#But it’s not even remotely good PR work and they should probably just shut up about it and let official tumblr channels make comments

[polyamoryprincess]

reading the staff responses to questions about these decisions is wild.

“My opinions are my own and aren’t reflective of Tumblr’s opinions” yeah? Then why do you talk like you got a boot in your mouth?

[azucanela]

chapter i

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: cursing.

word count: 3k

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

series masterlist

Y/N’S HEAD IS POUNDING when she wakes up the following day. Her hand coming to rub her temple as she attempts to soothe the throbbing of her own head, the light just barely seeping through her blinds already feels like too much as she rises up in her bed. Blinking a few times, Y/N’s eyes adjust to the light and she sighs, stretching her arms upwards and almost wincing at the sound of her bones cracking.

You’d think that a Pro Hero wouldn’t have such issues, and yet.

Coming to a stand, Y/N hisses at the feeling of her cold floor, frowning before she makes her way towards the hallway and rubbing a hand against her eye. She catches a look of herself in the mirror, hair amiss, makeup that she’d applied from the night before still on— and yet her eye bags seem to have grown. If Y/N is honest, she looks and feels like a mess.

That should be a given though, seeing as she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten home last night. Though Y/N was sure the news would detail any screw ups she’d made. Sighing as she grabs the TV remote from the coffee table by her couch and clicks the TV on. 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” She mumbles out when the TV turns on to reveal that she is in fact the headline, alongside Bakugou Katsuki. 

Almost on cue, a set of rapid knocks sound against her door and Y/N already knows who it is, again.

It was an accident, Y/N hadn’t meant to get blackout drunk at a literal Gala filled with several respectable and admirable peers from the Pro Hero world. And she certainly hadn’t meant to speak poorly about one of those peers— well, if she could really call Bakugou that at this point. After all there was a reason she spoke poorly of him.

“He’s an— an ill-mannered, rude, insufferable—” Y/N inhaled deeply as she looked to Lorelai, gesturing her hands vividly as she finally said, “bastard!”

Lorelai stands with a hand pressed against her temple, rubbing it gently as though that would end the headache that Y/N had probably caused with her shenanigans. “I warned you.”  She mumbles out before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone as Y/N continues to drone on about the young man.

“I ran into him and I was filled with complete and utter rage. Did I do a few questionable things? Yes. Do I regret them—” Y/N sighs, bringing her hands to her face as the news plays in the background before saying, “I do.” 

If Y/N was honest, she wasn’t remorseful at all, not when it was Bakugou they were talking about. But she was embarrassed, she’d acted out like a child and there was no denying it. As much as she disliked the idea, a public apology was probably necessary and a private one to Bakugou was the least she owed him. 

Currently Y/N L/N and Bakugou Katuski were on every headline and front page there were, all because Y/N had elected to get a little too drunk and start talking trash about Bakugou. In the world of Pro Heroes, her word carried a lot of weight, so although it was unprofessional, Y/N had a feeling it was Bakugou’s PR team that was panicking right now. 

"You’re trending.” Comes Lorelai’s words, a hand coming to scratch the back of her neck awkwardly as she looks back up at Y/N, “I suppose that’s good.” 

Y/N had a feeling the people who shipped her with Bakugou were rather devastated upon finding out that the (non-existent) couple that they idolized yet had zero interaction actually hated one another. “Maybe they’ll stop thinking Bakugou and I would ever enter a relationship now.”

Raising a brow, Lorelai looks up to her, typing away at her phone without looking at the keyboard as she replies, “actually they’re shipping you with Pro Hero Deku. They caught quite a few pictures of you two dancing together last night.” Lorelai’s eyes returned to her screen, squinting as she mumbled out, “the Bakugou shippers are disappointed, but they’re still going strong. Something about… enemies to lovers?”

Y/N groans in annoyance, it was beginning to become abundantly clear that nothing good was going to come of this. Not that she expected such a thing, but a girl can hope. With a sigh, she shakes away those thoughts, pushing them to the back of her mind as she looks to Lorelai, “what are we going to do?” 

“I am going to speak with Bakugou’s publicist, and set up a meeting.” Comes Lorelai’s response, bringing the phone to her ear as she made her way towards the door for more privacy. 

Y/N looked to her publicist, brows furrowed, “I don’t want to meet with Bakugou.”

Rolling her eyes, Lorelai gestured to the TV as she replied, “we don’t have much of a choice do we?” Sighing, Lorelai stares at the ringing phone before saying, “you can’t let your issues with Bakugou interfere with your career— you two were bound to work together at some point. Whether you wanted to or not.”

Y/N can easily pick up on the underlying words as Lorelai steps out the door, she’s essentially telling her to suck it up. And though Y/N recognizes that she is absolutely and completely correct— that she unfortunately cannot allow Bakugou’s existence to interfere with her career, that doesn’t mean she can’t be upset about it. 

And besides, avoiding him had gone perfectly fine up until now. Y/N was still wondering what had possessed him to actually attend a public event. Last she’d checked, the boy hated them with a passion, and most of the time they only further damaged his reputation. 

Last night was only more evidence of that fact. 

“You’re right.” Comes Y/N’s words, sighing dejectedly as she sinks further into her couch. “Let me know how it goes.” Even Y/N could recognize that there was no other choice, and well— she had to be mature and realistic about this.

Lorelai steps away, and Y/N finds herself glad that she can’t hear whatever it is the woman is saying as she straightens her posture, sitting up as she crosses her legs on the couch to watch the news. 

“Famed Pro Hero Y/N L/N was caught expressing her true feelings for Bakugou Katsuki, and they certainly weren’t what fans were hoping for.” The woman on the screen leans back in her seat, moving out of the way to gesture to the screen behind her, as she opens her mouth to speak again, Y/N finds herself grabbing the remote and changing the channel with a glare towards the reporter. 

Not that it was her fault, Y/N had a feeling if she had a job with any news station right now, this story would mean everything for her career. But she didn’t, she was a Pro Hero, and she had more important things to do— and even then, weren’t there more important things to report on? 

The screen changes, and this time there’s another woman on the screen, a solemn look on her face as she leans forward on the desk with her hands clasped. “As the anniversary of the villain Stain’s incarceration grows near, civil unrest has begun to worsen. With another copy cat killer on the loose, it seem that people have once again taken to the streets to demand his release, or at least a change in his current life sentence for the murder of—”

Y/N shuts off the TV, grimacing at the reminder of her school years. Each year, crime would spike, so more Pro Heroes would set to work around this time. And each year, the number of casualties for Pro Heroes would practically triple because of all the people that tried to target them. This wouldn’t be the first Stain copy cat they’d seen, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Most of them didn’t last this long though, caught by the police by their first attempt ideally, if not then their first kill.

Y/N had lost good friends to people like that. 

Exhaling deeply, she comes to a stand, pulling out her phone to see she had several unread messages from Lorelai, all of which were in reference to the current… situation they were dealing with. There were— unsurprisingly— a few messages of concern from Izuku that Y/N can’t help but smile at. The boy had always been too kind for his own good. But what did confuse her were the messages from an unknown number, Y/N’s brows furrowed as she moved to open them. 

UNKNOWN ???

It was only a single message, but it still leaves Y/N confused, few people had access to her number, and for some reason she finds it unnerving as she goes to delete the conversation.

BAKUGOU WISHED HE COULD FORGET the chaos that had been the night before. Alas, every moment was burned into his mind, especially that bit in which Y/N had cursed him out while drunk and maybe something about him trying to fight Deku but that wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary. 

His eyes open to the sound of his alarm, and like clockwork— Bakugou rises from his bed and when his feet hit the floor he’s slipping on a set of house shoes instantly. He’d always been more of the type to live a methodical, routine like, life. Make the bed, cook himself a healthy breakfast if he hadn’t already meal prepped for the week, take a shower, get dressed, go to work. And then do it all over again. 

Bakugou had never felt the need for any spontaneity, seeing as his job provided enough of that. Surprise, there’s a murderer on the loose. Surprise, the murderer targets heroes specifically. Surprise, it's a stain copycat killer. Surprise! He hates Pro Hero Ground Zero more than anything in the world. 

The entirety of last night was not the type of surprise Bakugou was used to. Seeing as his phone is ringing as he tries to make his breakfast, and when he looks to see it’s his publicist— well, that isn’t really something out of the ordinary seeing as Bakugou seems to have a different “scandal” every week. But when the calls don’t stop coming...

Last night was a disaster, it didn’t take a genius to recognize that. Just anyone with a phone and some sort of social media, or a tv that had access to the news. Which was basically everyone nowadays. Bakugou liked to think that he had gone through worse, like when they caught him speaking poorly about Deku— although the boy had assured them that Bakugou meant no harm, and Y/N probably wouldn’t do the same.

Yeah, this was a problem. 

Bakugou had a feeling that if he hadn’t been the person who hired him, his publicist would’ve cursed him out by now. Regardless, the man in question had remained… kind of calm. He was clearly on the verge of some sort of breakdown, staring Bakugou down like a hawk as he sat across from him— hands pressed together as they rested against his chin. The man had arrived shortly after leaving Bakugou about a dozen voicemails.

“How did you manage to piss off one of the most influential women in Pro Hero society?”

Despite being a newer Hero, Y/N had worked alongside several of the Top Pro Heroes already, probably because of her connections with Pro Hero Hawks and her own Charisma, making her one of the most likable of the next generation. That and the fact that she was regarded as a potential Number 1 Hero given the speed she was rising through the ranks. 

Although Bakugou was sure this had damaged her credibility in some sort of way, he had no doubt she’d come back from this, even if he didn’t. After all, he wasn’t necessarily known for his award winning personality. 

In response to his publicist’s question, Bakugou finds himself crossing his arms, shrugging before he replies, “beats me.”

Inhaling deeply, his publicist brings a hand to his temple, rubbing it rather harshly in an attempt to end the major headache that was coming on. “You have no idea? None at all—” One of the other PR assistants is standing beside them once more, the guy had been leaving and coming back for a while actually. This time he seems rather anxious though, “and what the hell do you want?”

“Well— well, sir. You see, we’ve been getting a call from—”

His publicist, Haru Ishida, as Bakugou had come to know him, appears to have a vein popping out of his head as he replies, “I don’t care which major news platform wants to hear what we have to say, tell them the same thing—”

“It’s Ms. L/N’s publicist!” The man cries out, hand pressed against the receiver of the phone to keep said woman from hearing their interaction, face flushed red in embarrassment as he stands straighter and adds, “sir.”

Haru’ jaw drops open as he immediately shoots up from his seat, snatching the phone from the assistants hand and bringing it to his ear before swiftly saying, “Haru Ishida, how can I help you?”

Bakugou gives the man a look, “put it on speaker.” He hisses out.

The man does as he’s told and a woman’s voice fills the room, “I think it’s more of how I can help you, Mr. Ishida.” A pause, “I’d like to set up a meeting between our clients. We can discuss more in person.”

“Hell no.” Bakugou says instantly, seeing as his little reunion with his former classmate yesterday had gone very poorly, Bakugou couldn’t really see a world in which another meeting with Y/N benefitted him in any way. Despite this, his words cause Haru to glare at him, opening his mouth to respond only for Y/N to beat him to it.

“Bakugou.” She muses, “both you and Y/N are experiencing blowback from this.” Comes her words, the sound of typing on the other end of the call as she continues, “but you need us more than we need you. I know Y/N will come back from this, with or without you. But can you say the same about your career?” There’s almost a subtle threat if you read between the lines and it leaves Bakugou cursing under his breath.

If Bakugou was right, this was Lorelai Flores, a renowned publicist though she was rather new to the game. As someone who aspired to be the best, Bakugou initially sought her out. She’d rejected his attempts at hiring her of course, which is why he’d ended up with the second best he could secure. Haru, who was currently inhaling deeply as he replied, “that can be arranged.”

“No it cannot—” Haru ignores Bakugou’s attempt at protesting, simply shooting him a glare before returning his attention to the call.

“Fantastic!” The woman exclaims, “perhaps it can be just you and I, Haru. Clearly our clients aren’t inclined to be anywhere near each other. Of course, if all goes well then I’m sure they’ll be seeing each other plenty.” The sound of a pen scribbling against a paper followed by, “pick me up at 7, you have my address.”

The call ends, and Bakugou’s brow is raised as he looks back to his publicist, who clears his throat before saying, “we’ll come to a consensus sir.”

Meanwhile, the PR assistant from before looks to Haru, “fraternizing with the enemy?”

“I can fire you.” Haru hisses in response, eyes narrowing at the boy before looking back to Bakugou as he straightens himself and collects the paper’s before him, “if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my meeting with Ms. Flores.” He moves to leave, hovering by the door as he says, “by the way, I believe Pro Hero Red Riot is heading this way at the moment.” 

Bringing his hands to his face, Bakugou groans, if he had to guess— Kirishima was going to lecture him, again. He finds himself coming to a stand making his way around the couch, he doesn’t bother to meet Kirishima the door since he’s already making his way inside. At the same time, Bakugou is left to watch as the rest of his PR team is exiting his apartment one by one, taking their equipment with them wordlessly. 

And so, in comes Kirishima, a bright smile on his face as he calls out, “hey Bakubro!” Arms spread wide as he greets his friend, coming to wrap his arms around him. Although Bakugou doesn’t return the hug, he allows the physical contact.

“Hey shitty hair.” Comes his response, mumbled out as he is finally released from Kirishima’s grip. “What do you want?”

With a shrug, Kirishima, steps further inside Bakugou’s apartment, “I figured you might wanna talk—”

“Don’t wanna talk.” Bakugou interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Kirishima. 

Nodding slowly, Kirishima offers him a tight lipped smile, a short silence encompassing them before he says, “but she said some intense stuff so I though—”

“No.” 

“I can talk to her?

“Absolutely not.”

With that, Bakugou found himself wondering how this could possibly get worse at this point, of course, his question would soon be answered seeing as things could definitely get worse.

[implexedactions]

My Little Ember - Enji Todoroki

Platonic!Yandere!Enji Todoroki

A/N: Okay, I’m late. I missed a lot of due dates. This isn’t even beta read. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. But here it is anyway!

This is Yandere content, and as such, one should be cautious of viewing this if you have certain triggers.

“Wake up, my little ember~ Did you have a good rest?”

 You blink your eyes open and look around. You are in “your” bedroom, a cruelly comforting place. A room in Enji’s giant mansion, covered in pastels and various kid-friendly entertainment. The nicest cage money could buy. 

 Enji’s hand rests on your shoulder. A warm presence on this otherwise cold day. Your eyes flicker up at the cyan ones looking compassionately down.

 “Uhh, yeah, it was fine, Enji…”

 Enji sighs and rubs his hand against your shoulder. 

 “I told you, kid, call me dad.”

 “But-”

 Enji raises a warm finger to your lips.

 “Come now, enough of that. I’ve let you sleep in long enough; it is already 7:30 am. I have been cooking breakfast in the kitchen for you.”

 You look away dejectedly.

 “I’m not hungry.” 

 “Hush, you need your breakfast if you want to grow big and strong like your old man!” 

 He promptly lifts you out of bed with just one arm, shoving you over his shoulder. You don’t fight back, instead just lying there, looking at the upside-down room. 

 Humming a tune, he carries you out of your bedroom, and into the empty mansion that you both share—pristine white walls and furniture, broken up with the odd child-proofed edge or photo-frame. 

 He abducted you four months ago and ever since seemed to be treating you as his child. Everyone who saw Endeavor knew he probably didn’t have a stellar home life, but this was absurd. 

 He walks down the stairs to the first floor, walking through a massive living room.

 “Enj-uhhh, dad?”

 Enji hummed with delight as he kept walking, you swaying up and down on his shoulder, getting slightly dizzy.

 “Yes, my little ember?”

 “Do you think I-uhh, we, could go outside today?”

 Enji stops in his tracks, his grip on you tightening and warming. Not noticeably, but enough. 

 “...Ember, I am not too sure if that is a wise decision.”

 Of course. It hadn’t worked the other 50 times you asked, why would it work now?! Why was it so hard for you to find ANY time away his watchful eye.

 “What a fucking surprise…”

 “Hey!”

 He pulls your now shaking form off his shoulder. One hand around your waist, one around your head as he brings you in front of him, hovering off the floor. His eyes are thin, a scowl on his face. You feel his hot breath coming from his nostrils. You have never been more scared in your life of this man.

 “Do not use that foul language, Y/N Todoroki. I will not tolerate it. Do not make me discipline you.”

 “I-uhhh, sorry…” you stammer out, avoiding his gaze. 

 His hand moves your head and forces your eyes to meet his disappointed ones.

 “I have raised you better than that, haven’t I? Apologise properly.”

 “Uhhh,,,Sorry, Father, that I, behaved inappropriately…” you say, staring into eyes that only villains are privy to.

 His face warms and he pulls you in for a hug. 

 “Apology accepted!”

 He places you down on the floor, but keeps your hand in a vice-like grip.

 “Now! We can’t leave those pancakes waiting, can we?”

 Enji  pulls you along, almost causing you to fall over a few times to keep up with his faster gait. He walks into the kitchen,and the smell of pancakes fill the air. He places you down on a seat, grabbing a plate and putting some pancakes on it, before serving it to you. You detectedly pick at the pancakes, staring out the window. It’s an overcast and cloudy day, might rain later. Enji seemingly notices this. 

 “Feeling melancholy, oh sorry, I meant, are you feeling sad??” He pries, softly bumping you with his elbow to get you to pay attention to him.

 “You kidna-” You got to interject, but get interrupted. 

 “I have something that might cheer you up! Look at this, my little ember!”

