#Fatal is really his song huh~~ then the answer is already half out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ranmanjuu · 4 years ago

Note

hi! can you do a gen z mc who got injured at the protests and have them elaborate on what the protests were about to the oda forces? i got tear gassed at a protest so your writing is actually helping me feel better!

tw : injuries from police br*tality, heavy r*cism

first of all i hope you’re okay!! i’m so sorry for taking so long i hope you’re still here reading this ehhh,,. i personally don’t know much of ‘getting injured in protests’ other than rubber bullets and tear gassing—and for anyone out there protesting (also considering recent things that have happened in my country,,,), please be safe out there!

ᅠᅠ

—nobunaga:

the first encounter you had, he didn’t really notice it. he had a lot of things on his plate, mostly about his assassination attempt, you know, the usual.

it’s only when he invites you to his tenshu to know more about his most interesting chatelaine. after all, the moment his life was out of danger, the immediate groan out of you raised a brow.

in your defense, going back from a protest then just sent back 500 years in the past did put you in a pissy mood. the injustice was enough bullshit, you didn’t want to deal with this right after.

and,,, your response was probably too snarky for a man in power like him. but that’s what compelled him to bring you to the castle. maybe it was spite, or just dangerous curiosity. no one’s spoken to him in such,,, rude manners before.

being all past the whole, chasing-you-down-just-for-you-to-come-to-my-sickass-castle, the dragged-500-years-into-the-warring-states-period, constant-wars-everywhere, and everything in between, you’ve managed to,, calm down decently, at least. you’re just really confused as to why he called you in.

through your slippery tounge, you accidentally let it slip that you’re from the future; great job! mission one from sasuke already failed. but—you’ve dug your grave, now you have to lie in it.

upon listening to the rest of your explanation, naturally, nobunaga starts asking questions.

after a series of them, mostly about general stuff like technology, etc., he hits you with a curveball. “what is that?” he asks, observing the small patch of reddened skin.

you’ve been shot by a rubber bullet prior to the time traveling. you wager that they were aiming for the neck—a highly fatal area to hit, even with a rubber bullet, mind you—but you were lucky enough to only be hit near the collar bone. still—to say it’s inexcusable is an understatement.

“huh—?” you follow his eyes, then trail your fingers on the edge as you show more of your injury, “. . .got injured a while back. asshole cops think they can just. . .fuckin’. . .”

your sentence turns too faint for him to hear clearly, he only knows that you feel anger from your tone. all he does is gaze passively as the steam comes out of your, slowly.

“what happened exactly?”

and with that one question, he’s in for quite the story. you start off in the beginning; what triggered it all. the injustice brought by those who are said to protect the people, the same ones that shed blood because they knew they could get away with it. then, the protests done by the ones who wanted justice, equality, something that should just be the norm at this point.

and then, the horrible attacks the cops’ve done to hose who protested,,, the mere thought gets your blood boiling, really. no one poised any kind of harm, it was a peaceful protest—and yet they still hurted, perhaps even killed. and they get away with it.

“. . .and i sure as hell ain’t gonna die to some bullshit system. i’ll keep on going at it until people can stop dying so. . .needlessly like that.”

he pauses after hearing you. his eyes have a vague sense of scrutinize, but certainly not at you. "and you still continue to go, even if it results in injuries for you?”

you look back at him, determination burning like a passion, “as long as less people will die of discrimination; as long as our cause is heard in the end—i’ll sacrifice anything for it. for equality.”

the silence rings for minutes.

but the hand on your shoulder quickly strays your mind back to him. to your surprise, a daring smile, almost a smirk, pulled his lips, “you are braver than many men that i’ve met. fiery and passionate also. i do believe you’ll be quite the addition here.”

and while you raise an eyebrow to that, your heart settles as he ends it with one final thing, “you’ve earned my utmost respect.”

ᅠᅠ

—hideyoshi:

he would have been highly alerted in your presence—had it not been the fact that your eye was bruised and injured. it was fresh, the patch of skin having not turn purple or black yet, but it was enough to signal that it could be a fatal wound.

medics were sent your way by his command, and given the opportunity, he checked in on you frequently. the culprit of the attempted assassination was yet to be found—so he just assumed that you were a poor civilian caught in the crossfire.

you were rather crude to him, but he brushed it all off. you must’ve been some sort of stressed out after just saving his lord, so he gave you space and went to do other things.

it’s when they reconvene under nobunaga’s order did he find out about the decision for your fate.

“my lord, are you sure we should bring them back to azuchi? perhaps they have a place in a town around here.”

“—not really.” hideyoshi’s eyes filled with surprise and concern as a small response came out of you, with eyes looking away from everyone in the tent with lips bitten anxiously and brows stitched together.

so it ended on you going to azuchi along with them. because really, even if you didn’t want to, what were you to do? you had no place in the sengoku, and you’ve forgotten all about your scouts lessons back in middle school to survive in the forest.

and while you insist on working rather than just be royalty basically, hideyoshi is the one who persuades you to at least rest first. with a sigh, you agree.

from then on, you find him visiting you quite often between his breaks. most of the time, asking how you’ve been, making light conversations over tea, and sometimes fussing over the smallest things. it’s a gradual change you’ll get used to—from the failed assassination to the weird, home-y feeling he brings.

it didn’t take long for his curiosity to push him. one day, with the usual cup of tea, the silence passes for quite the moment until he spoke up, “if i may ask, where exactly,,, did you get that?”

he doesn’t quite point to it, but you know what he’s talking about. half your vision is covered now, from ieyasu’s work on trying to make it better. you stare in the cup, swishing the tea around, “. . .my town had, uhhh, ‘problems’.”

he listened intently as you reworded the current real life events. just change the cops to guard, the bullets to blunt sticks(?), etc. the core of it you kept the same, the discrimination, the unruly deaths and wounds of the innocent.

all the while, hideyoshi looks at you with slightly parted lips and eyes that spell a bit of disbelief. such compassion don’t exist in a lot of people—much less a majority of civillians from a town. he thought he’d’ve heard about it, but you did say it was quite the small one, far away.

as you finish your long explanation, your face was scrunched up in a scowl, remembering the scene at the time. the cops came, a highly dangerous situation; but you weren’t leaving just like that. not until you got hit by a bullet did you go back home—and look where you are now.

“—.” hideyoshi calls out your name, snapping you to reality. you dart your attention to him, his face filled with concern, worry—but also slight anger and a distant sense of fondness.

“. . .when nobunaga unites the country, we’ll be sure to aid you. we’ll stop them from hurting anyone else. so until then, please stay with us.”

the sentiment brought warmth to your heart, but you knew the truth. he wouldn’t be able to, the wormhole was a big separation in that. even so, you shook your head, “i don’t,,, uhh, think i can stay for that long.”

his brows stitch together in confusion, “and why is that?”

“. . .i want to go back as soon as i can. and—i only have one chance to do such a thing, and never again.” upon your answer, his eyes widened a bit. no further questions were asked about that, as your own expression said you didn’t want to talk about it.

“but—you could be in danger if you go back.”

“i don’t care.” the tea is cold as you set it down, “. . .i don’t wanna,,, just escape and turn a blind eye to it, i think. it may be safer for me here, but—i still want to help back there. whether or not i’m injured is,,, a means to an end, for me.”

that’s when every suspicion he could’ve had about you dissolved. the determination and righteousness that burned so brightly in your voice was irreplaceable. along with that, was a very deep respect for you. he serves nobunaga because he believed in equality among everyone, and it seems so do you. even if you’re willing to sacrifice yourself—to see a better world where everyone is happy.

a beat passes. two. with a sigh, hideyoshi’s hardened gaze relents back into the strange warmness, hid hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. “well, i don’t think i agree with you diving into potential danger, but just so you know. if you ever need help, you can always reach to us, alright?”

you breath out a chuckle, “. . .of course.”

ᅠᅠ

—mitsuhide:

your whole entire body was sore even before the wormhole sent you back. not to mention, just after that, you had to carry a full-armored man out of a burning building with someone trying to kill said man.

so to say you were disoriented was quite an understatement.

you didn’t even feel it until days have passed. and at this point, you’ve gone under mitsuhide’s tutoring. being sat down for a long time made it painfully obvious that your body was still healing—but you’ve sang this song a million times before. in which the soreness lingered for a while, and then it’d disappear. you can bear with it.

that is, until he started training you in battle.

the tanegashima practice was fine, if a bit triggering by the gunshots. but you saw it the same as archery. however, sparring on the other hand,,,

yeah. the first break you took, you already felt every single part of you reeling. mitsuhide wasn’t ruthless with you, but you figure he wasn’t being soft either.

in truth, prior to arriving in the sengoku period, your body had taken a hit in a protest. you didn’t get caught in the tear-gassing crossfire, or got shot by a rubber bullet. rather, a police car had arrived at the scene and begun to drive forward into the crowd. it didn’t become a car crash site, no deaths occurred to your knowledge (thankfully).

but you were one of the ones in the front row seats, you fell to the ground and took some damage in a number of places. they were more of inconveniences than anything.

still—forcing your body to fight a trained swordsman was not a good idea.

and the fox has an eye for these things, sensing when his enemies are weak. at least it proves to be a disadvantage if you really are dangerous. his eyes linger on you as you rub your sore spots with the occasional groan.

“the little mouse seems to be wounded.” he says. it’s clear he’s trying to extract some kind of information about the person who just popped out one day, “pray tell, what might be the cause of such?”

“i got, uhhh,” you can’t say car, those don’t exist yet— “knocked down by a horse.” admittedly, a horse is probably more dangerous than a car—but you deal with what you have.

“is that so.” with the smile and narrowed eyes of his, you knew that he didn’t buy it. but to your defense, your state clearly proves it in some way—so he deduced that you weren’t telling the complete truth.

and he welcomes it. it’d be his absolute pleasure to unravel the mystery.

eventually, he does. in promise to keep your secret away from others, you keep his.

“so, little mouse,” the night has yet to pass, but you wish it did. your stuff was spilled in front of you, all evidence of you coming from the future, “was that cover-up story about the horse a lie?”

it’s a rhetorical question; he knew the answer already. still, you roll your eyes, “of course, we rarely use those in the future. a police car hit a crowd, and i was caught in it.”

promptly realizing he doesn’t know anything, a lengthy explanation ensued.

“oh my. and you said this, ‘car’ drove into a crowd? that’s highly dangerous, is it not?”

“it is!” your calm words slowly dissolve, your hands now waving in gestures, “and guess what, it’s the cops that do it! uhh—guards in old terms, i guess. y’know the people who’re said to supposedly protect us? yeah, hit us with a car.”

mitsuhide isn’t the most curious about the future. but he is a bit confused about the context.

and so you continue, explaining everything. from the start, to where you were, along with what your thoughts are on the whole situation

through all that, he stays silent, not commenting until you were thoroughly finished. you can’t read his expression—so you stare at him, waiting for even a word.

suddenly, he smiles, “well, looks like our little mouse is quite the something, aren’t you?” before you could respond with anything, he pats you on the head with a strange sense of softness, “pureness and ideals like you are rare in this world.”

in truth, he agrees. he’s someone who’s faced discrimination head on from being in the lower class—and he fights for a world that his lord would like to see. even if he’ll remain in the dark, for his stained, dark hands would only corrupt the purity. at least, so he thinks.

you look back with pursed lips and a slight frown, “then i’ll help make it more common. if it results in people being treated as people, i’ll do it.”

you don’t hear it, but he draws in a sharp breath. his eyes are muddled—with what, you don’t know—but you drop the thought as he lifts the hand off of your head with a chuckle, “i will say, i didn’t quite expect this.”

they say eyes are the window of the soul. while he had his closed most of the time—you managed to peek in a small bit of warmth and fondness in them.

ᅠᅠ

—masamune:

you came to the sengoku period with a sprained ankle. which, in a time where war was rampant, probably wasn’t a good thing to have. especially when you’re being dragged into battle just for the fun of it.

although you admit you made yourself seem tougher than you were (with you being used to injuries like this before, so you’ve grown used to gritting your teeth), you still curse masamune to hell and back. no, you do not care if you’re on a horse or just in camp, your foot hurt like shit either way.

naturally, you wouldn’t take that for long.

thus the next time he planned to take you along (you could already see the glint in his eye), you snapped at him. well—much less ‘snap’ and more of ‘telling him off rather harshly ft. a sprinkle of swearing’.

“listen, assfart, my ankle’s been killing me, and if i’m going by that analogy, you’re practically desecrating it’s corpse and grave. so for the love of god, stop dragging me into battles!”

an expression of surprise went on his face for a moment, before it morphed to his usual grin, “is that so? seems like out kitten likes to run around and ended up hurting themselves.”

“not my fault they shot me in the fuckin’ ankle. . .” you mutter without a second thought under your breath, which he, unfortunately, heard.

“they shot you, lass?”

seeing his ever so slightly widened eye, you pursed your lips, “yeah. nothing too serious.”

even so, you see the way his eyes narrow with a glint—more so of excitement than anything else, “still though lassie, with you being under nobunaga, i doubt they’ll get away with hurtin’ ya.”

“what does that mean?”

fingers comb through your hair in a wild pat, accompanied with a fanged grin, “they won’t be alive for hurtin’ the lord’s precious lucky charm.”

your lips pursed as a frown pulls upon your brows, “i don’t want them to get away solely for me being nobunaga’s ‘lucky charm’.”

“and why is that, kitten?”

his eyes slightly lit up at your hardened and serious aura as you closed your eyes with a sigh. “the same people who hurt me are the same ones who’ve hurt many others, on the basis that they believe they’re above them; over a stupid thing like race. and i won’t be just letting it slide, even if i can’t fight or anything.”

the flame in your eyes are ones that masamune has grown to recognize; the anger and bitterness as you look back on a memory, only to fill up your heart with passion.

“i’ll die if it means that they’ll be punished and everyone is treated the same.”

silence rings past, the wind slowly becomes a solid aura in the air. stunned, he leaves a small chuckle and pats your head,

“the lord made a wonderful decision to bring ya here, lass.”

—ieyasu:

going by his usual self, he didn’t care much when you arrived, other than you were someone nobunaga picked up from his failed assassination. however, him being an expert in things health related, some things didn’t go by with him.

first of all, your eyes were a slight fade of red. at first he figured it was a leftover from honno-ji’s smokes, but as the days tick by, its persistence is now rather worrying. they should’ve faded away by now, so he thought.

and it became more and more painfully obvious, at least to him. the way you rubbed your eyes sometimes, them tearing up at random intervals—and even you squinting at rare occasions that, unless you had an eye problem like mitsunari, shouldn’t be there.

a seed of worry was planted, although he never expressed it. after all, you were being dragged into battle, where dust and more smoke can easily go into your already bugged eyes.

therefore one day, wordlessly, he took you to his workplace. at first, you were confused; ieyasu hasn’t exactly talked to you a lot.

he picks up a small bottle, along with a cup-like lid, “use this, and wash your eyes with it. and by that i mean just tilt it up and blink when it goes into your eyes.”

you just blinked a few times, stunned more than anything. “,,,, why?”

“you think i don’t notice?” he scoffs, “you’ve been rubbing your eyes like crazy, and it’s past the point where your eyes should even be red since the honno-ji incident. either your eyes have been having problems way before, or you’re just dumber and clumsier than i thought.”

“hey! it’s not my fault, for any of the incidents!”

“so there are multiple instances?”

the judgemental look sent your way was something that your stubborn mind won’t back out from, even if it mean having to somewhat explain your situation.

“w, well, there have been several uhm.... arson crimes in my town, i can’t help but be in the vicinity.”

if arson crimes translated to tear gassings, yes, there were many.

“arson crimes? your town is,,, jeez.”

“it’s not the citizens’ fault, look to the fuckin’ guards of our village for that.” the tone had immediately shifted from a kind of flustered banter, to immediate bitter undertones.

immediately, the silence rang on. ieyasu sat there, looking into you as much as he could, with his bare bones knowledge of you. the pieces were there, and it wasn’t hard to put them together. for a moment, he wondered if you were more than the unfortunate one to be pulled into this mess. but if your town was as much a mess as that. . . perhaps it was for the better.

“. . .then you’re planning to stay here, right?” he had his own opinions and thoughts of someone taking advantage of a high-powered lord taking them in, but eh, he thinks, people will do what they have to do to survive—

“not really. assuming nobunaga would even let me go in the first place.”

ieyasu stood there, stunned, “. . .you’re planning to go back to your own town? even from all the danger there?”

“yeah.” you look at him with a slight imbalanced expression, “i don’t have anywhere else to go, other than there, so. . .”

“but why not stay here? it’s safer, you do know that right?”

“of course,” you sigh, “but it’s still my home, all things considered. yeah, there’s a whole lot of corrupt things going on but, they’re still humans, the people i live with. i don’t wanna run away from it, i’d just. . .i’d like to try and help them also.:

ieyasu stays silent as you lean back to the wall, looking out the door with a fond and melancholic gaze, “the,,, guards in my town are doing this just cause of their stupid beliefs and whatever. superiority complex and whatnot. and people are dying because of it, only for things that they can’t control and. . . it’s just so bullshit.”

you turn back to him, with a strong light blaring in your eyes; filled with hope and determination, “wouldn’t you want to go back and help them? even if i get injured, as long as people will be treated the same and won’t face death for something miniscule, i consider it worth it.”

you’ve never seen him surprised at you; at least not in this sense. usually it’d be surprise at some mistake you did, making an offhand crude comment to it but here. . .here it’s partnered with the smallest bit of sparkle. like a hidden respect for you behind his uncaring persona.

you only look as he slowly stands up, his shadow befalling on you. with the same, yet subtle, amount of shine in his eyes as in yours, he sighs softly and takes your hand,

“at least if you’re gonna go into that kind of battlefield, let me teach your ditzy self how to take care of injuries first.”

