#to make sure they covered enough. to police forcing women to strip

[marzipanandminutiae]

Of course, the burkini ban is messed up on grounds of religious freedom and racial discrimination. But also

Under any other circumstances, people would be HORRIFIED at a government mandate that women have to show a certain amount of skin. Like. That’s fucking dystopian, and the absolute opposite of feminism. If a government tried to pass a law that all women had to wear tube tops and miniskirts to go outside, people would rightfully be up in arms demanding blood

But because it’s targeting a marginalized religious group, many folks are lauding the blatant forced sexualization of women. Appalling

(apparently the ban also outlaws things like sun – protecting bathing suits if they cover too much skin. Which like. Yes, let’s give everyone skin cancer just so we can spite a religion we’ve decided to hate. Sounds like a good plan </s>)

[ducknotinarow]

[Star Tots AU for Nina from Astrid] Heavy huff escaped the armour clad person, the stranger clearly tired after 'helping' the two kids she had seen out this late. The known Vigilante turned, facing the brunette and blonde. Nothing but their eyes can be seen thanks to their helmet, the stranger standing tall as they addressed the pair,

"You two should head home, it's not safe to out here alone this late at night."

She attempts to sound firm with them, but she's aware how tired she sounds. It was exhausting carrying all the armour around, but it stopped her from ever getting hurt. Staring at the two a little longer, eyes squinting,

"Wait...haven't I met you two before?" They ask, stepping closer, a faint flutter to their wings, "Yes, I'm sure I have, and I'm sure I've told you this before...why do you keep staying out so late, it's dangerous."

| muse interaction

It all started off with some snooping.

Nina and Brooklyn had been noting some mummering going on among the agents and members of the team it was a bit of hush-hush at first but they both started to pick up on buzz words from the bits and pieces of what they had been hearing. Something around the lines of some rouge vigilante going around the city. Of course, they weren’t causing harm but they were causing a bit of trouble by getting so involved with the crimes going on in the city intersecting police forces' work, and even some of the stuff S.H.I.E.L.D. itself was handling. Of course, this got Nina and Brook to grow more curious as they started to swap what they were hearing on their own about this mysterious new player to the ‘game’ of playing a hero in the city. So the girls had to start looking into it when they asked no one would answer them much. Likely finding it to not be of any concern for them to worry about, that just drove them to wish to find out even more so. And to prove themself to the rest of the team. Because if they could not only find out who this vigilantly was they could prove themselves to the team and mostly thier dad. Of course no one would give them much to go off of though. Steve always went on to say they needed to keep thier noses out of the matter. That just made them want to even more. What dad didn't know wouldn't hurt him right?

Once they had gotten all they need, they 'borrowed' SHEILD agent uniforms so they would have something to wear to give them cover in the night when this person was active themself. Brook's far to large so they also need safety pins. A lot of safety pins at that. A police scanner they had gotten from a pawn shop after pooling in thier funds together to get. Some rope because after Nina had read a few Wonder Women comics she felt she was fully capable of lassoing someone. This was going to be a better attempt than some of thier previous ones least they felt as much. They took up shelter in an old food truck long being stripped for its wheels, radio and so much more just the husk of metal at this point. Even if old grease and oil still linger in the fryers. It would do, They were far more prepared now to catch this vigilante as they got the scanner set up and were listening they came across some talk on who they were looking for. They were in luck then! until they found that the police forced seemed to find them to be a possible threat due to all their interference. "They want to bring them in?" Nina questioned from what they pieced together so far, "But why? they aren't causing trouble if anything them hanging about makes it so they can stop the small stuff they miss or even the team don't see happen?" Nina went on to say looking at her sister as she spoke. "I know they told us before but I think we need to find them first." Seemed the girl's mission had changed. _____ Things could have gone better, they did find them in the least. Well in the middle of dealing with some robbers trying to break into a pawn shop. Funny enough the same one the girls found thier scanner at. Things got messy fast having been grabbed by the robbers to be used as leverage so they could get away. Didn't work Nina and Brook weren't just going to be held up like shields for them so they kicked and bit and did all they could to make them the best pests to the robbers. Soon they let them go and were taken out cops would show up for them they weren't important to the girls personally. They found who they were looking for. As they were heavily breathing trying to catch thier breath once again. That scuffle did seem to trie them out which could be bad if the cops trailed them and caught up. They needed to get them to leave with them and fast Nina thought. Moving to speak up but they had something to say first. Green eyes were all she could see under the helmet as they went to stand up tall and speak clear as they could. "You two should head home, it's not safe to out here alone this late at night."

They made a good attempt trying to be firm but it was clear they were tried still. Carrying that armor couldn't have helped they soon seemed to recognize the pair though as they squirted thier eyes and went to question them now instead.

"Wait…haven't I met you two before?"

Nina noticed a flutter behind them, wings? chances were this person may not be human? did the police know this too? was that why they were after them. Was this like E.T! wait not the time to get excited about meeting an alien. If anything that put them more at risk didn't it?"

"Yes, I'm sure I have, and I'm sure I've told you this before…why do you keep staying out so late, it's dangerous."

That slightly annoyed Nina, being lectured once was one thing but again when they were trying to help? "Says the one going and getting involved in stuff they shouldn't be!" she lashed out, of course, Nina didn't feel this way it was her mirroring why the cops were looking to take them in. She was just annoyed. Glancing over to her sister though she recalled that wasn't the point right now. "Look, clearly you ain't from here so I'm sure you got no clue on this but. The cops think you're bad and they wanna take you in" not wishing to waste time, every second spent standing around like this was another second closer to them being caught. Sure they could fight but clearly, they were tired out right now. Getting Steve to come help or anyone may have been smarter but well they would get in trouble for one. They still would be but at least they could get this person somewhere safe in the meantime.

"We know this is stupid clearly seeing how we got nabbed an' all but we know you ain't here making more trouble. You've saved our butts a few times. So please just listen okay?" Nina went on to say trying to be as convincing as she could. "If you come with us we can get you to our dad he's a big-time hero. Captain America." Nina wasn't sure if they would know who he was though the wings bit standing out to her still "if you come with us though I'm sure our dad will help you. Hell vouce for even since you have helped his kids out. We just need you to trust us okay?" Nina went on to plea a little bit. "Despite it all, I think you're doing the right thing a hero gets involved when they shouldn't. They are willing to risk themselves to help others. That is all I need to know, in order to know we're doing the right thing in helping you. Well trying to help you. So please come back with us."

[wokestonecraft]

Once again seeing posts about radfems only criticize hijabs and not any other religions’ forced modesty like okay lol, this is my time to shine, I have such a bone to pick with Christianity. I had to veil in a Catholic Church to attend my aunt’s wedding. There was a little pamphlet explaining that veiling was a mark of respect towards women, since they were the vessels of life, and compared it to the veiling of the chalice used for the eucharist. My aunt was told by the priest that she better hurry up and start having kids before her womb shriveled up, haha. (She was in her late thirties and desperately wanted kids). I tore off my veil as soon as I got outside and refused to put it back on until my mom made go back inside for the pictures. I was an angry teen girl, and I was made angrier that I would go home in a few days, and have to face more modesty restrictions at my school and in my town. Now, we didn’t have to cover our heads, but shoulders and knees were verboten, and we would make fun of another school where girls had to wear ankle length skirts, because that school was “too strict”. We at least got to wear pants. I remember when my best friend, who had gone through puberty a little bit earlier than rest of us, was pulled aside by a teacher and told in no uncertain terms that she was showing too much cleavage and that she had to go and change. We were in middle school, and she was wearing the same simple crew neck shirts as the rest of us. She cried in the bathroom, and for years afterwards, she would always wear a camisole underneath all her shirts. I just gave up and wore nothing but long pants and skirts so I don’t have to endure the humiliation of having my shorts or skirts measured. I wore jackets all the time, so I wouldn’t have my shirts’ necklines scrutinized. We had similar rules in regards to our sportswear, certain length skirts and shorts, no bellies showing, and no wearing just a sports bra ever. This was particular issues with the girls tennis team, as we started training in late august in the American south, and would get so hot we wanted to strip off our shirts and pour cold water over ourselves. One girl did this, and brought out the school’s principle to yell at us about disrespecting the game, ourselves, and the school. Her shirt went back on. This was really irritating as the boys track team trained at the same time, and not only did the boys run shirtless, they wore the tiniest shorts that left nothing to the imagination. And they were never told off for being immodest. One year, the girls swim team had to take their yearbook photo in their school uniforms instead of their racing one pieces because it was too immodest. The boys team was photographed in their speedos and swim caps.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in the Bible Belt, but I am always hundred percent ready to levy any criticisms at Christianity’s modesty standard. We just didn’t cover our hair, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t still policed with same accusations of “slut” and “whore” when we stepped out of line. I was lucky, in that my parents didn’t particularly care what I wore as long I was neat and clean, but I knew girls whose parents would check over their clothes to make sure that they were modest enough before they went out the door.

I still struggle with wearing certain kinds of clothes. It’s summer right now and I’m wearing jeans, as I never show my legs unless I can help it, lol. The amount of times I skipped out of swimming bc I didn’t want to wear a bathing suite in front of people fills me with regret. My sister struggles from the same issues, and we didn’t even come from a religious family, this is just the attitude our town and region had towards women and girls’ bodies. I think head coverings and face veils are easy to point out, as the face and head are such important parts of human interaction, but modesty standards on general are terrible and should be critised regardless of religion, and I don’t think radfems pull any punches when it comes to Christianity lol.

There are some good books about American Christian modesty and purity culture that helped me to move forward, and well as making me extremely grateful to my relaxed and loving parents, especially my strong and independent mother who did her best to combat what the rest of the world was teaching us. “Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement that Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free” by Linda Kay Klein is heartbreaking personal account of the American evangical purity movement, and I really recommend it to anyone who has been or is going through something similar. “The Purity Myth” by Jessica Valenti discusses how American culture deals with the concept of female virginity, and it’s consequences, and highlights a lot of the religious aspects involved therein. “I Fired God” by is Jocelyn Zichterman is the author’s personal memoirs of her life in and escape from a fundamentalist Baptist cult and it does touch on modesty standards and the consequences. And finally, there’s a book that I think every American radfem should read, which is “Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement” by Kathryn Joyce, which is a harrowing documentation of far right Christianity in the US and the wider world. It’s a tad bit outdated, as some of the major figures discussed, like Doug Phillips of Vision Forum, have fallen in scandal and disgrace, but it’s really important to read, especially in light of how politics in the US are moving against women right now.

[neonacity]

Chapter 10: Clytemnestra

Summary:

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings.

TW: violence, death, mentions of sex, drugs, and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here.

Chapter 9: In Memoriam

MASTERLIST

Fic Trailer

Chapter Music: I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw

----

"What did he say?"

My eyes scanned over the words written over the piece of paper for the last time. There isn't much there, but I feel like there's something crucial I was missing. I looked up at Taeyong and shook my head. 

"Nothing much. But he wanted me to meet up with him."

"Did he give you an address?"

"No. Which makes it all the more strange. Unless he is planning to send another letter?" I handed him the piece of paper which he quickly unfolded to read. A slight frown settled between his brows as he went over it. 

There were only two lines there, none of which really makes sense. 

I will be waiting. 

22:00. Black Daisies. 

"Do you have any idea what Black Daisies mean?" 

I shook my head, mirroring the same look of confusion on his face. I've been racking my brains about it for the past few minutes but couldn't think of anything that might be related to it. 

"I honestly have no idea. He wrote a time beside it… so I am assuming whatever Black Daisies is, it's a code for a place? I don't have any idea which location he is referring to though." 

Taeyong simply looked at me silently before finally folding the paper away. We were back in my room after he temporarily managed to save me from the barrage of questions I was sure the others wanted to ask when they found out the letter was addressed for me. 

Every day I feel like the line I'm toeing gets more and more dangerous. Like a high strung tight rope that's ready to give up under my footing.

"You're not going to him." 

I looked up to meet his eyes. 

"I wasn't planning to..." 

Taeyong's gaze didn't waver.

"Promise me."

"Why?"

"Because I know you'll change your mind in a heartbeat once he involves anyone you care about. So I need you to promise, even if he uses me or any of our friends."

My lips pursed and I evaded his gaze. I heard a soft shuffling of feet and felt my mattress dip as he sat beside me. Taeyong didn't need to touch me to affect me with his presence. After that brief moment of vulnerability that we shared earlier, something has shifted. I thought I will be able to put my walls up again just as easily as I took them down, but it seems like I was wrong. 

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Softer. 

"Promise me." 

"Is that an order from my leader?"

"No, it is a request from a friend." 

I turned to look at him and cocked my brow to diffuse the tension in the air. 

"You're ordering your noona around?" 

His lips quirked ever so slightly into a smile. 

"You're only one year older…"

"Hey. Emergency meeting."

"And seven months. One year and seven months. Don't forget that," I said, looking away.

A sharp knock on my door got our attention at that moment and we both looked up to see Doyoung standing on the threshold. He looked grim as he moved his gaze from Taeyong to me. 

-----

Jaehyun sat at the very back of the room that had filled up with all the members after Doyoung sent his urgent message. Everyone was scattered in the expansive space which seemed a little bit smaller now that WayV has joined, some sitting on the leather stools while others made do with the floor. Jungwoo and Taeil were deep in conversation beside him while Johnny and Yuta stood next to the door, flanking the entrance with their overwhelming presence. Being the main fighters of 127, it comes natural for the pair to be on the watch regardless if it's just an internal family meeting that's happening.

...Except this is not just an ordinary meeting. Jaehyun hasn't heard the full story from Doyoung yet after he came back from his business, but he has a pretty good idea of what the issue might be. Despite being just one of the crime families under the current Don's network, NCT does follow the traditional mafia ranking within its system. Doyoung works as the Consigliere to Taeyong's Capocrimine, taking over the responsibility of being the advisor and overall gatekeeper of NCT to the outside world. His connections give him access to normal society, which means if he calls for a meeting, it is probably an issue involving the "above ground." 

Taeyong walked in with an unreadable expression that made everyone fall silent in a heartbeat. He joined Doyoung in front of the room and looked over the crowd before finally speaking. 

"Has anyone here given any orders to their crew about stepping up any of our activities?"

The members exchanged confused looks between each other. Mark answered in lieu of Dream, Jeno looking just as confused beside him. 

"Not us. Why? What's up?"

Taeyong looked at Doyoung who grimly picked a folder on the table. The latter started reading the contents of it out loud into the room. 

"Heist in Dongjak district. The biggest bank there was ransacked last week. Cops also busted an illegal racing event last night. The other day, there was an ambush on one of the strip clubs at Guro. News came around that a new drug was being sold there after a rise of reported overdose deaths from it three days ago. Businesses that should be under our protection in Seocho are being ransacked despite them settling their tariff fees with us," Doyoung looked up from the paper he was reading and swept his gaze over the room. 

"That's just four of the 18 other cases that I got for the last week."

Everyone exchanged shocked looks with each other. Jeno decided to speak up, the expression on his eyes intense. 

"Hyung, it's not us. We haven't done any heists since you came back from Tokyo."

Doyoung gave a tight nod and looked over to Johnny and Yuta.

"The drugs in Guro?" 

"Not from us. The last ones we distributed are those we got from Japan and they're just psychedelic shots. They're clean." 

"WayV…?"

"We didn't bring any with us when we landed. Our jet can only fit the crates of armory we had to transport for you guys," Kun said with a frown. 

Taeyong ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. 

"Taeyong, what's happening?"

It was Doyoung who answered for him. 

"There was a rise of undocumented cases that were being fed to the cops in the past weeks. According to the reports, they were done by us." 

"What? That doesn't make any sense," Yuta said from his position by the door.

"It does make a lot of sense, actually. Obviously, we're hands off from all of these so they can only be done by the smaller gangs that we don't manage. And it all started after that announcement was made."

"But those rats wouldn't have any confidence to go against us. They're too small and disorganized to do this. And to even claim that they're NCT? That's just impossible."

"It is possible, if there is someone bigger asking them to act up," Taeyong answered grimly. Jaehyun watched as the man's gaze quickly flickered over to the pale female face sitting on the couch between Chenle and Renjun. That's when it clicked. 

Of course, Jihoon wouldn't be too lax to actually lie low after the bombing of Anarchy. That was just the start.

"Are you sure this isn't Wonho's doing?" Ten asked with concern. "We just got word from our network in Beijing that he was peddling women from kidnappings."

Jaehyun's attention snapped to the boy then at Doyoung and Taeyong at the mention of the name. A heavy feeling quickly started to gather on the pit of his stomach as he waited for their answer.

"That's an entirely different case altogether. But you’re right. The feds caught wind that he was trafficking kidnapped tourists and now they're after his ass." 

"Did he claim his case to be connected to us, too?"

"No. But because of all these other things happening, the police are definitely pinning everything on us."

"Shit," Lucas whispered loud enough for the good half of the room to hear. Jaehyun mirrored the same internally, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him. 

Shit indeed. 

This was all supposed to be a no brainer. He only needed to help the asshole get out of the country and then he can brush him off like dirt from his hands after. Why didn't he do it before things hit the fan? Now everything has become so much more complicated.

"How bad is it?" Taeil asked from Jaehyun's left. 

"Bad enough for us to be in the 8pm news. According to our moles, the Chief of Police is going to announce the manhunt for us tonight."

The room has gone so silent and still that the air felt suffocating. If there is one thing NCT is known for in the underworld, it is the group's efficiency and cleanliness when it comes to its operations. Every job done is spotless, every loophole covered. Until now. 

"Can't we pay off—" 

"We can't. We already tried reaching out to all our associates within the force but they can't do anything about it," Taeyong answered before Taeil could even finish the question. "The cases have reached the public and now there's an outcry from the community. Even the police are pressured to do something."

A round of murmurs swept over the room. Finally, one female voice broke through it to ask the question nobody wanted to say out loud. 

"What are we going to do?"

Taeyong's jaw tightened and he unclasped his arms crossed over his chest. 

"We need to track all those gangs doing these activities and put them in their place. It's going to be difficult to hunt each of them down with their size so we will need to use most of our resources here. Reach out to all the connections you could think of. We don't need more crimes being blamed on us."

Everyone's eyes were on Taeyong as the group waited for what he's going to say next. He stopped for a bit before finally speaking again. 

"And we kill Jihoon. This isn't going to stop until he's gone." 

Glances were exchanged within the room as his words sank in. Jaehyun didn't want to break the silence but he knew that he didn't have any other choice but to ask the next question. 

"And Wonho? What are we going to do with him?"

It was Doyoung who answered this time. 

"We'll kill him, too. We've given him way too many chances already. Once we get rid of him, we take the credit and let the cops know about it. Take them off our backs for a bit. We'll take care of him this week." 

It was fortunate that Jaehyun has mastered the art of keeping an unreadable facade. In his head, the words of the woman he loves echoed once again as the consequences of the situation mocked him. 

"No betrayal… or death of a brother shall be held against any of you." 

-----

Johnny threw his half finished cigarette on the gravelled road with a quick flick of his wrist. He scanned the length of the building from across the wall he is leaning on, gaze shadowed by the cap pulled low against his face. Of course, Jihoon would have the audacity and gall to choose a luxury apartment unit as his mistress' "hiding place" in Seoul. The motherfucker is one proud asshole, acting as if he owns any territory he steps on like the crazy psycho he is. 

He's not here for him though, no. Johnny isn't the type to act out on his own, but things are slowly starting to get messy within the family. People may always credit Taeyong for being the first one to step in the line of fire when it comes to protecting the group, but Johnny is a close second when it comes to his sense of loyalty. Ever since that day he was picked up and saved from that hell of underground brawls at 17 by Taeyong himself, he made it his personal promise to do anything to protect his home. 

That's exactly what he is doing now as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, waiting for his prey. If his informant was correct, she should go out of the building doors any minute now. 

30 seconds. 40. 56. 

His eyes caught a familiar form slipping out of the main entrance of the complex. The woman was wearing more casual clothes now than when they last met at Anarchy, but Johnny knew it was her despite her hoodie shielding the good half of her face. His sharp eyes followed her, allowing her to put some distance between them before he finally pushed himself from the wall to trace her steps.

She had crossed three streets when he really started catching up with her. He waited until the traffic light turned red on the street she was about to cross before slinging his arm around her casually. 

The woman stiffened instantly in his arms and looked up at him in shock. Johnny smiled casually down at her and pressed the cold nose of the gun hidden under his jacket closer to her ribcage.

"If you don't make a racket, there won't be a need for a murder scene by this road."

She pursed her lips as anger flashed in her eyes. She gave a tight nod before directing her gaze back into the street ahead.

"Good girl. Go straight then turn left. There's an abandoned building on the third alley." 

The two of them immediately started walking, sides pressed closely together. She didn't speak, but Johnny could feel her anger just bubbling underneath.

He unceremoniously pushed her inside the abandoned shop when they finally reached it. She turned to him with a glare and he didn't hesitate to raise his gun to her face, cocking it slowly. 

