#its frustration that leads to anger because youre speaking to (another) brick wall and you can't adequately explain yourself

[dennisboobs]

my favourite thing about the always sunny podcast is listening to rcg all say something extremely neurodivergent and then agree amongst themselves and convince themselves its completely normal

#and to be clear im not diagnosing them charlie said he wasn't neurotypical #like deadass i think. the reason some of their writers just completely botch the gang's motivations/dialogue sometimes is bc at their core #these characters are all. SO autistic. which inevitably leads to them being misunderstood by others outside their group #whether rcg realizes it or not they inject this very specific vibe of neurodivergence into the gang #and its why they will just. argue over inconsequential details bc they Need to be understood completely #they can't just drop it unless they are crystal fucking clear #imo the biggest mistake other writers make is thinking that the gang is completely desensitized when its more like #they just don't react the way you would expect #which is often... adjacent to that but still distinct. and its trauma that influences this as well #the gang does not believe they themselves are 'bad people'. theyre most often oblivious to the fact that the things they do are insane #rob saying he doesnt pick up on social cues and then going on to argue in circles with glenn #i dont think last week was anything crazy but i think. rob doesn't know when to let up. which is a problem that *i* have #and while it comes across as being confrontational in an 'im right youre wrong' way i dont think its driven by ego here #just like with how as they said mac and dennis are making up while chucking bread rolls at each other #on both sides its frustration at being misunderstood #but they are all similar enough that even if they disagree over small details theyre usually on the same page. and this can be beneficial!! #thats the conclusion of the ep!!!! whether its suggesting smoking to cancel out the toxic apple skin or suggesting words u cant think of #glenn said he was upset about feeling misrepresented and picked on #dennis gets angry for those exact reasons in.... ALL of his big rage scenes #its frustration that leads to anger because youre speaking to (another) brick wall and you can't adequately explain yourself #which. glenn is clearly more competent than dennis & i think a lot of the time in sunny the gang is WAY more obtuse for the sake of comedy #but its interesting to watch the dynamic because as charlie said last week #they are mac and dennis (especially when theyre fighting) #i just think.. they are in a semi-unique position to understand this because this is how they are. while several other writers do not get i #ada speaks #untagged

[jamie-leah]

War of Wolves (19)

Season 1

Episode 19 - The Search Begins

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have been on the streets for the past two years, ever since your accident that left you with the ability to tell if someone is lying. You work as an informant for the white wolf and his mob but you had never met him…until you overhear a phone call that leads you to saving his life. Now he wants you to work for him. Its an offer you couldn’t refuse…right?

Word Count: 2530

Warnings: Violence, injuries, manhandling, medical talk, swearing, POV Changes

A/N: Here's another! Late as usual I know, but my life has taken an unexpected turn. However, lets hope these updates will not be more regular. There will be POV changes and I know Bucky's part is third person but I call it Bucky's POV because it's easier for everyone to follow! Enjoy Lovelies! Feedback is always encouraged!

<---Previous Episode Next Episode--->

WoW Masterlist Series Masterist Oneshot Masterlist

BUCKY’S POV

There’s a pounding in his head that hasn’t stopped since the crash. As his senses start to come back Bucky notices, he’s lying on concrete, the cold seeping into his bones.

About the same time, he realises he’s on the floor he remembers what happened. Bucky shoots up from the floor, causing dizziness but he didn’t care. The only thought he had was you.

As Bucky looks around, he sees the chair you were in empty and the room also empty. Morning had started to break, and he curses himself for losing precious hours.

As Bucky starts to make his way out of the building his body aches as his head keeps pounding in time with his heart.

He finally finds an exit and walks until he comes to a main road. Bucky looks around and breathes a sigh of relief that he knows where he is. With no phone or anything to communicate with anyone, Bucky walks.

He follows the main road as his thoughts race. He can’t help picturing you with Isaac and it makes him sick. The worry for you and the anger at himself and Isaac is almost enough to bring him to his knees, but he said he would find you and he would. He would die before he ever stopped looking.

Bucky felt like he had been walking forever but it was probably only about twenty-five minutes. The older building coming into view. He picks up the pace until he comes to the gates.

Bucky walks right in catching the eye of two men. They look at each other alarmed by the way he looks but Bucky simply says, “go get him”.

The one runs off as the other stays by the gate. Bucky keeps walking afraid that if he stops, he won’t be able to get back up.

As Bucky reaches the door Darren steps out looking concerned. Bucky clenches his jaw before saying, “I need your help”.

YOUR POV

You’re cold. You smell damp. You hear murmuring.

You shift and groan as your eyes protest being opened. You feel what must be springs digging into your back as you make sense of what you’re seeing.

Its quite a dark room, the ceiling old brick and as you follow it the walls are brick too. You sit up fast and groan. You notice you’re sitting on a mattress and metal frame.

You stand up and gasp as your bare feet touch stone. When you get over the shock you notice metal bars covering an archway, the only exit to this room.

It took you a while to comprehend what you were seeing but you finally realised that you were in a dungeon. You’re incredibly confused as voices get louder.

You walk closer to the bars, your feet becoming numb due to the cold until two figures step into view. It doesn’t take you long to see that its Harry and Isaac.

You look at the both of them, “where the hell am I?”.

Harry’s British accent comes out loud in the small space, “This is an estate of mine. I had a lot of extra room here, so I let Isaac renovate a few of his labs here”.

You screw up your face, “am I in a dungeon?”.

Harry chuckles, “my estate is essentially a castle, this place has many hidden places, this small dungeon being one”.

Isaac speaks next, watching you carefully, “no one knows you’re here. It’s just me, Harry and one of my men. The rest of the men don’t know you’re here, so Bucky definitely doesn’t know you’re here. Don’t cause me any trouble”.

You hold his gaze lifting your chin, “he’ll find me”.

Isaac smirks, “no. He won’t”. That’s when he pushes some type of clothing through the bars, “wear that. I have some initial tests I want to run as soon as possible. If you don’t have it on by the time my man comes to get you, he’ll put it on you himself”.

Without another word from either of them they leave. You pick up the clothing and see that it’s a hospital gown.

Its freezing in the room due to the stone so you don’t really want to put it on, but you don’t want to risk anyone else putting it on for you. You strip and quickly put the gown on. You sit on the edge of the bed and wait.

BUCKY’S POV

Darren didn’t even blink when he agreed to help in any way he could. The first thing that Bucky did was call Steve.

“Hello?”, Steve’s voice sounded tired, strained.

Bucky was just relieved to hear his voice, “Steve, its Bucky-“.

Steve interrupts him, “Bucky?! Where are you?! Are you hurt? I saw the car-“.

Bucky just manages to get out, “Steve, he took her”.

There was a heavy silence for a few moments, “where are you?”.

Bucky’s head was still hurting, “Darren’s”.

“Me and Sam will be there as soon as we can”, Steve waits a second before hanging up.

Darren comes back with a woman with a full looking rack. Bucky just sits there on Darren expensive looking sofa.

She comes over without a word and starts attending to the cut on Bucky’s head. Darren sits opposite Bucky and waits for the woman to finish. Before she leaves, she hands Bucky some tablets and water.

As Bucky takes them, Darren asks, “What happened Buck?”.

Bucky stares into space picturing the events as he tells Darren, “Isaac ambushed me and Y/N. I didn’t even see it coming. Rammed straight into us. I held em’ off as much as I could but there were too many of them and Y/N refused to run”.

Darren’s eyebrows raise, “brave woman”.

Bucky’s mouth twitches despite the circumstances, “stubborn woman…He took us to a warehouse about half hour from here. He was gonna kill me, but Y/N convinced him not to. He knocked me out and took her”.

Darren’s jaw clenched, “what do you need from me?”.

YOUR POV

It took about twenty minutes for you to hear footsteps and for another figure to come up to the bars. You can’t make much out other than he’s blonde and tall.

He opens the bar door and his gruff voice comes out, “move”.

“Where’s my please?”, you don’t know if its you being brave, stubborn, or stupid, but the comment comes out just the same.

The guy comes marching in and grabs your arm. He yanks so hard that your cry echoes in the room and you’re afraid he’ll rip it out of the socket.

You fight against him, fear of what Isaac has in store finally kicking in. But it doesn’t matter, you can’t get a grip with your bare feet and your punches bounce off him.

He leads you down narrow corridors and you lose track until he stops abruptly at a wooden door. He opens it one handed and drags you in.

Its like you stepped into a different reality. The room was white, and the floor was tiled. It was like you had entered a hospital. It made the knot in your stomach tighten painfully.

Isaac was sitting at a desk in a white coat. Your eyes slide from him to the glass window in front of him that looked into a room with an MRI machine.

Isaac talks with his back still to you, “put her on the table”.

The man starts backing you up, but you keep resisting. You manage to clip the guy in the face, his grip loosening enough to break free for only a second. Before you can get very far, he pulls you by your hair and throws you into the table.

Your stomach collides with the edge of the table and knocks the wind right out of your lungs. You double over and end up falling to the floor trying to suck in air.

Isaac doesn’t even care. He just walks over calmly as you struggle to breathe and injects something into your arm. You don’t remember anything after that.

BUCKY’S POV

The pounding in his head hadn’t stopped. The dizziness was still there, but Bucky couldn’t keep still. He was pacing in front of Darren worrying about you and wondering how he was going to find you.

There was a knock on the door that made Bucky turn around in his pacing. One of Darren’s workers had guided Steve and Sam to the room.

Steve took big strides over to Bucky, pulling him into a hug, closely followed by Sam. When Sam steps back he says, “we’re gonna get her back”.

Steve nods before asking, “what happened?”.

So, Bucky tells them everything. Once Bucky finishes Steve asks, “you got people on the inside, right? You planted people in Isaac’s organisation a while ago?”.

Bucky nods, “I’ll reach out to them, ask if they’ve seen her or heard anything about where he’s got her. There were also cameras at the warehouse he took us to, pull the footage and see if it tells us something”.

Sam holds his hand up, “we’ll do all of that and whatever else you need us to do, but we need to take you back and get you some medical attention”.

Bucky starts to shake his head, but Steve talks next, “Sam’s right. You can reach out to your informants in the car on the way back home, but you need to get your head checked out. You’re no good to Y/N if you’re injured”.

Bucky nods frustrated with how right they were and how much time its going to waste, “okay, lets get moving then”.

Bucky starts moving towards the door and everyone follows. Steve and Sam get in the car and Bucky follows. Before he closes the door, Darren says, “I’ve got a few people I can reach out to. I’ll let you know if I hear anything”.

Bucky nods, grateful, before slamming the door. Sam hands him a phone to start making calls as Steve speeds back home.

YOUR POV

It was like you were repeating history. You wake up groggy again and you shift as springs dig into your back.

You take in your cell and start to get up before the world tilts causing you to crash back onto the bed. That’s when Isaac speaks, making your heart race, “you’re going to feel dizzy and you’ll probably throw up soon. I need you to rest because I’ll need to take a few more tests in a few hours”.

You manage to murmur, “fuck you”.

Isaac chuckles, “the harder you fight the more I’m going to enjoy breaking your spirit. There’s a bucket in the corner of the room for when you throw up”.

You listen to his footsteps walking away, loud to the throbbing of your head. You try focusing on your breathing, but it wasn’t long before you felt saliva flood your mouth and your stomach clench.

You stumble out of bed and towards the corner. You nearly fall two times before making it to the bucket and heaving. Not much comes out as you stay hunched over the bucket for about half an hour just heaving.

By the time it stops your body is shaking and you have to crawl back over to the bed. You get back on and curl in on yourself, falling asleep to forget.

BUCKY’S POV

By the time they get back to the house Bucky has got in touch with everyone that he can think of, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

He gets out the car more frustrated than ever and once inside he makes a beeline for the office. That is until Steve blocks his path, “I don’t think so. Med wing. Now”.

Bucky doesn’t fight as Steve escorts him towards the medical wing. He asks softly, “how is Peggy doing? I can’t believe I missed everything”.

Steve smiles, “she’s doing great. She’s at the safe house with the kids thinking of a name for our boy as we speak”.

Bucky nods, lost in thoughts, “good, that’s good”.

Steve looks over concerned, “Buck…”.

Bucky reaches for the med wing doors, “go and get the footage from the warehouse and get in contact with anyone I missed in the car while I get my head sorted”. Bucky didn’t give Steve a chance to say or ask whatever he was going to say as he lets the doors close.

YOUR POV

You wake to the noise of the barred door scrapping against the stone floor. You don’t move from your foetal position on the bed.

It’s the blonde guy again, “move”.

Your body still feels weak and shaky. When your voice comes out you don’t recognise it, “go fuck yourself”.

You hear his heavy steps approaching and you brace yourself. Again, he yanks your arm and pulls you off the bed. You don’t expect it and can’t catch yourself in time before your hip and knee collide with the stone floor.

You yelp as pain radiates along your leg. As you try breathing through the pain, he takes advantage and manages to carry you most of the way without much fight from you.

He drops you on the table in the room and Isaac is waiting with another syringe. He wastes no time in using it as you feel the sting in your arm.

They both step back and you start to get off the table, but your limbs don’t listen. You try moving your legs, but you go nowhere. You try moving your arms but still you’re staring at the white ceiling.

Panic starts clawing in your chest as your eyes dart around the room as much as they can. You can feel the cool table underneath you but despite all your strength you can’t even make your fingers twitch.

You even go to ask Isaac what he did but your mouth wouldn’t open. Fear was gripping your racing heart as you hear your blood in your ears like the sea raging on the shore.

Isaac comes into view with a smile, “try not to panic, it wouldn’t do me any favours if you died. I needed to do an MRI with you awake, but I imagined you wouldn’t lay still for me, so I thought I’d make you”.

He nods to the blonde guy and he picks you up. He takes you into the next room and places you on the machine.

During the entire process you try to move, but nothing worked. The loss of control and feeling of helplessness made breathing difficult.

You decided to just close your eyes and picture Bucky. You picture him healthy and in one of his black suits. You try and imagine what he would say to you now. He’d probably cup your face and make your eyes look at his and say, “you’re strong, smart, and stubborn. I know you can do this until I get there, you just need to breathe Doll. Just breathe for me. I will find you”.

It was only when you opened your eyes that you realised a tear had escaped down the side of your cheek and into your hair.

WoW Taglist: @a-really-bi-girl @crazyblonde124 @summerwelsh @scuzmunkie @loving-life-my-way @pequenaguaxinim @paranoid-borderline-insane @lilsonbucky @somanyfandomsblog @broco8 @inquisitor-selvala @mad-red @k-n-e @rinkashirikitateku @duhh-danielly @boundtomyfate @kalesrebellion @booktease21 @whatinthyworld @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @asapkyndall @yaszx @amoredashley @aveatquevale- @putinovertime @melimelbean @valsworldofcreativity @lokilokilokilokilokilokilo-blog1 @vesper852 @littlenerdgirl16

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[herstroywritten]

Magix Inn: One bed, one shirt, two idiots in love

OK. Confession time: I LOOOVE tropes. All of them. The oh I’m so cold and I don't have a jacket, so you gave me yours. Oh no, we’re paired together and I don’t like that. Oh look, we have to stay in this hotel together and (*cure shocked face*) there’s only one bed! All of it. Like, ALL of it. And when it’s done well... Ughhh, my heart can barely stand it. (If you want an A+++ example of it, go ahead and read Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo and watch the new Shadow and Bone adaptation on Nextflix. Helnik serves all the tropes in all the best ways.) Anyways, my point is that that’s all this is, and I am fully aware of that. I needed more of these tropes with Rivusa, so here we are. Enjoy.

She's going to kill them. Every single one of them. And she was going to make it as painful and slow and agonizing as she could. Now that she knew how to extract mind control, she figured she could easily learn how to enact it. She would learn to do it overnight. She would! And she would most definitely use it on every single one of her suitemates, no moral obligations holding her back. In fact, she was doing them a favor by not opting to do it with her knives, the ones she'd begun training with a month ago or so. She was going to do it, no hesitation- 

"You can take the bed."

Riven's words snapped her out of her fantasies. She forced herself to finally turn and stare at him. He was already standing in the middle of the room they had been assigned. The room that had a single king sized bed in the middle of it. There was a small window on each side of the head board, with thick tattered curtains covering the view of the barren land outside. A couch was positioned to the right of the bed, a door stood just a few feet above it. There was no dresser in the room, no closet. 

Not exactly a five star hotel, she thought to herself. But then again, they were in hiding from a psychopath who thought herself to be the future ruler of the world, not on vacation. The cracks on the walls and the dust that could be seen covering every surface fit the murderous mood of their escape so much more than a nice cozy bedroom. 

Musa wondered how Stella was holding up. Bitterly, she hoped that she was hating it. Served her right for leaping at the chance to spend the night with her ex-bodyguard instead of opting to share with one of the girls. 

It had been a long night of traveling and by the time Dowling, Silva, and Harvey had finally located their destination, the whole group was practically a squad of walking zombies struggling to maintain awareness long enough to not fall asleep while standing up. After escaping Alfea, they had trekked through the woods continuously for 36 hours straight, needing to get as far away from the school as possible without using magic for fear of giving away their plan. 

Their little group had been led by Professor Harvey, who somehow knew exactly where they were headed without using a map to navigate through the veils of greenery that they had bypassed. How, Musa wasn't sure. It all looked the same to her, and quite frankly after a while she seriously considered the possibility that they were just walking in circles. Sam and Terra had followed behind their father, pointing out harmful weeds to avoid touching or stepping on for the rest of the group. The rest of the girls had followed their orders, Bloom and Sky leading the charge, then Brandon and Stella, Aisha, Musa, and Riven. Dowling and Silva followed a few feet behind, making sure that no one was following them as they went. Needless to say, the journey had been endless and there seemed to be no end in sight. The students had been unsure of where they were headed, as the professors had refused to divulge any sort of extra information unless it was explicitly necessary.

In the end, they had walked out of the woods and into an abandoned city. White bricks and cracked cement littered the ground that they passed through, exerting great effort to not step on any broken shards of glass and cut themselves. 

"Aster Dell" Bloom had whispered when she had seen the jagged outline of the town. Professor Harvey had nodded his head at her words, verifying their truth, and that had been that. No one spoke and no one asked the millions of questions that swarmed their minds. How were they able to see this place? Wasn't Queen Luna supposed to have it covered up? Why were they even here? Wasn't this a little too obvious of a hideout? Musa's curiously was running high, but her desire to just sleep was even greater so she had just followed right along as the professor led them through winding streets and in front of a rundown building that seemed to barely be holding onto its hinges.

Dowling had broken the silence, "Welcome to Magix Inn, or what's left of it. We'll make camp in here for the night."

Turns out Magix Inn was just that, and inn. And a tiny one at that, just ten boarding rooms to offer. Each boasted a king sized bed and minimal furniture. Unfortunately, the four rooms located on the south side of the building had been completely destroyed in the wreckage, so they were left with six to pick from. Dowling and Silva had taken the one at the very beginning of the eastern hallway, for security measures. For that same purpose, Professor Harvey had taken the one at the very end of the corridor, and Sam joined him. Sky had insisted he stay with Bloom for the night, attached to her as he had been for the last 36 hours, fearing that she would lose control of her magic again. No one bothered to mention that there was nothing he could really do if that happened again, they just let the couple slip into the room diagonal from Dowling and Silva's. Their door had barely closed before Stella had basically dragged Brandon into the room next to theirs, shouting over her shoulder "Good night everyone!" That left Aisha, Terra, Musa, and Riven. And two rooms. There had been an awkward silence, during which the girls looked back and forth between the three of them, daring each other to make the first move. When Aisha scooted slightly closer to Terra, Musa knew she was about to lose. Frustrated, angry, and just plain tired, she'd huffed and spun around to face the devil himself.

"Well, would you look at that?" Riven's grin was basically a smirk as he cocked his eyebrows in her direction, eyes roaming up and down the whole of her, his usual form of acknowledgement when it came to her. "Looks like we're playing roomies for the night." For some reason, he did not sound very disappointed at that idea. 

"Not another word," Musa had growled at him, before making her way to the room second to last from the end of the hallway. In any other scenario, she would be happy that he was choosing to speak to her again but right now she couldn't be bothered.

And now, here they were. In a room. Alone. With one bed. Two sets of curtains. A couch that was definitely too small for either of them to sleep in comfortably. One door that led to the bathroom. Oh, and did she mention the one bed? 

She finally stepped away from the doorway, letting the heavy wooden door lock behind her. As she crossed the room and headed for the bed, she couldn’t help but notice the dust that kicked up at her feet as she walked on the oriental rug that had to have existed for at least 16 years and who knows how much longer before then. The idea of sleeping here was almost revolting, but at this point she would give anything for a place to lay down, so whatever. They'd fought monsters and survived, they could outlive a bit of dust. What she might not be able to outlive, however, was sharing a room with the specialist standing behind her.

She dropped her backpack on the bed, choosing to ignore the dust that resurfaced with the motion, and turned to face him. 

"Yeah, no. As much as I would love to watch you try to squeeze into that tiny little couch, it would be extremely cruel of me to make you do that after a day and a half of constant walking. Plus, it's a king sized bed. I don’t need all of it. We'll just share." She hoped that came out as causal as it sounded in her head.

Riven's smirk, the one that hadn't left his face since the sleeping arrangements had been decided, grew even wider at her words. "I suppose, if you insist. An Alfea gentleman would never ignore a lady's wishes, after all." 

She scoffs at him. "I doubt you would count among the gentlemen of Alfea."

"Oh, I don't know. I've been told I have a way of outdoing myself when it comes to ladies' requests. Especially in the bedroom." He's eyeing her from the corner of his sightline as he makes for the bed, dropping his own bag diagonally from hers. She's suddenly flushed, from anger or blushing she's not sure. But she's not about to give him any ideas.

"We are not, I repeat NOT, completing any sort of requests tonight." She narrows her eyes at him, her voice strong and unwavering. It surprises her, the sheer strength behind those words because honestly it's the opposite of what she wants to say. The opposite of what she wants to do.

"Whatever you say." His statement is short, filled with hidden messages. He shuffles through his bag as she shuffles through her thoughts, watching him and biting her tongue so that all her questions don't come tumbling out. 

He heads for the bathroom, and once she hears the door close, she pulls out her phone.

"Hello!" Aisha's voice is all cheer and chuckle on the other side of the line. Musa thinks she can hear Terra's giggle in the background, too. 

"I'll kill you." Musa's reply is a lot less cheery and a lot more lethal.

"Oh, come on!" It's Terra's voice this time. "We're practically doing you a favor. You should be thanking us."

"I'll kill you. All of you." She repeats it, just to make sure they're really catching it.

"Musa, love, you know this has to happened at some point." Aisha's words are calm. "We're headed into a war. We're running away from school. We're going to have a lot more shit to deal with in a couple of hours, and you're still not in the right mindset for all of it. You’re in a completely different world. If you're so worried about it, just ask him. Better yet, just tell him."

"I don't know what you're talking about, " Musa mumbles angerly.

The sighs that she hears from the other side of the conversation tell her just how little Aisha and Terra believe her. It's silent for a second, and Musa can just feel the two girls going back and forth on who's turn it is to confront her. Terra's sweet voice comes through the phone after a few seconds, "Musa, we're not going to tell you what to do. It's not our place. But we will tell you what we see, because you're our friend and we love you and want you to be happy-"

"Terra, we're heading for a war. There is no happy in war." Musa's voice is monotone. 

"Musa," her name is a warning on Terra's lips, a sign that she's used this excuse before and it hasn't worked. "Look, I know you like him. I know it's weird between you two. You had to go digging into his brain to break him out of a spell and he didn't appreciate that, but quite frankly, I don’t think he appreciated being Beatrix's little pet and Rosalind's spy either. So he can be bitter and mad about it all he wants, you did what you had to do to save his ass and ours."

"That's the problem though. He's no longer mad about it. At least, I don’t think he is. He's talking to me. Like, now that we’re in the room. He hadn't even looked at me since the I broke that stupid spell…" Her voice drops at that last sentence. 

"That's good. Right?" Aisha's voice is a mix of encouragement and confusion. 

"Since when are you in on this, Aisha? I thought you hated the guy?" Now Musa's just curious. How did they even get into this situation in the first place? How did she get here, sharing a room with a boy that has one too many demons on his shoulders and whom she's embarrassingly crushing on?

Aisha's reply is quick and defensive. "Oh, I still do. But, he's still Sky's bff or whatever and he's still your…" There's a pause that follows that particular thought and Musa takes the time to wonder how Aisha is going to finish that sentence.  "You know what, I don't really know what he is. But he helped you train and you two had something going before, well, before he started disappearing to go do Rosalind's dirty business. Plus, for some unknown, godforsaken season, you're into him. As your friend and roommate, I feel the need to support all your dumb choices, within reason of course. So, yeah. I guess I'm in on whatever this is too."

"You sound like Stella." Musa's mouth quirks into a smirk as she picks up Aisha's groan from across the line.

"Don't remind me. Pretty soon, I'll start swooning over ex-bodyguard-turned-teammate Brandon too." They all get a laugh out of that line.

"God, I'd pay to see that. Poor guy has his work cut out for him, I wonder what they're doing right now." Terra's inquiry needs no answer, but Musa feels the need to comment on the situation at hand. 

"I can't believe she did that! She just left us! You know what, she's the first one I'm killing. You two can pick between second and third place."

