#my computer battery is dead so the rest well come later

[avis-fictional-world]

@aimportantdragoncollector

Kudou’s hair is difficult 🥲

#thanks for the request! #birthday doodles 🥳 #my computer battery is dead so the rest well come later #I’m not one for words so I don’t what to add #this was fun ☺️☺️ #shigaraki yoichi #kudo mha #bnha #I think Kudou would be endeared with Yoichi looking after him so I gave him that expression #he’s checking for sprains and bruises I guess #lol #mha kudou

[thebestofoneshots]

Princess

Pairing: Dean x reader

Prompt: In which you and Dean can’t help but want to be around each other and find little excuses to do so. Also reaserchung for a case and watching TV together.

Warnings: Located on early season 12, there are some mild spoilers to S2 of The Walking Dead but nothing serious.

A/N: This is fluff, just a bunch of fluff because I needed some Dean fluff real bad

You laid on your stomach with your feet crossed, knees glued to the headboard of Dean’s bed as you read the digital book you’d found a few days back. Dean sat beside you resting his back on the headboard reading as well, he held a book in his hands. You were both listening to some soft rock as you continued your research to trap Lucifer on the cage.

Hours passed, Sammy had gone to check up on a possible case and promised to call if it was something of your kind of thing, meanwhile you, and Dean decided to go to his room since the library chairs were hurting your backs from so much reading.

You took a deep breath and sighed before moving on to the next page of archangel lore, and you thought the economy readings back at uni had been boring.

“Hey!” You heard him exclaim excited from behind. “I think I’ve got something! Check this out.” He handed you the book and leaned towards you as you read.

You closed the computer and grabbed the book from his hands, reading from the point he told you to start.

As you read about the tools God had used to lock Lucifer on the cage you felt a small finger pressing near your shoulder. It made you raise an eyebrow and turn your eyes towards him but continued reading when you noted no further movement, a few minutes later you felt it again. You ignored it just the same. And it just kept happening. He’d press his finger on different sides of your back, and rather than being annoying to you, it was pleasant, almost like a massage. You almost dragged your eyes in the words longer just to avoid finishing fast and lose the gentleness of his touch. You were only friends so, these kinds of tokens of affection weren’t all that common.

After a few pages and a few minutes of heaven, he stopped and leaned even closer “So?”

“So what?” You asked confused, you were still a little numb and distracted, his touch had an effect you were not expecting, even if you liked it.

“You think it’s going to work?”

You were about to ask ‘what was going to work?’ until it dawned on you that he was talking about the reading you’d barely payed attention to “I mean, I think it could work, it’s not such a long shot.” You were as ambiguous as possible with your answer.

“Right?, I’ll send the pictures of the book to Cas, he’ll know something about it.”

You nodded and passed him the book, you tried to open the computer again but your will power was out of sight “I cannot, for the life of me, continue reading this! It’s the most boring piece of lore I’ve found in my life! It’s like the writer thought of the most boring way to write something and decided to double the boringness at the end.”

Dean chuckled “then stop for a bit, let’s see what Cas has to say about what we found, take a break.”

“Awesome! If anyone asks, you said I could stop,” You chimed grabbing the computer on your hands, you did NOT want to stand up, even if it was minimal, you enjoyed the company and without the reading, you had no excuse to stay in the same place as Dean.

“Do you want to watch something?” He asked then.

You were about to jump like a little girl in excitement but managed to keep your composure “sounds nice, why not?”

You opened Netflix on your computer, trying to find something to watch “Hey, walking dead seems fun,” he motioned towards the screen.

“Hmmm, I don’t really like zombies.”

“Wait, what? I’ve seen you hunt dozens!”

“Yeah, we’ve hunt zombies, but our zombies are not like those zombies, you don’t get bitten and turn into one because of a scary invisible virus that kills you and turns you into a blob of walking, hungry, brainless meat. And there are also no zombie apocalypses where all the people you love die.”

“Wait a minute! Are you scared of zombies?” He teased.

“That’s ridiculous! I hunt zombies,” you defended yourself.

“You ARE scared,” he continued “I’d never thought they say would come where I would find something that scares (Y/F/N).”

“Shut up! Winchester,” you grunted "I’m not scared, and I can prove it!" You sneered as you clicked on the little icon to play the first episode of the show you’d been dreading to watch for years.

He had a little smirk on his face as you did it, he knew you were scared, but he also didn’t mind being the only one there to comfort you, in case the zombies were too much.

As the episode started you had your left hand, the one on the other side of him, clenching the bedsheets expecting a jump scare on every scene. By the end of the episode, you’d gotten around to it, since you’d seen jump scares weren’t all that common on the show you managed to relax a bit.

"You’re not as tense anymore," he acknowledged.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Winchester, I was never tense," you responded playing dumb.

He rolled his eyes but you both continued watching the show. By episode three of your little binge-watch the computer showed the classic 5% battery left which meant you had like a minute before it turned off.

"Shit," you mumbled, you still didn’t want to stand up, so you looked around the room to see if by any chance you’d brought the charger, which you had, only it was close to the plug, on the far side of his little concrete shelf. You gave him a look. He denied with his head. You breathed again and positioned your hands on the classic rock, paper scissors start.

"Seriously? princess?" He asked, you knew, he meant it in an annoying way, but even then your stomach fluttered.

"Do I look like I’m joking?"

He let a breath out and positions his hands too. rock, paper, scissors, you both the said in your heads, both choose rock. You stared at each other for a second before trying again, rock, paper, scissors, now you were both papers. You got the same answer two more times. "This is the one!" He said. You nodded, rock, paper, scissors and he crushed your scissors with his rock.

"Son of a bitch!" You mumbled.

"Language, princess!"

You made a face at him and looked at the cord again. You really, really didn’t want to stand up. So it occurred to you, maybe if...

You nodded to yourself and kneeled on the bed, using your hand on his nightstand to stabilize yourself, you basically crossed Dean with half of your body and extended your arm as far as possible to get the cable. That was the easy part, the cable wasn’t nearly as far. But the plug, that was another story.

Meanwhile, Dean sat there, sipping hard trying to ignore the fact that your ass was just inches away from his face. He tried, boy he tried not to check you out, you had been friends for the longest time, and while he had checked you out before (when he’d met you for the first time), he’d avoided that now that you’d grown closer. But you were wearing yoga pants, he could not resist yoga pants. As he was dumbfounded looking at your ass you continued trying to get the cable to the plug, causing you to stretch even further, giving Dean an even better view.

Eventually, you managed to connect the cable, and as you tuned to rejoice in your success the book on the shelf you were using as support gave in, and you started falling face-first to the ground.

Luckily, Dean who was very attentive of your movements at that point, managed to grab you by the hips and pull you in, causing your chest to collide with his, faces inches away from each other "It’s alright, I’ve got you." You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face, you breathed carefully, swallowing hard at the closeness.

“Umm... thanks, I uh... wasn’t expecting to fall,” You mumbled.

“No problem, that’s what friends are for,” he smiled, you stared at his mesmerizing green eyes for a little too long before realizing you were still on top of him.

“I... am... I’m going back to my place,” you whispered rolling off of him and sitting on your side.

“Hey listen, if you don’t want to continue watching the zombies, it’s perfectly fine for me, all right?”

“What? Are you scared now? princess?” Was your only reply.

He chuckled slightly and you both continued watching the show.

As the second episode of season two came to an end you were both in awe “Shit Carl!” You mumbled.

Dean, was also very tense beside you, Carl couldn’t die, he was one of the main characters. You kept telling yourselves that throughout the next episode. At some point even, both of you started holding hands, in reassurance to each other.

You wanted to continue watching but both of you were falling asleep “maybe we should call it a night?” He asked.

You nodded, and you headed to your room, it was just beside his, but you’d miss his warmth either way.

“Good night, princess,” he smirked.

“Good night,” you replied rolling your eyes “ass,” you smiled and closed his door as you left.

He let a breath out as he saw you walk out and placed the computer on his nightstand. He’d miss you laying by his side, both of you fell asleep soon after, wishing you were still together.

Dean woke up a few hours later to pee, and he heard you as he was coming back to his room, he knocked first but after no answer he opened the door and entered your room, you were asleep, but not peacefully, although quietly you mumbled words, “get away from me”, “nooooooo” and “Dean!” were only some of them.

“Hey!” He motioned towards you, he sat beside your bed and gently moved your shoulder, you were still trapped in your own nightmare “hey! princess! Wake Up!” He motioned again.

Still, no answer from you, after the third try you abruptly opened your eyes, your breath hitched and your eyes watery “Dean!” You smiled as you saw him. You quickly pulled him into a hug “Oh, you’re all right, you’re perfectly fine!” you whispered as you pushed him even closer to you, by now he’d returned the unexpected hug and made circles on you back with his palm.

“I’m fine princess, you were the one moaning about zombies” he teased.

You answered with a light hit in the shoulder “I wasn’t dreaming about zombies!”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, princess,” he cooed, you wanted to argue, you really did but was it really a better thing for him to know what you really were dreaming of? Losing him to Lucifer. So you just rolled your eyes and let him have this one. “We can always stop watching it.”

“You wish! I have to know what happens to Carl,” you replied.

As the two of you stopped embracing each other you suggested “maybe we can watch a bit more? I’ll put it on my phone, just so we can get sleepy again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiled as he motioned for you to move so he could fit in the bed. He took off his robe, setting it in the side and accommodated himself underneath the covers. Your bed was smaller than his, so you were even closer that you’d been in his room with the computer.

“Your pijamas are extremely soft” you said as he fumbled around inside the bed to get comfortable, you’d feel his muscles flexing underneath his pants and shirt as they touched your bare skin, you only had a pair of shorts and a short sleeve pijama top.

He frowened, and gave you a side eye, he had no clue how to respond “thanks?”

“I’ll steal it from you one of these days,” you said feeling the hem of his sleeve “it’s stupid soft.”

The idea of you wearing his shirt made him shiver in his mind, but he had to keep up the aparences “you can’t have my shirt!”

“I wasn’t asking for it Dean,” you smirked.

You gave each other a defiant look and then you put play on the episode that patently waited for you two on the screen of your phone.

You were attentively watching the episode when you heard a light snore, you turned towards Dean but he was fast asleep. You smiled slightly and denied with your head. Placing your phone on the nightstand and letting a breath out. You’d have to wake up the Winchester now, but just when you were about to motion him to wake, you felt his hand pulling you down from where you sat and towards him.

“Stop moving princess, I’m comfortable,” you heard him mumble in between his sleep. He pulled you in and snuggled against you, making you completely trapped with his arm and a few seconds later, his leg was also on top of yours, leaving you looking at the ceiling, without being able to move.

You took a deep breath and decided you’d just enjoy the moment instead. Falling asleep just a few minutes later, with his warmth comforting you this one night.

A/N: hope you enjoyed this little thing, opinions and feedback are always apreciated, much love -Rose.

Find more Dean Fluff here

#one shot #imagine #supernatural #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot #oneshot #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural imagine #Dean Winchester #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #the cw #spn #spn imagine #spn one shot #spn oneshot #princess

[faofinn]

Febuwhump Day 4 - “I can’t lose you too” (Alt Prompt 2)

@febuwhump

Part 1 // Part 2

Sheila was working when the call came through, her phone buzzing uselessly in her locker.  By the time her break came round, it was a long while later, her battery nearly dead and several missed calls from a number she didn’t recognise. Food in the microwave, she perched against the bench and pressed play.

“Sheila? Sheila ‘m sorry. They asked me who I wanted to call an’ -and I didn’t know who else. ‘m really scared and I’m in hospital and you always said I could call.” Her heart sank, fear taking over. “I’m sorry. I lost my phone an’ I couldn’t remember your number. I don’t even know if this is your number still. I fucked up and I’m sorry. You an’ Fred were the best family an’ you did so much for me an-and I’ve done this. I didn’t have time to do anything and then I was here. You were a mum to me, and Fred was the best … best dad I had...I’m sorry. I don’t wanna be alone, Sheila. I know you’re busy and you’ve probably forgotten me and I’m sorry, I’m just scared.”

The beep sounded and she didn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. It had been a few months since she’d heard from him, and even then it was just a passing text to tell her happy birthday. He was still her child, one of her first fosters, and still family. He sounded in a bad way and she could hear the flurry of activity in the hospital around the panic in his voice. It took no time to make her mind up, briefly telling a colleague she was going before disappearing, her lunch still in the microwave.

She tried Fred on the way, to no avail, leaving him a slightly more composed voicemail than had been left on hers. The hospital was no luck either, stuck on hold until the dialing rang out. 

The car was left abandoned in the carpark as she rushed through to the ED, pushing past the queue at the desk. “Hi, sorry, my son was brought in earlier - Jason Hardy - I got a phone call from him.”

“Just a second ma’am, there’s a queue.” 

“Yeah, it’ll take two seconds. Jason Hardy. Can you tell me where he is?”

With an irritated sigh, the receptionist tapped away on the computer, face falling slightly. “I’m just going to get a nurse.”

Sheila knew it was bad, she’d heard the panic and desperation in his voice, and seeing the look on the receptionist’s face...it only made it worse. 

A nurse arrived to greet Sheila quite quickly, a forced smile on her face. “Sheila Daniels?”

“Is he still alive?”

“He is. He’s in a bad way, but he’s alive. We’re gonna take you through now.”

She followed her through. “How bad is he? I got the phone call…”

“It’s touch and go, I’m afraid.”

She swallowed thickly. “What happened?”

“There was a car accident.”

“No.” 

“I’m afraid so.”

“But he’s going to be okay, right?”

“We’re doing our best.”

She knew what that meant. “So, no.”

“You know we can’t make any promises. But we’re doing our absolute best to give him the best shot.”

“I’ve been through it before with my other two. You don’t need to lie to me.”

“I'm not lying to you, I promise. We're doing our best for him.”

"I don't doubt you are, but I know what it means, when you say that. The look you all have…"

“I’m sorry. It’s a difficult situation.”

"He was one of my first fosters." Sheila said quietly. "Stayed with me a long while, and then would come and stay for reprieve occasionally."

“That’s very admirable of you. Foster parents are such a lifeline. I’m sure he’ll appreciate you being here.” The nurse said, letting herself into the ICU.

"He said he couldn't remember my number. I should have been here."

“You’re here now, that’s what counts. No use dwelling on the ‘should haves’.”

She shook her head. "That doesn't make it better."

“I know it’s difficult, but we can’t change the past. You’re here now, and he’ll appreciate you being here.”

Sheila hesitated. "How bad is he?"

“Critical, but he’s been improving gradually.”

"Surgery?"

“Hopefully later, if he’s stable enough.”

"If."

“With the way things are going, he’ll be in surgery later this afternoon. But it’s the surgeon’s decision when they see him.”

She nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

“His bed is just down here.” She said, leading her down the ward. 

Sheila thanked her again, stood outside Jason's bay. He'd grown since she'd last seen him, a beard growing on his face and his blond hair a mess. She couldn't help but frown; it was parted wrong, and he'd always hated that.

"Jason?" She took his hand. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm here now. I've got you, yeah?"

The nurses gave Sheila as much space as they could, giving her time to sit with her old foster. He was in and out of consciousness, and definitely very, very poorly, but there was no doubt he knew she was there. His obs even improved a little. 

She sorted his hair, adjusted the specs on his nose, and then waited. She'd get the occasional response from him as she chatted away, promising him they'd have a room for him to get him back on his feet.

After a while, the surgeon arrived, startled by Sheila in the bay. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think there was family with him.”

"I've not long been here, sorry."

“Well, I'm glad he has someone. I'm Dr Knight, one of the senior surgical registrars on his case. I'm happy to have a chat with you?”

She nodded. "Do you need to go somewhere else? Or can we stay here?"

“No, absolutely fine to stay here.” He said, taking a seat. “Are you his mother?”

"Uh, I guess. I was his foster mum for a long, long time."

“Well, that's good enough in my books. Unfortunately, as I'm sure you've been told already, he's very unwell. We've been trying to get him stable enough for surgery for a while now, I've just come to do some final checks before we make our decision.”

"If you don't take him to surgery, what's the prognosis?"

“Not good, I'm afraid. He had a procedure after he was admitted to control his internal bleeding, but unfortunately it's not worked as well as we'd hoped it would. He's very weak.”

"And if you wait a few days, let him get some strength up?"

“We think it's more likely he'll deteriorate in that time. We have a small window of opportunity here.”

"And this surgery, how...how likely is it to succeed?" She barely dared to ask.

“It's a hail mary, I'm afraid. But it's better than doing nothing. His best shot at recovery.” He reached out to rest a hand on her knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I understand this is incredibly difficult to hear. This isn't a decision we're taking lightly. But he's young and he deserves the best possible chance, even if the odds are slim.”

She shook her head. "It isn't fair on him."

“You don't agree with our decision to do this surgery?”

"Oh, no, no. Not that. All of this. He shouldn't be here. He was meant to have his life sorted and be living. Not stuck in limbo." She sniffed, trying to stop the tears.

“Ah. I understand this is upsetting - nobody deserves to be in this situation. We're going to do our absolute best for him. We have been doing our absolute best for him from the start. None of us would be considering this surgery if we didn't believe it was in his best interests.” He handed her a tissue, neatly folded in his pocket. “I know I said we have a window of opportunity, but there's time for you to spend with him now. We're not going to rush in just yet.”

"If he needs it, if it's his best chance, then he should go now though, right? So he can come out sooner, and start to recover?"

“We still have some preparations to do first. I'm just here to assess his condition. He seems to have improved since you've arrived.” He said gently. “We'll take him as soon as we're ready for him. But I just wanted to make sure you knew that you have time to spend with him now.”

She forced a smile. "Thank you. For everything."

“Not a problem. I know how difficult this is. Please don't hesitate to grab the nurses if you need anything at all. Can I get someone to bring you food? Something to drink?”

"No, thank you. I'm okay. I'll just stay with him for the time being."

He nodded. “That's absolutely fine. But we can provide you with food, tea, anything. This is probably harder for you than it is for him.”

"Yeah. He'd tell me off for crying, sorry. It was just a bit of a shock."

“Of course, of course. Don't apologise, please. In your position I'd be a sobbing mess.”

"I've had a bit of practice over the years." She laughed slightly. "Normally always the boys, too." 

“Other fosters?”

She nodded. "Quite a few. Some of the scraps they'd get themselves into...I'm just being a pain, don't let me keep you."

“Not a pain in the slightest. I just need to do a few checks, yeah?”

"Go ahead. Don't let me get in the way."

He nodded and stood up, though rested a gentle hand on her shoulder before he moved to check Jason over. Thankfully he had improved, and he was happy they were making the right decision. 

“I ought to go now, and make sure things are being sorted. But you're more than welcome to ask the nurses for me, or any of his team. We'd be happy to come down and speak with you again if you need.”

"Thank you." She glanced at him with a small smile before turning back to face Jason. He was her priority. 

The surgeon left her alone again, save for the occasional nurse popping in to check on him. She apologised again, in his brief moment of consciousness, smoothing his hair back down. Fred still didn’t answer his phone, leaving her alone, dealing with the mess herself.

They gave Sheila as much time as they could. It wasn't ideal, but she needed all the time she could get. Eventually they had no choice, though, and they had to go ahead with the surgery. They sent in a nurse with a porter, as much as Chris wanted to be there, he couldn't. He had too much to do. 

Sheila held her tears in as she said her goodbyes, promising him she’d be there when he came round. She held his hand as long as she could, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she was forced to leave. 

“I love you, yeah? It won’t be long and then it’ll be okay. I love you.”

They took him after that, the nurse sending Sheila a sad smile. 

The surgery was difficult, and unfortunately it didn't get easier as they went on. He was just too unstable, they couldn't do what they wanted to do. They were thwarted by low blood pressure and arrests looming before the inevitable occurred. They tried and tried, but his body just wasn't strong enough. They had to call it a day, in the end. It wasn't fair to try and keep going when his body had had enough.

It was Fao who called time of death, and so it was him who took the responsibility of speaking to next of kin. He headed out of theatres, heart heavy, and round to the relatives room to find them. 

He couldn't help the way his heart dropped when he saw who was sitting waiting. Sheila. He stumbled slightly, pain flaring in his knee, and he forced himself to keep going. 

“I'm looking for family of Jason Hardy?” He said, trying his best to stay sounding professional.

Sheila raised her head, she knew that voice, knew that tone. "No."

He cleared his throat. “Would you mind coming with me?”

"Fao this isn't real, he's still okay, right? You just had to stop it early for a different reason."

“I'm sorry. Come with me? We can go somewhere quiet to talk.”

She swallowed thickly, standing on shaking legs. It was all just a dream. He was fine, he had to be. 

He led her into a small, private room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He took a deep breath, and sat down opposite her. 

“We did our very best. We made some good progress, but unfortunately he was just too weak. Despite our best efforts to try and stabilise him, he went into cardiac arrest. We tried for some time to resuscitate him, but unfortunately we were,” he paused to clear his throat, “unfortunately we were unsuccessful. He passed away. I'm so sorry.”

She already knew, could tell from the look on his face, the tone in his voice. It was still something else to be told it outright, and worse further that it was her own son telling her. She wrapped her arms around herself, forcing herself to breathe past the lump in her throat. 

Fao cleared his throat again. “I know this is difficult to hear, and I'm sorry I don't have better news for you. I assure you that we did everything we could for him.” 

"Are you sure it was him?" Her voice cracked.

“I’m sure. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

"You're lying."

“I know this is difficult to process. I promise you, I’ve told you the truth.”

“You’re wrong. You’re lying. You’re wrong.”

“I understand this is hard to hear. If you’d like, you’re welcome to go and see him?”

“You don’t understand.” She frowned at him. “You don’t understand anything.”

“Can you help me understand? I’m willing to explain everything, if that would help?”

“He’s gone.”

“I’m afraid so.”

She shook her head. “He’s gone.”

“I can assure you, he wasn’t in any pain.”

“But he was.”

“We did our best to keep his pain well managed.”

“He was in pain and terrified.”

Fao swallowed thickly. “My colleagues did our best to reassure him and ensure his pain was well controlled. He was under anaesthesia, I can assure you he wouldn’t have been in pain when he passed.”

“You didn’t hear the voicemail.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t. If you want to take the matter further, I can give you the number for the hospital PALS department? But I can assure you we did our best to make him comfortable.”

"You don't mean any of that." She frowned at him. "You're just reading off a script. You don't care."

“I care about every patient I treat.” His voice wobbled. “I did everything I could for him, as did my colleagues.” He forced himself to take another deep breath. “I know I’m not the person you want giving you this news. But I would never do any procedure if I didn’t think it was in the patient’s best interests. I wouldn’t have suggested this option for Jason if I didn’t think he could benefit from it.”

Sheila rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears. The wobble in Fao's voice broke her and she reached out for him.

He handed her a tissue. “Here, it’s alright. I know this is hard to hear.” He said, moving closer to her. 

She pushed the tissue away, choosing instead to grab onto Fao and pull him close. Her fingers tightened around his scrubs and she buried her face in Fao's shoulder.

Instinctively he held her close, rubbing her back. “It’s alright. I know this is hard, I know. It’s okay.”

“He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry, he’s gone.”

Her legs buckled as she sobbed, the pain completely overtaking her.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” He soothed.

She gripped onto him tighter. “I should have been there for him.”

“You were. You were right there with him. Chris and the nurses said the whole time you were there, his obs improved.”

“But he didn’t make it.”

“His odds were slim the minute he came through our doors. We all knew that - he knew that. We gave it our best shot, but…” Fao had to clear his throat again, “but his body told us that he’d had enough. Sometimes despite everything, there’s nothing more we can do.”

She was quiet a moment. “I’m glad it was you.”

“If I’d have known…”

“But I know you’d have done everything.”

“Of course. We all did.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry there wasn’t a better outcome.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

“Can...Can you stay with me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fred wouldn’t answer and I dont know what Finn’s up to.” She sniffed. “They need to know..”

“Do you want me to try Fred?”

