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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

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Against All Odds--Calum Hood (part IV soulmate!au)

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: car accident, coma, stitches, an attempt at medical jargon, I did research but am in no way a doctor so if there’s fallacies, that’s why. I tried my best.

Song inspirations: move to you-jagwartwin; falling-tyler daniel; hesitate-the jonas brothers; falling-harry styles; stars in your eyes-ronnie hilton; want you back-5sos; what happens here-ASL; where will i remember you-ASL; all i want-kodaline

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

The Click || Measured in Moments || Fractures catch up on previous parts here!

Enjoy! Feedback is always welcome :)

• • • •

Calum hears rain. He feels it as well, but it doesn’t feel like normal raindrops. His entire body hurts, but the pain is more intense in his head and in his chest. It’s as if he’s on fire with a thousand-ton weight on his head and heart. Voices float in and out of his ears, he tries to decipher the words and their meaning, but his main concern is to control his breathing.

When the pain becomes too much in his head, he forces himself to open his eyes. They’re heavy but he pushes through and blinks a few times until he sees Ashton and Ruby’s faces near his.

“Oh, thank God,” Ashton exhales dropping his head, “you scared the shit outta me.”

Calum tries to sit up but Ruby pushes onto his shoulders.

“Take it easy, Cal,” she says, her voice small, “you’ve been in and out for the past ten minutes.” The honey color in her brown eyes are brighter than usual. “What happened?”

“Where’s Rose? Something’s wrong… she’s… where is she?” Calum demands trying to sit up again, but Ashton is the one to keep him on the floor.

“Take it easy,” Ashton repeats what Ruby said, “you’ve been murmuring her name. Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“I felt it. I can…” Calum’s eyes search down his body frantically, “I feel it everywhere. I need to get to her, I need to—”

His ringtone he has set up for Rose blares from his pocket and he’s quick to pull it out. He slides his finger over the screen to answer it but before he can say a word, a man’s voice comes through.

“Is this Calum Hood?” the unfamiliar voice asks.

“Yes, who is this?” Calum sits up and swats Ashton’s hands away so he can stand up slowly. Ruby holds onto his arms for support, which he’s thankful for. He got a head rush from standing.

“This is Officer Mathers, um… your girlfriend—”

“Fiancée.”

“…Your fiancée was in a collision just now. When we arrived on scene, she was slightly coherent and kept saying your name… Can you come to the county hospital?” Officer Mathers asks.

Like a tidal wave, Calum nearly collapses again, but Ashton has a strong grip on him and keeps him upright. Ashton can see the fear in Calum’s eyes.

“We need to go to the hospital,” Calum whispers.

***

Calum tries to placate and identify every emotion coursing through his body. His whole body is wired, he’s rubbing his hands together in anxious anticipation while his leg shakes impatiently. His eyes are focused on the cracks in the tiled floor, he’s focusing on his breathing and trying not to let the heavy pain in his chest overtake him.

Ashton and Ruby sit on either side of him, they gave up trying to console him as soon as they sat down in the waiting area. Officer Mathers, the one Calum spoke to, was waiting for them at the Emergency Room entrance, a solemn expression on his face as he explained the accident.

Rose was at a four way stop just as the storm started and when she pulled forward, another car came speeding through the stop sign hitting the front end of her car. She went into a tailspin and the force of it overturned the car. When squad cars, the fire department and the ambulance showed up the car that hit her was already gone but a witness getting their groceries from their driveway who made the call saw the whole accident happen.

It took all of ten minutes to break her free from the vehicle—which was how long Calum blacked out—and when she was placed on a stretcher that’s when she started saying his name, almost like a mantra. Officer Mathers took her phone that was still somehow clutched in her hand and found his number just as she was wheeled into the back of the ambulance.

A nurse came by after the officer left and escorted Calum, Ashton and Ruby to the waiting area. Calum badgered her for questions on where Rose was, if she was okay; but the nurse didn’t have that information.

His mind races while he sits and waits. It’s been hours since they arrived, he doesn’t even want to know what time it is. Every minute of not knowing what’s happening with Rose seems like a lifetime. His heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, he’s filled with adrenaline. He’s not sure if he wants to pace or sit here with his racing thoughts. He’s equally tired as he is wired, and he checks the glow in his chest every few minutes.

It hasn’t gone back to that dark orange, it’s as if he lost the part of Rose that helped complete him.

“I should have been with her,” he mumbles. Ashton and Ruby turn to him, their fingers are interlocked, and, in that moment, Calum is jealous of them. They have the comfort of their perfect counterpart, Calum’s never felt more alone.

“You can’t blame yourself, Cal,” Ashton tries to reason but Calum doesn’t want to hear it.

Not being able to handle sitting much longer, he rises from his chair and begins to pace. His head is still throbbing all around, so he tries to release the tension in his back by placing both hands on his neck. His fingers knead and rub the tight muscles but to no avail, his mind is still racing, and his heart is aching.

Calum.

He spins around abruptly hearing Rose’s voice, but is met instead with a woman wearing an orange surgical cap.

“Are you Calum Hood? Rose’s fiancé?” the woman asks.

“Ye—” he clears his throat, lowers his hands from his neck. “Yes, I am. Is she all right? Can I go see her?”

“I’m Dr. Robbins,” she says, “When Rose arrived, she was unresponsive, so we did some scans and found bleeding in her brain. We took her into immediate surgery to alleviate the bleeding. She has a femoral shaft fracture due to the collision and our orthopedic surgeon placed plates and screws to secure the fracture and an external fixator that holds it all in place. When you see her, it will look a little scary to see the fixator. She also has a few broken ribs and she’s being moved into the ICU so we can observe her on the clock.”

Her words fumble and stumble inside his brain, Calum tries to make sense of it all.

“Can I see her? Please?” his main concern is seeing her for himself, with his own eyes to make sure she’s all right.

“As soon as she’s settled, I’ll send a nurse to bring you to her. She won’t be awake yet, but the anesthesia should wear off in an hour or two. I’ll see you then.”

“Thank you,” Ashton says.

Calum thinks he says them as well, his mouth opens but he doesn’t hear the words. When Dr. Robbins turns on her heels, shoes squeaking on the linoleum, that’s when Calum loses his balance. Ashton and Ruby grab hold of his arms to steady him and bring him back to his chair.

Thankfully, it isn’t long before a nurse retrieves them escorting the three friends down the long, brightly lit hallway. Calum’s throat is sandpaper dry, he’s not sure what to expect when he sees Rose, but he knows when he sees her eyes, he’ll be able to tell how she’s really doing which will equally appease him.

Right when they’re about to turn into the glass paneled wall, curtains are pulled to hide the room, he takes a deep breath. When he sees her, he nearly falls to his knees. His beautiful Rose lies still in the bed, her head wrapped in cloth and gauze while her face is covered in bruises and scratches. Her left leg is elevated with small rods and screws holding her leg in place; now he understands what Dr. Robbins meant about the fixator. It makes her leg look bionic and very unnatural compared to her natural beauty.

His feet feel like lead as he steps forward moving against the curtain. Machines are beeping, while tubes, wires, and IV’s protrude from her chest and arms. When he reaches the side of her bed, he collapses into the chair placed next to it. His brown eyes are sad as he looks her over, his beautiful Rose. Carefully, he touches her hand and when he sees her ring still on her left finger, that’s what breaks him.

“Oh, Rosie,” he sighs letting his head fall onto the back of his arm. He kisses her fingers delicately, making sure not to jostle her too much. She smells like hospital, sterile and clean but he can faintly make out her distinct rose and rainwater smell.

He doesn’t notice Ashton and Ruby shuffle in and occupy the other chairs across the room. He holds her hand tightly in comfort, almost willing that he could somehow take her pain away. He’d rather it be him in the bed than her.

He doesn’t notice a nurse come in until he feels movement on the bed, and he sits up in a flash.

“Checking her vitals and numbers,” the nurse smiles as he eyes the monitors.

Calum watches him sullenly as he checks her breathing, and notices how he makes a face as he shines a small flashlight in her eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

“What’s wrong?” Calum asks but the nurse is gone. “What’s wrong?!” he looks to Ashton and Ruby who shake their heads in confusion as well.

Dr. Robbins comes bustling in, bringing her own small light to Rose’s eyes, flicking it over as she opened her lids.

“Rose? Rose, can you hear me? I’m Dr. Robbins and you’re at the County Hospital. Rose,” she says in a cool affirmative voice.

“What’s wrong?” Calum demands, his voice hard.

“Check her blood pressure,” Dr. Robbins instructs the nurse. “Mr. Hood, I need you to wait outside.”

“What the hell is happening?” Calum roars rising to his feet. Dr. Robbins eyes him.

“I need to run a few tests on her right now, and for me to properly help her, I need you to wait outside for me, okay? Right outside the door,” Dr. Robbins speaks to him as if he’s a child but it’s not in a condescending way.

“C’mon, mate, let’s go outside,” Ashton says suddenly next to him.

Calum holds onto Rose’s hand as long as he can, his eyes never leaving her face until the curtains are pulled around her bed. Closing Calum off from her again. He hears medical jargon through the thin piece of fabric. He waits, he listens, he watches the glow in his chest flicker.

Five minutes later, Dr. Robbins pulls them aside.

“Rose has a traumatic brain injury and I believe that is what has her in a comatose state,” Dr. Robbins tells him, Ashton, and Ruby. “The impact of the other car caused severe trauma and her body is trying to heal itself in this way.”

“Will she wake up?” Ashton asks.

“It’s hard to say at this stage, statistics show—”

“I don’t want to hear the statistics. She’s going to wake up, what can we do to help her?” Calum asks with not even an ounce of doubt.

“Keep her as comfortable as possible, it’s a good sign she’s breathing on her own but we’ll set her up with a feeding tube so she can still get the nutrients that she needs. We’ll continue to monitor, do routine coma tests and make sure that her leg is healing properly.”

“Let’s do that, then,” Calum nods and moves to go back to her room. He looks back at Dr. Robbins, Ashton, and Ruby. The look they’re giving him is full of sadness. “She’s going to wake up.”

Two Weeks Later

Calum has been at the hospital day and night with Rose. Unwilling to leave her until she wakes up, the staff have brought in a bed for him to sleep in and placed it right next to hers. The first few days were the hardest, Calum was still in shock and trying to process all that’s happened. The guys stayed with him in rotation until it was well past visiting hours. The nights were the hardest, Calum ached to lay next to her and hear her true heartbeat rather than the beeps of the monitor.

As the days went by, her hospital room became like their own little one room apartment. Ashton and Ruby were kind enough to bring their pillows and blankets, clothes for Calum to change in and out of, their poetry books and record player paired with their favorite records.

Michael and Crystal have taken in Duke and Honey until Calum and Rose can return home. He wishes he could bring the dogs in so that their presence would somehow breakthrough to Rose, but the hospital wouldn’t allow it in case they bumped her leg or tugged on the multiple wires and tubes she’s connected to.

Calum also had flower arrangements delivered so the whole room was vibrant and floral smelling. He made sure they were always roses, hoping it would pull his Rose back to him. They also brought a little bit of light in here; it’s been raining for the last three weeks. He never lets one of them wilt, if it looks like it’s starting to brown he orders a new arrangement. He doesn’t want any form of death happening in this room.

The TV is on low volume when Jane, Rose’s primary RN whisks inside.

“How’s our girl doing today?” Jane asks brightly. She appears next to Rose checking her tubes, stitches, IV drip and her leg.

“Okay I think. I think I’m going to try reading her some poetry again,” Calum says stroking the back of Rose’s hand with his fingers.

“I think your love story is so sweet,” Jane smiles poking the earpieces of her stethoscope in her ears. She nods to his guitar leaning against the window. “I haven’t heard you play that yet.”

Calum glances at the instrument that Luke brought over for him one day in the first week of Rose being admitted. Luke told him music is what brought him and his soulmate together, and the love Calum and Rose also shared of music was bound to ignite something within her.

“I don’t really want to play the melodies that are in my head,” Calum says picking up a poetry book that’s on the makeshift nightstand next to his cot bed. It’s a hospital table-top cart that holds his and Rose’s notebooks along with their poetry books. He shuffles through the pages, inked words flashing by quickly. “They’re all sad and I don’t want her to feel that.”

Jane nods tucking Rose’s plush periwinkle blanket back into place, so she stays warm.

“I understand. Everything looks good, I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t forget to eat, Calum,” Jane reminds him with a pointed look.

“Thanks Jane,” Calum tries to give her a grin, but he can feel it’s more of a grimace. Jane walks back out of the room closing the door behind her and Calum sighs staring at Rose. “Should I read some poems to you, Rosie?”

The page he landed on was of a poem titled Bloom,

‘Someone once planted your name

like a seed in my heart.

Only now I’ve met you,

Do I know what it means to bloom.’

And below the printed words are Rose’s own, handwritten in her beautiful cursive. Calum traces the written words with a longing he knows will never go away. It reads:

Calum and I said ‘I love you’ to each other. Not many soulmates do that but after that night with the storm when we had sex for the first time…it felt right. Like my world finally clicked into place. I’ve read about love, seen it with my own eyes from friends and family but to feel it? Love is such a strong word, since we’ve both said it I feel it blooming within me. When I say his name it grows, when he says mine it doubles, and when we exchange ‘I love you’ it triples.

Calum remembers that night perfectly. The provocative prose he read to her lead to their lovemaking while the storm rumbled on outside. It mirrored the storm within him at wanting to declare his love to her, but he kept it inside in fear of losing her. He knew he loved her the first time they kissed up in her apartment, that this was everything he’s ever wanted. Rose is the muse he’s been writing and singing about for all these years.

A loud roar of thunder shook outside, and Calum glances out the rain streaked window as lightning flashes across the sky. It’s as if the universe knows his soulmate is in turmoil because the rain hasn’t let up at all. Glancing back at Rose, he hopes wherever she is that it’s sunshine and happy memories.

He closes the book then moves to the record player in the corner of the room. Their favorite record is already placed inside, and he turns it on. Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room as he sings about the moon. Calum inspects the flowers making sure they all have their vibrant color before sitting back down on his cot.

He picks up his Michael Faudet book and reads Chasing Love out loud to her. When he’s finished, he stares at this poem for a long time as Frank’s voice ricochets off the walls. The first half is a little broody, two pathways meeting but not crossing. He’s thankful his path and Rose’s crossed—crashed actually. He’s reminded of the ghostly dream he had of this phantom woman a few years ago that teased him of knowing him in his ear. Turns out it was her all along.

The last line pulls at his heart ‘how sunshine steals from autumn frost.’ What a conundrum because his sunshine was stolen from him. Instead of frost and snow the sun was replaced with the rain and thunder brewing relentlessly outside.

He looks at his Rose, frozen in sleep, and he’s desperate for her to return to him. his throat works as he realizes how too close their situation resembles to the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty. His sweet, sweet Rose in a deep slumber.

Calum traces the area of the diamond on her finger. It’s become a bit loose and he takes in her appearance for the thousandth time. Her complexion is dry and thin compared to her usual warmth and softness. She’s void of color and abundance. Like the other times before when he’s felt her anger or her sadness, he tries to place what she’s feeling now but comes up blank. There’s a faint buzzing and a very distant lilt of music, but that’s all he can gather.

The red glow is dim but still there, so that has to be a good sign. Calum scoots closer and with careful fingers touches her hair that is also less in color and dry. Some of it is growing back in baby tufts around her stitches. He caresses her cheek; her skin is lukewarm. On a normal day, this action would have made her cheeks heat up in a light pink pigment, but they remain the same pallor.

“Come back to me, Rosie,” he whispers anxiously. He curls her cool, limp fingers in his. “I love you so much.”

On instinct, he glances back to her chest, the red glow is still the weak glimmer but it’s that little bit of light that urges his hope to press on. She will wake again.

Four Weeks Later

Ashton is sitting with him today like he has been every Monday and Wednesday prior. The record player plays absently in the background and Ashton watches his best friend cling to the love of his life. Their talk is minimal, the weather has been the same onslaught of rain so that’s always out. After Calum informs him of Rose’s condition it goes silent between them.

When the record stops Calum shifts to that part of the room and grabs their album placing it on the B side of the vinyl. He feels Ashton’s gaze on him the whole time.

“Lover of mine is her favorite,” Calum grins then sits back down next to her bed. He’s hoping the music will awaken her at some point. He has to find the right song.

“I hate seeing you like this, mate,” Ashton finally admits. “You’re wasting away being cooped up in here.”

“I’m staying until she wakes up.”

“You have to start thinking of the possibility that she might not…” Ashton’s voice tapers off morosely. Calum’s eyes flash in white hot fury.

“She’s going to wake up,” Calum says firmly. “She’s in there. She can hear me and I…I feel her.” He flicks his eyes back to her then takes her hand.

A few days ago, while he was reading to her, the buzzing he always heard quieted and the musical melody became louder.

“How?”

Calum hesitates, his thumb rubs the back of her hand. “We love each other,” he confesses and Ashton gasps. “And since we’ve said it we’ve had a…a connection. It’s a warmth and a-a glow in our chests and somehow it combined into one. She still has her glow and I have mine.”

“When—why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s hard to explain and I know it’s not common for soulmates to say it to each other, because there isn’t really a need to but…I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.”

“I’d never think that. That’s incredible, man.”

They fall into a silence again. Ashton is still wrestling with the idea that even though Calum feels her, who knows how long it will be until she does wake up? He wants to be supportive of his friend, his brother, but it’s hard when he can see how harrowing this is for him.

He’s been stuck in this hotel for four weeks now, eating hospital food and never leaving. Calum has lost weight and he has dark circles under his eyes that never seem to go away. The similarities between Rose and Calum’s appearances is frightening but also adds truth to how Calum says he ‘feels’ her. Is he going through what Rose is?

Ruby arrives about an hour later with some take out food, her curls are dewed with droplets of the rain and her face falls when she catches sight of Rose and Calum. She looks to Ashton who nods; the two of them have discussed trying to get Calum to go home for a bit and today seems like a good time to do that.

“Hey Cal,” she greets him brightly setting the food bags on the table under the tv.

“Hey Rube,” he replies quietly, eyes never straying from Rose.

“What do you say about going home for a few hours?” She rubs her hands together trying to warm up from the cold rain. “Ash and I can stay here so you can shower and do some laundry.”

Calum turns to her stiffly, his brown eyes flat.

“I’m not leaving her, Ruby.”

“It’d only be for an hour or two,” she presses moving to the other side of Rose’s bed. She gazes at her own best friend, sadness welling up in her heart. “You don’t have to spend the night but just to stretch your legs, get a change of scenery.”

Calum licks his chapped lips, the thought of showering in his own bathroom is tempting. The one here gets the job done but he can feel the difference in comfort. He does have a pile of clothes in the corner that should be washed but the thought of leaving Rose tugs at his heart.

“What if something happens?”

“You know we’ll call you,” Ashton chimes in. “Rose would want you to take care of yourself, too.”

After careful thought he agrees, gathers his clothes then kisses Rose’s forehead. It’s clammy and each step away from her makes him feel horrible. It rises a panic in him he’s never felt before and it only increases when he gets in his car. The rain is a horrible reminder of the night of her accident when his world flipped upside down.

He’s anxious the whole car ride, it’s weird being in a vehicle after four weeks of staying in one place. He makes sure to keep both hands on the wheel as he drives not wanting to risk getting into an accident himself.

When he arrives home it’s dark and quiet without the welcoming of the dogs’ claws on the floor. He misses them and wants to see them at Mike’s house but that would make him be away from Rose longer and he couldn’t have that. Maybe he’ll go over there in a day or two.

The silence is deafening as he walks down the hall. He pauses at the Eiffel tower photos on the wall and gazes at each photo. Rose’s smile and the light in her eyes brings him both comfort and pain. Being home and out of the hospital makes him truly feel the huge weight on his shoulders

He tosses his clothes in the washer and pours in the desired amount of detergent. He selects a setting without reading it but sees it’s only for forty minutes. Good, the faster he can get back to the hospital the better.

Once inside the bathroom—he makes sure to avoid looking at their bed—he connects his phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the fan. Calum’s body feels heavier as he removes his clothes slowly, his arms like lead and his muscles throb.

He stands under the hot spray of water, breathing in the steam and letting it smooth out his strained muscles in his neck and shoulders. Memories of showers spent with Rose flood his mind. He always loved the way she’d stand behind him with her hands sliding up his chest as she kissed the space between his shoulder blades.

What he would give to have her behind him right now. If only he didn’t have to be at the venue early to set up for the show Rose would have been with him. She wouldn’t have had to drive by herself, she wouldn’t have been at that intersection and she wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.

The song changes and the all too familiar lyrics ‘remember the words you told me love me ‘til the day I die’ pierced Calum’s heart. His breath catches as the words sink in along with Ashton’s insinuation that she might not wake. Calum slams his palm against the wall, he continues to smack it until he feels the sharp pain shoot up his arm. He falls to the shower floor, water raining down on him as his sadness, hurt and confusion surface.

Calum feels so lost without Rose, his sobs bounce off the tile and drown out the music. He lets out a few shouts of rage to mask the song of hurt while his bleeds out. He’s not sure how long he sits on the shower floor before he cleans himself off and exits.

While he brushes his teeth, he stares at himself in the mirror barely recognizing the reflection. His cheeks have sunken in under the dark bags of his eyes. He’s so exhausted, sleeping on that cot isn’t as comfortable as his own bed. Calum replaces his wet clothes into the dryer, noting the time of an hour and a half. He shuffles back to his and Rose’s bedroom and falls onto the side that’s hers.

Her pillow still smells like her and tears well in Calum’s eyes at the all too familiar smell. He pulls the comforter over him, his eyes closing easily. He’ll just sleep until the dryer is done and he’ll be back at the hospital in two hours.

The next time Calum opens his eyes is due to a loud crack of thunder. He’s still on Rose’s side of the bed but facing the other way and his whole body feels rigid. His hand pats the bed until he finds his phone, the light makes his eyes strain and he blinks in confusion as he reads the time.

He slept for a whole day and a half. For a quick moment he forgot about the accident and thought he’d just come back from a tour. The phone drops to his chest as he rolls over to gaze at Rose but she’s not there. His small moment of bliss dissipates because he hasn’t been on tour in so long and reality sets in that Rose is back at the hospital.

He curses himself for falling asleep then stretches his limbs, the cracks of his joints are music to his ears and fill him with release. He lies in bed for a little while longer until he’s more awake then gets out slowly. His hair has dried oddly because it was wet when he dropped onto the mattress, but he doesn’t care. He has to get back to Rose.

When he arrives back at the hospital again, guilt ever present in his chest of being away from her so long, he finds there hasn’t been any change in her condition. Ashton and Ruby figured he fell asleep and were glad at how refreshed he looks. They stayed the night with Rose and he’s thankful for that but still feels awful for not sleeping next to her.

After catching up with Ashton and Ruby, they leave him with a kiss on the cheek from Ruby and a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder from Ashton. Calum kisses Rose’s forehead.

“Sorry for being away, sweetheart. Sleep took over me but I’m back now. Should I read some more to you?” he picks up a book and starts to read from Michael Faudet.

He stares at ‘The Northern Lights’ reminiscing about his and Rose’s own moment at the beach, much like what the poem is describing. He reads it out loud, twice then stares at Rose’s face.

“Remember that night at the beach, Rosie? The stars shone in your eyes and we got sand everywhere,” he smiles at the memory while Ronnie Hilton’s song ‘Stars Shine in your eyes’ plays just like that night.

It was a date night curated by Calum complete with a basket of food and a large blanket to lay in the sand. They were in a hidden spot unseen to other beachgoers with the perfect view of the ocean and the setting sun. It was twilight when he lit the candles for their dinner, feeding each other the small finger food with kisses exchanged in between each bite.

Rose pulled him to his feet so they could walk in the ocean for a little while, just until the sun disappeared below the horizon. When her feet became cold, she hopped on Calum’s back so he could carry her back to the blanket where he draped a second one over her legs while he got a fire started.

He remembers how he froze when he turned around to see her top off, a nipple peeking above the second blanket he gave her, and she flashed him the sweetest smile.

“Come warm me up?”

They created their own sunset between their hearts that night, the smell of ocean air and smoke clouded over their tangled limbs as they made love twice on the beach.

The loud ringing of his phone pulls him from the sweet reverie, he sees it’s his mom and he picks up right away. She asks if there has been any new progress with Rose and he tells her not yet and that she doesn’t have to come watch the dogs because Mike still has them. He promises he’ll call her when Rose does wake up.

He hangs up and is still thinking of the beach when he’s reminded of a poem Lang Leav wrote called ‘High Tide’. He goes to her book and reads out the first line.

“’Are you somewhere looking at the sea, my love?’ Is that where you are, Rosie? By the sea? The sand in your toes, salty seawater spraying your hair?” he chokes up as he gazes at her still face. He grabs her hand in his and kisses it. “Pick a pretty shell for me, okay? What should I read next?”

Five Weeks Later

It’s Thursday afternoon and Calum is doing the routine exercises for Rose, so she doesn’t get bed sores and her muscles don’t atrophy when Ruby enters the room. She is absolutely beaming, her eyes wide and bright accompanied with a huge smile on her face. Surprised at her elation, Calum’s first instinct is to look at her left-hand thinking Ashton proposed to her, but her hand is bare.

“Hey Rube, what’s up?” he asks bending Rose’s fingers down one by one, similar to the tactic of counting a child’s toes as little piggies.

“Ash and I said, ‘I love you.’”

“Really?!” Calum gives her a large smile then massages the palm of Rose’s hand. “That’s fantastic, how’d it happen?”

“We were making breakfast and he just said it,” she smiles breathlessly. “You and Rose were right about that warmth; I feel it everywhere…it’s like I’m floating on air.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you guys.” Calum sets Rose’s arm back down on the bed and moves down to her leg that’s not in a cast.

“We have you two to thank. Rose told me not to be scared and after what you told Ashton last week he said he’s been feeling different. I can’t wait to tell Rose.” Ruby smiles down sadly at her friend

“She’ll be happy to hear about it,” Calum smiles and lifts her leg to do the exercises. Dr. Robbins has said that her external fixator is doing a good job of healing her leg, it’s a slow process but with her current condition, slow is best.

Ruby recounts the whole moment for Calum while he continues the exercises with Rose. Ruby knew something was up because Ashton was being a bit moodier than normal and was acting nervous while they did their morning yoga session. It wasn’t until Ruby started their coffee and she asked for their two mugs did he say it after she said, ‘thank you.’

Calum knows Ashton will probably tell him about it when he comes to visit but it fills him with happiness that his two friends know of the same elation that he and Rose feel. When her exercises are done, and Jane has checked her vitals, Calum and Ruby sit down while he reads more poetry to Rose.

Before he’s about to go to sleep for the night he reads one more poem and notices all of Rose’s underlines in ‘A Letter to My Love’ starting with the word France and the rest as follows:

‘…how we pictured, but it is exactly how it was always meant to be.’

‘But building this life with you has been the grandest adventure.’

‘This is the happiest I have ever been.’

‘With you I have seen all my dreams to into fruition.’

‘All I ask now is for time with you, as much as we are allowed.’

He doesn’t like that last foreboding sentence, as if this time they’ve shared together is all they were allowed. This can’t be it for them. Then her handwriting appears on the page next to it dated the day they got engaged and of their graduation. She wrote an entry.

It’s the day after and Calum is sleeping next to me. He asked me to marry him! I woke up and opened to this poem, fate has been on m side since that day we bumped into each other outside the CBS. He’s my dream I’ve dreamt of since I was a little girl. There are many great loves, but non are greater than mine and his. I felt a flicker in my glow just now…excitement? You’re starting to mumble in your sleep my love, time to wake you up and celebrate our life of forever.

Calum stares at her phrase of ‘flicker in my glow’ did she somehow know about the accident before it even happened? Why else would it flicker? He shifts his gaze to her chest and the red glow is still there, still faint, but no sign of flickering.

Six Weeks Later

Calum is dreaming. Somewhere in his mind, he knows it but won’t wake. He and Rose are at the Dainty Dove. She’s leaning against him in their regular booth with his arm around her shoulders as they share a cup of coffee. She smiles like her familiar rose and rainwater smell; Moonlight Serenade by Frank Sinatra plays softly in the background from the jukebox. Their song from their very first date and they’re the only ones in the joint.

