeks as you never expect someone like him to come on so strong. not that you were complaining, i mean, being in his presence during a time like this felt like a gift from god but you weren’t going to let him know that. it’d only add to his already massive ego so you decided to ignore his suggestive behaviour, opting to show disinterest instead, “hm, you think?”

it was almost comical how fast bakugo’s cocky smirk fell into a frown. honestly, he wasn’t used to people that he flirts with rejecting him, considering that he rarely ever makes moves on anyone. so, now what did he do? due to the foreign nature of this situation, bakugo felt as though he was left with no choice but to bargain, since he’s far from a quitter, “oi, what that supposed to mean?”

you shrug.

bakugo clicked his tongue along with a roll of his eyes before he said, “how ‘bout this; i pay for your room tonight and in exchange we can get to know each other tomorrow.”

“i can pay for my own room though.” 

bakugo deadpanned, he honestly thought he had won but apparently not. perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to hit on someone who had just gotten out of a relationship but whatever. “you’re impossible.” he spat, getting up from the couch and marching away, presumably to his room.

he tried to brush off the encounter like it never happened, reassuring himself that he didn’t have to think much of it as he could get with anyone else. plus, you’d probably come crawling back to him, begging to fuck once you get over deku anyway. 

and he was half right.

eventually, you came to the realisation that both you and bakugo have one thing in common — a hatred for deku. and as it turns out, hatred provides a good groundwork for friendship. 

[huntergatherercreator]

The Takedown | Part Fifteen

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Maybe a teeny bit of violence?

AN: It’s been a minute since the last part of this series was posted. I haven’t written anything since then so fingers crossed this is OK.

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen

Part 15 - 1,601 words

My apartment had already been too small. Now with Joe blocking the doorway and Holland practically breathing down my neck it felt tiny. Hunching closer to the laptop screen I tried to focus on the information scrolling before me. I’d pulled up the last three months worth of records detailing what cruise ships had docked and was whittling down the list slowly. There were ones we’d suspected that had already had a full background check but I couldn’t cross them off without raising suspicions.

“What’s this?” I stilled as Holland leaned over my shoulder, finger tapping at an entry. With his breath tickling my throat and the soft scent of shampoo emanating from his curls it took me a minute to focus.

“It seems like a shell company. I can try to trace it but it’ll take time.”

“How can you tell?” Suspicion was apparently his only tone tonight. I nudged out the chair beside me as an invitation. When it went ignored I twisted in my seat, intent on glaring at him until he relented, only to realise too late how close he actually was. My lips skimmed over his cheek. I could feel my colour drain as his breath caught. I made to shove back from the table but his hand caught my shoulder, holding me down.

“Trace them,” he murmured. Hands shaking slightly I pulled up a new search engine to start. Only when I started typing did he let go. Relief trickled through me but it was short lived. Dragging the offered chair to the corner of the table he slipped off his jacket and hooked it to the back before settling with crossed arms to watch me. I flicked a glance over his shoulder to Joe who threw me a wink before going back to staring out the window. Trying to shove back the humiliation I could feel creeping up my cheeks I pulled up as much as I could about the company, already knowing it’d come to a dead end.

After half an hour I read out the details I’d scribbled down, eyes firmly on my notepad as Holland questioned me. Then he chose another company. And another. On and on until we’d almost exhausted the list.

The smell of expensive coffee roused me from my notebook. I blinked and a takeaway cup appeared under my nose courtesy of Joe. I accepted it with a grateful smile and he gave me another of what was becoming his signature winks. Closing the laptop I shuffled my notes into order and put both on the counter allowing Joe to start emptying the paper bag of breakfast foods he’d bought. It wasn’t until I was up out of my chair that I realised how sore I was. Rolling my neck I rubbed at a tender spot on my shoulder with a grimace.

“Maybe you should take five to clean up?” Joe offered. My eyes automatically drifted to Holland for the first time in several hours. He looked as dishevelled as I felt. Hair unruly once again from running his hands through it every time I hit a dead end. I realised with a jolt that I was waiting for his permission.

“Good idea.” I mumbled. Quickly skirting past them both I headed for the bathroom locking the door firmly behind me. I cringed as I caught myself in the mirror. My skin was pale, tired. The tie that had been keeping my hair back had failed leaving long messy wisps falling around my face. Running the cold water I repeatedly doused my skin until I felt the last of the brain fog disappear. I needed to be on higher alert, more so than before. Holland wouldn’t keep accepting the trails going cold. There was only so long he’d sit patiently knowing Rivera was out there. I needed to find a solid lead but I wasn’t sure if I could on my own. As much as I’d learned about tracking down corrupt company details those had all been from tracing low level thugs, people who didn't have the knowledge or the money to properly cover their tracks. Rivera had both of those things. It could be damn near impossible to directly link him to anything.

A jolt ran through me. Wasn’t that exactly what Holland did? He made it impossible for anyone to get information about the next level because each of his men ran their own area. Quickly drying my face I threw open the door coming face to face with Holland.

“You and Rivera are the same,” I started the words dying in my throat as his mood visibly darkened.

“No. We’re not.” He stalked closer and it took me a second to collect my thoughts as replays of the day before hit me. My gaze flicked to the damaged wall. A reminder not to push him, no matter how much I wanted to.

“Let me finish,” I insisted, hands coming up to hold him off. “How did I find you?”

Confusion flashed before irritation settled on his face. “Stupidity, and luck.”

“No. It was through Arnold. The only way to you is through your men. It’s the same with Rivera, he-” He pressed his palms against the door frame either side of me, blocking me in.

“Why are you wasting my time? Rivera’s men don’t know where he is. If they did Joe would have gotten the information.”

“Stop interrupting me!” I shoved against his chest in frustration. He grabbed my wrists spinning me until my back was pressed against the cold tiles of the bathroom. Eyes boring into mine his jaw ticked, grip getting tighter.

“I am nothing like him.” Anger surged as we fell into the same dance we always did. Hooking a leg behind his I used his grip against him and put him on his back. A sliver of sympathy shot through me as he lost his breath but I let my anger chase it away, using it to power my arms into holding him down.

“I’m fed up with you thinking you can push me around and bully me. This,” I motioned with my head to the position we were currently in, “is the last time I have to do this. Understood?”

Eyes unreadable he nodded curtly. I cautiously let go, easing back to a sitting position, not ready to give up the upper hand just yet. When I was sure he wasn’t going to lash out I continued.

“We’re looking through the information for ties to Rivera himself. We should be looking for ties to the men we know he associates with. He’s using them as scapegoats. The companies are in their names, that way if anything goes wrong-”

“Then the trail ends with them” he finished, shoulders slumping as the realisation hit him.

“Exactly. And what better way to ensure your men’s loyalty. They’ll do everything they can to ensure their area runs smoothly because it’s their necks on the line, not his.” My smug smile was missed as he closed his eyes, hands coming up to scrub at his face.

“You didn’t sleep did you?” I asked gently. He let out a humourless laugh, his body rocking under mine. I planted my hands on his stomach to stop from falling onto him. Fingers splayed I could feel the solid muscles that made up his abdomen tensing as he shifted. The realisation of our position hit me. Mouth dry I tried to chase off the scenarios that my brain was throwing at me. I could control myself. Or so I told myself repeatedly.

“Care to let me up?” he asked, eyebrow raising as he looked pointedly at where I was touching him.

Sure he’d somehow been able to read my thoughts it took me a second to find my voice again. “It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you can behave yourself. I meant it before, this is the last time. You’d never have figured any of this out without me.” I instinctively clenched my hands into fist. His t-shirt got tangled in my grip, tugging it up to reveal a small section of skin just above his waistband where the line of his hipbone slid out of sight. I was a hypocrite asking him to have decency when all I could think about was how much more I’d be able to expose before he stopped me.

“You’re right.” I almost lost my balance in shock at his admittance, eyes darting away from him.

“From now on you can take the lead but only when we’re alone. In front of my men you say nothing.”

I reigned in the urge to roll my eyes. Given who I was dealing with the conditions could have been a lot worse. I could handle letting him keep the facade of all knowing mob boss.

“Deal,” I agreed. “We have breakfast then I need you to get me the names of Rivera’s men. The higher their status the better. I’ll work on retracing the list from earlier and cross referencing it against them. And you, you’re going to get some sleep. It’s a waste of resources having you sit watching me. Joe can help in your place, he was the one that interrogated them anyway so he’ll know more than you do at this stage.” Reluctantly I released his clothing and pushing up to my feet. Instead of joining me he propped himself on his elbows.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, deadpan. Spinning I left him on the bathroom floor as the heat that had been simmering through me peaked. Get it together, I mentally scolded myself.

- - - - - - -

Taglist:

@spideylovin

@lukesbabylon

@panicattheeverywherekid

@keep-bears-wild

@unbelievableholland

@tomholland-mcu

@whattheheckparker

@stargazerholland

@gorillaglue23

@marvelpeters

@weirdowithnobeardo

Part 16!

[cerberusdailynews]

[PEOPLE] Interview with an Ardat-Yakshi

By Cil M’riste, freelance storyteller xposted to Freelance News, Cerberus Daily News, The Watch, and 14 others The Ardat-Yakshi condition is one of our oldest myths. One that is largely presumed to be legend by a large portion of the galaxy’s population. The term “ardat-yakshi” appears in fantasy books, in extranet games, and even in extranet RP forums. But what is the condition, and what is the myth? Most people will never even meet those with the underpinning medical issue. But I happened to get a chance to sit down with someone with the condition, to get her thoughts on a few issues facing people like herself. I myself am not a doctor, nor any legal scholar. So any information provided by this interview can only be taken as a small view into a larger issue. They are the opinions and lived experiences of but one person living with the condition. The rest of the article will be presented in a Q/A format, with a set of final thoughts from myself. Cil (C): "Hi, Nara. It's nice to meet you! Thanks for doing this. How was the trip here?" Nara (N): "Um... nice to meet you too, Cil, my job is to pilot a freighter between here and Palaven, so I make this trip a lot. This time it was a little slower than usual. You'd think traffic jams wouldn't be a thing in three-dimensional space, but with the amount of starship traffic around the Citadel, that's not always true. But I assume you're not here to interview me about my trip. You're here to interview me because I'm an Ardat-Yakshi. Well... Ask away." C:"Oh, no. While that’s true, that it's not what we came here for, I'm not aiming to rush you. But if you'd like to get into it, certainly. Let's see…" N: "Yeah, I'd like to get the tough questions out of the way sooner, I've been stressed out about this interview for like the whole day, and once we get those out of the way it'll be a huge load off my back." C: “Well, for starters. All most of us know about Ar- about those with your condition is that they are... well, extremely controlled, to put it mildly. Most of that knowledge comes from vids and games and all manner of fictional sources, so I don't even know if that's actually part of their thing, but for the sake of asking... Have you ever had an encounter with a Justicar?" N: "I can neither confirm nor deny that, unfortunately. Damn it. Uhhhhh... some of it, but not all of it, will probably be declassified in like fifty years or something. If we're both still around then, I can answer that question. But I think this is the only question that would run into that problem, so feel free to ask anything else you want." C:"So if there's something to declassify that insinuates, at least in my view, at least a tip to the scales in the 'yes' direction. But we'll move on, for sure. Hopefully this one is a little more easily answered. Now, as I understand it, for obvious reasons you've spent your life outside of the Asari Republics entirely. What has life been like for you living away from the traditional asari space?" N: "That... is quite a broad question, you could get a whole interview out of that, if you wanted. But if you want a short answer... On Palaven, especially in the city I grew up in, there weren't very many asari. I spent my whole childhood trying to fit in with my turian neighbors, and I didn't really have other asari to interact with other than my parents. When I became an adult, I enlisted to join the Turian military, where I stayed for most of my life so far, then retired to the reserves several years ago. I ended up having to become a cabalist since I was a biotic, like almost all asari are. There was only one other asari in my cabal though, and we didn't really get along much. First deployment was to Irune, which was pretty peaceful. Also met my wife there, so it made up for having to wear an exosuit all the time. Second deployment was to Solregit, which was... not peaceful. There was a rebellion on the planet's northern hemisphere that wanted to secede from the Hierarchy, which I'm sure you've heard about before. And, of course, I helped defend Palaven during the Reaper War. If there's anything you'd like me to go into more detail about, ask away." C:"Wife? Can you explain how that happened? Were they aware of...everything?" [Nara showed me some pictures here] N:"We met through an online dating service, actually. I stated up-front in my profile that my condition made it impossible for me to meld with anyone, or... be intimate in a way that could risk me accidentally melding with them. But Jin wasn't really interested in either of those things, so we were both happy together in spite of that. I think I have some wedding photos in my omnitool I can show you. That's her. That's Jin. And that's me next to her, but it's hard to tell it's me because the suit obscures my face." C:"Awwww. Those are lovely pictures. Many of us in our maiden stage don't settle down so easily. Do you think living in a mostly turian area growing up influenced your desire to commit to someone that early? And if you don't mind another question to move us along... You seem relatively outspoken about your condition. Is there a reason you feel the need to take what most people would likely consider the risky position of putting yourself and your condition out there without secrecy?" N: "To answer your first question, I would say yes, absolutely. Most of my turian peers, those who did settle down, at least, tended to do so in their thirties. I was thirty-eight years old when I married Jin, which is a little above average for a turian but I found out later that it was like, crazy low for an asari. Your second question is kind of complicated because I have multiple reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, is that somebody needs to speak out. If any of the Ardat-Yakshi in the Republics tried to do an interview like this, they'd be killed or locked up by Justicars or by the government or an angry mob of other asari. I'm still worried sometimes that they'll try and do that to me anyway, even though I've never been to asari space, and if it's a justicar I don't stand any chance of winning a one-on-one fight with one. I have a responsibility to speak up for those who can't speak for themselves, while I still can. Secondly, I'm from the Hierarchy and Turian culture places a very very strong value on honesty. Directly lying about my condition would go against everything I stand for. Thirdly, if what I say informs people about Ardat-Yakshi, it lessens the risk of other Ardat-Yakshi accidentally or, though I'm sad to say it, intentionally injuring or killing innocent people. If even one life is saved, even if I get killed, speaking up will have been worth it. Lastly, though this isn't that important since it only affects my personal life, but I am really, really, annoyed by stereotypes about asari promiscuity and especially asari maiden promiscuity. Letting it be known that I can't sleep with anyone because it could kill them cuts down on unwanted propositioning by, like, ninety percent." C: "Thank you… Those answers definitely shed some light on why you're willing to be rather public about these things. It's a good goal, wanting less people to be hurt. The idea of informing others actually leads quite nicely into my next question. I'm fairly certain I know the answer to this one- But are there any big myths that are simply false, or incomplete information that you think people should know the truth about?" N: "Well, to start things off, basically everything in stuff like Galaxy of Fantasy is wrong. We don't have magic powers, we can't resurrect the dead, et cetera. Most of these should be fairly obviously false, so I'm not going to spend that much time on them because otherwise I'd have to spend all day ranting about stuff like that one human I met who claimed I was somehow a real-life vampire or something. I get so many vampire comparisons. It's annoying. Ardat-yakshi aren't vampires. There's like, no connection at all. Anyway, to get back on track, there's one very important myth I would like to dispel. The ardat-yakshi medical condition is actually a spectrum. The lethal variant of the condition, which I have, is very very rare, but there are other variants that aren't lethal, and are much more common. At the mildest and most common end you have people who just give their meld partners temporary headaches, though most people with this variant don't actually know that what they have is technically a variant of the ardat-yakshi disease, and the Republics don't persecute them like they do with people like me. However, they're still infertile, just like anyone else on the A-Y spectrum. Further along the spectrum, the condition gets bad enough that each meld basically gives the ardat-yakshi's meld partner a concussion, and then even further along the spectrum comes permanent brain damage from each meld, and some ardat-yakshi can even leave their partners comatose in extreme cases. Or dead." C:"Thank you for your answers. I can't imagine it's easy to talk about some of this, given the way the disorder is regarded. Now that we've discussed things that are false, what are some true things you wished other people knew about it?" N: "Well, melding is actually addictive for Ardat-Yakshi, just as the Republics and Justicars say it is. I'm not exactly sure how addictive it is, since at the time of my only meld, which was before I knew I was an Ardat-Yakshi of course, I was already trying to fight off an Aurora addiction. I'm not sure what withdrawal effects were from that and what were from the meld, but it's definitely possible to fight off the addiction. Secondly, Ardat-Yakshi serial killers, though I would like to emphasize that they are very, very rare and are in no way representative of the average A-Y sufferer, do actually exist. They normally don't get very far in the Republics proper, since an autopsy can reveal how the victims died and you can test suspects for the Ardat-Yakshi medical condition. But outside asari space, people don't know how to actually catch the serial killers because the Republics keep trying to suppress information about Ardat-Yakshi, and the serial killers can amass staggering body counts because of that. The Republics would seemingly let hundreds of innocent people die to... um... avoid making themselves look bad or something? I'm actually kind of confused as to why they don't just tell everyone the truth for once." C: "Hm. That makes sense. But what about asari colonies, or even nations with asari majority or pluralities? Surely the condition can occur in them as well? Even if the Republics are, as you say, loath to reveal the truth, surely someone out there has been doing research too? That's just a thought though, I don't actually expect you to know what groups or nations all across the Terminus might be doing." N:"As far as I know, the condition, well, the forms of the condition severe enough to be dangerous, anyway, is rare enough that research isn't prioritized, especially since A-Y is basically a pureblood exclusive disease and asari colonies outside the Republics tend to have fewer purebloods." C:"Well, I have two more questions planned, so we're really scooting along here. Thank you again for sitting down with me. Let's see... Are there any mistakes you've made in your efforts to spread awareness for this condition?" N:"Well, with the fact that so few Ardat-Yakshi are able to speak openly about their conditions, when I talk to people about this, I'm basically the only Ardat-Yakshi that most people ever know about. Since I'm their only reference point, I worry that people will take my flaws and apply them to everyone with the condition. I admit, I'm not the best figurehead. I'm a convicted criminal, albeit for something I don't want to discuss here. I'm a veteran of a, to put it mildly, controversial war on Solregit. And I don't get along with people sometimes, along with other various personality flaws. But there are Ardat-Yakshi who are better people than I am. They simply never got the chance to speak out, like I do. One more question, and then I have to get back to my ship." C:"Of course, I don't want to take up too much of your time. I only had one last one planned anyway." Well we've spoken about many aspects of the situation as-it-is. What, to you, would a more just policy look like in the Republics?" N: "To put it simply, equality under the law. No preemptive targeting of Ardat-Yakshi based on what we might do, with the monasteries as a strictly voluntary institution. Ardat-Yakshi who have knowingly hurt or murdered people should still be arrested, like any other criminal. Ardat-Yakshi who do not harm others should be treated the same as anyone else. All I ask is that you judge each of us by our own actions, not the actions of others." C:"A fine answer. One I think the vast majority of people can empathize with. I understand. You probably have a schedule to keep. But it's been a pleasure getting to know you some, Nara. I look forward to writing this up." With the interview concluded, I walked away with a few different feelings. I entered the conversation a little nervously. I had no more special knowledge of the AY condition than any other asari out there. Since I’m not a doctor I can’t speak to the accuracy of any of the medical specific claims my guest made. But I felt that her desire to make more information known was genuine. During the conversation there were certainly no feelings of threat or manipulation that I picked up on. And I sympathize greatly with the idea of wanting to be treated the same as everyone else. It was a very interesting conversation; and one that opens a window into a phenomena that is very rarely covered in anything but fiction. I hope you enjoyed the small look into the world of Ardat-Yakshi as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you.