The move made her brows raise. Instead of looking threatened, she crossed her arms over her chest. 

"What do you want?"

"Your boyfriend's head on a stick. When are you two going to leave us alone? Your lot is causing a lot of trouble for us already."

"Are you here to kill me then?" 

"Oh no. You're here as payment. It'll be interesting to see how he reacts after we mess up one of his own." 

The woman stared at him for a long moment. Johnny’s gun didn’t waiver during the stare down, his hand steady as their gazes clashed. Then, all of a sudden, she did something he wasn’t expecting at all. 

She laughed.

She laughed so hard her voice rang and bounced on the dusty corners of the room. Johnny reigned in the confusion that overtook him with a frown. Is she acting to throw him off track?

The girl straightened up and looked at him with pure amusement in her eyes. The smirk playing on her lips told him that there is more to this act than what he is seeing. 

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. You stalked me thinking you’ll budge Jihoon by threatening me? That’s so, so, so amusing.” 

Johnny tightened his jaw but didn’t say a word. He watched as she started moving towards where he is standing, her eyes never leaving his. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stalked him, and for the first time, he actually took a good long look at her eyes. What Johnny saw there hit him like a firetruck. 

Jihoon’s madness, exactly reflected in her own gaze.

She stopped an inch away from his gun. If she moved a little, the cold metal of it would have kissed her forehead. 

“You could kill me now or torture me to death and my brother wouldn’t bat an eye… In fact, he might even thank you,” she whispered softly, almost fondly. Johnny felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. His emotions must have briefly flashed on his face because her smile widened in amusement. 

“Here’s one thing you don’t understand about Jihoon. He absolutely doesn’t care about anyone else other than himself. All these things he is doing? They are all for his sick fun. He is mad. Inhuman. If you want to have any chance of winning this, you have no other choice but to play the game with him.” 

“You’re his sister.”

“Half sister. That doesn’t change anything. I’m just a piece on his chessboard. I would honestly let you kill me now if you want to, but I can’t. Not until I finish what I have to do.”

Johnny didn’t know what got to him but he found himself slowly lowering his gun. The two of them stared at each other, silent, for what felt like forever. Finally, she moved to walk past him. 

“If that’s all, then I’ll go ahead. I suggest you find a better informant next time. Jihoon doesn’t stay in my building at all. Even I don’t know where he is,” she said casually as she moved towards the door. 

“I have no other choice. But believe me when I say that I want him dead just as much as you do.” 

“If he doesn’t care about you, why are you sticking with him?” he asked just as she wrapped her hand on the door handle. She stilled, her shoulders stiff. Johnny is not an ace when it comes to psychological games but when she turned to look at him again, he knew for sure that her eyes were honest despite being devoid of emotions. 

That made him stop. Before he knew it, he was speaking again to ask the one question that he’s been trying to answer ever since they met at Anarchy.

“Why did you save me? Back in the club. I was standing directly above your bomb.” 

For a while, she didn’t answer. Johnny thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass through her eyes, but it was gone before he could process it. 

“I wonder why too.”

The door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the shadowed room. 

----

Chapter 11

Tag list: @hen-marks99, @negincho, @nctisthecity

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 1) Preparations

The MC doesn’t play a major role here, because there’s not much role to play. But she has a lot to say and lots of THOUGHTS.

The book is funny and I’ve kept the humor of the original novel. I also like that the MC here has a genuine sense of humor that makes her likeable and relatable to the rest of the boys.

ENJOY

There are several luxurious private rooms on the third floor of the Takamagahara for private party guests, and the spending amount is, of course, much higher than the card seats on the first floor. A guest can't go to the third floor without throwing a few million yen a night. 

The music inside the room where Chu Zihang and Caesar were hosting was deafening. You knock loudly to be heard.

"Little Sister, is that you? Don't come in!" Lu Mingfei yelled from inside. He sounds breathless, panting. In fact, when you press your ear to the door, all you hear is his heavy breathing and grunting from physical exertion. Your heart beats faster and your cheeks flush as your imagination runs wild with what must be happening. You back away from the door. You've been up to your ears in man-meat for hours so it wasn't a stretch to conjure images of Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei embracing passionately. Poor Nono. Surely Caesar wouldn't be unfaithful to her, right? You bring your fist to your lips and your heart squeezes in sympathy. 

The door swings open and Caesar appears. He's stripped down to his underwear. Your eyes snap to the gentle curve of Caesar’s crotch, which, in your alcohol-addled mind, seemed to bulge out to enormous proportions!

 He grabs your arm and drags you inside, slamming the door behind you.

Women were lying side by side on the floor, their dresses in disarray. Lu Mingfei and Chu Zihang are breaking a sweat to drag all the bodies around. 

“What do you need me to do?” You stammer and glance away. Were you going to end up on the floor too?

“Just wait until we’re finished. How was your time downstairs? You seem a little tipsy. How much did you drink?” Caesar picked up a woman and settled her gently back on the couch.

“I’m not sure. I think someone kept refilling my cup.” You twine your fingers. You can't turn around and look at him in his skivvies. Nono would probably laugh at you and the rest of the girls in the Student Union might resort to mob violence!

Lu Mingfei hissed. “What? That’s awful! Someone should do something about that! Those brutes didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

You shake your head. The room tilts and you try to hide it and the fact that youre suddenly breathless. “No, nothing like that. They were just… um… Are those women drugged?” You change the subject as the memories of the physical proximity of Diamond's and Chance's lips to yours, Calypso’s unopened rose and Armani’s lustful glare spring back to mind and combine with Caesar's sudden full frontal to create a sexual kaleidoscope you couldn’t handle.

"Strong sleeping pills plus strong alcohol. They have to sleep at least until tomorrow morning." Caesar shook a small pill bottle.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous? Sounds like a great way to make them sleep forever!” You recalled heroin and vodka was strictly forbidden because combined someone could easily commit suicide.

“I made sure it was alright.” Chu Zihang said, straightening a girl’s skirt. "We have about eight hours between now and tomorrow morning, enough time to get to and from Genji Heavy Industries. We ordered enough champagne before we came in so that no waiter would come in to check on us during that time. And these women were so drunk before they arrived, they won't remember what happened tonight." 

 He straightened his back and moved to the next. “By the way, did you give out any Star-flower tickets? I would have watched but, as you can see, I had to work.”

“No… no tickets.”

“Little Sister’s purity is as strong as Fort Knox! I’m so happy!” Lu Mingfei sighed with relief. “Don't worry, we’ll be out of here before anything happens!”

“That’s a good strategy in any case. You don’t want to show your favor to anyone in the first episode…” Chu Zihang gave a sage nod and moved to the next lady.

Lu Mingfei bristled. “What kind of lewd advice are you giving, Senior Brother?”

“So what’s the plan for the Genji Building?” You ask. You calm down and feel tired and tense, but seeing them working so hard despite having one of the busiest nights at Takamagahara was inspiring. The couches looked soft and inviting but you wouldn’t look weak in front of them so you continue to stand and try to look energetic.

"Uncover the skeletons in Hydra’s closet. And while we’re there, blow shit up." Caesar lit a cigar, the firelight illuminating the colored makeup on his face. 

"There are 15 pounds of C4 explosives in the equipment box, is that enough?" Chu Zihang took out a packet of Play-Doh-like stuff from the box. 

You recognize the packets. They’re dark green and can be arbitrarily pinched into any shape. They are easy to carry and easy to use. As the world's worst terrorists, according to Hydra, C4 plastic explosives would fit your needs. 

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! What are you doing with explosives out? We are turning into the kind of people on the wanted list step by step!" Lu Mingfei exclaimed. 

"We are wanted by the police department for smuggling nuclear fuel, terrorist attacks and raping young girls. As long as we don't do that last thing, we're not on the wanted list yet." Caesar fastened the leather sheath of the Dictator on the outside of his thigh, the Desert Eagle in the holsters on both ribs, and the eight magazines filled with Frigga bullets on the side of his waist, "It won’t be that bad. Chu and I are just going to blow up Kaguya's storage core. Kaguya is the first line of defense for the Hydra Clan. We blow it up and Hydra will go blind. Norma can take advantage of the opportunity to regain control of the network within Japan." 

“Caesar?” You ask.

“Yes, hun?”

“Am I also wanted for raping girls?” You give a dry smile.

He shoots you a genuine grin and snorts.

"Do not rush to change clothes, we have to leave some evidence." Chu Zihang said. 

"Almost forgot." Caesar took off his weapons and re-dressed in the slim purple suit, "Good thing I didn't take off my makeup." 

Chu Zihang fished out a cell phone from a guest's bag and handed it to you. “Here, take our picture.”

“Got it.” You say.

Caesar sat down on the sofa, dragged a woman to his side and pressed her to his body. He stuffed a microphone in her hand, and took a microphone himself, as if he was singing. 

Then Chu Zihang sat in the middle of the guests wearing a conical hat singing birthday songs, and Lu Mingfei pretended to accompany guests drinking and playing craps. Chu Zihang and Caesar pantomimed topless arm wrestling.

For each photo, Chu Zihang and Caesar adjust the phone time, so that the guests will wake up and, after checking their phones, they’ll think they spent an unforgettable night with the beautiful boys! But, unfortunately, they can't remember any details because they drank too much and can only imagine. Looking at the phones, you’re filled with a sad sort of regret that the boys actually didn’t have fun like this.

Lu Mingfei is full of panic, "If these photos leak out our reputation is finished! But we didn't do anything at all!" 

"MC, help me check the fuses on this C4.”

You scurry over without hesitation. Caesar leans in close to you. “You know about this too, huh? First shooting, now explosives…?” He says with a grin.

“I can hotwire a car… or I used to be able to. Not sure if I can do it with the newer models. I can’t fly a plane though.” You look up at him. “I’ll be the cutest little terrorist right?”

“Are you hearing anything I’m saying?!” Mingfei whines. 

“Are you sad because you didn’t do anything, but you now have a bad reputation?" Caesar looks bored. "Then do you want me and Chu Zihang to go out and wait for you for a while, so you can earn your bad rep?" 

"Bullshit! From now on I'm going to fight alongside you guys every step of the way! You guys aren’t going to leave me to take the blame alone!"

Caesar hands you a bundle of clothing. “Here. Put these on and get ready to go.” 

You take them and quickly duck behind the couches, pulling your dress over your head and slipping out of your heels. You unfold a skintight black bodysuit that fits you near perfectly and a trench coat with the splendid Ukiyo-E on the lining, made to look like they are from the Japanese Executive Department.

“Here. Don’t use them all at once.” Caesar draped a belt with a pistol holster and pouches of ammunition over the couch. Your heart warms at the side of this deadly weaponry more than the rose of Calypso. You were finally being trusted with a gun. 

When you step back around, you're fully equipped. Your tired haze is gone and your mind is only on the mission again.

Chu Zihang put his sword on his back, slipped into a black trench coat and screwed a black baseball cap on his head. Caesar is also in a black trench coat and was covering his face in dark makeup to conceal his fair skin.

"Isn’t it a little too risky? We can barely speak Japanese. How are we going to impersonate the Executive Board? People just have to ask us something complicated and we'll be exposed!" Lu Mingfei said. 

“I know it’s hard but you could try keeping your mouth shut…” You grumble, screwing on the belt. Just putting on these dangerous weapons brought you away from the Takamagahara summer of love to the cold winter of Siberia.

"MC, be nice…” Caesar chided. 

“Of course we can't break in. Genji Heavy Industries is a heavily fortified building, as tight as the Japanese Self Defense Force headquarters. Caesar and I spent a few days researching. It is a general office building from the first floor to the twentieth floor, and above the twentieth floor is the office area used by the Hydra. Access is by access card, and there are security guards patrolling. Those security guards are all armed. Even wearing the clothes of the Executive Board, an unfamiliar face may be questioned. Not to mention, that without the help of Norma, I cannot make access cards." Chu Zihang spread out a hand-drawn map, "The only possibility is to sneak in from the sewers and enter the so-called 'inner district'. There is no access control system in the inner district." 

You remembered that they had taken the elevator down below ground when you visited the Genji Heavy Industries and you saw the huge sewer system in Tokyo. The submarine dock of the Iwarui Institute was located in a giant twelve-meter diameter pipe. 

“Shouldn't the inner district have a tighter security network than outside?" Lu Mingfei looked completely unsure. 

You’re not confident either. Looking at the map, with only one way in and one way out, you get the sense that the moment something goes wrong, you’re going to be trapped inside with the enemy. The pipe was deep and led to the ocean. Given the volcanic activity down there, if you had an opportunity to use your soul skill you might be able to open an alternate tunnel like a lava tube to escape or even block this pipe with lava on the way out. The problem is your Soul Skill is not instantaneous.

"No one knows what the security system in the inner zone is, but at least we can avoid the people coming and going by going through the inner zone passage." The map Chu Zihang drew by hand was a map of the sewer system in Shinjuku district. His finger moved along the spider web of sewer pipes, "There's a sewer right below Takamagahara. We'll follow it east, bypass under the Shinjuku subway station, and shortly after entering the main channel, we'll see Genji Heavy Industries. Total length is two kilometers." 

"It’s like we’re just going to wing it right? But come on, This isn’t some My Little Pony Ride. Genji Heavy Industries is like a rushing river, we'll be up a creek if we make one misstep." 

"How can we know if we don't try? If we get caught, we’ll kill our way out." Caesar said gently.

"Hey! Of course you two Robocops can easily kill out! Have you considered that there are still civilized and weak students in the team?”

“Mingfei,” You say softly. He looks over at you, genuinely frightened. "You think I'm weak? Who has the biggest body count for this mission?"

“Little Sister, how can you smile in such a situation. Have you lost your mind? You of all people should be on my side…”

“Don’t you remember what I did in the streets of Chizuru?”

Mingfei frowned, recalling how you killed over and over. “But it’s not right for you to be doing things like that.” 

Chu Zihang confirms your assumption. “Her Soul Skill is the first one that I’ve witnessed that is truly S-Grade.” Chu Zihang rolled up the map. “Her control of it is impressive. Her ability to misshape the earth will help us find a way out by creating a new tunnel underground if necessary, and we have scouted several promising escape routes. Not only that, Royal Fire could take down the Internet Cafe’s wooden structure, but it wouldn’t be able to shift the Genji Heavy Industries building. But her ability is likely to do it. Right, MC?”

You nod gravely.

“If it comes to that, we can threaten the entire building. They were extra proud of that building and probably wouldn't want to lose it in a tragic earthquake..” Caesar smirks.

“I still don’t like it.” 

"Then you'd better stay and take care of the girls. Watching over a dozen unclothed and sleeping women alone in a room late at night is a job for a frail scholar, right?" Caesar shrugged.

"Am I such an unkind and unrighteous person? Can I watch you two go into the dragon's den and wait here by myself? Don't answer that. Just give me a gun!" Lu Mingfei was once again bold and firm, though he gave an owlish glance at the women.

"Very well! We in the Student Council never back down from a fight!" Caesar drew out a heavy Beretta 92FS and threw it to Lu Mingfei, "I”ve been waiting to give this to you. Thirteen-round magazine, the first nine rounds are Frigga anesthesia ammunition. The back four rounds are specially designed to deal with dragons. Mercury core, blunt armor-piercing ammunition. Don't use that kind of bullets against humans or hybrids. Although mercury is not that deadly to humans, it’s troublesome after contamination, and the armor-breaking warheads will leave penetrating wounds on ordinary bodies.”

"Will there be any dragons in the Genji Heavy Industry?" Lu Mingfei thrust his gun into his back waist, "I say just load them all up with Frigga tranquilizer rounds." 

“MC was the last witness to Lenin's last voyage when a dragon embryo was sunk in a Japanese trench. They tried to kill her once before to hide what happened that day. The Japanese Hydra  leader speaks with the same Russian Accent as the MC and then turns on the Academy as soon as he thinks we’re dead at the bottom of the sea? And then tries their hardest to capture us in Chizuru? And now tries to pin us down in Japan…”

Caesar looks down at you. “MC… you were invited on this mission for a reason. I intend to find out why. I think they’re after you… more than they are after us.”

[starkerisendgame]

A State of Undress

Loosely inspired by this post by @starkerobsession. The basic premise being that Peter wears Iron Man panties under his Spidersuit. This takes place during and following the iconic rooftop scene during Homecoming.  I decided to post it to this account because I’ve been sorely neglecting it since making my other main. I also said on Discord this was gonna be short. As always; that idea got fucked pretty quickly. Big love to everyone on Discord who hyped this up.

TW: Slight angst | Undernegotiated sex/kink | Power imbalance | Referenced D/s | Underage 

Humiliated doesn’t even come close to covering how Peter feels. Thoroughly checked and put in place, there’s nothing for him to do but retreat to the edge of the rooftop, sitting on the ledge and curling over himself to watch the people milling about in the streets. 

Would they care? He wondered miserably. Would they wonder where Spiderman went? Will they miss him? Will they be okay without me? 

Stupid. That last one is stupid; of course they’ll be okay without him. They have people like The Avengers. People like Tony. They have the police and the general good people amongst them willing to help. 

They don’t need Spiderman. The only person who needs Spiderman is...Peter. 

He looked down, trailing his fingertips over the ornate pattern that curved and stretched from his fingertips to his shoulder. It was the last time he was going to touch it. The last time he was going to wear it. He risked a glance back at where Tony stood near the hovering suit, on a connected call to Happy. 

It was undoubtedly going to be the last time he saw Tony, too. 

Like he could sense he was being watched, Tony turned smoothly on his heel, dark gaze finding where Peter had cowered in the corner like a scolded dog. His expression was both impassive and telling, teeth pressed firmly together and brows level as he motioned for Peter to come closer. 

He didn’t dare speak as he pulled himself to his feet, arms and thighs still aching, stomach still taut and rolling where it had felt like his arms were going to be ripped off like in the movies. He didn’t dare to lift his gaze when he got closer, staring at the polished black oxfords that Tony wore. 

“Happy has clothes for you. You’re gonna change in the car, and then because I’m nice and an adult, he is going to take you home”. The unspoken for good lingered between them, terse and volatile, and Peter closed his teeth down over his tongue as his eyes burned with tears, reaching up to tug the mask over his face so Tony wouldn’t see them. 

Tony took a step away, the suit lowering to mold to his form like water flowing through the curves of a landscape, and then they were both masked, Peter finally lifting his gaze to those glowing, cerulean slits. He’d always thought the suit looked kind of adorably grumpy, but now it just seemed cold and impassive, scowling at him from an arm’s length away, as out of reach now as it had ever been. 

Tony’s head tilted, like he was about to say something, before he seemingly changed his mind and made a finger-crooked ‘follow me’ motion, striding to the edge of the root not far from where Peter had been and stepping off it with simple, dramatic elegance. Peter, needing momentum to swing, jogged after him and jumped, arching like a diver before he twisted, letting a web snake out and propel him onwards. 

He relished in the feel. It would be more or less the last time he ever did this. 

He followed Tony, but took an extra building or two’s liberty along the way, just to draw out the feeling of sailing through the air, of the comfort of the suit fitting against every curve, every line of his body. The joy was over in seconds though, as he landed on the asphalt next to the SUV, where Happy stood waiting and where Tony had only just landed. 

Peter tugged the mask off, eyes wet and cheeks ruddy with tear-tracks. Happy’s mouth opened, then closed, and he looked away, brows pinched and mouth downturned. It made Peter breathe out a sigh of relief, though he knew the additional scolding and rant would come when he was trapped in the car with no escape. 

“Clothes are in the back. Dress quickly” Tony instructed him, tugging open the back door of the SUV. “Knock on the window when you’re decent”. And Peter was vaguely surprised, because he’d expected Tony to just...Leave. But then, maybe Tony was sticking around to make sure that Peter didn’t try to take anything from the suit. 

Sniffling, he wiped his eyes and ducked into the car, pulling the door shut behind him. Whilst it was a spacious vehicle, it was no Limousine, and he had to remain ducked over and folded up as he reached to press the pressure sensor that would disengage the form-fitting suit. It fell away from his shoulders with a soft sound, and he instantly felt cold and exposed, instantly missed its reassuring texture. 

He was tugging the suit down around his hips, trying to keep his balance, when the cool air blew on the topmost slope of his ass, and he cursed. 

Fuck. 

How could he have forgotten? The moment Tony said he wanted the suit back, it should have clicked in his mind. It had, in some way. He knew he was only wearing underwear beneath the suit, but he’d forgotten which underwear. The sleek fabric was a cross between a thing and panties, the front enough to cover his slender cock but the fabric diminishing as it hugged his hips and sank into the groove of his ass. What covered his tight little hole was barely more than a string. 

Red was outlined with rich gold, and a detailed arc reactor nestled just at the top of his assline, where the small of his back sloped into the parted curve of his cheeks and where the last of the fabric dwindled. On the front, just under the jut of his hips, two blue strips to resemble the mask’s eyes stood out against the burnished red.