“It’s almost time,” she says twisting her fingers with his.

“Time for what?” he kisses her hair, breathing her in.

“The rain…it’s coming here. I am too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come dance,” she whispers and then suddenly they’re dancing.

The room darkens as clouds roll over outside the restaurant. Calum watches over Rose’s head through the windows in confusion. Rose touches his cheek and he looks down at her.

“Promise me something,” she says.

“Anything.”

“Be patient with me. The rain is coming,” she whispers, and his dream self is befuddled as she leans up on her toes, lips brushing his, “and I’m in close proximity.”

Just before her lips touch his, the rain falls heavily, and her voice lingers in his mind when he wakes up. Just like in his dream, the rain is hitting the windows harshly much like it has been for the last six weeks. The weatherman are calling it an unnatural weather phenomenon and have no real answer for the source of all the rain.

He checks that the time is 4:37 a.m. He rubs his eyes then jerks to a sitting position because Rose’s chest is glowing a burning red with much more strength. It isn’t dim at all, it’s vibrant and strong.

“Rose?!” his legs get tangled in the hospital sheets as he turns on the lights and he swears he sees her eyelashes twitch. “Rosie, baby?” he takes her hand. “Can you hear me? I’m right here, in prox…”

Calum swallows harshly then snatches up his Michael Faudet book opening to the poem titled ‘Proximity.’ He reads the prose quickly about joining the dots from A to B, empty shores and the sea and everything else in between all the way to the end.

‘For what’s real is meant to be, when two hearts beat—in proximity.’

Rose’s finger twitches against his and Calum’s heart skyrockets.

“Rose?” he whispers in shock. “Come on sweetheart, open your eyes for me. I’m right here. I’m here and I love you so much.” He gasps when the orange glow in his chest brightens and her does as well from his proclamation of love. Tears spring in his eyes then two more fingers twitch. “Rose, I’m here. I love you; I love you, come back to me, Rosie.”

Their glows blaze brighter still, something beeps but Calum pays it no mind because Rose’s eyes flutter for a few seconds and then open. Calum stares in astonishment, oh how he’s missed those ocean eyes.

“Rose?” he whispers. She blinks heavily and he’s smashing the nurse’s call button. “She’s awake! Jane! She’s opened her eyes!” he shouts into the speaker then takes her hand in both of his. Happy tears are falling down his cheeks as she comes to. “Hi sweetheart, I’m right here, you’re okay.”

She tries to focus on him, her mouth tries to open to speak but then she chokes on the feeding tube and he panics. He starts shouting some more for help then Jane and Dr. Robbins rush in. They’re quick to remove the tube and fix the alarms screaming on the machines. Jane pushes Calum gently out of the way so they can work, and other nurses arrive in the room.

“Rose, I’m Dr. Robbins,” Dr. Robbins speaks very slowly and clearly, as if she’s talking to a child. “You’re in the hospital and were in an accident. You’ve been asleep for a while but you’re okay.” She flashes a light in her eyes. “Good. Can you blink twice if you understand me?”

Calum watches in amazement as Rose blinks once…then twice ever so slowly. He could leap for joy.

“That’s good,” Dr. Robbins smiles warmly, “You’ve been in a coma for some time so things may be fuzzy. Are you in pain? Blink once for no and twice for yes.”

Rose blinks twice and Calum’s heart plummets. Has she been in silent pain all this time?

“Jane can help with that, she’s your nurse,” Dr. Robbins smiles again. “I’m going to do some quick tests okay?”

While Dr. Robbins does her testing Calum’s fingers are flying as he texts everyone in excitement. He would call but he can’t take his eyes off Rose and it’s extremely early in the morning. He didn’t want to alarm them in a panic when it was actually good news.

***

A few days have gone by, Calum watches silently as Rose goes through more tests to see how well her reflexes are and her strength. Calum only leaves when he gets a phone call from their friends or his mom to give them updates and share their excitement of her finally being awake. Her eyes are always on him with a twinge of confusion in her dark blue eyes. When she speaks, it’s soft and raspy but it’s the voice of angels to Calum. He’s missed her voice so much.

“I know you want to be alone with him, but I have to make sure you’re all right. He won’t go anywhere, I promise,” Dr. Robbins chuckles while she watches the orthopedic doctor check Rose’s leg.

Calum hopes she’ll be able to get the mechanical thing off her now and they can work on physical therapy so she can walk. He knows her recovery process is going to be long and strenuous. She’s been in a coma for six weeks; her body is stiff and probably feels weird to her, but Calum will be with her every step of the way.

Calum takes a step forward, smile on his face at being acknowledged by Dr. Robbins. Rose’s brows furrow in a concerned v.

“Who is he?”

The rain stops, and the clouds part to reveal a bright sun that shines in Rose’s eyes. The bad weather has ceased, and Calum should be happy that the light of his life is back, but a new storm has arrived as Rose stares at Calum like she’s never seen him before in her life.

• • • •

Taglist: @galcalirwin @cashtonasff5sos @thecurlsofgod @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @here-for-the-uproars @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short @banditocth @dezzym17 @koalacal @lukeisbaby @spicycal @mysticalhood @notinthesameguey @wastedheartcth @atlcalm @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @babylon-corgis @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @lanternlover2 @istaywithmyjonas @calteahood @sarcastically-defensive17 @another-lonely-heart @devilatmydoor @frontmanash @philthepegacorn @mantlereid @lukedorkyhemmings @addietagglikesbands @kikixfandoms @sanrioluke @mayve-hems @morguelth @haikucal @thatscooibaby @meghanrose05 @idontneedanyone @dinosaursandsocks @cassie-sos @suchalonelysunflower @burstintocolor @zhangyixingxing1 @dead-and-golden @mymindwide @everyscarisahealingplace @stardust-galaxies @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @lovelybonesetc @karajaynetoday @quasighost @i-like-5sos

#calum hood au #soulmate!calum #soulmate!calum hood #calum hood angst #calum hood fic #calum hood writing #calum writing #calum angst #soulmate!cal

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alwaysahiccupandastrid · 4 years

Text

☆彡 RIP Naya Rivera ☆彡

I feel stupid writing this post but I wanted to discuss my feelings, if only for my own sake. I’m struggling with the words right now but I’m trying.

Anyone who knows me knows that I got a obsessive with the TV Show Glee when I was 13 in 2011 - REALLY obsessive. Everyone at secondary school knew me as “the Gleek”. I was so obsessive that my parents bought me tickets for the Glee! Live Concert in 2011 at the O2, and it annoyed all my friends/family because all I would talk about was Glee. I badgered my sister into choosing to go to see the Glee Concert Movie for HER birthday that summer because I was that obsessive. I made my best friend at the time get into it too so I’d have someone to talk to.

Now I look back on those days cringing a lot. But at the time, Glee got me through a turbulent part of my adolescence, inspired me to pursue acting instead of giving up, and to join the choir as well as dance classes. Glee was such a huge part of my life, and as someone who had no friends growing up, no one to talk to at break/lunch, who felt lost and alone, in my head I would imagine joining the Glee club and interacting with these characters I loved - in a weird way, the characters and cast felt almost like friends, even if I knew deep down I didn’t know them. Glee got me through some of the darkest days of my depression before I was finally given medication and therapy, and stayed with me on the bad days after.

Today the Ventura County Sheriff confirmed that the body they found this morning was that of Naya Rivera, who went missing last Wednesday. Naya was one of the leading stars of Glee, this beautiful, bright and talented woman, and so loved by Gleeks everywhere. She brought the character of Santana Lopez to life, a character who was not only Latina but also lesbian, and her coming out story in Season 3 was so inspiring to so many members of the LGBTQ+ community.

Santana was not my favourite character, nor will I lie and say that Naya was my ultimate favourite cast member. But I still looked up to her and the character she played, awed by her and her incredible talent. Santana was a key part of the show that kept me going for so long, and she meant a lot to so many people.

When I saw the news on Thursday morning, my heart stopped and I felt sick. I’m not a religious person in the slightest but I mentally prayed and wished that she was alive, that she would be found on the shore safely, that she would return to her family. She was 33 years old and had her whole life ahead of her - more of her career, family, seeing her son grow up, growing old. With each day that passed, I knew deep down that it was more and more unlikely but I still mentally sent my prayers to God and hoped for a miracle. God had never answered any of my begging or prayers before, but I tried anyway.

Seven years ago today, we lost Cory Monteith, who played Finn Hudson. His death was equally shocking and unexpected; when Cory passed, that was when I detached from Glee because it was just too painful to rewatch or continue watching for a long time. Again, despite not knowing him or any of the cast personally, for so many Gleeks it truly felt like we ha lost a leader, our Quarterback. I had taken inspiration from him and his fight against his addictions in order to battle my own addiction to SH. When he died, it just hurt too much - at the time, I had not lost any of my close family members or even a cherished family pet. It was shocking and distressing.

Though Naya did not die today, the fact that her body was recovered on today of all days makes the whole thing even more upsetting and painful.

Right now, I’m in shock and I feel so heartbroken. I’m holding my tears because I feel silly for being so affected and upset over the death of someone I did not personally know, but I still feel it. If this is how I feel, I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and suffering her family and loved ones must be suffering now. Her parents, her brother and sister, her son; her friends, her Glee co-stars, her best friend. All of my thoughts right now are with her family and loved ones. Words cannot begin to describe how much love and support they need right now.

I’m not sure if I believe in Heaven or any of that anymore, but I hope that somewhere, Naya and Cory are reuniting in Heaven, looking out for each other as well as their loved ones.

“𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗.” - Irving Berlin

#naya rivera #my thoughts are a mess right now please dont judge #glee #santana lopez #my heart hurts

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apparitionism · 4 years

Text

Run 2

Other than a few select details—and the overall conundrum of the appropriate role(s) for technological advances in sports—this story is entirely fantastical. Very little of what I’m describing works in the real world as I’m pretending it does here. Of course very little is working in the real world as it usually does right now, so why should this be any different? Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing. More than ever, I’m writing words down solely to write words down, and I can’t get any sort of tone to cohere, and while I’m sure it would be nice to be inventing calculus or writing King Lear, sometimes all that’s even vaguely achievable in the creative (or “creative”) realm is some poorly constructed fanfictional narrative about too-springy shoes. Which began in part 1.

Run 2

The man sitting next to Helena Wells in first class—his window 5A to her aisle 5B—was a talker. He was in sales, he began explaining the very moment he sat down, and his three vodka tonics over the course of the 90-minute flight did nothing to slow the torrent of information he felt compelled to convey to Helena about the endlessly fascinating (to him) world of medical devices. And the sale thereof. Helena could have informed him, a bit, about certain likely future directions of that field, for Helena knew a bit about a great many fields, but she kept her own counsel. He said nothing of consequence, and she did not feel any need to expend energy on him, even as little as it might have taken to freeze him with a look. “Mm hm,” she would say, when he paused for breath, and after every such interjection, off he would go again.

Not until the end of the flight, not until she had already risen to pull her bag from the overhead, did he bother to ask, “And what do you do?”

Helena smiled a smile that showed only the biting edges of her teeth. “I win.”

She did indeed win. More precisely, she negotiated deals to the best advantage of those who employed her, so her newest position, with the Zelus athletic corporation, suited her competitive nature perfectly. She found it delicious to be facilitating the endeavors of, and even working with, athletes, for they were straightforward, unabashed in their desire to show that, on a given day, they were better than any competition they faced.

Helena did, however, envy them their openness about that desire, their freedom to be visibly coldblooded. While ideals of “good sportsmanship” did keep most athletes from dancing on their enemies’ graves, that sportsmanship at base required going all in to win, and showing it. In Helena’s bailiwick of corporate dealmaking, on the other hand, every position had give; every outcome reflected some of that give—that is, some loss—on each side... or at least, it did so externally. Every party might in fact achieve their desired outcomes, but regret was what one had to perform.

From this, Helena knew that no person or business or any other entity was ever as strong in their supposed stance as they claimed to be. And oh, how they did claim: so many ways there were to righteously say “this far and no farther.” And then so many ways to try to save face when that crumbled to “perhaps, in fact, just a bit farther.”

Where Helena excelled was not in nailing down the finer points of contracts, but rather in discerning weak points and, on their basis, obtaining agreements in principle into which her opposition needed to enter—and out of which they could not wriggle—without causing public embarrassment or shame. She relished in-person meetings, for physical presence could serve as motivation when recalcitrant parties needed goading, or cover, to make the required concessions. Particularly when Helena gave every indication of being entirely willing to walk away. And to talk about having done so.

“Here, ultimately, is what I must have from you,” Helena would say, at an appropriate point, to some such reluctant interlocutor. And then she would, often, present an outsize “ultimate” ask.

Her counterpart would, naturally, be nonplussed, and would sputter something such as, “We can’t afford that!” or “That’s unreasonable!”

Helena put the theatrics undergirding face-to-face to good use: she was quite practiced at engaging in a lengthy process of standing up and restoring implements to their appropriate places in her attaché. “Then I suppose further discussions will be unproductive,” she would say as she carefully housed a pen, her telephone, and various other assorted technologies in zippered pockets. “Such a shame, when I’m sure you could summon some extra effort.” She would, on occasion, sigh.

Observing this production, observing its “finality,” her counterpart would waver. Then would come the beg of “Wait, wait.”

Helena would, of course, wait as requested. As she did so, she would begin to muse, aloud, something along the lines of a quiet, “I might be willing to offer certain... considerations...”

Eventually an agreement would be reached, one in which she would have given up no more than she was authorized to concede, and usually far, far less.

Requesting the moon, being ready to bark about not receiving it, and then yielding some sweetener, was not her only tactic, but it was consistently—surprisingly consistently—effective.

The additional leverage provided by Zelus’s money, prestige, and international reach in such situations was gratifyingly robust. It had made this new position singularly attractive, to start, and would, she hoped, make it satisfying, both in the long term and in the short-term highest-of-stakes dealmaking on which she was about to embark with AAI.

She was licking her chops at having been tapped for these talks, though she knew that Dan Badger—Saint Dan, as he was known at home, with a nationally uncharacteristic lack of irony—would not sully his ethically pristine hands by engaging in them. He had underlings for that. Speaking to Zelus would imply that he spoke to Zelus, and thus that he might be influenced by—that is, that his principles might fall victim to—the company’s money, prestige, and international reach.

Funny that anything of consequence in her life would come down to Saint Dan... but she had no need or time to concentrate on that now, what with her flight with Mr. Medicaldevices, what with getting herself to her hotel and then to AAI’s headquarters.

“I win,” she repeated aloud, as a firm reminder to herself, upon exiting the elevators on the 40th floor to confront the winged AAI logo on the wall of a large lobby. She wasn’t nervous as such, but the initial conferences involved in any such negotiation, particularly one like this with such enormous repercussions, did tend to make her feel as if she were being put through qualifying. As to whether she would qualify, there was no doubt. But having to do so was an annoyance.

“I win,” she said again, as she realized, after some purposeful striding through hallways, that she had no idea where she was, or where she was supposed to be. How could she have been so foolish as to have misread the COO’s office number?

Well. She was considered a shark, was she not? So she kept moving, entering the nearest office space, determined to push her way to a righted course. Someone would know where she was meant to be. She found herself in a large area featuring several desks, at the nearest of which sat a womanly figure, her back to Helena. She had long, dark, curly hair. Helena had once upon a time been dramatically drawn to women—well, be honest: one woman—with long, dark, curly hair... she tried not to be, anymore, but here she was again, drawn, as if no one else were present in the space. She tapped the woman’s shoulder and received an annoyed response, and upon hearing it, Helena thought, Wait...

Then the woman looked up, and Helena thought, Oh no, followed swiftly by, Myka.

She could not summon a single word to say. Judging from Myka’s wide eyes and unmoving mouth, neither could she.

As they gaped at each other, Helena’s thoughts galloped along: She hasn’t changed. She looks like herself. She still has that whorl of hazel in her eyes...

She tried to shake herself back to sense by noting that people’s eyes didn’t change color over time; of course the hazel would still be there. The hazel and the green and the lashes that overswept them both...

“Lost,” Myka at last said, lighting on what Helena vaguely remembered was a word she herself had said.

“Lost,” Helena affirmed. It was all she could do to utter that syllable, even though, standing here, staring at Myka, she felt no longer lost at all. Or perhaps she was lost again, or lost anew, lost as she’d been, nearly two years ago... the distance between then and now had not been sufficiently impressed upon her until this moment. You are different now, this reminder of emotional depth and breadth told her. You are intentionally different now.

A man seated near Myka said, “Call me crazy, but I think you two know each other.”

The ensuing silence stretched into near-insurmountability.

Then: “Yes,” Myka said.

Helena was surprised that she would acknowledge it, but she had, so: “Yes,” Helena echoed.

Nothing else happened.

“Okay,” the man said. After a moment, during which Helena and Myka continued to stare at each other, he said to Helena, “Um. New lady Myka knows, what are you doing here?”

Helena found something like her voice. “I’m from Zelus,” she said.

“When you say it like that, sounds like an alien planet. How many suns does it have?” he asked.

Whoever this was, he was good at breaking tension. Helena coughed a little laugh and said, “You see my healthy tan.”

“So, zero,” the man said. “Mykes, you never told me you knew an alien from a system with no suns.” Then, to Helena, “Okay, alien from the planet Zelus, how can we help you? But I’m not sure I believe you’re from there at all. Don’t they make everybody wear the gear? Where’s your headband or whatever?”

Helena laughed a bit more strongly, this time at the idea of herself in a headband. “Your COO can attest. I have an initial appointment regarding what to do about the shoes. The Deceits, that is.”

The man snorted. “Trust me, we know which shoes need something done about ’em. But anyway you took a major wrong turn at the elevators.”

“Did I?” Helena resumed staring at Myka. Wrong turn? The turn I took was in no way wrong. Or it was, because I am seeing a sight I never thought to see again, and it is reminding me of things I cannot bear to be reminded of.

“You want the bigwig offices. Other side.”

“Do I?” Helena asked. I don’t think I do. I think I want to take up residence right here... or rather, in the past. The part of the past that involves this person who is right here.

“Yeah,” he said, but a bit heavily, as if he had heard her thoughts and wanted to honor them. “Because we’re just certification and compliance.”

In response to that, Helena could think only, Of course you are. Or rather, Of course she is.

She hadn’t seen Myka... since.

Helena’s then-employer had been looking into the acquisition of a company. Helena was sent to visit that company for some days in order to see what best face it could put on for an acquisitive outsider... and what could be extrapolated from that about its value. The books were being gone over by others, and they would provide useful quantitative data on corporate health, but Helena’s nose for frailties was unsurpassed.

All the meetings she attended were watched over by a rotating cast from the legal department. Those types always thought themselves hawklike, their senses finely tuned so as to correct any employees’ statements that might give Helena the wrong impression. Helena was fully prepared for whatever “clarifying” interruptions they would offer.

She was not at all prepared for their intern.

“This is our 3L from Stanford,” said one of the lawyers, explaining that intern’s presence at one such meeting. “Myka Bering. She’s trying corporate on for size. We’re hoping it fits.”

Helena took Myka Bering’s hand for what was meant to be a simple business shake. But at the touch, something happened to her breathing: in-out became out-in, and she coughed. “Sorry,” she said, then coughed again. “Does it?” she asked, sounding nothing at all like herself. “Fit, I mean?”

“Still trying it on,” Myka said, and with a little duck of her head—she was tall—she stepped away, toward the back of the room, a movement that said I know what my place is here.

Helena knew what her own place was, and she tried to occupy it appropriately, sitting in a position of significance at a not-quite-sturdy conference table. Yet throughout the meeting, her attention was drawn to Myka, who was not at the table but in a chair against the wall, drawn to her serious brow-furrow as she took notes. At one point, Myka looked up from those notes, meeting Helena’s eyes, and after a blink of connection, she performed the duck of head again.

Helena spent the remainder of the meeting hoping that some similar blink would reconnect them... well, not only hoping, but also attempting to magically will or engineer it into happening. She took no notes of her own, and when she saw blank paper in front of her, once the meeting’s participants were released at its end, she had to acknowledge, certainly to herself if no one else, that she had been thrown entirely off her stride.

That wouldn’t do, so she had to do something about it.

For a day and a half, the “something” she did was “ignore it aggressively.” If she concentrated solely on the professional tasks at hand, she would surely forget the stumble Myka had brought to her breath. She would surely forget that blink of connection and would give up wishing for it to be repeated. Surely that was what would happen.

As a strategy for regaining her stride, aggressive ignoring was unsuccessful.

Helena then told herself that if she sought Myka out, that if she talked to her one-on-one, whatever momentary spell had been cast would surely break. Myka would show herself to be merely a law student, and Helena could... put her in perspective. She made a plan to catch Myka at the end of the day, which would allow her to dismiss this spell for the mirage it was and start fresh the next morning. Surely that was what would happen.

As a strategy for breaking the spell, seeking Myka out was unsuccessful.

Myka was exiting her small closet of an office when Helena approached her, ready to say a simple “hello” and inquire about her internship. But when she was once again the focus of Myka’s attention, Helena was barely able to choke, “The other day. In the meeting.” (She could not even say, “The meeting about,” because she did not know what should follow “about,” because she did not know what the meeting had been about.) She continued, inadequately, “I... noticed you.”

“I noticed you too,” Myka said. “I mean, you did sit at the big table. At the front. And you did some talking.” Helena did not remember doing any talking. “So of course I would have. Noticed.” Playful? As if she knew that Helena had wanted their eyes to meet again. “Plus we were introduced. Before it.”

If Helena had known she needed to brace herself against so much today, she might have been able to do it; her spine might have remained straight. Instead it bent her body toward Myka’s so that she could murmur, “Would you... would you want to have a drink with me tonight?” Bent so she might now magically will or engineer her into saying yes.

Myka didn’t say yes. What she did was lean back a bit and give Helena a look of appraisal. What followed was a surprise: “When was the last time you had a meal cooked by someone you know?” she asked.

The seeming non sequitur was strangely calming, and that calm gave Helena space to consider how to respond. She contemplated a boastful answer, one that might remind both herself and Myka who they were in relation to each other: “Certain restaurateurs with Michelin stars know my name and have recently cooked meals for me.” She then pondered an attempt at humor: “The chef at my hotel knows that I’m demanding when it comes to room service.” No, the latter was asinine. And the former made her sound like... well, it made her sound too much like the person she wanted to be most of the time, the person whom others feared. She didn’t want Myka to hear that. As it happened, she wanted, uncharacteristically, to tell Myka the truth. “I can’t remember,” she settled for saying.

More appraisal, as if Myka had been waiting for Helena to decide on an approach and now was deliberating in advance of her verdict on the choice. And Helena’s breathing might have faltered in response to Myka, but Myka’s, here in response to Helena, was resolute, measured. Helena watched her body inhale and exhale, once then twice, two very full breaths. Then Myka said, “I do want to have a drink with you. But I think you should let me cook you a meal instead. Or also. Nothing fancy; all I’ve got is some pasta and cheap wine.”

She could have said she had stale saltines and grape juice. Cardboard and lukewarm water. All Helena wanted was to be in her presence. You really shouldn’t do this, some vague conscience-voice said, altogether inadequately.

TBC

In place of a tag essay: This is a short part because my ability to sustain thoughts is limited. But did you see the reveal coming? I thought I leaned on it so hard in the first part, but maybe I should have leaned harder... anyway, I’m going to try to get better, structure-wise, going forward, but that is going to depend very much on the state of the world. With regard to that state, I want to say out loud that everyone in the Bering & Wells community is precious to me. Precious. So please stay as safe as possible: wash hands, physical distance, stay home if you can. And if you’re on the front lines, doing essential work, my gratitude is boundless.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #part 2 #AU week

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macybeckham7 · 4 years

Text

Army Medic - Eric Dier

Part Six

‘You’re so good with them’ Eric chimes as he pulls his girlfriend on his lap.

She smiles as she tries to catch her breath after running around the garden like headless chicken with Eric’s niece and nephew.

‘They are good kids’ you gush.

She feels a shiver run down her spin as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her jaw. She pulls away from him as she was very aware of her surroundings which was a perfect view for his family to see you.

‘Have you ever thought about having kids?’ He asks casually as you watch his niece and nephew run around for the football.

She hums before shaking her head. ‘I’m only 22’ she giggles. ‘No I haven’t really thought about it’

‘I have’ he mutters as she looks down him. ‘I want 2 boys and 2 girls, and I want them to be a perfect mix of us two, but I want them to have your soft eyes that always sparkle, and a pure heart what only wants the best for others’ he smiles confidently.

She smiles. ‘Do I get a say in the matter?’ She questions with him shaking his head making them giggle.

YN snapped herself out of her daydream as walked into the canteen and found no one. She let out a frustrated sigh and marched knowing exactly where they’d be, the briefing room.

She walks in and finds Curtis stood in his place as he looks at Captain and Sergeant who stood infront. YN looked around and everyone was there, they all turned to look at you as Henry noticed you.

‘Sorry I didn’t get the memo of this briefing’ she says gently, as she gives Sergeant a glare.

‘This is a very highly sensitive-’

Animal cut him off. ‘Blah blah, with all due respect the army is about family, looking out for everyone’s back, I’m not going on the mission if YN doesn’t’

YN noticed his jaw clench, she looked at Sergeant but he didn’t say anything. YN roller her eyes before she caught eyes with Jason, Michael and Imogen. She turned on her heels and walked away.

Michael found YN on the roof, she sat with her back on the wall and she sketched which she did to calm herself down. He gently sat beside her and stayed quiet, he looked to see her drawing the London skyline.

‘Do you miss home?’ Quasi questioned.

She nods as she bites her lip. She let out a small shaky breath, as she gets emotional.

‘Hey?’ He whispers as he wraps his arm around her, she rested her head on his chest. ‘What’s wrong?’ He asked.

She cries harder. ‘I-I’m pregnant’

He holds her tighter as he gently kisses her forehead. He rocks them both side to side as he promises that things will get better.

‘When you going to tell Dier?’ He asks, but she doesn’t answer him. ‘Come on Smudge, you need to tell him because it’ll be pretty obvious when you rock up all pregnant, you are keeping it right?�� He says before pushing her off him.

Her face scrunches up. ‘I don’t know’

He gives her a confused look. ‘Come on, that guy loves the bones off you, he’ll be over the moon with the news.’

She looks up at him. ‘My life is-‘

He cuts her off. ‘Don’t you dare, say your life is here’

‘I’m not leaving half way through the tour’ she shakes her head. ‘Please don’t tell anyone, I need to be here’ she gives him her best puppy dog big eyes.

.....

The group split up in two different groups of six Captain took Animal, Jason and YN. YN held onto her little gun and stayed on Henry’s shoulder. They kept stealth as they needed to get in their rescue some British troops and get out there. They all watched Henry as he instructed them with hand gestures.

They got into a good position and watched trying to get eyes on the targets.

YN raised her brows at Curtis as she catches him staring at her. He could read Michael and YN so well, he knew something was going on.

‘What?’ She whispered yelled.

He shook his head ‘Nothing’ he mutters.

They were there for a good few hours when Henry decided it was time to move in. Michael who was at a higher point with his sniper, he kept his eyes on YN, feeling like he had to protect her the most as he was the only one who knew about her secret.

Eric noticed two coaches rushing towards Gareth, one was on the phone and he noticed they all looked concerned. He then noticed YN’s dad walking with two security men. Dele went with his teammate as he walks to his girlfriends father.

‘She’s been shot’ Her father said softly.

Eric felt his blood rush from his head, and suddenly felt light headed. The two coaches held onto him.

‘What do you mean she’s been shot? Is she going to be alright?’ Dele asked.

...

As soon as they arrived at the military base in London, Eric and YN’s parents were greeted by Curtis.

‘We were on a mission and it was a simple in and get the fuck out there.. Our captain got shot and YN ran back to help and got herself wounded in the process’ he explained.

They stopped outside of the room. ‘How bad is she?’ Her dad questioned.