Aisha chuckles at her words before a yawn overtakes her and she replies, "Alrighty, it's bed time. We've got a long day tomorrow. And, Musa, just do it. Just talk it out and get it off your chest. You don't want to leave things unsaid, not when we don't know what tomorrow brings. You've already played that game before and it was not fun." Aisha's right, of course. Musa has played that game before.

Right before Riven disappeared, they had been training together for a while, which had somehow turned into them having lunch together on the daily, which had then turned into secret meetings at night in the greenhouse. They'd both needed some alone time, to catch their breath and just marvel at their messed up lives and all the fucked up shit that was going on. And for some reason, his little quips and their constant banter had become her new safety net, a web of comfort and solace, something she hadn't had since Sam and her started drifting apart. But unlike Sam, who was all calming waters and steady footing on a gentle boat, Riven had been all of the tumultuous oceans in the worst of weathers. She never really found her footing in the storm that was Riven and his thoughts, and that had brought her a comfort like no other. In a world where all they had was scheduled to the minute thanks to Rosalind's insane regime, his inconsistent thoughts had drawn her in. She'd wanted to break him open, tuck herself into the blanket that was his mind, and lay there until his emotions numbed both her and him. And, then, somewhere between aching to be numb and heavy innuendos, she had found herself staring at him more often than she should and thinking about him in ways she knew would do her no favors if she let them continue. But, she let them continue. And pretty soon, his loud emotions weren't just comfort and she didn't just want to drown in them. No, at that point, she had wanted to dive deeper into them so that she might try and shift through them. Try to untangle his deepest fears and settle them. To mold her own pain into the shapes that formed the cracks of his heart, so that she could somehow fit him and be a comfort for him in the same way he was for her. She'd wanted it so bad. So, so very bad. And she'd almost said so, too. Too bad Rosalind had chosen that day to start using the spell she had placed on him months before.

Aisha's voice pulls Musa away from her own thoughts. "Hey, Musa? You still there?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. Just dozing off a bit, it's been a long day."

"Ugh, tell me about it. Look, if you two won't talk it out for yourselves, do it for us. We're all on edge with all the sexual tension that's coming off of you two."

"Aisha!" Terra's voice sounds horrified. "Actually, she's not wrong. As Stella so kindly suggested, you two might want to just fuck it out. See if that helps break the ice."

It's Musa's turn to be horrified now. "Terra! You did not just say that! And we are NOT fucking anything out!" 

Her friends, however, don't give her the satisfaction of listening to her defense. "Goodnight Musa!" And with that the phone call ends and she's left listening to silence and feeling even more agitated than she did when she first called them. She screams and throws her phone across the bed, watching as it haphazardly hangs from the corner of the white duvet. 

"Now what's all this about fucking?" Riven's voice nearly sends her digging her own grave. Great. Just great. Of course he chooses now to make his way back into the room.

"Nothing." Her rely drips in venom as she makes a point to angerly dig into her bag and pull out her toiletries. She pushes past him and into the bathroom before he gets the chance to question her again. She worked quickly to strip herself of the heavy layers she had on, and into a long white t-shirt that she often wears to bed. She had forgotten to pack a pair of shorts, as she usually just took them off and slept in her underwear. For a second she considered wearing jeans to bed, but she decided she wasn't about to sweat to death for Riven's sake. He'd seen naked girls before. Plus, if it wasn't jeopardizing her modesty, she doubted it was harming his innocence.

When she came out, however, she started to question her decision. The second she stepped out of the bathroom, Riven's voice greeted her.

"So, now that you're done hiding," he started, scrolling through his phone in nothing but a set of sweatpants. "Do feel free to explain to me who's fucking who, besides Brandon and Stella." He'd looked up then, and that had been their demise. His eyes had gone to her face first, but she'd watched as they moved downward in a slow motion, as if he was committing every bit of her body to memory.  She understood now why girls raved about him, because if he gave them all that look… well, Musa supposes they would all feel exactly how she is feeling right about now. 

Oh, for god's sake. Why her? 

She waits for the comment she knows is coming.

"Please tell me you're not planning on sleeping in that." Well, that's not what she expected.

"What?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

"You need to put on something else if we're really not completing any requests tonight." He's still staring at her legs as she chokes a laugh at him and makes her way to her side of the bed.

"Get your head out of the getter, idiot. I can sleep in whatever I want and you can handle yourself. You'll be fine." 

"I know you can sleep in whatever you want. Me controlling myself, that's where our issues start, love. You have a little too much faith in me." He catches her eyes and quirks an eyebrow her way as she shuffles to unhook her bra from behind and slips it off under the shirt she's wearing before throwing it on top of her other clothes. "For fuck's sake, are you serious right now?!" Honestly, she was going to keep the bra on before she saw his reaction to her bare legs, but at this point they’re so far in over their heads that she might as well pull out all the stops. His continuous reactions are just icing on top of the cake.

"Oh, absolutely." She's smirking at him, eyes dancing with mischief as he stares at her full of lust. She laughs as she tucks herself into the covers. "Relax, I'll keep my underwear on." His face is heating up, frustration evident in the line between his brows and she longs to reach over the expanse of the duvet and press her thumb to the space between his eyebrows and smooth it out. She doesn't. 

"This isn't fair," he protests.

"Says the guy who's shirtless right now," comes her reply.

"That's not the same thing and you know it." His voice is strained and she's eager to see when it'll snap, when one of them will finally just admit defeat.

"Isn't it? The feminist in me disagrees."

"Don't. Don't you dare take that stupid shirt off." His hands are shaking as he points a warning finger her way, and she laughs. She's enjoying this way too much. But she knows if she keeps it up, he'll keep true to his word and she won't push him away, and frankly that thought should scare her. Instead, she finds herself wondering how many buttons she can push before he caves.

"Turn off the lights and come to bed Riven." Her voice is light now, no longer teasing. He watches her snuggle further into the covers, eyebrows still furrowed at her and she can practically hear the turmoil in his mind. "Ugh, honestly, calm the fuck down. Your emotions are so intense right now, it's hurting my brain. I promise I'll keep the shirt on. Now, come on. Come to bed."

He mumbles something about staying out of his mind, but he closes the small lamp by his bedside and crawls into bed beside her. Well, calling it beside her is a bit of a stretch as he's practically at the edge of the huge bed. She huffs at his child-like manner and rolls her eyes at him.

"Seriously, Riven? I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to get a girl into bed and here you are avoiding me like the plague. You know I don't bite, right?"

"Whatever," he mumbles. She finally turns to face him, reaches her arms across the mattress and digs her fingers into the waistband of his sweats, tugging him closer to the center of the bed. He jumps at the feel of her hands on his bare stomach, his breath catching at this throat as they now stand face to face and mere inches away from each other. She watching his eyes as they take her in, and she's vaguely aware of the fact that this is too intimate. This moment is exactly what she was trying to avoid, but she can't bring herself to care. So, instead she takes this time to study the green of his eyes. In the dark, they're illuminated by the thin sliver of moonlight the peeks from between the curtains of the window on her side of the bed. They're dilated, more black than green, but she can just make out the color around the edges or his iris. Hazel on the inside, and impossibly green on the outside ridges. She remembers when she was younger, she'd once told her mother that she wanted interesting eyes, by which she meant she wanted blue or green eyes. Something other than her brown orbs. In a way, she was vainly excited when her powers had come in and her eyes started to glow lavender and purple. How naïve she had been, how stupid. She knows now, looking into Riven's eyes, that interesting eyes had no color attached to them. Interesting eyes were ones that held stories, emotions. And Riven's eyes held so many stories, and so many emotions. They gave him away, at least to her they did. She swears that even without her powers, she would be able to feel the pain, the hurt, the mischief, and (right now) the undeniable want by just looking into his eyes. The want is especially pungent. She hopes he can see the want in her eyes too. She bitterly thinks to herself that her girls are right, the two of them are hopeless. They've been cascading through this thing between them, her and Riven, and after she broke his mind control, he'd refused to look her in the eye, let alone talk to her. 

They stand face to face with each other for a while, before she finally ducks her head below his chin and tucks herself against his collarbone. She feels him tense below her (feels her own breath catch, fearing that he'll push her off) before he relaxes a little and his breathing slows down. She listens to his heart beating beneath her, and the pounding of it against her ear lulls her mind into a peaceful state. Once she feels like she can finally breathe normally again, she works up the nerve to ask him the questions she's been meaning to ask for about two days now. 

"Are you angry?"

He pulls away from her, just enough to look down at her. But she won't look at him. Instead, she traces his collarbone with the tips of her fingers, burning holes into it with the intensity of her gaze. 

"Angry?" He sounds genuinely surprised. 

"Yeah," her reply comes in a whisper. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she refuses to let them slip as she continues to bore into his skin. 

"Why would I be angry?" 

"Don't." She doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to be sorry for what she did, because she's not. She's not.

"Don't what?"

"Don't make me say it." It's a whimper this time, her voice threatening to crack along with her heart.

"Musa," he lifts her chin up. "What is going on? Why would I be angry at you?" She stares into his eyes again and curses the gods above for making her do this.

"Because I had to go into your mind. I had to dig around and manipulate it. I know you've never liked that about my powers. I know that it's no better than what Rosalind and Beatrix did to you. I know that, but I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry, Riven." She says it as though she's trying to convince herself. A deep breath, and then she's talking again. "I'm not sorry because it freed you. So, I'm not sorry about my powers or about what I did." She notices the line between his brows growing more and more as she speaks, and this time she does reach across the space between them and smooth it out with the pad of her fingertip.

She's not expecting an answer, but she was hoping for one. And as the silence between them grows, she figures she has overstayed her welcome. 

As she moves away from him, his arms snap into motion. They wrap around her waist, pulling her back into him. She squeezes her eyes shut as his scent engulfs her once again. 

"I'm not angry." His words, mumbled against her hair, are the final straw. Her tears come ripping through her body, unwelcome but inevitable. She hates this, hates crying. She's not a quiet crier. When she cries, her whole body cries with her. She shakes, she hiccups, and her breathing speeds up. There's no way he doesn't feel it. 

"Musa, really, I'm not angry. And hey," he's pulling away again, gently pushing her back so he can look at her face when he says the next words. "For the record, you are NOTHING like them. Nothing. Do you hear me?" She hiccups and looks down. "You're not. I swear to you, Musa. You're not. And, just so you know, I don't hate your powers. Never have, never will." 

"But you said-"

"I know what I've said. It wasn't because I hate you, it was because I hate my own mind." He pauses, looks away from her as if trying to work up the courage to continue. "Sometimes…  a lot of the time… I can't stand myself. What I hated was the idea of anyone, especially you, seeing all my bad parts. And fuck, Musa, there are so many shitty parts of me. So, so many. I mean, I've been helping Rosalind execute a war for months. Fuck." He chuckles a laugh with no humor behind it, looks up to the ceiling. "Fuck. I'm so fucking broken, Musa. And the idea that you felt that. God, I don't know…"

She watches him struggle, feels his inner turmoil. She finds herself wanting to sort out his feelings for him, mend his aches.

"Is that why you keep pulling away? From me, I mean?" She needs to know. She can't be imagining this thing between them, can't be the only one with her heart on the line right now. He moves so that he's looking at her again, but doesn't answer her right away.

"You're good, Musa. You're so fucking good. Nothing about you is bad. You're good, and you're smart, and you're fucking gorgeous." She feels her heart flutter at his words, her hopes taking flight and jumping to the sky. She wants to scream with joy, wants to kiss him. But his words are laced with a treacherous kind of tone, she can feel the desperation in him, and just as quickly as her excitement came, it leaves.

"I can't do this, Musa. I can't do it. Not to you. You deserve better than this." He's pulling away, and her heart is sinking.

"Better than what?" She sits up as he gets out of the bed. He walks to the end of the bed, looks at the door that leads to the hallway. She can feel him pulling away, wanting to leave.

"Better than what, Riven?" She's louder this time, angry that he's pulling away again after all she's told him.

"Me!" The intensity of his voice causes her to jump back. "Ok? Better than me!" His body is shaking, and so is hers. Because honestly, how dare he?

"And who are you to decide what I deserve?"

"Fuck, Musa. We're not doing this. We're not playing at this game." She feels like she's being scolded, as though she's a child he's refusing to answer to. 

"You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Riven. And you sure as hell don't get to decide what I want-"

"And what do you want, Musa?" His words stop her. "What do you want? Because I have been racking my brain for so fucking long trying to figure out what it is you want. And as much as I think I have you figured out, I can't possibly be right."

She runs the question through her mind a couple of times, questioning how to answer him. She's tired of lying. Tired of wanting him when he's scared to want her back, of constantly being on edge around him. So she decides she might as well tell him. "You. I want you."

"No, you don’t." Fuck him.

"Yes, I do!" She's angry now.

"No."

"Yes!"

"Musa, no."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Are we really doing this right now? Are we arguing about this like middle schoolers? You asked what I want. And I want you!"

"No, Musa, you don't."

"Why is it so fucking hard for you to accept it?! I want you and that's the end of it." She getting angrier as they keep going, and it furthers her anger that he's so calm about it. 

"You can't want me, Muse. You can't." The despair that she feels from him is intense and it, along with his nickname for her, knocks the breath out of her.

"What do you mean I can't want you?" She's trying to keep her voice down, fully aware of the thin walls and the fact that everyone else is probably asleep by now.

"Just… I'm not good. Not in the way the rest of you are. I'm a walking mess and I can't do anything without fucking it up." His voice is small and Musa can see the broken boy behind the persona he's managed to construct for himself.

"But I do, Riven."

"Why?" A broken question. 

She mulls it over in her head, chuckling. "Because, Riv, you've never been able to walk away from me and I've never been able to let you. We play games, you and I." They do. They ring around the rosies, a pocket full of kisses just waiting to spill out of their carefully constructed gates. "We circle one another, Riv, until we're both dizzy with desire and want and fear and fatigue… but we never break the circle. We never stray off path. You lean forward and I lean in, ready to give you my all, and then you pull back. And then we go back to the circle." It's a long metaphor and honestly she's not exactly sure if she's getting her point across. He watches as she pushes herself to her knees on the bed, shuffling closer to him with every word. 

"The circle is our game, Riven. You run, I chase. I run, you chase." She reaches for his hand. "I've never wanted to lose a game so badly." His eyes are on her as she pulls him back onto the bed. She leans in slowly, making sure that she maintains eye contact with him the whole time. She wants him to know she means it, all of it. She's not going anywhere. Her fingertips trace their way up his stomach, chest, neck, winding into his hair. They're millimeters away, noses pressed against each other, breaths mingling.

"Your move, Riv." And she feels her words break his concentration, just as his hands snap up to her body. It’s a quick movement, but his hands etch a trail of fire on her as the move roughly from her knees to the back of her thighs, up her back, and to the junction of her shoulders. When their lips finally meet, it’s anything but gentle. He bites at her lip, she gasps against him, and he takes the chance to tug on her bottom lip. She can't help the moan that leaves her, thoughts of the others already asleep leaving her mind as he does things with his tongue she didn't know were possible. He moves to her jaw, kissing his way downward as she cranes her neck back so that he has all the space he needs to do whatever he's planning on doing. She doesn't know what he's aiming for, but she knows what she wants him to do. She lets her hands fall to his pants, tugs them down. He moans against her collarbone and she swears she's going insane. She's burning but she's also shivering. She can't breathe and yet she feels like she's breathing for the first time in her life. 

"Shirt," she gasps. And then it's off of her, the one thing that he swore needed to stay on her if they were going to make it through the night. 

They spend the night doing everything they've avoided doing for months. He fills the silence with whispers of how gorgeous she is, and she feels her heart burst at its seams. They don't sleep, and she doesn't want to. This is better than sleep, she's never felt more awake than when he's tracing the lines of her body. 

He's resting on her chest, arms slung over her body as his fingertips play with the ends of her hair, when it hits her.

"I'm going to have to tell the girls that we did fuck it out." And as much as she hates the idea of her roommates being right, she thinks that maybe his laugh makes it all worth it.

#rivusarevolution2021 #rivusa #riven #musa #one bed trope #i'm a sucker for tropes #it never gets old #forced proximity

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 10- The White Violin Part 1

Summary: Vanya’s finally come to realize her full power, taking the Academy with her. Now it’s up to the Hargreeves siblings and you, to find and stop her from causing the apocalypse. Unfortunately you run into a bit of trouble along the way.

Masterlist- where all the other chapters are⚔️

Warning: Violence, Y/N is a stabby all around badass so it gets bloody 

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes @winterboobear11

Suddenly another wave of energy seems to pulse through the house, shaking the very foundation. Your eyes snap up to the sound of crumbling paint and pieces of the ceiling starting to crack and actively deteriorate. In an instant you’ve shot to your feet, turning your head to the upstairs balcony when you hear footsteps running on the wooden floor. You can hear Klaus and Diego calling out for Grace, but their shouting is soon silenced by more rubble clattering to the ground, shaking the house once again.

You race up the stairs to the second floor balcony where you just heard the distinct voices of Klaus and Diego. But by the time you get up there, both of them have disappeared. You look around the area in confusion, as more and more of the building cracks and breaks around you. Without warning a giant chuck of ceiling breaks free from the rest of its placement, hurling itself down at you. You dodge it, sliding on the tiled floor in the process. When another chunk falls down on your shoulder, knocking you harshly onto the ground, fortunately when your face is temporarily pressed to the wooden floorboards. You catch the scent of Diego and Klaus, their trail leading out to an open window. That’s now blocked by flaming debris of wood and whatever else. Dammit.

Your eyes scan the wall, finding another window you make a break for it, throwing your arm in front of your face to better prepare for impact. A moment later you feel a pressure and then tiny shards of glass flying all around you, as you jump out the window. For a few seconds you blissfully free-fall in the cool night air, before the hard concrete gives you a rude awakening. Darkness. When you open your eyes about 10 seconds later, you gasp in pain as your hip, rip-cage, and the left side of your skull moves around to fall back into its original placement. You watch as your previously broken arm, fuses back into place with a distinctly gory bob sound. With no time to spare you jump to your feet, dodging more pieces of the dying Academy.

When you make it round the corner, the whole entirety of the Academy has been reduced to rubble and flames. “First mom. Now Pogo. Where the hell his Y/N?!” Shouts Diego on the verge of tears. You run through the fallen bricks to the sound of his voice, finally spotting everyone, still alive and well, for the most part. “Diego!” You scream, racing over to him, he looks up at you with a downcast face before it turns into a relieved frown.

A second later, Five is jumping over a destroyed couch, “Guys! This is it. The apocalypse is still on. The world ends today.” He announces quickly, getting closer to the five of you, who all stare at him in troubled confusion. “I thought you said it was over.” Wonders Luther. Five starts to unfold a newspaper, “I was wrong, okay? This newspaper, I found it in the future the day I got stuck. The headline hasn’t changed.” He explains wide eyed.

“No, that doesn’t mean anything. The time could’ve been altered since that newspaper came out this morning.” Diego says, denying everything Five is telling you guys, not wanting to believe in the fact that the world just might end after all.

“You’re not listening to me. When I found it, I assumed this place came down along with everything else. But here we are. The Moon’s still shining, the Earth is still in one piece, but not the Academy.” Klaus suddenly snatches the crinkled newspaper from Five’s hand, “I’m confused.” He states baffled, Five furrows his brows in frustration, “Then listen to me, you idiot! Vanya destroys the Academy before the apocalypse. I thought Harold Jenkins was the cause, but he was just the fuse. Vanya is the bomb.” He exclaims pausing for a moment to let the information sink in, “Vanya causes the apocalypse.”

Right after Five finishes laying down the hard truth about Vanya and the apocalypse, you look up to hear the chopping of a helicopters blades. A giant spotlight is then intrusively beaming on all of you. “We have to find Vanya. Regroup at the Super Star. Go!” Shouts Luther over the blaring noise, you don’t have to think twice, as you grab Diego’s hand. The two of you bolting for the nearby bowling alley.

——

All of you stand around a table at the bowling alley, the atmosphere is tense, everyone's emotions all over the place as to what just occurred and what to do next. Luther stares at the floor with a hard and concentrated expression, as you look up to observe his face from your spot next to Diego. You suddenly narrow your eyes at him, your jaw clenching in growing irritation. Diego’s gaze snaps over to your sudden tenseness, his eyebrows rising in suspicion when your fists start to clench.

“You drugged me you dick!” You bitterly snap at Luther, everyone’s faces go from yours to Luther’s rightfully wide eyed one. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing appears to come out as he just stands there awkwardly avoiding everyone’s prying eyes. You let out an agitated snort, standing up from your seat next to Diego, Luther takes a step back while studying your hostile movements.

“I have half a mind to slap the ever present dumbass out of you, but I can’t promise that I’ll be able to stop myself after that.” You state through clenched teeth, pausing for a moment to collect yourself from your rising anger.

“I..uh...Y/N, I didn’t kn..”

“No! Shut up, your speaking privileges have been revoked, so listen here. First you put Vanya in a goddamn cage, then you forcefully stop everyone from getting her out, and then when I try to help her...you fucking drug me. Were you wacked to many times on your head as a child, because if you can’t find your common sense I’ll frickin’ help you find it.” You aggressively state at a visibly sweating Luther, he takes another small step back, honestly afraid that you might indeed hold true to your word. “I don’t know what kinda thought process you had when you were thinking that any of this was a good idea, but clearly it has given us a one way ride into the fucking apocalypse and I did not ask you to share your tickets.” Diego suddenly reaches up to grip your left arm before you’re able to move out of reach and bitch-slap the stupid right out of Luther. Your head quickly turns to look down at Diego, “I’m not...I’m not going to hurt him D, at least not yet.” You tell him, whispering the last part with quiet malice. Diego sends you a sympathetic nod, still hurting from the destructive and violent demise of Grace.

“I know, and you have every right to be angry, as do the rest of us. But, Y/N this isn’t going to get us anywhere.” Your brows furrow in frustration as you anxiously bite your lip. Slightly taken aback by Diego’s ability to keep his shit together, well at least for the time being. You still have no idea that not even ten minutes ago he was almost in tears when he couldn’t find you in the rubble of the fallen Umbrella Academy.

You let out a tired sigh, looking down at the floor for a second before bringing your troubled gaze back up to a distraught Luther. “You’re lucky Diego’s here.” You warn him with a glare as you sit down next to Diego once again, “I’d throw a bowling ball right at your fucking face.” You growl at him, crossing your arms and legs in annoyance while leaning into Diego’s side. He puts a gloved hand on your thigh in an act of earnest comfort, your tenseness falters ever so lightly as you scowl at the dirty bowling alley floor. The others keep to themselves, everyone shrinking into their own worlds to think for a couple minutes. While you continue to lean into Diego’s warm side and brood like a troubled lighthouse keeper waiting for her husband to come back from the sea. The atmosphere between the six of you still considerably awkward and stressed.

“Look, I hate to be the one to say this, but everyone needs to prepare.” Carefully starts Luther, making up a new plan on the spot, as all of your heads turn to look at him.

“For what?” Asks Diego.

“To do whatever it takes to stop Vanya.” Allison wacks Luther on the chest before he can finish, he looks at her offended, “We may not have a choice Allison.” He snaps without any real anger towards her. “Bullshit. There’s always options.” Adds Diego, sitting opposite of Luther in a bowling alley chair.

“Yeah, like what?” Grumbles Five, Diego looks down for a second to think, “I don’t know?” You roll your eyes, no one is getting anywhere fast at this rate. “Whatever we happen to decide in the next three years. We need to find Vanya.” You tell them, standing up from your chair and crossing your arms, trying to think of something that could work.

“Or...here. Look at this.” Says Klaus, opening up the newspaper he’s been reading, wider for everyone to see, you all crowd around him. “That’s right. Her concert is tonight.” Says Diego, referring to the obvious newspaper ad, a big colored picture of Vanya with her violin, as well as the time and place of the concert.

You hear footsteps approaching from behind, “Hello. I hate to intrude, but my manager says if you’re not here to bowl, you gotta leave.” Says the bowling alley employee, a tad bit passive aggressively if you’re being honest. 

“Who’s turn?” You deadpan, as Luther grabs a ball, chucking it across the lanes, evidently making a lucky strike. The lady turns around to leave, unsure of how to respond to that.

Allison quickly scribbles down something in her notes. She’s our sister. “We’re the only ones capable of stopping this. We have a responsibility to Dad.” States Luther, of course he’d bring Reginald into this.

“To Dad? I’ve heard enough about...” Diego snaps as Luther stands up, interrupting him, “He sacrificed everything to bring us back together.”

You want to argue against him, but oddly enough, he’s right. “I’m with Luther on this one. We can’t give her a chance to fight back. There are billions of lives at stake. We’re past trying to save just one.” Five tells all of you, it’s a terrible and tragic thing to hear, but this is the whole world or Vanya. No one ever said the right decision would be the easiest one.

“Hey, you know, guys, uh...maybe I could help.” Klaus randomly announces, Luther jumping at the chance to turn him down, “Now is not the time Klaus.” He says sternly, not wanting to deal with Klaus’ usual nonsense. “Let him finish.” Retorts Diego, waving Luther off. “He saved my life today.” Finishes Diego, not what you thought he would say, clearly neither did Luther, who questions Klaus about it.

“Yeah, yeah I did....take credit for it. In fact, the real hero...was Ben.” All of you stare at Klaus doubtful, oddly enough you could have swore you heard a muffled reply to Klaus’ rambling. What the? You haven’t been able to hear Ben’s ghost since before Klaus’ addictions muddied up the connection to much, considering your senses are only able to hear Ben when Klaus is near. He’s literally a human Ouija board you swear.

