#no one will sell him cigarettes so he has to make his goons do it for him

[dragonpyre]

It's canon (to me) that Jason Todd has a baby face

Commission info ko-fi

#jason todd #fanart #fan art #red hood #batman #dc #dc comics #my art #comic #he can barely pass for 17 despite being 19 #no one will sell him cigarettes so he has to make his goons do it for him #no he's not happy about it #one of his goons almost called Batman on him cuz he was worried jason was in an unsafe home environment #and for those of you doubting #tom holland was 19 when they filmed Civil War

[stilloutofmyvulcanmind]

It Takes Two Part 1

Requested by @verdonafrost (I know it doesn’t seem like what you asked for, but it’ll get there, I promise!)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Female!Reader

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Reader, Alfred Pennyworth, Original characters

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Drug deals, arguments, discussion of death, minor violence, threats of assault

Summary: Nearly a year ago you accepted the offer to work with Batman, to train under him, learn from him, be his partner. Yet when a seemingly normal drug bust on Christmas Eve brings memories back from the past, you find that partnership tested to its limits.

Part 1 of 6

Part 2 Part 3

A solid fist to your jaw sent you stumbling backward but failed in its job to knock you down. You grabbed the wrist, moving as you twisted the arm. The other fist came up, aiming at your stomach. You blocked it, using the momentum to swing yourself around, legs hooked around your attacker’s neck, and jerked them to the ground. 

You rolled immediately back to your feet, grinning, believing you'd won. 

A foot swept your legs out from under you then came up with the other, delivering a hard kick to your middle that sent you flying backward. 

You hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of you. Your attacker was on you in a second, gun pointed at your forehead. 

"Bang. Dead," they growled. "Never presume victory."

You lay panting, glaring up at Bruce. "Got it," you said, batting the hand that was holding the fake gun away. Bruce didn't move though, remaining where he was, keeping you pinned to the training mat. "I'd like to see a crook get up from that beating though."

"Maybe most won't, but there are some out there a lot more dangerous that won't hesitate to kill you." Bruce finally moved, knee leaving your stomach to let you actually catch your breath. He tossed the gun to the side and offered out a hand. 

You refused it, pulling yourself back to your feet instead. “Good thing I have a partner to watch my back then."

Bruce hummed, frowning. He did that a lot. "I wouldn't say partners. You haven't fully earned that mask yet."

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you went to grab the water bottle instead. You'd been training with Bruce for months now, and still, he treated you like a child more often than not. Occasionally you regretted your decision to take him up on his offer to take you under his wing and train you properly, thinking that maybe it would've been better to just continue by yourself. But even though he was as tough as it got, the training had made you a better vigilante, and the new kevlar suit he'd had made for you was definitely an improvement. Both design and safety-wise. Plus it was just easier to work with the Batman than against him. You'd learned that the hard way. 

"So what now? Another round?" 

Bruce nodded as he picked up the fake gun again and took his position in the center of the mat. 

You were just about to join him when Alfred appeared in the room. "Sir, the Batsignal."

Bruce dropped the gun and looked at you, "Suit up."

~

You landed silently on the roof behind Bruce, your cape billowing gently behind you. You'd been doubtful when he'd first suggested one, but you'd come to like the steady warmth of it on your shoulders especially in Gotham's harsh winter. 

Gordon was on the other side of the roof, back facing the both of you as he looked out over Gotham. 

"Gordon," Bruce greeted, voice coming out deep and gravely due to the voice modulator. 

"Jesus!" He cursed jumping and turning around. "D'you think one day you could do that without giving me a heart attack?!" 

Bruce said nothing, just walked forward into the light more with you shadowing him. "What is it?"

"Straight to the point it is then,"  Gordon muttered, glancing over Bruce's shoulder at you and nodding in greeting. He flicked the rest of his cigarette to the ground, letting it fizzle out in the snow. "We just got a tip that there's a drug deal going down at the docks tonight. I'd have sent some of my guys but what with the holiday we're already understaffed."

Bruce nodded, "We'll deal with it."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Bruce turned, giving you a look that meant follow, and jumped off the edge of the building. 

~

The tip-off was accurate. The warehouse Gordon had sent you too was crawling with armed goons patrolling the perimeter. 

"How did we not catch wind of this?" You whispered from where you were perched in the shadows next to Bruce. 

"We'll figure that out later. First, we stop it. Surveillance shows fifteen men outside, and another ten inside. I'll take the North-East, you the South-West and meet on the roof."

You nodded, "Got it."

The goons didn't stand a chance. Not one noticed you swoop in and take them down one by one quick and quiet. Not a peep came from Bruce's area either, not that you'd expected him to be spotted. 

You grappled to the roof, landing silently a second before Bruce, boots crunching softly in the undisturbed snow. You exchanged a look and Bruce motioned to a small panel. A vent. He made quick work of getting it loose, and you followed him, dropping down and keeping your footsteps soft against the metal as you landed. Bruce had already undone the cover on the inside and crept out onto the rafters. Joining him, you found a vantage point to spy on the people below. 

"Boss said to flog the green stuff first, keep the prices low 'til the kids get hooked, then sell 'em the blue pills. Better high, better price." One man said, talking to the others surrounding him.

"What's the deal when they can't pay?" 

"Tell 'em they owe you a favor. Boss'll call it in soon enough."

Your hand balled into a fist on instinct at the conversation. Selling drugs to kids was bad enough, but you also knew that the 'favors' owed would likely end badly, that the poor kid in debt would be more than expendable. 

Glancing over at Bruce, he was still looking down, observing. The moment they started to distribute the drugs, he pounced. 

The smoke grenade landed smack in the middle, with both of you following immediately behind it. The first time you'd tried to fight in the smoke it had ended with Bruce taking you down immediately, but now you moved through the dense cloud with practiced ease, finding your targets and eliminating them from the fight. 

Despite Bruce's insistence that you weren't partners yet, the two of you worked together near flawlessly. You were in-sync, knowing what the other was going to do before they did it. One tried to swing at you as you were fighting another, flailing near blind in the smoke but still coming close enough to land the hit. You swerved to the right, and the attacker was instead met by Bruce’s fist in his face. Another attempted to lurch at Bruce with a knife. In a second the knife was clattering across the concrete floor, and the crack of a bone-breaking filled the air. 

The smoke began to clear and in the corner of your eye, you saw a masked goon grab a gun and aim it at Bruce. Without even needing to think, you threw one of your batarangs, the metal slicing through the air until it embedded itself in the man’s hand before he could even get his finger on the trigger. The gun dropped to the floor and you kicked it to one side before taking him down.

Straightening out, you looked around. Only the two of you were left standing.

“Good work,” Bruce said, and you had to resist the urge of fake fainting. 

You simply nodded instead and turned to start securing the perps while Bruce contacted Gordon. It was a simple process until the sleeves of one of the crooks rose up exposing his wrist and the tattoo on it. 

The small symbol, a dagger through a rose, turned your blood to ice. It had been years since you'd last seen it, but the image was scarred into your memory forever. 

"I know who's behind this."

~

"Curt Roman? No, It's impossible."

You were standing in front of the Batcomputer with Bruce and Alfred, looking at several photos of a businessman. 

"Bruce, it's him."

"I know Curt, he's a friend. He's donated hundreds of thousands to Wayne Foundation programs."

"And no one who does good could possibly have a secret?" 

Bruce gave you a look. "He also has no criminal connections. Or a tattoo of a dagger through a rose."

"Of course he doesn't! He's being clever! Doesn't make him innocent!" 

"Certainly doesn't make him guilty!" Bruce turned to face you, arms crossed over his chest. "What evidence do you have?" 

"I don't have any. I just know it's him!" 

"Not good enough." The words came out in a growl, and it was tough not to wilt away under the intensity of the glare. There weren't many people who could staredown Batman, but you were damned sure you were going to be one of them. 

"It's. Him. Trust me."

"Give me proof and I'll consider it. Until then we're going to focus on what we actually know; that a gang baring this symbol is trying to flood the streets with drugs. Finding out who they are is more important than a wild goose chase."

"It's not-" 

"Enough! Go home, Y/N."

"You're benching me?!" 

"No. I'm giving you a chance to re-evaluate and come back with a clear head."

You wanted to argue. You were pissed and he was brushing you off. But he was also adamant, and arguing would be like talking to a brick wall. 

"Fine."

"Good. Be here tomorrow for patrol."

You turned and stalked your way to the back of the cave where you could change back into your civilian clothes in peace. So maybe you tossed the discarded pieces of armor to the floor a little harder than was necessary, you didn't really care. You hated that Bruce didn't believe you, thinking that by now you'd at least earned some trust. And it wasn't like he never went on gut instinct. He often followed it until he found tangible evidence. But it seemed he valued his rich friend over your thoughts. 

You looked down at the suit once you were done, and started to pick it up. You were mad at Bruce, not Alfred, and you weren't going to let him clean up your mess. 

Like he knew you were thinking about him, Alfred appeared, hands clasped behind his back. "Are you okay, Miss Y/N? Master Bruce can be a bit too brusque sometimes."

Chuckling softly, you nodded. "I'm fine, Alfred, it's nothing I've not handled before."

"He can be quite protective of his friends."

You decided not to say how you thought you were his friend too. 

"So it seems." Busying yourself with putting the suit back in its case properly, you hoped Alfred would drop the subject. 

Thankfully, he did. "Before you leave, are you sure you don't wish to join us for Christmas lunch? There will be more than enough, and as they say, the more the merrier."

"They also say three's a crowd." Facing Alfred again you smiled. "Thank you, I appreciate the offer, really, but I do have plans."

Alfred watched you a moment, looking to see if you were telling the truth no doubt, and for a second you could've sworn he looked disappointed when he saw you were. "In that case, take this." He brought his hands forward, showing you the wrapped gift he'd had hidden behind him. "It's from both of us."

Meaning it was from Alfred, but Bruce had forgotten. 

You took the gift, feeling the weight of it in your hands. It had give to it, so probably a sweater or some other item of clothing. Whatever it was, you had no doubt that it would be gorgeous. You slipped the item into your bag carefully, and kissed Alfred's cheek, feeling him smile. "I've left gifts for you and Bruce under the tree."

"Quite stealthy of you, miss. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Alfred."

~

The present was a sweater. A deep red cable-knit sweater that was almost too soft to be real. It was beautiful and warm and comfy, and Alfred definitely knew you well. 

You wore it to lunch, laughing when the young girl that launched herself at you at the door commented on how soft it was. 

"Wow, Wayne really goes all out for his employees, huh?" Chloe, the girl's mom said, hugging you in return. 

"Not like he can't afford it." It wasn't a lie really. You had started to work for Bruce since you'd started 'working' with him, and he was a good enough boss to make sure everyone received a nice gift. Just maybe not that nice. 

"True enough."  She laughed, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

"Aunt Y/N! Come see what Santa brought me!" Mollie tugged at your hand, pulling you away from Chloe and over to the tree where a pile of presents sat. She started showing you each one, going on about it excitedly and making you look every individual item over before moving to the next one. 

Glancing over your shoulder, Chloe was watching you both. She mouthed a 'thank you' and you smiled. You'd do anything for either of them. Including making sure Mollie had the best Christmas possible. 

You helped Chloe make lunch while Mollie played and watched some dumb Christmas movie, and for a couple of hours, everything was perfect. Until you'd just finished clearing up and there was a knock on the door. 

Mollie ran to answer. "Hell-ah!" Her yell had you spinning away from the sink, blood running cold as four masked men barged into the apartment. One had Mollie in his arms, pistol aimed at her head. 

"Stay calm and no one gets it." Another said while the two remaining crooks aimed their guns at you and Chloe. 

"Mommy!" 

"Shut up!" The man holding her growled, pressing the barrel firmer to her temple. 

The first one to speak and one of the others started grabbing everything and shoving it into bags, the fourth keeping you and Chloe trapped in the kitchenette with his gun trained on you. 

"These two're pretty, boss. Whatcha say abou' lettin' us 'ave a little Christmas treat?" 

Chloe shuddered next to you, sniffing quietly. 

"Don't see why not. We can spare a few minutes."

Like hell that was going to happen. 

You glanced down at the counter, weighing up your options. If you were suited it'd be easier to mount an attack, but as it was there was next to nothing separating you from their bullets. 

There was a knife in the dish rack to your left, sharp enough to do some damage. To your right were some ingredients that had yet to be put away. Flour. It could cause enough distraction. 

With one hand you pushed Chloe to the floor in the same instant as you tossed the knife across the room. It hit the guy holding Mollie square on the hand gripping the gun. He yelled, the gun dropping and his grasp on Mollie loosening. The girl reacted, jerking herself loose and dropping to the floor. 

There was no time to make sure she was hidden. You grabbed the flour, tossing it over the man in front of you before he even knew what was happening. You caught the gun, wrenching it from him and tossing it aside. Using his body and the momentum, you shoved him forward, barging him into the other two. 

A gunshot rang out, the bullet flying past your ear. You pushed the one you were holding hard against another, letting him go in favor of taking down the last one steady on his feet. Another shot and you felt the pain in your leg. A quick glance down saw blood on your thigh. Just a graze it seemed. 

You moved again, disarming the one with the gun, a swift blow to the head with the butt of it knocking him down. The third went down seconds later. The only one left conscious was the one who'd grabbed Mollie. He was on his knees, knife still through his hand apparently not even taking notice of everything else. 

Not taking the chance, you jumped over the table, and in a moment he was slumped on the floor with his associates. 

You stood over him, panting. Sirens could already be heard in the distance, getting closer rapidly. You turned, facing back to the inside of the apartment. Your eyes landed on Mollie, hiding under the table. You opened your arms and she came bolting out, all but jumping into your arms as she clung to you. 

"It's okay," you whispered, "Are you hurt?" 

She shook her head and you sighed in relief. "Good girl. You're safe now." Another set of arms wrapped around you. Chloe. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Y/N…thank you."

"I promised I'd look out for you, and I meant it."

Footsteps were approaching rapidly, and the three of you were still hugging when the police burst in, guns drawn. 

This was going to be interesting to explain. 

~

"Miss Y/N, are you alright?" Alfred asked the moment you stepped foot in the cave. 

You shouldn't have been surprised, but you'd still hoped to avoid the conversation immediately. You smiled and nodded, "It was just a scratch. I've had worse."

"You were lucky," Bruce spoke from his seat at the computer, already suited up. "And foolish."

Biting back a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest. "I suppose you would've done differently?" 

"I wouldn't have risked too many questions being asked by showing off."

"No one asked too many questions. They barely even asked any questions at all. You seem to forget that I'm from a part of town where it's perfectly common for people to know how to scrap."

"Oh, so you come across regular citizens disarming four armed robbers often, then?" 

"Not unheard of." Not wanting to argue anymore, you turned and walked away, heading to get changed and ready to go out. 

The two of you went your own separate ways on patrol, sticking to your designated areas, and only communicated when necessary over the coms. Bruce thankfully kept any further comments to himself, only speaking when necessary for the job. 

It was a surprisingly quiet night. You'd expected worse since half the police force was off with their families. It seemed even the crooks wanted to take Christmas off. 

You got back to the cave tired and cold, but not entirely unhappy. Being out in Gotham at night was surprisingly relaxing, especially when it was quieter. 

"We need to talk." There went your good mood. 

"About?" 

"Today. If anything like that ever happens again, wait it out."

"So I was supposed to just stand by and watch as they robbed the place?!" 

"We could've tracked them down tonight."

"Yeah, that would've been real easy. Track down four amateurs who just picked the joint at random. Come on, Bruce, we both know that would've been a needle in a haystack!" 

"It would still be a better option than risking yourself!" 

"It's exactly what you would've done in that situation!" 

"I'd have kept my head, and not needlessly risked my own safety if there was no risk of any harm actually happening."

You scoffed, shaking your head. Liar. "They had a gun to a child's head! I don't care if they weren't planning on shooting, the threat was enough!" 

Bruce's jaw clenched. Apparently, he didn't know that. "You could've been killed."

"Worse things would've happened if I hadn't risked it." Bruce frowned, clearly not understanding. "They weren't planning on just leaving once they got the goods. They were going to stay for a little Christmas treat." 

Now he got it. 

"So don't stand there and tell me how I should've waited it out! For once get off your god damned high horse, and stop acting like I don't know what I'm doing! I know, Bruce. I know I could've been hurt or killed, that it was dangerous. Trust me, it wasn't my ideal way to spend Christmas day either. But I'm not apologizing for it. I'm not going to say sorry for protecting an innocent woman and her child, even if it had ended with me going down!" 

"Y/N-"

"I'm going home. I've had enough of being treated like a child for one night." Turning sharply, you stomped away, not failing to notice how the night had ended this way twice in a row now. 

You did love working with Bruce. Hell, you were fond of him in general, but he was infuriating recently. Maybe the two of you were just incompatible as a team. You wanted equal footing, but it always seemed that Bruce wanted someone to give orders to. And it wasn't like you weren't fine with listening to him. He had the experience. But when it came to the point that he was trying to order you about for every little thing? That was too much. 

You were midway through stripping when you heard the footsteps approach the secluded changing area. They were too heavy to be Alfred's, and much louder than Bruce usually was, which meant he was purposely giving you a heads up. 

You didn't stop. You'd been semi-nude around each other enough times over the last few months that it had long stopped being an issue. You finished taking off the outer suit and started removing the thinner layer underneath until you were down to the shorts and vest. 

"Does it hurt?" 

You glanced down at the bandage around your thigh. It had been hours since you'd taken pain meds. "It's fine."

Bruce moved to stand next to you, starting to pull off his own armor. "Are you okay? In general."

"I'm fine." You moved away from him, tugging your jeans and sweater back on. 

"If you keep saying that, it might start sounding believable."

"Didn't think you cared much either way."

There was a long pause, and yeah, maybe that was a bit of a low blow. "Of course I care, Y/N." His voice was soft enough that you were almost inclined to believe him. "What we do is dangerous, and I don't want to see you get hurt unnecessarily. But you were right in what you did today. It is what I would've done."

That was probably as close to an apology as you were going to get. "I don't need you to babysit me, Bruce." You sat heavily on one of the benches lining the wall and looked at him. "I've been through more than even you know, more out of the mask than under it."

Bruce pulled a t-shirt over his head and frowned as he walked his way over to sit next to you. "Y/N-" 

You shook your head, "I'm tired, Bruce. I don't want to argue anymore."

"I don't want to argue. I was just going to ask if you were okay again."

Oh. "Yeah," you sighed, "It's just been a day."

Bruce nodded, "Are they alright? The others?" 