Peter let out a soft whine and shifted back onto his haunches, trying to squirm out of the suit in the limited space. He was thankful that the clothes Happy had picked out were far too big - The shirt looked like it would come down to his thighs, and the garish pink sweatpants were thick enough that they would obscure Peter’s shameful secret from view. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he chanted, risking a glance over his shoulder. The windows had been tinted, and Tony had his back to the car, but Peter still tried to hurry, leaning backwards and kicking his legs as he fought the fabric down his thighs. He was leaning fully backwards now, one hand braced on the arm-rest of the door as he scrabbled to undress. He was just kicking the suit away from his ankles when his weight shifted, shunting as his hand slipped and his head whacked off the lower portion of the window with a dull thunk. 

He groaned in pain and shuffled, trying to regain his balance when there was the soft click of the door lock, and his heart raged against his ribs as the door bracing his weight suddenly disappeared and he fell backwards, head lolling out of the vehicle and nearly between Tony’s thighs, giving him a perfect, upside view of his clothed cock as his own thighs and arms splayed for grip. 

“You shoulder consider a career in quick cha- Jesus Christ”. Tony’s voice was sharp, stunned, and Peter cringed, a ragged whimper of defeated humiliation hitching in his throat as he forced himself to tip his head forwards a little, look past the rise of Tony’s groin and up his shirt, to where the older man was staring unabashedly at his own cock, at the red and gold and blue that stretched over it. 

And then he was looking down, meeting Peter’s gaze with dark yet electric eyes, and Peter flushed, letting his head ball back and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Happy” Tony barked tersely. “Take a walk. I’ll text you”. 

“What? Boss, I can’t just-”

“Take. A. Walk”. 

Footsteps, fading. 

Peter daren’t open his eyes, trembling where he lay as the silence seemed to stretch between them like a piece of elastic at the point of breaking. He’d seen the panties in the window of a women’s lingerie store, limited edition and the last pair. It had been sheer chane that they’d fit him, and sheer luck that the girl behind the counter hadn’t even bothered to ask him his age or who he was buying them for. 

“That’s all you were wearing under the suit?” Tony asked after a moment, voice strained and low, and Peter risked a short, curt nod, not wanting the make the scenario any worse by accidentally headbutting his ex-boss(?) in the cock. The silence continued for a beat. “And you bought those. Personally. You chose them, and you chose to wear them”. 

He nodded again. No sense in lying. What could he say otherwise? His Aunt had bought them for him? May hadn’t bought him underwear since he’d turned ten. And she certainly wouldn’t buy him a set that verged on a thong. 

Silence. Peter risked opening his eyes, gaze finding and fixing on the brief peek on Tony’s zipper for lack of anywhere else. He didn’t want to disturb this by moving, didn’t want to shake Tony out of his distracted or rage-induced silence and unleash whatever verbal lashing Tony was going to unleash. He did shuffle a little though, bringing his thighs closer together, trying to tuck his legs up a little to cover his indignity. 

“I didn’t know you’d see it” he mumbled after a moment, cheeks flared red and voice weak, breathy. The overwhelming sense of you fucked up threatened to overlap him, envelop him. It had never actually occurred to Peter that Mr. Stark might actually ever see it. Since that day before the whole ‘Civil War’ shebang, Tony hadn’t set foot in the apartment, much less his room. 

And Tony had never seen Peter in anything less than the suit. He’d even built an undersuit for it, a thin sort of spandex-like wearable for under the suit so he’d be less exposed when getting in and out of it, though Peter rarely wore it for the sake of quick changes. He was deeply lamenting that decision now, though, when Tony’s gaze still hadn’t moved from his barely covered cock, his fingers flexing then fisting at his sides. 

“You’re wearing my face on your crotch” Tony announced again, and Peter cringed. He probably shouldn’t mention the arc reactor on his ass, then. When he dared to look back up, he noted with surprise that some of the view from before was now obscured by the black fabric of Tony’s pants. And the man hadn’t stepped closer. Which meant that...

Tony Stark was hard. Or...Hardening. To the thought of Peter wearing Iron Man underwear. He blew out a harsh breath and squirmed a little where he lay, jolting heat coursing through his body at the notion. “You...You know you’ve always been my hero” he weakly defended. As if that made this whole scenario any better. 

“Martin Luther King is also a hero figure, but I’ve never seen anyone wearing a thong in his likeness” Tony pointed out, and Peter’s cheeks erupted like a volcano, flaring hot and red. He gave a mumble in response, fingers flexing against the frame of the car where he’d gripped as he fell. “Is that why you agreed, when I asked for your help? You wanted to fuck me?” 

Peter scowled, head tipping forwards to furrow his brows at Tony past the rise of his cock. “I agreed because you’re Tony Stark. Nobody says no to you; least of all someone that idolises you. I was excited. I was flattered. You wanted my help and you were offering to help me be Spiderman. What was I gonna say, ‘no’?”

Although, he’d tried to. He’d had homework, after-all. 

“Did you own these, back then?” Tony asked, one hand lifting to rest of the open door, fingers flexing around the metal. Peter huffed, but shook his head. 

“No”. No, these he’d bought only a few months ago. An impulse buy. He drew a breath and tried to push himself up, but as he began to a hand fell to his shoulder and pushed him back down. Something thrilling shot down his spine, lips parting as he relaxed back under the touch, looking at where Tony fixed him with a dark, almost unreadable gaze, except for how his pupils were blown and his breathing had deepened. 

“Mr. Stark. I’m- I think I’m humiliated enough. Right now” he gathered the courage to say after a moment where nothing else happened, and Tony’s fingers flexed against his shoulder, teeth audibly grinding together. Beneath the silk blend of his slacks, his cock twitched. It stole the breath from Peter’s lungs and he didn’t dare lift his gaze for fear of shattering the moment. 

“You always make things so difficult, kid” Tony breathed out, almost like he didn’t mean for Peter to hear it. And then louder; “I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying not to be like- I’m trying to be better than Howard. I’m trying to be responsible and you’re there between my legs wearing Iron Man panties”. Peter was so stunned he couldn’t think of anything to say in reply, brain grinding to a halt. 

“Mr. Stark?” Was all he could manage in a bare whisper, and Tony’s fingers dug gently into his shoulder before releasing, sliding up and over the extended column of his throat, touch featherlight. For all that it was gentle, it scorched a path of heat along the skin, forcing Peter to swallow heavily. He felt like he was frozen glass, fragile and liable to shatter at the slightest pressure. He was confused, slightly turned on, and a little afraid. 

“You’re too pretty. I should have taken one look at you out of the suit and found someone else. Not least because you’re a kid. Look at me, I’ve just destroyed your life, broken your heart, and I’m thinking about...” He trailed off, nothing but a ghost of a whisper, and Peter swallowed. 

“Thinking about what?” 

“You” Tony answered simply, but the meaning behind the word was anything but simple, and it sent a thrill down his spine, gaze once again falling to find where Tony’s cock pressed against the zipper of his slacks, not fully hard but invested in the situation none the less. He thought about it carefully. He wasn’t an ignorant child - He knew the power imbalance between them. Knew that the age difference was deplorable. Knew that Tony would be taking extreme advantage of him, especially after this. 

And yet. 

“I would” he whispered after a moment, soft and hesitant. “Even...I still would. I’ve always wanted to. I know it wouldn’t get me the suit back. But I’d do it anyway”. And above him Tony’s teeth ground and he swallowed, gripping the door tighter, gaze darker than obsidian. 

“This is why you shouldn’t be around me, kid. I’d let you” Tony managed roughly, voice no more than a strained rasp. It made Peter’s head spin, rapidly re-thinking, re-evaluating any and every interaction they’d had post this. Had Tony thought this when they met? Was he thinking about it when they were shut safely away in his bedroom? Would he have done something then, if it had come to light? 

“Then let me” he rushed out before he could second-guess it, drawing his hands away from the edge of the door to reach slowly and shakily for Tony, who hissed a breath and reached for him, then stopped, fingers clenching around air as Peter lay his palms on his thighs. The muscles were thick and taut beneath his palm, near trembling like a startled horse as he slowly slid them up. He’d never done anything like this before, not with anyone, but he kind of knew what felt good on himself. 

And porn made it look easy enough, even though he was old enough to know not everything in porn was real. Still, he knew enough to close his grip around Tony’s zipper, dragging it down awkwardly until a large hand wrapped around his wrist, stilling the motion. He couldn’t really see Tony with his head lolled back like this, but his sinking heart when Tony pulled his hand away lasted only a moment, before Tony dragged the zipper down for him. 

Peter breathed in, out, let his head fall to the side. They were so openly exposed here. Anyone could walk past at any moment, or a street camera could turn there way, or- 

“JARVIS. Smoke and Mirrors, please” Tony rasped above him. Peter watched the still deployed suit turn, the hologram activate, and the air around the entrance to the alley shimmer. He didn’t have to question it, he knew that meant a real-time projection of the ‘empty’ alley was now being deployed. Anyone walking past would just see an unwelcoming, empty space full of garbage bins and litter. 

“If you’re doing this because-”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupted, fingers flexing against his thighs. “I know this is conceptually wrong. I know this won’t get me the suit back. I know this doesn’t mean anything. But just...Let me”. It came out more as a plea towards the end, high and breathy as he fought the urge to cry again, and Tony fell silent above him, grip and stance relaxing. 

He reached for Tony again, fumbling with how to approach it, when Tony’s hands moved as a buffer and took over, reaching down into the dip of his slacks. Peter’s throat went dry and his heart hammered as he watched the fabric move, watched as Tony drew out a sizeable, mostly-hard, flushed cock. It made his entire body ignite, tongue peeking out to slide along his lower lip. 

Tony Stark’s cock. In his face, about to go down his throat. 

He made a soft sound, low in his throat, and reached for it as Tony stroked himself slowly, pushing into the curl of his fingers. His cock was on the thicker side, curved and cut and sticky at the tip when Tony made his own guttural sound in response and angled his cock downwards. Peter shuffled, got comfier and without a better range, and tipped his head up, breathing out before he closed his fingers over Tony’s. 

He damn near cried at the fact of what he was doing as he shifted, nuzzling up against the underside of his cock and the thick swell of his balls, still confined in his slacks. Tony breathed out heavily above him, cock twitching beneath their grip, and Peter did it again before shuffling backwards further, pulling down until the sticky-wet tip brushed over his parted lips. It was kind of like a gloss, smooth on his lips and mostly tasteless when he licked them, and above him Tony grunted, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. 

“Kid, we-”

Peter pushed his head forwards and up, sucking the tip into his mouth like a popsicle and hollowing his cheeks. It worked, anything Tony had been intending to say cut off with a hiss and one of his hands pulling away, down to cup Peter’s cheek while his other squeezed his cock. Peter kept suckling, pressing his tongue flat over the rounded tip for lack of any better ideas. It was big and warm and soft in his mouth, and he briefly imagined in sliding down his throat, filling his mouth. 

Several moments of soft sucking passed, and he pulled his head back a little before pushing it back up, copying what he’d seen in porn by sliding the spongy tip in and out of his mouth, licking at it whenever it pushed back between his lips. Tony’s hand stayed on his jaw, gentle and without pressure, but his other hand moved in short, alternating little pumps, stoking the pleasure that Peter offered. 

“Is this your first?” Tony whispered above him, and Peter pulled slowly off Tony’s cock, mindful of his teeth as he licked his wet lips and nodded. He didn’t get any response after a brief pause, so he sucked Tony’s tip back into his mouth slowly, flattening his tongue to the bottom of his mouth as he let his lips pop over the flare of the tip, until he began to work at the length. He kept pushing until his neck ached from the angle and it felt like his mouth was too small to take anymore, eyes closed and focused on the feel of it. 

Tony’s hand wriggled free from beneath his own, cupping Peter’s jaw gently, thumbs rubbing a circle, before they slid down and back, cupping his head and taking its weight so his neck was no longer straining to hold it up. Peter moved both of his hands up to wrap around what his mouth couldn’t take, not wanting the experience to falter into sub-par. He knew he was nothing compared to the rest of Tony’s long list of lovers, knew it couldn’t be all that great compared to the other countless blowjobs Tony had ever received, but Tony hadn’t stopped him yet, and it spurred him on. 

His own cock was achingly neglected as he licked and sucked and nodded his head, doing his best to form a tight, wet, warm sleeve for Tony’s cock, but he squeezed his thighs together and ignored it, focusing on referencing every piece of porn he’d ever seen or read and all of his own jerk-off sessions as he worked Tony’s cock. His mouth and the top of his throat already ached a little, but it was easy to ignore. His arms had burned since the ferry, anyway. 

“Fuck, kid” Tony uttered above him softly, stroking through his hair, and Peter gave a muffled sound around his cock in response, high and keening. Tony’s hips jerked forwards and Peter half-gagged in surprise, even though Tony hadn’t moved more than a half-in forwards. It made Tony groan above him, fingers tightening in his hair, and Peter had to squeeze his thighs until they trembled not to reach down and take care of his own drooling length. 

He tried to take Tony’s length deeper, pressing his tongue down and pushing his head forwards, but it only went a few more inches in before he was gagging, his throat feeling like it was completely closed off. Tony’s hands were gentle as they pulled him away. “Easy, kid” he soothed above him, tugging a thick handful of curls before Peter sucked in a breath, swallowing around what he could take. He began to move his hands in earnest, mindful of the lack of lube as he applied a little pressure and pumped each time he sucked down. 

For all he could swing around all day, he was losing breath quickly at this, though he supposed it was more down to the sheer emotional wring of the situation and the fact that it was his first time. Tony didn’t seem to care either way, grunting above him, fingers tight as he fought the urge not to fuck forwards. It was sloppy, over-careful and inexperienced, but Peter could taste the salt on his tongue, could feel the gooey-thickness of tell-tale precum. 

He’d lost count long ago of how long they’d been there, the sounds of the city faded well into the background as Tony twisted his curls around his fingers, as Peter felt the heavy slide of skin over his tongue. He had no idea of how many minutes had passed since they’d started, only focused now on how his panties stuck uncomfortably to the wetness that leaked onto his own hip, on how Tony’s cock seemed to twitch and pulse on his tongue here and there, a sign Peter knew meant Tony was close to orgasm. 

He sucked harder, closing his lips over the soft skin, pushing himself until each thrust was uncomfortable and threatened to make him gag again, but Tony was cursing above him, hips stuttering now, single-focused on the wet, warm channel around him. Peter mewled as Tony’s thrusts became sharper, a little less careful of his abilities, and the signs began to culminate. Tony’s heartbeat spiking, his cock suddenly stiffening and seeming to swell over his tongue, a sharp rasp of his name and then a flood of salty, thick cum to the back of his mouth, sliding down his throat so his breath hitched and he spluttered, convulsing around Tony’s cock, Tony, who groaned as fucked forwards, chasing the flex of his throat. 

Tony rode his orgasm hard, milking his cock with Peter’s throat until it seemed to relax on his tongue again, hard but not as raging as it had been before, and he slowly began to pull out as Peter snuffled and jolted and swallowed on sore muscles, lips dark and wet and swollen when he finally sucked in a gasp of air, letting Tony’s hands carefully tip his head forwards. He spluttered as he heaved for breath, the taste still rich on his tongue as Tony stooped a little and coaxed him into sitting up, into leaning back against a strong thigh. 

“Easy. You did good. You’re...Okay”. It was an awkward but soft attempt, and Peter let his head fall back into Tony’s hip, looking up at him through wet lashes, suddenly hyper-aware of his own undress and his own arousal as Tony’s cock began to slowly soften in his peripheral. Tony looked suddenly stilted and tired, and Peter ducked his head again, bracing himself for the second lecture of the day. 

Instead, Tony’s hand slid up into his hair, gentle as he stroked through the messed up curls, tender it slid down his jaw to wipe away a glob of drool from the corner of his mouth. 

“I should...Get dressed. Happy won’t be...Happy. With waiting so long. And you’ve probably got stuff to do” Peter whispered after a moment, surprised by how rough and scratchy his voice had become. It almost hurt to talk. 

“...No” Tony murmured after a moment, and Peter frowned, head tipping back again. Tony’s gaze, when he met it, looked torn and heartbroken, but determined. Steeled against his own internal rage of emotions. 

“No?” He echoed fearfully, dread rising in his gut. 

“No” Tony repeated, then looked up and away. “We’re going to get in the car. Fully. And I’m going to show you what a blowjob is meant to be like, while you wear those fucking panties. And then...You’re going to get dressed, and we’re going to go to the Tower. We’ll...Figure this out. Like adults. Reasonable adults. Well. As...Best as an old pervert and a fourteen year old can” Tony breathed, frowning at the end, though Peter’s lips were already curving upwards. 

Hope. 

“Fifteen” he corrected, like he had on the rooftop, except now he was smiling.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Stuck in the Middle with You

Bakugo X Reader

Reader is a closet couponer and when word started spreading that there was going to be a mandatory quarantine to fend off a virus you weren't worried. You had enough supplies to last for months. However it wasn't until now that you realized you had no idea how to cook and you relied on take out and fast food for most of your meals. The only person who knew about your crazy couponing habit was Bakugo, so when he called and asked if he could raid your stash you got an idea.

Words: 2405

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You scrolled through your phone on your way home. Every headline was about the rising death toll of some crazy new virus making its way across the world. Work had sent everyone home until further notice and you couldn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your stomach. Logically you knew you were fine. You were a very clean and healthy person not to mention the fact that you had a secret stash of goods in your basement that you had from couponing.

You didn't tell people about you little hobby because you knew how it looked. Most people think couponers are cheap crazy people who just enjoy hoarding random stuff. Well jokes on them, because now you can go home and not have to risk your life over a roll of toilet paper at the store.

The only person who knew about your hoard was Bakugo. He had stumbled upon it one night when you had hosted movie night for you and all of your friends. You had sworn him to secrecy but naturally he made sure to make fun of you before returning to your friends upstairs. Shortly after that anytime Bakugo would find himself near your office he’d make a point to drop off any coupons he had collected since seeing you last. He always had something mean to say when he dropped them off. But you knew it was just his way to show he cared.

You weren't a hero like the rest of them but you had all gone to UA. You had just taken a different path after graduation. You decided hero work just wasnt for you and went back to school. You had decided to go into forensic psychology instead. Your quirk allowed you to read peoples minds, but only in fragments. Sometimes it was hard to piece together what it all meant, especially if you didn’t know them personally. So you gave up the flashy cape and now work behind a desk.

You went down to the basement to take inventory of your stash of goods and tried to estimate how long it would last. If you were smart about it you could definitely spread it out over a few months. No that you anticipated it would take that long. You were halfway up the steps back to the main level of the house when you stopped short... You had no idea how to cook.... Sure a lot of it was no brainer stuff. Dump it from the can into a bowl, pop it on the stove or microwave and done. But that was only going to get you so far. You had relied way too heavily on fast food the past few years. You had never felt the need to learn how to cook. You guess you could always look up Youtube tutor-

“Burn baby burn! Disco inferno! Burb baby burn!” You phone began to ring a very specific ringtone that was assigned to one very specific person. Disco inferno continued to blare as you got an excellent idea.

“Bakugo! What do I have the pleasure of this phone call?”

You could practically hear him role his eyes at you, “Save it shrink, I need some stuff for this dumbass quarantine but there's no fucking way I’m going to the grocery store. We both know I’d end up blowing something up.”

You tried to hide your giggles at the mental image of Bakugo fighting a middle aged women over bottled water. “So you called me? Why?”

You knew exactly why he was calling. And he knew, that you knew why he was calling. You just wanted to hear him ask nicely for once. He groaned and took a deep breath, “Listen here idiot. I know you have tons of shit in that basement of yours. I also know I personally provided several coupons that contributed to that hoard of yours.”

“So? You think that means you are entitled to some of it then?”

“WHAT?! NO! I’m just... shit y/n I’m just asking if I can come pick up some essentials. I’ll even pay you for it.... please?”

You giggled, “I’m just messing with you Bakugo. Of course you can come get some stuff... but on one condition.”

You heard him sigh and mutter something under his breath, “What do you need?”

Your grin grew from ear to ear, “Oh nothing big... I just need you to teach me how to cook...”

The phone was silent for a few moments, “You don't know how to cook? THEN WHY THE HELL DO YOU STASH ALL OF THOSE GROCERIES?!”

You rolled your eyes, “Can you help me or not?”

He scoffed, “Y/n were supposed to be quarantined... I can’t exactly hang out at your house and teach you how to cook. That is something that takes time.”

“Okay so come get your stuff and in exchange when ever you make something FaceTime me and walk me through it...”

“Are you really that bad of a cook?”

You chewed on your lip, a nasty habit you did when you were stressed out, “YES! okay.. I mean I actually dont know. I’ve never actually tried. I practically live off starbucks, take out, and the cafeteria at my office building...”

“....Fine. I’ll be there in 10 minuets.”