“Today...listen. Today, he punched me in the face. And earlier at the house, he was the one who saved Diego’s life, not me.” Explains Klaus, he’s not lying, you’re truly intrigued now more then ever.

“You are unbelievable, Klaus.” Complains Luther, dumbfounded.

“You want proof, is that it? All right. I’ll give you proof.” Klaus then picks up a pink bowling ball, holding it in his two hands, getting ready to throw it, “All right, it’s showtime, baby. Catch!” He exclaims at the nearby empty space between Allison and a rack of bowling balls.

He throws the ball, it falling right past Allison as it makes a loud thud when it hits the floor. Luther is not amused one bit by Klaus’ shenanigans, in return for his rudeness, Klaus accidentally lets slip the fact that Luther was nicer before he got laid. Earning wide eyes from Allison and the rest of you, Luther snaps at Klaus to shut up, but he just makes it worse when adding in the part where it was an accident cause Luther was actually high.

Allison face is a mix of amazement and disappointment all in one as she abruptly turns around, walking away from rest of you, while Luther trails behind her trying to explain himself. You let them talk it out, as you sit down in one of the doubled side-by-side plastic chairs, choosing the empty spot next to Diego.  Klaus is in front of the both of you, Five in his own seat next to him. Out of nowhere, a random but incredibly bubbly plump lady and her son walk up to you, Diego, Klaus, and Five.

“Excuse me. But it’s my son, Kenny’s birthday today and...um..wouldn’t your son be happier playing with kids his own age?” She says expectantly, with the largest and most annoying of smiles, “Assuming it’s okay with you and your husband.” She asks you sweetly, looking between you, Diego, and Five. Klaus looks to the two of you with raised eyebrows as he covers his mouth to hide a muffled laugh, Diego focuses on her before turning to you with an agitated and puzzled glance.

You give her a tight lipped smile about to say some smart-ass remark when Five beats you to it, “I would rather chew off my own foot.” He growls through clenched teeth. The lady’s face falls as you look over at him with a fake frown, turning to this lady with an equally false beaming smile.

“Maybe some other time, he gets cranky when he doesn’t have his apple juice before 8 o’clock.” She gives you a knowing motherly nod, as she hastily turns around with her son, walking away from all of you. 

“Y/N what the hell was that shit.” Snaps Five as Klaus and Diego let out muffled laughter. You turn to him with a smirk, “What? You just missed out on an opportunity to make your first friend in 45 years.” He looks elsewhere with a sigh,”Yeah cause I need friends, you people are enough to handle already.”

Suddenly Five gets distracted by some swishing noise, getting up to check on it elsewhere in the facility. You, Klaus, and Diego don’t care enough to follow.

You slouch back in the small uncomfortable bowling alley seat, Diego leaning in close to your side with a mischievous grin. “If we had a kid, I hope they wouldn’t be like Five.” You look up at him, “If we had a kid like Five we’d have to just throw the whole kid away. And FYI, I just hope they aren’t like you when it comes to stubbornness.” You sass back, he gives you a half offended look. You just smile at him as he looks back adoringly at you, “Well I guess we won’t even need to have a wedding, that lady already confirmed you’re my wife so.” You snort at his remark, “Then if you happen to end up dead somewhere, do I get widow compensation money benefits to go along, cause I would love an apartment overlooking the city.” You ask him, giving him a playful nudge, Diego just shakes his head with a smile. “I’ll get us that apartment someday...its coming I promise.” He assures you, lightly poking your side, you just roll your eyes in reply.

He leans back, throwing an arm over your shoulder as the two of you look around the bowling alley for anything suspicious. You lean yourself closer into his side, enjoying this small moment of silent affection. “Just so the two of you know, I want to be invited to this wedding.” Adds Klaus out of nowhere, you glance over to him with a nod, “You can be the best man.” You tell him, his face instantly lights up, already thinking of some extravagant outfit and speech to have ready. Diego just chuckles at the two of you, thinking his own pleasant thoughts for that day. Hoping that it will eventually come to light, if the apocalypse doesn’t ruin everything first.

“All right, where’s Five?” Wonders Luther, walking back up to the three of you. 

“He left.” Says Diego, standing up again, you doing the same.

“Oh, for the love of...where’d he go?”

“Didn’t say.” You add, assuming it must of been important if he just teleported away without saying anything first. Or maybe he had to take a huge shit, but who knows.

“Well, we’re not waiting around for him. The concert starts in 30 minutes.” States Luther.

“All right, so what’s the plan?” Diego asks him, although you’re doubtful it’s going to be a good one. Luther pauses for a moment, “Well, I think that, uh.....we go to the Icarus Theater.” You cut in, “That’s a place....not a plan.” He opens his mouth to say something but decides otherwise.

“What? Is that all you got?” Accuses Diego, walking in closer to Luther, “Look, you wanna be Number One, fine, but you’re gonna have to get us on the same page, because right now, we’re all over the place.” Luther looks at Diego almost bored, clearly getting that he’s right, but never wanting to fully admit it, until now, “You’re right....We need a plan.”

As Luther is finishing up his sentence, your eyes snap up to the scent of ammunition, your nose locating the bullets like a shark smelling a drop of blood in the ocean. Your brows furrow as you squint your eyes to the darkly clad gas masked looking motherfuckers with guns, sneaking their way into the bowling alley. If they were trying to be subtle, mission sorely failed. They don’t look like they’re from around here, and you have a strong hunch they’re not here to bowl. You don’t even have time to warn anyone before these bastards start raining bullets like there’s no tomorrow, and quit literally there might not be one.

You take cover behind the bowling alley tables, these ones conveniently cover all the way to the floor, giving you and the rest of the Hargreeves a place to hide. “Who the hell are these guys?” Shouts Diego wide eyed, he’s sitting to your right, as Luther sits to your left.

“Maybe they’re here for Kenny’s birthday!” Yells Klaus, covering his ears from the intrusive racket. Your own ears are bounding with each gun that goes off, you’re quickly getting pissed. “No, I’m pretty sure they’re here for us!” Answers Luther, as more bullets continue to mercilessly search for their breathing targets. “The fuck do we do now? All I’ve got is my boot knife.” You tell the four of them, suddenly Diego jumps up, throwing a dagger into the chest of one of the weird masked guys. In the process the lights flip to night mode, neon lasers are flashing every which way. Luther stands up, launching a heavy bowling ball into one of them, knocking them out.

You stand up yourself, pulling your pencil-long silver dagger from out of your hidden boot pocket, Diego continues to throw his knives while Luther grabs more bowling balls, chucking them at the shooters. You jump up on the table in front of you, front flipping through the air and gracefully landing in a crouched position as you slash your dagger into the Achilles tendon of the closest masked shooter. Slitting it open in one clean motion, he instantly falls to the floor where you then throw your hands tightly around his neck and snap it with little effort. You dart to the left next, vaulting yourself onto the pool table. Your left hand holds you up as you swing your legs and body over the table, sucker punching your next target in the head with a powerful kick.

He falls to the ugly looking carpet with a thud, you flip backwards avoiding the bullets from his friend who’s to your right. He misses you, shooting his unconscious companion in the back, evidently killing him. That works for you, with no time to spare you launch yourself at him, grabbing his head from behind with your left arm. You roughly tilt it up, bringing your right arm over, slitting his throat wide open. He immediately falls to the floor, holding his opened throat as he gurgles, choking on his own blood.

When you look up again, the Hargreeves are racing down the bowling lanes, miraculously avoiding getting shot at, much to your help. Trying to give them a better chance at not getting holes punched into their sides, you lift up the side of the pool table with both of your hands. Lifting the whole thing up and off of the floor with ease, you then catapult it directly into the four masked assassins, severely injuring most of them. The loud gunfire around you slows a bit, taking the blessed opportunity before you, you race towards your friends in a blur. Sliding underneath the back of the alley like an action hero, and out into the other side.

#the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you #the umbrella academy x reader #what a time to be alive fic #falcor the luck dragon stories #tua season one #tua #number two

[ficklefics]

Purpose - Part 2: Honesty Jeremiah Valeska x Reader

Jeremiah has set you apart from the others. But who he is is still a mystery. And you still don't know what he wants with you. 

PART ONE

MASTERLIST

Warnings: Violence, Threat to life, Murder, Family loss, Depression

Ecco had taken you to an office and left you there, the door locking behind her. Cupboards lined the walls, and a table dominated the floor, accompanied by a few chairs. The only light came from a flickering bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. You immediately try to open the cupboards, looking for something to help you, but they’re all locked tight. You throw yourself into one of the seats, wincing as splinters dig into your thighs. How did you get yourself into this mess? And even more importantly, how are you going to get out of it?

You stand up, determined that you aren’t just going to sit down and let this happen to you. You wanted answers, and you would get them, no matter what. The door can’t be that strong, not if it’s as decrepit as it looks. You cross the room and begin to slam your hands against it. It shakes in its hinges, but other than that it doesn’t change. You kick it in frustration and thump your forehead against the cold wood, groaning. There must be a way out. You just had to think.

 Before you get a chance to do so, you hear heavy footsteps approaching the door. At the last moment, you back up before it slams open. It’s him. Jeremiah. Whoever Jeremiah is. He strides past you, as though you aren’t even there. The door slams shut, and you begin to inch towards it. If you made a break for it now, you might be able to get away before he even notices you. But you shake that idea away as soon as it appears – just because he hasn’t acknowledged you doesn’t mean he isn’t paying attention to your every movement, every breath. He unlocks one of the cupboards, pulling out rolls of paper and tossing them onto the table. He discards his hat and jacket, leaving him in a white button-down and black waistcoat, with a blood-red tie. His hair is like ink, almost green in the dull light. Now that you can take the time to look at him, his beauty is even more evident. He’s hunched over the table, muttering once more as he examines the papers. They look like blueprints, and maybe a map of Gotham, but it’s difficult to tell from a distance. You watch as his eyes dart across the pages, as his lips twitch. You wish you could know what was going through his mind. He stands there for so long, apparently oblivious to you, that you begin to wonder if he actually hasn’t seen you. But just as you start to suspect his head snaps up, pale eyes locked with yours. 

 “I assume you have questions?” He straightens up, eyes never leaving you. Something about his voice makes you tremble slightly – you’re not sure what. A torrent of questions floods your mind: Why am I here? What do you want from me? But one spills out ahead of the rest.  “Who are you?” His lip twitches, almost a smile.  “Who am I…” He steps around the table closer to you, and you instinctively step back. You may not know he is, but you know he’s dangerous – you had to kill someone to even meet him, for fuck's sake. Your fear makes him chuckle.  “That guy – the other survivor – he acted as though I should know who you are. He said… “You’re the reason we’re all here.”” His smile grows darker, excited in a way, as though he can’t wait until you find out who he is. “You did something. Something important. What?” There it is. The real question. What did Jeremiah do to have so much power, for so many people to worship him, for so many people to fear him? “I think you already know the answer to your question, (Y/N).” You shake your head, confused. He tilts his head, the smugness building. “I’m the person you’re looking for.” The person I’m… Oh. Your mouth drops open in shock. It was him. It was all him. “You did it. You destroyed Gotham.” “Not quite as much as I’d wanted to, but a little destruction is better than none.” You’re shaking. It was him. All him. Before now you had planned out everything you would do when you met the person responsible for ruining your life. Ask them why, force them to answer you, make them pay for what they did. But now that he was right in front of you, only a few steps away, you were frozen. Jeremiah was watching your reaction, still smiling. Something about that smile… you snapped.   “You bastard!” You step forward and grab his shirt, fully intending to make him suffer, but before you can do anything his hands are on you, the smile gone – he twists one arm behind your back with an unimaginable strength, his other hand gripping your hair as he forces you against the wall, face pressed against the cold brick. You yelp, struggling against the pain blooming, but his grip is like a vice – bruising, unrelenting.  “True, but that’s not the point.” His body is flush against your back, and when he speaks his cold lips brush your ear. You let out a shaky gasp, your eyes wide.   “What are you going to do with me?” You feel him chuckle.  “Well, that all depends on you. Will you behave, or do I have to kill you?” At some point he must have released your hair, because now you feel a sharp blade against the side of your neck, making you draw in a sharp breath.  “Please… please don’t kill me…” You can’t breathe. This is worse than the roulette. One false move and you’ll be sliced open, and you know Jeremiah would leave you to bleed out on the floor whether he had intended to kill you or not. The blade glides across your skin, up and over your cheek, brushing your hair back and nicking your ear. He smiles against you, and you prepare for the worst.  “I won’t.” He steps away and you collapse against the wall, gasping for breath. “For now.” He leaves you there while he opens another cupboard, pulling out a black suit jacket and slipping it on. “Follow me.” You follow his instruction immediately – you don’t know why – catching up to him in the corridor outside the room.   “You still haven’t explained.” He ignores you, striding through the maze of corridors, moving away from the sounds of digging. “What do you want with me?”  “You’re different from my other recruits, (Y/N). They would follow me blindly to the ends of the earth – they do.” He’s leading you up a flight of stairs now. You’re still confused, not seeing what that has to do with you. “I can’t trust them. They would do anything to get ahead in my favour. But you-” He stops abruptly and turns towards you. You stumble to a stop, surprised. He grips your chin once more, examining your face, your wide eyes, lips parted from hurrying to keep up with him. You watch him, scared to make any noise or movement. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you (Y/N)?” You shake your head as much as you can; propelled by both honesty and fear. You wouldn’t lie, you know that, but you don’t want to think about what would happen to you if you weren’t special, if you weren’t different from the others who had come to this insane cult. “Even if you were scared that I wouldn’t like the answer?” Your agreement with him comes less easily this time, but you nod. “Good.” His hand drops to your shoulder pushing you up the final set of stairs. He gestures for you to open the door in front of you, and you hesitate only for a moment before doing so. You are immediately met with a burning sunset casting Gotham in orange light. Your mouth falls open – you haven’t seen anything so beautiful since before the bridges were destroyed. Since Jeremiah destroyed the bridges. You can’t forget that it was him. That he is the one who destroyed your life. You can play along, for now, you have to, but you can’t let yourself be ensnared by his charms. You take a small step forward, glancing back to Jeremiah for permission. He nods and you keep going to the very edge of the roof. From here you can see Gotham spread out before you, a beautiful ruin. Fires burn, buildings are closer to rubble, people shout and yell and sob, but it’s all dimmed by the vivid oranges and pinks that wash over it all.   “Why would you want to destroy this?” You wonder aloud. Gotham was never perfect, but it had a heart, a soul, one that struggled on despite the adversity it faced on a daily basis.   “You don’t see the imperfections.” You jump at the closeness of his voice. Somehow he has silently moved to stand directly behind your shoulder, just to your left, looking across the city with you. “I did not intend to destroy it for destruction's sake – I am not my brother.” His brother… Jerome. You knew you recognised the name, but only now do you make the connection between the inhuman nightmare standing beside you and the chaotic terror that brought Gotham to its knees on his every outing. “I sought to create a new Gotham, a better one. I didn’t want people to die. Destroying the bridges was a last resort.”   “But people still died.”  “A shame. But a necessary sacrifice.”  “My family was a “necessary sacrifice”?” You spit, stepping away from him, his presence fuelling the anger that has returned. “My friends?”  “I didn’t kill your family, (Y/N),” He’s getting impatient now. You can hear it in his voice. “That was the people of Gotham. The people that you would seek to protect. The people that wouldn’t be welcome in my new world.” His new world…   “Would I be welcome?” The question is like acid on your tongue. But you can’t stop yourself from asking it.   “Again, that all depends on you.” He steps closer and you force yourself to stay still. “I need you to trust me, and only me, completely.”  “I don’t know if I can do that,” He said not to lie, and you’re sure that he’d know if you did. He lowers his head and sighs. You hold your breath.   “That’s very disappointing, (Y/N).” His hand flies up and wraps around your throat – you instinctively try to yelp, but your airflow has been cut off, and you merely let out a pitiful whine. He pulls you towards him so that his forehead is pressed against yours, forcing you to balance on the tips of your toes. When he speaks you feel his lips move against yours. “If you can’t do that, if I can’t be certain of you, then truly, I have no use for you.” His arm straightens and you find yourself being held over the edge of the building. You cling to his forearm, tears of fear and pain forming at the corners of your eyes. You hate yourself for how weak you are.  “Please, I can try, I will, please-” He groans, his hand flexing around your neck.  “I just don’t know if you’re the right one, (Y/N). How can I, when you fight me like this?” Your heart aches at the disappointment in his voice. Rationally you know it shouldn’t matter, but you’ve been so alone for so long… Maybe Jeremiah can make you whole again.  “I’m sorry. I’m scared, confused.” Your voice is broken up by desperate sobbing. He tilts his head at you, examining you clinically. “Please, Jeremiah. I know I can do what you want me to.”  “Can you?” You nod rapidly, whimpering as his hand loosens and you glance down to see the fall awaiting you. “Prove it.”  “I’ll do anything; anything you want me to do.”  “Let go of my arm.” Your mind screams at you, your body tenses in resistance, but you release him obediently. Now the only thing keeping you from falling is Jeremiah. Your hands twitch by your sides, grabbing at your jeans, seeking any sort of purchase. He smiles, a cold, menacing smile. 

 “Good.”

And he lets go.

PART THREE

Tags:@yagurlrosie​ @yagirljoana​ @psychobitchtess​ @mistressoftorture​ 

#jeremiah imagine #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #purpose #honesty #ecco #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #gotham x reader

[monsteronfire]

A Mystery | Pt 24

College Student!Jungkook x Reader/OC

Sometimes life presents the things you need in a mysterious way. Jungkook is a college student with a sketchy past and a debt on the rise. If he can’t get his life together he could lose not only his last year of tuition, but his future and the well-being of those he loves as well. Then along comes a ghost named A and he’s left feeling constantly uneasy and in possible danger whenever they interact, but it could be that A has what he needs to keep his life going

———

The car goes dark as soon as your screen does and you toss the phone into the glove compartment with all the others. There’s probably close to a dozen there, all of them little shields that kept the real you safe from your enemies- and your friends. It’s strange to see them now, all dark in a box. One you’ll probably never look into again once this is all over. You feel a small sense of loss. Like letting go of old friends after so many years.

But sometimes such things were necessary.

“M-miss?”

The woman behind you still trembles with fear, even after a nearly two hour drive. Parts of her face are red and slightly swollen, but thankfully you’d gotten there soon enough that they hadn’t done too much damage to her. She sits in the backseat of your car and as you stare at her in the rear view mirror now, you see a bit of Taehyung in her and it kills you a little.

“Don’t worry. I’m taking you to see your son. Get out.”

She hesitates, but you don’t, climbing out of the driver’s seat and walking to the door just behind you. You pull it open and she flinches away, making you wish she remembered you at least a little from before. Your hand goes out to her gently, beckoning her to you.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you anymore.”

Again she hesitates, but finally takes your hand and let’s you lift her out of the car. You drag her along down the back street, empty cars and old buildings giving the area an abandoned feel. You spot Jimin’s easily enough, remembering the picture when you looked it up before. It looks empty from this far and you panic for a split second, afraid that something happened or they were dumb enough to leave its safety. However, when you get closer you see them both laying back in the seats speaking quietly to each other. You almost stop when you see Taehyung, his face a storm of emotion and none of it good or happy in anyway. It tugs at your heart, but you can’t make excuses anymore. What happened, happened. All you can do now is make it right.

You rap your knuckles against the driver’s side window and both nearly jump out of their skin at the sound. Taehyung’s face instantly changes to a full on glare while Jimin works to open the window. Taehyung is too impatient to shout at you and gets out instead, only pausing when he spots his mother behind you. Just as he’s shouting for her, Jimin is opening his door and climbing out. His face holds kinder emotions for you and he hugs you when he shouts your name.

“A!”

“Oh Taehyungie!”

“Mom! Are you okay?”

Taehyung and his mom embrace each other, and you release her so that they can have their moment together. He pulls away and holds her at arm’s length, looking her over and whispering apologies to her. As if it were his fault this all happened. You only look away when Jimin releases you, his sweet smile more than you deserve.

“Are you okay? You made it out safe?”

“I’m fine. We made it out okay, but,” you pause and turn to the other two, “... we need to get you two into hiding for now.”

“For now? How long is that?” Taehyung’s anger is potent in his words and had you been anyone else it would hurt more than it does.

“You’re both still in danger. I need to keep you safe while-“

“Safe? Keep us safe?!”

Both Jimin and Taehyung’s mother speak his name lowly, trying to calm him.

“You were supposed to keep us safe years ago, A! I’m inclined to believe you don’t actually know what that word means!”

“Tae, please,” Jimin says again, putting himself halfway between you and his friend. How wonderful this boy must be to trust you so even after what you did.

“It’s okay, Jimin. He has every right, but save it for another few minutes. I need to get you into hiding. We can’t be out in the open like this for too long.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to put my anger on hold right now? Do you even have any idea-“

Your eyes close, your fear mounting into frustration.

“Taehyung!” He falls silent.

“Don’t make me knock you out again.”

He remains silent, albeit a glare still sits on his face. Regardless, you’re satisfied. You turn from the group, walking in a different direction without looking back. Jimin will make sure they follow. He trusts you for whatever reason.

“Crone will be scouring the fucking Earth looking for you two. Until he’s dealt with you need to stay hidden.”

“Why does he care so much about us anyway? Why can’t he just leave us alone?”

“Because he is a man of power. In his life he controls all. Except you two. I took that from him.”

“Not well enough it seems...”

You take them further down the street, the sound of seafulls putting you a bit more at ease. A brick wall built higher than you runs along the end of the road, a fence gate in the center and piles of massive shipping crates in the distance beyond it. The seagulls circle in the sky and off to one side behind the wall is a massive warehouse. The scent of water fills your lungs.

“A shipping yard?” Jimin asks sweetly.

“My shipping yard. Bought it years ago, though it’s set up to still look like it’s run by the city. It functions normally, still runs like it used to, but I’ve added a few tweaks to make it more useful for me.”

“What kind of tweaks?” Jimin almost sounds excited, though you suppose that doesn’t surprise you. He seems to enjoy a more atypical type of life than most, no matter how much he tries to hide it. Out of anyone he’d probably be the most curious about the inner workings of your old life.

“Mostly storage, in the crates and underground, a couple safe rooms and a holding cell. A fallout shelter.”

“Fallout shelter? Holding cell?” Jimin speeds to catch up and walk next to you. You give him a sidelong glance and smirk a little. He’s cute.

“Holding cell for those I need to lock up for a while and fallout shelter mainly in case I need to go into hiding for a bit, but not permanently. But you never know,” you wink at him and he grins, skipping closer to you.

“What’s all in there? How long can you survive down there? Have you ever used it?”

“Is that where you’re taking us?”

You glance behind you, Taheyung’s arm around his mother and a glare still on his face.

“Yes. I was going to put you in one of the safe rooms, but they’re above ground and can still be penetrated by heat detection devices. The fallout shelter is built underground far enough that nothing can detect you down there. Plus there’s first aid stuff down there so you can look after you mom.”

“Who are you,” his mother finally asks meekly. To your surprise Taehyung remains silent, looking from her back to you. Almost as if he’s curious to see how you will actually answer. You turn your attention back to the path in front of you, your expression starting to match his.

“Someone that was supposed to keep you safe the first time you ran from Crone.”

No one says anything else and you’re glad for it. You finally stop at a row of shipping crates, pausing to look around for a moment. A habit. When it looks like the coast is clear, you press your hand into the side of the blue painted container. A rectangle gives way under your touch to reveal a number pad, your fingers punching in the numbers from muscle memory alone. Nine digits and an enter button has the ground beneath you rumbling. You pull Jimin back closer to you as the earth lowers and pulls back under the crate, revealing stairs down to a small door.

“Hurry now,” you say and motion them down the stairs. The old fashioned, pressurized door opens to an elevator that takes you 30 feet underground, giving you an extra few feet to avoid thermal detection. The shelter is small, but equipped with the basics for living underground for a time; up to a year. You flip a large switch when you exit the elevator and lights flicker on one after the other to reveal the sparsely decorated interior.

“Quaint,” Taehyung mocks, leading his mother to the nearest chair.

“It was never meant to be a home.” You reply mechanically, heading past them to find the first aid kit. Jimin is silent while he looks around, awe on his face and his eyes sparkling with wonder. Now that they’re here you realize your mind is beginning to shut down. You got them to safety, but there’s still more to do and if you let emotions get involved, your chances of death and failure heighten. You have a process, like a computer working through the paths of programming when you click on something. When you leave here you’ll become a machine.

As you’d been raised to be.

You return with the white and red box, passing it to Taehyung and stepping back. You likely know more about anything medical than him, but you know if you’re ever going to win back some semblance of your friendship then you need to do this. Let him take care of his own mother.

“You ever gonna give me these answers you keep promising me? Or is it just another empty one?”

His words are harsh and they sting. It takes you a moment, your mind giving you every red flag to not open up like this. But this was a necessity; just like standing back and letting him tend to his mother. Finally you start, your fingers fiddling with themselves for just a second before your hands fall to your sides.

“I have never completely been who you thought I was. For the most part it’s always been me, but there’s always been so much more. I have never been normal-“

“That’s pretty clear,” he mumbles and your eyes narrow a bit.