"Terrified, but not hurt. Wanted me to stay with them tonight, but I put them up in my place for the night instead." You'd been looking down at your hands, but glanced up at Bruce as you smiled, "They also kinda hate you now. I told them you had me working."

Bruce chuckled, "Thanks." He fell quiet and you didn't have the energy to muster up any small talk either. You were about to get up and leave when he spoke again. "Who are they? I saw the names on the report, and I know they aren't family."

"It's…complicated. I promised someone once that I'd look out for them."

"Someone who isn't around anymore I take it?" 

"Yeah."

"You were close."

"Something like that."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"With some things, it doesn't matter how much time passes, it continues to hurt."

"Yeah."

"What happened?" 

"It's a long story."

"I've got nothing better to do."

"Would've thought Bruce Wayne would be busy making the most of what's rest of his Christmas night. There must be parties going on still."

"Great. Rooms teeming with people who've had too much to drink and no longer know about personal space. My favorite."

“So you’d rather be here and share feelings? It’s a Christmas Miracle!”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I am. Surprisingly, I didn’t learn that from you.”

“Okay, so I’m not the best sharer. That doesn’t mean you should practice the same habits. I’m here to listen, Y/N.”

You sighed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweater as you debated just getting up and leaving anyway. That’s what a part of you wanted. But the other part wanted to open up. And Bruce was probably the only person you could trust enough to do so. If you got lucky it might even change his opinion on some things.

“His name was Dean. Grew up together. Same building. Same classes. Spent as much time in the other’s apartment as we did our own. Best friends. First dance. First date. First kiss.”

“First love?”

“First love. We didn’t exactly have it easy, but we were doing good for ourselves. Got into college and everything, and that was pretty rare for kids like us back then. There was an old warehouse nearby, abandoned. We used to sneak in and hang out there. About the only time, we actually got some peace and quiet for ourselves. We could stay there for hours, just sitting and...being with each other. No talk, no pretense. Just us. The night we found out we’d gotten into college, we went. It was late. Closer to the next day really. Didn’t matter. Not to us. I don’t know how long we sat there. We talked about dreams, the future, our future, everything two hopeful kids could talk about. It was perfect.”

Pausing a moment, you closed your eyes. “Then men came in. Six men. We were near the back so they didn’t see us immediately, and too busy making sure it was clear outside to notice us scrabble to hide. There were some beams in there, old, surprising they were still standing. We managed to hide behind them. One each. I thought maybe at first they were the owners of the place. Maybe someone had bought it and was checking it out, or something. But then they started to talk, and it was clear that if they did own it, they weren’t planning on doing anything legal.”

“Drugs mostly. How and where they were going to distribute it, you know the deal. We’ve heard it enough times. But one of them went on about something else. About leaving the country for a few years. He was their boss by the sounds of it, and he said that if he wasn't around suspicion would lay off him and that was what he wanted. It…was terrifying. We knew this shit was going on, but to actually listen to plans being made? We were out of our depth. I remember thinking that we just had to keep calm. Hide and wait it out then run and try and decide what to do. So simple in theory."

"Dean must've been leaning on the beam or something, I don't really know. But it creaked. Loudly. Or it seemed loud. They were on alert in a second. They found him. Dragged him out. I don't know how they didn't see me."

"They beat him. He told them what he heard, swore he'd never utter a word, but they beat him anyway. Couldn't really see much from where I was, but I could hear the hits, hear him cry. And then…then the boss ordered another to shoot Dean. Kill him. Said they couldn't risk him going to the cops. I couldn't see Dean, but I saw the gun. I watched it fire and I heard him drop. And they just left him there. They left him and walked out. Said no one would give a shit."

"I ran to him as soon as they were gone. He was still alive. Barely. His shirt was soaked and he was bleeding so fast. I didn't know what to do. He was scared. Knew he was dying. And he asked me to take care of his sister. I told him I wouldn't need to, that he'd be there, but he made me swear. Made me swear that I would and I did. He told me to go then. To get out before the cops showed up to investigate the gunshot."

"And I did. I ran. And I didn't stop running until I was home and locked away and scrubbing the blood off my hands until it hurt. I left him to die. Alone. Because I was scared. What's worse is that I let them get away with it because I was scared. Because I was too much of a coward to say anything. I let the cops brush it off, say Dean just got in with the wrong crowd, and drop the investigation. I just…made sure his sister was okay. Made sure his niece was okay. And…never said a word to anyone. Until now."

You stopped, taking a shuddering breath. Your leg was trembling, knee bouncing, your hands balled into fists so tightly your nails were close to breaking the skin of your palm. Bruce was quiet, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him and see what he was thinking. He was probably getting ready to tell you how you should've been braver. How you should've stopped them or helped the police, or done something other than run and hide. 

Then his hand was taking yours, prying your fingers so he could slip his own under them. "You weren't a coward."

"I ran. Pretty sure that makes me a coward."

"It makes you smart. You were a kid, Y/N. A kid with no training. If you'd tried to do anything they would've killed you. And going to the cops with accusations like that would've gotten you killed too. You did what you had to to survive, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"Thank you." It didn't particularly change the guilt, but finally telling someone did feel like a relief, and Bruce saying you were right did mean a lot. 

"Of course. Do you have any idea who they were? If they're still around? We can take them down." 

You hesitated and nodded. "Yeah, I have an idea. The man with the gun. I saw his wrist. He had a tattoo." You met Bruce's eyes. "Of a dagger stabbing a rose."

"That's how you knew them. What else?" 

"Not much. It wasn't much to go on, so I left it alone. For years. Just focused on Chloe and Mollie. Then one day, a couple of years ago, I was doing some laundry, had the TV on in the background. Some announcement for a new charity in Gotham. I was only half listening. The founder came on to give a speech. The moment he spoke…I was back in that warehouse all over again. It was exactly the same. It was him. The one who gave the order. The one who disappeared. The one who was now back."

"Y/N, are you saying… "

"It was Curt Roman, Bruce. He was the one giving orders in the warehouse."

Bruce looked surprisingly shocked. "You're sure? It was years…"

"I heard that voice in my dreams every night for years. I'm sure. And I looked into it. He left for Europe days after."

"This is why you started doing this."

"Yeah. I had…some more to go on, and I…I just couldn't let him get away with it again."

Bruce nodded but was silent. You thought maybe he was going to insist you were wrong. That it must be someone else. The trauma of the night must've messed with your memory. He'd be wrong, of course, but you weren't prepared to argue the point anymore. If he wouldn't believe you, you'd take Roman down by yourself one way or another. 

"Then let's get him. Together."

That you weren't expecting. "You believe me?" 

"I do. If you say he was there, that he's involved, then he is."

You smiled. Bruce returned it. "Thank you, Bruce."

"We're going to bring him to justice, Y/N. I promise."

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[thelittleredheadedmusician]

The Hattrick

Rating: PG 1,698 words Gen AO3

There is a strong possibility that Mia is in hell. It’d be vaguely poetic and certainly fitting if her personal hell were an empty warehouse. The fact John Constantine is here definitely sells the idea.

“You just had to go for the hattrick,” Mia grumbles. She lowers her bow as the rumpled looking magician sticks his hands in his coat pockets.

John shrugs, “You did jinx it, love.”

Mia huffs. Taking the arrow off the string, she reaches over her shoulder to slide it back in her quiver. Begrudgingly, Mia is willing to admit that the circumstances are better this time around at least. For one, she knows where she is, isn’t in her pjs or barefoot, and has not been captured or tied up by goons. Plus, she’s got her bow and the crate John just rounded was the last area she had to sweep before determining that the warehouse was indeed empty. The presence of the Englishman currently partaking in his favorite bad habit pretty much did Mia’s job for her.

Crossing her arms, Mia watches the smoke from John’s cigarette float towards the ceiling. Some hangs back to give him a hazy looking halo as he leans against the crate.

“I’d say we should stop meeting like this but apparently the universe would just take that as a challenge,” she says flatly.

Barking a laugh, John pushes himself upright and nods. “Normally I’ve got good luck but you’re turning out to be a bad penny, love.”

Mia drops her arms as she frowns, stepping closer to John despite the acidic smelling fog. She makes a big show of examining him, exaggerating her expression as she goes. “I don’t see you hanging by your ankles or otherwise incapacitated today. And we did have fun that first time. Or at least you got drunk and got me kicked out of Oblivion. Not sure how any of that is bad luck for you.”

John narrows his eyes and blows out a long stream of gray-white smoke. “But unlike your Righteousness, I don’t work for free. And on our last few encounters I got stiffed.” He leers, taking two thin fingers to remove the cigarette from his lip, “Unfortunately not literally.”

Rolling her eyes, Mia waves at the growing cloud. “Still underage, still not interested. Besides, I thought you conned space, time, and Zatanna into leaving with you last time.”

“Clever.” John does a short little nod as his lips and nose scrunch up. He takes another drag and eyes Mia carefully. “You do know I’m just winding you up, right? Don’t have any intentions towards ya. Remind me a bit of my niece if I’m bein’ honest.”

Mia smiles, letting herself roll her eyes since the mask will help soften the blow. “I do. You would’ve known it a while ago if I thought you were serious. Probably with a fist to the face.”

Despite his reputation, appearance, rudeness, and overall general bad attitude, John Constantine is a good person and she knows this. That much was obvious when they first met. Besides, they have a similar worldview of looking out for the little guy. Let someone else handle an alien invasion, and sure they’ll walk into the middle of a battle to save the world if they have to, but they’d rather help the single mom down the street. And piss off the powers that be.

“Can we get back to our regularly scheduled snark and gallows humor now?” she offers him a smirk.

John’s twisted expression smooths to match hers. “Gladly. So what’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

“Nearly hunting chain-smoking warlocks for sport, apparently.” Mia bares her teeth as John blows a thin stream of the aforementioned smoke over his shoulder.

“Point taken.”

“Not quite, I put my arrow away remember?”

“Heh,” John huffs and gestures towards her, “you’re quick today.”

“Well they don’t call me Speedy for nothing,” Mia drawls.

That has John genuinely laughing, hard enough he coughs a little on the smoke hanging around him. He takes that as his cue to stub his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and flick the butt off into the warehouse. Mia can’t help but frown as she watches.

“Maybe you should quit. That didn’t sound good,” concern leaks into her voice.

John waves her off, waving the some of the haze away too. “Survived lung cancer once and I still didn’t learn me lesson. No point quitting now. ‘Sides,” something like mischief lit his eyes, “I’ve got a couple-a tricks up my sleeves.”

The hair on the back of Mia’s neck prickles. Wearing a look like that she believes John had conned the devil himself. “Just as long as they don’t wind up spilled all over the ground again,” she shoots back in an almost automatic defense mechanism.

Chuckling, Johns ducks his head. He nods slightly though, almost conceding that she’s made a point. Mia grins as he raises his brows and glances up at her. “So what’s caught Speedy’s ire today? ‘Sides yours truly of course.”

“Of course,” Mia agrees seriously. Her straight face lasts only a few seconds before a smile flickers, threatening to break out. Mia tamps it down as she straightens her spine, jutting her chin out just a hair. It gives her an air of authority that is nothing short of absurd which wins her laughs from Ollie every time. It works on John too. His chuckles increase as she adds a dry look.

“Reports of gunrunners in the area, this seemed the most likely option for their base but it’s disgustingly poorly guarded if it is. I haven’t even seen a single camera and you’re the only person I’ve run into. Should probably see what’s in these,” Mia sighs, gesturing vaguely to the stacks of crates that surround them. “What about you?”

John sighs as he pulls his lighter from his pocket. Spinning it in his hand and flicking the top open and closed as he says, “I’m currently in hiding. Not that it’s doing much good.”

“What’d you piss off in London that you had to come all the way to Star to get away from it?” Mia’s brows draw together in surprise. Despite her amused tone she tightens her grip on her bow. If John’s running from it it’s probably serious. Or pissed. Or both. Granted the likelihood that he’s avoiding a poker debt or ex is pretty high on the list of possibilities too but Mia likes to err on the side of caution in all aspects of her life anymore. Even jumping headlong into danger.

He makes a weird, almost rueful noise. “I was in San Francisco,” he admits sheepishly.

Mia doesn’t even try to cover her laugh.

“But Zee and I parted on good terms,” he adds quickly, almost nervous sounding.

“Sure you did,” she teases. “This time.”

John rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t deny it.

“What’re you running from?”

“Myself, mostly,” he admits wryly. “Wandered in here on a hunch though. Coming across you seems to have been what the universe wanted.”

She makes sure to arrange her features into her most skeptical look.

“Look, it wasn’t intentional,” he grumbles.

Mia believes him but it’s too much fun giving John a hard time. “If you say so. Look, if you’re here you can make yourself useful” – he quirks a brow but Mia charges ahead – “and help me see if there’s any weapons in these.” She pats the crate next to her.

“And what do you define as weapons?” John’s smirk is back.

“Don’t be difficult,” Mia says. She turns, pulling one of her sturdier arrows out to leverage the lid off.

“Strewth, that’ll take ages,” he complains, coming up beside her. “I’m all for doing your own dirty work but I’ll pay the price to get out of this.”

Mia turns in confusion but John’s already backed up and rifling through his pockets. He pulls his pack of cigarettes out and a piece of string. Tying it around the pack, he lets it hang loose a few inches off the ground. The effect is that John looks vaguely like he’s taking his Silk Cuts for a walk as they sway slightly over the toes of his boots. He mumbles something but Mia’s never been able to make out John’s magic words before, why would today be any different? The cigarette pack swings a bit more, almost making a circle as it does so. John watches it closely but over the next few minutes the motion never changes. Mia’s reaching the end of her patience when it stops moving to hang loose over his shoes again.

“What was that supposed to do?” She doesn’t bother to hide her dry amusement.

“Find your ‘weapons.’” He doesn’t make air quotes as he reels in his cigarettes, taking one out to stick behind his ear, but Mia can still hear them and see them in the curl of his lips.

“I might be a mere mortal, but it doesn’t look like it worked,” she says sarcastically.

“Oh it worked. There just wasn’t anything to find.” John shrugs and shoves his hands back in his pockets.

Mia curses, long and loud. What a waste of a Saturday.

“I knew I put up with you for a reason,” John says.

“You, put up with me?” Mia raises an incredulous brow.

“C’mon love, we’ll go to Oblivion and I’ll make it up to you.” He holds his arm up, flicking his wrist as though to sweep her under it.

“Still underage, still got kicked out last time,” Mia reminds him flatly.

“Ack, I’ll buy ya a root beer.” John shrugs, having put his arm down and begun walking out the warehouse.

“I’ve never seen you buy anything and I spent an entire day with you once.”

“Fine, I’ll get you a root beer.” He smiles back over his shoulder to where Mia still hasn’t moved. “This is a limited time offer, love. One I’m not planning on making again.”

“Constantine,” Mia grumbles, but rushes to catch up with him.

John nudges her as he grins, “There’s our girl, Speedy.”

#dc comics #mia dearden #john constantine #speedy #green arrow #hellblazer #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #own writing #writing #the blonde brigade #i love john constantine the little shit

[curious-minx]

Heat Lamp vol. [i]

A how-to guide on harnessing the very best light for your under-lit overly priced hovel! In Style!

“Lighting is everything, you goon!” spits Magda Marlene, and, of course, she’s absolutely correct.

“Don’t call me a goon, Magda! I’m trying my best. Have you ever tried shopping around for the best possible lights? Of course not. The challenge of conceiving of wattage and luminosity in the abstract blue light tech etching our basic human retinas will never compete with the likes of you. “ Elroy wipes away the trail of verbiage slipping down his prominent jawline. He attempts to grab at Magda to make her take him seriously, but it was impossible, because after all she is enshrouded in light. She is the kind of bruising overwhelming beauty that is perpetually well lit. Magda has endured a panorama of over stuffed suits of testosterone tossing off a clip of one-liners about her “lighting up a room,” because she had already brightened her entire surrounding vicinity. Light seeping out as far as several stories above and below whatever apartment is lucky enough to grace her presence. You had to alert your local neighboring Vampire’s of someone like Magda coming around. To forget would be akin to a hate crime. 

“I do take pity on you sallow beef man. You are close, so close I can nearly taste your success, but this lack of suitable lighting! This will  be your ruin. That’s what all the Entertainment and Arts are all about-,”

“Yes, the lighting! The wonderful bright, but not too bright lighting. I know Magda. Ugh! I much prefer if we go back to when you would stick to sending me laymen articles on the anatomy of human eyeballs and the latest breakthroughs in light-based therapy, but now all I hear is your dogmatic barking.” 

“You sure do talk a lot for a layman. Why did you want to touch me? Don’t tell me you’re starved for human contact!” 

“Of course not! Don’t be foolish! You know I’m not attracted to you. It’s the only reason why you even bother gracing me with your infernal light. Why won’t you sell some of your light source already?”

“Oh no no no, not this this again. I will have no further discussion about the selling off of my light.” 

“You won’t share your light, you won’t sell your light, but all I ever hear you go on and on about is the importance of light! Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish?” Elroy tries sizing Magda up and all around with his big soulful hazel  brown dopey puppy dog eyes. 

“What is this, ‘on and on’ slander? That’s a complete and total falsity! I barely even talk to you! You asked me to come over and help you pick out a new light. Yet here you stand insulting me and everything I represent. I knew all men were trash! I really wanted a reciprocal  easy going friendship receptacle. Like the ones you see on flashy American sitcoms, but no! Instead you reek of man boy desperation. You are not Easy Elroy, nor are you sleazy enough to warrant a pass. Good day!” And with that Magda leaves Elroy in his room. A room that is painted a banana baby sick off-scrambled eggs shade of yellow that made Elroy think of himself as a “warmed over Simpson” whenever he looks at himself with his overhead lights on. Magda leaves him behind so that she can go attend a life devoid of preening men devoid of any elevated levels of cognitive stimulus. Magda had a strong feeling deep inside that being eaten out by Elroy would feel either like the confectionary sugar clinging to a beater or a cow pondering the universe with a cud.  Magda has bigger prospects to attend such as the purchasing of a new Ultrasonic Television, a television for people too interesting to own a regular television. Now this is a process more grueling than picking out some sort of pathetic LED lights set out to emphasize poor life choices. 

