#the legal system is bullshit all these fucked up people with their fingers in too many pies pulling all the strings is what the game's about

[shoeshineyboy]

okay so now it’s not 2am, here’s an expansion of that Magnifi shooting Thalassa theory that I was going on about yesterday, and where I think they May have been planning on taking the AA4 storyline. readmore-ing it because I ramble

there’s a theory somewhere that Troupe Gramarye is a front for the mafia and honestly I think that’s where they were going. there was an emphasis on organised crime in AA4, and up to this point, Ace Attorney was pretty good at not just bringing things in and throwing them aside. not only were the Kitakis present, but the back room in the Borscht Bowl Club was said to have been used by the mob, too. that in consideration, I’m gonna assume that Magnifi had mafia connections, and I’m going to disregard Jove and say that Apollo was born from a Romeo and Juliet (or, West Side Story, I guess) type situation with another mob family, hence his father not being present. maybe he’s dead, I doubt he’s that important....... unless he’s Valant. but that’s a stretch and I’m not going anywhere near that (yet)

anyway.

I’m disregarding my own previous Gavin parents headcanon, now, and throwing it out there that they were private investigators, hired by. someone. to look into the shit with Troupe Gramarye and, specifically, Magnifi. they got friendly with the other magicians, and, after Magnifi found they were getting too close, he had one of them killed. the other was framed for the murder, and sentenced to death because of it, bribery and fake evidence definitely coming into play. more on them and how that affected the boys... maybe in another post, because this is about the Gramaryes. during the rehearsal, Magnifi shoots Thalassa in order to have material with which to blackmail Valant and Zak. he’s able to keep control over them, and what they say, until his death. he asks them both to shoot him in a power play, but shoots himself, the same way he shot his daughter, leading to both men blaming the other until the truth comes to light.

...........Kristoph was playing the long game with Zak. Kristoph has definitely had dealings with the mob before, and, while I don’t think for a second that he’s the kind of person to give enough of a shit about his parents like that, I do think there’s the possibility that they were involved in... something a little deeper than the investigating, something that’d completely destroy the family’s reputation if it came to light. and Kristoph himself likely got involved in it, too. if we assume that Kristoph has been paranoid about this since he learned it, and definitely throughout his legal career, there was an element of cat and mouse with him and Zak. killed a man with a bottle because he was an evil human being? nah. he killed a man with a bottle because it would destroy everything if said man spoke out.

that last paragraph is something I came up with just now. anyway enjoy,

[e-vasong]

I’ve already talked about a Leverage crossover where the Hargreeves are conmen but I'm. losing it thinking about. a Leverage AU where the Leverage team sees these kids on tv, and they just go.  oh shit, that’s just fucking wrong.  (I know the timelines don’t match up but let’s pretend the umbrella kids were born a little later, or that Leverage takes place a little earlier, or something like that.  I don’t know.)

But these fucking umbrella kids show up on TV, and at first none of them are paying much attention. Not right away.  They’re busy running cons, and none of them except Hardison watch TV for fun very often.

So they’ve all heard bits and pieces about this Umbrella thing, and aren’t quite sure what to make of it.  Superhumans, huh? Eliot mutters at one point. Whatever. Our lives are already so goddamn weird.

But eventually they catch a broadcast while they’re home in between cases.  it’s playing in the background while they’re enjoying a meal together at the brewery.

The Umbrella Academy saves the day yet again! the broadcaster declares cheerily. We go now to a statement at the Louvre from their leader, Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

It’s just novel enough to catch their attention--being who they are, they all perk up at the word Louvre--and it gets them half-watching as they chat over breakfast.

It’s Parker that sees it first.  She’s Parker, so what catches her attention is actually not the fact that one of them is covered in blood, nor is it the fact that their father is calling them by numbers instead of names.  It’s the way that they stand, tense and upright.  It’s the way that the one covered in blood is trembling minutely, so fine that it’s almost imperceptible. But she notices. And she notices the way that the one to the bloodied boy’s left--the fifth one in line--leans over ever-so-subtly when their father is looking away. Whispers something with the barest movement of his lips. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he links hands with his shaking brother, twining their fingers together.  Parker knows that whisper, knows what this is. She used to do that with her brother.  Used to hold Nick’s hand, just like that, when their fosters were scaring him, trying to provide comfort even despite the fear of being caught.

It’s not long before the others follow her gaze. She’s stopped engaging in the conversation entirely, is just staring at the television with a death glare, nose wrinkled.

“Parker, baby,” Hardison says.  “That’s your angry face.”

“I’m angry,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“Got it,” Hardison takes it in stride, as he always does.

Eliot’s frowning at the TV.  Unlike Parker, his eye does jump to the most obvious thing first.  To the boy, no older than eleven or twelve probably, drenched head to toe with blood.  There’s no rips in his clothing; Eliot’s pretty sure the blood isn’t his. He’s standing up straight, but his shoulders are slightly hunched.  Like he’s injured.  Broken ribs, maybe?  And he’s been taught to hide them too. He’s also not the only one with that too-stiff posture. These kids aren’t standing up straight. They’re standing at attention.  Number One, their father calls one of them, and what are those? Fucking callsigns?  

Sophie and Nate are watching too.  Their faces are carefully blank.  They aren’t happy, Parker’s pretty sure, but they’re trying not to react.

“What the hell?” Hardison says slowly.  He’s the last one to catch on, though only by a very narrow margin.  He lacks Sophie and Nate’s cynicism, and the years of personal experience Parker and Eliot have, but he’s still too smart to not figure it out almost immediately.  And he is first one to abandon the stunned stillness that’s fallen over the rest of them, pulling his laptop out of his bag, already quickly tapping away at the keys.

“This ain’t right,” Eliot says, voice a growl in his chest.  “This is--this is--it’s televised child abuse.”

Sophie makes a quiet noise of agreement then. “It is,” she says, quietly disgusted. “Those poor children.”

Nate is still staring at the screen, lips pressed flat.

“This Reginald guy looks rich,” Parker says.  Then: “Can we kill him?”

Eliot chokes on his drink.

“How is this even legal?” Sophie asks.  She sounds curious, though not particularly surprised by the grievous violation of child protection laws before her. “It’s so...blatant.”

“Sir Reginald Hargreeves,” Hardison says, no longer typing.  “He is--oh shit.” And the typing resumes, faster and a little more panicked than before.

“Hardison?” Nate prods after a moment, giving Hardison a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” Hardison says.  “The INTERPOL files on this guy are locked up tight though.  Almost tripped their security system there.  I didn’t, of course, but--”

“You couldn’t get in?” Eliot says, smirking.

“Yet,” Hardison says.  “Dammit, man, it’s been less than five minutes.  Give me a couple hours and that thing is mincemeat.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.  But I do see what’s going on here and,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment.  “Y’all, this is hinky.”

“Yes, I think we got that,” Nate says.  The corner of his lip twitches up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hardison says.  “This guy has got friends everywhere.  No one knows how he got the kids, but it looks like he technically bought them--”

“He what?” Sophie sounds like she’s been suckerpunched.  Parker can’t think of the last time she heard Sophie sound so shocked.

“Oh yeah.  You think that’s bad?  The numbers aren’t code names  The numbers are their name names.  Like, legally.  I just found an article that said he ordered them by how useful he thinks they are, but judging by the adoption papers it was actually in the order he, uh,” Hardison coughs, “acquired them.”

Eliot is swaying where he stands.  “Common tactic.  He’s pitting them against one another so they’ll be easier to control.  It undermines the self worth of the ones lower on the scale and makes the ones that are higher up feel obligated to do what he wants.  Son of a bitch.”

“...And it looks like he leveraged their powers as excuse to gain exemptions from child protection laws,” Hardison continues like he hasn’t been interrupted.  “Claimed their abilities meant they don’t need the same safeguards.”

“That’s bullshit!” Eliot sounds thunderous.

“I know, buddy,” Hardison reaches over blindly, waving his hand around vaguely until he finds Eliot’s shoulder.  He gives it a comforting squeeze.  “I didn’t write it.”

Eliot heaves in a shuddering breath.  “That’s just--”

“Evil,” Sophie finishes.  

“I’m inclined to agree,” Nate says.  He’s not watching the TV anymore.  He’s staring off into the middle distance, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh!” Parker perks up.  All the grief and distress that had been brewing on her face vanishes like storm clouds parting for the sun.  “Nate! Nate, are you scheming?  You look like you’re scheming.”

Nate makes a noncommittal grunt.  “It would be dangerous.”

“They’re in danger,” Sophie says softly, jerking her head in the television’s direction.

Eliot’s long-since gotten to his feet.  He’s pacing, and that’s how Parker knows he’s furious.  When Eliot is too angry to stand it, he has to move, has to find some way to handle the rage roiling under his skin.  Usually he cooks, chopping vegetables with furious aplomb.  And when he can’t cook, he paces.  

“They’re fucking child soldiers,” he says.  “I can’t--” he cuts himself off with a furious shake of the head.  I can’t believe, he was about to say, Parker thinks, but he had to stop because that’s not true.  Eliot knows better than anyone what the government--what the world does to people they find useful, whether its skill or power that makes them so.

“Y’all are behind,” Hardison says in sing-song.  “I’m already trying to burn this motherfucker down.”

“Hardison, do not tip our hand,” Nate says, snapping into his leader-voice automatically.  Parker grins.  He’s already got a plan, then.  She knew all that reluctance was just for show.  Sophie laughs, as clear and bright as the ringing of a bell, and even Eliot perks up.  

Hardison grumbles, closing his laptop and stuffing it back in his messenger bag.  

Nate is grinning a little too, though it’s that angry smile he gets sometimes when Parker knows he’s thinking about hurting bad people.  She understands.  She's wearing hers too right now.  Nate glances them all over, and for all the malice dripping off the knife’s edge of that smile, his eyes are soft.  Maybe even a little proud.

“Fine. Fine. You guys win,” Nate says, lifting his hands in defeat.  He’s putting on a show of being beleaguered, but Parker can hear the sparking anger in his voice, and oh, how could she have forgotten?  Sophie is so gently righteous, Hardison so achingly distressed, and Eliot so full of fire and fury that she almost didn’t notice Nate’s seething wrath, nearly forgot that Nate looks at every injured child in need of help and thinks of Sam.  “Everyone, get your things.  Hardison, get us some plane tickets.  Let’s go steal some children.”

“Okay, okay.  I ain’t complaining cause, like, fuck that guy,” Hardison says, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  “But stealing children?  Could you have made us sound anymore like kidnappers?”

“Hardison!”

“I’m just saying.”

[fuck-customers]

A customer came in today to find out if he had insurance on his phone, which he did. So I did my usual routine on explaining how to make the claim and go about fixing the phone or replacing it. He tried to do it in the store, which normally isn’t a problem as long as he’s not holding up the line or anything and then he started smashing his fingers on the screen because it was too cracked to register what he pressed.

He asked me if there was any other way to make the claim and I told him the only way was online because the insurance was a third party company. He started making excuses on why he couldn’t like “i dont have a computer or anything else” or “my phone isnt working look” and then continued to forcefully press on the screen. So he asked to use one of our computers, which I politely said no and explained “We aren’t allowed to let customers use our computers, for security reasons.”

He got pissed and starting calling it bullshit and said “any other manager would let me use a tablet to do it, youre just lazy” and I repeated myself and even said that if someone were to do that then theyd be breaking company policy because thats literally a breach of security since all our tablets and computers are programmed with the system we use to access all customer accounts.

I’m really a “fuck corporate” kind of person and ill break a rule here and there but this guy was being a dick and we have cameras all over the store so I stood my ground and kept denying him.

He got so mad that he asked to speak to the manager and my manager wasnt in so then he asked for his phone number and I told him Im also not allowed to give out personal information like that. Then he asked for my name and since I didn’t do anything wrong I refused and he got pissed and spout all this bullshit about how Im legally obligated to give him my name because hes a paying a customer. Like for one, he didnt buy anything, hes not a paying customer at the store. And two, im definitely not legally obligated to give out my personal information to angry customers because they didnt get what they wanted.

Anyways, he started yelling at me about how im lazy, unprofessional and useless. At this point I was getting irritated so I responded with “Im sorry thats your opinion” I guess that was kinda sassy but i mean?? He was being a piece of shit. Its literally also not in my job description or title to make insurance claims, repair phones, set up phones, or apply screen protectors. So i definitely wasnt refusing him service. I did what he asked, which was to access his account and see if he had insurance on his phone.

He yelled all the way to the door and before fully walking out he turned around and said “and you’re ugly too” I dont care about a random dudes opinion about my looks but I was literally wearing a mask, theres literally no way he could know what i looked like?? I saw his ID too so I KNOW hes got no right talking shit like that.

After clocking out, my coworker called me to say that the customer called the store to tell him that he placed a complaint with corporate and that theyd set a meeting to go more into depth about the incident, which isnt really an incident because the only thing that happened was he threw a tantrum. Whats funny is i dont work for the corporate that he called. I work for a third party company that The Phone Company hired to open Authorized Retail stores. So theres really nothing TT&A can do

I don’t know what exactly corporate needs to write me up or fire me but im 100% sure what he told them was a lie because I acted completely professional and calm. I dont even know if theyd have my back, can I sue them for wrongful termination if they do end up firing me over this guys lies?

Its such bullshit to me that he went as far as to try to get me fired, literally in a pandemic all because of an insurance claim.

Which also!! If his phone worked well enough to call and complain, couldnt he have just, idk, made the fucking claim?!?!

I swear some people have nothing better to do than to yell at 20 something year old min. wage workers.

Get a life, man

[artificialqueens]

Better Than Revenge, Chapter 1 (Multi) - Joley

ao3 link

Jan put her hands on the back of Jackie’s chair, trying to read over her shoulder as if it would help one way or another. “Still looking into the Sarah Jones case?” she asked, resting her chin on the top of Jackie’s head.

If it were anyone else, Jackie would’ve shooed them away, but she didn’t have it in her to deny Jan’s presence. “Just about finished,” she assured. “It seems pretty cut and dry, the court case is well-documented. It’s yet another instance of a straight, white boy getting off with a slap on the wrist. Did ninety days in jail and another month of community service. Sarah came to the right people.”

“She getting any restitution?”

“Not a dime,” she shook her head and clicked her tongue in disapproval, then turned to face her. “Are you taking on this one?”

Jan looked over her shoulder into the other room. “Nah, Gigi’s on this one, I have a few cases to follow up on.”

There was a beat of silence where Jan was unaware of Jackie’s internal debating before finally asking, “so, you think you’ll be free tonight?”

She bit her lip, a smirk twitching at the corner. “You missing me in your bed already?”

Jackie turned around in her chair, looking up at Jan. “You’re a cocky little brat, aren’t you?” she teased.

Jan braced her hands on either arm of Jackie’s chair. “But am I wrong?”

“I can’t really argue when I’m eye-level with your tits.”

“Well, I–” her retort was cut off by an alarm on her phone going off. “Ah, fuck, my three o’clock case is gonna be here any minute now. I’ll be in my office if you need me, gorge,” she winked before turning on her heel and making her way down the hall.

Jackie turned back to her desk, exhaling deeply as she allowed her heart a chance to return to its normal rate. But it wasn’t long before she sensed that once again, she wasn’t alone, and groaned. “Don’t say it.”

“She has you whipped,” Nicky observed matter-of-factly. “It would be cute if you weren’t such a stubborn bitch about it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m an Aries. Stubborn bitch is my default setting. Ask Denali, she can vouch for that.”

Nicky furrowed her brows. “Where is Denali anyway? She left before noon to meet with a new client, she’s usually back by now.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Jackie assured, “she knows how to take care of herself.” Before they could question her whereabouts any further, her office phone began to ring. “Let me take this,” she said before answering in her ‘business voice’, “Karma Inc, Jackie speaking. How may I help you?”

——

It wasn’t uncommon for Denali or the others to make house calls for consultations. Oftentimes, someone’s privacy or safety could be at stake. So, she didn’t bat an eye as she made her way to the address listed in the email. But when she saw that she was at a scarcely used office building, her suspicions grew.

With her hand on her taser, Denali cautiously entered the building and looked around. The email said to wait in the lobby – not that she planned to wander around.

“Denali?”

The voice startled her from her thoughts and she turned to see where it was coming from. She then saw a tall woman with auburn hair and pale skin approach her. “You’re Rosé?”

“That’s me,” she confirmed before leading Denali into an empty office. “Listen, this is going to sound like bullshit, but I have a case for your organization. It’s of critical importance and could be huge for you guys as well.”

Denali’s brows furrowed as she eyed her suspiciously. “Who are you, exactly?”

Rosé strummed her fingers against the desk. “I’m a former detective and–”

“Hey, what we’re doing is completely legal!” she cut in, eyes narrowing in a glare. This wasn’t the first time she felt inclined to defend what her group did. What she considered their group was an ethical version of mercenaries (which may seem like an oxymoron, but that was beside the point).

They pick up where law enforcement, the justice system, or even society itself failed. When someone came to them seeking revenge on someone that wronged them, they took it seriously. The vetting process that Jackie would put each case through could take days depending on the circumstance. Bottom line, their goal was to help people who had exhausted their options and she would be damned if she let some cop get in the way of that. “If this is some sort of sting, I’ll have you know I have an attorney and I won’t–”

“This isn’t a sting,” she replied calmly. “I’ve seen the justice system fail far too many people to stay within it. That was why I left, but I have unfinished business. There are people out there that have hurt others that’ll never see justice and could cause even more harm. That’s where you and your associates come in.”

Denali went from defensive to intrigued in a second flat. “So, you want us to give the victims some closure by hunting down criminals? And do what, specifically? Because a lot of what we do doesn’t cause long-term damage… physical damage, anyway.”

Rosé grinned. “That’s where I team up with you guys. I can arrange for Karma Inc. to have the proper training you would need to be at the level of effectiveness we would need here.”

“We?”

“I have been working closely with some of the victims of the people we’re after. This isn’t going to be easy, but from what I understand, I’ve come to the right place.”

Denali strummed her fingers against the desk as she mulled it over. She would need to run it by the rest of the group, but she couldn’t fathom them not being on board. That’s why they had come together – to right wrongs in ways only they were able to. “You certainly have.”

——

“This is exciting!” Jan chirped, bouncing a bit in her seat. “We’re gonna be like actual crime fighters now. Think of all the things we’ll be able to do once we have all the skills for it! Maybe we should get matching leather jackets or something.”

“Take a breath, Bubbles,” Mik chuckled, then turned his attention back to Denali. “So, tell us about this detective.”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Denali’s lips and she began absentmindedly twirling her hair around her finger as she spoke. “She’s like six foot, auburn hair, beautiful blue-green eyes, big ti-”

“That is not what he meant, you horny dumbass,” Symone cut in. “Also, I’m pretty sure you just described Jolene, like, from the song.”

“Hey!” Denali pouted, then tilted her head in thought. “Actually, now that you mention it…”

Gigi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Focus, Denali. Please just tell me you handled yourself professionally and weren’t staring at her ‘eyes’.”

“Give me some credit here, Jesus,” she rolled her eyes. “I was fine, I wouldn’t volunteer for something just to appease a pretty face. I take this shit just as seriously as the rest of you.” Once she’d taken a breath to refocus herself, she continued. “She’ll be coming over tomorrow to meet with us, then once we work out the details, we’re gonna get started on combat training. Well, you guys will,” she smirked at the last part.

“Lest we ever forget your black belt,” Nicky chimed in. “Did you brag to her about that?”

Denali scoffed. “I prefer the element of surprise, thank you very much.”

Nicky shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

As much as the group liked to joke around with each other, the seriousness of their new mission never left their minds. They enjoyed their work, but they took everything seriously. It was people’s lives, their mental and physical health. It was their safety and their future and they knew how much power and responsibility came with their mercenary work. But it fulfilled each of them in their own way - they didn’t end up doing this by accident, after all.

And they all made their feelings clear when they spoke to Rosé. Denali had texted her the address of their headquarters and led her inside to their main meeting room. “Everyone, this is Rosé. Rosé, this is Nicky, Symone, Mik, Jan, Gigi, we’re the mercenaries. And this is Jackie; she does all of the research, tech, paperwork… basically, the glue that holds us together.”

“I’m very excited to meet you all,” Rosé replied in greeting, clasping her hands together. “I know this may seem like a heavy task, I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“I’ve got a question,” Symone chimed in. “I saw the numbers you sent us. Who, exactly, is funding this endeavor?”

“It was somewhat of a crowdfunding endeavor,” Rosé explained. “But it turned into something much bigger. The community of people affected by the people we’re tracking down is dedicated and pulled in resources almost in excess. Rest assured, we can live up to those numbers.”

The answer satisfied Symone, who nodded in acceptance. “Alright,” she cracked her knuckles, “what’s the next step from here?”

Rosé’s face cracked into a grin. “From here, we get you guys into training. I have a combat specialist and range master on standby to help you guys prepare for as many possible scenarios as we could think of. This will take some time, so we’ll work with your schedules.”

“I’ll email you that,” Jackie nodded. “The rest of the day is open if you guys want an introductory session or something.”

They all looked at each other, slowly nodding before Jan, speaking for the group, said “we’re in, let’s at least get a taste of what’s to come.”

“We don’t need to know what you and Jackie are doing tonight, babe,” Gigi teased, earning a glare in response.

After that, the group took the twenty-minute drive to the private gym they would be training in. It was spacious and clean, not having an overabundance of exercise equipment. Most noticeably, there was a boxing ring towards the back of the space. “Any of you guys ever box before?” Mik asked casually.

Most of them shook their heads, save for Symone who shrugged, “a little bit in college.” She looked over at Denali, “what, you aren’t secretly a heavyweight champion on top of your blackbelt?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner,” Denali retorted, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

“Mercenaries,” Rosé redirected everyone’s attention. “This is Jaida, military trained in hand-to-hand combat. There’s no one I’d trust more to whip you all into shape.”

While most of the group had reactions ranging from neutral to excited, Nicky looked like she had just seen a ghost. Her eyes went wide, her face paled, the beating of her heart drowned out anything else Rosé was saying. There was no way, she thought. It had to be a coincidence – the universe doesn’t just align like that in real life.

But if Jaida shared those sentiments, she didn’t let them show – something that went hand-in-hand with military training, no doubt. Though it seemed that she was actively not looking at Nicky, her unwaveringly stoic expression seemed focused to her left, where Jan, Mik, and Denali were. “Alright,” she said once Rosé had finished her introductory speech, “I’m gonna work with each of y’all one-on-one to get a read on your skill level,” she looked the line-up over and tilted her head. “I’ll take the ginger one first, the rest of you start warming up.”

While Gigi left with Jaida, Jan turned to Nicky with a concerned expression. “You okay? You look kinda… sick. Do you want some water or something?”

“I’m not sick,” she assured, but let Jan lead her off to the side anyway. “I just think I might be going a bit crazy.” There was hesitation as she worked herself up to being honest – this was Jan, if there was anyone she could confide in, it would be her. “The instructor. She looked familiar… like the girl. You know, the girl.”

Jan’s expression went from confusion to wide-eyed realization over the course of the next few seconds. “Oh my gosh, her? Are you sure?”

Nicky shook her head. “I do not think I can be… she didn’t react at all. But she might just have a hard façade. I am sure the military helped with that.”

“What’re you gonna say when it’s your turn?”

“What can I say?”

Jan pressed her lips together as she wracked her brain, only to come up empty. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I get it, this is a lot to process at once, especially if she is who you think she is. Maybe don’t even bring it up yet if you’re not ready.”

Nicky sighed, resting her head against the wall. “I guess that’s the best option,” she agreed halfheartedly.

By the time it was Nicky’s turn, her nerves had subsided. Whatever Jaida’s reaction to her was, she was sure she could handle it. “Hi. Um, I’m Nicky and–”

Jaida cut her off by firmly cupping her face and kissing her hard and for as long as her lungs would allow. “You fuckin’ think I wouldn’t recognize you? Come on, Nicky.”

It took a moment for Nicky’s brain and mouth to reconnect, for her head to stop spinning. “It’s been fifteen years,” she whispered in her weak defense. “I didn’t think… I never thought…”

“Neither did I,” she assured gently. “But here we are. We can talk later, we gotta get this assessment done before Rosé bitches at me.”