“I have never been normal, nor have I ever been ordinary. I do not have parents like you do, or sisters, or brothers. Not a family, not in the traditional sense. My brothers and sisters are warriors like me. Killers, assassins, mercenaries. We are rigorously trained from the age of 7 to the age of 20 to be... the best. Combat training, weapons training, intelligence, espionage, sabotage, camouflage, all of it. Whatever’s in your books to describe a ‘spy,’ we learn. We are meant to be soldiers, to fight for her. Whatever her means, we carry them out.”

“Who is she?” Jimin asks, sitting in a chair near the other two.

“Her tale is for another time. All you need to know now is that she trained me to be deadly and I was very proficient at it. Well... all, but the killing part. It was not something I did lightly. I was better at other things. And then I left her at the age of 18.”

“Why?”

“Near the end of my time with the troupe, she grew too old to continue collecting power. She left it to her son, an idiot who was sure to botch everything up. In the transition of power from her to him, many of us left. He tried to send others out after us. Some died, some were captured and returned, and the rest- like me- were lost. We split up, intent on making new lives. I fell into information.”

“Informant,” Taehyung almost spits.

“Yes, in a way. I was a freelance information specialist. I gathered and sold info on the blackmarket.”

“So what made you start working for Crone?”

He’s still so angry, his voice still so full of venom and disdain. You pause a beat before speaking again, your eyes looking up from your hands to your friend.

“You.”

He falls silent, the anger melting away and shock taking its place. Jimin looks much the same, his gaze switching from you to his friend and then back again. Almost comically.

“When I met you and we became friends; when you asked me to help you, I did. I was only a few years out of the troupe so while I had the money and tools to save you, it was not completely. I knew Crone could still find you and I wouldn’t be able to protect you if he did. So I made a deal with him. I could give him the power he so desired as long as he left you and your mother be. He could keep tabs on you, but always out of sight and out of mind. So long as I fed him the info he needed to rise to power, he was to leave you alone.”

Everyone is silent for a long moment, Jimin looking a bit uneasy of what could happen next. Taehyung stares at his lap, quiet, thinking. You straighten as you watch him, your story coming to an end and your task coming to its beginning. You’re not finished yet.

“Why did he come to me then, what changed his mind?” Taehyung asks, but doesn’t look up at you. Jimin stares at you and you motion for him to head to the elevator. He hesitates, but then rises silently and takes slow steps.

“I’ve been working for a few years now... To complete my promise. I could never really keep you safe before, so I started working to do so. If I take down Crone, then there will be no one left to hunt you.”

He looks up at that, shocked. Did he really not expect that of you? For you not to finish this? So many emotions pass through his eyes that for a moment you see your friend. The old Taehyung that knew none of this and still cared for you as you cared for him. And so you do not stay.

Let me keep this moment, you think to yourself.

“Stay here, don’t leave this place until I send someone for you.”

“A?” He speaks as you leave.

You turn and head for the elevator where Jimin stands almost dutifully.

“I told you I had more to do.”

“A wait,” he reaches for you, standing just as he catches your wrist. You pause, but look back at him.

“I’m going to finish this, Tae. When I’m done, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you tug your wrist from his grip and continue on. You walk quickly, shoving Jimin into the elevator and pressing the button to go back up. Taehyung calls for you again, trying to reach you before you go, but the door closes and you are left in peace. The ride up is silent and it isn’t until you reach the surface again that Jimin speaks.

“A?”

“Jimin, I have one last favor of you.”

“Anything,” he replies quietly, reaching out for your hand. You don’t have the heart to look at him, instead staring off into the distance.

“I will give you word when I take care of Crone. I’ll need you to come get Taehyung. Can you do that for me?”

He’s silent for a long moment, his other hand coming to clasp yours and squeezing it comfortingly.

“I will.”

“Thank you. Go home. Get some rest, tell the others their friend is fine.”

“Good luck, A. Come back to us.”

Finally you look at him.

“I aim to.”

———

Previous :: Next

A/N: Whew! Okay! So this turned out way longer than I expected! Like I need to learn some restraint I guess. 😅 Anyway, the next part should be out on time tomorrow. It will be much shorter. I hope you guys enjoy this one!

@deolly, @mygukandonly, @doilooklikeinoe, @j-i-m-i-n-e, @ask-blogger-miss-prussia, @titillandux, @d-noona

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #jungkook #bts jungkook #jeong jungkook #bts smau #bts scenario #bts fake texts #bangtan sonyeondan smau #bangtan sonyeondan scenario #bangtan sonyeondan fake texts #jungkook scenario #jungkook fake texts #jungkook smau #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #a mystery series

[askmistdad]

A long post bellow with @v-shigaraki

Shigaraki was having a day, and it was starting to piss him off. Dabi thought it would be funny to hide Father and in his frustration he’d destroyed a gaming console. Now he sat at the bar with the noise of the group ringing in his ears. He was tempted to kill the whole lot of them...

Good. He was at the bar. Seeing Shigaraki slumped over while the others laughed wasn't unusual, so Kurogiri had been confident in being able to find him...but Shigaraki would not be pleased to see him once he knew why Kurogiri was there. Good. Kurogiri wasn't pleased he'd have to do this. Looming behind Shigaraki, Kurogiri tapped the bar by his head. "Shigaraki. We need to talk."

Turning his head just enough to glare up at the vague form of a man, Shigaraki seethes. “What do you want?”

Raising an eyebrow, Kurogiri simply stares impassively down at Shigaraki, gaze boring into him. A Bad Day, then. Father seemed to be missing, that would explain it. All the better to do this now, and get it over with at once. "I'd like to talk without you about your attitude lately." Glancing at the noise on the other side of the bar, Kurogiri opened a portal to another room, voice cold as he said, "It is a conversation you cannot avoid."

Shigaraki rises, walking through the portal with his head held high. He practically oozes pride. Who was Kurogiri to order him? He was beneath him, he was nothing. Just like the rest of them. “You don’t have a say in my attitude.”

"No?" That was exactly why they needed to talk. Shigaraki's arrogance, his pride, were simple things. Good for him, in some ways. But it should never interfere with his judgement. It should never keep him from understanding his surroundings, keep him from watching where he was going. 

 The room was dark, cold. Not a room at all, but one of their cells without doors. A normal Shigaraki would have walked through without asking where they were going, would never have forgotten how much Kurogiri thought things through. He was always prepared. "I believe your recent behavior says otherwise. You've been undermining my words, disrespecting me in front of the others and making foolish decisions, Shigaraki, and that. won't. do." Respect needed to be reinstated.

He tenses almost immediately, gritting his teeth before whipping around. This was not okay, he had to get out, the whole situation was wrong. He was supposed to be in control. Him. Not Kurogiri. That wasn’t his place. 

 “Maybe if you did your job, properly, I wouldn’t have to reprimand an incompetent old man who claims to be the most responsible and intellectual member of a group of fools!” Panic is seizing his throat as he snarls his anger at Kurogiri. He can’t stop himself, he would tear the man apart if he had to.

Kurogiri narrowed his gaze, staring Shigaraki down. Aside from the noise, this was why he had wanted the conversation out of sight, out of mind of the other members. Shigaraki had so much potential, but these temper tantrums ruined it. He was learning, but far too slowly. "And I suppose you would do just fine without me then?" 

 Always understand the importance of what you have. Always use it to the best of your ability. He had taught this to Shigaraki as a child. It seemed he had forgotten. "Do you know how to manage our accounts, Shigaraki? How to contact every single one of our spies, where each outpost is? Can you even leave this room without my aid?"

“I’ll destroy it until it’s nothing but a pathetic pile of rubble! Get me out of here, you have no right to punish me like I’m some idiotic underling!” 

Shigaraki paces the room, silently analyzing for a way out. The walls were cement or brick based, crudely painted with a peeling layer of paint. The height was reasonable, however hard to estimate as it was near pitch black, illuminated only by Kurogiri’s misty form. “I don’t give a damn about what you assume your worth to be, don’t get in my way.”

"And what will you do when your brute force method causes the ceiling to crumble on your head? When you're crushed by the stone? You know as well as I how sturdy these rooms are...or you should. You're making mistakes again, Shigaraki." Kurogiri closed his eyes, blinking slowly to eliminate his glow. The darkness was almost absolute until he opened them again, just as slowly.

"Spitting lines again, without the ability to back it up. I'm disappointed, Shigaraki. I thought we were moving on from this, and yet I find you as short sighted and short tempered as always. Perhaps you need time to cool off? Maybe then you'll realize how much you need me if you want to get your way in the first place."

His words wound ‘round his throat like a snake strangling its prey. Kurogiri wouldn’t dare...would he—no. He was more than a pawn, he was in charge. Him. Shigaraki Tomura. Shigarki scratches at his wrist, “I don’t need you... I don’t need fucking anybody but Sensei. You overestimate your importance.”

Kurogiri's voice, which had lifted up a bit, turns even colder than his original greeting, harder than stone as his mist flares. All For One had left them. Kurogiri understood why, oh yes. He had approved, in fact. It was logically sound, but still... "Sensei. And he's taking sure good care of us, such good care of you from prison, is he? He left you in my care, and I do not intend to disappoint. Can you say the same, Shigaraki?" 

"All you have is me, Shigaraki, and all I have is you. Sensei left this to both of us, not just you, because we cannot do it alone."

“Shut up..! You know jack shit about him!” Shigaraki all but screams, moving to claw at his neck. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. Sensei didn’t—wouldn’t abandon him. He—“HE HAD NO CHOICE!”

"I know nothing? I, who was by Sensei's side all these years? Who's known him since before you were born, worked with him to raise you? I know him better than anyone alive, Shigaraki, and I know he left you behind. He has his plans, and decided we weren't a part of them anymore, Shigaraki." 

Kurogiri watches impassively as Shigaraki breaks down, clawing at his own skin. This is what it took for him to learn, always, always. The poor thing. "You and I were both abandoned, Shigaraki. That is why we belong together."

No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. He cared. He had to care. Sensei chose him, he was important. Sensei loved him, he just had to love him. He wasn’t just another pawn, he was special, Sensei told him he was special! 

Dropping to his knees, Shigaraki clutched his head. Swirling thoughts stirred bile in his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut. Kurogiri was wrong. He didn’t know Sensei like he knew him. “SHUT UP!”

Kurogiri just leaned over Shigaraki, knowing it was dangerous, knowing his hands would likely shoot out any moment to try and hurt him somehow. Knowing meant he was prepared, swirling portals already at hand. He whispered the next words, cold as ice. "He doesn't need you anymore, Shigaraki. He never cared for you like me, you know. We're all tools to him, silly child." Kurogiri had accepted that long ago. 

 Leaning back slightly, Kurogiri didn't blink, watching Shigaraki for the slightest motion. "If you want me to stop, you can't just order me like a brat, Shigaraki. Prove that you're a leader."

What was there to say... he couldn’t. His throat wouldn’t cooperate, Shigaraki could barely breathe, let alone speak. He couldn’t think, the only coherent words forming of which had been said by Kurogiri. He was right. He was right, and Tomura hated it. What was the point of him leading if he was just like every single other worthless piece of shit in the bar.

"Oh dear." Kurogiri sighed, clicking his tongue, and reached out to touch Shigaraki's chin, mist swirling to kiss his skin. Break them to build them, as they say. "Don't just give up, Shigaraki. You're stronger than that, aren't you? Sensei left you behind, but he left you behind with a task. Are you going to ignore everything he trusted us with, or are you going to be someone he could acknowledge?" 

 Forcing Shigaraki to meet his gaze, Kurogiri shook his head. "We can do everything Sensei wanted us to do, Shigaraki, if you learn to use your head. He picked us for this."

“U-us...?” Shigaraki’s throat is hoarse from the effort of breathing. Reality seemed like a far off, intangible concept, the only thing grounding him being the cool void licking at his chin. It was almost too much, leaving him wracked with silent sobs that found no escape.

Making a soothing noise far in the back of his throat, Kurogiri continued to let his mist curl around Shigaraki's face, staring into blown eyes. "Yes, us. You're the face of the League, Shigaraki, the one who brings us together, and I am the logistics, the one who lets us operate. We need each other, you see. Together we can accomplish everything Sensei wanted for the League." 

 Grip turning punishing, Kurogiri's voice dipped. "That's why I won't tolerate disrespect, Shigaraki. You are above everyone in that bar or outside it, but you are not above me. We are equal, understand?"

“N-no... I...” Shigaraki can’t catch up. He doesn’t want to share.

"Perhaps I'm going too fast for you, Shigaraki." Kurogiri coos, drawing back to leave Shigaraki alone, cold, in the dark. "Perhaps you need some time to think about it, hm? Unless you already understand, and just don't want to admit it. You don't get to treat me like trash because we're the same, Shigaraki. There is no escaping this. You already know these things, so please don't be so slow."

As the touch recedes, Tomura lashes forward, stomach lurching in his throat. “N-NO! No, no, no, you can’t—don’t—I...” 

Tears sting against cracked skin, yet he pays no mind. Kurogiri couldn’t leave. “I’m s-sorry... I’m sorry pl-please y-you promised you wouldn’t leave!” Shigaraki claws at Kurogiri’s pant leg, desperately trying to keep the man there. Any remnants of pride having been destroyed, he reverts to the way Sensei found him; a helpless child begging to be saved.

Sinking down, not quite to Shigaraki's level, but a bit above him, Kurogiri silently allows Shigaraki to cling to him, fingers finding their way into Shigaraki's hair, tugging through the knots to rub at his scalp soothingly. "There there, Shigaraki....I'll never leave you, not like Sensei. We're in this together, aren't we?" 

These pants were likely done for, especially around the ankles, but this was important enough to sacrifice a single suit. It wasn't a very nice one anyways. "My promise is my word. I'll be by your side through everything, always supporting you. But that means you give me the respect I'm due, doesn't it?"

Relief slumps through Tomura and he falls forward to lean against Kurogiri’s leg. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” Fingers tangled in his hair, Shigaraki pushes into the touch. “Will...Sensei come back...?”

Kurogiri hums, voice gentle as he continues to thread his fingers through Shigaraki's hair. He'd always liked this, since he was a child, hadn't he? It had been so long since they sat together like this, Shigaraki stripped raw. Supporting his body like it was the most natural thing in the world, Kurogiri shifts Shigaraki against his knees to lean more comfortably. 

 "I do not know, Shigaraki. The only thing I know is that he's left this to us. If he does come back, it will not be until we've accomplished our goal. Nothing gets in the way of that."

Shigaraki doesn’t bother to contrast his thoughts against the man’s. Much too comfortable for any coherency, he makes a small noise of acknowledgment. The yelling was over, Kurogiri wouldn’t lock him up. He was safe, Kurogiri loves him. Kurogiri was here.

Kurogiri doesn't speak for a while, letting the silence wash over them comfortably. Sometimes touch got through to Shigaraki better than words, so often deprived of kindness that the slightest change brought a response. To let the comfort, the message sink in, at times it was better to simply wait. 

And so Kurogiri waited, humming occasionally as he stroked Shigaraki's head, sitting in the dark together.

#bnha #bnha rp #i'm not paid enough for this #Shigaraki #buildup.arc #trigger warning: #Psychological Manipulation #self harm

[highladyjel]

You look happier (Nessian)

Cassian had already drained his sixth drink by the time his family had joined him at Rita's. They had been here for just under an hour now. He had tried to look as though he was enjoying himself, had somehow convinced himself he was, that was until she walked in.

It had been one month since they had broken up and Cassian had decided, the second he let her walk out of his apartment door, that it was the worst decision he had ever made. That day had haunted him ever since. It wasn’t entirely his fault, they had both said things that they didn’t mean. However, the guilt was slowly eating him alive. In anger, he had used words that he knew, when thrown at the right angle, would shatter her shins and bring her to her knees. He knew what he said broke part of her, he saw the light in her eyes get replaced by bleakness as he spewed the venom. Stupidly, he thought they would resolve their argument, like they usually did, and fall back into each others arms. Had she of come home that night he would have apologized profusely and told her, repeatedly, that he loved her. Although, she hadn’t returned that evening and, for that reason, Cassian knew he had crushed whatever chance he had at being happy. He had ruined it for himself.

His stomach dropped at the sight of her-His Nesta-every muscle in his body going tense as he restrained himself from rushing to her side. It was no surprise that she looked just as devastatingly beautiful as usual. Yet, what did surprise him was that there was something different about her. A bounce to her step and a glint in her eyes that their months of disagreements had long extinguished. She looked good. She looked happier. He knew he shouldn’t be annoyed over the fact that she was handling the breakup well, but part of him couldn’t help but feel envious. She wasn’t drinking away the pain like him, wasn’t spiralling into an abyss of self pity like him. No, she was walking through a sea of people, with her head held high and the knowing look of a women who looked like a goddess.

He couldn’t do this. It was too soon-too fresh of a wound.

His eyes never left hers yet, hers never found his, not until she reached their table and spotted Cassian sat on the end. Storm grey eyes met his hazel ones and, in that moment, he forgot all the pain of the last month and simply locked his eyes with hers. Eyes that he could have once lost himself in; a still point in the turning world.

He needed her to look away, afraid that if he kept his gaze locked on hers he would shatter, however, he didn’t think he would be able to handle it if she did. Without breaking her stare, he greeted her, almost breathlessly, as if afraid the sound of his voice would scare her away. To his dismay, it broke whatever trance they were in and she quickly began speaking to her sisters, telling them all about her hectic week.

Cassian watched her in awe. He didn’t hear a single word she said but, he didn’t need to. She was happier without him. He could tell that it wasn’t intended, that she hadn’t planned on adapting so well to the circumstances, it had just happened. After cutting her strings to him she was able to heal what she hadn’t known was broken. Nesta needn’t tell Cassian any of this because he knew her better than anyone sat at their table. Only now, seeing Nesta as light and carefree as she was, did Cassian realise she had been hurting. So overcome by the need to make her happy, he hadn’t noticed how he had been drowning her. they had, Undoubtedly, loved each other too much and, consequently, burnt one another out.

Only in her absence was Cassian able to truly see her. She was his sunshine. He had delighted in her warmth yet, had never really looked at her unless in frustration. If she was dull and introverted, he missed her. If she was bright and intense, he hid, afraid she would scorch him with the words that fell from her perfect mouth. He realised that he only properly looked at her during the beauty of her leave. In the darkness she left behind, he wondered how he had never seen her before.

Breaking Cassian out of thought, Feyre said something that made Nesta throw her head back with laughter, to the point at which tears formed in the corners of her eyes. At that, Cassian felt his lips twitch upwards into a small smile. It had been so long since he had seen the women he loved like this, it destroyed him a little to know that he wasn’t the reason for it. Or, he was, but not for the reasons he wanted to be.

Their relationship had been a car crash but they were both so stubbornly in love to admit it.

He tried to ignore how the constant metronome of his heart beat felt like a spastic drumline. How his ears were filled with the constant buzzing of bees, like a white noise machine playing all of the sounds at once.

Faintly, Cassian could hear Mor asking whether he was alright. He nodded absentmindedly, she most likely already knew how he was feeling.

He had to leave. It was all getting too much for him with her here smiling, reminding him of all the ways in which he had failed her.

“I’m going to get some air, i’ll be back in five, ok?” Cassian muttered to no one in particular as he pulled himself out of his seat and headed for the exit.

As soon as he breathed in the fresh air he could instantly feel his pulse slowing and the fog in his mind clearing. If Nesta could be happy so could he. Sure, it may take longer for him to move on but, he would get there because she was better off without him.

To his right, The door to the bar opened and he heard the slow click of heels on the concrete.

“Cass? Are you ok?” something within him almost shattered at the sound of her voice. She sounded heartbroken, as if it hurt her to be around him just as much as it hurt him to be around her.

He didn’t think he could look at her. If he did he would break; she always was his undoing. So instead, he kept his eyes on the ground ahead and leant back again the brick wall.

“You seem happy,” he said, his voice hoarse and hardly more than a whisper.

“I am,” she sighed, “are you?”

“Not really, but i’ll be alright,” he replied truthfully, offering her that last part of his heart. Hoping she would find solace knowing that even if he may be hurting, he would heal. He would find himself again, and if she chooses to lead a separate life to his, it would be ok.

Apprehensively, he turned to her and watched as she strolled to stand next to him. As she dropped her head on to his shoulder, she sighed, “i wish it could have been different you know? I wish we could have healed together rather than breaking each other even more. We just don’t click anymore, not like before. We started hurting each other in ways that we would have never even comprehended-”

“I love you Nesta. I always will. For that reason, you don’t have to excuse or apologize for your happiness. I saw it the moment you walked in tonight. You’re a different person and that’s ok. I’m devastated that i couldn’t give you what you truly needed, but sometimes that’s just the way it is. I only ever wanted you to be happy Nesta, and you’re happier without me, i can see it in those gorgeous eyes of yours. You have to think about yourself first.” He offered her the smallest, most heart breaking smile, “ I will wait for you. Even if you never come back to me, I will wait for you. The sliver of happiness I could have with you is worth it.”

He turned and brushed his fingers against her cheek, “I'm happy, as long as you are.”

As painful as it was, he had to go. He couldn't stand there talking to her because the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

“Goodbye, Nesta. I wish you the best.”

Notes: so that was the second one shot i’ve ever written and to be fair it isn't great but I gave it my best shot. It was completely influenced by Ed Sheeran’s song happier, I have been listening to that on repeat for like the last few days because i’ve needed a good cry. Go and check the song out because its mega angsty and who doesn't love angst?

Tagged (anyone who liked my post earlier): @ashleybelka @blackfyrres @sensingdejavu @badass-unicorn-with-glitter @deadlylady12 @winterschild26 @ofstarsanddreams @a-trifling-matter @noisydragoncollection @perfectlyimpxrfect @avara-avara @xdianaxl @immortal-awesomeness @aelinashgalathynius @saholiveira7 @alicethelonerabbit @missing-merlin @atya-malik133 @sannelovesreading @yumna402 @cauldron-boilme

#my writing #nessian #nesta acheron #nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #feysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #feyrhys #elain archeron #elain #elain x lucien #elain x azriel #lucien vanserra #lucien #azriel #mor #amren

[enigmatist17]

A Beginning Light (GCBC)

AO3 link, for those who don’t want to read this wall of text.

When Lord Business’s main control center had exploded from the sealing of the kragle, most of the robots that served him had all deactivated at once. There would be times people would come across some of the robots in a back alley, usually destroying it before going on their way. Some were still active, however, most were put to use helping repair the many cities and realms that dotted the universe. There were three specific robots that had suffered neither fate. When Bad Cop and Good Cop had been “hired”, they were told that robots would be the ones they would be working with. Liam had always been interested in mechanics and took to upgrading the core three bots that always followed their lead. Business hadn’t cared, too busy embroiled in his scheming to even realize that, by accident more than anything, Bad Cop had created an AI system in the three. Ever since that day, they followed their own minds, and their loyalty to the brothers was resolute and unbreaking.

Since T.A.K.O.S Tuesday, the three had been wrangled into one of the robot holding cells. Business had been extremely frustrated they were uncontrollable, but he had more things to worry about. The “older” bot snapped to attention one night when he heard footsteps. They never heard footsteps all the way down here. Getting to their feet, the bot staring at the door as a panel was slid back, revealing the face of Business. A feeling of what was perceived as anger rushed through the bots circuits.

“Are you,” Business looked down as if reading from something. “the one known as Jonny?” The bot gave a mechanical nod, red eyes gazing at the former leader. He seemed uncomfortable from the stare, glancing at the other two bots that were in a sleep cycle. “What if I told you I would let you three out, right now?” The buzzing that emanated from Jonny had Business jump in surprise.

“Query. Let us out?” Business nodded, watching as its companions rose as if hearing the question. “Query. Why?”

“I-I have had...a lot of time...to think about things.” He started carefully, glancing down at the paperwork in his hands. The taller robot on Jonny’s left had to be Einin, the only one of the trio with a more “female” build. The shortest bot, the “younger” one had to be Niall, who looked up at his brother and sister in what looked like curiosity. “Amends need to be made, and I thought I would start with you three.

“Query. Why now? We have been here for eight months, six weeks, seventeen hours, and thirty-two minutes.” Einin asked, her voice sounding almost a replica of Bad Cops mother. It made Business flinch for a moment, clearing his throat with a low cough.

“Because Bad Cop and Good Cop need you guys.”

“Query. Is Father with you?” Niall asked, his higher Scottish voice alight with joy. He seemed to deflate when Business shook his head, Jonny placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

“Statement. Let us out. We will find them.” The British voice was firm, laced with a steely tone that reminded the former overlord of Bad Cop.

“If I do, will you hurt me?”

“Answer. No, we want Father.” Einin answered, something in her tone setting Business at an ease as he opened the door for them. The trio walked past him, Jonny pausing to look at the former overlord. It left no question what kind of warning the robot was giving, Business sighing and sinking to the floor as he resumed walking with his siblings. The hanger thankfully still had one of the transforming police cruisers, Einin in the driver seat as she set off for Bricksburg. The city had changed since they had last been out of the Octan building, seemingly more alive as people could express themselves with no more rules to obey. Niall began to fiddle with his communications equipment when they drew closer to the city.

“Query. Father? Can you hear me?” He asked, receiving static as Einin started a slow orbit of the expansive city. “Repeat query. Father, can you hear me?” The pattern of calling out continued for two hours, the bot tilting his head when he heard the crackle of the radio.

“Hello? Who is this?” The voice sounded similar to Father, but it was older and lower.

“Query. Is Father with you?” Niall asked, hearing a mutter of confusion from the other end. “Repeat query. Is Father with you?”