Sheila nodded. “Please.”

“Alright. Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?” He offered, digging in his pockets for his phone. 

“Just you.”

“I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He said, finding his phone and quickly calling Fred.

She leant into him, tears still falling and her chest aching. She couldn't quite believe it, he was gone and there was nothing she could do.

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” He murmured gently, praying Fred picked up the phone.

The phone rang through, like it had so many times with Sheila. She shook her head as she heard the voicemail, pressing closer to Fao. Deep down, she knew that she should be there for him, not the other way around. He shouldn't be having to tell her that her son was dead. 

“I bet he’s left it somewhere.” Fao said, trying to make his tone light. “You know what he’s like. Come on, why don’t we go and get some fresh air? And then I can take you to see Jason when they’re ready.”

"You're still working."

“I’d say I was due a break, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded with a shaky breath. "Okay."

He stood, and offered her his hand. “Here.”

“Thanks.” She took it, gripping him tight. “I’m sorry.”

“God, why are you sorry?”

“You had to work on him.” Her voice cracked and wobbled. “I know that’s hard.”

“I didn’t know him, Mum. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I know you beat yourself up over these things.”

He hummed. “We all did our best. I’m sorry there wasn’t a better outcome.”

She bit her lip to stop her sob, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. The grief was overwhelming, stirring up so many more unwanted emotions.

“Hey, it’s alright.”

She shook her head, dropping Fao’s hand in favor of hugging him. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, máthair. Promise.”

“I can’t lose you too.”

Fao made a noise in the back of his throat. “I’m here. You’re not going to lose me.”

She pulled back to look at him, tears flooding her face. “I can’t lose you. You’re my son.”

Fao pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, yeah?”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday4 #whump writing #whump prompt #i can't lose you too #emotional whump #loss of a loved one tw #loss #bereavement #foster mother #grief #mother and son #sheila daniels #faolan blackwood #chris knight #aw chris gets his own tag #this one made me and ev cry on more than one occasion #death tw #death #cardiac arrest #sheila has a very bad day #we actually enjoyed this one lol

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter nine.

wc: 2,350. original publish date: october 19, 2020. 

The morning fog is crisp against the windows of the car, condensation bubbling against the glass.

"Do you actually have a plan, or are we just driving willy-nilly?"

JFK grins at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "I have a plan!"

Van Gogh glares at the boy playfully.

"Okay, that plan might involve driving willy-nilly."

"Well, I guess that's still technically a plan..." Vincent laughs. And then, "Wait, I actually have a legitimate idea."

"No you don't," Kennedy jokes.

This earns him another glare from his best friend. "Did you see the general store when we first drove in?"

JFK nods. "You think they'd have stuff there?"

Vincent shrugs. "It's worth a shot. I mean... someone's gotta be living in this town, right?"

"Well, they don't have to do anything. It really could just be abandoned."

"So why are the roads so fresh?"

"Fresh?"

Gogh rolls his eyes impatiently. "You know what I mean. Clean. Maintained."

JFK goes silent, and at first Van Gogh worries that he's been too pushy, too pretentious, but Kennedy is only thinking.

"Maybe there's a groundskeeper," he suggests, and Vincent looks up at him with knit brows.

"One, for a whole town?" He sits back in his seat. "That hardly seems feasible."

John shrugs, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the road. "The wear in the houses is... I don't know. Formulaic, I guess is the word."

Vincent raises an eyebrow at the boy. "Maybe you mean fabricated?"

JFK nods eagerly. "Yes! Fabricated! That's exactly the word!"

Van Gogh snorts. "What, like someone built this hellhole to look the way it does?"

"It doesn't sound ridiculous coming from your mouth."

"Maybe not, but it would sound ridiculous coming from yours."

Kennedy shoves the boy playfully. "Asshole."

Vincent shoves him back, but doesn't throw an insult.

The boys drive in pleasant silence for a few moments longer, both sitting contentedly in their pyjamas, the seat heaters turned up to high. The windows are fogged over and Van Gogh draws a smiley face with his finger, dotting the eyes so firmly his bent finger turns yellow.

"You know that won't come off without, like, Windex or something, right?"

Vincent flashes his most innocent smile. "Oops."

JFK grins without looking at the boy, and Gogh's breath catches at the sight of his Colgate-white teeth.

"We're here," Kennedy says not a minute later, the low rumble of the car engine ceasing. He and Van Gogh unbuckle their seatbelts at the same time; they seem always to be in unison.

The wooden porch is wet and soft, lichen eating away at it. The door is hanging lopsided off the hinges, but only just enough; there's nothing wrong with the hardware.

"Looks like someone hung it like that on purpose," Vincent mutters as he walks through the door.

JFK turns around, his lips parting in satisfaction. "Told you."

"No, John, you did not 'tell me' anything. This is one bang-up job. Next you're gonna say someone planted the lichen on the porch?"

Kennedy lengthens his gaze to the deck. "It's possible."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're fastidious."

"That's not even how you use that word!"

"Fastidious!" JFK insists.

The boys bicker all the way through the store, picking whatever looks edible off the shelves. Vincent checks a few expiration dates, and most of the refrigerated items have gone bad, but the shelved items are still safe to eat. He makes JFK carry it all, and to his pleasant surprise, the boy doesn't protest.

"Are we just supposed to steal all of this?" Gogh asks, concern washing over his face.

"There's no cashier."

"I know. That's what prompted the thought."

John looks around some more. "We could leave a note and check back tomorrow," he suggests, which is a real solution. Van Gogh didn't think he had it in him.

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

JFK peers over the counter and nods toward something. "Behind the cash register is a stack of Post-Its and a Sharpie. I obviously can't get it, with all the shit you made me hold."

Vincent rolls his eyes. "Everything's so difficult."

"Hey, I'm doing a good thing for you!"

Van Gogh turns around to show his best friend his smile. "I know that. I'm just kidding."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell."

"I guess that's one of my many shortcomings." When JFK doesn't reply, Vincent adds, "That was a joke. You can laugh."

But John doesn't.

Van Gogh doesn't seem to notice his best friend's silence as he scribbles down on the Post-It. He turns around and takes bags of chips from Kennedy's arms, recording the prices and the quantities. "Can I have your phone?" He asks.

"What about yours?" JFK replies, holding the snacks against his chest with one arm while pulling his phone out of his back pocket nonetheless.

"It's dead. I forgot to charge it last night. And you know its battery doesn't do well in the cold."

"Neither does yours, apparently," John says under his breath, but he doesn't mean it as a jab.

Vincent ignores the boy's comment, choosing to interpret it as a joke. He begins punching numbers into Kennedy's calculator app, adding up the prices and writing down a grand total at the bottom of the Post-It. He peels it off from the rest of the pad and is about to stick it to the desk computer before deciding to leave their names and JFK's phone number, just in case.

John glances over Vincent's head at the neon green paper stuck to the computer and snickers to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, just... are they going to know that we're clones? They might just think we're trolling them."

Van Gogh looks back at the Post-It and can't help but giggle. "God, you're right. Here, we can give ourselves fake names."

"I'll be Jack Kensington, FBI detective."

Vincent laughs, scribbling over the boy's real name. "I'm not writing the last part."

Kennedy shrugs. "Suit yourself." And then, "Who are you going to be?"

"I'll be Victor Hughes."

"That's so boring."

"Who should I be instead? Victor Frankenstein?"

"Yes! That's better."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but there's still a smile on his rose-painted lips. "No, that's ridiculous. I can't steal Mary Shelley's OC."

"OC!" Kennedy laughs. "Frankenstein is a classic novel!"

"Mary Shelley still thought of Victor Frankenstein herself! That's what an original character is."

JFK shrugs. "Fair enough."

John and Vincent walk back to the car in favourable silence, smiles still pulled taught across both of their lips. Van Gogh has to channel every ounce of restraint in his body to keep his lips from parting into an overeager grin. He can't remember the last time he was this happy. It's always been him and JFK, but never like this. There was always someone else in the picture, someone Kennedy had to get away from to tend to Gogh. But now, it's just the two of them without any responsibility. Just the boys and a shiny red convertible, with all the time in the world.

"Oh, wait, I have to run back inside real quick," John says, dumping his armfuls of snacks into the backseat.

Van Gogh freezes, his arm hovering above his seatbelt. "How come?"

Kennedy shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull a secure lie out of thin air. "Uhh... I think I left my phone on the counter in there. I'll be right back."

When the boy turns around, Vincent can see his bright red, caseless iPhone tucked into the back pocket of his khakis.

Vincent waits in the car, staring out the windshield and picking at a loose thread in his flannel pyjama pants. God, I can't believe I'm wearing these out, he thinks. They're so ugly. Who even wears flannel anymore?

Kennedy comes out of the general store four minutes later, hugging two pairs of dark green rain boots to his chest.

"It's not raining, John. It's just fog," Vincent says with a smirk as the boy gets into the car.

He passes the smaller pair of boots to his best friend. "I had to guess your size. Six, right?"

Vincent takes the boots skeptically. "Yes... What are these for?"

JFK looks at Van Gogh with a wide grin. The grey light from the fog bounces off the white of his teeth. "You'll see! Just put them on."

Van Gogh obeys, and begins untying his Keds. His socks only go up to his ankles which may be a problem in the boots, but he doesn't care. His stomach is doing that whirlpool thing again, but this time, it feels good. He could drown, but it wouldn't hurt because he knows he'd be drowning in Kennedy.

John exchanges his sneakers for the boots before buckling his seatbelt and starting the car. He holds one hand over the clutch, the other draped over the steering wheel. He turns to his passenger, the orange of his hair bright against the cool paleness of his skin. JFK sinks in his brown eyes, but it's not suffocating like it usually is. His stare is soft, inviting. Kennedy relaxes, his eyes smiling in conversation. "Ready?"

Vincent nods eagerly. "Yeah. Yes, I'm ready."

The boys drive through town, and Vincent is convinced that they're lost. He's about to open his mouth in protest, but JFK shushes him. "We're almost there, I promise."

"Do you actually know where we're going?"

John giggles. "Yes, I know where we're going! I know you're not used to not being in control, but please trust me."

The comment stings, Vincent has to admit. But paired up with please trust me, he lets it go. He does trust JFK. He didn't always, but he does right now. Their silence is pleasant, and Kennedy says he knows where they're going.

Kennedy stops the car at the far end of town, past all the houses. The thick grove of trees is spread out through the windshield, but there's still a fair bit of marshland in front of them, sticky and wet under the car.

"Your tires are going to get so dirty," Vincent comments.

JFK leans forward to pinch the boy's cheek. "Nobody cares about that except for you, Vinny." He opens the car door and climbs out, the mud of the marsh oozing around his boots.

Vincent, still in warm and gooey shock from the nickname, melts into his seat until Kennedy knocks on the window. "Hey, Minivan! You coming, or what?"

Van Gogh pushes the door open, playfully knocking John in the hip. "I'm coming!"

The boys slosh through the marsh, the mud squeaking beneath their boots. Vincent nearly slips and has to grab onto Kennedy's arm for support. JFK sneaks a glance at the boy, smiling to himself as he struggles to keep steady through the wet earth. John stealthily wraps his arm around Vincent's torso, pulling him close and holding him firmly. Van Gogh slings his own arm across John's back, letting the boy support him as he walks through the uneven terrain.

"Thank god you bought us boots," Vincent laughs nervously, an unsure headache starting to set in. His nostrils are clogged with the scent of JFK; this, too, is uneven terrain.

John glances down at the boy affectionately, his gaze soft. "I know you don't like to get dirty, Vincent."

Van Gogh looks up at Kennedy then, and it's a miracle the taller boy had looked away before Vincent could catch him staring.

They walk through the marsh, commenting and giggling, pointing out frogs and funny-shaped pebbles and whatever thoughts pop into their heads. The boys sneak glances at each other as they walk and talk, their stomaches lurching with excitement and nervousness each time they think the other might've caught them staring.

At one moment, though, Vincent and John glance at each other at the same time, their cheeks immediately flushing pink as they look into each other's eyes. Neither of them look away, waiting for the other to say something, to know if this is safe territory or not.

Van Gogh takes a deep breath in preparation to speak at the same time that Kennedy says, "Vincent."

His voice is breathy and serious, and Vincent can't look away. He swallows. "John."

Gogh takes a deep, shaky breath, summoning all the courage he has left in him. "I really want to..." He lets his voice trail off into the cool April air, his eyes flicking between Kennedy's lips and the rest of his face.

"I know," JFK replies. He opens his mouth to agree, but his voice gets stuck in his throat. Instead, he repeats himself. "I know."

"Can I?"

"Yes," John replies too quickly.

It doesn't matter to Vincent. Consent is consent, and he's been waiting for his best friend's for years. He hasn't known it until now, but it's an explanation for all of his stomachaches, all of the twisting he felt in his chest when he saw JFK with Cleo, with other girls.

His eyes flutter shut as he raises himself to his tiptoes, shifting his arm from Kennedy's back to cradle the nape of his neck. John leans down to meet him halfway, his arm still wrapped tightly around the boy's abdomen. Their lips brush softly, innocently, and Vincent is immediately filled up with butterflies, their wings eager and flapping rapidly against the inner walls of his body.

JFK kisses back just as softly, and it's a different kiss than anything he's ever felt. His stomach knots itself with excitement, and he's falling through the sky, but he knows he's going to have a soft landing.

Vincent breaks away first, his eyes staying shut for a millisecond longer than they need to.

"I've been waiting years for that," JFK replies, his voice low and his eyes twinkling.

"How long?" Van Gogh whispers back, his tone just as light.

"I don't know."

"Me neither."

"Can we go again?" Kennedy asks after a moment, his eye contact with Van Gogh never breaking for a second.

Vincent nods, and John leans in. They are arms wrapped around torsos and around necks, hands in hair and on faces. In this moment, Van Gogh doesn't mind the ooze of the mud beneath his feet, and Kennedy doesn't mind the stillness of the kiss.

#limitless #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfgogh

[agentblyeanddeeks]

Chapter 1

Finally happy enough with chapter 1 to share it with you all. Still deciding on a title, then I will post to ff.net. A HUGE HUGE THANK YOU to @mashmaiden​ for listening to my indecisiveness until I finally got to where I wanted. And for the constant motivation to keep going.

AU of the team first meeting Deeks. What happens when Kensi gets caught up in one of Deeks undercovers. Will contain flashbacks.

August 17, 2010

“Mr. Callen. Nice of you to decide to finally come into work this morning.” Hetty stood in the archway of the mission entrance as the senior agent arrived.

“We live in LA. You know the traffic is always unpredictable.” Callen responded.

Hetty folded her arms, “Mr. Hanna and Mr. Beale don’t seem to have any trouble being on time. Might I suggest an earlier departure from now on?”

“I will do my best, Hetty.”

“That you will, Mr. Callen. That you will. Now, up to Ops you go. There’s a case to be solved” Hetty shooed him towards the stairs.

————-

“Well, well, well. Third time this month, G. Let me guess, you were busy switching apartments because this one was too relaxing.”

“Too relaxing? What does that even mean?”

“It means you need to stop making excuses and just settle down in one place. It will be good for you.”

“Or I could just stay with you, Michelle, and the kids.”

“We tried that once before, remember? By the way, you still owe me a toaster.”

“Hey, that was not my fault.” 

Um, guy. We have a case.” Eric interrupted the partners bickering.

“Sorry, Eric.” Callen noticed the room was still one Agent short, “Where’s Kensi?”

The automated doors opened again revealing their operations manager, “It seems your tardiness is beginning to rub off on your teammates. Rest assured I will have a talk with her later. Now let’s not waste anymore time. Eric.”

Eric swiveled his chair around towards his computer. After a few clicks on the keyboard, an image appeared on the main screen. “Meet Petty Officer 3rd Class Evan Wade. He was stationed at Point Loma until a year ago when he received an other than honorary discharge.”

“What was his offense?” questioned Sam.

“Multiple failed drug tests. His CO said he had been to rehab twice but only stayed clean for about a month before relapsing.”

“Did he have drugs in his system when he died?” Callen asked.

“Yes. The coroner found traces of heroin. She also said the body had been there at least three days before hikers discovered it.”

“I’m guessing from the amount of blood on his body, the cause of death wasn’t an overdose.” Callen concluded.

“That would correct.” Eric grabbed his tablet and zoomed in on the picture, “Wade was killed by multiple gunshots to the torso.”

Sam took a minute to study the image, “Looks like they could be from a 9mm.”

Callen shook his head, “Pretty common caliber. Doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“This might.” the tech operator chimed in. “After the petty officer was discharged, he began working at Crescent Creek. They are a beer distributor that have been on the LAPD watch list for a while now. Most of their employees have pretty impressive rap sheets. B & E’s, assault, you name it.”

Sam scanned the employee photos on the screen, “Are any of the other employees former military?” 

Eric nodded, “Two. But no connection so far to Wade.”

“Ok, keep digging. See if anything sticks out.” instructed Sam.

“On it.” Eric returned to his computer desk and began a new search algorithm.

“What about a few days before he died? Anything out of the ordinary?” asked Callen.

Another file appeared on the screen, “Let’s see. The last credit card transaction was at Mariasol’s on the Santa Monica Pier the day he died. Pulling up the pier security cameras now.”

The video of the pier began to play. Eric increased the speed until it was close to the time of the transaction.

Callen pointed to the screen, “There’s Wade.”

“What’s he doing?” Eric asked, curiously.

“Probably nothing good. He keeps watching over his shoulder. He’s nervous about something.” Sam observed.

While Eric and Sam were focused on their victim, Callen was more interested in the other guy in the frame, “Eric, can you get a better angle of the guy he’s with?”

Eric pulled up a second camera from the pier as Callen stepped forward to get a better look at the blonde gentleman. “I know that guy.”

“From a previous case?” Sam asked.

Callen shook his head, “No. It’s the owner of the bar that Kensi took us to a couple months ago.” He snapped his fingers a few times til the name came to him, “Squid & Dagger.”

Eric types the name that Callen gave him, hoping it would provide them with a lead. “The owner of Squid & Dagger is listed as Max Gentry. He’s owned the bar for six months. Single. Address is listed in Culver City. No military background. No criminal records.”

“We need to find Kensi now and see what she knows about him.” Hetty suddenly spoke up.

“I’ll call her.” offered Eric.

“Ok, Sam and I will head to Max’s place and find out what his connection to Wade is.”

They two agents turned to leave but stopped when they heard a familiar warning beep coming from the main screen. 

“Kensi’s cell is offline.” Eric announced as he began to worry.

“Well, turn it back on!” Sam ordered.

“I can’t. Either the battery has been taken or the phone has been severely damaged.”

The scenario playing out in front of them reminded Sam of what the team had gone through earlier in the year with Dom. “What about her car?”

Eric brought up a map of Los Angeles on the screen. After a few seconds, a blinking icon appeared. “GPS location has it at Pico and Sixth since midnight.” He paused when the realization hit him, “Guy, that’s Max’s bar.”

Hetty moved to the front of the room to face her staff. “Eric, find out everything you can on Max. Gentleman, go to Santa Monica and figure out what the hell is going on.”

——————-

As the Challenger turned onto Sixth Street, Sam and Callen were met with red and blue flashing lights. An officer walked around the building, dragging yellow caution tape behind him

“This is not good.” Callen said as the car came to a stop. Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed by the man in a suit by the bar entrance. He made his way up to the yellow tape, meeting the agents halfway.

“Can I help you gentleman?”

“NCIS. I’m Special Agent Hanna. This is Special Agent Callen. What happened here?”

“Detective Danny Hall. Neighboring business called it in this morning. The door was kicked in and the inside shows definite signs of a struggle. One victim.”

Callen pulled out his phone and clicked on the DMV photo of Max Gentry, “This him?”

“No.” The detective shook his head then reached down for the caution tape, raising it up, “Follow me.”

The three men walk into the bar and take in the chaos in front of them. The front door laid to their right, no longer on the hinges. Multiple tables were upturned and the chairs were scattered and broken throughout the business.

“Woah, you weren’t kidding about the struggle. It’s a wreck in here,” Callen said. While he assessed the furniture damage, Sam made his way to the body laying near the bar, covered by a sheet.

“Looks like blunt force trauma to the head. Probably from being slammed into the bar.”

Detective Hall took a small notebook from his pocket, “According to the tattoo on his arm, he is a member of the Sanguine street gang.”

“Guns for hire.” Callen assumed.

“Can I ask why this interests NCIS?” the detective asked.

“The dead body of a marine was found this morning. Gunshot wounds to the chest. He might have had a connection with the owner. Plus we have an agent that we have lost contact with that frequented this bar.” he told the detective.

“My guys didn’t find any shell casings. They most likely kept it hand to hand. A gun fight in this area would have caused attention right away. They wouldn’t have been able to make a clean getaway.”

Sam rejoined the others, “I wouldn’t exactly call leaving a man behind a clean getaway.”

“We also found blood on a pool stick and some leading out the back door to the alley.” Hall informed them. Another officer appeared in the doorway and signaled him over. 

“Excuse me for a moment, Gentleman. Forensics is done here. Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Sam shook his hand.

“So is Max still a suspect or is he our next victim?” Callen began to theorize.

“He could be both. Max kills Wade, then bad guy send the gang after Max. Or Max could be innocent and our suspect is tying up loose ends.”

“For Kensi’s sake, I hope it’s the second one.”

“Me too.” Sam thought for a moment, “If they wanted to kill Max, they wouldn’t have ambushed him here. Like Hall said, attracts too much attention.”

“They obviously wanted him alive for a reason. But for what?”

Sam looked around the room, trying to envision what might have gone down. “Ok, so the gang members come through the entrance. Chaos ensues. Max shoves the dead guy into the bar.”

Callen removed the black gloves from his pocket and put them on his hand. He then grabbed the broken pool stick the detective had mentioned. “Someone defended themselves with the pool stick. Whoever it was, was bleeding,” noting the bloody fingerprints.

“G, over here.” Sam crouched down near the back exit. “There is blood smear leading to the door. It’s probably Max’s. They hit him from behind, knocking him out and they take him out the alley door.”

Following Sam’s hunch, the men go out the backdoor. “Easy get away. Especially in the middle of the night.”

“It still doesn’t explain where Kensi is. Or what she was even doing here. The bar is closed on Monday nights.” Callen said, bringing the focus back to their missing colleague.

“We need to look in her car.”

The car was parked in a community lot outside of the crime scene. Thankfully the other detectives hadn’t known it was related to the crime at the bar. Callen pulled out the spare key and unlocked her car. Sam opened the driver side door and began searching for clues. Callen did the same from the passenger side.

“Nothing seems out of the ordinary.” Callen said, looking in the glove compartment. He leaned forward to feel between the seat and console and  pulled out something mushy and brown, slightly disgusted, “Looks like I found Kensi’s stash of Reese Cups.” 

Sam shook his head, “When we find her, she is getting an intervention about her refined sugar addiction.”

Callen removed his chocolate filled glove and searched through the center console with his other hand. 

“Her badge and wallet are both still here.”

Sam straightened up after checking under the driver seat. “Her gun is not.”

“Agent Callen! Agent Hanna!” Detective Hall yelled as he approached. “Does this vehicle have to do with the investigation?”

“It’s our missing agent’s cars. She left her badge but took her gun.” Sam explained

“And you think she’s got something to do with this?”

“I hope not but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” Callen noticed the surveillance photos in the detectives hand. “Can I see those?”

“Oh yeah. That’s why I came over here. One of the officers found these in the office. Anyone look familiar?”

Callen took the photos and started flipping through them.“That’s Petty Officer Wade and our bar owner Max Gentry. Someone was definitely watching them.”

Sam moved beside Callen to have a better look at the photos. “They're not the only ones they were watching.”

The next photo in the pile was that of Kensi and Max. It was taken at night and they appeared to be on a rooftop. As they flipped through more photos, they became more concerned. Whoever took these photos had continued to follow Kensi without Max. Some were even taken near her house.

“We’ve got to find her now. She might be compromised.” Callen said.