——

It had taken another few days for the details surrounding the first case to come together, and it would take longer than that for it to be put into action. But as it progressed, they all became more and more invested, and Rosé was thrilled to see her ideas, her seemingly far-fetched concepts, starting to take form.

“I’ve been working with one of the victims for this case very closely, I think it’s important to have someone like her on board,” she was explaining. “Mik,” she prompted, “I want your job in this to be working with her, I think you’ll handle that best.”

Mik tilted his head. “Sure, but based on what?”

Rosé shrugged. “Being a detective, you pick up on the ability to read people, you know, get a sense of their personalities. I think yours will balance with hers, and that’s going to be a necessity.”

“Believe it or not, one thing we’ve learned doing this is empathy. Not that we weren’t before, but this shit like, really bonds you with people,” Mik remarked.

“Definitely,” Jan agreed, “I’ve made connections with people through the process of getting them their revenge that I’ll have forever.”

Denali nodded, “I got invited to a client’s wedding. Honestly, I forgot she even hired us, I just see her as my friend now.”

Rosé beamed broadly as she listened to their anecdotes. This was what she had hoped to find in her previous career, to help people that needed it and solve problems. She wanted to connect to her community even when she was rather high-ranking. But it ended in frustration and hurt time and time again. Part of her almost envied the gang, how they had managed to achieve this all on their own. More than anything, however, she was happy to see it happening. “Can I ask you guys something? How did this happen? Like, what inspired you guys to come together to create this enterprise?”

“We’ve all got our backstories, gorge,” Mik chuckled dryly. “Took a while for us to all find each other, but we all had that in common.”

“What, that you all took revenge in your own lives?”

All of them nodded in confirmation. “You gotta start somewhere, right?” Jan hummed.

Rosé leaned forward in interest. “So… Can I hear them? Your stories?”

The group exchanged glances with each other, then nodded. “Buckle up, Detective,” Gigi warned, “this is going to be one hell of a history lesson.”

[ofwolvesandbutterflies]

executive order | i

Pairing: Johnny Seo x fem!Reader ft. Jung Jaehyun

Genre: angst

Tags: arrangedmarriage!au, ceo!johnjae, rival!johnjae, rebound!jaehyun?

Warnings: infidelity, language, substance abuse, toxic relationships

day 23 of 30 days with NCT

Synopsis: in which you are unhappy with one man and infatuated with another

// this right here is the part where imma make you change your mind // (x)

*unedited*

--

[22:41]

There went another glass. Foul tasting liquid slid down your throat and you bit back a grimace. First it was money they said could solve anything. You slammed the shot glass down on the table, glaring down at the reflection of the cheap LED lights of the counter. It wasn’t money because if money solved everything, you might just have been able to bribe your way into your fiancé’s heart. If money could solve everything, you might have been able to avoid all this arranged marriage bullshit in the first place. 

No, you thought, clenching your jaw, waving for the bartender to refill your glass. It certainly wasn’t money that could solve everything. Money was the reason you were in this mess. Perhaps… you mused, tracing broken hearts in the condensation dotting the rim of the cup. Perhaps it was alcohol that could fix everything. 

A bitter chuckle melted down and out of your lips, slurred from the intake of the horrid beverage. No, not alcohol either. Flashbacks to mere hours ago had you shaking your head in distaste. Alcohol caused all different types of trouble. Knuckles white against the chilled glass, your thoughts floated mindlessly from the sad faces you had drawn sloppily on the side of your drink to the whole reason you were here, again. At a run down bar on the outskirts of town, far from prying eyes, paparazzi and any expectations, frequented only by you and a couple of broke students. 

You grew up around loud arguments echoing through the long, empty halls of your family’s manor. Whether it was your father shouting at your mother, your mother shouting at your father, your parents shouting at you… there were always disagreements, fights. It used to surprise you, just how different your family acted in public. When there were cameras and the press, it was all tight smiles and fake giggles. But when you were home, it was broken bottles and strained voices all over again. There was no way money or alcohol could fix anything.

When your father called you to his office a couple months ago to announce your arranged marriage to one of his associate’s sons, Johnny Seo, you thought your problems were solved. Forget the man, this arrangement meant you were finally allowed to live on your own, out of the hell hole you called ‘home’ and out of your parents’ grasp. However, the moment you set eyes on the young, handsome heir of Seo Enterprises, you knew you were screwed and in more ways than one. 

Johnny was handsome, blessed with angular features and a piercing gaze that saw right through your disinterested facade. Though tall in stature, he was nowhere near lanky. His body was decorated quite liberally with muscles that pressed through the fabric of his suit. Brand clothing hugged his every curve and left your jaw hanging. Only one type of person could care that much about how he looked. A familiar sick feeling settled in the pit of your stomach when he brought you into much too warm of an embrace for merely acquaintances. A player.

Let’s not think too deeply about this, sound good? he had whispered, voice rich in seductive persuasion as one hand slid down your body to rest along the bend in your waist. It’s just another legal binding neither of us wants, so just smile and pretend we’re not secretly sleeping with other people, okay love?

On a beautiful starry night, Johnny proposed in a grand show of free publicity for both your companies. You cried, sobbed tears of fake joy, nodding yes like your life depended on it. He slid the ring on your ring finger and sealed the deal with an overly passionate kiss you knew didn’t matter at all. Mere seconds later, he ushered you into the limo, smile dropping the second the door closed. And just like that, the moment was over. 

Needless to say, you were just as miserable as you had been /before/ the two companies had come to an agreement, if not even more so. You got to move out, you had your own place, you had a handsome, well known fiancé, and all the money in the world. So, if money truly could fix everything, you should have been happy. Yet, you weren’t. Johnny was never ‘home’, if you could even call the empty penthouse the two of you shared, ‘home’. 

The few occasions he did come home were early in the morning with his shirt unbuttoned, slacks undone, and another woman’s lipstick dotting the skin of his neck. He hardly acknowledged you. It had been, what? Four months now and you still knew nothing about your fiancé. Not his favorite food, not his favorite color, favorite tv show, favorite music genre… you knew nothing. It was suffocating. It was lonely. Which was precisely the reason you were here again, drinking your ass off. 

Perhaps he liked filet mignon. So earlier this afternoon you had called him, told him you’d like it if he came home around 8 so you could make dinner for the two of you. He hung up, saying nothing aside from a curt, don’t pretend like you care.

But you called again. Begged him to come home, told him that even if he didn’t want to be lovers, the two of you shouldn’t have to be strangers. You told him you wanted to try and be friends. You told him you wanted to know more about him. You told him you just needed someone to talk to, told him you were lonely. Johnny just laughed, a cruel, harsh sound that reminded you of how insignificant you were. 

When you had grown up, you always thought loud, raucous fights were the scariest. But as he spoke, voice low and menacing when he told you to fuck off. I don’t need you pretending to care just to feel better about yourself. How long’s it going to take for you to realize I actually don’t care about you, couldn’t care less, and have been fucking other girls behind your back… you realized no, those quiet arguments where all you could hear was the lack of restraint behind every single one of the sharp words shooting at you from his lips, were the worst. 

That second time, you hung up before he could finish. Eye shining with unshed tears, you pulled on a skin tight dress, called up a lyft, and retreated once again to your safe haven. With your mind clouded with the amount of booze in your system, you frowned again at the bubbles swimming around in your drink, failing to recognize the strangely familiar man right beside you. 

“I thought I’d find you here, Y/N,” Jaehyun hummed. Your head shot up upon hearing the voice of one of your only friends, a man that just so happened to the chief executive officer of Jung Resources, one of Seo Enterprises largest competitors. Ironic though it was, you still treasured the interactions you were able to have with the breathtaking young man. Jaehyun was just as gorgeous as Johnny, dark hair slicked back to reveal a set of striking brown eyes. However, the main difference between the two men was that you knew much more about Jaehyun. You were much more comfortable with Jaehyun. Jaehyun actually cared about you. He brushed a strand of hair from out of your face and leaned against the bar beside you. “What happened with that shitty fiancé of yours this time?” 

You hadn��t heard anything but contempt in so long that the sound of gentle concern wrapping his words mixed with the drinks you had consumed sent silent tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. Upon seeing the minuscule droplets brimming up, a scowl overtook his gentle features. Brushing the tears away from your cheeks, he sighed. 

“That bad, huh?” 

You nodded. 

“Let’s get you hom-” 

“No,” you interrupted, voice shaky. “I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to be alone while he fucks another nameless bitch. Not again.”

His dark eyes softened and he cupped your cheek, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Who said you were going to be alone tonight, sweetheart?”

If not money, if not alcohol... perhaps a one night stand?

--

continued in part ii...

[toomuchponytail]

Poisoned Hero #5

Here, as promised like a week ago (Sorry, I’m a bad goblin) part five of poisoned hero!

Continued from part one here (hero drugged at the club), part two here (The antagonist beats up some guys in an alley), part three here (The antagonist takes some risks to save hero’s life), and part four here (Where the hero wakes up and the antagonist is kidnapped). 

It really means the world to me that you guys are getting enjoyment out of my little labors of self-indulgent fantasy, and I’m feeling one more in this series(?!) if someone wants it? 

Whoo! 

I’ll admit I’m mad at this, I tried to make the words come out, but, ya’know...the words do what they want sometimes. Also, so long, I’m sorry! I’ve got a lot of words, they’re just not good ones...

Anyhoo, enjoy! I love you all so much. :,) 

Hero drummed his fingers anxiously on the van’s steering wheel, eyes trained to the entrance of the large abandon looking warehouse that the crime boss had told them to come to. Sidekick was seated in the back of the van, fiddling with the crime boss’s ring, out of sight so that no one would get suspicious. 

“They’re late,” hero grumbled, “I think we need to go in.” 

Sidekick hissed when they pinched their finger in the pliers for the fourth time, they looked up at hero sharply, “It’s only been twenty minutes, he’s making us stew on purpose.” 

Hero nodded but didn’t look convinced, stopping their incessant drumming to take a sip out of their water bottle, “I don’t like it though,” they muttered softly, “What do you think he’s doing to the antagonist in there huh?” 

Sidekick set the ring aside and took a deep breath, momentarily defeated by the odd locking mechanism, “We can’t know that, we only have what they sent you, don’t get bent out of shape before we know how bad it is okay?” 

Hero sighed, “You’re right,” they relented, “I’m just worried because if it’s some poison or something that was affecting them like that….Like pulsing with electricity or something, I won’t know what to do to help them,” hero threw up their hand helplessly, “I’m not a fucking chemist or whatever like them, I barely passed my chem labs.” 

Sidekick snorted, “If I hadn’t helped you you wouldn't have passed them at all,” then their expression sobered, they picked the ring back up, “We’ll figure out some way of helping them hero, okay? We can’t worry about things before they happen.” 

Hero nodded and went back to drumming and watching, a sick feeling growing in their stomach as the minutes ticked by with no appearance or message from the crime boss. 

No news is good news right? Hero uselessly tried to rationalize to themselves. 

“Got it.” Sidekick proclaimed, jolting hero out of their thoughts, they looked back to see Sidekick with the ring open in the palm of their gloved hand, a fine off-white powder spilling onto their palm. 

“What is it?--Damn it sidekick don’t breathe it in!” Hero exclaimed as sidekick took an exploratory sniff, “What if it’s poison?! Or cocaine?!” 

Sidekick shook their head, carefully taking an empty pill bottle and dumping the powder inside, “When you were out of it, The antagonist was doing all these tests to try and determine what you were dosed with, they told me it was very likely a new form of chemical weapon someone was interested in buying.” 

Realization washed over hero, “And the crime boss was here in town on business, he was supposed to meet with that CEO guy, the one who might be the Villain.” 

Sidekick didn’t say anything, their wide terrified eyes said all that they needed. 

“And..” Hero started again, his voice taking on a slightly haunted tone, “What are the odds that that is all he’s got of it?” Hero’s voice had dropped to a fearful whisper.

“I mean,” sidekick rationalized, “If you were selling something to a criminal you wouldn’t want to travel with your whole supply right? It would just get stolen, that’s why doing business with criminals is a hopeless venture,” they smiled in an almost self-satisfied kind of way, leaning back in the seat. 

“Yeah, well,” hero replied tersely, “Tell that to all of the hundreds of thousands of arms dealers and drug pushers huh? The criminal kingpins and gang leaders? Maybe they’ll buy your do-good-cause-crime-doesn’t-pay bullshit, because I won’t.” 

“Is it ‘cause you don’t have the money?” Sidekick smirked, winking at hero when he gaped for a moment at his partner. 

Hero huffed, they were on edge, it made them fidgety and irritable, they didn’t dignify sidekick’s comment with an answer, “We can’t afford to be wrong sidekick,” their voice approaching a whine, “what if the deal is going down right now? What if that’s why the crime boss isn’t here to make good on our deal?” 

Sidekick sat up, their eyes widening in worry, “That wouldn't be a bad idea hero, or, actually,  it would be a bad idea, a very bad idea.” 

Hero went back to watching the warehouse, resuming his tapping on the steering wheel in his I’m-working-out-a-problem pattern, sidekick recognized it from the nights of patrol when they’d gone over the chem lab homework. 

“We’ve got to do a sweep of the city hero,” Sidekick stated, their voice taking on a frantic edge, “If we’re right…” 

“If we’re  right we go in and free the antagonist before we do anything else,” hero said flatly, his fingers still working out his problem as well as the plastic-leather covering on the steering wheel, “They’ll get lost in the chaos, die before we can get back here, plus, we might need their help.” 

“But if we miss the trade off...you know how impulsive Villain is!” Sidekick squeaked, “If we’re right and the CEO is Villain, or even if he works for him, that means that he’s going to do whatever he’s planning to do in a matter of hours, remember the weaponized hornets?!” 

Hero shuddered at the memory, hand going unbidden to his left shoulder as if covering the ghost of a hurt there. 

The drumming stopped abruptly, hero turned to them and smiled brightly, a determination gleaming in their eyes, “We may already be too late,” hero was already pulling on his mask, readying himself to enter the warehouse, “Ready?” 

Sidekick sighed, “Sometimes I really regret signing my name next to yours on that blood pact we made as kids.” 

“Pretty sure that’s not a legally binding contract sidekick,” hero quipped, throwing open the door of the van and climbing out. 

“Whatever,” sidekick replied, following them, “My word is my bond.” 

“You sound like your dad,” hero responded knowingly, as they made their way to the rust colored door. 

Sidekick shrugged, “He had his moments…”

Hero scanned the building for cameras, finding none he put an ear to the door, “I don’t hear anything inside…” he muttered. 

Sidekick made quick work of the padlock, picking it effortlessly, hero shouldered the door open, glanced around quickly and nodded to sidekick, the duo entered the warehouse and let the door close behind them. 

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. The main room was huge, like a hanger for a plane, completely empty, there was a staircase leading to an upstairs area and a rusty looking catwalk, a few doors lead off to what looked to be offices. 

“You take the left and I’ll start on the right,” hero offered, sidekick nodded and was off, flashlight already in hand. 

Hero didn’t risk the catwalk, the thick layer of dust over the rusted metal told them that the crime boss and his guys hadn’t either. 

Smart man. 

Hero opened the first door easily, but didn’t find anything except a folding card table and a single computer monitor and keyboard, if they thought they’d have the time hero would have liked to have broken into it, he was pretty handy with computers, but that was the rub wasn’t it? Being a hero seemed to mean always running out of time. They pulled the door shut behind them, shaking their head. 

“Hero?” Sidekick’s voice cut across the hallway, “I think you should see this.” 

Hero followed their partner’s voice to the first room on the left, another office, except this one’s contents were much more revealing, it was full of tables covered in a fine layer of an off-white powder, a mound of silvery bags of raw chemicals in the corner, hero didn’t need to know what they were, he recognized the skull and crossbones as a universal bad sign. 

“Shit,” he breathed, looking wide-eyed at the chemicals, covering his mouth and nose uselessly with his sleeve. 

Sidekick who was mirroring his reaction almost exactly did the same, “you see the blue prints?” 

Hero hadn’t, their own flashlight zeroing in on what sidekick was talking about, tacked up on a tattered cork board were the blueprints to the city’s water system. 

Hero sucked in a breath, “shit,” they said again, staggered by what this meant for the city his mouth suddenly dry as sand. 

“Remember the report we got last week?” Sidekick prompted, “About the odd activity at the water treatment plant? We ignored it because testing came back normal and that guy is always a little...off.” 

Hero nodded absently, studying the blueprints, there were a few black marks in a few alarmingly key spots, “He’s going to dose the whole city….Maybe he already has,” Hero murmured, horrified. 

“This was never about the ring was it?” Sidekick’s voice rang with desperation, “It was something to keep us busy so that the deal could go down without an issue.” 

Hero turned, “we’ve got to find the antagonist now.” 

“You think he’d help us?” 

Hero shook their head dismissively, “Even if he won’t, he’ll be able to tell us what we’re up against, if we can find him that is,” hero felt like he couldn’t look away from the blue prints, the city, his city, his chest felt tight, for a long moment he wanted to just close his eyes and unsee it, just climb into the back of the van and have sidekick push it into the river, he’d already failed, what if people got hurt? The police would never listen to him in time, they thought he was just a manic who ran around the city in a mask making trouble for them, maybe I am, he thought to himself. Is this my fault? Did I invite more crime into town by busting up smaller operations? Hero felt sick. 

“Three more doors to go hero,” Sidekick put his hand on hero’s shoulder comfortingly, “We’ll find him, even if we don’t, I’m here with you.” 

Hero let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, now was not the time for spiraling, he managed a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his partner always knew what was going on inside of his head, “Let’s go.” 

Hero and sidekick split up again, hero’s heart filled with hope when he saw that the door he went to was locked, “Hey sidekick! Come help me with this!” 

Sidekick was at the door in record time, this lock was dealt with even easier than the padlock on the front door, and it swung open into a pitch black room. 

Hero shone his flashlight into the darkness, it looked bare, just an empty concrete room...then. 

“Pl-please...” A raspy voice begged from the darkness, “...T-turn the light off.” 

A chill prickled down hero’s arms, “Antagonist? Is that you?” Hero couldn’t be sure, the voice was more of a weak croak than anything...

“H-hero?” The voice wavered filling with desperate hope. 

 Hero turned off his light and stepped into the gloom, sidekick followed, shutting the door behind them, the dark was all encompassing, and in stepping from relative light to complete darkness hero and sidekick were immediately lost in it. 

“I’m here,”Hero answered,”where are you?  he found himself whispering, it felt more natural in the darkness. 

“The...vial,” The antagonist started in bitter desperation, “There’s a vial,” he groaned, “On the desk, it’s the...It’s the antidote,” there was a sound like metal scraping concrete, chains? Hero thought it was chains, sounding like the worst sort of bells he’d had ever heard. 

Hero swallowed, no time to panic, feeling his way across the room he stumbled once, loosing his balance in the dark, but sidekick was right by his side, grabbing him and keeping him from falling. 

After a few moments of blind groping hero found the desk, another moment after that his hand closed over a syringe. 

“Got it,” hero affirmed, somewhere the antagonist made a soft choked sound in the dark. 

Hero crouched to the floor and felt along the concrete until he found the chain, using his fingers to ‘see’ he followed the chain to the person at the other end, he realized as he got closer to the antagonist that he could have skipped feeling along the chain and just followed the sound of the antagonist’s labored breathing. 

The antagonist gasped when hero’s fingers brushed the back of his hand, “s-sorry, jumpy.” 

The antagonist seemed to be on the concrete, curled in on himself, hero could feel the heat radiating off of him from where he was crouched next to him. 

“I-inject me…” the antagonist commanded weakly, “Please, I-I can’t last much longer li-like this…” 

Hero frowned in the dark, “What if this is some poison instead of the antidote? What if it kills you?” 

Hero felt the antagonist’s hand close in a vice-like grip on his wrist, “Then we hope it’s faster than this,” their voice was hollow, full of bitterness, “Quick hero, I can’t stand it.” 

“What if I kill you?” hero insisted, already readying the syringe. 

“I’ll get over it,” the antagonist promised. 

Hero took a deep breath and injected the solution into the antagonist’s arm, sight unseen, the antagonist let out a tremulous breath when it was over. 

“What now?” Hero asked. 

“Just..just wait a minute,” The antagonist didn’t explain anymore, he sounded exhausted and in pain, hero wanted to be able to get a better look at him, in the dark like this it was impossible. 

A few long minutes passed, hero realized he was still holding the antagonist’s hand, he thought about pulling away, but the antagonist hadn’t pulled their hand away either, so they figured that it was alright. The antagonist's breathing slowed and evened out eventually, hero could almost feel him relax, all the pain fueled tension dissolving.  

“Hero? Still alive over there?” Sidekick’s worried voice cut across the gloom, hero thought that they had a right to be worried. 

“Yep,” hero replied, “if this is what passes for life nowadays.” 

“You two are adorable,” The antagonist noted, his voice was still weak and raspy, “Although I can’t help but wonder if I would have been rescued ages ago if the daring duo were a little more focused on heroism and less on poorly timed comedy.” 

“And he’s back,” hero noted dryly, then he sobered, “Can we turn our lights on now do you think?” 

“I think I can handle it,” The antagonist answered, abeight, a little hesitantly. 

Hero flicked on his flashlight, turning to the antagonist to see his reaction, while he squinted sensitivised eyes against the light he didn’t look like it was affecting him too badly, hero nodded at sidekick who turned his light back on as well and made his way over to join hero on the floor. 

Hero glanced the antagonist over in the light of sidekick’s flashlight beam, he was leaned up against the wall, chained to the floor by his left wrist, it was bloody and bruised, like he’d tried to yank it out of the shackle, but, other than that he didn’t look physically injured, he just looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His normally sharp bright eyes dull and bloodshot, dark circles that looked more like bruises underneath them, he was shivering, even in the heat of the room, hero wondered if it was a result of whatever he’d been poisoned with. 

The unlikely trio looked at each other for a long moment. 

“So…” Antagonist started, his teeth chattering, “He’s got access to something that interferes with a body's electrical impulses, it makes all stimuli extremely painful, pretty sure it’s mixed with a lot of stimulants, I don’t know if that’s necessary to the mix or was to keep me awake.” 

“But you’re alright?” Hero asked concernedly searching the antagonist's face, “The antidote worked?” 

“I think so, the pain is gone, but, who cares about that? In high enough doses I think it would overload pain receptors, maybe even kill someone,” they sighed shakily, “I would have thought it was pretty cool except--” 

Sidekick interrupted them with a hug, the antagonist stiffened, their brain seemingly fried by the ambush, “we’re glad you’re okay, we were worried,” sidekick’s voice was too close to their ear, the antagonist knew he should have pushed sidekick away, said something sarcastic, but their eyes found hero instead, they were suddenly aware that hero was still holding their hand, it was warm and solid, real, hero’s was smiling, they were relieved, it was as plain on their face as the streaks of dust. 

The antagonist didn’t understand, but their available arm slowly wrapped around sidekick, hugging them back, when sidekick let go, the antagonist noticed that their chest burned, but they dismissed it as a possible side effect. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Sidekick went to work on picking the lock that was keeping the antagonist chained to the floor, gentle where the antagonist’s wrist had met the unforgiving metal. 

“What happened?” Hero asked quietly. 

The antagonist looked away, “I was jumped, common criminal move, they got my watch off of me too fast for me to use it.” 

“The crime boss?” 

“His “people” sure,” the antagonist rolled his neck, spell seemingly broken, he pushed himself off of the wall and sat up, the trembling was easing, but it was leaving behind an unnerving weakness, “they got me here, laughed at me when I told them you and I were enemies, and then he injected me with something….It wasn’t fun.” 

“Were you in that white room?” Hero asked, unable to help himself, “everything just sort of melt around you?” 

The antagonist shook his head, “No,  it was like I was on fire. All of my nerves sizzling under my skin,” The antagonist shrugged, “Later he gave me something else, paired with an electrical current to exacerbate it, but no white rooms.” 

Sidekick gently pulled the shackle open, the antagonist cradled his injured wrist against his chest. 

“Can you stand?” Hero asked. 

The antagonist looked at him sheepishly “I can try,” hero helped him to his feet, he managed to stand for a moment before his knees buckled, the muscles in his legs trembling and aching like he’d been running for days. Hero caught him easily, looping the antagonist’s arm around his shoulders, “Whoa! Got you,” he smiled without even a hint of mockery, “Sidekick, can you get his other side?” 