 Enji reaches over to grab the wet batter, he pours a bit into one of his cupped hands, and after putting down the container, presses his other hand over it. After a few seconds, he pulls apart his hand to reveal a potato-shaped pancake with imprints of his hands on it, perfectly cooked. 

 You fail to look impressed, to which Enji sighs. 

 “You will find it more interesting when you have your own quirk, I bet!”

 “...You realise I’m quirkless right?” You’ve been quirkless forever, you weren’t thrilled about it, but you made do, or you did, before this deranged hero kidnapped you.

 “Do not worry, my sweet little cinder. You are just a late bloomer. Your powers will come in soon, I guarantee it! You are a todoroki! It is in your very nature!”

 “But I-”

 “You might even get a fire quirk like your old man! Imagine how much I could impart to you! Are you not excited?!”

 “No, not rea-”

 “You will go to UA of course, but that might be putting the cart before the horse, champ. We should think about primary school before that...”

 Wait, what? Ignoring the fact that he’s trying to enrol you in primary school, this would mean you’d get out of the house, and presumably, to a teacher, who’d figure out you’re not a kid, and are in fact, being held against your will. 

 “I’d love to go to school Dad!” you cry enthuasatically, desperate to get out of the house.

 “Ha! You’re certainly eager!” He saddles up beside you and pulls you into his side, tussling your hair. 

 “Although...School seems a bit dangerous, looking at UA and what happened with sho- maybe instead, we could try a different approach, my little ember.”

 “But I’d really like to meet oth-” You need to force this issue, you can’t let him shut this issue down like this. This is your one chance to get outside the house.

 “Hmmm! How about instead, you use packet learning for general education, and well, we will cross the hero bridge when we get to it. Heh, maybe I could teach you about being a hero and intern you myself if you try to get your hero license! Would that not be fun, your old man teaching you how to be a hero?”

 He presses you into his side more, face pushed against his pecs, preventing you from speaking. It’s meant as a sort of hug, it mainly just hurts quite a bit. 

 “Just know I love you no matter what the outcome is, okay? Powers or no powers. Hero or no hero. You’ll always be my little ember!”

 Despite your flails and protests, Enji carries you to the couch, sitting you down next to the TV. The sun has risen fully, becoming mid-morning. 

 “Alright, kiddo. Want to watch some cartoons? How about that backyard science one? We could try to replicate, er, repeat,  the experiment later?”

 “Could I-er, we, watch that detective movie? I saw an ad for it, it looked interesting?” The issue is gone now, he will only deflect any questions, you’ve tried MANY times to get that to work. Might as well get SOME enjoyment out of this day. 

 “Hmpfh, you saw an advertisment for that movie? I need to monitor what you watch more often, that is much too dark for a young mind like you! Let me put on that science show…” 

 Enji goes to grab the remote, but you slap it out of his hand.

 “Stop this! Stop pretending that I’m your child! Stop trying to coddle me!“

 Enji goes to touch your shoulder, concern plastered over his face, hiding something sinister. 

 “Don’t fucking touch me you creep! Everyone knows you fucked up your first chance at a good family life, and this isn’t a fucking do over, you abusive, coddling, tormentor!” 

 Enji sighs.

 “And I was having such a nice morning too.” 

 Enji’s face grows dark as he stands up from the couch, before turning around and bending down to your level. Fast hands pinning your shoulders to your side, keeping you in place as an intimidating and vilanous look takes over his face. 

 “I will give you 5 seconds to apologise, and just maybe, I, your FATHER, can find it in my heart to lessen the SEVERE punishment you are getting, kid.”

 “1”

 “I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” 

 Enji’s face contorts into a smug smirk as confusion takes over yours.

 “2”

 “W-What? But-I’m sorry! Please listen to me!”

 You thrash useleslly against the hands holding you in place, desperate to try and escape his gaze. Reduced to a whimpering and crying mess as you think of the ‘discipline’ your father will inflict.

 “3”

 “Please! I said I’m sorry! What more do you want from me?!”

 You’re on the edge of hyper ventilating as Enji stares you down. His hands are warming up, grip tightening, only causing your thrashing to become even stronger. Your attempts to break free don’t even budge him an inch.

 “4...Do not make me count to 5...”

 “Please! Enj-Father! I’m sorry! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll eat those pancakes! I’ll play along! Please, don’t hurt me!”

 Enji’s smug smile and piercing eyes will haunt your dreams.

 “...5. I thought I had raised you better than that, my little cinder. Oh well, time to-”

 Lightning and thunder interrupts the countdown, an ear-splitting crack emanating from outside the sealed house. Enji jumps to cover you, as you yelp, the already anxiety inducing conversation ruining your nerves so much a lightning strike scares you. Immediately, Enji’s menacing demeanor melted away. 

 “Oh, I thought it was a villi- nevermind.”

 Enji looks down at you. Your form is shaking, tears spilling out of your eyes. Looking both catatonic and extremely wound up, as you fail to comprehend your surroundings, simply mumbling to yourself about punishment and forgiveness.

“S-Sorry. Forgive. Forgive m-me.I-I-”

 “Do you see, my little ember? The threat of punishment WAS the punishment.

 His hands pulled you into his broad chest, shushing you and rubbing warming hands up and down your back. You keep on crying, your turbulent emotions entirely out of control, not knowing how to react. You feel like your sanity is so fragile, anything will break it. You simply focus on a spot upon the wall, and nothing else. 

 “It is okay, ember. It is just thunder. I will protect you.”

 “...not scared of thunder...” you mumble. He chooses to cocoon you further with his massive body, noticeably warming himself up to protect you from the potential cold.

 “You do not need to lie, little one. I am not expecting you to be perfect, okay?”

 He pauses, mulling over his next words. 

 “I am only expecting perfection from me.”

[caramelcal]

Fool for you {Part Three}

word count: 2.1k

a/n: kinda a filler but here you guys go! i’m currently working on a proper calum story on my wattpad but it prob won’t be properly out for a while (ceo!calum um-) anyways-

“We need to talk about last night,”

Y/n followed Calum as he made his way down the corridor to the elevator. He had a small suitcase trailing behind him, containing only a few night’s worth of clothes as all of his other stuff was back on the tour bus. 

He didn’t bother to turn around and look at her as he pressed the elevator button, waiting for the elevator to open on their floor, “What is there to talk about exactly? You were drunk.”

“I was tipsy at best, Hood, you know that.” She spat back in annoyance. She wasn’t meaning to be rude or disrespectful towards Calum, he knew that you were just annoyed, frustrated, and maybe even a little embarrassed at how Calum had left you in your hotel room last night. It was understandable, he would have been too, “Was this just another prank of yours? I know you annoy me and prank me to get me riled up and embarrassed, is that what last night was too? Make it seem like you like me just to  abandon me in my hotel room?”

They were inside the elevator by the time she had finished saying that, Calum’s eyes never once straying from the metal doors in front of them. He gripped harshly onto the handle of his suitcase as he discretely shook his head, “No. It was never like that...”

Calum trailed off into a murmur, and she felt her annoyance still bubbling in her stomach. She didn’t believe Calum, not if he wasn’t going to give her a solid answer.

“Well how is it then, Cal, huh?” Calum opened his mouth, brown eyes glancing towards her as he tried to speak, but no words came out. He was silent. He didn’t know what to say, he knew she was annoyed, and he knew now certainly wasn’t how he should confess anything for her.

He was sober. He hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol, he knew perfectly well what he was doing last night. He had never really thought of it before, of y/n in that manner. Sure, they were doing a PR stunt together but he had never thought of it as anything more than a PR stunt but recently he had been getting a little too attached.

He didn’t miss the way he felt a frown come on his face when he saw you upset, didn’t miss the way his lips curled into a smile when he saw you passed out on the couch with a book that had fallen out of your hands, or when you came to get breakfast with tousled hair and asleep expression. He certainly didn’t miss the way his veins flooded with anger and jealousy when she was dancing with that man yesterday or how in his head he said ‘that should have been me’.

Because it should have been. He longed for it to be, but he didn’t know how to tell her that.

She scoffed in reply as the doors opened to the main lobby of the hotel, stalking out of the small and confined space, “Forget it, Hood. Tour has only got three weeks left and after that, we go our separate ways and end this PR stunt.”

That was how it went. Calum and y/n only ever talked to each other when they had to go on dates or be together, and even then the conversation was strained and awkward; just like it had been on their first date. Calum closed into himself again, and he stopped annoying y/n behind closed doors, too.

Weirdly, y/n actually found it strange without Calum there anymore. She had expected that it would have been peaceful, finally getting a break from the bassist’s annoying nature and pranks but she felt like her life had become dull. Before, she would have basked in the quiet and calm, but now she wanted nothing more than to hear Calum’s voice nagging at her, or even making some dumb comment. She hated to say it, but she missed him.

Sure, she still got to see him, they were on tour together after all but they barely looked each other’s way. They didn’t speak unless they were told to, and admittedly, y/n missed talking to Calum.

Yet, she tried to not let it bother her as her eyes skimmed past the words in her book, one she had gotten months ago but never got around to reading, the boys always being too distracting, or loud, or her just not having enough time. The clock ticked in the background, the only noise other than her playing with the bottom corner of the paper, her lip trapped between her teeth. Her mind couldn’t comprehend the words, no matter how hard she tried, the silence was - dare she say - too distracting.

Her fingers drummed on the now-closed book, frustration bubbling in her chest, her head now tucked on top of her knees that were held against her chest. The bus was soo lifeless without them here, and even when they were here now it wasn’t the same. The laughs, while still present, weren’t as loud and joyous, movements were more lethargic, time spent between them was minimal. In fact, y/n can’t remember the last time she actually spent time with them all.

The room is suddenly filled with the noise of the TV coming on, the bright light from the object almost hurting y/n’s eyes as she squinted slightly, remote in her hand as she sifted through the channels. A yawn escaped her lips while she tried her best to read her book again, now accompanied by the noise of the TV to help her focus. She got comfy on the couch, huddled in a small ball but before she knew it, her eyes were drifting shut and she fell asleep.

  Before she knew it, she woke up in her bunk. With eyebrows knitted together, she looked outside, noticing that the sun was slowly starting to rise. She didn’t remember trudging back through to her bunk last night. In fact, she didn’t remember anything after she turned the TV on. Slowly, she got out of her bunk and walked slowly through to the small mobile kitchen, she noted that she was still in yesterday’s clothes, so it made sense as to her being too tired to remember moving back through to the bunks.

To her surprise, she wasn’t alone in the small kitchen. He stood with his back to her, the rhythmic sound of his spoon hitting against the side of his mug as he stirred the sugar into his tea being the only noise that traveled through the room. Y/n thought better than to ignoring him this early, knowing that when he noticed she was there he would probably think she was just staring at him, “Mornin’, Ash.”

“Good morning n/n,” The man shot back with a smile, turning towards him as he put his mug down on the counter, “You wantin’ some?”

“That’d be nice, actually. Thank you,” The girl shot him a kind smile and hugged him, a gesture that he happily reciprocated before reaching to get another mug out of the small cupboards.

“You have a nice sleep?” The man started an idle conversation while he worked on making the girl tea, something he often did for her. Mornings were often their thing, a time that they spent in peace before the rest of the boys woke up at about noon. The girl hummed as she nodded her head at the question to which he gave a small chuckle, “You seemed pretty tired knocked out on the couch when we got back last night.”

Her lips parted in shock slightly, she didn’t remember them coming back home. Yes, it made sense because she was asleep, but she thought she would have heard them come in, they weren’t exactly the quietest of people, “You guys were here when I fell asleep on the couch?”

Ashton nodded in return, hazel eyes briefly glancing over at the girl before looking back down at the now made cup of tea, “Cal carried you to your bunk.”

Now that was more surprising. It made sense as to why she couldn’t remember going to bed, but she still thought that Calum hated her. So why would he take her to bed? Carry her, no less. He could have woken her up, told her to go to bed, or even left her there to wake up with a craned neck in the morning but he didn’t. “He doesn’t hate you, you know,” Ashton started again, breaking the silence between the two of them, and breaking into y/n’s thoughts. It was almost as if he could read her mind at times, “He just has a weird way of showing it.”

“By leading me on then rejecting me?” Y/n asked, no sense of emotion leaving her tongue; embarrassment or bitterness. She already knew that the boys knew, Calum would have told them and by the slight grimace that appeared on Ashton’s face, she knew he had.

Before he started to speak again, he handed her the mug of hot liquid, that she thanked him for softly and brought to her lips. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and took a drink of his own tea before he spoke again, “Cal isn’t great with feelings but give him a chance n/n. In that brief period where you guys weren’t fighting and were friends, he was really happy. Now he just mopes, I guess. He just isn’t like his old self. You should talk to him.”

Ashton didn’t say anything else, just continued to drink his tea alongside the girl, who was festered up in thoughts about the bassist. She knew Ashton was right, she had to talk to Calum. They were both miserable now, even if she hadn’t noticed he was. This disconnect was not doing good for either of them, and she knew that eventually, they would both grow so distant and miserable that their lives would be awful. She knew she had to talk to him, but what could she possibly say?

  It was days before she finally mustered up the courage to talk to the young bassist, always chickening out at the last minute or not being able to find him. He never looked at her once when they were in the same room, he didn’t even acknowledge her existence, so she waited. She waited for the right time to speak to him, which appeared to be now.

Michael and Luke had already left, Calum in the bathroom and Ashton at the door to exit the bus with y/n, sending her a small glare that told her what she needed to do. His hazel eyes didn’t leave hers before she nodded her head with a sigh, wringing her hands together, “I know, I will.”

He gave her a small nod before wordlessly leaving, and like that, she waited for him to exit the bathroom. She fidgeted where she stood as she saw his frame come into view, not even sparing her a glance before he started to rush around the bus, noticing all the guys had already left.

“Cal I need to talk to you,” She announced, watching him with a rigid figure while he continued to rush around the bus, picking up his jacket and shoes, which he frantically put on.

He barely spared her a glance as he spoke, “Can’t it wait? I’m late.”

“It’ll only take a minute. Please, Cal.”

She almost cringed at the pathetic beg that came out of her mouth, but she didn’t. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, she missed Calum annoying her, and honestly, it was driving her crazy that he acted like she didn’t even exist anymore. The desperate beg seemed to get Calum’s attention too, brown eyes finally meeting hers after so long.

His lips tugged into a frown, yet he keeps his face as emotionless as he could. He’s more closed off to her than ever, and it broke her heart. They fell into a silence, y/n with her mouth open trying to form the words that she needed to say, and Calum glaring down at her, a very irritated expression on his face.

From the simple expression that Calum is giving her, y/n started to regret her decision of speaking to him and that becomes even more amplified when he scoffed, walked towards the door, “I have to get going.”

He didn’t even let her get a word in again before he was slamming the door behind him, leaving y/n staring at the door he had just walked through.

It felt like history was repeating itself because she was left alone. Again. Just like the first time.

[nitewrighter]

Hey :) i kinda miss your prefall Gency fic... Do you think you can write some more ? Take care ♥

I’m still thinking about the canonical existence of Overwatch Propaganda Cartoons that we saw in that preview of Hero of Numbani.

...can you tell I watched old GI Joe opening theme songs specifically for this fic?

Also credit goes to @apocryphist for coming up with “underhand” which really should be the only name for villains in the Overwatch universe.

-----

Genji drummed his fingers on the conference room table as he rested his chin in his other hand. Mercy sat to his left, nonchalantly tapping out some correspondence on her tablet as they waited. On his other side, Tracer was bouncing her knee with her fingers interlaced on the table in front of her, doing her best to at least put forward the semblance of a strike team leader despite her fidgeting. Winston sat stiffly next to her, apparently trying to scroll through lab results on his own tablet but clearly too nervous to stay focused. It was a bright and slightly breezy afternoon in Zurich, and normally Genji would have been gracefully slashing his way through the training grounds at this time, but instead they were all here.

“I can’t stand it when they don’t say what the meetings are about,” mumbled Winston. 

“It’s probably a top secret mission!” said Tracer.

“’Secret?’” said Winston, sounding even more nervous, “I’m... I’m not exactly good at ‘secret.’”

“Is it unrealistic to hope we got more intel from Doomfist?” said Genji, glancing at Mercy.

“I wish,” huffed Mercy, “But from what debriefings I could get my hands on, he hasn’t given us anything useful.”

“How is that possible?” said Genji, “After all the internal damage he did to Talon’s internal power structure, shouldn’t they be scrambling without him? Shouldn’t there be a power vacuum?”

“I don’t know any more than you do...” said Winston, readjusting his glasses. 

“Honestly I thought you’d know more about it, what with the Blackwatch stuff,” said Tracer.

“Still benched,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Officially,” said Mercy with a slight side-eye.

Genji gave her an amused “Hmph,” before saying, “Either way, Reyes pushed me out of the loop now that I’m on your strike team... not that I paid that much attention to the loop befo---”

The door opened and everyone perked up at the sight of Jack Morrison and Sojourn walking into the room. Jack seemed uneasy, but honestly Mercy couldn’t really recall the last time he seemed at ease.

“Okay, before we start, I want all of you to keep an open mind with this,” he said, looking across all of them.

“...Very encouraging, Strike Commander,” said Sojourn, with slightly sardonic amusement. She put her hands on her hips and turned to face Tracer’s strike team, “As you all know, when you’re recruited into Overwatch, you sign a waiver allowing us to use your image in... all sorts of stuff. Press releases, scientific publications, training videos for new recruits---”

“Posters,” said Mercy, already skeptical.