Magda’s candles burn ferociously for the scented perfume wick of her occasional beaux Hillary. Oh sweet sister Hillary.  Magda flips a dizzy spell as she gets behind the wheel of her space craft. In the driver’s seat she grabs and teases pinching caresses onto her sides, hands running underneath her shirt and imagines Hillary’s hazy visage.  Magda turns on The Quick’s Mondo Deco, the album is lodged into the fourth track already, “Hillary.” The porto-phrenetic ASMR zipper crunch! The perfect symmetry of a song making sense for the right woman in the right space and time. Magda wishes she could be some special somebody’s Kim Fowley. She knew she has the making of a Valkyrie companion. Mostly a bottom, but occasionally there’s a switch…a candy striped hypnosis stick being cradled in Magda’s hand turns her space craft into autopilot. The space craft assumes a sensible soaring speed, sharing the sky with all the other avians and sky ships. Magda lands onto the fetid grassless knoll where she finds the manor of Scent Maven Monique. A west coast equivalent of a Hobbit Hole in the Hills. Except instead of a 5,7” English gentleman it is a 5,7” Black American bohemian scientist woman. Magda lights up one of Monique’s Pixie Stix a jolt of nicotine, THC, estrogen, nootropicals, and most importantly caffeine. Cigarettes that don’t make you smell like cigarettes, that don’t make you smell like anything, but a hint, a wink, a whisper, and a prayer of exotic bubblegum. 

A Vaping Assassin is prowling on her rooftop. Antonia, The Daycrawler, of course. A woman so intimidating in strength and beauty that all law officers around the country worship at her talon toes. Lines of swat teams, cops, and military official personally see fit the they get their asses beaten by Antonia’s hand each and every year at The National Cop Christmas Party. Monique is constantly alienating, offending and inspiring everyone she works with, but they usually only send soft assassins like Soy Hands Flannigan or the Detangler. Magda believes that this must be the opening salvo of a new killer regime. 

“Quit your daydreaming Magda Marlene! Are you really about to let me red rover your special number one gal? I am dropping through the ceiling now! Catch ya later!” Antonia is always narrating her actions to her blind brother Donovan who makes glass sculptures for an assassin’s memento. Some assassins keep locks of hair, some assassins keep emails, some assassins bond and indulge their impotent’s brother pop art. The giant blocky neon green rotary telephone with each notch designed with a mysterious suggestion of a dreary person. A lot of guilt trips about being sent to  mental institutions and the occasional rainbow clamshell birth control pill case. All glass blown by the Daycrawler’s blind and naive brother. Monique doesn’t stand a chance! 

“Oh no,” mouths Magda. She’s going to be vaporized by that tall Nordic pillar of mayhem. Quentin Tarantino might as well be hanging himself up here on Monique’s roof turning himself into the human satellite, beaming this impeding cyclone of beautiful woman on beautiful woman violence for all of his cronies to see. “Not today,” mouths Magda. With a flick of her wrist, bracelets of light begin forming and overlapping. Discs of light coursing up and down Magda’s forearm. Magda then hides her arms underneath her long and flowing cherry blossom trench coat. Magda’s light does not instantly light up the rest of Monique’s abode. Antonia is hiding her frustration and she looks around Monique’s mostly spacious and poorly lit living quarters. Seeing only a completely stainless steel coated mini-kitchen and a chest level table top. No chairs. No other furniture or trace of personality. Magda hopes that this cat and mouse game will grow less cheesy and the Daycrawler will soon leave irate and hungry. 

“Aha! You got me good Light Bright. Of course you knew she wasn’t here and distracted me. For such good work I will personally see to killing you myself. I haven’t murdered anyone in over twelve hours. Do you know how rusty an assassin can get in that time? First, I must take a shower. Surely this lab rat has some sort of hose or bucket and pulley system to wash herself?”Antonia begins sizing up the space, trying to squint a bathroom into existence. 

“I believe her bathroom is right next the front door. You must have accidentally passed in when you were getting yourself worked up into this bloodlust.” Magda suddenly feels completely at ease. Yes, she could easily blind and frankly obliterate this toned and blonde killing machine. Doesn’t matter though, because Magda realizes that she has this whole ordeal in her pocket and it’s only a matter of Antonia getting into that shower. Magda goes to raise her fist in conquest but then meets resistance. Antonia’s silent rope snakes! They are giving Magda the world’s most cold blooded group hug. Magda knows she must submit to the plan. She grimaces feeling the ridges of her teeth and wait to unleash her light show. 

////

Antonia has been in the shower for over and hour and half. Magda is only now starting to bruise because the rope snakes have grown lethargic and weak ever since the water started. The rope snakes are clinging on to Magda out of obligation and lethargy. The water stops and a shrill elongated sigh is heard from the bathroom. Antonia, the Daycrawler, emerges from heavy plump clouds of perfumed steam. Magda thinks she can detect a hint of Ceylon Cinnamon and gun smoke, but you can never tell with Monique and her smells. Antonia is a lot drier than you would expect for someone who has ostensibly been bathing for the past two hours and she is wearing an oversized clumsy kimono with her hair wrapped up in a towel. 

“Alright, where is she?” Antonia asks in a voice that is almost saccharine and faint. 

“She’s clearly not here. Let’s revisit the fact that you were going to behead me as a house warming gift. How about instead you rob me of one of my kidneys? They are oozing with glow-stick fluid, but they never stop glowing! Please don’t kill me!” Magda says fully aware that Antonia is not going to kill, at least not while she’s so fresh out of the shower. 

“That’s what I need to talk to her about. I suddenly no longer have my urge to kill! Not you, you, or anyone else ever again!”says Antonia breathless like she is hearing her voice for the first time.

“I thought you were killing out of profession?”

Antonia crouches down and is almost blushing as she asks, “Why are you still on the floor like that? Can’t you not fry us up some rope snake snacks? Or wait! Are you like me and need the sunlight to fully operate?” Antonia begins opening up every window and even trying to create new windows in Monique’s house to let the light in. 

“Fine! I’ll do it! You made me do it!” Magda unleashes her light that sets off as a retina unfriendly supernova. The light charged specifically around her arms were even still lit up and racing to be shot off as blades of light into the nearest surface. 

“See? That’s wasn’t so bad! Why do you get so…so conservative about using your light whenever you’re around me?”

“I don’t want to end up blinding or hurting anyone.” Magda says still on the ground facing onto Monique’s steel plated sterile floors. 

“Even someone who was moments ago trying to kill your friend and you for the thrill of murder?”

“Your an easy target Daycrawler,” Magda gathers herself back up into a standing stance,” You are exactly the type that would change your mind if given half a chance. I still feel like you could plunge your famous ribbon blade into my personal generator… ” Magda trails off realizing that Antonia is no longer listening to her. She is still running her reformed(?) killer’s hands through her honey flaxen unwieldy tower of hair that only a towering murderess could support. 

“That shampoo it’s, it’s going to help a lot of people. I’m waiting to see the catch. Like with her cancer-free candy cigarettes they’re too good to be true, right?”Antonia takes in another long inhalation of her own hair and takes one lock and flecks her tongue only at the tip of the follicle. The one blank wall inside Monique’s apartment spins around revealing Monique on the other side who steps up and says without missing a beat:

“They’re called Pixie Stix!” Monique fully emerges from her illusion wall hiding the hint of a laboratory.  She lights up a Pixie stick of her own which begins flooding the spartan space. Who needs furniture when you bask in a smell this sweet? Magda lets her guard down and lights up the rest of the space turning the formerly drab and empty hovel into a chic and spacious boutique. “Lighting!” Continues Monique, “With the right lights and an overwhelming pungent odor reveals the path to an enveloping inner peace. No matter how small or unfashionable your home or hovel happens to be there could possibly be an outlet for a chosen few people that the three of us could use to build our own society or something?” Monique turns on music by malodorous mall core cyborg nu metal pop band called Neon Betty Degenerates. Antonia goes over to Monique and gently forces Monique’s bangled and gloved clammy hand into a boisterous hand shake. A Kashmir blossom shaped pin attached to Monique’s vegan leather newsboy cap opens up and contracts. The blossom is spraying out a mist invisible to the human eyes, directed into Antonia’s face. Antonia then immediately releases Monique and she turns away from the gangly scientist, she unravels the towel from her hair and starts sprinting outside of Monique’s house. Antonia begins climbing up the lone ancient hundreds of feet tall redwood tree watching over Monique’s property. Antonia climbs up to the tree in record time, she is nothing but a blur of momentum and rustling branches. Antonia, the Daycrawler, jumps out into the sky with the grace of a flying squirrel leaving her nest, and she’s reached enough height so that she can use the heel of her shoe to write, “I’m sorry! <3 I will work on respecting your personal space” in a cloud-based font. 

Magda turns to Monique who has completely flipped open her furtive laboratory, revealing the glow of scent analysis technology calling out to Magda begging her to crank up the wattage. Before submerging back into her lab, Monique turns to Magda and tells her, “Antonia is seemingly the only person my Perfumed Personality is working on. Do you think that will be enough?” Monique directs this question more to the ether than to anyone in particular. 

“Looks like it’s really working on her though. Oh right, before you leave. I am going through this really tough crush on someone and was hoping that you’d have some-“ Magda stops talking. Monique enters her lab leaving Magda behind in the empty kitchen and the lingering vapors of the ethical strawberry and lavender pacifist shampoo. Magda knows that she probably won’t see Monique emerge back out from her work for another two weeks at the latest. Magda shivers and steps outside and all of her pent up light energy continues bursting forth from her navel, banners of light shooting from her forehead, spotlights dancing out of each of her fingertips. Magda’s light even causes the clouds that Antonia used as calligraphy to break into a sweat. The extreme daylight and the small patch of rain causes a family of foxes to burst forth from out of the ground and carry on a quick and sweet wedding. Magda climbs on top of a dune and watches the wedding ceremony from afar. She remembers Hillary and groans, a sticky and somber sound. Magda has her revery broken by the sound of a voice calling from below the dune.

“cOuld yOu pleeze take Our picha, lamp lady? Da lurvely cOupa wOuld be sO grateful!!” The source of the voice is coming from an approaching silver fox who has a slight wobble in his gait. Magda looks at the silver fox further and notices that he also has two plastic and springy legs. Magda not wanting to seem judgmental, sighs and takes the fox’s hefty Kodiak bridge cam and without even taking time to focus the lens takes the picture. The newly wedded couple and the silver fox open up the camera’s finder and look at the results and start panting in approval. They have never seen themselves look so well lit before. 

“Daddy! You must pay this kind lady Beacon mucho ancient coins! I’ve never looked this good!” Magda smiles and shakes her head and puts her hands into her pockets, leaving the foxes behind. She readjusts her trench coat and puts on a large wide-brimmed blackout hat she keeps in a box shaped fanny pack. Even while wearing her light suppression accessories each and every passing streetlamp emits a powerful sphere of light that dims with each of Magda’s passing step. Most of the houses in Magda’s neighborhood are heavily tranquilized and sleeping in deprivation tanks so the dramatic light fluctuations don’t bother most. One overhead apartment pulls back its drapes and an angry shirtless and chiseled man has taken out a mirror and trying to reflect the light back down at the street. The power of the light’s heat creates another pothole into the road, which causes the man to start swearing and yelling incoherently. Magda kneels down onto the empty sidewalk and rubs her palms together causing the street lights to dim back down to their normal level. Magda’s face looks pale and she begins moving at a slower pace.

“Damn…I’m so close. Being mindful of so many people really sucks. I think I’m going to lie down in this pile of moss and maybe I’ll wake up back in my bed.” Magda hums a lullaby to herself and begins folding herself into a ball of fading light. Magda is blacking out.

///

She opens up her eyes as soon as she registers motion. Magda is being carried in somebody’s arms! Magda almost cranks up her internal light furnace but then she smells the tangy coconut cologne of Elroy. 

“What did I tell you about picking up tramps?” Asks Magda with a yawn. “Put me down you goon!” Elroy immediately does so and gives Magda her space.

“Of course, I’m sorry Magda. I was out scouting shoot locations for a new headshot this week and saw your abandoned space craft on the side of road. Knowing you as well as I do I had a feeling that you were probably enjoying one of your unnecessary sojourns. Thankfully you left it in one of the bougiest possible neighborhoods so I think you’ll be fine with picking it up tomorrow. I’ll leave you be. Clearly you are wanting some time alone.” Elroy brushes off a twig out of Magda’s hair and starts walking back into his own shabbier Electric Hover Desert Rabbit.  

“Any luck with your lamp search?”asks Magda causing Elroy to stop in his tracks and turn around revealing an excitable grin.

“I found this Ponce de Leon Torchier that promises to age and de-age me based on what kind of bulb I put into it. There’s  this audition for a movie about a man breastfeeding his own child I got. The role comprises of both the child and the father, it’s a student film but the kid directing is supposed to have a real stash of connections.” Chatters Elroy, clearly trying to regain a sense of joviality between him and Magda. 

“I have actually never really bothered playing with light in that way before. How are you so good at online shopping? And here I was about to actually consider giving you a droplet of my very own light” sneers Magda as she enters through the lamp shaded gate of her parent’s compound. 

“What?! Really! Wait Magda I’ll gladly take some of your light off of your hands! Come on, come back!” Magda leaves Elroy behind once again and a roving street sweeper pushes him up the current of streaming sidewalk leading deeper into the Energy District. He calls out to Magda yelling her name as he’s being street swept away. Magda turns copper green with regret with even toying around with the idea of sharing any amount of light. Especially with a total goon like Elroy! The family leopard spotted moth, Sapphire, comes whooshing up to Magda giving her a silky kiss. Magda grins and brushes the silk away from her face and picks up a floating torch, lights it with her finger and tosses it as far as she can throw, which due to the pent up hormonal surging emotional cycle Hillary has gotten Mega into, turns out to be quite far. Sapphire flap flap flaps her wings into a column of speed and chases after the floating torch. The outside ladder leading to her room has been rolled up. 

“Because of course!” Sighs Magda as she slips off her cycling light up shoes, the tongue of her shoes light up with a balloon showcasing the amount of miles Magda has walked from Monique’s house, nearly fourteen, if only Elroy hadn’t gotten in the way. Inside both of her parents are stationary as always. Wires running from the back of both of their heads so that when they glance over at the door in unison you can see the pulses of light traveling at the same speed from both of their skulls. Magda parents disgust her and she really tries getting up stairs into her room as fast as possible. 

“Magpie! Get your cute little grown ass over here and tell me about this nice young man you’re considering giving up your light to!”

“Journey,” Magda says addressing her mom by her proper name which causes her mom to feign a twinge,”Why must you two always insist on watching the security feed whenever I am coming home. Every. Single. Time. Do you two expect me to be still be living here until either one of you finally burn out? Just so you can always have a little show of someone else’s lives to watch? You’re almost as much as a goon as that ‘boy’ you are referring to. You know him already, that’s Elroy, we’re just friends.”

“See Enterprise? What did I say?” Journey says peering directly into her husband Enterprise’s vacant light producing sockets. 

“Aw dawlin looks like I owe you thirty pulses! I knew I should have betted on our Magpie giving her light away to some respectable enterprising lesbian. You’re donating your light to science right Magpie? That’s why you left today?”

“I am not donating my light to anyone! I am not anyone’s generator ready to be milked and sapped away for all of my worth.”

“Magda you know your light is strong enough that you could be a really successful crime fighter, or you could even be just another lamp builder like your lil brother and sister.” Coos Magda’s father, Enterprise.

“Or, she can be nothing too! Fine by me! Keep on going missy, I can see how much you are burning to get back into your precious room. All I ask is that at some point tonight please help your siblings make some kind of dinner. Your dad and I are going to be all tied up for the rest of the night running double concurrent shifts. Those damn strikers! We don’t need em! Ow ow ugh I’ve got to be quiet and focus.” Journey rubs her temple which emits a spark. 

“Relax my love. This is just a rough patch. Once there is a serum manufactured we’ll be able to import more workers and we can recharge for the next decade. Maybe even more.” Enterprise says this to Journey and they hold each other’s hands not even minding that they are becoming entangled within one another’s connecting wires. Magda hears the quiet scrape scraping of her younger brother and sister’s lamp and neon shop that takes up most of the second floor. Magda ascends up one more floor and reaches her bedroom at the end of a hallway adorned with family portraits. Mainly of her siblings Gidget and Chester selling lamps around the world. See Gidget and Chester in Bali with a lamp made from resurrected coral reefs. There’s a picture of Gidget, Chester and both of her parents soft shoeing on the grave of Thomas Edison. See Gidget defile the Tesla’s tomb. Chester burning an effigy of Musk. There’s one picture of Magda and Sapphire, Magda is only visible as a beam of light. Magda opens up her bedroom and finds Antonia, the Daycrawler waiting for her, suspending herself from the ceiling. Rotating around like a monk’s slimy finger circling around the lip of a singing wine bowl. 

“Hiya there Miss Shiney! I brought you a present!” Antonia says this in her persistently chippier and bubblier voice that has not  subsided since taking her shower with Monique’s personality shifting scented shampoo. Monique raises her right eyelid causing  one of her dimmest overhead lights to come on. The light reveals reveals the sight of a  tied up woman sporting a bouncy pompadour sprawling out across Magda’s bed. Soy Hands Flannigan! 

“What am I supposed to do with an assassin? All I want to do is curl up and shop. God I sound pathetic.” Magda says attempting to hide the  anxiety spiking through the roof of her dome  coursing down to her toes. 

“She knows how you can find Hillary!”

That’s all it took. All Magda needed to hear was her name. The utterance of Magda’s one and only Hillary causes each and every one of Magda’s three hundred and eighty five lights adorning her bedroom to flare out bright beams of all encompassing light. The kind of light that only glows for a woman once thought lost and dead to the world soon to be rediscovered. Maybe, thinks Magda, having a reformed violent and dangerous assassin as a companion wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

#short story #short fiction #surrealism #indoor lighting #science fiction #sci-fantasy #fantasy #power pop #The quick #Kim Fowley

[goingwiththewind]

Rewrite the Stars Ch. 1

A/N: Here’s the next chapter...once again this story is already on Wattpad from the Prologue to Chapter 7 so I’ll give you all the link at the end of the chapter if you want to read it all the way through to Chapter 7. Spot Conlon x OC

Prologue  Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7

Chapter 1

Another Day, Another Sell

Manhattan

1899

I woke up in the middle of the night to someone crying. This wasn’t unusual, many of us were runaways looking to escape from dangerous, hellish situations while the rest of them were orphans, so it wasn’t unusual for us to have nightmares. Tonight it was Annie. Her curly red hair was unkempt and tears were streaming down her face. I walked as quietly as I could to her bunk and sat down as she crawled into my lap.

Annie was one of our newer girls — and also one of the youngest at seven. She grabbed at my shirt tightly as I stroked her hair gently. I started softly humming a nursery rhyme in her ear, trying to calm her down. “Speedy,” she whispered in a shaky voice, “Am I gonna be okay here?” I gulped, how could I promise her that? 

“Yes, you’re gonna be okay.” I felt like such a liar. New York City was rough, I was just a few years older than Annie when I became a Newsie, when Spot and Jack saved my life. All we had was each other. How could I ever promise anyone that their life as a Newsie will ever be okay?