“Which means so are we.”

Sam took the photos and laid them out of the car hood. He took out his phone and took pictures of them to send to Ops.

“Call us if you find anything else.” Callen asked of Hall as he handed him his card.

“Same to you.”

Sam handed back the photos and they headed to the Challenger. “Eric, pull the security camera from the Squid & Dagger and surrounding areas. We need to see where Kensi went. We’re headed to her house to see if there are any clues.”

“I’ll pull the feeds but Hetty wants you guys at the boat shed.”

“We don’t have time, Eric. We need to find Kensi before it’s too late.” Callen spoke into the earwig.

Hetty’s voice interrupted, “Gentleman. Please redirect yourselves to the boat shed immediately. There is someone here that might be able to help.”

———-

Callen and Sam arrived at the boat shed to find an older, grey haired man standing next to Hetty.

“Agent Hanna, Agent Callen. Meet LAPD Lieutenant Roger Bates.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Lieutenant Bates?” Sam greeted him.

“I got a call from Detective Hall saying NCIS had taken an interest in his crime scene this morning. I put a call into my old friend Henrietta and thought I would brief you all myself.”

“Oh, Roger. I’d say old foes was more like it.”

“Eh, bygones.” Bates shook her off. “Six months ago we began an undercover operation to get close to the people inside Crescent Creek. The business had been around since the early 90s. Very reputable and what you would expect from a beer distributor. Until two years ago, when they started distributing things of illegal proportions.”

“Drugs.” Callen guessed

“Bingo. Specifically heroin, ecstasy, cocaine.”

“Petty officer Wade had heroin in his system when he died,” added Callen.

“When he was murdered.” Sam corrected.

“That’s unfortunate to hear. I had thought we really broke through to him this time. Our man inside quickly bonded with Evan. They both came from broken homes, abusive dads, and a no good childhood. It wasn’t too hard to convince him to become our informant.”

“Do you know who killed him?” Callen asked

Bates grabbed the remote from the table, hitting the center blue button. A picture of a Hispanic man appeared on the screen.

“Ramon Murillo. He took over the company in 2007 when his father Arturo passed away. The problem is Ramon has his finger in just about every gang in West LA. They do his dirty work so we can never get anything to pin on him.”

“So why did he kill Wade?” Sam questioned.

“Evan wanted out. He said he was finally ready to turn his life around. But he was worried that Ramon wouldn’t let him go that easy. And he was right. Three days ago he met with our undercover in Santa Monica and …..”

Callen interrupted the Lieutenant “Wait. Max Gentry is one of yours?”

Bates hit the remote again. A picture of Max filled the screen. Only this time it was a photo of him with his hair kept and wearing a suit and tie. Much different from the DMV photo they were given.

“One of the best. His real name is Martin Deeks. We backstopped him as the owner of the Squid & Dagger. He was oddly proud of the name he created for the bar. Anyways, Deeks met with him on the pier that morning to give him the address to one of our safe houses. The investigation was coming to a head so Evan was to stay there until we arrested Ramon and then he would be put in WITSEC. Deeks said when they met Evan seemed really jumpy and paranoid, like someone was watching him.”

“That’s because someone was.” Sam added.

“Right. Evan never made it to the safe house and until this morning, we had no idea where he was. Yesterday, Deeks found an envelope slid under the door at the bar. Written on the front was Detective Deeks. Inside were the surveillance  photos Detective Hall and his team came across this morning.”

“But Hall saw Deeks in those photos but didn’t say he knew him.” Callen questioned.

“That’s because he wouldn’t know him from Adam. Deeks was a loner. He never played well with the other cops. Always preferred to work alone. That’s why deep undercover was perfect for him. He didn’t have anyone else to worry about.”

“Until Kensi.” Hetty added.

Until Kensi.” Bates repeated “Deeks was freaked out enough that his cover was blown and his informant was missing but when he saw those photos of Kensi, he was furious. He called me to ask if I could help him track her down. She wasn’t answering her phone so he left her voicemails saying she was in danger and needed to leave town. He told me her name was McKensi Cole. But the name lead nowhere. I didn’t hear from him after that. I had hoped he had found her and went into hiding but unfortunately that wasn’t the case when Detective Hall called me this morning.”

After working with Kensi for over a year, Sam was getting familiar with how she operated “That explains how she ended up at the bar last night. If Kensi heard those voicemails from someone she cared about, she wouldn’t have run the other way.” 

Hetty nodded, “She would have stood and fought. That’s who she is.”

“And now Kensi and Deeks are both missing.” Callen concludes.

The images on the screen suddenly disappeared and were replaced by a video feed of Eric from Ops. 

“I might have a lead on that. Now the security cameras at the bars had been disabled but I was able to pull a traffic cam from the north east corner that shows the alley behind the building.”

The feed from Ops shrunk to the top corner of the screen as the traffic cam feed filled the rest.  Just as they feared the team saw an unconscious Deeks being dragged out the back exit and into a van. Movement at the bottom right of the screen caught their eye. Kensi was watching from around the side of the building, both hands on her gun at her side. They watched in horror as the shadow behind Kensi grew closer and then grabbed her, placing a white cloth over her mouth. After a moment of struggle, Kensi’s body went limp and she too was thrown into the back of the van. Landing right next to Deeks.

#untitled densi fic #chapter 1 complete #ncisla #densi #Marty Deeks #kensi blye

[shigaraxi]

Suns Out | Shigabaku | T 

Chapter 2 of Tuesday Rates! The obligatory Beach Episode ft. Bad Lifeguards and Bad Drown Victim etiquette. Read it Here or under readmore

Tomura really didn’t want to be here.

“Don’t be a party pooper,” Toga says, rubbing sunscreen along her upper arm. “It’ll be fun.”

Dabi agrees between inflating puffs of the large beach ball. “What kind of friends-” puff “-would we be-” puff “-if we just let you rot-” puff, Tomura’s eyebrow twitches “-in your room again all summer?” Happy with the size, Dabi caps the beach ball. 

“You guys aren’t my—hey!” Dabi snickers, catching the ball after bouncing it off Tomura’s head.

“Sure man, whatever you say.”

They are at the beach and Tomura really really doesn’t want to be here. Or outside, in general. Especially not with people. Oh how he ached to be back in his air conditioned room with his blacked out curtains and computer. No, instead here he is with sweat prickling and sand sticking to his skin, sitting on a hot beach towel under this oppressing sun. Tomura glares at the wide-brimmed sun hat at his feet that Toga had given him like it personally dishonored him. Those heathens didn’t even let him have his console either.

A sunscreen bottle is tossed to him which he responds with tossing it right back harder. 

Toga catches it and shrugs, bagging the bottle in Dabi’s tote. “It’s not our fault if you get burnt!”

“Hm!”

At least they had a beach umbrella. Tomura plans on not moving from this spot.

.

Huh. It’s hard to think but there’s someone...talking? He can’t hear what they’re saying, sounding too distant and muffled to make out the words from the garble. The voice begins getting desperate, pitch heightening as it continues babbling. Tomura feels really tired. Maybe he’ll try to understand later...when the pull of his lids don’t feel so heavy—

“—LIVE GODDAMN IT!”

Tomura shoots up because what the fuck, was he just slapped?! His cheeks are stinging, he's doubling over, mouth full of salt water and seaweed. Through his hacking, he vaguely hears a Kacchan… from a very dismayed voice, followed by a hysterical laugh from whoever this Kacchan is. 

“There’s no such thing as going overboard, Deku, he’s alive, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But, what? I just saved his life, I’m a goddamn hero.” What the fuck. Tomura wipes his mouth. The two look at him. The blonde, Kacchan, is the one to say, “I’m your goddamn hero.”

The green haired, Deku, one jabs Kacchan in the ribs. “Please ignore him! How are you feeling? Any chest pains, tingly sensations?” He doesn’t wait for Tomura to respond, instead turning to Kacchan to say, “Go get him a towel! He must be freezing.”

Kacchan huffs and stands, leaving to presumably get a towel (Tomura could hear mild curses from under his breath as he stalks away) while Deku turns back to him. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bit crabby, is all. He means well. I’m Midoriya and that was Bakugou, by the way, we’re the lifeguards on duty,” he says with a mild laugh. “You almost drowned on us!”

Midoriya had an arm around him, Tomura belately realizes as he rambles on some more, probably to keep him sitting steady. When he tries to lean away, Midoriya removes his arm, apologizing, “Sorry, sorry, shock can be unpredictable. Are you feeling any better?”

Now that he mentions it, Tomura thinks, wetting his lips, his throat feels like absolute sandpaper and he still feels somewhat faint. Not that he would admit it, but it's the thought that counts. Plus, even if he wanted to respond Well, yeah, I feel like shit, a towel is thrown over his head. “Oi, he probably drank half the ocean. Let the guy rest,” says Bakugou. Tomura snorts quietly, pulling the towel around his shoulders. “I couldn’t find any extra towels so I gave you mine, you better give it back.”

“I nearly drowned,” Tomura replies, voice croaky and just barely audible, as he takes the water bottle Bakugou offers him. He twists it open, dripping as much sarcasm as he can into his words, “and you care about this? Some lifeguard you are.”  He takes a sip from the bottle. God does his throat hurt.

The way Bakugou’s face scrunches in irritation almost made Tomura laugh but instead, he hides his smile behind another sip. “Listen asshole, I can put you back in the ocean and laugh as your pasty ass tries to save itself. You should be fucking thankful.” 

Before Tomura would retort, a couple voices call out for him. Dabi and Toga. They must’ve been playing one rigorous game of volleyball because they’re covered in sand and sweat.

“We were wondering where you went,” Toga says, putting the volleyball under her arm. “We thought you ran away!” 

Tomura scoffs but Toga quickly ignores him, opting to look at the other two with him, particularly at Midoriya. She steps over Tomura’s legs, looking gleeful, to get closer. “Oh, hello! Are you guys lifeguards? What happens to our poor little Tomura-chan?”

“Toga,” the ‘poor little’ Tomura warns. Dabi laughs and helps him to his feet.

Toga continues to ignore him. Midoriya gives a nervous smile as he makes a pointed effort to look at anywhere but at Toga as she skitters closer and closer. “Uh, we-er, he saw your friend struggling to swim and pulled him to shore.” At the he, Midoriya had made a half effort wave to Bakugou’s general direction, who huffs, not paying them a dime of attention. “If it weren’t for Kacchan, he could’ve been a goner!” 

Toga nods, not listening one bit. It’s Dabi who snorts at the story and upends Tomura’s head. “Nice going, idiot. Have you thanked him yet?”

Tomura scowls and huffs. While that he was a little thankful, he wouldn’t admit it to that asshole of all people. Dabi seems to get that and instead chooses to ruffle his hair with a chuckle. 

Bakugou announces his leave with annoyance.

“I should get going too,” Midoriya said not far after, probably thankful for this out from Toga’s insistent chatter, as he follows after his partner in ocean surveillance. 

Dabi throws his arms over Tomura’s and Toga’s shoulders, saying as simple as possible, as Tomura watches them go, “Welp, at least you didn’t scare them away.”

Tomura eyes the arm around him. “I hate you both.”

Dabi laughs as Toga sighs. “Don’t worry, you’ll see your new boytoy again.” Tomura wasn’t sure who he was referring to, Toga who was looking dreamily after Midoriya or to him. 

Actually, he doesn’t want to know.

After that, Tomura sticks to their designated area for the rest of the day. Lucky for him, Dabi was lenient enough to give him back his PS Vita console because the almost drowning victim deserved at least some slack. The towel was over his head now, covering himself from the setting sun that refused to shine over the beach umbrella (and he wouldn’t be caught dead with that sun hat). He’s tapping the keys harshly, the fighting sounds rolled on the highest setting, and he’s so incredibly close to winning, and—

“Oi.”

His thumb slips on the toggle stick, breaking his ultimate combo, and watches in disbelief as Game Over title sequences flash across his screen. He stares at the syncopated message until the device just falls out of his hands as the little loser jingle rings out on loop. He puts his face in them instead.

“Uh...hey dude.” Oh yes, the reason for his failure. The words chip out from Tomura’s mouth, each stop full of as much barely controlled anger as he can possibly fit.

“What. Do. You. Want.”

Whoever it was standing behind him shifts on their feet, the sand softly crunching beneath. At some point, his console powered itself off and it’s then the person finally states, voice awfully familiar, “I said I wanted my towel back.”

Oh, it’s him. The crappy lifeguard. “Just take it,” Tomura laments into his hands. The towel resting over his head and back is swiped, but instead of the sun heat hitting his pale back, Bakugou’s shadow saves him. “While you’re at it, throw me back into the ocean too. I can’t handle this loss..." 

Bakugou snorts. “Jesus, dude, it’s just a game. Just do it again.” 

“It’s not just a game,” he quickly retorts, raising his face from his hands to shoot a glare over his shoulder. Bakugou has a hand on his hip, towel thrown over his shoulder, as he stands looking unimpressed as Tomura speaks. “It was a speedrun. I was so close to beating my records and then you had to come here and…” scare me is something Tomura would never admit, even if his life depended on it. Except Bakugou is laughing because fuck Tomura. “...ruin it,” he finished, instead, turning back around.

However, Bakugou doesn’t take the hint and doesn’t leave. Tomura thinks he’s never hated a person as much as he does right now. To add salt to the wound, when he tries to further his point of wanting to be left alone by picking up his console, the fucking thing had the audacity to blink the red battery light and power off once again, completely dead. Tomura groans as he drops the thing again.

“There. Now you have my attention because the world is awful and hates me. What do you want?” 

Bakugou laughs at his pain. Jeez. “Deku told me to go see how you’re doing—”

“Fine,” Tomura interrupts.

“—cause he’s scared of your freaky friends.” 

“They’re not my friends,” he replies out of habit, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. Good to know normal people are scared of them, maybe they’d be left alone more. “Don’t you have an ocean to watch?” 

“Shifts over,” Bakugou answers. “I needed my towel back before I left.”

Tomura makes a half hearted wave to the towel in Bakugou’s possession with a ‘now leave me alone’ implied, but just for extra zing, because he feels festive, he says, “There, you have it. Now leave me alone.” and turns back around to slump over his knees to be left alone to his utter and complete misery. 

Except, the cool shadow covering his back doesn’t retreat. Why isn’t it retreating—wait is he still there, he can’t be that stupid— “Actually…” the shadow that will not be named because Tomura no longer cares, “there a bonfire later. You should come.”

His ears are working right, right? Like, he heard what this guy said, right? Not having any post-almost-drowning-delusions right now, right? 

Tomura turns around yet again just so he can witness his own sanity possibly failing him. Bakugou looks at him expectfully, where Tomura can only think Wow, we have the same eye color. “So?” Bakugou asks with a raised brow.

He puts it rather eloquently actually, answering, “Uh.” 

A beat passes.

“Did I break you? Did I just break this nerd?”

If anyone asks, this redness in Tomura’s face is from sunburn and sunburn only. Oh he can already hear Dabi’s snickering and Toga’s gushing as he clears his throat, wetting his lips, looking somewhere decidingly not at this rude lifeguard who he begrudgingly admits saved his life. “Uh,” Tomura says, “are you—? Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes, you loser.” Tomura can already hear the amusement in his voice. He has to be fucking with him.

But…

Well...

“Yes?” He said tersely. Then quickly adds, “if it's not lame or anything, I can… I can go.”

Bakugou snorts but, when Tomura looks at him again, he’s smiling. 

Okay, maybe beach day wasn’t that awful of an idea, afterall. 

--

OMAKE: 

“See,” Dabi said as he pats Tomura’s sweet little sunhat covered head as he pulls the brims down to hide his very ‘sunburnt’ red face. “I know my friends better than they know themselves. You totally had a thing for him.”

“Shut up,” he mutters dejectedly into the straw. 

Dabi only laughs because he knows under that hat, theres a dumb smile plastered on there.

#my writing #beach au...oh the beach au.... so many rewrites bc i finally DID it.... #shigabaku

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Dead Man’s Eyes: Ch. 4

Link to AO3, by @dracusfyre

“Sir, Mr. Barnes is at the door.”

Tony’s fingers tightened on his soldering gun before he forced himself to relax. “Let him in,” he said, trying to remain focused on the circuit board he’d been repairing.

“Hey, what’s with the new security?” Bucky asked as he came in with a sandwich in each hand and a bag of potato chips under his arm. “It’s been extra tight around the lab for over a week now. New project for SHIELD?”

“Maybe I’m working on something for you,” Tony lied with a smile as he set the soldering iron aside and took one of the sandwiches. 

But when Bucky sat down with the other sandwich, he wasn’t smiling. “Are you?”

Tony held his smile with difficulty. “I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Bucky said bluntly. “When you are working on something for one of us, you can’t wait to talk about it, if not with me then with someone else. But lately you’ve been closed off and quiet.Too  quiet. So what’s really going on?”

“Nothing,” Tony insisted, taking a bite of the BLT. 

Bucky took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, visibly trying not to lose his temper. “Ok, well then could you take some time from “nothing” for us to have dinner or something? I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.” 

Tony looked down at his sandwich, scared of what Bucky would see in his eyes. It had grown so hard to be with Bucky and not analyze everything he was saying and everything he wasn’t, to keep his questions behind his teeth. If it really was Bucky, he could lose Bucky’s trust forever; if it wasn’t, revealing his suspicions would prevent him from ever learning what Hydra was after. Easier to pretend to be busy, even if it made him miss Bucky terribly. “Sure, he said, he said after a pause that was probably a few seconds too long. “Tomorrow night?”

When there was no answer, he glanced up to see Bucky looking at him. Bucky put the sandwich down and put his hands in his lap, like he was bracing himself. “Is it me? Something I did?” When Tony just stared, speechless, Bucky continued, the words spilling from him in a rush, “Look, I know I’ve been...I don’t know, I’ve been feeling really forgetful lately, and sometimes it feels like - like I’m missing something, like there’s a blank spot where a memory should be. Things are coming back faster than they did, you know, last time, so I didn’t want to say anything, I just wanted to pretend that everything was okay but if I’ve fucked up somehow- like a- a birthday or an anniversary or something - please, just tell me, so I can fix it.” This time, when Bucky met his eyes he looked so lost that Tony couldn’t stand it. 

“It’s not you, it’s me, Bucky, I swear,” he said. He came around his work station and sat on Bucky’s lap, cupping his face in his hands. “I’ve been trying to work through some shit and - and it’s spilling, spilling out on you and I’m sorry. Please, just give me more time, okay?” He kissed Bucky’s temple, then his cheekbone, and when Bucky tilted his head up, let himself be dragged into a long, drugging kiss that started making him very aware that he was, in fact, sitting on Bucky’s lap, especially when Bucky’s hand slid up the back of his shirt, hands warm and rough as they stroked his back. He forced himself to gentle the kiss and pulled back to rest his forehead on Bucky’s. Doing anything else would have been the worst sort of lie. 

“Okay,” Bucky said after a moment. “If you need some time, I’ll wait.” He kissed Tony one more time before setting him on his feet.  As he grabbed his sandwich and left, Tony stared at the scarred wood of his work station, trying to swallow back the hot press of tears;  Bucky was being sweet and understanding and patient, but all Tony could think was, of course he would be-if he got mad and picked a fight, he wouldn’t have access to me or the lab anymore.

“Sir, you asked me to notify you if there was an unusual change in James Barnes’ pattern of behavior,” JARVIS said one morning as Tony was savoring his first cup of coffee and reviewing his emails. Tony felt his heart skip a beat then start racing as dread curdled in his stomach. He put his coffee mug down when he realized that his hands were shaking. 

“Go on,” he said, clearing his throat.

A graph of Bucky's cell phone activity flashed onto Tony’s computer screen.  A few days ago, it's activity had declined noticeably; it was still being used, but not nearly as much as it had been before. Tony chewed on his thumb, trying to think about what had happened over the past few days, but the only thing he could think was that Bucky had just realized his phone was being monitored. “JARVIS, do a sweep; are there any unknown cell phone signals active on the compound?” If he wasn't using this phone, he was probably using a different one. Though the Avengers had distanced themselves from SHIELD's intelligence collection activities, between Natasha, Clint, and a couple of others, there were a handful of burner phones on the premises at any given time. JARVIS regularly logged them into its system as it periodically swept the compound for unauthorized video or listening devices and would know if a new one had appeared.

“No, sir,” JARVIS after a moment. Tony sighed and sat back in his chair. It was a long shot anyway; JARVIS wouldn’t pick it up if the battery and sim card had been removed, which was Spycraft 101 according to Natasha. Tony scrubbed his face with his hands and closed out of the screen; he would search their rooms later for a burner phone, though he doubted he would be able to find something that Bucky wanted to remain hidden.  

 “Tony, we need to talk.”

Tony’s insides turned to ice as Bucky sat down on the coffee table in front of him. Tony sat up slowly and set his tablet aside as he stalled for time. “About what?” he said, proud of how level his voice was. He tried to meet Bucky’s eyes but they kept sliding away to look at a spot over his shoulder.

“About why you are spying on me.” Tony tried to think of something to say but he couldn’t force out a denial; he knew he wouldn’t be able to sell it, not when Bucky was watching him so closely. Bucky raised his eyebrows as the silence stretched. “Right. Okay then.” He hung his head for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair. “I was hoping you would deny it and say that I was imagining things, but you can’t, can you? What is it, Tony? What have I done to make me think you can’t trust me?”  Tony wanted to say something but he stayed mute, miserable and scared and guilty and defensive; if he opened his mouth he wasn’t sure what would come out. “Do - do you think I’ve cheated on you? Is that it? Because I swear, that week I was gone I never-”

Tony jerked his head to the side, an instinctive motion of denial that he couldn’t stop in time. Infidelity would be a good cover, but it was too late; Bucky’s searching eyes had seen the motion and knew it for what it was. 

“Then…” Bucky glanced away and in that moment he looked as scared as Tony felt. “If you’re not worried about me personally then it must be professionally. Which means - it means…” Bucky let out an explosive breath and stood, pacing away, apparently unable to put into words. He got to the far wall of the living room and turned on his heel, giving Tony a narrow-eyed look. “Wait, is this - is this what Natasha said to you a few weeks ago?” he said, jabbing his finger at Tony. “That made you so angry?” Tony couldn’t look at him; he wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders defensively. “I should have known,” Bucky growled, resuming his pacing.  “The idea that I am a double agent is something straight out of her post-Cold War, Red Room playbook. When did she say it happened? During that week I was gone? Does she think Hydra got their hands on me and reprogrammed me as a honeypot?”

“Not reprogrammed,” Tony said quietly. “Never deprogrammed. Not since you were first taken.”

“Never-” Bucky stopped pacing in front of Tony, confused. “You mean like, the words didn’t work when you said them?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you think that? I saved your life! Those Hydra agents were going to kill you!”

“You put a gun in my face and then you left me there!” Tony burst out, surprising himself. “You could have said what you were doing! You could have told me  anything, but you left, and you were gone for a week and I didn’t know if you were alive or dead!”

Bucky took a step back, stunned. “There was no time,” he said. “I told you that. There were more coming, and I had to lead them away from you.”

“Yeah, that is what you told me. But I never heard another person until Steve dug me out of the rubble.” Tony didn’t realize how angry he was until he started talking, but now he was shaking with it. “I said the words, but how was I supposed to know that it worked when I woke up and saw you standing over me like that? How can I know now? If Hydra can tell you to do anything, to be anything, how can I trust you?”

Bucky sat down heavily, like his legs couldn’t support him anymore, and curled around himself like he’d been punched in the stomach. “What would it take, then? What would it take to prove that I’m not working for Hydra?”

“I don’t know,”  Tony said quietly. “I’ve been trying to figure out something but I’ve got nothing, no answers, no ideas.” They sat in silence for a long time, as Bucky ran through all the scenarios that Tony had been struggling with for weeks. How do you build trust when nothing Bucky said or did could be trusted? When you couldn’t even trust yourself to tell truth from a lie? There was no date on the calendar, no finish line, no way to say "if he hasn't done it by now, he never will"; Stane had hidden his agenda for decades before he showed his true face. 