—mitsunari:

your sudden arrival already aroused questions, as you’d appeared before nobunaga sporting a bloodied cut on your cheek. at the time, they took the assumption that the assassin did it to you.

and although it was fussed for a bit, it was quickly covered up with some cloth fitting for the period. and then, everything went as normal.

taking up job as mitsunari’s personal caretaker wasn’t one you’d reject, because really, how bad could it be? but the man himself kept insisting that you don’t, added that not only were you a special charm of nobunaga’s, you were also injured from the night of honno-ji. he couldn’t do that to you; not after such a stressful night.

and yet you were stubborn as well. with the final decision being up to nobunaga, which you accepted wholeheartedly, of course, you now had the role to take care of mitsunari.

although his. . .clumsy nature was one that you should be worried for, you find it that he often checks up on you, apologizing each time he could’ve potentially hurt you. and each time, you waved it off and assured him that yes, you were fine.

but you can see it in his eyes, the tint of guilt and worry that lingers on before he succumbs to his reading trance. truth is, the injury is just a mild inconvinience of pain, so there really wasn’t much to fuss over.

in his eyes, your degree has gotten much higher than before. whether your wound would’ve affected your job didn’t matter to him; it was the fact that you were hurt in the first place. you shouldn’t have to take care of him when you needed to take care of yourself! or so is what he thinks to himself.

and so he tries to make it up to you. you need reading lessons? he’ll try to squeeze it in his schedule! or maybe it’s time for a break, he’ll tour you around in the bustling city of azuchi. it feels like whenever you need something, he’s always there next to you, and you can’t help but feel charmed by it.

mitsunari isn’t one to notice details about a person if it isn’t in a situation like in battle. but he’s gotten very sharp at seeing the slight reactions and how you’re doing; and here’s what he’s picked up on:

other than the wound on your cheek, your stomach area seems to be bruised or something close to that. you might’ve not told anyone about it, cause he hasn’t heard a peep of that anywhere, not even when he kept asking politely (or bugging, in the man’s eyes) for ieyasu’s information.

so fuck it, he just decides to ask you one day.

“why do you have an injury on your stomach area?”

it was a lesson hour, you didn’t expect him to throw,,,that curveball. maybe more of, what does this character mean? or how do you write this word? but. . .

“uhm—an incident that happened before the whole honno-ji thing.”

“and you never told anyone, even lord ieyasu?”

“n, no, kinda.”

he’s serious than before, and yet there’s something in his eyes that’s very inviting, inviting you to tell your feelings and story, inviting you to a hug of warmth and safety.

and you succumb.

“. . . things have been happening in my town before i came here.” then what was once a lesson sessioin, turned into you explaining what you and the world was going through before coming to the sengoku, with many phrasings replaced of course.

“is that so. . .” he mutters, “i haven’t heard a case like this, although i don’t doubt there aren’t any. . .i should do some reasearches.. .”

“i-it’s fine, really. . .!”

you managed to convince him that it’s fiiine, he shouldn’t read up on it and just focus on his works (since it would render your story false pretty quickly,,).

“but you still haven’t explained how you got the injury.”

“oh yeah. i got kicked down by one of the guards and then i got this as a result.” you pointed at the covered up wound, now probably just a scar, on your cheek. mitsunari goes silent, then a slow and silent hum resonates in him.

you’ve never quite seen the look in his eyes as you did. they were sharper, even if you weren’t situated in a battlefield, and you could see the gears turn in his brain. for what, you’re not quite sure.

“mitsu,,,?”

and with just your voice, his clouded eyes clear up, and he sends his angelic smile your way, “it’s fine now, lady—” his voice rings gently like bells, “you’re now safer. .even if you want to go back there. but i’ll be here by your side to protect you always, so please remember.”

“. . .heh, alright. of course i will.”

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mohartproductions · 4 years ago

Text

Muhammad Ali meets Lady Shiva

The year is 1981, the year after his fight with Larry Holmes, world championship boxer Muhammad Ali is out trainning in downtown Detroit.

He brought four of his sparring partners out with him for a run, one of whom would also become a world champion. After 10 minutes on the run, Muhammed noticed that one of his partners, John Stander had gone missing, 5 minutes later Jack Lennon was the next to disappear, and another five minutes after that he was all alone.

And odd sensation overtook Muhammad, like the fight or flight instinct of an animal, even in the city Mr. Ali felt as though he’d been stalked by a wild beast.

“Hey, Champ…” A woman’s voice cried out.

Muhammad looked behind him and found a mysterious young woman looking right at him.

Sandra Wu-San, AKA Lady Shiva. A Martial Arts export, and a member of the League of Assassins.

Muhammad Ali had never met her before, but he picked up a vibe from her like a ferocious predator. He KNEW she was dangerous, and that she was the one who took out his training crew.

“Nice night out for a run, right?” She said, smiling beguilingly as she sauntered toward him. “I was hoping I’d meet you.”

The closer she got, the more on edge Muhammad became. She had a presence unlike any fighter he ever faced. Almost supernatural. Muhammed Ali was never one for hitting a woman, however in this case scenario he found himself that he’d make an exception if necessary. Taking up a defensive stand wasn’t his style either, but again for the first time he had his guard up.

Lady Shiva seemed intrigued. “Oh, taking up a guard? Not really your style. Although if I were in your shoes I’d be right to do the same thing if I were engaging me.” She snickered a little. “But really though, that doesn’t seem to jive with your motto: ‘Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!’ You know it’s actually been around since the days of Ancient Rome and Greece; but the modern form of boxing we currently know was born in England in 1814, that’s the one with the guard stance, however you’re the first boxer ever to actually lower your guard as a tactic! You never raised it! No matter how tough your opponent was. You’re able to stand up against your opponent by leaving just enough space between you and them, allowing you quicker, more fluid and dexterous movement before you strike back. How quaint than that now… now you see the significance of taking a defensive stance for a change. And you’d be right to. The threat every fiber of your body could sense emanating from the one person right in front of you.”

Shiva smirked as Muhammad stood in place, keeping that guard up. She saunters toward him, then with a couple quick skips Muhammad Ali throw a quick, and heavy left handed jab straight for Shiva’s face.

“Got ‘er!” He thought as he grinned confidently. But to his shock, Lady Shiva stood just barely in front of his fist. He was the top boxer of the world, he never misread his opponents. However in this case the rules of boxing didn’t apply here. Muhammad continues throwing quicker and quicker punches, but Miss Shiva kept evading every blow, moving quickly, smoothly, and gracefully as she smiles as though it was a dance.

Can you imagine how he must feel, all the techniques Mr. Ali spent his life perfecting were useless against this strange femme fatale.

Soon he let his guard back down and Muhammad decides it’s time to talk it out with Lady Shiva.

“Well ma’am…” Muhammad sayings trying to catch his breath “You know me, and plenty about boxing. But I never met you before! Who are you? What do you want from me?!”

Lady Shiva gives a light smile and replies. “Apologies in advance. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sandra Wu-San. Tho I usually go by Lady Shiva! I’m a martial arts master, and a member of the League of Assassins.”

“The League of Assassins?!” Muhammad retorts “So is this an assassination attempt?!” Lady Shiva chuckles and replies “Oh rest assured Mr. Ali, if I wanted to kill you or even your ammature friends back there, I'd've already done it twenty minutes ago!” Then what is it that you want?!” Muhammad asks in frustration. Shiva continues to smile and replies “Simple… I want you to show me that your true calling isn’t boxing!”

“What?” Muhammad asks. “Oh don’t deny it, pal.” Shiva banters. “The world heavyweight title was never your true goal.” Huh?” It was clear to Muhammed he’s been getting more questions than answers. “Why not?” He asks “What makes you say that?!” Again she smiles, and she gives her response. “Oh it’s just something I noticed about you in the ring. Your movement, guard down, the space and timing you calculate with each move. You consider every attack, even every counter, and you already know every angle; but that’s more than just boxing. I believe what you do is in fact your own unique form of martial arts, unlike any seen in the Western World.”

Muhammad Ali considers Lady Shiva’s bold statements, then he returns a smile and says “You see alot! Even the best trainers in the world couldn’t put that together-- yet you think you do?!” Shiva answers ever so koi “I know I do!” Ali snickers. “I’ll be damned. A random chick I meet in the street one night claims she’s able to see through me, and she’s not even a boxer!” Oh I’m many things Mr. Ali!” Shiva retorts. “I am a student and master of all forms of hand to hand combat. That’s why I’m here, to see what you can really do. Open her hands!” What?!” Muhammad asks “You heard me!” Shiva replies “Open up your hands and strike me with them, strike me like a wild cat. And don’t be afraid to kick me either! Don’t just punch me, kick me, scratch me, push me to the ground with the palm of your hands! Am I clear?!” Muhammad replies “Crystal!” Good!” Shiva replies with a vicious grin. “Well champ, looks like the real fight is about to begin!”

Ali dances side to side, this time with his guard down and his hands open, and one foot pushing further outward than usual. Lady Shiva lunges forward, then in the blink of an eye Muhammad Ali works up a storm of strikes over Shiva’s face and upperbody like a cat. Shiva found some cuts left her, one on her face, a few more over her shoulders. Ali also throws in a few sharp kicks to Shiva’s legs, and even her hips, using his same footwork. “Gnh… That’s more like it!” Shiva remarks. Then as she prepares to rush him again, Muhammad throws a quick jab which Shiva misses, only to receive a kick to her shin followed by a Muhammed grabbing her right arm then forces her backward with a palm strike the face. The two stand in place for a moment, Muhammad still skips while Shiva regains propper footing. Lady Shiva gives gleeful laughs and speaks confidently. “That’s what I’m talking about! I knew you had it in ya, Champ!” What you showed me here tonight is not boxing anymore; like I said, it’s your own martial art! Not just punching, but striking, even kicking, grappling, slamming, and catching. A simple combat system, but a combat system perfected to deal with it all. You should name it after yourself! ‘The Art of Ali!”

Lady Shiva takes a moment to remove her jacket, revealing a black tank top, and a strong yet fairly feminine physique.

“That said it’s a little rough around the edges.”

“Wow, you really do know your martial arts, huh?” Muhammad Ali asks with snark. “And you really seem to know a lot about me?!” Lady Shiva’s smile slightly drops and she replies “There isn’t a thing about you I don’t know. You were stripped of your championship title for being a draft dodger! That left a gap in your career for three and a half years, resulting in a lapse in perfecting your art!”

Again Muhammad Ali makes a quick dance straight toward Lady Shiva with another left jab, sure this time he’ll get in a better shot. But again he’s left dumbfounded, as in the blink of an eye he finds Lady Shiva flat on the floor with another bruise on her.

“What?!” Muhammad stood purplexed. Then with a quick sweep, Lady Shiva launches both her legs with lightning speed, Ali draws back, to get grabbed by his ankle, and with enough strength she flips him up into the air sending him hurtling back upside down.

Just when it seems he’s about to crack his own head open, Lady Shiva grabs Muhammad by the hand, forcing him to land back on his feet. Now in a bold, whole hearted tone, Lady Shiva says “But those last three and a half years are another reason why I’m here. To finally stand in reverence of the famous heavyweight champion of the world, Muhammad Ali. (Still in his prime)

Confused and doubtful, Muhammed replies “Are you kidding?! I’m nowhere near as good as you!” Keeping her composer Sandra replies “That is true, but my own skills has nothing to do with your history. You fought the status quo for the sake of impoverished African-Americans; then you fought your own country for the sake of the battered vietcong. You stand for the weak and the oppressed in all of your battles; you are hope! A true hero for the powerless!”

Muhammad Ali smiles friendly and gives a light chuckle. “Thanks! I appreciate the sentiment; but I still find this a little discouraging! I mean with your strengths and my shortcomings… I mean I don’t like losing, you know?!” Muhammad gently removes his hand from Shiva’s grip and adds “It’s just a lot to deal with.

Ali turns away and walks off. Shortly after Sandra follows. “I heard this song and dance before. Every struggle you go through always seems so desperate.” She says. “You were a convict turned world champion with firsts 15 inches around. They say you’re the world’s greatest! You had such drive as a young man, you were a gold medalist with speed and power that no one had ever seen before. You even managed to make through an entire fight with your jaw broken in the second round. People say your punch was so powerful it could knock down an elephant. Even in the future, to this day you’re still considered the strongest fighter ever. You took racial and cultural descrimation, then your entire country! You were never against an easy opponent… Not that your fighting technique is as great as mine, but it’s never about the fights, it’s your heart! Your soul-- your humanity! Your dreams of achieving greatness for all people. Even when it seems like the whole world is against you, or even God and the Devil themselves, you don’t back down! That’s why you’re the greatest!”

The two smile as they continue walking, with Ali now feeling more than gratified by Sandra’s words. But when thing came to Muhammad’s mind… “Tell me, what do you fight for?” Sandra snickers. “You really wanna know?!” Sure.” Muhammad replies “Alright.” Shiva says “But I should warn you this heartwarming tale takes a dark twist. I fight for strength!” The strength to do what?” Muhammad asks “I fight for achieving the ultimate human strength.” Shiva answers “A few years from now I will be born, and from then on I will dedicate my life to becoming a the deadliest fighter. I fight to get stronger, faster, smarter, more graceful, more resilient, more ruthless. Everything I do in life, everything I learn and accomplish will help me become the best martial artist in the world… and the most dangerous human being!” Muhammad asks “And you think that you will make you powerful?” “Powerful? Like, politically powerful?” Shiva snickers “I don’t think you understand. I’m not in this for power or money. I just want the strength to fight the entire world. More strength, speed, stamina and gile than any military force. No guns, no bombs, nor even any superpowers. The only power I’ll ever need is raw fighting power that relies solely on the strength of my own mind and body. I hunger to be a living weapon, a force not even the bravest fighters could hope to stand a chance with. And once my reputation is known, all will come to know, and fear the name of Sandra Wu-san, and the legacy of ‘Lady Shiva!’

Muhammad Ali now stands perplexed “Whoah! You’re serious aren’t you?! You’re not just boasting, you actually mean that with conviction and sincerity! You’re an interesting human being, Sandra. I never met anyone like you.”

Then with a quick turn, Muhammad Ali now please Lady Shiva. “Please I want you to see my daughter!”

Sometime later, Lady Shiva follows Muhammad Ali to meet his 4 year old daughter Laila. Laila is presented before Sandra.

“Miss Wu-san..” Muhammad announces “This is my girl, Laila.”

Sandra glances at little Laila. “Cute!” She states with a friendly smile. “Is she gonna be your successor?” Ali responds “My dream!” Laila smiles innocently at Sandra.

“It’s just like you said before.” Muhammad explains “The fighting style I was trying to perfect wasn’t intended only for boxing.” This intrigues Sandra as Muhammad continues “It’s supposed to be a free style countering technique punches, kicks, grappling and striking. As you already know my defensive style was intentionally light and fluid, it made close-range techniques like blocking and ducking look as graceful as a dance. But more often than not I relied more on stepping and swaying back; that’s because I discovered those two moves can counter not just punches but literally any kind of attack from an opponent. But…”

Muhammad pauses, and Sandra fills in the gap with a smirk. “After the three and a half year gap in your career your footwork slowed, and your whole aesthetic suffered! Like I said, that forced your fighting style to change. When you returned to the ring you used more blocking and rope work, as was evident with your fight with Kinshasa Zaire.” You’re absolutely right…” Muhammad confirmed. “So the fighting style I was trying to perfect ended up being little more than a dream.” “Are you ashamed of that?” Sandra asks, to which Muhammad grunts. Then he asks his daughter “Laila. Show her what you can do!” Laila takes a stance, almost like one her father would use, Sandra ever venturous, playfully gestures Laila to take a swing at her. Little Laila rushes toward Lady Shiva and immediately throws a barrage of light punches at her hands as she kneels. “Ah.” Shiva seems pleased with Laila’s tenacity, as the little girl starts throwing quick punches from every angle, each landing on Sandra’s palms as they catch them all about.

Then, almost in the blink of an eye, Lady Shiva draws back her right hand, poised like the paw of a big cat. It was a Leopard Strike pose! And in a heartbeat she thrusted her palm at Laila right between the eyes, sending her flying 10 feet back, sitting flat on her bottom. Tears were about to run from Laila’s eyes as she was beginning to cry. Then Sandra with a bold yet hearty voice and an assuring smile tells her “Stop crying!” and immediately Laila drew back her tears.

Back on her feet, Sandra Wu-San proudly commends Laila “I mothered children just like you before. They’d love to be your friend, cause you’re gonna be a tough opponent for them some day.”

Ali pats his daughter and gently rubs her eyes with a smile on his face. “That was a good fight Laila!” He says with a good impression that one day, Laila Ali may grow up to carry her father’s dream.

#muhammad ali #muhammedali #lady shiva #sandra wu san #dc comics #crossover #dc fanfic #sandra woosan

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here4theheartbreak · 6 years ago

Text

AO3 Link!