[babybatscreationsv2]

SpiderVerse: Predators ch25

Marvel | Starker

Peter Parker is barely keeping it together. Dealing with Gwen Stacy's death, Harry Osborn going MIA, and MJ refusing to take his calls, has the guy feeling seriously run down. Now to top it off, his uncle Ben is facing serious prison time. Fortunately or unfortunately, New York's own Kingpin of Crime, Tony Stark, has offered him a deal to save his uncle. On a positive note, this Kingpin guy is kind of hot. Is it wrong to sleep with a murderous criminal? 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings under the cut

warnings: mentions of violence, mild degrading language

Peter was on edge. His every waking moment was like drowning in a pool of anxiety. Where was Murdock? Was Harry okay? Would Elsa betray them? And then there was Tony. Tony who could be so fragile when it came to their relationship. Peter didn't know much about his past, but he'd pick up on the abandonment issues. Tony didn't like it when it was away. But Peter had other things to worry about.

May was happy that he was home, though she seemed worried by the change. At least Peter could see that she was doing okay. She was clearly still in pain. Every time something reminded her of Ben she would sob and end up leaving the room to go cry. Sometimes, though, she laughed. The happy memories came almost as often as the reminders of loss. Peter wished he hadn't left. He should have been here with her suffering the same cycle of suffering and grief. He deserved it.

George Stacy had apparently been coming over once a week. He and May had their own sort of potluck night. They each prepared a dish and they ate together which was super awkward now that Peter was home.

Happy also went with May on her regular bingo night. Once a week, they went out for breakfast together. May's social life was far more impressive than his own. Too bad he had killed or driven off every friend he had. It just made him miss Tony more, but at the same time, Tony made him feel lonely. Tony added an extra element of secrecy to his life that took him from 'double-life' to 'triple-life'. Tony Stark was a villain in Spiderman's world. He wasn't much better in Peter Parker's. He wasn't sure who that made him when they were together. The Kingpin's pet? Spiderling? Whatever it was, it was a whole different mentality. Spiderman had a darkness that threatened to come out and kill, but Tony Stark called on a different darkness. One that he could say he liked even less. Yet, he'd gotten a taste for poison and it would kill him if he stopped now.

The only time Peter felt comfortable leaving May alone was when he knew she was with Happy. He didn't know the guy personally, but if he knew Tony, then he knew his life was on the line if he fucked up. Those are the moments that he stole away to soothe what anxiety he could. He went to visit Elsa.

It had been one week since Venom went into Harry's body. Whatever the creature was doing... well, it was doing something. Harry's skin was more normal and less lizard-y now. His legs were back to human proportions. There were a few patches of green skin left, but Peter had hope that a few more days should do it.

Elsa was a train-wreck. Her hair was tangled and stuffed into a bun on top of her head. She kept losing her glasses. Peter came in one day to find her stumbling into things. When he helped her find her glasses, she broke down crying. Apparently she hadn't needed them ever since she first bonded with Venom. The bruises on her shins from running into the coffee table were all reminders that it wasn't there looking out for her.

"It'll be over soon and you can have Venom back," Peter assured her. They sat together on the couch.

Elsa sniffled and nodded her head. "Just a little while longer. I know."

"Have they been able to communicate with you at all?"

Elsa nodded, then she laughed, the sound bursting out of her. "They said 'food'." Peter laughed, too. "I've been feeding them bits of chocolate. Not great sustenance for a human, but it's what Venom needs."

"You made a monster in a lab that only eats chocolate."

Elsa smiled fondly. "They're my monster."

Peter felt a prickling all the way down his spine. He went to the window and looked out. No sign of trouble. Then he heard screams and glass shattering.

"I gotta go."

"Take care, Spiderman."

Peter raced through the city. There was a pit in his stomach that only grew as he continued on. And then finally, he reached Stark Tower.

A crowd, no, an angry mob was gathered around the building. People threw rocks and bricks. Tower security held the doors, but Peter could see a paramedic kneeling over a woman on the floor. People were screaming, chanting. They said Stark had stolen from them, spread drugs through neighborhoods, killed their loved ones.

"What the hell is going on?"

A news van down on the ground was reporting on the scene. Spiderman swung down closer to listen in. The reporter posed in view of the fight to get through the doors. She spoke quickly into her microphone.

"Here at Stark Industries the crowd is growing increasingly violent as Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, refuses to make an appearance. There has been no comment yet from anyone at SI and no information has come to light about the leak. Police are arriving now with a warrant for Mr. Stark's arrest, but will any of these outlandish claims prove true? The public seems to think so."

Peter swung around the block and climbed up to the top of the tower. The window into Tony's office opened at his touch and he slipped inside.

"Tony?" He wasn't in his office. Peter ran to the hidden apartment, but he wasn't there either. He dialed his cell phone and got no answer. The second time he tried the number had been disconnected.

Peter sat down on the bed. He put his head in his hands. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Everything felt so out of control. Tony was missing and in trouble. He didn't know where to find Murdock. He didn't know if Harry was going to be okay. And May, was May even safe?

Then he got a call over the Spiderman line.

"Spiderman?"

Peter lurched to his feet. "Tony? Are you okay? What's going on?"

"Fucking Felicia Hardy," he growled. "But don't worry about that, sweetheart. I wanted you to know that I'm safe. I need to lay low for a while."

"And then what?"

"We don't have any choice but to play it by ear. I have people working to make this all go away, but if it doesn't work out then I guess there will be no more Kingpin of New York."

"What does that mean?"

"It means throwing away everything I've built and finally retiring. Morocco seems nice."

"You can't leave."

"I might not have a choice." He paused. "Would you go with me, Peter?"

"I..." He stopped and thought. He would have to give it all up, too. Being Spiderman, trying to protect New York, trying to save people. Maybe he could be Spiderman in Morocco, but all of the work he had done would go waste when the villains took over. Maybe another hero would come to replace him. Maybe that would be for the best.

"It's okay. You can think about it. May could come too, you know. It might even be nice."

"I'll think about it. Stay safe."

"Don't worry about me, darling."

"Let me know of there's anything I can do."

"You're sweet, but I won't ask you to murder Felicia Hardy for me. Besides, I want the pleasure."

Peter let out a breath. "If I find her, I'm turning her in for art theft."

"Then it's a race to find her first. Good luck, dearest spiderling." Tony hung up the call.

Peter stood staring at his phone, unsure of what to do next. It didn't seem like there was anything he do to help Tony. He spent the rest of the day trying to get caught up on school, but it was almost impossible to concentrate. Then someone rang the doorbell.

Peter was up and running for the door in a flash. "I'll get it, May," he called.

"Thanks, Pete," she said from the couch. She was watching one of the many nearly identical crime dramas. He pulled the door open and was struck speechless.

Tony offered him a charming smile. "Peter, darling. I hope this isn't a bad time."

"I uh..." Peter blinked rapidly, processing what he was seeing. Tony Stark, his boyfriend, the Kingpin of New York, the wealthiest man on the Eastern Seaboard, was standing on the doorstep of the rickety little house his family only owned because his father's father's father bought after immigrating so many decades ago. The house could have fit in one of Tony's bathrooms which had less to do with the size of it and more because it was shit by comparison.

"Sorry, I didn't call. I had to disconnect everything I own including my car's GPS."

"Uh..." Peter continued to stare, but when Tony shifted anxiously he finally snapped out it, remembering the constant danger. "Come in."

He stepped aside and Tony entered. May looked over the back of the couch.

"Mr. Stark? It's good to see you again," she smiled, but her eyes cut to Peter. The 'what the fuck is going on' went unspoken. Especially since they had something of an unspoken agreement that May didn't trust Tony because Ben hadn't liked him and therefore only sort of approved and only then because Peter seemed happy.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Parker. I needed a place to stay the night and Peter said it would be alright if I stayed here."

She looked at Tony then she looked at Peter. "Of course that's fine. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

"Come on, Tony." Peter grabbed his hand and dragged the man upstairs but it was only once they were in his bedroom that he realized what a mistake that was. His walls were covered in posters for tech conventions, Stark Industries announcements, fan posters of other super heroes.

Tony smiled, looking around the room. "This is about what I imagined."

"Why are you here?"

"It's this or sleep in my car and I'd rather be here where I know you're safe."

"What's going on?"

Tony sighed. He sat down on Peter's bed and picked up a Rubik's cube from his nightstand. "Showed up at the safe house to find all of the windows broken and the police everywhere. Since there's a warrant and all, I thought I would avoid that mess."

"May is gonna lose her shit when she realizes you're wanted."

Tony shrugged. "She won't turn me in, though. You know she won't."

"No, but she won't be happy."

"Are you happy I'm here?" He looked at him with the saddest puppy dog eyes. Peter hadn't known he could make that face.

"I missed you."

Tony smiled and Peter couldn't help but smile back. He went to the bed and straddled Tony's lap, letting himself get drawn into a heated kiss.

Peter looked into his dark eyes. "How did all this happen?"

"Well you see," Tony began. "I emotionally blackmailed you and then-"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I meant your company being literally on fire."

"Felicia let the world know that maybe I'm involved with tax evasion, and corporate fraud, and also the drug trade. Everyone's a victim," he sighed.

"You do realize that a lot of people are dead because of you."

Tony shrugged. "A lot of people are employed because of me, too."

"That doesn't fix it."

"Some evils concern me more than others." He trailed his fingers down Peter's chest and set his hand down on his thigh. "I have other concerns at the moment." His fingers brushed over Peter's crotch, his cock instantly taking interest.

"Here?"

Tony smirked. "How many times have you laid in this bed jerking off while you looked at posters of me?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Never. I never liked you that much."

Tony grinned. "Not even for an imagined hate fuck?"

"You think too much of yourself." Peter rolled his eyes, giving him a smile in return. Then he kissed those smirking lips. It felt like coming home. They stay tangled up and making out for a while. Then Peter pushed Tony back to lay in the bed. He stood up and went to lock the door.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and slipped off his jeans. Tony watched him with hunger as he pulled off his underwear. He climbed back on top of him, kissing him, devouring each other's mouth.

Peter reached down and slowly pulled up Tony's shirt. He slipped down the bed and pressed kisses to his skin. He kissed the softening muscle of his abdomen and pressed his lips to the warm metal of the arch reactor then he kissed the hollow of his throat.

"My spider," Tony sighed. His hands rested on Peter's back. Peter sucked a bruise under his jaw. Tony hand slid up his back and grabbed a fist full of his hair. "My spider," he said again.

Peter licked his lips. He looked into those deep, dark, eyes and found hunger. "Show me," he challenged.

Tony stood, holding Peter in his arms. Then he threw him down on the bed. He pulled off his t-shirt and stood in only his jeans, scarred and strong chest so beautifully on display like a king or a god or Peter's own wet dream. Then he was on top of them, the both of them panting heavy. Peter gasped, whining quietly as Tony pressed kisses all over his body. He clamped a hand tight over his mouth to muffle the noises he made as Tony bit and sucked marks into his skin. On his thighs, his belly, his chest.

"Gotta keep quiet," Tony chuckled. "Your poor aunt will have a heart attack."

Peter grabbed him, pulling him up so their eyes were level. "Shut up and fuck me."

Tony grinned. "I think I've been a terrible influence on you." Peter reached up to the drawer beside his bed and offered Tony a bottle of lube. He took it with only the most devilish smile. He pressed a slick finger into Peter's hole, continuing on.

"You've become greedy, demanding," he pushed in a second finger. "Entitled even."

Peter's legs spread, trying to wrap around Tony's waist and pull him in.

"You're spoiled and rotten. Do you know that?" Tony teased.

"Tony," he panted as Tony fingered him. "Put your fucking dick in me," he demanded and the back of Tony's hand cracked against his face. Peter gasped, then moaned as pain exploded through his face.

Tony stared him down. "Is that what you need? Discipline?"

Peter shivered. His face was so dark, so vicious, like Peter was prey he couldn't wait to devour. "Please," he said.

Tony smirked. "If your aunt weren't home I'd put your right over my lap, sweetheart, until you're kicking and screaming. Give your bratty little ass a spanking."

"Please," Peter moaned.

"Another day, little spider. Now keep quiet for me." Tony reached down and unzipped his jeans. He pulled out his cock, pants just below his hips. Peter moaned as he pushed in, both hands covering his mouth as he tried to be quiet. Tony had found a quieter way of making it hurt, using just enough lube to push inside, but not quite enough. It burned as he pushed deep. Peter legs trembled and he clung to Tony's biceps. Peter whimpered quietly.

"That's a good boy," Tony purred. His eyes shined. The smile on his lips was dangerous.

He took his hands away to beg. "Tony, please," and he kissed him. Peter moaned and whined, sounds muffled by Tony's lips, as he fucked him slow and deep. His whole was body like a live wire, burning, vibrating with need. When Tony's hand wrapped around his cock his lips parted spilling soft whines into the air.

"Hush, little spider," Tony warned. "Wouldn't want Aunt May to know what a whore you are, would you? In here spreading your legs in your childhood bed, demanding to get fucked like a spoiled brat."

"Fuck," Peter groaned through clenched teeth.

"You can't help it can you?" He smirked. "You're too addicted to my cock."

"Yes." Tony tried to move faster and Peter grabbed his hip. "Not yet."

Tony kept moving slowly. He pressed kisses to Peter's neck that Peter answered with a string of kisses down his throat.

"Tony," Peter breathed his name against his skin. "I love you."

Tony answered him, lips brushing against his neck. "I love you, Peter."

"I thought you died, today."

"Never, baby. I'm unkillable."

Peter held his face and crushed their lips together, moaning as they kissed. Tony started to move faster, fucking him just as frantically. It burned. It hurt so good that it made his head spin. He felt his cock dripping onto his belly. His thighs squeezed Tony's hips, probably digging in bruises but he didn't have it in him to care. A hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Teeth bit into his bottom lip. He tasted blood and it only drove him higher. Another hand clamped around his mouth and he realized he was nearly screaming.

Tony kept fucking him while he came, gripping his hips when he finally quieted down and driving into him until he was spilling his own cum inside him. He laid down next to him, kissing him frantically until the fatigue set in.

Peter felt like crying. It was too much. Everything was too much, too overwhelming. At least Tony was here with him now. He could keep him safe as long as he was here in his arms.

[nerdypanda3126]

Playing with Fire – Ch. 8

So two things: first, I did write a little interlude between last chapter and this one, and you can find it here.

And second, in the part with Luka's journal, he's in a dark place at that point in his life and there's some suicidal ideation in there. If you'd prefer to skip over it, you can jump over the italicized parts, and as far as I know that's the only time it'll pop up in this story 💖

Read on Ao3 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“You want to find my family?” Luka asked incredulously as he held a branch aside for her to walk past. 

He was tired, and so was she; they’d been walking all night, but Luka had insisted they needed to put as much distance as they could between them and the tower while they still had the cover of darkness. By the time the sunlight was able to filter down to them through the canopy, she suspected it was closer to mid-afternoon and they’d been up for a full twenty-four hours. He’d been stuck in his mostly-human form for the longest he’d ever had to endure it. Maybe not an ideal time to bring up her plan, but…  

“We’re already running for our lives, we don’t have a home to go back to, at least not for a while, so… While we’re out wandering anyways, I thought…” 

“We’d lead an angry mob straight to my mother and sister?” 

She rolled her eyes at him. Definitely not the best time to bring up her plan. “You’re cranky when you’re tired,” she noted, letting her own irritation slip into her tone. He grunted back, but it was more of a challenge than an assent. 

“Besides,” she pushed on, ignoring the way he bristled, “it might take a while to find them. How long do you think the townspeople will follow us, anyways? My guess is they get to the tower, see it’s empty, and turn around and go home.” 

“I’m not worried about them,” he grumbled. “There’s a certain friend of yours who didn’t seem ready to give up anytime soon.” 

If he had venom, he’d injected it into the word “friend.” She winced at his bitter tone. 

“Okay, so what’s your plan? We wander the wilds aimlessly chasing our tails for the rest of our lives?” 