“Bricksburg Gardens.” The man replied, hesitant as if unsure of what he was being told. Niall cut communications, Einin adjusting course as they headed for said gardens. Some of the visitors of the park were shocked to see the cruiser land in the parking lot, the confusion turning to anger when they saw the robots exiting. Some of the crowd began to advance, the trio standing back to back as they prepare to defend themselves.

“Query. What are we doing wrong?” Einin asked, unflinching as a rock was pelted at her face.

“You fuckin’ robots need to piss off from wherever Business sent you.” One of the bystanders glared.

“We don’t want your kind here!” Another shouted, this time a brick shattering Jonny’s left eye. The robot refused to move, however, placing a hand over the sparking wound. A loud whistle soon garnered everyone's attention, the bystanders parting to get a good look. Bad Cop was looking out at them, arms crossed as he stood beside his police cruiser.

“What is goin’ on here?” He asked, sweeping his gaze over the crowd.

“Driving out some undesirables.” Someone answered, freezing as the cop whipped around to face them. His scarred face was enough to put some fear into their eyes, Bad Cop sneering a bit.

“Bricksburg is supposed ta be a friendly place,” He began, his brother flipping up his visor as he took control. People, many of whom had never seen him change, looked on guard as Good Cop smiled weakly. “These little things won’t harm a fly, let alone all of ye. Please, just leave them alone, go and enjoy yer day.”

“How do we know they won’t?” The question was less hostile, more concerned.

“Because they don’t work for Bu-Business.” Good Cop explained. This seemed to satisfy most of the crowd, who began to disperse as the trio of robots approached Good Cop. Liam was in control by the time Niall all but crushed them in a hug, the man letting out a soft wheeze.

“Calm down there laddie.” He awkwardly pat the bot’s back, Niall nodding furiously as he set his Father down onto his feet. Einin shared her younger brothers enthusiasm but was more restrained as she and Liam shared a small hug.

“Statement. We finally found you.” Jonny’s voice was happy, sitting down on the hood of the police car.

“Aye, ye did.” Liam examined his wound, patching it up after using his Builder abilities to scrounge up what he needed from his own car. “Where have you three been?”

“Answer. Octan Tower, lower basement.” Einin answered, noting how Father froze for a half second at the name. “Continue answer. Business let us out.”

“W-What?” He wasn’t expecting to hear that.

“Answer. Told us he wanted to right wrongs. That you need us.” Liam stared at her in disbelief, taking a step back as he tried to process what they had said. Business…<I>helping them?</i>”

“Query. Father, are you feeling acceptable?” Jonny tilted his head in concern, his medical subroutine picking up the fact his heart rate had spiked. Liam nodded, taking a few deep breaths as Niall gently held his left hand.

“I’ll be alright lad...just surprised.” His weak grin set none of them at ease, the officer straightening up after a quick glance around them. “Do ye remember where I live?” He got three nods in synch, the man taking a breath.

“Query. Will we stay with you now?” Niall asked, sounding a bit hopeful.

“Aye, I’m not lettin’ ye all go back...there.” He glanced towards the direction of Octan, his mood dark for a moment. When he turned back Daniel was in control, giving the three the smile they had always known. “Come on, let's go home.”

“Statement. Yes!” Niall’s excitement sent Daniel into a giggle fit, the man giving his shoulder a slight squeeze as he walked them to the transforming cruiser. “I’ll be right behind ye all.” The trio of robots was in a considerably better mood as they followed their father to his home, parking on the roof to draw less suspicion. Taking the service elevator to the correct floor, they saw their father waiting for them, chatting at someone inside his home.

“Einin, Jonny, and Niall, this is me mum and da.” He introduced once the robots had come to a stop beside him. The couple looked like Father, but were older and had some differences setting them apart.

“Statement. Nice to meet you.” Jonny said first, following the older couple into the apartment. It was different from what he last remembered, his memory banks showing a sparse apartment with little furnishing.

“Query. Are you Father’s parents?” Niall asked curiously, the woman having a funny face for a moment.

“Aye, dearie.” She answered, Einin looking over from sitting beside Daniel on the couch.

“Statement. I sound like her.” Daniel nodded, his mother taken aback at how similar they both sounded. “Query. Does it make you happy Father?”

“Of course dear.” Daniel smiled, patting her knee. “Liam was very proud you choose her voice.” Einin seemed proud to hear this, as she had a closer bond to Liam. Neila looked flattered, Ciaran looking at the three robots in amusement and curiosity. He had met Jonny only once, back in the early days when he had no personality to speak of. That was very much not the case, Niall reminding him much of the excitable Benny the way he asked his wife question after question about them. Einin had managed to coax Liam out, holding one of his hands as she relayed something to him in a quiet voice.

“Query. What are you thinking?” Ciaran hadn’t heard the third robot stand beside him, the older man giving him a wane smile.

“Ah, I never expected our sons ta have children.” Jonny gave him a look.

“Query. Children? We are not children.” Ciaran’s chuckle made the other pause.

“Ye lot are children, despite what ye’ve done fer my boys.” The robot continued to look confused, patiently awaiting an explanation. “Have ye all had the chance to really see the world?”

“Statement. We see the world, have seen many worlds.” Ciaran shook his head.

“No, not fer work. Have ye ever really looked at everythin’? Explored the wildlife, the plants, the people?”

“Answer. No.” Jonny had never really thought about such a thing. Then again, he knew that they would never have gotten a chance, not with Business constantly demanding his Father’s to do many tasks. “Statement. Father Daniel would show us things, teach us things.”

“Aye, that sounds like Danny.” He smiled softly, sparing a glance at Liam. He was still talking with Einin, looking the most relaxed he had ever seen him in a long time.

“Statement. Father Liam is hurt.” The concern in the robot’s statement was hard to miss. “Query. How can we help?”

“Ye already are, just bein’ here fer him.” Ciaran placed a hand on Jonny’s shoulder. Jonny wasn’t sure why their mere presence was enough to help Father, but if he was sure it was, that was enough for Jonny.

#lego movie #gcbc #bcgc #robot oc's #ma cop #pa cop #these boys need some positivity #included a link for those who don't want to read all of this

[motiveandthemeans]

Laurelworth

Chpater II: The Riddle of Love

“The impending delivery of John and Mary Watson’s child brings me to Laurelworth. My companion in solving crime is refusing to go on cases during the last trimester of gestation and will not likely return to my aid till six months after the child is born.” Sherlock elaborated between sips of coffee.

“I am sorry, truly. I’m sure it is a great disappointment as you find London so diverting.” Molly replied with a compassionate smile. “What will Mrs. Hudson be doing with her days now that you aren’t bumbling above her?”

Such cheek? Sherlock inwardly mused. Perhaps this would be a simpler endeavor than I assumed!

“I suspect that she’ll enjoy the alone time. I believe her sister will be coming to visit for several weeks as well.”

Molly nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer as she dug into her eggs. As the pair ate in silence, Sherlock Holmes studied his wife. It had been some months since he’d last seen her at Christmas and while she had been beautiful then in her red evening gown amongst the candlelight, she was stunning now. The notion didn’t seem to make rational sense given that Molly was wearing a plain blue riding habit, her hair tied back in a simple ponytail, but his heart still soared at the sight all the same. Perhaps it was because he’d not seen his wife in so long that any dose of her was refreshing to his senses. Either way, it did not matter the reason; she was lovely with a glowing tan and freckles across her nose and cheeks, auburn hair lightened by her time in the sun.

Having been so caught up in his assessment of Molly, he’d not noticed she had already finished her breakfast before him and stood, calling the dogs and Mrs. Lyle.

“Yes ma’am?” The older woman asked, her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun, black uniform crisply ironed.

“Will you have Gabriel or Jean ready Gypsy and bring her round in a half hour? I’m going to walk with the dogs for a bit.”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a preference for lunch?”

Molly gave an indulgent laugh, resting a reassuring hand on the head house keeper’s shoulder. “Whatever you’ve prepared for the house will be fine. I would ask that it be rather large, after I tour the peach orchards I am to meet with our accountant, Mr. Ivanov, and from there I will head to surgery till about eight o’clock tonight. Naturally, that will not leave much time for dinner.”

“Surely we can wait for you?” Mrs. Lyle insisted.

“No, no, Mrs. Lyle. Just fix something for Mr. Holmes and be off for the evening, the cooks as well. I’m sure we can survive the night without you.” The brunette winked, pulling on her leather gloves and whistling to the two dogs waiting patiently around her ankles. “Come along then, we must find you pair a stick! Thank you again, Mrs. Lyle!”

“Yes Mrs. Holmes, anything you need!” She smiled.

Sherlock watched the exchange with rabid fascination, the staff was sure to love their mistress with the kindness and smiles Molly so freely bestowed upon them. Envy coursed through him like he’d never known. His wife had scarcely acknowledged his presence, not even bothering as to inquire after his activities planned out for the day. He had not expected Molly to drop all her responsibilities, however, he would’ve thought she’d have at least attempted to entertain his audience.

There was a coolness to his wife’s demeanor, while she flashed him sunny smiles and a friendly enough greeting, the Consulting Detective got the impression that she was…indifferent, to his presence here at Laurelworth. Clearly she expected that they would live the next nine months as though neither had existed, much as they has the previous fourteen months. Sherlock did not begrudge Molly her ambivalence, while he had expected ire at his unannounced arrival, the apathetic manner which she regarded him with was somehow worse.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Mr. Holmes, I beg your pardon-“

“Does Mrs. Holmes often traverse the estate unaccompanied?” He interjected, taking one last gulp of coffee.

The older woman flushed, in embarrassment or anger, he could not tell. “N-No, sir! I would never allow for it! The shepherd, Herr Schaper, or the game keeper, Mr. MacDonald, or-or one of the farm hands goes with her always!”

“I am not familiar with this Schaper.” Sherlock replied suspiciously. Mercy, did his male bravado know no bounds? “How long has he been in my wife’s employ?”

“Nearly a year, sir.” Mrs. Lyle answered. “When the mistress arrived at Laurelworth, she made a great many changes to the staffing, all of which have been for the better, Mr. Holmes.”

Frowning, he nodded, rising from the table. “I shall be in my study, do not disturb me till Mrs. Holmes has returned for lunch.”

“Of course, sir. Generally, she takes her luncheon in her study or on the deck…”

“Either will do, just inform me of her return immediately.”

Sherlock had not lied to his wife when he told her of his reasons for returning to Laurelworth, but it had not, strictly speaking, been the entire truth. After a rather intimate conversation with the Molly living in his Mind Palace, a revelation about the potential wonders of being married -happily married anyway- struck the genius like a ton of bricks. Could he have perhaps been falling for Molly all along? The year they spent together at Baker Street was difficult for Sherlock to adjust to. He’d been rude and short and dismissive of Molly’s presence in his life. However, there were times Molly was doing absolutely nothing but sitting on the loveseat reading and his heart would race. Once when she’d gone downstairs for tea with Mrs. Hudson and her laughter had filled the entire townhome; Sherlock remembered feeling a pang of guilt that he had not been the one to elicit such joy from his wife.

So, upon discovering that he had, in fact, been harboring feelings for his spouse much longer than he had realized, Sherlock did what all good Consulting Detectives do when out of their depth.

Annoy John Watson, friend and confidant.

“Sherlock, I do not know if it is wise to just…drop in on Molly.”

“Why not? Mary said herself to make a ‘grand romantic gesture’! What could be more ostentatiously sentimental than presenting my person when she least expects it?” He had exclaimed, pacing the floor of 221 B as his man, Billy Wiggins, packed his bags for Laurelworth. “You have been known to stop in unannounced at St. Bartholomew’s Midwifery when Mary was working to bring her pastries or packed lunches. How is this any different?”

“Well, for one, Mary doesn’t despise my blooming guts…majority of the time anyway.” John had answered uneasily. “Look, you and Molly parted under horrible circumstances of your own making. She loved you, deeply, and you all but threw it back in her face the moment Irene Adler wandered back into your life.”

“So what do you suggest then, John?” Sherlock growled in frustration. “God, this is miserable! I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, all I can think about is ‘Molly This’ and ‘Molly That’ and ‘I wonder if Molly is enjoying the early spring weather’…it’s unbearable! Truly, I cannot fathom how I have gone so long not recognizing that I was…I was…”

John smiled, hoping against hope that Sherlock was comprehending just what it was he felt for Margaret Louise Holmes.

“...In love with her.” Sherlock finished with a dumbfounded smile. “B-But my work…it’s never been better! How has love not afflicted my case success rate?”

“Ever consider that perhaps it is what has aided in its prosperity? Sherlock, when you are trying to work out a problem with a case, you throw yourself into composing. Maybe you threw yourself into solving crimes the past fourteen months because, subconsciously, it helped you solve the riddle of your love for Molly.”

He swallowed nervously. “I’m…I’m scared, John. I’ve made an awful, terrible mess of things.”

“Yeah, you have mate.” John rested a comforting arm upon Sherlock’s shoulder. “But it’s not hopeless, the easy part was confirming you love her, now you just have to convince her of your affections.”

“Will you…will you help me?” Sherlock’s voice hoarse with emotion. “Please, John?”

“Of course, mate. But I’m warning you, it’s not going to be pretty or pleasant at first.”

“I am willing to do whatever it takes to win back Molly Holmes’ heart.”

Molly was still out touring the orchards, leaving Sherlock to his devices. He’d already arranged his study to his liking, cleaned his smoking pipe and hidden away his valuables in the safe, including the large parcel of unsent letters he’d written to Molly over the last fourteen months.

Now he had one singular task ahead of him: Learn what Molly likes. Deciding that snooping about her room would be a gross invasion of privacy, Sherlock opted for her personal study instead. Surely if the maids were allowed to freely enter and exit, he would be allowed to as well!

Conveniently, there was a hidden door behind a bookcase that lead to the adjacent room his wife had taken over as her study. Sherlock entered, his senses instantly struck with the overwhelming presence of everything Molly. The room smelled of juniper and peonies, the sofas and love seats plush velvet and carved in delicate, feminine patterns. The roaring fire told him that a servant had not long ago been in here, meaning that time was probably on his side.

The walls were covered in bookshelves, hundreds of texts filled the space. A human skeleton sat in the corner, dressed in an old morning suit. Sherlock smirked, Molly always did have strangely morbid sense of humor. In another corner sat a large globe, inherited from her father after his death. On the walls hung various paintings of her kin or works of art she’d purchased or been gifted. Above the mantel was a portrait of her mother, Abigail, who had died of Malaria in Bombay when Molly was nine. Another painting displayed upon the wall was a birthday gift from Mycroft, a real Hashimoto Gaho. Sherlock frowned, remembering how Anthea had gushed over Molly’s enthusiasm upon receiving it.

“She wept she was so touched! Truly it was the best gift we have ever bestowed upon a person. A more deserving recipient there could not have been!” Anthea had exclaimed smugly, earning an affectionate eye roll from his older brother.

Two large cathedral windows framed Molly’s desk from behind, the dusty rose curtain’s drawn to bring in as much natural light as possible. The desk contrasted his own greatly, where Sherlock’s had been messy and chaotic, Molly’s was neat and organized. Few sentimental knick-knacks littered the desk, a large map of the grounds took up most of the space. The desk was punctuated by several pen and ink wells, a wax seal stamper with the monogram ‘MLH’, a bouquet of fresh wildflowers in a Chinese vase they had received as a wedding gift was placed on the corner, and a solitary silver picture frame was angled for her to see directly when sitting in her chair.

Sherlock felt his breath catch, it was a picture of him on their wedding day. Looking down at the thick platinum band on his left hand, it dawned on him that Molly still wore her Welsh gold wedding band. Surely if Molly truly despised him, she would not have set his likeness in such plain view or kept his Grandmama’s ring!

Hope soared through him, taking one last sweeping glance around Sherlock exited through the secret door and back to his study, it was time to make a plan.

A light shake on the shoulder brought Sherlock out of his Mind Palace.

“Mr. Holmes, the Missus has returned for lunch. She’s taken it out on the porch.” Mrs. Lyle said.

He grinned, leaping from his supine position on the sofa. “Excellent, thank-you, Mrs. Lyle.”

The head house keeper beamed, no doubt pleased she could finally appease the insufferable Master of the house. “You’re very welcome, sir. It is summer chowder in bread bowls and greens today, will that be to your liking?”

“Is that a favorite of Mrs. Holmes?” He asked, removing his dressing gown and straightening his collar.

“Yes, she enjoys it very much. She wrote the recipe with Mrs. Honeycutt, our cook.”

“Wonderful!” He called back, racing out of the study and down the hall to the main doors, earning curious glances from the passing staff. He slowed upon his arrival to the large front porch overlooking Bass Lake and the mountain forest upon their doorstep. As beautiful as the view was, none could compete the sight of Molly. She’d removed the jacket of her riding habit revealing her fitted high collared linen blouse, her beautiful thick hair, now free of its usual ponytail, flowed down to her slender waist.

“Mr. Holmes, is something the matter?” She questioned curiously.

“No. No, why would something be the matter?” He sputtered, moving to sit in the chair beside her, a table between the two housing a bowl of peaches and a pitcher of sun tea.

“Well…it’s just that…I assumed you’d be taking your lunch in your study, if you ate all.”

“It is true, I do not typically eat lunch. However, given that this is a special dish to you, one you help create no less, I thought I might try it.”

Molly blinked, clearly shocked by his statement. “I-uh, yes. I did. How could have possibly known that?”

Sherlock gave her a wry smirk. “Mrs. Holmes, surely you know me well enough now to know I’m a fairly observant man.”

Molly opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the servant coming out to deliver their lunch. “Thank-you, Gillian, it looks wonderful?”

“Is there anything else I can get you ma’am?” She asked with a friendly smile.

“I’m fine, truly. How is little Gerogie feeling?”

“Oh, much better, Missus! That tonic you gave me did wonders for him. He’s sleeping so much easier now that he’s breathing easier. Not that I am getting any sleep, of course. I still stay up at night paranoid that he’s going to stop breathing any second.” Gillian gushed.

“Well you make sure to get some rest, Gillian! It won’t do him any good to have sick Mummy.” Molly smiled.

“Yes Missus ‘olmes. Is there anything I can get you, Mr. ‘olmes?”

“No, thank-you, that will be all for now.” Sherlock replied in as warm a tone as he could muster, wanting to impress Molly with his newfound tenderness.

The pair were silent for a while, eating their lunch in peace as they listened to whippoorwills sing and butterflies flutter around the flowers flanking the front stair leading up to the porch. Workmen walked to and fro, dropping a hello or a wave to Molly and (if only by association) Sherlock.

‘This is it, Sherlock! Take your chance to make conversation with Molly. She needs to know you take an interest in her life!’ John’s voice cheered him on.

“I trust the orchards were in good condition? The peaches look very appetizing.”

“Yes, they were.” Molly gave him a perfunctory smile.

“Mycroft once ate a whole peach cobbler by himself in our younger years.”

“Mmmm.” She hummed between spoonfuls.

‘Don’t give up!’

“Will you be going on horseback to the village or taking the carriage?”

“Horseback, did you want to venture down to Northbury? I could arrange for a footman to take you.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve plenty to entertain myself in my study.” Sherlock answered with a small smile, locking their gaze. Molly’s breathing quickened, a becoming flush rising to her cheeks.

Oh, she is lovely. Sherlock thought inwardly

“I should be off.” She stood abruptly, leaving her food half finished. “Mr. Ivanov is a patient man but I’d never forgive myself if I was late to surgery.”

“You’ve not finished your meal.” He stood, catching her wrist in his hand. Her brown eyes widening at the voluntary contact.

“Really, it’s so warm. I don’t have much appetite in this heat.”

“You grew up in India, how is late March in Northern England considered warm to you?”

“I’ve acclimated.” She huffed uneasily, her hand still in his.

“Well, at least allow me to help you with your jacket.” Sherlock reluctantly released her hand to fetch the blue riding jacket from the arm of her chair. He held it up, Molly turned her back to him, moving her thick hair to the side. The sight of her exposed neck made his blood thrill.

“I’d nearly forgotten it, thank-you for reminding me.” She blushed with embarrassment, letting her hair swing loose once she’d slipped her arms through, buttoning the front as she turned to face him.  

Unable to resist the urge, Sherlock rose his hand and gently brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, folding it behind her ear. She had not slapped his hand away yet, but her posture went stiff as a board at the contact. Not wanting to push his luck, he did not venture further, though the desire to run his thumb across her cheeks was over-whelming to say the least.

“Thank-you for taking lunch with me. I enjoyed our time together.”

Molly tried, and failed, not to look flabbergasted at his words.

“Y-You are welcome. Have a good night, Mr. Holmes, I shall see you on the morrow.”

Molly turned to leave just as an idea struck him.

“Will you be riding home alone tonight?” He blurted out once she was a few paces away.

“Usually one of the stable boys or footman come and escort me home.” She answered. “Did you have a need for them this evening? I could arrange for two to stay overnight-“

“PerhapsIcouldcomeandfetchyou?”

“I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite catch that, Sherlock. You spoke so quickly.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “I-I was merely suggesting that…perhaps I could come and fetch you from surgery this evening.”

At first Molly appeared dumbfounded, then her face flushed.

This time, not from embarrassment or physical attraction. It was most assuredly in anger.

“What game are you playing at, Sherlock Holmes?” She snapped, marching up to him and glaring up at him squarely. “Never, not once, did you walk me home during my time at St. Bartholomew’s. Need I remind you that it’s a large public hospital in the middle of London? Why the sudden concern for my safety when we are in a safe country village and not drenched in the industrial hustle of Town? Is this some sort of social experiment-”

“Molly, please, let me-“

“No! I do not want to hear your excuses! I have been respectful of your solitary lifestyle and will not be made a punching bag for your frustration when my presence becomes too much to bear.”

“That is not my desire any longer, I wish to-“

“We may be married, but we are not a couple, Sherlock.” Molly continued with a humorless laugh. “We are not even friends! So please, let us just spare the façade. Do not feel pressured to act as a doting husband would. I freed you from that responsibility months ago.”

Ah, that one stung. Sherlock inwardly sighed.

“You are my wife, we are married, and therefore we are a couple.” He said in earnest. “I apologize if I was too…forward, for lack of a better term, in my attempts to be close to you. It was not my intention to anger you.”

“I will not be made a fool of in my own home, Sherlock Holmes. You and Mrs. Adler did a fine enough job of that in front of the Ton in London. I’ll not have you speak to me as though I were some human abscess in front of the servants or villagers.” Molly drove on. “You smeared my reputation in London society and made a mockery of our marriage. Do not act as if the last fourteen months of separation change the facts.”

Sherlock inwardly sighed, there would be no winning this argument.

“I apologize for the inconveniences I have put upon you, believe me it was unconsciously done. Good afternoon, Mrs. Holmes. I hope your time at surgery fares better.” He said before turning to leave.

He did not look back for fear of seeing hatred burn in her fine dark eyes.

Sherlock watched as Molly locked the door to the surgery behind her, then walk over to where he held her horse, Gypsy’s reigns.

“Thank-you for escorting me home this evening, Jean. I know it’s later than I said but we had an emergency case.” Molly said, mounting Gypsy, giving the broodmare an affectionate nuzzle.

The doctor had not realized something was suspicious till she noted the horse her companion was riding.

“Jean, I’m not sure Mr. Holmes would approve of you riding Dante-“

The Consulting Detective smirked, watching her eyes widen a fraction as she took him in.

“Mr. Holmes, what are you doing here?” Molly demanded.

“Escorting you home.” Sherlock commented. “I hope we are not going to argue about this again, I’m already here. No sense in quarreling over it.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Molly nudged Gypsy into walking. “I suppose you are right. But this doesn’t mean I’m speaking to you.”

“Well, that’s rather a shame, I was hoping to hear about your time at surgery.”

Molly gazed at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?”

“I am still him. However, it is my intention to be the Sherlock Holmes you deserve, Margaret Louise Holmes. The one I should have been all along.”

#Sherlolly #sherlock x molly #sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #molly hooper #victorian!lock #Victorian au #victorian #AU

[met4n0i4]

The four steps to make magic the right way

Ok, guys. There's a few misconceptions that I've noticed in the last few days that I'll try to alleviate in this new post. See, I love the Academy of Magical Arts because I can clearly see where people are getting the teachings all tangled up. So I'll try to make this post as clear as possible. Just bear in mind that people who've read my previous posts will have a better understanding of it (hopefully).

##Basic concepts

1) **Every single thought is creative. Your every thought is just like spell.** Yes, ALL of them. Not only the ones we have when meditating or visualizing, but also the small ones we have in our every day life.

2) **There's only two ways in which we can cast a spell. In the direction of what we want or in the opposite direction.** Just two ways to cast spells, guys. Either your thought is pushing you forward towards your heart's desires **OR** it's pushing you back.

3) **The collision going on between your negative thoughts and your positive ones is what I like to call *resistance*.** Stress, depression, anxiety, anger, fear and so on, are just the result of opposing thoughts battling inside your head. In other words, all discomfort is a side effect of resistance. Simple.

4) **Your past thoughts do not get erased the moment you decide to only cast positive spells.** Hard one to swallow for most people but just deciding that you are going to think different from now on doesn't mean all the shit you put out there in the past is going to disappear just like that.

And now that we have set the basics, let's proceed to our magic making recipe.

##Ingredients

1) An intention, aka your heart's desire.

2) Spell-casting techniques to manifest.

3) Transmutation techniques to clean and correct the negativity pushing back on us.

##The process

###1. Setting an intention.