Sidekick obliged, taking the antagonist’s other arm, together the three of them walked out of the dark room where the antagonist had been kept prisoner. 

They started for the stairs, “Wait,” the antagonist interjected, “Aren’t you going to show me the room with the pounds of drugs?” 

Hero and sidekick exchanged a look. 

“What?” The antagonist was getting tired of not being in the loop.

“The room’s empty, all we found were the packaging materials,” hero admitted, shifting to get a better hold on the antagonist, impatient to get going. 

“We have a sample, but otherwise it’s just the bags like the ones in your lab,” sidekick added. 

“Wait,” the antagonist started, “The drugs are gone? Like ‘in the wind’ gone” Their voice had risen in panic, “Like the crime boss has taken them to sell gone?” 

“Yeah,” sidekick swallowed, “about that.” 

“I hate to ask this considering your state but we think that the Villain is planning on dosing the city by dropping the drugs in the water, and if you feel up to it we’d like your help...again,” hero added uneasily. 

The antagonist looked from hero to sidekick and back again, he took a measured breath, hero couldn’t help feeling concern wash over him, the antagonist looked worse out here in the light, his skin had taken on a grayish tone, and he seemed to be fading by the minute now that the stimulant’s properties were wearing off, “Alright,” he agreed, “But if we’re going to make a difference at all, we’ve got to hurry, I’m crashing, after I pass out I’ll be no use to anyone for hours.” 

“By then it’ll be too late,” hero whispered, already starting to move again. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the antagonist agreed.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

TimKon or anything from the Tuna Melt-verse, which is fantastic, by the way.

Thank you!!! Here’s some unfinished Tuna Melt Fic. Maybe one day it’ll get done. It’s called “His Day in Court.” The Joker origin referenced is lifted from Batman: Streets of Gotham.

“Mister President.” 

Bartlet looks up from his desk and grins, before getting to his feet slowly. “Judge Walters.” 

As they shake hands, Jed marvels, not for the first time, at just how tall, and just how green Jennifer Walters is. She’s a beautiful woman. 

She’s just…

Well, she’s She-Hulk.

Well, she used to be She-Hulk.

Now she’s a United States federal judge.

Like Mendoza, getting Jenn appointed as a federal judge had been a nightmare. She’s green, she’s huge.

She’s hardcore leftwing.

“Please, have a seat,” he offers, gesturing towards the couches and chairs. 

Jenn nods, and does, settling into one of the chairs carefully,  always hyper-aware of her own body and its impact on the world around her. 

“I assume you know why I’ve asked you here,” he says, settling onto the couch next to her, clasping his hands in his lap. 

“I have a pretty good idea,” Jenn smirks, leaning back a little. “The Joker case?” 

Bartlet nods. “The Joker case. The prosecution is putting everything together, and I’ve been informed you’ve been chosen to preside.” 

Jenn doesn’t say anything for a long moment, watching the president carefully before speaking up. “Permission to speak my mind?” 

“Of course.” 

“This whole trial is bullshit,” she says. 

“It’s the law.” 

“It’s bull. Look, I believe in our justice system when it works the way it’s supposed to, but jesus, this isn’t a case of innocent until proven guilty, this is a case of the defendant boasting in a public forum about the very fact that he is guilty. He’s killed thousands of people. He’s maimed and mentally and emotionally scarred more. Why put the survivors and the families of the dead through this? And how the hell are we supposed to choose a grand jury? An enormous percentage of people in this country, and just about everybody on the East Coast has been affected, in some way, shape or form by the Joker.” 

“So you think we throw United States law out the window and just kill him?” Jed asks, lifting his eyebrows. “You don’t think that might look bad to the rest of the country? That they’ll start pointing fingers at whoever the hell, and asking why those people haven’t been offed too?” 

“I think the Joker is different,” Jenn says. “I think he’s this country’s modern day boogieman, and I don’t think he deserves a traditional trial. And anyways, it’s not out of the question that the Joker could die...other ways.” 

“Jennifer.” 

“Don’t you have the Red Hood on speed dial?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Didn’t I hear that somewhere?” 

“Like that kid hasn’t been through enough,” Jed grumbles. “The last time somebody tried to take out the Joker because they thought it was the right thing, it ended in an office full of dead FBI agents and an attack on this White House. We do this the right way.” 

“The right way would have been lethal injection at Arkham twenty years ago,” she tells him. “Everything beyond that is just us cleaning up decades-old messes.”  

“Jennifer, are you saying we should find a different judge to preside over this case?” Jed asks, looking at her seriously. “Because what you’re telling me is that you cannot possibly be fair-” 

“I’m telling you there is no fair,” she interrupts him. “Mister President, the Joker has eschewed legal council. He’s defending himself, which means he will run around my courtroom like the damn lunatic he is before he gets bored and attempts to massacre everyone in it.” 

Bartlet closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again. “Jenn, all we can do is prepare for the worst. But we don’t have any other choice.” 

***** 

“It starts tomorrow, you know.” 

“Hm?” 

“The Joker trial,” Danny clarifies. 

Maggie nods as she steps past him and back into her cube. “And you’re pissed.” 

“A little.” 

“Because you’re not the one writing about it,” Maggie goes on. “Because there’s no way to be impartial when you thought he was gonna kill you.” 

“There’s not an impartial journalist in the world when it comes to this maniac,” Danny points out.

Maggie sits and looks up at him. “You can still go to the trial you know. Take a few days off. Head up to New York. You could even write an independent piece and farm it out to the Atlantic or whatever.” 

Danny shakes his head. “Not worth feeling that angry. How are you doing with all of this?” 

“I...have to be fine,” she says, blowing out a breath. “So I’m fine.” 

 “What are you working on? Anything good?” 

“Well…” 

He frowns, tilting his head. “What?” 

“I...it’s just...how does somebody like the Joker, become the Joker?” Maggie asks. “What drives a person so far over off the deep end that they become...that?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Doesn’t it?” 

“So you’re looking into who the Joker really is,” Danny surmises. 

“I have some leads,” she admits. “The problem is that he’s killed so many people, it’s hard to figure out what was personal and what was just...his version of a good time.” 

“But you’ve got a hunch.” 

Maggie nods, looking troubled. “I have a hunch.” 

“Well?” 

She blows out a breath. “About five years ago, Joker cornered an aging Mob Boss named Guzzo.” 

“That guy was no joke,” Danny comments, pulling up a chair and taking a seat. “My mentor did a write-up about him back in the day. The stuff he did was almost as bad as the Joker. This was a few years ago, right?” 

“Right. So...Joker corners him on amusement mile and sics a pack of hungry hyenas on the guy,” Maggie says. “All that’s left are a few teeth, which is how they identified him. What’s confusing is that if you look at the interviews done of the for-hire goons back then, Joker and Guzzo didn’t know each other. And if you look at the way the city was split up before Guzzo died, Joker’s usual territory was as far away from Guzzo’s as he could get.” 

“Like he might have been avoiding the guy.” 

“Maybe…” 

“You think there’s a connection?” Danny asks. “Joker kills Guzzo for revenge?”  

“I think Guzzo hurt a lot of people over multiple decades,” Maggie tells him. “What if one of the people he hurt was Joker, before he was Joker?” 

“So you think Joker’s got a sob story.” 

“I think he was once something resembling a person,” Maggie corrects him. “And if you wanna take down a monster, you show the world its weak spots.” 

***** 

“Maybe you should come home for a few days.” 

Jason closes his eyes as he listens to his older brother over the phone. 

“All anybody is gonna be talking about down there is the trial,” Dick goes on. “Or hey! We could take a roadtrip! Load up the car with snacks and sodas and get outta town for a while.” 

“Dick.” 

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Dick admits. 

“I’m not.” 

“Fine. I don’t want you to be so far away from me that I can’t be there for you,” Dick adds. “And neither does Bruce.” 

“Is he testifying?” Jason asks. 

“Yeah,” Dicik confirms. “He’s showing up in full bat-gear and he’s testifying.” 

“That’s nuts,” Jason points out. “This whole -” 

“I know.” 

“Fucking - why can’t I just kill him?” 

“Because it won’t help you,” Dick says sadly. “Little Wing, just because the monster is gone, doesn’t mean the nightmare never happened.” 

Jason goes quiet. “I wanna go to the trial.” 

“Jay-” 

“I wanna go. At least to the first one.” 

Dick sighs sadly. “The last thing I want is for this to be the thing that breaks you. You’ve been doing so well...the job, and the girlfriend...you looked so happy at that wedding we all went to. What if going to that trial just sets you back.” 

“What if he hurts somebody?” Jason asks. “What if he takes down an entire courthouse full of people?” 

“Then it won’t be your fault,” Dick says gently. 

“One of us should be there every day of that trial,” Jason argues. 

“Maybe. But it shouldn’t be you.” 

“The hell it shouldn’t!” 

“Jay,” Dick says firmly, but worriedly. “Look, with what he did to Babs...I have a good excuse to be at the trial every day. I’ll go. I promise. But you need to stay home.” 

“You don’t get to-” 

“Jay.” 

Jason goes silent, and Dick can hear deep, heavy breaths. 

“I’ll be there every day,” he says. “I promise you, Little Wing. I’ll go every day. Whatever happens, I’ll be there to help stop it.” 

***** 

“You’ve reached the office of Jason Todd, Wayne Technologies Liaison to the White House. I will be out of the office until the end of the month. You can reach my fill-in, Luke Fox at the following number…” 

***** 

“He took the entire month off?” Leo asks, staring at Luke Fox, utterly bewildered. 

“He did,” Luke nods. 

“To do what?” Leo snaps. 

“Not go crazy,” Luke says simply. “This Joker thing has him fifty shades of fucked up, Leo.” 

“The DoD hate you more than they hate him,” Leo points out, relaxing a little. 

Luke chuckles and shrugs. “I know it freaks those old farts  out to have to deal with a black man who is younger, smarter and more attractive. That’s what makes it fun for me.” 

Leo sighs but grins wryly. “It’s gonna be a helluva month.” 

“Oh it definitely is,” Luke smirks back. “You want lunch? My treat?” 

"It’s hard to say no to that.” 

[baepsaetan]

Banner by @thebannershop​

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters:  pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7  -> read on Ao3

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 2k

A/N: I want to emphasize that the beautiful banner is done by Rose at thebannershop, please head her way and give her some love! Just as a heads up, this is going to be a real long haul project - we’re talking 20+ chapters. Hope you all enjoy. :) 

 ---

The person sitting across the table is nothing more than grease on a squeaky wheel, yet Hoseok finds himself personally disliking the man. For one, he keeps making small, covert gestures, leaning over the desk with watery blue eyes, pitching his voice low as though he were sharing a secret Hoseok should be honoured to receive. There’s nothing honest about his too-pale face, his flickering gaze, his eager attempts to be ingratiating even as he lowkey insults the precinct and everyone in it.

It also doesn’t help that he’s being a pain in the ass. Hoseok’s smile doesn’t falter, though, even as he shifts, bouncing his feet under the desk.

“The Kim family,” he repeats for what feels like the fiftieth time and is probably closer to the fifth, “has no legal claim over Seokjin’s body or stack. He was found outside of their home. Further, there is simply no reason for them to be in control of him at this time. I understand how distressing this –”

“Very distressing!” the man interjects, as though that were the point Hoseok had been making. “Very distressing, captain!” Each syllable is punctuated by a nervous, one-fingered tap on the desk, and Hoseok needs to supress his neurochems from flaring up with every tap. “Mr. and Mrs. Kim are absolutely distraught. To have their child back, to know that he is in safe keeping, that would do wonders for their emotional states.”

Idly imagining foisting this man off on one of his lieutenants – not that he ever would – Hoseok brushes back his black bangs, keeps his voice pleasant. “He’s being kept in our most secure storage area, Mr. McCall. We have very rigorous security measures.”

The lawyer’s eyes dart around the small, tidy office, his lips pursed. Hoseok knows it doesn’t look like much. Truth be told, it’s not. But the skeptical implication of that gaze – that Hoseok’s people aren’t good enough – has his own mouth tightening, aching to pull into a frown. He indulges himself for a moment and lets his neurochems activate, pulsing with lightning reassurance through his nervous system and bringing everything into bright focus. It’s a heady sensation, the flood of a potent cocktail of chemicals, difficult to let go, and he could just keep them going, just keep riding that rush…

But he won’t. Not at work. That’s the promise. Hoseok shuts the drugs down, and doesn’t let the resulting plummet show on his face.

Mr. McCall clears his throat, unaware. “Well… yes. But the Kim family have the means to set up an invested, careful and personal watch over Seokjin. They would spare no expense, whereas your department…” Another quick look at the room, hands brushing over the faded wood of Hoseok’s desk. “Your department surely does its best with what it has,” the lawyer finishes.

Fucking Meths, Hoseok thinks, and now his grin is really being threatened – maybe using his chems hadn’t been a great idea. He’s always been a strong believer in smiles being better than whips to get people to do things, but in this case… damn, theories are being tested. He’d rather be laughing any day, and his officers respond to it better than marine-sergeant shit, yet Hoseok can’t help but wonder if slapping on a glare wouldn’t get rid of this man more quickly.

Mr. McCall notices the change, either from simple perception or, much less likely, some kind of basic empathy implant, and a good deal of his fawning disappears. “Captain,” he says, again leaning forward, “truth be told, this is a mere formality. Between you and I, the Kims will have their son back. Either they will get him from you, and be in your debt…” He trails off meaningfully, and Hoseok, jiggling one leg to try to get rid of his irritated energy and the remains of his chem dose, doesn’t reply. Better to make the lawyer say it out loud, get it all out in the open. He’s recording this conversation, anyways.

“Or, they’ll go over your head to someone better suited to deal with a situation of this nature.”

Hoseok can’t help it. He stands up and straightens his black uniform, all in one easy, graceful movement that doesn’t quite mask how angry he is. Yeah. Neurochems were the best invention since God in terms of combat, but they sure as hell don’t help his temper much. “I hope your clients will be able to find someone better suited, Mr. McCall. I don’t think they will, but we can always hope. In the meantime, though, I have a precinct to run.”

“So you won’t take this murder seriously? You have better things to do?”

“I take all murders very seriously. Particularly when the victim’s parents won’t allow us to spin them up to testify. That’s pretty serious, the way I see it.”

McCall bristles. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim are very devout persons. While they have no compunctions about switching sleeves to maintain their longevity, they view uncontrollable events – such as the very unfortunate case with Mr. Seokjin – as an act of the Almighty. They can in no way jeopardize his soul by –”

“I’ve got the pamphlets; the Neo-Cs show up at the precinct often enough. You don’t need to quote their beliefs at me.”

The lawyer gets to his feet with forced calm, and that’s enough to get a sincere smile back on Hoseok’s face. Bluster and threaten all he wanted, McCall’s family wasn’t one of the big three Meth families, long established and running everything in Triptych on a leash. They were going to have to call in more than a favour, or two, if they wanted Seokjin’s body back, and in the meantime…

Well, in the meantime, Hoseok would be very interested to know just who had killed Seokjin. He would also be very interested in finding out why his family, who refused to give him a new life in a shiny new body, still wanted him back so badly.  

Yeah. And in the meantime, until Hoseok got an official letter signed by the higher-ups, or God Himself, Kim Seokjin was staying right where he was, stack, sleeve, and maybe even soul, too.

---

About six hours later, long after the Meth dog had slunk out of his office and long after his shift was officially over, Hoseok was in the breakroom, joking with one of the newest squad members. “What, you thought the captain was allowed to leave the station? These bars,” he plucks at one of the rank insignia pinned neatly to his jacket, “will electrocute me if I try.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow briefly, and Hoseok knows why he’s hesitating. You don’t get to be captain without getting a reputation, and his reputation isn’t exactly soft. The recruit is wondering if it’s safe to joke, safe to loosen up. Hell, of course it is. They’re in the damn breakroom.

“Yeah,” Hoseok continues offhand. “There’s a reason I made captain at my age. Last captain wanted to leave the station and, well, he tried and he fried. Insta-promotion, y’know?” He laughs at his own joke, loud and sudden. That scares the hell out of Jaemin, the black-haired man rocking back in his chair, but it gets him to offer an only-slightly shaky smile, too – better than nothing.

Tanesha shuffles into the room, looking half-dead, her curly black hair a frizzy halo around her drawn face. He can’t really blame her; not everyone’s a night person, himself included, and The Curve isn’t exactly the quietest precinct in Triptych. He slips out of her way as she stumbles to the coffeepot – she sniffs at it, grimaces, shrugs, and then pours herself a cup. The best tech minder in the business is not exactly picky when it comes to her caffeine high.

Not that he can judge when it comes to being picky about highs. His skin prickles at the thought.

Leaning against the table, nose almost buried in the mug – like she’s hoping the scent alone will give her a jolt – Tanesha asks, “What’re you still doing here, captain Jung? Thought you had afternoon shift.”

“Afternoon, night, morning, I got ‘em all.”

“Please,” she snorts at his grand announcement. “Even you don’t have that much energy.” Suddenly glancing at Jaemin, the tall woman raises an eyebrow. “He been feeding you that bullshit story about being trapped here?”

“Uhh… no?” the new recruit answers, cautiously side-eyeing Hoseok. Hoseok flashes him a thumbs up.

“Please.” Tanesha snorts again, leaving off her coffee long enough to gesture with the mug at the captain. “Don’t let him impress you too much. Just remember, only reason he can do fifteen-hour days is ‘cause he’s outfitted with enough hardware to run a small planet into the ground. Neurochem, internal board, ONI, amplifiers, you name it and he’s got it. Almost a robot, that one.”

With a sharp bark of laughter, Hoseok doesn’t let the sting of that comment enter his voice. “Aish, you won’t let me brag, huh?” It’s not like I asked for all of these.

“You only get to brag when you deserve it,” his lieutenant replies. Somewhat unexpectedly – maybe for Jaemin’s benefit – she adds, “Besides, you deserve it so often, I have to work to cut you down when I get the chance.”

“Your hard work is appreciated,” he says solemnly, managing to remain deadpan for about four seconds. Then her round face scrunches, unimpressed, and façade cracking apart into another chuckle, Hoseok continues more seriously. “But Lieutenant Adebayo is right. I don’t expect any of you to pull long shifts like this. I get away with it because –”

The lights die, plunging them into dark and cutting off his words like a curtain dropped too soon. Suddenly an alarm is blaring from his ONI device, so loud that it completely drowns out Jaemin’s startled cry and Tanesha’s swearing. He claps his hands over his ears in pained reflex even as his eyes adjust, forcing back the dark, but it obviously does nothing to block out the noise.

“Attention,” a cool, genderless voice announces directly in his ear. It alternates with the alarm. “Attention. Cortical shelf thirteen-forty-three-forty has been illegally accessed. Attention. Immediate action required. Attention. Permission to shutdown system?”

He’s already got his watch up, the display light shining brightly in the dark, and the second the on-screen permission request appears Hoseok jabs a confirmation to block all access to the shelves. “Adebayo, get the lights back on. Preferably ten seconds ago,” he snaps at their tech, and then he’s out of the room. Even as he moves, flinging himself around desks and moving easily by the officers stumbling around in the blackness – not everyone has an upgraded sleeve and upgraded vision like he does – Hoseok is cursing. Himself, the computer system, whoever the hell is hacking them –

And McCall. He’s definitely cursing McCall. Given the cortical shelf number, he has a feeling he’s going to be seeing the lawyer sooner rather than later.

Within about two minutes, he’s barrelled down the stairs into the basement, where the stacks are stored. Here, he doesn’t need his enhanced eyesight; the wall of small compartments glows a soft red, each occupied shelf accompanied by a light blinking just above it. The stack storage is run off a separate power source, the better to stop – well, to stop exactly this from happening. Hoseok stares for a long moment at the distinctly dead light over the shelf that his ONI is helpfully informing him is empty, before pulling up his watch. A few quick taps, and he doesn’t know whether he should be relieved, confused or just plain pissed off.

He definitely wants to take another hit of neurochems. Could anyone blame him for it?

After all, Seokjin’s ruined body is still in storage, but his cortical stack is gone.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Dawn in Your Eyes Part 17

Summary: Alfie has little to no idea why Caroline ever gave him the time of day. The blind woman seemed far too sensible to even speak to him. But soon he finds himself falling helplessly in love.

Part 17: Alfie and Caroline discuss names. Alfie finds out what a pain in the ass it is to be partially blind. 

            Pilot was extremely relieved when Caroline was returned to him. He refused to leave her side for more than a minute a few days after they were reunited. Of course, that really meant just going back and forth from Elizabeth’s home to the hospital.

            Julia and Alfie didn’t want her living on her own for obvious reasons after the kidnapping. It was an adjustment period, and Caroline wasn’t sure how long it would last. Would things return to normal once Alfie was cleared to leave the hospital?

            Maybe things would never go back to the way they were. Not after such an event. And not since they were due to have a baby in less than six months.

            Since most of her days were sat in the hospital or at Elizabeth and Richard’s, Caroline had plenty of time to process what had happened and what was coming next.

            Alfie assured her that the men who had taken her would be dealt with accordingly. That’s all he had to say on the matter. He wasn’t going to tell his wife that two men were dead and the other two were tied up in the cellar of the bakery. Waiting until Alfie was back on his feet so he could kill them properly. A long, torturous, painful death seemed suitable.

            Some of his men had already roughed them up a bit to learn their motives. It was reported to Alfie that they were Italians although not officially linked to Sabini. Just a group of rabid young men who wanted the wealth and power that Darby had. Hoping to impress him, instead, they made a critical error. Even Sabini was wise enough to know that kidnapping Alfie Solomons’ blind wife was a huge mistake.

            Alfie understood that but wanted to make an example out of the rogue men. To let anyone, not just the Italians, that his family was not to be messed with.

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

            “Elizabeth had Misty write some names down for me.” Caroline arrived one day with a piece of paper in her hand. She found her usual seat beside Alfie’s hospital bed and sat.

            “Names for what?” Alfie reached for his glasses. It seemed that the blindness in his left eye would be long-lasting, if not permanent. But he was coping. Some of the doctors or nurses would sympathize, expecting the man to be devastated with such a drastic change. Alfie would simply bark out a laugh and tell them that his wife had been born blind. Losing sight in one eye wasn’t the end of the world.

            He’d made a similar joke when he first got to see what the bullet had done to his face. He snorted and grimaced. “Well, at least me wife is blind so she won’t leave me for looking like this.”

            The nurse holding the mirror just gave an uncomfortable smile and checked his dose of pain medication to make sure he hadn’t been given more than was necessary.

             “Baby names.” Caroline set her purse down and instructed Pilot to lay down by her feet.

            “That right? Let’s have a look-see then.” He blinked a few times to clear up his vision. Losing half of his sight was still something he needed to get used to. Emotionally, he was just lucky the bullet hadn’t gone straight through his brain. It was easy for him to stand up, dust himself off, and resume life. But the physical limitations were a weight on him. Reading gave him a major headache, his depth perception was utterly fucked, and his right eye was still trying to adjust. But he tried not to confide these hardships to Caroline. It felt so silly complaining to her about being half-blind when she’d never seen the world. He felt it was like whining about losing a finger to someone who’d been born without arms.

            So he tried to convey that everything was just peachy.   

            “Zelda, yeah that’s our great-aunt’s name. James, mhm, Sarah, sure sure, Rose, Helen, Eva, Pearl, Georgia, hang on. She’s only listed one boys name, is this her way of telling us she wants it to be a girl?” He protested.

            Caroline giggled. “I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.” She didn’t tell him that, yes, his cousin had been hoping for a girl.

            Alfie grunted. “Ah, now here is a proper Jewish name for a boy. Eli. Proper good name. Not like all these fucking modern names she’s written down.”

            “Did you want something more traditional?” She wondered.

            “Thing is, think me mum gave me a more Western name to fit in, yeah? That way, people wouldn’t be looking down on us even more. ‘Fucking Jews and their wild names, eh? We’re English, ain’t we?’. But I ain’t naming our child outta fear. Ifya like a British name, then that’s fine. But don’t want you to name our child outta fear. Not like our parents did. People are gonna call me kid what they were named whether they like it or not. They have an issue; they can come to me and I’ll give them a well-crafted history of the chosen people. None of this…this bullshit.”