When Annie fell back asleep, I tucked her back in under the covers and made my way back to mine.

The next time I woke up it was to Miss Castellan, the landlord to the girls’ lodging house, yelling, “Up, girls! Time to sell your papers!”

“Alright, girls,” I said, “You heard Miss Castellan! Get up! Those papes ain’t gonna sell themselves!” My trusty second in command, Mints, was still asleep in her bed. I smirked as I pushed her off the bed and onto the floor. 

As soon as she hit the floor, she groaned, stood up and gave me a pointed look. “There are better and nicer ways to wake a girl up.” She crossed her arms across her chest as she glared at me.

I wasn’t bothered the least. “Where’s the fun in that?” I kept smirking at her as I made my way over to the younger girls to help them.

“Hey, Little Red,” I said to Annie, “You feeling better?” She nodded shyly and Bear came over and put her arm around Annie’s shoulders. “You’re like their mother,” Mints commented, grabbing her bag of buttermints and popping one in her mouth.

“Did Race steal that for you?” I teased her and she shoved me playfully. Everyone knew that Race was sweet on her. Racetrack Higgins was one of Jack’s Newsies and my usual selling partner. When Mints didn’t make enough to buy her favorite buttermints, Race was always willing to use his five finger discount to get some for her. Me and Jack teased them a lot about it, making them both blush. “C’mon,” she said, “We’re gonna be late.” 

“Hope the headline’s good,” I commented, “It took me and Race forever to sell our last pape yesterday, and you know how Race gets when the sun goes down to before he can steal his cigars.”

She chuckled, no doubt picturing it in her head. “Let’s go ladies!” Mints then yelled at the top of her lungs. We ran out of the lodging house down the block towards the boys’ lodging house. Some of us partnered with other Newsies like me selling with Race or Mints selling with Mush, but there were some that sold by themselves like Specs or Kid Blink from the boys lodging house. 

“C’mon boys!” I yelled, walking in uninvited with Mints in tow behind me “You’re as slow as molasses. We’re here and we’re waiting on you.”

“You know Speedy, there’s a reason there are separate lodging houses for girls and boys,” Race said, wiping his face on a towel, obviously talking about me just barging in. 

“And maybe you could try to be nicer,” Skittery said. 

“There’s a reason I’m leader, Skittery,” I said, “No one has gotten far by being nice.” He gave me a look and I sent a wink Jack’s way. 

“Let’s go boys!” The landlord, Kloppman, said, “Morning Bell rang ten minutes ago. Go. Go. Go.”

The boys rolled their eyes and made their way outside. Race sat on his bunk and lit his cigar. “Sheepshead or the Pier,” he asked me, blowing out the smoke. 

“The Sheepshead,” I replied, “Got a ciggy?”

Race reached over to the table in between his and Finch’s bunk and pulled out a regular cigarette and handed it to me. He gave me a light and we both sat, taking drags at our vices.

“Alright,” I said, blowing the smoke in his face, “Let’s go.” We both stood and followed the last of the boys out of the lodging house.

As usual, we all picked up some grub and coffee from the nuns, before we headed over towards the circulation gate for The World Newspaper. The Delanceys came up to the gate with the keys to unlock it. The Delancey brothers, Morris and Oscar, were the nephews of Mr. Wiesel or Weasel as we called him, who ran the distribution window of The World. Morris and Oscar were burly and would soak you real good, no matter if you were a boy or a girl, but they weren’t very bright and they always stink real bad.

Racetrack sniffed the air and nudged me with his elbow, “You smell that, Speedy? I think one of them carriage horses left us a present in the streets.” He grabbed his cap off his head and started fanning himself with it as if trying to get rid of the smell.

“You sure, Race?” I smirked, “Maybe it’s just—”

“The Delancey Brothers,” the rest piped up. Morris hit the bars in retaliation, but he wasn’t really allowed to do anything to us. We were the reason Mr. Pulitzer’s paper had the circulation it did, jeopardizing that just because we called them smelly wasn’t rational on their part.

They reluctantly opened the gate and made their way behind the window with their uncle as we all lined up to get our papes. Jack knocked on the window, which still had it’s closed screen over it. “Weasel,” he chanted looking over at us. He then turned to the bell that hung next to the window and rung it twice.

“Alright, alright,” an annoyed voice said as the screen was pushed up, “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

“Look Race,” I said, pointing to the chalkboard above the distribution window, “they’re putting up the headline for today.” The rest of the Newsies crowded around the opened gate to stare at the headline.

2nd Week of Trolley Strike: Is it coming to an end?

“The trolley strike was the headline yesterday,” I complained, turning to Race who took a disappointed drag of his cigar, “They call that a headline? C’mon now, I get better stories from the copper on the beat, Officer Kirby.”

“Maybe you should work for The World, then,” Race said with a smirk. 

“I’d get paid better,” I teased and sniffed the air, “And I’d probably work with people who smell better.” Race shoved me with a smile.

________________________________

Brooklyn

1893

“Think you can handle Brooklyn,” Race asked as we crossed the Brooklyn bridge. “I lived here last year,” I told him, “or did you already forget?”

“I’m being serious here,” he said, “Are you sure?”

“As much I wish it weren’t true,” I said, resting my papes over my arm, “I can never really leave Brooklyn.”

“Just do yourself a favor, and steer clear of Brooks,” Race warned me, “He only allows new newsies who are with someone who is in Brooklyn to roam.”

“Well, then I guess it’s good I’m with you then, right Race,” I teased him and he shot me a look. 

“I’m afraid even that isn’t gonna be enough,” a chilling voice said from behind us. I turned and saw a boy with white blond hair and icy blue eyes staring down me and Race. “What have we got here,” he said, walking towards us, “A new Newsie I see. I assume this is the girl you spoke of, Spot?”

Behind the kid came Spot, he looked small next to the kid, but still looked unintimidated. “We call her Speedy,” Spot said, “she’s faster than a lot of the guys I’ve seen.” He smirked as the blond kid walked even closer.

“Take it easy, Brooks,” Race said, taking a drag at his cigar, “She’s just a girl.” Brooks clicked his tongue impatiently at Race.

“I ain’t gonna do nothing, Racetrack,” he said, “Just wanna inspect the newbie. Make sure she knows the turf rules before she decides to step foot in Brooklyn territory again.” He cupped my chin in his hand, moving my face up so he could stare me directly in the eyes.

“Spot tells me youse from Brooklyn,” Brooks said, “What makes someone move from Brooklyn to Manhattan? No offense, Racetrack.”

“None taken, Brooks,” Race said, talking around his cigar. 

Brooks eyes never left mine as he looked me over again. His eyes were icy, not like Spot’s that always held a sort-of softness to them. “Listen here, Newbie,” he said coldly, “Ain’t just anyone who can sell in Brooklyn. Youse gotta go through me. Girls definitely don’t get no special treatment from me, so don’t push my patience. Gots it?”

I softly nodded and he let go of my chin. 

“Think you can handle taking on one of my guys?” Brooks smirked at his goons. Spot was the only one who didn’t smirk back. “Curly, Twigs why don’t ya show the new girlsie how we do things here in Brooklyn.”

“Brooks, c’mon,” Spot protested, “She’s just a girl.”

“How sweet of ya to worry about a girl, Spot,” Brooks teased with a hint of malice in his voice, “Who’d a thunk you had a soft side. Better not let the other fellas know, they’re gonna think youse an easy target.”

Spot took a physical gulp and stepped back. “I can take them, Spot,” I reassured him, trying to hide the shakiness of my voice. I knew why he was nervous, him and Jack were the only people I had confided in about my situation.

“You got some gall, girlie,” Brooks laughed without humor, “And you’re a fast learner, I’ll give you that. But don’t push your luck.”

He looked to his goons and I could tell what Brooks was thinking before he said it, “Get her guys.” The two goons cracked their knuckles and before Race or Spot could protest, they punched me.

I wasn’t going down without a fight. I started swinging my own fists at the goons. I felt good...for a while. It was soon that the flashbacks came and I lost my focus. The two of them knocked me to the ground and held me down. I kicked up and to the left and the one holding me laxed as he went down, but the other one kicked me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. That didn’t stop me however and I kept kicking and punching as much as i could.

“Alright, Twigs,” Brooks said, helping the other one — Curly — up off the ground, “I think she got the point.” Race and Spot came to help me up, as I held my stomach.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Brooks said to me, “You’ve proven you can hold your own in my territory. I’ll allow you to sell here, ‘s long as you know the rules. Racetrack can tell ya.”

“Was that all this was, Brooks,” Race said, throwing a glare Brooks way, “A way to prove herself to to ya? I could’ve told ya she could hold her own against your boys.”

“Words aren’t enough, Race,” Brooks told him, “You think I didn’t hear from Spot that she could hold her own? Actions are different than words. I needed to be shown that she could hold her own, not just take the word of two other Newsies who obviously have a sweet spot for the girl.”

Race’s face went red, but if Spot was affected by Brooks’s words, he didn’t show it. “Let’s go fellas,” Brooks said and started to walk away, smirking at all of us. Spot hung back to check on me.

“Let me take you back to the lodging house,” Race said, holding me up, “We can tell Jack and Mimi what happened and Miss Castellan can patch you up.”

“No, I’m fine,” I told him, “Let’s just go to Sheepshead and sell our papes.” Race looked incredulously at me as if he couldn’t believe that after everything, I was still determined to sell my papers. 

“You look like death, Speedy,” Spot told me looking genuinely concerned for me, something I couldn’t recognize flashed in his blue eyes, “Are you sure you want to sell today? It may be better for you if you don’t.”

I sent him a look. “I’ll be fine, Spot. I’ve had worse injuries,” I tried to smirk at him, “‘Sides, don’t you think it’d be a good way to play for sympathy? I might be able to sell faster.”

As much as they both clearly wanted to argue, they probably already knew that I wasn’t gonna change my mind and they should stop trying to change it.

“Fine,” Race said, defeated, “But if I get the slightest clue you ain’t gonna last, I’m dragging your sorry butt back to Manhattan.”

“Deal,” I said and we shook on it.

Link to Wattpad Story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/151875574-rewrite-the-stars-a-spot-conlon-fan-fiction

#newsies #newsies 1992 #spot conlon x oc #newsies broadway #newsies on tour #rewrite the stars

[kingsdominionalumni]

The Princess and the Rat (part one)

Deadly Class fanfic, fluff, kind of angsty,  Reader x Billy Bennett

Warnings: mentions of abuse, prostitution, murder, blood, swearing

You’re new at kings, but not new to  the whole killing thing. Your parents sold you to a pimp who used you to kill “customers”. Master Lin found out about you, how young you are. Only fifteen and has a higher body count then most his other students.The only person you trust, the man Master Lin sent to find you, punk, green mohawk wearing Billy Bennett.

(First fic so this is probably going to be bad 😂🤷🏼‍♀️ Also the name probably doesn’t fit the story, but when I thought of it I loved it lol )

Word Count: 2023

Nobody. I know nobody. I have to get through my life day by day. I wish I had a normal life. When I was little I watched all these sitcoms about happy families sitting around the dinner table just talking about their day. The last time my family sat around the dinner table, halfway through dinner a man came into the house. I had no idea who he was. He gave my dad some money then my dad pointed at me. Tears streamed down my ten year old face as I yelled “Daddy! Daddy! Stop them!” my dad just turned away. A coward too weak to even watch what he had just done. The man slapped me in the face. Told me that was not my daddy anymore. Told me that Vinny was my daddy and not to call him Vinny either or I’d get hit like that again. Vinny told me I was special, that because of my age I didn’t have to do the same as the other girls. That he had a job just for me. He handed me my first knife and told me that everytime he needed me to I had to come with him to meetings. Because I was so young the men didn’t think I was going to kill them, Vinny said “Go give your uncle a hug” and when he said that it meant “Go hug that man and shove the knife into the back of his skull”. This went on for five years until now. Last week was my fifteenth birthday and Vinny called me up and told me that I was moving up. I was too old to fool the men and I had to sell myself for him. I didn’t mind doing the killing for him when I was little because at least then the men didn’t touch me, but now I’m done. It’s getting harder to hide. I’ve had seven customers this week and I did what I knew how. I took the money for Vinny, but after that I gave them my “hug of death” as Vinny called it. He doesn’t want me killing these men, I know that, but I can’t have them touching me, I can’t do this anymore. I have one last customer tonight, but after him, I’m out. I'm going for the big fish. Vinny. I will die doing that I know, if not by Vinny then by a goon after I finished him, but it would be worth it to kill that piece of shit. I have one last customer, a man they call Lin. After I’m done with him I go after Vinny.

———————————————————————————

“So, I can’t hangout tonight. Sorry dude, but master Lin has me on some mission to get this new student. She’s got some rep. She’s only fifteen, but has probably killed more than all of us combined.” said Billy to Marcus as they smoke their cigarettes up in the graveyard.

“Doubt it.” Saya said from behind him.

“Holy shit! Dude when did she get here!” This made Marcus laugh. Billy was always over the top, but in a good crazy way. “Well anyway miss perfect, I meant all us rats,” he motioned to Marcus, Petra, Lex, and of course himself  “We weren’t born into this shit. Anyway, this chick is posing as a prostitute and taking money from men and instead of doing… you know… she kills them. Lin said that she’s only been doing that shit for a week though. That before she was just killing them. No prostitution. She posed as a sweet young girl instead, but apparently she’s not a sweet young girl anymore…” Billy went on

Marcus interrupted  “Well it sounds like she really wasn’t that sweet. She also sounds like someone who could fuck you up, no offense Billy, not saying a fifteen year old girl could fuck  you up, but if she’s been doing this her whole life… it sounds like she can fuck you up.”

“Well she was told that Lin was her client and that he was old and shit, so when she opens the door and sees that it’s me instead, I think it’ll throw her off.”

“Wait so you’re getting a prostitute?” Petra asked, seeming all of a sudden interested in the conversation she was trying to ignore

“Oooh, is that jealousy I sense in the air?” Lex piped in

“Fuck off Lex, I’m just saying what if she has STDs or something…”

“Well, I’m trying to get her here so I won’t actually be sleeping with her, and if you actually listened to what I said about her before you would’ve heard the part about how she kills people before they even get the chance to sleep with her, so I’m pretty sure she’s STD free…” Billy realises it’s getting late “hey any of you know what time it is?”

“Six forty five” Marcus said

“Shit I gotta go.”

And with that Billy ran down the stairs, to the closest exit of the school and started down the road to the Coastline Motel

———————————————————————————

You sat on the bed of probably the grossest motel room you’ve ever seen.

“Glad this shit is done after tonight” you thought

There was a knock at the door. You go to the door expecting a old man, but when you open it you see a cute guy who seems around your age… You haven’t had to communicate with someone that young in a long time, you actually got a little bit nervous. This wasn’t who was supposed to be here. You’re honestly not sure if you can even kill this guy.

“Lin?” you say

“Haha okay well about that, umm well can I come in?” The guy asked you

You hesitated. This isn’t who you expected and you nothing about this guy, but for some reason you trust him… You have this feeling that he is someone you should know, and if you’re wrong and he kills you, well whatever. You step to the side opening up the door and letting this boy in. You shut the door after him.You notice him looking around.

“I don’t live here, my da-  boss is the one who sets up the rooms.” you blurt

Thoughts rush through your mind “Why did I say that! He doesn’t care. God dammit.” you think

“Hey it’s not that bad right? There’s a bed at least, some people don’t even have one of those” He says

“Well I didn’t think about it that way…. Ummm so since you’re not Lin… who are you?”

“Oh right sorry! I’m Billy, Billy Bennett.”

He reached out his hand for a hand shake. You’re hand feels connected to his before you even reach out, you start to reach for his hand, you pull away a little then finally you shake his hand. Why is this such a big deal to you? People shake hands every fucking day, but there’s something about him…

“Hello?”

You were staring off into some other world. How long have you been staring at his hand? Does he think I’m weird? Y/N what the fuck is wrong with you? You kill people, but this fucking guy is throwing you off! Get in the fucking game!

“Oh right umm sorry right, I’m Y/N”

“Wow that’s a pretty name”

“I mean I guess. It’s just my name… I don’t even know if it has any meaning to it.”

Stupid bitch! Why did you say that! You just made yourself so vulnerable

You continue before he can respond to that

“Well what the hell are you doing here? Why did you use a fake name? Are you here for… you know. Because I’m not going to just sit here and talk. I have other stuff… to do you know…”

“Oh right like murdering people”

“What the fuck did you just say”

You freak the fuck out. You grab him and push him up against the wall your arm on his neck basically strangling him.

How does this man know about that? Is this some kind of joke to him? Is he here for revenge? DId he know someone that  I…

“Woah okay okay, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, calm down okay. I’m here to recruit you for this place where you’ll like fit in and shit, well maybe not fit in with everyone since you’re not a legacy, but since you are pretty badass..”

“What the fuck are you saying?”

“I go to a school that trains people to be assassins and the headmaster dude sent me to get you because he heard about you and thinks you belong at this school.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

“Let me go, trust me, you need to actually trust me. I’ll bring you there okay? Okay?”

You start backing off, still not fulling trusting him, but for some reason you feel like he’s telling the truth with no evidence…

He smiles “Good okay, you trust me. Well we can go to Kings and I can show you around and you can meet Master Lin, that’s where the name came from, he set this up, but thought it probably would be better coming from someone my age”

“Well if I’m honest, I haven’t really talked to anyone my age in a few years, nothing for real. Not a really conversation. The men who come in here they are fucked in the head old guys who think they can touch me. I haven’t even had my first kiss, but because of this shit I feel like a piece of shit. I’m nothing. I can’t go with you. This place you talk about sounds great for some people, but I can’t be there, I’ll probably be dead tomorrow and I’m okay with that. Go back to your Master and tell him that I’m not interested.”

You turn away from him. Not sure if you can trust this guy, once you have your back turned he could try and kill you, but after this it doesn’t matter. Everything is done tomorrow with Vinny. You need to kill him. You walk over to the bed and sit down. For some reason Billy follows suit and sits next to you. You look forward, staring at the wall not in the moment, but you can feel the man next to you looking at you. Why does he care this much? You turn to where you’re facing him. He has these beautiful blue eyes, they’re almost grey, but you can just tell that the shade of blue depends on his feelings. People with eyes that changed color like that always intrigued you. Do they know their eyes do that or is it just something that happens for the amusement of the outside world? Does he realize that his eyes look like that? Subconsciously you put your hand on his cheek. This makes him smile. Once you snap back into reality you pull away.