He faltered and glanced over at her. The way he seemed so unsure made her realize he’d never had a plan. At least not past “stay alive and wait.” This was all new to him; he didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going. They’d traveled in as much of a straight line as was possible away from the tower, but other than that… he was lost. 

She drew closer to him and threaded her arm through his as an apology. He laid a hand over hers as he took her meaning and sighed. 

“Where would we even start?” he asked, his voice small in the quiet of the forest around them. 

“There have to be other towns nearby, and I’m sure someone would remember seeing dragons flying around 18 years ago.” 

“More townspeople…” he grumbled again. “Great.” 

She squeezed his arm in sympathy and they walked in silence for a while. She could feel the weight of the plan starting to fall on his shoulders, the idea of asking around, relying on humans, how long it might take. In truth, she hadn’t realized the enormity of the undertaking until she’d proposed it to him and now she could agree that it sounded impossible. 

“Maybe they’ve been waiting for you, too,” she dared to say. 

He let out a quiet laugh. “Ma wouldn’t, her treasure is the open skies and she wouldn’t wait for anyone.” He paused to think, then sighed. “Juleka might, though.” 

“Your sister?” 

“Mhmm. We were close when we were young. Before…” His eyes slid over to her and he let it drop. “She might’ve followed Ma at first, but I’m sure she wasn’t happy with the decision to leave me behind.” 

“What’s she look like?” Marinette asked, her curiosity overtaking her. He’d never talked about it before, but for once he seemed open to the topic. He smiled wistfully as he tried to remember. 

“A lot like me, I guess. Except, you know…not...” He gestured to himself, to his human form. “Unless she made the same mistake, but I doubt Ma would’ve let that happen again. And she’s taller than me, or at least she was when we were little. Maybe it’s changed a bit, but she was always kind of a lanky thing. Ma’s pride and joy, though, if I’m honest. It’s her fire. Most dragons have some variant of red; it’s rare enough to get blue fire, but Jules…” He shook his head, that wistful smile growing as he remembered. “Jules had violet fire. Unheard of, really. You’ll see when you meet her, she’s—” He caught himself then as he realized what he’d said. “If, I guess,” he amended quietly. 

She squeezed his arm again and smiled over at him. “When,” she agreed. “When I meet her.” 

He half-shrugged, but his smile warmed when he looked over at her. Before she could stop it, she yawned loudly and he laughed as one took him over, too. 

“First things first,” he said when it subsided, looking around at their surroundings. “We need to find a place to camp.” 

***

Later that evening they found a cave. 

Marinette had laughed a little at the prospect. Dragons, caves, towers, curses. Her life was sounding more and more like a fairytale turned inside out. Wasn’t there supposed to be a shining knight that rescued the damsel in distress from the terrible, fire-breathing dragon? 

But she didn’t feel very “in distress” as Luka joined hands with her to remove his stone and sighed with relief when his transformation took hold. She didn’t feel very in distress as he blew a small ring of fire into the floor of the cave, patting it down as he went to create a smooth, warm, bowl-shaped indent for them to curl up in together. And the only distress she felt as she tucked herself into his coils was her racing heart and trembling hands as the kiss they'd shared came back to her. He blinked up at her, sensing her hesitation, and uncurled a bit as if he intended to stand. 

She shook her head and laid her hand on his back, reassuring him, then took a moment to run her fingers over his scales, admiring them in their full splendor. Even though they were pitch black, they caught the bare light of the cave and glinted back at her like he was wearing a solid coat of jewels. They turned softer towards his belly, finer, more like the scales of a snake that she was used to as opposed to the armor he wore on top. 

As she continued to touch him, he let out that noise again, a small satisfied hum, and laid his head over his claws as he closed his eyes. 

His wings fascinated her. There was a solid joint of muscle on each side where they met his shoulders, as thick as both her fists put together, but the wings themselves seemed so fragile—she could see her hand through the delicate skin stretched thin between the bones. And yet they were able to hold not only his weight but hers, too. 

She felt it when she hit that sensitive spot that had made him ticklish before. Something like a chuckle rumbled through him and his wing flinched away from her reflexively, but he didn’t pull it out of her hands. That spot was along the side of the bone she’d been tracing, the longer one that nestled into his side when they were furled. She did it again out of curiosity and a shiver ran through him. 

She tried to remember what she’d read about dragon anatomy. But instead she was imagining how it must feel to him. Maybe something like if she were tracing the ridge of his shoulder blade when he was human. 

When she looked back at him, his eyes were still closed, like he was pretending to be asleep. She knew better, though; his breathing was uneven. As much as he was trying to hide it, he was hyper focused on her every move. 

She let her hand trail down his arm until she found one of his huge, rough hands. She picked it up despite his small grumble as his head shifted, and marveled at the largeness of it. The pad of what would be his palm was as big as her face, and the curved ebony claws reminded her so much of the hawks she’d seen in her life that she knew they were deadly. But his were each as long as her entire hand. 

As she set his hand back down, he opened an eye to look at her. She watched the slit of his pupil as it dilated to capture as much light as it could in the gloom of the cave. And the fiery blue that surrounded it was the same as the tuft of hair along his neck and at the tip of his tail. 

She should be frightened. Luka in this form was danger personified. Everything about him should have made her adrenaline spike. Should have made her want to run away or try to fight for her life. 

But as he blinked at her again, probably trying to understand what she was thinking, all she saw was… Luka. The same soul who had promised her mother he would take care of her, who had offered his life to her, who had saved her when she was too small to even know to be afraid. 

No wonder she’d still had dreams of sleeping curled up next to him. When she looked at him, at all of him, all she saw was safety and home. And as he tucked his wing around her like a blanket, she couldn’t imagine a safer place than right next to him. 

***

She grumbled awake when the light hit her eyes the next morning. She’d have to talk to him about getting curtains or something to cover that damn opening while they slept. She curled away from it, trying to press her face into Luka’s scales, but her nose was hitting something warm, and breathing, and...smoother than she expected. 

Her eyes flew open as she realized her lips had touched skin. 

It was later than normal and they’d already switched. Luka was human beside her. His arm was draped around her waist, she was curled up against his chest, and she had just nuzzled into his neck and brushed her lips against the hollow of his throat. She froze, but he was still solidly out, snoring lightly every so often, his arm a heavy weight around her. 

The night before rushed back to her. Fleeing the tower, their long walk, the cave they’d settled into for the night… and Luka. His dark hair was falling over his eyes, and those dark circles had returned after only one night of missed sleep. His lips were parted slightly as he breathed and he looked so peaceful she almost wanted to reach out and touch him if only to make sure he was real.

But she didn’t want to wake him. So as carefully as she could she extracted herself from his embrace and stood to stretch, realizing that all their walking from the past few days had caught up to her. Before she did anything else, she retrieved his stone from where he’d left it and slipped it around his neck so her flames didn’t attract any attention. Or worse, set anything in their temporary shelter aflame. 

They’d need to find food and water, but exploring their new area would have to wait until Luka woke up. For now she settled on taking inventory of what they’d brought with them, munching on a piece of bread from her parents’ bakery as she did. She froze when his lyre fell out, making an awful twang against the cave floor, but Luka only muttered in his sleep and rolled over. 

When she continued searching through the bags, her fingers caught on the leather of his journal. Another glance at Luka proved that he wouldn’t be awake for a while yet; losing sleep as they traveled had hit him harder than her. She walked as close to the entrance of their cave as she dared and sat in the light to read. 

The first few pages were mostly unintelligible. Scribbles and squiggles as Luka struggled with the quill and ink. Then came pages of the alphabet, unsteady at first, and traced over what must’ve been Jagged’s handwriting. The letters got stronger, more confident, and then on the next page, his first written word. Just his name, but she could almost see the pride he must’ve felt in accomplishing that one word. It stood alone on the page. She imagined a young Luka running out to show Jagged his hard work, beaming with the joy of learning a new skill. 

Then other words started to fill the pages. Jagged Stone, fire, bond, wings, rabbit, trap, tower. Naming things around him, sometimes with little drawings that accompanied the word. 

But then she saw the word “bakery.” Her breath caught. That wasn’t a word that Luka would be familiar with unless… 

Underneath that was a sentence. “My bonded lives in a bakery.” 

And as the pages went, she found more little tidbits about her life interspersed between Luka’s practicing. “My bonded has blue eyes.” “My bonded has black hair.” “My bonded likes the color pink.” “My bonded likes flowers.” 

It seemed he’d tried to learn as much about her as he could, but either Jagged never told him her name or Luka never asked because every one of them started with “my bonded.” She wondered if he did it on purpose. It seemed like something he would do. Waiting not only to meet her but to hear her name. 

He’d filled the next page, and it looked like a letter. Addressed to her. She glanced back at him, but he was turned away from her and she couldn’t see his face. She remembered how he’d stiffened when she asked if she could read it before he’d brushed it off as nothing. But he did say she could read it… 

So she did. 

***

To My Bonded,

You probably won’t ever get the chance to read this. I’m not sure why I’m even writing it other than I guess if the worst happens maybe there will be a small piece left of me that I can hope you would come to know.

From what I know of you, I think you might be someone who would listen.

Firstly, I don’t blame you if you’re angry with me. It probably hasn’t been easy on your end and I don’t know how much you’ve been told about our situation. Which is the worse curse, I wonder, knowing everything and waiting to see how it unfolds or knowing nothing and having to make a decision. Either way, I guess it’s really my fault anyways.

As for the second thing. I don’t know that I’ll have the chance to show you so I want you to know. I do care for you. Deeply. Sometimes that scares me because I don’t even know your name. The only thing I remember is seeing your eyes that day I rescued you. When they opened, when I knew you were okay, I was so relieved that I hardly even noticed your eyes were blue until Jagged reminded me years later. But they are, aren’t they? I wonder if they were like that before, or if maybe that’s another part of me that stayed with you.

I’m both dreading and hoping for the day I get to see those eyes again. Maybe when that day comes I can explain myself and apologize and tell you all this in person. Until then.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I didn’t think I’d write to you again. But Jagged told me today you had a ‘crush’ on someone in your village. A taylers boy, although I don’t know what that means. He told me about the fire too. He didn’t really have to. I felt it. I felt how your heart hurt and I wanted to go to you. Maybe I should have. I was afraid. 

Jagged said you were fine, that you would be fine. But next time I feel that, I’m coming to you. Scared or not.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I am sick of this place. I’m sick of this tower and sick of the waiting and sick of feeling like I’ll be stuck like this forever. I thought you’d come for me. Aren’t you curious about me? Don’t you know by now what’s happening, why I’m still here, that I’m waiting for you? Or maybe you’re staying away because you know. Maybe you want it to be this way, maybe this is your choice.

I don’t mean that. If you knew I’m sure you’d be here already. I guess I wish I knew how much longer it’s going to be like this. How much longer I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours, Luka

---

Dear Bonded,

I keep writing to you for some strange reason. It’s a sort of comfort, knowing that you’ll probably kill me before you get to read any of this. I’m sure that’s your answer now because your village has started sending men to kill me instead. They come up from your village anyway.

It’s okay. I get it. You’re probably scared of me. The rest of them have been so I can only assume you think the same. I haven’t let them win yet. For now there’s still a small part of me that hopes you don’t know anything about this. That it has nothing to do with you. For now anyways.

Yours, Luka

---

Bonded,

I hate the taste of blood.

Yours, Luka

---

Dearest Bonded,

This is my last letter to you. I can’t keep doing this. The men keep coming. I’ve tried everything to get them to leave me alone, but nothing seems to work. And I’m tired. I know you’re probably not coming. You won’t come. Even if you did, you’d be here to kill me. And I had every intention of giving you that choice, but I’ve made my decision. The next time those men come I’m not fighting anymore.

If you do find this. If you do come for me. I’m sorry. I’ve loved you with every breath.

Yours, Luka 

---

Dearest Bonded,

I’m a coward. Or a fool in love. Either way, I’m still here. I have to have faith in you.

Yours, Luka

***

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder. Luka laughed as he sat down behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist to press his chest against her back and lay his head on top of hers.

“Dramatic, wasn’t I?” he asked, still chuckling. As much as she could she swatted at his hand with the journal. 

“You scared me! You shouldn’t come up behind someone like that!” 

“We’re the only ones here, who else did you think it was?” 

Damn him, she could hear his satisfied smirk in his voice. She swatted him again for good measure, even as he pressed a kiss to her hair, but his last two letters were still sharp in her mind. 

“Why’d you stop writing?” she asked, flipping through the many blank pages that were left. She felt him shrug behind her. 

“I didn’t see much point to it, really. Either you’d come and we’d live happily ever after and I could tell you everything myself or… not. And it wasn’t like I ever expected you to want to read it if things went badly.” 

“How long after this…” she started, but she lost her voice halfway through. She had to swallow hard past the lump that was forming to find it again. “How much longer did you have to wait for me?”

He was quiet for a moment and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, probably trying to soften the blow. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. 

“It does to me. Luka, if I’d known any of this—why didn’t you let Jagged tell me?” 

He let out another of those soft laughs behind her and his breath ghosted across her neck. “He wanted to. We fought about it a lot. But I figured that would only make you feel… obligated.” 

She thought about that while she stared at his last entry. Of course it was impossible to think what she might’ve done, or how she might’ve felt because she only knew what had happened. The series of events that led her to him. The nightmares and the flames and thinking she was a curse to her family and her village. And up at the tower Luka was dealing with his own nightmare. He’d almost given up hope and when she did come to the tower she’d almost proved him right. 

His arms tightened around her as if he could sense where her thoughts had gone. As if to prove he was okay and it turned out alright. She pressed back against him and could feel his heartbeat thudding steadily through her own chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe it didn’t matter. They were together now. That’s what she’d told him. To stop blaming himself for what happened. She didn't blame him for anything and at the very least he'd already forgiven her, too. 

She turned in his arms and slid her hand behind his neck to pull his face down to hers. As she pressed her lips to his, it felt like a promise. A promise that he’d never have to be apart from her like that again, bond or not. 

He melted against her and for a moment they were both lost in each other, in the knowledge that in this moment they were safe and together and that was all that mattered. 

[anothermcytblog]

Of Theseus, Of Echo || Tommy and Tubbo Interlude

Style: One Shot Word Count: 1669 CW: None that I can think of!

Summary: The story of Theseus popular on this server, and Tommy wonders which Theseus people think of. // As he walks into New L'manberg, Tubbo wonders if Echo would have exiled her best friend. // "Besides, who wants to admit they didn't notice gods among men?"

Contrary to popular belief, Tommy was not an idiot. Impulsive, reckless, loud, childish, possessive- All true, but he isn't an idiot. He knew that perhaps his choices weren't the best- but come on! Exile seemed a bit extreme. He deliberately told Tubbo he didn't want to be vice president yet- not while Dream still had his discs- but did anyone listen? Nooo, they just continued to act like he was still vice president! And he wasn't just going to repeat himself, it would make him seem like a coward! And Tommy Watson-Innit was no coward!

Still, as he sits on the shore of the beach with a fishing rod in hand, he can't help but wonder if perhaps he really was an idiot. Why did he stick up for Ranboo? A guy he barely knew. Sure he was Nikis' old friend (Younger brother? Tommy really didn't know. Gentlemens' rule of the SMP, you don't ask about someone's past) but he didn't need to lie for him and take the sole blame. Ranboo may have stuck up for him but was it really worth it? ("Of course it was," a Wilbur- Not Ghostbur- sounding voice told him, "That's how I raised you. Always be kind unless given a reason not to be. You're not a bad person Tommy, you're just a child.")

Dream appears beside him and Tommy half wants to snarkily ask him if Dream wants to blow up his fishing rod but he holds his tongue. No use arguing with Dream now, not when Dream is his only real person to talk to outside of unreliable messages with Ranboo and an amnesiac ghost who's just a shadow of his older brother. "I wouldn't take you as a fisher," Dream says after a moment. It's hard to tell but Tommy thinks Dream is looking at him from the corner of his eyes, but it's almost impossible to know with his dumb fucking mask.

"There's a lot you don't know about me bitch," He responds, reeling in the rod and grabbing the fish, tossing it back into the ocean as he waits for another bite.

"Really?" Dream asks and Tommy knows Dream is baiting him to reveal some grand secret, a chance to 'one-up him' in something big, "Like what?"

"My real name is actually Theseus," He says, unable to hide the pleased look on his face when Dream physically turns to him in what Tommy assumes is surprise, "Techno named me and Phil just agreed to it to make him happy. Wil-" His name gets caught in his throat and he knows that Dream heard it, "He gave me the nickname Tommy and I much prefer it. Though, I can't help but wonder," Tommy says, laughing so Dream can't hear the way his voice wavers as he tries to hold off of mourning whatever he had left to feel about Techno, "Do you think he knew? That I'd grow up to my namesake? Once a hero, now exiled. All that's left is dying in disgrace."

Dream stays silent, and Tommy can't help the pride he feels to have caught Dream off guard. He half wonders what Dream is thinking right now, and he almost asks before Ghostbur interrupts and asks Tommy if he'd like some blue.

The story of Theseus popular on this server, and Tommy wonders which Theseus people think of.

--

New L'manberg is pretty at night, Tubbo has to admit. The lanterns Ghostbur made light up the sky and the paths between areas, giving Tubbo the warmth he's been slowly losing. In the back of his mind, he wonders if this is what Wilbur meant when he said he was always cold. Walking along the path, Tubbo makes his way to L'mantree and sits outside of the obsidian encasing the tree. "Ah, Mr. President!" Someone calls for him, and for a moment Tubbo believes it to be Ranboo but a flash of green next to him tells him it isn't.

"Dream!" Tubbo greets, giving the masked man a smile, "You're out late, are you on a walk?" ("He's using you kid," Schlatt whispers in his ear, voice soft in a way it hadn't for a while, "You need to open your eyes. Dream has never been on your side. He made you exile your best friend, remember? Dream isn't your friend here, just like I wasn't your friend.")