“We start over,” Bucky said finally. He glanced up and met Tony’s gaze, eyes bleak but jaw firm. “The problem is that you don’t know if the trigger words worked when you said them, so we do it again. Push the reset button, as you like to say.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “What? No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s crazy. I mean, everything is crazy, I know. The idea that you are some kind of deep mole for Hydra is…” Tony blew out a breath. “Crazy. Right?”

“Tony, our lives are generally fucking crazy, ok? I know I’m me, but...I’ve shot you, stabbed you, and even when I was me, I had to pretend like I wasn’t. You’ve been betrayed before, so I get it. If it was anyone else but me and you, I would be telling you to do whatever it took to keep yourself safe.” He reached out like he was going to touch Tony but he stopped as if unsure his touch would be welcome. “But I think that would mean being separated from you for who knows how long, and I don’t want to lose you. So I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you, okay? I mean, I remembered you once, right? I know I’ll do it again, I could never forget you for long.” 

Tony tried to imagine sitting Bucky down in a chair and saying the words, watching as Bucky disappeared into the Winter Soldier with no way of knowing when he would come back. The image was so repulsive that he thought he was going to throw up, like it was a poison he could eject from his body. “No fucking way.” 

“Then what? I can’t keep living like this, Tony; I want things to be like they were before. I miss you. I miss  us. ”

The raw ache in Bucky’s voice made Tony’s chest hurt. He studied Bucky's bent head, suddenly feeling calmer. The answer, he realized, is that you have to  decide  to trust. It was a terrifying leap of faith, knowing that you could be hurt again, but the alternative - losing what he and Bucky had made together, losing Bucky himself - was worse. He took Bucky’s hands and brought them up to his face, kissing the palms and pressing his cheek against them, one cold and one warm. “I’m done with this insanity. I let it get way out of hand, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I should never have let Natasha’s paranoia get to me.” 

“No, Tony, it’s - shhh,” Bucky said helplessly when he felt wetness on his hands. “Come on, stop, if you cry I’m gonna, and I can’t do that cuz I’m a hundred years old and an infamous assassin.” That surprised a wet laugh out of Tony, which made Bucky smile softly. “We’re going to be okay, I promise.” Tony let Bucky pull him in close and he dried his face on Bucky’s shirt, feeling more at peace than he had since this whole mess began. 

                                                           -------

The next day, Tony deleted all the surveillance records and lifted all the security restrictions on Bucky he’d put in place over the last few weeks.  Natasha came in while he was cleaning house, looking over his shoulder with interest.

“James Buchanan Barnes: Unrestricted access,” she read from his computer screen. “Interesting choice of security tactics. 'Suspected traitor? Come on in!'” 

“It’s over, Natasha,” Tony said firmly. “I don’t know how I managed to forget this for so long, but I trust Bucky with my life, my tech, everything. I’m done second-guessing him.”

“Oh?” Natasha raised her eyebrows with interest and jumped up to sit on the table, crossing her legs at the ankles and swinging them. “Sounds like something big happened.”

“He offered to let me wipe his brain so that I could trust him again,” Tony said. Christ that was still hard to say. He shook his head to dispel the image. “I still can’t believe I let it get that far that he would offer to do  that.”

“Unless he was sure you wouldn’t do it.” When Tony looked at her incredulously she said, “You’re a good person, Tony. It’s not that big of a gamble to think that you wouldn’t do something like that.”

Tony stared at her, unblinking, because that thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.” And just like that, the nightmare started over again. Tony leaned against the wall, and when that wasn’t enough, he slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.”  The room was silent for a moment, then he finally said, “I give up. I don't even fucking know anymore. What would you do?”

“Well, the smart play is to detain him and start counter-programming protocols,” Natasha said, coming over to sit next to him. "Or cut him loose, he can't betray you if you've already cut ties." When Tony shot her a Look she held her hands up.  Don’t shoot the messenger.  “But before you do anything, you’re going to have to convince to Steve or you’ll have a war on your hands,” she pointed out. “Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“Hell no,” Tony said. “We’re still not on good terms after that fight we had before Bucky came back. I can just imagine what he would say to all of this.”

“True. But you need to do something soon, before something happens to make the decision for you.” When Tony exhaled heavily, she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, Tony. Where’s Bucky now?” 

“In our rooms.  Watching TV, I guess.” Tony let his head fall back against the door, eyes red-rimmed. “I just want all of this to be over.”

“I know, Tony.” She put a hand on his bicep and squeezed. “Me too.”

                                         -------

Later on that day, Tony was trying to distract himself by reviewing the blueprints and construction bids on a new Stark Industries facility when JARVIS made a soft alert tone and said, “Sir, there is a visitor at the main entrance.”

“This time of night?” Tony glanced at the clock; it was after 2 am.  With a grimace, he realized he’d been working non-stop for almost fourteen hours. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes they got teenagers that would run up to the gates, ring the buzzer, and then run away, as if they could “ding-dong-dash” the Avengers compound without being caught on ten different security cameras. Tony dismissed the blueprints he was working on and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Pull it up on my screen.” He was still shuffling papers when the image on the screen caught his eye, then he did a double take. “What the fuck?” Tony breathed as he started at his screen. “Zoom in.”

“Hey!” The Natasha on the security cam shouted, voice tinny, waving at the camera with one hand while pressing a bandage against her side with the other. She looked like she’d been dragged through hell backwards, clothes ripped and bloody, lip split and swollen. “I’ve had a hell of a month and I lost my keys, can you let me in?”

#tony stark #bucky barnes #Tony x bucky #winteriron #prompt fill #dracusfyre

[onebangtanstan]

Power Style - Chapter Eight : The collisions

I groan as bright light hits my face. I feel my body slowly waking up from what feels like a coma. I struggle to open my eyes before I realize I'm not in my bed, but on my couch. I must've passed out here last night. I look for my phone around me to check the time. It's no use, the battery is dead. I lift myself up from the couch and yawn as I head to my room to charge my phone. I glance at the clock on the wall. It's 6 am. Great.

I know myself, I'll never go back to sleep. I decide to go for a run. I'm out the door after throwing on my gym clothes. The cold air whips my skin as I exit the building. This is exactly what I needed before today. We're shooting Jimin, and it's going to take all the patience in the world to not blow up.

I keep going for probably an hour, stopping on my way back for coffee. As I open my front door, I hear my phone ringing. I rush to my room and see Yoongi on the screen. (Yes, I finally saved their numbers).

« Hi Yoongi! What's up? » I ask as I pick up

« Hey Gina, I'm just calling to say that I switched with Jimin, he was up all night with the others guys so they're all passed out in the living room right now. »

« Oh okay! » I have to say I feel relieved for a second. « I'll just have to make a few changes, but it shouldn't be a problem! »

« Okay, I'll see you later then »

As soon as the call ends, I send a text to my team telling them about the change so that the settings can be reasy for Yoongi's shoot. Thank God we had prepared everything beforehand, it will only be a minor adjustment. The clothes are all at the shoot, so that won't be an issue.

I get out of my sweaty gear after everything is settled, and hop in the shower. I get ready rather quickly, wanting to get to the set earlier.

It's Saturday today, and I would love for the shoot to go faster than the other days, so my team can rest.

I get to the set and to my surprise Yoongi is already at the makeup station.

« Hey! I figured you would want to start earlier given the situation »

Yeah, we're definitely alike. « Thanks Yoongi »

While he's getting ready, I head to my team and ask them about the settings. Everything is already in place. They're the best, they know their jobs for sure.

We start shooting, and Yoongi is absolutely amazing. We don't have to give him any directions. He knows exactly what he needs to do, and what poses work for him.

He puts on his second outfit while he prepare the background. His face lights up when he sees I used on of his ideas. He stands in front of the stary background. This looks perfect.

Thanks to him, we were able to finish before noon. My team and I clean everything up, even more than the other days, since the set will be closed until Monday.

I wish the set a good weekend and lots of rest.

I step outside and closed the door behind me. As I start walking towards my house, Yoongi catches up with me.

« Hey Gina, I wanted to thank you for taking my input » He's looking down while he talks. « It really means a lot. »

« Your ideas are great Yoongi, I wish I could've used more of them. »

He blushes lightly, still looking at the ground.

« I would invite you over, but the guys are probably still lying in their drool on my couches. »

« Haha that's okay, I have work to do anyway »

« On a Saturday? » He finally looks up at me.

« Well, yeah, I want your campaign to be perfect. »

He's looking back down to his feet now. « Thanks for your work, Gina. »

« It's what I do! » I feel so much more relaxed around him.

« I'll tell you what » he continues « Come over tonight. Since we're not working tomorrow, we can have some food and a drink. »

« That sounds nice! »

« I'll send a car at 8, so you have time to work »

« Thanks Yoongi, I'll see you tonight »

The day goes by, and I just sit in front of my computer, focused on the visuals we already have. I start editing the clips we have for the video. Everything looks exactly how I imagined. I hope next week will go as smoothly as these last few days.

By the time the clock strikes 8, I'm downstairs waiting for the car.

The car roams through the city as I look out through the window. I walk into the building that I know now.

The door is already open as I walk out of the elevator. I walk into Tae and Yoongi's place.

As I walk along the hallway, I hear some noise coming from the guest bathroom in the corridor. I keep walking, looking at my phone. I bump into someone coming out of the bathroom. I feel someone tall, muscular.

« The fuck are you doing here? »

Namjoon. Brilliant.

« Excuse me? » I look up at him. « Can you move ? »

He's blocking the way to the living room where I hear Yoongi and Tae's voices.

He doesn't move.

« Did you hear me? » I shoot at him

« I did. But you didn't seem to hear me. I asked what you were doing here. »

« I'm pretty sure that's none of your fucking business. » I really can't help it around him. He's the most arrogant person I've ever met.

« TAE! YOONGI! CAN YOU GUYS TELL ME WHY THE FUCK IS THE HELP IN YOUR HOUSE? »

« Are you for real!? » I'm really getting mad at him. « Who the fuck do you think you are?! » I'm almost screaming at him right now. The thing I hate most in the world is disrespect.

He starts laughing at me, which only makes me fill with more anger.

« I'm Kim Namjoon. You know that by now though. And I'm obligated to remind you that you work for me. » He spits his words at me, his face a few centimeters away from mine. He's leaning down so he's almost the same height as me. I lock my eyes with his, filling them with anger. He doesn't move and keeps looking at me with the utmost disdain. Our foreheads are almost touching at this point, but neither of us breaks the stare.

I hear someone shout from the end of the hallway. « NAMJOON! » As soon as his name is spoken, he's pulled away from me and pushed to the wall by Yoongi. We still haven't broken the stare, even though he's being scolded by his Hyung.

Tae appears at the end of the hall, a worried look on his face. He gestures me to come to him. I do so, passing by Namjoon and Yoongi.

« Are you ok? » He brings me into his arms as he speaks.

I look back to Namjoon, who still has his eyes locked on me. There's pure hatred in them.

« Yeah, whatever » I answer, walking into the living room.

Tae brings me a glass of water while I sit down on the couch, still shaken by what just happened. Soon enough, I hear the front door slam. A few seconds later, Yoongi appears from the hallway. His jaw and fists are clenched, his brows are frowned, his black eyes seem even darker than before. He comes towards us and sits down beside me, taking my glass of water and downing it in one go.

« Fuck, I'm sorry about that Gina. »

« It's not your fault Yoongi, thanks for stepping in though. »

« What the fuck was all that noise? » I turn around to the sound of Jin's voice. I didn't know he was here too. It seems like he's just woken up, his hair is all messed up and his eyes are still puffy. He realizes that I'm here, and immediately blushes. He's only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, but that was the first thing I noticed.

« Dude get dressed! » Tae throws him a paur of trousers that was lying on the couch.

Tae starts explaning to Jin what just happened while he puts on the trousers.

Jin doesn't say anything, and is just looking at me with concern. Tae and Yoongi start talking about Namjoon and his reactions, Jin simply sitting beside me wanting to comfort me but not knowing how.

The guys are interrupted by a knock on the door. Tae goes to open it and comes back with Jungkook.

He rushes to me as soon as he sees me. We've only met once, but it's like we've known each other for years.

« Why the long faces guys? » He looks confused.

« I'm gonna go guys, sorry but I kinda want to be in my bed. » I answer, knowing that the boys will update him.

« Are you sure? » Yoongi and Tae both speak at the same time.

I nod back as I stand up.

« We'll organize something soon, I promise. »

I hug each of them and head to Jin last.

« Please let me drive you home. »

I smile back at him as an answer.

We walk out of the apartment and into the elevator. He stands very close to me during the ride down as is he was asking for my permission. I lean towards him and lay my head on his arm.

He holds me by the shoulder as we cross the lobby.

Just as before, we sit in the car in silence, but this time our hands are touching in the middle seat.

I ask the driver the stop a few streets away from my building. I need to walk.

Jin follows me out of the car and we start walking side by side. Our hands seem to be looking for each other, barely brushing against each other as they follow the rythm of our steps. When we arrive at the main entrance, our fingers are intertwined.

I stop and look up to him. He looks stunning like this. He managed to tame his hair, which is now brushed back, showing his whole face. He's wearing glasses that give his face a different look. He's very sexy right now, with the street lights gently hitting the side of his cheek.

"Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself?" His voice is so soft that I barely hear him.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." I smile at him.

He brings me closer to him and kisses my forehead. The tingling in my stomach starts again. I have to go now before my face turns bright red. I turn around, letting our hands separate as I move. Just as they're about to let go completely, I feel a pull. Jin has brought me back to him swiftly, catching me against his torso. I barely have time to understand what has happened that his lips are on mine.

#bts #btsfanfic #fanfic #jin #jinxoc #suga #yoongi #suga x oc #yoongi x oc #kpop #seoul

[sirjustice439-blog]

Internet made bro

Where  will loving kids take u, if those who love such are lazy wanting from others yet what u plan to produce solo to enjoy economies of scale is known to every nation like with machines and the cash crop u eye to market as well grown in other spheres and can be made much in the boom process dude. Women stop tolarating such people, kids, should just co-exist in between people provided they are not harassed dude, better do that and get things together than use gimmicks of loving other kids to get by or get many women or pusssy which u cant take care of dude. Can stagnate a nation such people as above, i know not what u want bro

like  the Kisumu piped water when u drink bring peoples together and gives u that spirit of feeling good as u want to find to help 1, when such places which got that kind of water sampled with their waters gotten in  few liters and made much in boom process by placing raw mango pieces to  make distilled water it affects those people in far lands as in ksm as  that water can be gotten from outside the earth crust when dug with dredger. The character around dude if u did not know, while cattle eating the Kansas hay or grass as wheat chaff when, such cattle meat are  roasted makes u love kids more and u want to stay out 4 long time even  at night and u think of being a drunkard which if iant around directs ya  to looking at women booty even with foods that grows in that state made  much in the boom process, synonymous with Kikuyu getting that meat and  such products as explained above via the fissures described in tumblr  a/c sirjustice390. Got to be wise to elieviate our blames dude to stop  implicating those who know not of such yet we know the same. Makes ya  wants to pester some1 or 1 to ever get u homey, the side effects of  Kansas grown food crops and hay 4 animals we eat as should be 4 houses  and not eaten animals like pets

The servers stay there as using  armored glass technology on saucer jets and alternator generator as in  the song below to avoid being detonated as with Lebanon Go-down.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ohYsK5Y8Dc

Rwanda  showcasing her Military might so u stop dude, stop cashing into 1 affair dude, but atleast we got rest, they can make a saucer jet to take  the exploited to such planets angering Russians dude who now knows shit  but engaged in sponsoring hooliganism around many nation cities and  towns as in the link below

https://www.scmp.com/news/china/military/article/2178401/rwanda-shows-new-military-hardware-amid-rising-african-demand

Click the links below to get a glimpse of nations with missiles as getting the name from the links provided and shinny airplane as automobile kebi suggested dude as Argentina

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Air_campaign_of_the_Uganda%E2%80%93Tanzania_War#/media/File:7006_over_Sajek_Bangladesh_Air_Force_Mig-21_MF_Fishbed._(31321752044).jpg

https://www.airforce-technology.com/projects/akash-surface-to-air-missile-system/

https://af.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idAFKBN1W22EQ

https://www.army-technology.com/projects/tien-kung-iii-sky-bow-iii-surface-to-air-missile-system/

https://southfront.org/russia-test-launched-kinzhal-hypersonic-missile-from-upgraded-tu-22m3m-bomber/

https://www.armyrecognition.com/sitdef_2019_news_official_online_show_daily_lima_peru/sitdef_2019_new_local-made_mobile_anti-ship_missile_system_developed_in_peru.html

https://www.armyrecognition.com/april_2012_new_army_military_defence_industry/azerbaijan_unveils_the_list_of_military_equipment_and_weapons_bought_from_israel_0804121.html

Chile made big airplane in the link below dude

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/11/world/americas/chile-plane-antarctica.html

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/398920479475517862/

http://newstodayintheworld.blogspot.com/2013/05/argentina.html

https://www.dw.com/en/families-of-fallen-argentine-soldiers-visit-falklands-graves-for-first-time/a-43151422

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Python_(missile)

https://stampaday.wordpress.com/2018/05/01/early-engagements-in-the-falklands-war/

Coddles shaving machine with output 5 dc to charge like ya phone in the link below as well as self-charging phone back ups using Ae technologies, starter comp and light illuminate on solar generator technology

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Wireless-Hair-Cut-Clipper-Beard-Mustache_62003703822.html

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Ladies-Electric-Cordless-Epilator-Shaver-Hair_60752907498.html

https://enzoitaly.en.alibaba.com/product/62178946399-807608628/ENZO_Hot_Sale_4_in_1_Heads_Portable_Women_Rechargeable_Electric_Shaver_Epilator_Hair_Remover_Hair_Removal_Machine.html

https://www.pinterest.es/pin/678284393849255683/

https://www.trendhunter.com/trends/compact-battery-packs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIP-SBN1RCU

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2848868/Mobile-phones-charge-batteries-pocket-using-body-heat.html

https://www.slideshare.net/KrishnaChaitanyaBhag/self-charging-mobiles

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Never-Need-Batteries-Hand-Pressing-Recharge_60807584935.html

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/DC152-intelligent-AA-dry-cell-battery_60823027830.html

https://guide.alibaba.com/shopping-guides/china_self-charging-battery.html

https://pocketnow.com/self-charging-smartphone-case

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRGUNeT_M_A

https://cosuper.en.alibaba.com/product/60191391239-802300822/self_charging_dc_to_ac_3000_watt_power_inverter_schematic_12v_220v.html

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/zimbabwe-firm-invents-self-charging-battery-david-chifunyise

http://quantumenergygenerator.com/blog/q2-self-charging-generator-charge-accelerator/

Where are these people now sending money that oil is overtaken, as thought the fact of scratch my back i scratch yours as explained below, most precisely Maputo as i hear it, they want it to be built more than NY out of the fact of the island like Manhattan but alas big stones can be made with Garbage placed inside cut onions in the boom process to stop that maneuver and grant them another move as to look 4 barren sea coast with shallow shores, china sponsors the above dude as much as Russia but happy are we, its long dead dude. They are liaising with Mexicans to buy old houses and renovate b4 they sell and even some firms written under the names of some sick white men dude and that's why now they are making china try-cycles, commuter vans, Taxi and motor bikes and perpetuating the above, China please help, open repair shop where even worn out parts as scrap-metal is yours not added to the curt as above with Mexicans and even in European union. The Eu and North American governments should bar individuals from buying such houses and reselling heaping ripple effects to Africans or deemed 3rd world nations dude. Such houses sell much as they have known to make building materials in boom process like cement, sand or wood pulp and Putin likes eating with such not tackled ventures bro

Place a woman if u sleep with in ya mind when sleeping with ya girl, i whom if u ejaculate u give out much spermatozoa towards the later part of ya intercourse and u will come to see how such a woman clings to ya as they like it that way and that's the gimmicks, they love not men with like a rain drop ejaculation not knowing ejaculation is pegged on them. Most so Tz women got it but it bores ya fast dude.

The artificially made food products of 50-50% basis mixed with real 1 to make much profits have their day in chain-store, once a week so u buy b4 u know it u get the real 1, so as the ripple side effect not known dude and that's the trade gimmicks bro

Kebi waachana na yeye, says dedanu- thele nyokonyoko ma, sa shote nyoko nyoko, asenindo kode, no reason ya kujigamba. Sound mal nyoko nyoko okweyi moss, adwalo motwo bwana kepi donge. Thi kucho Gi theli mothiekno mal nyoko nyoko ni, nyili ng’eny ok-in-kendi baba. We got women of helping hands cementing the truth Mr Lazyboy enemy to delanu who was just being grabbed from putting up a fight with dedanu b4 such words were uttered to cool him. Grab this man, swear i will take him down, i will injure him, call Minaj to tell him to stop cause am no-nonsense dude. They were heard saying bro

Angola made fighter jet in the link below

https://warisboring.com/what-the-hell-is-angola-doing-with-these-state-of-the-art-fighters/

https://www.gettyimages.com/photos/angola-army

http://www.pilotspost.com/arn0000819

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fupload.wikimedia.org%2Fwikipedia%2Fcommons%2Fthumb%2Fb%2Fb0%2FSudanese_Air_Force_Hongdu_JL-8.jpeg%2F220px-Sudanese_Air_Force_Hongdu_JL-8.jpeg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FSudanese_Air_Force&tbnid=iUyZWi7CFKgrfM&vet=12ahUKEwi81svoqYnrAhUIHBoKHX8KC4AQMygAegUIARCbAQ..i&docid=q9emsoSuFQqdwM&w=220&h=145&q=south%20sudan%20made%20fighter%20jets%20images&client=firefox-b-d&ved=2ahUKEwi81svoqYnrAhUIHBoKHX8KC4AQMygAegUIARCbAQ

https://www.defenceweb.co.za/land/land-land/south-sudan-has-acquired-surface-to-air-missiles/

https://www.ruaviation.com/docs/10/2019/12/22/267/?h

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jGzyE7J71E

Internet and pay TV servers are made when old used  auto-mobile tires are placed in sewer water or city garbage where many  photos of such cut diagonally as well can be placed into the solution 4  better results dude in the boom process while the decoders are made just  with broad leaves of any tree around ya placed in the same in the boom  process bro.

Phones and stereos or Tv made with garbage, dough  solution of like 20 -30% of the machine weight where, a groundnut or cut  piece of garlic placed and boom ya explained above or cut photo of the  same diagonally placed into the above, where pumpkin, coconut African  broom sticks, charcoal water, pineapple, cut ripe mango pieces, orange  outer peel placed in the above solution in the boom process and there ya stereos or Computers as well as Tv or place broken parts of the same into the solution above.

Internet servers as well can be made with  water melons and cabbage veg placed in city garbage both in the boom  process while pay tv servers made the same but the leave type is coconut  leave whichever style dude

Music software mix that u can heap many music and it  placed them at the music selection at minutes intervals as all take a  certain time b4 1 comes in and all music selected and downloaded are  recorded there as long as u got the pas-code to eliminate flash-disk or  Cd once u have the internet bro.