See, the intention is the most important part of making magic and the step most people mess up from the beginning. Most magic students make the mistake of not having a clear intention from the beginning, or make the mistake of jumping from one thing to another before any of them manifests fully. So, it's important to start with a clear single goal in mind.

I usually recommend to magic students that they only try to manifest one thing at a time. Two at the most when there are special circumstances.

For students who want to manifest lots of things and don't know where to start, bear in mind a couple of things. Since all things are somehow twist and tangled inside our minds, bettering just one of them affects everything else in a partial yet positive way as well.

Also, working on *the thing* that brings you the most discomfort when you think about it (depression, anxiety, anger, frustration...), is the best path to yield the best results and overall satisfaction. In other words, don't try to manifest money when your biggest *discomfort* happens when you think about your ex.

###2. Spell-casting

Most students of the magical arts are most familiarized with this methods. They all consist of using the magician's *imagination* to translate their thoughts into existence. There's a whole array of them and all of them are equally as effective if done with the right attitude.

**Spell-casting** techniques have one purpose, to push a magician closer to the realization of its heart's desires. It's always advised that a magician knows a few different techniques for pushing forward. That way, they can have fun choosing which method they'd like to apply in each specific circumstance.

Some **spell-casting** techniques are: daydreaming, decreeing, SATS, living in the end, scripting, and hypnosis amongst others.

A magician should spell cast as much as possible throughout the day until some **resistance** shows up in the form of negative feelings or thoughts. When **resistance** pops up, the magician should proceed to the next step.

###3. Transmutation

This part of the process is the most ignored by the new students of magical arts. And is generally the missing link in most people's creative endeavors. A wise student would immediately include this part right here in their magic making, as soon as he/she becomes aware of it.

**Transmutation** is also known with other names such as healing, reprocessing, forgiving, thought correcting, or releasing resistance. And there are several effective methods to achieve it.

Some of those methods are Saint Germain's violet flame, the blood of Christ, Ho'oponopono and ♥OD. All of this methods are powered by love, the all corrective force. But there are also some other more conventional or *less magical* methods like journaling, psychological therapies, Neville Goddard's revisions, EMDR and socratic dialogue, amongst many others.

Love powered techniques are usually faster in their effects and have the ability to transmute *clusters* of negativity while more conventional methods deal with *one or very few* thoughts at a time.

A magician should apply **transmutation** as long as there is any kind of disturbance in their body or mind. When the disturbance diminishes or clears completely, the magician can go back to spell casting.

###4. Assessing the magician's state

Lately, I've been having trouble with magic students who don't know what they should be practicing at any given moment. But that is really easy to address and to do it, I came up with **the states of the magician**.

See, I previously talked about the *inner guide* prompts, but it seems that people have a hard time interpreting those prompts. That's why I came with this new way of going about things.

The *states of the magician* are the ones that signal when a magician should push forward, when they should clean and correct, or even when they should take inspired action. There are only three states of the magician that will prompt him into a specific practice and are as follow.

*Neutral state* - Generally speaking the neutral state is where not much is going on. The magician is not experiencing discomfort or negative feelings, but is not experiencing much positivity either. He's just feeling ok. When a magician is in a neutral state, that's the perfect time to push forward and practice any **spell casting** technique.

*Resistant state* - The resistant state is when a magician is experiencing some sort of discomfort. Aches and pains, negative feelings and emotions, or even compulsive thinking are just some ways of discomfort. When a magician is in this specific state, then it's time for cleaning and correcting, aka **transmutation**. If a magician transmutes correctly, they should be shortly back to a *neutral state*.

*Zero resistance state* - Zero resistance state is characterized by positive thoughts, feelings and emotions. Usually, the zero resistance state is accompanied by creativity, joy and enthusiasm. Most kids live in a zero resistance state, of course. During zero resistance, magicians feel *inspired* into taking some specific actions. Magicians should follow those prompts cause they usually lead to the translation of their heart's desires into 3d.

So the fourth step of magic making just consists of identifying your current magician state in order to know how to proceed with your process. But there are always some common mistakes, so let's address those, too.

##Common mistakes

All magicians should start the process by **setting an intention**. Once they have a clear intention, they should immediately jump into **spell-casting**. **Spell-casting** is necessary at first because it helps to stir up the past negativity pushing back on new intentions.

Now, most magicians will experience a *resistant state* very soon after just a little **spell-casting**. And they will have to jump to **transmutation** very early on in the process. That's perfectly fine. Most magicians will have to *transmute* a lot in the beginning before they find a *neutral state* from where they can start **spell-casting** again.

One big mistake some magic students make is not setting a clear intention and jumping to **transmutation** without something in mind. See, those magicians might experience *zero resistance*, but will not go in any specific direction, so they might get frustrated by not seeing their desires manifest and fall back into the *resistant state* shortly after.

Some other magic students will try **spell-casting** when they are experiencing a *resistant state*. That only leads to experiencing more *resistance*. This seems to be the most common mistake amongst my students. Some students seem to think that they will achieve some sort of progress by pushing forward when faced with a brick wall. But that won't happen.

Another common mistake is trying **transmutation** when in a *neutral state*. See, **transmutation** cannot heal or correct discomfort that is not present in the moment. So **transmutation** during *neutral state* is completely futile.

Finally, magic students tend to try **spell-casting** or **transmutation** when they are experiencing a *zero resistance state*, thus killing the positive momentum they worked so hard to get by *getting too much in their heads*.

Magicians in a *zero resistance state* should only worry about keeping that momentum by *enjoying the moment* and *following the prompts they get through inspiration*. The most difficult thing to do in *zero resistance state* is to **not** introduce some kind of *resistance*. So all magician's should keep themselves from falling into that trap.

And I think I've pretty much covered the most common misconceptions around the bunch. Don't forget to follow me for more recipes. Read you in the comments and happy manifesting.

Gato 🐱

[btsinspirationtakesme]

Roses in Thorns (Pt 4)

Being apart of the countries greatest mafia families had its problems; enemies grew from every thorn and you were one of the greatest roses to target.

You didn’t expect the greatest thorn to prick you to be he who was assigned to protect you- Jeon Jeongguk.

Genre: Angst, (the good type), drama, suspense, fluff, future smut in story line.

BodyguardJungkook, Mafia

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Previous:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

You were always told hatred was a strong word. You thought it was too, until you met Jeon Jeongguk. Your blood vessels dilated cold at every thought of him. You never had any violent tendencies that would warrant concern, but you wanted to knock the living daylights out of him and see his bloodied face on the ground wincing in pain.

He was assigned to protect you, and had manipulated and deceived you in the most extraordinary way.

Your mind took a flashback to waking up after you were kidnapped by him.

Bright white lights beamed down into your pupils, causing you to clench them tightly shut before slowly opening them to adjust in the light. You repeated the act a few times until you realised your limbs were still in tact and you lifted yourself up. on your elbows.  

You were in a hospital, or some sort of emergency room. You were on a bed, dressed in the same clothes you had left the night of -

Jeongguk.

Anger bubbled inside you, making your body feel ice cold as you re-called what had happened. Jeongguk had made you unconscious by using a white cloth and some sort of chemical to instantly knock you out. Whilst all this time your father had trusted him, your mother had adored him and you were starting to feel he was even becoming some sort of…friend.

You huffed, you should have known better.

A loud bang came from the door you had seen on the far right of the room, alerting you of someones presence. A tall man followed by an entourage of others dressed in jet black, a group of thugs by the looks of it. You could spot Jeongguk behind them, a stony expression on his face.  

Your heart rate accelerated in fear, and like he noticed Jeongguk flicked his eyes towards.

“Y/N.”

The man dressed in a white lab coat started to inspect your vitals without your permission. Your throat was dry, so your croaky voice protested his invasion into your private space.

“G-get away from me.” You said, trying to convey the anger that was bubbling inside.

His next move threw you off, he reached for your pants as if to undo them. Your heart rate tripled in fear, and you yelled a croaky scream.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Jeongguk had kidnapped you to a rapist. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you panted. You didn’t think he’d be THIS bad.

“Little miss Y/N, stay quiet or else something really bad happens.” His voice threatened you and took on a deadly tone. He reached for your crotch again but you tried to move away, lifting your legs up but they were incapable of moving.

It was like you were paralysed.

“Just checking to see you’re in tact little girl, stay still- and it won’t hurt.”

You blacked out.

You had remembered then that upon waking up the man in the white lab coat man had your arms tied up to the bedposts. You couldn’t move.  

“Where’s Jeongguk?” The first thing that came out of your mouth wanted to know where the traitor was. Scanning the room, the entourage of men in black were no where to be seen now.

“Your little boyfriend showed his true colours, hey?”. The lab coat man taunted. “Jeongukk!” He called out, refusing to move his eyes away from you.

He entered the room, face set in stone.The demeanour of Jeongguk was different from how you first met him. Gone was the cocky attitude, gone was the flirty demeanour he carried himself around with.

He was cold. Ice cold, with an exterior of metal and stony face.

He didn’t look at you, only addressing the man in the white lab coat.

“She asked for you. I’ll be outside if you need me.” He explained before patting Jeongguk’s back and leaving the room.

With a reluctant attitude, Jeongguk turned to face you. You on the other hand, wanted to show how angry you were. You wanted to yell. You wanted to throw a brick at him and tell him how you’d love to see him chopped up and fed to your dogs.

Tears welled up. You just felt betrayed. You looked at him as you bit your lips to stop yourself from bawling.

You opened your mouth, attempting to say something bad but your voice cracked.

Jeongguk POV:

He had to keep a poker face. He couldn’t let his emotions come out, not now. Not when he had worked so hard keep you alive.

He turned to look at you, and he wished you would blow a casket at him. He wanted to see you screech and scream, to erupt in anger. That would make keeping a poker face easy. It would make keeping up his facade, easy.

Nothing that involved you was ever easy though.

Not now.

“H-How?” Your face was distraught, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes and croaky voice made Jeongguk physically restrain himself from taking you in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to comfort you and tell you it would all be okay, you just had to trust him. But that was too risky and would lead to things he could never forgive himself for.

“You fool.” The words came out of his mouth heavily, but he hoped they sounded convincing.

“You really thought that Jeon Jeongguk would protect you.” Jeongguk sighed, the deepness of his voice even upsetting him with its stern tone.

“What’s going on Jeongguk, tell me it’s not true?” Your voice tugged at his dark heart.

He rolled his eyes.

“Save that for your Prince Taehyung.” He said, referring to your neighbour. Your picture perfect neighbour that irked Jeongguk. If only you knew the secret mission of Kim Taehyung’s father was what Jeongguk was trying to protect you from.

“T-H-He touched me Jeongguk. To make sure I was a virgin. H-am I going to be raped?” Jeongguk could tell hysteria was overtaking you, and he was on his last straw before blowing his entire mission and collapsing at the sight of you crying.

He hated you. You’d ruined everything. You made him feel.

In theory, you were supposed to be sold off to the black market, but Jeongguk would never let that happen in the way that was planned. It was all part of his plan to save you but also get the people he was ‘working’ with to the dead.

Jeon Jeongguk may have been an heir to one of the most famous and elusive mafia families, but he had left them. He was his own person, and if that meant outing some of the filthiest of the mafia world by working with them- then so be it. It gave him purpose.

He had to keep his composure because it took every cell of his body to resist his inclination just to go over to you and tell you everything.

“I’m not your saviour, get that through your head.” Jeongguk said lowly, shooting you his attempt of a threatening stare before walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

The doctor dressed in the lab coat known as Jackson was leaning against the door, listening in on Jeongguk’s conversation.

“She’s hot isn’t she? Might do a little ‘extra checking’ to have some fun.” He winked at Jeongguk.

Slamming him hard against the wall, Jeongguk tightened his grip on the doctors neck in rage.

“If you do anything more than the boss wants, he’ll have your throat on the table for dinner. I’ll make sure of it.” He seethed, masking his anger with another reason.

He let the man go eventually after staring him out, but the ferocious look on his face would stay if he wanted to survive without being caught.

“Y-Yes”. Jackson massaged his neck as his eyes bulged in fear. Jeongguk was livid.  

“Touch her any more than necessary and your a dead Jackson.” Jeongguk threatened once more, before flinching his eyes at the blonde haired doctor.

“Assign her a room, make sure its habitable, tend to her wounds and make sure she’s properly fed.” Jeongguk said after a pause to the doctor. Jackson looked at Jeongguk with incredulity, he sounded a bit too caring towards the girl for someone that wanted her dead or worse.

“Good food, Jeongguk?” Jackson challenged.

“Yes, you moron. She’ll sell for a good price in the market if she’s healthy.” Jeongguk quickly saved himself with a filthy comment.

Yet it must have momentarily escaped him that he was the one to train you in all things related to self defence, and that included sneaking up on people. You were good at that, naturally. That was why he couldn’t tell you had managed to break free of the shackles you were tied up against on the bed post to over hear Jeongguk telling Jackson about selling you.

Your initial sadness morphed into anger.

Grabbing Jeongguk’s hands that were clasped around his back, you twisted the fingers on them and Jeongguk winced in pain.

“ARGH!” He yelled. “YOU BRAT!” Instantly Jeongguk spun you around and locked your hands behind your back, rendering you incapable of movement.

Your attempts to thrash your head around to knock him out were stopped by his chin finding a place to plant itself inside the crook of your neck.

Yo winced in pain as his pointy jaw dug into your already fragile neck.

“If you move, you/re going to be sold to the first bidder we have irregardless of age. Fancy some old cock then, Y/N?” Jeongguk hissed.

You were heaving “Get off me you monster!” You yelled, growing more frustrated with your situation. 

“Get her to a room Jackson, do as I say.” Jeongguk ignored your protests and thrusts you towards Jackson who copied Jeongguk’s grip on you. 

With his last threatening glare at you, he turned his back and left the corridor. He needed to speak to his ‘boss’, who could update him on how your family were looking for you and the ‘plan’ to sell you off. 

It was going to be a long night. 

“Enter.”

The man known as ‘boss’ was masked, but Jeongguk knew who he was. It was Min Yoongi, the most unstable man to wreck havoc in Y/N’s life. The father of Y/N’s best friend. Jeongguk was ‘working’ for him, and it was fine at first. It was the perfect opportunity to get away from his family. That was before he met Y/N. 

Min Yoongi had to die. It was the only way to keep you safe. 

“She’s been taken to a room, being prepped for sale as we speak.” Jeongguk said, acting unfazed. He pressed down the bile that was rising in his throat. 

“Excellent. Take pictures of the whole debacle. I want her father to come crawling to us.” Yoongi said, a dainty smile on his face. 

“And Jeongguk?” Yoongi called out, just as Jeongguk was about to leave the room.

“Good job. Get some rest, you deserve it.” Yoongi said, and Jeongguk could laugh at his attempt to seem friendly. 

He nodded. 

Rest wouldn’t be something Jeongguk would have until he knew you were safe, and this momentary diversion was part of his plan to keep you alive. If that meant you would have to hate him for the rest of your life, then it would be a worthy price to pay for him. 

Later that night, Jeongguk had gotten the details of the room you were staying in. He resisted every cell in his body to come in and comfort you, because the tears coming from your door were breaking his resolve. 

“Argh, it hurts!” Resolve be damned, Jeongguk thought. He entered the room to find you sitting on the floor with shards of glass sticking out from your feet. 

“What did you do?!” He seethed. 

“Get away from me, you monster.” You replied, flinching away from his attempt to help you up. 

“Why’d you even care if I die, let me!” You moved further away, leaving drops of blood on the wooden floor as you moved your bloodied foot. You had kicked the drawer nearby in anger and the vase had smashed on your foot. 

“If you don’t let me help you, I’ll have to call Dr. Kim.” Jeongguk said, and noticed your visible shudder. 

Seeing as you were quietly content being frozen in the same spot, Jeongguk lifted you up bridal style. 

“You know if you weren’t a pyschopathic asshole of a monster, I would have probably found you charming.” You said, stiffening your body in his arms. 

Jeongguk ignored you, because he knew he deserved it. Laying on on the king sized bed, Jeongguk took a first aid kit out from the cabinet close by. He knew most rooms here had a first aid kit, incase someone shot in anger. 

“My family are going to find me.” You declared, watching him sift through the kit. 

“Taehyung will find me.” You said, more to yourself than anything. Jeongguk laughed at that, if Kim Taehyung wanted to keep hold onto his fathers legacy then he would have to accept his fathers view on overthrowing your family.

“You’ll be long gone by the time Taehyung finds where you are.” He said, wrapping a gauze around the centre of your foot. 

To anyone else, the action looked almost loving, but that words could cut through bullet wounds. 

“And where am I exactly?” You asked, no one seemed to care about letting you know if you were in the country or in Antartica. 

Jeongguk smiled. “Cute”. He said. 

“Your captor can tell you where you were when he takes you away.” He finished pressing down on the bandage around your foot and locked the first aid kit up.

The way he spoke about your captor so naturally scared the living daylights out of your soul, but you couldn’t let him see. Not after you broke down, you didn’t want to show any weakness to his monstrous presence. 

“As for now, rest, look pretty and take care of yourself. You need to look good for bidding.” His eyes didn’t flinch as he shot the cold words at you. 

He had to be a monster to you. He had to make you believe he was irredeemable, because that was how his plan would work. If you realised his game, then you would do something yourself to help and that would lead to something even more riskier: losing you for good. Yoongi’s men were perceptive, and any sign of friendship between you two would get you both killed. 

________________________________________________________

Y/N POV:

A week had passed in the hell hole as you liked to call it. There was no sign of your father, oh your all powerful father who could take down clans. No sign. 

You felt truly alone.

Your only moment of solace came from the traitor who betrayed you, and you wanted to puke after every encounter with him. He found excuses to visit, and the pathetic side of you believed it was because he wanted to make sure you were okay. The rational side of you realised that he checked in on you to make sure you weren’t dead. That would mean his job would be on the line. 

What a monster, you thought. 

What a monster you wanted to kill, fuck and love all at the same time. It was messed up. Your whole life was about to be even more messed up. The daughter of a mafia heir was going to be sold on the market like cattle. 

Humiliating. 

That day was today. Two women with masks had come in, armed with guns and force dressed you in a white dress with a flower pinning some of your hair on the side. 

They forced red lipstick on your face, but you swiped it off with the back of your hand after they left. 

You wanted to cut the dress full of holes, but the room had nothing apart from a hair brush. 

“It’s time. Come.” A man in a plague mask made his presence known from just outside your room. Two of his henchmen by the looks of it took your arms on both sides, lifting you up. 

“Walk or we’ll shove you.It’ll hurt.” The gruff voice of one of the men said. 

Reluctantly taking steps forward, they led you across the hallway and to a numbered room. It was much bigger than expected, decorated like an actual art bidding gallery. There was a red carpet forming a T shape and men dressed in suits sat on cheers on both sides of the room. 

They cheered on your entrance. One whistled. Bile rose up your throat. 

“WALK.” The henchman forced your feet on the red carpet, and a voice from behind you started to announce your presence on mic.

“Take a look, boys. I’m sure I need no explaining on who this is, you all know very well.” 

There were cheers. They must be enemies of your father, using you to spite him. 

“Let’s start the bidding at $5,0000?” 

“Going once..?”

An arm objected.

“6,0000?” 

The process repeated until your worth was determined in numerical form that went just over $1million.

$1million to spite your family. Unbelievable, your father had clearly made enemies to last a life time. They were all old and middle aged, meaning your father probably even knew some of these men. 

Your world was horrible. 

You lost track of how much was being gambled, but you realised you had been sold after 5 minutes to a man in the very back of the room. Like the majority here, he was also middle aged. 

You felt sick, and couldn’t stop your body lurching forward to hurl. 

Your world went blank, again. 

The bed you woke up in was not yours, and it wasn’t the bed from your captors mansion. 

It..had a distinct smell. 

You must have been hallucinating, because it smelled like- Jeo 

“Hey there, princess.” Jeongguk. 

“Why haven’t I been sold?” You shot.

“Oh, you have.” He said casually.

“Who? He was middle aged.” 

“Yeah he works for me.”

“For you?” 

You gulped.

“You mean to...say...”

“Welcome to your new home, princess.” 

___________________________________________________________

A:N: WHAT IS JEON PLAYING AT THE LIL SHIT. 

#bts reactions #jungkook fic #bts fic #taehyung fic #namjoon #jin #jimin #bts scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook mafia

[abbytheslothwitch]

Text 2 (Had more from this but it cut out) (Did this from my phone)

9 United Chronicles.

Book 1: Unfortunate event.

Chapter 1: Assumptions.

(Warning! This story contains aggressive behavior, violence, strong language, and lots of crazy stuff.)

Life will find a way.

Life will go on.

Darkness loomed over the barren wasteland. There was nothing, nothing but a bunch of dead bodies, broken machines, and buildings that lay in ruins, the only signs of life were just mechanical monsters and rats that survived the toxic gases that killed and destroyed everything.

Except for one place.

Far beyond the wasteland and all of its nightmares was a garden like world, so beautiful and alive. This world of life was protected by a barrier put active by the elements that made up our world: Water, Fire, Earth, Winds, Ice & Snow, Plant life, Electricity, Holy Light, and Unholy Darkness.

But near the wasteland but farther in the garden lands was a large river, separating the two land. The only way to get to Wasteland or the world of living creatures and plants was by a large oak wood bridge, strong enough to support a fully grown elephant. In this protected area lays a meadow of tall grass and lots of flowers, a Forest stretching as far as the eye can see, with all kinds of plants and animals, and next to the forest was a set of farms for domesticated animals, a temple near the forest and the meadow, and a village where surviving humans colonized, most of which were rebels that came out of the underground colony. But in the Temple lived a different kind of colony.

These colonists were known by the humans as "Homunculie", or most commonly known as "Stitchpunks".

In the Temple there is a library, where these Stitchpunks lived and all of them were lead by two leaders. 9, a determined male burlap Stitchpunk who wanted nothing more than to keep his people safe and help them all become strong. Along side 9 was his mate / wife, 7. 7 was white canvas, strong, graceful, and had a kind heart who wanted only to help the broken, the weak, the young, the old, and the disabled. Together, she and 9 kept everyone in their home safe, sound, and strong with the they created with each other, but their existence could not have been possible if it wasn't for their creator. Together, 9's clan and another clan of Stitchpunks, lead by a hot tempered female, humanity can be at peace, knowing their hope for the future.

But unknown to the human, not everything was perfect in the Stitchpunk’s blessed home. For 9 had made the mistake of taking in an old foe of man, and soon....... To ALL the Stitchpunks in their peaceful safe haven.

——

*Temple library, mid day*

——

A large wooden table, in the center of the library that were accompanied by two bookshelves that held many unread books and historical documents, held the living area of the clan’s home, accompanied by a tailor's sewing box and lager dollhouse at both ends of the table. Near one of two bookshelves was a tin lunchbox which acted like a desk was the Savior of the Stitchpunks, 9 and his good friend 5 were talking about what the watch tower was going to look like and where they were going to place it. Literally one minute into the conversation, 5’s mate 10 came barging in, angry as usual. “ARGH!!” 10 yelled in rage “I hate that d - GRAH!! I can handle being called that a witch, but he..... Grrrr..... He crossed the line!!”. The female Stitchpunk was not pleased with one of the member’s actions that day. After she got on the table, 10 threw her Katanas on the ground and plopped down on a book. She was, clearly not happy

10, according to her clan, was not the kind of female you would want to anger. She was the kind of girl who would most likely try and kill someone and everyone knew it, this female took things very serious when it came to her family. 10 did not look like most normal female Stitchpunks, the fabric which she was made from was white, she had the figure of a female human, such as Hips, Full lips, ect. Her hair was a pinkish red which was draped over her head and reached down to her lower back, and had Slate colored Optics for eyes. Unlike almost all of the Stitchpunks, 10 wore clothes, she always wore a black jumpsuit that had no sleeves, a purple kimono like jacket which reached down to her knees as well with a two pink cherry blossoms on the both sleeves, and the legs of the suit reached down to her knees and wore black leggings. She always wore a silver belt and her hands and feet were made from dark oak wood and yellow copper heels and fingers, she was something else.

Aside from her appearance, 10 really was deadly. The swords she made weren't the only thing that could kill someone, it was her soul that, mixed with the alchemical symbol, she could make fire with just her hand and mind. She was known as "the Phoenix queen", and when she deemed anyone an enemy, she'd burn you, burn you until you were nothing but ashes.

5 felt his mate’s anger from where he was standing, he wanted to ask why she was mad but knowing her, it was best to leave her alone and let her cool off first. Both he and 9 knew that if they’d get close enough, they were bound to get burned by the firy female, so they decided to keep their distance from her.

9 was the first one to notice the female warrior’s frustration as soon as she walked on the table, he thought if he called her over and discuss the plans for the watch tower a bit, she’d calm down. “Hey 10,” said 9 “How was your day?” as 5 quivered behind him, the warrior glared at the males and walked over to them, only to slap 9 cross his face.

”I told you! I told you! I told you NOT to let him in, but you listen? NO! You did the opposite of what I said, and NOW--!

“Hey! Hey! Take it easy! What are you talking about exactly?” 9 demanded “It's that crazy old man I warned you about! That bastard has been nothing but bigger pain than 1 has since he came here! He yelled at my students while I was giving a lesson today!” 10 said to 9, “ Are you talking about Claude?” 9 had asked.

"WHO ELSE WOULD I BE TALKING ABOUT, IDIOT?!”