"I could say the same to you!" Dream laughs, light hearted and friendly, "Just like you said, I'm taking a walk. How about you?"

"Just thinkin'" He shrugs- because it's true! Technically, at least. The entire reason he went on a walk was to clear his head, the upcoming Green Festival weighing heavy on his mind. When Dream tilts his head, Tubbo realizes he needs to come up with something- what did Schlatt tell him? The best lies were based on truth? "About Techno," He tells Dream, turning to face him, "He used to tell me this story- an Old Myth- whenever he and Phil would come home from adventuring. I... I miss hearing about it, Wilbur did his best to tell them but he was more of a Modern Myth slash Sky God story kind of guy. He spoke so much about then you think the Sky Gods actually told them the stories themselves!" He laughs a bit, "Do you know the story he'd tell me?"

"Theseus?" Dream asks, making a confused noise when Tubbo shakes his head.

"Echo," Tubbo says, smiling a bit, "He wanted to name me Echo actually, though Wilbur put a stop to it and since Techno named Tommy, Phil let Wilbur name me. Have you heard the story of Echo?" He asks, almost perking up when Dream shakes his head no, "Right- Okay, it's been a while since I've heard it so I might get a couple things wrong but! Echo was a mountain nymph and Zeus was just in love having sex with nymphs and would visit the overworld a lot because of it! Hera naturally became suspicious and tried to catch Zeus in the act with a Nymph but Echo, under Zeus order, kept distracting Hera. Eventually, Hera found this out and took her wrath out on Echo and cursed Echo so she could only repeat the last thing she heard! Echos' misery doesn't end here though, because she fell in love with the handsome Narcissus! However, she was never able to tell Narcissus how she felt- not like Narcissus liked her anyways- and eventually Narcissus was cursed to fall in love with his own reflection and Echo was forced to watch Narcissus perish due to his own vanity! No one really knows what happened to Echo after that though, I feel bad for her. She was pretty much forced to become everyones yes man after she was punished because Zeus told her to protect him from his wife even though Zeus was in the wrong. I think Techno was trying to warn me."

"Warn you?" Dream echos back, a curious tone in his voice.

"Yeah!" Tubbo nods, "I mean..." He trails off for a moment, suddenly remembering who he is talking to and how he needs to be careful, "Like, I've always been Tommys yes man you know? I go along with what he says and does what he asks- sort of like how Echo, well, echos back whatever people say! Then with Schlatt I did everything he asked of me, even when it led to my own exe... execution- Like Echo did what Zeus said even though it got her cursed! Ooo do you think Techno can see the future?"

"Maybe," Dream says, content for now, "You should head on back though, mobs are beginning to spawn and you're not very armed. Maybe you can tell me more Old Myths later."

Tubbo nods, giving Dream a wave goodbye. As he walks into New L'manberg, Tubbo wonders if Echo would have exiled her best friend. He shakes his head, picking up his pace as he hears a Zombie groan- Of course Echo would have, only if Zeus asked her though... If Tubbo is Echo, would that make Quackity his Zeus?

--

Sitting on top of a grand tree, Wilbur looks over at his dead ram friend, the pool of water around them shimmering as the image of Tuboo walking into New L'manberg fades, "Think they'll be okay?"  He asks, although he already knew the answer to that.

"Ehhhh..." Schlatt replies, "Depends on if they listen to us or not. Though, we haven't done this in a while so who knows how effective it'll be."

WIlbur snorts, as Schlatt waves his hand over the water, switching it to a sleeping Ranboo, "You think Connor would be able to sense us, or at least you."

Schlatt shrugs, laying on his back as he looks at the sky, "He was never the most magically adapt, he was better at the human shit. Besides, Mr. Sky God, it isn't like he knows what Dreams aura is. The tricky bastard likes keeping his secrets."

"Well, Mr. Sky Champion," Wilbur responds, the familiar cocky grin on his face as he looks up from the water, "It seems like the narrative is going to get a lot more interesting from here on out. Dream seems to be preparing for something. I always have been a fan of history rhyming and the God of the End has always been a word smith."  

"Gods of old I forgot how much you talk," Schlatt groans, "I forgot how fucking cryptid and nonsensical you are as well."

Wilbur cackles, "Well, you have an eternity to remember at least. They won't figure us out for a while at least, I have zero faith in them. Besides, who wants to admit they didn't notice gods among men?"

Rain falls somewhere in the distance as TNT explodes, a pool of lava bubbling somewhere below though the god and half-god don't pay much attention to it. They've already dealt with the rhythm of betrayal from them.

[whereisten]

Run

(A short Assassin!Jaehyun AU)

(Warnings: violence, angst, suggestive, blood, su*cide mention)

[3:06 A.M]

“Is that a gun on your waist or are you just happy to see me?” You gave Assassin!Jaehyun a sly smile. He was hiding in the shadows, behind a curtain in your bedroom, waiting for you to come out of the shower. He had been hunting you down all day and now he finally caught you, in your own home.

“Do what you have to do, just make sure my cat gets fed” you walked past him in a bath robe and to your kitchen. You poured yourself a glass of wine, unfazed by the killer in your presence.

You knew your father wanted you dead, but what you didn’t know was that he’d send your best friend to do the deed.

It had been two years since you ran away from your father, the gang, and the mob life he made you endure. You were tired of killing and robbing people, tired of bringing pain to others. You successfully flew under the radar, creating a new identity, a new life and worked as a florist in a small town in France.

And up until now, it seemed to have worked. But you knew he was coming for you.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve sniped you when you were at the cafe earlier” Jaehyun walked out of the shadows, revealing his toned figure and radiant skin in the moonlight. His hair beautifully styled to compliment his perfect face. His black T-shirt stuck to his toned arms and his black skinny jeans barely kept the outlines of the thick thighs muscles concealed.

Other than the few new tattoos he donned on his arm, he looked the same. His soft brown eyes and deep dimples still made you weak.

He walked towards you to where you stood in the kitchen, looking around and taking in your place.

“So this is what you’ve been up to..isn’t it pretty boring?” Jaehyun chuckled as he touched the fabric of the couch. “Selling flowers? Really?”

You shook your head. “I bring happiness to people, can you say the same?” You took a sip of the best wine you had, savoring the taste, knowing it may be your last drink.

Jaehyun laughed. “I bring happiness to the right people by doing my job, and getting rid of the scum on earth”

“Since when are innocent people the scum on earth? You and I both know it’s people like him, my father, that are the scum” you bit back.

Jaehyun smirked. “I’ve missed that mouth of yours.”

“I can’t say I’ve missed you” you tilted your head as you took another sip. You were lying.

“Listen Jae, If this is a test..tell him I’m not coming back.” You said firmly, ready to move on and either go to sleep temporarily...or permanently.

“See, he had a feeling you’d say that, and he told me that if you did, I needed to bring your eyeball back with me.” Jaehyun was facing you now, leaning on the kitchen island.

“Ah yes. I’ve missed his interesting display of fatherly love” you rolled your eyes.

“Listen, just make this easy for me..for both of us.. come back with me, talk it over with him, you’re one of his best, but maybe he’ll let you walk” Jaehyun crosses his arms.

You shook your head, “do what you need to do Jaehyun, I’m not going back alive. You’ll have to drag my body to him across his cold, marble floor.”

Jaehyun laughed. “God..you’re impossible”

He walked towards you, towering over you and making you feel small in your loose bath robe. You quietly snuck your hand behind you and picked up the kitchen knife you’d been hiding.

“Things are never easy with you..that’s why I like you” Jaehyun breathed out.

You were breathing heavily, intoxicated by his smooth, deep voice and the way his eyes watched you.

He reached out and held your face, pulling it towards his, he kissed you hard, immediately taking in your tongue. You returned the kiss. Oh how you missed the feeling of his warm mouth on yours, how he took control and explored your mouth quickly. You couldn’t breathe when he was near you and he knew that, he wanted to see how long you could go without pulling away for air.

Your eyes fluttered shut once you felt his hands on your waist and his hip dig into yours. You two were only friends before you left, but the time away taught you that it was more. You usually only kissed when you were on missions together and you had to pretend to be a couple, but sometimes it felt real. While you dreamt of feeling his lips on yours again and loved the moment, you couldn’t forget why he was really here and what the objective of his mission was. Assassins don’t just abandon missions like that.

You pulled the knife from behind you and pressed the tip into his neck. He pulled his lips away from yours slowly. Looking at you with lustful eyes and a smirk, he chuckled lightly.

“You kill me..then what?” He asked in that same deep voice that sent shivers down your spine.

“I’ll run again.” You said, gaining steady breathing.

“And you’ll get caught again, but next time it’ll be some asshole that’ll snipe you while you enjoy your morning coffee. Hell, maybe they’ll kill the cat too” Jaehyun said through gritted teeth as you pressed the tip of the knife in just a little deeper, a streak of blood started to trickle down his pale neck.

“Let them come” you said.

“As for you, I’ll let you leave, you have the chance to run away like I did. Don’t come to see me again, don’t tell anyone where I am.”

Jaehyun laughed, “there’s just one little problem with that sweet cheeks.”

You furrowed your brows.

“I’m not a coward like you. I’m taking you with me.”

Jaehyun quickly knocked the knife out of your hand and grabbed your waist. He swooped you up and slammed you down onto the kitchen island.

You felt the sharp pain to your back, but you had to keep moving.

You sat up and blocked his punches with your arms. You swung around and placed your legs around his waist, landing an uppercut to his jaw. He picked you up off the island, while you still hung on to his waist.

He walked over to the nearest wall and slammed you into it. You groaned as another shockwave of pain ran through your back, he used his other hand to grip your neck and choke you while he pressed your body against the wall, but you managed to use your elbow to hit his arm hard and weaken his grip. You used that moment as an opportunity to slam your heel down on his toe. He bent over and yelled out in pain as you ran to your bedroom where you had your gun.

You quickly turned the safety off and spun around to face him. He was already pointing his own gun towards you, you were just 5 feet away from each other.

“Jaehyun, don’t make me do this” you breathed heavily.

“you’re such a tough bitch” he laughed out. You two had fought each other many times during your training days, but it was never serious like this. “But like I said, I’m not leaving here without you.”

You knew he had nothing to lose, he had to complete his job. That was all that mattered—or was it?

You turned the gun on yourself. “I can’t give him what he wants, my life will be hell again” you teared up as you felt the barrel of the gun pressed against your temple.

“No! Don’t—you idiot, don’t” Jaehyun dropped his gun and walked towards you.

“I can’t..let you do that”

“Why not? I’m making your job easy” you said, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I—I love you” Jaehyun put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes.

“which is why..I can’t leave here without you.”

“I’ve missed you Jae” you finally confessed. “but I can’t be with you if that means going back to my old life..I’m not that person anymore”

“I know, I know..I’d never force you to do something you’re not comfortable with.” Jaehyun walked closer to you and took the gun from your weak hand.

He threw it on the ground and hugged you in his arms. You hugged him tight and exhaled into his shoulder, enjoying his embrace. You pulled away to look up at him. “I love you too” you said before reaching for his lips, he bent down and scooped you up, this time gently placing you down onto your bed.

He crawled over you and you held his face, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His mouth caressed yours so softly, your eyes closed and your body grew weak from his touch. He pulled the robe loose to reveal your naked body and bit his lips.

“Y’know, my jaw hurts from that sick punch you gave me, can you kiss it better?” he winked before taking off his shirt and revealing his beautiful abs. You laughed and nodded.

You kissed his razor-sharp jawline as he massaged his fingers into your body. You moaned, loving how the tips of his fingers perfectly pressed into your pressure points. You gripped his arms, nails digging into his muscles as you felt him nestle his crotch in between your legs.

“Also, how am I the idiot when you’re the one that’s fallen in love with your target?” You teased.

Jaehyun shook his head and unbuttoned his pants before throwing them to the floor. “God..I’ve missed you, can I choke you again?” He smirked before leaning down to kiss you.

[casually-inlove]

I think he tian as the worst childhood too like maybe is father is the cause of is mother dead is bro already killed people in front of him when he was little he think is dog is dead bc of is bro now he sleep with light on and is very depressed and lonely and is family is in the mafia business he know in the future he gotta do pretty much what is bro doing but I think he gonna take another path has is bro but well see anyways that make me feel like cryy 😭😢

I think you may be onto something, dear anon. I wouldn’t personally go as far as to say that He Tian had the worst childhood, after all, MGS is also a contender for this one; it’s just that their childhoods represent different kinds of shitty-ness. Warning, there’s a ton of text below.

It’s possible that HT’s family business (whatever it is, mafia or not) was the reason why his mother is supposedly dead. There’s a panel depicting one of HT’s nightmares, where he sees himself on a burning yacht. I do believe that his mother might have died there.

It’s also possible that young HT blamed his parent for her death. Such trauma is not easily processed by young children, and various bitter feelings towards his father might stem from it. Now, I’m sure that He Tian’s father isn’t a psycho or a monster, but he probably is an authoritarian figure. The kind that is obsessed with the idea of dynasty. It’s possible that he’s been trying to mould his sons into his likeness, i.e. make them follow in his footsteps, become successors to his business (again, whatever it is). As far as I know, He Cheng has been shown to have mafia connections, but we don’t know yet about their father. With that said, it’s not implausible to suppose that He Tian might have been forced into doing things against his will. I think it was @barabounty who made a post that dealt with translating the captions for some official illustrations in OX artbook. There’s one picture of HT supposedly in his father’s house that is titled “Prisoner”.

And here’s the panel from the manhua, when HT agreed to see his father after He Cheng saved MGS from the angry mob. The interior looks similar, so I suppose it’s one of his father’s houses.

I think the title alone gives an accurate impression of what He Tian was forced to experience. On top of that, let’s look at He Tian’s fighting abilities. I’ve already touched upon that in another post, but his hand-to-hand fighting in so incredible, it almost screams “he was taught”. What kind of family makes their child into a fighting machine? That’s a rhetoric question.

That leads me to believe that since He Tian apparently experienced love through being forced to do something, it might be part of the reason why he used to be so forceful with Momo. He simply doesn’t know any different.

To this day, HT exhibits some signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. Those are his repeating nightmares where he’s literally tossing and screaming in cold sweat (he also shows similar symptoms when dreaming about the incident with that dog, so it’s safe to assume it had been an incredible blow for him). It is literary him experiencing drowning in the open sea (hence why he’s kinda afraid of the darkness). 

However, the symbolism of this scene goes beyond just a life-threatening situation. OX drew it in a very clever way. The yacht is burning, bloodied He Cheng is probably the only surviving member of his family and He Tian is literally refusing to leave. He’s screaming that he wants to stay (with his brother, with his family), but He Cheng symbolically abandons his brother by tossing him into the dark water, literally throwing him at the deep end. In He Tian’s mind, his brother left him alone.

It’s worth noting, that it’s nighttime and young He Tian is apparently wearing pajamas or sleeping clothes. Cue present day and He Tian is still sleeping fully clothed when he’s home alone (as opposed to Momo, who sleeps half-naked). It’s subtly hinting that He Tian doesn’t feel safe – that he expects shit to break out any moment, hence why he’s clothed and ready for the fight-or-flight instinct to kick in. Or maybe I’m looking into it way too much, haha.

The puppy episode is also very telling. I don’t know whether TVtropes ever pointed that out, but the moment when He Cheng tells He Tian that he buried the puppy really fits into the Broken Pedestal trope: He Tian’s faith and trust in his caring older brother are shattered. He felt betrayed. His secret he entrusted to his closest person was betrayed. This is apparently when the crack in their relationship began. The painful thing here is that He Tian apparently started to believe that he couldn’t trust anyone, even those close.

Which brings me to another point. He Tian suffers from profound loneliness. It’s different from the kind of lonely that MGS experienced. True, MGS had been bullied and ostracized, and he has grown that delinquent persona in order to show others that he doesn’t fucking need them, yet he still managed to connect with others, like his gang. He also had a safe harbour at home, with his loving mother.

He Tian had none of it. People don’t see past his money or cool persona, and he’s nearly always surrounded by sycophants that applaud him whatever he does or says. He doesn’t have a safe harbour home: his relationship with his brother and father is broken, and he apparently suffered a lot of emotional neglect and deprivation in his childhood. Hell, his flat doesn’t even have a touch of anything personal, like personal possessions (excluding basketball stuff and a couple of magazines). It’s like he’s refusing to grow attachments (until MGS comes along, and maybe Jian Yi to an extent). It’s also clear why: he’s afraid that it’ll be taken away from him again. Bottom line, HT is deeply alone, and the sad thing is that this loneliness is very much ingrained in him. OX really underscores it by showing He Tian’s apartment: his figure is tiny against its vast space. And really, his smoking habit? A detrimental crutch.

Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if in the future chapters OX will show that HT has self-esteem issues. He seems to be living with a burn of failure. He failed to protect something he loved (puppy, mother), hence why he’s trying so hard with Mo. He was ready to protect him to his last drop of blood, even when it was a pretty much suicidal move against the angry mob.

All in all, it’s a sad story, true. I won’t be saying his childhood is worse than the one MGS had; it’s really impossible to compare such things. Comparing them is like comparing apples and oranges: they are simply different. Both bullying/abuse and emotional neglect/abuse have detrimental consequences on psychological and physical levels. Each is horrible in its own way, and both lead to lasting trauma, damaging both sense of self and the ability to form relationships with others.

As for HT working in the family business, yes, it is a possibility. But as I said earlier, I don’t believe his father is as much of a monster as He Tian imagines. True, he may not be a good father, but I’m sure there are things and reasons that He Tian isn’t aware of yet. Or rather, I should put it as the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He Tian’s father undoubtedly wished the best for his son, but his methods clearly were questionable, as was the environment He Tian grew up in. I strongly believe that at some point he shall mend his relationship with He Cheng and his father. At least, there won’t be any animosity.