Temptations of Christ are well  written and who saw them, Probably Mr Hindu blooded men as that  Colombian blood, so u are in a well position to tell us the same at what  time such happened, don’t bother us with what was brought unto us but  the beauty now it atrophies as a kid who was very pimply but now all  lost as face appears gloomy to attract much a women thinking one  ejaculated much sperm 4 him to rub on his face or mucus as a toddler so  needs 1 to wipe 4 him as take care of him, so the concern dude or was  be-rived and cried 4 long 4 a lost 1 like Abraham did to Sarah at her  death dude

With Cadillac car is made with cut bones of human or  teeth placed in Garbage or cut many type of color flowers sprinkled and  boom ya car as much as u can add cut diagonal photos of the said car  pictures while Range rover is made with many onions placed in the same  above or rye solution or cut flower sprinkled and boom ya car in the  boom process

Naphtali and Gard tribe father as in Genesis 49 was  not an end though i might be 1 of them as Gad tribe their skin appear  reddish as white-men of Russia are known, so don’t get me together with u  those who claim the same as outside marriage he slept with other women  which aint documented in the bible and i fall there not the Kikuyu  blooded wives as above who gives to insanity in their play synonymous  with today’s Kikuyu blooded men portrayed character. Russia change ya  character cause the employ the same u do claiming they are Russian cause  ya land still vast they wanna get their, bad dude, consumes us bro and  now again they talk as Italians do in Casino claiming the same but  stopped when told the make u insane water at bar kalare, Gem, Kenya can  be made much in the boom process as now they got it along time Kenya was  Italy. Locating the best and wants u to join or if u claim u r Naphtali  they also claim as well, What u want dude, with me i can live anywhere  provided i got tiny roof or food synonymous with my life in Kenya now  bro, locate ya life don’t follow me dude, Now u wanna claim the writings  in Tumblrs yours as making gadgets, question is why have u not come up  with machines 1st, dude, stop being a little child calls 4 annihilation  if u relent not dude, now we got ya dude

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob

https://study.com/academy/lesson/tribe-of-naphtali-symbol-history-facts.html

https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/112386/jewish/Gad-and-His-Tribe.htm

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2049&version=NIV

Black  doted bird feather when placed in garbage in the boom process makes even American (decra roofing) type of roofing, when u have not succeeded  in making the same, try adding African broom sticks as oleng in local  jargon or papyrus reed pieces stick and boom ya smooth roof signaling  respect dude as in the link below and with any gadget dude

https://www.google.com/search?q=black+doted+bird+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjhsI2YvvTqAhVE-4UKHfmGDPIQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=black+doted+bird+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoECAAQQzoFCAAQsQM6BwgAELEDEEM6BAgAEAM6AggAOgYIABAIEB46BggAEAoQGDoECAAQGFCZsQFY7OQBYLXmAWgAcAB4AIAB4AWIAYxPkgELMi00LjQuMi44LjOYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=HHsiX-GyDcT2lwT5jbKQDw&bih=891&biw=1280&client=ms-google-coop

https://olasfoodsmarket.com/products/african-broom?variant=17488700742

https://roofmart.ca/decra-metal-roofing/

Utility  of beans or Ground nuts to those states or country that produce the same, can be used to make leather velvet for seats and jackets or brown  wood card-boards used as lining in container houses and even shoes when  pieces of African broom as above inserted or maize cob in the boom  process and many wooden electric appliances bro.

I though i behaved badly in my past not to find that those who held me to that were  of hunger with their plans to set me even more free and even with the  many women i wanted without course. Happy are those people phrases maybe, all guilt elevated dude.

Dollars are made with cut dry cassava, white plastics or cut flowers as much as human nails placed in  garbage adding maize cob as above and ya dollar notes in the boom process bro

Carrot makes even smokies when added to pumpkin/cabbage water in the boom process making such products to be cheap dude. Carrots as well can take the place of groundnuts as explained above and even makes rubber products as slippers which when inserted in Garbage solution as above makes even big space rockets or saucer jets in the boom process bro.

Starter comp, u rotate a motor inside then connect to a solar charger controller then to a high watt inverter to power your house as the comp u can use the solar lights  in the link below to rotate the motor in between during the day and at  night as it saves power on the inside battery as Walkman motor uses less  energy when alone as that power in the battery can turn the motor 4  more than 12 hrs b4 it atrophies dude

https://www.google.com/search?q=walk+man+motors+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiDyeu9vvTqAhVKihoKHYYRBUAQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=walk+man+motors+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BggAEAcQHjoGCAAQCBAeUPPBLli-4i5g_u0uaABwAHgAgAHdAogBuxiSAQcwLjguNi4xmAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWfAAQE&sclient=img&ei=a3siX8PnFcqUaoajlIAE&bih=891&biw=1280&client=ms-google-coop

https://www.google.com/search?q=solar+charger+controller+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjknLGtwfTqAhUC9BoKHdBVBMsQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=solar+charger+controller+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoGCAAQBxAeUPpiWI6PAWDUlAFoAHAAeACAAZ0CiAHUKpIBBjAuNi4xOZgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=bn4iX-StCYLoa9CrkdgM&bih=891&biw=1280&client=ms-google-coop

https://solartechnologyhub.com/best-solar-powered-desk-lamp-reviews/

https://understandsolar.com/indoor-solar-lights/

https://www.google.com/search?q=high+watt+inverters+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjj8tCRwvTqAhVYMRoKHZ3XCtkQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=high+watt+inverters+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BQgAELEDOgQIABBDOgQIABAeOgYIABAIEB46BAgAEBhQ1VtY04sBYKKNAWgAcAB4AIABxQKIAaYskgEIMC44LjE0LjOYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=QH8iX-PSF9jiaJ2vq8gN&bih=891&biw=1280&client=ms-google-coop

https://www.jumia.co.ke/catalog/?q=alternator+generator

If  u Injure 1 who goes to hell or already magma as thrown to hell fire and  still on earth investigating amounts to absolute nothing as such cases  on ya are erased, it will be prudent to do such when the incumbent still  all alive like kebi hitting a woman at Bar Kalare, when will u get this  dude, stop Mr Hindu of such cause u judging others aint sure of being  salvaged from hell fire as above. Live ya own life stop cashing into  others lives bro

Shop online in Kenya at the link below dude

https://shopit.co.ke/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIvLakr8L06gIVFYfVCh1_AAMREAAYASAAEgItJ_D_BwE

Laser  sensor motion lights in the link below dude, click to get a glimpse as  if u got a large compound u can place WI-fi controlled Motion sensor alarms to detect foreign particles early dude and hang on ya bulb holder  Bluetooth enabled speakers

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-powerful-green-laser-pointer-pen-visible-beam-light-1mw-lazer-high-power-532nm-4365424.html

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-waterproof-sucker-bluetooth-speaker-blue.-10791663.html

Tar as Bitumen are artificially made many nations selling to nations  which has not mastered that technology yet like USA selling using their  big ships, to make such u take garbage as taka mixed with sewer water  and place cabbage inside as same with internet servers or Pay-TV as well u can place the stick like africa broom inside 4 better results. With any  known gadget take city garbage then mix with water and gives u the same  as the named above has almost all from all households that is placed.

With  shoes as well u place stick or used bottled water cans or biro pens  with hay, cereal chaff or cut wood as peanut butter solution and its  utility dude, mix with biscuit pieces then in the boom process ya shoes  as u take them from net and cutting the photos into diagonal as many  dude. Dry fallen Sticks from forests when placed in garbage makes even,  cement, sand, container houses as portacabin and trucks ones.

Sticks  of different variety as above inserted in dirty muddy african soil  makes even bricks or on cow dung as u got brick u want photo. Human air  also can be made as above with saw dust or husks where match stick  pieces placed into the solution it forms and boom ya human air 4 women

Building stones are made when lemon pieces inserted in the above solutions or cut flowers immersed in cat family fecal matter.

Minneapolis,  MN, has dug roads that destroyed the world but they see it as a tourist  attraction to the twin cities, which can be 1 reason why USA lands are  sinking as many nations are tricked into making the same wanting to  destroy the earth. Either to be removed or other nations uses escalator  technology on busy roads kids cross as elevate them long b4 reaching  the point as Kellog Dr of Wichita, ks, where escalators can be placed to  aid people cross but let it not be too high as can be 2 meters of the  ground. Let it be 4 people not cars instead of placing high fly over  which those who have varicose vain cant climb not as the lame and the  aged, making city ugly but they fathom not that. Or increase twice the  traffic lights changing time like from 1 minute to 2 to make just people  wait and cross dude. as in the link below, can have automated pumps to  pump water out during rainy season as with your house with tank using  units pre-paid water bill as the tap itself got switch that open up the  motor pumping the same water from the storage tank to maintain pressure,  4 incase u buy water on truck, dont have piped water as ya house can be  far from the city or u fear 4 ya life as ya water supply being poisoned

https://www.google.com/search?q=clean+water+on+truck+4+sale+images+in+the+usa&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjY_-T-yfLqAhUaeBQKHZOTAKUQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=clean+water+on+truck+4+sale+images+in+the+usa&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CYMVixSGChT2gAcAB4AIABpgKIAcATkgEFMC4yLjmYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=DHshX9jJNZrwUZOngqgK&bih=910&biw=1280&client=ms-google-coop

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+rectangular+water+tank&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwja1MTPyfLqAhUT0eAKHQThBPoQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=images+of+rectangular+water+tank&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BAgAEB46BAgAEBhQ2YQEWKOuBGChvwRoAHAAeAGAAb8DiAGeKpIBCjAuMS4xOC4yLjGYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=qXohX5rcL5OigweEwpPQDw&bih=910&biw=1280&client=ms-google-coop

https://nevonprojects.com/automated-pneumatic-powered-water-pump/

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=images+of+automated+water+tap+peglers&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjLyq7AyfLqAhWKT8AKHT_fDKUQsAR6BAgBEAE&biw=1280&bih=910

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=escalator+images+for+buildings&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjYgNr2yPLqAhVWilwKHeOXCaIQsAR6BAgIEAE&biw=1280&bih=910

Kisumu should be removed dude as should be a  small city not large as the land was a forest a long time as can seen  at the port, which if spreads can make the lake rise to over-flood local  lands.

Bottle top placed in the above makes even cements, electric poles and any known concrete structure.

With  the saucer as in the link below u place cut diagonal photos into the above solution mixed with yellow egg albumen as well as mixed all fruit  juices and cement or wild cat/dog family made cement or feces and boom  ya saucer dude like google images of Nasa saucer jets

Images of mini yacht in the link below dude

https://www.pulse.ng/bi/lifestyle/lifestyle-this-luxury-mini-yacht-costs-pound100000-and-it-looks-like-a-spaceship/5b6dnxv

Nyamawho  fresh mouth herb, u place few amount in transparent polythene bag then  immerse in much water, add yellow sweet potato or oleng broom stick pieces or thinner as transparent Biro pen outer casing them spit saliva  and boom ya much herb same with make u insane water added to cosmetic and soaps used in prison, u can add maize cob or sugar cane husk to the  above solution 4 better results as in the link below dude

https://www.royacshop.com/product/african-broom-handcrafted

Images of China and Australian made cargo airplane in the link below dude

http://en.people.cn/200311/06/eng20031106_127749.shtml?fbclid=IwAR2mFgJlHej2FarAH93T-EnTTN15g4130ZijWQkpYprVYDQy0YMADO4oi3E

https://www.jetphotos.com/photo/9799676

With  china airplane above u place iron sheet unto the solution as named above or used bottles and cut its photo diagonally and boom ya airplane

The  man had to choose between letting his kid being Grinned by the bridge or save the multitude as time to lift or get back the bridge was dude, as he heard his kid crying as the gear rolls and the blood splitting into water alongside neighbor daughter kid, sometimes got to save the city, this price is much more of a honor to you than to me personally. Lesson we learn stop being selfish dude and stop playing kiddish or i don’t know

http://chicagoloopbridges.com/schedule.html

4  starter comp like in the link below of 48 V with magnet placed inside rotated by 1 motor to produce 240 V or 2 such as mentioned above then u  step u the from 120 v - 240 v. As in the links below

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-1pcs-mini-micro-small-3-phase-wind-turbines-hand-alternator-generator-3v-24v-12v-new-18194523.html

http://www.lojomo.com/

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk01M4m_JjW1OoDcgH74qEEYFVlMhog:1596003897419&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=images+of+a+car+combustion+chamber&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjlkfbq6fHqAhWOkxQKHcxRCEMQsAR6BAgGEAE&biw=1280&bih=910#imgrc=L1Us0ezD1ns4PM

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+a+walkman+motor&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiV-uTu6fHqAhWL0YUKHel1ChwQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=images+of+a+walkman+motor&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1DkwwRY4PgEYOv9BGgAcAB4AIABuQKIAcohkgEIMC4xLjE1LjKYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=QRYhX9XVH4ujlwTp66ngAQ&bih=910&biw=1280&client=firefox-b-d

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+step+up+transformers+alibaba&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiH27in6vHqAhWSw4UKHbPNDhwQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=images+of+step+up+transformers+alibaba&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CtFliKImCPKWgAcAB4AIAB3QOIAbYUkgEHMi01LjAuM5gBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=uBYhX4efFJKHlwSzm7vgAQ&bih=910&biw=1280&client=firefox-b-d

Click  the link below to see how the airplane below was seized to see its authentication if it was Made in Russia or Chad made which is the later  case dude but Russia make as with Auto-mobiles now u know how to make dude

http://www.ibn-tv.co.tz/2014/12/nigeria-seizes-chad-bound-aircraft/

Jamaica made airplane and NIGERIA missiles in the link below to signal end of white man dominance and its end signs dude

https://africasacountry.com/2016/04/when-emperor-haile-selassie-went-to-jamaica-on-this-day-in-1966

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=jamaica+made+airplane+images&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwijkPzD0vLqAhVS4YUKHXXECbwQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1280&bih=910#imgrc=yNDTKwIrHiMG8M

https://jamaicans.com/7-reasons-why-we-miss-air-jamaica/

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=missiles+made+in+nigeria+images&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj39_va0_LqAhWM5OAKHRbYCaUQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1280&bih=910

[soundofseventeen]

Favorite (Jeon Wonwoo)

Hello everyone! I am back!! I had a great vacation, and am now back at home where it is cold. But, I can post again! This is kinda long, and Bee might have yelled at me for it... so ENJOY! -Erin

“Okay, so I need you to watch this all the way to the end. Promise?” Wonwoo said, sitting you down at the table in your kitchen. You grinned at the computer screen, which was entirely black aside from the little play button in the middle.

“Wonu, what is this?” You asked, and he pointed at the computer again.

“Just watch it.” He grinned, pulling a chair next to yours so he could sit next to you. He had just gotten back from a tour, and told you he was working on something special for you while he was traveling. You told him not to worry about it and to rest when he had down time, but he insisted this was important. He leaned forward, holding a hand above the space bar. “To the end, ready?” He said, you nodded, and Wonwoo clicked play.

*

“What are you working on?” You asked, plopping down next to Wonwoo on the couch. He made a quick move to shut his computer, but you were faster and caught the screen before it shut. You pushed it back open, and saw a folder of different videos. “Okay what is Mingyu doing in that one?” You laughed, pointing to one of the icons.

“Uh… Trying to eat an ice cream in one bit.” Wonwoo laughed, and you looked at him.

“Can I see it?” You asked, looking up at him. You weren’t dating, but Wonwoo already couldn’t resist that look in your eye. He sighed and double clicked the video, showing Mingyu able to eat about two-thirds of the ice cream before dropping the rest. You started laughing at the last image of Mingyu staring at the fallen ice cream, and though Wonwoo had seen the video a million times, he laughed along with you.

“What are these for?” You asked, and he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I like taking videos.” Your eyes scanned the screen, and then a thought popped into your head.

“You don’t… You don’t have any of me in here, do you?” He looked from you to the screen, a small smirk on his face.

“There may be one or two.” He said, starting to scroll through the videos. “Oh! Here’s one.” He opened it up, showing a video of you and Joshua in the middle of a rap battle.

“Oh no…” You groaned, covering your face, causing Wonwoo to laugh. “Why did you record that? It was so dumb!” You laughed, and Wonwoo shrugged.

“I don’t know, it was cute.” He laughed, beginning to look for more with you in it. “Oh! This one is my favorite.” He clicked on the video, which ended up being some of the other guys doing different aegyo. You were confused for a second, until the camera spanned to you, staring frozen and wide-eyed at all of them. As the camera turned to you, there was a burst of laughter from behind the screen.

“I like to call this one Y/N.jpg.” Wonwoo laughed, and you hit his arm. You both continued to laugh together as you went through different videos.

*

“Wonwoo, what are you doing?” You laughed as he held a phone up, clearly filming you.

“Nothing. Just need proof that I have a beautiful new girlfriend.” He grinned, and you shook your head.

“I could still back out you know, it’s only been like a week.” You said, attempting to keep a straight face, but straight up failing.

“Nope. Too late. You already agreed. You’re stuck with me now. It’s the rules.” He laughed, and you rolled your eyes.

“Uh, I don’t remember agreeing to that.” You said, the smile on your face betraying your attempted joke.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s part of the acceptance to date me.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?”

“Nothing.” Wonwoo shrugged. “Just be yourself.”

“It’s hard to do that when you know you’re being filmed!” You laughed, and he shrugged. He started to look around, spotting a bowl of grapes.

“Okay, try to catch one of these.” He said, you gave him a look, but he grinned at you and your heart melted.

“Fine. But if you hit my eye, we’re done.” You pointed at him, and he nodded. You opened your mouth, and waited for him to throw a grape. What you weren’t expecting, was the fact that he did not throw one grape. He threw several. You gasped and looked over at him.

“Jeon Wonwoo, you are a dead man.” You said as you reached for the grapes, him already up and running away from you.

*

You were standing at your counter, a piece of Pocky hanging out of your mouth, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. You were casually humming a song, you weren’t even sure which song it was. It had been stuck in your head all day though, so maybe if you hum it out, it’ll leave. It wasn’t until you heard the floor creek that you looked over, and saw Wonwoo leaning on the doorframe, his phone up towards you.

“Hi.” You mumbled, the Pocky still in your mouth. He chuckled and shook his head at you.

“Oh man, what am I gonna do with you.” He said, putting the phone down, showing you the video.

“Oh my gosh, Wonu, please delete that.” You said as he took a piece of your snack.

“Nope. I think I’m gonna need this on tour to remind me just how adorable you are.” He smiled, and you sighed.

“When do you leave again?” You asked, already knowing. You had it in your calendar since he originally told you about it.

“3 days.” He looked over at you. “But you know what, we’re going to talk like, every day. Or at least every other day. And I will send you pictures and videos from every location. Before you know it, I will be back here annoying your ass off.” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m gonna miss you.” You said, leaning your head on his shoulder. He moved his arm to hold you in a half hug, and you felt him take a deep breath.

“I know. I’m gonna miss you too.”

*

“Okay, so look at this view!” You heard Wonwoo say in the background of the video he had sent you. You grinned at your computer, which was showing the view of some beach in another country. “You would lose your mind over this. It would take all night to get you away from it. Seungkwan and I even went to find some cool seashells for his sisters. I may have found one for you too.”

The shot switched to him again, and you smiled at seeing him with his hoodie up and glasses on. “I miss you a lot. But I’ll be back soon, and then I can show you all of the other footage I took!” He looked at the camera for a couple seconds, then took a deep breath. “I love you, Y/N.” He gave a small wave, and then the video ended, showing the playback button.

You sat frozen on your couch. Wonwoo just said he loved you. On video. Before you knew it, you felt a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest, and pulled out your phone.

“Hello?” You heard Wonwoo say sleepily, and you realized it must be early in the morning for him.

“I love you too.” You said, and there was a pause, and you could picture the processing face Wonwoo probably had.

“So you got my video then.” He said, a small chuckle coming through.

“Yeah, I did.” You grinned.

“Listen, I’d love to talk more, but I’m still half asleep. Can I call you later?” He half mumbled, and you giggled.

“Sure. Go back to sleep.” You were about to hand up the phone when you heard Wonwoo say something else. ��Yes?”

“I love you.” Your smile only grew more.

“I love you too.” You said, and then you heard the phone click. You let out a small squeal, the boy you love loves you too.

*

“So he doesn’t know I’m here, right?” You asked Jun, following him backstage.

“Nope. He doesn’t have a clue. We managed to keep it just between you, me, Seungcheol, and Mingyu.” You nodded, as you got to the wing of the stage. You heard the familiar sounds of If I, and the unfamiliar sounds of cheering from the crowd. “Okay, so here’s our plan. Wonwoo exits on that side of the stage with S.Coups. Mingyu and Vernon are going to come this way. Once they get off stage, S.Coups is going to tell him he needs to come to this side to switch mic batteries with Jeonghan.” You nodded along, Jun rambling through since the song was almost over.

“Once he gets over here, he’s going to see you and be obnoxiously happy!” He finished. “Okay, I have to go set up for the performance unit song. Good luck.” Jun winked and then ran away, leaving you standing by yourself. You had a small period of time off, and it happened to coincide with one of their live shows on the tour. As Soonyoung got to your side of the stage, his eyes widened at you standing there.

He rapidly waved at you, but then ran on stage as the lights dimmed, Mingyu and Vernon appearing where he stood. Mingyu grinned at you, and Vernon’s jaw dropped.

“What are you doing here?” Vernon asked, giving you a hug. You were so excited to be here, you only mildly minded how sweaty he was.

“I had some time off and thought I might as well see you guys live once.” You grinned, Mingyu giving you a half hug.

“Wonwoo should be over here at any second. We should get out of the way.” Mingyu said, pulling out his phone. “Oh, there he is.” Mingyu grinned, starting to film his friend walking down the walkway. You could see Mingyu’s screen over his arm, and you saw Wonwoo look up and give Mingyu a confused look.

“What are you doing?” Wonwoo asked, taking another step forward and coming into your line of vision. He opened his mouth to say another word, but then his eyes found you and he froze.

“Hey there.” You said, and Wonwoo had the biggest smile on his face.

“No way.” He said, immediately walking over to you and wrapping you up in a hug, spinning you around. Mingyu and Vernon laughed at you two, but you both barely noticed that Mingyu was even still filming. Wonwoo eventually put you down, and quickly kissed you, earning a groaning sound from the other two boys. Mingyu put his phone down.

“Come on guys, keep it PG.” Mingyu said, shaking his head and walking away.

*

“UGGH. I’m so nervous.” You said, pacing your room. Wonwoo was laying on your bed, watching you walk back and forth.

“Babe, it’s a minute and a half speech. You’ve been practicing for a week and a half. You know this in your sleep.” He reassured you, for the tenth time that day.

“Okay, but all that practice was just in front of you. I’m not like you, I can’t just go in front of a crowd and say things! I feel like I’m going to throw up.” You paced again, and Wonwoo got up and stood behind you, wrapping you in a hug.

“Listen, it’s your best friend’s wedding. You just have to talk about the two of you. You know most of the people who are going to be there. Actually, I think you know all of the people. If anything, just look at her or look at me. Or between us. That way it’ll look like you’re looking at the crowd.” He suggested. You tried to keep pacing, but he kept his arms around you, holding you in place.

“What if I actually throw up.” You asked, and he shrugged.

“Then you throw up. It’ll get cleaned up and I will take you home and bury you under 6 blankets.” Finally, you sighed, putting your face in your hands.

“Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.” You heard him mumble.

“Please don’t film this. I don’t think I can process this speech if I know you’re filming.” You said, and after a few seconds, you felt him nod.

“Okay. I won’t film you at all. You won’t even see my phone or my camera.” He started to pull you towards the door. “We do have to go though. Otherwise this speech won’t happen at all.”

“Uggghhhh you caught on.” You said, and Wonwoo chuckled behind you.

Wonwoo kept his word and didn’t film you, but that didn’t mean that other people in the crowd didn’t.

*

“You ready for this?” Wonwoo said, sitting you down at the table. You nodded, then quickly shook your head.

“What if they hate me?” You asked, and Wonwoo sighed.

“They won’t hate you. At least they won’t all hate you. Plus, once they see how happy you make me, there shouldn’t be many issues.”

“Then why won’t you let me see the comments.” You asked, and he froze for a second, and you knew you had him.

“Just in case.” He said, and you felt your nerves growing. Wonwoo somehow sensed it, and put one of his hands on your knee. “Look, it’s going to be alright. If you get too freaked out, just squeeze my hand and we can end it, okay? If you’re not ready we can do this-”

“No. No, let’s just do this.” You said, and Wonwoo nodded, officially starting a live video. You looked at yourself in the screen as Wonwoo talked, and you heard your name mentioned. You kept your hand over Wonwoo’s, and he started to watch the comments after your introduction. You felt awkward, and gave the camera a small wave. You saw Wonwoo smile, and he looked over at you.