“I have unfinished business. I can’t go to your school until I finish that.” You finally say

“Well maybe we can help. What’s the business?”

“I need to kill someone, but if I kill him his people will probably kill me…”

“Is he a like the leader of a gang or something? Why does he have people?”

“Well he is a pimp. Pimp’s tend to have followers. His name is Vinny. My dad sold me to him when I was ten. He is the reason I’m in this situation. He is why your master is even interested in me. I need him to be dead. I don’t want anymore girls like me. He needs to be gone.”

“I didn’t know.. I’m sorry.”

“Why would you know? I literally just met you. I don’t even know why I’m saying all this shit to you…”

“Well I’ll help you. I totally understand shit dads. I had to kill mine because I wanted to protect my mom and little brother. Pieces of shit need to be killed. If my dad wasn’t a piece of shit I wouldn’t be at Kings either. I understand, so I’ll help you.”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading even if it was shitty lol. Part two will probably be out tomorrow as long as I have time to type it. I have school vacation until wednesday so I’ll write the whole time… also I’m going to keep posting parts even if people don’t really like it because I like it 😊

#deadly class #billy bennett #deadly class fanfiction #reader x billy bennett

[reifromrfa]

Vanderweek Day 4: Loyalties

Ahhhh here it is, my day 4 entry!!! <3 This short fic is largely inspired by @badegg-mm​‘s gorgeous artwork ;A; <3 Thank you for inspiring me and many others to weave stories out of your works! 

That being said, I hope you guys enjoy the angst below! :)) 

Reposted with permission from @badegg-mm :)

Warning: Slight violence ahead.

The handle of the gun collides with his cheek and Vanderwood tastes his own blood inside his mouth. His head whips to the side, the intensity of the blow making his vision go white for a few seconds. He blinks, trying to get his sight back, and spits out blood, feeling the warm liquid dripping past his lips, down his chin and onto the floor.

Ah, what a fucking mess. If only he could wipe it off. But his wrists are handcuffed behind him, and the bastards had taken off his shirt. Dark purple bruises are spread out along his arms and his body, long gashes on his chest making him wince whenever his sweat rolls into the open wounds. There’s a pool of blood on the floor behind him, the skin on his back torn open by the leather whip the bastard in front of him is holding.

Damn. He could use a beer right now. If he was going to die here, the least these assholes could do is give him a nice, cold bottle of beer. Maybe a cigarette too.

“I will ask you again,” the thug in front of him asks, dragging the whip along the floor in front of the secret agent. Well fuck. Now it’s fucking dirty and it’ll infect the wounds on his back. Great. “Where is Saeyoung Choi?”

“Look,” Vanderwood says, the side of his mouth hurting as soon as he opened his mouth. “If I fucking knew who this Saeyoung Choi was, I would have told you already.”

Saeyoung Choi.

The man takes a step closer to him, leaning down to his eye level and taking a fistful of Vanderwood’s hair, yanking his head up. Vanderwood grits his teeth against the pain, looking the man in the eye without any trace of fear in his expression. The man’s angry gaze lingers on him before he thrusts a photo in front of Vanderwood.

A photo of Seven.

Vanderwood stares at the photo, studying it. In the photo, Seven is a child, with the same fiery red hair and gold eyes. But there was two of him.

A brother.

He has a twin brother.

He doesn’t know the story of Agent Seven…or the story of Saeyoung Choi. All he knows is, that boy is the closest thing he has to a family, and he’ll be damned if he sells out his family to these jackasses.

The man yanks on his hair again, but Vanderwood merely blinks and looks at the man with a bored expression.

“Do I look like a fucking babysitter to you? I don’t hang out with kids…asshole.” Vanderwood answers back, smirking.

The man’s nostrils flare and he releases Vanderwood’s hair, going to stand behind the secret agent. Vanderwood hears the man’s grip on the leather handle of the whip tightening, and he braces himself for the impact.

Vanderwood grits his teeth and his entire body tenses. Then he feels the sharp sting of the whip on his back and he hisses in pain, his body arching as blood splatters to the floor and the walls.

“Huh…you’re a tough bastard, aren’t you,” another man comments, watching the kneeling agent from his seat on the other side of the room.

Vanderwood pants, the pain overwhelming him. His entire back feels like it’s on fire and his head is spinning, his strength leaving him.

How fucking ironic. He survived all those missions from the agency, but now he’s on the brink of losing consciousness…all because he wouldn’t tell them Seven’s location. A face of a woman flashes across his mind.

MC.

Vanderwood left her with Seven. He promised her he would come back. He would come back to her arms and make her the happiest woman in the world. He managed to infiltrate the agency and burn his and Seven's records, and Seven secured his escape by messing with the agency’s systems from his bunker.

But these goons crashed his car and took him before he could go back to her.

If I give them Seven, they’ll get her too.

The two people in the world I want to protect.

Fuck that. That’s never going to happen. I’d rather die than tell these fuckers where they are.

His chances for survival aren’t high. He’s probably never going to see her again…

But he’s not going to go down without a fight.

I promised you I would protect you, MC. And I will.

I hope you don’t find me…not like this. God, I don’t want you to cry for me anymore…I don’t deserve your tears, MC. I love you so much…and I’m sorry you have to endure these for me…

I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry.

“DON’T LIE TO US! We know you know where he is!” the man bellows, cracking the whip against the floor.

Ooh. Scary.

“I…don’t fucking know…anything!” Vanderwood says with difficulty. Fuck. He’s losing too much blood. He can’t even feel his arms and legs anymore. How long has he been kneeling on the cold ground? How long has he been handcuffed, the metal rings cutting into his wrists?

Hang in there. Hang in there, Vanderwood.

He closes his eyes and lets her fill his thoughts. The feel of her skin against him. Her scent. Her voice. Her beautiful face.

…the face that will be streaked with tears if he breaks his promise.

“Boss, he looks like a corpse to me.”

“If he isn’t going to tell us anything, then he’s as good as dead.”

“Tch. The prime minister won’t be happy.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Looks like our friend here isn’t even in the government records.”

Vanderwood hears them reloading guns.

“Last chance, you motherfucker. Tell us where Saeyoung Choi is, or you’re dead.”

MC…Please forgive me.

“Do your worst,” Vanderwood replies in a low voice, glaring at the men standing in front of him.

“Tch.”

He hears the click of the safety. Sees him raise the gun, aiming it straight for Vanderwood’s head.

Thank you for letting me feel how it is to be loved…even if it was just for a heartbeat.

Suddenly, the lights go out and there’s a bang! against the wall. There are gunshots and loud screams, bodies falling against the floor.

Silence.

The lights come back on.

And an angel enters the room, her long brown hair billowing around her as she runs towards the secret agent. Seven is standing in the room too, a gun in his hands, embedding bullets into the dead bodies around them, making sure they stay on the ground.

“Vanderwood, Vanderwood!”

Is this a dream?

All the stress of the past hours finally come crashing down on Vanderwood, the pain washing over his body. He wants to tell her he loves her. He wants to hold her in his arms, tell her it’ll be okay. But his body is broken, and the man falls sideways, blood still trickling down from his wounds.

She catches him in her arms, cradling the man against her body. Her eyes are wide at the amount of blood in the room —she knows it’s his blood. And he’s so pale, so cold. MC’s heart thunders against her chest as she holds him close, fear seizing her.

“Baby, please, stay with me!” she exclaims, stroking his cheek with one hand. Vanderwood struggles to remain conscious, but it’s so hard not to fall asleep in her embrace.

Yes…this is where I belong, love. In your arms.

Baby…I’m a little tired though…

I’m just…

Going…

To take a nap…

Okay…?

He barely hears her cries. He wishes he’s stronger. But Vanderwood closes his eyes and lets himself drift away, wanting nothing more than to dream about the woman who has his heart, his soul.

Her tears fall against his cheeks and her grip around him tightens.

"Don't leave me, Vanderwood. Please. I just found you," she whispers into his ear, shoulders shaking as her sobs overcome her. Saeyoung kneels behind the secret agent, his eyes wide.

“Dear God, what have they done to you?” Saeyoung whispers, seeing the fresh criss-crossing gashes on Vanderwood’s back. He managed to find the keys to the handcuffs and he frees Vanderwood’s hands. But the secret agent’s hands fall to ground. He doesn’t move and MC closes her eyes, shaking her head.

“Saeyoung, he needs a doctor. We need to get him to a hospital,” MC says in a weak voice.

“I know. Help is on the way. Come on, help me get him to the exit…”

Fuck.

Everything fucking hurts.

But...pain is good.

Pain means he's alive.

…Where the fuck is he though?

Going through his memories sluggishly, Vanderwood is suddenly seized with panic as he remembers where he was last —the dingy room that smelled like blood. His blood. He opens his eyes, his heart rate spiking as he’s greeted by the unfamiliar surrounding.

“Minjun?”

Vanderwood realizes he’s lying on his stomach, his cheek pressed against a soft pillow. He takes in the details of the room, but his mind isn’t processing everything fast enough, and his body isn’t responding.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, trying to move only to regret it right after. Vanderwood closes his eyes as a wave of pain washes over him, a soft cry escaping his lips. Suddenly, he feels a warm hand on his head.

“Baby, don’t move. I’m here, you’re okay.”

That voice.

“MC?” he murmurs, wincing as his lips crack, reopening the cut.

Her face appears beside his bed as she kneels down, a worried expression on her beautiful features. Vanderwood slowly moves his hand and cups her cheek, wanting to assure her that everything will be alright, that he has no intentions of leaving her side. MC’s lower lip is wobbling, her hazel eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

“I thought I lost you, Vanderwood,” MC chokes out, her voice shaking.

Vanderwood lets out a soft chuckle, but it comes out sounding more like a wheezing cat. MC can’t help but let out a snort despite her tears, laying her hand over his.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, MC,” Vanderwood says, cracking half a smile. MC moves his hand to her lips and presses her lips against his palm, shaking her head.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m here to stay, Vanderwood?” she retorts, the tears escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “I love you, you stubborn man. Do you know how scared I was? I thought…I t-thought…”

“Shh…it’s okay now, love. I’m here. I’m okay. This stubborn man isn’t going anywhere.” Vanderwood says soothingly, wiping her tears away with his hand. “I love you too, MC. More than anything in this world.”

“I’m hurt, Mary~ I thought you loved me most!”

Vanderwood groans as Seven appears in front of him, the hacker’s trademark goofy smile on his face.

“Fuck off, Seven.”

MC hastily wipes her stray tears and Seven pretends not to notice them, going instead to sit by one of the chairs beside Vanderwood’s bed. “Is that any way to talk to your favorite hacker? But glad to see you’re alive and well, Vanderwood!”

“You and I both,” the older agent mutters.

Seven’s expression turns serious, his golden eyes full of remorse and…gratitude?

“Seriously though. Thank you. For not telling them about me.”

Vanderwood grunts. “I wouldn’t rat you out like that, Seven.”

“I know. That’s why you’re my favorite maid. If you had told them…I probably wouldn’t be here, Vandy. Thank you. I mean it.”

“I know. Now stop being so sappy. It doesn’t suit you.”

Seven leans back in his seat as he laughs, a genuine smile on his face. “Okay, Mary~”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Hmm? I can’t hear you over the loud beeping noise that machine is making~”

“Shut the fuck up.”

MC grins as she listens to the exchange of the two men —two brothers. Even though they aren’t blood-related, she knows Vanderwood would do anything for Seven too. He has watched over Seven ever since —and soon, he will need to watch over two Sevens.

MC’s thoughts drift to the photo of a younger Saeyoung next to his twin; the photo that is safely tucked in her purse. She hates seeing Vanderwood in such a state, but she knows their mission isn’t finished yet. No —their mission wouldn’t be complete until their family is complete.

We’ll find you, Saeran Choi. Please hold on until we do.

Did you like it? :D <3 Let me know what you think! :D 

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#mm #vanderweek 2018 #vanderweek #vanderwood #mysme #mystic messenger #mm short fic #angst #violence #mm fanfic #short fic #mysme fanfic #drabble #vanderwood x mc #loyalties

[vanrambling]

Pt.3- My way or the high way.

There was a thunderous sound and some of the equipment rocked slightly. Dust began to fall from the ceiling. 

A siren began to ring. 

There was a ring from an intercom on the door. 

Jacquie didn't move and simply stared at the sleeping body of her brother, a man in a hazmat suit changed the IV bag he was receiving. 

The bald man got to the intercom and began talking behind them. 

"Please, he is lying." Irene whispered, "They injected me with a vaccine, but they don't want the cure. They want to make sure the virus evolves and it can be easily spread. 

The door opened and another guard stood with his big gun in his back, he was wearing the same standard black suit as the others and had the same military cut. 

"Say that again." Jacquie's client said. 

"Boss, we found someone lurking around." Said the bodyguard.

"Why didn’t you shoot him on the back!?" He screamed at the guard, he was two inches taller than him. 

"Well, boss-" He was cut off as the distant sound of an explosion echoed through the basement. 

"Oops, sorry about that. I dropped another." The familiar voice made Jacquie grimace. 

Dust shook and the house settled. It was eerily silent except for the sound of a metal stick rolling down the stairs, followed by the wet footsteps coming down the stairs. 

“My, my. What a lovely place” He says as he walks down to the basement, still dripping wet and with a cocky, confident smile. 

“Good night, Jacqueline” He had a charming, dead smile that she didn't need to see to know he was pissed. 

“Gabriel,” she nodded in his general direction without taking her eyes from her younger brother. 

A goon walked behind him, pointing a shaky assault rifle at his back, he almost slipped on the damp steps behind him.

“And you are?” The boss asked.

“An interested party, I believe you have my client in your possession," Gabriel winked at Irene. 

“So you are the busybody that got in the way of my men all this time.” the boss took the holstered gun from the guard he had in front of him. 

Gabriel tapped his head with two fingers and clicked his tongue. “The one and only." 

He reached the bottom of the stairs, he kept one hand in his pocket and pointed his empty hand to the boss. 

"And you are Henryk Oslov. Drug dealer." He took his other hand from his pocket, it had a fistful of small silver rods, similar to the one that laid on the floor between him and the boss,  with which he scratched his chin, "Well, not quite, right? CEO of a big pharmaceutical, right? Different kind of drug dealer. Lower morals, I think."

Jacquie turned around, Oslov, she never asked the name of their clients, they liked their privacy. She just checked her bank account and made sure they paid in advance. Her client was getting angry and red faced.

The boss, Henry Oslov, took three deep breaths. Gun in hand. 

“And why are you still alive," He asked, he waved his gun around, "why is he still alive?”

The guard in front of him tried to open his mouth and decided against it. 

Gabriel grinned, “Because you see," he stepped closer, "I have something that you might want." He went past the gate "And I thought about selling it to you for the right price.” and leaned on the machine next to Irene. 

The boss turned, slowly, there was a tiny click. The safety of the pistol.

“And what might that be?” He said between his teeth. 

“This sticks.” Gabriel lifted the small metallic rods in his hand. 

“What do I want that stick for?” Oslov spat. 

“So I don’t do this.” Gabriel dropped one of the sticks on the floor. He still had three left. 

The little stick rolled on the ground. Henry lifted an eyebrow. 

A second passed. 

Another. 

There was another explosion in the distance followed by a loud alarm.  The guards lifted their weapons and pointed them to Gabriel. 

“What was that?” The boss asked a bit shaken. 

“I believe that was the Maserati” Gabriel had a faux guilt look on his face. 

“What?” Oslov's eye twitched. 

“You see, each of these sticks is a detonator," He shook them in his hand they twinkled ever so slightly. "If I stop pushing the button of one of these, it triggers an explosion."  He smiled. "Capisce?" 

Oslov's mouth grunted his gun was pointing at Gabriel but his aim was shaking. 

"If I drop the last one..." Gabriel paused dramatically, he was such a drama queen. Jacquie thought. "There is going to be many, many more". 

“You are bluffing,” Henry looked at his men. “He is bluffing," There was a tic in the corner of his mouth. "right?”

"There were a series of explosions," The guy furthest back said. "He yelled and he explained the same thing boss. We shot warning shots and then he dropped one of those and one of the watch towers blew up. Next was the bar by the pool. The girls got away safe tho, boss." 

"Who cares about the girls!" Oslov yelled and looked back to Gabriel, who had taken out a wet cigarette and was trying to light it up with the lighter Jacquie gave him years back.  

“Can you see how many I got?” Oslov said, shaking. 

“I got these three, but as I said, these are just the triggers. I managed to place a bigger payload before I ran out of time.” Gabriel gave up. "Anyone has a cigarette."

Jacquie pulled one out of her jacket and tossed it to him. 

"Thanks, love." He lit it up, took a drag, and placed the lighter back in his pocket. "So. Want to test your luck?"

Oslov turned to Jacquie. Pleading eyes. 

She sighed. “He is bluffing,” Jacquie said. 

Oslov sighed in relief and began laughing.

He lifted his gun and shot Gabriel on the shoulder.

One rod after the other began falling to the ground. 

Tink-ding-tink-tink. 

One second. 

Two seconds. 

He was smiling. 

“No," I wasn't” He pulled Irene up and threw the machine against the wall of glass, breaking it. He threw her under a bed and slid beside her. 

The first explosion wasn't far. 

“Motherf-” Jacquie ran after them and pulled her brother under the bed.

The next one was closer. 

The ceiling began to shatter. 

One of the bodyguards, the one that was closest to the stairs tried to run up only to be caught by a blast. 

Oslov tried to aim the gun but decided to close the door leaving his bodyguards on the other side. 

Everything went dark just before the mansion began to collapse. 

#whumptober2020 #no.3 #my way or the highway #held at gunpoint #oc #fic #blood tw #gun violence tw

[silverfootstepswrites]

title Kiss kiss summary Fill in the blanks, stupid. pairing Itasaku

Part i (here) | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

“Welcome! Four people?” 

“Yeah. Not really here for that. Need to talk to the person in charge here,” a gruff voice replied. 

“Okay. Hold on one moment please,” a girl giggled in return.

Sakura pulled a fresh cigarette out of the box. She listened to the footsteps tap upstairs, up to her office door. Four knocks. Quick. Nervous. 

She lit her cigarette.

“Come in,” she called. The door burst open.

“Mama, there are some suspicious people here!” Moegi huffed and puffed. 

“I heard Kansai-ben. They sounded a little rough,” Sakura agreed. Sighing, she rose from her chair. She shed her sweater and stepped into the pair of high heels waiting at the door. Moegi fidgeted, her eyes darting back and forth.

“Are you really going to be okay, Mama? Are you in trouble?” she fretted. Smiling, Sakura plucked her cigarette from her mouth. She snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. With her free hand, she squeezed Moegi’s cheeks together.