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: NamKook (Namjoon/Jungkook)

Tags: Smut, fluff, getting together, first time, virgin!Jungkook, bottom!Jungkook, top!Namjoon, bareback

Summary: Jungkook has had a crush on the leader of BTS since forever. Now that Namjoon is helping write his solo for the upcoming album, this could be his perfect chance.

Word Count: ~4.5k

A/N: Written for @softjeon for the @kwritersworld Spring Fic Exchange! I hope you like it!

“You can’t possibly think I’m ready for this,” Jungkook argued. He was sitting next to Namjoon, staring down at the leads of their production team and their boss himself.

“The beat is perfect for you, Jungkook,” Namjoon tried. “We can write something really nice. You can do this. You were beautiful with Begin.”

“But this is different. Begin was— It wasn’t this big.”

“You’re ready for it,” Jungkook,” Adora pressed, offering a comforting smile despite Jungkook’s panicked face.

“I—“

“I’d be honored to put together the lyrics for you,” Namjoon said. “Please say yes.”

Jungkook’s shoulders sank a little. He glanced at the rest of their group, his ragtag family over these years. They were all smiling warmly, waiting for his response. His gaze fell on Namjoon, who’s eyes were glued to his face.

“Okay. I’ll do it. May I listen to the track again?”

Namjoon slapped the table in excitement, beaming at Jungkook’s answer. The music began to play again and Jungkook closed his eyes, letting it wash over him and already trying to get a feel for it, despite there not being any words yet. He trusted Namjoon to handle that beautifully. Namjoon handled everything with a grace and beauty that Jungkook admired and adored. More than, if he was being honest with himself.

Childhood crushes normally faded. At least that’s what Jungkook was always told. He was still a kid, barely into puberty, wide eyed and star struck, when he met Namjoon and the others. He’d had a vague idea that maybe he wasn’t as “normal” as his fellow male classmates even then; he didn’t understand the appeal of dating women or even what was attractive beyond the aesthetic beauty that they - like other humans - possessed.

However, he could easily see the appeal of dating - and more - one of the handsome guys he went to school with. Still he could deny it. Just a phase, a silly confused feeling. And then he met Namjoon.

Choosing a company to sign with was a big deal. Even at his young age, Jungkook knew that the wrong company could shatter his dreams. So, picking BigHit based on the way his heart skipped a beat at Kim Namjoon’s dimpled smile probably wasn’t the best way to make a potentially life altering decision. It turned out for the best, but in hindsight, Jungkook had to admit he probably wasn’t thinking with the right head.

Jungkook knew he didn’t stand a chance with the beautiful rapper he’d fallen head over heels for. Firstly, he was a child compared to Namjoon and he knew it. Namjoon was smart and beautiful and talented and perfect. Jungkook’s strengths included being able to consume two kilograms of bulgogi without puking and play video games for thirty hours straight with only one bathroom break. Still, a boy could dream.

It wasn’t as if his crush was detrimental in any way to the group. In fact, it improved his work ethic tenfold, as he sought to impress Namjoon at every turn.

Only one member knew about Jungkook’s dirty little secret, and that was Jimin. He hadn’t meant to confess to him, but Jimin was much more observant than he let on, and confronted Jungkook one evening in their bathroom. Much to Jungkook’s surprise, Jimin wasn’t angry nor judgmental. He promised to keep Jungkook’s secret and be his confidant, but warned Jungkook to be aware of his gazes, as the heated looks were the main reason he’d noticed something less than friendly going on.

Years passed, and Jungkook’s crush remained. By the time they’d established themselves as a group with some staying power, Jungkook had accepted his crush had found the same foothold. It was sticking firmly in his heart, a steady ache that was both familiar and painful. A growth in the deepest chamber of his heart that was inoperable, but Jungkook had yet to decide if it would ultimately be fatal.

***

Two weeks later, Jungkook was stretched out on the floor of the practice room, scrolling mindlessly through the news on his phone. Jimin was next to him, beanie slung haphazardly over his eyes as he did his best to catch a few minutes of rest before the inevitable practice began once more.

“Has Namjoon-hyung talked to you about the song?” Jimin mumbled.

“Hm? Oh, no. He’s been quiet about it.”

“You should check in.”

Jungkook half shrugged. “I don’t wanna bother him. Or seem to eager.”

“You are eager. I know it.”

“I am. It’s huge. The fans are gonna be impressed if I do well. I’m just...” Jungkook sighed and shrugged again.

“He’ll probably stay after to do work on it tonight... You should stop in,” Jimin encouraged.

Jungkook nodded, pocketing his phone and flopping his face down on Jimin’s shoulder. “Fine, I’ll check in,” he agreed.

Jungkook knocked softly on Namjoon’s door before sticking his head in. Namjoon looked back, beaming brightly. “Jungkook. Come in.”

“I wanted to check in. The— The song, how’re you... I don’t want to sound pushy but Jimin-hyung recommenced. And I just—“ Jungkook closed his mouth and smiled sheepishly when he saw Namjoon smiling patiently at him.

“Relax. I’m glad you came by, actually. I was going to text you to do so.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Come sit.”

Jungkook did as was asked of him, his brow furrowed. Namjoon opened a notebook in front of him that was filled with chicken scratch. Bits of lyrics, phrases, words, doodles, all blended together into a hodgepodge that Jungkook was sure no one could translate except Namjoon.

“What’s up?”

“I want your opinion. I feel like I have a few lines that work, but this is your song.”

“You’re the better writer.”

“Ah, Jungkook.” Namjoon reached over, giving Jungkook’s wrist a squeeze. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat, a common occurrence in his years living with Namjoon. He smiled shyly and shrugged one shoulder. “Tell me the lines, maybe I can help.”

Namjoon nodded. He flipped to another page in his notebook. “So, this has been stuck in my head for a while, it’s: were you wandering around, looking for an erased dream too? I don’t know what else to do with it.”

“Well we know the song is gonna be Euphoria right? Like that’s the decided title.”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, and the main chorus with the take my hands now, you are the cause of my euphoria…. I’m just honestly stuck.”

“Play the track.” Jungkook reached over and grabbed the notebook, his eyes scanning over the pages of chicken scratch. Certain phrases stuck out to him, rhyming bits and clever wordplay that only Namjoon would be smart enough to come up with. The track began to play and Jungkook scratched his head. He grabbed a pencil and began to circle certain phrases and words as he listened.

The two worked together for nearly two hours, writing and rewriting certain pieces to fit the mood or other lines. Jungkook lived for moments like this, when he could showcase his talents for Namjoon.

“What about… Something about utopia? It fits, right?”

Namjoon’s mouth curved up into a smile, his dimple dipping into his cheek. “The way you help, one would think you’ve been in love your whole life, Jungkook.”

“Maybe I have,” Jungkook whispered without thinking. He was writing down a few ideas that had popped into his head. When he looked back up, Namjoon was staring hard at him.

“What?”

“Jungkook.. I’ve known you for a long time now.”

“Yeah, years.”

“I pretty much watched you grow up.”

Jungkook smiled fondly and nodded. “Yeah. So?”

“So, I think I… I mean I’d like to think I know you pretty well, right? You’re open with me?”

“Sure, of course.” A creeping worry began to sink into Jungkook’s bones at the solemnness of Namjoon’s expression.

“Who’re you in love with then?”

“What?”

Namjoon motioned to the notebook between them. “Who are you in love with?”

“Oh, I—I meant our fans. You know, the love we all share, that sort of—”

“Cut the bullshit, Jungkook.”

Jungkook straightened up a little at the sharpness of Namjoon’s tone.

“I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie. You wouldn’t be able to anyway, not to me. Be honest, okay?”

Jungkook’s shoulders slumped a little. He stared at the desk in front of him, his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. Panic was rising in his throat, hot and frightening. Could Namjoon know? Did Jimin let something slip? Or was Jungkook just that bad at hiding?”

“I can’t. Not about this.”

“Why not?”

“I just… This is something I can’t talk about.”

“Jungkook – I’m one of your best friends. I’m here for you. Is there something that I should know?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I can’t, hyung.”

“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s slender fingers slipped under Jungkook’s chin, curling to grip it lightly and lift Jungkook’s head. His smile was soft.

“Please. Trust me.”

“You’d hate me.”

“I’ve known you for years. You’d be surprised, I think, at how little I hate you.”

“If you knew who I was in love with.”

“It’s a member, right?”

Jungkook tried to pull his face away from Namjoon, but he tightened his grip. “Me too, Jungkook.”

“What?”

“I have secrets too, and that’s one of them.”

“Who?”

Namjoon smiled weakly. “You.” He whispered.

Jungkook’s heart leapt into his throat, stopping his breath. His cheeks flushed, warm from his throat up to his forehead. “What?” He repeated dumbly.

“I know. Stupid, huh? I’ve never told anyone. I hope you don’t think of me differently. I can control it, I—I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know, so maybe you’d be able to share who—”

Jungkook moved forward, cutting Namjoon off as their mouths met. Namjoon made a small noise of protest, splaying his hands on Jungkook’s chest as if to push him back. Jungkook grabbed his wrists. “It’s you,” he whispered against Namjoon’s mouth. “I’m in love with you, hyung. Kiss me back, please.”

Namjoon’s entire body relaxed at Jungkook’s words. He slid one hand up from his chest to the back of his neck, sinking easily back into the kiss.

Jungkook squeezed the wrist of the hand still on his chest, setting his other hand on Namjoon’s thigh. He sighed against his mouth, heart pounding a hundred miles an hour. They parted when they were both breathless, lips kiss swollen and pink.

“Jungkook—”

“I’ve been in love with you since I saw you the first time. Why do you think I chose Big Hit?”

Namjoon closed his eyes, hanging his head. “You were such a cute kid. When you got a little older, I—I felt so dirty for the way I felt… I never told anyone, even Yoongi-hyung. I was afraid you’d hate me.”

“I told Jimin-hyung. He’s kept my secret so long, I—” He shook his head. “I’ve been sitting with this inside of me for so long. I don’t know what to do now that – You know.”

“How about you kiss me one more time,” Namjoon suggested.

Jungkook grinned. “That I can do.” He leaned forward, pushing Namjoon back in his chair. Their lips met once more but Jungkook kept moving, straddling Namjoon’s hips. He whined softly, placing his hands on the small of Jungkook’s back.

“Wanna move this to the couch?” He mumbled against Jungkook’s mouth.

Jungkook nodded. He scrambled off Namjoon’s lap, letting himself be led to the small couch. Their mouths met once more as they sat down, and Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat when Namjoon gently, but firmly, pressed him into a lying position. He let his legs fall open, gasping at the weight of Namjoon atop him.

“Is this okay?” Namjoon asked, pressing kisses along Jungkook’s jaw.

“Yes. Please—”

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Namjoon admitted. Jungkook buried his fingers in his hair, dragging his head back up and into another kiss. He slid one hand down, pushing Namjoon’s shirt up and gently running his fingers over the smooth skin of his back. He traced the edge of his boxers, peeking out over his jeans, before dipping one finger playfully under the elastic and letting it snap against Namjoon’s skin.

Namjoon gasped, pulling back and grinning. “What was that for?”

“Your jeans are too tight for me to do anything else,” Jungkook pouted, looking up at Namjoon with wide eyes.

“You… Want to do more?” Namjoon asked. Despite the music he wrote and listened to, his inexperience was shining through, and it made Jungkook all the more proud, and excited.

“I do. If you wanna. I know this is new and we’re team mates.”

“I do,” Namjoon reiterated. He leaned back, allowing Jungkook to lift his shift up. He tossed it aside, his cheeks pinking up when Jungkook slid his palms over his bare chest.

“You know, you could show this off as much as me. You’re fit enough.”

“Ah, I’m too shy for that, you know that.”

Jungkook half shrugged. He sat up a little, letting his lips brush over Namjoon’s collarbone before sliding down, catching his nipple between his teeth. Namjoon hissed, his head falling back.

Jungkook teased and nibbled for a few moments before switching the pleasant torture to the other side, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile at the soft whines slipping from Namjoon’s open mouth.

“Can I take your pants off?” Jungkook asked. He kept his face hidden in Namjoon’s chest, fear his warm cheeks would give away his nerves, or make Namjoon less willing.

“We don’t have to… If you want, just… Have you ever done this before?”

“Done what?”

“Anything like this?”

Jungkook hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“You’re a virgin?”

He nodded.

“Do you… I don’t want to assume, but…”

“I want you to take it.” Jungkook looked up, his bravery surprising even him. “I’ve fantasized about you being the one to take it since I joined this company. That’s never changed. I’ve had opportunity to lose it but I wanted… In case, you know.”

Namjoon smiled. He cupped Jungkook’s chin and lifted his head up further, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise.”

“Don’t make me wait longer.”

“We’re in my studio,” Namjoon argued. “I don’t mind… But shouldn’t it be… I don’t know, special for you?”

“It’s with you in the place you consider pretty much sacred, hyung. What’s more special than that?”

Namjoon smiled again. “I suppose you have a point.”

Jungkook bit his lip. He reached down, cupping Namjoon’s crotch and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to?”

Namjoon nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly. “You have no idea.”

“Maybe you should tell me,” Jungkook suggested. He wiggled his way off the couch and dropped to his knees. As he did, he tugged Namjoon into a standing position, reaching out and undoing his jeans.

“Tell you?” Namjoon asked, watching Jungkook’s hands.

“Mhm. All about what you’ve wanted to do to me.”

Jungkook tugged Namjoon’s jeans and boxers down.

His cock was half hard, just beginning to thicken and rise. “Sit,” Jungkook instructed.

Namjoon obeyed, his hands immediately gripping the couch.

“Did you fantasize about this? My mouth on your cock?”

Namjoon shivered but nodded, his eyes growing heavy with lust.

Jungkook leaned forward. He stroked Namjoon a few times firmly. Their gazes locked for a moment before Jungkook slipped his tongue out, running it teasingly over the smooth underside of Namjoon’s rapidly hardening cock.

“Did I look at you while I did it?” Jungkook whispered. He kept his eyes open wide, giving himself an innocent look, the total opposite of his actions as he slid the tip of Namjoon’s cock over his bottom lip. “Or was I shy? Sucked you with my eyes closed?”

“B— Brazen. You’re always so confident, Jungkook... In my fantasies you are brazen in bed too.”

Jungkook complied without a word. He took Namjoon into his mouth, swallowing him down inch by inch. He gazed up at Namjoon with wide, dark eyes, tears forming when Namjoon’s cock twitched, bumping the back of his throat.

Namjoon placed a hand lightly on the back of Jungkook’s head, stroking his hair. “That’s it baby... Suck it for me,” he whispered.

Jungkook began to bob his head, allowing Namjoon to guide him down. His swirled his tongue over the shaft, his cheeks reddening at the dirty, wet noises me was making.

Namjoon continued to watch him, a gentle affection clear despite the need in his gaze. His grip tightened just a bit.

“Gag on it for me... Just once,” he asked.

Jungkook pulled back and took a breath. He sank down on Namjoon’s slick, hard cock until the tip slipped past his throat. His shoulders jerked, throat fluttering around Namjoon’s tip. He pulled back, coughing.

“Fuck... That was perfect,” Namjoon growled. He dragged Jungkook up and wiped his tears before attacking his clothing, stripping him as fast as he could manage.

The moment Namjoon’s soft lips surrounded Jungkook’s cock he thought he may have died and gone to heaven. He decided he must have when Namjoon began bobbing his head, soft clicks of his throat filling the air between Jungkook’s moans. He grabbed Namjoon’s shoulders, short nails biting into the smooth expanses of flesh as Namjoon choked on him.

“Please—“ Jungkook finally gasped out. “I’m gonna come.”

Namjoon pulled back, wiping his spit slicked chin. “Isn’t that the whole point?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Our first time I— I wanna come on your cock.”

“That so?”

Jungkook nodded. He turned around, dropping down so his hands were on the smooth wood table. He spread his legs, giving Namjoon easier access. “Please?”

Namjoon leaned forward, spreading Jungkook further. He swiped his tongue teasingly over Jungkook’s hole before stiffening it to a point and prodding at him. Jungkook whined, his hips twisting desperately.

Namjoon used his fingers and tongue to loosen Jungkook as well as he could. He rose, padding over to his desk.

“What’re you—“

“Lube,” Namjoon said, fishing a tube out from one of the drawers. He went back to work on Jungkook with his fingers, stretching his right hole as he pressed firm kisses over his ass.

“Think you’re ready?” He whispered when Jungkook’s whines lost their edge. Jungkook nodded. He scrambled onto the couch, and smiled up at Namjoon.

He nodded, settling between Jungkook’s legs. Applying more lube to Jungkook and himself, he lined up, taking a steadying breath as he began to push in. Jungkook opened for him with little trouble, but he pulled back once more and started over, just going deep enough to make Jungkook desperate to feel more.

“Stop teasing, please.”

“I don’t want this to hurt,” Namjoon argued, still sliding slow and steady into Jungkook.

“I might be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked myself,” Jungkook hissed. Namjoon hesitated, his cock twitching a little.

“You’ve—“

“For years now, hyung.”

Namjoon swallowed hard. He stopped for a moment, drinking in the image of Jungkook under him. One leg was kicked up on the back of the couch, the other held by Jungkook’s hand, veins bulging and fingertips white with strain.