            Caroline nodded slowly. She hadn’t considered his point of view before but did understand it. Knowing Alfie felt so strongly about it, she wanted to grant his wish. Besides, she wanted her child to have a meaningful name, not something that was following a trend. “So more traditional. I think we could find a beautifully Jewish name.” She murmured softly and plucked the paper from his hand. “Zelda is Yiddish. Eli is Hebrew. What else?”

            “I’d hafta think about it,” Alfie admitted. He was starting to get a headache from reading the names his cousin had picked.

            She took his hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”

            “Fine, should be about ready to get back home. Fucking sick of this hospital.” He mumbled and squeezed her hand.

            “I know. I want you home so badly.” She sighed. “I love Elizabeth and Richard but I miss being together, just us two.”  

            “You can admit it, Liz can be overbearing.” Alfie chuckled.

            “She is not! She’s wonderful and caring. But I miss being with you in our own home. I want to go back to Letwin or Margate.”

            “I do too.” He raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. “We are due to have a very well-deserved vacation.”

            “We can leave straight from here.” Caroline got swept up in the daydream of being whisked away to either of their homes outside of London. Spending quality time with the husband she thought she was going to lose.

            “Well, I’ve got a few things to wrap up here before we do.” He frowned.

            “Like what?”

            “Like loose ends that need dealing with.”

            A cold chill went down Caroline’s spine as she picked up on anger in his voice. “Alfie…whatever you’re planning I’d urge you to stop.”

            “Not planning anything, love.”

            “I know you’re planning.” She argued. “And you ought to tell me the truth.”

            Alfie sighed and rested his head back against the pillows propping him up. He made sure not to touch his face even though he wanted to rub his weary eyes. “There are two men that are still alive. Part of the group that took you.” He told her. “They’ll be my example to those fucking-” He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Caroline, I won’t rest until they pay and the message is well received.”

            She chewed on her lower lip. Part of her wanted the men punished. After all, they had no right to do what they did. However, she knew her husband’s form of punishment was very different from the legal system. And she just wanted the ordeal to be done with. Caroline thought because she was home safe, things were done.

            But of course, they weren’t. And she wasn’t sure if they’d ever be fully settled. Besides, this wasn’t an isolated matter. It was just a symptom of years of Darby and Alfie bickering and fighting back and forth.

            “Alfie, will you look at me?” She reached up to find his cheek.

            “I’m looking at you, love.” He replied quietly.

            “What will it take to get you to give this up?” She asked, her gray eyes pleading. “We’re expecting a child. I don’t want this to continue to interrupt our lives. You were almost killed…”

            “I know, Caroline, I know.” He swallowed and tried to listen with an open mind. Settling arguments with Darby was never easy, often times Alfie just didn’t want to stop fighting. He felt like the man deserved what was coming to him.

            “I can’t have this in my life, and I know you can’t for much longer. You need to settle things. I won’t ask you to change completely but I need to know that my family will be safe. Our family.”

            “I’ll work on it.” He promised, the words coming from his heart. She was right, he didn’t want their child to see the horrors he had to. That was the point of bringing up a child, wasn’t it? To love them and to give them a better life? “Things’ll change. They will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~           

            Alfie returned home much to his and Caroline’s relief. The hospital was becoming very depressing and made Alfie stir crazy.

            Cyril and Apollo went mad when he entered the flat. They nearly knocked him over as they jumped on him excitedly.

            “Alright, alright!” He exclaimed. “Don’t push me now.” He prodded them off and patted them both. “I missed ya mutts too.”

            Caroline laughed softly as Cyril whined. “They’ve been so lost without you. Kept following me around.”

            “Well, at least you had good company.” Alfie chuckled. “Want some tea, love? I need something to settle me head.”

            “Sure.” She let Pilot off his lead. “I’ll be in the sitting room.”

            “Right, just be a mo’.” Alfie went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He had to blink a few times to try and right his vision. He didn’t think his life would be too changed by the lack of eyesight. He could get around, right?

            However, he was given a nasty wakeup call when he tried pouring the hot water into cups. He was certain he had the spout over the cup, that’s what it looked like. But it turned out his depth perception was worse than he anticipated. Boiling hot water spilled out over the kitchen counter and burned his hand.

            “Fuck!” He hissed and haphazardly set the kettle back on the stovetop but missed by a couple of inches. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He went for the sink to put cold water on his hand. Reaching for the tap, he overshot and knocked a bar of soap into the sink. “Fuck!” He growled and tried again, this time grabbing air. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Third time he managed to get a hold of the faucet and turned on the water. It took a few tries to get his hand under the stream of cold water. The string of events boggled his mind. How could he be so deceived by his own sight?

            “Fuck.” He uttered one more time as the water soothed his burn.

            “Alfie?” Caroline called from the next room when she heard banging around. “Are you alright?”

            “Fine, love!” He replied.

            Unconvinced, Caroline walked into the kitchen. “Are you sure?”

            “Just burned me hand a bit.”

            “Did something spill?” She frowned as her stocking-covered foot stepped in a puddle on the tiles.

            “Yeah, just water. Tried pouring but-fuck-I dunno, guess I don’t see quite right with just one working eye.”

            “You’ll have to adjust, that’s all.” She soothed softly and grabbed a hand towel. She found the kettle and the teacups. “Watch.”

            Alfie turned off the tap and walked over. He watched carefully as she tapped the spout of the kettle to the bottom of the teacup before pouring. She kept the tip of her finger a half-inch from the rim. When the water touched her finger, she stopped.

            “It’s all about learning how to live in a world that wasn’t made for you.” She poured the second cup. “You’re clever, you’ll manage. But you need to be patient with yourself.” She set the kettle down and reached a hand to him.

            “Don’t have your sorta patience.” He mumbled sheepishly and took her hand.

            She pulled him close and kissed his cheek. “You’ll find it.” She promised. “But it won’t be easy. Still, I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

            “I fucking love you.” He murmured and kissed her properly.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​

Tag list: @zazasblogxx​ @thinkingsofamadwoman​ @deaflikehawkeye​ @bellarkebxtch​ @evelynshelby​

Masterlist 

[happymetalgirl]

The 15 Worst Metal Albums of 2020

This list might have been shorter if not for my running into a few awful albums at the end of the year that I had been avoiding wisely up until that point. My morbid curiosity got the best of me, and what’s done is done. I’m paying the price for it by going back over the worst albums I heard all year. Let’s get this over with.

15. Ghøstkid - Ghøstkid

This was the debut solo album from the former singer of Eskimo Callboy, who had a pretty decent backing of hype heading into this release under the Ghøstkid moniker, but with the namesake frontman putting in no more than the standard performance on a bunch of poorly assembled tracks in an unappealing and dated poppy metalcore style, ultimately the eponymous album wound up disappointing me pretty substantially.

14. Powerman 5000 - The Noble Rot

Powerman 5000 are just such a low-rate band that even one of their more okay albums makes it here. While not as astoundingly, mind-numbingly basic as their worst material, The Noble Rot is still some of the most unevolved, underwritten, and forgettable electro rock and industrial metal I’ve heard from a big name artist. This is some eighth grade level songwriting here, and that’s a fuckin’ feat for a band that’s been around longer than any eighth grader has.

13. Corey Taylor - CMFT

There was a lot of hype around Corey Taylor finally coming out with a solo project, and it was pretty damn disappointing to hear a bunch of uninteresting classic rock too tacky for Stone Sour. CMFT focuses on the fun side that has made its creator such an enigmatic figurehead in the metal press, but its one-note approach does little more than highlight Corey Taylor’s songwriting deficiencies. I really could have seen this album turning out better too, with just some more time and care put into it, if a fun time of an album is what Taylor was going for. Unfortunately Taylor tried to make a party album and a grand ceremonial tribute to his greatness at the same time, and ego-petting and partying don’t really go hand in hand.

12. Evildead - United States of Anarchy

It has some good bones underneath it, but Evildead’s long overdue (if anyone was asking for it) third album wears out its welcome so quickly with some of the most adolescent thrash I’ve heard in a while. The band gets some good rhythms going and the vocals aren’t terrible either, fitting the older thrash style pretty well. But the band’s predictable formula tires out very quickly, and the political commentary of the lyrics is too cheesy and cringeworthy to ignore. It seems every year we get a handful of these kinds of albums that try to get into the simmering thrash revival with some ultra retro approach, and a good portion of those albums are from long-defunct bands who figure their primitive old-school approach might be a selling point despite their sounds often being even more juvenile against the backdrop of today’s metal landscape. So it’s not a huge surprise or anything to hear an album as ham-fisted and corny as United States of Anarchy; this year it just happened to be Evildead.

11. Five Finger Death Punch - F8

They may not always place highest in this list, but they always manage to make it here, and this was actually an improvement on the last album, not that that’s saying all that much. In fact, I’d say this is the only time in the band’s history that they actually shifted their trajectory upwards. But while the band’s ugly continual creative decay has been a hard thing to watch and made them the five finger punching bag of the metal world, there seems to be a large enough swath of mouthbreathing chuds who love their incoherent derivative shit and flock to their shows enough to put them in lucrative headlining slots and on top of the metal world. Goddamn that sure sounds a lot like someone else we all know doesn’t it. I’ve criticized them plenty in the past, and while indeed an improvement, F8 only mildly remedies the numerous problems with Five Finger Death Punch. Still septic to the system are the predictably formulaic and tiresome songwriting, the stale production, the corny butt rock choruses, the shitty bootlicking worldview that bleeds into Ivan Moody’s douchey and faux-deep lyrics, the contrived ballads and country-dabbling. Even with an improvement in the flow of the track listing and a few more bangers that somewhat hearken back to their first album, F8 is still an over-thought and overly calculated batch of Sirius XM fodder that’s trying to please everyone in some superficial way. I’ll grant that it seems as though the band realized they had been giving the more metal-immersed side of their fanbase that has been with them the longest smaller and smaller crumbs with each new album. I’m not gonna hold my breath for this being anything more than placating for the time being; I’m sure the next album will find the band back on whatever bullshit they feel (or their execs feel) they need to be on to pull enough streams from inattentive radio metal bros. I always end with the disclaimer that I still steadfastly stand by the band’s first two albums, and even American Capitalist to a degree, and that I totally acknowledge the immense potential for greatness this band could seemingly at any time decide to fulfill. Ivan Moody is a talented vocalist with a lot of star power and they really could have been the second coming of Pantera or singlehandedly ignited a new wave of American groove metal and metalcore or carried it on their own. But instead the band have followed the money on the path of least resistance to fast-track their way to the top of festival tickets, which I’m sure affords them quite enough luxury and comfort in life, more than most bands these days get, but it doesn’t exempt them from criticism, and unfortunately I think their legacy will show that they were a lowest common denominator kind of band at the end of the day when they could have been, again, like a second Pantera or something.

10. Anvil - Legal at Last

Another year, another album of Anvil unable to evolve past their prototypic thrash of their forty-year-old origins. Though as tacky as ever, Anvil actually also managed to make a mild improvement on their last album on the musical front at least. The songs are a little more energetic and easier to get through, if not for the lyricism though. Anvil lyrics are never anything beyond a fourth-grader’s poetry assignment for their English class, but some of the Facebook boomer lyrics here are fucking cringy dude. A quick look at the track listing will let you know exactly where you’re gonna find the juiciest cringe, but honestly, even as far as cringe goes it’s nothing comedically special and cringe culture in general is played out anyway. So do yourself a favor and just ignore Anvil the way they deserve to be ignored.

9. Halestorm - Reimagined

It feels a little harsh to place an EP here, especially for a band whose album back in 2018 was one of the best things I have heard to come out of hard rock in a long time. But these stripped back covers and revisions of songs from the band’s catalog just suck all the oomph out of them, perhaps making the case by contrast for the importance of the role the rest of the band behind the indeed charismatic powerhouse frontwoman Lzzy Hale play in making their sound what it is. It’s unlikely this points to any kind of new direction for them, so I’m not particularly worried about them running into this problem again. Plus, I don’t think Halestorm and Lzzy Hale are like fundamentally incompatible with more ballad-y rock music, this forced balladization of older songs just did not work, and it makes perfect sense as to why.

8. Gama Bomb - Sea Savage

The fact that this album is only number 8 on this list is just depressing for its reminder of just how much shittier it got this year. The fact that there are seven albums from this yet worse than Sea Savage, goddamn. With one exception, this was maybe the stupidest album I heard all year, at least in the thrash department it was. God this thing is a sugar high mess. I feel like a toddler on an entire bag of Halloween candy or an elementary schooler on a 2-liter of Mountain Dew sat at a computer to program a thrash album would’ve probably come up with something like this. The erratic operatic highs and dumbass lyrics, it all just embodies everything that ever made thrash look bad. It’s like that drunk guy at a party who’s hyper as shit and doing a bunch of crazy stunts for attention because he thinks it’ll make the people there like him more, but really he’s just embarrassing himself. Yeah, definitely the worst thrash metal album I heard all year, and one I wish I could unhear.

7. Amaranthe - Manifest

One of the albums I was avoiding but reviewed late out of my own weird sense of obligation that I wasn’t surprised to find only validated my reasons for avoiding it in the first place. The weird combo of dancy pop music and power metal isn’t as crazy of an idea as it might seem at first thought. In fact, that’s basically in part what Babymetal are doing, and actually getting better and better at. But Amaranthe get the worst of both worlds with Manifest, unsavory pop melodies and utterly generic symphonic metal to make for something I’m not at all surprised I was so repulsed by.

6. Trapt - Shadow Work

Yep, I listened to it. God, no wonder this band is flailing in irrelevance with aggressive MAGA nonsense being their only audible desperate plea for attention. The album, thank fuck, isn’t steeped in the same bitch boy tantrum that the band’s singer has engaged in all year to the point of getting his band’s Facebook page banned for hate speech, and the music isn’t like offensively poorly made or anything like that either. There’s clearly a conscious meeting of the baseline requirements for the type of music they make, but holy fuck it’s so damn flavorless and predictable. It’d be one thing if this was the trendy thing to be doing, but this diet hard rock for people who think Three Days Grace is too wild has been out of fashion for over a decade. And Trapt are just recycling the same dumb formula that overstayed it’s welcome in the early 2000’s. Yeah, I’m not surprised at all, but god, it’s the kind of thing that has to be apparent to the band themselves too unless they’re lacking of any and all self-awareness. Trapt have thrown themselves to the forefront of the online metal world’s discourse by being an annoying, toxic, and childish presence all year; the silver lining being the unity among metalheads in roasting their laughable posturing about their Pandora numbers and the juicy memes about their one hit “Headstrong” that rile the snowflake singer up without fail. And this shit album is just another reason to laugh at them and more fuel to roast their crybaby Trumper frontman with. Go back into your hole, Trapt. 3/10

5. Unleash the Archers - Abyss

I talked about it in my review, but there really is only one simple thing that sinks this album so low. And that is just how incredibly low-effort and lifeless it is with a genre that’s supposed to be so life-affirming. Power metal isn’t the most highly revered genre in metal, but that’s just for its cheesiness. I love it; when it’s at its best, it’s some of the most inspiring metal music out there and I genuinely wish there was a bigger demand across the board for it. But Unleash the Archers just sound so flat and unenthusiastic in this album, and, sorry, in power metal, unabashed enthusiasm is just nonnegotiable. The guitar parts are phoned in and lacking in imagination, and the vocals especially are so narrow-range, it’s all so antithetical to the ethos of power metal and it doesn’t make a strong case for itself. I’ll leave it there; this album is lazy and lifeless so I feel no need to waste any of my time and work on it.

4. Burzum - Thûlean Mysteries

Ol’ Varg must’ve needed a new wizard hat or camouflage pants or whatever goofy shit he’s been doing since retiring the Burzum name to focus on his racism and LARPing because I thought Burzum was supposed to be finished. I thought you were done with Burzum, Varg. Apparently not too done to not dump an hour and a half of embarrassingly half-baked ambient dungeon synth song fragments that sound, so many of them, quite obviously unfinished. Varg Vikernes has been a washed-up shell of the musical god the various weirdos who idolize him make him out to be for a long time now, and it has shown in the gradually degrading work he had put out after his release from prison. Yet after clearly not caring about creating music in any meaningful way for a long time, Varg drops this heap of shit in his fans’ laps. I suppose they deserve it, but I’m sure some of them are delusional enough to lap it up with a smile on their face while still believing their white nationalist idol to be a musical genius. Again, it’s entirely dull ambient music, not metal at all, but it deserves to be shit upon for its astounding laziness and purposelessness.

3. Asking Alexandria - Like a House on Fire

Doubling down on exactly the unflattering crossover of pop music with their significantly sanitized butt rock in their apparent quest for arena glory that started with their self-titled album back in 2017, Asking Alexandria’s bid for the big spotlight that Imagine Dragons occupies didn’t get any stronger this year with Like a House on Fire. After three or four years of aiming for this style, the band still aren’t even all that competent with the basics of fucking pop rock, which is pretty downright laughable. Honestly, for an album so high up here on my shit list, my feelings on it are more or less just that of unsurprised disappointment; as soon as I got a feel for what the band were doing with the album, I knew it was going to be a mess of predictable results. And lo and behold. This was just such a wholly inexcusably floppy paper towel of an album, and one more Asking Alexandria release I know I won’t be returning to ever again.

2. Hollywood Undead - New Empire, Vol. 2

Coming on at the last minute to get on the scoreboard, reliably, is Hollywood Undead. When I reviewed both volumes of this project earlier, I referred to them as “corporate Linkin Park”, and I stand by that 100%. This album especially showcases nothing but what an incoherent, vapid, clout-chasing act they are, with such a corny, focus-grouped sound that sounds like it was made in a lab by a bunch of out-of-touch boomers. God, they could’ve been safe too if they had left it with the more tolerable first volume back in January, but this follow-up sequel from just this month was exactly why I had avoided listening to the first installment in the first place. And I should’ve never played this second one either. The album opener, “Medicate”, is probably the worst song I sat through in my own volition this year, and the rest of the album doesn’t get much better. It’s nothing new for Hollywood Undead after I gave their 2017 album my award for least favorite album of that year: more unfitting interplay between machismo posturing Eminem-cosplay and the sappiest, wimpiest radio rock and pop choruses; more cringy tough-guy struggle bars; more forgettable-at-best instrumentals. Congrats again, Hollywood Undead, you made one of the worst albums of the year once again.

But even worse than Hollywood Undead is an album that I feel like is already so legendarily bad, that there is no other album that could’ve been sat here. It had to be this one.

1. Six Feet Under - Nightmares of the Decomposed

Shitty metal bands everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief any year Six Feet Under decide to put out new music because any album they release is just about bound to end up as everyone’s #1 worst album of the year, and boy is that guarantee becoming more and more airtight with each successive release. It’s truly astounding too how Six Feet Under manages to outdo themselves every time. I don’t even want to think about what could possibly come after Nightmares of the Decomposed; we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But for now, holy fermented shit, this thing is not just bad, it’s like the holy grail of terrible TERRIBLE albums and I don’t want to know what kind of apocalyptically despicable album Chris Barnes and company could possibly conjure to outdo this one. And make no mistake, it’s still Chris Barnes dragging this band down. I gave this album a 1/10 instead of a 0/10 because there was at least a sliver of salvageable instrumentation on it, as thin of a sliver as it was, a few halfway decent musical ideas of you squinted hard enough. The instrumentalists are checked out and clearly just participating for the paycheck, but I can’t even imagine what kind of professional instrumental performance could possibly overshadow the embarrassment that Chris Barnes put to tape in the studio here. Maybe that says it, because it honestly sounds utterly unprofessional. It’s baffling how this got through management and sound engineering to be released to the public because I don’t think I’ve ever even heard any amateur high school band’s vocalist sound this bad. Vocal ingenuity is generally something to be applauded in the metal world, and pioneers like Randy Blythe, Dani Filth, and Travis Ryan deserve all the praise they get for their innovation with dirty metal vocals, yet what Chris Barnes has “invented” here on Nightmares of the Decomposed to compensate for his continually-deteriorating vocals is just sad. The man simply cannot perform highs anymore, clearly, and the alternative is this fucking comical, cartoonish squealing that sounds more like a bratty toddler gargling their own snot than it does anything fitting for a death metal record, even a death metal record at stupid and cheesy as Nightmares of the Decomposed. Chris Barnes should be thankful that metal is not a sport and that there’s not nearly as much of an abundance of performance statistics to point to and analyze to see what kind of records are broken in a legendarily awful performance. I feel like if there were any kind of performance stats to pull up, this album would have to break some kinds of records. Like this is worse than that 7-1 Germany-Brazil World Cup game, this would be like if the Brazilian team all got unholy levels of blazed and repeatedly scored on themselves because they kept going the wrong way and kicking the ball into their own net, and then pissing their fucking shorts. Even in 7-1 defeat, Brazil had more dignity than Chris Barnes here. Six Feet Under and their label have to know they are a laughing stock and that people will listen to them at this point for the sheer entertainment value of how mind-blowingly awful they sound. It’s not an illegitimate marketing tactic, and it’s the only explanation I can come up with for how this passed inspection. If that’s their mission, to be a spectacle and instill cringe in death metal fans in a regular ritual of comically stupid performances across every successive album, they’re sure doing it, and I guess this baffling headache-trophy is their well-earned prize. Congratulations Six Feet Under, you did it again! Worst metal album of the year.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Not Exactly A Classic Dame (1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (platonic friendship between Steve x OFC)

Warnings: None this Chapter, but later

Bucky Master List / Main Master List

* * *

CHAPTER 1

“Stop growling.” Steve Rogers chuckled at his friend as the crowd of technicians parted like the Red Sea as they passed.

“I ain’t growling.” Bucky Barnes, former Winter Soldier and newest resident at the Avenger Compound, muttered beside him. Granted, his nerves coiled his hands into fists and his head ached from the scowl he’d been sporting since the jet arrived three hours ago.

“Uh-huh.” Came the light-hearted laugh.

“I don’t like all the attention, okay.” Bucky leaned closer. So far, he’d been hauled into a meeting room and briefed on all the rules of the compound, ran through a mind-blowingly fast course on all the technology, been swept into a lab to be thoroughly examined and scanned, had all of his meager belonging searched, and treated more like a potential threat than a possible member of the team.

Steve stopped, resting a steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s a lot. I get it.” He sighed, looking at it from the other man’s perspective. “It probably doesn’t feel all that friendly either. We’ve all been here so long, that we’re hit with the changes a little a time. Having to submit to it all at once has got to be weird. Really, though, all this tech – F.R.I.D.A.Y., and all – it's not bad.”

“Fine.” Bucky pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Just so long a Stark’s fucking nerds keep out of my way and allow me some privacy.”

“Don’t worry.” Steve grinned, pulling his friend along to their last appointment. “And they’re not all bad.”

“Are we getting lunch soon? How much more orientation crap can there possibly be?” Bucky grumbled.  

“After this. I want to get you hooked up with Harper so you have everything you need for outside the compound.” At his friend’s raised eyebrow, he clarified. “You know, personnel stuff - alternate IDs, funded credit cards, make sure you don’t trigger facial recognition software on some security network if you’re out and about. I don’t think we can do much about metal detectors, though.” He joked.

Buck stopped walking, mouth dropping open a little. Steve gave him a distinct ’what’ look. “Isn’t that all a little on the wrong side of legal?”

“Depends on what country you’re in.” Steve smirked and continued down the hall.

Bucky smiled for the first time. “The spies are rubbing off on you.”

“No, I’m just realizing what needs to be done in order to do the right thing. I have more trust in the people I’m around than the governments running the show. And Harper is good people.”

Music drifted towards them. Bucky didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t mean much. It had a good tempo and lots of guitar. When Steve swung the office door open, the volume of music quadrupled making Bucky wonder how someone could work amongst the distraction. Banks of monitors took up one wall and in front sat Harper.  

“Hey Cas!” Steve shouted over the music, grinning like an idiot over the stunned look on Bucky’s face.  

Cassidy Harper spun around on her stool, one leg tucked under her, and a brilliant smile on her full red lips. Bucky found himself smiling back at this beautiful woman, curved in all the right places, wearing blue jeans and no shoes. From beneath her dark blue t-shirt a tattoo covered her left arm from shoulder to elbow. It was her shiny black hair, held back in a red handkerchief and victory curls that did him in. Actual victory curls.  

She hit a button, killing the music before hopping down onto her bare feet and giving Steve a hug. The top of her head only come to his chin, still Cas rose up on tip toes and threw her arms around his neck. Bucky noticed the red of her toe nails matched the red on her lips. “Steve!”