I’m also sure that He Tian will get better. Of course, it will take A LOT of time and patience, but I’m positive that HT and MGS can heal each other’s wounds and give one another what they had been deprived of.

[raywritesthings]

Wrong Road to the Right Place 19/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, John Diggle, Ted Grant, Thea Queen, Tommy Merlyn, Moira Queen, Malcolm Merlyn, Walter Steele, Felicity Smoak Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds herself curious about the marks Oliver showed her that night in his bedroom - and the tattoo on his left shoulder stands out in particular. When she discovers its meaning, she finds herself questioning everything she knows about the man she doesn’t want to admit she still loves. *Can also be read on my AO3 page*

Oliver sat, pouring over pages and pages of notes, schematics and documents. Five years’ worth of them, and yet it seemed unreal.

“How does a person sleep at night, knowing they’re planning that?” Digg asked behind him, not for the first time. “He must not even see them as people.”

The enormity of it was crushing. A whole neighborhood. Potential casualties in the hundreds, maybe a thousand. Everyone in the Glades, the people who came to the Verdant, the Big Belly Burger where Carly Diggle worked and Laurel’s office all gone in a single act of terror. That was what they were up against, and without the aid of some mystery man concealing his face Oliver would never have known until it was too late.

The worst part of it all was that while these were files originating from Malcolm Merlyn, they had come from a different source: his mother.

“She knows about all this...how could she…?”

He didn’t finish the question because he already knew the answer. Him, Thea, Walter. And there was maybe the one spot of good in all of this, because Felicity had been able to find the reason why his step-father had gone missing. But it also told them that Malcolm was a man of his word who would follow through on the threats that he made.

The door to the base opened and Laurel hurried down. “I got your text. What did we find out?”

“See for yourself,” John answered. Oliver left his seat to let her read over the most relevant pieces. He could tell as each new part of the plan was processed just by the paling of her cheeks and the growing horror in her eyes.

“Does he have the bomb?”

“Not according to the latest status report.”

“Then it’s still at Unidac.”

He nodded.

“That might be our best shot, Oliver,” said John. “If we can get into Unidac and destroy their work, that sets Merlyn back months. Maybe years.”

It was a solid plan with only one flaw. “Unidac was bought by Queen Consolidated. Not Merlyn Global.”

“Malcolm probably wanted to cover his tracks. It would’ve looked suspicious for Merlyn Global to suddenly acquire a tech company,” Laurel pointed out. “And it gives him cover for if the police were to look into anything.”

“Exactly.” If he went into Unidac tonight, Laurel’s father and his people would be asking his mother questions. She would be the one implicated, not Merlyn. Exactly as the businessman planned, no doubt.

“Oliver, I know this isn’t easy, but she is involved,” Diggle pointed out. “If Merlyn does go down, she’ll be going with him. He’d make sure of that.”

“I know that, I just—” He didn’t know how to articulate his feelings. His father was far from perfect, Lord knew, but she was his mother. And everything she had done was for him and his sister. Could he turn around and condemn her?

Without the hit on Laurel, it would have been a resounding no. But now?

“Malcolm still has a hostage,” Laurel said. “Your mother’s documents wouldn’t have Walter’s location, but is there some lead we could follow to get to it?”

Oliver shook his head. “If there was, she would’ve followed it.”

He was paralyzed on all sides by indecision. Acting on the Unidac intel put Walter’s life in jeopardy, but could they wait to find Walter before acting on the information they had?

“Maybe instead of following your mother’s leads, we follow her,” Digg suggested. Oliver looked to him with a frown. “You told her I was reaching out to some contacts, right? You say to her one of them got back to me and said they found Walter dead. She goes to Merlyn and tries to call the whole deal they got going on off. He’ll have to give her proof he’s still alive.”

It was a risky bid, but he could see where it was going. “We trace that proof.”

His friend nodded.

“Okay, but after we rescue Walter, what if Merlyn decides your mother is a leak?” Laurel asked. “He could move this Markov device to another facility or change up his plan entirely.”

“Then we strike in two places at once,” Oliver decided after a long moment. “Digg will get into Unidac while I get Walter. It’ll have to be simultaneous.”

“Two solo missions at the same time. Won’t be easy,” Digg remarked.

“That’s not even everything,” Laurel added. “I just filed the deposition against Edward Rasmus before your text came in. He’ll know there’s a case against him now.”

“And so will the Bratva,” Oliver finished for her. This was not good. Obviously, Laurel couldn’t have turned that family away. Scum like Rasmus deserved to be prosecuted for stealing from the innocent. But it complicated things.

“I’m worried about them,” Laurel said. “If Rasmus has ties to the mob, what’s to stop him or them from sending someone to enforce the Moore’s silence?”

Nothing was the answer to that and they all knew it.

“Walter and Unidac will be time-sensitive,” he told her. “We have to go there tonight.”

“Of course you do.” Laurel took a breath and said, “God, everything’s moving so fast.”

“If it was one thing at a time…” He didn’t like the idea of splitting his focus, of worrying about two separate dangers not just to his family but the people of the city. If it was a choice between Laurel and others, it was one he didn’t want to make because he knew which he heart would choose.

But she shook her head. “I’ll talk to Ted, see if he has any advice. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this case, anyway, or the Bratva might suspect the Hood has ties to us.”

It was the same rationale for why he hadn’t gone to the drug deal with the Count in his vigilante persona, and it was just as crucial now.

“Be careful wherever you go now. They’re going to have their eyes on us.”

Laurel nodded. “That goes for you, too.”

Oliver couldn’t help a smile. It had been a long time since anyone who knew what he was capable of had bothered to worry about him.

“So we all know our plans of action,” Diggle said. “This is gonna really play our hand. I know Felicity thinks this information is genuine, but do we know we can trust it?”

It was something that had been niggling at the back of his head as well. Oliver didn’t like relying on others in a mission, especially when he didn’t know them. And if there was maybe the faintest chance that the information was bad, that they would be acting falsely, that his mother was still, perhaps, somewhat an innocent even after all she’d done…

He turned to Laurel. “You spoke to him.”

She took a breath, and he could see her visibly steeling herself. “Yes.”

If it were any other situation he might have laughed. Laurel was all heart, and it showed on her face. “You know who he is.”

“I do.”

“You do?” Digg echoed.

Laurel raised a hand. “But I made a promise. He wants to keep his anonymity for now. I don’t want to scare him off.”

He tried to tamp down a frustrated reply. Who could be so important—

And then he knew. Or he thought he did, because it had to be wrong. How and why would he have—?

He had to be sure. “You trust him.”

Laurel nodded. “Completely.”

“Well,” Oliver said, a million questions buzzing in his head. “That’s all I need to know.”

Laurel closed her eyes. “He’s going to kill me.”

“You didn’t break your promise,” he assured her.

“Hold on, now you know who this questions guy is?” Asked John.

“Yes, and we can trust him.” He said nothing else under Diggle’s scrutiny, which he could tell the other man was annoyed by.

“I don’t think it’ll take much,” Laurel assured their friend. “He’ll have to come back here if he wants the information we had decrypted anyway.”

“If this ends up being some kind of trap,” John began.

“It won’t be.” Oliver checked his watch. “If we’re going to do this, I need to go speak with my mother.” It was not something he was looking forward to; he hadn’t actually seen her since they’d moved out of the Manor. A part of him worried he would give himself away.

“I’ll call Felicity,” said Diggle. “She’s gonna need to track whatever tech Merlyn uses to prove he’s kept up his end of the deal.” He moved off to the other end of the base as he got out his phone.

Oliver turned back to Laurel. “Tommy.”

She shrugged, her lips curving in something like a smile. “I was just as surprised as you are. I guess he got tired of being the last one to know everything, so he did some digging himself.”

Oliver nodded, trying to process the idea. True, Tommy had done some extraordinary things in the past — a trip to Hong Kong came to mind, which he guiltily set aside — but to turn to illegal methods like this?

“I have been a bad influence on both of you.”

“Now you sound like my father,” Laurel pointed out. “I think this city’s been the biggest influence on all of us.”

That certainly held true.

Laurel stepped up closer. “I’m sorry I couldn’t just tell you myself.”

But Oliver shook his head. “I understand.” Laurel and Tommy had a bond, one that had been forged stronger over the years in his absence. He couldn’t fault them that. “If it had been me in your place, I don’t know that I wouldn’t have agreed to the same terms.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we know each other so well.” Laurel’s smile faded. “After tonight, things are going to get more dangerous.”

“They will.”

“I should warn my father. I just don’t know how to do that without...without telling him everything. Which is impossible,” she added before he needed to.

He didn’t have advice but he could provide assurance. “You’ll find a way.”

“You should talk to Thea,” she told him. His lips pulled into a frown. “Ollie, there are potentially huge changes about to happen in her life and to the people around her. She should be at least a little prepared.”

He knew she was right. “I just want her to be safe.”

Laurel stepped up closer to him. “And she will be. We’ll make sure of it.”

He sighed, taking Laurel’s hands in each of his. “I don’t know how everyone I care about comes out of this. On the island, that was something that happened, too.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of Shado. “I didn’t think I’d have to make those kind of choices here.”

“I’m sorry. But we’ll make them together.” Laurel went up on her toes, to hug him rather than kiss him, which he found he truly needed more. When she pulled away, she cupped his face. “Just one thing at a time. We all know what to do.”

He nodded. “Talking to my mother. Not exactly an easy task considering.”

Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Tell me about it.”

“Oliver, ready to go?” John called out.

“Yeah,” he answered back. Laurel let him go, and he headed out to the car. Oliver did his best to try and forget the rest of their plan in the moment; right now, he needed to be convincing despite the confusion and disappointment he felt towards his mother. He needed to lie as effectively as she’d been lying to him.

The gates of the Manor shut with finality as the car went up the drive. John stopped the car momentarily in front of the house and pulled away once Oliver had exited. Inside, he found his mother and Thea just sitting down to dinner. His sister looked up with surprise giving way to happiness. “Ollie!”

“Hey, Speedy,” he replied in a far more subdued tone, his eyes quickly finding their mother again. She looked far more reserved than Thea by comparison, almost afraid.

If she was afraid, it was because she knew that in setting an attack on Laurel, she had put them on opposite sides. And she didn’t even realize what she might have to fear from him — if she were anyone else.

Oliver let that conflict within him fuel his performance. “I have some news. It’s about Walter. Um, Mr. Diggle heard from some of his contacts in the CIA…”

Thea gasped as he trailed off. When he glanced up at his mother again, the shock on her face looked completely genuine. She looked to be buying it.

When it changed into anger, he knew she had.

“No. No, that’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, mom,” he said, some part of him still aching at seeing the distress he was causing her.

“Whatever Mr. Diggle’s contacts told him, it’s wrong.” She stood up, striding from the room.

“Mom!” Thea called.

“I’m going to sort this out, sweetheart. Stay in the house, both of you.”

Oliver kept his gaze down until he heard the front door open and shut. Then he started to leave as well.

“Ollie!” Thea shot up out of her chair and ran to intercept him. “Where are you going?”

“To follow mom,” he answered truthfully. “Just to make sure she’s okay.” That part was the lie. “Do what she says.”

“But—”

“Please, Thea,” he said. He could see the worry and the frustration in her eyes now. Laurel was right; his sister was struggling to understand what was happening all around her. “Just for a little longer.”

With that nebulous promise — to her and to himself — Oliver got on his bike to follow his mother to Merlyn Global. Once his surveillance tech got Walter’s location, it would bring him one step closer to tearing Malcolm’s plans for the city and for his family down.

And potentially one step closer to tearing them all apart.

—-

Ted got out of the ring just as he noticed Laurel approaching at a fast clip. She wasn’t dressed for boxing, either.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” Ted walked them back to his office. “Alright, what’s happened now?”

“I filed the deposition against the businessman the Bratva are tied to today, which puts the family in danger. I was wondering if tonight, I could bring them here to hide out.”

“While you do what?”

Laurel shrugged. “About the only thing I can think of. Tell my dad what’s going on so the police can set up a sting operation.”

It was the responsible option at the least. He might have even been inclined to agree with it a few months ago. But he couldn’t help asking, “And what happens to you?”

“Well,” Laurel began before taking a deep breath. “I’m probably going to be answering a lot of questions about my connections to the Bratva.”

“Which may get back to the boyfriend.”

“I would never turn him in.”

“Yeah, but if your father’s anything like you, he’s a smart guy. He can put two and two together.” Ted frowned in thought. “I’m not sure I like Robin Hood. He’s a little too eager to dish out capital punishment for one thing. But I worry even more about what might happen now in his absence.”

Like it or not, the Hood was an established presence in Starling City. His capture would cause a power vacuum, and there could be far worse waiting to fill it.

“I don’t know what else to do. Rasmus and the Bratva have to be stopped, but the Hood has a different mission tonight.”

“Important?”

“Absolutely,” Laurel said with such conviction it was striking. Ted wondered...but no, the less he knew, probably the better. The deeper he got into this, the more likely he was to end up back in the fight himself.

But was that such a bad thing?

He had hung up his suit for good after Isaac had gone too far and a man had ended up dead. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time. But if he could save lives now by putting it back on, what other choice did he have?

“Okay, then here’s what we do,” he said at last. “Moving the family is only going to alert these guys that you’re ready for them. We’re going to have to set a trap.”

“With the family as bait?” She looked pained even saying it.

“It’s risky, but from what I know of the mob, they’re only gonna send one guy. Make it look like a burglary gone wrong. I can handle one guy.”

Laurel blinked in shock. “You would?” When he nodded, a smile lit up her face and he thought she was barely holding back from hugging him. “Ted, thank you.”

He shrugged. “I’m not in the business of letting good people suffer. Now, do you have their address? If we’re gonna do this, we need to know the terrain. And make sure they’re ready to move the minute anything starts.”

Ted closed up the gym early and went with Laurel to scope out the family’s small home. There were a few different points of entry which might make things tricky, but he had a feeling the hired gun was going to come through the front door. There was a spot he could wait between two houses across the street that allowed him a view of the front and one side. It would have to do. Laurel and he parted ways, her to get the family ready and him to prepare.

He returned under the cover of darkness in his old suit. Putting it on felt like donning a second skin for the first time in so many years. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. Ted watched and waited. Stakeout had rarely been his style, but he was willing to do it to keep a family safe. Eventually, his patience was rewarded.

An otherwise unremarkable looking man with a closely shaved head and dark skin came walking down the street. He held a briefcase and little else. Still, he set off the warning bells in Ted’s head, and he’d learned years ago never to ignore them. When the man approached the Moore’s front steps, he knew his suspicions were right.

Ted crept from the shadows, light on his feet as he approached. His mark tensed, so he figured it was best to go for broke.

“Scuse me,” he called out. “Pretty late, don’t you think?”

The man whirled around, and Ted was forced to dive into a roll to avoid the bullet that came from the briefcase. Clever disguise. This guy had brought a gun to a boxing match. Normally, that’d decide things right there. Not against Wildcat.

He was back on his feet and leaping forward before the man could take better aim, delivering an uppercut with his leading fist while his other hand ripped the briefcase from his opponent’s grasp.

The assassin fell back against the door but quickly got his guard back up. A fighter, too. Good. Ted was ready for a fight.

They regarded each other. In the ring, he might have tried getting the man circling, but he wanted his focus away from the house and the movement going on inside.

There was a small trickle of blood leaking from a corner of the assassin’s mouth, but his eyes were practically gleaming. “Even if I’d expected a vigilante, this would be a surprise.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I’m intrigued, but since you’ve seen my face, we’ll have to skip the pleasantries.”

They both flew into action, Ted landing a flurry of blows. He could tell the man was straining to reach the briefcase, but he kept him boxed in on the front stoop. As long as this was a fistfight, he had the upper hand.

His opponent got in a lucky jab, and Ted grunted, staggering back. He’d been slacking, apparently. Training would have to be stepped up, for him and his student.

Just as the man made to lunge for the briefcase a few feet away, the door flew open and a nightstick came down on the assassin with a sharp crack. He went down like a ton of bricks, revealing a person in all black from their boots to the mask they wore over their eyes and the knitted cap hiding their hair. “You alright?” Laurel asked.

He relaxed his stance. “Sure.”

“You didn’t think I was just going to watch, did you?”

“Guess not. Where in the hell did you get that?” He asked, gesturing to the nightstick. 

“Borrowed it.”

“And I suppose you borrowed the mask from your boyfriend?”

“Nope,” she answered lightly, coming down the steps. She took out a pair of handcuffs she had clearly liberated as well and snapped them over the assassin’s wrists. “This one’s mine to keep. Now come on, the Moore’s alerted the authorities.”

Before he knew it, his student had looped her arm through his and they were quickly making their way from the scene. In an alley, Ted pulled back his cowl and she took off the hat, her hair falling down around her shoulders.

“So, any pointers?”

Ted smirked. That enthusiasm was good; it would be invaluable after a time, when the work eventually might take its toll. Nobody could force themselves to be out here unless they really believed in it.

“Why the hat?”

“Had to hide my hair somehow.”

“Do you?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“This is gonna sound crass, but one of the best weapons you have at your disposal is looking like a woman.”

She crossed her arms. “That did sound crass. Want to qualify your statement?”

“Look, I know better than to think this way, but plenty of guys out there are gonna think they can go easy on you because they’re arrogant. It’s your job to teach them otherwise.” That got a grudging smirk out of her, which he returned. “So forget the hat.”

“Don’t I need something to cover my hair?”

“Who says it has to be your hair?”

She didn’t miss what he was saying. “A wig.”

“Might even help throw the police and anyone else off your trail.”

Laurel nodded.