“Posters, too,” said Sojourn with a smile, “However, back during Omnic Crisis Reconstruction, we were using the images of heroes for a lot more.”

“Heroes?” Genji repeated quietly as Sojourn produced a remote control from the pocket of her jacket and hit a button. The venetian blinds tilted to shut out the sunlight and the lights of the room dimmed as the wallscreen lit up behind Sojourn. The screen lit up in bright colors and red and yellow explosions as a trumpeting fanfare started playing. Tracer’s face lit up as a young cartoon version of Jack Morrison appeared on the screen, pumping his fist in the air. 

“The world needs heroes!” said the cartoon Jack Morrison, “Are you with us?” 

Genji glanced at Jack who was very clearly cringing at his cartoon self.

“Oh yes!” said Tracer, her eyes bright, “It’s been years since I’ve watched this! You guys know the song, right?” she said looking at her teammates, “..No?”

The theme song was already playing, and Tracer was singing along with it eagerly.

There’s no need to fear

Overwatch is here!

Saving all we hold dear!

Mercy made a ‘I really hope this meeting isn’t going the way I think it’s going,’ face at Genji and Genji suppressed a chuckle, but Tracer seemed absolutely thrilled and even Winston was humming along with the theme song. The theme song kept playing and even introduced different members of the old Overwatch Strike team. One of the animators clearly had fun lavishing a lot of attention on Ana Amari’s hair whipping around from the force of an explosion behind her. A still-blonde cartoon Reinhardt brawled fist-to-fist with some kind of black and neon green robot. Cartoon Morrison jumped a motorcycle off of an aircraft carrier with cartoon Reyes wielding a missile launcher in the sidecar. Torbjörn and Liao were working side by side in a lab before the camera panned out to reveal they were in a bright blue tank-like vehicle Genji safely assumed was entirely made up to sell toys, firing off RPG’s with even more explosions. Sojourn chuckled watching her cartoon self fire two submachine guns at black and neon green helicopters while parachuting out of an exploding jet. There was, all in all, a frankly ridiculous amount of explosions. It finally ended with one last massive explosion and fanfare and cartoon versions of Sojourn and the entire original strike team all pumping their fists in the air with Morrison in the center. 

Sojourn hit another button on her remote, the wall screen blipped off, the venetian blinds opened and the lights came on, leaving everyone sitting at the conference table blankly.

“Ahh! Still just as good as when I was a kid!” said Tracer, excitedly.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say--” Morrison started.

“Propaganda,” said Mercy, “You want to put us in propaganda.”

“You’re already in propaganda,” said Sojourn, flatly.

“This is propaganda aimed at children!” said Mercy.

“Do you know how young Talon is recruiting?” said Sojourn.

“That doesn’t mean we should stoop to their level!” said Mercy.

“Wars aren’t just won by strategy and firepower, they’re also won by ideology, by public support,” Winston suggested.

Mercy remembered something Moira said and it sent a shiver down her spine. 

The true struggle is for the superiority of ideas.

“Thank you, Winston,” said Jack, “It’s not necessarily about convincing them to join, it’s about convincing people that we have their best interests in mind. Which...” Jack gestured, “We do.”

“Those bad guys didn’t look like Talon,” said Genji.

“Oh, it wasn’t Talon!” said Tracer excitedly, before dropping into a dramatic narrator voice, “Underhand is a Ruthless Criminal Organization determined to rule the world!”

“Uh--Underhand?” said Winston. Jack said nothing but somehow managed to look more dead inside.

“...Overwatch and Underhand...” Mercy repeated incredulously.

“So--we’re going to be in a cartoon?” said Genji. For some reason, his armor seemed to feel tighter, pinching, constricting around him.

“Well, we did some polling after the Doomfist fight and ran some algorithms through a handful of popular forums and social media,” Sojourn explained, “It turns out you’re all very popular with the younger crowd. Winston and Tracer pull the biggest numbers, but you, Genji, are incredibly popular with boys aged 6 to 14.”

“I...I am?” said Genji.

“Shining armor,” said Mercy, smiling at him, and steam vented from his shoulders.

“And Mercy has a death-grip on the ‘Girls aged 3 to 11′ demographic,” said Sojourn.

“So... more girls are getting into STEM?” said Mercy.

“I’m.. not sure about that, but they seem to really like the fact that you’re pretty and you can fly,” said Sojourn, flipping through the report on her own tablet. 

Mercy’s face dropped and she shook her head. She pursed her lips and thought for a few moments. “I’m not sure about this...”

“If we’re all over the news already, it could help to put stuff out there that gives us more control over our image,” said Winston, he scratched the side of his head, “It... would be nice to show people I’m more than just a gorilla...”

“Genji?” said Mercy, looking over at him. Genji was running his thumb over the knuckles of his prosthetic hand and he seemed to snap out of some particularly stressful train of thought.

“Oh...um... well... it would give you a chance to talk more about Overwatch as a peacekeeping organization?” said Genji, “And if you’re talking about it to children...” 

“They might be less inclined to carry on the conflicts of previous generations!” said Mercy, her eyes brightening.

“Like we said, ideologies,” said Jack.

Mercy inhaled thoughtfully. “If--if we’re going to do this, I want my likeness used responsibly. I don’t want to advocate for violence in any form.”

“...yeah I figured you’d say that,” said Jack.

“And, even if we’re going through fictional conflicts, I don’t want it... glamorized and sensationalized like the old cartoon. We don’t need all those explosions---”

“You did pull Genji out of that explosion a few weeks ago though,” said Tracer.

“Well that’s different--! That’s--!” Mercy huffed, “I think we should push more of Overwatch’s scientific and humanitarian efforts. Show that making the world a better place is more complicated than just.. shooting at bad guys.”

“We could have a science corner!” Winston chimed in, “’Winston’s Science Corner!’”

“Ooh! And maybe I should say something about friendship and teamwork at the end!” said Tracer.

Genji was shrinking a little where he was sitting, unconsciously sliding his wrist plate back and forth.

“What do you think? Edu-tainment?” said Sojourn, glancing back at Jack.

“Could go over easier than a purely fictionalized narrative,” murmured Jack.

“Aw, I wanna fight Underhand, though!” said Tracer.

“Well in any case, you can expect more correspondence from our PR department as we move forward in this project,” said Sojourn. 

“You might not be fighting Talon in some far-flung corner of the world, but make no mistake: this is an important part of the fight,” said Jack.

“And who knows,” said Sojourn as an assistant hurried in with a cardboard box and set it on the conference table, “You could end up some kid’s best friend.”

Tracer and her strike team all stood up from their seats to look into the box.

“Oh commander...!” Tracer looked about to burst with excitement as she reached into the box and pulled out an action figure of herself, “I love it!” She turned over the action figure in her hands and saw a button on the back. She pressed it.

“Cheers love! The Cavalry’s here!” said the Tracer action figure.

“That’s my line!” said Tracer, delighted.

“It’s quite a stunning likeness,” said Winston, taking his own action figure out of the box. He pressed a button on the back of his action figure. 

“Primal Punch!” declared the Winston action figure and Winston chuckled.

Mercy took both the Genji and the Mercy action figures out of the box and chuckled a little. 

“Yours is so pretty, Doc! They even got the wings!” said Tracer as Mercy fiddled around with the action figure’s wings.

“Yes, ‘pretty and flies’ indeed.’ I might be more inclined if she comes with a lab coat accessory,” said Mercy, giving a skeptical glance to her action figure’s bust size. She pressed a button between her action figure’s wings and scoffed a little as the action figure said, “Heroes never die!” 

She held Genji’s action figure out to him and he hesitantly took it. “What do you think?”

Genji turned the action figure over in his hand and looked at the button on the back. He pressed it, but the figure said nothing.

“Oh we um... didn’t really have a ‘catchphrase’ for you yet,” said Sojourn as Genji gingerly ran the finger of his prosthetic hand up the blade of the action figure’s sword clasped in his little plastic hand, “We were hoping you could put in a word for it. These are just mock-ups, really.” 

You’re incredibly popular with boys age 6 to 14...

Genji moved the arm of the action figure up and down, the figure striking downward with its sword, and he thought of young boys playing with this miniature him. Running with the action figure clutched in little hands with white knuckles, playing out battles, having the action figure swing its sword at all those foes, imitating his own swordsmanship, fighting their brothers with sticks, punching each other, kicking each other---

“No,” Genji said on reflex.

“What?” said Sojourn, glancing up from Tracer chattering about her own action figure.

“I--I said no. I shouldn’t have an action figure. I shouldn’t be in the show,” said Genji. His voice was tight.

“Genji...” Mercy started.

“...is it about how you look?” said Sojourn, “Because Genji, I can tell you, seeing people like us on the screen means the world to kids with prosthetics---”

“No--” Genji was stammering, “It’s not about that, it’s--”

“Genji, you’re a part of the team,” Tracer tried to reassure him, “It wouldn’t be the same without you--”

“Children shouldn’t want to be like me!” Genji blurted out, and there was a small plasticky snap. Genji glanced down and saw that he had unthinkingly broken the arm off of his own action figure. The entire room had gone silent, staring at him. He set both the action figure and its broken-off arm on the table and exhaled. “I’m-- I need to think about it,” he said, pushing up from the table and walking briskly out of the room.

“Genji, wait--” said Mercy, standing up. Her eyes flicked to the broken Genji action figure on the table and she picked it up, tucking both the figure and the broken off arm in the pocket of her lab coat. The door slid shut behind Genji but she quickly walked after him, leaving Morrison, Sojourn, Tracer, and Winston alone in the room. A long quiet pause passed between the four of them.

“Maybe just web shorts?” said Winston, “Just.. um... just the science corner?”

“Winston--” Tracer huffed.

“Right--sorry,” said Winston.

“...well, they did keep an open mind,” said Jack, “Mostly.”

“Don’t make me break out your action figure, Jack,” said Sojourn.

----

It was a known fact that if you broke visual contact on Genji, you had a pretty low probability of finding him again unless he wanted to be found. Still Mercy spent more of the remainder of the afternoon looking for him than she was readily willing to admit. The fact that he was able to disappear from the hallway that quickly made her assume he had taken the window (very mature, by the way, Genji, she thought with an eye roll) but she checked all of his usual spots and even went to his room before finally huffing and returning to her lab.

It was about 11 at night when the door slid open.

“Genji, we’re beholden to the UN. I know that was an uncomfortable situation, but... there are still protocols,” said Mercy, not even looking up from her screen.

“I know,” his cybernetically reverberative voice hummed from the other side of the room.

“I don’t know how... informally Reyes maintained his meetings, but we can’t--” Mercy looked up from her screen and read his posture and expression. Her shoulders slumped. She pushed up from her desk and walked across the lab over to him.

“I’m sorry, I know. I just shut down,” said Genji as she closed the distance between them, “I don’t even know where it came from, ever since I joined Tracer’s strike team, I thought I’ve been getting better but--” he cut himself off as she hugged him. He stood there for a few seconds before returning the embrace. A part of him wanted to take his faceplate off, breathe in the smell of her hair and the smell of coffee on her, but he tamped that down. They had embraced before, after Gérard Lacroix’s death, and had broken out of it, both of them muttering about it being inappropriate and messy, but after missions together on Tracer’s strike team, there was no such shame in taking comfort in each other like this. She loosened the hug slightly to look at him.

“What you said... about you and children...”  she trailed off.

“I...” Genji sighed, “I’m an assassin.”

“You’re an agent,” said Mercy.

“Whose skills all come from the fact that he was raised to be an assassin,” said Genji, “What I went through as a child---I don’t want another child to go through it. And I don’t want children to think that’s what they want because it’s not.”

“They won’t have to,” said Mercy, putting her hands on his shoulders, “The Shimada Clan’s practically collapsed! You get to decide who you are, not them! You get to choose what you do with your skills,” one of her hands trailed down his arm and clasped his organic hand, “And you choose good. You’ve been choosing to do good.”

“...kids shouldn’t want to be like me when I don’t even know what the hell I am,” muttered Genji.

Mercy gave a helpless chuckle, “Join the club. ‘Mercy’ is easier to be than Angela. People listen to ‘Mercy,’ except not really, because she’s just pretty and she flies and at the end of the day, she’s just a bloody idea, so no one actually listens to her because she’s not real---”  she caught herself, “God, they’re really going to turn us into cartoon characters, aren’t they?” she said, pushing her bangs back from her face, “As if things weren’t already weird enough.”

“Cyborg ninja. Angel doctor. Time traveler. Gorilla from the moon. It really makes no difference at this point,” said Genji with a shrug, looking over her shoulder, he noticed a small figure on her desk. “Is that---?” he broke out of the embrace and walked over to the desk to see his action figure standing there. The arm had been glued back on, the seam of the break barely visible. He picked up the action figure. “You fixed me? It--It-- I mean it. You fixed it?” he said glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Well I couldn’t just leave you like that,” said Mercy, chuckling a little. 

“’You’ve rescued me again, Doctor Ziegler!’” said Genji, making the action figure bob with his words. They both snickered. “Maybe that can be my catchphrase,” said Genji, a smirk in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” said Mercy, giggling.

[ancientwastedlores]

The Support System (Ch: 11)

STORY SUMMARY: The Avengers have managed to collect all the infinity stones across the universe, and are currently keeping them in far corners of the world, only for research and to see if they can improve the planet and its people. Reader is a researcher with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, as well as a field agent. Loki is currently serving time for his actions in New York City in 2012, and struggling to gain acceptance from the Avengers, when reader decides he just needs a PR manager of sorts.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER AO3: The Support System 

A/N: Find this chapter on AO3 here. Fic requests are welcome! 

Warnings: none

Audience: general.

______________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 11:

You walk into the dining room, where Loki is unwrapping burgers and placing them on plates.

‘Oh we don’t need that; we can just eat from the wrappers’. He wrinkles his nose at the thought. ‘We are already eating junk, we don’t need to look like it’.

You let out a horrified laugh at his statement, and he continues plating the food. 

‘So, Loki…’ you take your seat as he serves you fries. ‘Why were you looking to access my files?’

He looks at you for split second before returning his attention to serving. You wait. Once he’s done, he sits down across from you and locks eyes with you. ‘I was curious’. ‘You can ask me’. ‘You wouldn’t tell me’.

Fair enough, you think. A year in the Avengers Tower, and even Tony had very little idea about your past. You just didn’t want anyone getting too close, but Loki trusted you enough to tell you about Thanos, and you feel like you should reciprocate.

‘Fine. You can ask me five questions; I will answer them as honestly as I can’ you say. His eyes widen. ‘Really!?’ ‘Yes. And that was one, so you got four left’.

He looks hurt, and begs to have the first question back, but you refuse, laughing. He frowns and accepts it finally.

‘What do you want to ask?’ you ask, as you sink your teeth into a burger. You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t look back at him. This is awkward enough as it is.

After a minute’s pause, he asks, ‘What were you asking protection from that night?’

You now look at him, still chewing your burger. You lean back and finish chewing, then swallow. You take a sip of your coke. Then you take a deep breath. ‘I thought I was being chased by men who wanted to take something from me that was dear to me’.

Loki nods. ‘I want to ask what the thing was, but I assume you don’t wish to tell me yet’.

You smile. ‘You’re slyly trying to throw in more questions’. ‘Can’t hurt to try. Please let me keep my remaining three’.

You smile and nod, and he thanks you.

‘Where were you, in this dream?’ he asks.

These questions are oddly specific; you were expecting him to just ask what happened or something general.

‘I was in my childhood home’ you reply. Two more questions left.

Loki is taking his time now. He has started on his meal, occasionally opening his mouth to ask something, then shutting it again. You continue eating.

‘When was the last time you got genuinely drunk?’ You sigh. You wash down the fries with another sip of coke. ‘Four years ago’ you say. ‘Of course, until a few nights ago with you’.

He goes back to eating. So do you.

‘Will there come a time when you tell me everything?’ he asks finally. ‘Are you sure you want that to be your last question?’ ‘I am hoping I get five more some other time, and an indefinite amount one day. So yes’.

You look away from him, down at your plate. You’re nervously fidgeting with the straw in your drink. You again feel his eyes on you, but you’re fixated on the food on your plate.

‘You can take your time to…’ ‘I might’ you interrupt. You look up at him and he’s smiling. ‘I’m glad’ he says.

xx

‘Loki, you haven’t told us yet what you wanna do’ Tony calls to him at dinner. ‘The weekend is getting close’. ‘I’ve decided’ he says. ‘But it does take up a considerable amount of funds and perhaps preparation, so we can keep this for another weekend, perhaps next month’. ‘Money is no object’ Tony declares. ‘Well…’ he smiles at you. ‘Since everyone who went to Dubai recently and didn’t get to stay to take in the sights, I thought maybe we could go for a weekend’.

Your eyes widen, aware that you probably look like an excited child to him right now.

‘And you could be our guide’ he winks at you. ‘I know you love to teach people things’. ‘That’s an understatement’ Bruce says. ‘But I’m up for this. Guys?’

Everyone agrees.

‘It’s settled then. We finish up with Raunverkuleiki, let her go to wherever she wants to go, and then we leave for Dubai’ Tony says. ‘A weekend’s no good, though. I say a whole week’.

The rest of the dinner is people asking you questions about the city, especially how much sunscreen they would require.

‘Don’t worry’ you reassure them. ‘It’ll be quite pleasant, it’s the end of November and just glorious’. ‘Anything we should know before going there?’ Bruce asks. ‘Islamic law and all that?’ You have to admire Bruce for asking. ‘Not a lot. Only certain things, I'll hold a presentation later' you say, inviting laughs from the group. 