"Okay, calm down for one!" said 5, trying to calm his mate down. “Tell us about what happen with Claude.” 10 sighed then she spoke, “You really wanna know?! Fine! Here’s what went down.”

——-

*1 hour ago, in the quart yard*

——-

In the left side if the Temple was a round brick wall leading from a side door. 10 and her older brother, Butch, were teaching was just beginning. The day’s lesson was on how to be Strong and Gentle while fighting the enemy: keeping balance in battle. The Students, who were 3, 11, 17, Tomiko, and to partake in the fun, 13, sat on a large rock in order to keep themselves distant from the demonstration of today’s lesson.

Much like 10, 13 was made differently from the other Stitchpunks in the clan. She was made a light sand colored purse, had short light orange hair, and wore a long light pink dress with a black vest with two silver buttons on it. She also had silver optics and her fingers and feet were made out of red copper. But unlike most of the young Stitchpunks, 13 would not fight, even if she wanted to she couldn’t; she just preferred to dance, she did ballet most of the time, and everyone loved watching her preform. Although she could not fight due to the fact she was a pacifist, 13 enjoyed watching 10’s class and learned a lot from the firey red head, the leader she'd known for a long time.

They were in the middle of the lesson when Butch ,on accident, threw his weapon at the rock which the Kids were sitting on. The sword didn’t hit anyone (thank goodness), but before a word could be spoken, the sitting rock broke and fell apart into pieces, which made the kids fall, all hitting the ground very hard.

“Oh Dear God!!!” 10 shouted as she and Butch ran to the children's aid, “Are you all okay?!” “Yeah!” said 17, the light brown burlap Stitchpunk who helping his friends up to their feet, “Just a few bruises, but we’re okay, at least I think so.”. “I’m so sorry kids! That’s never happened before!” Butch said out as he picked up 11 who proceed with kicking his leg. Everyone clearly got upset with Butch, though it was an accident.

“Well Butch, you’ve finally done it…. You pushed me pass my limit! 17! Make sure no one is hurt! I need to a WORD with my older brother here. The rest of you, take the rest of today off.” the red haired teacher announced to everyone.

“Ahem!”

Everyone stopped in their tracks, allof the, except for 10, turned their head to see who spoke up. It was someone that everyone in the temple had troubles getting along with, Claude, a gray old male Stitchpunk with ebony arms and right leg, bronze clips holding him together, a brown belt, wore a raven hood, and had a crimson red jewl imbedded in his head. He had walked in the quart yard when 10 called off the lesson without anyone noticing, and he was obviously not in a good mood.

Everyone had stopped at the sound of Claude’s presence, not from the very they met him. Not wanting to make her students anymore uncomfortable than they already were, 10 turned to face the elder to speak, “Hello Claude! What do you want? You looking for a book or something? Cause if you are, you're in the wrong place, so if you will please leave me and my students alone, that would be swell.” “No. I’m here to make sure you and these....... "underlings" were doing your jobs like you were supposed to be doing, which it seems like none of you are doing anything. You don't want me to report you, do you,.... "10"?!” Claude yelled.

“Alright, look here ‘Macbeth’!” 10 said a loud “WE were doing a lesson when my IDIOT of a brother threw his sword at the kids! I called off the lesson because of it! And FYI, it’s not your job to boss people around like you used to do, now bug off!”

"Madame, that is no way to speak to your superiors."

"You Ain't my superior! You don't this place! You don't do sh** around here! You and 1 just going around boss people like you run the show or something lime that, but you don't! And another thing....!"

Since he was taller than her, Claude looked passed 10, turning attention to what was going on behind the tempered, where he noticed something, something he didn’t favor.

“What’s that creature doing here?”; that question threw 10 off. “I beg your pardon?” “13, what is she doing here?”

She turned to 13, who clearly trying to hide behind 17 who had spoken up, “She was just watching the demonstration is all.” " And that is all? Has nothing like this happened before?” Claude said as he pointed at the now broken sitting rock.

“Yeah.” said Butch "But a lot of strange things happens when anyone's around.”

“Was she around during thoughs events?”

“Yes, she was.”

"Were your sister’s students and 13 present when anything horrible happened? Like the humans losing their crops, half of their live stock, and when Leonard and 8 were injured?”

Butch had to think for a moment before he gave answer to the old Stitchpunk. “Yeah, they were all there too, especially 13; why? Does it bother you so much that bad things happen?”

“Dreadfully, but you’ve just helped me with my point, so thank you for that, Hutch!”

“MY NAME’S NOT HUTCH, YOU CRAZY OLD COOT!!”

“What are you talking about Claude? What was your point in involving us with the crops, live stock, and what happened with 8 & Lenny? What does all of that gotta do with 13?” asked 11 just as confused as everyone else.

“Well 11,” Claude started “I’ve been observing most of those accidents for a while now, and I have noticed at the times of the events there was one Stitchpunk present during all of them!”

He continued. “I've come to the conclusion that someone has caused this unfortunate event and is still causing catastrophes as it was seen here today.” he said as he glared at the children. No one dared to speak a word. “Okay, I’ll be most clear; 13. She was there when the humans lost there crop, living supplies, and she was there when your younger brother and 8 were attacked! Is anyone taking any hints?!" Once again, no body said a word, this made the elder angry.

“YOU IDIOTS!!! 13’S THE ONE WHO’S BEEN ATTRACTING ALL OF THE MISFORTUNE AROUND OUR HOME!!!”

"Wait, what?!”

“Hold on a second! 13?! Causing misfortune?!”

#my writing #long post

[jawsandbones]

The Hounds Of

Rating: M

Pairing: Fenris/Female Hawke

Tags: Future AU, Violence

AO3 Link: Click Here

Summary: The Mad Dog Haunts the streets of Kirkwall. Newly transferred to the city, Fenris hunts this dog down. (For @daficswap, with swapbuddy @annajiejie)

It’s raining over neon, a red that screams into the night, into the city. It’s burning and brimming with electricity, a power that oozes into the alley. It’s a noise that buzzes, barely audible over the drops that slam against canvas. They roll down the shell of the umbrella, pool at her feet. Her knuckles are wet and boots muddy, condensation on the glass of the tablet. A sigh, the briefest closing of her eyes. The tablet glows bright, words she already knows, telling her things she can see clearly. She opens her eyes and the scene does not change. The bodies do not move. Red bleeds on concrete, mixes with rain, drips and drops, down into the sewer drain.

“Just like the rest,” she speaks to the silent figure who stands beside her. Her voice is loud to be heard over the rain. She does not offer the sanctity of her umbrella, and he does not ask for it. He accepts all that falls, the wet that clumps hair together, rolls down his face. “The rain will wash away specific evidence, but the manner of the kills are all consistent with the Mad Dog.”

“She’s on the move,” he says. Expanding territory, but the only question is for who. On the bodies of those slain, identical gang tattoos rest upon their necks, just below their ears. A black dagger – motif of the Sharps Highwaymen. Their eyes are still open, wide with shock. Perhaps they did not see her coming. Perhaps they did not expect her to attack. Perhaps they did not expect her to win, taking her victory in their deaths.

Aveline sighs once again. Her guards move around her, body bags standing at the ready. She motions them forward as the images load onto her tablet, courtesy of the floating bot beside her head. She tucks it into the inner pockets of her jacket. There’s nothing more to be done here. The guards get to work, bagging body after body, loading them up to be taken to the morgue. It would be a long night of paperwork. Another night of staring at pictures, trying to see the pattern of movement and failing.

She looks over at him, watching the guards at their work. Hands in his pockets, jacket buttoned up high. Fenris doesn’t move even when she does, turns and takes her leave. The blood won’t stain the alley, and it will be as though the fight never happened. He turns, peers up at the rooftops. The alleys were no longer safe for the gangs. Any secluded area was a place where she could strike. He slips away as the bodies are all finally hauled away.

Bare feet pad against cold, wet, hard concrete. She staggers through the streets with a grin on her face, blood on her hands. She ignores all the small things under foot, gravel and glass, paper and dirt. The rain is cleaning, cleansing, soaking through skin and bone. Her clothes are thin, threadbare, worn and weathered, ready for their ending. They offer no protection. She laughs silently as she presses hands against her cheeks, runs them down her face. They shake as she holds them in front of her, wavering and unsteady, water pooling in her palms.

She leans against brick, fingertips running over the rough surface, avoiding both the light of the streetlamps and the gaze of passing people. She slips down some back passage, finds a door. She fiddles with the handle before she breaks it off completely and pushes the door open. She hides in this crowd of people, of gyrating motion, blinding and flashing light. These people pay the dark figure no mind, too caught up in the dance and in each other.

She doesn’t move to the beat. Whether she hears it or not is still up to debate. She’s too focused on cutting through, moving around the edges, finding the door behind the stage. She looks over her shoulder only once. Even if she were followed, they’d never find her now. A touch of paranoia or simply knowing when to be careful. There’s red on her belly, a hand pressed against her side. Tonight did not go as smoothly as it should have.

The knife of the Sharps Highwayman, the one that managed to stab her, hides in the sewers of the alley. Inconsequential and forgotten beside the bodies of those she killed. The only important thing was her escape, which she had managed before the guards arrived. She grits her teeth, continues her silent laughter, and walks with a falter, heading home.

Meredith is waiting for them in the morning. She sits at her desk, hands folded together, eyes moving from Aveline to Fenris. “I hope that your transfer will prove useful,” Meredith says, looking at Fenris. “Considering our own efforts have been… less than pleasing.” Aveline shifts on her feet, keeps her hands clasped behind her back. “These murders have gone on for far too long. The people demand an answer. They want to know they’re safe.”

The move from Tevinter to Kirkwall was filled with the Mad Dog’s exploits. His tablet was filled to the brim with report after report. He knew that she only killed gang members. He knew that most people felt positively about this brand of vigilante justice. The only ones who didn’t were the rich and noble, who felt outraged on principle, not because of the people killed. Too many nobles had their hands in the pockets of the gang, smuggling in the newest fad drug for them. Or something more sinister.

The killings were disrupting the natural albeit corrupt flow of the city. So the rich leaned on the easily manipulated. There she sat, blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, glasses sharp on her face, a bot floating above her shoulder. Lips pursed with distaste and a misguided sense of superiority. Meredith leans forward. “They call you a hunter, a wolf.” She narrows her eyes at Fenris like she does not quite believe it. He doesn’t feel the need to defend himself. He knows what he’s done, all that he’s accomplished.

“The White Wolf versus the Mad Dog,” Meredith says as she leans back in her chair, pen tapping against her desk. “Make sure the wolf wins.”

Back at her desk, Aveline shakes her head, sinks into her chair. The wall beside her desk is lit up. Crime scene after crime scene, the faces of all the dead lined up a row. The gangs, their base of operations. Fenris stands before it as Aveline’s bot plugs into the wall, uploads the newest set of pictures. The computer is quick to run through facial recognition, adding names to the list. Fenris raises his hand, flips through picture after picture.

There’s nothing remarkable about them. The only thing that stands out is the stab wounds. No bullet wounds to be found. She uses knives, not guns. Silence to her advantage then? She fights in the dark corners, where the bots do not dare venture. Too likely to be caught and used for scrap. Without the shot of a gun, without the noise, it would take the guard longer to be notified of a fight. It was methodical, planned, the way the Dog fought.

Fenris cocks his head, cycles back through the pictures. A wall of light and glass, painting a dark portrait. It was methodical, yes, but there was anger in her kills. A brutality in the deaths. Anger in every thrust, rage in every death. They call her ‘dog’ to demean her. They call her ‘mad’ for the strokes she paints. Retaliation perhaps? His fingers tap lightly against the glass, and he searches for past gang conflicts. He scrolls through the list. Nothing out of the ordinary. The usual disputes.

He peers at the date of the first murders. He pulls up a calendar, of reports filed. Nothing unusual, relatively quiet. Two weeks before, Kirkwall received an influx of refugees from Ferelden, fleeing a failing city, lost to plague. All refugees listed and catalogued. He runs the list against the murdered gang members. Nothing. He runs the list against other murders, committed by the gangs. Names and dates begin to flood in.

A list of people who had fled something terrible, hoped to find a new home. They found the cremation fires instead. With a flick of his hand, the list moves from the wall to his tablet. He takes a seat, opposite of the desk from Aveline. She’s reading something and her brows are twisted in a way that Fenris has come to understand as concern not as frustration. “Those that we have embedded in the gangs have heard nothing. In fact, the Dog’s actions are forcing them to work together. I have here notifications that The Undercuts and Invisible Sisters are beginning to rally the others,” she tells Fenris.

“It will be war before too long,” she says as she rubs the frown away. Behind her a single video loops, the only evidence of the Dog they’ve managed to retrieve. A bot directed into an alley for an unrelated reason, finding something wholly unexpected. She stands up straight from where she had been bending down, tugging the knife from the body. She turns, over her shoulder to see the light of the bot. The top half of her face is hidden by the dark hood she wears. A wide grin spreads across her face. She straightens, tall and narrow, the knife turning in her hands. She throws it deftly and the video ends in static. It starts again immediately. A reminder of what they are looking for.

Both of them look up from their respective work when there’s a knock at the door. “Sorry to disturb you ma’am, but we’ve found something you’ll want to see,” the tech is brief, urgency in the way she knits her hands together. Aveline and Fenris both follow after her immediately. The techs heels click against the floor, leading them down into the basement. The lab is bright white, and a hologram of the crime scene stands in the middle of the room.

The tech stands beside one of the bodies, bends down. Minute finger motions and she’s dragging up the pool of blood from beside him, holding it flat over her palm. It’s that which she brings towards them, turns it on its side. “There are two patterns here,” the tech says as she separates the layer. The pool, and the splatter on top. “The victim, and an unknown.” She throws the unknown sampling towards them, directing it to the tablets they carry.

Aveline stares at hers, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “She’s injured,” Fenris says.

“I’ll make calls to the hospitals, see what’s come in recently,” Aveline says, turning on her heel. The smile is still on her face. Fenris watches her go, watches her triumphant in the victory she thinks she’s won. Fenris gives the tech a hasty thanks, takes the stairs by two. He slides in front of one of the empty desks, a computer, pulls up the sample. The amount of blood suggested a severe injury. It was doubtful the Dog would go to a hospital. More likely was she’d return to her den to hide, lick her wounds.

It would take time to run the sample against people in the city. It was muddied by the inclusion of the murdered Sharps. It would complicate the results, bring up far more than necessary. Aveline would have them start with the gangs, and onto other known criminals. On a hunch, he runs the sample against the list of refugees. His screen flashes, fades to black. With a small grunt of annoyance, he slaps the side of the computer. It flickers back to life. Three faces sit on the screen.

Carver Hawke. Bethany Hawke. Marian Hawke.

The pieces are easily put together. Fenris follows the string of reports and the timeline with ease. Shortly after their arrival in Kirkwall, Carver was killed – caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs. The Dog became active shortly after that, her first victims that of the Bloodragers and Followers. Those who had gotten her brother killed. One of these sisters was making Kirkwall pay for Carver’s death. Their address is easily obtained. He stands up abruptly, his chair pushed back in his haste. He sends the information to his tablet quickly, moves to collect his coat and helmet.

He runs down the stairs from the guard offices, through the noise of the lobby. People with tablets in their hands, bots on their shoulders. He’s never liked the idea of a bot. Floating eyes, watching everything and everyone. He values his privacy far too much. Today Kirkwall is all bright sunshine, laughter and noise, ignorant of the violence that bleeds underneath the city. He makes his way around the building, where his bike awaits.

He presses his thumb against the keypad, smiles as the bike hums into life, puts on his helmet. The engine is warm and rumbling underneath him, and with one swift movement, he’s off. The downtown streets are always an annoyance to drive on, too many tourists and people with not enough urgency in their lives. Once he hits the highway, it’s much smoother. He weaves around vehicles, his mind on the prize. Make sure the wolf wins. Perhaps it is foolish to rise to Meredith’s challenge. Still, if this relocation was to be permanent, he needed to etch out a better name for himself.

The address given places him in a quiet part of the city. Lawns perfectly cared for. Flowers on the windowsills. Elaborate mansions and the rich people who hide within. The Dog was one of these? The bike hums slowly as he drives slowly down the street, number after number, house after house until he stops. The mansion is dark, uncared for, abandoned. There are cracks in the driveway, weeds growing through pavement. He switches the bike off, places his helmet on the seat as he stands.

Vines cover the house and a few of the windows are boarded over. Whatever happened here, the owners left in a hurry. If it was still owned by the Hawke’s, then it couldn’t go up for sale. Fenris makes a mental note to check if the more esteemed neighbors had lodged any complaints about the mansions dilapidated appearance. He tests the handle of the front door and finds that the door groans open.  

Light is an unwelcome guest here, and Fenris can see all the dust that hangs in the air, the dirt which lies undisturbed on the floor. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, brings up the flashlight. The door shuts on its own behind him, when he steps inside. He wipes the dust from the home panel with the sleeve. Conserve power mode is on, and the panel is cracked. Every attempt to turn on the electricity in the house is met with frustrating failure.

Instead, he turns, flashlight illuminating select parts of the house. A desk in the front foyer stacked with papers. A jar of flowers long dead, rotting petals on the floor. The first room appears to be a study – books upon cobwebbed books, embers of a fire long dead in the fireplace. The kitchen is more of the same. Rotting food on the counter as though they had left in an instant. There is nothing personal here, nothing that tells him where they could have gone.

The first stair creaks under his weight. The rest are more of the same as he heads towards the bedrooms. The guard rail is broken, flimsy, barely remaining upright. The windows are truly boarded here, not even a hint of sunlight piercing through the coverings. He reaches the landing, pauses when he hears a creak from somewhere other than under his feet. The air is still, stale, lifeless and empty. He turns the beam of his flashlight slowly. An empty hallway. Peeling wallpaper. A closed door. He takes an involuntary step back when the flashlight reaches the space in front of him.

Her feet are bare. Black jeans almost skin tight. A dark sweatshirt, whose hood does not hide her face. Short dark hair, choppy and carelessly cut. Her eyes are a bright and glowing blue, the mark of a lyrium addict. The grin spreads slow and wide across her face. The Mad Dog stands before him, soundlessly laughing. “Marian-” is all Fenris has time to say before she moves.

Faster than humanly possible, more evidence of the lyrium running through her veins. Her body twists, and her hand reaches out towards him. A hard chop to his wrist and his phone goes clattering against the floor. The air is stolen from him when she lands a solid punch just under his ribs, sending him backwards down the stairs. He gasps at the bottom, rolling onto his hands and knees, trying to keep air in his lungs. She walks down the stairs slowly. Foot after foot, she descends, that smile still on her face.

She stops in front of him, as he kneels before her. A hand reaches out, and she pinches a strand of his white hair between her fingers. She cocks her head, as if carefully thinking. He snakes his hand out, wraps it around her ankle, and pulls sharply. She hisses as she loses her balance, reaches for the broken banister. It rasps under her weight, the pulling, and it comes loose with a crack. Both the railing and the Dog end up on the floor, dust rising up all around them.

Fenris moves quickly, straddling her down, wrapping his hands around her neck. She bares her teeth at him, her feet kicking at the floor. He grunts as she lands hard punch after punch into his belly. She wheezes as his hands squeeze tighter. With more strength than he believed she had, she raises her hips, flips them both solidly. He tumbles away from her, and scrambles to his feet quickly. She does the same.

They stare at each other, her eerie eyes glowing in the dark, a shaft of sunlight splitting the space between them. He draws his gun, aims at the spot between her brows. The smile which faltered now returns. When he fires, he shoots only empty space. She’s on the move, running around him, behind him, planting a foot against the wall behind him, using it like a springboard. Her knee finds his face, and he feels the warm splash of blood from his nose before his world goes dark.

“-too hard. You almost broke his nose. Didn’t I tell you to show some restraint?” There’s something wet on his face, something cold. It dabs again and again in a gentle pattern. Without opening his eyes, he tests the range of his movement. He’s kneeling on ground, tied to something. His hands are bound behind what feels like… metal? Rivets on the sides. A support beam for some sort of building. His knees ache, no carpet underneath him. More like concrete. A factory building perhaps.

“You can stop pretending. I know you’re awake.” There’s a hand at his jaw, twisting his face upwards. She looks at him, a bloody cloth in her other hand. She has dark hair, like her sister, but hers is neatly styled, carefully cut. She’s younger, softer, less hard angles and more gentle lines. She wears a dark blue dress, a large orange scarf around her neck, and shiny black heels.

“Bethany Hawke,” he says. A faint smile, at that. Fenris looks over her shoulder, to see the Dog. Marian is close behind her sister, her arms crossed, watching Fenris with a scowl. The wall behind them is covered in wires, in screens, and he can recognize the guard’s bot system. Camera after camera on the streets of Kirkwall and even – personal bots. An eye in every corner. Including upon the gangs. Bethany lets go off his chin, looks over her shoulder.

“Yes,” she says, “impressive isn’t it? We can see into every dark corner. We have our hand in every system, every program. We own Kirkwall.” Bethany stands up straight, bloody cloth falling to the floor beside her. She’s not as tall as Marian, not as feral. She instills a different sort of fear in his bones. The Dog could kill him, but Bethany could rip him to shreds. She crosses her arms, plays with the stray threads of her scarf.

“The guard will come for me,” he says.

“Not until we want them to,” Bethany tells him. She turns, walks towards Marian. She stands at the Dog’s back, head on Marian’s shoulder, arms around her waist. Hands at the bottom of the shirt Marian is wearing, pulling it upwards to reveal a neatly stitched wound.

“The blood you found? We wanted you to.” She neatens the shirt once again, stands beside her sister. “The results of the sample? We made sure you got three names. Those names are no longer in the system. The report on Carver’s death? Removed. All the signs you found that point to us? Gone. We no longer exist,” Bethany says. “New to the city, to the guard, eager to prove yourself. Easily lured away from the rest.”

Bethany stalks forward, crouches down before him once again. “I told you. We own Kirkwall. The ‘Mad Dog’ –” she makes quotation marks in the air with her hands “– is simply cleaning the streets. No more will brothers lie in the gutter, their deaths unavenged. You know how often we went to the guard asking of the investigation into Carver’s death?” Bethany cocks her head. “Kirkwall doesn’t care about its refugees. The guard is corrupt to the core, doing only what the highest bidder demands.”

“We’re the justice in the city now,” she says as she stands. “You’re going to help us finish this.”

“You’re turning yourselves in and I’m going to escort you back to city hall?” Fenris asks dryly. Marian guffaws, nudges Bethany with her elbow. What follows is a series of hand movements, Bethany following each sign carefully.

“She thinks you’re funny. She also thinks it’s a shame you’ll probably die today,” Bethany says. “What do the gangs hate more than the Mad Dog? A good guard, a loyal guard, the kind of guard which actually arrests them. There are very few in the city. You’ve been busy since you’ve arrived. They’re quite fond of calling you the ‘white haired fucker’.” Bethany chuckles under her breath.

“We’re going to have guests soon. You and Marian are going to greet them. Be a good host and I’ll call the guard,” she says. “Fail, and you die. Try to escape, and you die. Hurt Marian, and you die. Do you understand?” Fenris slowly nods, making the agreements he needs to. Bethany closes her eyes, tilts her head and bots immediately rise up from behind the computer. Modified bots, no longer just simple eyes. Small robotic arms cut through his bonds.

He stands, rubbing his wrists, getting a better look at the space. Empty, save for the computers and a few scattered pieces of furniture. It may be where they operate but this can’t be where they truly live. The mansion either. They’ve taken his jacket, and he can see that his tablet lies upon the table by a keyboard. Plugged in. Another entrance into the guard for them.

Marian has her arms crossed as she makes her way towards him. She stops a few paces from his face, cocking her head at him. He’s seen quite a few lyrium addicts in his time. They burn brightly, fade quickly. Craving the stuff until their end, requiring a constant supply. He remembers the picture of her first arrival in Kirkwall. Her eyes were blue, but not like this. So much lyrium in so little time to make her this way.

She points at his nose then clenches her hand into a fist. She rubs that fist against her chest in a circle. Bethany snorts. “She’s apologizing. For the nose,” she says. Show some restraint. Fenris is sure that she did. Lyrium charged in the way she was, she very easily could have taken him down without giving him the opportunity to fight back. Marian shrugs, makes her way towards the chair in front of the computer. She flops into it, begins to spin round and round.

“What do you want from me?” Fenris asks.

“We’ve sent certain things to the gangs. In particular, a location,” Bethany is speaking as she walks, hands clasped behind her back, heels clicking against the floor. Fenris follows after her cautiously. There was no point in trying to arrest either of them, not while he was stuck in this situation. Best to gather as much information as possible. Together they stand in front of a window, look out upon the city. Not a factory. An apartment building.

One of the many which cover Darktown. Buildings tower upon buildings, cramped and crowded, filled to the brim with the lost and poor. Filled to the brim with refugees. All of them are in disrepair, falling apart, uncared for. No guards come here. No guards want to. A Darktown patrol was a death sentence. It was where all the gangs hid, all the thieves, murderers and scum. Of course the Mad Dog would be here as well.

“Darktown is forgotten. Neglected. Every day more and more refugees die. More innocents, just trying to get by. We need the guard. They’ll come once they hear word of a large firefight between the gangs and the Dog, with one of their own caught in the middle. You’ll help Marian survive until then,” Bethany tells him, “and she’ll keep you alive in return.”