“One other thing you’re gonna need. A name. Especially since you’re planning on working with a partner.” Ted still had his misgivings about the Hood’s harsher methods — he’d never wanted to cross that line himself — but seeing as Laurel had explained a bit of her boyfriend’s background he could understand it a little better. It helped that since she’d joined up with him, the archer’s body count had significantly dropped. Maybe once she was out in the field officially, they could get that down to zero or damned close.

“We’ve been talking about that,” Laurel told him on a sigh. Something about it indicated she hadn’t found one she liked yet. “How’d you pick Wildcat?”

“My fighting style, mostly. It’s how people described me. That plus I’m a southpaw, it fits. What are your boys calling you?”

Laurel snorted at his description of her partners, then admitted, “Pretty Bird, for the time being. It’s kind of an inside joke,” she added at his raised eyebrow.

“Well, you have any particular liking for birds?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly. My dad got Sara a canary one year for her birthday, and it just drove us all nuts chirping away...but maybe that’s what I want to be.”

A canary, ripping through the criminal underbelly and sounding her song of warning in the Glades, Starling’s proverbial coal mine. Not a bad idea. And as he looked over her dark attire, it hit him: “Black Canary.”

Laurel looked at him, a light in her eyes. It was the right one, and they both knew it.

They found themselves at the halfway point between his gym and Queen’s club, meaning they would go alone the rest of the way.

“Well, I’d say we can consider this good work tonight. Now we just gotta prepare for your boyfriend’s associates once they realize they’ve been crossed.”

“If only that were all,” Laurel said grimly. As she walked away, Ted found he really wanted to ask what that meant, and what he could do.

He smirked at himself. So much for giving this life up.

—-

John felt an uncommon bout of nerves as he stopped the car outside of Unidac Industries’ facility. He’d been on far more dangerous assignments, both in Afghanistan and for the Hood’s mission, but this was the first time he was really going out solo as himself.

Or the self people would hear about on the news, rather. He checked again that the helmet Oliver had rushed to have custom made for him was in place, then got out of the vehicle.

It had been a simple matter to have Felicity pull up Unidac’s blueprints, so he knew exactly where to avoid cameras and the sight lines of any guards as he approached the building. John drew in a deep breath, then unholstered the weapon at his side. 

He turned and kicked the front door in, firing off two shots at the guards sitting at the front desk.

“What the—” They each slumped over, out cold for the next half hour or so.

A woman passing down the hall screamed and dropped her coffee mug. It shattered on the floor, followed by shouts of surprise and alarm throughout the building as John quick-marched down the hall.

“I’m not here to hurt anybody,” he said. “Just keep out of the way.”

He’d armed himself with a tranquilizer rather than his usual gun. For one thing, that weapon was registered to John Diggle, and for another, he wasn’t interested in permanently injuring these scientists. Even if they did know what they were doing and what it was supposed to lead to, he figured the police and the courts of law could deal with them. He was only here for one thing: the bomb.

With the security guards taken out, the remaining scientists that tried to put up any resistance were easy pickings. They weren’t trained soldiers or battle-hardened insurgents, at any rate. John cut a swift path into the lab said to house the Markov device.

He paused in the doorway. “Damn.” The thing was huge!

But fortunately not armed yet when he checked it, so he sent it toppling to the ground. The casing cracked on one side and some of it dented inwards. John reached in to rip out wires and smash any small parts he could find. Then he picked the whole thing up and dropped it again, this time cracking it in two.

He threw a chair through a bank of computers and servers along one wall as well for good measure. He hadn’t permanently hurt anybody at the facility, but he didn’t mind trashing their stuff. Served them right. John wondered with amusement what Oliver would say about the insurance bill that was no doubt going to end up on his mother’s desk after this. If his mother would even be sitting at that desk for much longer.

“No, no! What are you doing!” An older man hastily pulling on a lab coat rushed in, probably summoned by the alarm.

John raised the tranq gun and fired, watching with only the slightest wince as the man crashed to the floor seconds later.

“Believe it or not, this is for your own good.” Or the city’s good, anyway. This guy probably lived in some McMansion outside the city limits and didn’t know anybody in the Glades.

John turned to go when he spotted some files lying open on the workstation next to where the device had been sitting. He picked them up, but sirens had him quickly racing out the door.

He only just got out of there in time and thanked every deity known to man he wasn’t stopped by any cop cars on his way back to the base. He found it empty; Oliver and Laurel were still preoccupied with their own tasks, then.

Mission accomplished, he felt his heart rate slow down as he set the helmet aside and began flipping through the documents he’d stolen. John wasn’t naive enough to think these were the only copies Unidac had, but it might help to have as few in circulation as possible.

As his eyes scanned the text, they widened. “Oh, no, no, no.”

The door to the base opened above him, and two sets of boots descended. “I’ll tell you after we get you over to see Walter,” Laurel was saying. She’d started pulling her mask off and Oliver had his hood down.

“Does it still let me call you Pretty Bird?”

“Shut up.”

“Hate to interrupt, but we got a problem,” John said, turning to face the pair with the file in his hands.

Oliver and Laurel exchanged a look, the easy humor leaving their expressions and postures. Oliver stepped forward. “Did you destroy the device?”

“Yeah, the one that was there. But this file I grabbed says it was one in a set.”

He watched both of them pale. “How many more?” Laurel asked.

“One, according to this.”

“My mother’s files—”

“Must not have been updated or Merlyn was keeping the second one on a needs-to-know basis, and she wasn’t needs-to-know. Oliver, it doesn’t say where the second one is.”

He watched his friend grit his teeth, his hand clenching around his bow. Laurel reached out and took his free hand.

“Ollie, we still have time. We can find it.”

“Merlyn will know about Unidac once the news covers it, if not before. It’ll be a race against the clock, for him and us.”

Oliver’s phone buzzed on the table where he’d laid it. John leaned over for a look. “It’s Thea.”

“You have to put in an appearance at the hospital,” Laurel reminded him. “I can stay with John. I probably should—”

“I’d prefer you with me,” Oliver admitted, then clamped his lips together as if he could take it back. It was clear he was rattled and feeling vulnerable, which he hated being.

“Then I can do that,” Laurel assured him, not even missing a beat. “Let’s get changed.”

She headed for the back of the base and Oliver followed. John set the file back down, taking out each individual page to spread out on the table.

Device 1 of 2, pickup by client, was the original line that had caught his eye. Beneath it was written Device 2 of 2, assembly on site. But where was that site?

He looked up when the two returned in civilian wear.

“I’m gonna keep studying this thing, see if there’s any clues that might indicate where a second one could be stored.”

Oliver nodded on his way out. “Send photos of the file to Felicity to get a second pair of eyes.”

“Right. Hey, is that family alright?” He remembered at the last second.

Laurel threw a smile over her shoulder. “Fine, thanks to Wildcat.”

John nodded. It figured that of all the gym trainers Laurel could have picked, she stumbled on the one with a vigilante past. Made him wonder what her — and Oliver’s, apparently — connection was to this questions guy as well.

None of those things were his priority at the moment. They had a ticking clock that in only a short time could become very literal.

—-

Laurel hung onto Oliver as he navigated their way through the streets on his bike. Not only was it for her own safety; she liked to think of it as the hug he didn’t feel he could ask for right now.

In a few minutes, they would be face-to-face with Mrs. Queen, where she could see plain as day just how little Laurel had followed her request. Laurel wasn’t sure what she thought about the Queen matriarch anymore. Yes, Malcolm Merlyn was a dangerous man who had proven himself capable of following through on his threats — the Gambit was only one example — but to know the older woman was perfectly aware of his plan for the Glades and was doing nothing about it, to know that she had somehow made peace with the idea of all those people perishing...it was unthinkable to her. She could only imagine the turmoil Oliver had to be in over it.

They parked and followed Thea’s directions to the room Walter was resting in. The rest of Oliver’s family was already inside, and Mrs. Queen’s smile froze as she caught sight of Laurel.

“Oh.”

“Mr. Steele,” Laurel greeted instead, knowing now was not the time. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Thank you, Miss Lance.” He was thinner than she’d last seen him all those months ago at the Queen’s Christmas party, but fortunately looked otherwise unharmed in the physical sense. “I’m very glad to be among familiar faces again.”

Oliver reached out to clasp Walter’s shoulder briefly, choosing to speak with his actions rather than his voice. It was probably for the best.

A soft tapping on the doorway distracted all of them. Felicity Smoak stood there, a bouquet of flowers in one hand.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt a family thing,” she immediately excused.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Mrs. Queen asked.

“A friend,” answered Walter.

Felicity smiled and stepped up to set the flowers down. “I just wanted to welcome you back, Mr. Steele. But I should get going, because of, um, work I need to be doing.” Her gaze darted to both Laurel and Oliver before she made a swift exit. Laurel gave her the slightest nod as she went.

“So, Ollie and Laurel started dating again,” Thea said to break the tense silence that ensued.

“Well, congratulations to both of you,” Walter said.

Laurel managed a smile. “Thank you. It’s been...interesting.”

Oliver raised both eyebrows at her. She raised them right back.

“Right, well. We should probably let you rest, Walter,” Oliver said at last. She could tell by the line of his body he was incredibly uncomfortable in the cramped space trying to maintain all the lies in front of his family. Laurel slipped her hand into his and followed him to the door.

They nearly crashed into Malcolm Merlyn on the way out. Laurel couldn’t quite stop the slight jump at his presence.

“I’m sorry,” Merlyn said with perfect politeness. “I just heard the news. Walter, so wonderful to have you back safely.”

Laurel felt the grip Oliver had on her hand tighten to an almost painful degree. She squeezed it back, knowing exactly how angry he had to be right now as she felt rather the same.

“Thank you, Malcolm.”

“I truly hate to interrupt, but I hoped to borrow Moira for a few moments,” Merlyn continued. Now even Thea frowned. “I’ll be sure to return her as quickly as possible.”

Mrs. Queen stepped away from Walter’s bedside. “I would hope so.” Laurel had to move back against the door as she passed. Up close, she could make out the same lines of tension in the mother that were present in her son.

Oliver led her out into the hallway, watching Malcolm and Mrs. Queen disappear around the bend in the hallway. “He won’t do anything to her,” he muttered, and Laurel knew the assurance was for his own sake as much as hers.

“Of course not. It’s too obvious. Either he wants to know if Walter said anything incriminating them or it’s about Unidac.”

Oliver let out a sigh but almost immediately stiffened; a different Merlyn was making his way down the hall towards them.

“Hey, I saw on the news. Walter’s back?” Tommy was facing Oliver straight-on but his eyes kept darting to her. Looking for information.

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, his eyes closing for a moment. She wondered if he, too, was blaming himself for this; the three of them had done everything together. Was Tommy following them into this life because of that? “And we need to talk.”

Laurel tensed. Since Oliver had guessed the truth, she had been hoping this confrontation would be much more private. It took them a few minutes to find a secluded corner of the hospital.

“Tommy, what are you doing?”

Their friend blinked, then gave a disbelieving laugh. “Really, you’re gonna give me the lecture?” He turned a betrayed look on her.

Laurel raised both hands. “He guessed.”

“You didn’t have to tell him he was right!”

“Keep your voices down,” Oliver instructed, his voice turning sharp. “Your father and my mother are in this building, Tommy, and if they find out what you’ve done—”

“So you got it decrypted. What’s my father’s plan?”

“We can’t discuss that here,” Laurel stated. “It’s too sensitive, and you’re going to want somewhere private to yell.”

He eyed her warily. “It’s that bad?”

“Worse.” She was sure, as much as Tommy had disliked his father for as long as she’d known him, even he wouldn’t be able to imagine what Mr. Merlyn had planned.

“So when can we talk?”

Oliver shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re handling it.”

Tommy scowled. “You wouldn’t even have the information you do if I hadn’t gotten it. It was sitting in your house the whole time, Ollie, but I was the one who risked my butt getting it for you, so I think I have a right to it.”

“We have a lot going on right now.” She could see Oliver’s frostiness for the shield it was. Part of it had to be the hurt he still felt at Tommy’s initial reaction to his secret identity; the other part, she suspected, was him trying to push his best friend away to keep him out of it.

“Like what?”

“Like the Russian mob,” Laurel admitted freely. This was her problem, after all. “They wanted to use me to help one of their associates. I didn’t do what they asked, so now it’s just a matter of time.”

Tommy swallowed. “They’re going to come after you?”

She nodded.

He looked between her and Oliver again. “You’re going to need help.”

Oliver glowered at him. “Tommy, you’re not a vigilante by your own admission.”

“Well I’m your — I’m something, alright!”

Laurel stepped between the two of them before they could really get started again. “Look, Tommy’s right in a way. If the Bratva is sending their own after us, we need all the help we can get. But not from you,” she added to her friend. “You’re untrained, like I said before.”

“Alright, I get the message,” he grumbled a bit, embarrassed. “Got a recommendation for me?”

“Diggle.”

They both blinked in surprise at Oliver.

“Your sudden interest in physical training would raise eyebrows if you did it in public. Digg can get you started on the basics...if you really want some part in this.”

The two friends stared each other down for a time. “Look, I’m still not sold on this whole vigilante thing. It’s not — it shouldn’t be necessary. But, your mom said whatever dad’s doing is for my mother,” he confided in them. Laurel started in surprise. How would destroying an entire neighborhood be in the name of a humanitarian like Rebecca Merlyn? “After he tried to shut down her clinic, I don’t trust him with her legacy. I have to stop him. And you have to stop him for your dad,” he said to Oliver, who nodded. “So then, after that, we’re done, right?”

There was a terrible silence. Laurel looked to Oliver and found the same uncertainty.

Tommy hung his head. “We’re not done.”

“You can be,” she told him gently.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem of being a friend to somebody,” he told her. “Makes it hard to sit at home when you know they’re out there risking their lives like a pair of lunatics.”

Laurel couldn’t help a light laugh. Even Oliver wore the hint of a smile though his eyes remained on the ground.

“If I can’t help you with the Bratva, then what kind of help are you going to get?”

“Laurel has a teacher,” Oliver said.

Laurel meanwhile, bit her lip. “This isn’t going to help my ‘lunatic’ image, but I think we need more help than that.”

Both men looked at her.

“We need someone who’s dealt with the mob.”

Tommy stared at her blankly while Oliver gave a vehement shake of the head. “No.”

“Got any better ideas?” She challenged.

“Wait, who are we — oh no,” said Tommy.

“Well?”

Neither of them had a reply. She hadn’t thought so.

—-

Malcolm waited until he was alone before dropping his genial smile. “We have a serious problem, Moira.”

“I have no idea how any of this happened,” she denied immediately. To both his frustration and relief, he could tell she wasn’t lying; Walter’s rescue was just as much a surprise to her as it had been to him.

Still, the timing couldn’t be ignored. “We have a leak of some sort. Our Undertaking is under attack. I received a call from Unidac an hour ago. An unknown assailant broke into the facility.”

Again, only genuine shock registered on Moira's features. “Did they find it?”

“They destroyed it. That room, and nothing else.”

“They knew what they were there for,” she realized without further prompting.

He nodded. “I had our associate take the liberty of cleaning up any loose ends. The police won’t know what was supposed to have happened there.”

He was standing close enough to her that he almost felt her shudder. Malcolm smirked to himself; hardened as Moira had become over the years, she still reacted badly to the mention of violence. It was the edge he held over her.

“Does this mean our Undertaking is at an end?” There was a note in her voice, almost of hope.

“Not in the least. I had the foresight to commission a second device for our purposes,” he told her, enjoying the way her eyes went wide. “Always best to plan in redundancies in a business venture. Minimizes risk.”

“Of course.” He had to hand it to her, Moira always recovered well. “Then we move forward?”

“Naturally. It’s location will have to be moved to the central-most part of the tunnels to ensure the maximum damage to the Glades itself. The argument will have to be made to seize whatever is left of the neighborhood for the rebuilding.” It was not his ideal plan that he had been building towards the last five years but he was too impatient to commission new scientists to build a second device. So it would have to be a combination of hard and soft power that put the Glades into his hands.

“Very well. If that is all?” Moira already made to move past him, but he took her arm.

“One last thing. Should this second device be discovered, Moira, I will know you have betrayed me. And it won’t be a hostage our associate takes next time.”

He could tell by the tremble in her lips that she understood perfectly.

“Enjoy tonight with you family,” he said last, slipping through mask of respected businessman Malcolm Merlyn back on as smoothly as a glove. He stepped away from her and turned, leaving the hospital.

It had not been the Hood who had attacked Unidac. He was unsure if this was good fortune or not. A new player meant unquantifiable variables.

These challenges were a test of his conviction, he was sure. To determine that he was worthy. He would surmount them all, then enjoy the fruits of his labor made all the sweeter with every additional obstacle overcome.

[jcmorrigan]

New Game +

The F/O? Tony Dracon from Gargoyles. (Whaaat? It’s not Gio this time? What is this sorcery?) The S/I? Rachel Rosalind - woman who has given up on adulting to become a gangster, but looks too innocent and incompetent for anyone to believe she’s running with Dracon’s mob! Yeah, I decided to share some slightly older writings from the f/o’s I haven’t published yet, since here is where the selfship community thrives. Anyway, I wanted to start with the angsty hurt/comfort one first - running on the premise that Gargoyles is a Disney property, so it makes sense for the KH mythos to touch down there, right? (Also, all B.G.P. writings are third-person rather than first-person and I don’t feel like editing them.)

***

It came from their shadows.

           A single streetlamp illuminated Rachel and Tony as they worked to hoist the recently acquired missile launcher into the bed of the truck with no license plates. A single streetlamp was enough.

           It was impossible to tell whose shadow set it off. But one of them elongated far past human, gaining height, gaining dimension, lifting up off the street until it was standing and continuing to grow from there.

           “I still can’t believe we actually pulled this off,” Rachel muttered as she lashed down the launcher. “If the cops catch on, we are so dead.”