Eventually though, you allow yourself to tune out while everyone else is talking about Raunverkuleiki and what they’re looking forward to in Dubai.

xx

‘You didn’t have to do that’ you tell Loki, as he enters your room with the DVD for season 6. ‘Do what?’ ‘You could have made us do literally anything this weekend. Like Thor said, Stark gave you too much power. You didn’t have to ask for us to go back to Dubai’. ‘Why do you think I did it for you?’ he asks with a sly smile. ‘I… didn’t you?’ ‘No. Get over yourself’ he teases, popping the DVD in the player. ‘I just wanted to go to the tallest building in the world’. ‘Right…’ you’re a little suspicious but decide not to pursue. He gets into bed with you and hits play on the remote.

The opening credits play. ‘I’ve noticed that if Moffat writes the episode, it’s bound to be sad or terrible’ he comments.  ‘Oh, don’t ever watch Sherlock’. ‘What’s that?’ ‘We’ll watch it next’ ‘I thought you said not to watch it?’ Loki asks, confused. ‘No, don’t listen to me. We’ll watch it, and then I’ll tell you we shouldn’t have watched it’. ‘Wha…’ ‘Just go with it’ you pat his leg. ‘Now sshh’.

xx

Raunverkuleiki is now up, curiously browsing through Tony’s lab, touching everything. You’d think Tony would completely freak out and keep asking her to please sit down and not touch anything, but Tony’s too busy watching her just move like liquid. Bruce is also captivated.

So are you.

She looks as fragile as glass, but you know there’s more power in there than all the Iron Man suits put together from all the parallel universes.

‘What is it exactly you can do?’ Bruce asks. ‘She can manipulate reality. Make it rain diamonds, for example’ Vision says. ‘That’s meteorologically impossible’ Tony retorts. ‘He just said she can manipulate reality- it doesn’t have to make logical sense’ you say.

Tony shrugs. ‘Alright, how do we know you won’t go wherever you have to go and end up causing destruction?’ ‘TONY!’ you shout. ‘She says she’s going home’ Vision says. ‘Tony, can you be delicate?’ you scold him.

‘She says she isn’t meant to manipulate reality’ Vision continues. ‘Just like her sister’s purpose isn’t to manipulate Time, nor is it her sister’s purpose to give its holder Power. They only have these gifts, but ever since they were formed, they were used by others'. 

‘They used to be people’ Vision goes on, ‘They changed themselves to look like stones so they would be left alone, and have stayed that way so long, it was the only life they knew’.

You stare at Raunverkuleiki in disbelief, and feeling a little sorry.

‘Tony… the Power stone…’ Bruce starts… he looks sad, but also a little afraid. ‘I know’ Tony responds quickly, not wanting him to go on. ‘She’s asking what about it’ Vision says.

You sigh. ‘Raunverkuleiki, what is the name of your sister? The… Power?’ ‘Chikara’ Vision says. ‘Japanese now’ you interest is piqued more and more. ‘Raunverkuleiki, how is it that you are all from different mythologies?’ ‘They aren’t different’ Vision says. ‘She says they all come from Omnipotent’. ‘Omnipotent… is the same for all of them?’ ‘It is how the universe began, and it began once, in one birth, from one Omnipotent, so yes’

You are positively bursting at this point. ‘Could you please name your other sisters?’

You see Raunverkuleiki’s head cock to one side.

‘Waqt is Time...’ Vision begins. ‘Raunverkuleiki is her. Reality. Chikara is Power. Psychi is Soul. Kōngjiān is Space. Geedagte is Mind…’  

Recognising each of these words, you’re getting more and more worked up. But Vision doesn’t look like he’s done.  ‘…and Ahkka is Ego’.  

‘What?’ Tony exclaims. ‘What the hell does that mean, there is a seventh stone?’    ‘Ahkka died. Peter Quill killed him’ Vision responds.

Having the mind stone allowed him access to that sort of information too, so he wasn’t asking Raunverkuleiki all the questions.  

‘Him!?’ Bruce asks.   ‘She says it’s a good thing, he was the most dangerous and ambitious’.   ‘QUILL killed the most powerful one?’ Tony asks in disbelief.   ‘She is asking what Bruce was saying about Chikara’.  

‘Right…’ you purse your lips. ‘Thing is uh… Chikara is currently being used to power an entire camp of refugees on the other side of the world’.  

Raunverkuleiki floats over, very close to you, and it feels threatening.  

‘She is asking you to release her’.   ‘We need an alternate source of power. If you can make one, we’ll be more than happy to hand your sister back to you’ Tony says.  

The room instantly glows red, and it has become hotter.  

‘She doesn’t agree, to that’ Vision says.   ‘Oh really, I guess I misread that’ Tony says, ‘Listen Raunverkuleiki, we can’t leave thousands of children without electricity and medical facilities. If you can…’   ‘Tony, a minute?’ you interrupt.  

xx 

‘You can’t seriously tell me you’re considering letting Power go’   ‘Chikara’ you correct Tony. ‘And I did tell you these beings are not obligated to help us. They aren’t even supposed to help us, they just want to go home and be a family’.   ‘We can’t leave…’   ‘Try asking, Tony. Not demanding’ you say. ‘Maybe she would, for example, like to meet Chikara and speak to her’.

Tony glares at you. ‘What if she leaves?’.  

‘She may not until we have an alternative source’ you try to reassure him. ‘At least try’.   He sighs. ‘I don’t like this’.   ‘I know’. He shakes his head and opens the door. ‘I’m considering it, okay? I’ll see you in the lab’ he goes inside. 

Loki, who has been listening, pipes up from behind you, ‘Can I see her?’  

‘Oh!’ you jump and turn around. ‘How long have you been there!?’   ‘Since you walked in. May I see her?’   ‘Yeah, come along’.  

xx 

‘Hello, Raunverkuleiki’ Loki greets as he walks into Tony’s lab for the first time. He puts a certain amount of stress on the name, and it doesn’t escape you.

The room gets a few degrees hotter, and Raunverkuleiki goes to hide behind Vision.  

‘You didn’t tell me you were Norse. Raun, huh? Why didn’t you tell me?’   ‘She’s asking what you are doing here’ Vision says. ‘Oh I know what she says’.  ‘You know each other!?’ you gasp.  

‘Raun…’ Loki peers behind Vision. ‘It’s no use hiding behind him’.  

Raunverkuleiki steps out from behind him and stands, her body language signalling that she is embarrassed.  

‘Why didn’t you say you were Norse?’ Loki asks. ‘What do you mean you aren’t, your name is Raunverkuleiki, what does that sound to you, Welsh?... No, I don’t mind, it’s a lovely name, I just want to know why you didn’t tell me…. WHAT!?... No way…’  

You stare at Loki when he talks, and stare at Raunverkuleiki when there’s a pause, even though you have no idea what 's happening. You’re dying to know what she’s saying.

 ‘…well you could have still told me' he continues, 'it’s a little disturbing that you wouldn’t tell me given everything... Yes, I know we’re ALL, in a sense, related, but I would still like to know’  ‘EXCUSE ME?’ you shout.

 Loki looks at you. ‘Yes, we used to be a thing, get over it’.  

‘WHAT?’ you, Tony, Bruce, Vision say in unison.   ‘Hold on, Loki…’ you walk over to him, ‘Did you… literally date Reality?’ ‘Yes’.  

You’re appalled at how this is completely normal to him. But now you realise why she doesn’t want to be called Raun.  

‘So… hold on, you’re related?’ Bruce asks.  ‘Not quite’ Loki explains. ‘I mean… possibly. The truth is, these things are unclear. Omnipotent made the first gods, from which Odin and the Frost Giants came, and Raun is his daughter’.   ‘Whose daughter?’ Bruce asks.   ‘Omnipotent. He has no name’.   ‘Right… you are cousins, then?’ Tony asks.   ‘It’s not quite so black and white’ Loki smiles. He turns back to Raunverkuleiki. ‘But I am glad you’re okay. I hope you’ll be off home now’.  

Raunverkuleiki is nodding vigorously, and Loki gives her a hug, and then leaves, but not before winking at you on his way out.  

‘So after that very weird reunion…’ Tony interjects. ‘Raunverkuleiki, we will take you to meet your sister. But I do have a request’.   ‘She’s listening’ Vision says. ‘When you meet her, please discuss leaving before actually leaving. If I get a little time, I can try and find a way to power the camp without her’.   ‘She says alright’ Vision confirms. ‘She wants to go back to the statis cube now’. ‘Of course’ Tony walks to the cube and opens the door.

Raunverkuleiki runs in and curls up again. You think it’s kind of cute.

______________________________________________________________

[comicsnas]

showtime

WARNING: eye gore!!, violence Disclaimer: this is..... an au where guy fieri isnt a cool and chill dude that just likes food. i am very sorry for what i do to him in this. i dont mean it and if the cops knock at my door i will blame it on hussie word count: about 3.7k. i am so sorry

context john gets kidnapped by his mom dave doesnt panic

Los Angeles, CA, Wednesday

“No matter what happens, nobody cancels the premiere,” you say. “Okay? No matter what’s in the news. No matter how bad it gets. The movie drops on Thursday, and people are gonna watch it. Got it? This is a scare tactic and we’re not falling for it. Even if the world is ending, we are premiering this movie and going through with the promo. With or without me.”

Catalena, your manager, has been with you for too long to think that you’re joking. She was who flew you in from Houston to LA back when you were twenty, who let you sleep on your couch until you made enough money to get an apartment, who thought that the message you had for the world was one worthy of her help. She knows that all of this is real, and that she can’t stop you.

Her face says, Dave, you’re scaring me. Her mouth says, “You got it. Could you at least tell me… what you think is going to be in the news that would make us not premiere it?”

“Something bad,” you say. “Hopefully, anyway.”

She tilts her head. “Are you faking your death?”

“Lalonde and I are gonna disappear for a sec,” you say. “How people interpret that is gonna be up to them.”

“Not like you to leave things up to chance,” Catalena says. “Some will think it’s elaborate PR.”

“That’s why I’m only telling you. Lalonde and I are gonna frame this to look serious, and no one else is gonna know what’s going on. You keep your cool, but don’t let anyone know that you’re in on it.”

“I mean, I barely am.” She gives you a Look, a capital L Look, then sighs and nods. “Fine. So if I hear about your presumed death tomorrow, I won’t freak out. At what point am I allowed to assume you are actually dead, and freak out a little bit?”

“If you don’t hear from me in a week,” you say, “then Lalonde and I have been killed by Betty Crocker.”

Houston, TX, twelve years ago

You’re blind.

That’s not true. You’re not blind. You don’t think you are going to be blind. There is no way that you’re fully blind, because the assassin only got your right eye, so it doesn’t make sense for you to be blind, but you’re blind.

The pain might originate from your right eye, but it’s engulfing your entire head by now, and there is something sticky in your left eye and you can’t open it anymore and it burns, and you’re going to go blind, and then you’re going to die in a ditch, in a pool of your own blood, and this is it. It’s over. You and your half sister fucked around on the internet a bunch, got really deep into some conspiracy theories, and barely two weeks after you made the discovery that Betty Crocker definitely, undoubtedly, literally is an actual alien, someone was sent to kill you.

They didn’t manage, so far. They got your eye, and they broke your glasses, leaving a cut on your nose, and a bunch of cuts everywhere else, and you think you cracked your head open when you fell. But you cut their knife hand off, good and clean off, watched it fall to the ground right in front of you. By the time it hit the pavement, the assassin had already turned around and ran away, leaving you to crumple and suffer here by yourself.

This is it.

“Strider?” Rose says. Before the blood trickling into your good eye ruined your vision, you managed to dial her number and call her up, and now you’re lying on your side with your phone pressed to your ear, imagining her in her college dorm room in New York. You were going to visit her there, years ago, after you ran away from your parents. It never worked out. Neither of you has the money. You really wish you could have seen her at least once.

“Yeah,” you croak. “You at home?”

“At the dorm, yes. What’s going on?”

“You gotta go. She sent someone after me, she’s gonna come for you too. If she knows that I know, she’ll know that you know.”

One of the most comfortable parts of friendship with Rose, you’ve found, is that she never asks you to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about. Either she just lets you ramble, or she knows exactly what you mean. “Shit,” she hisses, and you can hear rustling on her side of the line, hopefully from her getting ready. She probably has a getaway bag somewhere, you think. You have one, but not on you right now. It’s too late for that.

“They’ve already hit me, so whoever she sent to you can’t be far,” you say. You try to blink your eye open, but then it hurts the other more, and it burns. You can’t even tell where exactly. It just burns. “Hurry up, Lalonde.”

“They’ve hit you?” she echoes, still rustling, breathing into the phone. On the move. Good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say. “Gonna call an ambulance after this. Just get the fuck out and text me later, yeah?”

Rose pauses. You can hear her pause, you can hear everything go very silent for a second. She says, “You called me before you called for help?”

“Yeah,” you say. She told you, once, that there is a quick and easy way out the window of her second-storey dorm room, that lets her balance over to her girlfriend’s room only a few windows ahead. She can’t hide there, it’s too close, but it’s a start. She’ll figure it out, she always will. She was the first person to ever have your back. “Of course I did.”

On a plane, Thursday morning

“What’s on your mind?” Rose asks.

You’re leaned back, staring out the window, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles next to you. The pilot here doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, just that he is flying two rich people and their car to Washington, DC. Your Mustang is in the cargo part of the plane, a vital part of the plan. You’ll torch it later. It was the first car you bought with your own money, after SBaHJ had become big and you had finally paid off your hospital debt.

Rose’s apartment isn’t that old, she got it after Roxy was born and she decided to move to Los Angeles, so you could help each other babysit. Trashing it still felt wrong. A home is a home, but you wanted it to look broken into, to make sure that people put two and two together. This isn’t a Dave Strider marketing scheme, you both got hit. After all the work that you’ve done, at least some of the public should understand what that means.

“Us,” you say.

“That’s very sentimental,” she says. “Are you sure you aren’t mourning your car again?”

“Shut up,” you say, and blindly swat at her, hitting her elbow. She hits you back, hand slapping your shoulder. “It’s a good car.”

Rose hums. When you look at her, she’s already back to knitting. You have no idea what she’s making, but it looks like a onesie for an octopus. “We will be fine,” she says. “We have to.”

You nod, and go back to staring out the window, thinking about what Alma said. “It’s just,” you say quietly. “We gotta start thinking about the endgame, here, don’t we.”

“Start?” Rose echoes. “Dave, we know the endgame to this. We’ve known for a while. The second you landed in the hospital with a cut inside your eyeball, you and I both knew that this would end in death.”

You don’t say anything. She’s right, of course she is. You knew then, and she knew, as soon as you texted her from your hospital bed, and she texted you back from a Greyhound bus. And you tried to forget, you both did, for a very long time. You almost managed, for a whole decade, until last year, someone made you scared and angry enough to ram a sword through his throat. Until Rose came and disassembled the body on your rooftop, and then helped you burn it. Reality has caught up with you, and someone is going to die.

The clicking of her needles has stopped again. You turn your head to look at her, and she’s looking back at you, and her face seems younger than it should be. She is just as scared as you are. Neither of you ever wanted it to go this far. Neither of you wanted to kill.

“I don’t like it either,” Rose says. “But someone is going to wind up dead, and it sure as shit isn’t gonna be us.”

Washington, DC, now

)(IC: u comin or what TG: yeah about that

You’re on the hood of your car. The children -- and Sally, John’s pet hedgehog -- are with the one sitter you still trust. Rose is in position, which means she is at a remote location outside the city holding Guy Fieri hostage. She has sent you a picture of him tied to a chair and gagged, which means that it’s go time.

All according to plan.

TG: how about you come kill me somewhere else instead of home sweet home )(IC: why would i do that TG: dying mans last request? )(IC: stfu lol this is so obviously a trap TG: wow ok so is yours )(IC: fair TG: just thought that you know TG: john means something to both of us and dont try to tell me no because i know he does TG: so like can we maybe duke it out somewhere where i wont accidentally blow him to smithereens TG: innuendo intended )(IC: UG)( )(IC: gross TG: lmao TG: anyway bethany you know me and you know im comin with c4 in my backpack if im comin TG: do you really want that around your son or can you just get off your ass and meet me here so john stays safe )(IC: u reely think ya have a fighting chance to even get that far )(IC: buoy you set one foot in my house and ya get spearfished TG: yeah not really making a great point for me to come there rn TG: just thought maybe youd wanna be with your guy guy )(IC: who TG: you know TG: guy the guy )(IC: tf

You text her the picture that Rose sent, just Guy Fieri looking miserable, no indication of whether or not you or Rose are with him.

)(IC: )(-EY )(IC: motherglubber what do u think yoar doin TG: yoar??? TG: thats literally not a word. wym you oar?? what TG: anyway im gonna dismember this asshole if you dont agree to keep john safe and come here and im gonna start with the frosted tips )(IC: FIN--E )(IC: cant effin wait to be done with you )(IC: ill come krill ya if its so shrimportant just gimme the location TG: ok shrimportant is actually pretty funny TG: [coordinates] TG: see you soon

She drives a fuchsia Jaguar that looks like Xzibit threw up all over it, because of course she does. You watch it leave from your perch on your Mustang, then slide off the hood. shes gone, you text Rose. get ready to bounce

Before you leave, you turn back toward you car, and gently pat the roof. “See you soon,” you repeat, “for one last ride.”

Look, it’s a good car, alright.

Later on in the plan, once you’ve convinced John to come with you, and Rose has joined you in the no doubt brutal course out of the house littered with security guards, the three of you will pack into this car, and you will drive. You will be tailed, you know you will. Rose and you estimate two to three SUVs with more security personnel that will follow you, and sooner or later, you won’t stand a chance against them.