“What about you?” Bethany smiles, pulls down the edge of her scarf. She exposes the mechanical hole on the side of her neck. She walks to Marian, shoos her out of the chair. It’s Marian who drags the heavy cable towards her, plugs it into her neck. The screens immediately change, flicker, move faster and faster, all the bots in the room awaiting their master’s command. Fenris stands beside her, watches as the screens illuminate with the hallways of the apartment.

Marian holds something in her fist, pushes it towards Fenris. He takes the earpiece, cautiously attaches it. “I am the eyes.” He hears Bethany’s voice from the earpiece, not from her mouth. She sits with her legs crossed, hands folded on her lap and her eyes closed. “I will guard your backs,” she says. Fenris watches as Marian attaches her own earpiece. “I know what you’re thinking. She’s only partially deaf. Don’t say anything you don’t want her to hear.” A smirk, as she zips up her hoodie. She grabs a backpack from the floor, swings it over her shoulders.

“I made myself this. Marian chose the lyrium. We made the sacrifices necessary to get what we want,” Bethany says.

“Justice,” Fenris says.

“Yes. They’re here. There’s a gun by the door. Marian will show you,” Bethany’s voice tells him. The bots are buzzing, moving, descending down through the building. A few remain by them. He’s sure there are more he isn’t seeing. They were giving him a gun. They don’t expect him to shoot Marian in the back. His eyes narrow.  

“Are there civilians in the building?”

“No. They’ve been warned. The situation has been explained and they’ve graciously allowed us this space.” Many would relish the opportunity to see the gangs slaughtered, put in their place. More than simply Darktown. “The guard will be summoned once we feel you’ve earned it,” Bethany says with a hint of mirth in her voice. Marian snorts amusement. She’s wrapping a belt around her waist, and there are two daggers at her back, sitting underneath her backpack. She rests a hand on each hilt.

“Undercuts and Invisible Sisters. The Pretenders have declined the invitation. The remaining Sharps and Lords are on their way,” Bethany says. Marian directs Fenris towards the gun, hands it to him. One of the higher grade ones. Multiple rounds of ammo, different types of shots. A gun usually reserved for Wardens. Marian puts a hand on the gun, over his hand, pulls herself close to him. She closes any distance between them, presses her forehead against his.

Fenris is lost in blue, that blinding light, the low growl that rumbles in her throat. “Congratulations, you have your warning. Please try not to shoot her,” Bethany says. The growl instantly stops, and Marian smiles instead. She winks, gives him a peck on the nose. “They’re approaching the top. Now would be a good time to go.” Marian turns. Fenris rubs his nose. Odd. Everything about this was odd. All he wanted was to do his part, rally the guard, arrest the Hawke women and be on his way. Fighting a bloody swath through an apartment complex was not on his to-do list.

“Good luck,” she says in his ear as Marian pushes open the door. A quick glance tells him all he needs to know. One of the larger complexes, a straight drop in the center, below a large skylight. He peers over the railing. A long way down. Most of the power in the building is off, save for a few flickering light bulbs. The sun sits high in the sky, the only real source of light. He can hear shouting, footsteps. Frustration that the elevators don’t work.

Marian is making a straight line for the stairs. She settles herself against the wall, pulls out her daggers. Fenris eases into a stance, aims the gun at the door. Footsteps are growing closer. “Two more steps,” Bethany tells them. The doorknob turns. A bullet finds the first in the chest. Marian flits around the entrance, a dagger pressing upwards into the softness of the second’s neck. A bullet for the third as Marian grins.

There’s instantly shouting, the drawing of guns. Fenris ducks into a corridor as more push through. “Three down. Seven more in this group.” He can hear gunshots as they chase Marian. She’s leading them around the ring of the center, into his line of sight. He downs two before bullets are directed towards him. “Five.” Marian turns on her heel, moves like a blur, propelling herself forward and daggers find purchase in flesh. “Four.”

Fenris ducks behind the center barrier, takes careful aim. “Three.” He aims his shots carefully, not wanting to find out what Bethany will do to him if he accidentally shoots her sister down. “Two.” The final is screaming, turning to run. Fenris watches as Marian laughs silently, tackles the last to the ground. “There are no more on this floor.”

“I’ve disabled their bots. From the moment they walked in this building, they’ve been alone. They can’t communicate with each other. There are scattered groups on every floor, waiting for orders. The Sharps and Lords are approximately twenty minutes out,” Bethany’s voice tells them. Fenris meets Marian by the stairwell.

She exits onto the next floor running, bare feet against concrete, daggers in hand. When she strikes, they don’t hear her. She takes down three with ease. The first is a swipe across the throat, using the body as a barrier. She moves low, takes down the next with a precision stab in the main artery of his thigh. She smashes the skull of the third against the wall. Fenris finds the fourth and fifth which race towards her, expecting the Dog and finding bullets instead.

They clear floor after floor until – “stop. They’re doing something. Find somewhere to hide.” They both stop in their tracks, and she presses a hand against his chest as she cocks her head. She feels it before she hears it. Footsteps against concrete, vibrations that reach her feet. Another perk of the lyrium. She pushes him against a wall, into the small cover they have by the doorframe. She stands against him, every inch of her pressed against him.

He would protest, but he then hears heavy footsteps, and the whispers cast between those in the hallway. She somehow moves even closer, her palms against the wall by his head. He can feel her breathe against his neck, shallow quiet things, and he can see the shadow as they pass by the corridor. She breathes a sigh of relief when the footsteps begin to grow distant. She moves down the hallway, trying handle after handle. Eventually, one door opens.

He follows her inside, trespassers in someone else’s home. Pictures hang on the wall, smiling faces over threadbare furniture. “They must – noticed – bot – It’s – have to –.” Bethany’s voice fades away into static.

“It must be an EMP. They would use them to find the guards bots and cameras,” Fenris says as he watches Marian pace the room. She’s clearly frustrated, agitated. She pulls the backpack off, reaches inside. He only barely stops himself from laughing when she pulls an apple from the bag, sits on the couch like a child throwing a tantrum, and tears into it angrily. It surprises him even more when she passes one to him.

He takes a seat beside her, watches as she unceasingly bounces her leg. “It will take time for Bethany to have things running again. I am sure she will be fine,” Fenris tells her and the bouncing stops. She places the core of the apple on the table beside her. The apple is juicy and sweet, one of his favorites. She doesn’t stay calm for long. She’s pacing again, biting her bottom lip, hands in the pockets of her sweater.

He moves to rise, to catch her, to tell her to focus. He doesn’t want her worry to get him killed. They both pause when they hear it. Rising voices, many footsteps. Shouting as they search. The other gangs must have arrived by now. Their task just became a lot harder. Marian races for the patio door, swings it open. Cool air, tainted by the smell of the city, wafts into the apartment. He watches as she moves to stand on the railing of the patio.

He’s immediately running towards her, reaching for her, as she turns to face him. She crouches down, motions him closer. She adjusts his collar with care, fixes the knot of his tie. She wraps the length his tie around her fist, again and again. “What are you doing?” Fenris asks her. That damnable grin again. She drops abruptly, stepping backwards into empty air, choking him forward as she falls. He slams against the railing, holding tightly against it so he doesn’t go falling over with her. The tie unravels, red cloth waving in air, as she goes crashing onto the balcony of the apartment below.

He rubs his neck as he hears breaking glass. The footsteps outside the door have gotten louder. They’re breaking down doors one by one. It won’t be long until they find him. Maker knows where she’s gone. The gun sits in its holster around his waist. He leans against the balcony, tilts his head back and closes his eyes. More shouting. Gun shots. If he could see her, he knows she’d be laughing. There’s blood drooling into the apartment, underneath the crack of the door.

The handle turns. A bloodstained Hawke stands in the doorway. She stretches as she walks forward, finds a bag of wet naps in her backpack. She wipes her face clean, then shrugs on the backpack. Her daggers are back in their place. Fenris pretends as though he almost didn’t draw his gun and shoot her on instinct. He follows behind her. They take two more floor swiftly and neatly. At the third, Marian sags against a wall.

They find another open door. Fenris locks it behind them as Marian roots through her bag for a vial of lyrium. An addict such as she would need more and more to sustain her. Her addiction would drive her to an early grave if the gangs didn’t do that for her first. “Why did you leave Tevinter?” He whirls at the sound. It’s a voice he doesn’t recognize. Marian sits cross legged on the bed, her hands wrapped around her ankles, looking at him curiously. Outside the glass door, the sun is beginning to set. They’ve been at this all day. His bones ache, every muscle ragged. He makes his way towards the bed, stretches himself down upon it and closes his eyes.

“Now you’re talking to me?” She lies sideways on the bed beside him, elbow in the mattress, resting her head against her fist. His eyes open when she flicks at his nose with her free hand. She smiles at the irritated scowl. “I left because I could. I wanted to. More than that is not your business,” he tells her. She thinks about that for a moment, then mimics his position, lying shoulder against shoulder.

“We left Ferelden because of the Blight.”

“I know.”

“Our parents died.”

“I am sorry.”

“Carver and Bethany were twins. I was supposed to protect them.” She’s moving again, rolling over top of him, straddling him. Her hands press against his chest and she leans her face close to his. “Even if it kills me, I will keep her safe. She wants to protect the refugees. I told her I didn’t need help but she insisted anyway. I - we chose you because you’re like us. You don’t belong here. You want this place to be better. You know it won’t change.” There’s warm purple and pink in the sky. It does nothing to change the cold ice in her eyes.

“You should leave Kirkwall as soon as you can,” she says.

“What about you?” He asks. Her jaw clenches shut as she moves, closing herself off from him once again. She sits on the edge of the bed, back hunched, fingers knitting together in her lap. “You can’t fix this city all by yourself.”

“I wanted this to be home,” is all she says. She moves through the next two floors in a fury. As though each gang member were a personal affront on all she was and all she wanted. Fenris covers her back, all those who might take her unawares. She’s a force of nature all her own, never slowing and never stopping. He’s not sure if that’s because of the lyrium or through sheer force of will. Often he catches her glancing upwards. She wants to be sure that none have slipped through their grasp. That none might threaten Bethany’s safety.

It’s a distraction. It’s this distraction that allows the first to drag Fenris back by his collar. The other rounds upon Marian. He kicks her in the chest, and she lands heavy against the wall. He picks up her own dagger from the floor, swipes towards her. She moves, but not fast enough. The dagger slices across her face, over her nose, a thin slice. The momentum of her movement casts her to the floor, and she’s struggling to rise on all fours. She readies herself for a blade in the back. Fenris stumbles forward, catches his wrist in his hands, and wrestles the Undercut to the floor. The other lies dead, neck at the wrong angle.

He twists the wrist that holds the dagger, turns the blade upon him. Then, with every last inch of his strength, he presses down. The Undercut can only watch as he stabs himself. Fenris rolls off of him, crawling towards Marian. “You’re hurt.” He takes off her backpack, roots through it until he finds a clean cloth. She leans against the wall as he gently wipes at her face. He finds the medi-gel in the pack, smears it across the cut. It begins to seal itself almost immediately. “It will scar,” he tells her. She shrugs.

“Across the way!” They both scramble immediately, ducking for cover behind the barrier. They watch as shots land in the wall. Marian is breathing heavy, same as he, the both of them crouched under the bannister. She turns to him, and he to her. The smile cracks on her first, turns to laughter. Laughter he can actually hear, like chiming bells, the clearest sign of her amusement. It’s hard not to join her. She’s free with it, her hand slapping against his chest in a friendly way. Fenris shakes his head, unable to wipe the grin from his face. Guard and Dog laugh over the sound of gunshots together.

She drags a vial of lyrium from the backpack, makes a fake ‘cheers’ motion towards him. She downs it quickly, her face twisting with displeasure at its vile taste. She reaches for the dagger embedded in the now still chest, sheathes it into her belt with the other after cleaning it. Together they crawl along the edges of the wall, as bots descend into the corridor. They harass the gangs, cast them into disarray. It buys them the time they need to duck inside a room.

“Can you hear me?” Bethany’s voice buzzes into life. Marian instantly flicks two thumbs up. “Good. Fenris’s absence has been noted. A report has just made its way into City Hall. The Mad Dog sighted, along with a large group of gang members. Fenris captured by the Mad Dog. They’re almost here. A large force.”

“Then we just have to last until they get here. Will you turn yourselves in after?” Fenris directs this question at the ceiling. Bethany’s laughter, Marian’s shaking her head. She turns towards the door. Their work is not yet finished. They’re a little more than halfway down the building. They can hear the sirens in the distance. She’s slowing yet again, practically licking the vials of lyrium clean. They’ve been at this for hours with little rest, barely any food. It was a wonder she was even standing.

She allows Fenris to lead, gun in hand, checking every corner. This was no Dog. “Was it you or Bethany who wanted to do this?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Both of us,” Bethany replies. Marian doesn’t hesitate in her nod of agreement. He doubts this. He thinks it was Bethany – reckless and angry, full of a need for justice. The loss of a sibling was a hard thing to swallow. He couldn’t imagine a twin. We made the sacrifices necessary. He shoots the person who turns the corner. The guard is beginning to make its way through the lower levels. The gangs are panicking, scattering.

There were so many bodies she left in the streets. A message to all the rest. This was the final nail. The leaders weren’t here of course, but the underlings were now rotting. It would take time to build up another force like the one Kirkwall had haunting its streets. Not enough bodies for all the gangs. Many would collapse upon themselves. They had done in months what the guard could not accomplish in years.

He’s part of the guard.

He shouldn’t admire them.

He shouldn’t admire her, Marian Hawke, pushing herself forward, that gleam in her eyes. The first true champion of the people Kirkwall has seen in years – not the politicians spouting false promises. He thinks of Meredith, so easily bowed. Precious few with the drive to help, to protect. He knows how hard Aveline tries. He can think of no one else in the guard as motivated as she. He guesses she is the one leading the charge on the floors below.

He pulls her into an empty room, closes the door. He tucks the gun into his belt, makes his way towards her. “You should leave Kirkwall. Take Bethany and go. You said it yourself – you don’t belong here. The lyrium will kill you so just –” Marian presses a finger against his lips. She sighs even while she smiles, brushes a thumb against his cheekbones. Then she shakes her head.

One of the guard is broadcasting through the bots they’ve brought with them. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. The one thing he knew that Bethany and Marian would never do. The Hawkes would be wasted in a cell, if they weren’t executed. “You need to leave now,” he says. Marian is still just softly smiling. The yelling draws his attention to the door. Loud footsteps. The occasional gunshot. Door after door being kicked open. The guard would allow none to hide, none to escape.

“Fenris.” The shouting is getting closer. He turns, faces Marian. She looks at him, reaches forward. Gentle fingers touch the nape of his neck, slide into his hair. She presses her nose against his, closes her eyes as she adjusts for the kiss. Her lips are cool but her mouth is warm, and she tastes faintly of iron. Tongue touches tongue, and he groans against her, hands at her waist, sliding against her back. Her hands are still drifting through his hair, until they settle on his shoulders. She steps back slightly, out of his grasp. “I’ll see you soon,” she says with a soft smile.

It’s the crash at the door which gets him. He turns to look, the guard bursting through. When he turns back around, she is gone. The apartment building is quickly searched and cleared. They find that the computer at the top of the building is dead, thoroughly wiped, all screens smashed. There is no trace of Bethany. It’s easy to place the blame on one single ghost, the Mad Dog which has slipped through their grasp.

They question him, his experience. He never once gives their names. He claims not to know them. The residents of Darktown give the guard nothing. For some time, before others form in their place, the residents of Kirkwall know some sort of peace away from the gangs. Fenris hands in his badge after a few restless weeks, moves away from the city.  

He runs a thumb over the smooth skin of the apple, adds it to his basket. The market is bustling and loud, shoulder to shoulder as the crowd mills around booths. He hears it behind him. “Fenris.” It’s a voice he hasn’t forgotten. Her eyes are blue, not a harsh stroke of color this time. Soft, like a cloudy day. She smiles.

#writing #mine #fenris #hawke #femhawke #fenhawke #fhawris #f!hawris #fenris x hawke #fenris x femhawke #female hawke #fhawke #dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #future AU #alternate universe #bethany #bethany hawke #meredith #aveline #aveline vallen #carver #carver hawke

[the-awoken-crusader-blog]

The Rhapsodist

[PoV: ???]

[Location: Alley in an Unknown City]

I growl in frustration as I snap my book shut, once again disappointed by the results. This death, I was sure it would be the one. A beggar stabbed in the heart by my poisoned claw, alone and forgotten...

The words are indeed beautiful, but they are not...perfect. Once again that perfection eludes me...

Frustrating...oh so frustrating...

My gaze looks down at the still twitching form of the Umbreon, sickly-colored blood pouring out of the wound in his chest. The poison has already done its work, with the amount injected into his heart...he’s lucky that his death was quick before the pain settled in.

My eyes narrow as a hiss escapes me, my left hand clenching tightly as anger dances in my vision.

Why...is this so difficult? Why can’t I find it? This has taken me many years already, dozens and dozens of chosen individuals...none being the one. Will I ever find the perfect one? To kill them the perfect way in the perfect setting?

No... I must not lose hope, I will do this until I die... Nothing will stop me, I will find it... I will-

I pause, hearing the distinct sound of footsteps.

Without hesitation I turn to face the source, my eyes narrowing. The intruder stops, despite the darkness...I can see them quite clearly.

It is a female Mienshao who’s coat is as black as night, her fur-like whips ending with metal spherical weights. The hair on her head is long and flows down to near past her shoulders, her blue eyes looking at me coolly.

I recognize her, Shala the Huntress. Beautiful yet oh so deadly, she is one of the fiercest Bounty Hunters who’s tales has ever graced my ears.

“Now look who I finally found.” She chuckles, her lips widening into a smirk. “The most fiercest killer that got everyone shaking, ‘The Rhapsodist’ is what they call you.” She looks me over, her eyes looking over my suit. “I’ll be honest, you’re dressed way too spiffy to be some serial killer. It’s like you’re heading for a date...” Her gaze turns to the dead form of the Umbreon, her smirk returning back to a frown. “...A weird one at that.”

I tilt my head ever so slightly, her behavior...intriguing me. “How interesting, I see that you don’t fear me. Very...surprising.” My gaze turns to the clawed finger on my right hand, noticing some droplets of the Umbreon’s blood that I have missed. Carefully minding the blade on my left arm I retrieve a red handkerchief from my jacket pocket, I use the cloth to wipe away the remnants of the crimson liquid before tucking the handkerchief back in the place it belongs.

“Me? Fear you?” She laughs sharply. “Fuck no, you’re just a nut who’s got lucky one time too many!” Her eyes flash with an almost predatory look, her lips parting to reveal many sharped teeth. “And I guess the rumors are true, you DO speak in Haiku. It solidifies the fact that you’re out of your mind, you’re WAY too obsessed with that damn poetry”

‘Damn poetry’? I feel my eye twitch at the comment, however I keep my form from revealing my irritation. “Obsessed?” I respond. “How crude. Dedicated, I would say. A much better word.”

“I swear, you need to quit it with the Haiku. It makes you sound so damn stupid!” She howls with laughter, causing my eye to twitch again. Upon calming herself down she flashes me a grin, the predatory look becoming more obvious. “Now you have a couple of screws loose, but are you stupid?” She asks while crossing her arms, the metal weights on her fur-whips slowly swinging in the air from the action. “Prove me you aren’t, freak. Tell me why I’m here.”

Her words...it is obvious that she’s trying to invoke my ire, oh...and is it working. I can feel my irritation grow, my eyes narrowing ever so further. “You are a hunter, you desire to bring my head. To claim the bounty.”

She snaps her fingers before winking. “Ding ding~ Looks like you’re not stupid after all! So you know what that means~?”

The answer is obvious, she desires to slay me in order to claim the bounty that is on my head. However I do not say this, instead stand calmly as I wait for her next action.

She lets out a sigh. “Oh you’re no fun.” She pouts, but her grin quickly returns. “Nevertheless, I’m gonna enjoy taking out a nut like you~ Hope you enjoyed killing that guy, because he’s gonna be your last!” With that she leaps forward, lashing out with one of her weighted whips.

And so she initiated her attack, what I was waiting for. Using my powerful legs I press down on the ground and leap high into the air, sailing over the Mienshao and landing on the ground a good distance behind her. Her whip flies past the spot where I once stood and strikes the wall, the metal weight causing the brick to crack from the heavy impact.

I glance over my shoulder as the Mienshao pulls the weapon out of the wall and quickly faces me, her eyes burning with bloodlust. “Now looks like there’s more to you than meets the eye...” She chuckles, her tongue licking her lips. “So are you gonna run away? Because I love chasing my prey, it makes it more invigorating~”

Running away is one thing that crossed my mind, however...something is holding me back.

Shala...she is beautiful....deadly... She is one of the most dangerous and successful bounty hunters, her reputation staying true to her viciousness.

Could she be it...?

The potential is there, the chance of it being perfect. A famed huntress assumed to have corner her prey, only for her to be unmatched by said prey.

The hunter becoming the hunted, how...poetical...

With newfound inspiration I turn to face her, my left hand clenching as I raise my blade.

“So you’re not gonna run after all?” She asks, when I didn’t respond she rolls her eyes before continuing in a sing-song tone. “Doesn’t matter to me, I enjoy a good fight too~”

Shala cackles before putting her hands together, conjuring a dark-colored Aura Sphere. The ball of energy hums and crackles before she thrusts it forward, the projectile flying towards my face.

I crouch low to let the sphere fly over my head, impacting the wall and exploding. Debris pelts my body but I remain unflinching, as the dust clear I see the Mienshao charging forward before swinging down with one of her weighted whips.

Due to my crouched position I use my legs as a spring, leaping back to propel myself to the wall to have the weight strike place where I once was. I angle myself to let my taloned feet dig into the stone, gripping with enough strength to adjust my body before pushing off. I fly at the hunter, slashing down with my crescent blade.

All of this took place in only a second, many slow reacting individuals would’ve been felled by an instant. But Shala is a honed huntress, and she managed to jump back. However she didn’t go unscathed, for my blade sliced through one of her whips...cutting the hairs and sending the weight clattering on the ground.

She glances down at the severed hairs on her arm, a snarl forming on her face. “It took me months to grow that thing, you bastard.” She growls, her eyes glowing with newfound fury. “I’m gonna make your death VERY painful.”

I merely straighten myself, gazing at her calmly as I wait for her next move.

Shala forms another Aura Sphere in her palms, however instead of throwing it as I expected she dashed forward.

Upon closing the distance she throws it at me, which I jumped to the side in order to avoid the projectile. I adjust my legs to grip the stone, however before I could leap...she uses the closed distance to sweep her other weighted whip at me.

Unable to react due to the close proximity, my eyes widen as the weapon slams into my side and sends me flying. I land on the ground hard, my side flaring with agonizing pain. A painful cough escapes me as I lay there, from the feel...the blow has broken several of my ribs.

“I thought this fight was gonna be a bit longer!” The Mienshao cackles, the sounds of her footsteps growing louder as she approaches me. I turn my head to look at her, the hunger radiating from her expression giving her the appearance of a monster spoken in stories meant to scare children. She has a very obvious swagger in her steps, it’s obvious that she’s savoring her victory.

“But I don’t intend this to end, not yet~” She grins, leaning over me and placing a foot on my bladed arm in order to prevent me from using it. “Oh no, your death is gonna be slow...just like I promised.” She slowly reaches a hand for my face. “But first, let’s see what’s underneath that mask of yours~”

How confident she is, that she has won this battle. Yes...my injuries are severe, but I am no ordinary fellow that is crippled by such a blow.

No...my injuries are merely a setback in my quest for perfection.

They will not stop me.

Without warning I raise my leg and strike her, my talons effortlessly digging into her breast. Despite my broken ribs I twist my body, using all of the strength in my leg to throw her.

A tearing sound fills the air as my talons tear the flesh off her, she screams in agony as she flies into one of the walls of the alley. She slams into it with a loud crack, slumping to the ground as she’s disoriented from the impact.

I release the flesh gripped in my foot before slowly standing up, the agony in my chest flaring like molten lead. I ignore it however, slowly making my way to the dazed Mienshao.

“The huntress prowls...hunts... Looking for her next victim. To taste blood once more.” I say, my talons creating loud clacks against the stone.

“She found her next prey, confident that it will end...just like all the rest.” My gaze turn to the gaping wound in her chest, blood pouring from it to the ground.

“But that was not so, her prey...was much...much stronger. More so than she thought.” I slowly reach my right hand behind my back, using my bladed finger to lift my coat to reach in for the concealed carry revolver from within its holster. At this point Shala is beginning to stir.

“She thought she had won, but arrogance made her blind. It had deceived her.” I pull the gun out with a slow flourish, taking great care to savor this moment. The Mienshao blinks a few times before looking up at me, her eyes widening in horror.

“And so her prey struck, dealing out the ending blow. It was prey no more...” I point the gun at her head, my finger pressing down on the hammer to cock the weapon.

“No...please...” The Mienshao whispers, she tries to get up...but cries in agony as her wound is too severe.

“And so the huntress... Who has killed many poor souls, became...the hunted...” I pull the trigger, the barrel flashing as I fire a bullet into Shala’s skull.

The Mienshao slumps, life fading from her eyes from the fatal shot. I keep my pose, my weapon still aimed at her head as I process the words that left my mouth.

The poem...it was beautiful... Very...very beautiful...

But...

Anger flashes in my vision, my teeth clenching as the grip on my weapon tightens.

It...is...not...perfect.

#the-awoken-crusader #??? #plot