“What have you used?” Namjoon whispered.

“Fingers first, of course... But I always needed more. Once I was using three regularly I changed to the end of my brush. It felt so good pumping into me... I’d hide in the closet and fuck myself with it... Picturing you.”

“Jungkook—“ Namjoon’s voice cracked. He slid in deeper, earning a happy sigh from Jungkook.

“That’s right... I used to come all over myself pretending you were pounding me against the wall.”

“Do you still?” Namjoon panted.

“No... Now I have a nice thick dildo to fuck myself with.”

Namjoon shivered. Jungkook grabbed his ass, grinding down so his cock slipped deeper. “Just last night I was bouncing on it in my room. I came without even touching myself... I was listening to your music too.”

Namjoon groaned. He leaned down, catching Jungkook’s mouth in a desperate kiss. Grabbing his hips in a bruising grip he drove home, swallowing the shout of pleasure it forced from Jungkook’s lips.

“Is it thicker than me?” Namjoon asked. He began to pump his hips steadily. Jungkook grabbed his ass, digging his short nails into his skin.

“No—“ He gasped. “Just about the same, oh God right there, hyung—“

Namjoon leaned down, mouthing kisses along Jungkook’s neck as he fucked into him. He could feel Jungkook shivering under him, his cock twitching and dribbling between their stomachs.

“I listen to your voice to come,” Jungkook admitted. “Gets me every time.”

“Goddamnit, Jungkook,” Namjoon growled.

“That’s it— Fuck me. I know you wanna. You won’t hurt me,” Jungkook coaxed. Namjoon let himself relax a little, picking up his speed and the depth of his thrusts. Jungkook whispered under him, his back arching. “Please! Deeper—“ he pleaded.

Namjoon’s stomach flipped with knotted arousal. He lifted himself up, grabbing Jungkook’s hips and lifting him for a better angle. He pulled almost all the way out and drove in. Jungkook’s body arched from the couch, his cock throbbing and twitching as Namjoon fucked him deep and hard. He slapped his hand over his mouth, earning a strained chuckle.

“You know this room is soundproof. I wanna hear you scream, Jungkookie.” He drove in again, meeting Jungkook’s wide, wet eyes.

“Harder—“ Jungkook panted.

“Fuck, you’re needy for it.” Namjoon grumbled, but obeyed. His thighs slapped against Jungkook’s, balls striking his tight ass on each thrust. Jungkook did his part, letting himself scream, beg, and moan freely. The grin never disappeared from his face, looking up at Namjoon with a deeper admiration and affection than he’d ever seen.

“Want me to touch you?” Namjoon panted, brushing his fingertips over Jungkook’s swollen, leaking cock.

“No... Talk to me.”

Namjoon nodded. He leaned down, catching Jungkook’s mouth in a kiss. He brushed featherlight pecks over to his ear before nipping the lobe. “You feel so good, baby. So tight for me... Want you to stay this way, okay?”

Jungkook groaned and nodded. “Yes.”

“Not gonna fuck yourself anymore, right? You need to come... You do it on my cock.”

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook panted, his short nails raking down Namjoon’s back.

“Oh that’s it, think about that, Jungkookie. Every time you need to jerk off, just using my cock. Riding me or getting fucked until you can’t sit right. Sometimes maybe...” Namjoon trailed off. Before Jungkook could press for more, Namjoon pulled his cock out and drove three fingers into Jungkook’s hole. He crooked them against Jungkook’s prostate, rubbing for a few seconds. Jungkook shouted in surprise, his cheeks burning. Namjoon began to thrust his fingers, the wet, pornographic squelch from the thick lube filling the air. Jungkook flushed deeper, his cock jumping each time Namjoon brushed his prostate.

“Maybe just fingering you like this... Keeping your pants on and just opening you up and making you come in your jeans.”

Jungkook whimpered, clenching around Namjoon’s fingers.

“Roll over,” Namjoon whispered, pulling his fingers free.

Jungkook obeyed, catching sight of himself in the mirror across the room. His face was mottled red, hair a wet, sweaty mess. Namjoon still looked perfect, his face set stoic as he worked more lube into Jungkook’s used ass. He lined up and pushed his ass open before sliding home in one thrust.

Jungkook shouted, reaching back to hold any part of Namjoon he could reach. Their gazes locked in the mirror. Namjoon smirked, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s temple.

“You’re gonna come on my cock now,” he said simply. His voice was thick and smoky, and Jungkook very nearly came from the sound alone.

Namjoon began to pump into him, keeping his gaze on Jungkook through the mirror. Jungkook screamed Namjoon’s name, his body shuddering against the couch as he was filled as full as possible.

“I’m gonna—“

“That’s it, let it happen.”

“Promise you won’t pull out,” Jungkook pleaded desperately. Namjoon shook his head.

“Never. Now come for me, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s body obeyed before he realized. He went rigid under Namjoon, his ass tightening and cock throbbing as he spilled onto the slick leather underneath him.

Namjoon groaned, still fucking him through his orgasm.

He forced himself to focus as he came down from his climax. Namjoon’s eyes were screwed shut, his thrusts erratic. He bared his teeth, entire body tensing over Jungkook. He jerked his hips twice, his cock buried as deep as it could go when it began to throb. Jungkook could feel his balls twitching, working to fill Jungkook for the first time - and certainly not the last. He watched with half closed eyes, a pleasant little burn of pride as it sunk in that he was the one to give Namjoon this pleasure. When Namjoon’s body relaxed over his, Jungkook turned his head, pressing a tired kiss to the corner of Namjoon’s mouth.

“I love you, hyung.”

Namjoon sighed softly. He peppered kisses over Jungkook’s sweat slicked shoulder. “Relax for me.”

Namjoon pulled out carefully, grabbing a box of tissues and cleaning himself and Jungkook. They dressed in silence, the weight of what they’d done settling into their bones.

“Hyung—”

“Jungkook—”

They chuckled at their unison, and Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t ruin this,” Jungkook whispered.

“What?”

“Don’t do what you always do. Don’t rationalize this. It’s already rational. You made love to me. I gave you my virginity and I don’t regret it. And I want to do it again. And more, if you’re willing.”

“Of course, Jungkook, I’ve been head over heels for you for years.”

“Then kiss me. Date me and love me.”

“The guys—”

“You know they’ll get it. They always talk about how hard you work. How much you deserve a break and happiness. You don’t think they’ll be happy that I can maybe give that to you?”

Namjoon’s shoulders slumped a little as he relaxed, Jungkook’s words clearly making sense.

“We can’t tell the public.”

“Of course not. They’d crucify us. But we’re okay to do this. We’ll have the guys’ support. Namjoon-hyung. Do you want me?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook opened his arms. “I’m right here.”

Namjoon went to him without hesitation, nuzzling against his neck. Jungkook smiled. He hugged him tightly, grinning as his heart pounded a mile a minute.

Namjoon gasped suddenly, pulling back.

“What?” Jungkook worried.

“I got it.” “Got… What?”

“It! The song.” Namjoon grabbed his face and pressed a hard to kiss to his surprised mouth before rushing back to his seat at the computer. He woke the screen and pulled up a document. Immediately he began to type, humming and mumbling under his breath. Jungkook smiled softly.

He cleaned up the couch and settled onto it, his head resting on his forearms as he watched Namjoon. Though he’d had a vague understanding before, the knowledge hit home. This was what it meant. Euphoria.

#bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #armyofwriters #btsguild #networkbangtan #namkook #kookiemonster #namjoon x jungkook #jungkook x namjoon #namjoon/jungkook #jungkook/namjoon #bts ships #bts fanfic #mywriting

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dcddyrecper · 5 years ago

Note

My muse is all tied up (how and why is up to the mun)

Under all condition Death would have had reason to be worried.

First off there was Fred, one of his favorite reapers whom appeared to him and mentioned the Crimson Mist. He like many of the reapers knew that Death frequented the establishment and that he would often meet with them there so they could take a meal. It was something irregular and not as often as Death would have liked.

So he tipped his head at Fred "Yes, Fred?" he inquired of the tall suited man with the dark hair and eyes.

"Its the Crimson Mist." he said cautiously. "There has been death." he stated his stature not shifting from the upright and respectable form. Though his eyes were concerned that he might see Death angry. Since he knew that the Father of Reapers was fairly fond of it.

"Who ?" Death asked

"Leo and Greg two of the bouncers." Fred obediently answered and Death could only nod his head.

"Were they reaped ?" he inquired.

"Only One." Fred answered "The other had not died yet" he told the entity before him. “Would you like me too ?”

Death would never consider leaving it to another reaper he had known both bouncers. They had worked at the club as long as he had been showing up for meals. "No, I will take care of it.' he stated simply. "Inform the others no one is to go in or around Crimson Mist, I will take care of it myself. There may yet be reaping to do, I have tingle." he stated

Fred nodded "Yes, sir." he said and than was a blur and gone to the next appointment that needed keeping.

Death did not bother to use to the door he merely appeared in the club. The club was hoping as it always was. The weekend was a good time to go. Since it was always packed and people partied hard in there. Part of it was the encouragement of the lady of the establishment. He had concerns it might have been someone there to rob Amelia.

It didn't seem the case.

There were not tell tale signs of lights outside and there was no sirens in the distance. He found the crumpled form of Leo first. The man was a bodybuilder during the week, and he had been married five times, had a roaming eye but that would not have gotten him killed --he was still kind at heart, but knew how to be firm with others.

"Oh Shit." Leo said when he saw Death. "Your here for me ain't ya." he stated rather than asked and Dee gave him a curt nod.

"Afraid so, what happened to you ?" he asked he could find out the quick way if he needed to but he wanted Leo to come to terms so he could pass on. It would always make it easier.

"Man, let me tell you." he said as pointed into the club with the beat pounding. "There were these guys who showed up. At first I thought they were in costume you know like come from a ren fair or somethin' ." he motioned to the full armor over his own form. "Head to toe armor I told em they could come in but they'd have ta leave the weapons at the door, and they called me a heretic or some shit, and than moved to stab me. " he frowned "So I busted a chair over his head. Nothing personal but I didn't want to be stab." he looked mournfully down at himself. "I shoulda been more clear on that huh." there was a gashing wound in his chest and the dark blood was a sign the wound was fatal.

"Indeed." Death said "Than what happened ?"

"One of his buds stabbed me through the back, said I was suffering a monster to live and was condemned by that. It ain't true is it ?" he asked his eyes were starting to show the shock. Dee touched him and all the pain swept away like a leaf on a river. "I think they were looking for the boss." he added "I know Greg put up a fight because you know that's how he is too." he glanced to the other man who was missing a head. "He was a good one." he mourned.

Death knew precisely how Greg had died. Greg had hurt one of them and he had died via beheading. Nothing seemed out of place because the music and the party covered the sounds of combat and likely what ever else had come.

"You got to help the boss, they were lookin for her." he added.

"Yes, well You are to go into the light, you see it don't you Leo, rest assured your going up and not down." he promised. "I don't judge not my thing, but you were also one of the good ones." it looked like it gave him peace and he disappeared into the light with a simple.

--”Right On.”

Greg was already on his way, he didn't need coaxing or guiding. Fred likely.

Still there was the issue of what was actually going on here. He tuned out everything and focused on the warrior. He scanned the place, there was a certain spot where holiness seemed to radiate. There was nothing worse than power that blinded and those to enveloped in the Sin of Pride and Wrath to see it. These were heretic their power came from not god but Lucifer as he did so love those who suffered the same as he.

There was a small group of them.

Templar.

Death knew precisely what they were when he sensed them. He wondered if they knew they were not going to where they thought they were. That they were not so righteous as they thought themselves. Likely not such things never came to men like them.

There had been other death's here a witch, and another vampire who had gone to far from her nest. She had not even been hunting. It irked him. These were death's that were not supposed to be.

He could feel the energy in the bar and beyond that the sensation of pain and inability to do anything. Amelia ? He was fairly sure it was her. She felt drugged, angered, restrained. She was suffering and it seemed a follow up to whom ever had caused trouble for the woman before. He had only gotten there in the aftermath of that, in time to feed her. It seemed he would again be a source of nourishment. It did not trouble him. He had few friends who could touch anywhere near his age. He valued each and every one of them.

Though there might have been something more to it with Amelia.

He broke off the contact it made him angry seething really.

Death turned toward the hallway and his form shifted. Gone was the tall gentleman with the cane carrying his doctor bag. Instead there were shadows which seemed to pull around him and draw into him. A hood that hid the skeletal frame of the Pale Horseman. A scythe was firmly held in one hand, and the light all but retreated from the primordial entity as he walked through the crowd. They did not see him.

Still people shivered as though a cold finger had brushed up their spine, sending hairs to stand on ends. It was just Death passing them. The aura was enough to give even the most seasoned hunter a chill.

The first of the Templar's to encounter him saw him for himself.

The grim reaper.

"Your..." he blathered and pointed.

The bare skull smiled coldly.

A single touch to the man set him aflame in his armor, his screams mingling with the whooping of the crowd as the DJ played another loud beat song. Death collected him the soul snatched from the body and placed into his doctor bag. The man did not get a chance to even question the entity and never would. This soul would be interesting in trade with someone who might like a supposed holy man. Death rarely took offense but when he did. It always ended one way.

Badly.

The next of the men had come to check on his ally only to find the smoking remains of the armor, he nearly tripped over himself to get back to the leader of their little group. Death allowed him to run. You couldn't cheat Death after all.

A low soft laughter followed in the man's wake making his terror all the worse.

The door even swung open for him. The fool was doing the work for him. The man was ranting at the point of reaching the Leader a man who was cruelly handsome and radiated a certain charisma. Still his response to seeing Death was a widening of his eyes.

"You can't be here." he stated.

"Yet, here I am." Death said in a low hollow voice, both skeletal hands expanding outwards in a lazy shrug.

"You are a demon." another gasped and began to pray.

"Oh do pray. If he answers you--which he won't he's not there boys." the tone was dark, taunting.

Death even waited for the smiting that they were praying for. He allowed them to assume they had something of a chance in hell. That they might have hope. Only to see it dim from there eyes. Yes, he was angry.

He moved closer to Amelia where she was bound and staked and gingerly brushed her with the robe in passing. If he chose not to take her. Than the wounds would stop bleeding and he gave her respite it was not her time. This was what he whispered in her ear. A soft low murmur "Do not fret it is not your time, my dear." the tone was cultured and kind though his actions towards these would be killers---not so much.

Anyone who thought that Death was too compassionate had never seen him when he let loose. The likes that only his brother War ever saw. it was that side of him that could cause destruction, topple mountains destroy kingdoms. These Templar were not even half a challenge to Death--however--he toyed with them.

He allowed them to think they stood half a chance, that they could talk their way out of it.

The leader was of course saved for last, he wanted him to know remorse, pain and the apathy that Death had for him.

The others--well--one turned into stone and shattered into a million pieces, two other killed each other, the third became ooze that was struck fire and burned. The last two, he saved. They would be meals for her.

Was he throwing the balance off ? He had to pause and check--the answer was no---these fools were destined to do this. The Church of all people wanting her dead. They couldn't stay across the Pond and handle their areas they had to come to America and continue their vampire hunt's their witch hunts. He had a thing about those who hunted witches, one of his adopted children had been a witch. She worked as a reaper now after they had destroyed her.

Both the Templar were staring at him. They never knew they feared Death until they saw him as he was.

He turned to the tied up woman and at his touch the stake appeared in his right hand. His left covered the wound. Though it was bony fingers. The wound began to close by sheer force of his will. He murmured to her "You are going to be dreadfully ill, my dear." he frowned "Its the only way to get what is in your system out." the touch of his robes were warm, velvet. Even bone was unusually warm.Bindings dropped away, and turned to snakes to taunt the last two of the would be slayers.

He motioned to the two men that were divested of armor, of weapons and of their very faith, having renounced it for a chance at life. "They are yours" he said nonchalantly. "I will be just outside this door." he motioned. “Do not worry yourself about them escaping, they are doomed and know it now. If you have need of me, just think to me and I will return." he glanced to them with out another word, there was a soft sound of wings as he disappeared leaving her with prey.

@malumxsubest

#Long Drabble #Death TW #Fire & Burning TW #(( I kept to much detail from it so it didn't get way longer but here you are ))#malumxsubest #𝓘𝓷 𝓦𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 & 𝓓𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰-𝓐𝓷𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭

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winnipegpatty · 6 years ago

Text

We’re Fatally Flawed | two | s.m. series

a/n: feedback is very much appreciated, okay?

warnings: mentions of child abuse, absolutely nothing graphic.

“The safety that you're selling me

One day be the death of me”

Turns out playing for We the Kings really is life changing. In the following weeks of their three shows, Terminal had been asked to open for 4 more shows of other various artists. They were in talks with two other bands looking for an opener too. Thanks to the help of Aaliyah, their instagram presence was better than ever, and for the first time, it felt like they actually had fans. There were people dedicated to listening to and loving their music. Downloads of their EP had increased some, and their Spotify listens were the same. We the Kings had publicly thanked them for opening in Toronto on their social media accounts a couple days ago, which started a whole new round of fever. It was chaos. A beautiful chaos.

Shawn couldn’t say they’d “made” it, sure. But they were well on their way. If the band could keep this momentum, they’d be able to make something of themselves. Shawn had been writing constantly when they weren’t practicing, gearing up to produce another EP to hopefully gain more traction. Afterall, only have 6 songs to your band’s name wasn’t much of a selling point if they wanted to make it on a real tour circuit.