‘It was a overhead shot, she’s got a hand wound and a shoulder wound on her left side’ he said in as sympathetic tone.

They all walked in but he stopped Eric.

YN could still hear the gunshots going off, the events playing infront of her eyes. They were all running for the getaway vehicle, YN was holding up one of the hostages as he was weakened to move alone. There was a sudden gunshot and she heard a small whimper. As she looked over her shoulder she saw Henry holding his side.

She instantly ran back and kept herself covered and started to talk to Henry. Before a middle aged guy appeared, she instantly shielded her captain and there was two shots before Quasi managed to sniper him.

She jumped awake and found herself in bed with her parents and Eric sat around her. Eric stood up as she hissed in pain as her parents called for a doctor.

‘You gave us a right scare’ Eric smiled as he leaned his forehead on hers and gave her a gently kiss.

‘Shh I know’ he says softly trying to get her to calm down.

YN’s parents left after a few hours but promising they’ll be back tomorrow. Eric sat on the bed with her and just keep looking at her hand. It hurt him deep inside knowing that another human being could be so ruthless and shoot another human.

He gently caressed her cheek with her seeing the emotion in his blue eyes, he pulled her in and hugged her.

‘Please don’t go back’ he whispered, with his voice cracking slightly.

He had thought he lost a piece of her before but this time he could of very easily lost her completely. He cried on her shoulder with her running her fingers through his hair.

‘I’m pregnant’ she mutters.

There was a brief moment of silence between them as he pulls away from her. His eyes looking down at her stomach and then back up at her face.

‘If you were pregnant you wouldn’t of been recruited’ he states.

‘I only found out...’

He cut her off. ‘You’ve known while you out there? Fuck YN, you signed up to honour your country but this baby didn’t’ he snaps.

‘Eric. I was scared’ she says truthfully.

He rolls his eyes. ‘No it’s more important for you to show your army friends that you still got it, you want to show Badger he wasn’t wrong to trust you, and you are willing to put OUR baby on the line’ he snaps.

He grabs his things and walks out, ignoring YN’s cries for him to not go and everyone’s look.

#army medic #eric dier imagines #eric dier blurbs #eric dier

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darknessisafriend · 5 years

Note

Hi could you write something like if the reader was alone while walking home to Joker at night in Gotham and some men attacked her leaving her on the road hurt and all bloody,and when she comes home Joker didn't expect to see her like that and takes care of her but also will find the assholes who hurted her "kitten" and beats the shit out of them? Sorry this is caos and my English is not that good,thank you if you'll do it!!

You made this request some time ago but I never forgot and I finally wrote I hope you’ll like it :)

You’re fucked

You were tired and annoyed, your day at work got longer than expected and you had to work on extra material because someone else didn´t do their job. To make things worse you lived 1 hour away from work, you moved in with Joker and it was easier for him to do what he does from the suburbs. The subway was fine, a lot of people were taking this line to go back home, it made you feel safe. Cities and especially Gotham were dangerous places for women, even more if you’re alone outside after 8 in the evening. Now what worried you the most was this 10 minutes’ walk from the subway to your flat; the neighborhood was a bit crappy and you had refused to have an escort and Joker had offered, this would only draw attention to your lover. Law and order weren´t common in this part of the city; and unfortunately very few people knew who you were with. You stopped counting how many times you had to stand your ground and fight because of some guys calling you or trying to rob you, but you had taken street fight classes you could handle the situation most of the time.

You exited the subway stop, it was getting quite freezing, and after all it was December. You tighten your coat around your body and walked to your flat; the way was pretty simple, you kept walking. A couple of shops were still open, one even had Christmas decorations, and it was nice.

“Hi…” lost in your thoughts you startled at hearing someone calling you. You quickly glanced in their direction; there were 3 guys against the wall of a building. ‘And here we go’ you thought resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

You decided to continue walking; hopefully they will leave it at that.

“Hey Miss! C’mon don’t be afraid, we just wanna have little talk, we don´t bite, cm´here!” another insisted. You continued to walk pretending not to hear them, your heartbeat slightly increasing. You heard footsteps behind you ‘I´m really not in the mood to fight’ you started to increase your pace. Until you felt your arm being yanked back.

“Don’t you fuckin’ ignore me!” badgered the man holding your arm.

“Yeah you´re not very polite…” chided the third one. You tried to snatch your arm out of his grip.

“Just let me go before I make you regret it.” You threatened but they laughed.

“What you think we´re scared of a small girl like you!?”

“Exactly you fuck…” a heavy slap across your cheek cut you off, you can feel your cheek burning, the shock makes your eyes wet. You clenched your jaw, you won´t let them get off so easily. Taking him by surprise you throw a punch right in his nose, making him groan in pain. But the 2 other men joined him gripping you by your coat, shoulders, pushing towards a dark alley.

“You´re gonna regret this!” you raged at them from the top of your lungs, you received another hit, this time a fist met your jaw, sending you to the ground,

You smirked, chuckling as blood came out of your mouth.

“What´s so funny bitch!?”

“You don´t know who you´re dealing with…when he´ll see how you´ve damaged his kitten…you´re fucked…” they were taken aback by your statement, still they didn´t flee probably not believing you. You tried to crawl away from them, you couldn’t handle a fight against 3 but they were fast, gripping your hair tightly.

“We’re gonna teach you your place!” one of them growled, kicking you in your belly, you curved into a ball trying to protect yourself, and they continued to punch you over and over again you weren´t sure how much time you could handle this.

“The cops are coming! Let´s get the fuck outta here!” One of them urged, they ran away leaving you bleeding and in pain, you gritted your teeth, you needed to get away, the cops could discover who you are or more like who you are with. So, limping, you walked away as fast as possible, thankfully they didn´t seem to notice you.

With the back of your hand you angrily wiped off the blood coming out of your open lip.

“Shit!” you cursed, Joker was going to notice and he´s going to be pissed, you who wanted a quiet and relaxing evening.

You continued to walk, your head was pounding, painful, and you had blood on your brand new coat. You sighed; a shitty night was an understatement. You didn’t want to Joker to find out even though they deserved to suffer for what they did to you, you just felt exhausted, like any ounce of energy you had, had left your body, you just wanted to lie down on the sofa.

As you entered the building Joker´s henchmen looked at you, some whispering about your state; some even started leaving as if they knew how he was going to react. When you entered the elevator you rolled your shoulder, your back muscles starting to ache, you look at yourself in the mirror and you winced at the view of your face, the punch you had received on your cheek was starting to bruise purple, you had dried blood smeared on your chin. It was a bit hard for you to breath; maybe you had a broken rib.

You nodded at the two guards in front of the door of the apartment, and you turned the knob as quietly as you could, sometimes he was too busy to talk to you right away, you quietly took off your shoes and tip toed towards the bedroom.

“Where do you think you’re going…” you jumped at his voice behind you. You took a deep breath ‘he´s going to be so pissed´ you told yourself as you pivoted to face your lover. The smile he had instantly disappeared when he saw your face, his eyes grew darker, deadly. You didn´t moved waiting for his next move.

“Who did this to you kitten?” he asked in a very calm voice which you knew was even more dangerous, you lowered your eyes trying to find an excuse or something to prevent him from going on a manhunt.

“I don´t know…” you started but he grabbed you by the coat, pulling you closer to him, you winced at the pain coming from your ribs. Softly he brushed his fingers on your face, assessing the damages, the contrast between his tenderness with you and the hatred in his eyes was terrifying.

“Don´t make me ask a second a time.” He grumbled, his voice shaking with anger.

“It was three guys around the main street right after the shop with the Christmas decorations, they fled to the north when the cops arrived, one of the guys had some sort of ring on his middle finger, that´s all I remember…” He clicked his tongue frustrated not to have more details.

His hands still cupping your face he turned his head to the living room, and made a sign with his head, you realized it was because some of his men were there, probably for some meeting and now he was ordering them to find those who hurt you.

“Bring them to me.” He ordered, you knew this wasn´t going to be pretty, they were going to suffer. The men left, leaving you alone with your lover; he brought you to the bathroom, making you sit on the edge of the bathtub. He took some medical supply you had actually bought for him one day. He started with your face, delicately using a compress to clean the blood away, he was being very attentive. Then he gently lifted your shirt, he had seen you wincing, he checked your side, his past experience gave him a good knowledge of this kind of injury, your side was turning purple, he softy touched your ribs, the contact of his cold fingers making you jump.

“Shhhh stay still kitten.” He directed “Nothing broken.” His eyes inspected the rest of your body and landed on your right hand, small purple bruises were appearing on your knuckles.

“You fought back didn´t you?” he smirked as if he was proud of your temper.

“Wasn´t gonna let them do whatever they wanted to do to me…” he hummed in response going to the kitchen to retrieve some ice for your hand, he came back and put it on your knuckles and slightly bandaged it to hold it on your hand for a bit.

“Thank you…” you started, lowering your eyes. He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind you ear.

“You need to rest now, go to bed” he ordered you, helping you to stand up.

“But…”

“Don´t discuss my orders kitten, not tonight.” He grumbled almost threatening, you sighed, there was no point in trying to argue with him, he had taken his decision.

He helped you change clothes and get you to bed, as he pulled the covers up to your chin; he caressed your cheek, anger still present in his eyes.

“Rest now, I´ll be back soon.” He said softly as he left the bedroom, you suddenly realized how exhausted you were, your eyelids feeling heavy, you fell asleep within a few minutes.

A few hours later

You started to wake up, feeling someone stroking and kissing your hand, you opened your eyes to see your lover, you smiled at this vision.

“It´s time kitten…”

“Time for what?” you asked sleepily a bit confused. A big grin formed on his face and he openly laughed.

“I got them! Come!” he answered excited, you realized he was talking about your attackers, you got up following him, your ribs still hurting. As you arrived in the living room, he gesture with his arms to three men, hands tied behind their back, one of them lying dead on the floor “sorry I couldn´t restrain myself…” commented happily Joker. The two others were already quite beaten up. You instantly recognized them, and hatred rose in your chest.

Joker circled around you and stopped behind you, his mouth coming closer to your ear.

“Do you want me to hurt them?” he asked, you simply had to say the word and he will satisfy your every desire.

“I want them to suffer” he chuckled and took a sharp knife in his hands.

What followed is a session of violence that you had rarely seen from him, but you enjoyed it, releasing a smile when they pleaded mercy. They will not get it; they had no mercy for you.

Joker was panting now, he had taken all his rage out, and he turned to look at you, waiting for your instructions on what to do next, you were satisfied with what he did to them, now you just wanted to get rid of them.

“Give me your gun.” You asked him, extending your hand. He chuckled, happy with your reaction as he took out his gun and handed it to you. You slowly approached one of the men and put the gun on his forehead, you fired, the loud bang of the shot followed by the sound of his body falling on the floor. You went to the next one, he had his head lowered, and he was panting.

“Look at me asshole.” You ordered him, fearfully he lifted his head and the second his eyes met yours, you pulled the trigger.

You had to admit you felt good after this; they got what they deserved and that thanks to Joker. He was laughing, happy with how it turned out, you smirked at him another feeling rising in your chest. And your lover felt it; you jumped in his arms your lips crashing on his mouth, ignoring the pain from your open lip, he grabbed you by your hips, kissing you deeply, his desire for you quickly rising.

“Leave and expose their corpses as a warning, anyone who touches my girl will have the same fate.” he ordered to his men, his lips brushing against yours.

As they were leaving you lead him to the bedroom, your body wasn´t ready to handle some wild session just yet. You pushed Joker on the bed, taking off your top, exposing your breast to your lover, who growled with desire.

“Such a good girl…” he purred smiling as sat on top of him.

You leaned in, kissing his lips; his hand on your hips, he trailed kisses down your neck making you moan, then his lips went to your nipples nibbling them as his hands went in your pants, caressing your butt.

Biting your lower lip you buried your fingers in his green locks, then he shifted to put you underneath him, he kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours. You could already feel him hard against your leg. Your other hand traveled to his collarbone under his shirt, his skin was burning hot. He let you slide off his jacket, letting it fall on the floor, then he started to unbutton his shirt, you watched him reveal his torso, you loved it, you wanted to kiss every inch of it…

“You´re so beautiful…” he growled, his eyes were now dark with desire. Your heart skipped a beat at his words. One of his hands travelled down you’re your belly to enter your panties, you moaned at the contact, you felt him smile against your lips.

“You look pretty good yourself…” You purred between your moans; he didn’t need to hear more and crashed his lips against yours one more time, slightly making your open lip bleed.

His work between your legs is becoming more intense, you’re panting, you want to feel him inside of you, you let out a needy moan.

He chuckles against your jaw “you like that kitten?” he teases softly biting your sensitive skin, you chuckled enjoying the moment so much. As one hand was grabbing his hair, the other slide down his lower belly, then beneath his pants and underwear, you stroke his cock, gently, slowly at first making him longingly moan.

“Fuck…feelin’ playfull huh?” he swooned against your lips. He was being so sensitive to your care that it made it difficult for him to do anything, even kiss you, your smirked at this.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and unzipped his pants to let his erection out. You felt his cock at your wet entrance. Slowly he entered you, you released a shaky breath when you felt him inside of you. His thrusts quickly became more forceful, his forehead against your collarbone. You gripped his shoulders bringing him closer to you, feeling his torso brushing against your breast. His thrusts became deeper and quicker making your eyes roll back. You felt yourself coming closer and closer and Joker was too, his groan becoming louder and louder. You cried at out as you came, an electrifying pleasure spreading across your body, he quickly followed you in a long moan.

He was out of breath, his whole body shaking, you kissed him one more time as he slowly turned to lie down on his back, gently putting you on his torso, he reached for a cigarette on the night stand, lighting it, he exhaled the smoke as he laid back his head on the pillow, the arm around your shoulders, distractingly caressing your skin.

“Exactly how I wanted the night to go…minus the beating of course” you laughed with him, planting soft kisses in his torso. Being with the king of Gotham had some nice privileges.

Tag list: @help-i-am-obssessed @the-ineffable-dreamer @skaravile @arthurfleckjoker2019 @cigznvalentines

#joker #joker2019 #joaquin phoenix joker #Arthur Fleck #joker x reader #joker x you #joker imagine #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck x you

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professordrarry · 5 years

Text

In Six Parts

It is absolutely unconscionable to post something this long on Tumblr. I'm really hoping you'll just forgive me... (warning for acknowledgement of the existence of sex)

Part one.

In which several things are revealed, not the least of which is that Harry Potter is apparently gay now.

Well, no. Not gay. Pansy would kill him for saying gay.

Do I constantly insist that you are straight Prince Malfoy of the ridiculous? Then stop saying I'm gay. I'm queer. Bi if you must, but enough with the gay.

So. No. Not gay.

But Draco knows the important part is the disastrous reality that if Harry Potter is capable of being attracted to men, as this first authorised biography would suggest, then Draco is even more pathetic than he was before. Because if there is a possibility of Draco's exhausting little crush being reciprocated, then the fact that they have been fighting even more than normal, and not just on the pitch, just becomes hopelessly depressing.

The hate and anger have always made Harry sexy and alluring in very indecent ways, since Draco despised simpering affection or softness, preferred to have a bit of fight with his fuck. The only time Draco ever felt he was close to understanding Harry was when they had spent time together on the Quidditch pitch in years before. And that time is past.

There is a war and a half between them now, and Draco understands less than ever about the world.

Part two.

In which Draco learns that Harry died. Not, 'was gravely injured or lost consciousness' or 'medically had no heart beat'. But actually fucking died.

That awful, insedious man had had the audacity to fucking cease to exist for a moment. As though the world would have just carried on, unchanged.

He is livid for the entire next day. He beats Harry in a head-to-head training ritual by using sheer brute strength, knocking one side of the podium off kilter so that it goes into Harry's path and he misses the snitch by a fraction of a second. The move is illegal, and Mora threatens him with a three game suspension, but Draco hits the showers feeling better.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Harry snipes at him a moment later, throwing his leather shin strap at Draco's head. He ducks neatly out of the way.

"Pulling a dangerous fucking maneuver like that on a team mate in a practice."

"Just get out of my way, Potter. Don't be a sore loser."

The sneer is fake and Harry seems to feel it. He scrunches up his nose, wrinkles his forehead, pauses for a second before huffing and walking away. Draco knows he'd have thrown a punch—or worse—had Potter asked him what was wrong.

Part three.

In which the details of the the few years after the war appear. It is more than Potter has ever been willing to divulge. Draco knows because he's read all the articles.

The details are specific. The start of a very promising Ministry career, the painful burn out. The decision to try out for the Beacons, the minor league team that doesn't quite understand who they have on their pitch until they are faced with the best Seeker anyone has seen in over thirty years. The quick rise from the lower levels, fame upon fame dragging him out of the gutter against his will.

Potter has been reclusive since the moment he joined the team. He doesn't travel to away games with them, doesn't stay in the same hotels, doesn't come to team meals. Draco thought he understood why; after all, it took him a year to be dragged away from his own ghosts and made to be human again. A year of badgering and pestering from the captains that if he wanted to be on the team, he had to learn to trust them.

But no one seemed to badger Potter. It infuriated Draco.

Until he reads part four.

In which the government is using Potter as a political scapegoat. In which photos of his every romance, affair, and—most terribly, of family vacations with his very young God children—surface every time he tries to rejoin the public eye.

In which there is a price Potter has to pay for any haphazard, youthful mistake. A price that takes the form of his worst memories, all of which are lauded as heroism. A price of headlines that exclaim his return to normalcy, even a decade late. Harry Potter is not allowed to be 'Harry Potter, incredible, talented Quidditch star' without also being 'Harry Potter, saviour of the world'.

And Draco stops in his tracks.

It's dumb, of course it is. He should have understood this about Potter's life. Fame is one step to the left of notoriety. Draco understands the latter more than anything else in the world.

They have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off after travel games and Draco has gone home instead of to the pub. He's too tired, run ragged by being put on first string for the first time since Potter's arrival. The man himself took mysteriously 'ill', though Mora would give no details.

Draco finishes the book on a Tuesday night, a glass of scotch in his hand. It's the third, or possibly fourth. He doesn't care that he is drunk, even though that is why the quote breaks him in half.

"You took it all from me," Potter said patiently, holding out a book filled with cut out articles from the Prophet. "I was just a kid. No one seemed to care, ever, about that. All I want now is a minute to breathe. Maybe fall in love. Maybe even make some mistakes I'll regret in fifty years. Can anyone tell me that their hopes are different than that?"

And no, Draco thinks. No one can say that their hopes are any different than that.

He curses and cleans and eats too much cheese on Wednesday. It's a strange response, he agrees. But the book is clutched in his hand all morning Thursday as he gets ready to go back to the field. He doesn't have a plan. Shoves it in his bag as he takes up his broomstick, and quite honestly forgets all about it as they fly. The only thing stopping him from ramming Potter off his broom when he appears, twenty minutes late and pinch-faced, is that he is on thin ice with the league as it is.

They play a friendly game, Mora calling for a quick, mid-air colour change. But Potter gets his transformation done first, donning the green jersey they use when they practice. The colour sets Draco off even more as they shake hands at centre pitch and wait for the release of the quaffle.

Draco is distracted, so Harry finds the snitch quickly and easily. Thursday practices are short. Mora calls it moments later. He suspects she's a bit hungover.

They all stomp back to the change rooms in a neat line, always on display in the practice pitch. The reporters' clicks are audible even from a distance, and Draco has to fight the urge to run up and sheild Harry with his cloak; the sensation reminds him that the biography is sitting, blazing Harry's photo in full view, on top of his bag. His face heats with embarrassment.

In the change rooms, the normal cajoling begins. The team's won the past three games, so everyone is jovial and loving. The ribbing is gentle, only picking on things that are known to be safe. No mean laughter, even with Draco. For a minute, he wonders how it is possible he is included, at all, let alone treated the same.

And it hits him.

They have all moved on. The world has kept on spinning. He suddenly knows exactly what he will do. He grimaces because it isn't what he wants to do.

What he wants is to wait for the room to clear, to corner Potter, who is always the last to leave—part of his secrecy, Draco suspects. He wants to wait and confront Potter, wave the book in front of his face and demand answers.

He can see the scene clearly in his mind. Harry, damp and flustered, possibly still not wearing a shirt. Draco, tall and proud, telling him to get over himself and let the past be the past. He'd have Harry speechless in seconds, have him in his mouth a moment later. Draco on his knees on the hard ground, taking what he wanted and leaving no doubt behind.

Or else in the doorway, up against a wall, dragging moans from the rubble of their past and waiting until Harry begged, jutting his groin against Draco's thigh with abandon until Draco finally conceded and took him in hand.

Or maybe in the showers, waiting for permission from the next shower stream, muttering filthy things while he palmed himself, daring Potter to flee. Harry would not back down, because he was Harry Potter, and Draco was sure he wouldn't deny their obvious chemical attraction. And if he stayed, Harry could have him, right there, buried deep in the base of his spine until Draco forgot his own name.

These were the things Draco wanted. But they were not the things Harry needed. For some reason, he cared about the difference. Draco cared.

So instead, he waited as the room slowly emptied. As people went off, in twos and threes. Off to their days, their lives, their families.

He waited on the bench, calmly holding the book, as Potter showered and emptied his locker. As he sat on his own bench, facing away from Draco.

"Heard you played well, Malfoy. On Saturday. Sorry I missed it."

Draco resisted his quip, about how if he hadn't missed it, Draco wouldn't have played. He murmured what he hoped sounded like a grateful mumble. He stood. Slowly, he put his bag on his shoulder, turned and put the book on the bench beside Harry's toweled form. He let his eyes linger on his chest, let himself imagine a thousand more locker room fantasies that would never be enough.

"Part five," he whispers, his voice soft and gruff despite his efforts to remain calm. He's hopeless. So attracted to this man his voice can't even remain neutral. He clears his throat and tries again.

"Part five, in which two sworn enemies bury the hatchet over lunch," he asks, hesitant and nervous. "In which the asshole apologises, buys the pints, and tries desperately not to spend the whole hour staring at the hero's mouth."

Harry stares at him. He picks up the book, opens the cover. It's a signed copy. Draco had been hoping he would never find that out, but somehow, he had always know they would end up here, with his infatuation spread out between them like a thick blanket.

Draco waits, breath caught.

Finally, Harry laughs a small laugh; it's a new sound to Draco, light and carefree. He's instantly addicted. He needs more of that sound.

"I've been waiting for you to just pin me to a wall," Harry says simply, as though he's slightly disappointed. "But lunch sounds good. On two conditions."

Draco tilts his head, captivated. Harry stands and steps toward him. Draco instinctively backs up, never having had a good experience Harry Potter advancing on him.

"One," Harry says, holding up a finger, "that is the last time you ever use the word 'hero' around me."

Draco nods. He can understand that.

"And two," he continues, "we get the fact that I want to pin you down and snog you out of the way right now. Or else I won't be able to focus on the apology you plan on crafting."

Draco is approaching comprehension when his back hits the lockers and his knees buckle and Harry's soap is in his mouth as he presses his face to Draco's neck.

"You took a long fucking time to figure this one out, Malfoy."

Draco technically hears the words, although he's preoccupied by the fact that they are murmured in between wide mouthed kisses along his windpipe. Harry pulls his face back, pins Draco's arms to his sides, leans in until their foreheads are touching.

"Part six" he mumbles into Draco's lips as he presses down. "In which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy probably should have just fucked in eighth year."

The kiss is not nearly enough. It is perfect, and uncomplicated, and it doesn't sear him the way he is anticipating. But it is not nearly enough. Draco smiles as Harry pulls away, turns away without even a pause, puts on a shirt and drags on some shorts.

Lunch is as good a place as any to start correcting his mistakes.

#Long post #I'm so sorry #Drarry #One shot #There's a link too but no one ever follows links #So I said #Fuck it #And wrote the thing here too #Sorry #Back from hiatus with abandon apparently #Quidditch star drarry #Quidditch player Harry Potter #Draco too

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silhouetted-beauty · 6 years

Text

“Run In: Fate” - Part 4

Genre: Strong Angst and Smut

Word Count: 9.7K

A/N: Enjoy!^^

“How’s everything?” Yoongi asked.

“Everything is good, taking care of business here.” Jimin replied, peeking through the door at you before fully shutting it.

“That’s good to hear. Listen, business here has been running smoother than I assumed and I might be able to return sooner than expected.”

“That’s great news. I look forward to your return.”

“There is something we need to discuss, though.”

“Like what?” Jimin asked.

“From what I hear, there are bombs being set off around the city. Have you looked into it?”

“I have but think it’s better to discuss it in person. Why don’t you focus on what’s going on there and when you come home, we can talk about what’s going on with the city.”

Yoongi was quiet before he added. “How’s y/n?”

“She’s...” he thought hard to explain to Yoongi your current situation. And though he wanted to tell him everything, he did make you a promise. “She misses you like hell.”

He sighed. “I figured as much. Just tell her I love her and not to make herself sick with worry. I’ll be back soon.”

‘Too late’ he thought but instead, responded with. “You got it.”

Jimin hung up, taking a deep breath before walking back into the room. Somehow, you had managed to fall back to sleep. He walked over to the bed, staring down at your figure. Bringing his hand up, he softly brushed against your cheek, smirking a bit. Despite being somewhat fragile, you were tough. Jimin just hoped that you knew what you were doing. He pulled the end of the blanket up to your neck, making sure you were warm. He then pulled his chair right along the bed and took a seat. Eventually, letting sleep consumed him as well.

~~~

Unfortunately, you had to stay in the hospital for a few days while the doctors ran a series of tests. They wanted to make sure you and the baby were in top shape before being released. To help with the nausea and morning sickness, they prescribed you medication to take but also recommended that you take a few days off from work until you felt better. You were instructed to meet with your doctor in a few weeks for a standardized check up.

You were grateful for Jimin being there through it all. He was very attentive when the doctors spoke and even asked questions of his own. It made you smile but also sad at the same time. It was supposed to be Yoongi, making sure you were okay, talking to the doctors about his child, asking questions when he didn’t understand.

When it was time for you to be released, Jimin rolled you out in the wheelchair and helped you into the car. Once back at Yoongi’s house, Yohan made you something to eat which was a relief from the bland food you were fed at the hospital. Jimin saw you upstairs and helped you into bed to rest.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back later tonight to check on you.” He stated. “Until then, I’m leaving a few of my men to guard the property.”

“Why?” You asked in confusion. You were just recovering; it wasn’t as though someone had poisoned you.

“Just for precaution.”

“...O-kay.”

Awhile after Jimin had left, you lifted your shirt and stared at your stomach, rubbing your hand over what will be a baby bump. You didn’t know how to feel and you still didn’t know what to do. With more people finding out you are pregnant, the harder it would be trying to hide it. Even though it wasn’t the best solution, you wanted to wait for the perfect time to tell Yoongi the news.

~~~

You rested for a few days, returning to work soon after. Business at the bakery had picked up, keeping everyone busy until it was time for their breaks.

“Are you fucking serious?!” Jungkook yelled out, not caring who was around. “You’re really pregnant?!”

He couldn’t believe the news when he heard his grandmother tell his grandfather the reason behind your absence the past few days. You were pregnant. You were having another man’s baby and not just any man, the asshole boyfriend who probably was looking for more ways to ruining your life.

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” You spoke, looking around. “Do you want your grandparents to hear you talk like that?”

“This is serious, y/n! After all you had been through with that asshole, you chose to have a baby with him? Didn’t you say you were almost killed because of what he was into?! Think about this,” he pleaded. “The relationship isn’t healthy. You don’t have deal with him if you’re not happy.”

“And how do you know I’m not happy?” You asked, growing irritated.

“Because I know.”

“Well let me tell you that you don’t know much. Yes, our relationship isn’t perfect but what couple is? We didn’t purposely choose to have a child but now it’s too late to go back and change it. But I don’t appreciate being badgered over my actions as if I’m a child!”

“I’m just trying to look out for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

By this time, Jungkook’s best friend, Taehyung, had entered the shop, ready to go out for lunch but what he walked into was world war three. When he saw the argument between the two of you grow more heated, he rushed to separate you; pulling Jungkook to the side.

“Dude! What are you doing?!”