“Hey, Cas. Thanks for making time.” He hugged her back, lifting her off her feet a little before turning back to Bucky. “This is him. Buck, this is Cassidy Harper.”

“I’ve heard so much about you.” Cas opened her arms. “I’m a hugger. May I?”  

He chuckled and stepped forward. She warmly wrapped her arms around his neck and he tentatively placed his hands on her waist. It’d been a long while since anyone just wanted such casual contact. Usually, he didn’t like strangers touching him, but this felt good. She smelled of mint and something slightly citrus. Fresh.  

“So,” Cas hopped back onto her stool, flashing a devilish grin. “Stevie says I’m to hook you up with whatever you want. What’s it going to be?”

“Um?” Bucky looked back and forth between the two, not quite understanding.  

“Were you able to scrub him from the watch dog systems?” Steve leaned against a bank of cabinets.  

“Yeah, it was easy actually. Nothing at all like you - Steve 'My Face Is On Boxes Of Corn Flakes' Rogers.” She swung her foot around in circles, the momentum bringing her to face Bucky. “You’ve taken ghosting to an art form, sweetheart.”

He just shrugged.  

“What about IDs?” Steve continued.

Cas reached around and handed Bucky a manila envelope. “There’s two to start. One in your real name, and one under Edward Porter. Both have bogus birth records, passports, New York driver’s licenses, concealed weapons permits, bank accounts, and couple credit cards. There’s a 100k limit on them. Let me know if you need more.”

Bucky cocked his head. “That was my granddad’s name.”

“I asked Steve some questions. It’s best to keep lies easy to remember.” She shrugged.  

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Not to Stark.” She waved a hand.  

“So,” She turned back to her computer. “I assume they’re going to have you staying here for a while, so no get-away pad. What about wheels? Do you intend to just borrow from the fleet, or do you want something of your own? You into something sporty? Or you want a truck like our friend here? Maybe a motorcycle?”

“A bike.” Came his fast answer.

“Yay.” Cas gave a little cheer. “What kind? Cruiser? Crotch-rocket? Or -”

“Harley Panhead.”

“Nice.” Her fingers started flying over the keyboard as she searched for the classic motorcycle, images flashed across multiple screens faster than the men could follow. She stopped, settling on a shiny black updated and rebuilt model for an exorbitant price. “How about that? Is she sexy or what?”

“Sure is, Doll.” Bucky drawled. Completely, taken by more than just the bike.

“Kinda pricey.” Steve commented. “Stark going to question you on this one?”

“Tony can kiss my round right ass cheek.” Cas rolled her eyes. “I just rooted out a Taiwanese ring that was plagiarizing one of his applications and saved him fifty times that amount – last Tuesday – on my lunch break. I’m in good graces right now, so I’m sharing the spoils.”

“Okay.” Steve laughed raising both hands in surrender. “Just asking”

“Now, we’ve covered identification, cash, transportation. It’s not my official job, but are you all set up in your apartment? Please don’t let Steve help you. He’s got all the taste of an army barracks in a black and white movie.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed while Cas giggled. “You liked the Christmas gift I gave you, and that was for your apartment.”

“Yes. I love it.” Cas beamed. “But it’s color pencil of my old dog – that you drew yourself – and it’s beautiful. That does not make you Martha Stuart.”

“I don’t need much. What’s there is fine.” Bucky suddenly felt uncomfortable. He realized Steve must really care for her if he’d given her a piece of his art. Back in the war, he didn’t show many people how well he could draw. He almost never gave it away, even a tiny sketch. A surprising flood of disappointment washed over him.

“Bullshit.” Cas scoffed.

“Language.” Steve rolled his eyes, but she stuck out her tongue at him.

“Really. It's fine.” Bucky buried his hands in his pockets. “I appreciate the offer, but there’s no need.”

Steve saw the swing in his friend’s mood, not understanding why, but attributing it to hunger. He wanted lunch even before they arrived. “Okay, what do you say we head out and let Cas get back to work. We’ll go get lunch.” Bucky nodded.

Cas felt the change too. She hopped from her workstation and threw an arm sideways around Steve’s waist for a brief moment. “Thanks for the visit and the introduction.” Turning back to Bucky, she bumped his shoulder with her own. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear when the bike is supposed to arrive. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Thanks. Me too.” He smiled back at her, but this time it didn’t brighten his eyes.  

[wehangout]

Fuck No

AO3

Things get weird the night before the night before. You joke and shove each other on the way to dinner, just like every other night, but then, while you’re eating your beef stroganoff and half a cup of veggies, things get … quiet.

And you’re in jail, for fucks sake. Even in the middle of the night there’s nothing quiet about jail because if there’s not someone jacking off two cells down, or talking to himself in the cell across, then the plumbing is whirring and creaking, pipes groaning under the pressure of flushing hundreds of dudes’ shit away every goddamn day.

But that’s how it gets at dinner. Quiet. Two guys at the other end of the table are going through the alphabet naming movies from the nineties; a couple of guards two tables over are trying to convince Jimmy to stop making idle threats and eat his fucking dinner; and there’s even shitty music playing over the shitty PA system.

That small circle around you and Ian, that bubble that seems to exist day and night, is silent.

It stays silent all the way back to your cell. It stays silent when he grabs a book and climbs onto his bed. It stays silent as you doodle half-heartedly on a piece of paper. He doesn’t come to you that night, and you don’t go to him, but when the lights go out, you can tell by his breathing alone that he’s not asleep.

He’s on you the next morning, hand in your boxers, wrapped expertly around your hard dick. He ruts against your ass, panting into your neck and letting out tiny sounds on every third or fourth thrust, and it’s those that get you. Ian Gallagher likes to hear you when he fucks you, but he’s not stupid enough to get carried away now. Not here.

But he can’t seem to help himself and that sends you over the edge, coming in his hand and on your own belly after nothing more than a quick handie. Ian follows, and you can feel his wetness seep through his own boxers onto your ass. It’s enough to make you want to go again, until –

“I’m staying.”

He whispers it against your shoulder, so quiet that you barely hear him.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” he says, and moves back a little when you struggle out of his grip, turn to face him. “I’m staying.”

“The fuck you are.”

His hand, still sticky with your come, lifts and grasps at your tank, right over your heart. “I want to stay with you.”

And you’re sure as hell he feels the thud-thud-thudding of your heart, the way it goes from a post-orgasm, slowing thump … thump … thump to beating so hard it physically hurts. He says nothing else, though; just grips tighter and kisses you.

His breath is terrible and yours is likely worse, but you kiss him back, thread your fingers into his hair, commit every crevice of his mouth to memory. And when you pull back, he grins like a dope and you smile back.

“You’re leaving,” you say. “Tomorrow morning. And if you fight me on this again, I swear that will be the last time I kiss you while you’re still here.”

His jaw drops, but you ignore it to climb over him and take a leak.

 Breakfast is silent. Not quite as painfully so as dinner, but still silent. You watch Ian and you know he watches you when you’re not watching him. Sometimes your gaze will meet, and he will glare, or you’ll smirk, or mutual soft – sad, they’re fucking sad, okay? – smiles will fill your bubble and you can forget, just for a second, that he’s leaving you.

Again.

Fuck.

He stops you before the turn off to the laundry and there’s this stupid feeling in your chest. He’s leaving. He’s leaving tomorrow and you don’t even get to spend your last day together because you’re in fucking prison and it’s utter bullshit.

“Hey,” he says, and gestures away from the crowd.

“We ain’t talking about this shit again, Ian.”

“No, I … I’m not gonna say that again, all right? It’s something else.”

You look up that tiny bit to meet his gaze and ignore everyone else around you. “What then?”

“I’ll wait.”

His words make you want to vomit so you swallow hard and nod. “Sure. Okay.”

“I mean it, Mick.” His hand brushes your arm in a barely-there touch, the only kind of touch either of you allow outside of the cell. “I mean it.”

“Look, man, let’s not make promises we can’t keep, okay?” You take a step back and avoid his gaze. “I’ll see ya at lunch.”

“Wait!” He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “You didn’t answer me the other day.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” you ask, glancing at the guards.

“What are we gonna do when I get out? Long distance? Break up? Marriage –“

“Fuck no.”

He pulls back, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Excuse me?”

“I already had one shitshow of a marriage, Gallagher. I ain’t doing that again.”

“But it wouldn’t be a shitshow –“

“I said fuck no, asswipe. End of discussion.”

 He brings it up again at lunch.

“They can set that kind of shit up here, you know? People get married in prison all the time.”

You stare at him and answer through a mouthful of bread. “Seriously?”

“Yeah! They bring in a – a fucking officiant and legal papers and everything.”

“No, I mean seriously? You’re still going on about this shit?”

He shrugs, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Whaddya say?”

“I say fuck no.”

 And it’s not that you don’t want to marry Ian, it’s just …

You gonna marry me? We gonna go down to the courthouse in some tuxes like a couple of old queens?

So, you have trouble forgetting shit, who fucking doesn’t?

Ian had been sick when he said those words, but it didn’t make your initial statement any less true. And he responded by shitting all over it.

 “You know what I’ve always loved?” he asks around a mouthful of orange jello. “Wedding cake.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Did you have any of the cake at your wedding?” he asks. “I was too fucking shit-faced to do much more than continue o drink, but Mandy said it was good.”

You put down your fork, still piled high with flavourless mashed potatoes. “No, Ian, I didn’t have any fucking cake at my wedding. I was too busy trying to get it up and fuck my wife, so my old man didn’t kill me the following morning.”

A flicker of something painful flashes over his face, but then he grins. “At least we know that won’t be a problem at our wedding, huh?”

“You’re a fucking tool.”

“I’m a sucker for a good chocolate cake,” he continues. “How about you? Fruit?”

“Fuck no.”

“So carrot, then?”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

He’s silent while he finishes his jello, but you can’t eat anymore mashed potatoes. You’ve lost your appetite and the texture of that shit doesn’t help. You peel open your own jello and pick up your spoon but make no more to eat any.

You want this with Ian – the teasing and joking – but you want it on the outside, you want it once you’re both out of this shithole. You want every night together – preferably in a bed big enough to share – and you want breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. You want your fucking bubble with him, and you want everything he’ll give you.

You’re just not sure how much that is.

 You’re the last two to leave the shower block. Not because you stuck around to bang, but because you managed to get some purple dye all over you in the laundry and it took for-fucking-ever to wash off.

“Purple looks good on you,” Ian says, dumb smirk on his pretty mouth.

You flip him off and say nothing as you pass the guard, but as soon as you’re around the corner Ian tugs at your hand and pulls you into a linen closet.

“The fuck, man? There’s, like, zero space in here.”

His lips are against your ear. “Don’t need much space for sucking cock, Mick.”

Said cock goes instantly hard, and you watch in the dim light as Ian sinks to his knees and opens the buttons of your jumpsuit. You can barely see him, but his pink lips stand out and you fight a groan when he wickedly smiles at the sight of you.

He noses at your cock and stares up at you. “Marry me?”

“Fuck no.”

He licks a long stripe up the underside and pouts. “You don’t want this forever?”

“Fuck you.”

He swirls his tongue around your head and lowers his voice even more. “Fuck my face, Mick.”

Your knees shake, but you do as he says, and you fuck his face. And after, after you finish and he stands up to kiss you with come-slicked lips, when the bubble surrounds you and squeezes you and everything is Ian, he whispers those two words again.

“I’ll wait.”

 “Corvette?”

“Eh.”

“Mustang?”

“Better.”

“Rolls Royce?”

“You turn fucking North side when I wasn’t lookin’?”

He grins, picks up your discarded 3 of hearts, and throws down a four of clubs. Then he wags his eyebrows. “Limo?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“We could just take the El,” he says. “Catch a ride down to the courthouse –“

“Fuck no.”

“Oh? Too good for the El on your wedding day, huh?”

He’s teasing, but you feel like maybe he’s getting serious, too, and you can’t fucking help yourself.

“Look, it’s a 1967 Black Impala or nothing at all, got it?”

Ian’s silent for a long minute. You take that time to ignore the beating in your chest and pretend like you don’t give a shit. You pick up a new card and throw out your nine of spades.

“You won’t compromise and go with the ’67 Camaro?” he finally asks, and his eyes are nothing but sincere when you look into them.

“Fuck no.”

“Okay. 1967 Black Impala it is then.”

And if your vice shakes when you reply, it’s not your fucking fault. “Okay.”

 “You gonna marry Mickey?” Lip asks the next night.

“Fuck no.”

[ksj-com]

The Purge Night- 

Demented

- Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

- Genre: The Purge!AU, smut, gore, violence

- Warnings/Tags: Knife play, murder, gun mention & use, light spanking, revenge killing, unprotected sex, fucking in a dead girls house, dom!Yoongi, rough sex, sexual tension, explicit language, girl biting her own tongue off, alcohol mention, sadistic thoughts

- Word Count: 4,304

- Summary: Tonight is the purge; you and Yoongi have a lot of built up anger with a side of being apathetic when it comes to other people. Throwing on some masks and taking anger out on the innocent may ease your guys’ psychotic frustrations.

|| Masterlist ||

     The air is still on the morning of March 21st. The small hours are not filled with birds chirping to wake you up nor the sound of your alarm screeching in your ears. You and Yoongi took off this day of work because it held such a place in your guys’ hearts. 

     Not a lot of people necessarily liked you and Yoongi —especially the fact you guys spent every moment together. In fact, you guys were the only two that could really stand each other’s company given that’s why you and him had such a strong relationship. Lots of people talk about relationships they know nothing about. You and Yoongi learned how to deal with people talking bullshit on your guys’ relationship by writing what they say down, but not only what they say, who said it as well. Sometimes it would surprise you how many laughable words shortsighted people had to say about you and Yoongi. 

March 20th, 2019

     “I can’t help but feel disgusted when seeing those two together. All they do is rub all up on each other as if none of us are here. It’s called privacy and they need it!” 

Kayla Rush

     You pushed a little air out of your nostrils as a smile crept on your face while reading the words one of your coworkers said about you two yesterday. People have a hard time looking away and minding their own business when it comes to those kinds of things. Kissing, being close, resting your head on his shoulder, and flirting are some of the things people constantly complain about when it comes to you two together. Not to mention the people that make fun of you both.  

January 30th, 2019

     “Is it just me or does anyone else notice how fat (y/n) is getting? Let’s hope it’s comfort weight and not a baby bump. I would never want to see how ugly their baby would be.”

Nicole Thorton

     Thumbing through more pages of your little complaint journal you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed about how nosey people can be. You always thought the backstabbing and the gossip would stop after high school but you couldn’t have never been farther from the truth. The constant talk turned you cold. Being forced to work around people that you hear talk about you all the time was excruciating. You and Yoongi wait for today to stop the torment you guys feel daily and that’s why it was so special.

     You didn’t realize Yoongi was awake beside you until he grabbed the book from your hands to set it on the table behind him. 

     “Fuck what they say; today is our day,” his voice is slightly muffled from the blanket pulled to his face. He reaches his hand out to rest on top of one of yours. “How about we eat some breakfast and then go shopping for the necessities for tonight?” His smirk is visible from one eye wrinkled slightly. 

     “Sounds like a plan,” you both step out of bed and waddle your way to the kitchen. The overly sugary bowl of cereal coats your mouth in a lingering sweet taste. A commercial for LED masks on the television grabs yours and Yoongi’s attention. “We have to get them Yoongi. People were wearing them last year and I was always so jealous of how cool they looked!” You speak with a whine, making Yoongi smile with a mouth full of cereal. He swallows the rest of the food in his mouth. 

     “Say no more.” 

     After throwing on some clothes, your fingers clasp around Yoongi’s on the way to the car. It was time to go shopping for the supplies tonight. Once arriving at Party City for the masks, you saw Kayla looking at costumes as well. Kayla definitely seemed like one of the people to stay inside of their house like a pussy, so you couldn’t help but feel a bit confounded. You slide up next to her and pretended to look at a cheap ghost bride costume. 

     “Oh hey, (y/n)! What are you doing here? Plans for tonight?” She beams— clearly forged from how she talks to people she’s actually interested in. 

     “Yoongi and I were looking at masks over here, but I couldn’t help but peak a look at their costumes— never know what you could find here. And yes, as a matter of fact, we do have some plans to take care of tonight,” You peel a smile to make yourself sound not so bloodthirsty for what is coming tonight. “Anyways, enough about me! What about you? I’m assuming you aren’t dressing up as a sexy nurse to stay inside all night!” The conversation breaks with a fake laughter. 

     “No, you’re correct. Every year I usually stay inside for The Annual Purge-“

     I knew it, You bite your cheek to keep the thought to yourself. 

     “-but this year I wanted to see for myself if the release everyone keeps talking about is worth it!” She rambles. The conversation drags on about work and life up till you cut the conversation and you both part ways. 

     “Well I’ll leave you alone so you can shop in peace. Maybe we’ll run into each other tonight. I’ll keep an eye out for a nurse roaming the streets,” You crack a laugh out of her. You retreat back to Yoongi and find that he has both of the masks in his hands. 

     “You done talking to that bimbo over there?” He scoffs. Not only did Kayla have her fair share of speaking her opinions on your relationship; she also tried breaking you two up when she tried sleeping with Yoongi. When she got denied, she made up a story about how he tried to sleep with her and spread the false information across the whole office. You and Yoongi were the only ones who were willing to tell the truth about how desperate she really was. 

     “Yeah, I just needed to find out where she was going. She’s going to be out and about, so we may not be able to see her tonight,” you mutter disappointingly. You guys make your way to check out the items and back home to get changed. 

     When at home, it is already 2:00 pm. Now that the outfits were sorted out: a green LED mask with a black hoodie and pants for Yoongi, and a red LED mask and a slim black dress for you. It was time to sort out the weapons. There were so many weapons that have been collected from previous years that it was time to reuse some from the past. You both choose to take machetes, handheld machine guns, and you take your trusty dagger. After years of spending purge night together, you both have your own favorite weapons to use. You have your own dagger and Yoongi uses brass knuckles that contain spikes on each knuckle. Granted you can only use the favorite weapons when someone was close enough; it made the fight intimate when you were able to watch the life spill from them face to face. Maybe that’s why they’re your guys’ favorite weapons. 

     5:00 pm. Dinner time. Yoongi made spaghetti with some red wine. You are both now dressed in everything but the masks. He sets a plate of noodles in front of you and pours a little wine in your glass. 

     “We may have to find a place to stop for a bit tonight because I don’t think I will be able to fall asleep tonight if I haven’t fucked you in that dress,” His pupils were dilating and his eyes drift up and down your figure. 

     You bite your lip slightly at the thought of him ripping this dress off of you right now, but you wanted it to be more tonight. You lift the glass up to your lips and take a sip while looking up at him. You could tell how much he wanted to take you right here too, but he understood what you wanted. Danger. You glide your foot up and down the inside of one of his legs during dinner. The way his breath grew sharper the closer you got to his cock made your dress dampen under you. You guys finish the dinner full of tantalizing eventually and begin the finishing touches for the night. The masks were on, guns slung around your backs, machetes in one hand, while the brass knuckles were in the other for Yoongi and your dagger was placed in a leather case around your thigh. 

     The sound of the alarm rang through your house when it hit 7:00 pm. It brought joyous goosebumps to your body as if you were listening to your favorite song.

     “This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System. Announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. When the purge concludes. Blessed be our new founding fathers and America... A nation reborn. May God be with you all.”

     You and Yoongi look at each other and give each other one hungry and hot kiss before disconnecting to talk. “Let’s go have some fun” You giggle, bringing one out from Yoongi as well. The first step out of the door and into the world that has become a temporary anarchy always sent lightning bolts of adrenaline through your body. The feeling was addictive and every year you craved the feeling of danger more than the next. The roads were empty on the streets you lived on— they always were. They knew what you guys did every year and they were terrified of you both. You and Yoongi stop on the curb outside of your house. He takes the little journal out of his pocket and flicks through the pages. 

     “Who’s our first stop?” You skip up and down a line in front of him. You swing your arms around with ease— not phased by the fact that one of your hands was occupied with holding the machete. 

     “Let’s see what Nicole is up to at this hour today, shall we? I saw how bothered you were when rereading what she said about you this morning,” he watches you stop skipping around. He steps down from the curb and stuffs the journal back into his pocket. “What do you say? Should Nicole be our first stop tonight?”

     “I couldn’t think of anyone better. Maybe we’ll see Kayla on the way,” You agree and step forward in the direction of Nicole’s house. Everyone that was written in the journal was from work because those are the people you see everyday. Before leaving work yesterday, Yoongi made sure to glance at our target’s records to know our directions for tonight. He pulls out his phone to look at the pictures of addresses he took: 8300 Main Street. The area was not hard to get around given it was a small town. Usually on purge night, walking was the method of getting around town. Roaming people were a bonus to see and it was simply more fun that way. Usually you guys wouldn’t see people that you knew, but tonight Kayla was a target.

     It wasn’t long before you and Yoongi were standing in front of Nicole’s house. It was a nice house with a weak security system. It was known in the office that she was single and lived alone, meaning no one will be in there but her. Perfect. Just in case she had weapons on the inside, you both inch your way up to her window which was elevated low enough for you guys to climb in. You were about to swing the butt of your gun at the corner of the window, but Yoongi’s hand stopped the gun mid-swing. He held up his finger to signal that there was something he noticed. His fingers claw under the window and slow push it up. It was unlocked. 

     “What a dumb ass,” He whispers. He lifted you in first before he pulled himself in. The house was dark except for a light reaching around a hallway corner. You slowly make your way and notice that Nicole is sitting there watching TV completely unbothered and not aware of the strangers in her house. You tilt your head while viewing her. She was gorgeous, it is such a shame when beautiful people have rotten personalities. You tap your machete on the wall next to you in an attempt to get her attention.

     “What the-What the fuck?!” She jumps to her feet and scrambles to get farther away. Due to the high kick of adrenaline and fear, she trips over the coffee table behind her and lands to the ground with a hard thud. She shuffled back until she hit a wall, her eyes wet and her chest heaving. You begin to recite the disrespectful words she once spoke of you in hopes to freshen her mind of the day. “What are you saying? Who are you guys?!” She cries aggressively.

     “Stop acting dumb or I’ll lose my patience,” You inch towards her with a slow strut. The sound of the machete dragging on the floor behind you made her body tremble. Yoongi follows beside you until you both stand over her. You bring the machete under her chin and lift her soaking wet face up. Her eyes meet your LED X’s and she jerks away. “No, no, no. Look at me. Tell me you remember,” You hiss. 

     “Remember what?” She desperately tries to get a grasp at what the actual fuck was happening right now and why. She would have never thought that someone would be planning to kill her tonight. She didn’t think of herself as someone that deserved to die.

     “Babe, do you think you can handle her for a minute? I need to go check my weight. I think I’m gaining a little weight...wait maybe it’s a baby bump? Oh god, oh god! We wouldn’t want to have that, Nicole would find our baby hideous!” You watch the realization of who you two are hit her face.

     “I-I-I didn’t mean any of that! You know how people can get in the heat of the moment when people are gossiping! You are stunning a-and not even close to fat! Your guys’ babies will be so far from ugly,” The words spill from her mouth so quickly that it was almost impossible to understand. You both laugh in her face and you firmly place the machete back under her chin. She starts sobbing loudly. “Please...don’t hurt me.”

     “Shut the fuck up and stop crying. Your tears are going to stain my weapon,” You spit coldly. She begins to choke back the tears and snot back into her throat.

     “What are you going to do with me?” Her voice quiet, defeated, and shaky. You look over at Yoongi and he gives you a slow nod. You both look back at her slowly and Yoongi bends down to her level.

     “Count yourself uninvited to the baby shower,” Yoongi pats her head and stands back up. You take the machete from under her and wind back. You use both of your hands to crack into her skull downwards as hard as you can. After the first hit, her body slammed into itself and jerked against the force of the blade. Gurgles of blood spit from her mouth and a blood vessel in her eye burst from the impact. You lift it up, hitting her two more times until her body was completely limp and it felt as if the blade was hitting mush. Her blood is sprinkled over your arms and legs and a puddle is formed under the machete dripping to the ground.

     “Damn, I forgot how tiring it is to do that,” You set down the machete to stretch out your arms. “You know, this is a nice place...” You take off both of your guys’ masks while he pulls you close and grips your ass tightly.