“Go check on Tenten and see if she needs any help at the bar,” she instructed instead. She released the girl and then headed down the stairs. Slow and leisurely steps that echoed. As she descended, she got a good view of the whole club. 

It was still early in the night, but there were already three groups of clients. Most of them looked like businessmen who had stopped in after work. The girls looked busy- laughing and listening to the men tell stories. Tenten was at the bar with a cocktail shaker. She met Sakura’s eyes but Sakura gave a slight shake of her head. Tenten’s mouth twisted but she stayed put.

“How can I help you gentlemen?” 

The man at the front of the group lifted his head. He had a jagged scar down his cheek. He and his companions were all dressed similarly in cheap black suits. All four of them wore sunglasses indoors. And one had a shaved head. The bald one bared his teeth at her. 

“I asked for the person in charge. Not another floozy,” the scarred man grumbled.

Sakura folded her arms across her chest.

“I am in charge. Why don’t you boys have a seat and then we can talk?” she replied, smile fixed in place.

“I already said that I ain’t here to chat with you. I’ve heard there’s someone I can talk to here about Special K,” the man stated. His fists clenched, probably to intimidate her into talking. But Sakura only blinked.

“Like I just said, I would be happy to talk once we take a seat. This is the entrance to my establishment. I would prefer we not block it,” she explained, still smiling. The man’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed the a passing waiter and snatched a bottle of wine. Smashing it against the side of the bar, he pointed the jagged edge at Sakura. Several of the girls in the club screamed. And then a hush fell over the entire room. People twisted in their seats to stare. 

“Listen, bitch. See these tattoos? I’m with the Uchiha group. Call your boss over or I’ll make you talk,” he snarled. He pulled up the sleeve of his suit to reveal a dark blue and red tattoo of an oni. From the clarity of the ink, it didn’t look like an old mark. 

“Really,” sighed Sakura, looking down at her wine-splattered dress. It was completely ruined. 

The man grabbed her, squeezing her forearm hard. Sakura winced. 

“I’ll cut that pretty face to ribbons. Let’s see how well your establishment does then,” he laughed. He held the tip of the bottle to her throat. It pricked at her skin.

When Sakura simply stared, he shook her. 

“Do it!”

Sakura held her hand out. It trembled.

“The phone, please,” she called. It took a moment, but one of the girls launched herself over the back of her booth. She scrambled under the bar to grab the landline. And then she thrust it into Sakura’s hand. Her wet eyes stared up at the man holding the broken bottle.

Sakura dialed a number. She cleared her throat once and then stopped herself as the glass prickled at her skin. 

“Hi. I have a very angry person here from the Uchiha group. He wants to talk to someone about Special K,” Sakura explained in an even voice. The girl who had given her the phone knelt at her side, hugging her legs. Sakura reached down with her free hand to pat her head. The voice on the other end asked something.

“Yes. They did. Thank you.”

Sakura hung up the phone. And the man with the scar only stared at her.

“Boss says if you want to know to bring in your informant. Because no one is telling you anything,” she relayed. The yakuza grit his teeth. His beady gaze darted around the room.

“Looks like you’ve still got a big head. Think your boss is protecting you?” he scoffed. He jerked his head. His cronies immediately set to work smashing barstools and pushing glasses off the tables. When one of the clients tried to stop them, the bald one punched him in the face. The hostesses screamed, clinging to each other and cowering in corners. 

Scarface grinned at Sakura, showing his crooked teeth.

“The Uchiha’s run this city. You’re looking to the wrong person to protect you, babe.” He caressed the side of Sakura’s face with the sticky bottle. She glared at him. 

“Then you run and tell your boss. To come and negotiate with me. Because I don’t talk to limp-dick little boys with mommy issues,” she hissed in return. His smile disappeared. Letting the bottle drop, he grabbed her by the hair instead. 

“You know what, bitch? I’ll do just that. And let’s see if you still talk so big.” He tugged her hair extra hard before pushing her. She stumbled backward. The side of her forehead collided with the edge of the bar. 

Guffawing, the thugs smashed one of the glass coffee tables for good measure.

The hostesses and clients leapt from their hiding places as soon as the men turned their backs to leave. One of the customers ran over the broken glass to help Sakura sit up. Blood trickled from the shallow cut between her fingers.

“Mama!” one of the girls shrieked.

“Quick! Grab a towel! Ayu, call an ambulance!” Tenten barked, already grabbing the reins. 

“Shit. That looks bad. Should I go after them?” he asked in her ear. He let her rest against his chest as the world wavered. She shook her head. 

“Aunt-” he tried again. Sakura grabbed the front of his shirt. She was immediately sorry that she got blood on his nice suit. But he didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t call me that. Just stay put, Tommy,” she croaked. His arms tightened around her. The hard shape of his gun dug into her spine, painfully. 

“So…you mean to tell me that you smashed up a hostess club last week…” Sasori said. He spun a pencil between his fingers, staring at the goons. The four idiots bobbed their heads up and down. They were all tough talk and swagger until they sat in front of the higher-ups. Then they were cowering on the sofa, hands on their knees. 

“Over what? That club has never given us trouble before,” Kisame spoke up, puffing out a deep breath on his cigar. At this, the four fools sat up even straighter. The Uchiha-gumi’s second-in-command had been somewhat of a loose cannon in his youth. Even now, youngsters trembled at the stories of the Blue Demon’s brass knuckles. And they glinted as bright as ever on his hands as he held his cigar. Sasori resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Uh…well…Big Bro, we heard a rumor that someone at the club had an inside connection. Had some good leads,” the one with the scar stammered. And then, turning his head muttered, “Turns out there was nothing but a mouthy bitch.”

Sasori snapped the pencil between his fingers.

“A mouthy bitch? What did she look like?” he demanded. The four men jumped at his tone. 

“Uh…pretty, I guess? Maybe in her early thirties? Pink hair…” one of the men listed.

“Well shit,” sighed Kisame. He held the cigar between his teeth as he looked over at Sasori. 

“You’re going to want to tell that to the Godaime. Lemme go see if he’s busy,” grunted Kisame as he got to his feet.

“Wait! She’s just some hostess! Do we really have to bother the kumicho over this?” the one with the scar asked. Kisame paused, his hand resting on the sliding door. 

“Was she the Mama?” he queried. When Scarface nodded, Kisame let out a harsh guffaw.

“Good luck, kid,” he simply said as he left the room.

Several minutes later, they were sitting in a room deeper in the house. And at the back of the room sat a man in a traditional deep blue haori over grey pants. Only his dark eyes moved as the men sat seiza in front of him- backs straight and feet under their buttocks. The position made them cramp and ache, but what choice did they have under such an intimidating stare?

“I’m busy. Tell me,” he demanded. And his deep, quiet voice sent a chill up all their spines. Sasori and Kisame stood on either side of him. It looked suspiciously like Sasori was trying not to smile.

“Uh…forgive us for wasting your time, Kumicho. We had a run-in at a hostess bar. I think it was called Twilight Dreams?” the man with the scar began. 

The boss’ eyebrow might have twitched.

“Word on the street was that someone there had an in with some ketamine. So we went to talk and the Mama there was downright disrespectful to the Uchiha name,” he went on. 

The boss opened his mouth.

“This should have been made clear to you. But the Uchiha-gumi does not handle drugs,” he growled. Scarface twitched.

“Yes! Of course, Kumicho! It’s just that I was told to investigate who might be selling the stuff onto our- I mean your turf!” he scrambled to explain. The boss glared at him but motioned for him to continue speaking. 

“Anyway, the Mama mouthed off at us so we smashed up her shop. Just to scare her. So I’m asking if you could send people to really teach them a lesson? She didn’t just curse at me, she’s making a fool of the Uchiha name, Kuimcho!”

The boss stared him down for the longest time. And then he clicked his tongue.

“Truly wasting my time with this,” he said. But then he sighed. “Make a formal apology to her. We’re yakuza- not vagrants.” 

“Kumicho?!”

“Now get out,” he then ordered, already getting to his feet.

Sakura stared out the window from her second floor office. She exhaled, smoke rising in wisps from her lips. Tapping her cigarette against the edge of the ashtray, she glanced down at her computer screen. The numbers on the spreadsheet all read green except for a few areas. Cigarette in her mouth, she bent over to type out a quick reply.

When a knock disturbed her, she tapped the send button. Shutting her laptop, she used the point of her shoe to push her bottom drawer closed. It locked in a series of rapid clicks. And then she turned back toward the window, one arm wrapped around her middle. 

“Come in,” she replied. 

“Mama,” Moegi hedged. Sakura glanced over her shoulder. The poor girl was shaking.

“It’s the same scary people as last time. And they brought even more with them,” she whispered. 

“Finally. Took them long enough,” Sakura grumbled. She whisked her blazer off the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders. It was the color of cream. Underneath was a black dress with thin straps. A little more revealing than she normally wore. But this was for a good occasion. All the while, Moegi continued to fret. 

“Go back to the front. Your regular usually comes today,” Sakura reminded her. Moegi continued to hesitate until Sakura physically pushed her out the door. Snubbing her cigarette out, Sakura slowly made her way downstairs. 

Just like the week before, the four ruffians stood in the entrance of the club. But behind them stood two other men. Sakura matched eyes with the one with blue hair and diamonds glittering his ears. He winked at her.

“I’m taking the VIP table in the back. Get it ready for me,” Sakura announced, raising her hand.

“Yes, Mama!” the staff replied. The servers immediately whirled around gathering clean glasses and coasters. 

The VIP table was tucked all the way in the back of the club. It had the usual booth seats with the square table in the middle. But there were also sheer glittery curtains to afford a little more privacy. 

Sakura sat in the cushioned seat. The two new men sat on either side of her while the four brutes sat catty-corner from them. 

Scarface’s entire face contorted as he sank into the seat. Hands on his knees, he bent his neck. 

“I’m here to apologize,” he began.

Sakura held up her hand. She pushed a menu over to him, lips smiling.

“This is a hostess club. If you want to talk to me, you have to buy my time,” she instructed. Scarface stared unblinking at the menu. 

“I ain’t here for no drinks. I’m here to apologize for trashing your club last time,” Scarface ground out. Sakura widened her eyes.

“Oh. You are? Then apologize after you buy me a drink,” she insisted. Scarface’s eyelid twitched. Kisame sighed.

“Easy, Mama. I’ll buy you a glass of Pinot Noir,” offered Sasori, trying to pick up the menu. Sakura pushed his hand aside, keeping her eyes fixed on Scarface. He slapped his palms down on his seat.

“Man, I’m just trying to apologize to you, you crazy woman. Just cut it out with the fucking drinks!” he yelled and then immediately sat back down, his face going red. While his friends attempted to calm him down, Sasori reached over for Sakura’s wrist. He glanced under her sleeve. And then pushed the lapel of her blazer aside with the back of his hand. 

“Oh my,” he simply said. Scarface’s head jerked up in time to see Kisame pushing Sakura’s bangs aside to reveal a white bandage. She met his panicked look with a wide smile.

“Shit. The boss is going to have a fit,” Kisame muttered.

Crossing her arms across her chest, Sakura motioned with her chin toward Scarface.

“Go tell your boss that you’re mostly certainly not forgiven,” she declared. And then her smile dropped.

“Now get the fuck out of my store,” she added. As Scarface opened his mouth to protest, the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head. Swallowing down his next words, he quickly made his way from the establishment. His three friends trailed after him like little ducklings. 

“I will take that Pinot, Sasori,” Sakura remarked as she watched them flee.

It took several more days for him to arrive.

It was late on a Tuesday night with rain pouring down on the city. As the door opened and shut, Ayu ran up to greet the customer, Moegi trailing her.

“Welcome! Just one?” she asked, beaming. Her smile faltered when she took in the customer’s black suit and dark sunglasses. Moegi quietly excused herself to run upstairs.

“Ah. Could I request Mama?” the man asked. Ayu giggled nervously.

“Well, that’s certainly not common. But if she’s not busy, I’m sure that Mama would be happy to see you. Would you like to look at a menu while you wait for Mama? I’m sure she’ll be right down,” she babbled, handing him a laminated sheet. But the man shook his head.

“Dom Perignon White Gold. A bottle for each table,” he immediately said. The girl’s eyes bugged out.

“Um… you mean just one for your table, correct?” she asked, sweating. The man didn’t seem the least bit annoyed.

“A bottle for each table,” he repeated, handing over his credit card. 

Sakura came down the stairs. She glanced his way. And then, not greeting him, she raised her hand.

“The VIP table,” she called out, already strolling to the back.

“Right away, Mama!” voices chorused back. 

Ayu looked from Sakura’s retreating back to the intimidating man.

“Well…I guess she wants you to follow her?” she wondered. 

“Of course,” the man murmured. He brushed past the girl.

Moegi sidled up next to Ayu. She looked at the credit card in the girl’s hand. It was matte and completely black.

“Wow. That guy must be loaded. Who is he?” she whispered. The girls jumped when a towel flew at them from the bar. Tenten scowled.

“Get the man his champagne!” she scolded the gossiping girls.

Sakura sat, her left leg crossed over her right knee. Her dress was white with sparkles across her chest. It was one of her rare strapless dresses. As she settled in, she adjusted the sleeves of the black blazer she had draped over her shoulders.

“Dom Perignon White Gold, Mama,” one of the servers announced as he set the bottle and two glasses down on the table. Sakura’s expression thawed a little. She uncrossed her arms.

“My, my, Uchiha Itachi. Feeling generous, aren’t we?” she commented. 

Chuckling, Itachi took the bottle. He grasped the bottom. Pointing the top away from her, he carefully popped the cork and poured her a glass. The light gold champagne bubbled pleasantly. When he handed her the flute, she accepted with fingers skimming over his. He didn’t pour himself a glass. 

He looked around the shop as she took a sip.

“This place looks good. I heard it was bashed up quite a bit,” he commented. 

“Is that what the Dom Peri’s for?” she queried, staring him down over the lip of her glass. Itachi waved the thought away.

“No. That’s just for you,” replied Itachi. 

“Hmmm,” she hummed into her champagne. Pretending she didn’t see his smile.

As they sat in comfortable silence, someone rapped their knuckles against the wall. A head poked past the curtain.

“Ah. Tommy!” Sakura greeted him. He was dressed in a charcoal suit with a light blue tie. Even his little pocket square matched the rest of his outfit. His bleached hair was a little too gaudy for him to be the average businessman.

“Just wanted to drop by and say hello, Mama. You seem busy so I won’t keep you,” he said and then his head disappeared. Itachi’s eyes narrowed.

“His Japanese was a little off…” he commented.

Sakura sighed, hand under her chin.

“Yeah. Tommy’s still learning,” she replied. She held out her glass and Itachi poured her a refill. And then, leaning back, Itachi pulled the curtain aside to stare out at the rest of the club. The man named Tommy sat together with the redheaded hostess. He put his arm around her shoulders, laughing. The girl slapped his arm in return, giggling.

“Tommy’s new blood. He’s been pretty useful. He’s handling a lot of the racketeering down in Yokohama,” commented Sakura. 

She slid across the seats to settle directly beside him. She pointed at another table.

“That’s Charlie Lau. Goes by Chojuro. He’s got big connections to dealers in Hong Kong.” The man with light blue hair caught their gaze. He lifted his glass to Sakura in a salute. She winked in return.

And then she pointed to one of the servers delivering a tray of fruity cocktails.

“That’s Sai. He wanted to shoot that idiot so badly before. I made him promise to be good today.” As if he could hear her, the server looked over. When he met Sakura’s gaze, he dipped his head ever-so-slightly. And then Sakura pointed to the bartender.

“And that’s Tenten. She’s my number two.”

Sakura took Itachi’s hand so that it would release the curtain. 

“My point being that when my boys come in, they’re dressed for the part. So that they don’t scare my customers and disrupt my business,” Sakura said. She pointed at Itachi’s sunglasses. And then waved her hand over his black suit with black shirt. Itachi looked down at himself.

“Unlike your goons. Running in breaking shit and spilling drinks. Not to mention terrifying my girls. This is why I can’t stand the yakuza,” Sakura scolded. Itachi took off his sunglasses, tucking them into the front of his shirt. He ran his hand through his hair, puffing out a sigh. And then he reached inside his jacket to pull out a checkbook and a fountain pen. 

“Alright. Tell me how much I owe you,” he conceded.

A snort of laughter escaped Sakura. She quickly held up her hand in front of her mouth. When Itachi looked up at her, she struggled to hide her smile.

“You yakuza are so old-fashioned. Wire the money over to us by the end of next month. I’m in no hurry. I know you’re not going anywhere,” she waved aside his offer. Pursing his lips, Itachi stared down at his checkbook, hands clasped.

“Unless being in debt to me bothers you so much,” she added as she watched his expression. Draping her arm over the back of her seat, Sakura snapped her fingers.

“Tommy.”

Itachi watched as Tommy leapt over the back of his booth and jogged over. His head poked in past the curtain again.

“Yes, Aunt?” 

Sakura gestured toward Itachi with her flute of champagne. 

“This is the daai lou who’s helping us pay for the club’s repairs. Say hello,” she directed. 

“Daai lou,” repeated Tommy. 

Tommy bowed neatly, his forehead parallel to the ground. When he lifted his head, he was grinning. Leaning against the back of the booth, he looked between them. After a long minute, he reached into his back pocket to pull out a business card. He handed it over to Itachi with both hands. 

“This is my work number. Give me a call anytime. Since it looks like Aunt likes you, we can talk about a payment plan, yeah,” Tommy said, all white teeth. Itachi accepted the card. It was for a big trading company. To his surprise, the name on the card was in gold kanji. 

“Iwano Deidara?” Itachi read out loud. Tommy shrugged.

“Makes it easier to do business, yeah. Somehow the people are more trusting when they think they’re dealing with their own,” he explained in return. 

“Tommy-kun!” the hostesses called his name. Tommy looked over his shoulder.

“Gotta go. I ordered the champagne tower just for you, Auntie,” Tommy said, pointing finger guns at Sakura. She smiled in return.

“You’re too good to me, Tommy,” she responded. 

Tommy’s head disappeared behind the curtain again. A cheer rose from the middle of the room. As the curtain fluttered, Itachi glimpsed the servers rolling out carts carrying several bottles of champagne and countless glasses.

“Daai lou?” Itachi then said, turning back to Sakura. 

“It’s the same thing as what yours call you. Big brother. Although, I could have him call you Kumicho, if you’d like,” Sakura explained. Itachi shook his head. After some thinking, he reached for the empty flute. Sakura laughed as she poured him a glass.

“Now you’re speaking my language,” she remarked. They clinked glasses together.