Mandy was thrilled. Seeing Shawn’s smile every day when she came home from school was invigorating. She’d never seen Shawn like this before. His curls were fluffier than normal from over wear of his Harvard sweatshirt that he’d worn into the ground. He’d forget to take his earrings out before he went to bed because he was so exhausted, it didn’t even matter than he hated sleeping in them.

As much as Mandy wanted to say she was fully invested in Shawn’s continued success, that wasn’t entirely the case. Shawn’s happiness meant the world to her, but she also had a lot going on with herself. Kindergarten was a handful. Twenty one five year olds was a lot to take care of. It was only the second week of school, and so she was still learning the little quirks of each kid. She was deciding where the kids would be best sat in the classroom. She had to figure out who needed extra help or motivation and who could work well alone. She’d learned that Lilly really hated going out to recess. She’d rather sit inside and look at books. But she also learned that Milo would start crying for his mom everyday around lunch time. Luke was so sweet and would want to hug anyone who entered the classroom, while Lucas was a complete handful and dealt with a lot of sensory overload.

What she was trying to say, was that there was a lot to her job. There were so many details involved that no one really realized went into being a teacher until they were actually a teacher. Like how every month she had to have a new door design. Or how her one hour a day of “lesson planning” was never enough to actually plan lessons, so she’d spend evenings and weekends planning until the sun came up. She was constantly tired and didn’t see Shawn very often. But she was so happy. This had been her dream since she was a young girl. She’d always wanted to help little minds become great. To teach them what it meant to learn and to be kind to others.

Mandy was happy. Shawn was happy.

Everything was great.

“Hey, Em,” Shawn hollered as he walked in the door on a Thursday evening. “What are we doing this weekend?”

Mandy laughed, “Well, I’m not doing anything particular.” She walked down the hallway to see him pull off his leather jacket and throw it over a chair.

“Good,” Shawn answered. He reached towards her to pull her into a kiss. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

Mandy smiled up at her boyfriend, “What are we doing this weekend then, Shawn?”

“I was thinking I’d like to take you out on a date.”

“I’d like that.”

___

“I want to go to the beach,” Mandy whispered to Shawn in bed later than evening.

“What? Mandy, it’s freezing.”

“Yeah, but I just want to see the water. Please, Shawn? We haven’t seen the beach in so long.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, because it’s fucking freezing,” he reiterated.

“Please,” She pouted, and god, Shawn hated it when she did that. She jutted out her bottom lip and her eyes held this manufactured sadness that he knew wasn’t real, but could fool even her closest of friends.

He sighed, “Fine, but the second you start complaining because your fingers are going numb again; we’re leaving.”

Mandy smiled brightly before squealing. “Yes, thank you babe!” She kissed Shawn’s sweet lips excitedly. Popping her lips on and off his, before moving down to sweetly kiss his neck.

Shawn’s breathe caught a bit in his throat, feeling her lips press sensually against his neck. It was already well past midnight, and he knew that if they started something now, Mandy would be angry in the morning when she was exhausted and headed to school.

“Babe,” Shawn whispered. “Mandy.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed against his jugular, moving down towards his collar bone.

Shawn groaned at the back of his throat, “You gotta stop. You need to go to sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep, Shawny. Just need you.” She smiled against his skin.

Her words sent a rush to his heart, and he felt like he was melting. He really fucking loved this girl. With his whole goddamn heart, huh? “That’s really sweet, babe,” Shawn struggled, trying to pull away, but Mandy only pulled him closer. “You’re gonna have other things to say when you have to wake up in five hours and got no sleep.”

She shook her head, “Mmmm, nope. Don’t think so.” She popped off his collarbone and moved back to his lips. “I just wanna be with you tonight. Nothing else matters.”

And with that, Shawn officially gave in, tomorrow morning be damned.

Shawn had been right, of course. It was fucking freezing. But so far, thirty minutes in, Mandy had stayed true and hadn’t complained once. Much to Shawn’s dismay because frankly, he wanted to leave. It was too cold for this shit, and his leather jacket was doing nothing to keep him warm. Water was pretty and all, but he didn’t find it awe inspiring like Mandy did. He’d much rather look at Mandy and find his inspiration, inside in the warmth of their home.

“There’s this little boy at school…”

They’d been sitting on a couple of beach towels in silence, Mandy mostly just staring off into the sea, and Shawn figured she needed some time. She did this sometimes, when she had a lot going on. She’d just stare off, and Shawn would wait until she was ready to talk about whatever it was that had her thinking so hard.

“And, he’s unique,” She glanced over at Shawn. “I don’t know, Shawn...I think there might be something going on at home.”

Shawn hummed quietly, “Something?”

“I mean like, I think he might be getting abused?”

“What makes you think that?” Shawn questioned, his lips pulling down in a frown.

“I mean, I’ve never seen marks or bruises or anything. Not on what I can see, but it’s just the way he acts? Like he’s scared of adults. Not just his parents, but anyone that’s bigger than him. And when his mom dropped him off the other day, her eyes...Shawn,” her breath caught in her throat. “Shawn she looked dead inside. And the little boy, Jack, his name is Jack. He’s usually sweet and kind and just really good to have in class, but when she was around. He looked like all he wanted to do was crawl in on himself.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Well, not about that…” Mandy sighed, “That’s just such a big accusation. And...it’s not like I have any proof. Maybe he’s just timid? Maybe his mom just didn’t get sleep that night before? Maybe I’m seeing things? I can’t accuse someone of something so horrible and not have any idea if I’m being right or just overreacting.”

Shawn splayed his hand gently over Mandy’s leg. “Maybe,” Shawn contemplated. “Maybe you could just get to know Jack. You know, make sure he’s learning well. Have some time with him where you’re just focused on his work. And, if he begins to trust you, he might let you in to see other parts of him. Make sure he’s okay, at school and at home, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah like maybe I could do a weekly tutor session with him or something after school. Work on his letters...he’s already a little bit behind the other kids.” Mandy bit at her nail bed, worrying herself.

“Just go slow,” Shawn smiled, pressing lightly again on her thigh. “Don’t scare him off.”

Mandy nodded, “Yeah, that’s good.” She looked up at Shawn before gently leaning over to kiss him, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Em.” Shawn smiled, squeezing her leg a final time before lightly rapping a little beat on it, “Now can we leave. It’s freezing, and I’m starving.”

Mandy laughed before nodding at him and whispering an okay. Mandy decided, at least for the night, that she’d leave her concerns about Jack here. Let them wash away into the sea. Let the wind carry away her words. At least for now, so that she could enjoy the rest of the evening with Shawn. It was rare that they got such uninterrupted alone time as of late. What with Terminal really hitting the ground running now a days.

At dinner, conversation had flowed nicely. That was never a problem with Shawn and Mandy. They may have only known each other for four years now, but they shared secrets with each other like they were lifelong best friends. Like they’d played together in the schoolyard as children. But Shawn loved that about his relationship with Mandy. It’s how he knew that she was all he’d ever need. How he knew they were perfect for each other. Mandy truly was Shawn’s other half, as much as he hated the saying. It was completely, not cool. The band members constantly berated Shawn about being whipped for Mandy, but Shawn figured it was okay for at least one area of his life to not be punk approved. Besides, it’s not like Mandy couldn’t get into the punk scene when she wanted to. She fit into concerts just as well as any other groupie. She had the dress and the disposition to match the part, but yet at home and at school she was the perfect working girl. Shawn loved that about her. She had class and attitude.

“I don’t know...but Julia is just a total snob. Two weeks in, and she already hates me for no reason it’s ridicul-”

“Excuse me,” Shawn felt a tap on his shoulder, looking up to see the girl who’d interrupted Mandy’s sentence.

“Hello,” Shawn said in a sugary sweet voice.

He didn’t really appear to be confused by the interruption which came as a stark contrast to Mandy’s bewilderment.

“Hi, you’re Shawn Mendes, right?”

A smile bigger than any other Mandy had ever seen spread across Shawn’s face, his eyes squinting as he looked up at the blonde.

Shawn nodded, “Sure am.”

“Oh wow,” the girl blushed. “Wow, wow. I am such a huge fan of Terminal.”

Really? Mandy wouldn’t have pegged this girl, clad in a plaid schoolgirl shirt and a button up, as a punk band kind of gal. Her bleach blonde hair showed no signs of dye, which was not punk. And her nails were painted pink. Pink.

“Thank you, hunny. I’m so glad to hear it.” Shawn smiled pressing his hand against the girls arm.

“My name is Sev.” She introduced herself. And okay, Mandy didn’t know they were going to get all the way to introductions.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, gazing up at this girl like she owned the entire fucking world. And Mandy felt like her blood might begin to boil. It’s not like she didn’t know they had fans, but she certainly didn’t know that he had fans who’d rudely interrupt her only alone time she’d had with her boyfriend for three weeks. She wondered if he’d been recognized before. Did this happen often? Why had Shawn never mentioned that?

“Shawn, it’s nice to meet you Sev.” Shawn reached his hand out to shake the girls hand, and Mandy was just happy he hadn’t gone in for a hug or something. Anything that would make the girl linger any longer.

“Do you mind if I got a picture?” Sev asked excitedly, “I don’t want to interrupt or anything…” As if she hadn’t already completely cut off Mandy’s sentence and inserted herself into a private gathering.

“Of course, sweetie.”

It was odd hearing Shawn call other girls hunny and sweetie like that was a normal thing he’d do. Mandy had heard of a customer service voice, and hell she knew for a fact that she had a teacher voice at school, but she wasn’t aware that Shawn had a fan meeting voice. Or that the voice sounded entirely too close to the sound of his sweet I love you’s that we’re supposed to be for her ears only.

“Oh, great. Wow. Thank you so much,” Sev smiled.

Shawn stood up quickly as Sev pulled out an iPhone, readying herself to take a selfie before Shawn stopped her, “Oh, no. You don’t need to take a selfie. Here,” Shawn turned toward Mandy. “Babe, could you take it?”

Shawn smiled at Mandy, who most definitely did not want to take the photo. But she smiled and nodded curtly anyway, grasping the photo and taking two pictures as quickly as possible. She handed the phone back to Sev before returning to her seat and waiting for the interaction to end.

Finally, Sev and Shawn hugged before she finally departed, leaving them alone in an uncomfortable silence.

“Well, that was cool.” Shawn smiled, hunching over in his chair. He let out a breath, almost like a sigh of satisfaction.

“Yup,” Mandy answered with none of the enthusiasm to match Shawn.

The popped ‘p’ at the end was enough for Shawn to pick up on Mandy’s annoyance. And when he finally looked up at his girlfriend, he wondered how he didn’t see it earlier. She hadn’t been this way the whole dinner right? Her crossed arms over her chest, her downturned lips, and the annoying flickers of her eyes away from his while he tried to make eye contact, all clued him in.

“What’s wrong?” Shawn asked, all hints of his previous happiness gone.

“Nothing,” Mandy muttered, pushing around some of the leftover food on the plate.

“No, no. What happened. This was all going fine, what changed?” Shawn pried.

“I just didn’t realize you had fans recognizing you,” She huffed, taking a sip of her wine.

Shawn ran a hand through his curls, “Well, not constantly, but sometimes.” He wasn’t entirely sure how that would lead to Mandy’s sour attitude, but he decided he’d let her work through it if that’s what she needed.

“And do you flirt with them all like that?” She said quietly, refusing to meet Shawn’s eyes.

Shawn coughed, “Excuse me? I wasn’t flirting with her.”

Mandy laughed, “Really? Shawn, I’m cyour girlfriend. I know exactly what it looks like when you attempt flirting.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, “I was being polite, Mandy. The fans are the people that let me do what I’ve always dreamed of doing. Without people like her Terminal would be nowhere and would be in the garage for the rest of it’s life. So sure, if she wants a moment of my time and a photo, I’ll give it to her. Because she allows me to follow my dreams.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to give her a moment of my time,” Mandy muttered under her breath.

“What? Mandy, so what she came over during dinner. She came, she left, and now we resume. It’s not like its some big disruption.”

“Well it felt like one to me, is all,” Mandy answered.

“Well I’m sorry it felt that way but—”

“I’m ready to go home.” Mandy interrupted him, not allowing him to finish his thought.

Shawn balked at her for a moment, unsure of what to make of this new festering side of Mandy that he’d never seen before. “Fine,” is all Shawn uttered before asking for the check.

They left in silence and drove home in silence. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d ever sat in uncomfortable silence. And Shawn was just left wondering when he’d fallen in love with a girl who might not even support his biggest dream.

tagged: @fourtristattoos @peacedolantwins2 @rosecth @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @shavvnmendcs @justanotherfangurl272 (let me know if you want to be added)

support me on ko-fi if you’d like

#shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #imagine #fic #fanfic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes writing #my writing #mine #writing #punk! shawn

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valtheimm · 6 years ago

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would it be naughty to ask for every even number of the OC ask meme for gorgeous angel thalion? i love her already...

Naughty! But i forgive you instantly, i want nothing more than people asking me qs about my girls with such zeal! 💗💖💕💞💝💟💓2. Does your oc collect anything?Well, she doen't sell some memorable artifacts/junk she got along the way, like Aurnora's amulet or the swords she used to use. Apart from that she doesn't collect anything. Yet. We'll see.4. What kind of clothing does your OC wear?She is middle class and her mother is a tailor, so she is used to some degree of finery. Not too lavish, but nice and comfortable. That partially went out of the window when she screwd her relationship with her family. Nowadays she wears armor, but she still misses fine clothes. Eventually i'll start linking fashion she likes.6. What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite?So far she's not thrilled about Cyrodiilic wildlife that strives to kill her. In this house we don't like birds much, but i can imagine her living with a crow. Yeahh, that sounds good.8. What is your OC’s theme song? Haven't figured one and only for her yet, but in her playlist there's definitely J Lo's 'Dinero' and Nelly Furtado's 'Maneater'. She's trash. I love her.10. What deadly sin would best represent your OC?Maybe greed, but she does donate to the poor. She just really likes money, ngl.12. How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they?Like 50/50. She will wait, but she may whine about it. She will charge the daedra head-on tho.14. What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods?She likes pumpkins, the weirdo. She also likes pastries and apples and roasted meat. This is basically what she usually steals from castles, bc she doesn't believe in paying for food. Other than that she's used to typical Cyrodiilic food, because she grew up there. Doesn't like corn or rice. Steals them all the same and uses them for potions.16. What does your OC smell like? Rain and freshly moved grass and sometimes like ash and hellfires.18. What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths?Huh. I don't think i'm ready to answer this, i don't know her well enough. -+She is physically not very strong and relies on magic a lot. But she is very good at destruction, especially fire, and gets better every day. -She is selfish and mostly does good deads for something. She *will* help you, but not of sheer goodness of her heart. She'll expect something in return. +But if she finds a person she loves she goes 'ride or die' with them (at least one of these people is Rhea, bc bitches eventually meet up).-She does get jelous too. What's hers is hers.+She is confident in herself, but not arrogant, thanks god.20. If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?I am going to include her in my Fallout au probably. She goes for punk aesthetic, gets herself a nailed baseball bat and confidently blasts her way through hardships.22. What kind of student were they/would they be in high school?The one that gets mostly Cs and just wings it. She enrolls into IC Arcane Univercity to understand magic better and better control it, but the lectures are *so* boring to her she quits eventually. She likes more practical magic. She gets bored easily. She is NOT an academic. 24. What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy/ what do they think in general about living?Huh. Thal is not pessimistic, but is a bit whiny. She's that pic from Bob's Burgers 'fine, i'll do it, but i will complain all the way'. But she mostly complains internally. Generally 'life sucks and she deserves better, where're ten handsome men with fans feeding her grapes?' She's not wrong tho, she spends mostly all the time wet and cold from rain and constantly half-hungry.26. Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them?Rhea. She learned once about an existance of a sister from her dad when he was drunk again, so she tried to find her after Oblivion Crisis. That was after Red Year, so it was a dead end. They eventually meet through none other than Eris (and also Faralda). Rhea is her only family now and she is constantly impressed by her older sister. Rhea knocks some sense into her academia-wise too. Thal considers both Rhea and Eris giant nerds. Which they are. Anyway, she loves her sister.Her dad. She kind of killed him. But that is a story for later.28. What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions?Can't say much here. She taps her leg when she's impatient.I still have no idea what stimming is too, so she doesn't do it.Thal is careful about her addictions. She doesn't even drink coffee. She *is* 'addicted' to fire though. She is kind of an arsonist, which may or may not correlate with the previous question,,,30. Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why?Hm, i don't think so. First we'd have to find a LI for her. I considered Martin before i met him, but now that's a hard pass for her. We'll see how it goes.And she's too young to have kids, not that she wants any.32. If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be?Right now i honestly have no idea.34.What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?She likes to know what's happening around her in different social groups, but she doen't actually participate in any of them much. But she likes to have the information and maybe use it. 36. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?Again, no idea right now. I just can say that she wants a better control over herself and be less lazy probably. She has a long way to go, so we'll figure this out :)38. What would your character do with a million dollars? Open a shop, which she does. I talked about it in a previous ask :)40. Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with?She's a wet and cold goblin that just wants some free food and a free bed. Right now she only goes to taverns or sulks around palaces, stealing food and information and finding a warm bed to sleep in.42. Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? Not yet she doesn't44. How does your character react/ accept criticism?Doesn't like it. Well, who does. She'll listen, but is most likely to stay by her own opinion.46. Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works?Just a typical 'give it a shoulder rub, put it in a nice bath' type of things. I do hope it works.48. What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult?Ohh hoo boi. Her mother is middle-class Altmer who had come from Summurset to Cyrodiil and have been living there for quite a while. Has a bad taste in men, considering Thal's father. She loved her daughter in her own, maybe a bit cold, way, but after what happened to her husband and her shop in process that love has diminished.Thalion's dad was a drunk even when he was still with Rhea's family. With being drunk came occasional beating. Since he abandonned them he picked up gambling in Cyrodiil. But he is very charismatic and charming and his get-rich-quick schemes often worked out, so Thal's mom got sucked into the relationship. She didn't believe Thal when she told her dad beat her up, because her husband is a very good manipulator too. All in all, the man sucks. One fine day when he was asleep Thalion got into his room, lit up a candle, dropped it on the floor and burned the whole shop to hell. Her father suffocated in the process. Her mom wasn't home. The arson got pinned on Thal, but she denies it vigorously to this day. But if you ask her about it again, she'll probably say 'yeah, i did it'. 50. If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? So, if Thally was in Martin's shoes? At first she'd try to get out of it, but after time/if her loved onea were included, she'd do the right thing. She would definitely try to make her last days count thoughThank you so much, this made my two whole days and waa also very useful 💓💟💝💖💗#asks #/thal/

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maraudeath · 7 years ago

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Gorgeous

Because I only do fics based off of songs apparently and I saw a post saying that someone wanted a Jily fic based off of this song in particular Gorgeous by Taylor Swift

Everything about the bar on a Thursday night was awful.