He hung up before you could thank him.

You went ahead and went up to your room to change out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. You hated the formal attire you were forced to wear and usually stripped down the second the front door was closed behind you. Down to a tank top and leggings you strolled back downstairs just in time to hear a knock at the door.

You pulled the door open to a grumpy looking Bakugo who came prepared with a box to put his supplies in. “Alright let’s get this over with. follow me downstairs.”

He pushed past you, “I don’t need your help thanks. I have enough cash to cover for anything I’ll take. I need go get back home soon before they decide to lock us down.”

You rolled your eyes as you followed him down to the basement, “I already told you, you dont have to pay me. Just make sure I dont starve. And what do you mean lockdown?”

Bakugo placed his box on a table and started loading it up with canned goods, toilet paper, water, and whatever else he needed. “Yeah dumbass lockdown. Have you not been watching the news? They’re considering making it mandatory that everyone stay inside until further notice. No exceptions.”

You bit your lip, “Well surely that doesn’t apply to you right? You’re a hero. You have hero shit to do. There’s no way they’d force you to stay locked up.”

He growled, “Yeah you’d think. But with mandatory lockdown crime will go down. They may need some people to help enforce it but that's more like police work. I think their exact words were, ‘a sick hero isn't good for anything’ or something like that. So unless they really need us they’d prefer us to sit out asses at home and stay healthy.”

You bit your lip even harder. You hadn't known is was that serious. You thought everyone was just trying to be cautious but now it felt... kind of scary. You would be stuck here, all alone, by yourself. No one here but you. No where to go. No one to listen, no one to help. Sure you had practically raised yourself. You had lived off of whatever you could microwave since you were a child. Oh shit you didnt want to think about that. Not now. You had a tendency to spiral when you thought about your childhood. You couldnt do that now, not with Bakugo standing in the same room. Your mind was spinning you didnt even notice Bakugo talking to you.

He would have been irritated but you honestly looked upset, even a little pale if he was being honest. He gently took your elbow in his hand and gave it a good squeeze, “Earth to Y/n. Hello anyone home.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief moment before returning to reality, “I dont even know how to make coffee.”

Bakugo gave you a weird look. He knew you tended to be a worrier by nature but you seemed like you were about to crack. “Well if you hurry up maybe I can show you before I leave. But I’m serious when I say I’m leaving in 10 minutes regardless.”

You followed him back upstairs and into the kitchen in a daze. You could feel the spiral forming. You could feel your head growing fuzzy as your heart thumped in your chest. You made it to the top of the steps when Bakugo’s phone buzzed. He answered it all the while staring at you. He could see something was wrong. You looked like you were about to faint. You knew he was talking to someone but you couldn’t hear what he was saying over the loud thoughts in your head.

You started to slump to the floor and leaned back against the refrigerator. This was it. You were officially having a panic attack. In front of Bakugo of all people. Before you knew it Bakugo was on his knees in front of you. He took your face in his hands. His tone was very soft and comforting, but his words couldn't reach your ears.

His thumb softly wiped the silent tears that were now flowing down your cheeks. You hadn't even known you were crying. Your heart continued to race as your brain did it's best to convince you that you were dying. Finally he leaned in and kissed you. It wasnt passionate or sloppy. Just a hard, firm press of his lips against yours.

Then the clouds started to fade away. You usually never used your quirk on your friends but you couldn’t help it. You were hit with a fragment of his consciousness and all you saw was an article on panic attacks. He had googled this at some point. He had read an article on what to do if someone had a panic attack. Your heart rate slowed and your breathing slowly evened out.

His hands remained cupped around your cheeks as his red eyes bore into your and watched as you came back to yourself. “Y/n nod your head if you can hear me.” You nodded your head and he eyes melted with relief. “Are you okay? I mean duh your not okay but you know what I mean...” You nodded again. He took a huge breath and pulled you to him in a comforting embrace. “Alright dumbass just try to match your breathing to mine... let me know when you're good or whatever.”

He was trying to sound irritated but you knew he was just trying to protect his tough guy reputation. After a few minutes of you leaning into him you started to blush. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m mortified.” You pushed him away slightly and leaned back against the wall. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that. I’m usually better at... you know...” You rubbed your arm nervously and bit into your already sore lip.

He continued to observe you like you were about to shatter, “Well I wasnt going to leave you hyperventilating on the floor. I’m a hero. I’m pretty sure I could lose my license for that.”

You smirked and stood up on wobbly legs. “Well thanks... that was actually the quickest I’ve come out of one of those. Whatever you looked up worked.”

It was now his turn to blush. “How did you know I looked it up?”

You shrugged, “I saw it. Well a piece of it. You know how it is. Bits and pieces... so is that why you uh.... you know?”

Bakugo stood up and collected his phone from where he had dropped it, “Uh yeah... I remembered seeing it on some dumb tv show but I wasnt sure if it was true or not....” He looked with a weird look of concern but also annoyance, “Look you dont have to talk about it... but if you want to.... I'm here for you.”

You stepped closer and gave him a hug, “Thanks. You’re too sweet. But it’s a long story and you should probably head home before you end up stuck here.”

He put his hand on your forehead and pushed you away. “Oi I meant it when I said I was here for you damnit!” He turned around and continued on his quest to make coffee. “Besides I can’t really leave anyways...”

Your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “What do you mean you cant leave?”

He kept his back to you as he looked through the cabinets for a coffee maker. “Well you know that phone call I got right before you freaked out. It was my boss letting me know that mandatory lockdown is in place as of now.” When you didn’t answer he turned to look at you, “He also informed me that someone from my apartment building tested positive, so I really cant go home.” 

You nodded at him before going to the cabinet that held your coffee maker that had never even been out of the box. “Okay.”

Bakugo took the box from your hands with a cautious look, “Okay? OKAY! You literally just had a fucking melt down over the fact that we were going into lockdown and now your just..... OKAY!” 

You shrugged as you went to the refrigerator to pull our a bottle of water. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You took a few  gulps of water before returning your attention to his confused face, “Not that yelling at me is helping by the way...”

His cheeks reddened just slightly before he narrowed his eyes, “So we’re stuck together huh?” 

You sighed, “Looks like it....”

He growled, “Fuck my life...”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I’m not exactly thrilled either alright.” 

He shook his head and started pulling out pots and pans, “How do you like your pancakes?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“Are you def or just stupid. If we’re going to be stuck here then I want breakfast for dinner. So I will ask one more time... How do you like your fucking pancakes?”

You bit your lip, “With chocolate chips please...” 

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Plots and Planning

Something different for this story.  I have decided to write how the various factions of the different universes that make up the story would react to all these new galaxies colliding.  This particular one is the Imperium of Man and the forces of Chaos from Warhammer 40K.  Why them?  Because they are the most gung-ho and definitely two of the most powerful groups within all of the universes, so I had to find some way to make sure they didn’t go into this new reality all guns blazing.  Divine intervention and brotherly bickering will do that nicely.  It is about to get real complex real quick, so if you have any questions, most definitely feel free to ask.  I will be writing more of this style, so if you have a request about a certain group or government, please feel free to ask.  As per usual, none of these characters or universes belong to me.  Enjoy the story.  

A note on timelines:  This takes place around 950.M41, during the height of the Ciaphas Cain book series.  This is before the the 13th Black Crusade and the Fall of Cadia.  

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Holy Terra, Throneworld of the Imperium of Man

Holy Terra.  The birthplace of the human race.  Seat of power of the most dominant empire in the galaxy.  The most sacred planet in the galaxy to humanity, for it was here that the Emperor himself sat upon the Golden Throne, here that holy humanity was born, and here that the leaders of the Imperium, operating in the Emperor’s stead, convened.  And today was a most important day, for the High Lords of Terra, the council put in place by the Emperor to guide the Imperium in His absence, would meet to discuss the current situation.  

The gilded spires of the Imperial Palace reached into the sky, towering above all the rest of the structures on the planet as the massive bells of countless cathedrals tolled noon.  The entire planet was one massive city, housing hundreds of billions of people.  And, quite a beautiful city at that.  For here there were no ugly grey skyscrapers or disgusting constructs made of glass and cold steel.  No.  Here, every building was a work of art.  Reaching into the sky, some tens, if not hundreds, of kilometers high, they were all masterpieces, created by the finest architects ever born of the human race.  All had the same architectural style, a mixture of what ancient Terrans had called Greco-Roman and Gothic.  Huge domes, massive towers, and flying buttresses, all ornamented and carved to a ridiculous detail, stretched as far as the eye could see.  But, despite their size, or decoration, the Imperial Palace put all the other buildings to shame.  

Stretching the entire length of what had once been known as the Himalayan Mountains, it was the largest and most beautiful structure on the planet.  Created by the finest architect ever known to man, it was the seat and symbol of Imperial power, and the most protected fortress in the galaxy.  It was here that the God-Emperor of Mankind sat upon the Golden Throne, and it was here that the High Lords would convene.  

  The room was opulent, paneled with wood from ancient and long-extinct Terran trees, and lined in gold.  The ceiling had a massive fresco of the Emperor and his sons, painted in loving detail and framed by statues of cherubs where the walls met the ceiling.  The High Lords of Terra, leaders of the twelve most powerful branches of the Imperium of Man, sat underneath it at a long table draped in a white cloth.  Interestingly enough, for the rulers of an empire whose expressed purpose was to exterminate all non-humans, few of the High Lords looked like normal men and women.  

If one was to look at the table through an overhead view, then the man at the top right was the most easily noticeable, despite being far from the largest or most dangerous-looking person in the room.  He wore elaborate, overly decorated crimson and gold robes, and a human skull, massive reams of paper spilling from its maw, hovered over his right shoulder.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Administratum, the administrative and bureaucratic division of the Imperial government, and currently he was rambling about taxes in the Segmentum Obscurus while the other Lords pretended to pay attention.  

Sitting next to the Master of the Administratum in a clockwise direction was one of the few normal looking individuals at the table.  While his hair was grey and cybernetics were peeking through at the base of his neck, he still looked human, and still looked alert.  He was the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites, the Imperium’s state police.  He sat quietly, unobtrusively, while his college prattled.  

Further down the table was a figure that towered over the rest and did not look even remotely human.  It was at least ten feet tall, and a mass of augmentations, slithering wires and metal plates peeked out from behind a large red robe emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol.  The rest of the Lords seemed unnerved by his...her...its gaze, as if the lenses built into the lump that could be called a faceplate could see right through them.  (Which, incidentally enough, they quite literally could, if the user wished it)  The being was the Fabricator General of Mars, and the leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the branch of the Imperium charged with overseeing, preserving, and repairing technology.  

Next in line was a tall man wearing a deep blue uniform.  Golden epaulettes adorned his shoulders, and cold green eyes surveyed the table from beneath carefully combed grey hair.  He was one of the few completely normal looking people at the table, and his position was Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy.  

Fifth from the top was an odd looking man who huddled deep into his crimson robes.  Unlike many of the others, he appeared to have absolutely no interest in the man talking at the head of the table.  An air of moroseness seemed to cling to the very air around him as he huddled into his chair.  He was the Master of the Astronomican, in charge of overseeing the sacrifice of thousands to fuel the God-Emperor’s massive navigational beacon.  

Last on the right side of the table was a petite white-robed woman.  Her hair seemed to shimmer several different colors in the light given off through the room's massive stained glass windows, and her eyes gleamed violet.  A pure white strip of cloth, emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, covered her forehead.  None of the other High Lords would look directly at her face, and she seemed to take great amusement at this by striving to look whomever she was speaking to directly in the eye.  They would then flinch and look away as quickly as possible.  She was the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators, the semi-human beings responsible for steering Imperial starships through the miasma of the Warp.  

Continuing clockwise, at the bottom left of the table was a pale faced man in another white robe.  His face was shrunken and seemed to be drawn inwards to his hollow eye sockets.  However, despite his non-existent eyes, he had the unnerving tendency to stare directly at the face of whomever was speaking as if he could see perfectly.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the school in charge of training Imperial psykers.  

(Authors note:  If you don’t know what a psyker is and you desire to find out, ask me separately.  It’s too complicated to explain here.)

Next to him was a tall, muscular man clad in a tight-fitting black suit.  His face was completely normal, with strong cheekbones and a jutting jaw, all framed by short cut jet black hair.  His eyes were steely grey, and if one was to look closely, they would see that those eyes concealed a breathtaking malevolence behind them.  He sneered and stared at his colleagues as if they were prey instead of the most powerful collection of beings in the galaxy, for he was the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, the organization tasked with destroying any threats to Imperial power in subtle, or not-so-subtle ways.  

One up from the Grand Master was a relatively normal looking grey haired man.  His chest was so covered in medals it was hard to see exactly what color shirt he wore underneath, and the left portion of his face was dominated by a metal plate and cybernetic eye, replacing the real flesh he had lost in an explosion long ago.  He was the Lord Commander Militant of the Astra Militarum (more commonly known as the Imperial Guard), the Imperium’s main ground fighting force.  

Farther to the top of the table was a figure swathed in a heavy grey robe and cowl.  The lower part of the figure’s face was feminine in nature, but nothing else could be gleaned about her nature due to the cowl’s shadow.  She sat stock still, eyes moving as if looking for threats from beneath the hood.  She was the representative of the Imperial Inquisition, the dreaded secret police, tasked with finding, hunting down, and eliminating any and all threats to the security of the God-Emperor’s realm.  

Next to her was a tall, imposing woman with hair dyed a silver-white.  A fleur-de-lys was tattooed on both her cheeks, and she radiated an air of power.   She was wearing a massively ornate suit of gold and black power armor, and moved inside of it with the ease of long practice.  She was the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adeptus Sororitas, more commonly known as the Sisters of Battle.  They were an all-female organization of soldiers dedicated to the Imperial Church.  

And, speaking of which, the medium sized man at the top of the table was the Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum, also known as the Ecclesiarchy or Imperial Church.  He wore white robes emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, and perched upon his head was a tall mitre of white and gold.  

“Thank you very much for your report on the tithes, Nuchanldus,” said the Inquisitor before the Administratum head could continue speaking.  “But I believe the reason we’re here is to discuss the current situation.  Eight other, different, galaxies have appeared beyond Imperial space, several of them attempting to make contact with us.  We do know that there are humans in at least several of them.  However, we know nothing beyond that.  We are here today to decide how we shall proceed.”  The Abbess turned to her and scowled.  

“None of this would have happened if it were not for your Ordo Chronos.  They tried to break the laws of time and reality, possibly tried to contact the Ruinous Powers, and most definitely broke almost every single Warp-related law of the Imperium.”  The Administratum head spoke up once more.  

“That is correct.  Article 288731-J of the-”

“Yes, thank you,” shot back the Inquisitor with an annoyed glare.  “The Ordo Chronos has been sanctioned, dissolved, and will be handed over to the Ecclesiarchy for punishment, effective immediately.”  Everyone stared at her with shock.  The High Lords always played power games, vying to have their own group come out on top.  To hand over an entire subsection of your own organization to another, whether they broke the law or not, was not just unheard of, it was completely unthinkable.  The fact that the Inquisition was willing to do so meant that things had gotten very, very, serious.  

“Statement- new galaxies have endless possibilities for the discovery of new technology.  Request- Mechanicus wishes to immediately deploy to uncover new technology.”  The Fabricator General’s voice emitted from a speaker on its faceplate, and sounded mechanical in nature, as if it was coming from a badly-tuned radio.  

“Wait a moment!  We have no idea what sort of threats are awaiting us in these new galaxies!  For all we know, they could be completely overrun by beings of Chaos.  We cannot afford to start another war,” said the Commander of the Imperial Guard.  The Ecclesiarch spoke up.

“How do we know what their capabilities are?  It is our duty to purge the-”

“An Inquisitor by the name of Amberley Vail in the Damocles Gulf region has already dispatched a team to find out exactly what these other galaxies are like.  With that team is an exceptionally noted Commissar by the name of Ciaphas Cain,” interrupted the Inquisitor.  “We will see exactly what these new galaxies are like.”  

“This Inquisitor Vail shows remarkably forwardness,” said one Lord.  

“No she does not!” snapped another.  “The Inquisition has completely overstepped its boundaries.  It cannot be the only organization allowed into these new galaxies!” The table dissolved into bickering before the Commander of the Navy pounded his fist on the table for silence.  

“Enough of this squabbling!  You said that there are humans in these other galaxies.  If any of them were alternate universes to our own, then it is possible that the Emperor is alive and well there.  If so, this could be our salvation.”  Hushed murmurings sounded before a new voice broke the silence.  It was inhumanly deep and resonant, and if one were to listen to it, they would be able to feel the power of its wielder. 

“Unfortunately, neither the Emperor or Imperium exist in any of the other galaxies.  They are all completely different from each other and from our own.”  The High Lords turned in surprise at the being who dared to interrupt them, then went meekly silent.  Standing in the room’s entrance, wearing golden armor so incredibly ornamented it made the Abbess’s look like crude metal riveting, was a nine-foot tall man.  Man, however, would be completely inaccurate and slightly insulting to describe this newcomer.  He was a demi-god, lantern-jawed and brown haired.  Flanking him were two other soldiers of the same height, wearing the same style of armor, and welding spears so large that any normal human would tip over if they tried to carry one.  They were the Adeptus Custodes, the personal bodyguard of the Emperor of Mankind.  Genetically enhanced to a ridiculous degree by ancient sciences created by the Emperor himself, they had no peers, no equals, and no superiors save the Emperor.  Each was a masterpiece, and each created to be able to counter any threat.  And now, their leader had strode into the High Lords’ chambers unannounced.  Many of the Lords inclined their heads respectfully as the Ecclesiarch spoke.   

“Captain-General Launceddre.  An honor to see you here.”  

“The Emperor has spoken to us.”  Launceddre dropped the bombshell without pause or preamble.  Several of the High Lords audibly gasped.  The Masters of the Astronomican and Astra Telepathica looked up in interest.  

“How have we not heard of this?”  

“It is a recent development.  We came here as soon as possible,” replied Launceddre.  

“How did the Emperor speak with you?”  Launceddre frowned.  

“It was all rather strange.  As you may know, the Emperor cannot speak in His current state.  But this time… somehow He did.  He spoke aloud.”

“What did he say?”  Most of the High Lords were leaning in, hanging on the Captain-General’s every word.  Even the massively augmented and emotionless Fabricator General seemed interested.  

“He told us to ‘approach the new galaxies with caution.  Use diplomacy and peace, for we will need allies.’”  

“Diplomacy?” scoffed the Inquisitor.  Every eye (or in some cases, empty sockets and cybernetic machines) turned to her.  

“Are you questioning the word of the Emperor?” asked Launceddre plainly.  The Inquisitor paled beneath her hood.  

“No- no of course not!  I would never…” she stammered.  

“Good,” replied Launceddre.  “Summon the masses of your organizations, for we have planning to do.” 

Within the Eye of Terror, Sicarus, Daemon World of the Word Bearers Traitor Legion

Heavy footsteps sounded on the distorted rock floor.  They drowned out the chanting of prayers to the Dark Gods, drowned out the crash and squeal of the heavy iron gates opening, and drowned out the whispers that came at the figure’s approach.  For there were whispers.  Whispers of fear, whispers of awe.  The figure towered over all of the whisperers, towered over even the super-human guards of the Word Bearers, and almost came up to the very top of the twisted iron gates.  The figure gathered a crowd, all servants of the Dark Gods, who knelt and prostrated themselves at the figure’s feet, for the figure was touched by the gods themselves.  

Mortarion, the Death Lord, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Champion of Nurgle, strode purposefully down the path from the outer gates leading to the Templum Inficio, the home of his brother.  Seven massive men followed him, staying exactly forty-nine paces behind him.  They were his personal bodyguard, the Deathshroud Terminators, and it was their job to sacrifice life and limb to protect him.  Not, of course, that he needed protecting.  His body was beyond that of any human, any alien, any creature of the material realm, even beyond the god-like physiques of any of his father’s creations.  He spat the word out like a curse in his mind.  He was beyond the touch of his father now.  

He stood a full sixteen feet tall, taller than all of his brothers.  Great wings, creaking and rotting, gifts from the Lord of Decay, sprouted from his back.  His flesh, tougher than steel, fused with his armor, creating a disgusting, dripping, mess, another gift from his Lord.  A massive scythe, his preferred weapon, was strapped to his back, and an oversized pistol, glowing with ancient and eldritch power, was attached to his hip.  His eyes, glistening with a thin sheen of mucus, stared out with hate from under a heavy hood.  He was the living embodiment of death.  He was the Grim Reaper made flesh.  And currently, he was very pissed off.  