“Feel like answering some questions?” He asked, and you nodded, hoping this wouldn’t go too bad. You knew he wouldn’t ask you anything bad, and if he was willing to ask there had to be some good comments.

“Alright… Here’s a simple one. What’s your favorite color?” You almost laughed at how basic the question was.

“Uhm… Green.” You said, and Wonwoo nodded.

“Good choice. Okay… Favorite Seventeen song?” He asked, an eyebrow raised. You thought for a second, then grinned.

“Un Haeng Il Chi.” You said, and Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

“She does try to sing it a lot.” He laughed, and you felt yourself calming down. “Okay… Here’s an easy one. Who’s your bias?” You looked at the camera, and said with a completely straight face.

“Seungcheol.” Wonwoo just looked at the camera with an annoyed face, though you could see the smirk on the side of his lip.

“I’m sure you two will be very happy together.” He said, and you laughed, causing him to smile again. “Okay let’s see… One more…” His eyes scanned the comments, which he had at just an angle that you couldn’t see. “Ah! Here we go. What’s your favorite era for me?” He asked, looking at you. You raised an eyebrow at him, then smirked.

“Well, honestly this boy,” You reached over and cupped his chin. “He looks good in every era.” You smiled, then when Wonwoo blushed and looked back at the phone, you looked at the camera, silently clapping your hands together and mouthing ‘Jjak Jjak Jjak Jjak’.

“Subtle.” Wonwoo said, shaking his head.

*

“Are they on yet?” Your friend asked, plopping on the couch next to you. You shook your head, playing with the necklace you had on.

“Not yet. I think they’re up next though. And they’re one of the nominees for the next award.” You said, and she nodded, looking at your screen.

“Why are you so anxious?”

“I don’t know. I think I just don’t know what to expect? I haven’t seen him much lately and he’s been super secretive about this performance. He literally hasn’t told me anything about it.” You said, pulling a pillow closer to your chest. You looked over at your friend, who was sitting facing you, clearly filming you. “I’m sorry, what are you doing?” You laughed, and she shrugged.

“I promised Wonwoo I would film your reaction. He’s bummed he won’t get to see it.” She grinned, and you looked at her.

“What do you know about this?” You asked, and she put on her most innocent face.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.” She smirked, and you heard cheering on the screen. You looked back and your eyes widened as you saw Wonwoo and his 12 other members walking towards the stage.

“OH MY GOD THEY WON!” You yelled, pointing at the screen. Your friend aimed the camera towards the TV, then back to you with your hand over your mouth. “They won!! I can’t believe it!” You said, squishing the pillow even more. You could hear your friend laughing as you covered your face. You both listened to their acceptance speech, and you fangirled (though you will never admit this to Wonwoo) while your friend continued to film.

“Oh boy, they’re performing now.” You said, and your friend focused the camera on you. “Do you really have to film this?”

“Yes, this is what he wanted the reaction to.” She said, and you raised an eyebrow, turning back to the screen. The performance started, and you were absolutely shook. They never really did dark concepts, and this fit that to a T. By the time it ended, you had your hand over your mouth, still frozen solid.

“So,” Your friend said, breaking you back to reality. “What did you think?” You turned to the camera, and shook your head.

“Those boys are all on my list now.” You said, shaking your head and laughing as she finally stopped filming you.

*

You and I have a lot of good memories together…

You smiled at the words across the screen, mild tears in your eyes over the videos of your memories. You couldn’t believe Wonwoo took the time to put all these videos together, let alone that he still had some of them.

...but this one is my favorite.

You furrowed your eyebrows as the screen went black. You waited for the next video to start, curious as to what his favorite one was. After about 15 seconds of silence, you made a confused face and turned towards Wonwoo.

“What’s supposed to…” You froze as you saw Wonwoo, who had at some point moved from his chair and was now sitting next to you on one knee. He had a little box in his hand, and you felt your entire body stop.

“Y/N… I love you so much. I don’t have a big speech prepared, because I couldn’t figure out the right words to tell you. So, I wanted to show you how much you mean to me and how much you have had an impact on my life. I can’t even begin to picture my life without you in it. So…” He took a deep breath, looking you in the eye. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

You were feeling all of the emotions at once. You weren’t even sure you could feel your voice. So, you did the next best thing. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you felt his arm around your torso. You let out a laugh, and could already feel the tears falling.

“So… You haven’t answered…” You heard Wonwoo say, and you pulled back, smiling at him.

“Oh my gosh! Yes. Yes, I wouldn’t want to marry anyone else.” You said, and Wonwoo smiled his scrunched up smile, leaning forward to kiss his new fiance.

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen drabbles #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo au #wonwoo fic #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo drabbles #wonwoo oneshot #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo x reader #seventeen wonwoo

[searchingwardrobes]

Own Worst Enemy: 4/5

Finally, @killiancygnus, I have part four of your birthday fic! You said you were buckled up for the angst, right?

Summary: Killian Jones can’t figure out why he’s waking up in a cold room in a tux with his best friend Emma Swan in his closet. Maybe we need to rewind the night … Based on the song “Own Worst Enemy” by Lit. The idea of the game is for Fran to choose which lyrics I tackle next. Part four is based on these lines:

and now you're gone

It’s no surprise to me, I am my own worst enemy

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

And guess what, Fran? I’ve got part 5 almost finished for this line: Cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me

Tagging the usuals (I hope): @jennjenn615 @kday426 @snowbellewells @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @whimsicallyenchantedrose @delirious-latenight-laughs @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @wellhellotragic @branlovestowrite @shireness-says @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @distant-rose @tiganasummertree 

“So let me get this straight, little brother. You and Emma got drunk and decided to . . . get married?”

Killian groans, taking fistfuls of his hair and tugging. “It would seem so.”

Liam’s pacing nervously back and forth across his living room, lecturing him like he’s a teenager again. But honestly, none of his words are penetrating Killian’s brain. How can they when all he can keep focusing on is the fact that Emma left so abruptly? Liam had extended his hand and helped her up off the floor of the closet that had been Killian’s when he was in high school. The Pearl Jam posters were still hanging inside. Emma had swayed to her feet, groaning as she clutched her head.

“What am I wearing?” she had grumbled. Then she had looked over at Killian on the bed in his rumpled tux and covered in her lipstick. “Oh shit!” she had cried, and before he could even open his mouth, she was racing out of the house so fast Killian was surprised she hadn’t left skid marks.

*****************************************************

“Okay, back up, you did what?”

“I don’t know.” Emma whines, grabbing one of Ruby’s throw pillows and pressing it against her face.

“You got married?”

“Maybe?” Emma mumbles from behind the pillow. “We got drunk and we kissed at the docks, and then, well, it all got a little fuzzy.”

“Well, okay,” Ruby says plopping down on the end of the couch with her laptop, fingers flying over the keys, “so . . . let’s look into this . . . uh oh.”

“What?” Emma says, struggling to sit up and see her friend’s computer. “What do you mean, uh oh?”

“Maine has no waiting period on marriage licenses. You could get one and then get married five minutes later.”

“Shit.” Emma flops back onto the couch. “And I thought you getting back together with Victor and setting fire to the bathroom was the wild part of the night.”

“I didn’t get back together with him. After we hooked up in the bathroom, I went home with a guy whose name I can’t remember.” Ruby says all this casually, still scrolling through a Google search.

Emma arches a brow “Seriously?”

Ruby rolls her eyes and lobs a throw pillow at Emma’s head. “No, actually, Victor and I came back here and fell asleep on my couch watching some zombie show on Netflix. I’m just not sure how to process that you had a wilder night than I did.”

Emma groans as she hugs the pillow to her abdomen. “No waiting period, huh? Are Killian and I really married then?”

Ruby sighs and pats Emma’s thigh reassuringly. “Oh hon, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.

***************************************************

Killian exhales an irritated breath as he tries for what feels like the fifth time to do his bow tie. He knows how, his hands are just still shaking. Last night is something he can’t stop thinking about. Nor Emma’s departure afterward. He’d never seen such a panicked look on her face.

“Killian?”

He turns to see his brother leaning around the doorway.

“Are they ready for me?”

“No, not yet,” Liam sighs as he enters the room, holding out his cell phone. “It’s Emma. She called my phone. Says she can’t reach you on yours.”

Killian searches the dresser in front of him, then pats his thighs and jacket pockets with a frown on his face. “Shit, my phone must be lost in my old room somewhere.”

He takes the phone from his brother, who leaves the room with a sympathetic gaze. Since he’s alone in the room, he turns it on speaker phone and sets it on the dresser so he can wrangle the stupid bow tie. David and Mary Margaret will be through with their pictures any minute and the wedding coordinator will be coming to get him.

“Swan?”

“We didn’t get married.”

His hands freeze on his tie. “Umm . . . “

He can hear her sharp exhale of breath as if she’s irritated with him. “We didn’t get married –,” she repeats, “we couldn’t have. We would have to go to the municipal building to get a license, and they wouldn’t have been open.”

“I know,” he says, giving up on the tie, his entire body deflating, “I checked.”

“And there aren’t any 24-hour wedding chapels in driving distance either,” she continues as if she hasn’t even heard him.

“I know that too.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long silence between them, and Killian picks up the phone to turn off the speaker and presses it to his ear.

“Listen, Swan, what happened last night revealed -”

“Stop. Don’t say anything, please. We were drunk, that’s all. It didn’t mean anything.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you, it meant something to me.”

“What?” He can perfectly imagine her shaking her head. “I mean, that’s ridiculous.”

Killian presses his eyes closed, his jaw clenching. He knows he may scare her to death, but he can’t hold in his feelings any longer. “No, it’s not. I love you, Emma.”

“Is this about the . . . the making out? I mean, it’s fuzzy, but I remember it. You’re a good kisser, I remember that too, but . . . that’s all that it was. Kissing. Drunk kissing.”

Killian drops down onto the edge of a chair in the corner. “Emma,” he says in a gentle voice, ”I’ve loved you since the first day we patrolled together. The rum just gave me the guts to act on it.”

The phone went dead in his hand.

******************************************************

“And now the best man and maid of honor dance!”

The look that Emma gives Killian as he turns towards her on the dance floor is frightening. She’s done an amazingly good job of avoiding him so far today, but even Emma won’t cause a scene when it’s David and Mary Margaret’s special day. So acting as if she’s on her way to the gallows, she shuffles to Killian and sticks out her arms robotically. He arches a brow at her as he takes a stiff hand in his and rests his other at her waist. Emma takes a step back.

“What kind of dancing is this?” he growls.

“Six inches,” she snaps back, gesturing at the air between them, “you know. I thought an old-fashioned gentleman like you would be familiar with that old rule.”

“Come on, Emma be mature about this.”

“Fine,” she concedes, tossing him a pout to rival the one that Roland, the six year old ring-bearer, gave to his mother Regina when she forced him to put on his bow tie.

“It’s just one dance,” he bites out, clenching his jaw, “and you didn’t mind dancing with me last night.”

Her eyes flash, and he knows he made a tactical error. She tries to step away, but he tightens his hold on her and bends to whisper in her ear.

“For David and Mary Margaret.”

The song seems to last an eternity and the second it ends, Emma flees the dance floor.

*******************************************************

Killian leaves the wedding as early as good manners will allow for the best man. Not that Emma cared about etiquette when she made her exit. Even from across the room, he saw Mary Margaret’s brow furrow when he maid of honor hugged her goodbye. When Killian takes his leave, David is more direct.

“Are you and Emma okay?”

Killian flashes his best smile, not wanting his friends to have reason to worry on their wedding day. “Of course we are.”

David crosses his arms and scowls. “You were dancing weird.”

“Weird?”

“There was like three feet between you. Like you both had halitosis.”

“Six inches, actually, and it’s not like we had a choice to dance.” Killian wincee. Not exactly a festive attitude for the best man.

“You didn’t mind dancing last night.”

He really hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels. He ducks his head and starts to scratch behind his ear. When he sees David’s eyebrows rise, he remembers what an obvious tell that is and drops his hand back to his side.

“We’re fine, mate, really. You and your bride should focus on your newly wedded bliss, not me and Emma and our roller coaster friendship.”’

David gives him a smile and a slap on the shoulder, and Killian lets out a breath of relief. He knows his friend will grill him when he gets back from his honeymoon, but at least he and Mary Margaret will enjoy the rest of the reception. They are both far too compassionate.

Even though it’s the last place he wants to see right now, Killian swings by his brother’s place and searches his old room for his phone. Despite the wedding, if there’s an emergency, he might get a call from Graham. His brother hasn’t touched the room, and the bedsheets are still rumpled. Two bottles of rum stick out from beneath the bedspread. Crushed flower petals litters the carpet, and Killian has a flash of memory from the night before. They were at a 24 hour market that had pitiful bouquets of flowers for sale by the register.

Come, Swan, every bride needs a bouquet.

At least they hadn’t actually gotten married. Or slept together. Funny that he wasn’t sure of the first but absolutely certain of the second. When it comes to Emma, there are some things he knows he would have no trouble remembering, regardless of how much he’d had to drink.

He finds his phone on the bed, underneath one of the pillows. The battery is completely drained, of course. When he gets home, he plugs it in and sets it on his nightstand. He then proceeds to lay there staring at the ceiling for hours. No matter what he does, he can’t stop berating himself for so thoroughly screwing things up with Emma. At four am, he gives up and reaches over for his phone.

The battery is at one hundred percent, so he powers it up. The first thing he notices is a new lock screen. How he’d managed to change it in his heavily inebriated state he isn’t sure. It’s a selfie of he and Emma at the market buying her bridal bouquet. They’re both laughing, and Emma is brandishing the flowers like a sword. He can’t help chuckling at it. Once he unlocks his phone, he finds more pictures. They’re surprisingly good for two drunken fools. There’s one of Emma blowing him a kiss in that ridiculous Madonna costume. There’s one of them in the Bug, dressed up and ready for their “wedding” with Emma brandishing a ring pop on her hand. He shakes his head, laughing again. Then in the next picture, Emma is kissing him on the cheek, and his chuckle turns to a groan. Unable to look at them anymore, he tosses his phone to the side and flings his arm across his face.

He loves her so much it physically hurts.

**************************************************************

Killian is unapologetically a depressing, lazy bum on Sunday, binge-watching Stranger Things and never leaving the couch. He tries to call Emma, but it goes straight to voicemail every time. He doesn’t even bother leaving a message. He isn’t having this conversation unless he and Emma are face to face, and come Monday, she won’t be able to ignore him anymore.

Or so he thinks.

He arrives at the station at 8 am sharp, and is beyond shocked to see Emma’s yellow Bug already in its usual space in the lot. He’s only just walked through the door when he collides with her. She’s carrying the contents of her desk in a cardboard box. His shocked gaze alternates between her face and the box in her arms.

“What the hell is this?”

Emma chews on her bottom lip, and her expression is clearly panicked. He knows that look, and it suddenly all falls into place.

“You’re quitting,” he says, “and you tried to sneak out of here before I got to work this morning.”

Emma balances the box on one hip while she pushes her hair out of her face. “Come on, Kil, you knew my friend Merida has been begging me to come work with her. As a private investigator, I can set my own hours and eventually make more money. Plus, she’s got room at her place in Boston.”

“And you decided this when?” Killian’s voice is rising, but he can’t help it. “In the last 24 hours?”

She shrugs. “Merida called yesterday, and I figured I needed to stop making excuses.”

“Bullshit.”

Emma’s eyes flash fire. “Okay then, want the truth?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I can’t work with someone who’s crossed the line of a working relationship.”

Killian grabs the box out of her hand and sets it on the ground. When he rises, he steps right into her personal space. He can tell from the tense set of her shoulders that she wants to take a step back, but she stubbornly stands her ground.

“Also bullshit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then believe what you want, but it’s the truth.”

“No, the truth is, you’re running because you can see a future here. A happy one, and that scares you.”

Emma crosses her arms and scowls. “Let me guess, with you?”

They’re both breathing heavily, the frustration between them palpable. Killian deflates, however, gentleness enfusing his voice. “Yes, actually.”

Her eyes widen for a moment, but then she blinks and shoulders past him to grab her box. She mumbles something about David and Mary Margaret and how it’s time to move on herself, basically words that don’t really make sense, and then she’s out the door.

All he can do is stand there and watch her toss the box in her backseat then slide behind the wheel. He’s said what he felt; he won’t chase her. She drives away, and the breath leaves his body.

She’s gone. 

#cs ff #cs modern au #interactive birthday fic #for killiancygnus #for her birthday #own worst enemy

[xazz]

- Patreon - AO3 -

Worship

Summery: Malik is in southern Turkey researching the former practice of white smithing, a now dead practice involving “magic” white rock. He’s got a lead and more than he could hope for in there being a still intact white rock forge that’s since been forgotten and neglected over the generations as the world moved away from magic.

Then he finds an old sword in the decrepit forge and brings it back home with him.

This chapter is NSFW but you're only able to read that part on my patreon.

*Vibrates excitedly*

Modern person having to deal with someone from the past is a favorite trope lols

Chapter 2: Sword of the Eagle

Come the fresh morning Malik had two tasks once he got back from mosque with the Tazim men. One was to start cleaning the sword and the other was to start digitizing his notes. He still didn't think the sword was very old or valuable so he wasn't super worried about the restoration process. But at the least he could clean it up and make it a display piece for back home. Which was why the first thing he did was fill up a bucket with water and baking soda and let one end soak in it. It wouldn't damage the sword beyond making it wet and the baking soda would start to break down the grime, dirt, and hopefullly what Malik thought was blood.

While the sword was soaking Malik was using his lap desk sitting right in front of the old window unit and working on his notes. He copied the notes he'd taken yesterday to his notes on his computer while downloading the five hundred pictures he'd taken yesterday. Once they'd downloaded he started going through them, finding the best ones.

Unfortunately, the lighting hadn't been that good yesterday. He'd known that but hoped it wouldn't have mattered. He had some good pictures closer to the flash light but a lot of them were dark and while Malik’s eye had been able to see it pretty well the digital camera had failed to do so. Only about a quarter of his photos were usable and none of the ones of the white rock pit were useable at all.

Malik was disheartened at first before realizing that since they were bad that meant he could just go back and take more! He wrote in his field notes book which areas of the room he needed pictures of still.

After lunch he took the sword out of the bucket and wiped it off. “Huh, you’re kinda pretty,” he said as he cleaned the baking soda off the hilt. There was still nasty dirt all over it but he could see the metal of the hilt now. It looked like a gilt metal of some sort. He wiggled the sword in the scabbard to try and pull it all the way out.

With a few grunts and thanks to some water getting into the scabbard he managed to yank the sword out of the scabbard. “Yeah, just a mameluke,” he said, disappointed. “Sorry bud, wish you were something cooler,” he put the sword blade first and the scabbard into the bucket along with some more baking soda. He'd check on it in a while.

When it wasn't so ungodly hot out Malik finally ventured out of his room and went out to just wander the city a little. It was a nice place and the people friendly even with his horrendous American accent all over his Turkish. He'd gotten a lot better in the past two weeks thanks to speaking it exclusively at his home stay since Yusuf only spoke some English and his parents no English.

He ended up finding a bar and getting food and drink for dinner. A live band played and he made some bar friends who were talkative drunks and got him to drink probably too much raki.

Far later than he intended he stumbled out of the bar. It took him three times to correctly dial Yusuf’s number and about fifteen minutes to get around to asking for a ride. Mostly because Malik kept just talking about random shit and was just sort of gay over the phone and making Yusuf laugh. Malik was out at home but didn't talk about it here in Turkey. He hadn't said anything too obscene, just told Yusuf he was handsome and had pretty blue eyes and was funny and had a nice beard. He'd just said all those things about twelve times.

Yusuf arrived with his moped and all Malik had to do was hold on. He ended up with his face pressed into the back of his shoulder because the movement of the moped made him nauseous. Yusuf smelled nice.

Before he knew it they were home and Yusuf just found Malik’s drunkenness amusing and helped him into his room. Malik just took off his shoes before face planting into the bed.

When Yusuf knocked early for dawn prayer Malik was still fast asleep. “Whatttt?” he groaned from the bed.

“You coming to mosque?” Yusuf called.

Malik blinked. “No,” and he rolled over, “hung over.” He said it loud enough for Yusuf to hear and heard him laugh through the door. Malik went back to sleep soundly.

He only woke when the heat became unbearable and he had to get up and turn on the AC. He tore his shirt off and stood in front of the cold air to help dry his sweaty skin. Blinking in the bright light he grabbed around for his sunglasses, found them, and glued them to his eyeballs. Then he put on some new clothes and went to beg Jawna for some food because he was starving and had missed breakfast. She just tutted him gently and gave him a carby meal with rice and, of course, some delicious bread and cheese.

Once Malik was fed and feeling not so hung over with a belly full of food he went back to his room and picked up the sword out of the bucket. He wiped the baking soda and water off but it was still nasty. He'd change the water out later. In the meantime he just threw the water out the window. He ended up taking a shower and laying in bed most of the day watching American cartoons on a pirate site before it was time for dinner.

Thankfully the next day he was over his hangover and could get back to work. That was mostly research of other whitesmith forges and cross referencing pictures from there to the Tazim forge. He made more notes and wrote about his day yesterday in his journal.

After lunch he turned his attention to the sword while watching something on his laptop. He got out his tools for careful cleaning of historically significant relics and more water and baking soda. It was some busy work to do he stopped every few minutes to watch his show before going back it.

The hilt was a real mess. Just caked in dried dirt and disgusting grease and grime and some blood that had solidified into something nearly like stone while it had been in the white rock pit. He just carefully chipped it away and used a toothbrush and fine tooth picker comb to scrap it clean.

Around dinner time he’d cleaned half of the hilt and only then did he really look at it. “Wow,” he said. The hilt had really good craftsmanship to it and surprisingly the pommel was made of some sort of porous stone like pumice but it glittered like white rock. The metal part was gilt, probably iron or steel, but with actually several large faceted gemstones imbedded in the metal. The facets just made Malik think it was a newer sword all the more and the gaudiness of it meant it was probably some sort of ceremonial sword. He rubbed the grime off one last time on this side of the hilt, the gilt gleaming in the light of the ceiling light. And it had a slight shimmering quality like the white rock in the pit. He was sure it was because powdered white rock had the consistency of fine glitter and was thus difficult to remove completely without multiple washes.

“You’re actually real pretty,” he said to the sword in English. “Dunno how you ended up in that pit but,” he shrugged. “You'll be a good souvenir. Kadar is going to lose his mind when he sees you. He'll be so jealous,” he laughed a little. Then he got up from the floor, put the sword aside, and went to go have dinner with the Tazims.

The next day Malik planned to visit the forge the following morning. He went out and bought some equipment he might need. Mostly a bigger backpack and a high luminosity flashlight with a removable battery he bought a spare of. He got all his equipment in order and spent the rest of the day watching football with Yusuf and Ubaid between two Turkish teams. Once he could finally get away he returned to his room and started cleaning the other side of the hilt. He removed about half the dirt before going to bed.

The trek up to the white rock forge was even worse that day. Yusuf had work so it was just Malik and Ubaid so Malik had to carry most of everything. Ubaid carried their food and half their water but Malik had to carry the rest plus his equipment. It took them two hours to reach the forge that time and Malik needed about half an hour to recover before he could actually start to work.

He set up his tripod with his camera and directed the flashlight to points of interest. It was as bright as natural sunlight with the flashlight on what he pointed it at and could take good pictures of the forge. He spent most of the day taking pictures and rubbings in the forge. In the afternoon he started emptying the pit in the room so he could see the entire thing without the white rock dust obscuring it.

Malik opted to leave any undrunk water and some of his heavier equipment in the oven. No one came up here and if someone did steal it tripods and big flashlights weren't super expensive. That would also be less weight to carry up the next time.

Upon arriving back home Malik attempted to wash off the white rock dust all over him. He managed it but like the sword, there was still residue all over his clothes, skin, and boots. He'd be like a sparkly vampire for a few days because of that. He slept good that night.