“What?” Jungkook shrugged.

“Why are you talking to her like that? Do you know who she is? Or better yet, who her boyfriend is?”

“Yeah, some asshole who doesn’t know how to treat her right.” He stated loudly in your direction, causing you to roll your eyes and walk off.

“No! Her boyfriend is Min Yoongi. You know that ruthless mafia guy, the one we read about in the paper? That’s him!”

Jungkook’s eyes widened as he mumbled. “She’s dating him?”

“Yeah, there was a big scandal because of it. So be careful around her, dude. Who knows what she tells him at the end of the day. This place might go up smoke or worse, he might torture your family then kill you all.” Taehyung stated, tapping Jungkook on his shoulder. “Anyways, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah...”

Jungkook stared a hole through you, as you worked, until you disappeared from his view; following Taehyung out of the shop.

~~~

“What were you thinking, hiring her to work here?!”

Jungkook’s grandmother stared at him as he yelled out. She continued to stared as he yelled some more. This all began when he came back from his break. Knowing that his grandmother was at home resting, he raced up the stairs and found her on the couch watching the news. Jungkook couldn’t control his temper as well as the words he tried to hold in. During his break, this was all that plagued his mind. Why didn’t you tell him? Did his family know? If they didn’t know, they were going to know that very moment.

“Do you know who she is?! Do you know who her boyfriend is?!”

“Of course I do.” She responded carelessly, sipping from her tea.

“AND YOU STILL ALLOWED HER TO WORK HERE?!” Jungkook screamed, causing his grandmother to slam her teacup down on the table.

“JEON JUNGKOOK! Have you lost your mind, raising your voice to me like that?! You may be older but I will still discipline you like a child! Do you understand?!”

Jungkook immediately lowered his voice and his head. He is angry but the last thing he wanted to be was disrespectful to the woman who helped raise him. “Yes ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m just worried that something could happen to you guys. What if he gets angry and targets your shop or worse, he tries to hurt you?”

His grandmother smiled. “You’d be surprised how much a man changes for the one he loves.” She lifted her cup to take a drink. “Min Yoongi is not the problem. If he thought we were a harm to y/n, he would have done something a long time ago. For the simple fact that he loves her, he will protect her and anyone she cherishes; and that includes you.”

Jungkook let her words play over in his head, even as he returned to work. How could it be that you were protecting him?

~~~~~

You walked down the street, staring at the ground as your feet appeared out in front of you. Eventually, you kept walking until you bumped into something hard. You stumbled backwards until hands shot out to catch you and that’s when you realized, you hit someone; not something.

When you looked up, your eyes watered when you saw his familiar dark cold eyes staring back at you. You couldn’t even speak at that moment, too caught up in the fact that after three weeks, he was now standing in front of you. Yoongi smirked; using his thumb to wipe away tears that you didn’t know had fallen. You suddenly, embraced him, throwing your head into his chest and crying your eyes out. You never wanted him to leave you again and he promised you that he wasn’t.

Taking your hand in his, he led you down the street, taking in the scenery. The two of you stared off into the distance and just as Yoongi turned to say something to you, the sky darkened and blood poured from his mouth. Just as you went to him, his body crumbled into pieces and all that remained of him was the blood on your hands.

“YOONGI!” You screamed as you leaped up from your sleep. Nobody was there. You were all alone in his bed, in his room; in his house.

Your heart was racing a million times her second that you struggled to catch your breath. That dream had really shaken you up that you were unable to stop your eyes from watering as you burst into tears, covering your face in your hands. You had stayed in that position for the remainder of the night until the sunlight came barreling into the room.

Yohan had entered the house, calling your name but when he didn’t get an answer, he walked up the stairs and came into the bedroom. You felt a hand on your shoulder, causing you to lift your head to see who it was. Yohan’s face contorted into a frown at your appearance. Your eyes were all puffy and red. You looked exhausted and drained of all energy. You seemed so out of it, Yohan wasn’t entirely sure if you realized it was him.

“Y/n... are you okay?”

You blinked a couple times, coming out of your daze. “I... had a nightmare.” You sniffed. “It scared me and I was afraid to go back to sleep.”

He embraced you, holding you tight in his arms. You were happy that he was there, but, in reality, you didn’t like how dependent you became of others. It was as if the baby was bringing to life every emotion and every fear, making you extremely vulnerable and clingy to people. You knew that you’d have to snap out of whatever this was you were going through to become more independent. Not everyone will always be able to run to your side every time something was wrong. You would have to shake off these worried and doubtful feelings and handle what you could on your own. You were not a baby anymore; it was time to stop acting like one.

“Don’t worry about me, though,” you added, pulling away to wipe your face and smile, showing him that you were okay; despite feeling otherwise. “I just need a nap and I’ll be good as new.”

Yohan hesitated for a moment before getting up. “I’ll go prepare breakfast. When you are ready, come down and eat something.”

You nodded with a smile, watching as walked out of the room. The moment he did, your smile faltered. It was something about the dreams you were having that gave you this uneasy feeling. Deep down, something felt off yet you didn’t know what it was. You just hoped your dream wasn’t telling you that something was wrong with Yoongi.

After getting dressed for the day, which consisted of one of Yoongi’s large shirts and shorts, you ate breakfast before lounging around the house. Eventually, you became tired from the lack of sleep and return to the bedroom for a nap. You cuddled against a pillow, throwing your legs over it; imagining it was your boyfriend. And for once, as you slept, you weren’t haunted in your unconscious state.

~~~~~

A few hours later, a large black truck pulled up on the property; stopping close to the front door. Yoongi stepped out, taking a deep breath and looked around. It felt good to be home and he couldn’t wait to take a day of rest now that his business out of town was finished for the time being.

“Welcome home, Mr. Yoongi.” Mr. Wu said, retrieving his luggage from the car. Hoseok and Namjoon also gotten out, stretching and yawning.

“It feels great to be back.” Hoseok commented.

“Yeah, I could really use some food, drinks, and pussy for the night.” Namjoon added, causing Hoseok to shove him. “What? I’m speaking honestly! It’s not like the two of you don’t have exactly that waiting for you at home.”

“Yeah...” Yoongi mumbled, looking up at his house before walking inside with his friends following behind. Namjoon and Hoseok went straight to the kitchen when they smelled something delicious coming from inside while Yoongi headed straight upstairs.

He stood at the end of the bed, watching you sleep peacefully. A smile appeared on his face as he climbed into bed, wrapping his arm around you as he spooned you. His lips softly kissed your neck, whispering sweet words into your ear that he knew you wouldn’t be able to hear. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep and as the two of you slept, everyone else was downstairs eating, laughing, and talking.

~~~~~

When you awoke, the moon was out and the room was dark except for a single light, dimming it. The rest of the house was quiet and you figured that everyone had left for the evening. Climbing out of bed, you walked downstairs with the thought of food on your mind. You were starved and because you slept majority of the day away, you had missed lunch.

As you walked into the dining room, you quickly noticed dishes on the table and from the looks of it; the food was still hot from being cooked.

“Yohan?” You called out but what you got was the biggest shock of your life. Yoongi emerged from the kitchen, carrying a few more dishes.

“Sorry to disappoint but it’s just me.”

“Y-Yoongi?...” You gasped, taking back by his presence. Your legs moved on their own and the next thing you knew, your head was buried in his chest and your arms tightly wrapped around his waist.

Yoongi was initially taken back by your reaction and didn’t think he’d get this much of a welcome. “Maybe I let you sleep a little too long.” He joked.

You breathed in his scent, taking in the way his fabric felt against your cheek. You wanted to remember everything about this moment, down to the last detail. Suddenly breaking away, you look up at him.

“How?- When did you get back?”

“Earlier this afternoon, but you were too busy snoring to notice.” He smirked, moving around you to sit the bowls on the table.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t sleep well last night.” You tried to conceal your smile. The man of your dreams was standing right in front of you after being absent for a while and you tried your best to control yourself.

“That much is obvious.” Yoongi chuckled. He had never seen you sleep so hard. Usually, it would be the other way around. “In any case, Yohan told me you missed lunch so I preheated dinner, if you’re hungry.”

At first you were, but now that Yoongi was home, your appetite slipped away. At that moment in time, food was the furthest thing on your mind. Instead you had a taste for something else.

Walking back over to him, you trapped him against the table, leaning in to kiss along his neck. As you did this, your hand slowly traced down his chest, to his stomach, coming to rest on his groin. You started to smile when you felt him growing under your massages. Now that you had him where you wanted him, you abruptly moved away. Yoongi watched you with dark eyes as your hands wandered under the shirt you were wearing, noticing it was his. His eyes dropped to the floor right along with your shorts and when he met your eyes, he could see how pleased you were now that you had his attention.

“Take me to bed, Yoongi.”

That’s all he needed to hear as he closed the gap between the two of you. It was safe to say, you didn’t make it to the bedroom. The couch had gotten the job done very well.

~~~

Throughout the next week, Yoongi was back at work, falling into the same schedule he had before he left. You tried not to let it bother you too much even though it did. You dragged out each and every kiss and hug, hoping he could stay a little longer but he never did. He would leave and it left you all alone. So instead, you tried to used Hyolyn’s advice and take advantage of him not being there. That time was spent trapped in your thoughts while you constantly rubbed over your stomach. So what if Yoongi rather spent his time working? You had accepted it, it was that it made you feel lonely; almost as if you were being left behind.

2:52pm- The Big Asshole️: I’ll be home late tonight. Do you mind making yourself dinner?

You stared at your phone, looking over the message before letting out a sigh and responding back.

2:55pm- You: Sure, no problem.

~~~~~

Yoongi wasn’t even aware that you had messaged him due to the nature of his phone call. He was on the line with Jimin, who was telling him about the explosions; two of which happened to be his and someone he knew property.

“Exactly when did these explosions happen?”

“The morning you had left out of town. The first one was your warehouse and by the time I got there, the place was already on fire and the fire department was there. The second occurred a few days later. It was y/n’s brother’s house-“

“Matthew? Why the hell is he involved in this?”

“I think it’s because of what happened last year with the police. Matthew did help you bring them down.”

“Shit,” Yoongi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me y/n doesn’t know about this.”

“She knows but only the one with her brother. In fact, she found out before I did. Your mother had called me over the news, worried about y/n so I searched for her.”

Just like before, something about this didn’t sit right with Yoongi. His intuition felt like before, like it did with the police but someone more dangerous. He didn’t appreciate whoever this was, dragging you into it. What were they after?

“We’ll meet up and talk about this after I finish up at my parent’s house.”

Yoongi ended the call, got out of the car, and walked inside. His father was leaving town later on this evening and Yoongi needed to update him with what happened. His mother was just putting the final touches on her dishes. She had foreseen Yoongi coming over and made something for him to eat after their talked. Yoongi found his father in their bedroom, directing his assistant as he packed his clothes in suitcases.

“What’s going on, son?”

“I’ve just gotten word that one of the explosions was my warehouse.”

“Yes, I know. It was the next shipment for Hwang Jongsoo. But not to worry, I have someone looking into it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened? This is not the first shipment we owe to him. There was that mishaps at the docks and now this?!” Yoongi exclaimed, taking a seat in a nearby chair, running his hands through his hair. His father walked and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, Yoongi. When you are away, I need you to focus on business there while trusting that we’re handling business here. That’s what partnership is about. You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders but rely on us to help. Now while I’m gone, I expect you to take on everything here.”

“Of course.”

His father nodded, taking a seat on the bed. “With me getting older, it’s about time that we discuss you taking over the business completely.”

Yoongi’s heart swelled in his chest. He waited years to take over and always believed he would run it with his brother but now, he was more than happy to have Jimin by his side.

“What did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve watched you grow into a respectable young man. The way you manage the business aspect of your life, makes me proud. I don’t have to worry leaving it in your hands; I know you’re fully capable of handling the pressure. However, I would like you to depend on others for a change. Anything you can’t fit in your schedule, allow others to handle it for you. That’s part of being a leader; do you understand where I’m coming from?”

“Yes, dad. I do.”

“Good,” the talk was interrupted by his father’s phone ringing. “Give me a moment, son.”

Yoongi nodded and left the room, walking downstairs to find his mother. She was seated in the living room, with the food she prepared; sitting on the living room table. The moment he took a seat next to her, her questions began.

“How was the trip?”

“Business is business, as usual.” Yoongi replied, reaching to try a few bites of food. “Even though I’m back, I’m sure I’ll have to make visits there again.”

“Well I’m glad to have you home and glad to see you are doing well.”

Yoongi responded with a hum of agreement and focused on eating. His mother watched him, taking in his features and side profile. Her son was quite handsome thanks to her and his father’s genes. She couldn’t help but wonder how the baby will look. Would it be a boy or girl? Would they have your features or their father’s dominant looks?

“Yoongi,” She began, absentmindedly. “I was thinking about my grandchild...”

He looked at her confused. “What grandchild?”

It was then that she realized she had slipped up. Her son wasn’t an idiot by any means and as his mother she felt awful keeping this from him but to respect your wishes to tell him first, she remained quiet. But as the two of them stared off, she believed he would be likely to catch on, if she didn’t try to cover it up quickly.

“My grandchild... the one you plan on giving me.”

Yoongi let out a sigh. “Come on, mom. Not you too.”

“What?! I’ve been asking for a grand baby for almost two years.”

“I know but... do you really think a baby is what we need right now? My business is possibly being attacked, people I know are being targeted once again, I’m barely at home, y/n has become different than usual, and I don’t think we need to add a baby to any of that.”

“How has y/n been different?”

“I get the feeling that she wants more of my time which I’m unable to give to her. She’s seems a bit clingy and the last thing I need is for history to repeat itself and we’re dealing with another ‘Mina’.”

“I don’t think y/n would go as far as to shoot you.“ his mother proclaimed.

“I don’t think so either but I don’t want to push a wedge between us. Whatever she’s going through, it’s making her cling to me. And it’s a lot to deal with trying to ease her conscience as well as figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Yoongi, listen to me. I don’t doubt what you’re saying or your abilities to fix it but every woman needs to feel love and appreciated by her spouse ever so often. It’s what gives us comfort and energy to support our men. As a woman, y/n may not voice her opinion as much as the average person but I guarantee, she’s thinking the same thing,” his mother stated. The admission of her words had caused Yoongi to stare off, retreating into his thoughts. “Why not take a day off and treat her out. Make her feel special every once in a while. You don’t know how you being there makes a difference to her.”

~~~~~

Around twenty of Yoongi’s men arrived at the local warehouse. They usually met up in packs before leaving to meet with either Yoongi or his father. This particular day, they were getting ready to leave town with Mr. Min. Their orders were to sync with others, grab the supplies for the trip, and head over to the Min’s house to assist his father.

One of them checked the time as he watched the men load up the trucks. They were right on schedule but also needed to hurry just in the case police was watching. It was then that a sudden smell hit it nose, followed by a noise; a noise that he should have familiar with. Searching around, he tried to locate the source of this sound and when he did, it was too late. With three seconds remaining, there wasn’t enough time to warn anyone to get out. The warehouse exploded in flames. Everything and everyone inside were burned to a crisp. A man in all black watched the flames roar in the air from behind his dark glasses. After awhile, he climbed into his car and drove away.

~~~~~

You stared, with your shirt lifted, at your stomach in the bathroom mirror. Slowly but surely, it was growing. While Yoongi’s large black shirts hid it well, you knew after a couple more months, you’d be unable to. What would you do then?

While you were in the kitchen, making yourself lunch for the day, your hand rubbed over your stomach. You thought about what it would be like to cook a meal for you and your child, all while waiting for Yoongi to come home. You didn’t know why but it made you smile. A family of your own, living happily.

The sudden closing of the front door made you straighten up. When Yoongi found you he stood close behind you, ready to wrap his arms around your waist but you intervened. Taking your hands in his, you wrapped his arms around your chest instead. Lucky for you, he didn’t notice a difference just as long he was close to you. Yoongi let the words of his mother replay over in his head. He didn’t want to lose you or risk losing you so he would have to find a way to balance his time between you and his business. Right now, it was all about you and that’s all he wanted to focus on.

“I know,” he spoke as he kissed your neck. “I haven’t been around the way you want me to and I’m sorry.” His hands unraveled and began to massage your sensitive growing breasts. “Tell me how I can make it up to you.”

You smiled. “Are you willing to do anything?”

“Mhm.” He groaned in your ear.

“I want to be in control in the bedroom. Fully in control, not when I start and then you take over.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance but you didn’t notice.

You quickly turned off the stove, grabbed his hand, and led him upstairs to the bedroom. Yoongi couldn’t see your face but you wore the biggest smile. Finally, you get to have your way with him, just the way you wanted to. He didn’t know how horny you’ve been without him and now you could barely keep your dirty thoughts in your head. You figured out a way to have sex with him, during the day, without him figuring out that you gained a little weight from the pregnancy and questioning it.

You dragged him over to the bed and turned around to face him. First, you leaned him forward as if you wanted a kiss but instead, your hands raked over his hair; tussling it into a mess. You pulled his suit jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. Your hands worked to undo every button on his shirt, sensually kissing from his neck downward. Next, you unbuckled his belt and roughly pulled it through the loops and off, his pants slightly sagging and showing off the top of his boxer briefs.

Taking a step back, you stared from head to toe at him; biting your lip. Rugged Yoongi. The way he stared at you with his dark messy hair, shirt wide and lose on his torso, and his pants hanging off his waist; made you instantly wet and cock hungry for him. The expression on his face only completed the look.

You continued to undress him, removing his shirt, pants, and shoes until he was standing in front of you in nothing but his boxers.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take them off!” You commanded. Yoongi’s eyebrows shot in the air before his eyes narrowed at you and he did as he was told. Now that he was standing in front of you stark naked, you walked over and pushed him down on the bed.

“Lie with your head in the direction of the headboard and don’t move.”

As Yoongi did that, he watched as you disappeared into his closet, coming out with a few of his ties draped over your arms.

“Hey!” He yelled. “No playing with the ties! Do you know how expensive each one was?”

“Too bad.” You responded carelessly.

“I’m seriously, y/n! Find something else to play with!”

This caused you to catch an attitude of your own. What was the point of letting you lead if he was just going to take it away? “I thought you said you were willing to do anything?” You stated with your hands on your hips.

“I am but that doesn’t include you destroying my wardrobe.”

“It’s not like you don’t have the money to buy it ag-“

“Y/n! No means no!” He ordered.

“Fine!” You threw the fabric at him and sat down on the bed in anger, wiping away tears. “If you had a problem with me being in control, then all you had to do was say so, Yoongi! If you have a problem with the way I do things, then you might as well get dress now and go back to work.”

At the admission of your tears, Yoongi soften a bit. Perhaps he was being too much of an asshole. The last thing he wanted was to have you crying because of it. He sat up in bed and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the back of your shoulder.

“Don’t cry, I’m sorry. Okay?”

You wiped your eyes, trying to calm down as well. “The fact that you would yell at me over a couple of ties, is maddening enough.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I overreacted.” Yoongi admitted. “But we don’t have to stop, okay? We could continue where we left off, if you want. How about I let you use one?”

You sniffed, turning your head to look at him. “Just one?”

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss your lips. “Yes, just one.”

You figured one will still do and just because you both gotten into a minor argument, didn’t mean you had to stop the fun so you agreed to continue where you had left off.

Still clothed, you straddled his waist, taking a dark colored tie and wrapping it around his head to cover his eyes.

“Under no circumstances, are you allowed to remove your blindfold. Do you understand, Yoongi?”

“I understand, y/n.”

With it secured in place, you made a couple of silly faces, sticking up your middle finger at him in the process; just to make sure he couldn’t see a thing. You slowly moved down his legs, positioning yourself between them.

“Another rule is that you cannot touch me. If you do, I will have no choice but to use another tie and I know you would hate that. Do you understand?”

Yoongi sighed, letting the sarcasm drip from his deep voice. “Yes, y/n.”

You rolled your eyes, ready to teach him a lesson. Gripping the base of his cock, you held it up in the air, examining it before taking him in your mouth. Right away, you slowly stroked him as you took him in further, inch by inch. Yoongi released a slight intake of breath and you heard it loud and clear. With him growing stiffer, you removed your mouth and moved below, taking one of his nutsacs in your mouth and sucking. This caused Yoongi to groan a little louder, flexing his abs at your movement. He wanted to reach down and tangle his hands in your hair but he also didn’t want another fight to ensure, thinking that he was trying to gain control. He loved when you sucked him off and didn’t want you to stop, by any means.

You could feel his sensitive sac try to escape the hold you had it in. All the while, you continued to stroke him; feeling the precum that had appeared, drip over your hand. You used it to lubricate his cock, gliding up and with ease. Your other hand replaced your mouth and your mouth had returned to sucking him off, this time taking him into your throat and holding it there. Yoongi began to break out in a light sweat. Perseverance was the name of the game. All he had to do was hold still through all of your ministrations until your body became weak enough for him to take over.

When his cock became solid, you let it fall against his stomach while you maneuvered on the bed to undressed. Your hand wandered between your legs, testing how wet you were; you were dripping. Sucking Yoongi’s cock always made you wet. Maybe it was the fact that you could turn a man like him into puddy in your hands. It made you feel powerful.

Reaching into the nightstand drawer, you pulled out your small but powerful vibrator. You use to use it a lot when you wanted to tease and get a reaction out of Yoongi when he was busy; it always worked too.

“Okay, Yoongi, time for the real test.” You stated straddling his waist again.

“What t-“ Yoongi’s words became trapped in his throat, releasing a moan instead as your pussy swallowed him whole. He tried to shake off the feeling of pleasure just to speak. “What test?”

Although you were in control, you had to take a second to calm down due to how filling his cock was. “A game of survival... no matter how many times I come, you can’t.”

Yoongi was quiet for a minute. “Y/n...“

“That’s an order, Yoongi!”

And with that, you rested your hands on his torso and your hips lifted so you could rock back and forth. Your eyes closed at the feeling and you bit your lip to keep yourself focused. Taking the vibrator, you placed it against your clit and turned it on. Yoongi immediately felt a difference. Your walls became tighter, causing him to moan but it became hidden behind yours which was much more louder. Your head fell back and it only took a matter of seconds as you came for the first time. You froze in place, crying out at how good it felt.

“Shit, Yoongi...”

He had no choice but to grip his blanket for support as your pussy squeezed the life out of his cock. It took everything in him not to thrust upward and unload his nut deep in your walls.

When you finally came down from your high, you picked up where you left off, fucking yourself and using the vibrator to come. Over and over, your voice becoming broken from the yelling. Your body was now covered in perspiration, glistening from the light outside. Yoongi bottom lip had become red with irritation from biting down too hard. He felt that if he was to cum inside of you now, you would surely become pregnant from all of the built up teasing you were doing. All he needed was a little relief so when you continued riding him for the fifth time, his hips moved off the bed, snapping into yours. The pleasure he was experiencing was getting closer that he didn’t realize his hands start to wander, but you did. You immediately stopped and grabbed his hands, slamming them down on the bed by his head in a submissive manner.

“What did I say about touching, Min Yoongi?!” You breathed out heavily, more angry at the fact that you had to stop. “If you don’t want to follow my rules, then I’ll stop and you can be stuck with a hard on.” You bragged. “Don’t forget, I’ve already came... more than once.”

Yoongi let out a deep breath, gritting his teeth together. You could tell that he fought to keep his anger under control, making you giggle.

“I see you’re having a little too much fun with this.” He commented in irritation. If your plan wasn’t to get him off, then he had a better chance of doing it himself.

“I’m having a fucking blast.” You moaned.

Your hips began to move again, slowly rocking back and forth. This time, you didn’t care if Yoongi fucked you back. If he wanted to come, he was now allowed to do so. Your hips picked up speed at you had to lean forward, pressing your hands to his shoulders. With the help of the toy, your clit had become enlarged and sensitive to the touch. If you continue riding a Yoongi like you did, you would be able to come one last time.

When Yoongi felt your pussy clench around him, any restraints he had were broken. His hands shot up, one gripping your neck while the other gripped your arm. He hammered his cock in and out of you that he could feel your juices gushing from your pussy.

“Fuck! Right there!” You cried out.

“You like that don’t you, y/n?” He grunted as he fucked you harder.

“...Yes.”

“Tell me that you’re done taking control and if you beg me cutely, I might consider letting you come with me.”

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence. All you needed was a couple more strokes and you were coming whether Yoongi liked it or not. But unfortunately for the both of you, everything was cut short by the ringing of Yoongi’s phone. Even though he was pissed that he was interrupted, his hips slowed to a stop and both of your orgasms grew further away. You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Yoongi, please don’t answer it.” But your plea fell on deaf ears. Yoongi had removed you from on top of him, took off the blindfold, and quickly answered the phone before the ringing had stopped.

“Min.”

While he was distracted, you shielded yourself with the shirt you were wearing earlier. Yoongi turned his attention to you as he listened on the line. He could see that you were upset by this but he didn’t have a choice. When business called, he had to answer.

Suddenly his mood darkened at the news. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Another one?!” He blew out a heated sigh, getting off the bed and searching for his clothes. “I’ll be right there.”

You were still in the same spot, refusing to move as you stared out of the window. So much for spending time together. It seemed as though the two of you could barely do that.

“I have to go, something important has come up.” Yoongi stated as he fastened his pants. “I can’t make any promises but I’ll try to come home later.”

Once dressed, he walked over to the bed, ready to give you a kiss but you leaned away from him. Not even bothering to spare him a glance.

“Just go.” Were all the words you had to say to him.

Yoongi hesitated a bit, initially still taken back by your anger but he also didn’t stay long. He left out of the room, and soon, out of the house; all without saying another word.

You threw the shirt to the floor in anger, pulling yourself into a ball and crying your eyes out.

~~~~~

When Yoongi arrived at the warehouse, barely anything was there. He parked his car and gotten out, standing between Jimin and Namjoon. The three of them watched as the police removed body bag after body bag from the scene.

“What happened?” Yoongi asked.

“Another explosion.” Jimin stared.

“How many of our men were inside?”

This time Namjoon answered. “The team leaving tonight never made to your father’s house. There were eighteen of them.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi mumbled, turning away. He pulled out his phone and stared at it. A part of him wanted to text you; to check on you. He wanted to explain himself in hopes that you had calmed down and weren’t upset with him. But instead, he placed his phone back in his pocket. He needed to focus on work. “Let’s talk at the club.”

The three men didn’t say another word as they split up. Namjoon walked over to Yoongi’s car and gotten into the passenger while Yoongi gotten into the drivers. Jimin walked over to his car but before he got in, his phone rang out. Taking one look at the name, he answered right away.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” He listened carefully. “I’ll be right there. Stay right there!”

He rushed to his car, getting in and driving off; leaving Yoongi to watch him intently. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t jealous. For whatever reason, you had call Jimin, not him. The jealousy in him wanted to follow behind to see what was going on but he didn’t. Yoongi swallowed back his anger and headed to his club.

~~~~~

When Jimin made it to Yoongi’s house, he rushed to the front door; taking notice of it being locked. He pulled out his spare key, opened the door, and rushed inside.

“Y/N?!” He called out but didn’t hear anything.

When he made it upstairs, he found you sobbing on the bedroom floor, clutching your stomach. Jimin immediately raced to your side, trying to hold you up.

“I can’t move,” You cried. “It hurts too much. I... I think something is wrong with the baby.”

If only you weren’t so angry from earlier, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You should have just let Yoongi go without the attitude. Now, here you lie on the floor suffering from sharp stomach pains.

Jimin hated seeing you like this; weak and broken. He picked you up, bridal style, and carried you out of the house and to his car. The drive to the nearest hospital took thirty minutes but Jimin gotten there in ten. He carried you into the emergency room, yelling from someone to come help you. A few nurses came to your aide and after Jimin explained to them your situation, they immediately took you to a room. He followed close behind, watching as the nurses prepared equipment and hooked you up to an IV. He could see the fear in your eyes and knew what it was because he thought the same thing.