Half priced drinks all night brought pretty much everyone from the college out including Lily Evans' group of friends and, due to an alarming amount of peer pressure, Lily Evans herself. Every Thursday since they became legal they'd been there until closing, more often than not with one or two less people than they started out with by the end of the night.

The beat of the music was unfortunately loud and Lily stood with her friends wishing that they could just leave. Benjy had left her almost as soon as they arrived to go with some of his senior friends, Lord knew where he was now or what he was doing.

Usually the place was bearable but something about tonight and the feeling in Lily's stomach that something bad was going to happen overwhelmed any feeling of fun.

"What're you drinking?" The bartender asked her.

"Whiskey on ice," Lily told him.

She'd already had a couple shots with the girls but she needed something even stronger now, mostly to drown whatever this feeling was. Marlene was off talking to someone but Mary and Dorcas were still with her so Lily tried to include herself in whatever they were saying.

"I don't know, I've never seen him before but I've seen his friends," Mary told Dorcas.

"I think he spends most of his time playing sports, I'm pretty sure he has a scholarship or something," Dorcas answered.

"Who?" Lily asked, taking the drink the bartender had set down.

Mary turned to her with an excited look on her face. "Marlene's talking to some guys over there and there's one that we don't know. Normally I wouldn't even bother with someone I hadn't met at least once before but like, just look at him."

As soon as Lily turned to see this guy the feeling in her stomach twisted into something much bigger. She'd never seen this boy, if she had she'd remember it for sure, nothing like him had ever crossed her path before and she was pretty much speechless.

The first thing she noticed was his lopsided smile that would make anyone else look ridiculous but somehow accentuated the fact that he had an unholy jawline. He used his hands a lot when he was talking which just brought her attention to the fact that his body was insanely fit.

Even from the distance they were at she could tell that he had really nice eyes, not even his glasses which were hanging just a little bit crooked could hide that. When he fully smiled, laughing at something his friends had said, Lily could feel her heart tighten.

This wasn't just an average boy you could find anywhere on campus, this boy was something else entirely.

He was gorgeous.

"Lily? Hello?" Dorcas snapped her fingers in front of Lily's face, making her look away from the boy.

"Huh? What?" She asked, clearing her throat and turning away entirely from him.

"I asked you where Benjy was."

Benjy.

She had forgotten about him.

They had been dating for a while now but she barely saw him anymore, this had actually been the first time she had seen him in quite some time and he had ditched her immediately. Everyone knew they shouldn't be together, even they knew it, but for some reason they held onto each other.

"Uh I'm not sure, somewhere over there," she said, pointing to the clubbing area.

Dorcas and Mary exchanged looks but couldn't say anything due to the return of Marlene, who looked equal parts happy and drunk. She had the boys she was talking to in tow and, upon seeing his face again, Lily took a huge swig of her whiskey.

"Guys I want you to meet some people!" Marlene yelled over the music. "This is Sirius, Remus, Peter and James. They're all in our school but I've literally never seen them before."

"Marlene you've met me and Remus like five times before," Sirius said.

"Never seen them before," Marlene repeated.

Mary rolled her eyes at her friend. "Alright let's get you something else to drink, maybe just some water this time though."

Lily watched them walk away and desperately wished that they hadn't. At least with them there a conversation would always be going that she wouldn't have to include herself in.

Now that they were gone though she would have to say something because she actually did know both Remus and Sirius. She had classes with both of them and often sat with them so they would definitely expect her to talk.

"What's up Evans?" Sirius said to her.

Lily smiled, finishing the rest of her drink right after. "Not too much Black, how are you?"

She tried to limit herself on the amount of times she looked over at their friend, James she remembered Marlene had told her. God even his name was gorgeous, she'd always liked that name.

"Can't complain I suppose, have you met James by the way? He doesn't usually come to these because he's always playing football or something but we dragged him out tonight," Sirius said, pulling James over to them.

Up close Lily could see that he was even better looking, everything about this boy was perfect and she couldn't believe it. How could a human be that good looking? It should be physically impossible, maybe even illegal.

"It's nice to meet you," he said.

His voice was downright dreamy and it took everything in her not to pass out right on the bar. It was ridiculously deep to the point that on anyone else it would be unnatural but, of course, it suited him perfectly.

"Likewise," Lily spat out, turning around quickly to the bar again.

She could hear him introducing himself to Dorcas and felt like throwing up from sheer frustration. The bartender took her order of another whiskey and while she waited for it she took a shot of whatever Marlene had ordered before she got pulled away.

Everything hit her very fast and she realized all at once that she was becoming quite drunk. This was the opposite of a problem though as this meant she had quite a bit more freedom than she ever did sober.

With a huge sip of whiskey she turned back to the conversation where everyone was discussing something she had no interest in. All she wanted to do was talk to people, anyone at all in fact except for James.

"Remus my dude, how are you?" She asked.

Remus laughed. "I'm pretty great Lily, how are you? How many drinks have you had?"

"Ah, a good question. I am not sure but I know it's more than one," she answered.

Out of the corner of her eye she could still see him and it bothered her so much that she had to leave. Without saying anything more to Remus she made her way to a group of people she only briefly knew and joined in their conversation.

She made her way around the room, stopping to talk to everyone she saw and tasting quite a few of their drinks as well. At some point she saw Benjy through the crowd with a crowd of girls, one in particular seemed very attached to him. This probably should have bothered her more than it did, she noted to herself as she kept going.

By the time she made her way back to her friends she was quite a bit more drunk than before and could feel the gorgeous boy, who she had made herself forget the name of, watching her with interest. She ordered another drink and waited for it with Mary, leaning her head on her shoulder and watching everyone else talk.

"I didn't know it was physically possible to have a voice that deep," Lily said, quite a bit louder than intended, after she heard him say something. "It kind of sounds like how I imagine a 50 year old CEO of a company would sound."

Everyone burst into laughter but he didn't, he was staring at her with that stupid half smile again. It made her want to slap him.

"Is that so?" He asked, seemingly amused.

She just shrugged, willing herself not to look in his eyes, which were turned the most beautiful shade of blue by the flashing lights. It almost felt wrong to even be in his presence, he was so good looking it could be fatal to her.

It was really quite annoying, he wasn't supposed to be a figurative angel and he certainly wasn't supposed to get her attention but it happened.

So now he had her attention, and she had his too judging by the amount of times he was looking at her per minute, but she couldn't do anything about it. This stupid boy was quite literally ruining her life and she couldn't take it.

Who did he think he was? Coming into her bar on her Thursday night and being that attractive most definitely on purpose? That was just bad manners.

In the end she had no idea why she was getting so worked up in the first place. She couldn't have him anyway and besides, no boy that looked like him was single so why should she care?

But there was also the possibility that he was single and that was even worse. If he was single it meant that she was the only one who couldn't do anything, he was perfectly free to talk to whoever he wanted and that might not even be her.

This was ridiculous, this boy ruined everything and she hated him for it, she didn't hate a lot of people but at that moment she really hated this boy.

As the night went on Lily caught glimpses of her boyfriend talking to other people but she found that it still didn't really bother her. In the grand scheme of thing she was a lot more bothered by James and his ability to make everything he did look flawless.

Throughout the night she had become increasingly interested in him and that just made her anger towards him mount. She knew that she shouldn't be spending so much time thinking about him but there was something drawing her to him and it was incredibly hard to resist.

By the time the bartender made last call Lily was fuming and wanted nothing more than to bring this stupid boy home with her, but she couldn't.

"Okay let's go, everyone's gonna be awful to get around when we try to get out," Dorcas said, prompting everyone to start moving.

Lily had been using Mary as a crutch for the better part of the night so as soon as she moved Lily stumbled. Someone caught her hand and she was about to thank them when she looked up and saw James standing over her, holding her hand.

Without the lights on them she could see that his eyes weren't blue at all but were actually a fantastic shade of hazel. She snatched her hand back and looked away from him, refusing to let herself be sucked in.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"Wow," he said. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to speak to me at all tonight."

"Well I debated it but, I don't know," she said, walking towards the exit with him following behind.

She kept moving and was very surprised when she was turned around to face him. On instinct she avoided looking at him, refusing to be weak.

"What's your problem anyway? You've barely so much as looked at me the whole night but definitely talked to everyone else in here. What did I do to offend you?" He asked.

Even confusion looked good on this boy and Lily had had absolutely more than enough. There seemed to be nothing he couldn't pull off and it was just ridiculous, especially because she couldn't dwell on him when she couldn't have him.

She sighed and looked down at the ground, not really knowing what he expected of her to begin with. All she wanted to do now was go home, she would be leaving alone since her friends and her supposed boyfriend had all completely left somewhere else.

Of course, her and Benjy were barely even dating anymore it was all about saving face at this point. He had definitely left with some other girl and what was stopping Lily from having this beautiful boy come over just to hang out? She could always text Benjy and end things like she'd been meaning to for ages.

Finally she looked up into his face and almost immediately regretted it, he was a really beautiful boy.

"You know," she said slowly. "You should actually take all of that as a compliment."

Gorgeous even.

#au jily #jily fic #jily muggle au #James Potter #Lily Evans #marauder era #mwpp era #Harry Potter #buy reputation on itunes

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wordsturnintostories · 7 years ago

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6/ Remnants of Time

Chapter 5 | … | Chapter 7

Masterlist

Word Count: 11.000 Song Choice: Sia - Lullaby; Sleeping At Last - Faith; X Ambassadors - Eye of the Storm Special a/n: such a long chapter. i’ll just tag the spotify playlist in the parts that the music is meant for. :) Special Thanks to @aoimidzu, who translated the Russian parts! :)

Steve found the hospital. It had taken him ten minutes to get there; he’d walked fast, with a determined strut that reminded him of Peggy. It gave the impression that he wouldn’t be hurt by his circumstances, and Steve decided that he needed that, right now, to show off a little confidence he didn’t really have. Is that what Natasha always does? He had to hide three times on his way, three times a police car drove past him and didn’t notice the man leaning down to tie his shoes or the man hiding behind a guy in an inflatable Hulk costume. A look at a pharmacy’s clock told him it was past midnight already. When he finally looked at the hospital’s doors, it dawned on him that he would need a different way in. There was no way he could sneak past the front desk unnoticed and even if he did, the main hallway was long and full of people. Just as he decided to turn around and scout out the building for the ER section, a hand grabbed his arm. They found me, his shocked brain screamed. The hand dragged him behind a couple of bushes lining up between them and the parking lots.

Steve grabbed the hand that held him and pulled the person to him, risking his life. If they had a shooter positioned - it was Nat. She looked at him, the early dawn giving her straight red hair a warm glow. “What are you-” “Come on. I have Sam in the car. We need to leave. You look terrible, too.” Steve followed her, but couldn’t grasp the concept of Sam, poisoned Sam in the car and not under medical observation, where he definitely should’ve been. “Why do you - Nat, stop. Sam is supposed to be in there and you - you just brought him here. What were you thinking? It’s not safe for him.” She frowned. Clearly, she’d hoped to get more support from the soldier. “He’s better. Get in.” “You can’t just-” “Hey brother”, Sam grinned, stretched out on the back row, smiling with his eyes half closed. He gave a lazy wave to Steve, who wasn’t done with his scolding-speech. “Hey, Sam. Nat, that’s just irresponsible. Give me a good reason why you got him out. Did someone recognize you?” The car moved and she got them away from the parking lots. At this point, he could just hope Sam had a decent amount of medication inside him. “No.” “Did you see the Remnant?” “No, I…” “Were you in danger? How did you carry him to the car? No offense, but he’s not a lightweight. And the car? Where did you get it?” “There was a guy next room who helped. The car? Some guy died this morning, I got his personal stuff, car keys and voilà - a car for your majesty.” “Just like that?” “Steve.” Nat sounded firm, she sent Steve a look that could’ve scared him off, maybe 70 years ago. Women - the only thing to scare Steve back then and now, he noticed with a hint of nostalgia. “What did you do for it? Don’t look like that. It can’t have been nothing.” “It was an emergency situation. I did what I had to.” Steve wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t like not knowing what happened. His eyebrow was raised and Nat frowned at him. She steered the car through the few streets that were still passable in this celebrating city. “So, what we know about Sam is that he wasn’t poisoned, not really. The doctors couldn’t detect a foreign substance in his body, there were no traces of anything suspicious. When they said that, I knew immediately what it was. A short term neurotoxin that usually doesn’t kill. It just gives your body the impression that there is no oxygen and incapacitates the victim.” “So, he was choking, but in reality, he wasn’t.” “Yes. Ten years ago, Hydra developed the formula for the toxin. It appeared on the black market but vanished after two months. The Remnant is one of the few who still use it.” Nat’s eyes flitted over Steve’s body quickly and she raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the gun I gave you?” “She took it.” “You shot him though, right?” “No, Nat. She’s still alive.” Steve couldn’t see if the spy actually paled a little, next to him, in the low light of the night, but the uncomfortable silence he found himself in said enough. Despite the bad news, it didn’t slip past Steve’s tired, but still attentive eyes how often the spy checked the rearview mirror. “Someone is following us. I can feel it”, Nat whispered while hitting the gas pedal a little harder. Sam raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, you mentioned that twice now.” She sent him a half-serious glare, but made her way around a black jeep, driving way too slow for her liking. She sighed dramatically, earning a grin from both Steve and Sam. “What! Driving isn’t just fun and games.” She sent more than just one look into the mirrors and looked dissatisfied. “I swear, someone is after us.” Steve shrugged. “Let’s disappear. You can do that, right?” Natasha gave him a thumbs up and took a few turns that would shake any pursuer.

Steve looked around, hesitant to enter the unspectacular motel the redhead had chosen to stay in for the night. Would they be safe here? He followed Nat though, through the front and the hallways she treated like she’d walked past a hundred times before. The key she held said Room 14, but Room 14 was five rooms back and Natasha wasn’t slowing down. Steve didn’t say anything, he was just glad they could lie down somewhere and let their recent discoveries sink in. Although, maybe he didn’t want them to sink in, into his soul and into where it really hurt. His ears weren’t doing their job, he’d observed that during the last few hours. Everything sounded dull, as if he was in a daze. Maybe it was the sniper’s fault, messing up his left ear that soaked the gauze around it again. Natasha would give him a glare for it, but she’d fix the mess, that was for sure. But maybe it was just what she’d said earlier, fatal words echoing through his mind. “Bucky is gone”, captured his mind completely. How? How did they manage to do that? Did they take him or what happened? Were the others fine? That, he could answer - sort of. He knew Wanda wasn’t. She’d blame herself for everything, especially when Steve had given her the responsibility not for someone, but for Bucky Barnes.

Natasha had led them into a room that looked really nice, with one big bed, a chest, a desk and even an armchair. This wasn’t a hotel room, it was hers only, Sam realized when Nat opened the locked chest and the first thing in there was a tazer. Steve still stood around, gazing into nowhere. “Steve?”, she asked, touching his shoulder. He tried to blink away his sorrows but didn’t do a good job with that, because Natasha frowned. “Okay, who sleeps where?”, Sam changed the topic. “I can take the bed, I don’t mind.” He grinned cheekily and got a pillow in his face right away for that, shot with ultimate precision. “Yeah, you’d like that, huh?” A pillow fight commenced, one of the kind that you take serious, no matter how old you are. It lasted long enough to push away the horror that this day had been. For a few minutes, it felt like nothing bad had happened, like the three of them were just friends on a trip to a different country. Nat blew a strand of hair out of her face and looked at Steve. He smiled. Mission accomplished. Good. “You can have the bed if you want.” The offer was all Nat could give him right now. Barnes was gone, they were running, T’Challa was probably furious and they’d lost their only source of information, this was crap, all of it. He could have the bed. He deserved it. Sam interrupted, apparently still not satisfied. “Nah. He’s got a super-back. He can have the armchair.” Another pillow followed and laughter bubbled through the room. “Just sayin’.” But Steve shook his head. Sam noticed the expression in his eyes; he’d seen that one before. It was one Captain America couldn’t even do, this was what insecurity looked like, in concentrated form. Steve is afraid of hurting us. We couldn’t hold him down if he got a nightmare. “I’ll keep watch. If someone is following us, we should keep our eyes open.” You feel that if you open your mouth close your eyes, the horrors might never end. Nat touched his shoulder, not sure what to say.