     “I was thinking the same thing while you were dealing with her. Let’s find a bed before I bend you over this table,” He winks before you both split to see who finds the bedroom first. You, being the winner, call Yoongi over to join you. When he steps in the room, your bloody hands grip his shirt and pull him close to meet your lips. He groans into your mouth and bites your bottom lip as he pulls away. You fall back on the bed and squirm around from him looking at you. “God, look at you...” He slips out the dagger from your leg and lightly brushes it down your clothed body.

     “That tickles,” you giggle and arch your back towards the blade. You spread your legs, helping the dress bunch at the top of your thighs. Yoongi pulls the dagger up to your throat, bringing a playful smile to your face.

     “You are so sexy and all mine. Isn’t that right?” He continues to hold the dagger to one side of your neck while licking and sucking the other. You moan and stretch your neck to give him more access. “All mine,” He whispers between his wet kisses. You can feel how tight his jeans were getting between your legs, so you wrap your legs around him to pull him even closer. He growls and throws the dagger across the room. He pulls himself up and flips you around. He shoves the dress over your ass making it completely visible. “No underwear,” He breathes. He pulls his shirt off and kneels on the ground. His face now resting at your back entrance, you wiggle closer to him. The feeling of his hot breath so close to your already soaked pussy made you impatient. His tongue lightly traveled from your clit all the way to your ass. He took off his brass knuckles so he was able to spread you out to give him better view and access. His tongue pushed into your clit and flicked around. You screwed your eyes shut and curled your feet at the sudden pleasure. He smacked your ass, pushing a whine out from your lips. He flips you over to suck on your clit. You pull his face into you as much as you possibly can. He slips in two fingers under him to stimulate both areas at the same time. While he sucked and kissed, he curled his fingers and pulled them in and out quickly. Your thighs begin to tighten around his head and your eyes screw shut. The room is filled with your high pitched moans, but all of a sudden he stops. He leaves kisses around the inside of your thighs and you whimper at the loss of touch.

     He begins to pull down his pants, so you scoot farther into the bed to give him space. His hard cock bounces out of his underwear before he crawls in front of you. He sits on his knees and jerks himself off while looking at your body ready for him.

     “You’re so eager for me, baby. Just the sight of you makes me want to bust all over you right now,” He slides up between your legs. Face to face with the tip resting at your entrance. He grabs both of your legs and pushes them up next to you, giving him easy entrance. He guides his length into you and doesn’t hesitate to start thrusting with force. He looks down at you and rubs circles around your swollen clit. Your head snaps back and you scream his name. As a response he thrusts harder, smacking his hips to the backs of your thighs. “My pretty baby. Who would think you would be such a killer? Hmm?” He grunts at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. His breaths become heavy and his thrusts become shorter and quicker. You dig your nails into the back of his neck and pull him close. The feeling of the friction rubbing you every time he pulls himself into you makes your eyes roll back. “Let go, babygirl,” his breath hot next to your ear. Your moans become louder and your grip around him becomes tighter until you come undone on his cock. He goes back to his kneeling position and fucks you harder than ever before. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural moan before cumming inside of you. He pulls out and picks you up so you’re side is facing him. He smacks your ass, leaving a mark.

     “I wish I could fuck you all night, but we have work to do,” he gets up to put his clothes back on. You follow his lead and place the dagger back into the little holster on your leg. When you both are dressed, you continue on your purge journey to hopefully run across Kayla. 

     Time was spent frolicking the streets with an occasional dead body and kicking people’s eyeballs around like rocks. Random body parts were detached and scattered around the pavement. It was magnificent. The amount of people that fulfilled their purge duties was inspiring. It wasn’t common to find homeless people in the small town you both lived in, but it happened every once in awhile. You and Yoongi were lucky enough to encounter one shaking on the side of the road, terrified and covered in blood. His eyes bulged out of his head and his pupils followed you both inch by inch. You guys follow his stare with your LED eyes while walking across him, giving him a little playful wave and a giggle. His gaze follows until you both find a grocery store with shattered windows and rummaged aisles. Yoongi races up and down the aisles with you in a shopping cart. Manic screaming and the sounds of crashing cans fill the store and the street. You both take swigs of hard liquor before completely smashing and shattering them on the floor. Yoongi made madness have beauty. 

     It wasn’t long after that when you both decided to go home and call it a night. There was no sign of Kayla around town and you guys decided to wait until next year if someone didn’t get to her before you. 

     “Let me check the back door to make sure it’s closed and if no one is back there. You cover up here,” He gives your arm a slight squeeze before you both split. You unlock the front door and hear the click sound of someone cocking a gun. You see shadows cascading across a feminine figure but can’t make out the face.

     “Finally, I’ve been waiting all goddamn night.” Kayla. Her hand was shaking and her stance was wide to keep herself together. She was visibly nervous and you could tell even though it was dark in the room. You stay silent and don’t drop any of your weapons. You just stare and wait. “Well?! Are you going to just stand there and stare like the fucking freak you are?!” She uses her other arm to steady her aim.

     “Says the one in the nurse costume,” You snort, unbothered. You knew Yoongi wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but even if something did, it’s just dying. Why be scared of something that’ll happen eventually?

    “You’re really going to make fun of the person who has a gun pointed to you? Th-“ Her sentence is stopped short from Yoongi uppercutting under her chin with his spiked brass knuckles. Her jaw smacks closed so abruptly that her tongue is cut in half. The other half drops to the floor and blood instantly fills her mouth along with the hole under her mouth when Yoongi ripped his knuckles out. She desperately tried to hold the blood from spilling everywhere, only making a mess in her hands. The lack of tongue within her mouth made her trying to talk sound incomprehensible.

     “What, cats got your tongue?” Yoongi throws her up against the wall. “Maybe it should’ve been when you wanted to go around spreading lies about me and talking shit about us.” He pushes his knuckles under her rib cage and pushes her up the wall. You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your head on his shoulder to watch. Her limbs fidget and try to fight before loosely dangling and her head hanging down. The blood pours all over Yoongi’s body and he tears out his hand to let her body fall to the ground. He glides off the brass knuckles from his slimy hands and drops them on the floor. He turns to you and cups your face, not being shy to brush your cheeks with his bloody thumbs. You lean into his touch and a grimace creeps onto both of your faces.

     “Happy Purge,” He says before kissing your nose. You wrap your arms around his shoulders to deepen the kiss. It was a successful purge night. You both released yourselves and were happy and ready to start work tomorrow morning with no problems.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “The Aftermath”

Summary: Y/N has to deal with the aftermath of the incident in the server room, and not only does she have to worry about losing Elliot’s trust, but she has to navigate through the dirty layers of what it means to be a “Wall Street darling.”

Story Summary,  “The Server Room, Part I”,  “The Server Room, Part II”  “The Long Weekend, Part I”,  “The Long Weekend, Part II”

Word Count: 5300

Tags: @sherlollydramoine  @rami-malek-trash  @teamwolf2411  @limabein   @txmel  @hopplessdreamer  @ouatlovr  @backoftheroomandnotbelonging  @alottanothing  @moon-stars-soul  @free-rami

If you want added, let me know.

A/N: HUGE thanks to @alottanothing for helping me through this chapter. I couldn’t have done it without her cheerleading and feedback 💕

It took an extra coat of concealer to cover up the purple under my eyes from not sleeping at all, and to top off not sleeping, my beauty blender broke, the top tearing off just as I finished a light blend of my foundation. I threw it in the trash, hoping it wasn’t an omen for how the day was going to go.  

The train ride into work served as nothing more than calisthenicsfor my mind. I replayed my plan over and over again and tried to predict as many outcomes as I could before I found myself swiping my badge to get into CIStech.

I was early and not even Jayne was there yet to set a meeting with Miles, so I headed into the server room and performed a few more patches on the OS. Other than that, everything seemed to be operating as normal. Looking around the room, it was like nothing had ever happened. Once again, I found myself thinking about how absurd life is, just how complicated it can become in a single moment.

Speaking of complicated, things with Elliot were now permanently complicated. We had definitely moved from work-friends to friends, and then there was that kiss on the rooftop. The one I initiated after lecturing Elliot about waiting to know if what he felt was real—if I was this confused, I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling.

I shook my head and tried to tamp down the series of questions running through my mind—nothing could be answered until I dealt with the aftermath of the server room. When I asked Elliot to kiss me during the fireworks, this was why—today, everything would change. I just didn’t know if it would be for the better, the worse, or like most things, somewhere in between.

As I made my way back to my office, I startled Jayne who was just settling into her desk.

“Good morning!” she said, her eyes wide, her voice pitched high.

“Sorry to scare you,” I began as I gave her a quick smile. “I need you to set a meeting with Miles—his earliest convenience. Then, I need a meeting set with Colin and JaLeah as soon as they walk in the door.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

I sighed as I entered my office, my thoughts returning to Elliot. I thought about the way he looked in that server room, how scared and confused. I thought about the way he acquiesced and just let me take care of him—the way he seemed so desperate to know someone cared. I thought about the way his hair felt as I ran my fingers through it when we were stoned. I thought about the feeling of his lips on mine. And I thought about the way I felt so lonely once he was gone.

I pulled out my lime green sticky notes, and I quickly scrawled, No matter what happens today, I still owe you a night that ends with making s’mores :)

I walked out and slid it under Elliot’s keyboard so just the edge was peeking out.

An hour went by as I checked my email and compiled the data I knew I’d need for my meeting. Franco had sent his bill, so I printed it out for Miles’ approval before it went to accounting.

The office came to life as the early morning waned; although I hadn’t forgotten about what was ahead, I did enter a zone of deep concentration. When Colin and JaLeah walked into my office and shut the door, my stomach dropped as reality immediately sharpened back into focus.  

“What the hell happened, Y/N?” Colin demanded, his hands shoved in his pockets while his eyes drilled into mine.

“Take a seat. Both of you. I was hoping Miles would be here so I’d only have to tell this story once.”

“It would’ve been nice to have known something before I got bombarded in the elevator by half of my team.”

“I’m sorry, Colin. I didn’t see any reason to alert you over the weekend because I took care of the damage.”

“Damage?’ JaLeah asked, her eyebrow raised.

I pushed back from my desk and walked over to the round table. Instead of joining them, I stood and leaned onto the chair in front of me, my sweaty palms resting on the edges.  

“A few of the white hats thought it would be easier to lock Elliot in the server room than actually do their job and fix the holes he kept finding.”

JaLeah’s eyes widened and Colin’s fingers began to drum on the table.

“While Elliot was locked in, four towers were damaged. I came in yesterday and set up four new servers, so everything is up and running smoothly. It’s like nothing ever happened, minus the bill for new servers.”

“Howwere the servers damaged?” Colin asked, even though it was clear he already knew the answer.

I was quiet for a few seconds, wishing JaLeah was in charge of the white hats because she didn’t an aversion to Elliot, unlike Colin.

“Elliot had a bad reaction to being locked up,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“You call smashing four towers to bits with his fists a ‘bad reaction’?”

“They weren’t smashed ‘to bits.’” I said, my fingers clutching at the top of the chair while I fought to keep my voice even.

“What the fuck is it with you and this guy?” Colin said, pushing back from the desk, his leg bouncing as his agitation grew.

“He needs fired. Now!”

“Fired because he got bullied at work? Do you watch the news, Colin? That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” I said, knowing Elliot would never put himself at the mercy of the legal system, but also knowing I could use this angle to help save his job.

“That’s what happens when you hire an anti-social freak who’s probably a part of some underground hacking ring!” Colin yelled, his face reddening.

I pushed off the chair and rounded on Colin.

“Elliot is not a freak, and once again you’re proving yourself to be a real jerk.”

“I don’t give a shit, Y/N. I’m tired of listening to my team complain about him. We never had this problem before.”

“And since we put Elliot on the team, how many tech issues, you know the ones we get paid to fix, have we had thanks to his automation scripts, huh? Did you forget my job is to track all of that? I just presented those numbers to you last week or were you too busy shoving your own head up your ass to listen?”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Y/N. You may have your job because of who your father is, but I earnedthis position after years of doing good work.”

“Go ahead! Start proving my incompetence, Colin, since I’m only here because of my last name,” I said, gesturing at the chair behind my desk. “Sit down. Give it a whirl!”

“I don’t want your job, Y/N,” Colin said, finally taking his eyes off my face. “I just don’t want unnecessary stress because one person can’t play nice.”

JaLeah, who had been watching our confrontation with a cool, steady gaze, spoke up.

“Who locked Elliot in?”

“Aaron, Julia, Maurice, Corey, and Ali are the ones who signed out the latest, at the same time, mind you, on Friday night,” I said, careful to hide the fact I had more information, careful to preserve Elliot’s trust I had worked to gain.

Colin immediately asked, “So that’s it? You walk into a destroyed server room—”

“Damaged. Not destroyed—”

“And that’s all Alderson tells you? He got locked in? I call bullshit. No way the guy didn’t rat out who did it.”

“Fill me in, then, because you sure as hell seem to know a lot considering you weren’t there,” I bit back.

“What doyou know, Colin?” JaLeah said, her interruption reminding Colin and me we were in a professional setting, not a back alley gearing up to throw fists.

Colin huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I talked to Corey—it was just a bit of hazing. They were going to go back in a few hours and let him out, but he was gone—”

“Bullshit. No one else entered the building until I came back on Monday.”

Colin shrugged his shoulders, “They knew he’d gotten out.”

“Five adults locked another adult in a secure room, knowing there was no way out! Elliot didn’t have his phone or his badge on him and I guarantee they made sure of that.”

“What did they do—steal them?” Colin asked, a chuckle in his voice.

“You’re a fucking bully,” I said, my temper rising again.

“And you’re spoiled—just another Wall Street darling,” Colin spat.

“Colin, you are out of line,” JaLeah said just as the intercom buzzed and Jayne’s voice interrupted.

“Mr. Hanson is here to see you, Y/N.”

I moved to my desk and answered, Miles entering even before I even pulled my finger from the button on the intercom.  

“What’s going on?” Miles asked as the door closed behind him. “You assured me it was nothing you couldn’t handle, Y/N.”

I gestured to the table for him to have a seat as JaLeah rose and said, “I should get back to supervising my teams since none of them were involved, right?”

I nodded and we were all quiet as JaLeah walked out.

Miles’ bright green eyes flicked between the two of us and settled on me. He plopped his phone on the table and waited, his perfectly manicured nails not yet drumming, but clearly itching to.

Miles was no-nonsense and valued numbers far more than people; in other words, he was just the sort of corporate guy that would one day rise to the top. His main concern was keeping his reputation spotless so nothing would serve as an impediment to his climb.

“There was an incident on Friday,” I began as I shot Colin a warning glance. He knew he couldn’t play his little game in front of Miles because it would publicly call out that Miles may have promoted me because of my father. It took a long time, but I had myself pretty convinced Miles hired me because of my abilities. But at times, especially at times like this, I couldn’t ignore the niggling reminder that I knew it wasn’t wholly true. All I could do was my best work to remind everyone I was deserving—yes, I was born lucky, but I worked hard to be deserving.  

Miles kept his eyes fixed on mine as I sighed and took a seat at the table. I recounted every detail of Friday night, up until the part where I took Elliot home.

“So, an employee destroying company property is what this boils down to,” Miles said in his matter-of-fact tone.

“I think the circumstance warrants some pretty heavy merit, Miles.”

“Colin?”

“I expressed my distrust of Elliot on the day Y/N hired him—I just knew something was off. I knew something like this would happen.”

“I don’t deal in feelings, woulds, or coulds. I only deal in facts,” Miles said, giving Colin a pointed look.

“The fact is,” I said, “Elliot was a victim of workplace harassment. Events like this are taken seriously now.”

Miles gave me a measured look before nodding his head.

“What do you suggest, Y/N?”

“Colin and I conduct a formal investigation into the events surrounding what happened in the server room on Friday night. When the guilty parties are found, we fire them.”

“Oh, no way!” Colin interjected, his voice panicked. “Elliot Alderson should be fired. The others should get letters of reprimand in their file for unbegetting conduct in the workplace or something like that. Theydidn’t destroy company property!”

“The last time I checked, Colin, you didn’t have the authority to fire anyone.”

“You’re impossible, Y/N. You’ve turned this Alderson kid into some sort of charity case.”

“Charity? The fact he outperforms every single member of your white hat team has nothing to do with it, right? I am an expert in data analysis in case you’ve forgotten,” I said as I stood up and grabbed a file off of my desk.

I spread out the charts I had used at our meeting and focused on the parts I had revisited this morning to highlight Elliot’s performance. Elliot’s numbers spoke to his brilliance behind the screen, his outperformance of his teammates clear.

Miles looked over the charts, his eyes scanning every piece of information.

“Is this when Alderson was hired?” Miles asked, pointing to a date.

“Yes.”

“Impressive. Not only has our overall performance in prevention increased, but it looks the flaws in our security network have decreased by 32% since his hiring. Do you really think that can be ignored, Colin?”

Colin’s mouth was drawn into the tiniest line I had ever seen. I was pretty sure his lips had become a part of his face, completely absorbed into the skin surrounding his mouth.

He settled for a headshake no.

“I’m not going to spend any more time on this. Y/N, I want you to compile a job performance chart like this for each of the other employees in question. Set an example of them, but make sure it’s one that impacts CIStech the least. Any questions?”

“How is this fair? She could make those numbers show anything she wants!”

“And why would she manipulate data, Colin? Is there a shortage of cybersecurity engineers in New York City I am unaware of? An example must be set because we can’t run the risk of a lawsuit. I question just how closely you have been supervising your team, if I’m being straight with you.”

Colin’s mouth popped open and I watched as his lips reappeared. I did my best not to grin because Miles had put Colin right in his fucking place.

“Will that be all?” Miles asked pointedly.

“Yes,” Colin said.

“Thank you, Y/N, for ensuring our operations were not disrupted.”

“Elliot helped me set everything up yesterday—he feels terribly about the whole thing.”

Miles paused on his way out and added, “I want everything taken care of today. I’ll be checking in with HR at the end of the day to see what action you’ve taken. Work together.”

I walked behind my desk and sat down, sighing.

“It will take me about an hour to compile performance assessments on the five of them.”

“Don’t bother. I can tell you how this is going to go.”

“I’m not firing Elliot.”

“Of course that’s not an option now. You know how to play the right cards with Miles.”

I raised my brow and asked, “So how, then, is this going to go?”

“Julia, fired. She couldn’t hack her way out of a paper bag. She’s only on the team because Aaron recommended her and carries her workload. Aaron, now he’s good. I would like to keep him. Maurice, he can go. No real loss there. Ali and Corey,” Colin said, chuckling and shaking his head. “Well, you’re fucked. Corey’s dad is the CEO of Wells Fargo, so Corey gets to have any job for any length of time he wants it.”

I huffed, but before I could speak, Colin continued.

“And Ali,” Colin said. “Ali is the son of the first female to run a publicly traded bank in Saudi Arabia—

the family’s damn near royalty. Do you know what people will say about us if wefire Ali Olayan?”

I knew that a lot of people who worked for CIStech or for Precision Machining had connections, especially people in management. I did not know the extent of Ali and Corey’s connections, but it made sense. Neither of them had gone to college, yet they immediately secured positions with us.

“Why the hell are they even working?” I asked, my voice biting into the still of the office.

Coling laughed, an actual laugh so that his eyes crinkled at the corner.

“Why are youworking?”

“I work because I need to,” I said quietly as Colin ceased his laughter and turned a pointed glare to my face.

“I’d love to live off of daddy’s money--travel, do what I want, live how I want.”

“It’s not in my nature. I need to have direction. Purpose. Without either of those things, I’d end up in an asylum.”

Colin frowned, unwilling to make eye contact.

“Other people’s problems always look much better than your own.”

“Give me an hour to compile the reports.”

“You’re the boss,” Colin said as he got up and walked toward the door.

“Do not say anything to your team other than giving the directive to finish patching the holes Elliot found on Friday.”

Colin gave me a wave of acknowledgement as he left.

I gathered the performance data, and as I waited for each report to print, I thought back to Friday night. Elliot deserved to know there was good in the world—it just sucked that good always seemed to come with a limit. Sure, we can dole out some justice, but only some. Society isn’t ready, may have never been and may never will be, to house anything that is truly good.

And that just fucking sucks.

I pulled the charts from my printer and went over to the conference table and got to work analyzing each one. As it turned out, Colin wasn’t wrong. Julia was definitely out of place amongst the white hats, but Aaron had done a damn good job. While Maurice outperformed Julia, he underperformed Aaron, so Maurice was neutral territory.

Ali, as it turned out, was a damn good white hat, his numbers second only to Elliot’s. However, Corey seemed to perform somewhere in the in-between along with Maurice.

If we went by numbers alone, Ali and Aaron should stay, while Julia, Corey and Maurice were fired. However, I knew I couldn’t escape Corey’s connection. The wave his firing could make for Miles would end my own career.

I buzzed Jayne and asked her to send in Colin.

I relayed my findings, and Colin said, “What about Alderson?”

“We’ve been over this—”

“No, we haven’t. All you’ve said is, ‘I’m not firing him.’ Fine, but something has to happen.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Letter of reprimand so it’s on file for the next time something goes wrong.”

“Colin—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Seriously, though. I’ll accept Miles’ suggestion of listing it as ‘damage to company property.’”

I sighed, knowing I had to agree.

Colin was also quiet for a minute before he said, “Not that I care, but I do want to say this so I can say I told you so; Getting too close to Elliot Alderson has probably never ended well for anyone.”

“Don’t worry—I’d never think you could actually care about my life. But look at how well isolating him has worked out,” I added.

Colin shrugged. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Jayne—can you send in Julia?”

As it turned out, none of the five were surprised at being summoned into my office. While it was clear Julia and Maurice expected a repercussion, it was equally as clear they didn’t think it would be as severe as being fired. Julia sat stone-faced, her leg bouncing as she listened to the reasons CIStech was choosing to part with her services, and Maurice’s eyes filled with tears. I assured both of them they would get letters of recommendation from Colin.

Aaron, perhaps the most humbled and humiliated out of all of them, issued a thoughtful apology to us and as I would later learn, to Elliot. Instead of accepting a letter in his file, Aaron issued his resignation. I knew Miles wouldn’t be particularly pleased because someone else would scoop him up, but an unblemished record was important to Aaron.

When Corey walked in the room, I would more accurately describe it as a saunter. He knew he was untouchable and it finally occurred to me that that’s what I didn’t like about him—his arrogance. Corey wasn’t arrogant in an obvious way, well, not until he pulled his little stunt with Elliot.

Corey was subtly arrogant. It was in the way he smirked, in the way he took control of conversations to direct them to something he wanted to discuss. It was the kind of arrogance that was bred into a person—the kind of arrogance that got his father his job.

“Well, Corey,” I began. “I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Actually, I’m a bit perplexed,” he said, barely containing a smirk.

“Cut the shit, Corey,” Colin began, and for a minute, I actually liked him.

Corey gave Colin a measured look before turning his eyes back to me.

“It was a joke. We didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”

“Corey, why do you work for CIStech?” I asked, throwing him off his game a little.

“I have an affinity for computers—always have.”

“But why thiscompany?” I said, careful not to push it too far, careful not to say, when you could get any job you want in your own father’s company.

“I like that it’s a mid-size company. I like the job I do and the people I work with, for the most part. I feel like I can learn a lot about the way a big company like Precision Machining operates by how it works to protects its assets.”

I listened, trying to get a read on how much of what Corey said was a truth or a lie, and how much was grey. I had a feeling Corey lived in a world of grey, of always pushing to see how much he could do without suffering a consequence.

“Corey—you’re off the white hat team. . .for obvious reasons. As of tomorrow, you will report to JaLeah for your duties,” Colin barked, uninterested in my question or Corey’s reply.

Corey nodded, his eyes roaming the room as if he were bored.

“Please consider this letter a memorialization of the conversation we held today. Note that any further transgressions against any personnel in this company will result in your termination,” I said.

“Where do I sign?”

I swallowed my disgust as Corey left the office, the scratching of the pen as he signed his name the last noise issued from him. No apology, no thanks for the leniency—nothing.

“Why do you hold such disdain for me and not for him?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t care about Colin’s opinion, but also knowing my mind would never give me peace until I asked.