In the morning he immediately set to work on his notes and research. He worked furiously all morning and in the afternoon Yusuf came and dragged him west out to a beach to hang out with some friends. Malik ended up getting a mild sunburn for his troubles. After dinner back home he worked a bit more on cleaning the sword.

Over the next week, the pattern continued. Malik would get up, spend the morning working and after lunch do something else, either cleaning the sword and going and doing something in the city. He and Ubaid went up to the forge two more times that week. Malik also made significant headway on the sword, cleaning the entire hilt and most of the scabbard. Cleaning the inside of the scabbard was easier said than done thanks to its curved shape but he just worked on it a bit at a time.

The next week was much the same except Malik turned his attention to the forge’s entrance and the fresco murals painted so beautifully across it. He also started trying to clean the blade itself. But the damn thing was stubborn and no matter how much he scrubbed or rubbed the rust wouldn't come up. It was frustrating.

One day he was so furiously trying to clean off the rust that his hand slipped. He let out a yell as it sliced his hand and he dropped the sword. He rushed out of the room to find Jawna to help him clean the wound and let her coo over him as he blubbered at the cut on his hand.

He also went and got a tetanus booster.

When he came back from the clinic he found the sword where he’d left it. “Huh,” he picked it up. He’d cut himself on the backside of the curve. Normally mamelukes were single-edged, like most sabers and scimitars, but this one had an edge on both sides, not unlike a more traditional wedge-shaped sword. “Who made you like that, huh? And why? That’s so weird. Who makes a curved sword with two edges?” There was, of course, no answer. He put the sword back in its scabbard. He'd work on it again later. His hand hurt still and he should probably clean up the blood on the floor.

Except there was no blood on the floor. He knew for sure he’d bled on the floor. Maybe he’d exaggerated. Being cut made him think he'd bled more than he actually had.

The next few days he worked to clean the rust off the sword blade when he had some downtime. He was rewarded for his effort with several more cuts on the hand and one on the top of his arm. Nothing too serious beyond a yelp of pain and running to Jawna for sympathy and her to bandage him up and give him some mother's attention for his slips.

But it was weird because sometimes he wasn't even sure how the sword cut him. A few he absolutely deserved by handling it stupidly. But several it was like the sword moved to knick his finger. He knew that was impossible but still.

The rust still didn't come off no matter how much he cleaned it and he was starting to get frustrated with it. So he just started keeping it sheathed and cleaning the hilt and scabbard because at least that he could clean.

The sword itself was beautiful honestly. Under all the dirt and caked-on grime the scabbard was lacquered red with a white stripe and studded with what could have been round polished jewels or colored glass. The end was capped with gold and it had a golden spine shaped like a flowering vine. The hilt was equally ornate, pretty and gilt with several faceted gems or colored glass. The pommel ended in a hooked claw shaped like an eagle’s head, the beak perfectly shaped for ripping and tearing. Malik didn't know what an ornamental sword like this one needed a pommel claw for. But it made it all the prettier since the eagle was done in a lifelike cast and like the rest of the sword gilt in brilliant gold.

The craftsmanship put into it was insane and unlike anything he’d ever seen except in ancient epics. It looked almost like how Odysseus’ sword was described in the Iliad save for the shape. Or like the sword in the epic of Gilgamesh but it had the eagle hook at the pommel. Whoever had made this sword had put a lot of time into it. He also didn't know where something like this would come from other than a prop maker or something like that for how extravagant it was. It wasn't old enough to be anything but. That didn't explain what the hell it was or why it was a double-edged saber.

After a few days of getting over his annoyance about not be able to get the rust off, he decided to take another stab at it.

When he unsheathed the sword the blade was clean.

There wasn't a speck of rust on the steel. It was shiny and new and when Malik gently tested the blade it was so sharp it gave him a paper cut just from touching it. “What the actual fuck?” He just looked at the sword in confusion. The last time he'd drawn the sword it had been a rusted mess.

He left the scabbard and went out to find Yusuf who was leaning close to the TV watching a football game. “Yusuf,” he said.

“Huh?” Yusuf looked up but was distracted by the game playing. Then his eyes darted to the sword. “Oh! You finally got the rust off! Awesome! Knew you could do it. Just took some elbow grease, yeah?”

Malik blinked, “I… so the sword has no rust to you too?”

“Uh, yeah Malik. You okay?”

Malik blinked some more, “Yeah. I guess I’m just in so much shock I finally got it clean I couldn't think straight,” he said. No way he could tell Yusuf that the sword had just untrusted itself. That would sound insane. “It’s nice right?”

“Yeah. It's cool. Did you need something?” He motioned with his head back to the football game.

“Oh. No, I just wanted to show you. Go ahead,” and he stepped back. Yusuf immediately returned his attention to the TV and Malik slowly went back to his room.

He held the sword gently across his palms, aware of how deathly sharp it was. “What happened to you? How did you unrust?” The sword just sat there across his palms. He shifted his hands a bit and cried out when the sword cut him, so clean was the cut he didn't even feel it at first. He tossed the sword onto the bed and left. “Jawnaaaa,” he called as he entered the kitchen where she was making dinner.

“Malik— did you cut yourself on that rusty sword again?” she scolded him and he just whined pathetically. She scolded him and then cooed over him, helping to clean his wound and like the grandma she was also gave some bread, jam, and nut butter. He thanked her before going back to his room.

“Stupid ass sword,” he muttered in English as he opened the door. He closed the door whining over the fresh cut on his hand. He needed to just keep it in its sheath. It was way too sharp to keep it out. He went back to the bed to do so but when he looked up… his sword was gone. “…. Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

Lying belly down on his bed with one of the GQ magazines open was.. a man. A naked man. Bronze skin and dark brown hair that curled around his ears. They looked over at Malik casually and his eyes were nearly golden they were so amber. “Welcome back, Malik,” he said in Arabic in a shockingly polite voice.

Malik stared and looked around to make sure he wasn't being punked. There was a naked guy in his room. A hot naked guy! A really hot naked guy. Oh fuck. Oh no oh fuck. This was so bad. He didn't even want to think about how bad this was. On a scale of shitty to manageable this was get arrested and deported level. “W-what?” Malik managed to get out.

The man held up the magazine open to him. It had some well-dressed men on it. “Buy me this,” he said.

“What? No! What the fuck!” Only then did he realize he needed to lower his voice. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” he whisper yelled.

“You left me here,” he said and put the magazine back on the bed. He sat up. “It isn't my fault you left before I’d finished. Is your hand alright?”

“My hand— how do you know I cut my hand? Who are you? Where is my sword?”

The man blinked at him in annoyance. “I am your sword. I’m a sentient weapon.”

Malik gaped at him. Just full-on jaw on the floor. “You’re what?” he squeaked. A sentient weapon!? Those were just things in stories. Odysseus had had a sentient weapon in the stories. So had Gilgamesh. It was said Julius Cesare had one and even Ghengis Khan. They appeared everywhere in mythos. Every legendary warrior had a sentient weapon and every evil in those stories wanted to possess it. Mythical weapons imbued with great ‘magical’ power infused with the soul of a sublime warrior giving the wielder superhuman abilities.

It was all stories. Everything about sentient weapons was a myth. There had never ever been a confirmed sentient weapon since the contemporary when people turned away from mysticism for morality based religion and science. They weren't real.

The man cocked his head at Malik. “Malik?” he asked.

“I need to sit down,” he said and there was no chair in the room so he just slowly lowered himself onto the floor feeling dazed.

A moment passed and he looked up and saw the man had gotten up and was leaning down in front of him, a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright?”

“Y-you’re actually a living weapon?” his voice felt small.

“I am.” Malik just stared at him and oh no he was even prettier up close with smooth skin and long lashes, his dark hair curling around his face prettily. This wasn't at all fair. “My name is Altair by the way,” he added.

Malik rubbed his face. “What?” he felt so lost. So utterly confused and like he didn't know anything.

“My name. It’s Altair,” he said, slowly getting more annoyed with Malik for acting like a fool.

“Oh— okay. I— living weapon? Shit- oh shit,” he rubbed his face with both hands. Then he looked up at Altair and realized he was very naked. “You’re naked.”

“Well I was a sword until approximately three moments ago,” Altair said.

Malik pushed himself up numbly and shuffled over to his dresser. He pulled out a thobe he’d bought when he’d first come to Dörtyol to fit in a bit better with the local populace. “Put this on,” he said to the naked human-shaped living sword holy shit that sounded so out of this world.

Altair reached out, touched it but didn't take it. “No,” he said.

“What? Yes. Put it on.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Malik demanded.

“It feels cheap,” he folded his arms and turned away, nose up snootily. “I’m better than that.”

Malik’s eye twitched. “You’re putting this on. You’re fucking naked in my room and I can’t have that.”

“I’m not wearing that cheap trash,” Altair said dismissively.

Malik scowled at him. “Yes you are you dumb ass hunk of metal,” and Malik attempted to wrestle it onto him. Altair was scrappy and batted at him which just freed up his hands for Malik to shove through the garment.

“Get off,” he said, trying to push Malik off. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Yes you are,” Malik snapped and they ended up scuffling a bit on the floor. Malik managed to yank his limbs through the sleeves and his head through the hole when he froze as someone knocked on the door.

“Malik? You okay in there? Mom said she heard some noises in here,” Yusuf asked, voice heavy with concern and it took Malik a moment for his brain to switch back over to Turkish.

“Ah- yeah, I’m fine,” he called back. “Just moving some stuff around.”

“You need help?”

“No!” he hoped it didn't sound panicked because he felt a bit panicked.

“… Okay,” Yusuf said slowly. “Dinner is going to be ready soon.”

“Okay! I’ll be out in a minute,” Malik called and was glad when he heard Yusuf’s footsteps walk away. “Don’t get me into trouble, brat,” Malik hissed in Arabic and yanked the thobe the rest of the way down Altair’s body.

“Then get some class,” Altair glared back.

Malik frowned. “Enough. What the fuck? What did you do? What are you? Actually, hold that thought. I need to go have dinner. Keep your damn clothes on.”

“Or what?” Altair growled.

“Or I’ll be pissed off,” Malik snapped. Altair folded his arms moodily as Malik climbed to his feet to go get ready for dinner.

“Everything alright, Malik?” Yusuf asked when he joined them at the table.

“Yes. Everything's fine,” he said shortly. He didn't really talk during dinner and just ate quickly in silence excusing himself as soon as it was socially appropriate. He didn't imagine the Tazims looking after him in concern as he quickly washed his dish in the sink and went back to his room.

Altair was sitting on the bed, naked, looking at the GQ magazine again. “Where are your clothes?” Malik asked. Altair just looked up at him and rose an eyebrow. Malik looked around and found the thobe on the floor by the bed. He picked it up. “Put it on,” he said sternly. Altair just looked at the thobe and then Malik like he was crazy. “Put the thobe on.”

“I can’t understand you,” Altair said in Arabic.

Malik blinked. Right. He just naturally switched to his shitty Turkish when talking with the Tazims. “You know damn well what I'm saying even when I talk Turkish,” and he motioned with the thobe again.

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“Stop being so fucking annoying. You want to get in trouble huh? Because that's what’s going to happen if you don't put this on.”

“Trouble with who?”

“The government. You're a naked man, in my room. Put on some damn clothes before I get arrested.” To say nothing for the fact that he was beautiful and that was a distraction for Malik who didn't need to be distracted when he was having a bit of a freak out over his sword turning into a sexy naked man! Who apparently was a sentient weapon!

Huffing Altair took the thobe and pulled it on. “Happy?”

“Yes, actually,” Malik said sternly. Altair’s lips twitched in something like a smile. “Now what are you doing?”

“Could you be more vague?”

“This,” Malik motioned sharply to Altair's form. “This body thing. You’re a sword.”

“You just took such good care of me after I’d been abandoned I wanted to see what you looked like and not just what your hands felt like, or your voice sounded like,” Altair said, surprisingly soft spoken and kind about it. Malik bristled in a flush high in his ears and across his face. That was the gayest thing he'd heard in months unless he was on a call with his brother.

“Ah— oh— well— can you change back?”

“No.”

“No? What? Why not?”

“I don't have the energy to do so. It took me all the energy I had just to get here from my reserves and from you.”

“Well, then what? You need food?”

“No.”

“That isn't an answer,” Malik said sternly.

Altair frowned at him in annoyance. “You were much nicer to me before. If I knew you were an asshole I would have stayed rusted,” he said.

“Excuse me for being freaked out my sword turned into a man. Which, by the way, WHAT!? And second: HOW?”

“Magic,” Altair said.

“Magic isn't real,” Malik scowled at him.

Malik looked at him, rose his eyebrow and then motioned to himself. “Like you said, your sword turned into a man. Or rather, a man was turned into a sword and he turned back into a man. How do you think that happened?”

“Sentient weapons are myths and not real.”

“And yet here I am,” Altair stood up and Malik flustered when he stepped over to him and got real close, looking up at him. He was pretty short all things considered and the top of his head only came up to Malik’s chin. “You should be grateful.”

Malik bristled. Being mad was better than being turned on by the weird guy in his room. “Oh really now? How you figure that?”

“Because I’m a magic weapon. And judging by your reaction they don't make things like me anymore. I didn't understand you every time you spoke around me but I do know you're a man of history. You should be thrilled I exist.”

Malik frowned at him, annoyed he made sense and annoyed he should have been too. “Okay, look,” he gently pushed Altair back and away. “Magic isn't a thing. Sentient swords are a thing in stories. And this country is super against homosexuality so you showing up naked in my bed like nothing is wrong freaks me out because if anyone found you here I’d be in a lot of trouble.”

“Oh,” Altair said slowly. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are they like that?”

“Because they're stupid.”

“They are,” Altair nodded.

“So you need to not be naked. I don't want to be thrown in jail or deported.”

“I don't want you to either,” Altair said and Malik hated he got all flustered when Altair put his hand on Malik’s chest, worry written across his face.

“So you’ll not try to take your clothes off all the time?”

“I guess,” Altair sighed. “Buy me nicer ones.”

“Sure, whatever. Now can you turn back into a sword?”

“No.”

“Right, energy thing. So what do you need to get more energy?”

“I need to feed.” The way he said it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end.

“I can get you food.”

“No. I don't eat,” he said.

“But you just said-

“My sustenance is no longer food.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Okay, then what do you eat you picky asshole?”

“Blood,” Altair said with a straight face.

Malik blanched. “So you’re a vampire?”

“A what?”

“You know, a vampire,” Malik said again.

Altair blinked in confusion. “I don't know what that word means. What is a vampire?”

“Uh— it’s a monster that drinks blood for food.”

“Oh, you mean an ekkimu? Those are still around?”

“Wha- actually you know what, no. I don't want to know. We’ll just go with yeah, like that.”

“And I’m not quite like that. I don't have to bite someone like they do. And I don't need much to return to my natural state. It takes much more energy to become this altered state,” Altair said.

“But you can't turn back into a sword without blood?” Malik clarified.

“No.”

Malik sighed. “Does it matter what sort?”

“No.”

Malik sighed again. There was nowhere to get blood this time of night. All the butchers were closed for the night and Jawna had used the last blood she’d bought for blood pudding last week. “So that means… you need my blood.”

“If you don't want me here… yes.”

Malik rubbed his face. “Okay. How about this. I’ll get you some blood tomorrow but you absolutely cannot just turn into a person whenever you want.” Altair made an annoyed face but nodded. “Wait here,” he ordered and left his room quietly, went into the bathroom and found the medical kit Jawna used to patch him up from Altair cutting him several times. In it there was some roll bandages, some medical tape, and some antiseptic. He grabbed all of those and went back into his room, closing the door as softly as he could.

Altair was waiting for him when he came back and his eyes brightened with interest as Malik sat everything down and rolled up his sleeve to over his bicep. He used some of the bandages to wipe part of his skin with the antiseptic. “What’s that?” Altair asked as Malik opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his pocket knife. “Oh!” he cried in delight when Malik pushed the button on the side and the knife unfolded. “Magic,” he declared.

“Not magic, just some springs,” Malik said and wiped down the blade with antiseptic too, letting it air dry.

“Springs? How do you fit all that water in there?”

“… Nevermind,” Malik sighed. Then he clenched his jaw and put the knife against the skin of his bicep. He felt the touch of the cool steel but his hand hesitated. He just needed to get it over with.

His hand wouldn't move.

He hissed in annoyance when he lowered his hand. He couldn't just maim himself like that. “Malik?” Altair asked and sat on the bed next to him.

“Just a second. It isn't easy to just cut yourself,” Malik said. Unless you were a cutter, he supposed. Malik had never done that sort of self-destructive behavior. He lifted the knife back up to try again and again his hand wouldn't move even when he tried to will it. He sighed heavily and dropped his hand again.

“Do you want me to do it?” Altair asked him.

Malik didn't totally trust him. “You drink blood and you’re a sword. How do I know you won’t just cut me up?”

“If I wanted to do that I would have done it already,” Altair said. “No one touches me unless I allow them to.” Malik couldn't dispute that. “I am very precise and light. You won't even feel it.”

“I doubt that,” but Malik still handed him the knife. “Don’t touch the blade and cut where I wiped,” he instructed.

Altair took the knife with a serious face, nodding. He held the little pocket knife with what looked like great reverence. He put his hand on the front of Malik’s arm and very carefully put the knife against his skin. Malik looked away. “Do you want me to warn you?” Altair asked him.

“No, just do it,” Malik said and squeezed his eyes shut. Altair didn't respond there was at once just a faint searing sensation on Malik’s left arm as Altair cut a wide mark across his bicep. He hadn't even felt the cut. The skin around the cut hurt but it had been shockingly painless. He looked back and saw Altair draw the knife back. Malik stared when he licked the blade, his tongue against the sharp edge, leaving no trace of his own blood on the knife and carefully folded it back up.

Malik swallowed when Altair leaned over and licked up his arm to catch where the blood was starting to trickle out and seep down the curve of his arm. Malik was very aware of Altair’s tongue on his skin and the way his arm never actually got bloody. He was also very aware of how oddly reverent Altair seemed about the entire thing. It reminded Malik of his Catholic friends telling him about taking communion at church. A holy act of taking something into their body.

Malik was getting the weirdest and most awkward boner in existence about the entire thing. It was making him really uncomfortable.

After a minute Malik cleared his throat. “You— ah, you done?” he didn't know why he was so flustered by this. Why would he be flustered? This was weird and he really didn't like this at all. Altair looked up at him, tongue splayed against his arm. Was this why people had vampire fetishes? Shit, this was why people had vampire fetishes.

“Almost,” Altair said softly and looked away from him. Thank god.

Another awkward (at least for Malik) minute passed. The bleeding had subsided quite a bit to his surprise when Altair pulled away and licked his lips, making sure he got every drop. Malik quietly had a chub now too and wow he hated that so much. “Done now?”

“Yes,” Altair said, his eyes lidded in content. “A good snack if nothing else.”

Malik refrained from saying the actual first thing on his mind. Instead, he said, “Good, don't get used to it.” And he quickly applied more antiseptic, cursing at the stinging pain of it and wrapped his arm in the bandages. “Now you going to change back into a sword?”

“I suppose. I did say I would,” Altair sighed. “I did rather miss being human,” he said and stretched out his arm in front of him to look at his hand. “It’s nice to be able to see what’s going on and not rely solely on touch or vibrations to understand the world.”

“Yeah— well- later, when the family isn't home.”

“Finnne,” he said as a complaint and leaned back on one arm on the bed. Malik hated it was a distracting motion. “I suppose you aren't that bad of a master,” and Malik was sure he blacked out for a second because the next second Altair was gone. In his place was the sword, resting innocently on the sheet, in its vibrant, jewel-studded, red scabbard.

Malik stared at where he’d been. “What the actual fuck?” he asked the room in English. He just could not deal. He ended up putting the sword in his dresser and closing the drawer.

He poked his head out of the room. He heard the TV on in the living room. Now and then he heard the Tazims laugh at some show on it. Okay good. They were none the wiser. That was how he wanted it.

Malik ended up pacing back and forth in his room for a while, stressed beyond belief by the fact that his sword could just, at will, become a naked man. What was he going to do about this? He’d told Altair he would get him blood. How would he do that? Could he just have him around in the room? A thousand other questions raced through his mind as he calmed down a bit now that his initial panic was over. Like how old was he? What sort of first-hand experiences did he have?

Malik stopped pacing at that thought. Altair could potentially be a mother lode. First-hand accounts of whatever time he was from. Deep insight on whatever time he was from that might be lost to them. But it was a long time ago. Would he remember? Did he have memories as a sword? Had he forgotten thanks to the time between then and now?

By the time it was bedtime Malik was beyond curious and less stressed about the naked man thing. He just had to get Altair a nicer set of clothes and bam, problem fixed. He could do that.

He brushed his teeth, said goodnight to the Tazims, and got into bed. But he ended up staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. His mind was abuzz with a thousand questions and what this could mean for his research. What this could mean for his career. If he had real, tangible proof, of what he’d come out here to study and not just pissing in the wind they’d have to take him seriously. They’d realize his ideas were right.

#altmal #Altair Ibn La'Ahad #malik al sayf #Assassin's Creed #worship

[writeanapocalae]

Nano Day 6 Writing

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

Anton woke up alone and cold and hurting in the darkness. His eyes were heavy, his head throbbing, and his ribs ached in a way they hadn’t in years, back when he would chase down suspects and things would get physical and the bruises on his ribs were expounded by the binder he had to wear for too long. He wanted to sleep. It was dark enough for it and, as he curled in on himself, he could imagine that he was warm enough.

He checked himself, hands roaming over his body. There were some wet spots, mostly on his hip and thigh but the pain there was more from pressure, from a blunt force, than any cuts. He must have landed on something wet. Checking the floor though, it was all dry beneath him. He had been brought somewhere else after he’d landed.

He still had his backpack on, but his flashlight was gone. His clothing was, mostly, in shape, and there was a large gash on his face but it had been wrapped and taken care of. That meant one of the others had been the one to bring him here, from how he’d been laid out, in the same position he often slept in, there was no doubt in his mind that it was R.

And then panic started to set in. They had been under attack from killer androids, something had gone wrong with their programming and they were acting with murderous intent regardless of the fact that their batteries should have all been drained by now. They had fallen, through the floor, for many floors, and now he was alone. He was alone. They had left him behind or they’d been killed. They didn’t have a plan, a way out, and there was no cellphone reception so he couldn’t even contact any of them.

He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging his chest tightly and pulled in a few heavy breaths, trying to subside the anxiety growing in his chest, making his heart pound and his terror start to flair. He couldn’t afford that, not right then. He had things he had to do, his coworkers – his friends – that he had to find.

He may not of had service but he pulled out his cellphone anyway. The battery had been full that morning, it wasn’t too drained yet. He turned on the flashlight function and took a look around himself. There were shelves, brooms and mops, cleaning supplies, and random parts in well labeled boxes. He had been brought to a storage unit, of all things. While there was a lot in there, he doubted there would be anything of use to him or to the investigation. The parts in the boxes, while he didn’t know what they were for, all seemed basic, like joints and connectors, wires and tubes, basic building blocks for pseudo human bodies.

There was a note on the door, stuck up with a piece of scotch tape. The roll was set down, perfectly, on one of the shelves, as if it had never been moved. The font face was arial, perfect and clean. R had been the one to bring him here, but it wasn’t there now.

Anton whimpered as he pulled himself to his feet. Dragging the light over himself he couldn’t see much in terms of damage, just a few tears in his slacks and sweater. He couldn’t see the color of the liquid in his slacks, the black of them obscuring it, but he could see the stains that had dried on the floor.

They were pepto bysmol colored. The same as the fluid that was coming out of the broken computer. The same color as the scar on R’s hip.

It was something that Anton had noticed immediately, even before he’d made the purchase. A small symbol, on R’s right side, just where hip became waist, on the back. It looked like the number seven, with a diagonal line making it an x, and a dot in the corner. It had been cut perfectly. R didn’t know what had caused it because of the memory wipe and neither did the shop keeper. Anton had researched it but there weren’t similar marks on any of the other Caecus androids. R was unique with this.