So, you’ll call the cops. You don’t usually do this -- even during all these years, neither you nor Crocker ever called the police on each other, and technically, you still won’t, today. You will just anonymously call authorities, and tell them about a burning car by the side of the road. Then you will hang up, and you and Rose and John will hop out of a moving vehicle as you crash your beloved Mustang and have it go up in flames. Authorities will come and find Dave Strider’s infamous car, and hopefully that’ll get people talking.

Crocker’s guys will hopefully exit their cars and go looking for you, or at least for John. It’s an easy con from there -- while they look, you will steal their SUVs and drive off toward your safehouses. Simple. No sweat.

“This better work,” you mutter to yourself, then leave your car behind and start climbing the fence around Crocker manor.

You’ve been here once before, while she was out and John was showing you around. You weren’t actively trying to case the place back then, just spending time with your boyfriend and checking out where he grew up, but you couldn’t help how curious you were. You still remember the most important spots, and you did your best to paint a proper picture of them to Rose (you drew a map in MS Paint), so now you have a pretty good idea of where you need to go.

The guard posts, of course, are randomized. You’ll have to take these as they come, and you feel prepared enough, with just your sword and a handful of knives. You’re wearing the kevlar you wore to the Oscars. You’re gonna be fine.

It’s a race against time now, knowing that there is no guarantee when Crocker will be catching on and returning to her house, and knowing that you stand no chance actually fighting her face to face. You climbed in toward the side of the house, because it’s the shortest distance between fence and wall. The front and back yards are ridiculously huge and opulent, and while you would have plenty of gaudy statues to hide behind, you’re not looking to make your way through there.

The first guard spots you right as you hop down off the fence, and your knife is in his shoulder before he even finishes drawing his gun on you. He’s also wearing a vest, but those don’t stop blades, and you take offense in knowing that she made them dress up like that. As if either you or Rose were going to show up with guns. She really doesn’t know you at all. You knock out the guard with a hit of the knife grip against his temple. Maybe you can get through this without deaths.

One of them you comfortably take out from behind a useless fountain placed in this part of the garden for some reason, appreciating how quiet and low-key you can be about it so far. The bigger the ruckus, the sooner she’ll return, so having them all go down in silence is your best case scenario.

It’s the third guard that ruins your track record. You’re almost at the house wall, and you know you’re under the right window, which means all you have to do is scale it and climb right into John’s room, but for that to work you need to have a clean path behind you. Which you don’t, you realize the second a bullet hits your back.

Your vest catches it, but the momentum still knocks you down, and you scrape both of your palms open on the weird break between lawn and pavement. You hate this fucking garden. Who lives like this? You’re gasping for breath and trying not to inhale any grass, dealing with the reality that this is the first time someone has shot at you and actually hit you, and the bullet might not have penetrated skin at all, but Jesus Fucking Christ it still feels awful. Like someone kicked you in the spine, only with a bullet instead of a foot.

Onward. You hear footsteps behind you, and now it’s your turn to kick, hitting them in the face with your boot in the same motion that you’re pushing yourself up from the ground. As they curse and stumble, you draw your sword, but they catch their footing quickly, and you know you only have a split second to act. That gun is pointing at you, again, or still, and they’re going for your head this time, and if you don’t fight now, the journey ends for you here. Someone is going to die, and it sure as shit can’t be you. Your arm darts forward.

The sword goes through their vest, their ribs, and their heart -- you wouldn’t call it smoothly, you really wouldn’t. You can feel resistance with every inch, you feel it right up to your shoulder, and you hate it, and it makes you want to throw up, but you can’t, now. You shove them off your blade and watch them crumple to the ground, and turn right back toward the wall. They are not getting up again. That’s on you, and you can deal with that later. You have to get moving.

Your phone vibrates.

You manage to pull yourself up on a balcony and crouch there, hiding from whatever is going on in the yard now. Other guards must have heard the shot being fired, so you really need to get the fuck out of sight, but this has to do, for now. If Crocker is messaging you, you have to respond, so she doesn’t think you’re in her goddamn garden.

)(IC: yo )(IC: send me proof yoar still with him )(IC: almost there this betta be worth it TG: one sec

As expected. All according to plan, so far. You hope the blood on your sword won’t make the sheath sticky. You’ll have to clean it, later. You don’t want to.

TG: shes asking for proof TG: go ahead. sorry TT: No worries. TT: I know we don’t endorse violence, but honestly, Dawon, after being in a room with him for this long, I am quite happy to do this.

She sends you a picture, and you grimace at your phone. It takes a lot to make you grimace, as a Strider born and raised -- at the same time, you’re not easily shocked or grossed out, but this isn’t great to look at. Fieri’s eye has been pulled from its socket, dangling down his cheek suspended from the nerve, a hole in the eyeball. You hope Crocker won’t be able to tell that this was done with a knitting needle, and forward the photo to her.

TG: hows this )(IC: )(--EY FUCK OFF )(IC: stop i reely like guy 38( TG: yeah well i really like john TG: eye for an eye TG: hurry it up im waiting and theres a second eye to gauge out )(IC: ten minutes )(IC: ur gonna be so sorry buoy

TG: 10 mins TT: On my way.

Okay. Crocker is on her way to a location where there will only be Guy Fieri and a set of elaborate boobytraps which you know won’t kill her, but hopefully slow her down. Rose is on her way here, to help you and John get out of here. That’s plenty of time you still have. Things are going suspiciously well, you think, before you remember the ache in your back and the fact that you killed someone.

You have to get to John.

He’s another two floors up, but you are right in front of a balcony door. For a second, you wonder if you could get into the house from here and do the rest from inside, so you don’t present yourself to the mob of people with guns in the garden. Unfortunately, before you can do that, another person with a gun appears on the other side of that door, mouths an angry what the fuck at you, and draws an assault rifle. Alright, well.

The thing that has mostly kept you from becoming too violent in the past is the fact that you’re fast, and you’re a great climber, so when you hop backward onto the banister of the balcony and pull yourself up to the next one above you, it happens so fast that nobody in the garden reacts. It’s after you’re already crouching behind the balcony, thankfully made of robust concrete, that the shots start hitting it. You do nothing, count the bullets, wait for them to get rid of half of their magazines down there. Then you pull a knife, peek over the balcony, and throw it right into someone’s bicep.

More shots. More ducking and counting. You have two more knives to throw, and you do, rinse and repeat. The people down there are very angry with you now, and very much still able to shoot, but you figure at least their aim will be off, and they’ll be slower. You hope. You haven’t held a gun yourself in fucking forever.

You take a breath, and jump up to grab the balcony you know belongs to John.

As soon as you’re in the open, another bullet hits your back, further toward your side this time, and you almost let go. You let out an undignified noise instead, and hold on harder, focusing all you have into your arms to pull yourself up. Shots are ringing in your ears, and one hits the concrete right next to your head at almost the same time that another one grazes your leg. You hiss in pain, grunt in exertion, pull, pull, and roll yourself onto John’s balcony.

Someone in the garden yells, “Motherfucker!”

You sit, curled up, and pull apart the tear in your pants with your aching fingers to check the wound. It’s not deep, certainly not as bad as the chunk of missing flesh you have in your arm from being shot at last year. It’s fine. You’ll forget about it in a second, when your newest problem will be telling your amnesiac boyfriend that he needs to come with you.

You pull yourself up into a crouch, not more. You don’t want to risk getting shot in the head as you finally face him, so you just do it like this. Hunkered down, disheveled and bloody, you lean forward and knock on John’s window.

[aintnothingleft]

wash us away // mini fic // ch. 1

Rosalia was Niall’s girl—except she wasn’t, and Harry has the stars to thank.

mini-fic story page

Rosalia was Niall’s girl—except she wasn’t. Harry’s eyes had settled on her before he knew this, watching the way her red dress skimmed the floor and the light hit her exposed shoulders. This was the first time they met. She had been a little brash, although very apologetic, which Harry accredited to the glasses of champagne that she took long sips of as if she didn’t know what else to do with her hands. It was the Cancer Research UK Charity Ball, and while Harry supported the cause, he was in desperate need of a drink. The bar, located at the back of the main hall and up a series of steps, was largely deserted, except for the few that loitered in the area. Among them was Rosalia, who had been standing alone at the end of the bar with a glass of champagne, looking either lost or bored—he hadn’t decided. He made his way up to the bar, a few feet away from her, to make his order. The bartender was preoccupied with another attendee, and Harry took the time to admire his surroundings. Glancing over at the girl next to him, he noticed her looking at him curiously. He broke the ice with a casual hello. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I’ve just heard a lot about you. I’m Rosalia, I’m friends with Niall.”

Ah. Harry recognized her. She was the American Niall had met in an Irish pub, of all places, some months ago. Despite the distance, the two had been quietly joined at the hip. Niall claimed they were just friends and refused to speak more on the matter. She slept in his guest bedroom.

He shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

And she smiled. Harry didn’t want to admit that he was curiously attracted to her. Although Niall denied it, he had a small suspicion that there was something more to their friendship than he had let on.

But Harry couldn’t help but smile back at her. Rosalia hoped that he didn’t notice the flush in her cheeks that had resulted from a mixture of alcohol and staring at his dimples. She didn’t think anything of it, however. You would have to be blind not to notice how attractive he is, she thought.

The bartender approached the pair, and Harry ordered more champagne for the both of them.

“That’s a beautiful dress.”

And it was—deep red silk that hung off her shoulders and plunged slightly down her chest and grazed the carpet beneath them.

Rosalia hesitated but thanked Harry with a soft smile. She paused again, then stated as if it were a secret, “it doesn’t feel right to wear something so expensive. Niall bought it for me, but honestly, this dress cost about the same as a semester of my tuition. It’s Oscar de la Renta.”

Harry thought he detected a hint of sarcasm mixed with the incredulousness, but wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He didn’t have to, as Rosalia took another long sip of champagne and continued.

“Doesn’t it feel weird to you sometimes? Knowing that some of the outfits you wear could cover the cost of someone’s tuition? In the U.S., at least, it’s fucked. My loan payments start soon.”

Then she sighed--a deep sigh that she felt in the back of her chest, and her eyes squeezed shut for just a moment too long.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. You’ve obviously worked very hard for your money, and I didn’t mean to sound so judgmental.”

Harry, although slightly offended, knew that she meant no harm and made an effort to wipe the surprised look off his face. He wanted to tell her that he donated to charity but stopped himself. While this was true, (he was at a charity ball after all), he thought of the cars and houses and clothes that he owned that perhaps did err on the lavish side.

The bartender brought over their glasses, and Harry lifted his flute with a soft “cheers.”

Rosalia smiled again and took a sip of her own. She was embarrassed that she had brought up money around someone with so much of it and cursed the champagne that had been flowing freely down her throat all night. But the bubbles were sweet and welcome to the foreign and unfamiliar scene she was dealing with tonight. “I should find Niall, I think they are serving dinner soon.”

“I’ll come with you,” Harry offered. “It’s been a couple months since I’ve seen him.”

They walked back into the ballroom together, weaving through tables and chairs in search of Niall. Harry didn’t mind chatting with Rosalia in the meantime.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

Harry almost cringed at his own words; it was like he was trying to pick up a girl in a crowded bar. She grimaced back at his question.

“I don’t think there’s much to tell. I’m from Vancouver, Oregon, but I went to college in Eugene. I’m working in a coffee shop there...well, I’m searching for an actual job. I graduated in December, and, well, it’s May.”

“S’alright though,” he responded, although he really had no idea what he was talking about. Harry sometimes tried to imagine himself as a student but had little success in those thoughts. “What did you study at university?”

“International Studies, but I’m looking for a job with an NGO or nonprofit. There aren’t very many international relations jobs unless you move to a really big city like D.C. or New York. Or London, I suppose.” Rosalia grimaced again to herself at the thought of the cost of living in somewhere like D.C. or San Francisco.

“Would you want to move to a bigger city someday?”

Rosalia watched how his eyebrows pushed together as if he was in the midst of a serious conversation. She stifled a giggle.“Yes, definitely! But I’m sticking to Eugene for now, so I can save up some money.”

“What sort of nonprofit do you want to work at?”

“I’m not really sure! Anywhere that will hire me at this point, I guess. I just want to be able to make a difference, you know? Otherwise, what’s the point of it all.”

“To be happy?” he asked genuinely.

“I think that’s what would make me happy,” she offered.

As if to respond, Harry’s eyebrows pushed together again.

“Also, I’m sorry again about that tuition comment.”

He promised her it was okay. They found Niall, who had been busy chatting with people who Harry recognized and who Rosalia had never met, and he watched the smile that broke across Niall’s face when he saw the two of them approach.

“Harry! You’ve met Rosa, I see! I was gonna introduce ya’ two.”

“We met at the bar,” Rosalia replied with a sly smile, and her and Niall both laughed. Harry found himself watching them interact--they way they touched but never lingered. Niall’s hand grazed across her palm for a brief moment, but he made no effort to hold it.

While Niall responded to someone’s question, Rosalia turned to Harry and, in that same voice that reminded him of a secret whisper, said, “I’m glad I met you, I didn’t know anyone here besides Niall.’just gets a bit boring and all.” Harry was glad he had met her too.

***** The next day, Harry made a call to his agency. He wasn’t certain of all of the logistics, only the idea; however, he knew that he wanted Rosalia involved. Harry couldn’t decide exactly why--if he wanted her to feel proud of him or if he was embarrassed at how money had seemed so trivial to him recently or if, maybe, he was doing it for purely selfless, good reasons. Harry sent a text to Niall.

It was hours before he responded with her number, surprisingly with no further questions asked, and Harry contemplated between texting or calling her. He decided on the latter, pulling at his lip while the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Harry. Er, Harry Styles”

“Oh, hi!” She pipped in surprise, and he chuckled in response. “Um, what’s up?

Harry assumed that Niall hadn’t told her he’d asked for her phone number. “Look, I’ve thought about that comment you made yesterday...about your dress and tuition. I’ve pitched an idea to my label, and, well, they’re all for it because it’ll be good PR and, ehm, it’s my money technically,” Harry took a pause, struggling to string his words together. “Basically, I want to set up a scholarship fund using a portion of ticket sales from my concerts? I think for the U.S. and U.K. right now, and then we can look into extending it to other countries. I don’t really know where to start, but I was wondering if you’d want to join the project. I’d pay you a salary, of course.”

Rosalia was caught off guard; she hadn’t even gotten fully dressed yet for the day and was being offered her first real job since graduating.  “Harry, I would love to! But the thing is that I’m flying back home in a few days. The 18th to be exact.”

“That’s not a problem,” he responded. “You can work remotely, it doesn’t matter. I would just want to arrange a meeting with Megan Fitzpatrick, who’s joining on from my label, and myself before you go to run through some logistics. She’ll probably be handling most of the UK side of this. Or, if you want, I can connect you to someone in LA? I’ll be flying in at the end of the month”

“No, this week works for me. Could we do Monday or Tuesday?”

“Yeah, I’ll let Megan know and have her get in touch with you, alright?.”

Rosalia  paused. “You know I don’t have experience with this stuff, right?”

“Everyone has to learn somewhere. Just prepare some ideas, and you’ll be great.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

[cherdocx]

Wayv by Julia Haber

- Create pop-up shop experiences for brands on college campuses

- Built out of converted trailers that allows them to bring the essences/vibes of the brand

- Have to be flexible/adaptable because people always

- Colour-coodinate schedule on Google Calendar to stay organized + reminders to follow up

- "A strategic move is to partner with venture capital firms and advertising agencies to create experiences for their clients and give them a chance to really get involved in the pop-up process if they can't do it on their own"

- Best advice if someone is trying to shut down your ideas before you have the opportunity to say everything you wanted to say? First thing is to listen because all they're doing is they want to be heard and if people are giving you advice it means that they care so if they're telling you that you're wrong/going in the wrong direction, tell them you're acknowledging it and you appreciate it. And if you still feel strongly about what you're saying, give your rebuttal and be clear about why you're saying it, and give a direct point that is associated with it so you seem like you know what you're talking about - because big executives are told they're great all day when people don't stand up to them but you earn respect when you share what you bring to the table

- Before I go to sleep I make a list of 90-100 things that I categorize (email follow-ups, pressing conversations) and I get into emails first because people won't reply immediately at that time of day

- How do you use “constructive criticism” to benefit you? Every day you’re coming up with a concept that you’re iterating and changing - you really need to stay strong with what you are passionate about/inspired by and take everybody’s feedback but realize that everybody’s input often comes from their experiences/ anxieties/ interpretations so who you are and what you’re building doesn’t have to conform to everybody you talk to, it’s all about being you and learning - but you don’t need to change everything just to please everyone.

- Despite people sometimes disagreeing with your ideas, when do you know to stay firm with your ideas and trust yourself? I think the biggest thing is to take into account who is giving you information, and I’ve 7-8 really amazing mentors and advisors I trust implicitly. And then there’s peripheral people who always like to give input but I know they’re not as knowledgeable as to what I’m trying to develop so it’s taking everything with a grain of salt and learning there is something that makes a huge impact but being willing to hear them out and sleep on it and see how you feel about it the next morning - it’s been a really good process for me to figure out what’s going to work and what isn’t

- How did you find your ‘core’ mentors? I made it a point to meet every professor, shake their hand, sit at their office and really engage with them so they know me personally and I always try to bring something new to the table in a way I could collaborate. When you’re in college you’re really building that core group of support system that sees you mature over those years so starting early and getting people to really believe in you and your work is really important. Also, as I’ve graduated, it’s meeting everybody and anybody because I’ll have 10-15 meetings in a day and each person will introduce me to at least 3 people - say yes to everything even if it isn’t relevant to me, just do it because they will know more people.