Why, why, did he have to be here?  He didn’t want to be here.  He could be doing a thousand different things; concocting plagues, gardening, feeding the oversized insects, gifts from his Lord, that always seemed to follow his sons, hell, even perhaps murder some of his loyalist nephews.  He would rather be anywhere else but here.  Here, in his brother’s domain.  He had received summons from Lorgar, whom he hadn’t talked to in 10,000 years, to come here and deliberate the current situation.  Not so much as a “Hi Mortarion, how are you?” in 10,000 years, and suddenly Lorgar needed his help.  That was the reason he was here, he suspected.  Always, he was required to solve problems that his imbecile brothers or his bastard of a father couldn’t.  Never “Mortarion, we really appreciate your help!” or “Hey, Mortarion, I want to talk with you,” it was always “Mortarion, we need your help!” or “Mortarion, we have a problem that we can’t solve.”  Mortarion do this, Mortarion do that.  He was fed up with it.  He was prepared to ignore the summons, but Nurgle, his master, had ordered him, as His champion, to be present at the meeting.  It was then that Mortarion had heard the worst news of all.  All, all, all, of his brothers would be there.  Gods damnnit.   

Lorgar he could stand.  Even though Lorgar hadn’t talked to him in 10,000 years, he could stand him, for Lorgar was level headed and possessed a degree of common sense, which was more than he could say for most of his kin.  Angron he could stand, too, because Angron only cared about killing things, which was fine by Mortarion.  Perturabo, another of his brothers, would be there as well, which he didn’t mind either.  Perturabo he liked, for Perturabo was much like himself.  But the rest… the rest.  Fulgrim was too glitzy, too showing, too pretentious, and was, to put it mildly, a complete and utter deviant.  Magnus, another brother, he completely loathed.  Magnus and himself had never seen eye to eye, and he considered Magnus to be a dangerous imbecile who flung warpcraft and magic around with no thought of the repercussions.  Then there was Alpharius, who no one liked, because Alpharius had made it his mission in life to be as sneaky and secretive as possible.  And, of course, inevitably, unfortunately, there would be his nephew, Abbadon.  After Horus, another one of his brothers, had been killed by father, Abbadon had taken over Horus’s forces.  Horus was a real leader of men, a good general, a good brother, and, at least from Mortarion and the rest of his traitorous kins’ perspective, the true leader of the Imperium of Man. 

Abbadon...left much to be desired.  In 10,000 years, he had launched twelve, just twelve, attacks on the Imperium.  None of them had succeeded, several of them being defeated by mortals.  Abbadon was a complete failure of a general who thought himself equal to his uncles.  That was plainly not the case, and Mortarion had no idea why Lorgar had invited Abbadon to this meeting.  He knew for a fact that Lorgar and the rest of his brothers couldn’t stand the man.  It must be something important indeed for all the leaders of the Traitor Legions to be summoned.  And now Mortarion would find out what.  

Word Bearers, the sons of Lorgar, saluted to him as he walked through the long hallways of the temple to his brother’s chambers.  The boiling, unnatural, red sky of Sicarius could be seen through massive stained glass windows emblazoned with the eight-pointed star of Chaos.  Mortarion walked through endless hallways, some weeping blood and pus from the walls, others distorted to unnatural and horrifying shapes, until he reached the inner sanctum.  Two massive daemons, one a deep blood red, covered in spines and with far too many teeth, the other a mass of necrotic flesh and weeping boils, guarded the door and bowed as he approached.  The heavy black stone double doors opened, souls of the damned trapped inside screaming in agony as they tried to break free.  And inside, his brother.

Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Seventeenth Legion, his form twisted by the powers of the Dark Gods and his face illuminated by unholy light emanating from within him, rose from his seat with what could be described as a smile on his face.  

“Mortarion.  A pleasure to see you after all this time.”  Mortarion gave a half agreeing nod, half respectful bow.  

“I can say the same about you as well.”  He looked past Lorgar and nodded affably at the two other forms seated at the massive stone table.  

“Perturabo, Fulgrim, good to see you.”  He glanced at Fulgrim and did a double take.  “I must say, you’ve changed since I last saw you.”  Fulgrim smiled dazzlingly.  The effect was rather ruined by the odd, unnatural perfectness and violet hue of his face.  

“I have been blessed by the Dark Prince.  I am now more beautiful than any other.”  He paused for dramatic effect as Perturabo rolled his eyes.  “I am perfect.  You must have obviously noticed my face, which is-”  Mortarion cut him off.  

“No,” he stated bluntly.  “Why do you have four arms?  And why in the name of the gods do you have a snake tail?”  Fulgrim glanced down at the lilac tail that had replaced his lower body.  

“I… uh… it’s a gift from Slaanesh. Whom, of course, I serve, as you all well know.  It represents-”

“Yes, thank you Fulgrim,” said Lorgar before he could say anything else.  Apparently Fulgrim had been rambling before Mortarion arrived, something he most definitely did not regret missing.  

“Now we have Mortarion here.  Where’s everyone else?” asked Perturabo tiredly.  Before anyone else could answer, an ear splitting crack filled the room as everyone inside was dazzled by a flash of blinding light that seemed to be every color in existence, yet at the same time had no color.  The air cleared, and, standing where the flash had appeared, was a tall figure in ornamented armor.  His skin and hair were both pure crimson, and his one good eye glowed with eldritch power.  Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, had arrived.  Mortarion promptly gave him a glare that had, on occasion, wilted plants.  

“Still so unnecessarily dramatic,” Mortarion sneered.  Magnus shot him a glare that could literally kill.

“Mortarion.  Still so extraordinarily obtuse.  Tsk, tsk.  How are your psychic powers working out for you?” replied Magnus.

“They are not psychic powers!” exploded Mortarion.  He settled uncomfortably into a chair.  “It’s science.”  Magnus rolled his one eye, which rather spoiled the gesture.

“Oh yes, of course.  Creating an entire planet with your mind and killing things with a gesture is science.  Please tell me more.”  

“It is not your pathetic and dangerous sorcery, you moron.  I’ve seen sorcery growing up.  It ruined my adoptive homeworld.  My science does not destroy or rend reality as yours does.  It complies-”

“You still are so incredibly stubborn as to think that is not sorcery?  I’ve seen infants with a higher I.Q. than yours!”

“You’ve just been sour ever since I was proven right at the Council of Nikea,” said Mortarion.

“I am not!  I was not wrong then, and I am not wrong now!  Father just listened to you because he wanted to limit my greatness!” 

“Or because you can’t cope with the fact that Leman and I were right.”

“Do not ever say that fucking name!”  

“What? Leman?  Leman, Leman, Leman…”

“Shut up!”  

“Would you two please stop?  The Council of Nikea was ten thousand years ago.  Get over it,” said Lorgar, exasperated.  He sighed.  “While you two were bickering, Abbadon arrived.”  Mortarion and Magnus looked up to see a figure, much shorter than the rest of them, encased in black armor, sitting at the edge of the table.  “Now we’re only missing Angron and Alpharius.”

“Let’s get on with it, Lorgar,” said Fulgrim, looking bored.  

“But Angron and Alpharius haven’t arrived yet!”  

“Angron is now so consumed by bloodlust that I doubt he could even form coherent sentences, let alone plan for the future.  And Alpharius is probably around.  Somewhere.”  

“...fine.  Right, let's go,” sighed Lorgar.  “You are probably wondering why I summoned you all here today.  Recently, through the bending of time and space, nine different galaxies, from nine different realities, have come together to exist in one universe.”

“None of this would have happened if it wasn't for your sorcery, Magnus.  Again, I’m right.”

“It wasn’t my fault!  It was my idiot first captain, trying to reverse his Rubric.  He was conducting an extremely delicate psychic ritual.  The Imperial Inquisition arrived, two extremely powerful points of energy originated from other galaxies, the ritual went to hell, and here we are,” said Magnus.

“Which still proves my ten thousand year old point that sorcery-”

“Mortarion, shut up,” interjected Lorgar tiredly.

“Thank you!”

“Magnus, you too.”  Magnus harrumphed and crossed his arms.  Lorgar rubbed his forehead.

“This is why we never get anything done.”

“Hey, I actually get things done.”  Abbadon spoke for the first time.  “The rest of you just sit on your planets, doing nothing, while I-”

“Shut up and let me talk,” said Lorgar.  “Anyway, as I was saying, nine different galaxies came together.  It is our job to spread the truth of Chaos to all of them.  However, the problem is, none of us can do it alone.  So, the question is, how do we proceed?”  The room exploded.

“We attack now, get the false Imperium out of the way, then destroy anything that dares cross our path!” said Abbadon.

“No, we bide our time, marshal our forces, and wait for the perfect moment to strike!” shot back Mortarion.

“I disagree.  The Warp in the other universes is calm and uncorrupted.  We use this to our advantage.  We hold psychic mastery over everyone except Father.  With the power of the Immateriums of the other dimensions, we can finally tear down Terra's psychic defenses and destroy the Astronomican, thus dooming the Imperium forever,” stated Magnus.

“No!  I will not partake in any of this psychic nonsense.  I-”

“You’re a psyker, Mortarion.”

“No I’m not!  It’s… different.”

“No it’s not!”

Two Hours Later

“Okay.”  Perturabo interrupted Mortarion, Fulgrim, and Magnus, who were currently bickering over whose legion had better-looking armor.  “Lorgar.  Thank you for making me sit through another gods-damned family reunion.  It’s been fun, everyone, but this is pointless and I’m leaving.”  He got up and walked out of the room.  

“Wait!  You can’t leave!  We haven’t even come up with anything yet!” yelled Lorgar to his retreating form.  

“Enjoyable as it has been watching some of the most powerful individuals in the universe bickering like schoolchildren, I must say I agree with Perturabo,” idly intoned Fulgrim.  “I have better things to do with my time.”  With a snap of his fingers and a puff of sweet smelling lavender smoke, he disappeared.  Lorgar turned helplessly to his remaining brothers.

“We can’t just leave with nothing!  We have to come up with some form of plan.”  Magnus sighed.  

“I have a feeling that even if I came up with the most brilliant of plans, some of my brothers wouldn’t follow it just out of spite.  Do what you want.  I’m leaving.”  He snapped his fingers and disappeared with a loud pop! and swirl of color.  Mortarion turned to Lorgar.

“Sorry we couldn’t come up with something.  But if we did, I would probably end up doing all the work anyway.”  And he, too, strode from the room, leaving the servants of Chaos with no plan.  As per usual.

That’s it.  I must admit, it was quite fun writing the Primarchs arguing with each other.  Again, if you have any requests, comments, criticisms, or concerns, feel free to ask.  Also, if you like the “governments interacting” more than the Scoundrels, or vice versa, please tell me.   

[writeyouin]

Connor X Reader - Do You Dream? Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Tired

A/N – Here’s hoping that everyone’s doing okay.

Warnings – Minor violence. Minor non-con.

Rating – T

Connor stood alone in the corner of the briefing room, listening to the instructions for the Strike Team. He was relieved that Hank had been chosen to lead the rescue attempt and that he was allowed to be a part of it after disobeying orders. Captain Fowler had told Connor in no uncertain terms that he was going to be punished for his insubordination at the warehouse, after the case was closed. Thankfully, the Captain was just as concerned for you as everybody else was; he at least saw how valuable it was to keep Connor on the force instead of punishing him immediately.

In the sombre meeting, Connor didn’t think he had ever seen the force looking so intense. Even Gavin, who was usually so arrogant, was listening intently with a grim expression on his face. Thanks to Connor’s insubordination, the blueprints to your suspected location were displayed on the projector behind Hank.

“All right,” Hank said, resting his hands on the podium. “Connor and Jenkins will be with me, taking the front entrance.”

Hank pointed to the entrance on the map.

“I want Reed, Martinez & Piotr at the back. Sanchez, Jones, Potts – You’re on the fire escape. As far as the rest of you are concerned, I want you posted outside in case shit hits the fan. You got that?”

There was a chorus of “Yes Lieutenant,” after which Hank excused everyone to gear up for the mission.

Once everyone but Hank and Connor had left the room, Hank put a comforting hand on Connor’s shoulder, “We’ll get her back son.”

“Yeah,” Connor quietly agreed, praying that Hank was right; if he believed for even one second that you were dead, he knew he would stop functioning.

You stared down at yourself in your new outfit, feeling nauseas. The Flayer had given you time to dress in the tiny bathroom, but not in your original clothes. He had provided a blue lingerie cat-suit with slits across the ribs, black thigh high stockings, and a children’s police badge to pin over the strap.

While the outfit was humiliating, you had no choice other than to wear it. After you had been forced to strip to save Connor’s life, the Flayer had stolen your other clothes. So, it was either wear the lingerie or remain in your birthday suit for him to ogle you. As disgraceful as the outfit was, you were actually grateful for it, or rather, you were grateful for the imitation police badge anyway. While the badge was only plastic, the pin was metal.

Carefully, you used the pin on your shock bracelet, attempting to pry some of the wires loose. You hoped there wasn’t some kind of alarm hidden in the bracelet, but there was hardly time to worry about such things. Any day now the Flayer could decide to kill you. After all, he was only waiting for your face to heal so you would be a better fuck when you were dead. He could decide at any minute that it wasn’t worth waiting for and kill you anyway. Besides, even if he did wait for you to heal, he wouldn’t be waiting long. Whatever medication he was giving you was working faster than anything you had taken before. In another week, the light bruising left over from the assault would be completely gone.

You released a shaky breath as you managed to pry a yellow wire off the bracelet. You hoped the Flayer wouldn’t notice that it was missing among the masses of other wires. Although you longed to tear away the rest of the wires, you knew you were running out of time; if you didn’t go back into the cellar, the Flayer would know something was wrong. Besides, you also wanted the element of surprise when you sprung the attack and while he might not notice on missing yellow wire, he would definitely notice if there were no wires left at all.

You pinned the imitation police badge onto your outfit, thinking it might make a good memento mori, should you survive your escape attempt. There was no guarantee that your plan was going to work. The yellow wire might have nothing to do with electrocuting you; if that was the case, then by attacking, you would be signing your own death warrant.

You allowed yourself one more minute to limber up which was refreshing after being tied to a chair for so long. Taking a deep breath, you left the bathroom, ready to fight for your life as soon as the perfect opportunity presented itself. As you stepped out, the Flayer was stood by the door, watching you intensely.

“Aren’t you a wonderful sight,” He praised, licking his lips.

His hand was poised over the watch, ready to electrocute you, should you make any move against him.

“I’m not a fan,” You replied dryly.

“Oh? You have a problem with such a ravishing outfit? It doesn’t make you all hot inside?”

“I just find lingerie to be a funny concept. Why bother getting all dressed up like this if the idea is just to remove the outfit immediately for sex?”

The Flayer laughed hard at that. “Yes, yes, I see your point. If it makes you feel any better, I plan to have you stay in the outfit until the thin veil of death separates us, m’lady, but first, you must play another of my games. Now, present yourself before me,” He gestured to the spot in front of him, careful to keep his hand close to the watch at all times.

Obediently, you did as he commanded, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Very good, m’lady. Now, I want to watch you pleasure yourself. Go on, finger that tight little pussy of yours.”

Your lip drew back in a snarl as you threw yourself angrily at the Flayer. He pressed his finger against the button on his watch, shock painting his face when nothing happened. You let out a banshee-like scream of rage and started a violent assault on your captor. Here was a man who had stalked you, became a figure to fear, beat and humiliated you, and murdered multiple innocent women who you now felt a kinship towards. At your hands, the Flayer would pay, for all of those he had hurt.

Each team of the Strike Force was in position at the warehouse. Connor, Hank and Jenkins took the front entrance, with Connor hacking each of the cameras on the way in. While he would have liked to hack them all at once, it was impossible to do so. The cameras were all on separate relays, leading to various power sources; once again, the Fornication Flayer had proved himself to be a tech genius.

Fortunately, the Flayer was not around to activate the turrets dotted around the building. However, that only added to Connor’s growing list of concerns. If the Flayer wasn’t monitoring the security network, where was he? Connor once again prayed for your safety. He wished he had a gun, should he need it to aid you, but as android laws still wouldn’t change for another few months, Connor would have to rely on his team.

“Back entrance is clear,” Gavin’s voice came from the earpiece.

“Fire escape clear,” Potts added.

“Front is clear,” Hank replied. “Reed, take your team further in to sweep the first floor. Potts, take your team to sweep floor two. We’ll take the underground. Stay in radio contact and for god’s sake, be careful. This isn’t your average criminal.”

Painstakingly slowly, everyone pressed on in their search to find the perpetrator and, with any luck, you. Every room, corner, and doorway were checked. The only sound to break the silence was the occasional “Clear” on the radio, usually followed by an order from Hank.

Finally, it seemed that the search was getting somewhere when Jenkins stumbled into a darkroom. Hundreds of photographs of the Flayer’s victims were pinned to the walls, taken before and after their deaths. The newest photos were in a pile at the end of the table. Connor started flicking through them, hoping to find some sign of your location. There were several pictures of you and Gavin walking to and from his apartment, then a few of you and Hank together. Connor’s hand clenched into a fist, creasing the next picture; it was one of you and him on the park bench when he had kissed you; the shock on your face was palpable. Where was the Flayer that night? Neither of you had seen him, but sure enough, he had been there to photograph one of Connor’s worst memories.

Flicking quickly to the next picture, Connor’s thirium pump seemed to squeeze in nervous anticipation. It was you, beat, bloodied, and unconscious, tied to a chair in a dark cellar.

“Lieutenant,” He beckoned Hank over, showing him the picture.

Hank let out a muted, “Fuck,” but then he saw what Connor had. On the wall behind you was a number. If the picture was anything to go by, you were on floor -5. Hank gave orders to Gavin’s team to meet him in the stairwell.

Unable to wait any longer, Connor slipped away from the others, heading down the stairs. Before he could go any lower, he was tugged back by Hank.

“I gave you an order to wait,” Hank growled.

Connor pulled his arm free of Hank’s grasp, “If it was anyone else-”

“I will not have you running in and getting yourself killed. You hear me? You wait until the others get here or you fall back. Are we clear?”

Before Connor could answer, a woman’s scream came from below. Connor didn’t need permission to go this time as Hank ran downstairs and he followed. When they got to the bottom floor, Hank had his gun trained on the first door they came to. Connor stood to the side of the frame and at Hank’s signal, pushed it open. What they saw made them falter.

Your fists were covered in blood as you beat the man underneath you senseless. It only took a few seconds for the pair to realise that your kidnapper wasn’t getting up any time soon. Connor ran to your side, resting his hands on your shoulders and pulling you away from the man.

“NO!” You screamed, flailing, “I’M GONNA KILL HIM.”

“(Y/N)!” Connor yelled. “IT’S ME, CONNOR. I’VE GOT YOU.”

It took you a few minutes to calm down from the blind rage you had been in. “Connor?” You looked up to the concerned face of your best friend, and then to Hank who was handcuffing the unconscious form of the Flayer.

“You found me,” You whispered.

Connor took his jacket off and wrapped it around you, “We never stopped looking. Come on, we’ll get you out of here.”

“Wait,” You said before Connor could drag you away. You approached the Flayer and removed his watch, explaining that he used it to activate his technology. Shortly thereafter, you gave up any semblance of control to Connor who removed you from your prison as fast as he could.

While Hank’s team took care of the Flayer, you were taken to the hospital for an examination. Although Connor wished to take you back to his home once you were proclaimed physically well, Captain Fowler ordered you back to the precinct for a report. Connor was about to argue but you rested a hand on his shoulder, giving a small, tired smile that somehow managed to reflect only your sadness.

“It’s okay,” You told him. “Let’s just get the statement over with.”

So, with only the lingerie and Connor’s jacket to wear, Connor drove you to the station. Although you were physically and emotionally exhausted, you did your best to explain everything that had happened, from the Flayer’s deception about being Gavin, to the final moments leading up to your rescue. Everything you said was filmed to save you writing the report for a while. You were surprised when Captain Fowler apologised for bringing you in immediately.

“We’re giving you three months paid sabbatical,” He told you, “during which you will be appointed a psychiatrist trained for situations like this, okay?”

It wasn’t really a question and you didn’t bother to argue anyway; if it had been anyone else in your shoes, you would expect them to see a shrink too. “Yes, Captain.”

“Good. Take her home Detective,” Fowler addressed Connor. “And make sure she gets some rest.”

Connor nodded, and led you back to the car, setting off for Hank’s place.

“How are you feeling?” He asked for the first time since seeing you.

In the serenity of the car, you felt safe enough to answer. “I’m- Shit, I don’t know. I’m a lot of things. How about you, Con? How have you been?”

“This isn’t about me (Y/N). I just- I need to know you’re going to be okay.”

“I-” You wanted to tell him that you were in love with him, but with so much going on, you knew it wasn’t the right time. Before you knew it, you started crying. “I’m sorry.”

“What? (Y/N), you have nothing to be sorry for.” Connor pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car.

You shook your head, “You’re wrong. I- I have to say sorry. I’m sorry that I made you worry, I’m sorry that I hurt you, I’m sorry that we argued, I’m sorry I left you to go with Gavin, and I’m sorry I-”

Connor pulled you into a tight hug, cutting you off. You could feel his tears dripping down your neck. “It was my fault,” He whispered. “I chased you away. Don’t apologise when it was me who failed to protect you.”