“Oh, it’s equal amounts of spite for all of you Wall Street darlings. It’s just I still have some power over Corey. For whatever reason, he listens to me. Plus, the dude’s a beast at our pick-up games on Saturdays and I like to win,” Colin finished, smirking at me.

He continued, “Get over it, Y/N. He might be your boss someday and we will lick his bootheels just like every other clown that came before him and will come after him.”

Nope—shouldn’t have asked. Should’ve just let my mind wonder,I thought.

“Jayne,” I said into the intercom. “Send in Ali.”

While Ali was as visibly unshaken as Corey, he lacked Corey’s arrogance. Ali was much smarter than Corey and his family was quite strict. His family trusted Ali to conduct himself with propriety and to maintain the legacy his mother was working to build.

Ali apologized and readily signed the letter; however, Colin was keeping him on the white hats.

“If you ever even sneeze in Alderson’s direction, you’re off the team.”

“I understand, sir.”

There was only one more meeting left, and my stomach was clenched in knots. I did my best to maintain a front of only casually caring, but I wanted to get this over with as painlessly as possible.

“Jayne—send in Elliot.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and hoped against hope that Elliot would be okay, that this moment wouldn’t ruin the trust we had begun to build.

“Hello, Elliot,” I said as I gestured toward the empty seat at the conference table.

“Hello,” Elliot replied quietly without looking up at me.

“Sorry to interrupt—” came Jayne’s voice over the intercom. “Mr. Hanson is here.”

“Send him in, Jayne,” I said after walking over to answer her and wondering why the fuck Miles was coming in for thismeeting.

If Elliot didn’t appear nervous before, he certainly did now. I could see the movement of his eyes beneath his lids as he examined the floor, probably counting the fibers in the damn rug under the conference table.

“Carry on,” Miles said, as he took a seat at the table, his eyes glued to his phone.

I cleared my throat, praying to god my voice didn’t give out.

“I understand several employees conducted themselves in a manner unbefitting of CIStech’s code of ethics. Those employees’ behaviors have been addressed, and we apologize for the stress endured as a result of their actions.”

When I said, “we,” Elliot looked directly at me. I averted my gaze, shame reverberating through my mind for what was about to come next.

“However, even though your actions in the server room were a direct consequence of their actions, we must issue you a letter of reprimand for the destruction of company property.”

Miles set aside his phone and interrupted, finally providing an answer for why he unexpectedly dropped in.

“Listen, Mr. Alderson,” Miles began. “Y/N is as professional as they come, so I wanted to drop in off the record. Your job performance is outstanding, and we don’t want to lose you as an employee. I am sorry this happened to you, and I want to do anything I can to help you think of CIStech as an ideal work environment.”

Elliot just looked at Miles, his eyes unnerving and unblinking before he finally said, “You’re lucky to have someone like Y/N in charge. I’m sure nothing like this will happen again under her supervision.”

I couldn’t believe Elliot was defending me—I was so shocked that I almost laughed out loud. Here I am, on the opposite side of the table, having agreed to his reprimand, and he’s defending me.

“I agree. She’s proven herself an asset time and time again,” Miles said, shooting me a brief smile.

Colin hmphed, a noise that did not go unnoticed by Elliot, but I’m pretty sure only I caught the quick flicker of his eyes in Colin’s direction.

“Just don’t be surprised to see our appreciation for your skills reflected in your new contract after the next round of employee evals,” Miles added, smiling briefly at Elliot before he turned his head to me, waiting for me to finish the reprimand.

I cleared my throat again, and said,“This letter serves as a memorialization of the conversation we held today. Please sign and date.”

Elliot’s eyes flew over the words on the page and he picked up the pen and scrawled his name and the date.

“That’s it, Elliot. Again, you have my apologies on behalf of CIStech and if you can offer any suggestions to better the working environment, I would look forward to talking with you,” Miles said, once again looking up from his phone.

Elliot nodded, but said nothing as he stood to leave.

The three of us watched him exit before Miles then dismissed Colin.

“Damn, Colin really bugs me. I shouldn’t say that, but he’s really such an—”

“Asshole,” I finished.

Miles chuckled.

“Exactly. Listen, I need to have my secretary put all this paperwork through to HR, but what do you say we leave at 5:00 and hit up that bar on Cedar Street?”

I had to admit that after today, a drink or two did seem in order.

As I walked out to meet up with Miles, much earlier than my usual quitting time, I met Elliot’s eyes. He paused his typing to watch my movement, his eyes quickly taking in my handbag and my tote.

I gave him a small smile, but turned my gaze forward, not wanting to draw attention to him or to myself.

By the time I got home around 7:00, I had a bit of a buzz. I probably shouldn’t have drank as much as I did, but it felt good to unload some of the day’s stress. After changing into some comfy clothes and rummaging around the fridge, I texted Elliot—my fingers had been itching to do it since the second I walked out of the office.

While some of the day’s stress was over, I still had no idea how much damage I had done to my relationship with Elliot.

Y/N: Hey—not sure what the appropriate greeting is for someone I just gave a letter of repri to?

I prayed to whatever higher power that existed he would answer. Just as I popped some leftovers into the microwave, my phone buzzed.

E: Hey about covers it.

Y/N: I’m sorry. I didn’t want anything to go on your record.

E: It’s okay. It’s not like I exactly used my head on Friday night.

Y/N: I really am sorry, Elliot. But I also want to thank you for what you said about me. You didn’t have to say that.

E: I meant it, Y/N. You did more for me than I deserved and I just wanted someone to know that even if they can’t ever know just how much you did. 

I stared at my phone and wished to god text messages were capable of conveying emotion. I wanted to know what Elliot meant by that. Was he implying I was ashamed of our friendship? Did he think I crossed line by helping him? Or was he just expressing gratitude? Maybe I was overthinking it like usual.

I jumped a little when my phone buzzed because I was so deep into asking myself unanswerable questions.

E: Actually everyone’s been nicer.

Y/N: Omg. Did people actually ask you about Friday night?

E: Not outright. It was like everyone just knew. Said they heard something went down and that it sucked. Said they were sorry people were such assholes. Aaron apologized and offered to take me to lunch.

Y/N: No way that you went lol

E: lol nah. But it was a nice gesture.

I waited, wondering if Elliot would text me anything else. I felt unsatisfied by our conversation, but didn’t want to force him into talking to me. I fiddled with my phone, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, eventually just tossing it on the counter and sighing.

E: Lol is there something else you want to say?

I laughed. Of course Elliot was watching his phone, probably almost-laughing in that way of his at my indecisive text bubble.

Y/N: Honestly? I don’t know…I just don’t want to stop talking to you.

E: Then don’t : )

My stomach did a little flip and a grin spread across my face. I settled in on the sofa, thinking of what to say next, knowing that it didn’t really matter because Elliot didn’t want to run, didn’t want to retreat inside of himself even though it was a difficult day for him.

I hadn’t ruined our relationship.

And now the aftermath was over. Elliot wasn’t fired, and even though I wasn’t happy with keeping Ali and Corey, I was only one person in a huge company and a Wall Street darling myself.

How much could one person really change in a day?

[spacegaywritings]

Communication of Silence - Chapter 9: Ups and Downs

I am rly tired and i think now TWs outside of the general ones for the whole story apply. Except there is food ig? Idk man, shoot me a message when you got sth I overlooked bc I am just big stress rn. linky link :) Story under the cut;

Virgil shuffled under his blanket and pushed his bottom lip forward into a little pout. His head was pounding dully and his vision was just blurry enough to have issues seeing Dee despite her being so close around.

“Talk...”, he repeated softly and nodded. The sleep was still heavy on her limbs, the nap seemed to have left him in a more tired out state than before. Exhaustion was pulling at his body and he extended his arms, making grabby hands like a little toddler who wanted to be picked up. Declyn gave him a smile and carefully moved around to let the other wrap his arms around her neck. She moved and tugged Virgil along.

Logan was far away enough to not directly be disturbed for now. He was still peacefully slumbering in the middle of the couch while the couple slowly moved away. “Room”, Virgil muttered as he held onto Dee who supported him without complaints. She nodded. “Of course.” The elder one carefully helped Virgil up and together they silently sneaked over to the room he shared with Logan. At least now he was sleeping and sure to not come back.

Virgil’s arms were lowered down to be around Dee’s chest by now instead of the neck. It helped him stretch with more comfort and still have the stability of walking around without immediately dropping to the floor like the wet sack of stones he was to his own life. He bit his lip as his partner reached out to open the door with the precision and care he would not have expected from the other considering his eyesight and the fact that it was dim enough to almost be dark at the moment.

The punk muttered an apology as the door opened and he leaned back, rolling onto his feet in a more straight-up position. He held onto the door frame and swung himself into the room, stumbling a little before he patted the light switch with a slap of his left hand that crossed over his chest to reach around to it. Light immersed them and blessed their eyes with temporary hurt in exchange for better vision after a few moments of adjustment.

Dee groaned at the new light and stepped into the room, dragging the door behind her until it was shut and closed them both off the others. Right now, they were alone with the elephant int the room. Virgil carefully slipped onto Logan’s bed instead of making the long way around it. He settled once he slid off it and right onto his mattress that was conveniently close.

Yes, he did not mind sleeping there, no matter how much people got worried about him or told him it was undignified or something. He liked it. Also it was a short-lived thing and he would move out in about a month. He would be fine together with his brother and he would be out of all the bullshit. Then again, he had not even a single problem with Logan.   Far from it.

He could see Dee move to join him on his little bed and she stayed at a distance. “Thank you for the light, Virgil” The art student cast a glance aside and shrugged. “Just spill it, okay? What did I fuck up this time - I.. I can stop, okay?”

Her expression changed from remotely pained to utterly horrified. “Virgil, no.” She breathed out and closed her eyes, her more neutral expression switching back onto her features in an attempt to ease up herself as much as Virgil. “I am worried about you. I do not want you to change for my liking but for your health.”

The student shook his head and gripped his lower arms through his sleeves. Immediately, a rubbing, intense pain spread through his left one and he hissed at the sensation yet denied the possibility of letting it go.

“Just tell me what I fucked up!”, he snarled, teeth ramming into his lip as he desperately kept his gaze on his mattress. The lawyer sighed softly but did try not to aggravate the other too much. Virgil was much like a cat and if it was not fight then it was flight - the mood would change faster than a dysfunctional compass needle could spin under the influence of magnets. “It is less about what you do but what you do not do, Virgil. You stopped eating again. Your friend messaged you and I saw it when your phone vibrated so much, it almost woke up you and Logan. A chain of whether you are alright and reminders of eating and taking certain supplements because you fainted in your self-defence training session.”

Virgil chewed on his bottom lip a if to bite through the situation. White, sharp teeth dug into his pale lips and created a contrast that would only be topped by the copper taste of crimson running from broken skin and destructive habits. “Yeah, so?” He grabbed his arms tighter and winced at the pain yet stayed grounded. It was shooting through him. It was quick like a bunny in the moment of flight and sharper than Dee's words had ever been.

Oh no. “My heart, would you mind giving me your hands, please? I just want to hold them for you.” Virgil looked over, merely glancing over her legs and shrugged eventually. His lips moved off his teeth and he shifted his legs to the so he could carefully reach over to give Declyn his hands. She received them and gently pushed her thumbs into his palms, softly brushing over the area in the middle of his hands that was a tad lower. The touch reminded him of stepping into a tub of hot bath water after a particularly icy and stressful time. It was sudden and he wanted to pull away at all the new sensations. The heat, the comfort, the smells and the hands that grabbed the heavy burden of his problems and worries. He did not pull back. Virgil eased into the touch like he would ease into the welcoming warmth of a relaxing bath. “See? I am not hurting you, Virgil. It is all good. I am just worried around you.”

The younger one nodded carefully and insistently stared into their hands. “Did you talk about it in therapy, darling?” Virgil sniffled and shrugged. “I can skip lesson and go tomorrow”, he mumbled into his hoodie. The fabric soaked up his anxiety and became heavy with his fear in solidarity. “Em lets me have emergency sessions if it is really bad.” Dee continued brushing over his hands, his thumbs moving in a steady rhythm. They travelled smoothly like the waves of the ocean that approached and left the beach curiously. It was a promise to rely on, the kiss of goodbye and the embrace of meeting again after so long.

“You do not have to. But if you feel that you relapse maybe you should talk to someone. If it has to be  professional, then so be it.” Virgil snorted. “You are a professional, Dee.” - “I am talking about a professional for mental health issues more than legal ones but I appreciate your effort.”

A long silence stretched between them like a tired cat. One end reaching up to Dee's knee over to Virgil's big toe. “Why did you stop?”

Virgil felt tears sting into his eyes, the words pushing his lacrimal glands to squeeze out the salty liquid he had stored plenty of in his body. He gasped for air. His lungs were raging and howling within him, demanding more and more air to enter his system without really appreciating it. They were simply throwing a tantrum for the sake of messing him up even further.

He shoulders flinched upwards in a weak motion and immediately dropped down to the lowest level they could anatomically reach without possibly be broken in the first place. His teeth clenched around his lips again. They were stuck and sucked into a grasp of violence and abuse as he stubbornly shook his head. The blood rushed through him in a quick sprint, painting his cold body in panicked flushes like rashes of abused skin.

“N-nothing”, he defended. His voice was deflated, thinner than hair strands that were bleached into oblivion and disintegration. Declyn’s warm eyes took the change into account and watched the rapid speed at which his lungs expanded and, just shortly after, decreased in volume like a popped balloon.

She carefully squeezed Virgil’s hands with a tad more force, acting like a strong life line that may cut into you but ultimately, caused nothing but collateral damage. Glass and metal shreds pressed into Virgil’s feelings as he gasped for air. His legs pushed and pressed his back further into the pillow behind him and the uncomfortable corner between the wall that backed up his mattress, and Logan’s bed bordering to it. He was effectively resting his shoulders against the wall and the bed, his back pushing into the nothing he could not reach due to the angle.

It would have caused more than dull pressing sensations rather than actual pain his body provided as warning signal. However, he could feel the heat coming from Dee as his body seemed to fade. All life and personal warmth was draining from him, down the pipes and into the void he felt eating him away. He was glad for it.

“Virgil, Virgil, listen to me”, Dee called out as Virgil starting tugging at her grip in an attempt to claw his finger nails into his skin and ground himself, just come back to where he should be so he could be faced with every dirt and filth he deserved to be pushed into him. All his sucky habits and horrible attitudes should qualify him to suck up to the damage he had done to others when he brought them down with his mere existence.

He was a bad influence. Virgil should not be, he should be gone gone gone because he kept hurting nice people in his life. He made Kyle worry and have Dee be mad with him - and she was right about it. If she had any sense of right and wrong with her like any other conventional person, she would beat it into him and let him feel just how much pain he had caused her by abusing the feeling she had in herself for his own sorry self.

Gasps and sobs could be heard but Virgil was deafened and muted by his own racing heartbeat. It was beating a lot right now, probably making up for the times it could not beat when he would miss out on all these years he could have but was not worthy of. He had not earned a single day more than beyond the day he was born and had wretched people apart, tearing life down with him and starting his career as professional bringer of misery and death.

It was his fault, his fault, only his fault. If he had not survived, everyone would have had a better and nicer life. If he had not lived in the first place, everything should have been goon and precious to everyone and people would finally be full of joy. Heck, not just individuals but whole countries and systems would be better off without the chaos he had caused. The best achievement in life was truly taking care of a rodent he should probably have never taken in but he just had to be so self-absorbed and convinced he was better than others and would do such a great job when in reality, he was the apparently oh so innocent manifestation of doom.

“Virgil. Virgil, can you hear me?”, a voice called. He barely heard it. His head fell back against nothing and almost rolled off. His joints had him good and instead, it unceremoniously snapped backwards and circled around like an egg. He took the effort to angle his neck a bit just to try and locate the noise that intruded into his system and disturbed his thoughts. The sounds just came in, wrecking the havoc in his mind and tearing down the storms of self-deprecation like an ideal sniper who gave just one sound here, another one there and directed yet another load of sounds into a direction Virgil did not even know he was bombarded from.

It took some more moments for him to let his knocked down mind process that the shit storm of pessimistic thoughts was barely hitting him anymore despite aiming at his form. In true fashion of lethargy, some more time passed before he blinked away the veil of self-directed odium and contempt and could see the distant picture of two hands holding a pair of other hands together. Colours were melting together but he felt as if he knew those were hands.

The artist hummed at the sensation. It was a weak attempt at vocalising the gratitude within him. For some reason, he just felt that these hands were something good, something personally connected to him like a string attached to his heart. It was so strong, he could feel the ghastly phantom touch at the area he assumed to be his own fingers.

“hm..huh...hm..”. Nonsense plunged from his slightly parted lips. His face was static, slow. It was frozen water, a video stopped in the middle of a scene while the rest of the world was still moving on despite his conserved state. Maybe he was in a snow globe. He was the middle. Unmoving, unimportant and surrounded by all that made people wonder and squeak in delight while he was the decoration people tolerated. He was the least of the worst ones.

He blinked, trying to clear up the whitish coat that seemed to not just blur his vision but darken all he could see as well. It seemed so unsteady and moving... It made him sick and...and sweaty and sick... so sick and heavy..

His fingers moved to sign “bathroom”, a word Dee knew at last. Whether or not she had but a few knowledge about the language used, she knew this words as part of a few common phrases she could react and identify at last. She nodded and carefully tugged the corpse-like body of her datemate forward.

He did not know what took so long about making eggs but he was grateful that Roman and Patton took their sweet time preparing things one by one and especially using sweet potatoes because they took a while to get soft enough for comfortable consumption. The couple made it into the room without issues and Declyn quickly shut and locked the door behind them after stumbling through the dark and running a few edges of furniture. It did not hurt too much but she was glad that she usually covered about as much as she could without appearing to be suspicious to other people or mask her face away. She could feel little areas throb in pain at the impact but it was none of her concern at the moment.

Virgil immediately dropped to his knees, arms ready to embrace the porcelain throne before him as he felt heat and sweat break through his body. Sick, nauseous. It was tickling in his throat, trying to provoke Patton’s baked delight out of him.

There was something else. Not within him. Besides his pounding heart, light head and sweating palms, there was the distant sound of another voice. Not his thoughts but another person.

It sounded like Dee but did not feel liker her.

”Sweetheart, you are safe”, she cooed patiently. Her words dropped onto him like water droplets in a cleansing shower. His body temperature seemed to immediately drop.

”It is okay. I would never hurt you. I am sorry for touching you.”

Virgil heard the words and took them in, accepted them with a dazed head and heavy yet light feelings in his body. This was like being drunk but there was no fun in it. There was so much going on within and outside of him, he could barely keep track. It was.. was like standing in the middle of the busy street, tires roaring and engines blaring while the heavy vehicles sped around him. And he was trapped and caged and could not get out and it was dangerous and loud and bad, so bad. Why was it so bad, why was he standing there! This was dumb, he was dumb, he must have done dumb things to make all of this happen and endanger him and others and he was so scared and worried. Oh fuck, he would die a nameless and faceless victim in a dumb car crash and no lane was every free enough for him to run over to the other side and be safe.

He could not even try it, he would never try it because it was doomed. He was bound to fail, he was, he.. he was already

..warm.

A warm hand gently caressed his cheek, brushing over his cheekbone. A silent yet constant sound could be heard. Like rushing of the water. Water did not hurt him.. water was okay..

”It is okay, you are safe.”

Virgil nodded against the heat in his body, the heavy and heat feeling that had him so dizzy. It was hard. It felt so hard.

The water sound returned and slowed down, Virgil concentrated on it with all his might. He tuned out all the sounds, all the voices and the worries. Nothing mattered. Just the water, just the sound from out there. His heart was not going to jump out of his chest, his body was not going to collapse and he would not just die.

What about his lungs-

Panic flared up within him once more. His small figure retreated and hit itself on a wall just to lean into the steady touch of something to lean against, to hold onto.

”Virgil, please, can you hear me?”

He nodded again. The voice was nice, he knew the voice was nice and he was okay... the voice made it okay. It would be okay. His tired eyes closed and he let his body slump against the wall.

”Put your feet down and press them against the ground, feel the floor, okay?”

There.. was no real sense to him or anything at this moment so he just did as he was told, trusting the voice to continue and be nice as he felt it would continue to be. Nice voice... Ground.. ground.. His toes curled and pushed his heels back against the ground with all the resistance he deemed fit. It was ..experimental and careful at first. There was a motivation and understanding that was not in these heels but somewhere else.

”Ease up, again”

He followed the instruction and let himself go limp. The whole tension had served him in nothing but pushing his back against the wall. It was a wall, a cool wall but it was not cold.

”You are here, Virgil. You are right here with me and you are safe.” He nodded again. His head just bopped forward as if knocked out but he was moderately-paced at leaning his head back against the wall once more. ”You are at home, do you know? You are here, in the bathroom. You live here with Logan in a room. Logan is a nice person, right?”

The emo smiled for a bit. He might not feel the happiness like sunshine in his heart but it did do the job to make the dull numbness fuck off a bit more.

“And you are living here and you are safe and you are not there anymore. You are not with them anymore. You are with people like Logan, like myself.”

Virgil felt his lip twitch into a lopsided smile. It was but the flash of a moment, the split in a second and the beat of his heart. Yes, Logan was nice. Dee was nice. She was really kind and made him feel pretty good. Like a natural thing.

“You are safe. Right here, or with me.”

The smaller one carefully nodded and slowly rose his hand to pat the space next to him before he started pushing his heels against the floor again. A grounding activity, he remembered it now. He knew it very well but sometimes it just slipped his mind when his panic curled around his eyes like a blindfold. But grounding was good.

If there was one thing Virgil has learned in all these years, then it was that one panic attach easily paved the way for another. It was important to ground yourself even afterwards and just make sure that you were really safe and back in reality. It was too easy to jump from one into another spell of dissociation.

Dee’s hand carefully pushed its back against the side of his hand and he took the invitation with delight.

“You are here, you are safe. I promise you are safe with me.”

Virgil nodded.

“I fucked up, though.”

Declyn shook her head.

“Oh, why would you say that. It was a silly misunderstanding.”

Virgil scoffed.

“A good enough one to set me off”, he shot back dryly and cleared his throat. His voice felt a bit raspy and his words felt like torture to him. The emo dragged every last breath out of himself. ”Uh, not what I meant, anyway.”

He carefully gestured to his right arm and sighed. Sometimes it felt as if he was the only one to really mess up his life. It was not on others but it was on him. Well, not that he would let himself think into that at this moment. He knew better than to do this kind of foolish thing.

“Aw, don’t be dramatic! We can fix this. Let me see.”

She extended her arm and Virgil rolled his eyes in return but willingly rolled up his sleep to reveal a bunch of colourful marks along with dark streaks. The curves and swings formed words and letters, they were strings putting it all together and forming a big arrow and meanings more than just a literal one.

“I know you pressed on it a lot but it seems fine. Come on, let us get out before the others get worried. You can keep an eye on it, so nothing happens. If you are worried, you can go to the parlour and tell them what happened.”

Virgil shook his at Dee carefully pulled the sleeve back over the tattoo. It was covered by a thin foil that almost reminded him of stickers. When his arm was in certain positions, it would wrinkle up a bit but it was solid. It was there to protect him and his new little treasure.

He hummed.

“I’m sorry.”

Declyn already got up and straighten out her clothes before she leaned down to offer Virgil a hand. He gladly accepted and got up with a bit of help from a supportive wall and his wonderful friend.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetie Vee, I know you are trying.”

The smaller man looked down at his socks and curled and uncurled his toes once more.

“I um”, he started but stopped himself again. Words were so hard. His were just trying to put things into movement he did not know to put into any phrase. It was a wild chase for sense in an intense situation.

“I..it got a bit dumb again and I was worried and had shitty dreams and such.”

Virgil shrugged it off, his head rolling over the side of his shoulder and leaning on it. His tongue pushed against his gums. Words... words...

“uhh.. I will try talking about it next time, okay?”

For a moment, Dee’s face was unreadable. Her lips were moving from side to side. Just a bit, merely more than a twitch. It felt like she was playing with the words, weighing them against one another to construct the perfect sentence as she tasted the flavour of his syllables.

“Okay. Please, try. I do not want to hurt you, Vee. I hope you know this.”

The other blinked up for a moment before casting his glance down again, just for a bit. Only to look up at her and into her eyes with a determination in hi face.

“I-I am safe with you .”