- I wanted to do communications but I wasn’t sure what that even meant. In high school I ran this huge charity and I loved putting events on and I looked specifically at schools that were marketing digitally/digitally-focused. I was actually a PR major but I realized I wasn’t more creative than a great writer - I’m definitely not a great writer so I pivoted to advertising and my freshman/sophomore year I created a club called Vision (basically the whole point was to create this opportunity and a community where students felt like they could come in and create/do anything - I always came to campus wanting to stir the pot/start new things but there was really no resources that students could have to do things so we were a club funded/sponsored by Adobe and we would put on events for them)

- How is college the most beneficial to you and how did it play a part in where you are today? Not going to college was never an option for me - not because of my parents but just my path/life has always been that kind of professional college route. I never knew what my outcome would be or where I would be going but it is 100% the reason why I’m here today especially my senior year. In my freshman year I would always develop relationships with professors and people I considered to be mentors but senior year I really was, school’s great/I did well academically but this is really my time to suck up all the resources and opportunities and I competed in like 5 pitch competitions, I constantly met with resources and mentors and travelled all the time for school, e.g. travelled to Silicon Valley to visit companies/ tech trips to New York and I just constantly engaged myself in the community on campus and spent time building relationships with professors and that was just the most beneficial thing - not a lot of people do it and it just pays off so much.

- When did you come up with your idea of Wayv? In my freshmanyear I conceptualized, always being a go-getter and trying to do things but I wanted to create an opportunity where students could go/see/engage with things on campus even if they were in remote places

- How should you present yourself on social media in order to garner responses? Make sure you’re public and appropriate/professional

- How do you nurture your professional relationships and evaluate which ones to maintain? Oversaturation of people trying to connect/reach out to the highest profile people through LinkedIn so don’t forget the little guys - people who I really value came from people back in my youth who knew people so you never know. I maintain relationships by keeping reminders in my calendar (including notes so I can tailor my next email and make it relevant to the person) if I speak to someone today and in two and a half weeks I’ll send her an update from our conversation - you don’t want to give these people updates if they’re not gonna care so if you feel like there’s a level of investment and a legitimate relationship then make an effort to do this. If you feel like a bother/weird/imposing about updating people, it’s not personal/they’re not busy if they don’t respond so have a really thick skin if you reach out to them.

- Why did you decide to pursue being an entrepreneur rather than a more traditional job right out of college? Originally for my internships I knew I wanted to get some “real” experience when I graduated, develop those connections, learn more through the industry then do my own thing and I realized its very hard to backtrack once you graduate. If you start your own company, you probably won’t get a paycheck for a while. It’s easier being an entrepreneur than going backwards and I realized I actually have a number of really strong deep connections that would help me figure it out and I knew I don’t know everything (still learning everyday) but having that willingness/drive yourself if you feel alone sometimes - that’s really important.

- How do you fundraise? In the age of sharktank we all think everybody should be pitching to venture capitalists and raising money but in reality it’s really difficult to do that - it’s a whole process and it’s not always the best route. I’m in an intersection of category that’s never been done before so I knew funding was never going to be in my early approach if that’s gonna happen so I put all my internships money/ investments/ support from family and just went for it. There’s so many scholarships/ competitions for college students (I’m an investment partner and they gave convertible notes, which is that you have to give a part of your company if/when you raise).

- How important is social media in creating a business in 2018? Everything - fortunate and unfortunate - really challenging/ competitive. Your growth/ following should be organic and authentic.

- How do you overcome doubt and judgment in a male-dominated field? My industry (media and communications, fashion) is quite female-dominated. I think the times I felt very different from other people were in the pitch competitions - I was one of the only females pitching. There are a lot of programmes intended to help female entrepreneurs get their feet on the ground because in business, females are the minority - but I thought it was a benefit, women support women. It’s important to take your sex not as a disadvantage but use it to benefit you

- How can you get involved in WAYV (her business)? Our network is basically huge groups of students that have access whenever we come onto campus. If you sign up, you’ll get a notification when we’re coming to campus and you want to get involved. In a more formal way we have a ‘waiver’, which is beyond an ambassador, it’s our direct contact on campus who help us coordinate (experiences are staffed by students) so it’s an internship basically which you can put on your resume and we hyper tailor the brands to the campus. So if you want to be engaged in these kind of new forward-thinking retail environments. There’s a form on our Instagram that shows how to get involved

- Most of my day is running around everywhere so coordinating location to location timing-wise is really important.

[ebullientbun]

The Suspense is Killing Me

Starring: Jimin x You (ft. Taehyung)

Rated: G for gently crack and a little sads sometimes

Word Count: 8.1K

Summary: park jimin is a trusted superhero who constantly saves the day, but can he save them from you, his newest rival and beloved wife

Cameras are flashing left and right, blinding him. There are way too many microphones in front of his face, but he smiles anyways, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and brushes a hand through his jet black hair. They don’t need to know he wears the sunglasses so he doesn’t look like he’s squinting in the PR photos.

“Park Jimin, over here!” 

“Mr. Park! What are your opinions on the city’s allocation of funds?”

“Mr. Park, what’s your comment?”

Jimin sighs internally and focuses his attention to the left, pointing to the nearest person. “You there, in the green jacket.” Probably an easy question, he thinks to himself.

“Mr. Park, what do you have to say about the newest rival that has resumed the spot of V? Does this mysterious villain pose a greater threat?”

Jimin gulped, cursing himself for his bad luck. “It was unexpected, but that’s not to say I’m unprepared for these recent turn of events,” he responded, clearing his throat. “I assure the public that their safety is still intact and that the danger is not as bad as V, who is locked up in the highest security prison institution.” 

The crowd murmurs louder before resuming in calling his name. Jimin has half his mind to leave the press conference until a lone voice shouts from the crowd, silencing them. “Then why haven’t you killed or caught the villain if they’re so easy? Why haven’t you caught the Suspense?” 

Jimin drops his head and takes a deep breath. He knows that he should probably say that he’s investigating the villain’s true intentions and hidden secrets or some other bullshit excuse, but the truth slips out of his mouth before he can process what he’s said, and instantly, he feels regret. The crowd bursts into a loud commotion, and Jimin is quickly escorted out of the place, halting any further questions.

“Because she’s my wife.”

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filtered through the apartment, the noise of the television idly playing in the background. You’re humming, moving clean clothes from the drying machine to your laundry basket. Kicking the machine door closed, you heft the basket into your arms and plop down onto the couch in the living room, dropping the basket in front of you. You grab the remote on the table next to you and turn up the volume, engrossed in the video replay of your husband, Park Jimin, fighting his ultimate rival. You start folding your laundry, glancing up every now and then, wincing when some of the attacks hit Jimin.

“This just in!” You paused your movements, giving the television your undivided attention as a new anchor bounced up and down on screen, the wind from outside covering her face with her own hair. “Mr. Park has captured V!” 

You smile, internally planning to buy a celebration cake for your husband before he comes home, maybe buying some balloons just for the heck of it. It had been a cat and mouse game for several years, and now your husband caught his unruly foe.

The video panned to V being escorted into the police car, the mask on his face battered and bloody. A microphone shoved in front of him.

“V the Violent! What’s your remark on being captured?”

V grunted before leaning into the microphone, “Excuse you, it’s V the Voluptuous for my voluminous hair. This is only a small setback. But it will not be the last you see of me… isn’t that right, my spectacular protege, Suspense?”

The reporters clamor at his comment as he’s forcibly shoved into the police car. The shirt in your hands fall to your lap.

“Honey, I’m home!” Jimin declares, slamming the door open only to be met with silence. “Y/N?” He slides off his shoes and shuts the door. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and grabbed the remote left on the floor beside an unfinished pile of laundry to turn off the television. An uneasy feeling fell into the pit of his stomach as he ventured further into the apartment. He stepped in the kitchen and noted the coffee left cold and untouched in the coffee pot. His breathing turned heavy as he rushed into the bedroom to nothing; the room was unchanged and empty. 

Maybe… maybe you just ran to the grocery store and he’s just overreacting. Yes, that had to be it. He reached into in pocket and dialed your phone number. Jimin froze in his spot, hearing the familiar ringtone faintly jingle in the bedroom, buzzing against the bedside table. 

He ended the phone call and speed dialed the one person who can find his wife. The line rang once, twice, and then he heard the familiar grumble of ‘hello?’ and rustling in the background.

“Namjoon, can you please find Y/N’s location? She’s not at the apartment but she left her phone at home.”

Typing flooded the other end, Jimin tapping his foot impatiently as he awaited for an answer.

“Alright, so I’ve got footage of her leaving her apartment; she doesn’t look distressed or anything, maybe a little zoned out. Lemme look at the other building cameras to track her location. She’s exiting the apartment… and she walked into the hardware store down the street. Jimin, have you just tried, oh, I don’t know, calling her?” 

“She left her phone at home. But she also left the television on and didn’t even finish her laundry.” Jimin nursed his bottom lip with his teeth, not knowing what to make of what she’s doing.

“Maybe she forgot to buy something?” Namjoon suggested.

“No, no,” Jimin insisted. “There’s nothing that she needs there that we don’t already have at home. Where did she go after that?” 

“Uh, hold on... Okay, I’ve sped up the cameras as fast as I can, but she hasn’t left the building…”

“And when was she last seen entering the store?”

Namjoon hesitated, “it’s been a couple of hours. Maybe she’s just looking at the gardening displays again. You know how she takes her time looking at those.”

“I don’t know,” Jimin paced back and forth in the living room, “something just doesn’t feel right. She doesn’t normally forget her phone, she gets paranoid about tha-” his phone buzzed with an oncoming work call,  “hold on, I’ll call you back. I’ve got a call.”

“Gotcha, Jimin. I’ll let you know if I see anything else.”

Jimin switched the line to the police department, “This is Jimin.”

“Jimin! We need you to come to the city plaza quick! We’re having a civilian attack by someone unknown!” He could hear the chaos of people panicking in the background.

“I’m on the way,” he promptly ended the call, rushing to get his gear and weaponry.

Jimin flew into city plaza, having no need to search for the damage when there’s a large machine monster plowing through the square, shooting bursts of water at civilians running away to shelter. The robot stood at least 4 stories high, a voice emitting from a speaker on it shoulder. 

“IS EVERYONE HAVING A NICE SPLASH ON THIS GOOD SUMMER’S DAY?” The voice boomed, soaking the streets, the force of the blasted water flipping a car over.

“Whoever you are, stop what you’re doing right this moment!” Jimin commanded, floating eye level with the robot’s head. The robot lifted an arm to activate a laser beam, shooting around and slicing the statue of the mayor in half.

Jimin pulled out his sword, made of the strongest metals, and raised it to challenge the robot.

The head of the robot split in half, revealing a familiar female with yellow goggles and a purple bodysuit.

“Y/N?” Jimin stops in place and puts down his sword. “Y/N, what are you doing?” He shrieked and dodged a laser attack from her. A laser gun; this is something he’s still trying to process. “Whoa there, stop, baby! Put your weapon down! Why are you attacking me? You need to get out of here, there’s a new villain on the streets.”

“You are truly an idiot, Park Jimin. The villain is me. I go by the name of the Suspense. And no one will be standing in the way of my terror.” 

“What?” 

“Was it not obvious by the fact I’m shooting water at the citizens and destroying the gardens?” You fiddled with the controls, still trying to learn its functions, closing the head and using the other arm to reach for Jimin.

Namjoon yelled in the bluetooth of his ear, “Jimin watch out! Arm coming on your left!” 

Jimin used his sword to block off the massive arm coming his way and flew straight for the juncture of the robot’s arm and shoulder. With all of his strength, he jabbed his sword downwards and dismembered the arm. 

“Get one of the legs, too. Throw the robot off balance,” Namjoon instructed. He flew down to the leg of the robot, dismembering one of the legs with much more difficulty. The legs were more reinforced, and he had to saw his sword across as the laser robot arm attempted to reach him.

The robot, losing its balance, toppled into a broken heap in the ground. Jimin heard you shout into the microphone.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, flying down to the head where you sat. Just before he could open the robot, the head automatically detached itself and flew into the sky, shocking Jimin. 

“You may have defeated me this time,” the voice boomed, followed by a brief cough, “but this won’t be the last you see of me! Until next time superhero!” The robot head flew at lightning speed away, so fast that he couldn’t catch up quick enough after his immediate shock, but as he flew in the same direction, any semblance of where you went disappeared.

“Did you see where she went?” Jimin asked, patiently waiting for an answer through his bluetooth.

“None,” Namjoon sighed, “all the cameras were turned off for some reason for the past few hours. I think it may have been her doing.”

“My wife is my enemy,” Jimin stated, disbelief coursing through him.

Jimin stands in front of the pristine white door in front of him, awaiting permission to enter. His fists are tightly clenched by his side, and his eyes scream murder. The guard next to him warns him to not kill or heavily maim the inmate he so desperately wanted to tear apart. With a noncommittal grunt to the guard, Jimin’s eyes focus in on the figure sitting in the middle of the room after the doors slide open, and he charges in.

“V!” Jimin yanks the prisoner up from his seat by the collar and spits in his face as he growls. “What have you done to my wife?” 

“Aww, is that any way to greet an old buddy? It hasn’t even been what, ten hours since we’ve last seen each other right? You must really miss my company,” V coos. 

Jimin scowls at the playful smirk that V shoots at him before shoving him back onto the chair. “What is your motive? What do you want from me?”

V struggles for a short while to get back properly in his chair, settling his triple handcuffed hands on the table in front of them. “Now, now. You can’t barge in here expecting answers to questions I don’t want to answer,” V smiles, idly scratching his fingers along the surface of the table. “Have a seat, Jimin. It’s been awhile since I’ve sat across from you, yeah? I don’t get to look at you properly, those news photos don’t seem to do you justice. You’ve gotten handsomer. Tired, but handsomer.”

“Cut the crap, V. Why is my wife acting like this?”

V sighs, “Don’t call me by that name. We know each other more personally than that, call me what you used to, Jiminie!”

Jimin clenches his jaw, and reiterates, “Taehyung, why is my wife taking your place in terrorizing this city?”

Taehyung frowns, “That’s not the nickname. I used to be Tae-tae. But you can correct that later, I suppose.” He rattles the handcuffs restricting him briefly, before continuing, “Your dearly beloved is acting as such because I hypnotized her. In the event that she hears me call for ‘the Suspense’, she will fulfill my place as the resident evil in my absence.”

Jimin slams a hand on the table. “How dare you lay a hand on my wife, you bastard! When did you meet my wife and how?”

Taehyung flinches before bitterly smiling. “Incredible. You’ve never been mad at me before, even when I stole all the money from the main city bank. Girls can really change a man, can’t they?” He chuckles, but they slowly die off when Jimin remained glaring at him. “Okay, well, it was quite easy, you see-”

It had happened a few months prior, when Taehyung was becoming a little bored with his everyday routine. Sure, it was all fun and games toying around with the city’s superhero every week, but he needed a little bit of spice to his shenanigans. He was scrolling through his phone, ready to play his favorite game, Cooking Mama 3, before the thought spawned upon him. If he’s getting bored with his life, what if that means that Jimin is getting bored of him as well? No, no, no. That wouldn’t do. He can’t have that. 

Taehyung closed his eyes, thinking of what he could possibly do to keep Jimin focused and dedicated to fighting him. He was about to doze off in his reclining chair before shooting up out of his seat. 

Oh yes. The best idea he’s had yet.

And it involved Jimin’s precious wife.

He followed you from your workplace one day, noticing how you frequently visited this one pastry cafe. The next day, he made sure to be there just after you entered, and he ordered the quickest thing that he could get -  a coffee. As soon as he got his order, he headed towards you, sitting alone at the table waiting for your pastry to arrive.

“Um, excuse me,” Taehyung started, waiting for you to look up from your phone. “Hi, uh, I was wondering if I could have a seat here? All the tables are full and I just wanted a place to settle down and enjoy my cup of joe.” He made a point to look around to indicate that yes, the cafe was packed of customers who equally just got off of work.

“Yeah, no problem,” you smiled. You settled back in your chair to allow him more room to place his coffee on the table. Your analyzing stare at the new stranger lingers a little too long on his sharp features that couldn’t stay hidden under his red rimmed glasses.

“Thanks!” Taehyung gingerly placed his coffee on the table, tugging at the collar of his wool sweater, which he wore to look especially harmless. “What brings you over here? I feel like I come here often but I don’t see you around.” 

“Sometimes I like to grab a snack on the way home, and this place has absolutely the most delicious scones I’ve ever tasted.” You placed your phone on the table, giving him your attention. “I don’t think I’ve seen you either, but then again, I normally just go in and out. I think they’re making a new batch of pastries right now, which is why it’s taking so long.”

“That’s even better though, right? Fresh pastry tastes better than the ones from the morning.”

You giggle, “yeah, it does. I guess I felt a little antsy because it’s so crowded in here.”

Taehyung chuckled along, trying his best not to sound forced. “I know, I wonder what all the commotion is. Had I known, I probably would have had my coffee elsewhere.”

“Do you normally have coffee in the afternoon? It’s a bit late for you to drink caffeine, isn’t it?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened a bit, mind reeling blank before he regained his composure. “For some, yeah, but I just need my regular fix that helps me stay awake the rest of the day.” He reached for some sugar packets and began pouring some into his coffee. “My name’s Jack by the way, and you are…”

“Oh, I’m so rude! Sorry, my name’s Y/N. Nice to meet you, Mr. Jack…”

“...Daniels.”