The sky had transformed into a dark mess of clouds and stars and the city’s thousand lights lit up in the distance. Nat had slipped into bed already, going through the brown files again, for the fourth time, still looking for clues, but Sam was still up, seated on the armchair with his wings on his knees, checking for loose screws and grazes. They still wore their normal clothes, only Steve was running around in just a pair of pants. His shirt was drying on the heater. Also, the cool air soothed the burning bruises on his back. He looked around, suddenly remembering that he had packed an extra shirt. If they’d need to get up quickly to leave or if Natasha became uncomfortable with him running around half-naked, he’d need that shirt. “I left something in the car, I’ll be back in a minute. Do you guys need anything?”, he asked, quickly pulling on one of Natasha’s hoodies that couldn’t have been hers, not size-wise, not smell-wise. Steve didn’t say anything, but they smelled like Clint. He always left his stuff in all kinds of places and then wondered who had taken them. Since the Battle of New York, when the archer had moved into the Stark Tower, later the Avengers Tower, he must’ve lost half his wardrobe. Soon, everyone started wearing Clint’s clothes. Steve’s bare feet tapped over the hallways of the relatively empty motel which wasn’t crappy, but not chic either. Perfect for hiding. He smiled, wondering if Nat had more rooms like this one, in different places all around the globe.

London

“Sir? We have incoming visual from Cologne. You wanna see this.” Both Colin and Janet’s heads whipped to the agent who’d called them. He was pointing at the main screen in the operation’s room. A video stream pulled up. What they saw was a bridge that looked normal, at first, with civilians walking over it, a train passing, nothing special. Then, suddenly, a tall man came running with some kind of bar in his hands and jumped over the fence. Another figure appeared, on a police horse, approaching the blonde very fast, jumping off before he could reach him. A fight evolved, a fight neither usual nor harmless. The agent zoomed in and the blonde turned out to be Captain America. The fight went on for minutes, until the unknown attacker was on the ground. Henderson already assigned tasks. “Who is this other person? Find out who this is - I wanna know everything. Nigel, Lance and Freddie, search the databases for anything you can find. Johnson, can you get closer? There’s a face. Show me the face.” “Not possible, Sir - Ma’am. The guy is right out of the camera’s range.” “Alright. Trail back to where they came from. Get anything you can, street surveillance, eyewitness statements, anything you can. Work with the police.“ She noticed how most of the agents from Colin’s team were hesitant to oblige to her commands; she’d address that later, in a private talk with him. Colin stood apart from the group, watching them like a hawk from a little afar. The video resumed, the oncoming train quickly dispersing Steve Rogers and the attacker, who disappeared in the bridge’s steelwork, getting into the camera’s focus only once, very shortly. “Pause, right there!” The picture was sharp but useless. The attacker wore a mask over the face, hiding every feature the CIA would search for. Every agent knew that after ruling out facial recognition, the next thing to look for would be fingerprints. The mercenary, if that was who this guy was, wore knuckle gloves. Henderson had noticed how one arm broke in the fight, but the guy just pulled himself up the steel bars with the other arm as if it was nothing. From the top, he jumped, holding onto a helicopter’s landing skids just when Janet thought they’d lost him. “Dammit!”, Janet cursed. “When did that happen? Why was there no police in the area?” “It appears this individual was positioned as a sniper, on a roof nearby, and assisted by what looks like police forces. They took down an entire police dispatch on Opladener Straße.“ Whittaker moved now, conversing with his agents, giving them directives.

Janet shortly spoke with Neesa; her assistant hadn’t yet found any new details concerning the Avengers’s life that would provide a basis for their momentary investigation, but slipped a photo into her hands. It showed Rogers, Wilson and someone else in Brussels, in front of the hotel where the explosion had happened. Luckily, there hadn’t been any serious injuries or death of civilians. It just added to his list of crimes. Next to Rogers stood another person, identity hidden by a hoodie, but holding his hand. “We both know the rumors about him and Carter”, Janet whispered. “Rumors, nothing else. But I already checked Carter. She was in the office, logged into the system, working on a case in Italy at the time. She was definitely not in Belgium.” “Alright. Neesa”, Janet said under her breath to avoid Whittaker getting on her nerves again, “don’t drop Brussels. Do we know what they did there?” “The apartment that blew up was occupied by a former scientist called Dr. Aaron Vreis. We don’t know much about him, but it seems he was working for Hydra, five years ago.” “Maybe this is a revenge mission”, Janet thought, “but Rogers isn’t one for revenge. What is he doing?” “We’re following his car so far, but we lost the trail in Belgium.” “That’s not a problem, I think. Keep Brussels in mind, but find out why Rogers is in Cologne. What is his motive? Where does he go next? We need to be a step ahead of him. This is Captain America. He always has a plan. Put half of our unit to work and search for anything you can find. The other half will be assigned with whatever Whittaker’s”, she made quotation marks, “‘great plan’ requires.” She hated this - having to go behind her partner’s back to find out why certain things happened and what people’s motives were, but just asking Colin to share information wasn’t an option either. He’d just mock her for whatever she didn’t know and Janet had learned very early that it was best to just get the job done herself and stand above him and his opinion. He’d see what his reward was for being a jerk.

“So, what do you suppose we do?”, she asked, walking towards Whittaker with a special tone she knew he hated, to provoke him, sure, but much more to mask her own research squad already communicating tasks with Neesa in the back. “I activated the local assets in Cologne already”, he started, eyebrows raised when his gaze fell onto the necklace Janet was fiddling around with, “and I ordered them to find Steven Rogers.” “Isn’t it still too early for that? I mean-” “Jan, our mission is to locate Steve Rogers and put him back where he belongs - into prison.” “I agree.” “Do you, now? How reassuring.” Colin snorted and rolled his eyes, which frustrated Janet to no end. But she bit her teeth together and continued. “Nevertheless, we need to find out what his motives are, what he is looking for. It might be relevant to us too, given his record of activity.” “Listen, Jan. His motives don’t matter if we detain him. How about you put a little more effort into finding him, detaining him and then, you can find out all you want in a neat interrogation.” Janet just huffed and decided to drop this topic. “How many assets are available?” “Two, at the moment. Four in three hours, I called in two more to come in from Düsseldorf.” “Good. Do we know anything about the attacker? What do the databases say?” “There is nothing, not even in higher clearance, so in terms of our collaboration I convinced a partner from Wakanda’s intelligence agency to join and assist us. He mentioned that he knew something. He’ll be here by tomorrow morning.” That left the redhead speechless. What happened to the “This stays between our units?” Well, she got why the Wakandan intelligence was preferred, but this was definitely not protocol. Thanks for discussing this with me beforehand. How am I a task force leader if I’m left out when we get to making decisions!? I bet Colin is immensely satisfied with himself. But she didn’t say anything - if he’d communicated that change of plans with Kinney, she’d accept it. He knew something. But what was it? The video screen had been paused, still showing an image of the waves of the Rhine, just where Steve Roger’s head had popped up for a few seconds, pointing at the same direction as the CIA’s eyes. And just like the mercenary who’d fought him, he disappeared. “Sir, we have a lead on Captain Roger’s location“, an agent called out. “He was spotted an hour ago.” “Good. Follow that. We’ll get him this time.”

Natasha’s stolen car was parked in the inner yard that held space for five or six parking lots. Only two of them were occupied now. No one else was outside, it was eerily quiet. They had closed the gate to the street, no one could see him or come in, a hint of safety. Their car still stood exactly like they had left it, a few steps away from the other car in there. Cold wind surprised Steve, who walked along the house’s wall towards the car. Just when he wondered if the other car had an oil leak, a soft thud sounded him. Immediately, he turned around. A dark figure came running at him, approaching fast, with determined strides. A mercenary!? Where did he come from!? Did he just jump down the roof? Steve’s trained eye knew this figure, the movements, he’d seen them often enough. Bucky. But he didn’t slow down. The solider rushed at him, pressed him into the wall, hard and with violent intentions. “Buck?” No answer. A knife glinted in the stranger’s hands, one of them silver. It was Bucky, no one else moved so fast, caught knives out of the air, pressed all the air out of Steve’s chest with one hit. Hydra didn’t wake Bucky, they sent him to sleep. This is the soldier. Steve rolled to the side but was treated with a kick to his stomach. When he came back up, stones hit his back again, but this time, sharp metal touched his skin. His throat. Now, he didn’t dare to move anymore, he was tense. The hoodie was not made for combat, he was terribly exposed. The Winter Soldier stood so close Steve could feel the calm breath on his face. The soldier displayed his strength, the cold force that made him a killer. “Buck”, Steve croaked. “Прослушать!” A word Nat had taught him. Listen. Blue eyes focused on blue eyes. The Russian assassin waited, his face hard, the expression he’d learned from the beginning, the one he wouldn’t get punished for. What now? The knife still nagged on Steve’s throat. His position, knife not far from inside his throat, frustrated him less, to be honest, than the face of his friend right before him. Because Steve couldn’t read it.

Sam stepped into the yard. “Steve! What are yo-”, his eyes widened. Next, Sam jumped back behind the door. A knife shot right at him. It stuck deep in the door, exactly where his head had been. He couldn’t pull it out. Damn metal muscles, throwing knives never go that deep. Exactly that metal dug into Steve’s throat know, making him gasp for air. His windpipe was crushed, breathing was a strain. The fingers on his jaw, digging upwards, denying him access to air, were relentless. His muscles already started to feel heavier from the lack of oxygen. For the second time today. The Winter Soldier was very well aware of the situation. He kept both his targets in view, making his kill order dependent on his victim’s strategies. He moved one hand to his back, where his Skorpion rested in his armored vest, ready for an execution, if necessary. “Don’t! What do you want?”, Steve rushed and paid for that. The metal fist connected with his face, leaving a bleeding nose. You don’t get to ask questions. “Steven Rogers, mission objective”, the assassin’s voice recited, mechanical, cold. It gave Steve goosebumps. His name sounded foreign from the lips of this Bucky. “What orders do you have?”, he inquired, cautious, expecting another punch to the face, but it didn’t come. The Soldier’s grip on the blonde loosened a little and he stepped back, with a face impossible to read. Steve sucked in air hungrily, his knees had almost given out under his body. “Need to find Steven Rogers”, he said, but his voice cracked. “You found me, Buck.” Was that enough to deactivate him? “Don’t… don’t say that name”, he whispered, his wide eyes signaling panic. Out of instinct, the metal hand went up a little, before his slightly ducked head, enough to make Steve notice. A defensive motion, so subtle Steve almost doubted he’d seen anything. It dawned on him though. Bucky got punished for remembering names. God, this was a terrible, terrible dream. How do I wake up when I’m not even asleep?

Sam walked towards them, the unscrewed door grip in his hands, in case he’d need it to defend himself, defend Steve or whoever. He eyed the multiple guns and knives on Bucky, in his holsters, and on his back. The metal arm glinted dangerously in the night and even though it was a broken man standing before him, Sam decided not to trust him this time. Hydra had messed him up again and this time, he might actually kill them. Yes, Sam had spent time with Bucky, even fought for him, but no, Steve was too optimistic and if any trouble was approaching - and it always was with the former hope of America - Sam would be prepared. He huffed and decided to walk back to the warm hotel, trying to get some distance between the killer and himself. His breath puffed out before him. Sam didn’t dare to turn his back on the Russian assassin, he had thrown a freaking knife at him, after all, and kept looking back to have an eye on the situation. Bucky had started trotting after him but stopped when he noticed that Steve wasn’t following them. The blonde still stood in the same spot he was in before, shoulders sunk and head down. It was a downright depressing sight that gave Sam goosebumps. Steve sighed a deep sigh, a big cloud went up to the sky, and as if he’d just breathed out every burden on his soul, he turned around, his face going back to the normal level of dutiful hope.

They managed to smuggle Bucky past the foyer and through the hallways without being noticed. On the way, they met Natasha, who looked more than worried and was armed in case something had happened to her two friends. She didn’t hesitate to rush toward Bucky, who dodged her in a swift motion, pressing her against the wall, her arm behind her back. Sam’s heart pounded hard when he saw that the metal hand was resting on the grip of one of the knives. When the para-rescue lunged forward, Steve held him back. “Bucky”, the blonde said and earned a growl. The knife was still stuck in the belt. Then, Natasha mumbled something soft and melodious in Russian that had the solider relax. He released her with nothing more than a warning glare. Sam breathed out. If this happens a few more times today, I’ll go insane. The woman gently pushed the soldier before her and they walked quietly.

Before they entered the room, Sam grabbed Steve’s arm, holding him back. “Look”, he said with his face pulled into a frown, “this is intense, I know. But are you sure you can help him right now?” That was a good, but terribly painful question Steve couldn’t answer, not in words, not for himself. Hope, however, was all that held his heart together, it had always been the source of his power. He knew very well that he needed to climb the highest and roughest mountain to witness that most breathtaking sunsets and night skies. As usual, he gave Sam an encouraging smile. “Buck will be fine.” “I’m worried about us. Hydra found a way in again. We can’t trust him.” “What are you saying, Sam? What am I supposed to do!? Leave him behind? Tell him to sit and wait until we come back to get him? You know I can’t do that.” “No expectations. Just don’t press him into any shape he cannot take yet. Don’t trust him right away. Who knows what Hydra told him to do.” “Why are you telling me that?” “Because, Steve. You’re the only one who needs to hear it. You’re reckless when it comes to Bucky. I can’t have you dying on me again.” “I won’t. Bucky won’t hurt me.” Steve sounded the most certain he could, like this was a universal truth he’d just recited. But this, Sam thought, this was just desperation packed behind a serious face. “You say that now.” That had Steve annoyed. Sam couldn’t know that. He hadn’t been on the Helicarrier with the Winter Soldier. Hadn’t been there when the Winter Soldier pulled Steve out of the Potomac. Not faced Bucky in his crappy apartment in Bucharest. Hadn’t seen him in Siberia. Hadn’t lived with him for the majority of his life. “What is your issue? Why can’t you just trust him?” “Because you do in the blink of an eye!” Steve just huffed and pushed past Sam. An argument was the last thing he needed right now.

With another person in there, the apartment was getting packed. At least they had food in the small kitchen cabinets. A strange atmosphere settled over the four people, it felt like a sizzle went through the air, making it somewhat electric as no one dared to say anything. Steve’s eyes were sharp on Bucky’s figure. He noticed when the assassin analyzed every single feature of the room with just a glance, how he planned escape routes in seconds and how his eyes lingered on the chest that Steve knew Nat stored weapons in. Without any commands, the soldier didn’t move, however, just took in the situation. Nat prepared a snack, well-deserved after their run and hide in the carnival. “Don’t you want to eat anything?”, she asked the soldier in between bites. No response. Steve winced on the inside, when was the last time Buck had gotten food? If he’d left right upon waking up in Wakanda, he must’ve traveled days without eating. A mission objective like the one he followed right now didn’t say “get take-out on the way”. He doubted Hydra would let him do that, from what he’d witnessed. “Buck?”, he questioned and blue eyes met his. The soldier reluctantly moved towards the table and Nat placed a small bowl of rice salad before him. The chicken and the rice in there were steaming. Bucky still wore his gear, the sharp contrast to the casual clothing of the others a warning. Under the light of the lamp on the ceiling, blood stains became visible and even cuts on his skin appeared. Some of his hair stuck together, strands glued together by sweat and blood.

His dirty fingers curled around the warm bowl, but he didn’t eat anything. Instead, the longer he stared at the food, the tenser he became, anxiety rolling off him in waves. Steve and Nat exchanged worried glances. What is going on?, Sam mouthed. Nat slowly reached over to place her hand on the assassin’s, but the man pulled it away. “Conditioning”, she whispered. “He can’t admit hunger.” Just then, the brunette turned his head towards Steve. His mouth didn’t move, but his eyes screamed fear. A shiver ran down Steve’s back. Hydra really knew how to make weapons out of living beings, of humans. They’d shut him down completely. Steve could only imagine how often Bucky must’ve gotten punished for asking for food until he developed a fear of it. “You will not be punished”, Steve said, gently and full of hope. The soldier nodded slowly, but remained stiff when lifting the fork to his mouth. Yes, you can do it. Just- just put it into your mouth. Eat. Steve was so impatient to see his friend overcome Hydra’s orders that he almost cheered him on loudly. Instead, he just held his breath. Bucky had the salad in his mouth, and his teeth clanked together, but instead of chewing, he just panted heavily. His whole body was heaving. Natasha’s eyes were wide, but what could she do? Bucky’s jaw was hard, his whole body showed his struggle. His metal hand crushed the metal knife he held. Sam eyed him nervously, this guy could explode at any second. Who knew he would take it out on? So he grabbed his handgun from the waistband of his jeans, keeping it underneath the table, finger ready to pull the trigger. Steve jumped up, rushing to Bucky’s side. “командир”, the soldier coughed. Commander. Steve froze. Does he think I’m his new handler? “Pазрешение?” Steve’s head whipped around to face Natasha. “Give him permission!”, she yelled, panic in her eyes. “Eat!”, Steve shot, “Eat, dammit!” Steve almost threw up right there. This was so sick. The metal fingers released the broken knife, its parts clanged against the table. Bucky chewed, releasing the tension of his jaw, but froze again. “Swallow!”, Steve ordered, watching the man struggle still. But he swallowed and when he looked back up, Steve gulped. Shame was plastered on Bucky’s face and fear filled his eyes. “готовность к наказание.” “What does he say?” Natasha eyes went wide. “My god, Steve. He says he’s ready for punishment.”