She nodded and carefully stretched out her arms halfway, they looked awkward at that angle but not quite as awkward as fully stretched out arms would be. Well, there was nothing odd or wrong if he just so happened to take another step and walk right into her literally open arms and just let himself be engulfed.

“You are. I am not like them, okay? I don’t want to hurt you, Virgil. I would never want to cause you any harm. I just asked because I am concerned for you. I know you have been so much worse last year.”

She did not want him to go back to that. ...Maybe Declyn did not say it but the sigh that followed her words spoke more hours of audio books could fill.

“Mh... you are so much better”, Virgil argued and carefully nudged her. “We should still go. I have no idea whether they are politely waiting for us or if they are actually taking that look to make some fucking eggs.”

Dee rolled her eyes this time and leaned back a bit, her eyebrows narrowing as she eyed the smaller individual before her. Her heart was filled with warmth.

The two started moving towards the door to exit the room. Virgil hooked one of his arms around his love and nudged his Dee with his head. She was a bit shorter than guys were on average but it was enough for Virgil to reach her shoulder only. His face buried itself a bit in her loving chest as they walked on.

“You really are the best”, Virgil reiterated, his words muffled by the fabric of Dee’s clothing.

“I am still sorry for not talking. Will do better.”

She smiled.

“Go to therapy or you can party alone next week”

Virgil snorted at that. Nobody else would be that dry and just shoot back with an answer like that. Dee was his sunshine, his hope on a fiery tongue. Did she ever do as expected?

Virgil squeezed her into a hug.

“I will.”

“I know.”

Steps outside could be heard and a loud Roman seemed to announce something. It was obviously his boisterous voice but his exact words were swallowed my the door between the two lovebirds and the three friends outside. They were in completely over worlds, different events and feelings holding them together and building up a unique scene of feelings and mutual understanding.

“And I love you, Dee”

She stopped for a moment and let herself look back at her joyful friend.

“You know I do love you too, Virgil. I love you with all my heart.”

Her gorgeous arms would around him and drew him in for a deep hug. Limbs and hearts joined in and let the hymns of the outside just disappear for a little longer. The panic was gone, Roman was forgotten. And if it was not for eggs to have a strong smell, even the meal would probably be fully wiped from their minds but the savoury sensation got to them, got to the bathroom like a sneaky snitch.

The emo took another deep breath, simply inhaling the warmth and love he was willingly provided without trick or secret conditions. It was a mutuality, a natural exchange between them. Constant, equal, balanced.

“Mhmm... the eggs smell good~”

“They better do because you really need to devour some food right the fuck now, my love.”

Virgil unlocked the door and opened it for them to get back into the happenings of this home. Once back into the kitchen, they could hear whatever had been up with Roman before.

The man had grabbed a roll of wrapping paper and pointed it at Logan, Patton in his arms and giggling in his giant demeanour of being ridiculously tall for a person that was a human being. “I demand it one last time, foul creature, hand back the princess!”

Logan blinked at Roman, lightly.. out of place. He looked a bit as if he had been dragged onto stage and he did not know the words to the scene and everyone was staring at him. The glassgreen-eyed man was still giggling in fits while hugging Logan close in a squeaky joy of childish delight.

Before Virgil even got to ask about what was going on, Dee caught on to this and put the back of her hand up to her forehead and let out a sigh, dramatic enough to put Shakespeare into a position of envy.

“Someone stop this violence and bloodshed! This is insanity” Her voice dropped from full and proud to thin, it was about as thin as the patience of a person in an emergency situation.

Roman had to be proud. His eyes sure seemed to sparkle with something undefinable at this moment.

“Please, this beast and I have taken to end this situation. We mortals and the magical beings shall make peace and live in harmony!”

Beast? He was a beast now?

”Hey!”

“Honey, you literally are a small demon.”

“...you are more demonic than I could ever make out to be, Dee”, he pouted in response and let his arms cross over his chest. “Whatever, let’s fucking end a war and shit.”

The princess giggled again. “Yeah, Roman! The dragon makes for really great cuddles! He hugged Logan as if to emphasise just how huggable he was! And huggability was a direct indicator of kindness and peacefulness. Which, again, showed just how low the level of likelihood to ”take-over-the-kingdom-and-enslave-humanity” was. ...At least in case of Logan.

Roman looked at the sudden turn of events, he admitted the twist but would he admit defeat? He might have been wrong, he might have been biased by his own stance as a human being, himself. What if he did? His doubts lowered his weapon and in the moment of vulnerability, his determination faded and Declyn was quick to snatch up a nearby roll herself an smack Roman’s sword out of his hands!

A huge gasp followed the betrayal and Patton sucked in a sharp breath. This blew, this hit so deep.

Virgil already caught the falling weapon and flash-stepped back into his partner’s circle.

“Roman, I challenge you. You are guilty for evoking hostility between the fantastic and simple beings, you are the villain to tilt the balance!”

She pointed her sword at the prince, who was still mourning over the loss of his own shiny weapon. Meanwhile, Declyn’s rich voice was back to the usual strength of a proud man and she stole all of Roman’s determination from him to enrich herself with this resource.

“No, how could you! You disarmed me in my own battle!”, the prince retorted in indignation. Hot feelings flooded his body. His eyes wandered from Declyn to her partner. “And you took my beautifully manicured sword!”

Virgil shrugged at that, his mouth twitching into a lazy corner for a lopsided-grin. ...and then he blew really mature raspberries at him. "Suck up, Princey. War sucks and only the higher-ups seek battle rather than conversation." His voice sounded so excited, it was amazing he did not jump out of his socks with all the energy circulating within him. Clearly impressive. Dee let her hand travel down to Virgil’s grip on the sword he had taken to be his. He had stripped Roman of his word, off his sword. There was barely any left to the pride of this man.

“I love you my dear but I feel we need to take a less violent approach.” She gently squeezed Virgil’s hands and he slowly lowered his sword, eyes sparkling red warnings at Roman who still stood there, frozen and perplexed at how the game has changed in under a minute. Much to his disadvantage.

Logan cut in, for the first time.

”I believe we need to call for equality in this mater. Violence has brought this terrible situation upon us and has made love illegal to us simple beings.”

His words were clearer than glass, they felt cold but in a refreshing manner. Like stepping into the water underneath the frozen surface of a natural lake. It was everywhere and it ran deep into Virgil, dripping slowly yet flooding his mind with meaning in less than a moment. There was an intent behind Logan’s words.

“Equality? You don’t mean some shit like going back on how it used to be, right?”

Roman scoffed at them.

“Equality? You are my subjects and your words are an incredulous audacity to my work and status!”

Virgil glared at the prince. There was enough feeling to burn down the parliament in these eyes. They were dark like the night of mischief in which any resistance group would rise up to revolt against the state as it was. To change everything radically and drastically without warning, without open ears.

“One of us”, Virgil prompted and Roman’s eyes grew wide. Could he taste the disgust for being just as valuable as any other life? “One of us! Yes, Roman!”, Patton cheered happily. His cheeks went wide and he held out his hand to let Roman in.

He invited him.

“I might love a dragon but all in all, I just love his heart. We all have a heart.”

Dee cleared her throat.

“As a vampire, I kind of do not but go on, dearest companion.”

Virgil nudged her to lower her sword which she had pointed at Roman, still. She slowly blinked at the man and arched an eyebrow at the royal. expecting something.

“This is a riot”, Roman started but his words dried up in his throat and he had to clear it, granting himself another moment of pause to consider his words. “You want to abolish the royal family in this land but can you dethrone all royals in this world?”

Virgil dropped the beautiful and freshly manicured sword, still keeping his intense gaze fixed on the struggling prince. The weapon fell down in tragedy, the metal making a clattering sound. (It was a paper roll still, it just made a dull sounds but this was a fantasy world we were improvising here) A quick kick let the sword cry out in abandonment, in rage and frustration.

In war.

“Maybe we cannot but love surely can. And we will try.”

Dee dropped her roll as well and stretched out her free hand to invite Roman as well. Logan joined, extending his long arm to welcome Roman into the life of a common person, the life of struggle and family, the life of everyone. The prince still seemed torn, one foot closer to the group of unusual lovers and one closer to the kitchen unit and the cooling dinner eggs.

“You do not have to be afraid, Roman. You will be respected as a person, not for a crown.”

The prince looked to the side and picked up a small package of big loops.

“I want us to have rings together. I will give up my crown to step down as a royal but I want us to have a new bond. If you want to fight for what you believe is right, then I want to take a part in doing good deed and strive for a betterment of our world.”

Patton squealed and hopped up, nearly shaking the apartment with his powerful hop. He immediately dashed forward to embrace his friend, happy sounds and extensive praise leaving his mouth as he pressed their bodies together and told him about how he was proud of his insight. Logan was dragged along and nobody could deny the obvious smile that turned his usususally rather spacey or stone-cold face into a sweet mask of affection. He still insisted on holding out his hand but this time, he invited a beast and a heartless creature.

They all cheered to getting their respective share of fruit loops and everyone got milk (dairy free or regular cow’s milk). “I declare us to be companions to defy laws and rules for the sake of love and true love only!”, Roman started and held up his cup, raising it a bit for everyone to see and the others mimicked the motion.

“To love!”, the former prince invited. “To our union”, Patton added. “To relationships”, Dee offered and Virgil followed “to the revolution” with a cheeky grin. Logan blinked. “To true love”

Their cups made sounds as they all clashed together in a weird traditional way.

“Anyway, food is getting cold but this was fun, friends!”

Roman whined.

“Patton, you ruined the sceeeene”

His emphasis on the last word was obvious with how much he drew out the syllable. A loud crunching sound drew more attention to itself than Roman to his words with how much he bastardised the pronunciation of certain words in his dramatic flair.

“What? It’s fruit loops and I am hungry”, Virgil mumbled between his broken pieces of a green loop. It was sweet and artificial but he could bet he was already addicted. If he was a kid, he would bet he could see rainbows upon consuming this.

“Yes, Virgil is right. We united a fictional world so now we should assemble to eat at last”

“Thanks, Log”

They finally settled around the table, Virgil and Patton bringing the food over because he kept insisting it was the least he could do for sleeping through cooking. That was a lie. Patton probably knew it. The way Patton smiled at him with his glass green bottle eyes just let him know that he knew. He must have heard the door or seen them sneak over.

He was too scared of sounding weird if he asked how it took them this long to finish eggs but when Logan rolled his eyes and blamed Patton for starting “this ridiculous scene in the first place”, he blinked at the giant. They both knew. Virgil smiled and signed a quick thanks before returning to the table to lay it with food and others.

“Virgil, why do you call Logan ‘Log’?”

Patton glanced over Roman and Virgil for a moment as the latter sat down next to Declyn. She moved her arm under the table but did not put it on the table either. The emo simply fidgeted a bit in his seat, all limbs moving a bit as he adjusted on his chair.

“Uh, because I do?”

Weak answer. He gave it a shrug to emphasise the point. Roman arched an eyebrow at him, his features looking oddly wrinkled in a reaction he did not want to provoke. His gaze seemed distant yet so fixed on him and there was interest burning within him.

“Yes, but how did you come up with it? Is there some kind of story? It sure is a special nickname and I wish to be enlightened.”

Dee chuckled, curled up lips hidden behind a dark hand. The back of it was all the others could see instead.

“Do you feel in the right mood to enlighten the advocate of dragons?”

Virgil shook his head. It was his turn to giggle and he hid his full face in his hands. Declyn retreated her hand and looked at him, her lips still forming a smile of fine amusement. It was the mere ghost of a smile but it was warm and gentle when she observed the little wrinkles that formed around Virgil’s mouth. She could mentally see his nose scrunch up despite it being hidden behind his hands.

“Come on, Virgil, implore the idea of expanding Roman’s horizon with the precious knowledge of your nickname-giving abilities.”

Virgil giggled harder, his sleeves flailing for a bit as he adjusted his hands and rubbed them deeper into his face. His head was nothing but black and purple hair as well black jacket with single neon stripes on each side.

“I- “, he started, words breathless and useless. They were barely audible. Not to mention how torn and incomplete the one tone itself sounded already. He took a deep break and cleared his throat. One last giggle took him back and Logan brushed through his hair. “Dee, stop, I will talk just stop already”

He whined, drawing out the last ‘stop’ as he pushed his sleeves against Dee’s lap for dramatic effect to his words.

“It is just a joke about logarithms because when I met Logan, he was literally reading a book about numbers.”

Roman blinked.

“That does sound an awful lot like our teacher”

Virgil nodded, his head going up and down at an amazing speed. Dee gently squeezed his thigh and caused the other to curl up in his seat and take her hand.

“Needless to say I do not approve of the name. I did not do it back then, to clarify, but I do not approve any more of it by now, either.”

Virgil blew raspberries at Logan but because English was not exactly his best subject and he did not grow into it, he would call this action “farting at someone”. Logan gave him a look but even his glasses on his nose looked delighted.

”You are such an adult, Virgil.”

Patton let out a soft “aww” but did not do anymore but start to give everyone some food as silent indicator that they once had a plan.

Roman blinked.

“Wait, you are an adult?”

Virgil’s brows knitted together into a frown. Apprehension and the disability to understand the other sketched the features of his face into a near-neutral mask.

“Of course I am. I sign contracts and leave countries without parents, learn how to drive. I do all the adulting things. I work with Logan. You should know I am an adult.”

Words burned on his tongues. His sentence turned more and more sour with each word he spilled.

His therapist said it was bad.

Roman shrugged.

“Chillax a bit, Charlie Frown. I did not know that. I thought you lived here because you could not get your own place.”

Declyn dropped her fork, letting it crash onto her plate with a shattering sound against the tensed silence between them.

“I am moving out, like, next month. I got a place to go to. I pay bills here. What is your problem?”

Dee nudged him. He sighed in reply and Roman shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I did not mean it like that, I-”

Logan cleared his throat as Patton reached out to brush over Roman’s arm. His whole posture was straightening out for the fight already. He was a true knight. Always ready to jump into whatever battle he could feel coming up.

“I will be out of your hair soon. I am gonna be busy working anyway so you won’t see me. Don’t worry. Soon enough it will be like I have never existed in your world at all.”

Something marvellous fell from Roman’s face. For a moment, the gleam of an aspiring prince was gone. Virgil’s words had drawn something essential out of him. He just was not sure what i was but it left him feel.. acutely incomplete.

At the same time, Patton was drawing patterns into Roman’s arm and singing melodies of truth and peace with his thoughtful hums.

“Dee, when did you meet Virgil? I never thought you two would meet, considering you are done with your studies already.”

Dee’s fingers were entangled with Virgil’s under the table and they conversed without words. Nostalgia tuned the sound of her words when she decided to speak up after cleaning her mouth with a napkin.

“We have met about one year ago. It was not quite Christmas, though.”

Patton nodded, a smile prompting her to go on as Virgil pushed his plate away and leaned into his chair instead.

Dee squeezed his hand.

“I met her when I was out. She did not want me walking around all on my own because it was late and I was alone.” He shrugged as if all of these words did not matter. His tongue whipped out vocalisations as if they were the laws every person had to abide to. “She brought me home - someone else was with us because I talked to them and they did not trust each other to be nice to me. We fell asleep together and I got her number. That was about it.”

The giant’s lips rubbed against one another. He was tasting the lies of omission in his mouth and mused the value of his deception. He had a knife like a sword and a fork like scaled of justice in his hands and his strangeness was his blindfold.

“That was quite the coincidence, was it not?”

Virgil shrugged.

“Life has always been full of weird events and unlikely happenings, has it not?”

Logan nodded.

“It sure was.”

They ended their meal on this note. Neither the sustenance nor the conversation really had been worth it.

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

Malex prompt: Alex calls Michael by his first name only on special occasions and only ever during sex. Gimme the one time he chooses to use it in a public setting/not during sex and what Michaels response is

Happy birthday Marlo! I hope this little piece of fluff (angsty fluff? flangst?) brings us luck for tonight’s finale.

i’m on the bench, but coach just put me in the game

Michael never really gave much thought to his name growing up. It was something assigned to him by the system that chewed him up and spit him out. The most generic first name they could have possibly chosen and a last name that holds no meaning to him. Two words that were nothing more than a moniker to help distinguish him from the other troubled boys in the group homes or for foster parents to shout in his face and curse under their breath.

Aside from the, thankfully, short lived Mikey and the occasional hey asshole, he’s only ever had the two names. But over the years he’s noticed the different ways people say them, the tones and inflections that make the words their own.

The clipped way Sanders shouts after him, alternating first and surname, even when they’re in the same room. The enthusiastic screams of Michael from one night stands he was sober enough to remember. Guerin said in the annoyed and occasionally hostile tone Maria has when she’s sick of his bullshit, which is basically always. The exhausted and resigned way everyone in the Sheriff’s office greets him even after he stops being a frequent visitor.

He is only ever Michael to Max and Isobel, a subtle way of ignoring the glaring detail that legally separates them. Isobel did call him by his full name once in anger which led to her freaking out for the next three hours about turning into her mother.

He’s heard them say his name a thousand different ways but at the end of the day he knows what they each are truly trying to convey. Disappointment and condescension from Max, maybe an offer of support if he’s feeling generous. Affection occasionally tinged with disgust from Isobel but always with an underlying level of concern.

Then there is Alex. He’s only ever been Guerin to Alex. Well, that’s not necessarily true. After a week of Alex coming to visit him in his family’s tool shed, Michael had finally asked if Alex just didn’t know his first name. Alex had smiled that beautiful smile that only ever led to confusion in Michael’s head and had given some bullshit excuse about military family habits. Michael didn’t push the issue but a few days later in that same tool shed, a breathy little Michael became his favorite sound in the world.

Over the next decade no matter how hard Michael tried to bliss him out to the point of losing every last one of his military habits, Alex only said it three more times. On a cold night spent in the back of his truck, losing themselves in each other until the sun rose signaling the day Alex would leave for Afghanistan. During the one and only time Michael ever attempted a romantic gesture, making the five hour trip to Dyess to surprise Alex on his birthday only to be fucked in the alley behind a bar and sent on his way back to Roswell.

The last time he heard it was that first night they were together again after Alex came home, when Michael ran his gnarled fingers over the sensitive skin of Alex’s stump with nothing but love and acceptance, and Michael was full of hope for the first time in ten years, ready to throw everything away if only Alex would keep saying his name like it was precious, like Michael was something special.

Now they’re friends, friends who don’t have sex, and he is back to being nothing more than Guerin. So he really can’t be held responsible for what happens.

“Michael, hurry up, I’m not losing to these idiots!”

Max and Liz’s cries of indignation are drowned out by the crashing of the newly purchased round of drinks slipping out of Michael’s fingers. Distantly he hears Maria cursing him out but his entire being is focused on Alex sitting at their table in oblivious confusion.

Isobel is out of her seat like lightning, concerned hands shaking him from his stupor. His eyes don’t leave Alex but his tongue loosens enough to prove he’s not having a stroke. “You called me Michael.”

“He does know that’s his name right?”

“Shut up, Kyle.”

Recognition sparks in Alex’s eyes but before he can make excuses or brush it off, Maria runs the yellow mop bucket into Michael’s leg, hard.

“Clean it up, Guerin.” She stomps away and Isobel follows her probably in search of an angry makeout session in the storeroom. Those two aren’t fooling anybody.

Michael gets to work and does his best to ignore the curious gazes of his friends as well as half the bar. Heat rises in his cheeks despite his best efforts. When he’s done he wheels the mop towards the back just in time to see Isobel exit the storeroom looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Your lipstick’s smudged.” He grins at the cheeky wink she throws over her shoulder glad that she is finding some happiness for herself these days.

A minute later, Maria exits the closet, hair mussed and eyes a little dazed. They go wide when she sees him standing there. Without comment, he pushes the mop towards her and she yanks it back with a bit too much force.

“You’re paying for those glasses.” He winces under her steely glare but nods in agreement. She tilts her head to the side, face softening into something friendlier. “You want to talk about it?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back onto his heels, hoping that the hallway is too dark for her to notice his blush returning. “It was stupid. He just surprised me s’all.”

“Surprised by what? That Alex needed your help in trivia?” She seems truly baffled and Michael is tempted to just say yes.

“He said Michael. I half expected that after ten years he was too ashamed to admit he didn’t know my name.” The chuckle that forced itself from his throat around the lie is pitiful at best and Maria only looks more confused.

“What are you talking about? He calls you Michael all the time.” She moves to return the mop to the broom closet and he follows her.

“No he doesn’t.” Four times in intensely private moments does not constitute ‘all the time’ by any stretch of the imagination.

Maria closes the closet door and leans her shoulder against it, staring up at him with the look she gets when she’s doing a reading. Fortunately, she told him a long time ago that he was impossible to get a read on. She whips her phone out of her back pocket and sends a quick text, shushing Michael when he tries to ask what she’s doing.

Kyle rounds the corner a moment later. He approaches them with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “You rang?”

Maria gets right to it. “Have you ever heard Alex call him Michael?”

“Yes.” He drags the single syllable out obnoxiously as if the answer were obvious. “Seriously, dude, did you forget your name? You haven’t even had that much to drink.”

Michael is completely bewildered by this conversation. Kyle’s right, he’s only had the one beer but he feels like he’s having an out of body experience.

“He’s really never called you by your first name to your face?” Maria sounds almost wounded by this notion.

Not unless he’s inside me. Michael has more sense than to say that out loud so he just shakes his head.

“That’s rough, man.” Michael rolls his eyes and shoves past Kyle, going back out into the noisy bar.

Across the room his friends are laughing, teasing each other over wrong answers and trying to trip each other up. Alex sits stiffly in his chair; an island of tension in their sea of fun. He glances back towards where Michael is standing and their eyes meet, locking onto each other. Michael’s breath catches the tiniest bit and he hates himself. He steels himself and walks back to the table with his head held high.

“I think I’m gonna head out.” He flashes a smile that he hopes is convincing and avoids Alex’s gaze that he can feel crawling over his skin. “Before I owe Deluca for any more glasses.”

There is a chorus of goodbyes as everyone continues their own conversations. Michael grabs his jacket and moves swiftly towards the exit.

“Guerin, wait!” Michael stops in the middle of the Pony’s parking lot, hanging his head and wishing that he was capable of just walking away. He turns slowly, swallowing the bitter taste of harsh reality.

Alex is standing closer than he’d anticipated and suddenly Michael wishes he’d brought his hat so he could conceal his face from the too bright street lamps before it can give too much away.

Alex’s tentative smile is enough to stop him from biting his tongue. “So it’s Guerin again?” He doesn’t know why he is getting so worked up about this. Some mixture of embarrassment and his inability to stop loving the man in front of him no doubt.

Alex exhales a slow breath like he’s preparing for something arduous and takes a step closer. Again, before he can say anything, Michael plunges ahead.

“Because according to Deluca and Valenti you have no problem saying my name. So why is it you only seem to remember it when we’re having sex or I’m not there at all?”

Alex looks like he’s trying hard not to scream and Michael knows he’s being a dick, but Alex is the one who followed him out here so he doesn’t feel too badly about it. He should probably just turn around and go home, forget this ever happened.

“It was the last barrier I had.” At the first sign of retreat Alex is dragging him back to the front line. “Saying your name just seemed, I don’t know, too intimate? I couldn’t say it when I wasn’t ready to go all in, it felt like I was leaving myself unprotected. But I’ve always known your name, Michael.”

Michael is a genius so even when Alex renders him dumb, he’s still fairly smart. His brain works to connect the dots while the echoing of his heartbeat drowns everything else out.

He couldn’t say it when he wasn’t ready to go in, but he’s saying it now.

Michael takes a half step closer until he can reach out and grab his hands. He doesn’t say anything, staring straight into Alex’s eyes waiting for any sign that he’s misread the situation. Alex’s gaze flickers down to his mouth in a move that Michael hasn’t seen in far too long. He has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep his grin under control.

“Do you wanna go out to dinner on Friday? With me? On a date?” He’s leaving no room for miscommunication on this.

Alex looks shocked, but pleasantly so. He twines their fingers together and Michael is mesmerized by the way his face lights up, smile growing slowly. “I’d love to.”

Michael lifts his eyebrows expectantly. He’s waited so long, he wants to hear it again and again and again.

Alex rolls his eyes but uses their joined hands to tug Michael until they’re pressed chest to chest, lips inches apart. “I���d love to, Michael.”