“Jack Daniels?” You laughed. “That’s so funny has anyone ever-”

“Yeah, I get it all the time,” Taehyung monotonously interrupted, figuring it was time for Evil Plan #537 to commence. He began to scratch his index finger back and forth on the table, seemly doing it unconsciously. “You know, drinking coffee here makes me feel so... relaxed. Even though it’s so crowded in here.”

You stare at his finger for a brief moment before turning your head to face him. “Really? Most people tell me that it makes them jittery.” 

“Mhmm,” he hums, keeping a steady pace of his fingers and maintaining the pace of his words slow and soft, “yeah. It makes me a little dazed. A little tired. I guess that’s what happens when you drink it in such a calm atmosphere. But I love the coffee here, it’s so nice. So warm.”

“I didn’t know their coffee would taste that great quite honestly…” your sentence drifts off, you mind tuned to the constant rhythm of his fingers gliding back and forth on the table, the sharp sliding sounds distracting you. At last, your eyes linger onto his fingers, your pupils dilating.

“I really enjoy it, especially in your company.” Taehyung’s voice drops to a mere whisper. “Sometimes, when I drink it alone, my eyes get all droopy… and it gets a little hard to breathe. I need to take long, big inhales whenever I drink this coffee.”

Your breath comes slower, and you don’t even realize that you’re mimicking the way he’s breathing.

“I feel like I can do anything when I’m in your company, you’re pleasant to be around. Do you think I’m a pleasant company, too?”

You hummed, but by then, your mind is zoned out.

When he’s sure that he’s got her mind entranced, he lowly says, “your company is so nice, I would be always willing to help you. And of course, you would like to help me too.” 

You didn’t give any response, you simply continued to stare at his fingers. “Nod once if you will do exactly as I say.” Taehyung observed you ever so slightly nod your head, and grinned. “Perfect.” He reached over and turned off your cell phone on the table. 

He continued, “When you hear me say the phrase, ‘isn’t that right, my spectacular protege, Suspense’, you will assume my position as villain and carry out my evil tasks to the city. You will not stop for anyone or adhere to whatever anyone says, not even your husband. You will do so until you hear this one word…” Taehyung leans in to whisper it into your ear. “Nod once if you understand.” 

You nodded.

“Here are your instructions for when you assume my position, and you must follow them carefully…”

Taehyung spent the next two hours divulging the plans he wished for you to fulfill and in what order. He let you know where his headquarters were for you to prepare your evil deeds and other than allowing the public to know about how you were his successor - but, you couldn’t provide any more information. “When I say the word unicycle, you will snap out of your trance. You will awaken yourself back into the nice, dainty cafe we’re having a nice conversation in. Unicycle.” 

You blinked your eyes, shaking your head before refocusing your vision to the man in front of you, who was rambling about something. 

“...in conclusion, I honest to god think that unicycles are the most underrated mode of transportation.” 

“What?” you mumbled. There was a gap in your memory, and you couldn’t remember what you last spoke to Jack about. You nursed your hand to the back of your head, feeling an oncoming headache.

“Anyways, it has surely been a pleasure meeting you, and I hope to see you again in the near future.” Taehyung stood from his seat and gently bowed his head before leaving the cafe. 

Confused of what just happened, you stared blankly at the pastry that was set in front of you - wait when did that happen - and the cup of coffee left untouched where the stranger previously sat.

“You piece of shit,” Jimin muttered, his gaze unwavering cold to Taehyung, who is the slightest unaffected. 

“Wow, you’re starting to sound like my parents. You’ve got the wording and the looks on point,” Taehyung comments, a quirk of his eyebrow has Jimin reeling.

“What was the word.” It wasn’t a question, no, Jimin was commanding.

“I’ve answered too much for my liking,” Taehyung pouted. “Darn me and my oversharing mouth. Be careful, Jiminie. Be nice or you won’t go anywhere. But, as a small parting gift for you paying me a friendly visit, I’ll reciprocate your affections with a hint.”

Taehyung gestures for Jimin to lean in closer. Jimin reluctantly adheres, and Taehyung whispers hotly into Jimin’s ear, “It’s a totally random and nonrandom word.” 

“Fuck you, Taehyung,” Jimin growls, and pushes the fiend away from him. 

“Toodle-loo, best friend!” Taehyung hollers as Jimin storms out of the room.

“Carrot! Asparagus! Celery! Broccoli!” Jimin exclaimed, reiterating Namjoon’s voice in his bluetooth and struggling to hear the list Namjoon is screaming in his ear. Well, it’s a little hard when you’re chasing him from behind with thousands of knives loaded on the waistband of your pants (and how did you not hurt yourself wearing that contraption).

“Today’s soup of the day is vegetables ladies and gentlemen! Tuesday’s theme was furniture, what will next week’s be?” You hollered, maniacally laughing when Jimin almost trips on a fallen chair.

“C’mon, honey. Put down those knives and just come home,” Jimin pleaded, dodging his head as another knife whizzed by. “That wasn’t nice,” he pouted.

“Sorry sweet cheeks, I’m eliminate anyone who stands in my way. Stop trying, this is the 7th day already.” You threw a knife dangerously close to his head, and cackled at the sound of his terrified shriek of surprise. It was comically hilarious and gratifying. “I guess you could say the Suspense is killing you, huh?”

“Good God,” Jimin muttered in exasperation. He understood why Taehyung named you as such, that cheeky, punny, son of a gun. “When did you become so skilled at throwing sharp objects?”

You reached behind you, latching your fingers on the last two knives you had hidden away. Damn, you needed more, and quick. “I’ve always had great accuracy. You’re just too full of yourself to notice.” 

Jimin dodged another knife, briefly squeaking “Potato!” as fear encapsulated him; your aims are progressively improving. “Ouch, baby. Didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

You sneered, “you think you’re perfect?” You threw your last one and painfully watched it miss his shoulder by a hairline. Glancing around quickly, you lunged for a pair of scissors haphazardly fallen into a heap of office supplies. 

A heavy weight thrusted upon you, slamming you into the ground on your back. “Shit.” You instantly moved to get up by your arms but they were restricted in Jimin’s grasp. “Let me go,” you strained, tugging to yank your arms out but to no avail.

“What were you trying to do? Huh? This is a paper company office building.” Jimin grunted, forcibly struggling to hold his wife down despite his whole body pressing her into the ground. Had she always been so strong?

“Light it on fire.” You smirked, shifting your hands around to feel the pair of scissors that were near you. Looking to your right, you froze when you realized the pair of scissors were no longer there. Jimin forced your hands above your head to hold with one hand.

“Looking for these scissors?”

You glared back at Jimin; the disappearing office supply made an appearance between his fingers. 

Jimin tossed the scissors far across the room, and turned back to his wife. “Y/N, please wake up,” he begged.

“I don’t know any Y/N,” you growled. “I am the Suspense.” 

You kicked your knees directly towards his family jewels, and quickly crawled away from him when he flinched away from you and loosened his grip. Quickly getting back to your feet, you sprinted towards the windows before breaking through the glass, falling down 14 stories.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran to the edge of the building where the window broke. 

You were gone.

Is it a little odd that he secretly looked forward to his battles with you? Yes, every new and unknown evil deed that you had planned that day would worry him, but at least he knew you were okay, as demented as that was. It was his only time that he could see you, bask in your presence for a second before there’s a stink bomb flying his way.

It was the ass crack of dawn, and the skies lit up to a dim gray, filtering more light into the cold room. Jimin snuggles further into the warmth of the comforter, thinking too much of another warmth he could be having. Could he just turn off the air conditioner? Yes, but was he lazy? Also yes.

His hands linger to the side of the bed that you usually sleep on, his bottom lip quivering feeling the emptiness of the bed. Of the random conversations he had with you late at night, the light giggle you’d give when he nuzzles into your neck - all of you. He missed you. Sure, he got to see you every week, but he doesn’t get to hold you, to love you. 

How were you? What were you doing? Did you still miss him even though you wanted to kill him?

He knows the Chief of Police is disappointed in him, is on edge and ready to reprimand Jimin for not fully putting in his best effort to capture you once and for all. He knows that he could’ve caught you at any time - heck, everyone knew it.

But he also knows the kind of place that all the villains are put into. They aren’t kind to them. They aren’t accommodating to them. They will definitely not leave his wife unharmed in their special hammer. 

He hoped and prayed that he figures out that god damn word that will bring his wife back to him and to give the city their final state of peace.

He didn’t realize he started crying until the uncomfortable feeling of dry tear runs stiffen his face.

“Food delivery for Park Jimin,” the mailman states as he ambles through the office.

“I don’t remember ordering any…” Jimin states, but after noticing the logo of his favorite take-out restaurant, he concedes, “but if it’s for me, how could I deny it?” He hastily makes grabby hands for the food, happy that he has extra food to munch on during his lunch break.

He opens the container, taking a huge whiff of the tantalizing scent before he grabs a spoonful of oily sesame chicken. He lets out a hum of approval before he chokes, and he immediately spits out the food into his trash can, coughing profusely.

“Hey, are you alright?” The officer in the desk near him peers over in curiosity.

“There was something in there that didn’t taste right, it tasted like straight up pesticide or something.” Jimin chugs down a bottle of water when he notices a small slip of paper peeking out from under the take out box.

If you die, fantastic. If you don’t, at least I know I didn’t marry a moron. Love, your wife.

“Holy shit,” Jimin whispered. You tried to poison him.

Cameras are flashing left and right, blinding him. There are way too many microphones in front of his face, but he smiles anyways, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and brushes a hand through his jet black hair. They don’t need to know he wears the sunglasses so he doesn’t look like he’s squinting in the PR photos.

“Park Jimin, over here!” 

“Mr. Park! What are your opinions on the city’s allocation of funds?”

“Mr. Park, what’s your comment?”

Jimin sighs internally and focuses his attention to the left, pointing to the nearest person. “You there, in the green jacket.” Probably an easy question, he thinks to himself.

“Mr. Park, what do you have to say about the newest rival that has resumed the spot of V? Does this mysterious villain pose a greater threat?”

Jimin gulped, cursing himself for his bad luck. “It was unexpected, but that’s not to say I’m unprepared for these recent turn of events,” he responded, clearing his throat. “I assure the public that their safety is still intact and that the danger is not as bad as V, who is locked up in the highest security prison institution.” 

The crowd murmurs louder before resuming in calling his name. Jimin has half his mind to leave the press conference until a lone voice shouts from the crowd, silencing them. “Then why haven’t you killed or caught the villain if they’re so easy? Why haven’t you caught the Suspense?” 

Jimin drops his head and takes a deep breath. He knows that he should probably say that he’s investigating the villain’s true intentions and hidden secrets or some other bullshit excuse, but the truth slips out of his mouth before he can process what he’s said, and instantly, he feels regret. The crowd bursts into a loud commotion, and Jimin is quickly escorted out of the place, halting any further questions.

“Because she’s my wife.”

                                                                                                                                “Maaaaan, you done fucked up.”

“You think I don’t know that? You son of a bitch,” Jimin curses, turning down the volume of his earpiece now that he wasn’t in a public area. He slouches against the backseat of his car, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting so emotional these days, and it’s messing up my game.”

“More like your wife is messing up your game, but not in a good way,” the voice on the other end chuckles. “Anyways, after you get back to your place, could you double check the amount of arms you got in your place for me? I got the numbers in front of me but some aren’t adding up. Might be a miscount.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin mumbles. “Thanks, Namjoon. Who else will keep me on my feet if it weren’t for you rambling in my ear, huh?” “You say that like all I am is just your hacker tech guy. I thought I was more than that.” 

Jimin smiles, knowing that Namjoon is probably sporting his puppy dog pout even though Jimin can’t see him.

“Sorry man,” Jimin joked, “but I’m already married.”

“About that, are we still sticking with the same plan? Randomly guessing your way to un-hypnotize your wife?”

“I mean, what else do you want me to do? Turn my wife into prison? You know they send all the villains into the worst prison, and my baby doesn’t deserve that.”

“There’s over a billion words that he could’ve used, Jimin. We’ve only gotten like a couple hundred at best.

“Then we keep trying,” Jimin growled, becoming more irritated. “If you wanna give up, then fine, but the wellbeing of my wife is in my hands so I’d rather you just stop chastising me for wanting my wife back to normal. I’ll call you later.” 

Jimin immediately turned off his earpiece and harshly sighed. He’s got to test his luck again.

Jimin sat across from Taehyung and tilted his head. “You can’t possibly enjoy having someone else take all the glory for evil crimes if it’s not yourself, right? Dude, just stop and give me the magic word and we can go back to physically duelling each other.”

“Mmm, nah. I can see you’re trying to appeal to me, and I’d hate to break it to you, but that’s just not working. I quite enjoy the idea of you suffering because of me as I do nothing. It’s quite divine.”

“How can I cut you a deal so I can finally leave with what I want here?”

Taehyung tilts his head and looks up at the ceiling, pretending to think about what he wants before he grins wickedly at Jimin.

Jimin gulps, unprepared for what dangerous thing he may possibly want. A nuclear weapon? Full access to the government’s trade secrets? 

“I want all the seasons of the Bachelorette and ongoing forward to be saved on my television in my cell.”

“The nature of your request is outrageou- wait, what?” Jimin backtracks, processing what Taehyung asked.

“You heard me properly. The guards are big meanies and they won’t let me change the channel or record the latest season of the Bachelorette. I need to know who the final two people will be before she chooses. I am frustrated.” Taehyung proceeds to shoot a glare at the guard outside the door.

“Deal…?”

“Here’s one good hint, Jimin. I think you’ll want to figure out a way to save your dearest betrothed by the end of this week.”

“And that’s because?”

“Well, I didn’t have time to finish planning more elaborate schemes for her fulfill, and let's say this might be the final one.”

“... what happens in the final one?”

“Well, the location is up to her discretion, but it may or may not involve collapsing a bridge or building, and she may or may not have to sacrifice her life to accomplish that task.”

“MY WIFE IS GOING TO DIE?”

“Maybe...I said maybe.”

Jimin leans forward until his face is just a mere inch away from Taehyung’s. “JUST TELL ME THE FUCKING WORD OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER, V. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT POWERS I HAVE TO END YOU.”

Taehyung ignores his yelling and the disgusting amount of spit landing on his face. “Do you remember our childhood, Jimin? We used to be such cute little bastards.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jimin mutters, kicking his seat to the side and turning to leave.

“But Jimin, think about it for a moment with me. We used to have so much fun together. We used to play detective and criminal during recess, and I’m not going to lie, you weren’t a very good detective. I had to basically out myself every time for you to find me.”

Jimin turns his head. “Why would this matter to me?”

“We used to be best friends, Jiminie. You’re still my best friend. Aren’t I still yours?”

“I don’t know if mortal enemies can be best friends anymore, Taehyung.” Jimin mutters, but he still doesn’t leave.

“But you haven’t killed me,” Taehyung sputtered, “and there had been so many opportunities in the past where I could’ve just died, but you still managed to save me. I know you still care about me.”

“It goes against my morality to kill people. It’s nothing personal.”

“Don’t say that.” Taehyung’s voice cracked, but he continued, “Don’t say that. I know I mean something to you, I know I matter to you.”

“You matter to me because you keep vandalizing the city, putting the public’s safety at risk!” Jimin roars, turning back around and slamming his hands on the table. “As a hero, would it make sense for me to just ignore that?”

“It’s all because of you! This is all your fault!”

“All of my fault?” Jimin scoffed, “now you’re just reaching. How can I be the reason the city is in peril?”

“You stopped talking to me,” Taehyung whimpers. “When we got older, you started spending time with other people. You told me that you would still hang out with me, but you never did, because you were out there making new best friends!” Taehyung’s eyes watered, and he turned his head away from Jimin for the first time. “I was so lonely, Jimin. You are my only friend.”

Jimin stared at Taehyung for a while, the gears slowly churning in his head. Incredulous with the outcome of his thoughts, he murmured, “is that why you’ve been terrorizing the city? Is that your way of hanging out with me?”

“Well, I… I would’ve done it regardless. But I stayed in this city so that you wouldn’t forget me. I can’t have my best friend forget me,” Taehyung spoke softly. He looked back at Jimin with wide eyes, afraid that that moment would be the moment Jimin gave up on him.

Jimin took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again, the words stuck in his throat.

Taehyung watched as his old friend open and close his mouth like a fish, and for the first time in a long time, Taehyung felt nervous.

“That’s a really convoluted way to maintain our friendship,” he finally says. Taehyung lowers his eyes to the table, pretending that didn’t hurt him. “I do what I can to keep your attention, I had no other long lasting options other than using your job and your wife.” 

“Taehyung,” Jimin started, “if I start coming by here twice a month to spend time with you, will you stop hurting my city?”

Taehyung’s head hangs low, but he nods ever so slightly.

“And will you tell me what the word is to save my wife?”

Taehyung hesitates, “I think my favorite game between us was the detective and criminal one.”

“Not this again,” Jimin groans, pushing himself away from the table.

“We used to have so many names to call each other during those times, but you and your limited vocabulary, you kept calling me the same damn stupid thing. I, an intellectual far past your capabilities, had the best and diverse names. But either way, sometimes I knew that you grew tired of the game really fast, even though I loved it.” Taehyung chuckled to himself.

Jimin left the room, tired of his antics and feeling like his confrontation led him somewhere and nowhere. Just as the door was closing and he was only within earshot, he faintly heard the last sentence Taehyung stated.