Jimin took ahold of your hand. “It will be okay. The baby will be okay and so will you.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

A doctor finally entered and immediately started running test and examinations on your body. He conducted an ultrasound and was able to find the fetus still located in your uterus. This caused you to breathe a sigh of relief. At least you knew you didn’t suffer from a miscarriage. And when he placed a fetus doppler on your stomach, you heard the powerful sounds of your baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

“Oh my god.” You mumbled, covering your mouth and nose with your hands. This time when tears fell from your eyes, they were tears of joy, of the happiness you suddenly felt. Jimin couldn’t help but smile as well at your reaction.

“It seems like the baby is perfectly fine.” The doctor stated. “I’ll double check the blood and lab results when they return. Now, even though everything is fine now, putting ample amounts of stress on yourself and the baby could have a negative impact, similar to how you were feeling earlier. Keeping yourself healthy is very important especially when someone else’s life depends on it.”

After cleaning you up, he gathered all of his things and walked to the door. “I’ll have one of the nurses move you to a room so you could rest here overnight and discharge you tomorrow; depending on how you’re feeling.”

“Thank you.” you said, looking down at your stomach; rubbing your hand over it.

“Well that’s a relief.” Jimin stated in a joking manner.

“Jimin...” you called his name even though you weren’t looking at him. “I’m sorry for calling you away from important business.”

“Nonsense! If I didn’t get to you like I did, it might not have been a good outcome.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I think Yoongi and I need a small break. When I get out, I’m going to spent a few days at my apartment.”

“Are you sure? Yoongi may not agree with it.”

“I doubt he’d even notice. Besides, he has his company to tend to.”

Jimin wanted to make you see that despite being as busy as they are, doesn’t mean that Yoongi cared about his business more. In fact, he believed that if it really came down to it, Yoongi would choose you over everything else.

~~~

After seeing you to your room and making sure you were okay for the evening, Jimin drove over to Yoongi’s club. He walked upstairs into the office, finding him seated at the desk. When Yoongi looked up from his paper work, Jimin could see the anger hidden behind his eyes.

“I called a meeting over an hour ago, Park. Where were you?” He asked.

“Something came up but I taken care of it.”

“Something like what?” But when Jimin didn’t answer, Yoongi placed his hands under his chin and leaned forward. “Let me explain why I asked... you tell me that you lose what I lose but when I call a meeting to get to the bottom of it, you’re nowhere to be found. It kind of looks a bit suspicious, especially when I found out that you’ve been dealing with Hwang Jongsoo on the side.”

“Please tell me you’re joking right now!” Jimin yelled, not believing what he was hearing. Yoongi was blaming him for all of the mishaps. “Why would I try to destroy you if we are partners? I DO suffer the same loses as you do! I put in half and you put in half! What could I possibly gain from taking over your life?!”

Yoongi remained quiet as his eyes narrowed. Jimin didn’t have to be a mind reader to know exactly what he was thinking. The attack on his business is just a front, the real reason why they were having this conversation was for Yoongi to express his discomfort with Jimin secretly becoming close to you. He noticed a change between the two of you and didn’t like it.

Jimin suddenly smirked, shaking his head. If he was as evil as he used to be, Yoongi would have been right. It wasn’t a secret that he wanted you for himself but since you were taken and now he was too, nothing but friendship is all that could happen between you two; especially now that you are pregnant.

“Look, Yoongi. It’s not what you think. You had asked me to look after y/n and that’s all I’m doing. I swear to you that nothing else is going on. And I met with Hwang because he was the connection between the explosions. It’s his shipments that are either missing or are destroyed.” Jimin sighed. “I’ve been looking into this, just like I’ve been trained to do. Any information I find, I clue you in on because we’re partners. If you fall, I fall.”

Yoongi sighed, averting his eyes elsewhere as he lowered his hands. “This all started with Hwang Jongsoo. I think we need to pay him another visit. If he isn’t behind it himself, he may know or have a good idea who is.”

“Hwang is nothing more than a mole, using his connections to you to help whoever this is destroy you.” Jimin stated. “What do you think will happen if he spouts off about his recent transactions from doing business with you? We will lose business partners at the drop of a hat but, I get the feeling that is not what he or they are really after, so be careful.”

“Am I supposed to be scared? Is this supposed to scare me?”

“No, this is supposed to alert you. Keep your eyes open, Yoongi. Something is going on and whoever is the cause of this is not only targeting your business but also people you know. This could just be a diversion to keep our minds off of the real target.”

“Which is who?”

Jimin looked at him. “You.”

~~~~~

Once you were your released from the hospital, you caught a cab to your apartment, standing in the doorway of the home that you had neglected. Everything the still same from when you last left it except for the dusk that had collect over it all. Smiling, you shut the door and got to work cleaning up. You dusted off everything you touched. You had thrown out any expired food from the fridge and cleaned it out as well. Lastly, you had swept and mopped the floor before taking a warm shower to clean off. You had dressed in sweats and took a seat on your couch, watching whatever you could find on TV. When the doorbell rang, you jumped up to retrieve the pizza you had ordered before returning to the couch.

The rest of the night, you had spent talking on the phone to your mother, coming up with excuses as to why you haven’t been in touch lately. She initially believed it was because you had been in and out of the hospital fighting off a bad stomach bug but you couldn’t hold back the truth, not from your own mother. So you shared the news, listening as she screamed in your ear repeatedly.

“What did Yoongi say when he found out?”

“He’s just... indifferent, I guess.” You lied. “He’s just been busy with work, you know how he is.”

“He’s probably just as excited as you are yet he doesn’t want to show it... men.” She laughed.

“Yeah.” You mumbled.

“Try not to sound so down, honey. Yoongi will come around and when he does, he won’t let you do a thing, trust me.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Now I have to go. Your father and I are taking a romantic sail on the ocean.”

“Oh ok... I’ll just talk to you later.”

“Bye, and take care of my grandchild.”

“Bye.”

You ended the call, lying down on the couch; thinking it all over. Your parents are having a romantic date, Matt and Hyolyn are on a romantic getaway, and you were at home; separated from Yoongi. Even the couple on the television show you were watching, were snuggling together in each other’s arms.

You sighed, about to go into your bedroom when your phone suddenly rung. It was the clinic for the procedure your doctor had set you up with. You stared at the number as the phone continued to ring throughout the apartment. Eventually, it stopped but your thoughts continued to wander. Were you going to go through with it or not? Right now, at this moment in time, you were where you didn’t want to be. Yes, Yoongi did love you but what was stopping him from working even when he had a baby at home? Nothing... you were scared that you would be stuck doing it all by yourself and even more worried that Yoongi wouldn’t care. In his world, when business called, he had to answer.

~~~~~

Yoongi leaned back in his seat, staring at his phone; specifically, your contact name. Last night when he came home late, he came home to an empty house. You weren’t there. Although he knew where you were, he didn’t go to you because he couldn’t offer a solution to the situation. Even if he promised that he would spend more time with you, it would end up becoming a lie due to work. So instead, he’s been spending his nights at his club office, more so thinking of you than actually getting work done.

He didn’t want to think about it but he could feel a distance growing between you and him. And it was liable to get worse now that he was trying to figure out who was behind the explosions.

“Dammit, y/n...” he mumbled to himself. “Stubborn as always.”

~~~

Over the next few days, Yoongi and Jimin gathered all the information they could on Hwang Jongsoo. The more they knew about him, the shadier he became in their eyes. He was known for bad business in other cities. He’d buy merchandise from one dealer and sell it at a high price, corrupting small safe towns with drugs and violence. He was making a profit but at the same time, he was losing more money than he was gaining. When he fucked over one business partner, he’d already be in search of a new one but this time, Yoongi wasn’t going to let anyone fuck him over. He and Jimin had planned on making that clear the following day. They rode in Yoongi’s car as he drove to Hwang’s property.

The gate was open and so was his front door when they gotten out of the car and walked closer. Jimin peeked inside before turning away.

“We have bodies on the floor.” He stated, pulling out his gun. Yoongi did the same before pushing the door open and aiming.

He stepped over body after body of men lying in a pool of their own blood, none of which was the man they were looking for. Yoongi picked up a framed picture of Jongsoo and his family. He had a wife and three children, two sons and one daughter. He looked around, checking for anyone in sight. Both men looked at each other went they smelled something foul in the air; something worse than a dead body.

Coming from the direction of the kitchen, black smoke filled the air and covered the ceiling. They walked inside and noticed the oven was on the highest setting, cooking whatever it was inside to its fullest capacity. Jimin grabbed a cloth and pulled down the handle, opening the door. More smoke poured out, causing them to cough and fan the air, but once it was clear to look inside, it was an absolute horrific scene.

Not only was the head of Hwang Jongsoo and his wife was inside but also the heads of their three children. A further check of the house, they found the bodies in each room. Jongsoo in his study, his sons; in their bedroom, his daughter; under her bed, and his wife; in the master bedroom and not only that, she was killed while she was nine months pregnant.

Yoongi and Jimin waited in his car as they watched police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks invade the property.

“So what now?” Jimin questioned. “It was safe to say that Hwang was just a mole.”

“A mole that couldn’t be trusted.” Yoongi added, staring off at the scene. “But why kill him off now?”

“He became useless to them or maybe he didn’t want to betray you anymore.”

“I don’t know.”

Yoongi started the car and pulled back onto the road heading back to the city. The entire ride, his mind was elsewhere; envisioning what Jongsoo was going through in his last minutes of living. Crazy enough, Yoongi felt bad for his family; caught up in whatever he was into.

Once they made it back to town, Jimin recommended stopping at his favorite diner before heading back to the club to work. While he was inside, getting the food, Yoongi sat outside on the hood of his car, talking to Namjoon.

“I want you to look up all known associates of Hwang Jongsoo. I want to know everywhere he went within the last few days; who he met up with. Have Hoseok pull any surveillance from all the places. I want to track his last whereabouts.”

“Easy, champ! What’s this about? Did the guy cut you off in traffic or something?” Namjoon joked.

“He had ties to the explosions yet he and his family were just found slaughtered in their home.”

“Is there anything else you need?” He asked getting down to business.

Yoongi had every intention of answering but when he looked up, his eyes made contact with a feminine pair. A pair of eyes that he hasn’t seen in awhile but the last time he saw them, they were filled with hurt and anger. That was the last thing he remembered about her before she shot him.

“Mina.” He mumbled.

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kisstheashes · 6 years

Text

Rotten Credence

Summary: The desire for revenge that boiled in Marvin’s blood was finally spilling over

Content warnings: major character death, graphic depictions of violence and burning alive

Tagging: @writerwithdepression @superbanananinja234 @egopocalypse @gum-xx-drop @clownoutofdarkness @shadowstakeall @spicydanhowell @friendly-neighborhood-badger @rogue-of-light-analyzed @acuriousquail @maybekatie @here-be-becquerel @shamrockace @sylver-rhymes @space-babe-nugget @cute-anxious-kitten @the-rampaige @starlightxnightmare @glixbitch (If you want to be added to my tag list, lmk! I’ll be happy to tag you!)

Previous parts in this verse: 1 2

A/N: This is the third part in my Corrupt!Marvin verse^^

Three days had gone by without notice. Marvin kept his eyes low as he sat at the table, pushing his food around his plate. I'm still healing. He'd managed to steal some first aid supplies without notice, giving the trash to his Master to take care of.

"Are you not hungry?" Jackie snapped, startling Marvin. Any conversation happening at the table came to a dead stop as they stared at Marvin.

"Sorry...I just got lost in thought." He bit his lip as he put effort into eating. Just until I heal...

"Why not elaborate?" Henrik's gaze bore into Marvin's head. He's the one that wants me dead.

"Nothing important." He restrained himself from snapping back at them. "You don't care anyway. Not unless you suspect it's about the fucking Glitch." He huffed, turning his attention back to the plate. Fine. Snapping at them felt good. It was the least they deserved for what they did.

Jackie narrowed his eyes, focusing on the traitor. "Medical supplies have gone missing." He watched for any sort of reaction. "We can't find any evidence you took any. But it must be you. None of us have." The traitor scowled. When he glanced at Jackie, the green in his eyes was much too obvious. Jackie bit his tongue. He'd have to tell Henrik so they could kill him before he suspected anything.

"I didn't take a damn thing! Stop accusing me of everything!" He got up, trying to leave the table but Henrik grabbed his wrist. "Get off of me!" He forced his rising magic down into his veins.

"You are not allowed away yet! Sit down!"

"Stop treating me like this! Let go of me!" He pulled as hard as he could, but he couldn't match Henrik's strength. "You're all a bunch of fucking cowards!" he screamed. "You're just scared of me! You can't fucking handle me with magic so you took it away!" He ripped out of Henrik's grasp. "Fucking. Cowards." He turned again to leave when he felt another softer touch. "What?!"

He spun around to see Chase's arm reached out to him. He retracted and pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. "Please? You've barely eaten anything..." he mumbled.

Marvin chewed on his lip. "I'm not hungry." He left the room before Jackie could stop him. He needed away from their bullshit. Their condemnation. He heard someone following him and balled his hands into fists to hide the sparks. "Leave me alone."

"Bro..." Marvin turned around, glaring at Chase. Chase took off his hat and sighed, going further into the back of the house. "I never believed it..." He ran his fingers across the brim of his hat. "That...you were evil. But now...you're scaring me." He wouldn't look at Marvin. "You did something, didn't you? With him."

Marvin bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't trust you."

"I can't blame you. They're treating you like shit." Chase shifted, putting his hat back on. "They're the ones acting evil. Whatever you're doing...maybe you should be doing it. I don't know!" He shook his head, mumbling something to himself. "Just...not with Anti. He's manipulating you." Marvin couldn't bear to see the pain in Chase's eyes as he finally looked up. "He's not good for you."

"You don't understand the hell they put me through!" The jagged edge in his voice was as obvious as the snarl on his face. "I didn't have any other choice! They took away my fucking magic! They want to kill me. Me against them. He was the only one who could do anything to help me." Marvin continued on to his room. "Get the fuck out of here if you want to live. Jackie is coming to kill me and it won't be pretty."

Alone. Fucking finally. He pulled open the closet, rummaging around in the depths. He breathed a sigh of relief as he found the dagger in the back, hidden in a stack of shirts. Toxic green fire plumed on his hand, traveling up the knife and imbuing itself in the blade. It hid itself, the green fire visible inside the blade only in the right light. "Be ready, Jackieboy Man..." he whispered, holding the blade up to the light. "You have no idea what I'm capable of..."

"He's influenced." Jackie frowned. "We need to kill him before it gets any worse." He glanced at Henrik, sitting at the other end of the table. "What's the best way to?"

Henrik hummed, resting his chin on his folded hands. "Anesthetic first. Then kill him while he is out. If it works."

"If it works? What the hell does that mean?" Jackie glanced at JJ, who hadn't said a word throughout the night.

"Anti's influence could very well render anything useless." Henrik stood, taking care of the abandoned plates. "Is better to try sooner than later. You are not very subtle, Jackie. He will know." Henrik scoffed as he passed Jackie at the table again. "You have been very quiet, Jameson."

JJ startled, quickly reassuring he was fine, then faltering. "I...am concerned I did the wrong thing." He fixed his slightly askew bowtie. "I was not sure it was Marvin who hurt me." His hands faltered in his signing, unable to look at Jackie. He'd been terrifying ever since Marvin had been labeled as "traitor."

Jackie narrowed his eyes. "What." JJ jumped at his sharp tone, eyes darting to him then down. "What are you talking about."

JJ wrung his hands before speaking. "I couldn't get a clear look at who it was. I...I assumed it was Marvin. It had to be." He fiddled with the buttons on his vest. "But...maybe not." He shook his head. "It had to be, did it not? He's the only one who could burn me like that."

"Whether he did or not is irrelevant!" Henrik spoke up. "He made a deal with that demon! He has turned against us." Henrik started walking in the direction of his lab. "It is us, or him."

Jackie huffed, getting up from his chair. "You've only held us up," he stated. His voice was still cold and sharp as the edge of a blade. "He needs to die before he kills us." Jackie joined Henrik in his lab, leaving Jamie alone at the table.

He sighed. He's going to want to kill me too, isn't he? He pushed up his sleeve to reveal the burn scar. I can't change his mind now.

White noise accompanied Anti's appearance. Marvin glanced at him before dropping his eyes back to the knife. "Don't go after Chase. He isn't part of this." He rested the flat of the blade against his palm, watching the fire reflected inside the blade. "He...doesn't deserve to die."

Anti narrowed his eyes, studying his puppet. He's still human, I suppose. A static noise left his throat as his head glitched to the side. "̛T͜he͜ doc̛toŕ ̵pla͠ns̕ to se̛date ͠and ͟k̶ill ͡y̷ou͜."͜

Green sparks flew off of Marvin's hands. "I'll kill them first." He stood, cracking his neck. "I'm not going to give them a single fucking chance to touch me." Fire lined the outside of his hands and arms up to his elbows. Anti walked over to him and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't want you to interfere. They're mine to kill." He picked up his mask from the nightstand and put it on. Anti's knuckles slid across his jaw and he sighed, extinguishing his fire and letting Anti hold him. "I'm glad I chose you, my King," he mumbled.

Anti held him, feeling the static humming inside his puppet's veins. He grinned before pulling away. "S̡h͟e̵d͏ ̛th͏eìr ̧b͟l͜oǫd͝,́ ̕m̧a̴ǵic̨i̷án."̸

Marvin's eyes were bright green as he entered the hallway, knife in hand. He backed into the darkest parts of the hallway, listening for where the others were. He crept down to the front of the house, noticing the cleared and empty table, along with the lab's lights on from under the closed door. "I am not the mouse you think I am..." he mumbled. He stood in front of the lab door, listening to the murmurs of conversation on the other side. His heartbeat sped up as he opened the door, shaking with excitement. "I know you want to kill me." He smiled as they turned to him, Jackie's aura already flaring.

"Traitor." Jackie readied an energy blast as Marvin's hands exploded into toxic green flame. "Fucking traitor, look at what you did to yourself! Ruined yourself with him."

Marvin kept an eye on Henrik as he tried to sneak around the lab. "Aligning with my King is the best thing I've ever done." He scowled, flames in his hands escalating. "So fuck you and fuck you for forcing me to do it." He threw the knife, only scratching Jackie before he moved. Jackie yelped as the smell of burnt skin filled the room. Marvin was on the floor before he saw where Jackie had gone, energy blast wrapped around his throat, trying to kill him. Marvin shoved with his fire filled hands, kicking Jackie off of him. He got up, noticing a white coat out of the corner of his vision and releasing a flame. Henrik sputtered and cried out as he was hit, slamming into a table as he stumbled.

Jackie's suit was torn where the fire had burned through, and ugly red marks marred his chest and stomach. He grabbed a scalpel and lept at Marvin, cutting him with it. Marvin spun around, grabbing his wrist and burning it to the bone. Jackie screamed before forcing Marvin back with a force field.

Henrik recovered from the blast, gripping the syringe tighter. Evil. The needle scratched the surface of Marvin's skin as he moved, breaking as it hit Jackie's force field. "Shit!" He heard Marvin growl before hands were on his chest, fire starting to consume him. He screamed as the green flames grew and enveloped his torso and dug under his skin. Marvin shoved, pushing an extra blast into Henrik's veins and arteries. Henrik couldn't stop screaming as the fire burned him alive from the inside out; charring his heart and boiling his blood. He fell to the floor as arteries and veins broke, blood flooding out of it's designated areas and into blotchy, deep purple spots that showed under his skin. His screaming stopped abruptly as the fire burned his heart and cut it in half. The fire on his skin died down into nothing, leaving behind nothing but a blackened torso that smelled of burnt meat and fabric.

Marvin turned back to Jackie, staring in shocked silence. "You'll get your turn too, don't worry." Green fire lined his arms as he watched Jackie's force field flicker and die. With tears in his eyes Jackie attacked- far too slow. Marvin moved out of the way, the red energy blast missing him by a mile.

"You monster!" Jackie screamed, shaking as he tried to hold himself together. One of the ceiling lights went out as he took the light as his own, the bright orb shifting in his palm. "You fucking monster!" He threw it, hitting Marvin's side before he could move, earning a grunt of pain. "How could you!"

He glared at the superhero. "You made me this way. Your hate. Your anger. Your betrayal. I did nothing yet you took my magic away. You turned everyone against me." His palms tinged green and his veins glowed as he pulled more magic to the surface.

"We never trusted you." He pulled more light down to his palm. "You were always going to betray us." He panted as he ran at the traitor, body glowing red.

Marvin caught Jackie's throat in his hand and blood flew. Jackie's neck tore open like he was being dissected, spraying blood and organ and skin tissue. Wide eyes filled with tears fell panicked then dead as Marvin's fire burned what was left of his throat. Marvin let him fall to the ground, watching as blood pooled onto the floor. His esophagus and larynx fell inside the burnt cavity of his neck, filling it with blood like it was a bowl.

He started shaking as he stared at their dead bodies for what felt like hours. All he could smell was burnt flesh. He sat on the ground next to Jackie's body, eyes unfocusing as he stared at Henrik's charred remains across the floor. He took his mask off and tossed it, not caring where it went. There wasn't anything I could do... He focused on Jackie's destroyed throat, then hid his face in his hands as he started to cry. There wasn't another way... Strands of hair were pulled into his fists as he shook violently. They didn't care about me... He started sobbing as the smell of blood filled his senses. "I'm so sorry...I had to..."

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #marvin the magnificent #henrik von schneeplestein #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #jse egos #jse community #jse fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jameson jackson #chase brody #my writing archive #im so n e r v o u s #sjskfjsfafas #ashes writing corner

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pcbw · 7 years

Text

my crippling sense of inadequacy as a physician

I don’t know why I’m writing this, but I’m sitting here and I don’t know how else to process my thoughts.

It’s been a while since I posted anything on this website. Since the last time I did, my life changed dramatically. I graduated medical school and moved away from the one place in the world that I truly loved and I was truly happy. Galway was the most beautiful place and I loved every single day there. It was my “happy place”; my home.

More than once a day for the last 18 months, I have closed my eyes and walked down my street. I have traced every single cobblestone on Shop Street; I’ve recalled the smell - the feel of the sweet, damp Irish air. I’ve felt the rain on my face, in my hair, matting my curls to my neck, and I’ve pretended to visit the farmers market and jokingly harassed Ailbhe for not having any gooseberries that week. I can’t talk about any of this with my parents anymore or my friends; they’re all sick and tired of hearing about it.

But being homesick isn’t the worst of it. I got through the bulk of intern year with a relative cornucopia of confidence. People kept telling me how great I was, especially in the beginning. Relative to the rest of my class, I looked good. People thought I was smart and amazing for an intern. People always thought I would be the next chief resident. I wanted to be the best resident this programme had ever seen. I wanted to be the faculty favourite. And I think maybe for a moment, I was.

But it was only for a moment.

The tail end of my intern year was marked by the spurious, disjointed beginning and swift end of my first ever adult relationship. The relationship was tumultuous and riddled with unnecessary drama and distraction. I’d never allowed myself to become involved with anyone, and now I realise that was for good reason. During that time, I think everyone started to notice how I had “lost” my focus; One of the third year residents pulled me aside after a disastrous weekend on hospital service and basically told me that my performance was slipping and that maybe I peaked too soon and now everyone else was catching up to me. It made me feel like shit. That horrible weekend and that little chat afterward was really when the self doubt began to settle.

One day I was in clinic on administrative duty, when a patient of mine had come to see the clinic counsellor. After her appointment, she was walking around the clinic. The staff told me to stay out of sight, as she wanted to speak with me. Now let me tell you, this lady is insane and just a total mess of a human being. At that time, she was constantly badgering my to prescribe her “nerve pills”, and I kept saying no. That day, I wasn’t in the mood to be hunted down and have a conversation with her about her shitty life and the topic of Ativan. Dumbly, I had left the conference room, where the staff told me to hide until she left the building in order to go to the bathroom. When I got out, I heard her walking around the clinic looking for me. I still don’t know why she was allowed to do that... but anyhow, I felt like a hunted animal and so I did what any hunted animal does: I panicked and ended up diving under a table to hide. In hindsight, I wish I could just take a time machine and take that back. One of my faculty members found me and was so incredibly angry with me. He brought me into his office and reamed me out for like 30 minutes. Told me how incredibly juvenile I am. What an embarrassment I am. How patients could have seen me do that. How I acted like a child. Then I got an academic warning from my programme director. From then on the faculty started to watch me like a hawk; I felt they catalogued every single time I laughed too loud or did anything remotely out of line.

That brings me to the first month of my second year of residency when I started on night float. It was my first time on my own and I just spent the whole month feeling like shit. The bulk of these past few months haven’t been much better. This month on night float has been hard as well. I make little omissions or oversights and I doubt myself. I mull over every single thing I do wrong that my senior points out and agonise over it. I keep thinking everyone thinks I’m just this dumb joke. I’m afraid they just think of me as lost opportunity; someone who used to be good.

I recently had my advisor meeting with my programme director. He gave me menial scores across the board for everything: my clinical knowledge, my professionalism, practice management... I asked him why and where I could specifically improve; he told me nothing, other than to modulate my personality - that I’m too bubbly and energetic. It doesn’t help that I look like I’m 14 and wear little girl’s size clothing. In so few words, he told me that they, the faculty, find my vivaciousness unnerving. He reamed me for my in training exam score, which was passing but not amazing. I think the worst of it was that he said in so little words that they regretted having me in their programme. Then I started crying in his office because I feel so depressed and he just stared at my awkwardly until I finished. It was so horrible.

To top it all off, I had to deal with an awkward situation with a MARRIED male co worker who was sending me inappropriate texts and calling me continuously...

I feel like a failure as a physician when I compare myself to my peers. I don’t feel like I know anything anymore. I feel so incredibly inadequate every single day and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to wallow, but I just feel like I’m stuck and I feel so depressed. I used to love writing and now I can’t even stomach the thought of it. Writing reminds me of when I was happy when I was back in Ireland. I hate living in rural Kentucky. I feel like I’m wasting my life here in this rural town. I have no one here except for my elderly cat. I miss my home, I miss my mom and dad, I miss being smart and being accepted for who I am. I’ve given up on my dream of being the best; of being chief. I’ll let one of the other residents do it. I feel like no one here appreciates my zany, bubbly, happy personality. They say I don’t act like a doctor and that no one will ever take me seriously. I don’t know how else to be. My patients appreciate someone who is happy. I just don’t know anymore.

I doubt anyone will read this. I’m just throwing it out into the world. I thought that being a doctor would solve all my self esteem issues. I thought that having those magical 2 letters, MD, would be it, but I think the truth is that I have never felt smaller and more inadequate. I worry that I am not taking care of my patients well. When they don’t get what they want and get mad at me, take it personally. I don’t know guys, I miss my life, I miss Ireland, I miss my friends, I miss being me...

second year of residency, inadequacy

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owlaholic68 · 6 years

Text

A retrospective

It’s been about eight months since I wrote the first multi-chapter fic that I ever finished: If at first you don’t succeed..., and I thought it might be fun to look back on my writing process, how I’ve learned, and maybe a little bit of behind-the-scenes inspiration.

In general

my original inspiration for this came from a lot of places. I was starting to write more stuff with Carla, developing her character in the wake of having finished my very first Fo2 playthrough. Also, I had just listened to The Adventure Zone podcast, in particular the story arcs “The Eleventh Hour” and “The Stolen Century”, which both feature some sort of time travel/rewind. The Eleventh Hour has the same hour repeating over and over, with only the PCs knowing. The Stolen Century is about the characters travelling to different worlds, but only being able to stay for a year, and then they have to leave, and their bodies reset, even if they’ve died. That’s where the whole year idea came from.

This was supposed to be a side story to my other multi-chapter going on at the same time, but ended up stealing the show instead!

Chapter-by-chapter rundown

Chapter One:

A little shorter than I would probably do today. I would have probably fleshed out the first death more. But since we saw Frank Horrigan again, and there were going to be many more deaths, it’s not something I’m particularly concerned about.

I don’t know if I explained it well here, but the reason that the Enclave didn’t find Arroyo as fast was because, like Fo1, Carla’s presence and work in the wasteland drew attention to the village. Since she didn’t leave the village this cycle, I had them come a little later.