           “They’re not gonna catch on,” Tony deadpanned, throwing a sheet up to cover the weapon. “If anything – “

           His sudden stunned expression alerted Rachel that something was very, very wrong. He’d gone dead silent, and when she looked, she saw a terror in his eyes that was usually reserved for Goliath.

           She whipped around and got a look at the thing, now towering about as tall as one of the skyscrapers that bordered it.

           Rachel, being Rachel, had read a fair bit of H.P. Lovecraft. (While not being blind to the writer’s obvious biases, of course. And feeling a little bit of the old White Guilt having to explain this to Glasses, who really trusted her enough not to care.) She had also seen the popular fan depictions of Cthulhu and the Deep Ones, and monsters obviously spawned from the same breed of cosmic horror, starting to circulate the Internet as believe-it-or-not memes.

           So when she got a good look at the enormous thing, it wasn’t without a dash of “ia, ia” coming to mind. Its face was covered by writhing tentacles, leaving only a pair of yellow eyes like car headlights, glowing in the dark. Its blackness almost blended it into the night, so you weren’t quite sure if you were seeing an apparition or something solid. However, if your eyes adjusted, you could make out its jagged limbs, its broad chest – the hole that punched straight through it, allowing you to look from one side of the creature to the other. In the shape of a heart.

           Literally heartless, Rachel thought, and she wasn’t wrong.

           Was it friend or foe? To the Dracon syndicate, that question never mattered. If it was magic, it was foe. End of story. The good tried to rein them in while the bad tried to upstage them. This thing, however, did not seem so much good or bad as it did simply feral.

           It lumbered forward two slow, shaking steps, giving the impression that it was a sluggish creature. Then, like a whip, cracked its hand toward the truck, which went spilling.

           Rachel hit the pavement, hearing the crunch of metal some feet away from her. Luckily sparing her the crash. She was sure there was asphalt mixed into the skin of her cheek with how she’d scraped the ground. However, that was only a momentary worry, for the creature was now doing something rather odd: gathering up a ball of light – no, an absence of light, the physically impossible embodiment of the absence of light in its claws. The streetlamp’s influence dimmed.

           The magic was launched into the air and exploded, raining down as tinier spheres.

           That put fire in Rachel’s engine. She leapt to her feet, dodging each ball of precipitation. One of them didn’t quite miss, and where it touched the skin of her upper arm, it burned. Oh, this thing had to go, before it wiped both her and Tony off the map.

           (Where was he? Where was he? Where was he? Where was - )

           Now, ordinarily, Rachel might have seen this as a doomsday-type scenario. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, she had just so happened to co-opt in the illegal acquisition of an entire missile launcher.

           A launcher that had clattered to the pavement when the truck was thrown.

           She had no idea if it was too bent out of shape to use. So she girded herself for the possibility that she might be dead meat anyway.

           (Where was he?)

           The launcher mounted onto her shoulder. She took aim, shakingly. Then steadied herself. Just like shooting a person, with gun or bow. Bigger target, bigger weapon.

           The trigger was pulled. The projectile blasted off with a fiery trail.

           Then it collided with the eldritch face, melting it down upon impact and taking the body down to scrap in the explosion.

           The chunks fluidly morphed into intangible shadow, flitting away to hide in the corners of the city. Save for the upturned truck and the scorch marks on the ground from the onslaught of magic, it was as if that giant abomination was never there.

           Rachel forced herself to breathe. Dropped the launcher, not even bothering to let it down gently. Stared awhile, afraid the thing would reforge itself from the depths of the dark. No idea what it was. No idea where it had come from.

           But she had no space to ask questions about it. Not while one still prevailed:

           Where was he?

           “T…Tony?” she called out tentatively. “TONY?”

           No answer.

           “GOD DAMMIT, TONY, YOU BETTER NOT BE DEAD, OR I’M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS FROM HERE TO AVALON!”

           A sound. Not a vocalization, but the slamming of something like a fist against metal. Relatively distant.

           Rachel’s heart fluttered as if pressed against a defibrillator. She knew exactly where he was, what was happening.

           She flitted around a corner, into an alley where a large metal dumpster was situated against the wall. The source of the noise. Her gait slowed; she knew what she would find, and her heart was already breaking.

           He was curled up on the other side of the dumpster, pressed into the corner where it met the wall, his breathing a series of erratic gasps as his knees were pulled to his chest, face buried in his crossed arms. Not a sight he would ever want anyone to see: Tony Dracon, scourge of New York City, caught in a panic attack.

           Rachel approached gingerly, quietly. Sat down beside him. Softly said “Hey.”

           “I’m…fine,” he choked out. “You know it’ll…stop.”

           It always did. (If he didn’t pass out.) He would get back up, brush it off, pretend it had never happened. If it had been anyone but Rachel to come across him in this state, he probably would have shot on sight.

           As it were, even knowing he would self-repair in time, Rachel couldn’t leave this alone. She shuffled closer, pressing into him, then gently moving her arms around him and pulling him toward her.

           He was wrapped around her instantly, nearly choking the life from her. One of her knees locked through his, legs tangling on the asphalt. One of her hands gently buried itself in his hair, entwining with the two-tone strands.

           As the years had passed, the white had taken over more and more of his hair. He acted like it hadn’t changed at all. She knew better. Everyone knew better. Its gleaming moon-white was a beautiful contrast to the raven-dark, even if it did prompt a few unnecessary jokes from clients about Tony being an “old man” so soon in life. (Jokes answered with a fist to the lip.) It stood as a mark of his fear, the repository where he kept it when it wasn’t flowing through him, the badge of shame.

           Which was why, when Rachel entwined her fingers in the white, he always felt as though she were digging at the core of it, teasing the fear apart, dissipating it.

           For a moment, there was nothing outside of the sphere of them, all eyes shut to give the illusion that the dark existence extended no further than a neat radius around their bodies. Rachel’s fingers stroked through Tony’s hair again and again, softly, slowly.

           “It’s gone,” she whispered. “Offed. Eighty-sixed. I killed it.”

           Guided by instinct, finding each other in the dark, they kissed, affirming that they were all there was.

           Then she felt him gently push her away; “I’m fine.”

           Rachel snapped away, getting to her feet. Best they pretend that never happened. However, it wasn’t like she was unafraid herself. No, Tony had spent his fear and would bounce back, but her dread was starting to settle in. As he stood beside her, she tried to say something optimistic.

           What came out instead was “That thing came from nowhere. And it turned into nothing.”

           The unspoken implication that it could return at any time, without warning.

           His turn, now. Tony’s hand settled in on Rachel’s shoulder; “If it shows up again, we’ll just have to teach it its lesson a second time.”

           She wouldn’t begin the trek back to the apartment without clutching his hand tightly in hers. “I mean, we’ve played this game before, right?” she babbled. “It’s…it’s like a Gargoyle. It’s like one of the Archmage’s things. We do this shit all the time.”

           “And we always come out on top.”

           “Yeah. We do. We do, right?”

           “We do.”

           Now he was her only stability in this dark night, despite things being quite the other way around earlier.

           “It’ll be fine,” Rachel panted. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll wake up, and it’ll be over. We’ve played this game before.”

 ***

           She could barely sleep that night, plagued by nightmares of things that came out of the shadows. He was like a corpse next to her in his unmoving restfulness, and she checked him for a heartbeat out of an irrational impulse.

           She had no idea if he was awake or asleep when he instinctively pulled her closer, protectively.

           At least there was that.

 ***

           The news reports the following morning made it clear that this was not, in fact, the game they were used to playing.

           The dark creatures had infested the city the night prior, and they were still running rampant in it on this newly-dawning day. Citizens were…devoured. In a sense. Not eaten, but something different, where they simply melted away in the grip of the critters.

           Wherever one human died, more of the creatures spawned. The implications of this weren’t lost.

           They looked almost comical in the footage. People ran in terror from armored knights half their size, like children playing dress-up, loudly clanking as they charged with limbs flailing. Big-eyed, rounded ant-like creatures swarmed; children reached out to pet them.

           Their hands didn’t get the chance to touch.

           “Okay, so this is different,” Rachel said as she stared at the screen, glassy-eyed. “This is very, VERY different.”

           The only thing she could even think to compare it to was Demona’s curse that had caused her to lose time unexplained until she had later heard of the petrification effect. A city of stone. But even that wasn’t a parallel at all. The only thing it had in common was the infection, the certain doom that flowed with it.

           Rachel was frozen, watching the reports in a dead dismay, fearing when the wave of darkness would reach her and –

           Tony had stood. “Well?”

           She flinched, following him with her eyes. “Well what?”

           “Well, are we going to teach them not to mess with us, or what?”

           “Tony, we CAN’T,” Rachel insisted. “If we pick a fight with those things just because – there are too MANY. They’re KILLING PEOPLE.”

           “Ordinary people,” Tony corrected. “We are not ordinary people.”

           “ – Perhaps most bizarre,” the news anchor was relating, “is what happens if one of the creatures is destroyed. Eyewitness reports in multiple accounts claim that if one of these creatures is struck with enough force, it will leave no trace of its existence behind. The only remains, according to these accounts, are foreign crystals and scraps of as-of-yet unidentified metals.”

           Those were the magic words that broke the spell. “…They drop gems?” Rachel repeated in awe. “They drop MONEY?”

           She looked back to Tony. “Suddenly, I don’t think fighting them is a bad idea after all.”

           “We kill,” Tony told her. “We collect. We profit.”

           “Is there even going to be a market with – “

           “You always forget about overseas, Cupcake.”

           “Are we doing this? We’re doing this.” Rachel sprang to her feet, pushing aside her inhibitions to make room for the pure, unadulterated avarice that kept her in this business more than any threat ever could. “Let’s go fuck up some monsters.”

           The selection of weapons was a sacred ritual. After some deliberation, Tony settled upon a projectile weapon from days past – a relic from a raven-haired robbery, one of only thirty or forty to survive the shipment’s destruction when the largest Gargoyle had first put in an appearance. Not a laser gun, technically. The laser was for sighting only.

           Rachel, on the other hand, was in the mood for something closer-range. Something that would allow her to palpably feel the revenge she was taking for the prior night. Her cheek was still raw, her arm still sensitive from the impacts. (Despite some careful, experienced nursing from one who’d been getting this type of scrape far longer than she had.)

           Most of all, for the memory of him curled against the dumpster, momentarily fragile.

           Switchblade? No. She hoisted up a (relatively) heavy crowbar, smacking it into her palm. “The ones on the news were all tiny little shits,” she growled. “Figures we’re the only ones to get the huge fucker. Not fair.”

           “Did it drop anything when you shot it?”

           “I didn’t pay any attention! I was kind of distracted by almost dying, thank you!”

           “Well.” Tony clicked the safety on his weapon. “We can safely assume the bigger ones drop even more loot.”

           “They better. If I see another one of those huge fuckers, I’m beating it to death with my own hands.”

           “I love it when you talk threatening, Cupcake.”

           She managed a smirk back at him. “And I love it when you’re a cocky egomaniac.”

           Weapons pointed away from each other so that neither was accidentally hurt in the midst of another quick, forceful kiss.

           “Let’s go,” Tony declared, and they moved out.

           It didn’t take them long to find a square filled to capacity with the insectoid ones. A hundred pairs or more of yellow eyes turned to regard the fresh blood.

           The fresh blood that was armed.

           Rachel’s crowbar slammed through beast after beast, scattering shadows and clinking crystals. At a command from Tony, she dropped to her knees, leaning as far back as she could, and he fired over her, the projectile blowing the center of the swarm to smoky bits.

           It wasn’t the game they were used to playing. But the increased stakes made it all the more fun to compete.

[justatiredghost]

Unsolved Academy Ch3

Klaus and Dave have been fairly successful with their ghost hunting videos and all things considered things are going very well. So of course something had to go wrong eventually.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Dave said, staring up at the ceiling looking dazed. “I actually quit my job so I can record silly videos with my boyfriend full time. How is this even happening?”

“Welcome to the future, babe,” Klaus said, huddling closer against his side on the small bed and placing a kiss on his cheek. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“Oh I know I won’t regret it,” Dave said, rolling over and wrapping him in his arms, chuckling as he squeezed him close. “I guess I’ve still got a little whiplash from how different things are now is all.”

“You doing okay with all that?” Klaus asked, a little concerned. He remembered how hard it had been for himself, just adapting to life without war or the end of the world hanging over them, and here Dave was having to get used to a whole new century too.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he said, raising a hand to brush across his cheek. “We’re getting through, right?”

“Right. So!” Klaus said, pushing Dave onto his back and lying on top of him, leaning down to capture his lips. “Now that we’re actually earning some cash, what kind of a home are you picturing?”

“Something small,” Dave said.

“What, you don’t like living in a mansion?”

“Nah, not really my style,” Dave said. “Doesn’t seem like yours either.”

“Not even a little. So?”

“I wanna live somewhere so small we keep running into each other until we drive each other crazy, until we get sick of each other,” Dave continued. “There’s always been so much space between us. Sleeping in separate cots, even when you were just in the one right next to me, it felt like there was this chasm separating us. I want our next place to be so small that I forget what that was like because all there is is you.”

“You’ll be hating me by the end of the week,” Klaus laughed.

“Quit talkin’ all that static,” Dave said, leaning up to kiss his nose. “That would never happen. We can get something bigger later if we start getting irritable, but I’m certainly not going to get tired of this.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” Klaus said.

Dave took Klaus’ hand in his, interlocking their fingers before bringing it briefly to his lips. Klaus could feel the blush despite himself, burying his face in Dave's neck. He felt warm and happy and content and this all seemed so impossible. He never imagined he’d ever end up like this.

“I have an idea,” Klaus said, making himself comfortable on Dave’s chest as he felt arms wrap more securely around him. “We got a bit of cash from our previous videos, we should go out and do something fun to celebrate.”

“Maybe we should get some better equipment too,” Dave suggested.

“Ugh, that’s less fun,” Klaus said.

“We should also figure out where to film next. Oh!” Dave exclaimed. “If we get popular enough, do you think can we go to some of those famous haunted places like the Winchester Mansion? How cool would it be to get to meet a real live famous dead ghost?”

“Oh my god, you are such a nerd,” Klaus said, laughing into the crook of Dave’s neck.

“Oh wait, maybe we should be careful where we go, I don’t want you getting mobbed by ticked off ghosts,” Dave said.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine so long as we avoid graveyards,” Klaus said. Dave rubbed his arm sympathetically. Then Klaus said, a bit wistfully, “I really got lucky with you, didn’t I?”

“Nah, I’m the lucky one,” he said, kissing his temple. “I still couldn’t believe it when I found out you were keen on me.”

“What are you talking about? I’d been hitting on you for weeks,” Klaus laughed.

“And I am very clueless and very gay,” Dave laughed too.

“You’re adorable. I love you.”

“I love you too. And you’re the adorable one”

-

“Is this okay?” Vanya asked, holding the camera steady, clearly nervous.

“You’re doing wonderfully, dear,” Klaus assured her.

“Okay, but if it turns out terrible you can’t blame me. I’ve never done this before.”

“Don’t worry, you’re doing great,” Dave said, putting his arm around Vanya’s shoulders. She smiled at him and Klaus couldn’t help but do the same.

She’d been pretty reserved around Dave at first, but everyone always warmed up to him quickly, how could they not? He had this disarming charm, joking easily with everyone. Even Luther was relaxing around him by the end of the first day. And Dave had been so sweet around Vanya, even before he heard about all the end of the world stuff. Dave was just kind of like that, gravitating towards anyone who seemed like they could use a friend, always making sure they felt welcome, wanted.

Getting to see Dave with his family, all of these people he loved dearly, watching them all care about each other and actually getting along for a change; it meant the world to Klaus. He was so happy to be surrounded by all of these people again. Sure they all had their own lives, but it wasn’t like before, they weren’t trying to get away from the past, from their dad. Now they were just together and he was so proud of all of them, and so proud of the way Dave perfectly fit with them, charming all of them the way he’d charmed Klaus the first day they’d met. God, Klaus was so in love. And so happy to have Dave at his side again.

“Why did you ask me to help film anyway?” Vanya asked, pulling him from this thoughts.

“Because I knew you’d be great at it,” Klaus said, before adding quickly as if hoping she wouldn’t pick up on it, “And I knew you’d do it for cheap, but anyway!” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together excitedly. “Let’s get this show going! We gotta film this intro.”

“Wait, what did you say?” Vanya called after him.

“Don’t worry,” Ben assured her. “Thankfully for all of us, Klaus isn’t in charge of the finances.”

-

It was a hotel they were exploring tonight, long hallways with lots of rooms, seemingly stretching endlessly around them. They’d already gotten lost twice at this point. Klaus skipped down the hallway, Dave close on his heels, not really caring where they went. He turned into a room at random, skidding to a halt, Dave nearly running into him. There, in the middle of the room was a little girl, with pigtails and everything.

“What is it? What do you see?” Dave asked, craning to see around him, Ben and Vanya getting into position with their cameras.

“Were there any stories of a little girl here?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Oh great I was afraid of that,” Klaus said before addressing the girl. “Sorry, do you live here? Or did I summon you? I’ve been getting better at not just calling up every ghost in the area for a chat, but you never know.”

“No, I died here,” she said.

“Great!” That probably wasn’t the best thing to say given the context, but Klaus was excited. “Do you want to play a game with us?”

Thankfully, she didn’t seem upset and nodded instead. Klaus turned excitedly to Dave.

“Spirit box?” Dave asked.

“Spirit box!” Klaus echoed. “Time to play with one of our new toys!”

Dave fished the item out of their bag and after nodding to Klaus started explaining awkwardly to the open air.

“This is called a spirit box,” he began. As he continued, Klaus rotated him slightly to the left so he was actually facing the girl. “It’s going to skip through radio channels really quickly, I guess the idea is that you might be able to manipulate the audio to try to get a few words across so people like me can hear you too.”

“Sound fun?” Klaus asked.