It had been a long time since Itachi had visited her club. Long enough that the new girls had no idea who he was, anyway. They chatted at length about the old times. Several times, Itachi’s eyes were drawn to her legs or to the way her smiling mouth moved as she spoke. Each time, he shook himself out of his stupor, pretending not to notice Sakura laughing at him.

A server dropped off a flute of champagne- this one a pinker color.

“From Tommy-san,” explained Sai.

And then later came a Shirley Temple with an extra cherry garnish.

“From Shino-san,” Sai said this time, gesturing toward a bespectacled man who had arrived later in the night.

Itachi raised his eyebrow at each drink.

“Aunt Cheng. If I could have just a moment of your time,” a deep voice interrupted their conversation about an hour later. Moving the curtain aside, Kiba blinked hard at the sight before him. He bared his teeth, already reaching for his gun.

“Kiba-kun. Not in my house,” Sakura reminded him, holding up a cherry and examining it in the light. Itachi’s hand, which had flown inside his jacket, froze too. The two men stared each other down.

“Did you come here to talk about this month’s shipment?” she asked, still remarkably calm. 

“Not in front of an Uchiha,” growled Kiba. His fingers were still clenched firmly around his weapon. 

Sighing, Sakura reached back to adjust her dress. She slipped her hands between the cushions of the booth and pulled out a gold gun. Diamonds glinted along the side. She held it up, pointing it directly between Kiba’s eyes. 

“I said not in my house, Kiba-kun,” she repeated in the same blasé tone. 

 He stared down the barrel of the gun at her. 

“Come back tomorrow. And don’t pull that shit in my club again,” she added. 

Letting out a shaky breath, Kiba lowered his hand. He bowed, eyes avoiding Itachi.

“My apologies, Aunt Cheng. I’ll be back,” he agreed. And then he disappeared, shoving the curtain back into place. Sakura slowly lowered the gun. 

“You’re dealing with the Inuzuka-kai?” demanded Itachi. Sakura balanced her gun in her lap, reaching for her drink. She sipped her champagne. 

“The Uchiha-gumi doesn’t touch drugs. The Inuzuka-kai does. There’s no conflict of interest there,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulder. And then she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“However, I will talk with them about selling their ketamine on your turf. I assume that’s what your boys were squawking about the other day,” added Sakura. As she reached back to hide the gun again, something caught Itachi’s eye. He took her wrist, pulling it close to examine the bruises around her forearm.

“What’s this?” he demanded. Sakura said nothing. She didn’t protest as he pushed her jacket off her shoulders and examined her. As he turned her, he caught sight of the light scabs on the left side of her throat. And then he pushed her hair aside and saw the bandage that had been hiding under her bangs. 

“Jing-Mei,” he growled.

Her eyes narrowed. She pulled her jacket back on in impatient yanks. 

“I hate it when you call me that,” she complained, not looking at him.

“Why would you let him do that? You could’ve easily handled all four of them,” Itachi demanded. Sakura swirled the champagne around in her flute.

He was correct. There was no need to have let those four fools smash up her beloved club. Had she given the signal, Tommy and Tenten would have easily taken them out. Tenten, especially, had deadly aim and never missed. 

“And start an all-out war between the Uchiha-gumi and the 24K? Is that what you want to see again?” she shot back. And then she fluffed her hair.

“Besides, my people are well-trained. They only bite when I tell them to. I won’t have another Orochimaru situation,” she said in a lower voice. 

“Well, we have to figure this out. If your higher-ups find out about this before we resolve it, it won’t be pretty,” Itachi retorted. Sakura nodded.

“I am Uncle Hashirama’s favorite. He won’t let a sleight against me go,” she agreed. The Dragon Head’s wrath wasn’t something anyone wanted to risk.

Sakura’s eyes skimmed around the room as she thought. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Give me Scarface. I don’t need the other three. I do need to send a message. I’m sure Uncle already knows.”

Itachi studied her face for a long time. 

“…What are you planning to do to him?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

Her answering smile was absolutely chilling. 

“You don’t get to be a Red Pole without spilling a little blood. I’ll do enough to get Uncle Hashirama off your back,” she assured him. When the color drained out of his face, Sakura’s expression softened. She took his chin and pulled his face closer. 

“Or would you prefer to kill him yourself? Either way, it needs to happen,” she whispered. Itachi closed his eyes. 

“Fucking shit, Sakura,” he sighed. He grasped her hand and held it to his forehead for a long time. He then pressed a kiss to her knuckles before he got to his feet. Sakura watched him with a half-smile on her lips.

“Give me your answer by the end of this week,” she said. Sakura stood too. She walked him to the door. And Itachi was acutely aware of the eyes that tracked his every movement. It was remarkable how well they blended in. Had she not pointed them out, he never would have pegged them as anything more than men blowing off some steam at the end of a long workday. She was right that they were far less noticeable than the yakuza around this part of the city. Perhaps there was something to learn from the triads.

Sakura put her hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t work too hard, Kumicho. You’ve aged poorly,” she murmured. 

“Half of this is because of you,” he retorted, almost smiling.

“Only half?” she asked, looking hurt. One of the hostesses quietly handed Sakura his credit card. She slipped it into his jacket pocket, her body pressing against his. Itachi pressed his lips together.

“Cheng Jing-Mei,” he sighed, “you will be the death of me.”

Sakura took a step back.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m just the mama of a hostess club,” she insisted. Blowing him a kiss, she waved as he turned and walked out the door. 

By Saturday, a package arrived in the alley behind the club. 

“Oh, that man. Even wrapping it up,” Sakura sighed fondly. Scarface struggled against the red ribbon and masking tape binding his hands and feet. 

“Should we dump him in the river, Aunt Cheng?” asked Sai, tilting his head to one side.

“I would prefer to bury him alive,” Tenten suggested, leaning against her broom.

“Oh, that sounds fun, but I have other plans,” Sakura replied. 

“By the way,” Sai said, hauling the man to his feet, “Who did you call when this one told you call your boss?” Tenten looked at Sakura too, just as curious. Sakura looked at them like that was the stupidest question I ever heard.

“I just called my cell and left a message. He did say to call the boss,” she retorted.

Tenten just shook her head.

“Man, you’re scary as hell, Auntie,” Sai chuckled, dragging the man towards his van.

The following Monday, a package arrived at the real estate office that served as one of the Uchiha-gumi’s many fronts. Deidara shook the box, already grimacing. He didn’t even try to open it. Instead he placed it on Itachi’s desk. Kisame made a face.

When Itachi undid the twine, the box unfolded, spreading like a platter on his desk. In the center of the cardboard sat an arrangement of ten fingers. There was no trace of blood. They were neat, white fingers- almost like they were made out of wax. In the center of the masterpiece sat a little card. 

Out of 10, this is how much I appreciated your gift. I sent the head to Uncle Hashirama so everything should be good for now.

Come visit me again soon.

Kisame cringed around his cigar. He prodded at one of the fingers with a pencil.

“Damn, Aniki. She’s as crazy as she’s hot,” he remarked.

“If this is what she’s like as an ally, what was she like as an enemy?” wondered Sasori.

Itachi rested his chin in his hand.

“I kind of want to marry her. What do you think of her as an Ane-san?” he said, his tone wistful.

Kisame nearly swallowed his cigar.

“Aniki… you might want to get your head checked out,” he whispered.

Part i (here) | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

#writing #itasaku #i've wanted to write this for so long #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #i might make this a longer thing #now i want to play sleeping dogs again #eastern suns #triad!au

[travisxsimmons]

old man

travis’s shitty moments turn even shitter after seeing his dad at the bar, gts all around!!

“You alright, darlin’?”

Travis glanced up from his fist to the bartender as she eyed him. She was an older lady with make-up way too heavy for her age, and she wore a sympathetic expression. He wasn’t exactly sober, but in compassion to the rest of the drunk idiots there, she seemed to have actually taken pity on him.

“Not so much, but that’s nothing another hit can’t fix,” he sighed, tapping against the glass and wincing.

“Sure thing, but...you might wanna think about cleaning up those hands, sweetie. Not that I suspect anything, it’s just a bit odd looking, that’s all,” she shrugged.

Travis’s eyes darted back down to his bloodied knuckles. So maybe beating the shit out of Whitney’s ex wasn’t the best thing to celebrate with a drink. In fact, celebrate wasn’t the right word. It was a kind of mourning, in a way. If anything were to bring death to their relationship, this was it. All the little things like Miami, the bathroom, Molly, the karaoke video, and nude’s being leaked all seemed to lead to this one particular downfall.

“Yeah, well...the prick deserved it. It’s kind of like a badge of honor at this point,” Travis shrugged, tossing back his refill as if it were water. And it was true. He’d gotten an incoming of texts: Molly, Dylan, Philip, Meredith. All of them asked a mix of if he’d seen the photos, what was going on, if was Whitney okay. He didn’t know, though, not until it was too late. He’d caught enough of the live-stream to send out a rare, angry tweet to Woody, one that he was sure his publicist would be on his ass for later. The moment that was brought up and laughed at over Instagram, something snapped. It was personal from that point on. He knew it may have been stupid or even hypocritical considering the countless times he’d hurt Whitney himself, but something about driving to his place and watching Woody wincing against each blow directed towards his face was worth it. Just because he’d fucked with her head didn’t mean anyone else should’ve had the right or gotten pleasure from it. Maybe that’s what felt so good about seeing Woody’s wrecked face and walking away with bloodied hands. It was an eye for an eye.

“Honey,” she sighed as he tapped it once more. “Are you sure you don’t wanna slow down? I don’t want you doing anything else too stupid.”

“Carla,” he said, catching sight of her name tag, “I trust you. Trust me back, yeah? There’ll be a good tip in it for ya.”

She hesitated briefly, but ended up filling his cup to the brim once more. “Just...be careful, hon. If not for you, for me.”

He opened his mouth to reply to her, maybe even thank her for being over the top nice when him of all people didn’t deserve it, but a roar of laughter from the other end of the bar caught his attention. It was familiar, and it actually made him tense up. It was enough to feel like every inch of hair on his body was standing up straight. He carefully turned his head to see the small group of men who appeared to be in their 60′s or 70′s, all seemingly piss-drunk. He wouldn’t have thought much of it if it weren’t for the one in the middle, arms flailing about as he seemed to tell some story with dramatic flair. Must’ve been where he got it from.

“Fuck,” he sighed, getting to his feet and digging into his pocket to slide a hundred dollar bill towards Carla.

“Baby, you didn’t even finish your refill. This is too much.”

He licked his lips before grabbing the glass and finishing it off, giving her a small nod as he placed it back on his napkin.

“S’for being a decent person. God knows we could use more of those in the world,” he responded, his voice gravelly. He needed to get the fuck out of there. He was all prepared to, reaching down to button up his coat, the pound of his boots echoing as he walked to the entrance.

“Travis?”

The voice had him skip to a stop, and he felt as if he were just grabbed by a creature in a haunted house.

“Travis! My boy! Fellas, that’s my fuckin’ son right there! In a bar of all places. The fucking irony, eh? Really taking after his old man,” he heard his father’s chatter, his eyes squeezing shut as they all roared with laughter again. He couldn’t leave now, not without saying something. He hesitantly turned around, feeling Carla’s protective stare on him as he walked towards the oldies gang and stopped about a foot away from.

“Well son, don’t you think it’s rude to not stop to say hello? Especially to your father, of all people.”

“Not sure if the alcohol has blurred your eyesight, but I was just leaving, dad,” he replied, his tone curt. It definitely caused a stir from the other older guys, an awkward hush falling among the group.

“Big mouth you’ve got there, boy. You certainly didn’t get it from your mother, that’s for sure. Another gift from old pops, huh?” he prodded once again with a chorus of snickers from his goons.

“How about you keep mum’s name out of your mouth?” Travis replied. If there was sore subject, it was that. His mom practically raised him and his siblings on her own, and even though she’d moved on, it still wasn’t fair. “Besides, you never stuck it out long enough to really know her, did you?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” his father drawled, eyes going from a unfocused blur to a narrow, faltering glare. Strangely enough, it was accompanied by a deep smirk, once that he wished he could just smack off of his face. He was sure the drinks were the cause of that. “You should be grateful I decided to stick it out with that bitch long enough for you to be alive. Count your lucky fucking stars.”

He didn’t want to let this rattle him, despite feeling the way his fists were starting to tremble at his sides. “Classy as ever, dad, but you’re not exactly hot shit yourself. She’s moved on, and you’re here in a random bar. If you think any of us should feel grateful towards you, then I guess it’s not just liver damage you’ve got going on. It’s starting to effect your brain, too.”

The comment promoted another loud round of laughter from his dad, although his friends didn’t have the same reaction. It was more awkwardness, unsure if they should be laughing along or leaving him be.

“Maybe you’re right, son, but from the looks of it, you’re following right behind me, huh? Almost exactly in my footsteps, and not surprisingly so. I’ve heard your brother’s already managed to fuck up his marriage, and you’re here looking like you just buried a dead body. Probably can’t keep a girl yourself, right?”

“Wrong. My girl, she...” Travis’s voice cut off when he suddenly remembered that, technically, Whitney wasn’t his girl. Not at the moment. His dad didn’t have to know that, though. He didn’t owe him any explanations. “She’s a country singer. A fucking fantastic one, and I care about her enough that you’ll never have the honor of ever getting to meet her in person. Not if I have any say.”

“Well that sounds like a nice, fake, fairytale girl you’ve made up there, son. Let me guess, that song, the ‘Travis’ one is by her and it’s about you, right?”

His silence and the look on his face was the only answer his dad needed, his moment of shock turning into an ugly, cruel cackle.

“It is! Well, fucking hell boy, I should’ve known. Robert can’t make it work, and you leave them high and dry enough to get a song written about you. You’re both your father’s sons. Not sure if I should be proud, I expected as much. Let’s hope your sister isn’t out there selling herself short or swinging around a pole and shoving money in her panties. I’d hate to see another waste of potential.”

In almost a second, Travis had lunged and had his dad’s shirt taken up in his fist. The others were quick to jump in, feeling a pair of arms attempting to tug him away from his dad.

“Hey! It’s fine, let him go,” his dad bellowed, and Travis felt himself being released from the hold that was on him. “You wanna punch me? Go right ahead, boy.” He got uncomfortably close to him, enough so that Travis took in the stench of whisky and cigarettes from his breath. “You better make it a fucking good one, too. You’re a lot of things, but hopefully not a pussy.”

Travis stared at him, heavily breathing before shaking his head.

“You’re not worth the time. You’re not worth shit.”

Despite deserving more, he settled for giving his dad a hefty shove. He didn’t relish in the way he stumbled backwards with a drunken grin. It was all just so stupid and sickening.

“Guess you’re a little bitch, too, huh? Isn’t that right, Travis? Go on, get the fuck out of here.”

He turned to walk away, to just block out the comments, leave everything in the dust and carry on. However, he was met by the presence of two police officers walking through the doors.

“Is there a Travis Simmons here?”

Fuck.

“I, uh, yeah...me. What’s the problem, officer?”

Instantly, he received the ‘you’re under arrest’ spiel and felt a pair of cuffs wrap around his wrists. It was actually pretty impressive how fast they swooped in. No, it wasn’t his first time having something like this happen, but it was the first time he’d actually felt the gut punch of shame. Not for what he did, but for who was observing it. He glanced to Carla, who was almost as horror struck as he was, then reluctantly over to his dad who raised a glass in his direction.

“My kin, ladies and gentleman. He’s getting more similar to me with every passing moment.”

Travis’s eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to watch as he tipped the drink back. He couldn’t help but think about how similar they looked doing it. If he was actually becoming anything like his dad, then that was just the biggest fuck you life could offer him. It was almost torturous when the song over the speakers changed and he recognized Whitney’s voice, singing about the shitty things he’d done. His dad’s chuckling in the background as it played was a punchline to the whole fucking joke. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe all of this was something he’d been asking for. Even so, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this low. He didn’t dare look back, eyes glued to the floor as he was lead to the cop car.

#one shot: old man

[temporary-fo4-blog]

Pre-War Companions P2

Dogmeat: This pup is a natural born guard/attack dog. When he was old enough, he was trained to be a K9 unit at the Boston Police Department. Dogmeat was eventually paired up with Canine Officer Valentine, they’ve quickly grew a bond together not only as partners but as family. Officer Valentine and his fury partner have taken down many badies and cracked many cases through the years, from tracking down illegal chems to finding missing people, this duo was inseparable. After injuring his paw, Dogmeat was now unfit for duty and had an early retirement. Luckily his old partner took him in as he was promoted to detective. Dogmeat now spends his retirement years helping his heart broken partner track down his fiancé’s murder on the down low; all while messing with detective Valentine’s cat.

Hancock: John was quite the hooligan back in the days of his youth. He was an alright kid, living in the city with his parents and his older brother. John’s brother always picked on him while John got his revenge by either pranking or embarrassing him. Their father often took them out of the city for a camping trip and go fishing, John generally had a decent childhood. When puberty started kicking in, John became quite the reckless teenager he was expected to be, whether it’s giving his professors a hard time, skipping class to go out and party, experimenting with drugs and getting high with friends, and hooking up with whom ever catches his eye; he somehow always manages to charm his way out of trouble...yup, John McDonough is the fun friend. To avoid getting drafted into the army, both he and his brother went to college, while his brother went to all his classes and studied, presuming a career in politics, while John of course, when to the frat parties. After a heated argument, John left home and stayed with a few friends in the mean time, while making money by selling drugs, making sex toys, and charging people entrance for parties. After a while, John figures he should get his shit together before his life goes down hill, in the mean time hopefully his devilish charm and that pretty face of his aids him to a better future.

MacCready: Robert never knew his parents, he grew up in a DC orphanage with a bunch of other children who’ve come to respect him for his leadership. RJ was a nightmare of a child, always starting up trouble with the other kids whether it’s picking fights with each other, starting up shenanigans, drinking beer, vandalizing public properties, or shooting the other kids with a BB gun. He wasn’t any better in his pre teen years especially with his raging hormones. He was introduced to cigarettes when he was 13 and developed a smoking habit eventually nocking up his high school sweet heart and had no way to support his new family from the looks of his grades, so he eventually enlisted into the army as a sniper paratrooper, the best of his squad, even though he wasn’t the most physically capable soldier, had a hard time following orders from his drill instructors, and didn’t get to see much action out in the field(he prefers it that way). Unfortunately MacCready was traumatized by the death of his wife when she gave birth to their son and started finding comfort on chain smoking, drinking until shit-faced, and purchasing services from prostitutes for sometime until he had to take matters into his own hands when he realized how much his new son relied on him, motivating him to get his act together. After the war, Robert worked at a office job for a while,(he hated it)so he applied for a job at a RobCo factory in order to support his son as a single parent. RJ now wakes up early in the morning to take Duncan to school and work a 10 hour shift, then heads home to pay the babysitter, tuck Duncan in for the night, and finally rewards himself with a cold beer and calls it a night then heads to bed to begin the day all over again. 