Now he wished he’d looked into it further, had allowed Sarah to search R’s brain and dig into the supposedly deleted files. She had said that they weren’t actually deleted, that they were just compressed down to such a small size that they had no real impact on the RAM. She could get them out. But R had seemed scared, at least to Anton, and he couldn’t get past it.

The symbol looked similar to the markings on the piece of paper, the sigil that the amateur occultist had been working on. [give her a name maybe?] He wished he’d paid more attention. Where had all of his attention gone?

Of course, it had gone into him having a crush. It was a stupid one, one that he felt guilty for having, but he was so absorbed in these emotions that it was hard sometimes, to focus on anything else. And R didn’t know, didn’t have to know, never would. It would never be able to feel anything that Anton felt.

None of that was important now though. It wasn’t what was needed of him. He had a task to do, people to find, and they had to get out of there. He was too frazzled, focusing on everything he didn’t have time for.

There was a piece of paper on the door. It was easy to read even from a distance, once he had the light on it.

“My apologies for your current situation, Anton, but I had to relocate you for your own safety. They are blind in some ways but not in others, they see you but not in the way you see yourself. Sound is your greatest foe. Stay where you are for the best chances of survival. I am currently locating the others and will return for you soon. - R”

Perfect. Everything in the note was perfect because it was an android and it was perfect. Anton had no interest in staying where he was, where it was safe. He’d been shot before, stabbed, had gone through a lot to be who he was now, some of it of his own accord. He wasn’t going to just sit idly by.

He was a detective, even after all this time. He would go out and investigate. There would be no stopping him.

He took a few steadying breaths. He went to the door. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

He opened the door.

He was in a short hallway with rooms to either side of him, bathrooms across the hall from him. One, if not both, of the other rooms would lead to more halls, where he was sure would be examination rooms or offices or something of that nature. He could find his way back here, if he needed to. R had thought it was safe for a reason, at least.

He lowered his phone so the light was focused on the floor. R didn’t really leave footprints, not unless the rest of it was completely covered in grime, but there were a few pink dots on the floor. It made concern grip Anton’s heart like a vice, slowly starting to squeeze. He had been hurt and R had taken care of him but R had fallen all that was too. It could have been injured as well and put Anton’s well being before its own. He wouldn’t have been surprised by that, R was loyal and obedient and programmed to always take perfect care of its owner. Anton didn’t want it to be hurting though, even if it couldn’t feel real pain.

He followed the trail of pink. It wasn’t real blood of course, didn’t even function as blood. He didn’t know what it functioned as. Until now he didn’t realize it was something inside of R. He’d have to ask Sarah about it later. Once he found her.

The door was unlocked and quiet, even when it clicked behind him. Everything was quiet. And dark. He shined the light from his flashlight over the next few steps, down the hall. As expected, there was a hall with doors on either side. There was an exit sign, way down the lane, pointing in the direction of some stairs or an elevator or something. Every door had a black box in front of it, where a key card was meant to swipe. He wouldn’t be able to open any of them, not unless they unlocked when the power went out.

He went to the first of them and, as quietly as he could, jiggled the handle. It was locked tight. He was certain that the elevator would also have a key-card lock and, even then there was no way he would take it. There was no electricity and, more than that, there was no way that the elevator would be safe. It had been four years.

There had to be a generator. There had to be something to get the power back on. His phones flashlight would be fine for now but it wouldn’t last too too long. He had a few hours, at most. Lights would help all of them, the problem being that it would help all of them, including the androids, but he knew that R could see in the dark just fine and it had said that these androids see things differently than they were supposed to, so he was sure that the lights wouldn’t affect them as much as it would the humans.

He’d have to find the generator though and looking for it meant not looking for his friends. It was a debilitating decision.

He looked at his phone. He had no way of contacting anyone. He had no way of knowing they were alive. He suddenly felt very very cold. He could have been the only one alive, the only one buried under so many stories of a dead building, empty aside from androids that had somehow gone all wrong. He could feel a tingling in his hands and feet, a sensation of fear that he’d never felt before. He had been afraid before, he had been afraid for multiple years in conjunction. It hadn’t been like this before. That had been a hot oppressive fear, the kind that made him want to be small and invisible. He still wanted to be small and invisible but now it was cold and outstretching and digging in. There wasn’t anything there. There was no sound.

He wanted to scream, just for the echo.

@detectivesebcas​ @inthemoonshadow​ @etjwrites​ @lordfenric

#nano 2019 #caecus #anton #my writing

[pixelpolaroid]

Patience is Key- Chapter 1

Black Out

The way that the harsh plastic pressed against his underarm wasn’t the most comfortable position to be in, but he was the only person that had a moment to look over the generator. All the others were working with their patients. After finding the fuse box, the younger lad moved the awkwardly shaped flashlight from his arm to now be pressed between his chin and chest. It shone down on the huge dust covered manual, the shape of which seemed like it hadn’t been touched in years. Usually during a power outage, the generator would quickly jump to action a few moments later. But ten minutes went by with no power and people were starting to panic, and that’s not something you want at Venefic’s Hospital.

He’d been quickly flipping through the index, looking between the diagrams in the book and the circuit board in front of him, but in such an already stressed out head space, he found it even harder to find exactly what the problem was. The buzzing on his belt nearly caused both the book and flashlight to fall from his grip. He sighed out heavily. God he hated those stupid walkers they were required to have at all times. Especially since one of their patients had a habit of stealing the batteries from the back. “Chase you there yet?” He heard a familiar feminine voice call from the other end.

He closed the book and put the walker to his ear while holding down the talk button. “I’m in the basement, what do you want?” He knew that she was going to scold him again for taking too long, not like he needed the extra anxiety. Chase probably would’ve worked better just knowing the stupid walkie talkie was off, but then he’d definitely be written up for that.

“Well are you fixing the breaker yet? We’ve got a lot on our hands up here,” He could hear the slight panic in her voice, but it was heavily covered with a forced composure.

“I’m doing my best!” He snapped back. “Cassandra I could do with a bit less backseat working here. Why don’t you just deal with the patients and let me do what I need. Maybe then all our jobs would be easier!” He was going to regret being snappy with her, he knew it, but a large part of him didn’t care. 

From her response, it sounded like she didn’t have the time to deal with Chase’s continued attitude. “You’re brother is having to deal with half of his patients all at once. Either fix the power now, or come up stairs and help us!” He could sense the desperation in her voice. She needed a break.

It was late when the power went out. No one really knew why. The building was fairly new and the lighting system never had problems before. There wasn’t a storm and just from looking outside, they could see other buildings in the city still had their lights out. It seemed completely out of the ordinary, but accidents happen even at well built places. That’s why Chase was here. He wasn’t exactly qualified to be a handyman, but he knew enough to be helpful and it was a fairly easy job. 

Chase let out a heavy sigh, looking between the large book that felt like it was in a different language, and the fuse box. “Give me another five and if I don’t have this figured out, I’ll come up and help you guys,” He promised in a defeated voice.

Chase was already putting the walker back on his belt when Cassandra responded. “Please hurry up, people are going to start getting cold.”

Running has hands over his face and through his hair, Chase went back to flipping through the book he hardly understood. Chase may not have been an electrical engineer, but he was pretty sure he should be able to figure out a blown fuse or something. The weird thing was that everything looked fine. He reached up and switched the main switch on then off again… nothing happened. He did that with multiple switches in the box and hoped that maybe by some miracle all the lights would come back on but of course they didn’t.

Once the five minutes went by, Chase gave up, and did as he promised. Heading up the stairs he could hear a commotion going on, not to his surprise. He came out through the large steel door that only him and a few other doctors had keys to and heard the wave of scared patients crying and few seemed to be banging on their doors, and he was pretty sure someone was howling like a wolf. He shone his flashlight down at the ground as he started looking for his brother. Other doctors were hurrying down the halls, panic going through them as well. He passed one doctor that had a patient walking with her, a blanket wrapped over his shoulders. He kept his eyes down, but Chase could see his whole body shaking, as he passed, the patient looked up at the lad, his eyes were dilated looking and Chase quickly pulled his gaze away. Nothing like working at a mental hospital.

It took him about 10 more minutes to make it to the front desk area. There weren’t a lot of doctors there right now and he’d been manning the front desk when this chaos started. While the madness was still pretty loud where he was, Chase stood as close to the door as he could and started pulling out his phone, looking up electricians in town. After about five minutes of searching, he wasn’t surprised to see that all of them were closed, it was 3 am in the middle of the week after all. He let out a few swears and switched over to his messages, quickly sending one off to his brother.

“Couldn’t get the lights on. Where are you? Do you need a hand?”

While he waited for a response, Chase decided to start looking for Cassandra. Although right now that was like looking for a specific chicken on a chicken farm, except three quarters of the chickens are mentally unstable, and the rest are running around trying to calm the other chickens. Even Chase, who was in no way as certified as his brother for this situation, was starting to feel like one of those chickens. He saw one patient lying on the ground under a table while their doctor talked to another patient. Part of him wanted to try and help the person, but he was in no way qualified to do such a thing. 

When he started working at Venefic, the number one thing he was told was to not try and assist a patient without a doctor’s consent. He was only meant to make sure the building was working on a technical stance. The biggest issue in his typical days was helping the receptionist restart her computer and keep her occupied while it installed updates. Right now though, he felt way out of his league, but still wanted to help. He wanted to find his brother, he was the one that got him the job here in the first place, so chase constantly felt like he owned him one.

Just as he was thinking about that, Chase felt his phone buzz, much less aggressive than the stupid walkers. Looking down, as expected it was a text from his brother. “Second floor, wing B, possible 10-10.” 

Wonderful. That was probably the last thing Chase wanted to see in his messages. A 10-10 meant there was a fight, or one of the patients was getting violent. Now, Chase was a pretty strong dude, so without stopping to respond, he hurried to the second floor, knowing that his brother was much much weaker and would need the help. He could worry about calling an electrician later, for now they needed to handle the issue now.

Chase ran past a few more doctors with blankets and new gowns for their patients. He barely even registered the patient standing alone in the hall until he’d accidentally bumped into his shoulder. “Sorry mate,” He said instinctively. He paused as he looked back. He recognized this patient, he was one of his brothers. Now that Chase was looking at him, he could tell what the patient was doing. His lips were moving, but barely even a whisper came out, Chase couldn’t catch any of it. This was the one that would talk to voices in his head, chase couldn’t remember what his illness was called, but it had a really long name, he remembered.

Though as Chase was about to continue searching for his brother, the man before him stopped muttering and looked at Chase dead in the eyes. He felt himself freeze where he was standing as the patient looked at him with a curious expression. “Chase?” He muttered, that sent a chill down his spine. How did he know my name? Chase wondered. Any response was dried in his mouth. “She doesn’t like you,” 

Chase narrowed his eyes at him. “What?” He knew he should just ignore the guy and continue on, but he was curious. “Who doesn’t like me?”

“She doesn’t like that you’re here,” The patient looked off, towards seemingly nothing. “No don’t lie,” He muttered, his voice getting low again and he dropped his head again and kept muttering. 

Chase felt himself backing away slowly, then quickly. He left the muttering man alone now and jogged past the rest of the wave of people to find his brother, but his words stuck in his mind. “She doesn’t like that you’re here,” Who was he talking about?

#patience is key #pixel writes #chase brody #septic au

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

The Freezer

For about three months there was a dead freezer in front of the printer in my office at work. One of my daily tasks at work is to check that all the fridges and freezers in the lab are displaying the proper temperature. I started to notice that one of the freezers - of course, the biggest one - kept reading -16 C for an entire week straight. Most samples need to be frozen at -20 C. I brought it up to my boss. We tried to fix it but to no avail. Now, the thing is we don't have an elevator to the second floor where the lab is. When we got the new freezer, I had to help my boss lug the entire thing up two flights of stairs. This didn’t really present a huge problem for me since I’m young and able-bodied. But for my 70-year old boss, this was not exactly the easiest physical task. The sad thing is - the two of us are the most able-bodied people in the entire company. Everyone else is too old or too fat or compounded with health problems that prevent them from even having that second slice of cake every time it’s someone’s birthday. There was a moment - very brief but very terrifying - when my boss wasn’t able to lift his side of the freezer. The freezer tipped over him and I thought “My boss is going to die.” Can you imagine that? I wonder what would have happened if that freezer really did go plop - right on top of him. To be honest - probably nothing. I have never seen him take a sick day. He would have probably pushed the thing off himself and guffaw in that annoying tone, “WOW, that was a CLOSE ONE, eh?” and I would then WISH it had killed him. When he realized we had to bring down the old freezer, he was like, "Ugh, fuck that. I'll figure that out later." In my boss’s terms, that essentially means any time between now and the eventual heat death of the universe. So for about three months, there was this broken freezer in my office area. The only spot we could put it where it wouldn't hinder any traffic in the hallway was in front of the printer. So every time I wanted to print something, I had to maneuver my way around the the fridge and reach out to grab my paper. I didn't really care that much because at my age I’m in the habit of thinking, "This is my life now." Not a very big deal in the grand scheme of things. Just another one of life's many inconveniences. Like red lights, batteries not included, and the waiter saying they only have Pepsi instead of Coke. In fact, I cared so little about it that I often forgot the freezer was even there. It wasn't until I printed something that I remembered, "Oh right, I have to perform this little ritual around the thing." It reached the point where I DID start to think about contingency plans for it. Would it still be here even when I quit my job? How would I explain this to my successor? Would they think us mad? Should I give the freezer a name? Old Frosty perhaps? I realized that I was experiencing first-hand a worldwide phenomena that we are all acquainted with - “I’ll do it later.” Many, many, MANY things are never done because of the age-old phrase, “I’ll do it later.” And it’s not that you are necessarily procrastinating. You do have several more important things to do instead. My boss has a company to run. So what if there’s a freezer in the way of the printer upstairs in my office? No matter how many times I reminded my boss, he’d say, “We’ll do that later.” Many things are simply non-issues to you because you have bigger fish to fry. Right now, this very moment, there are things that need to be done. Small things. Little things. Things that are of no great consequence but are still important. There are people who leave their clothes on the floor when the closet is only three steps away. There are plates that need to be cleaned, Somewhere -there’s that broken television set or freezer that still needs to be hauled away. The very first thing I do every morning is make my bed. It’s a simple act that goes a long way. When you accomplish the first task of the day, you can do anything else. The first thing I ever bought with a paycheck was a plasma screen TV. I really needed a new one for my room upstairs. The assembly needed a bit of an extra hand. My father wasn’t keen on my spending my first paycheck right away. He said, “We’ll do it later.” Fuck that. I’m doing it now. I know all too well how this works. We say we’ll do this important thing later and instead we’ll let it sit here when I could have my friends over the very next day playing Mario Kart on this brand new television. I honestly don’t understand when people come back from a trip and leave their clothes still packed. The first thing I do after a trip - long or short - is unpack everything. I can’t rest until everything is back the way it was. I can be at peace. The hardest things to do are the little things, because we often think “What’s the point if it’s going to get messy again anyway?” But the little things always pile up and make us feel worse than we already are. Think about how much better you’d be if you just did the thing. The more you do the thing, the faster you can do it, and it won’t be as tedious or painful anymore. Anyway. I came to work one morning and the freezer was gone. End of story. Didn’t care to ask. However, the funniest thing out of all of this was the fact that around this time, I was reading Douglas Adams' Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. In the book, a main character lives in an apartment and tried to get his couch up to his room when it got stuck between the walls on the landing. Everyone tried to find a way to get it out but nothing worked. In fact, he even developed a computer program to figure out the problem but the computer said that there is no physical way to get it unstuck. So he just lived like that - having to duck under the couch or climb over it to and from his room.

#onlife #office #the office #lab #science #life

[sicklyscribe]

i had a family, once

Day 3 - “Family Above All” -  Writing about your favourite familial ship 

Day 8 -  "Lets do the time warp!” - Writing set in the past

Day 10 - Free Choice (Self explanatory, do as you wish!)

My free choice was “angst specifically targeted to break @klausmikelsons‘ heart”, fair warning.

“Sometimes there’s honor in revenge, Stefan.”

He kept the power on so that he could charge his phone. 

He had fired his assistant (compelled her to politely fuck off, really) and so this month he would have to make it downstairs to the lobby to get his mail. So that he could pay the bills. 

Electricity for the battery. Wireless for the cell signal. Dial-up for the computer in the study, but he didn’t need to check his email. He just figured it would be good to have, in case of a call.

Elijah sat with his head against the windowsill, feeling his eyes begin to prickle with dryness. 

He ran his thumb over the buttons on the cellular phone. He’d had the phone for almost a year but only in these past few weeks the ink had rubbed off of the rubber in a telltale swipe from the tip of the 4, the corner of the 7, the whole of the 8, and most of the 6. 

Muscle memory hit the arrows and selections necessary to play the most recent voicemail for the 46th time that morning.

“I told you to stop looking for me, brother.” a tinny crashing, splashing sound punctuates Niklaus’ voice. “There goes Kol! That makes three. You brought this on yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Make trouble for me again and you’ll be joining them.”

There had been a ship. There had been three coffins. It had only taken a few weeks to confirm those details. Even negating all human or vampire testimony, he had been able to determine that. 

He had not been able to determine their destinations in the untouchable shadows of the Marianas Trench. 

They could not be gone. 

Klaus would not -- 

Elijah’s body was too dry for tears, it was barely well enough to move his hollow muscles to slide the phone away from him a few feet across the room. 

It had not been the voicemail that had stricken him, had not been the years of silence, the compulsion of their entire network to forget the sons of Mikael existed (at least outside of Klaus’ own presence, as was his preference), had not been the per-decade meeting Klaus had missed in 2000. 

It had been the doubt. 

If Klaus had killed the others, if he had forsaken his oaths, Elijah would kill him. 

But Klaus had become a ghost. 

Klaus had the white-oak ash and the Hunter’s silver daggers (well, dagger singular, as one of Klaus’ final correspondences with Elijah in 1983 had been to tell him that one vial and one dagger had gone missing). 

Elijah had no way of knowing the truth. 

His only option was to gain leverage over Niklaus, and the only path to leverage was Mikael himself. Elijah couldn’t ally with him, had no leverage over Mikael to keep Klaus alive if his siblings did prove salvageable. He would need to steal the stake and make his own fratricidal threats. 

But Mikael, too, had become a ghost. 

Last known confirmed whereabouts had been Northern California in 1990, followed by a rumor in some midwest witch covens that the Original Father had killed one of their own a few years later. 

Two years ago Elijah had found a lead on Klaus -- the Martin witches in Louisiana had lost their daughter to a rakish British stranger who left bodies in his wake and whose power nearly struck Jonas Martin to the ground when he had shaken the man’s hand. The Martin clan -- masters of old international magics. The Martin daughter -- a prodigy in the theory and practice of soul and body magics. 

Elijah imagined Klaus’ body in a coffin somewhere, desiccating, while his soul enjoyed the anonymity of another’s visage. 

Jonas had tried to strike him down at first, did not believe him when he said he would help the Martins recover their daughter and fell the Hybrid menace. It had taken a year before he earned his trust. Before he could say the words “I want him dead,” without trembling at the omitted if. 

Mr. Martin had been searching for Klaus’ body or soul ever since his daughter disappeared, finding both cloaked beyond his means, often times by his own daughter’s power. 

They were at a stalemate. 

His only hope had been to try to lure Mikael to New York. 

The first few months had been almost blissful, a justification for his heinous bloodlust was a welcome respite to the pain of if. Bodies in alleyways, opera house bathrooms, hotel elevators. Blood ran hot and thick and blood had always been his only oath.

Rebekah nudged against his hand, biting when he did not respond.

“Yes, Becky,” he rasped. “I know.” 

He had to call the lobby and ask for someone to come get his trash, and while he waited for dinner to arrive he reached out to feel the white cat’s spine as she purred and chirped. 

Knock, knock. “Mr. Falk, you called for a bellhop?”

“The door is open, please come in.” Maybe the kid would think he was a hundred-pack-a-day smoker, he surely sounded like one. 

The door opened to reveal a familiar face, Elijah had already gotten this one sorted. The young man stepped inside, closed the door, and began rolling up his sleeve as he walked towards him. His gaze was blank with the months-old compulsion, not seeing or smelling the bodies in the corner of the living room. 

He didn’t even flinch when Elijah bit into his outstretched wrist. He felt his tense tight graying skin revitalize just a bit as the fresh human life flowed through him for the first time in a week. As soon as he had the strength to detach and the instinct to go for the man’s neck became overwhelming, he shoved the human away from him. Perhaps a bit too hard. 

Elijah took a few deep breaths, hearing the difference in his veins as they pumped a bit fuller. Then he stood, biting his own wrist with a single fang, and let the human heal himself. He straightened the boy’s sleeve himself, brushing the wrinkles smooth, and sent him on his way. 

The bulk bag of cat food was stashed in a cabinet above the fridge. The cat dove and needled around his ankles as he got her a generous portion. 

The storm within him calmed just a bit as he listened to the creature eat. 

He had never been one for animals, not since he had died the first time. But this one had refused to be ignored, that day in the alley, staring down at him like only one other person in the world had ever done. 

He had tried to give her other names. He hated that there was only one that seemed right. 

She had been the only thing that eased the rushing crashing maddening flow of if if if if IF IF IF within him. Her simple loyalty -- bought with kibble and a warm place to sleep (his own bed, untouched for months) -- soothed his own. 

Always and Forever, they’d said. 

He was well enough to cry, now, which he did without censure. It was a silent, still affair that began as he settled back down at his place leaned against the window sill. 

Rebekah settled in his lap, full and thankful, and he rested a hand on her as he shook with fury at himself for feeling that dreaded shred of doubt. If. 

He couldn’t live like this. And he had no way to end this seemingly endless sentence of isolation, of purgatory for the crime of what -- seeking his brother out, when he had been told not to do so? 

It didn’t add up. 

But there had been a ship, and there had been three coffins. 

Elijah’s thumb began the motions to play the voicemail once again when the electronic device beeped beneath his fingers. He jolted, sending Rebekah yowling off of his wrinkled slacks. 

The message was not from Klaus. It was from Brando, one of his few contacts Klaus had never known about. 

A Trevor and Rose want a meet. Claim 2 have a human Petrova Doppelgänger.

As Elijah stared down at the message, willing himself to reply but frozen in confusion, another message popped up with an video attachment.

It took forever for the file to load, but when it did, Elijah’s fist hit the floor and dented the hardwood. He stood immediately, eyes locked on that face. 

She was unconscious, but breathing softly. Clad in a sweet pink sweater and with straight brown hair, she almost looked... younger. Innocent. 

But it was Katherine. 

He stood for half an hour, playing and replaying the fifteen-second video in a daze. If only it could be a human doppelgänger. 

Finally, he responded. Where? 

He showered for the first time in... how long? It didn’t matter. Old blood stains and grime fell away. His closet smelled dusty, but he dressed himself in a clean suit. Dabbed cologne on his wrists and neck. The cat butted her head against his hand and he petted her gratefully. 

When his phone beeped again, and he typed the given number into an app on his phone he couldn’t help but smile as the location loaded. 

A million thoughts coursed through his brain. The exodus from Salem. Katerina. The missing dagger. The moonstone, long thought to be somewhere in the United States. 

It wasn’t the leverage he needed, but it was leverage enough to try. 

He scrolled through his burner phone contacts and dialed JM. 

Straight to voicemail. “Jonas. Meet me in Richmond two days from now. I mean to make good on my promise regarding your daughter.”

He slammed the flip phone shut and caught his own eyes in the mirror. He could read the if there as always, but now it finally had a measure of satisfaction. 

If they are lost, we will die by my hand.

He wondered if the woman next door would be interested in adopting a cat.

#klelijah #ogappreciation18 #elijah mikaelson #the originals #TVD #my writing #sorry not sorry