Chapter Two:

Carla really cannot use grenades. She has about a 10% throwing skill, at most.

In the canon timeline, you do actually run into Frank Horrigan in the middle of the desert on August 30th I think.

Radscorpions sounds like a violent death. It was sort of sadistically fun after a while to come up with new side deaths for her.

A lot of characters this chapter! Sulik, Lynette, Lenny! Oh yes, and the car. Not having the car for the first cycles really hampered her progress, because travel took so long without it.

This is where I started keeping a log of cycle numbers, because I had to do a lot of digging and math to get the pacing right.

Chapter Three:

Hakunin is a character that I think is much more important to Carla than how I usually write him. Also, I definitely took away Hakunin’s visions in this fic, because I didn’t exactly know how they would fit in thematically.

Don’t worry, the Toxic Caves will not collapse in-game, but it was a fun idea anyways. A real nail in the coffin of Carla using grenades.

Oh yeah, and you only need ONE tool and ONE wrench for the super repair kit, I only realized when I was going through my second playthrough doing this quest. Speaking of me playing it, too, I play the European French version, so I actually don’t have kids, so I have to hike down to Redding to get a wrench.

Lenny actually only needs I think an Approved reputation in Gecko, but getting both him and the car together felt right. Lenny is a funny character to me because I actually didn’t travel with him in-game too much. I realized as I was writing that Marcus wasn’t in it yet, and I traveled with Marcus probably 70% of my playthrough.

Chapter Four:

Lots of main quest getting on track here with Navarro! I do like that I had us meet Matthew while it was Carla’s third time talking to him, to really see how she acts when she knows exactly what’s going on.

I wanted this Carla to not end up like canon Carla, and here’s one big difference right away, which is that she doesn’t have to sneak into Navarro.

Oh yeah, you absolutely cannot blow up Navarro. Sorry. It was a good plot idea, though, foreshadowing the end of the story. I had them retaliate by killing everyone, leaving nobody for her to save. This one definitely got a little darker at the end, and I don’t think Carla ever really got over the fact that she just killed two of her friends in cold blood.

Chapter Five:

It is actually talked about in canon that the Highwayman does have an unstable motor, and that’s why you have to park it on the edges of towns and settlements.

Oh my goodness it took her forty-five cycles to get to New Reno! I do actually like the way I paced it, because it doesn’t end up dragging out too much in the middle, which is what I was worried about when I was writing. I actually didn’t plan out too much in advance, but I always kept an eye on the final number, since I wanted it to round up to 100. I had a vague idea of big milestones, like getting to the Rig for the frist time, things like that.

I feel like her skills have continued to grow even from cycle to cycle, and that’s why she has good Barter and Speech skills. I think her physical combat ones would still need honing to get back up to where she was, but her mental ones would probably continue to grow.

Death by centaurs. I was starting to run out of monsters to kill her.

Finally, Marcus! I tried to incorporate the idea of looking up quests ahead of time, so for example making sure you have power armor when you get to Broken Hills.

Oh shit angst time, I do like this scene, and I feel like I was really getting to start getting a better handle on the pacing.

Chapter Six:

I can’t believe it took this long to get Goris here too!

This is one of my favorite sets of cycles, because there are so many ways to get the fuel. What I like that I did is that this Carla failed at the things that canon Carla did, namely killing the AHS-9 and saving Badger’s girlfriend. But this Carla had high enough Charisma and Karma to just get it from the Shi.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a companion die, and I wanted to illustrate the feeling I get when I play and they die, and I just have to restart, because what is the point in going on without them? It was supposed to parallel Carla’s death a few chapters ago when she first met Len.

Chapter Seven:

one of my favorite deaths, the electrocution. I do like the way I wrote it, it’s also one of my longer scenes.

I wish I would have spent more time describing the Oil Rig itself, since I kind of skimmed over the description.

Oh, I’m so bad at these kinds of puzzles. I did literally just hit every button and keep myself going with Stimpacks. I promised myself I wouldn’t look up a walkthrough my first time playing, and I stuck to that. When I got to the end, I’d lost 60 HP, and that was after resting in both of the side rooms and using a ton of Stimpacks.

We skipped ahead a ton in cycles here. I wanted to emphasize that all of a sudden we were in the 90s, when I think she started her Rig journey in the 70s.

Chapter Eight:

Finale!!!!!

If there’s anything I would like to change, this would be a big one. I really wish I’d introduced the fact of it being her birthday way sooner, like in the first chapter. But I didn’t even consider it until I started writing this one.

Also on the subject of her age, I actually had to go back and find a save that I’d named “BOXING QUEEN ONLY 19″. I guess she was 19 at the beginning, which makes sense, because I was 19 when I started playing, and I turned 20 shortly before finishing.

I had a lot of different ideas surrounding what was going to happen to her. The loss of limb and hearing I kept, but I was going to have the Elder die I think? Or somebody important die, and have her have to decide to keep going in spite of that.

FUCKING CHRIST Henry doesn’t heal people. He’s not a medical doctor. I realized this only when writing “A Cup of Kindness”. Whatever. Nobody remembers the NCR’s actual doctor anyways. Here’s here to stay, I guess.

Pip-Boy as an assistive device was a great idea, I think. It also parallels my own use of subtitles while playing Fallout games.

This has the most parallels with canon Carla, particularly how she kills the President. She still ends the fic being very different, but this is one thing that stays the same.

Epilogue (Chapter Nine):

I like it! I’m glad I added it, even though I wasn’t planning on doing so at first. It really tied it all together.

#fallout #fo2 #fallout stuff i've written #fic meta #writing analysis #chosen one carla #if at first AU

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we-are-richmond · 7 years

Text

What Could’ve Been E2 C5

The group makes their way to Richmond. Will things go as plan or will sacrifices be in vain?

"What's going on?" Eleanor asked as we resurfaced. She clearly didn't like the idea of Javi having a gun at his back. "Javi is our way into Richmond." Eli explained. Jesus and Eleanor turned to me. "I had no choice." I stated, crossing my arms. Eleanor glanced at Javi concerned, who shook his head slowly. "I guess it would probably make it easier to get Conrad in for medical help..." She muttered. "Not you too." Javi scoffed. "Are you okay?" Jesus asked me and Lilly. "I didn't like the situation." Was all I said. Lilly glanced at me again, then the others. "We still have to find the others." I explained. "Alright, their gotta be somewhere here. They wouldn't have gone that far without us I'm sure." Eleanor stated. "Let's go then." Eli said. I glared at him a bit, before walking ahead with the group. "You guys are making a mistake." Javi stated. "Javi, I didn't want to do this." I stated. "You can't trust them Clementine. This won't go well. Infact, it could end badly for all of us. When Badger or Lonnie recognize you, they'll rat you out to Mason." Javi explained. "Who?" Jesus asked. "Mason is the leader of the New Frontier. He is a manipultive bastard. He'll say he'll help you, then he'll take out each of you individually." Javi muttered. I frowned, but knew we had no choice. As we walked, a familiar armored truck came to our sight. "That must be them." Eleanor sighed out in relief. We all walked forward, and I bit my lips seeing walkers around the truck. "We need to take them out quietly." I stated. I pulled out my knife, approaching the car. Just a simple rescue, that was all. But as we walked over, I couldn't help but think back to another occurence this reminded me of. Reuniting with lost people, searching for a better future, and doing anything to get it. Or so I thought. I always thought of how I'd do anything to protect AJ, even if it killed me. It reminded of two great people in my life. "Clementine, why didn't you stay in Wellington like I asked ya to?" Kenny asked as we got farther and farther from the settlement. There was no way I was going to let you leave Kenny. Not again." I stated, carrying AJ. "You and AJ could've been safe though." Kenny said. "It wouldn't be the same without you Kenny. Plus, walls can only keep you safe for so long." I craddled AJ as the small baby made tiny whimpers. Kenny smiled at me, carrying the duffle bags Edith gave us. "Your doin' great with the lil guy." Kenny chuckled. "I hope so. I gotta take care of him for Alvin and Rebecca." I replied, staring at the small infant. I had to do it for all of them, for the entire cabin group. "The look your giving the kid. It reminds me of the look I used to give Duck. Kids. They can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but in the end. In the end you love the hell outta them. Your willin' to put your life on the line to make sure they live another day." Kenny had been right about that. When Larry threatened Duck, he put his own life on the line for his boy. He got shoot trying to save his son from the St. John's. There was so much he was willing to do for him. "And when you lose it...when you lose everything. It's tough, but you gotta keep going on. Never stop going." Kenny explained. I looked up from AJ to the man. "Kenny, I don't know what I would do if I lost you or AJ." I stated. "Oh come on hun. I know you'll do just fine. Don't need some half blind old man around." He said. I stepped in front of him, catching the man off guard by a bit. "Kenny, your wrong," I stated, "I wasn't fine losing my parents. I wasn't fine losing Lee. I wasn't fine losing Omid, or Christa, or anyone else! So don't say I'll be fine. Cause I'm not! I'm not fine with just losing people! I know you say to protect your kids with your life, but I can't just lose you too Kenny!". Tears ran from my eyes, as I hiccuped slightly. The man looked at me in awe, before slowly crouching down. "Oh Clem honey...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Kenny said. He put the bags down besides him, and slowly wiped away my tears. "Kenny...please don't leave us..." I begged. "I won't. Clem, I wanna protect you. But I will do my best to not leave you and the little guy." Kenny stated, hugging the both of us. The man was careful not to crush AJ, but he was still close. I gently laid my head against the mans chest, my breathing syncing with his heartbeat... Kenny... "It'll be okay kiddo. I promise." Kenny whispered. This was the softest I've ever heard the man speak to anyone. Including to me or Duck. Or even Katjaa or Sarita. "Kenny..." I whispered. "Yeah Clem?" He asked. "I love you..." I said softly. Kenny gave a small hearty chuckle, resting his head on my shoulder. "Me too kid. Me too." He said. A small smile grew on my face, and for the first time in years. I felt safe. Safe as I had been with Lee. I frowned slightly at the memory. That safety was gone. I really wished I had saved his hat from Prescott... AJ could've kept it. Jesus helped me take down the walkers around the truck, no words being spoken between us. The front window of the truck was cracked, and Eleanor ran to it. "No...Clem, I don't feel...anything. I... I can't feel my legs." Eleanor helped Francine get out of the car, clearly both fine. She checked them both over, looking for any bites or injuries besides Conrad's. "You gotta go help AJ, Clem!" "AJ will be safe with me. I'll take great care of him. I promise." "I know you will Clementine. I wouldn't trust AJ with anybody else. Now, go!" Kenny....I will keep that promise... I watched Eli shove Javi forward, going down the street that most likely lead to Richmond. I'm sorry Javi, but I need to save my boy. Even with my goal, a lingering regret filled me. Should I have shoot Eli? Did I make a mistake? Did I sell out Javi for nothing?

#twdg #twdg kenny #twdg clementine #my stories

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 years

Note

Fic Prompt: Coldwave, Zombies.

Fic: Staying Alive - AO3 linkFandom: Flash, LOT, ArrowPairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart, unproven allegations of Mick Rory/Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: “– as always, this is Ami Dillon, your resident media studies graduate student and totally under-qualified radio host, and your source for the latest updates on the state of Central City during the present Zombie Crisis, courtesy of the Mayor’s office. In addition to life-saving tips and general safety alerts, we also bring you the excellent morale-boosting soundtrack of the greatest hits of the Apocalypse, by which we mean whatever tracks the local radio stations had sitting around and the cover songs played by our dearly beloved cover band, the Post-Apocs. As always, we begin with our theme song: Stayin’ Alive, by the Bee Gees!”

(the great coldwave romance of the zombie apocalypse)

A/N: Have you ever had an idea, gone “heh, that would be funny, I’ve always wanted to try writing one of those” and then it eats your brain? This is it.

…honestly, with the zombie apocalypse theme, I really should have predicted it.

———————————————————————————-

———The End———

“– as always, this is Ami Dillon, your resident media studies graduate student and totally under-qualified radio host, and your source for the latest updates on the state of Central City during the present Zombie Crisis, courtesy of the Mayor’s office. In addition to life-saving tips and general safety alerts, we also bring you the excellent morale-boosting soundtrack of the greatest hits of the Apocalypse, by which we mean whatever tracks the local radio stations had sitting around and the cover songs played by our dearly beloved cover band, the Post-Apocs. As always, we begin with our theme song: Stayin’ Alive, by the Bee Gees!”

———The Beginning———

Consciousness comes swiftly, as it always does, but Len yawns and stretches lazily anyway. He doesn’t have anything serious planned for today: Lisa’s off doing some ‘team bonding’ thing with the new Rogues he’s recruited, by which she means she took them to that Caribbean island resort beach house that Len won in a high stakes poker game against a Family don once to kick back, drink margaritas, and demonstrate to them the value of staying in rather than out. Len’s the vinegar, Lisa’s the honey; they work well together that way.

Naturally, Len is going nowhere near that stupid island when it’s this hot; he would have agreed to go if Mick was going, because Mick would have kept people (Lisa) from badgering him about leaving the air-conditioned house to go swimming or something stupid like that, but Mick had been lured away by a fireworks convention (why are there fireworks conventions? Why? Is it specifically designed to lure in pyrophiliac arsonists? Except no, Len checked it out, it’s apparently legit and just run by fireworks companies, pyrotechnics experts, and people who like things that go boom) all the way over on the East Coast, so Len’s all by himself.

He finds he likes that state so much more when it’s voluntary.

Still, biology can’t be denied: he’s definitely awake now.

Yawning again, he pads over to the kitchenette they’ve set up in the warehouse to make himself a cup of coffee, flicking on the TV as he does.

“Scenes of chaos break out internationally as what can only be described as zombies terrorize cities and towns around the globe,” the reporter says as violence plays out behind her. “No one knows where this plague came from, but the simultaneous outbreak in multiple locations has been definitively determined to be an act of bio-terrorism. Governments around the globe have deployed the military and information is limited. Interstate and international communications are being shut down as we speak. We don’t know how much long we will be able to continue reporting –”

The TV crackled, static-y, and abruptly cut out.

“Well,” Len says, reaching out to flick the coffee maker back off before it’s finished making the coffee. “Shit.”

———The End———

“Mayor Snart! Mayor Snart!”

“I am not the goddamn mayor,” Len says, as evenly as he can, though he suspects sourly that he’s going to lose that fight - in fact, that he may have lost it several weeks ago and no one seems inclined to confirm to him that the fight is lost.

The grins of the media pool seem to confirm as much.

“I’ll give you five minutes to ask questions,” he concedes. “Starting now. Go.”

“Mayor Snart – Scott Evans, Central City Picture News. Now that you’ve opened Central City’s doors to the international community once more -”

“After they go through our quarantine procedures, yes,” Len interjects.

“-the world wants to know how you managed to make Central City the most functional city in North America following the Crisis.”

“You do realize I said I was only giving you five minutes, right?” Len says with some disbelief. “Four minutes, thirty eight seconds, now.”

The reporter seems to realize his error and quickly rushes to the next point on his list. “Mayor Snart, when did you first learn about the crisis?”

“When I saw the news on my TV, just like most of the rest of the world,” Len says. “Next question?”

“Mayor Snart – Ronnie Troupe, Daily Planet,” a black woman says. “What reason did you have for going straight to Central City University in your quest to defend the city? What qualities were you thinking about?”

“The intercom system, mostly,” Len says, then takes half a step back at the sheer noise the media pool is generating at him. He holds up his hands for silence, which he even gets after a few minutes. “Everybody’s got a zombie plan, right? This one was mine. I always figured that the university – any university – has the most important assets you need when dealing with a zombie invasion, and I turned out to be right.”

“What assets are those?” the woman asks. “The library, for information?”

“The cafeteria, with food supplies?” another reporter asks eagerly.

“A well-stocked medical facility?” another one added in.

“All of those are important,” Len says. “But no, I was thinking about its greatest asset: an intercom system, and lots and lots of mostly able-bodied young adults between eighteen and twenty six who are conditioned by over twelve years of school to listen to anything that comes out of that intercom.”

He has to step back again as the media roars, each one yelling follow-up questions and drowning themselves out in the sheer noise. Then, when they realize he can’t hear them, they each start shouting his name – “Mayor Snart! Mayor Snart!” – in an effort to get his attention.

This is ridiculous.

“Lise,” he says to his sister and self-appointed chief of staff, who is perched idly in the chair next to his podium, filing her nails in a purposefully bored manner. “I’m basically the dictator of Central City right now, right? Why haven’t I banned the paps already?”

“Because you always said the only reason you can’t steal speech is ‘cause it’s free,” Lisa replies, not missing a beat. “Sorry, big brother. Suck it up.”

Len looked at his other side, where his personal admin – why does he have a personal admin again? He doesn’t remember agreeing to that – shrugs. “Sorry, boss. She has a point. You should answer some more questions.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” Len says, his internal clock hitting a blissful zero in its countdown. “Sorry folks, your time is up. I’ll be answering questions again on Friday –”

He eyes a smug-looking Lisa.

“– and in the meantime, I’m sure my chief of staff will be happy to answer some questions for you.”

He dashes off the stage, Lisa’s yowl of “Lenny, you bastard!” following him like music in his ears as the reporters turn on her like piranhas in a feeding frenzy.

She’ll make him regret it later, he’s sure.

But for now: freedom!

———The Beginning———

Len makes his way through the entrance of the university, which is filled by anxious-looking undergrads and older students, all gathered in groups and chattering amongst themselves or gathered around the televisions.

Some of them, in what Len can only describe to be the true tenacity of the American K-12 system, are still doing their homework.

Sometimes Len is so happy he’s a dropout.

“Hey, you,” he ask a black kid who’s hovering around watching the crowds with increasing trepidation. “Where’s the AV department?”

“Uh, third floor, I think,” the guy says. “Wait, who are you?”

“I’m the guy that’s going to keep most of the people here from dying,” Len says, and taps the gun strapped to his leg. “By force, if necessary.”

The kid blinks and stares at the gun. “Hold up. Are you Captain Cold?”

“Right now, I’m the man in need of the AV department because I don’t fancy dying,” Len informs him. “You hear that noise in the halls? That’s the student body hurtling towards panic. Panic leads to questionable decision making and stampedes, which in turn lead to –”

“Lots of dead people, no zombies required,” the kid finishes, looking grim. “Okay, on the off-chance that you’re not as bad as everyone says you are, follow me; I’ll show you where it is.”

“You’re very trusting,” Len observes, following him as he barrels down the hallway at double-time pace. "Especially given that I am a supervillain.”

“Not so much you I’m trusting,” the kid says. “Barry says good things about you.”

Len’s eyebrows shoot up. Well, if that’s not a spot of good luck, he doesn’t know what is. He has no idea who the kid is, but if he’s part of the Flash gang, that’s good news for him. “Barry – Allen?”

“That’s the one.”

“And where is Barry Allen, by chance? I’d been wondering that. Zombie crisis everywhere - I thought I’d see lightening every step I take.”

The kid makes a face. “He’s in Starling City. And possibly another universe. He and – uh, a bunch of the others – went to go stop the zombie plague.”

“I’m in awe at his success,” Len says, voice dripping with sarcasm, and then he sees the door he’s looking for and walks in. The intercom set up is immediately apparent and he heads towards that, sitting down and pulling it out.

“What are you going to do?” the kid asks.

“What’s your name?” Len asks instead.

“Wally West.”

“Great, Wally, you can help me with the vernacular.” Len turns the intercom on and summons up all his vague memories of high school and television shows thereof. He puts on his best homeroom announcer voice. “Students and faculty of Central City University, pay attention. This is an urgent announcement regarding the ongoing crisis. In order to deal with this in an orderly manner, I need all of you to head over to one of the big classrooms –”

He pulls away from the mic and looks at Wally.

“You mean the lecture halls?”

“- to one of lecture halls. Once those have been filled up, any remaining individuals should fill up the classrooms near to them. Please fill up all available seats. Once there, circulate a –”

He pulls away again and asks Wally, “What do you call it when they all sign their names?”

“Attendance sheet.”

“Circulate an attendance sheet. We’re going to want to know where everyone is. The next step is going to be splitting you up into groups of five people, so please start organizing yourselves into those groups. Faculty, send a representative of each department, but specifically the history, engineering, chemistry and physics departments, to lecture hall 101 –” Len had noticed that that was the largest one. “– and AV techs, please set up a system by which the broadcast from that room can be sent to all the other rooms or hooked up into the intercom system. Additional instructions as to how we’re going to be dealing with this crisis will be forthcoming in thirty minutes, so be in position by then.”

Len flicks the microphone off. “Think that worked?”

“I mean, yeah, everyone’s gonna do it,” Wally replies, eyes narrowed a bit. “But what’s the actual plan?”

“It’s a university,” Len says. “Gotta keep up with the proud college traditions of 1968.”

“1968?”

“Do you even get taught history here?” Len complains. “I’m talking about barricades.”

Wally’s eyes go wide. “Barricades?”

“Well, yeah,” Len says. “How else are we going to establish a clear zone to use as a base to re-take the rest of the city?”

“Re-take the city?”

Len holds up a finger. “Barricades,” a second one, “clear zone,” a third, “quarantine procedures,” a fourth. “Siege warfare and expansion to fight the zombies. You can’t fight if you don’t have somewhere to fall back to. We’ve got a couple of thousand students waiting for directions right now. You gonna help?”

“Yes, sir!” Wally says enthusiastically.

Len makes a face. “No ‘sir’,” he corrects him. “If you gotta call me anything, just make it ‘boss’.”

———The End———

– in view of the mental and physical deterioration suffered by the individuals afflicted by TX-90 (colloquially known as “zombies”) [see supra, chap. 2], city warfare quickly reverted to the forms most familiarly used in the European social conflicts of the 19th century, most famously in Paris, France during the revolutions of 1789, 1832 (popularized, of course, by the famous novel ‘Les Misersables’ by Victor Hugo), 1848, and 1871.

Early military blockades, composed in the more ‘modern’ style primarily of individuals and high powered weaponry, proved ineffective against the onslaught, particularly in view of the general reluctance of soldiers to aim against such human-appearing enemies, many of whom were still dressed in casual civilian garb. Additionally, the infection of a single soldier on the line caused a severe and immediate drop in morale, leading to regular retreats and ineffective blockades.

In contrast, the revival of the use of physical barricades, accompanied by siege warfare tactics, in the retaking of Central City [see infra, chap. 6] was extraordinarily successful. As the traditional ‘paving stone’ barricade structure was rendered unavailable due to the introduction of asphalt roads, the citizens of Central City – led by Leonard ‘Captain Cold’ Snart [this work, which focuses on the strategic and tactical elements of the crisis, will not go into detail regarding the well-known actions of Mr. Snart; for a full biography, see Roberts et. al, Cold: A Study in Unorthodox Leadership and Lahiri, Divak & Strumm, Supervillains To Superheroes: The Rogues During the Crisis] – resorted instead to a more nuanced form.

The barricades of Central City, which served as the model for the other cities in the United States and, eventually, the world, are created by using elements of the existing infrastructure. Three teams would be sent out on any given ‘building’ expedition: the ‘scouts’, the ‘builders’, and the ‘reserves’. The scouts – a position reserved for individuals of bravery and recognized talents in armed combat, often including criminals of Mr. Snart’s acquaintance which he deemed trustworthy and supplemented by his student army, many of which were obliged to pick up firearms instruction as part of the ‘Crisis Curriculum’ [see infra, chap. 5, subsection 3 ‘Educational Initiatives’] – would be posted at the furthest extent from the epicenter (originally: Central City University) in order to spot any approaching zombie. While the scouts maintained the perimeter, the ‘builders’ would overturn local cars onto their sides and position them in a semi-circular fashion between the buildings on each side of the street. Quick-acting cement, formed in large quantities in the labs of Central City University [see infra, chap. 6, subsection 5; see also Trumbull & Hall, Chemical Manufacturing in the Midwest: The Zombie Revival], would then be poured into the gaps between the cars, creating an immediate ‘wall’ that would serve as a barrier between the oncoming zombies and the defending individuals. The ‘reserves’ were there to supplement the ‘scouts’, should any roving bands of zombies take notice. A certain number of ‘gates’ were introduced in each barricade wall, initially made of doorframes stolen from nearby buildings and later reinforced with additional layers of concrete and steel once the local automobile factories had been reclaimed and their manufacturing capabilities turned to support the barricades.

These barricades were simple, cheap, and brutally effective against the ‘mindless’ zombie attackers, who would simply charge the barricades repeatedly, enabling the defenders to utilize siege warfare tactics, including, but not limited to, burning oil, spikes, ditches, and even simply luring zombies in before destroying a whole set with a grenade while the defenders hid behind their wall. Due to the cheapness of this approach, utilizing existing cars already out on the street, it was possible to continue to expand with relative ease without disrupting the earlier built segments. As each barricaded area was secured, yet another set of teams was sent out to create another barricade further out. It is this simple yet visually arresting barricade system that created the famous ‘concentric circles’ of Central City, leading to the famous images captured by airborne photographers –

excerpt from Military Tactics During the Crisis, pub. 2018, © Columbia University Press

———The Beginning———

“They’re coming!” a panicked cry went up.

Len races down to the gates of the university, which have been barred and sealed by his order. The first barricade line is still being built; he’s pleased to see that his squads are returning back to the relative safety of the university as ordered instead of trying to fight the zombies.

Perhaps a little more “retreat” and a little less “fleeing in terror” would be better, but hey, they’ll work on that.

“Does anyone have a baseball bat?” he calls out.

It’s just weird enough that everyone stops panicking long enough to turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Chair or table legs work too,” he adds, then goes over and hops the fence. “Though I wouldn’t mind having a few guns at my back as well. And can someone call the chemistry department? That work I’m having them do in their spare time regarding explosives will come in rather helpful soon, I’m sure.”

Then Len turns to face the zombies. “Heeere, zombie!” he calls, mimicking every person he’s ever heard talk to a dog. “Heeere, zombie!”

“Is he nuts?” he hears someone ask.

Possibly multiple someones.

But it works – the zombies lurch after him instead of aiming for the university walls filled with tasty, tasty undergraduates, because the zombies clearly have lost whatever portion of their brain involves prioritization and/or efficiency.

They’re quicker than the slow-walkers he might have hoped for in an ideal universe, but he’s even faster, jogging a quick circle around them until they’ve gotten themselves all into one big, giant ravening mob.

One big, giant target.

Len grins.

He hoists up his cold gun and fires lengthwise at full power, freezing the whole lot of them as he slowly moves the gun from left to right over the crowd. As he fires, he moves steadily sideways, echoing his first round around the zombies, careful to ensure he gets every single one of them.

This involves having to climb up on a dumpster to get the last few that got stuck in the middle, but that’s fine.

When he finishes, with nearly forty zombies all frozen, he turns to look at his audience of gaping students. “Baseball bats, chair legs, table legs,” he calls to them. “Any blunt object will do. I want this ice cubes smashed before they even think about starting to melt, you hear me?”

The roar of agreement he gets is most satisfactory.

———The End———

“Welcome back,” the TV show host says with a grin. “Our guest tonight is here to talk about her newest book – the Age of Heroes. Ms. West here is a long-time citizen of Central City –”

There’s a long pause for applause.

“– and one of the first chroniclers of the activities of the Flash, whom many people are calling the country’s first super-powered superhero.”

“Well, it’s something of a race between us and Metropolis,” Iris West says with a laugh. “Thanks for having me. Ironically enough, though, my book isn’t about the superpowers people – especially people in Central City – got, or what they chose to do with in. Instead, my book is something of an exploration of how the whole superhero phenomenon got started: people realizing that they was something to fix in this world, and then going to fix it.”

“A lot of people have been quibbling with your decision to set the start of the Age of Heroes, as you call it, back with the emergence of the Green Arrow, Star City’s controversial vigilante figure. What do you have to say to that?”

“It’s very hard to say exactly when something began,” Iris replies. “Certainly, academically, you could go with any number of options. That being said, I do think that the Green Arrow counts as a superhero – he dedicated his life to stopping evil in his city, even if the way he started out was…more violent than what we’ve come to expect from our heroes.”

“Though, speaking of violent heroes, what do you have to say about the current leadership of Central City?”