Nick: Valentine had a normal childhood with a few hardships along the way, his parents had raised him with a strong sense of morality “you help who needs help”, his family are religious folk. Growing up, Nick has gotten in a few tussles here and there, standing up for the little guy. Nick is more or less of an average student, enjoys history, English, and has proved himself quite useful using terminals but never saw himself in a office job, he prefers to be out in the field, and he’s rather fond of baseball. After high school, Nick went into the Boston Police Academy and became a K9 police unit and was paired up with a German Shepard named Dogmeat. At some point Nick met a woman named Jennifer Lands and proclaimed her as the love of his life. Life was good for Officer Valentine, he now had a place of his own, two fury pets, was recently promoted to Detective, and was going to marry his long time girlfriend, life was great for Nick. Until one of Eddie Winter’s goons murdered Jenny when they discovered Detective Valentine took up “Operation Winter’s End”, this destroyed Nick, to make matters worse “Operation Winter’s End” was disbanded and Nick was ordered to seek treatment for his PTSD at C.I.T. Nick went against the orders of his superiors of hunting down Eddie Winters, and is now dedicated to tracking him down with his fury partner, Dogmeat.

Piper: Her father was drafted into the army when she was a little girl leaving her and her pregnant mother at home in pre-war Boston. Piper was a curious little girl, always wanting to learn or find out secrets of others. Though she loved learning, the lectures easily put her to sleep in her classes growing up. She wasn’t very popular in school due to her headstrong and nosey nature. Unfortunately her mother passed away when she gave birth to her new little sister, Natalie. To make matters worse her father died in action a few years later, so Piper had to grow up to take care of herself and Nat. Having both her parents wills to support both her and her sister, Piper preferred to be self supported instead of having distant family members or a family friend take care the Wright sisters. After a while Piper was now capable of supporting both herself and Nat when she scored a journalist’s career at the Boston Bugle, now capable to afford a place of her own and afford an education for Nat. Piper was a little more than just enthusiastic about her job which almost got her killed or fired when she dived head first into dangerous or scandalous situations, she’d almost do anything for a good story. Though she had a few run ins with the law ,Piper’s main focus is corruption in the government and in politics, determined to expose the truth to the people of Boston.

#fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 headcanons #fallout 4 dogmeat #dogmeat #fallout 4 nick valentine #nick valentine #fallout 4 hancock #john hancock #john mcdonough #fallout 4 maccready #maccready #robert joseph maccready #fallout 4 piper #piper wright

[atlaswriting]

An uneasy chill sets into my bones when I hear a knock on the door. Neither fully asleep nor awake, I roll over, stare at the empty space in the bed and feel an on-rush of concern. The fist pounds on the door for a second time and I’m running. Fingers reach for the knob; I pull and stare up at Brantley, slumped against the door frame blinking away the bright lights above us.

“What are you—where’s Abram?”

“He—,” Brantley starts, tongue too big for his mouth, choking on the words he wished he didn’t have to say. “Abram’s been—,”

Fingers curl aching tight at my side, if I have to strangle the words out of his mouth I will. “Spit it out.” The demand isn’t gentle and the boy steps away from me. A surge of anger shoots white hot up my spine. “I swear to God if you don’t—,”

“He was arrested.” He blurts out. “Abram was arrested—I didn’t know who else to go to. I don’t have enough money to bail him out and I have no idea what his grandmother’s phone number is.” His cheeks turn a deep shade of crimson, eyes cast down to the exposed concrete floors. “He asked me not to tell you—before he was put into the car, he told me not to call you.”

I’m slipping on a pair of Ellie’s shoes while Brantley explains to me what happened: their drinking, Abram allowing his past to come out of the closet like piled up skeletons, the man.

“Was he older?” I ask, stopping to look at him with my keys gripped so tightly that the grooves cut into my palm. “Did he look like a villain in a James Bond movie?” He nods, “Oh God. Why didn’t you stop him?” Brantley parts his lips to argue but I’m halfway down the hall when I hear his apology.

I couldn’t be sure of what else he said or if he tried following me or how I started driving but I’m halfway to the police station when my ears finally stop ringing. When I reach the desk I notice chunks of tonight’s dinner stick to my flats, having thrown up twice on the way in.

“I’m here for my boyfriend,” I tell the cop behind the desk, a squat sort of man whose cheeks are too brightly red to be considered healthy, “Abram Kempe. I’ll post his bail. Can you please just let him know I’m here.” I beg.

♡ ♡ ♡

I can’t be mad at him. The black and blue bruising his face like a mask wasn’t Abram—instead, I convince myself it’s a monster that has taken his place, swallowed him whole and pretends.

He’s showered six times since he came home yesterday and has said even less to me.

If ask: are you hungry? / can I get you some ice? / do you want to go to my appointment with me—we’re getting a 3d scan today.

I don’t ask: are you still in there? / did you beat yourself into an early grave? / do you love anything except the warm black that your chest has become?

On the fifth day, when his bruising is more yellow than blue I stare while he changes into a fitted suit, “Are you going to talk to me?” I ask. Instead, he looks back from the reflection in the mirror.

Frustration builds a foundation in my stomach, deep and hot it boils away.

“If you’re not going to talk to me then you should just leave!” I yell, hand curling around my phone.

He laughs, tightens the tie around his neck and dares it to be a noose, “This is my apartment. I pay the rent here—do you even do anything? Go to class anymore? Or do you just stand around staring at me all day?”

“You’re such an ass, Abram.”

He shrugs and when he leaves I don’t see him for two days.

♡ ♡ ♡

2 am comes before Abram walks back through the door—reeking of stale cigarettes and bud light he slips out of his close and between the covers.

“Are you sleeping with someone?”

He doesn’t bother turning, doesn’t laugh, instead he lets out a shaky breath and stands back up, “What?”

“I said: are you sleeping with someone?” I prepare myself for the worst, steel my spine and dig my nails into my palm, hoping to cause more pain to myself than he’s about to. “You’re out all the time—I don’t even see you anymore. It’s Kings this and Kings that. If you don’t want this anymore, fine, tell me.”

Abram paces our room, fingers curling and uncurling as the words build up in his chest until their pressure becomes too great and he turns around. Loads the gun and fires at me. “I nearly killed my dad, Elise.” He says, “do you know that? I could have killed him. Wanted to kill him. Had his life in the palm of my hands. I could have beaten it out him.” He looks down into his upturned hands shaking fiercely. “And you want to talk about how I’m feeling? You want to carry on and forget it. I can’t. Do you get that? I can’t get his face out of my head, I can’t stop thinking about how easy it would have been—so if you think I’m sleeping with someone, keep on thinking that. I don’t give a shit. I’m not going to pretend I’m fine to make you feel better. That’s bullshit.”

I stand now, clutching a pillow against my chest. A scream bubbles up my throat while tears threaten to fall. “I’m not asking you to pretend you’re better. I’m not asking you to do anything except not shut me out. I’m asking you not to forget about me now that the Kings are finally noticing you—and for what? To be their goon?” A strangled laugh makes his fists curl again, “You aren’t a goon. You aren’t this person—you don’t beat people just for the sake of beating people. Malachi—,”

“Don’t.”

The warning should’ve been enough to stop me, but my throat is wide and the words slip past liked vomit, “You aren’t Malachi, Abram. You—,”

“Elise, I said shut up—,” he steps forward. Suddenly more his father’s son than his mothers. He stops only when I step back. Strength leaves his body as his shoulders slump forward, “I’m spending the night at Brantley’s. If you want to be out, fine. Get your stuff and go. But stop trying to act like my mother—the one I want’s already dead.”

♡ ♡ ♡

I should have known something was wrong. Should have had that instinct to run the moment I stopped feeling him move. I read that happened toward the end. That eventually he’ll have no room to grow and he’ll settle. But as the Doctor’s face falls he presses the wand harder against my stomach.

“When is the last time you felt him kick?” He asks.

I try to think, put a number to the day but my mouth falls open without an answer.

He moves, straps my stomach up and tries to listen for something, anything.

“Miss Allaire, I’m sorry to have to tell you this—,” he speaks, wordless, as time starts to slow before the panic sets in—when I hear his voice again he’s begging me to calm down but the rising beep of my heart proves I haven’t, “Elise,” he says my name over and over but none of it sounds real.

“We won’t know when he—,”

“The baby will need to—,”

“Is there anyone you want to call? The father? Your parents?”

Sweat pools at the base of my neck, in the dip of my collarbone and in the palm of my hands.

“Abram,” I manage to force his name through clenched teeth before the panic rushes over me and everything fades.

♡ ♡ ♡

It felt wrong. Dirty. I press my hand to the hard of my stomach, trying to will Theo to push back. I begged, bartered, dealt with the devil long enough to sell my soul.

I knew something was wrong—that I’ve killed away parts of me that weren’t mine to kill.

♡ ♡ ♡

Relief isn’t something I feel when I see Abram. All I can taste is the acrid guilt rising up my throat. He rushes into the room, by my side and my nurse begins to fill him in. I try to speak, will my mouth to move but my jaw is honey stuck. I want to explain to him before she does—explain that my sickness came back, that this wasn’t how I wanted him to find out, that the demon that latched onto my shoulders wasn’t full exorcised.

I want to apologize.

Instead I listen as the nurse tells him I weigh even less than I did before the pregnancy, that the baby—Theo, I keep telling her, he has a name, Theo—expired two weeks ago ( they suspect ).

Expired. Like old milk.

I reach for the plastic cup in front of me, throw it at the wall beside her, I scream until dizziness sets in, until his hands hold my shoulders against the bed and I feel his warm tears fall onto my face. I scream until black borders my vision and don’t stop until they fore a mild sedative through the I.V.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Elise we’re going to need you to push.”

“I need you to do this for him,” he tells me, “I know this is hard—,” bullshit, I want to shout; instead I swallow it down, press my knees together, refuse. “You need to be strong for him.”

Another sob shakes my body and Abram turns my head, cups my cheek and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You can do it, baby,” he says, “We should meet our little boy.”

“Cut him out of me,” I beg, “cut me him out—I don’t want to do this, I can’t.”

Cut him out of me and my heart along with it. It died with him, anyway.

“Elise,” Abram says, “my mom’s got him. It’s okay—I just need you to push. I can’t lose you too. Not again. For me, please?”

♡ ♡ ♡

If there’s a God, I decide I’m not going to pray.

There’s an empty space in my chest in the shape of him, carved out and scarred over.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Do you want to hold him?” A nurse asks, cradling a small white and blue blanket. Instead of answering her I turn my head away.

Counselor after counselor come into the room—with and without Abram, they tell me that what I’m feeling is normal, that grief is a sinking ship but that there are life boats. I don’t say anything, I stoke the embers of rage and tune out their voices.

It’s when a priest comes by, offers his prayers and tells me that Theo is with Him now when I finally react. I scream until his face pales and throw anything within arms reach at him—a remote control, a tray of food and his bible.

“She’s not going to hold him—if she doesn’t…” the nurse looks from Abram to me, “She’s going to miss her chance.”

“I’ll talk to her.” He says, “alone.” He waits until she leaves the room before carrying the bundle over to my bed, sitting beside me and leaning in.

“He has your nose,” Abram tries to laugh, “and my chin, like you said.” He licks his lips, “Elise—you should hold him. They’re going to have to…”

I swallow the lump in my throat, a match to light the gasoline in my stomach, “I don’t want to.”

“He’s our baby—you need to say goodbye.”

“That isn’t our baby, Abram. Our baby is dead, that’s just his body.” I seethe, “You can’t say goodbye to something you’ve never said hello to.”

His shoulders shake and he turns to face me, “God damn it Elise.” He forces my arms apart, and places him gently in the nooks of my arms. He holds me there as sorrow knocks me down, my mouth drops in a strangled moan.

My mother always said I was made for ruin.

I didn’t think that included you.

#thread: ablise #thread: all

[analogguyinadigitalage]

The Silencer…by Scott Connors

What if everything about you was a lie? Your name, your history, your family, all a cleverly crafted creation. Forged birth certificate, phony Social Security card, bastardized transcripts from schools and universities, fake driver’s license, the whole thing, a sham. Imagine having to lie to everyone in your life. Your wife, your children, your friends, but the more you lie the more the lie becomes the truth. I thought of this as I lay in bed next to my wife Kimberly who is sleeping soundly with not a care in the world.

 On the day of my eighteenth birthday I was pulled out of the orphanage where I had lived since my parents died in an auto accident, or so I was told. I was taken to an estate far out in the country and led into a room of twenty others just like me, all orphans all turning 18. Chandler (if that was his real name) stood in front of us for quite awhile before speaking. He looked more like an accountant than a spymaster, with his bald head, tiny round eyeglasses, bags under his eyes, and scuffed shoes, but as I would soon come to realize looks are deceiving.

 “You have been brought here to be of service to your country. You all turn eighteen today and as such, are now legal adults. You are all orphans, have no families and therefore cannot be compromised. You will all spend one year here.  You will be schooled, given new identities and trained hard and long. After your year here, your years in the orphanage will seem like a cake walk.”

 Always the rebel, from my seat in the back of the room I said, “And what if we don’t want to be of service to our country and stay here for a fucking year? Like you said, we’re all adults and you can’t make us.” I leaned back in the chair, folded my arms across my chest a smirk spreading across my face, the contempt seething from every pore of my body. Chandler smiled, walked down the aisle and kicked the legs out from under my chair sending me sprawling across the floor. All eyes in the class were on me and the silence loomed in the room, everyone waiting to see who would make the next move. He spoke in an almost whisper like a parent whose had enough of an insolent child. “In the case no one here wishes to be of service to their country, we’ll turn you over to local law enforcement somewhere with charges which I guarantee will stick which will put you away for life. Try telling them or anyone else about your time here and you’ll be classified insane, which will lead to incarceration in a psychiatric facility which we control and from which I promise you there is no release. Just as fast as I kicked your chair from under you and sent you sprawling is how fast I can kick your life out from under you and send you sprawling to prison. Questions? Good we start tomorrow morning. Get some sleep you’re going to need it.” The room fell silent, he exited without another word, guards appeared and we were escorted to our rooms for the night.

 That was forty years ago to the day. Today I turned fifty-eight years old, home, wife, kids, edging in on retirement and it’s all been a ruse. I see the crow’s feet around Kimberly’s eyes as she sleeps and I remember when her skin was smooth and wrinkle free, but time takes its toll on us all in different ways. The long blonde hair covers the pillow like fine straw, the full lips I first kissed in a bar in Athens, she on a college break, me on my first assignment, the lips which I’m sure have never uttered a lie to me, unlike mine which have done nothing but. Her chest rises and falls with each breath and I can’t help but think how she would react if she knew the truth. Many times over the years I’ve wanted to tell her, been tempted to tell her, but the inevitable question always arises, then what? Crickets chirp outside our suburban home window as I stare out into the blackness of what is my life.

 Chandler appeared the next morning and scrawled three lines on the blackboard:

Deception Is Essential

Deception Is Everything

DIE

He let the three lines sink in before speaking. “Your lives will be all about deception. And if you fail to deceive you will die. So remember those three little letters D I E and remember what they stand for. They will be your mantra throughout your life. You will deceive our enemies, you will deceive your family’s and loved ones, you’ll deceive everyone you meet and should you fail to deceive you will die and I can guarantee that.”

 The moon cast an eerie light on the dresser in our bedroom lighting up the framed picture on our dresser of our two daughters Sasha and Jade. Another portrait hung on the wall of the four of us; the quintessential American family. Deep down I knew we were far from that, or I should say I was far from it. My wife and the girls know nothing of the stranger who lives in their midst, the interloper who has cohabitated and co-existed in their family these past years. The girls, both grown now with families of their own would be devastated if they were to ever find out the truth. A dog barks in the distance and my senses, ever keen even at this age bristle with foreboding. The house is well protected with alarms and I am well armed.

 Chechnya, Uzbekistan, Georgia, Moscow, the list reads like a bad spy novel, and I’ve spent time in them all. I’ve turned more agents than a hotel maid turns bed sheets. I’ve killed men, women, and even children I’m ashamed to say. All in the name of God and country. In my early years I was a machine, a robot programmed to carry out commands and make sure every mission was completed and I carried complete immunity and cover for my actions, all assured by my ability to deceive.

 My cover was as a job as a Defense Department contractor. RBK Industries supposedly manufactured and sold weapons sights. Our office, a nondescript brick building in an industrial park looked like any other. The building as well as the industrial park was owned by the agency and we actually went to trade shows like a legitimate business and solicited customers; deception is essential. I travelled all over the world under the guise of a businessman. And my business was to deceive.

 And deceive I did. When I found the father of one of my daughter’s friend had sexually abused her, I wanted to kill him, which certainly was easy enough for me to do and get away with, but instead I arranged for the authorities to find kiddie porn on his computer and illicit transactions to overseas banks linked to the white slave trade. Once arrested, his daughter became the star witness for the prosecution. The last I heard he was being passed around for cigarettes in an unnamed correctional facility.

 Murder wasn’t the issue. I killed on command. I wasn’t judge or jury, I was merely the executioner. Murder dictates deception. You must deceive your target to get in close enough for them to hear your whisper when you thrust the knife into their heart. In many cases it was about justice not murder and the two don’t always go hand in hand. I thought back to the handful of lives I’d taken in my career. There was no guilt or remorse. Chandler and his goons had indoctrinated in us a sense of patriotism and service to country, moralism be damned.

 Now in the winter of my career I had cultivated my biggest coup ever. I single handedly was getting ready to turn a very senior Russian Kremlin official whose defection would shake their government to its core. The defection took years to develop. It was so secretive I let no one in the agency even know. I kept no files at the office; everything was in my home office where I knew it would be safe from the prying eyes of my office mates who were always trying to one up each other.

 One last coup and I would retire with honors. I’ve thought about this every day while driving to work, while staying in safe houses all over the world, while making love to my wife. Keep your eye on the prize I’d tell myself. I’d put a little away, and with my pension, we’d be able to sell this house and retire to a place I’d been paying on in Florida. The ocean always provided me with solace, because the ocean keeps its secrets too.

 I thought of all this as I felt my wife place the ice-cold silencer to my temple.

#AmericanShortStories #shortstory #shortstories #writing #fiction #scottpeterconnorswriter #scottpeterconnorsauthor