He might have gone on about how selfish he had felt the night that you had left him, but it didn’t seem to matter. In the silence of the car as the two of you clung onto one another, nothing else mattered.

“Connor,” You said after a few minutes. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah, okay.”

There was nothing else to say as Connor took you back to Hank’s small house. Sumo, who had been sleeping on the kitchen floor, peeked at you through sleepy eyes. He let out a low whine and lazily wagged his tail against the floor to show that he was happy you were back. After petting him, you looked around dazedly, unsure of what to do next.

“Do you want to sleep?” Connor asked, keeping a close eye on you and monitoring your stress levels.

“Not until I shower,” You said trying to sound more assured than you felt.

“I’ll get you some clothes.”

Although you had taken all of your clothes to Gavin’s, Connor still came back with some of his own pyjamas. Despite the fact that the android didn’t sleep, you had gotten him a few pairs for Christmas, claiming they were good comfort clothes; he usually wore them when night time rolled around.

Connor noticed that you showered silently, and he missed your terrible singing that used to fill the house when you got washed. He always used to make fun of you for it in one of your many games and you would often claim that he was just jealous. Now, there was only the pitter-patter of water to hear, accompanied by the occasional splash.

“I’ve put fresh sheets on Hank’s bed,” Connor told you once you came out of the bathroom. “He won’t mind you sleeping in there tonight.”

Although you knew he was right, a look of panic crossed your face; if your nightmares were bad before the Flayer had caught you, they were only going to be worse now.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asked.

“I’m scared,” You breathed. “I know he won’t come back, but what if-”

Connor drew you into another hug, stroking your hair tenderly, “It’s okay. I promise I won’t let anything else bad happen to you.”

You wrapped your arms around Connor’s slender waist, “Stay with me?”

In a silent agreement, Connor led you to the bed, tucking you in and staying to spoon you. Exhausted from your incarceration, you fell asleep almost instantly, and for the first time since you had gone, Connor allowed himself to go into a much-needed stasis as well.

A few hours later, Hank came back from the police station, feeling his age start to catch up with him. He wasn’t entirely sure that you and Connor would be there, thinking that you might have gone to your own apartment. Padding into his bedroom, Hank stopped short. Seeing you and Connor sleeping together tugged at his heart. He knew about everything that had happened at the park before you went to Gavin’s place.

Sighing heavily, Hank murmured, “Don’t break his heart kid.”

With that, he went to sleep on the sofa, painfully aware that nothing would be the same for a while.

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[brimbrimbrimbrim]

Sandor/Sansa (1K) Charity Commission

She was a woman grown now, but every time he looked that Lady in the eye, he saw those misty blues of a young, beaten child, no more blooded than a freshly-scrubbed babe. Her handmaidens could dress her in the most elegant silks, douse her in perfumed oils and colored powders all they desired, but it made no difference to him. She was a child still, somewhere… deep down, because there was no real for Lady Stark to desire a filthy, old dog like Sandor Clegane.

The Queen of Winterfell stood no more than a few inches taller than she was then, under the shade of green hellfire more than two long winters ago. Though her features had slimmed into that of a true Lady, Sandor knew better.

At the feasting hall, he stood sentry, waiting for someone to twitch too close to his Lady so that he might take this throbbing ache in his blood and exorcise it with violence. The glances of blue ice she continued devouring him with were affecting him more than any whores touch had before. Attention - paid to him by a girl he once threatened with his sword and his cock - caressed the knitted scars down his face with her looks, making a heated flame beneath the firm flesh blister and grow.

Her words from earlier, on their walk to the hall from her chambers, echoed between his ears.

'Think on me as a woman while you stand by my side, Clegane, for it is what I am now.'

Sandor knew better than to take his eyes off the occupants devouring their meals, which made it all the easier to reject that notion. In his memory of her, it was easy to see only the babe - only the naive and courteous little bird. Her chirps recited from centuries-old septa teachings. So small and weak.

Eventually, the main course was removed from the long tables, and dessert of honey-roasted fig meal cake that smelt of summer came and, as the rest, soon went. Sour wine was offered to him during the last legs of the evening, but he snarled at the serving wench, and off she flew. There was only one woman his sneers never worked on… only one reason he kept out of his cups these days.

But she was a child, not a woman grown…

"Clegane," sugared words of sweet ice spoke to him.

Sandor shrugged off his nerves and the hot iron in his blood. His Lady was done, and so too was he - done in the halls at least.

She lifted her hand from her lap, casting him a wan smile as he took it in the body-warmed gauntlet longing to grasp soft skin. Now that he had to look at her, it was painfully apparent how much she'd grown. No, she was not much taller, and no, she wasn't as curvaceous as other women her age… yet she was a woman.

Her beauty was nearly revolting, sending his guts into torn knots, wiggling with rot and desire. She either truly wanted him, or she found pleasure in teasing the man who once found joy in tormenting her soul for his own sick desires. Whatever Little Finger put her through in The Veil must have scarred her mind for the Lady of Winterfell to consider taking a beaten dog into her bed.

The walkways to her chambers were nearly deserted. Only a maid with soiled sheets saw them walking too closely, her Lady purposefully taking slower steps to be closer to her Sworn Shield.

Once they were alone, aside from the whispering torches, Sansa looked to him with a coy expression, "Did you succeed in your noble convictions, Clegane?"

His upper lip twitched upwards, exposing naked teeth and puckered scar tissue alike, as though that said it all.

She smiled out the corner of his eye, "I see."

"Could be that you're teasing a rabid dog, my Lady." She despised it when he called her that title in private, same as he spat on 'Ser.' His bite covered the pounding of his heart - a sensation spread through all the arteries in his body… especially the neglected one below.

Her nose scrunched up, helping his resolve some, but the womanly flush to her cheeks and chest caught his eyes a moment later. Against his will, images of the Lady Sansa - Lady of Winterfell - on her knees before him, made his cock throb.

"I have had this conversation with you a thousand times," she spoke as though it were true, "In dreams and midday thoughts. As I bathe or break my fast. We have had this discussion so often that I find this one, in particular, tiring."

Sandor had few appropriate words, so he said nothing in turn.

Looking back to the bend in the hall, she continued, "As Lady of Winterfell I am allowed to do as I please, if that means I take a lover like so many great Ladies before me, then that is my choice."

"They'll whisper in court," he snarled, imagining their tongues wagging above the edge of his sword. A gathering full of mutes would be the result of her indiscretion and his honor.

"... they whisper now," she reminded him.

Fucking Little Finger.

An uncomfortable and itchy silence covered the rest of their walk to her chambers. The two guards standing there exchanged looks with him, passed the token to the Lady's chambers, and marched off for their next shift on the palisades. They asked no words about their familiar distance between one another, because true to her words, she could do as she liked now.

At her ornate bedroom door, Sansa turned to him with a hopeful little stare, "If the Lords and Ladies gossip of my virtue, I would rather them mix your name with mine. One day…" her face fell, "I will take a husband. This is a man I will not love but hopefully tolerate. Until then, I would like to know how it feels to be with someone I choose."

Her words sliced his in twos, then fours, then eighths until he found himself panting; hunched over her like a true beast from the woods.

"You're choosing wrong, Little Bird."

Finally, her lips twisted into something stripped of courtesies and falsehoods, "For a man infamous for spitting on so-called honor, you surely clutch to it now, Sandor."

"... Sansa."

His blood was boiling. Those forced images of Sansa's plump cheeks and loose dresses burned under her blue flames. All he saw now was her: a woman, a Lady, and Sansa.

A victorious smile was his defeat.

As her door opened, he followed. Her footsteps skidded backward across heated stonework, so he advanced closer. The Lady lifted her skirts, and the dog tore loose her laces. Sandor Clegane was scorched a third time, but the fire slid beneath his nails and behind his teeth, charring the hateful leavings the Quiet Isle never found.

Sansa Stark got what she wanted… because she wasn't a child anymore, but a woman grown - a woman who knew what she wanted and how to obtain it. Oddly enough, it's all Sandor ever wanted for her.

Thank you to Anonymous for their $25 donation to BLM. To get your own 500-1000 word custom fanfic, donate to either BLM or another charity in support of the protests against police brutality. DM me proof of your donation and your request. Thanks!

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: I’d Know You Anywhere

This one has been on my ff.net account for some time, so I apologize to anyone who’s gotten this far thinking it’s a brand new story. It's much longer than any fic I've posted on here before, other than my CSSNS werewolf fic, more involved, and has a completely AU non-magic setting, somewhere around the timeframe of the season two premiere. It's meant to be intense and suspenseful with some slow burn romance building as it goes along. There are elements of different movies I love, from 'The Bodyguard' to 'Sister Act' in here, and most of the police/FBI knowledge I'm using comes from television, but I hope it still melds into its own unique thing and that readers will enjoy it. Definitely still CS, and I'd definitely still love to hear what people think as it goes along.

** It seemed like the perfect time to bring it back though, since @sherlockianwhovian​ gifted me this stunning fic cover art as a Christmas present!! Thank you so much! I’m just thrilled and really can’t stop looking at it!! :)

Can also be found on A03 and ff.net

Prologue

'Keep going…faster…don't look back,' her mind repeats in terror as her feet hit the pavement over and over. Emma Swan clutches her son's small hand in hers even tighter. She is desperate, knowing he is stumbling, tired, and confused, but not daring to slow down or stop. "Just a little further, Henry," she breathes, trying to comfort him, though her mind is its own horrified blank, and she doesn't know what she's doing or where she's going.

'Think Emma,' she orders herself, forcing a deep breath and trying to focus.

People call out bets, various machines ring and whir, coins rattle and clink, men and women push in all around them until she and Henry are like salmon swimming upstream. All Emma Swan can do is keep looking over her shoulder, praying they haven't been followed, praying they won't be caught.

She had only wanted to ask a question. Things had been routine, normal. She had gone to Spencer's office, wanting to make sure she had the correct job assignments for the day. As head of security at The Kingdom, Vegas' ritziest hotel and casino, and proud of the position which was admittedly an unusual one for a woman, Emma liked to make sure the owner, George Spencer, was pleased, and that she and her team were aware of any new problems or red flags which might be on her boss' radar. She had given her customary curt knock, thought she had heard no answer, and stepped in – as she often did. What she had seen instead shattered her reality in one sweeping moment.

Where she had been expecting Spencer's aged but still imposing figure sitting behind his rich, mahogany desk, Emma had instead seen him holding a revolver against the temple of a very familiar figure, held in place by two of his henchmen, Greg and James.

Emma is no naïve innocent; she'd always known there were shady dealings at her place of employ – though she had never been involved in any of them. Walking in on cold-blooded murder, however, is still a nightmare she can hardly believe. She had frozen for a second, thankfully making no noise, and she honestly isn't sure if she was seen or not. She had quickly backed out, and let the door close silently, then she was running to she, Graham, and Henry's living quarters.

Tears keep streaming down her face, and Emma can only hope that Henry doesn't see; she doesn't want him to be any more traumatized than he must be already. Her hands shake beyond her control, no matter how valiantly she fights to stay calm for her little boy. She simply can't stop seeing the blood, hearing Graham's body thump against the floor, and the horror of that silent moment, viewing her boss' evil look of self-satisfaction and fearing she had been detected. It had taken her only seconds to reach the elevator up a floor, mere minutes to slip into the room she had left Henry contentedly playing in, and scoop all the clean clothes in her dresser drawer and then Henry's into a large duffle, tell her son (with what she'd attempted to make a look of bright-eyed excitement) that they were going on an adventure, take his hand, pull him to the door, scan the hall, and then slide them both into the elevator again unseen.

"What happened, Mama?" Henry looks up at her now, confusion plain in his open, trusting gaze. She doesn't want to frighten him, but she can't risk slowing down to explain, or for them to be heard, so she leans down to give him a quick, gentle squeeze and rub his arm.

"It's okay, Baby," she whispers, looking him right in the eyes, willing her little boy to believe her. "Mama won't let anything happen to you. It's gonna be fine. But we have to be very quiet right now. Can you do that for me?"

Henry nods seriously, as sweet and agreeable as always. For a second, Emma is unnerved once more by the feeling she sometimes has, that her child is a small adult trapped in a five-year-old body. At any rate, Henry says no more, simply holds onto her trembling hand, clutching his beloved Snow White and the Seven Dwarves picture book under his other arm.

The elevator pings as they reach the lower basement level of the casino and the employee car park. Emma debates frantically for a moment whether she should try to find Graham's battered Jeep or not. 'He certainly can't need it anymore,' her tangled thoughts weep bitterly. She decides against the search though, realizing that the parking garage is large and full, and she will waste valuable minutes hunting. Yes, they can make better time driving than on foot, but only if they get into the vehicle and away before someone finds them. Instead, she pulls Henry at her side up out of the lower level onto the packed city street.

Rushing, but not running conspicuously, down the Vegas strip, the night drapes around them in flickering shadows lit and spun by the dancing lights of casinos, quickie chapels, all-night diners, and hotels. Henry trips and nearly goes down, only the fact that she's clutching his hand so tightly prevents his fall. Crying out sharply, he forces Emma to stop for a second, seeing that he has dropped his favorite story. She stoops to grab it before some passerby can knock it away, then scoops both it and Henry up in her arms and keeps going.

She still glances behind her constantly, praying she won't see the known faces of any of Spencer's goons. There have been no running feet following them or angry voices shouting for her to stop, but Emma can't slow the racing of her heart or shake the sense of being chased, of not being far enough away to be safe.

Seconds, minutes, and then nearly an hour slide by. Emma is almost stumbling from exhaustion as well, exertion from hurry, fear, and carrying Henry nearly pushing her beyond the limits of her endurance. Her little boy hasn't made any more noise; she knows he is trying to do as she asked, but she can feel his slender little shoulders shaking beneath the hand she rests on his back, and feels his silent tears wetting the skin at her neck where he has buried his face. "It's okay, Baby," she soothes in a panted whisper. "We're about to stop and rest."

Emma feels his nod, agreeing with her as he always does. Her heart breaks a bit more for her little boy. How is she going to tell him that "Papa" is gone? That they no longer have a home to go to? That she is as lost and scared as he is?

They are nearing the edges of the gaudily-packed street now; there are still bars and restaurants and motels, but the whirl of beckoning bulbs and cacophony of sounds have faded a bit. She stumbles into the most nondescript – and admittedly seedy – motel in sight and makes her way straight to the check-in desk.

"Single room for one night," she states simply, keeping her head down and face partially hidden behind Henry's body. The clerk doesn't ask any questions, simply takes her cash, hands her a key, and slides a clipboard with the sign-in sheet across the desk to her. Thinking quickly, Emma writes 'Mary White' as her name, hoping it's much more common than 'Emma Swan', though she doesn't quite know how the alias comes to mind so quickly.

Nodding to the clerk, she turns away and heads down the hall, letting herself and Henry into the simple room at the far end. She bolts the door firmly behind them and tries to quell the fear inside her insisting they can't stop, they aren't far enough from danger yet. 'Henry's only five,' her mind berates. 'You have to let him rest. And you have to make a plan, calm down, regroup. They didn't see you leave, they can't trace cash, and you used a false name. You don't even know that they're after you.'

Sighing tiredly, Emma lays Henry down on the bed, takes off his sneakers, and then covers him up warmly. She slides out of her own boots and work blazer, leaving her tank and slacks on, in case they have to leave suddenly. It is nearing midnight, but she sets her alarm for four a.m. anyway, wanting to be moving on again before the rest of this nocturnal pit stirs. She isn't at all sure she will sleep anyway – not without sickening images replaying in her head – but she can push her body no further tonight. Where they go from here is a question she has no answer for yet.

Tagging: @kmomof4​ @laschatzi​ @therooksshiningknight​ @searchingwardrobes​ @spartanguard​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @hollyethecurious​ @killian-whump​ (it takes a bit to get there but there is some real whump eventually) @sherlockianwhovian​ @thisonesatellite​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @optomisticgirl​ @effulgentcolors​ @let-it-raines​ @gingerchangeling​ @carpedzem​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​

[cap-samwilson]

ghosts that we knew

wingfic. six original avengers. angst, with no comfort. mentions of murder, suicide, abuse, and alcoholism. 

on ao3 here.

natasha’s wings are… white.

a shock to her, to anyone who knows her. how is the black widow one with wings as white as snow, no soot or stain daring to change the color. but they’re perfect, as pure as the sacrificial lambs of old.

she uses them, when she can. letting them fan out to attract her mark. the light can filter through them, she looks like an angel (and no one’s original when they say it to her, asking when she fell from heaven, and she grins and plays along until they see how well she bites).

(angels don’t bite.)

she hates them. keeps them tight against her body. wishes she had wings dark as night, wings that showed just how fucked up she really is. but not even the red room can’t change that what’s in her genes. the same thing that makes her hair red is what makes her wings white.

red in her ledger. white on her back. they mock her in the mirror.

(a poor family, the snow freezing them. they were rich once. her mother’s hair, father’s beard, as red as her own. him, wandering out into the cold. never returning. her, dying in her sleep, as pale as the blanket that covers the city. and the girl vanishes. never returns.)

no one knows what happens to the family out by the tree line. one day they’re there. next they’re not, none except the mother, frozen to her sheets. so much for russian strength. the police don’t ask around. just the little boy in the village, who remembers the red of his friend’s hair, the puffy look of her wings. silenced by his mother, who takes him by the arm. they don’t look back as she hisses in his ear.

“отсутствует. маленькая девочка, которую больше никогда не увидишь. паук на ее месте.”

missing. the little girl, you will never see again. spider in her place. 

-

“you will never fly.”

steve punches a wall after that doctor’s appointment. ends up walking straight to his mother with tears streaming down his face, bucky offering the sheepish smile this time around as they thrust forward a broken wrist and three broken fingers for examination.

“you will never fly.”

his wings are so sparse, they look like someone plucked a chicken clean. pulled the feathers clean off, leaving nothing but the bones. no meat to be seen. pathetic. useless. the army won’t clear him based on the sight of him alone. maybe next time, kid. eat some more food, kid. go pick up some scrap, kid.

“you will never fly. but if i can help it, of course, give you a chance to fly… what would you do with it?”

“i don’t like bullies. don’t care where they’re from. what their wings look like.”

the serum gives him wings. beautiful ones, too. they’re strong, deep, brown. look like they were made for a man ten feet taller than the little kid who punched walls and used trash cans as shields. he can fly now. it takes a while to learn, but he can do it. he does it well.

his wings work fine.

so why can’t he catch bucky when he falls from that fucking train?

his wings work fine.

but when he’s putting the ship in the water, he doesn’t use ‘em.

-

he’s embarrassed about them, y’know.

they’re nothing graceful. by the time’s he’s two they look like they can engulf him. his father yells at him for it. screams that that he’s a freak. his mother cowers.

years later she’s gone, and bruce sees blood on his hands. his father’s blood is on the pavement.

if anything, they grow as he does. they fill rooms, the closets he hides in. so he keeps them wrapped up tight. keeps them pulled close around him, at night, when the shakes start. he never flies. never dares to lift his eyes above the ground he’s walking on. but he makes it. somehow. he can think for himself after all and does a hell of a job doing it.

liz laughs at his wings. like she gets the joke, the professor in his glasses with the wings meant for a professional athlete. her father laughs along. but for the first time, bruce laughs with them. because if it makes her smile, well. he’s willing to trip over a few feathers.

his wings fit around her. the room is full of them, and her laughter and the smell of the breakfast they’re cooking. she preens, straightens them out when they bend. the molt happens, and she helps pick up the pieces.

until she’s gone. and it’s all because of him.

the room is full of his feathers, the piles he leaves behind like further proof that she’s not coming back. harder to pick up with one set of hands, so he doesn’t. harder to fix the ones out of place when he can’t reach, so he refuses to. they fold against his back, and they never fill a room, because the only thing that deserves that honor is the way elizabeth ross smiled.

her father agrees.

how does a man with huge wings hide?

he runs.

(he flies.)

-

“the asgardians are a proud race,” odin tells them, and the authority makes their knees shake. even thor’s, as he stares at his father, at what he’s meant to be one day. “these wings, a gift from the gods. our strength, above all others in the universe. but we must be as strong with them as we are without.”

he can see it, even as a child. the coronation. beautiful women on his arms. loki by his side. he will be a good man. a great king. better than odin could ever be.

it is easy to practice. to pretend he holds the scepter, the crown on his head. to place bandages on his eye, tied behind his head, and boom his boys in an empty throne room. it is easy to see the future when that’s all you have ahead of you.

but soon he sees nothing else. sees nothing but the women that woo him and his friends that encourage him and his brother who envies him. he sees nothing else. mjolnir comes to him, and he feels it in every bone. he strikes down every enemy. what else does he need to tell him that he will be what he was always meant to be?

when they fight, he feels no wounds. he feels the wind in his hair, the chill of ice in his toes. watches giants fall, and challenges laufey where he sits above them.

a good king. he will be a good king.