“I don’t get it,” the girl said.

“I don’t either,” Klaus said, leaning forward, hands braced on his knees, so he was closer to her height. “How about this, just concentrate really hard on the box when it starts making noise, then just yell whatever comes to mind as loud as you can, okay?”

She nodded, so Klaus nodded to Dave, who turned it on. They hadn’t actually tested it before and it was so much louder than they were anticipating. Dave flinched and Klaus covered his years.

“Go ahead!” he yelled to be heard above the noise.

“What should I say?”

“Anything you like!”

“I don’t think I like the spirit box,” she said, voice raised.

“That all you got? Come on! Let us really hear it!”

“I don’t like it!” the little girl yelled this time, but at least she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Again! You can do it! Tell us how you really feel!”

“I hate the spirit box!”

As it flipped through channels, mostly playing static or bits of cut-off words, the word ‘hate’ came through pretty clearly.

“Yeah!” Klaus said, jumping in the air and pumping his fist before holding a hand out for her to high five, looking unphased when her hand just went straight through him. “You did it, good job!”

“But that didn’t sound anything like me,” the girl said, looking excited but bewildered.

“Semantics,” Klaus waved a dismissive hand.

“‘Hate?’” Dave said as he thankfully switched off the spirit box. “I hope it’s not us she hates.”

“Nah, spirit box,” Klaus assured him.

“Oh good. Me too, it’s terrible. Thanks for your help!” he grinned, waving in the direction he hoped the girl was in.

She waved back and simply disappeared. Dave continued to wave.

“Oh, you can put your hand down, she left.”

“Right.”

-

They’d spent a couple hours wandering up and down hallways, peeking into rooms. Klaus hadn’t seen anything else, but that hardly mattered. They were talking and laughing, getting ready to wind down for the night, reaching the phase where he and Dave would settle in to try to sleep here, letting Vanya and Ben head home, their jobs done. But back on the first floor, as they rounded a corner, Klaus saw it; the ghost of a man, half his face just gone as he scrabbled at the wound and the ground as if trying to put himself together, broken sobs escaping him.

Normally Klaus was used to the dead, but he hadn’t been expecting it, maybe that was why it hit him so hard. This one just came out of nowhere, bloody and screaming, too much fear and death that it overwhelmed him. Maybe it was just the fact that it was a newly made ghost, too fresh to realize it’s life was over, leaving it with just the agony, or maybe it was the way the body had been maimed, the numerous gunshot wounds dragging Klaus back to a different time and place where he’d seen too much of this sort of thing.

Klaus scrambled back, trying to cover his eyes and his ears at the same time but knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He thought he could hear the others calling out to him, and then everything was drowned out, he was deafened by memories of gunfire and explosions, more screams of the dead and the dying than he could count. He couldn’t breathe, choking on ash and gunpowder and spoke.

“Klaus, you’re okay, you’re going to be fine.”

Dave. Dave was here. He wasn’t dead, he was here and he was talking to him. He focused on him, only on him, and what he could feel; the wooden floor beneath his hands, digging into his knees. He breathed with Dave as he coached him through it, until he felt more like himself. Until he could feel the shaking in his arms and know it was himself and not the ground shaking from explosions.

“Get me out of here,” he said, reaching up blindly. He let himself be pulled to his feet and lead away. And then Dave was picking him up and he just clung to him, burying his face in his neck and wishing it would all go away, wishing for once it could be quiet.

-

Klaus had been doing okay lately. He’d mostly gotten used to seeing ghosts everywhere, to blocking out their relentless screams. He could even push them away sometimes. But seeing one like that, twisted and dead and murdered; it had brought back too much, memories of the dead he’d seen in the war, all that agony and suffering, it brought back the fear in full swing, the terror clinging to him, making it hard to breathe, like he was trapped in the graveyard again, his father’s uncaring eyes staring at him, leaving him there yet again

Fuck, he wanted to get high.

Klaus was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, tapping his fingers and just generally filled with a terrible restless energy. It’d been so long since the last time he’d done drugs, but moments like these, when the cravings were at an all time high and he desperately wanted to go on some sort of bender, happened more often than he’d like. It was frustrating, it made him feel like he wasn’t making any progress and he longed to give in. But he couldn’t, he didn’t want to lose what he’d built. He didn’t want to disappoint Dave. And he was terrified that there would be no coming back from it if he gave in.

Thankfully everyone else had left, giving him some privacy. Only Dave remained, standing nearby. Somehow Dave always seemed to know when he was spiralling and now seemed to be no different as he suddenly knelt in front of him, placing his hand over Klaus’, stilling his tapping fingers.

“I’m proud of you,” Dave said and those words were enough to bring tears to Klaus’ eyes even as he scoffed. “You’ve been doing such a good job, this must be so hard, you’re the most amazing man I know and I just want you to know that I’m so proud of you.”

Klaus couldn’t help himself, he frantically surged forward, needing more contact. He let the tears fall, crawling into Dave’s lap, wrapping his arms and legs around him and just clinging to him. Dave wrapped his own arms around Klaus, holding him tightly, rubbing one hand soothingly across his back.

“I’m here,” Dave said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

It’s like Dave could read his mind. He saw every tiny, shaky step Klaus made and made sure to celebrate it with him. And he took every fall, every disappointment in stride, just comforting Klaus and reassuring him. And whenever he got like this, falling apart and so so tired, he’d be there to support him.

It couldn’t have been easy. Dave had lost everything, dragged to a strange world years in the future where the only thing he knew was Klaus, but he never seemed to hold it against him. Instead he treated it as a gift, a fresh start, but klaus couldn’t stop himself from feeling guilty. Five bringing him here may have saved his life, but did it really count when it took him away from his old life, his own friends and family, leaving him with just this? A broken man who couldn’t do anything right?

There were days when Klaus was terrified he’d eventually wise up and leave. Strange foreign world or no, being stuck with him couldn’t have been a picnic, but he never even seemed to regret it.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Klaus asked, voice breaking because how could he have found someone like this?

“Hey, I think that’s my line,” Dave said with a quiet laugh. “You came crashing into my life, whisking me away like some angel. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Ah yes, the classic tale of the junkie angel,” Klaus said with a little laugh of his own, as strained as it was. “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“None of that,” Dave said, pulling away so he could look up into Klaus’ face, run his fingers across his cheek to wipe away the tears. “You’re not allowed to apologize for saving my life.”

“Technically that was Five,” Klaus said.

“Five wasn’t the one who went through hell with me in that war,” Dave said and the admiration and adoration in his eyes wrenched at his heart and the tears began to flow again. “I love you.”

Klaus kisses him, wishing he could convey everything he felt, his love, how grateful he was, and everything else he didn’t even have words for. He still could hardly believe someone cared for him even after all the shit he put Dave through. He was used to being alone, it was easier not to disappoint people that way, but Dave was willing to risk it. And for once Klaus understood what it was to be loved. He wasn’t fixed, that was a long hard road he still had to wrestle with, but maybe, just maybe, he could get through this.

“You shouldn’t be so understanding,” Klaus said. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

“I don’t have to be anything,” Dave agreed. “Want to be.”

“I’m just gonna fuck up again, relapse and ruin everything.”

“And I’ll be there to help you through it, you won’t ruin everything. You don’t seem to get how happy you make me so I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that. You deserve everything,” Dave said and he just held him tighter.

-

(Next chapter)

[oxfordeliterp]

CONGRATULATIONS, AREEJ!

You have been accepted to play the role of CHARLOTTE ZERILLI with the faceclaim of VANESSA HUDGENS. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. When I say that picking the player of Charlotte took me thirty whole minutes after I have read all three applications (impossibly beautiful, all three, and impossible to compare, for they were three different Charlottes that I wanted to see shifted into three different characters, all played in the roleplay group’s context), it’s not a hyperbole. I read about Charlotte being the heiress, the wasp and the strategic, and I honestly couldn’t possibly tell which I liked most, reason why I have literally written this acceptance message for two of the three versions and was ready to post it. I have changed the application under the cut three times and it haunts me how difficult of a choice you have made this for me. I am going to encourage everybody who has applied and didn’t get the role they wanted to reapply, because I would genuinely want you all, but you two (you know who you are) I feel like the roleplay group would be incomplete without. You all had the misfortune of falling in love with the same character. If the Gods love me and if you do end up reapplying, I’m going to be the happiest person alive. It’s unfair; you are all mob princesses to me, right now.

Now to focus on you, Areej. Sorry for the intro, thank you for the wonderful application. I cannot stress how much love I have for every detail you have put into this. It is obvious to me that you are a skilled writer with a capacity and understanding for the human nature that cannot go unnoticed. The para sample was so flawlessly executed that it stuck in my mind. Every little detail you have included made me eager to see your Charlotte on the dashboard. I want to meet her and see where she goes wrong. The amount of research you put into the application has not gone unnoticed. What can I say? And right then, she finally understood what godfather meant.

Name and pronouns: Areej (alternatively Queen, your fave, empress, so on and so forth) & she/her

Age: 17

Time-zone: GMT

Activity level: Right at this very moment, while procrastination is at an all time high, a lot. If I don’t get off by mid-June please kick my ass.

Triggers:  removed for privacy

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character: Charlotte Zerilli

I love her a lot. (ok duh I love her a lot or I wouldn’t be applying for her. look @ me stating the obvious.) But on a more serious and hopefully less obvious note, what I’m always drawn towards is characters’ relationships, and Charlotte’s, I feel, have the potential to be very interesting because she’s almost always superior. Not in a mean way. It’s just how it is. Charlotte Zerilli is everything, has everything, and no matter how approachable and friendly she paints herself as, lingering around her is an air of superiority she can’t seem to wash off. This is what creates chasms. Between her and whoever she’s talking to, there’s a distance. And it’s kinda sad because she longs to have close, personal relationships, but feels like she can’t because nobody understands her, and she thinks nobody can. It’ll be fun. i love making beautiful, complex characters suffer bye

Gender and pronouns of the character: Cis female (she/her)

Changes: As much as I love Shay Mitchell, I wanna request an fc change to Vanessa Hudgens! I just have more muse for her. idk idk

Traits:

CURIOUS  ━ As a child, bright and starry eyed, there was a lot about the world around her that Charlotte didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t necessarily because anyone was hiding anything from her (for there weren’t many secrets in the Zerilli household. There was no shame, no need). Rather, there was so much for her to learn and so little time. She wished to know everyone and everything intimately. Twenty years on and not much has changed, although she’s become more subtle in her questions and artful in her use of information.

SECRETIVE ━ Charlotte has this curious ability of making it seem like she over-shares, is honest and straightforward, but there are worlds and worlds she hides. Mainly, what she perceives to be her weaknesses. The most obvious is prooobably the Mafia thing. While she’s become more accepting of it (or, more specifically, the softer aspects of it - i’ll explain later), it’s still not something she talks openly about. Still, it subconsciously shapes her. Behind her mercy, her kindness, is a vain attempt to balance out her family’s crimes. She overcompensates for wrongs she didn’t commit. Not only this, but she doesn’t really talk about her feelings, either, internalising emotion and stress to the point of it being physically detrimental. She’s also big on denial. Always running.

COMPASSIONATE ━ It is perhaps this that came as the biggest surprise to her father and mother although, to be fair, they should’ve expected it. Instead of being given half the love, the Zerilli twins received double from their parents. There was not a moment Charlotte was allowed to feel alone. Her heart surges with the same affection for everyone, not just reserved for family like her father’s is.

VERSATILE ━ Multifaceted and adaptable, Charlotte can go from sleep-deprived academic, slaving away in one of Oxford’s many libraries to out-of-your-league party girl to loyal, advice-giving friend whenever it’s required of her. (Not that her heart truly fits into the moulds she creates for herself, but that’s another story.) The girl prides herself in being able to talk to anyone about pretty much any trivial topic. It is, she believes, an ode to having so many different people around to engage in idle chatter with her growing up, united by nothing but their ties to the Mafia. Her variety of talents, too, (piano, violin, dancing, tennis, painting – it goes on) showcase how her ability knows no limits.

FICKLE ━ An extension of above: because she’s everything, she’s nothing, really. Charlotte’s ephemeral and changeable. Always evolving. Indecisive. Not only about what to eat or what to wear, but about herself and her beliefs, too. For example, she no longer resents her bloodline, which was one of the strong moral stances she took as a teenager. Her perception is constantly changing. And because she’s so perceptive and intelligent, Charlotte can appreciate arguments and situations from different angles – being stubborn in a view means the exclusion of another, so she remains, like air, unsure, always hovering in between poles, restless.

SUPERIOR ━ She’s been running and running from it but, like everything, one chilling fact has caught up to her and there’s no denying it, at least not to herself: Charlotte Zerilli is lonely. How? In a room crowded with awestruck admirers, how is it possible that she feels so isolated? That’s exactly it – everyone’s just an awestruck admirer. Nobody’s really on her level (except Miles !!!! love it).

DEMANDING ━ Of herself. Of others. Her standards are about as high as the walls around her

Extras:

For the course, I was thinking something partly humanitarian – in a vain attempt to, perhaps, ask the God she desperately believed in for forgiveness (saving lives to redeem all those lost at the hands of her family) – with strong scientific elements because she’s lowkey a nerd. aka Medicine. I can go into a lot of unnecessary, extra depth about this decision if you want me to but that was the condensed version

MUSINGS: (faves are bolded) one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven when will i stop twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen probably never sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen and finally twenty

PARA SAMPLE

did i accidentally write a short novella? yes. i’d apologise but i’m not sorry for making you read this

He’d been asking for years (and years and years) and, for a reason Charlotte couldn’t explain more tangibly than it felt right, on this mild Tuesday afternoon, she’d finally agreed. She’d go with him. “Yes. I’m ready,” she’d said, standing in his excessively large office that morning, voice betraying only a slight hesitation. He hadn’t picked up on it. Nobody ever really did. Rather, the light – was that pride? – Charlotte saw swimming to the surface of her father’s eyes served to remind her why she’d ever come back in the first place.

So she smiled, ducked her head and walked with him. As they weaved through the streets of Detroit, she was vaguely aware that this wasn’t a typical Don errand – not that she really knew what that was, granted, having spent the majority of her life actively not knowing. Of course, she’d heard whispers. How could she not have? She’d heard stories about how members of La Cosa Nostra beat people up, stole from them, killed them. Under her father’s orders. But Charlotte had never dared to bring it up with him. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the confession. (Because, who was she kidding, it would’ve been a confession.)

If this was the case, what was she doing here and now? Staring into the eyes of the beast? God knows, she thought, kicking a can that was littering her path, adding to the little mound of rubbish piling up on the side of the road. But she sort of knew, too; it’d been, perhaps, a moment of weakness on her part. For resistance was so tiring. Running was tiring. She craved nothing more than her mother’s arms, her father’s kiss. So Charlotte did something that just a few years ago, she believed was synonymous with weakness, and maybe it was: she surrendered.

“This is it, Tesoro,” her father said at length. She glanced up to find they’d stopped in front of a house – or, she supposed, it was more of a shack. Charlotte watched as he brought his knuckles to the door, about to knock, the gold of his rings forming a stark contrast with the red, peeling paint.

Everything inside her screamed run, run, run. This wouldn’t end up well. No doubt. She was on the brink of witnessing her very first Mafia crime, about to stare into the heart of the Partnership’s – her family’s – sins. Guilt eyed her, licking its lips. It’d swallow her whole.

“N – no. Stop. Please. I can’t do this.” She felt sick. She had to get out of here.

He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before his gaze flitted to the Capo who’d been trailing behind them. When he turned back to his daughter, his head tilted to the side, as if he understood her concern, and he smiled. In that second he was no longer the Godfather, but just her father. “Come on, Charlotte. Don’t you trust me?” But he changed back again. He always changed back again. Before she could answer (and the answer, as much as she hated it, in this moment, it would’ve probably been no), he’d already knocked at the door.

This was it.

The boy who answered couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Upon realising who it was, his eyes darkened, she guessed in fear, as she’d seen so many others’ do in his presence. They knew what he was capable of. If they even made one wrong move, they’d be, quite literally, dead. She wished it was over already.

“Boss,” he spluttered, bringing her father’s hand to his lips and kissing it.

The older Zerilli nodded in greeting. “This is my daughter, Charlotte.” As the boy moved to kiss her hand, too, her resolve faltered. Surely people didn’t introduce their kids to people they were about to murder. Then again, she didn’t know enough about Mafia customs to recognise that this wasn’t a murder mission at all, that he had people for that, and that this was a compassionate one.

“Will you come in? I can make – what d’you want? Tea? Coffee? I have Scotch.”

Her attention piqued; so she was wrong. Huh. Interesting. If not to beat this kid up, why were they here, then? Her eyes wandered inside, past the boy in the doorway, trying to pick up clues as her dad answered, “Not today. I just came to deliver this.” He handed him a thick envelope. Cash. It had to be. “How is she?”

“A lot better, Boss. Thank you so much for this. It really –”

He held up a hand to silence him. “Of course. It is our duty to help our family, at any cost.”

As they continued this conversation, it occurred to Charlotte, tuned out of the world and into her own mind for a moment, that she’d got it so very wrong. Maybe this wasn’t all bad. An odd sense of honour filled her at the scene; the same father who steadfastly looked out for her and her brother was using his position to look out for this (what she presumed was a) picciotto, too, and if there was one, there may be many more. They were – in his eyes – family. The Detroit Partnership. All the racketeering and the beating were somehow justified, at least a little bit, in her mind by this one act of compassion. How could she have been so judgmental before? It was her father’s blood that coursed through her veins, that made her strive to protect those who could not protect themselves. People like the ‘she’ he’d referred to. And who was she? Probably a sick relative. Mother, sister. It didn’t matter, really – all she knew was that it was someone who needed help. Help that the capofamiglia provided.

And right then, she finally understood what godfather meant.