“Oh, Mayor Snart?” she says, grinning. “He’s – definitely a special case.”

The host leans forward, eyes avid. “In fact, it appears that your foster-brother, Barry Allen, has attended several events as Mayor Snart’s plus-one instead of his husband. Given the – would it be wrong to say legendary? – nature of that particular relationship, that’s got a lot of people talking. Do you have anything to say about that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Iris says, looking amused. “Weren’t we here to talk about my book?”

———The Beginning———

Len isn’t going to throw the phone across the wall. He is not.

For one thing, he’s a mature adult. Way too old to be throwing temper tantrums, even if there are no impressionable kids around to terrify. It’s childish and irresponsible and stupid.

For another thing, he didn’t work this hard on a reputation for being cool to lose it at the first provocation. He’s Captain Cold, for fuck’s sake. He is not going to go off at nothing.

A lot of nothing.

Several weeks of nothing.

“Don’t throw it, boss,” Wally says, walking in with an armful of paper. “Cell phones are hard to replace.”

Len gives the kid a dirty look. “There’s a knock off cell phone store inside the clean zone now, I happen to know. Anyway, did I ask for your input?”

“Yeah, you did,” Wally says. “When you appointed me your personal aide.”

“Why did I do that?” Len wonders grumpily, but he already knows the answer to that.

“Because you hate paperwork with the fury of a million suns,” Wally says, smirking. “Or would you prefer to say something more like the frozen heart of a dead star being sucked into a black hole of vast emptiness?”

“You were an English student, weren’t you?”

“Engineering, actually. Cars.”

“You missed your calling.”

Wally cracks a grin. “My sister’s a journalist. Iris West.”

“I’ve read her stuff,” Len acknowledges with a nod. “Good writer. Probably gonna murder Barry for dragging her out on adventure when she could be winning a Pulitzer.”

“She insisted on going,” Wally says. “She’ll be okay; I’m sure of it. Barry would fix the timeline if her nail broke.”

Len barks a laugh. “Speaking of the Flash gang,” he says, gesturing for Wally to come closer, “do you have the plan for retaking STAR Labs?”

“No, that’s Axel’s bailiwick,” Wally says. “He’s got this genius for guerilla tactics that you really have to admire; he’s on his way. He’s not that bad, you know?”

“Getting him away from Jesse’s influence helps,” Len allows. “He’s still a punk. You get Rosa’s little sis?”

“Ami? Yeah, she’s still handling communications and having a blast. No word yet on Scudder - he’s probably still in Iron Heights, and that’s still no-man’s-land thanks to the military.”

“Pity,” Len says. “Useful skill set, that. Well, we’ll figure it out when we get there. Have we secured the reservoir? Professor Latham’s lecture on cholera gave me nightmares.”

Wally shudders. “No kidding. Yeah, it’s secure; Singh gave the orders and the CCPD stopped bitching. Well, for the most part. They’re feeling overshadowed.”

Len shrugs. “I have plenty of cops in the ranks,” he points out. “It’s the ones that cling to their need for superiority over the rest of us that are having trouble adjusting. Though really, after we raided the SWAT supply, I don’t see what’s so great about their precious hierarchy anyway. Whatever. I want to see the latest update from the reservoir first thing this afternoon.”

“Right,” Wally says, noting it down. “Now you wanna tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“Do I look like the touchy-feely ‘talking it out’ type?”

Wally cracks a grin. “No,” he admits. “But you wouldn’t be asking about the reservoir three days after declaring the project in progress and leaving it in Jax’s hands - also, on that note, he hates you and would like to remind you that he never actually got into college - ”

“He knows more engineering from his auto repair job than some of the so-called professors,” Len replies with a shrug. “He can learn how to fix a dam. Besides, I assigned him a professor – what’s his name – as back-up, didn’t I?”

“He still hates you for making him a general.”

Len smirks. He likes appointing people as generals, especially individuals under the age of twenty-five. They always freaked out about it.

“He can tell me all about it when I see him this afternoon on the reservoir project,” he says.

"Which is suddenly important again, why?”

Len scowls at his cell phone. “Solar’s all well and good to supplement our generators, but I want some hydroelectric to help boost the phone lines. Why the hell did the military cut them everywhere, anyway? Did they think the zombies were going to tap them or something?”

"I thought you already heard from your sister,” Wally replies, frowning.

“I have,” Len replies. “She has a satellite phone. The military of the island nation she’s on has barred all entrance/exit traffic until they’re satisfied that the crisis is over, so she and the others went back to the resort and are currently debating piña coladas vs margaritas.”

“Wow, really?”

Len shrugs. “It’s an island, and I haven’t seen any indication that zombies swim.”

“…now I’m imagining a swarm of underwater zombies, thanks for that, boss.”

“Me, too, actually,” Len says with a frown. “Get the bio department on that question stat, will you?”

“Sure thing. So what’s the problem with the phones, then? I thought you said your sister was the only living relative you had.”

“She is,” Len says, eyes still stealing to the useless and not-ringing phone. “It’s my partner I haven’t heard a peep from.”

———The End———

“– our next Oscar nominee is 500 Miles, an epic tale of love and hardship set during the events of the Zombie Crisis. This moving film skillfully merges romance, tragedy, action, and, yes, even comedy – yes, a romantic comedy has finally been nominated for an Oscar, and all it took was a horde of attacking zombies –”

The presenting actor pauses to allow the audience to laugh and the camera to pan over various faces in the audience, all smiling.

“As you all know, 500 Miles is based on the amazing true story of current Central City mayor, Leonard Snart, and his husband, Mick Rory, who found themselves located on opposite sides of the country when the Zombie Crisis began –”

The camera zooms in on a group of people in the audience sitting by the far left wall. A tall man with closely clipped salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a dark blue suit, is slouched down in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s developing a headache; the man by his side, a larger man with a shaved head, has a giant grin on his face. He’s dressed in a tux and he’s somehow obtained a giant tub of popcorn, despite food generally not being allowed into the building.

The young man sitting on the other side of the first man, a lithe brunette with a pleasant smile, punches the first man in the arm and gestures at the camera.

The first man does not show any inclination to raise his head and mutters something that makes the young man blush and the second man laugh, as does the dark-skinned young woman in a lovely dress sitting by the young man’s side.

“– and this film chronicles their epic journey to reunite, despite the many hardships they encountered along the way. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: 500 Miles.”

An orchestral score begins to play as the lights dim and a giant screen descends to the center of the stage.

A vaguely audible “Oh, god, kill me now” can be heard from the position of the group that had been the subject of the camera focus a few minutes before.

———The Beginning———

“What’s all the big fuss?” Mick asks the first group of people he finds climbing out of their cars with duffle bags and a scared expression, poking his head out of the side of the car he’d hotwired. They’d reached the same conclusion as him - the highway, filled with cars, was never going to start moving again.

Mick wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, because he’d been at the fireworks convention for the last few days, slept the sleep of the thoroughly satisfied yesterday, slouched around the house for one lazy day to indulge in the feeling of having been around so many beautiful fires, and today he’d started heading back to the rendezvous point with Len. Same as always.

Except for the bizarre traffic patterns getting in his way. It’s been three hours - they should have moved a little.

“It’s - the radio - they’re saying -” the father of the group is stuttering.

The little girl, about eleven, has no such issues. “There’s zombies everywhere and they’re gonna kill us all!”

“Jessie!”

“What? It’s true!”

Mick blinks. He hadn’t been listening to the radio, though apparently that was an oversight. But really, zombies? That has to be a joke.

He flicks it on.

“– more sightings of the alleged ‘zombies’ have been reported in every major city and many rural areas. People are advised to stay indoors where possible and to report any instance of contagion to the military hotline, reachable at –”

He flicks it off.

“Huh,” he says. “Zombies. Okay, then.”

He climbs out of the car, because they’re definitely not getting anywhere by car. He grabs the backpack he’d brought along for the trip, which had everything he needed – a change of clothing, the solar generator for his heat gun, a hard-copy map and a couple of snacks – and straps his gun back onto his thigh.

“Guess I’m gonna have to walk this one,” he says, shaking his head at the thought. Cross-country hiking was never his idea of a good time, but he can manage.

“Walk?” the father asks. “Walk where?”

“Central City,” Mick replies.

“What’s in Central City?” the mother asks. “They said the zombie outbreak was everywhere, especially the cities.”

“Yeah, but Central City’s gonna solve the problem,” Mick says confidently.

“Why Central City in particular?”

“Because Central City’s got someone with a plan to handle this,” Mick says. Central City’s got Len, after all; they’ve never actually discussed what they should do in the event of a zombie apocalypse – the few times it came up while drunk and watching movies, they usually assumed they’d be together during it – but Mick knows Len. Len will have a plan. Len will enact that plan.

The zombies don’t stand a chance.

“You think they’ll be able to beat the zombies?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Mick says.

“But how are you going to get there? There will be zombies all the way there!”

Mick pats his gun. “I’m not worried about zombies,” he says with a smirk. “I can defend myself.”

The whole family exchanges looks. “Could we come with you?” the father asks hesitantly. “To Central City, I mean. It’s as good a destination as anywhere else – I don’t trust the military shelters they’re talking about on the radio.”

Mick blinks. He hadn’t thought about taking stragglers, but he guesses there’s no reason why not. After all, it’s useful to have someone to keep watch while he sleeps.

“Sure,” he says. “As long as you keep up, you’re welcome to come with me.”

“And you’re sure they’ll be able to win? Even against zombies?”

“I’m sure,” Mick says.

After all, a zombie crisis is not really that different from any other, and he knows what to do during a crisis.

Get back to Len’s side.

———The End———

“– I mean, man, it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before,” the young man with the long, braided hair said earnestly to the camera. “It was, like, a religious experience, you know? All of mankind, getting together, in all its different shades and complexity, in one group, and we followed our leader to the promised land.”

“It was just like they always said it’d be in church,” a young black woman adds in. Her hair curls in tight corkscrews and frame her face like a halo. “I never really listened, you know? What do they know, they’re all old and boring, that sort of thing. But it was just like they said. I opened my heart, and I felt the truth of it.”

“He led us to the promised land,” the young man repeats. “All the way from the coast to the heartland. He pulled us together when we were scattered. But he wasn’t, like, snooty about it or anything. I wouldn’t have thought that the prophet would’ve been the sorta guy to sit back and smoke a joint with you – I mean, when I was protesting in favor of legalization, I had that sign and everything, you know, Jesus woulda smoked one, but, you know, I didn’t really think it’d be that way. But it was!”

“He wasn’t doing it for fame,” another man adds, a young Korean man, rubbing his eyes and shifting a little away from the first man. “He didn’t even want to do it at first, I think. But he protected us anyway. He was called, and he answered.”

“He just tore his way through the zombies whenever they attacked,” the first man says. “Fire shooting from his hands.”

“It was a flamethrower,” the black woman says, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive –”

“A flamethrower that works with no visible source of fuel and can roast a zombie to ash from ten yards back?” the first man says skeptically. “Right. That’s what he wants you to think.”

“Listen, you moron; we already live in an age of miracles, we don’t need to be making up –” the young woman says, leaning forward emphatically.

“Hey, hey!” the second man interjects. “What would Mick think about how the two of you are behaving right now?”

They both look shamefaced.

“You’re right,” the woman says. “He’d tell us we had to get our act together and deal with this shit, because it’s the end of the world and there’s no one else to deal with it for us. Whether we like it or not, we’re all in this together.”

“He’s really profound,” the first man says wistfully. “Walking with him was an honor.”

“It really was,” the woman says, and the second man nods. “Let us tell you about how we joined up –”

———The Beginning———

“Goddamn military,” Len snarls. “Wally, make a note, we’re not ever letting them do anything ever again. And I mean ever!”

“You got it, boss,” Wally gasps, the rain slicking down his hair. He looked rather bedraggled, clutching at his coat in an attempt to keep out the storm. Ami, clutching her tablet in its water-proofed case, doesn’t look much better.

“How many do the reports say?” Len asks, stalking along the wall they’d created.

“They brought a whole Marine battalion,” Wally says.

“How many companies?”

“Last thing we heard before they realized we were listening on their frequency, three, but undersized,” Ami volunteers.

“So we’re dealing with anywhere from a few hundred to nearly a thousand,” Len says grimly. “We can’t assume any of them got out of that hell-hole military base without infection. How goes the building of the wall?”

“Points A through D report that they’re on schedule. E and F are reporting trouble with flooding –”

“I’ll go there now and freeze them a dam,” Len decides, turning on his heel and stalking towards there. “Not that I think the zombies will really give a dam about it…”

“That was awful, boss,” Ami says.

“Let it go,” Wally tells her. “Complaining just makes him worse.”

“No, I actually rather enjoyed it,” Ami says. “But it was awful. Factually.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says. “How are our squad leaders doing? Everyone in position?”

“Yeah,” Wally says. “Everyone’s checked in, it’s all good. We’ve got car lights on every wall, so we’ve got visibility for at least thirty feet all around, even with this damn rain.”

“If we had a few more of your cold guns, we’d be golden,” Ami says with a sigh.

“Sorry, my sister took her gun with her,” Len says, not without regret. “And we don’t have enough cryogenic power sources for another gun.”

“The cold grenades you were able to work up are a pretty decent alternative,” Ami assures him. “Also, engineering loves you.”

“It’s called thinking outside the box,” Len says. “Or outside the bomb, anyway. Everyone knows not to activate them –”

“– until we see the whites of their eyes, yeah, yeah,” Wally says. “Everyone knows.”

“Good,” Len says. “We’ll send the runners out as soon as E and F are ready to deal with an attack, if necessary; they’ll lure them in towards where we’re strongest, so hopefully E and F won’t have to fight at all. Doesn’t mean it ain’t a good idea to make sure they’re secure. Wally, go to point A; I want to make sure the runners know that if they try to be a hero, I’m gonna hunt them down and kill ‘em myself.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Ami, point C. I want our electronics team working on getting the goddamn grid back up right away. And if the federal government sends a message, tell ‘em we’re seceding.”

Ami hides a smile very badly. “Yes, boss,” she says. “Anything else I should mention?”

“Yeah. Central City’s a dictatorship, namely mine, and they’ve gotta apply for diplomatic status if they want anywhere near our borders.” He pauses. “Oh, and make up some stupid-ass limbo shit they’ll have to go through to get diplomatic status approval. Check with poli-sci and the D&D foucs groups for ideas.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Stop ‘yes, boss’-ing me and go,” he snaps.

They dash away.

Len stalks forward, mind already busy with plans to protect his city from an armed, infected battalion of soldiers who just couldn’t be bothered to listen to the warnings of a mere criminal.

He’s too busy for it, but he takes a moment to be happy that Mick isn’t here, though he would love to have him by his side.

He hopes Mick’s safe, wherever he is.

He hopes Mick’s near –

But not too near.

———The End———

The chaos raged about the countryside the dead rose from the grave, a stormy sea where every ship was strained and all were tried; surrounded by dread gates, nowhere to flee. The earth was churned by feet worn down to bone and hands that grabbed in a full-swelling tide under a moon that froze the human throne and burned in light those who had died. But as their horde approached our wretched wall, Despair tearing at bricks, we would not bow. These heroes stood so that we might not fall, For Central’s death would not, for them, be now. Our walls did fall, but we–the people–stay, knowing how close we came to death that day.

THE ZOMBIE CYCLE, SONNET. 6 – Harris “H.R.” Randolph-Wells

———The Beginning———

Mick grew up in the country.

Oh, sure, it liked to call itself a suburb of Keystone, but it was so far out in the sticks that Keystone was ashamed to admit to it. He knows exactly how it works, out in the places that are only theoretically tamed; he knows the dirt fields that appear out of nowhere, the hidden dangers in the pleasant pool of water, the way it gets dark.

It gets very, very dark.

And nowadays, there are more things that roam in the dark than just wild animals.

“Follow me,” Mick bellows, but his (surprisingly large, now that he looks at them) band of tagalongs mill aimlessly, panicking, as the groans of the approaching zombies become audible. It’s worse, in the dark - they have flashlights that do nothing, car lights that do nothing but make people claustrophobic - because they can hear them, humanity’s nightmare in its hideous infectious glory, they can hear them, but they can’t see them.

“We’ll lose them when we cross the river,” he bellows. “Just cross the river! Follow me!”

It does no good.

They’re caught in the panic and the terror of the night.

Mick knows that they’ll be safe if they only cross the river - terrifying to do late at night, he knows, fording a river is dangerous even outside of the Oregon Trail games - but it’s the only chance they’ve got. The fucking idiots that left the group to go to the Walmart accidentally drew the attention of an entire zombie horde, then led them right back to the group.

He could go himself. Him, and the others who aren’t crazy with fear, and he’d get father and faster without the stupid tagalongs that joined up with him, most without even asking. They just saw people walking and decided that they’d better follow, because at least someone seemed to know what they were doing. Didn’t even ask, half the time.

They’re not his crew. They’re not his anything. He doesn’t know them, they don’t know him. He could leave them now for the monsters to get.

Mick snarls.

He hates not being the scariest monster out there.

Mick holds his gun to the sky and shoots up.

It’s a waste of charge and fuel, he knows that, emptying his gun in a pillar of fire against the vacant skies when he’d much rather turn it against some zombie monsters, but it works.

All the panicking masses turn and look at him.

“Get sticks,” he orders, lifting his voice as loud as he can. “Big sticks, and whiskey. We’ll make ourselves light and fire, and then all you need to do is follow the fire.”

Weary, dazed, scared eyes look at him.

Shit, this isn’t Mick’s area of expertise. He can’t convince them to follow him; can’t convince them to save their own damn lives. He’s not good with people. Too big, too angry, too dumb - he doesn’t have Snart’s silver tongue or Lisa’s charming ways.

But he does have fire.

“Follow the fire,” he orders them, and backs off, gun held aloft, flames shooting up in a line that can be seen a mile away. “Come on, you idiots! Follow the fire!”

And he’s almost entire sure that it’s not going to work, but it does. The first few people stagger towards him. Then the next few after that, and then little by little the whole group is moving.

“Follow the fire,” Mick bellows, again and again. And then they start saying it too - “Follow the fire,” they whisper, through fear-bitten lips and chattering teeth. “Follow the fire.”

A lot of voices, saying it. Saying it again and again, all together, until it’s a mantra that even the people way in the back can hear and understand.

And Mick backs away the whole time, backs down to the river front and into the river, makes them keep going. He stays in there, even though it’s cold and wet and awful, because they need to see him to keep going. People help each other through the muck, whispering to each other, “Follow the fire.” Those that begin to lose energy are pulled along, even carried, and though they can’t walk, they groan the line along with everyone else.

Mick keeps the fire burning until the last one of them has crossed the river, collapsing on the banks of the other side. Only when each and every one of his stupid follow-alongs has made it does he turn off the gun and fall onto his ass, shoulders sinking with exhaustion.

“Like in Genesis,” someone next to Mick mutters, voice dull with exhaustion and the remnants of terror. “Follow the pillar of fire to the promised land.”

“Fire,” someone else agrees. “Fiery fire.” And then another someone starts laughing, and that does it. They’re all laughing, even Mick, and he has no idea why.

When the laughter dies, someone turns to Mick and asks, “What do we do with Alex and Mikhail?”

Mick just stares, because he has no fucking clue who that is.

“The fuckers that brought down the horde on us,” another guy clarifies, looking like he’s considering being angry but he’s a bit too tired to be totally sold on it yet. “We need to punish them.”

“No, we don’t,” Mick objects, and weirdly enough they all look at him. “They were just being dumb,” he says. “You’re all going to be dumb eventually, and when you are, you’ll be glad for it.”

He has no idea what he means - he knows he doesn’t want to be part of any ‘punishment’; he’s been in too many prisons to ever trust mob justice - but he knows he can’t let it happen.

“No shame in being dumb,” he tells them, and they even seem to be listening. “We all start that way. Way I see it, it’s our job to get the dumb ones the rest of the way there.”

“Carry them through the water,” someone says. Mick’s not sure who. It’s dark.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”

And then, even though he wants nothing more than to sleep right where he’s lying, he stands up. It’s more bravado and sheer pig headed stubbornness than anything else driving him now.

“Get sticks and whiskey,” he says again. “We’re going to have torches - tonight, and every night. We’re gonna follow the fire all the way there.”

He only means that it’ll be easier for such a large group to stay together if they have something bright to follow, but people start muttering again - “follow the fire,” they say, again and again, like it’s some sort of lifeline - and Mick’s not entirely sure what to do with that.

But it makes them stand up, the ones who still can, and that’s all that matters right now.

He’s going to Central City, to find Len, and Len can take care of whatever it is that’s growing right in front of Mick’s eyes. He’s sure Len will be able to handle it.

There’s nothing Len can’t handle, given time.

———The End———

– and of course his story is well known – and growing rapidly in popularity.

No one knows where the term 'Archon’ was coined for the enigmatic leader of America’s newest religious movement. Some say it came from his refusal to accept the name of 'prophet’, it being weighed down from a dozen other religions; others claim that there was at one point a serious debate as to whether Mick Rory was an incarnation of the archangel Michael. Regardless, the title seems to have stuck.

For the first time in living memory, we are seeing the resurgence of a new religious movement: open to all, ambiguous in its teachings, and with its leader still alive to theoretically explain them – theoretically, because other than his appearances with Mayor Leonard Snart of Central City (see our list of runners-up!), during which he often remains silent, Archon Rory has frustratingly remained virtually impossible to interview.

He has not even agreed to grant this publication an interview for the present feature -

–excerpt from TIME, “Mick Rory: Person of the Year”

———The Beginning———

“Almost there,” Mick says, squinting up ahead. They’ve been trudging through the suburbs for hours now, heading towards the boundary line that marked off Central City proper from the surrounding area.

A boundary more noticeable from the fact that it was now reinforced by what appeared to be a wall. Made of cars and concrete, and patrolled at regular intervals.

“They’ll never let us in,” Nadia groans. She tugs at her (head cover) anxiously. “This’ll be like that mall.”

“The guys in that mall were just assholes,” Mick tells her firmly. “They didn’t wait ten minutes past the first announcement to try to turn the world into the Mad Max dystopia of their wet dreams.”

“Survivalist militas,” Jerri spits. She’d brought her family to that mall in search of shelter; they’d been one of the ones Mick had rescued in his raid on that mall. She had reason to be angry: they’d been forced to join the militia’s band of “protected” individuals, expected to do chores and follow their absurd rules at the threat of a gun or being thrown out for the zombies.

Mick had enjoyed that raid. Jerri had, too - she wielded a mean baseball bat for a former suburban soccer mom.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m telling you, it’ll be all right.”

He’s pretty sure Len wouldn’t let things in Central get that far out of hand. Gotham was probably under martial law - hell, the cops and the capes there are just panting for the opportunity to really lock it down - but Central? He couldn’t believe it.

Still, no harm in being cautious.

“Nadia, Sharif, Timothy, Chris and Maricruz,” he says. “You’re with me. Jerri, Chaz, you’re in charge of bringing up the rest once we give you the all clear.”

“Sure,” Chaz says. “What’s the all clear?”

“We’ll wave.”

“And what if you want us to keep back?” Jerri asks.

“Chris’ll scream like a little girl,” Mick replies promptly.

Everyone laughs, even Chris. “I only did that once,” he protests, looking amused.

“Three times,” Mick corrects. “And that’s why I’m bringing you - that scream can cut through stone if it needs to.”

Chris is also apparently a somewhat well-known football running back, pre-crisis, which meant he had a remarkable running speed, excellent aim with a gun and a hell of a right hook. He grins good-naturedly.

They go up to one of the breaks in the wall, where someone is waiting with a rifle.

“Hello!” the guard says perkily, well before Mick and his crew can say anything. “Welcome to Central! How’s it going?”

“You mean, other than the zombies?” Nadia asks.

“Well, yes,” the guard says, blushing. “You want to come in? We have quarantine procedures, but everyone is welcome. You can keep your weaponry if it makes you feel better.”

“How’s quarantine work?” Mick asks. “We being tossed in with other suspected infected?”

“No, no - everyone gets their own cubicle, to avoid quarantine contamination. We set up plexiglass so no one feels claustrophobic or alone or anything - the psych department at the university says it’s likely to lead to heightened emotion otherwise - and we let you out after 32 hours. You know, just in case. Oh, and you get food! Do you have any dietary restrictions? We have halal,” he adds, looking at Nadia.

“Holy crap, this is the promised land,” she says, staring.

“How’s that?” the guard asks.

“Just a joke,” Mick adds hastily.

“Okay,” the guard says agreeably, though he still looked a little confused. “Anyway, bring everyone you’ve got. We’re a city; we’ve got room.”

“We’ve got a lot of people,” Mick warns.

“We’ve taken over an entire block of the financial district for quarantine purposes,” the guard replies. “We’ve got a lot of cubicles.”

Mick studies him, but the guard looks legit, and what the hell. They have a lot of people. They could take the guardhouse if they really needed to.

He turns and waves.

They begin to come - first in groups, then all at once, the whole lot of them, like an ocean of people bringing the tide in.

“Whoa,” the guard says.

“Told you there was a lot,” Mick says with a smirk.

The guard shakes his head in amazement, then pulls out a pad of paper. “Well, we’ll still need basic information for our records - names, origin city, any missing family or friends you’d like us to look for –”

“You’re running a registry?” Chris asks, interested.

“Yeah, we figured it’d be useful if people are missing each other, at least until we get cell phones redistributed. Let’s start with you guys. Names?”

“Mick Rory, Keystone City,” Mick says. “I’m looking for someone –”

“Wait, wait,” the guard interrupts. “Mick Rory? Is that what you said?”

Mick frowns. He wouldn’t have thought the open warrants were going to be such an issue, in light of everything, but…

“Hold on, I need to call this in,” the guard says, starting to grin. “This is going to be great - you’re to go straight to the main building – I’ll get someone to show you the way –”

Mick’s frown deepens. That didn’t sound like an arrest. “How’s that?”

“What about quarantine?” Nadia asks.

“He can do his quarantine in the main building; there are still quarantine cubes there,” the guard says. “We all got told in training that Mick Rory gets sent straight there, Mayor’s orders.”

“What does the Mayor of Central City want with our Mick?” Maricruz asks, her voice low and sweet and steely as always.

“Just to see him, I think,” the guard says. “Honestly, I don’t really question Mayor Snart’s orders.”

“Hold up,” Mick says. “Did you just say Mayor Snart?!”

———The End———

“I can’t go in there,” she said. “I can’t - it reminds me of the dark of the night when the zombies first attacked, when I was all alone -”

She turns accusing eyes on Adam. “You told me you’d be by my side the whole way.”

“It’s not his fault,” the guard said, his voice soft. Isabelle turned to look at him.

He was, now that she was looking, startlingly beautiful in his own way - his hair was long and braided, his skin dark as polished oak, his eyes fair. He held out his hand to her.

Isabelle took it instinctively.

“He can’t follow you into quarantine,” the guard explained. “It’s to keep us safe, all of us - and no one can be excluded. Even our own scouting parties have to go through quarantine after a long expedition. So many lives are at stake - we can’t let even one person hiding a bite in.” His eyes were wide and sorrowful; he had clearly known great loss.

Isabelle felt strangely affected by it - almost like she knew him, knew his sorrow - it wasn’t like Adam, how they’d bickered and fought, growing closer every step of the journey; this was something immediate. Something magical.

“What’s your name?” she breathed.

“Jonas,” he says.

“I’m Isabelle.”

“And I’m Adam,” Adam says, stepping forward, putting a hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. A possessive hand, one that would have thrilled her beyond understanding not even three hours earlier. “We traveled the Great Route together, in Archon Rory’s train.”

“Then you have done a great thing,” Jonas says, letting go of Isabelle’s hand only reluctantly, meeting Adam’s eyes dead on. “Perhaps, after the quarantine, I will have the honor of showing you around the city, Isabelle. But for now, follow me.”

She shivers as the two strong men eye each other warily. Could it be that they were fighting over her? That Jonas felt that same instant connection? Oh, but what about Adam - they’d been together through so much -

Isabelle would never have expected her life to become this; not in a million years.