“i was protecting our people!” he screams at his father, and he is a child again. his knees are shaking.

“you were protecting your pride!”

the world stops. the Bifrost splits open, and thor sees the rainbow, the crackling crystals. cold as jotunheim.

“i strip you of your power,” his father returns, and he sees not his father – he sees the odin of old. sees his fury, sees the pale horse he rides on. “i strip you of your wings. you do not deserve our ancestor’s gifts. you are a disgrace.”

his wings are gone.

he is falling.

so much for a good king.

-

the day after his father dies, clint barton turns in some homework, smokes behind the bleachers, and gives one last smile to the kid in his french class before he disappears.

the bartons were a dirty name anyway – it wasn’t like them leaving didn’t do more good than trying to stay in the house on the corner. the damn thing is torn down once they’re gone, and the property value of the whole neighborhood goes up a few thousand bucks.

no one brings them up again. because if they think about it too long, then they become part of the problem. the murder-suicide of a couple on the corner, the bruises on the boys’ necks. the father that drank, the mother that smoked.

so they let the boys leave, in their father’s ratty coup that barely fit the younger one. he was growing so fast he was gangly, and his wings could barely keep up. the older has his jaw so tight it’s gonna snap, and it does when the younger drops a box and starts crying like he killed his mom himself.

(he thinks he did. he couldn’t hear her, he couldn’t hear her, and no matter how many times he says that his brother shuts him up soon enough.)

and then they’re gone. they leave the box on the sidewalk.

later, the whole neighborhood sees the sign. the circus is in town, and everyone gathers to take a peek. there’s not much else to do in the place anyway, besides cheer for some high school football.

they scream loudly for each performer. someone walks on his hands. the lions dazzle. and an archer does a stunt with his brother that has the whole crowd whooping. when he flies, they all stare. goes up to his perch until the end of the show. he’s a favorite with the kids, but leaves the adults puzzled.

they can’t connect the dots. the long limbs, the striped wings, the look in his eyes like shattered glass inside a cardboard box.

“how could they,” barney snorts into his beer, “if they never bothered looking in the first place?”

-

they’re delicate. so fragile they snap when he comes crying into the world. tony cries so loud that the doctors almost don’t seem them, the bright red plumage, the color that never dulls. and when they heal, he never puts them away, especially since that’s all his father wants him to do.

“put those damn things away,” howard says, and the anger that simmers in his tone ripples the whiskey in his glass. “you’re not a girl. you don’t fucking flaunt.”

his mother is quiet, staring at her plate. tony isn’t even sure what her wings look like. what his mother looks like when she lifts off the ground. she is stiff. unmoving. the stillest of life, if that’s even what hides behind her eyes.

tony refuses to be silenced by howard, and his forced vibrancy almost burns him out.

he drinks, he dances, he flies in the night sky. the amount of times he almost get shot, the frustration from rhodey and the eye rolls from pep. they hit a steel wall and fall to the ground. he is invincible. he’s a god among men.

howard can’t scream at him anymore. can’t tell him to put his wings away. the quiver of maria’s lip can’t haunt him. he is his own man, he tells the women, tells the men, tells rhodey, tells pepper. they kiss him to shut him up, they huff, they laugh.

he’s his own man.

the whiskey doesn’t answer.

the humvee blows. his wings are out, basically pressed against the sides of the car as he takes the picture with the soldiers. the feathers singe. red becomes black and becomes red again.

put those damn things away.

oh, he could laugh if he didn’t cry first.

[kilyra]

Saved Her Life

Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter/Bullseye (Daredevil) One-Shot

A/N: I got an anon request from “List A: 100 Prompts of Angst” (which you can find from my Request OPEN post linked in my bio) with the prompts: 20 - “Just hold on–you hear me? You’re not dying like this. Not here; not now!” and 26 - “I’m not worthy of you. I’ll never be. You’re too good for me.”

All hell breaks loose at the women’s shelter where you work. Dex was on his way to grab you for lunch but things go from bad to worse.

Warnings: Violence and mild swearing. This is a spoiler-free Pre-S3 story and is completely unrelated to the anything happening in the show. 

Just how long were the cops going to take?

Ignoring the rushing in your ears as your heart hammered against your chest, you attempted to at least look calm while keeping your eye on the security camera screens. Your whole body clenched each time the man with the gun threw himself against the final security door of the women's shelter. Huddled in the corner, one of your clients tried to comfort her young infant, desperately pleading for him to be quiet.

Then your cell rang.

Gasping, you fumbled to answer it before it made any more noise. "Dex?”

Even whispering felt thunderously loud.

“Y/n? What's wrong?" He immediately fell into agent-mode and his voice exuded steady confidence.

Watching the screen, your heart dropped as the door finally gave out. The gunman was inside the house.

The fear clawed at your throat and you threw a glance at the panicking mother. Turning away, you tried to speak even softer as you cupped your hand around your mouth and the phone. "Someone just broke in and he's armed. We called the police but...”

“I'm a block away, I'll be right there.”

The baby started to cry. “He's going to kill us. I think he's going to...”

“No. Just hold on – you hear me? You're not dying like this. Not here; not now.” His voice grew louder and you heard the squeal of tires in the background.

Your eyes shot back up to the screen. The man was stepping further into the room, slightly hunched over like he was waiting for something to spring out at him. You could hear his muffled shouting through the door, but he didn't seem to hear the baby.

“Where are you now, Y/n?”

“We're upstairs. We...June and I followed protocol – we've got everyone taking cover in their rooms with the doors secured. We...I...”

“Ok, Y/n. I need you to stay where you are and keep everyone upstairs. I'm at the end of the street now. Sit tight, this will all be over soon," Dex firmly spoke over you as your words started to fade.

The line went dead.

Time seemed to stand still as you watched the gunman come further in. Your stomach was hollow and yet you could vomit any second as you sat helplessly next to your client. It was surreal.

Suddenly, you noticed movement on one of the other screens near the back stairs by the entrance to the kitchen. Ethan, one of the younger boys staying at the house, was heading toward the living room.

Shit.

Your heart pounded even harder as adrenaline flooded your veins. Red was pulsating at the edge of your vision and flight or fight took over. Turning to the mother, who finally got her baby to settle, you brought your shaking finger against your lips, motioning for her to stay quiet.

“Lock the door after I leave,” you breathed as you moved past her. Her panic-stricken eyes widened, but she stayed silent.

That boy wasn't going to die.

Clicking the door closed behind you, you stayed on your hands and knees as you crawled towards the half-wall that overlooked the living room.

“Darlene! You get your ass out here! I know you're here and if you make me look for you, I'll kill every one of the bitches in this place," the man's enraged shouting boomed in your ears.

Pulling yourself up, you glanced over the edge, praying he didn't spot you. He was facing away.

Hearing movement from behind, you looked back and saw Darlene, Ethan's mom, crawling over to you. Her eyes were wide and her lips trembled as though she were holding back a hysterical cry. “I can't find Ethan,” she mouthed to you.

Because he was in the kitchen.

“Stay down,” you hissed in her ear as you put your hand on her arm.

Kneeling up again, you spotted Dex in the doorway, out of the gunman's view.  A mix of relief and gut-numbing anxiety washed over you. Crouching low, he took slow sidesteps to get a better angle before making himself known.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours and even from where you were, you could see his jaw clench as he froze. It was clear that you just forced him into changing his plans.

Silently, he chest heaved as he sighed and stood up. “FBI! Put your hands where I can see them.”

The man started to turn when the kitchen door flew open, distracting them both.

“No! Leave my dad alone!" Ethan shouted but froze in the doorway when he spotted his father's gun.

Gasping, Darlene jerked away from you and raced to the stairs. “Ethan, no!”

Dropping one hand from his gun, Dex whipped his arm in two quick motions. You heard bangs on the half-wall below you and saw the door to the kitchen suddenly lurch halfway closed before slamming shut.

On the floor by the door lay two small, tacky lawn ornaments that had been outside.

Racing down the stairs, Darlene continued to scream when you flew after her. You saw the man raise his gun as you launched yourself forward. Spearing Darlene, you tackled her to the ground and heard gunfire.

Darlene fought you, shouting as she tried to throw you off and you held on tight as you craned your neck to see what happened.

Calmly, Dex stood with his gun still drawn. The gunman's face was still twisted into an angry sneer. Or at least, what was left of it.

He was dead. Your stomach lurched as the realization hit.

Without thinking, you clapped your hand over Darlene's eyes and she immediately tried to claw it away. Pressing your full weight on her, you tried to calm her. “It's ok, you're safe now.”

She didn't need to see this. You didn't need to see this...

As she struggled, you realized your grip was getting weaker. A wave of nausea washed over you and she easily shoved her way out from under you.

Rolled onto your side, you watched her scramble to the body of her husband when Dex grabbed her arm. Yanking her to her feet, he moved his face close to hers. “You need to get your son upstairs. He shouldn't see this.”

She hesitated, but his air of authority left no room to argue. Darlene's whole body trembled as she nodded.

“Take the back way from the kitchen,” you croaked.

Darlene's gaze moved to you and her eyes widened as they darted down your body. Nodding again, she rushed out of the room, forcing her way into the kitchen. Ethan was still screaming and you expected to see him crash through the door. But soon their voices grew distant.

Within a few long strides, Dex was next to you. His eyes widened slightly like Darlene's had as his stare followed the same path. Something was wrong. Finally, you looked down and saw blood.

“He shot you, but it's just your arm, you're ok,” he said in a rush as he blinked rapidly. You weren't sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. Carefully, he scooped you up and moved you against the wall so you could sit up.

“Just,” you repeated.

Although you were facing the body, Dex knelt in front of you, blocking the sight entirely. Ripping your sleeve away, he nodded. “Yep, and it's just a graze.”

“Oh, good.”

Pausing to look into your eyes, his hard stare was almost enough to make you shrink back. “It is. If that asshole had shattered your humerus or worse, shot you in...”

Cutting off his own thought, he blinked rapidly as his eyebrows furrowed while he continued to rip the clean part of your sleeve. Using the strip as a makeshift bandage, he wrapped it around your arm.

“This is going to hurt,” he said, only giving you a moment to brace yourself before he tied it tight around your wound.

Gasping, you saw stars, but it was bearable.

Dex continued to apply pressure over the bandage as he looked back up at you. His tone was cold. “I told you to stay upstairs.”

“I saw Ethan on the security screen. I had to do something. And then Darlene came out of her room and...” You lightly shrugged with your free shoulder.

It all happened so fast, there was no time to think about it. Staring deep into his hazel eyes was the only thing keeping you sane at that moment. Even if he was pissed at you. "I had it under control."

The air took on a taste of copper. It was sickening. You had never seen a dead body before and this...as quickly as it happened, it was going to scar everyone there.

Focusing on Dex, you forced a smile. “Yeah. I saw how you saved Ethan, closing the door like that. It was amazing.”

Briefly, his eyebrow arched as he looked back to your arm and experimentally let up on some of the pressure. “It's not amazing. It's my job. This is what I do, and it was just lucky we were already meeting up for lunch.”

Heavily you swallowed, not sure what to say.

Moving his hand, he ran his fingers through your hair, brushing it back from your forehead. Finally, he let out a long sigh and purse his lips together in a faint smile. “But you. Throwing yourself at her like that? He had his shot lined up. You saved her life, you know.”

“I...I just jumped, I didn't think about that.” The adrenaline was wearing off, and you started feeling sluggish.

Slowly, he moved towards you and gently placed his lips on your temple before resting his forehead against yours. “Of course you didn't, you just do what's right. I’m not worthy of you. I’ll never be. You’re too good for me.”

Before you could reply before you could try to explain how you'll never see him as anything less than your guardian angel sent from above, the sirens outside broke the moment.

Exhaling, his warm breath fanned your face. "Well, good thing they hurried."

Shakily, you laughed.

[darkisucksanditwrites]

The right choice to make.

I wrote this months ago and never posted it lmao. this is silly but i always wanted to write a fic about dating show. this was fun but it’s also not the best but eh. have some lame attempt at humor and bad jokes, sprinkled with fluff. it is also for a discord au fluff bingo. if you want the template message me~

Recalling how he got dragged into this will be a pain.

“Psst! Kagamicchi! Don’t slouch!”

Taiga dropped his hand from his face and looked to the right. Kise was giving him disapproving side eyes while looking ridiculous in his designer hat.

Taiga glared at him, but sat up straight in his chair.

Kise nodded and looked past Taiga.

“You too Aominecchi! The show will start in a moment!”

“Shut up Kise.” Aomine drawled, not bothering to look up from where he was playing on his smartphone. Kise pouted and Taiga felt another wave of migraine coming up.

“Why the hell I am here?”

“It’s for –“

“Charity yes I know.” Taiga interrupted them both. “I’m wondering why I’m here.”

“Well…” Kise made himself more comfortable in his high chair. “The deadline was near and you were free so…”

“So, I had no say in this, it’s what you’re saying.”

“Basically.” Kise beamed.

Taiga sighed.

“Okay, but you have other friends who could have done it. Who could have been better at this.”

“Aw. Kagamicchi.” Kise patted him on the shoulder. “Please don’t put yourself down so much. You make a great catch.”

Aomine snorted and Taiga didn’t know at which asshole to glare first.

“Besides, like I said. It’s just for charity and it’s supposed to be fun. You don’t have to marry them or anything like that.” He shrugged.

“As if I would.” Taiga grumbled.

“Shh. It’s starting!”

The curtain, behind which they were sitting, pulled up slowly and they were greeted with an applause.

A booming voice and sudden music came from the speakers and Taiga jumped in his seat and swore loudly. Thankfully, it was muffed by the obnoxious and loud music, but Kise still felt the needed to glare at him.

A man in a flashy outfit jumped on the stage and greeted the audience made up almost entirely out of young women and girls.

“Helllooo, ladies and not-ladies! I’m your host for tonight!”

The crowd answered enthusiastically.

“Why couldn’t he do it?” Taiga leaned in sideways to whisper to Kise.

“Because Takaocchi wanted to be the host, now shh, he’s going to be introducing us”

“Candidate number one. Since birth he was already stealing and breaking hearts of women. And maybe some men too. When he walks down the street the flowers bloom and the birds sing. And I am pretty sure all of you here have his posted in your bedroom.”

The crowd cheered and laughed and Taiga hoped his eyeroll was subtle enough.

“Ladies and more ladies. Please welcome: Candidate number one.”

Kise stood up from the chair and raised his hands to wave to his fans and them bow.

“Look I know you’re a local celeb but this is just obnoxious.” Taiga whispered.

“Sh! It’s you now!”

“Me?”

“Candidate number two.”

Taiga suddenly felt a few degrees hotter when the lightning as well as a few hundred pairs of eyes focused on him.

“Your friendly neighborhood firefighter. He might look scary but his heart is made of pudding. He will also make you pudding if you ask nicely.”

The crowd laughed and Taiga unashamedly hid his red face in his hands.

“Oh my god kill me.” He groaned.

“Please welcome: Candidate number two.”

Taiga felt how Kise jabbed him in the side but he ignored him until the lightning and the eyes moved to Aomine.

“And here ladies and gents we have uh…Candidate number three.”

“Hey! Say something more about me!” Aomine sputtered. Takao only turned to him with a bored look.

“Why? Nothing I can say will be worse than what you’ll say yourself in a moment.”

“Oi!” Aomine yelled while the crowd cheered and laughed.

Okay. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Taiga thought as his lips curled up in a smile. He sighed and sat up straight. He could feel Kise giving him disapproving looks again but he ignored it.

This was for charity. People wanted to have a good laugh and Kise and Aomine would be enough entertainment. Taiga wasn’t really a ‘funny’ person, unless you count making an ass out of himself then yes. People laughed.

The rules of this ‘dating show’ were that all of them would get three questions. They’d have to answer them and the person behind the curtain would make their judgement based on their answers.

The catch was that they didn’t know anything about them. How old they were, where they worked, what were their hobbies and so on. Not to mention that they wouldn’t know what they looked like.

Taiga assumed it was a woman, because this was kind of how these things went.

Oh well. He shrugged mentally. He was 100% sure he wouldn’t get chosen even if he tried and he wasn’t about to do that anyway.

Takao raised his hand with an envelope.

“Here I have the questions prepared by our mysterious person behind the curtain.”

The crowd wooed and Takao made a show of opening the envelope and cracking lame jokes which surprisingly made the crowd laugh.

“Question numero uno.” Takao cleared his throat unnecessarily long. “What is your ideal date scenario? We will start with candidate numero uno as well.”

“Yes!” Kise leaned forward and grabbed Takao’s microphone from his hands. “Alright so this is how it goes.”

Taiga listened at first, but after five or so minutes when it was clear that Kise was nowhere near the end of his answer and would drag on and on and on about the details no one cared about, his lids began to drop.

“Oh my god, shut up Kise.” Aomine stood up from his chair and grabbed the microphone from his hands and pushed it roughly into Takao’s hands. The crowd laughed again and Taiga started from his half-daze

“I wasn’t done yet!” Kise said but his voice was muffled without the mic.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d be for a long time.” Takao bit back, making the audience giggle.

“Fine! Next candidate please. I’m repeating the question: What is your ideal date scenario?”

Taiga blinked and only after half a second realized that the mic was shoved into his face.

“Oh! Um. Well.” He pulled away from the device which was uncomfortably close. “I don’t date much, but I’d say the beach?”

“Tell us a bit more.” Takao encouraged him. Taiga felt like it was first day of school again and was forced to talk about himself.

“Um. Well. I like surfing so we could do that. I mean I can teach them. It. It’s not that hard.”

Taiga noticed the silence only after he started talking and a collective gasp was heard from audience.

“What? What did I say?”

“Don’t worry about it go on.”

“Um well. And we could have a picnic too.”

“And?”

“And that’s all. I think. I don’t like limiting myself. Whatever happens, happens.”

The crowd cooed and gave him an applause.

“Thank you for the answer.” Takao said and moved to Aomine.

Taiga sat there a little dazed.

“And you?” Takao put the mic in Aomine’s face without much conviction all too much to the crowd’s delight.

“Uh, Strip club.”

Everyone gasped and even Kise did a double take while Kagami just stared at Aomine in silent shock.

“Um, please elaborate.”

“Well, I mean. I go and I-“

“On second thought please don’t.” Takao cut him off. “Folks, when you’re calling the local police please make sure it’s not this guy.” He pointed at the man sitting behind him while audience laughed and cheered.

“OI!” Aomine yelled but it was once again muffled by other sounds.

“Alright, second question. Let’s give candidate number three another chance folks.”

Aomine glared while Takao strolled up to him with a smirk. “How do you resolve conflict in a relationship?”

Aomine snorted.

“That’s easy. I’m always right.”

The crowd oohhed unapprovingly.

“What?”

Takao put a hand on his shoulder.

“My condolences to your love life.”

“Hey!”

Taiga didn’t manage to hold his guaff anymore and laughed with everyone.

“Ah. I see candidate number duo is having a good time right.”

“Ah, um. Maybe.” Kagami composed himself, feeling his cheeks becoming hot.

“Aw he’s shy.” Takao turned to the audience and everyone cooed again.

“Don’t push it.” Taiga grunted out, but Takao only rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes. So? How do you resolve conflict in a relationship?”

“Uh, well.” Taiga rubbed the back of his head. “I mean if there is a conflict people should talk it through right. Get to know the other side. And try to understand it. I guess.”

When he finished Taiga realized that everyone was silent.

Again.

“That’s all.” He said and Takao nodded solemnly.

“Alright.”

“And now.” He made a step towards Kise but then turned to the audience. “Let’s skip candidate number one.”

“Why!” Kise stood up, scandalized.

“Because no one can top that answer.” Takao gestured to Taiga. “Besides we all know you don’t resolve conflict in a relationship. You start it.”

“Takaocchi!” Kise gasped and sat down suddenly.

Everyone booed the host which surprised Taiga a lot.

“Alright, alright. I admit. I go carried away. I’m sorry.” He placated the crowd. Let me ask you the last question to make up for it.

“Fine.” Kise whipped his hair and crossed his legs theatrically. “Go on.”

“Describe your ideal partner in five words.” Takao read from the card.

“Five?” Kise suddenly sat up, all attention focused on the question. “But that’s impossible!”

“Why?”

“Because how can I describe someone who is stubborn and strong willed but also has a foul mood more than I can count and seems uncaring but that’s a façade which isn’t even that much of a façade anyway, and oh!” Kise covered his face in his hands dramatically.

“You know you could have just said Kasamatsu Yukio and spear us all the embarrassment.”

“What?” Kise stood up. “How did you k-“

“And now candidate number three.” Takao cut Kise off.

“Huh?” By this time Aomine seemed to lost all the will to participate in the fundraiser and just took out his phone and played with it.

“Describe your ideal partner in five words.”