“You still played it anyways; thank you, Jiminie.”

Jimin plopped on his mattress, staring at the ceiling in exasperation. You may or may not be dying by the end of tomorrow, and for that, he is wary. Taehyung gave him little to no clues at all, and he wondered what he’d truly done wrong in this world to receive such predicament.

He closed him eyes, breathing deeply to relax the growing. He thought back to his conversations with Taehyung, breezing through them with no tell-tale hint in sight. He goes through it over and over, until one detail speaks out to him.

Taehyung mentioned the criminal and detective game more than once. 

‘We used to have so many names to call each other during those times, but you and your limited vocabulary, you kept calling me the same damn stupid thing.’

The answer he was looking for was given to him after all. Was it that nickname? Jimin furrowed his eyebrows, thinking hard about their old childhood, but he could vaguely remember something from at least 20 years ago. He only remembers images of playing around with Taehyung under the slides, but never what he said.

What could it be? What could it be? Dinglebat…? No, it couldn’t have been.

Jimin yanked at the roots of his hair in frustration, feeling the answer at the tip of his tongue, but not quite there. His phone vibrated in his back pocket, startling him momentarily before he reached for it. “Yes?”

“Hey, Jimin,” Namjoon said, typing in the background. “Any updates?”

“My wife is going to die tomorrow.”

A beat of silence passed. “Well, that’s a little negative, don’t you think?”

“No, Namjoon,” Jimin sighed, “I spoke with V today. It turns out tomorrow will be the day that she will have to die in order to blow up some building or bridge.”

“Oh shit,” Namjoon whispered. 

“Yeah,” Jimin affirmed. “I don’t know where though, can you look up some major bridges or buildings nearby that may have been scouted by her?”

“Sure thing, dude.” Jimin waited patiently as the furious clicking and typing resumed, standing up with the phone nestled between his shoulder and ear as he sifted through files on his desk. “Okay, so we have the big ole water tower, the channel news building, city hall, the Blue Bridge - oh my god.”

“What, what is it?” Jimin examined the photo of his wife aiming a gun at him. It’s totally living room wall worthy.

“Get your stuff ready; Y/N is already there setting up machinery along the bridge. If what you’re saying is right, then those are probably bombs.” Jimin cursed before speeding out the door.

You check the fourth bomb that was set up along the bridge, the wiring complex and you couldn’t risk the bomb being improperly wired. How embarrassing would it be if one of your impressive bombs just fizzed into smoke because the blue connected with the red and not the green? You reached into the depths of your Duffle Bag of Cool Gadgets, as V so eloquently labeled it and double checked the instructions manual V so artistically drew out. 

To be quite fair, the manual was detailed down to the T, save for the fact one of the pages had a a very detailed phallic in the corner, but you had disregarded that.

Humming to yourself, you decided that the bomb looked fairly decent, and settled to move to the next step - building a bomb on your body. 

It never crossed your mind that the severity of the situation and that you were going to die would be something to panic about. You felt that you were in a mindless zone to follow the handbook that V had made for you when you arrived in his secret lair. You went through each mission in order, but not stopping to realize that this one was going to be the last one. 

Your skin itched, the worn elastic of your bodysuit was uncomfortable, but it also may be due to the fact that you didn’t wash it from the last battle. Fishing through your duffle bag for extra wiring, the influx of traffic that busied the bridge blocked your hearing of a certain someone flying by.

Jimin surveilled the scene, noting that you were awfully distracted and your senses drowned by the honking of cars. There were six bombs in total, and two of the ones in the middle looked awfully larger than the rest. 

“You see what I’m seeing, Namjoon?” The static of the other line echoed in his bluetooth.

“Yeah, man. This is scary. Judging by the build and the amount, they’ll probably detonate all at once with a button. As long as you get a handle of it, and I’ll get all the cars off the bridge, you’d be on solid ground.”

“Thanks, man.” Coming to a stop a good 20 feet away from you, he shouted, “Y/N! Stop what you’re doing!”

You groaned at the familiar sound before turning to face him. “Suddenly, I stop what I’m doing because a lame ass in a cape told me to!” You press the watch on your wrist that activates the jet packs attached to your shoes and you fly up to face him head on. 

“Shoo fly, stop bothering me.” You take out the gun strapped to the back of your leg and shoot tennis balls at him.

“Shit,” Jimin mutters before dodging your attacks. “Why do you like to throw things at me so much!” Jimin cried. A tennis ball lands right where his goods were, and of course you would always aim balls at his balls. He topples to the ground, skidding a few meters, deliberating between clutching his hurt shoulder from the impact or his crotch.

Thankfully, by then, Namjoon contacted the local police to block the entrances on the bridge, clearing citizens from any harm. Police stood by with their guns ready to fire when given the command, but with so many bombs around, they couldn’t risk misfiring.

“These balls are calibrated to fire at 110 miles per hour,” you smirked, blowing the tip of the barrel for good measure. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” Deciding to forego assembling the bomb vest, you swept back to the barrel, locating the detonator remote to get the deed over with.

Finally grasping the remote, you were half a second away from pushing the sole red button when Jimin’s body comes slamming into you, once again, knocking the remote out of your hands. 

“Oh, fuck you!” You pushed at his shoulders and punched him square in the nose. Depending on the short amount of time his shock allowed, you kicked at his torso to remove him off of you and clamored towards the remote some feet away. 

Jimin gasps at the sharp pain on his left ankle; much to his dismay, when you pushed him off his foot caught in a juncture in the cement and twisted his ankle. He grunted, maneuvering his body to crawl towards to you. He yanked at your ankles, dragging you back to him, attempting to pin you down. “Stop it!” Jimin’s mind reeled as he struggled to recollect the nickname he used to call Taehyung. “Stop, dinglebat!”

You wriggled in his grasp, making his efforts more difficult and scoffed, “oh, so now we’re calling each other names?”

You back elbowed him in the jaw, and crawled faster, more desperately to the detonator. You were so close, you just needed a little more. 

“No, ninnyhammer!” 

The remote in your grasp, you smiled victoriously and tilted your head to see the fear in Jimin’s eyes as he limped towards you. You pressed the button, waiting in the few seconds for the bombs to activate.

In that moment, it was almost as if Jimin’s mind cleared, and he yelled, “PINHEAD! PINHEAD! PINHEAD!”

You froze, the remote dropping from your hands as you slowly regained control of your mind. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and your body collapsed to the ground as all your energy fell from you, giving you a nice sideways view of Jimin screaming at you and just barely reaching you -

The ground collapsed beneath you, the bridge exploding to smithereens and you were falling. 

There was debris around you and you registered that you were falling. You were falling. You were falling. Panic swallowing your body, you frantically pressed the button on your watch to activate the jet packs but to no avail. 

“Y/N!” Jimin yelled, falling briefly before he started to fly again, this time flying straight towards you. 

Gravity proved to be a much faster competition, and you plummeted into the depths of the dark blue lake. 

Diving into the water, Jimin swam amidst the dust filled water until he saw you sinking deeper into the lake. He swam fervently towards you, grabbing your arm and yanking you into his grasp, holding you as if he were hugging you before he floated upwards. Once above water, he propelled himself upwards and flew the both of you to land. 

Placing you on your side on the grass hill beside the lake, Jimin forcefully patted your back to help drain any water from your nose and mouth. “Y/N! Y/N! WAKE UP!” Jimin’s heart crushed seeing the gash on the side of your head, presumably from a large chunk of debris colliding into you. He turned you back on your back and listened for a pulse. Hearing the faint beating of your heart relieved only a small part of him as he immediately propped open your mouth and pinched your nose with trembling hands. Taking in a long, shaking inhale, he pressed his mouth to yours, exhaling four breaths of air and checking your pulse once more. He repeated the cycle over and over until your eyes fluttered open and you violently coughed.

“Y/N,” Jimin spoke softly, lifting the back of your head gently to help you. Your eyes blurring and your throat and lungs burning with soreness, you made out the shape of Jimin hovering above you, watching as he’s sobbing and stroking your cheeks.

“Hi... Jimin,” you croaked, tilting the corners of your mouth when he envelopes your body in a hug, careful not to hurt you and burying his face into your neck. 

“You’re back,” Jimin cries, “you’re back.”

[musicprincess655]

“Aniki.”

“Robin.” Haruichi was almost tall enough that he could look Ryou directly in the eye. “We’ve talked about keeping secret identities secret.”

“Everyone here knows we’re related,” Haruichi said. “We have pink hair. You used to be Robin. They already know you’re my brother.”

“It’s still a good practice,” Ryou said. “When you’re in costume, you’re Robin. I’m Nightwing. Your teammates are your teammates.”

“My teammates are my friends.”

Ryou shook his head. He could admit that Haruichi was good at his job, was possibly a better leader for a team like Young Justice than Ryou had ever been, but that didn’t mean Ryou didn’t still worry about him. He hadn’t learned caution the way some of them had.

The Titans were scattered around the Cave, the home base of Young Justice. It was filled with more members than had ever joined before. Ryou had to give them this, they’d done a better job rebuilding than anyone could’ve ever expected. It had started with a core of Haruichi, Seto, and Okumura, who no one had ever expected to join a team. But they’d found Furuya, and they’d convinced the Justice League of their right to exist, and then they’d started attracting members.

“This should be everyone,” Ryou said, calling everyone to order without actually raising his voice. “I know some of you are out keeping up the cover, so fill them in when you can.”

He used a remote to cue a slideshow.

“What is that?” Wakana demanded. Ryou had called in a favor to get her in on this, despite her not being on either of their teams. She was better at intelligence gathering than him, and they needed her help so Ryou could focus on convincing the world they weren’t missing six members of the Justice League.

“A Krolotean,” Ryou told her. While he’d been talking to an Atlantean at that Halloween party, Jun had apparently been chatting it up with an alien bounty hunter, and he’d clued them in to a whole new problem. “Earth has an infestation.”

“Gross,” Wakana said. Ryou privately agreed. It looked about two steps off from the gremlins from that weird American movie he’d watched when he was a kid. A ‘don’t feed after midnight’ joke would probably go over everyone’s head but the Americans in the room, though.

“They’re thieves,” Ryou said. “Their entire society is built around stealing. It’s a pretty simple economy, honestly. If they’re here, it’s to steal whatever isn’t nailed down and make a profit off it.”

“How did they even get here?” Miyuki asked. “I don’t remember an incoming spaceship.”

“Zeta tubes from off planet,” Ryou said. “We’ll have to close them off to keep them from coming in again.”

“Will that be a problem for the Justice League?” Kuramochi asked.

“I sent a message,” Ryou said. “They can find another way home.”

“When are they coming home?” Sawamura asked. His mother was one of the members that had gone to Rimbor. Ryou could empathize with wanting them to come back.

“Soon as they can,” Ryou said. “Until they can finish, though, we have to keep Earth safe. We’ll prove we have what it takes.”

“So what’s the plan?” Wakana asked.

“We’ll be moving in teams,” Ryou said. “I know we’re all nervous about being short staffed, but if we keep up a rotation, we should be able to cover all our bases without letting the public know what’s going on. That’s the most important thing here.”

“Because the media isn’t eviscerating us enough,” Kuramochi muttered under his breath. Ryou tried to give him a significant look that said I know, but not now.

A news program had been gaining popularity, and it was doing so by going after superheroes. In its presenter’s eyes, they were vigilantes, operating outside the reach of the law and stepping on one too many toes while they did it. Ryou didn’t mind too much, and he knew Sanada and his team cared even less, but for Young Justice and the Justice League, their public image was everything. The only authority was what the public gave them. Take that away, and their jobs became exponentially harder.

Yet another reason Haruichi was a better leader for Young Justice than Ryou or Sanada had been. He could play nonthreatening in a way neither of them had even bothered trying. He could convince reporters to forget that he knew how to break their wrists if he needed to.

“Speaking of the media, don’t talk to reporters unless you’re on the approved list,” Ryou continued. The approved list was him, Miyuki, Haruichi, and Wakana. He was considering adding a few of the newer members of Young Justice to the list. An - Bumblebee - had a good head on her shoulders. So did Chris, a recent cyborg. Ryou was thinking about just adding Chris to his team. They could use a new member now that Tetsu ran with Sanada more than he ran with them.

“What if someone on the approved list isn’t around?” Sawamura asked.

“Then you keep your mouth shut and pretend you can’t see them,” Ryou said. “I’m not kidding about this, Wonder Boy. Our approval ratings aren’t good right now. We can’t make them worse.”

Everyone went quiet. Brooding. No hero wanted to be treated like a criminal. Having to carefully manage their public image wasn’t supposed to be part of the job description.

“So, between Beast Boy’s information and Oracle’s digging, we have some locations to work with,” Ryou said. “I’ve assigned some of you as alpha, beta, and gamma squads. Your job is just to go in and report back. These are stealth missions, and all I want is intel on what the Kroloteans are doing. Do not engage. If you’re spotted, get the hell out. I want to know what they’re doing here before we get them all out.”

Everyone was good enough to recognize a dismissal when they heard one. Ryou had left it on a slide showing the squads, and he paused just long enough to point all the squad leaders in the right direction. Once they all had enough to get going, they were on their own. His mother had never held their hands, and neither would he.

“You’re not bad at this,” Kuramochi said as Ryou collapsed on a couch next to him. He would get up and go back to the Tower soon, but he really needed a second to sit down. “You’re no Batman, but someday you could be.”

“High praise,” Ryou smirked. “Next you’ll be telling me I might manage to not die on a mission.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Kuramochi said, but there was a grin on his face. He knocked his shoulder into Ryou’s. Ryou allowed to contact. He’d allowed pretty much all contact from Kuramochi recently. At some point, it had stopped being about permission and started being about what Ryou himself wanted.

And now it was quiet, and Ryou wasn’t sure where to put his hands or what to say anymore. Because Kuramochi was looking at him with that pensive gaze that was more perceptive than anyone gave him credit for, and Ryou had no clue how to answer it.

He’d even gone as far as consulting Jun and Sawamura about what to do with his feelings. They were the closest things he had to experts on relationships, even though it was all based on shoujo manga. They’d both managed to get into relationships, though, so maybe it was working out for them.

They had plenty of advice for confessing feelings, but nothing to offer for what happened after that. And if all Ryou had to do was confess his feelings, he could handle that.

But he’d already done that. Mostly. Kuramochi knew about his feelings, and he knew about Kuramochi’s. And they still weren’t together. And he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Kuramochi had said to come to him when Ryou was ready.

Ready for what? He’d had feelings for Kuramochi for years. They hadn’t come on suddenly, and they weren’t going anywhere. Just because he’d acted on them suddenly in a moment of weakness didn’t mean they weren’t real. What was he supposed to be waiting for?

“What are you thinking?” Kuramochi asked, jerking his head at the frozen slideshow.

“Black Manta being affiliated with the Light isn’t the best situation,” Ryou said. “I don’t know if it’s connected with the Kroloteans. It probably isn’t. But it’s just another headache for us.”

“Tell me about it,” Kuramochi agreed. “I wish we still had an Atlantean on our side. This seems like it’s right up Aqualad’s alley, right?”

“Mmm,” Ryou hummed quietly. “It had to have been a shock to find out Black Manta is his father. I can’t blame him entirely for being confused after learning that.”

“Still, he was our friend,” Kuramochi said. “He helped Haruichi rebuild Young Justice. He should be here.”

“We’ll have to find a way to manage without him,” Ryou said. “Black Manta shouldn’t be able to bring his war to the surface just yet. Aquaman says he still has it handled. I hate to just leave it to others, but we really can’t spare the people to worry about it. Atlantis has to hold out until the Justice League is back together.”

“Isn’t it weird that we’re only missing six people?” Kuramochi asked. “I mean, they’re the big names, but it’s still only six heroes.”

“Superman and Wonder Woman are heavy hitters,” Ryou said, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Literally. And Batman has a close hold on the criminal underworld. If she’s gone, it makes a big difference, even if we pick up the slack. Hawkwoman does a lot of heavy hitting, too, and she’s well known. And Martian Manhunter and one of our Green Lanterns? There goes a bunch of our alien fighting ability. It’s only six people, but it’s six important people.”

“I guess that’s true,” Kuramochi said. He nudged Ryou with his shoulder again, but this time he stayed close, leaning their sides together. “You really think we can hold out until the Justice League gets back.”

“I think the world will be intact and mostly trauma-free when they get back,” Ryou said. “It’s gonna be a PR nightmare, though. And the news isn’t helping.”

“We’ll show them,” Kuramochi promised. He got to his feet, reaching out a hand to help Ryou up. “We’ll prove them wrong. We’re not vigilantes, and we do a lot of good.”

“Of course we do,” Ryou said. He let his mind wander, following Kuramochi back to the Tower on autopilot.

It really was worrying that Black Manta was allying himself with the Light. In any other circumstance, that would be Ryou’s top priority. But since they had so much else to worry about, Ryou had no choice but to kick the can down the road. If the Light had existed as long as he thought they had, they could wait a few more months.

Still...it couldn’t hurt to check in with his undercover agent. Contacting him was risky, but it had been a while, and Ryou was due for an update anyway. Raising concerns about Black Manta and the Light was just par for the course. He could keep an eye on it, even if there probably wasn’t anything to be done yet.

Sometimes, Ryou felt like he was juggling plates, and they were all going to come crashing down on him. The Krolotean invasion he could handle, the Justice League being gone he could handle, Black Manta he could handle, but all of it together? While protecting their public image?

It was a lot. But he would do it, because he had to.

And maybe at some point he could tell Kuramochi that he was ready to have that conversation, that he’d been ready for years.