- excerpt from “A Rescued Beauty”, the brand new romance novel by Adrienne Masters.

———The Beginning———

“Mayor,” Mick says. “Mayor.”

“Shut up,” Len says.

They were separated by a glass wall, the little Plexiglas box that Mick had to stay in for quarantine; he would mind it a lot more except that Len kept prowling around it, like he can’t wait for the time to be up. He felt like he was one of those beautiful paintings that museums kept locked up, one of the ones Len bent the full power of his considerable intellect on obtaining for his own. He’d never felt that before; it was strangely exciting.

“Besides, I hear you started a religion,” Len adds.

“I did not,” Mick protests, but he’s not so dumb as to deny that one may, in fact, have been started. “They did it on their own.”

“It’s still a cult of personality based on you.”

“Can I make 'em all drink kool-aid?”

Len’s smile is there and gone. “Your precious babies? I bet you know all of 'em by name.”

Mick prefers nicknaming people, but with a group that large he didn’t have any choice but to start learning names. But damnit, they’re not his babies.

He tells Len as much.

“Uh, huh,” Len says. “Jerri says to tell you that the pigeons are all fine.”

“Oh, good,” Mick says. “They’re skittish, though can’t blame them for…” He catches Len’s look. “They’re not actual pigeons; it’s just what I called this one group of kids - they were all out of field trips, and we got their buses to safety, and -” Len’s expression reveals nothing. “They’re not my babies!”

“Mick,” Len drawls. “When I said we could think about adopting, I didn’t mean a whole army of devotees.”

“Says the man who adopted a city.”

“Central’s always been mine,” Len says, sounding like a cat with a whole flock of canaries sitting in front of him. “They’re just getting with the picture is all.”

“Mayor.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you even know what a mayor does?”

“I have an entire poli-sci department at my beck and call,” Len says haughtily.

“So, no.”

“Not a clue,” Len concedes cheerfully, though his amusement is brief and the scowl comes back. He glares at the glass. “How much longer did they say?”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Mick says, amused. “You missed me?”

“Started to get worried after so long with no contact,” Len says. “You being a delicate flower and all that.”

“Lenny…”

“Don’t you 'Lenny’ me. Don’t you know how to use a phone?!”

“There weren’t any,” Mick says reasonably. “Most of the south was put on communications blackout. Military took down electronics everywhere.”

“We were too,” Len admits. “I had them put the grid back up.”

Len had an entire electric grid set up just to make sure he wouldn’t miss it if Mick tried to call.

Mick feels all warm and fuzzy.

“I hate having to wait,” Len says.

“I would never have known that about you,” Mick lies virtuously. Len’s as patient as you get on the job; it’s in personal stuff that he gets anxious.

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says.

“Don’t you have important mayor stuff you need to be doing?”

“I have sub-lieutenants for a reason,” Len says. “As do you. They can live without me for a short time.” He scowls. “Not that I’m doing anything.”

Mick thought about that for a second, the shrugs and pulls off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Len asks.

“Giving you something to do,” Mick says agreeably.

“Something to do?”

“Yeah. Watch.”

Turns out Mick likes being looked at like some precious thing that someone wants to steal away, as long as it’s Len who’s doing the looking.

Fascinating, the things you learn about yourself during an attacking zombie crisis.

———The End———

Buzzfeed’s 10 Top Unbelievable Stories That Came Out Of The Zombie Crisis

You Won’t BELIEVE What These People Did

…

#6 Sex in the Quarantine Room: Fact or Fiction?

The individualized “mini”-quarantine units - started in Central City by using cubicles and plexiglass, then refined as the practice spread throughout the United States - are the opposite of sexy! But when death is looming as a potential option, anywhere looks appealing. Yes, everyone is put in these quarantine units individually, so touching is a no-no, but nothing will stop these brave outside-the-box thinkers, not even being literally in the box! There are reports of at least three confirmed incidents and potentially dozens more - there are even rumors that one of the most famous reunions, that of Mayor Leonard Snart and Archon Mick Rory, featured some of this!

———The Beginning———

Wally didn’t want to tell Len about the rumors at first, that much was obvious, but if the last few months of fighting side-by-side has done anything, it’s taught Len every single one of the kid’s tells.

“Tell me,” Len orders.

Wally tells him.

Len gets up and goes to solve the problem, because he’d known that there was some type of pernicious rumor dampening morale and he’d even known more or less who was spreading it, he hadn’t know exactly what it was. The downside of leadership, he supposed; they tried as much as possible to keep him out of the loop.

He hated being out of the loop.

Maybe he should establish a spy network? That’s what the television said leaders did instead of gossiping.

He’d ask at the next general assembly meeting. The LARPers will support him, at least; they think that stuff’s cool.

Mick will think it’s cool, if he ever manages to escape the stupid temple they’re building for him. Oh, sure, they’re calling it a ‘gathering place’, but Len knows what they really mean, even if Mick hasn’t quite accepted the reality of it yet.

The knot of ill-wind huddled around the statue of Bovine that oversaw the side lawn in front of the Agricultural Studies Department. It was easily accessible from the front lawn and from multiple buildings; they were going to have quite an audience.

Good.

Eyes followed Len, as they always did; he’d become uncomfortably aware that many of the people who came in through the quarantine lines saw Len as personally responsible for saving them, which was of course absurd and undoubtedly the remnants of shock after being attacked by zombies. Many had heeded Len’s early hijacked radio announcements - courtesy of the combined efforts of the media studies college-radio host and the comp-sci hackers - to stay in their homes, that rescue was coming; many had thought it was a lie and expected death, so they were pleasantly surprised when Len’s squads collected them and hurried them over to quarantine.

Len knows how to play an audience, though, and he’s worn his blue parka so much that the mere sight of it acts like a beacon.

So all eyes are on him when he stops in front of the small crowd of students milling around the statute.

“I hear,” he drawls, eyeing them all, “that somebody here’s got some beef with the Flash.”

Silence for a long moment.

And then foolishness prevails, someone assuming that Len’s reputation was a better guide than his tone of voice.

“He abandoned us!” someone shouts. “He should have been here to stop the zombies, and he wasn’t!”

“He’s fast! He could have saved all those people!”

“Where is he, anyway? Hiding or something?”

“Yeah!” “That’s right!” “Where is he?”

Len waits until the crowd is bubbling with anger and then fires his cold gun into the air, letting the shockwaves of cold air silence people as effectively as a gunshot with less chance of the bullet hitting someone when gravity pulls it back down.

“Are you all stupid?” he asks as politely as he can, his voice pitched to carry. “Some of you are young, so I’ll grant you that, but those of you who see yourself as past the age of reason - for shame.”

“You know where he is?” one undergrad, who had been one of those yelling most fiercely, a raggedy Flash t-shirt barely visible under her coat, asks meekly.

“I know the Flash,” Len answers, and he seriously can’t believe he has to do this. How quickly people forget. “I fought the Flash. You know as well as I do that he’d never abandon this city. You’re just so used to him doing all the work that you’ve forgotten that he’s just a man, in the end. He’s a fucking volunteer.”

His eyes review the ranks and they wilt before him.

“I’m sure you’ve all volunteered for something,” he says, “either before or during this crisis. Ain’t it hard, doing something without any expectation of reward? Throwing yourself - your body - against the worst this city can come up with on a regular basis? But the Flash does it. He does it again and again. And I am willing to bet that he’s doing it now.”

“But where is he?”

“The zombie plague came from somewhere,” Len points out, carefully omitting that he actually did have a good idea of where the Flash was and what he was fighting, courtesy of Wally. Some information didn’t need to be shared, and the existence of a stable breach to an alternative dimension that wanted to poison yours was definitely one of them. “I’m willing to bet he’s there, keeping the worst of it away. That, or he’s dead and you’re all on your own. Pick whichever theory you prefer.”

“Why do you care?” someone in the back, feeling brave in their anonymity, shouts.

“He’s my nemesis,” Len says. “Judge a man by his enemies, and whatnot. But more importantly, I’ve never in my life blamed a volunteer for not being able to do more than they can, and I ain’t starting now.”

His eyes narrow. “And since you all seem pretty content sitting here, swapping grievances instead of helping out in quarantine, the clinic, the cafeteria, sanitation or the fields - it’s not like we don’t have options - I’m guessing you’re all gonna be pretty happy with that tendency.”

Several people look shame-faced.

Len consults his mental version of the enhanced catalogue they’ve made, the school version merged with the IDs of everyone who they brought inside.

“Katy,” he says to one. “You’re chemistry. I expect to see you helping out in the labs.” Her eyes go wide. “Rakesh,” he continues. “Shira. Matt. The cafeteria needs extra help today.”

He goes down the line, smile painted firmly on his face, naming each of them and assigning them a task. It’s a good thing he prepared ahead of time, noting who seemed to be the source of the trouble, because even Wally is gaping at him, utterly impressed, and that kid isn’t surprised by anything anymore.

“Now,” he says, concluding his recital, “you’re all volunteers, you’re all here, and right now, you’re all we’ve got to rely on. No Flash, no heroes, just you. So get to it.”

He pauses.

“Oh, and the next person who wants to talk shit about the Flash behind his back?” he adds, icy smile growing on his lips. “Just remember that the Flash beat me once, one on one, and I’d be more than happy to find myself a new nemesis to keep me busy while he’s gone. Anyone who thinks they’re better than he is had better be ready to prove it.”

Oddly enough, there don’t seem to be many volunteers for that.

———The End———

fansagainstzombies: CALLOUT: do NOT apologize for zombies!!! they are mass murderers and MUST BE STOPPED. u cannot sympathize with zombies and still be on the side of their victims.. it is upestting and rude to all zombie survivors. DO NOT NORMALIZE ZOMBIES. THEIR ACTIONS HURT PEOPLE AND ARE COMPLETEY INEXCUSABLE.

justiceforthedead66: excuse me?? zombies were people just like us and we need to HELP them, it isn’t there fault that their killing people, their sick and not in their right mind, we need to find a CURE, not just MURDER these INNOCENT PEOPLE

fansagainstzombies: *their *they’re *they’re you’re argument is invalid. go back to 2nd grade, where your politics belong

theyliveagainandagain: [popcorn.gif]

zombiezombiezombiemushroommushroom: Guys, you’re taking this all too seriously.

fansagainstzombies: they were KILLING PEOPLE. WTF even is WITH this hellsite

———The Beginning———

“We’ve been gone how long?!” Cisco exclaims.

“Six months,” Felicity explains, staring at the screen. “Looks like it was a six to one ratio - one day there, six here. And it’s, uh - there’s a communications blackout. Mostly.”

“What? Why?” Iris asks.

“Uh,” Felicity says.

Sara peers over her shoulder. “Wait,” she says. “Zombies? But I thought - we went to stop them!”

“We did,” Joe says grimly. “Some of it must have gotten through regardless.” He rubs his hands on his face. “God, and Wally’s still there.”

“Thea,” Oliver breathes.

“We have to go back to Central,” Barry says. His hands are shaking. His city - he’d thought he was doing the right thing, chasing the cure and fighting the Necromantics, the inventors of the plague, all the way back to their own dimension, and in the meantime, his city, his responsibility was…

“Actually,” Felicity says, “looks like Central’s doing okay.”

“What?!”

“No, really - I’m reading military chatter, and Central City gets mentioned a whole bunch of times. Like, a bunch of times. By the time the military showed up to offer help - and not much help, either, we’re talking, like, food drops - the city said thanks but no thanks, we’re doing okay. And then started broadcasting - through the electrical grid they set up themselves after the military knocked the old one down, yeesh, now they’re just trying to make the rest of us look bad - information to other cities. They’ve got quarantine methods, zombie fighting methods - hell, they’ve been doing a weekly seminar on how to keep zombies away from your crops, and that’s, like, not even a serious issue yet.”

Barry blinks.

“They did say they would be interested in a cure if it were found,” Felicity adds. “Their new mayor, that is; he’s the one that led the whole movement against the zombies.”

Iris nudges Barry. “Looks like we made the right choice after all.”

Barry smiles helplessly. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.” There was something he wanted to say, something profound, maybe, about how much it means that they all got up to fight, that Central, of all overlooked places, is now standing out as a beacon of hope to the rest of the country…

“Our city is so much cooler than yours,” Cisco crows.

Or that.

That works.

“We should still head back,” Barry says, not even trying to hide his grin. “Oliver, unless you need help?”

Oliver shakes his head. “Easier without you, to be honest,” he says. “Star City is - complicated. At the best of times.”

“I’ll stick around and help Oliver,” Sara offers. “You go, Barry.”

Barry nods, and turns to look at his friends - Joe and Iris, Cisco and Caitlin. “C'mon, guys. I wanna meet this new mayor. Looks like we’ve got a lot to thank him for.”

———The End———

“As president of the United States during these dark times,” the president says, “it is my honor to bestow upon these heroes a medal that they have long deserved. We recognized them first during the alien invasion of 2016, and there we recognized them as heroes - individuals, meta or human, that were willing to put themselves forward to help their fellow man at risk to themselves.”

Barry shifts awkwardly.

Oliver doesn’t shift at all.

Sara looks like she wishes she was literally anywhere else.

“These heroes took the fight to its origin, fighting the creators of the zombie plague to a standstill and returning, triumphant, with a vaccine designed to prevent any new infections -”

“Only six months late,” Barry mutters under his breath. He was still pissed about that. Six months, his city had been without its hero, while he piddled around fighting bad guys in an alternate dimension.

Not that his city had been in bad hands…well, technically ‘bad’ hands, but not, like, bad hands…

“We got the cure,” Sara points out, also sotto voce.

“Yes, but…”

“Shhhh. She’s getting to our part,” Oliver interjects.

They quiet down, then step forward when instructed to let the president pin medals onto them.

“Now, our heroes will say a few words.”

Oliver nudges Barry. They’d agreed that he should do it, since he was well known as the Flash - though less well known than Oliver Queen - and he could adjust his voice like he’d stopped doing in Central ages ago. Also, he was apparently “charming”.

Barry goes forward. “Thanks,” he says. “We appreciate these medals; nothing means more to us than the people we protect, and we are honored to do so. We do it because it’s the right thing to do, not for any thanks - but it sure is nice!” He pauses to let the audience laugh, which they do, then changes from his prepared remarks. “I’d also like to thank you, the people, for standing up when we couldn’t be here. In city after city, town after town, people stood up and showed that you don’t need meta powers or special training to be a hero in a crisis. This medal belongs as much to you, people of America - people of the world - as it does to me. We do what we do not because we think you can’t. We know you can. We do it because you shouldn’t have to.”

Oliver is glaring hard enough that Barry’s half-worried he’ll develop Kara’s heat vision.

“We should have been there during the zombie crisis, done more, and trust me, no one regrets our absence more than me,” he continues anyway. “But you don’t need us - and you proved it. Thank you.”

Confused applause.

“I’m going to kill you,” Oliver says once they’re backstage.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Sara points out.

“That sounded like a retirement speech.”

“It wasn’t,” Barry says. “But I do think we should be partnering more with local authorities. Look at how much they achieved.”

“Your city got taken over by a supervillain while you were gone.”

“He’s the mayor now,” Barry replies. “You need to get over it already.”

———The Beginning———

People were happy to see him.

The Flash, that is. He got waves and a handful of “Hey, Flash!"s, and no one seemed to hold it against him that he’d been gone.

They made it almost all the way to the university center - they’d been excused from quarantine only because they’d been in a different universe, and anyway there were people hanging around to keep an eye on them in case they turned - before someone calls out, "Hey, Flash! Where you been?”

“I, uh,” Barry says. “Fighting the guys that invented the zombie thing. Getting a cure.”

“Knew it,” the guy responds in satisfaction, and turns back to what he’d been doing - repairing one of the barricades that seemed to dot the city now.

Somehow word spread, though, and less than fifteen minutes later a horde descended.

Well, just like eight or ten people, but they felt like a horde.

Biochemistry majors and professional chemists and pharma people and Tina McGee, who was a horde all by herself, in the lead.

“You have a cure?” she asks Caitlin.

“Yes,” Caitlin replies, and is promptly whisked away to the wonders of science and medicine.

Barry feels a bit like a supporting character in someone else’s (Caitlin’s) exciting biomedical thriller/action novel. It’s kind of a nice feeling.

Joe rejoins them.

“I thought you were going to find Wally,” Iris says.

“Apparently he’s in the mayor’s office,” Joe says, shrugging. He looks relieved; hearing that Wally was doing okay had clearly lifted a weight off his shoulders. He grins. “Besides, I want to meet this new mayor, too. Where did Caitlin…?”

“Don’t ask,” Cisco says.

Good to know that he was just as shaken by the horde as Barry was.

Then they get to the university and get shown into the mayor’s office.

“Flash!” Snart exclaims from behind the desk.

“Captain Cold?!” Cisco hisses.

“Flash, tell me you’re here to arrest me,” Snart demands.

Barry blinks.

That was…new.

“Um,” he says. “I don’t think so?”

“None of the police will do it anymore,” Snart says. His eyes are rimmed with red, like he’s been having trouble sleeping. “Waste of time, the whole lot. But you’re a superhero. You could do it. Just pop me over to Iron Heights.”

“We’d have you back by lunchtime,” Wally says. He’s slumped over a nearby chair. “And then you’d still have to attend the council meeting.”

Snart sighs. “Fine,” he says sulkily. “Never mind, then.”

“Wally!” Joe exclaims. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Snart says snippily. “He’s no doubt skipping the meeting on the basis of a long-awaited family reunion.”

“You bet your ass I am, boss,” Wally replies fondly.

“Wally, hold up a damn second,” Joe says. “Why are you calling Leonard Snart boss?”

“I’m his secretary,” Wally says. “Or possibly chief henchman. It varies by the day, really.”

They all stare at him.

“Oh, and he’s also the mayor now,” Wally adds.

Pandemonium.

———The End———

mymayorissexierthanyourmayor: LOOK AT THESE GIFS. LOOK AT THEM. How are these people real???

sssssnartssmarts: I love it when Snart and Rory kiss in public. It’s so fucking cute.

flameboycoldboy: This gives me life. Look at that adorable little face Rory makes when Snart kisses him!! [awwyouhaveacrushonmethat’ssoembarassingwe’remarriedstill.gif]

followtheflamewar: see this is why I can’t believe either of them is cheating with that Barry Allen guy

mymayorissexierthanyourmayor: yes, but have you considered: possible polyamory??

followtheflamewar: there’s no way to tell for sure tho!! at least we know the Ramon Glider ship is sailing – they’ve been going on dates like all the time

sssssnartssmarts: god those two make me so happy [lifegoals.gif]

———The Beginning———

“Joe’s still pissed off,” Barry reports.

“Let him be,” Iris says dismissively. “I’ve got your back, bro.”

“You’re the best,” Wally says. “Actually…”

“That wasn’t an offer to help with your paperwork!”

“Not paperwork!” he says, though he looks shifty-eyed. “Just – could you go out with Barry to the airport field over in Ashberry?”

“That’s outside of the line,” Barry says, frowning. “I know we’ve been distributing the cure, but…”

“But you’re a super speedster and can get them all,” Wally says earnestly. “So it, like, shouldn’t be a problem!”

“I’m helping repair the walls…”

“It’ll be super short,” Wally promises. “I just need someone to go pick up Lisa or else the boss gonna want to do it himself and that’s just – no.”

“I’ll do it,” Cisco says. “Uh. I mean. If no one else is. I could do it.”

His attempt at being casual fools literally nobody.

“I’ll take Cisco with me,” Iris says.

“But!” Barry protests.

“Relax,” Wally says. “Cisco, Iris, and two squads.”

“I don’t need two squads of backup,” Iris says, scowling.

“Probably not,” Wally says. “But it’s the rules. You don’t want to put up a bad example for everyone else, do you?”

Iris eyes him. “You’re getting sneaky.”

“I’m a politician’s aide,” Wally says. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Can we go now?” Cisco says hopefully. “I want to see Lisa.”

Iris rolls her eyes.

———The End———

“You had better make the weather fucking perfect,” Lisa says poisonously to Mardon.

“It’s perfect,” he assures her. “75, sunny, scattering of clouds, mild breeze.”

“Hartley -”

“The sound systems are perfect,” he sniffs. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Shawna -”

“I’ve done a head-count of all the guests, everyone’s here, and your fiancé is being talked down from a panic attack by the Flash, who’s here in costume,” she reports.

“Scudder and Rosa?”

“Banned from the premises and locked up as tight as Iron Heights, the Flash, and your brother can manage,” Iris reports.

“Good,” Lisa says. “Boys, you’re dismissed; girls, help me adjust my veil.”

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married,” Shawna sighs.

“I still can’t believe it’s going to be covered by the international media,” Iris says. She’s not jealous. Really.

“Don’t worry, you get the first interview afterwards,” Lisa says soothingly. “Or whatever Cisco’s next invention is going to be.”

“I’d better,” Iris says, and they share a grin. They hadn’t anticipated becoming friends, but somehow it’d happened.

Probably sometime around Lisa literally flying back in with a tan and offering to take Iris to her secret island next time there was an invasion of some variety.

There had been protests that there would be no next time, but Iris very reasonably pointed out that their track record hadn’t been great.

After that, well, what with Lisa becoming her brother’s unofficial media spokesperson slash chief of staff, it was really only business sense to cultivate the relationship. And they got to regularly have lunch on Central City Picture News’ dime, something they could both appreciate.

Lisa’s face twitches.

“Yes, you’re getting married,” Iris says immediately, recognizing the onset of nerves. “Yes, it’s a good idea – even Len likes Cisco – and yes, your dad is really, truly, totally dead. Deader than dead. We’re planning on having Mardon hit his grave with lightning as a wedding present.”

Lisa grins. “You don’t have to,” she says, but her shoulders are more relaxed. “Not that I’d object. God, how do people do this? This whole wedding thing is just nerve-wracking.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had it at City Hall.”

“But irony points. Also, honestly, where else could we get a reservation at such short notice?”

“Come rain, snow, or zombie invasion, the bridal market in Central City is as competitive as ever,” Iris says. “I’m going to have to book mine years in advance, when it happens.”

“If Len’s still mayor, you could do it here,” Lisa offers.

“You know, I’m suddenly convinced of the virtues of eloping…”

The girls all giggle.

Mardon and Hartley look at each other and make a quick exit.

“Boys,” Lisa says, shaking her head and watching them run. “I clearly got the best of the lot.”

“And just think,” Shawna says, grinning, “you’ll be marrying him in less than two hours.”

“Oh god…”

———The Beginning———

“Allen, swing by my place later tonight, will you?” Len says to Barry as they walk down the main street. “This isn’t really the time. Or place.”

“Right,” Barry says. “I keep forgetting how busy you are nowadays.”

Len rolls his eyes and drops his voice, mindful of the fact that there are paparazzi and camera phones everywhere. “The fact that you’re even coming to me with your super secret plans to establish a metahuman superhero base in Central City is already weird enough. My reputation won’t take much more of this.”

“You’re the mayor,” Barry hisses, leaning back in towards Len. “Your so-called ‘reputation’ is totally shot.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it is.”

Len glares.

Barry glares back.

“Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t reject your proposal out of hand from sheer spite, Scarlet,” Len says back, voice still dropped down low enough that Barry has to lean in closer to hear.

“A, because you’re a better mayor than that,” Barry says. “B, you wouldn’t reject anything out of hand, you’re way too petty for that. You’d let me do the whole presentation first, then reject it.”

“You know me well,” Len says, nodding a little.

“But that’s not the main reason you’re not going to reject the proposal,” Barry says confidently.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what is?”

“Because having the Hall of Justice be located in Central City would be so. freaking. cool.”

“…excellent point. Also, who the hell named it that? Cisco? There’s gotta be something better.”

Barry laughs.

Len shakes his head in amusement and turns to go to his next meeting. How did his schedule have so many meetings? Twisting a little, he calls back over his shoulder, “This evening, my place, 8 PM. And for once in your life, don’t be late.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He leaves Barry in the street shrugging helplessly in an admission of guilt.

———The End———

“Umbrellas!” the man calls out as the group entered the open-air marketplace in Central City Square, multiple individuals checking the darkening sky with some concern. “Get set, don’t get wet! If you pass me by, you won’t stay dry!”

“Fresh fruit, straight from the orchards of Keystone!” a woman shouts from another stall. “Get them fresh right now; they won’t last long! Ripe fruit, fresh fruit, get your fruit here!”

“Leather is better!” a man in a shop filled with bags and boots and other items cries out. “Finest leather goods in Central City! You won’t find any better than our leather!”

“Magazines!” another man calls. “Get your latest news fix here! All the celebrity gossip you could want! Actors, actresses, politicians – you know you want to know!”

One of the group slows down and heads that way to squint at magazine covers. “Hey, guys, look at this!” the young man calls back to the main group. “The title of this one is ‘Barry Allen: Homewrecker Extraordinaire.’”

“What the fuck,” another young man in the group says indignantly, ducking his head when people look over at his exclamation as if he could hide his face.

The first young man pays the magazine seller out of pocket – ten dollars and one Central City credit for good measure – and then carries the magazine in question back. “No, look,” he says, grinning. “On page four – ‘The mysterious Barry Allen, which has of late attracted so much attention from our esteemed mayor, maybe as more than merely a friendly visitor –’”

“Barry, for shame,” one of the woman says, starting to laugh.

“‘He has been seen in company with Mayor Snart at odd hours, including the two of them emerging late at night from Mayor Snart’s office…’”

“That was business!” the second young man squawks. “You know, running business!”

“‘And he has also been seen in the company of Mr. Rory in the evenings –’”

“Wait, hold up, which one is he supposed to be cheating on which one with?” a second young woman says, grinning.

The first young man flips through the pages. “Uh – huh, looks like he’s double-timing Snart with Rory and Rory with Snart, and neither of them have figured it out yet.”

“That’s the most unlikely bit about the whole thing so far,” a dark-skinned young man puts in. “Snart not figuring it out, I mean.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, look, Barry’s also apparently pregnant with a zombie baby.”

“I’m what?”

“The way of the tabloids is strange and mysterious, Bear,” the second woman says. “Just accept it.”

“I hate all of you. Why is this even still being published?”

“Morale, and also Lisa thinks this shit’s funny.”

“But seriously. Why do tabloids get to survive the zombie apocalypse?”

“Zombie crisis, Barry; the world’s still going. And are you really surprised?”

“…no.”

———The End and the Beginning———

“I demand that you do something about this injustice,” Len says to Barry before falling face-first onto the couch.

Mick was on the couch.

Mmm, Mick. That was fine; he could stay.

Barry just snickered, the ungrateful little brat.

Len lifts his head a little - not too much, Mick has put his hands on the back of Len’s neck and started rubbing, and he doesn’t want to discourage that - and glares at Barry.

“I take it from that you’re going to just stand by and do nothing while this continues.”

“Yep,” Barry says.

“Some superhero you are.”

“Terrible,” Barry replies.

“Total waste.”

“Absolutely.”

“Standing by idly while your city’s citizens are being horribly abused - ugh, yeah, Mick, just there; a little harder, will you?”

Mick complies, smirking.

“Len,” Barry says, sounding reasonable, which was surely a sign of the end of the world. “It’s not abuse that your staff wants you to run for governor.”

“But I don’t want to run for governor.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed, then,” Barry points out.

Stupid Barry.

“Wally snuck it by me,” Len says resentfully. “He’s as fast as you, now.”

“I’m sure that helps him with the paperwork,” Barry says soothingly.

“So much paperwork,” Len agrees with a groan. “I think Wally is planning on taking over the world and using me to do it.”

“I’m sure you’re very proud of him, you being a former supervillain and all,” Barry says.

Len considers this. “Well, yeah,” he says. “But does he have to be so public-spirited about it?”

“Just do me a favor,” Mick rumbles, hands still moving very pleasantly on Len’s neck.

“Sure,” Len says drowsily. “Name it.”

“Don’t become president.”

“Hah, please,” Len says. “I’m a former supervillain and I have this for a family life. What’s the likelihood of that ever happening?”

#my fic #dccoldwave #coldflashwave #goldenvibe #mick rory #leonard snart #barry allen #lisa snart #cisco ramon #wally west #zombies

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