Aomine looked at Takao for a moment, put his phone away and put up his fist. 

“Big.Soft.And.Firm.”

Everyone waited for the last word but instead of saying it Aomine just made a universal gesture around his chest area.

The audience gasped and booed while Aomine shrugged.

Takao shook his head with an expression of disappointment.

“Alright. Candidate number two. Please answer and release me from this hell.”

Everyone chuckled.

Taiga sighed. And then he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I never thought about it. Looks don’t matter to me.”

And then he almost fell off his chair when he got a standing ovation which lasted for at least 2 minutes, before Takao managed to calm everyone down.

“Thank you, dear gentlemen and ladies. We will be back after a short break.”

The obnoxious music boomed again and the curtain fell, covering all three candidates and Taiga breathed a sigh of relief because it was over.

Or so he thought.

“Hello again!” Takao slid into the spotlight on the stage and the crowd cheered and clapped for him.

The curtain was already up and everyone probably could clearly see the eyeroll from Kagami.

Well, whatever.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Takao bowed at least five times and it made the audience laugh even more.

He repeated the over the top gesture of putting up his hand with an envelope for everyone to see.

“In this envelope, I have the lucky man of today’s show. One of these gentlemen is the winner of a steaming, hot date and all of this for a noble cause of gathering money for the hospital.”

Taiga thought Takao would make some quip about that too, but he didn’t and everyone just cheered.

When the applause died someone put on the sound of a drumroll when he of course made a spectacle of opening the envelope.

“Aaaaannndddd. The winnnnner issssssss….”

Taiga covered his eyes in second hand embarrassment.

Then Takao made a pause.

Taiga sighed and looked at his watch. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could go back to his house and try and forget about the mortification streamed on local television.

“Oh!” Takao gasped when he finally took out the card. “What a surprise! No one expected that!” He exclaimed, sounding completely fake.

“The winner is candidate number two!”

The cheers boomed over the studio.

Taiga clapped for the winner halfheartedly, until an amused and laughing Takao pulled on his sleeve.

“You idiot! It’s you!”

Taiga froze.

“What? Me?” He shouted and Takao doubled down over with laughter.

He was pushed to the other part of the stage where the mysterious person was hiding behind the curtain.

“What? Hey! Wait!” He tried to desperately push Takao away. “This is a mistake.”

“Nope.” Takao grinned and turned him over to the curtain. “You’re ready?”

“No!” He panicked.

“Too bad!” Takao pulled on the lever and the curtain fell, uncovering the mysterious person.

And it wasn’t some woman who Kagami never saw or only saw in passing. It wasn’t even a random guy or anything like that.

No. It was-

“Kuroko!?” Taiga sputtered when he stared at the blue haired man in front of him while the audience cheered for the last time.

“Yes.” Kuroko said. Lips curved in a subtle smile. “It’s me.”

“What the hell?!”

“Please don’t shout.” Kuroko winced and moved away from Kagami a few steps. Taiga send him a glare but lowered his voice.

“What the-“

“Hell. Yes, I heard you the first time.”

“Don’t play a smartass!” Kagami let himself be distracted with sarcasm.

Kuroko sighed.

“Please sit.”

“No.”

Kuroko looked at him in a way that was a bit sad, a bit guilty and a bit annoyed. Only he was able to pull it off. And he was supposed to be the expressionless one.

Taiga sighed and softened his glare a bit. He leaned against the wall with crossed arms and raised his chin.

“Did Kise and Aomine knew.”

“Yes.”

“So this was a plan to make fun of me?”

Kuroko looked shocked for a moment.

“Of course not. I wanted to ask you myself but Kise-kun told me that he had it covered and…oh.”

Taiga tipped his head against a wall with a thud.

“Of course.” He groaned. He couldn’t see but he could certainly feel the apologetic glare Kuroko was sending him.

“I’m really sorry. I should have told you myself.”

“Yeah you should.”

They were silent for a long while. Kagami was mulling this whole thing over. He knew Kuroko for a few years now. He met him when he first moved in here and he asked him help him organize a safety presentation for his elementary school students.

They went for a beer after that and struck up a casual acquaintance which soon turned into a closer friendship.

Until one day Kagami was hanging out with Kuroko and they were laughing about something and Kagami stopped and listened to his friend’s quiet, hiccup giggles and realized with horror that he somehow caught feelings for the guy.

Thankfully, Kuroko didn’t notice and Kagami could suffer his lovesick agony in quiet.

Until today.

So Kise knows. How in the hell does he know? Oh my god does Aomine know?

Taiga was having a meltdown that he didn’t hear Kuroko’s quiet voice until he jabbed a hand into his side.

“Ow!” Taiga doubled down and almost fell. “What the hell?”

“You were ignoring me.” Kuroko explain calmly, a small wrinkle between his brows. “I asked if you were mad at me.”

Taiga closed his eyes and took a big breath and then exhaled it slowly.

“No.” He said after he opened his eyes. “I am annoyed but not angry.”

Kuroko nodded.

“So…did you pick me on purpose or?”

Kuroko shook his head.

“I didn’t know which one was you. I just picked you based on your answers.”

“Well, it’s not like you had much choice.”

Kuroko snorted.

“That, the whole dating thing was Kise’s idea, right?”

Kuroko nodded.

Taiga scoffed.

“Well, it’s kind of weird now huh? Being stuck with a guy you didn’t even wanna date in the first place.”

Kagami expected another jab, a joke or something in that manner.

Instead Kuroko was silent for a longer moment that necessary.

“Hm?” Kagami looked at him finally and raised an eyebrow, nothing that his face was strangely red.

Kuroko looked at him finally and his eyes were serious.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Say what?” Kagami asked before his brain helpfully supplied what Kuroko was referring too and he blue screened for a moment.

Kuroko blinked a few times and then averted his gaze.

“I didn’t say I don’t want to date you.” He murmured. “I agreed to this only, because Kise-kun said you’d be a part of it.”

Taiga stared at his neighbor.

Kuroko looked at him again.

“Kagami-kun?”

“Cu-couldn’t you just tell me!?” He yelled, his face going from pale to tomato in record time. “Like a normal person!?”

Kuroko pouted.

“I didn’t plan on confessing with this. This is just for charity.”

Taiga felt his head spin at the sound of the word “confession”.

“Kagami-kun, are you okay? Are you going to throw up?”

“Shut up!” Taiga yelled hysterically. He was glad the studio back room was empty. He hid his face in his hands.

“Oh my god.” He lamented after he dropped them. “This has been one humiliating experience.”

“I don’t think it was that bad.” Kuroko said and tilted his head. “You had fun, right?”

Taiga opened his mouth to protest but when he thought back on the whole thing…yeah it was…weird.

But he’d live. He knew he was overreacting because he just basically got confirmation that his feelings were returned and he wanted to distract himself. 

He glanced at Kuroko who was looking at him expectantly.

But he couldn’t ignore them forever.

Kuroko seemed to guess his thoughts which was freaky as hell and he smiled.

“We should go. I have a whole date planned out.”

Taiga chewed on his lip for a moment before he sighed and pulled away from the wall. He approached Kuroko, standing as close to him as he could.

“Fine. But I’m not paying.”

Kuroko raised an eyebrow and lifted his chin to look at him. Kagami felt a weird shiver just then. The kind of he hasn’t felt in a long while.

He swallowed and took a step backwards

“Very well.” Kuroko said and gestured towards the door. Before Taiga could move, Kuroko took his hand and they headed together towards the exit.

Taiga looked at his…well, boyfriend when they were waiting for the elevator.

“Just. Just so you know I, uh. You know.”

Kuroko looked at him with a tiny smile and squeezed his hand.

“I know. And the feeling is mutual.”

Kagami nodded. He’d say it today. Later. Somehow.

“I still think you should have just told me like a normal person.”

Kuroko glanced at him briefly. The elevator door opened.

“What?” Kagami asked when Kuroko pulled him inside.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

“Oi!” Taiga yelled but it was muffled by the metal door.

[gldngrl7]

Binge watch:

Unbelievable (Part2)

This story is based on a true story (names and some biologicals changed to protect the innocent and all that).

By some coincidence, a few weeks ago I watched an episode of something on ID Discovery that bore eerie similarities to this case. A masked serial rapist that knew personal information about his victims, forced them to bathe and then took the sheets. In that case it turned out to be a sheriff’s deputy who used his cruiser computer to troll for victims, which is what got him caught in the end. What’s even more frightening, is that he signed his second victim’s statement as a witness.

I couldn’t remember the name or which show it was on so I googled “Deputy Sherrif arrested for rape”.

Let me tell you...that was an eye opening experience. Our police departments have a problem, and I’m not even talking about the rampant racism.

So, according to A.N. Groth and Ann Burgess (she’s the real Wendy Carr in Mindhunter) most rapists fall into 1 of 4 typologies.

Power-Reassurance: socially inept loners with inadequacy issues. Typically they use only enough violence as required to ensure the compliance of the victim. They often disassociate the damage they do to the victim from what the world might do to them. They fantasize and often plan meticulously.

Power-Assertive or Exploitive: these guys choose victims of opportunity, use aggressive means to subdue their victim, and rarely use a weapon. The frat bro in Unbelievable falls into this category, using drugs to subdue his victims.

The Anger-Retaliatory: these are your ex-boyfriends/husbands, rejected coworkers that refuse to be humiliated by you. So they will show you who’s boss and humiliate you in the process. Sometimes the rapist is a stranger using their victim as an avatar for the woman or women they are incapable of confronting.

The Sadist: Just like it sounds. This guy is fulfilling long nurtured fantasies and the rape is only part of the fun for him. Likely to bring their own torture kit and take their victims to a place where they are assured of privacy. An assault is as likely to end in murder as not.

The rapist in Unbelievable was a Power-Reassurance, although the clues are made more clear by Amber’s memories. He covers her with a blanket when he perceives that she’s cold, he encourages her to be more careful with her own safety (disassociating his own actions with harm). After his conviction he wanted to talk, but only to Agent Taggart because “women make him uncomfortable” — that inadequacy is the hallmark of a P/R.

What happened to the Kirkland Victim? After Marie was charged with false reporting another woman was raped. It causes Marie’s fosters to question her recantation. But...we never hear about the rape again and it never seems to end up on Duvall and Rasmussen’s radar.

I love Karen’s Christian walk. Not Bible-thumping. Not shoving it on others. Just quietly walking the walk.

“I’m okay with that as long as it a llows for the possibility of him choking on his own vomit.”

“Karen Duvall! That’s not very Christian of you.”

“Read your Old Testament, woman. We’re big into vengeance.”

I admit when I started watching I assumed the “true story” of it all was more a Hollywoodized dramatic narrative than an actual true story. So I was afraid that the rapist was going to turn out to be someone under our noses all along. I just hoped it wasn’t Karen’s husband but then spent the back half convinced it was Officer Selig because he matched the profile and fit the description. I was surprised Karen wasnt constantly giving him the side-eye. At that point I still suspected they were telling the story I had seen on ID and expected the rapist to be someone in their work circle. Thankfully, neither was the case.

Watching the rapist get processed, stripped naked and his body picked at with a fine tooth comb was satisfying and too see him stripped of his freedom to choose, even moreso. He was uncomfortable and it felt good to see him get a taste of what he made his victims feel.

After he was processed we’re treated to a long steadycam shot of the rapist in the processing cell in full frontal, not a stitch of clothing in sight to cover himself. The shot lasts for about 15 seconds, as if the camera is staring him down, accusing him while he’s at his most vulnerable.

There is a certain satisfaction to be found when Det. Parker is faced with the truth about what happened to Marie, but it’s tempered in the thought that maybe he wasn’t 100% sure she’d been lying. Maybe he too felt that Pruitt bullied her into recanting. He has to explain multiple times that “it was a false report” and each time he seems to grow less confident with that assertion instead of more. So when he’s finally forced to look at the evidence it’s more like watching a nightmare come true than watching a vindication in real time.

When Det Parker approaches Marie years after her rape to attempt to assuage his guilt, his very presence triggers a near breakdown. At no point in her ordeal was a police presence ever comforting for her. At no point did they consider her safety a priority. You see this contrasted in the courtroom as Dets Duvall and Rasmussen sit with the victims and offer support as they make their victim impact statements.

[douxreviews]

Jessica Jones - ‘A.K.A. I Have No Spleen’ Review

"My name on your case file does not make me a victim."

Jessica Jones is forced to confront her own vulnerability.

You can imagine how well that goes.

There's something interesting going on this season with Jessica Jones and the way they're layering the plot across episodes, and I'm really grooving on it.

'The Perfect Burger' and 'You're Welcome' pulled the time honored conceit of telling more or less the same story from two different perspectives for the sake of making some interesting character contrasts and burying a couple of reveals. That's usually a good trick, structurally speaking, since not only does it allow you to do some character exploration, it also has the bonus effect of making your season feel more tightly focused. 'I Have No Spleen' pulls another variation on this trick by essentially having Jessica spend the entire episode pursuing a false assumption that is ultimately revealed to be a mare's nest before it circles back to the exact same ending point that the previous two episodes shared and giving us some new and unexpected information.

So, that's essentially an entire episode's run time devoted to a side quest that turns out to be irrelevant and mostly serves to mark time until Jessica can be in the right place under the right circumstances to finally pick up the real scent. I say that pretty baldly, which makes it sound like a criticism, but it absolutely is not. It allows a lot of space for character work without feeling like the plot is treading water, and like the technique used in the first two episodes results in the storyline maintaining a lean and focused feel, which is a really good look for the show. If there was a specific complaint I had about season two, it was that it often felt more sprawling and unfocused than it was intending to be. These first three episodes feel like a very specifically designed course correction to that.

There's a clever use of audience assumptions here, since we're all more or less on the same incorrect page. We and Jessica are assuming that she was the target of the attack, and that therefore the attacker must be someone who has a beef with Jessica. This naturally leads both Costa and Jessica to assume that it's one of her clients, since the quickest way to get irritated with Jessica is to have met her. Jessica takes it one step further and assumes that it must be the work of Andrew Brandt, her most recent investigatee. Brandt is of course the ever-so-charming gentleman who had his sister beaten up in order to acquire a statue, and the resident of the apartment that Trish and Jessica both ended up in. See both previous episodes for that complete story.

Of course, that turns out to be not at all what's going on, and we'll talk about that in just a moment, but let's dig into what this episode really had on its mind when it wasn't pretending to be hot on the trail of Jessica's attacker. This episode was about two women who see themselves almost entirely in terms of eliminating all trace of vulnerability from their lives, and what happens when they have the illusion of invulnerability stripped away.

Speaking of invulnerability for just a moment, I can't have been the only one who'd forgotten that Jessica wasn't technically invulnerable, right? When she was stabbed I was genuinely surprised and had a very clear moment of, 'Wait, she can't be hurt, can she?' We get so used to heroes with super strength and the power of jumping really high that we subconsciously just assume that freedom from being hurt is part of the standard package.  And of course, it isn't. If it was, Luke Cage wouldn't be so special. Well, sure, his abs would still be pretty special, but that's beside the point I'm making at the moment.

One of the goals for Jessica this season is an attempt to live as a hero. She's genuinely trying to be a better person and to use her powers in a heroic way, as a result of the events of last season. But in her mind, in order to be a hero you have to be invulnerable and she has just had it proved that she is not. That's an incorrect assumption on her part, of course, but it really makes sense for her as a character that she would see things that way. This was actually a really nice way for the show to pick back up the most successful aspect of season one, the way it addressed the sexual assault survivor metaphor. In Jessica's situation, with what Jessica has been through, nothing can be as important to her as her sense of self protection. No burger is perfect enough to protect Erik Gelden if he was in any way responsible for taking that away from her.

Jessica's plan for regaining the sense of control that she needs just to get through her day to day life is to solve the mystery of her attack on her own and not let the police handle it, which is entirely on brand for her. It's touching that Costa kind of gets that and lets her do it. Her plan gets a bit of a setback when she finds out she's been on entirely the wrong track, however, and it's here where the episode shows what I was talking about earlier in regard to a 'treading water' plot not being without value. This is the story of Jessica Jones needing a win in order to regain her sense of security, and not getting it, and that's a story worth telling. Particularly as the thing that ultimately allows her to stay in the hospital and thereby metaphorically accept temporary vulnerability, is the text of help from Jeri Hogarth.

Jeri is Jessica's mirror at this point. She's starting to be unable to ignore the impending acceleration of her ALS symptoms and is desperate to find ways to regain the sense that she's in control of her own life. Unfortunately, for Jeri that seems to involve deliberately seducing her ex-lover in an attempt to break up that ex-lover's current happy marriage, which is... I mean, where do you even begin to unpack that? The look of disappointment on Jeri's face when she finds out that Kith and Peter have an open marriage, and therefore her successful seduction of Kith was entirely meaningless, is heartbreaking and complicated. And look at that, it occurs at exactly the same point in the plot as Jessica's lowest moment in the hospital.

What makes this all fascinating is the scene which is really the emotional core of the entire episode. Jeri comes to Jessica's office, and among other things they discuss one another's current weaknesses. What's fascinating is the fact that they're both constantly attempting to turn the conversation away from their own problem and instead express sympathy and support for the other's. Neither of them can bear to be the object of concern for even a moment, despite the fact that they both quite clearly do care about one another's troubles and the expressions of sympathy they're making are 100% genuine. They're just also a way to avoid receiving sympathy themselves. That's just a great scene.

As for the side characters, They carry on much the same. Malcolm continues his journey to the heart of 'pliable ethics.' Trish continues to embrace the life of a superhero with all the verve of a college freshman who just discovered environmentalism, and is just as intolerable while doing it. Although it was hard not to sympathize with her when her co-host told her she was born to sell crappy clothes on shopping TV. Trish and Jessica's relationship has always been my favorite thing about this show, and I have such grave concerns about where this final season is going to leave them.

And while I'm sharing concerns and hopes, could Malcolm's new girlfriend Zaya maybe not turn out to be evil? Please? Because I'm getting a serious 'I'm going to turn out to be evil' vibe from her. Similarly, I'm really hoping that Erik the burger guy doesn't turn out to be evil, although I find him kind of attractive and everything in my personal dating history guarantees that that means he's evil.

Of course, the real winner of this episode is clearly Doctor 'I Love to Make Spleen Puns.' Totally loved that guy.

Bits and Pieces:

-- I really enjoyed the detail that the hospital totally understands about superhumans and factors that into patient care. That was just a really nice bit of world building.

-- Does Jessica's superpower set involve having a better than average immune response? Because what the show said was accurate; the duties of the spleen are also taken on by the liver and, to a lesser extent, the lymph nodes, but maybe Jessica doesn't want to put too much reliance on her liver handling the job. I'm just saying.

-- Did Jeri have any reason other than trying to break up Kith's marriage to have Malcolm spy on Peter? I think I might have missed something significant regarding that.

-- Minor quibble, but the hospital would have discussed her spleen situation with her before getting Jessica a medic alert bracelet. For one thing, insurance tends to not cover them, and for another they take a bit to get made. There's no way that she would have found out she'd lost her spleen that way. I get that it's 'show don't tell' narrative shorthand, but I felt obligated to put the real information out there.

-- While we're talking sound medical advice from your considerate television review website, blood in your urine (for males) is absolutely typical after blunt force trauma to the torso, and typically will be released before the flow of urine, not after. It's most often nothing to be concerned about, but check with your doctor if it persists or worsens. DouxReviews is not a medical practitioner, and should not be viewed as a source of diagnostic feedback.

-- I was just thinking that Jessica shouldn't be able to walk around as casually as she was doing when she collapsed and passed out. Thank you, show.

-- I suppose that, technically, what happened to Wendy in season one might be described as a tragic accident. But that feels like underselling it.

-- Reading between the lines, Jeri cheated on Kith with Wendy and then left Kith for her.

-- My favorite moment of kindness that I've seen on television for ages: Malcolm, knowing that Jessica would resent any help he gave her as pity, prepared a bill for his time in advance so that she had an out to protect her dignity. That actually made me go 'Awwww' out loud.

-- I adore Gillian, Jessica's new assistant, and have a million questions about her backstory.

Quotes:

Doctor: "That's what I'm trying to ex-spleen to you." It's hard not to love the doctor.

Jessica: "Where would a liter of bourbon a day fall on the reckless scale?"

Jeri: "The Cale Caesar is quite filling." Kith: "Talk about faint praise."

Kith: "See? All of the wine."

Jessica: "A hero is strong. A hero is invulnerable. A hero has a goddamn spleen."

Jessica: "You've been a hero for five minutes. I've been one half my life." Trish: "You've been super, Jess. There's a difference."

Gillian: "It's 12:29. I'm taking lunch. And there's a client waiting in the office. Should I tell them you've recently been the victim of a violent crime and are currently indisposed?"

A really focused and well structured entry into a season that I feel is only just getting started. I mean that in the best possible way. I think the word I'm looking for here is 'disciplined.'

Eight out of ten cases of unabashed verve.

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Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.