Anger was all that Steve could feel, it crushed him from within. A fiery, blazing anger aiming for destruction burned away all reason. How dare Hydra take away not only memories, but basic needs from Bucky!? Steve fumed and he would’ve taken it out on any Hydra goon instantly. His fists burned, ready to give these sick bastards what they deserved. But right now, he stood at the dinner table, before Bucky, who’d shrunk back at the sight of his seething handler towering over him. Nat stepped before Steve, snapping him out of his hot trance. At the sight of the cowering Winter Soldier, Steve cursed and turned away. He went to the other side of the room, opened a window and leaned against the cool glass, his eyes never leaving the night outside. Sam’s heart almost crushed his chest. He knew Steve wasn’t one to storm out of the room, smash the door and make the whole hotel shake by crushing the apartment. Because Steve could. And Sam would’ve understood. Many war veterans used violence to create stress relief. But Steve didn’t. He just swallowed everything. And that was even scarier, because Sam started wondering what this murderous expression on the super soldier’s face meant. Also, when he would get to see that one in the field. “I can’t eat anything”, Sam whispered and left the table. He pushed his back against the wall, sliding down, his head in his hands. He started to feel Steve’s burden on his own shoulders. What else did he have to take? How could fate be so cruel to a man already shattered? Dear Lord, have mercy on him.

Natasha stayed at the table with the Russian soldier. He didn’t move much, he had looked at her a few times, with a short but confused gaze. The bowl of salad was empty now, he had eaten. “Take off your shirt”, she said. “I know you’re bleeding under that.” Sam sent her a look, but Natasha moved towards the assassin. He was more than hesitant, but when she stood right before him, he looked up. In her hands, a bowl of water, lukewarm, and a towel. He allowed it, to be washed, but he always made sure to keep Steve in his line of sight. Natasha frowned. Barnes didn’t respond in any way to anything that happened to him, how the towel wiped over open wounds and scars. It should’ve stung, his breathing should’ve hitched a few times, there should’ve been a wince. It was human to hurt. This was like cleaning a gun. An object. Her hands moved through the brunette’s hair, shampooing them thoroughly, scraping the dirt and the blood off his scalp with great care. Steve and Sam were pulling out a map in the background and started to talk about it. She hoped they found a new angle to work from. To get Hydra. Get revenge.

Suddenly, something cold touched her belly and she sent a look downwards. A metal finger softly slid over the scar on her abdomen. The scar the Winter Soldier had created. Barnes’ eyes were completely fixated on the old wound. Natasha continued her cleaning process while watching the man sitting before her. She stood in between his legs now, to get to his neck without having to pull him out of his moment. It was precious, she couldn’t risk ruining this. Then, two hands were carefully placed on her hips. It was a subtle touch, too gentle to be the Winter Soldier’s. Metal caressed skin. James searched her eyes. “Natalia?“ She couldn’t help but smile at the man who’d held her this way a hundred times before, but had forgotten every part the affections he’d confessed to her, back then, in the rooms behind the big dance hall, after her ballet performances. In Russian, back then, just like now, but his tongue still made the same sounds, the same soft pronunciation. Sounded familiar like nothing else. “Yasha.” “Where are we?” “In a safe place, for now.” “Good.” Natasha would’ve liked to laugh out loud, but her heart’s joy belonged to her alone, if she shared it with the men in the room, none of them would understand the meaning of what had just happened. She continued to wash his head. Natalia couldn’t help but put more tenderness into her movements. She could tell he enjoyed it, too, because the corners of his mouth were pulled upwards and his eyes almost closed. He trusts me. He’d never close his eyes as the Winter Soldier. “Do you still dance?” “We have more important things to deal with.” This look on his face was different; she saw sympathy on his features. He saw her. Her. He remembered. It wasn’t possible, not with all the wipings, but James had surprised her plenty times before. Natasha held onto all the hope she could reach right now; what else could she do? James whispered, there was a particular gentleness in his words. “You left yourself behind.” “We all did.”

Steve turned around. He smiled when he saw Bucky and Natasha talking quietly. It was a peaceful picture, the redhead standing in between his friend’s legs while he smiled softly. He couldn’t deny the little ache in his heart at that picture, he wouldn’t deny it but he wouldn’t dare to speak about it either. It was one of the many things the old blonde would keep locked up in his chest forever, as one of the little treasures labeled with Peggy’s name. Whatever they said, Steve couldn’t understand the Russian words that wrapped those two in a bubble for the moment they were in. Maybe it was better that way, he thought. The soldier turned back to Sam, who was still going on about all the things that had happened in the last 48 hours. Had he really meant that? That they couldn’t trust Buck and- “Steve?” “Um, sorry. I, uh, I agree.” “You agree? On what exactly? I asked what happened after Nat dragged me away.” Sam frowned at Steve, who stood next to him with one hand on his chin and his brows furrowed. All he could see was regret, tons of guilt and other emotions indecipherable. “You haven’t been listening, man. You really gotta stop doing that.” “Sorry, Sam. It’s just”, Steve sighed, quietly, to not have Buck notice, “what would you do if he was Riley?” There was no answer to that. Would there ever be? “Sorry, pal. I didn’t-” “No, it’s alright. You’re dealing with this way better than I would. We should probably just figure this out real quick. Whoever this Remnant is, there is no way we can have”, Sam shifted, arms crossed before his chest, “her running around shooting people with these darts of death.” Steve wasn’t sure what to say. Yes, they needed a plan, yes, they needed to protect people and yes, again, yes, they needed to stop Hydra. But could he tell Bucky that this asset was his twin sister? He sent another look to the assassin, his best friend, who was whispering something into Natasha’s ear. She smiled. Buck did too. No, not now, he couldn’t tell him right now. He swore to himself that this time, he wouldn’t let the situation escalate like it did with Tony. “I said”, Sam drawled out loud, pulling Steve back to the one-sided conversation, “that we should ambush her, so that you can draw her out and Nat can shoot her. That way it wouldn’t matter if you got your head stolen.” “No. We can’t kill her.” “Whatever you say, brother. Spare me the “she’s just like him- speech”, I get it. Second chances and brainwashing and all. You might have to convince her, though.” Natasha. Kill him, she’d said before. Just then, Steve noticed how Nat and Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, close to the couch Steve was on. When had they sat down there? I really need some rest. I’m not as perceptive as I should be. Steve sent a look through the room. Sam seemed a little sweaty. Was he still afraid of Bucky? “We can’t kill the Remnant and we won’t. We’ll save her.”

From the corner of his eye, the blonde noticed the slight reaction in Bucky’s face, in his posture. Does he know? Does he know it’s Rebecca? What if he does? He’d say it if he did, right? That we had to save her? Bucky would never have her die to end this. Right? “The Remnant”, Bucky murmured, repeating the name as if it triggered something in his mind. “What do you know? Any metal limbs?”, Sam inquired. “I… I don’t - there was something”, he trailed off, lost in surfacing memories. “That’s impossible. Her arm broke and the other one was normal. I would’ve felt it. No metal.” “But- she had an arm like me… before. I saw it… I think”, Bucky looked confused, his face pulled into a desperate scowl. How terrible must it be to not be able to recollect your past, to not know what things are real and which aren’t. “What do you know about her training?” “Not much. The first years must’ve been in analogy to what developed into the Black Widow program, at least in some aspects. She completed the test, returned after years, but got transferred in ’68.” Everyone turned towards Natasha, whose eyes looked a little glassy, focused on something behind the windows, something beyond what could be seen with the eyes. “The test”, she repeated, dragging the words out as if a heavy burden hindered her voice. “When we were in training, they always kept us girls together. We were friends, played with each other, shared a bedroom, danced together. When they set us out in the tundra, there was only one survival kit.” It was quiet for a few seconds, a serene silence settling in the room. Steve was the first to speak up again. He needed to come up with a plan. “Well, what we know for sure”, the blonde said, “is that she’s really fast, she’s really strong and will try to choke us. Or shoot you with poisoned darts.” “Yes”, Bucky’s face lit up; he’d grasped a new information, “she doesn’t need any weapons. She’ll take whatever you bring. But…poisoned darts?” Sam nodded and recollected his experience with the darts. The assassin’s eyes widened at the story. “What you went through was only the first part. Tonight won’t be fun.”

Just as the brunette said it, Sam could feel something rumbling in his stomach. He’d written it off as stress and exhaustion before, but now, everything rebelled wildly within him. A second later, he was running to the bathroom. He retched into the toilet for minutes, Steve at his side, Nat getting a cold, wet towel ready for him. Barnes only mustered a pained expression of sympathy. When Sam had finally calmed down, it was already late, getting closer and closer to midnight. “Just go to bed”, Steve ordered. “All of you. I’ll take watch. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.” Sam was put onto the armchair wide enough to lie in, with a bowl at his side, just in case. Natasha took the bed, carefully staying on her half while trying to convince Barnes to get some sleep as well. Steve didn’t pay attention to the whispering, just stood and watched the city through the room’s windows. His stomach growled and he grit his teeth in annoyance. Damn that fast metabolism. But he went to the small fridge hidden in one of the cabinets and fixed himself a few slices of delicious and, he smiled, nutritious German bread. After minutes of silence, he allowed himself a look through the room. It had quieted down. Besides Sam’s raspy breathing, there was only a low hum that seemed to come from Bucky. He’d ended up in bed, at Natasha’s side, and to Steve’s surprise, the two were cuddling somehow, with the redhead completely disappearing in the strong brunette’s embrace. A sweet view. It didn’t take long, though, until their blanket rustled and the wide-shouldered man left the bed to join his old friend at the table. Their eyes searched the other’s, attempting to read all the unsaid words and stories they daren’t talk about, to understand each other more deeply in a time of running and hiding.

“I know her”, Bucky said, voice grave. “The Remnant.” A burden fell from Steve’s shoulders. So he knew. “I’ve seen her in training and in the field. She’s dangerous, even to us, Steve. Tell me exactly what happened.” So the super soldier told him, every little detail, the scene playing anew before his ever vigilant, but now, tired eyes. Only Rebecca - he left that out. “To be honest, I don’t think she meant to kill you. If she hasn’t, it means the mission was to scare you, to remind you of Hydra’s power. Make you feel helpless.” And it worked, Steve realized, deep down, she had. But she’d also given him something to fight for. Maybe Hydra was stupid, maybe they were blind. But they had fueled his fire and that would ensure their fall. “What do you know about her, Buck?” “Not much… at all. I was frozen a lot and she was kept somewhere else most of the time. Her first mission was to protect me and since then, it took them a long time and tons of recalibration to get her ready for other missions. She - protected me, instinctually. That’s why they made her my backup operative after a few years.” Crap. He doesn’t really know. How do I tell him? “Do you know how old she is?” “I lost track of time, but she was there early. How long was I in the tube after what happened in Siberia?” “Half a year.” “They were faster than I thought. Damn, Hydra is desperate. Listen, Steve”, at that point, Steve was looking at someone else again, he thought, at the distant assassin they’d created, “until now, you’ve done everything Hydra wanted you to do. They planned this, all of this.” “But they don’t know you found us. And our countermove will be unpredictable. Buck- there’s something you need to know. I said we can’t kill her - we really can’t.” “What do you mean?” “I saw her face. It’s Rebecca.” Steve’s voice was soft. Bucky sat completely still, only breathed silently, into the darkness and Steve wondered if the brunette even understood the message. No reaction. Crap, that was insensitive. What if he doesn’t even remember Rebecca? What if he’d worked with her and didn’t realize it was his sister? I should’ve started differently. The entire thing. “I’m sorry, Buck. I shouldn’t have…” “It’s not possible, Steve. Right? No, it can’t be her.” Bucky’s voice trailed off, like a spark falling apart in the night air. “I hoped you knew…” “No…“, his voice trailed off. In the dark, the blonde couldn’t really identify the slight wetness on Bucky’s face, but he thought it was a tear. He didn’t blame him, not at all. “She can’t have been - she lived in Illinois, for God’s sake. In Illinois. How would they-? The Remnant, Predator, whatever, came from New York. It’s all wrong. I saw her return from the test. I worked with her, had her back while she had mine. We did kill missions together. That’s not Becca.” “I thought so too. I’ve visited her grave in New York, Buck. An empty grave, that’s not possible, right? But then again, it was right next to yours, two empty coffins in the earth. With Hydra, anything is-” “It’s not her.” Bucky didn’t wait for a reply, just turned around and walked back to the bed that Natasha still slept in. The blanket rustled and for once, it was completely silent, although Steve knew Bucky was hesitant to sink into sleep, to be at the mercy of his night terrors. He’d doze, a form of sleep practised a thousand times before, the sleep every soldier knew. Steve was breathing hard, he felt restricted for the second time after the serum. He didn’t have siblings, he wasn’t sure how it would feel to lose a sister, but he knew the feeling of losing a brother. While he didn’t see Rebecca often, the image of her sweet eyes and loving smile was burned into his mind. We’ll find you, he promised to himself. Hydra will pay.

London

It had been hours since the search for Captain Rogers. Yes, someone had spotted him, but that trail had ended at the St. Antonius Hospital and even with the thorough search, there were no traces of him. The nurses there refused to give information about patients - which yes, was the law, but also slowed down everything. It was the first setback this morning.

The agents in the operations center grew restless, and Henderson noticed. The windows were tinted, but not a single ray of sunlight came through anymore; it had been a long night and everyone around here was slowly getting tired. Janet was on her third coffee and watched Colin, who was really getting on her nerves by now. It wasn’t even what he said or did - just being in the same room for so long was nerve racking and almost unbearable, especially when Janet was supposed to give directives, unite the units and get this mission done. She groaned inwardly. All of this - this mess - would be noted underneath the mission report plus her own permanence records. It could be the one factor to lead her superiors to turn down mission requests or even position applications. Janet frowned. All because of Colin’s stupid ego. It had ruined everything. And they’d been so close, for a little while. Maybe that was all she’d ever get from him. Maybe it had been an illusion, the calm before the storm, but Janet swore she’d loved him during that time and she’d always keep that version of him locked away in her heart.

Neesa appeared next to Janet, her dark hair tied into a messy braid. Annoyance hung over the room by now. It was the little things, the ticking of watches, the relentless clacking of keyboards and strands of hair that just fall into your face every five seconds. Not that the big things weren’t less annoying, but they stirred way more emotions than just simple annoyance. For example that new decisions had been made, apparently, new directives had been given every single time Janet had stepped out of the room, to just clear her head or to go to the bathroom. It was frustrating, but it made her unit’s success even more victorious. It had been her team that found the trails of Steve Rogers in front of Cologne’s Cathedral and close to the hospital. But now, everything stood still, the seconds dragged by and Janet clicked the pen in her hand open and close faster than the blink of the eye. The agent next to her looked up, irritated. “Sorry”, she mumbled and walked away.

All of the sudden, several things happened at once. Neesa’s phone made a strange sound, causing both women to look onto it and on the other side of the room, two agents ran into each other, spilling coffee everywhere, which included Janet’s notes. At the same time, the door opened and someone stepped in. “Shit”, Janet yelled, completely oblivious to their visitor and ran over, completely ignoring Neesa, who took the call. Janet hadn’t even seen the caller ID, but there had been one, maybe it was one of their own guys. Coffee was on the carpet, between the shards of coffee mugs, on the desks, keyboards and even on the wall. Of course, the two agents quickly mumbled their apologies, grabbing towels to clean up the mess, but still, Janet’s notebook looked like she’d dunked it into the brown liquid. She cursed. Everything was in there. Everything Neesa and her had worked out. “Ma’am”, an agent of her own team nudged her carefully and earned a frustrated look. “What?” “Our associate from Wakanda is here.” “Great”, Janet huffed. “Thanks, Liam.” Great. Now I can’t do anything. Can’t present my ideas, theories, suggestions, anything. That will be one hell of a first impression. The little notebook was completely soaked. Useless even with millions of words in it that could mean the world. That could change the world. Nevertheless, she went to greet Mr. Lomawu, at least that was the name his visitor pass stated. He appeared very formal, in a suit and drenched in politeness. Firm handshake, a man with a mission. He smiled at her and she wondered how much the SIW knew about the CIA’s activities. But he seemed nice, with a voice deep and soothing to her ears. Lawrence. She could probably listen to this man for hours, she felt like finally, someone was listening to her. He watched her whenever she spoke up and replied with that warm, foreign accent of his, even encouraged her ideas. She wanted to deny it, but it felt good to be finally acknowledged and reassured by someone not just Kinney. Neesa ended the call in the back and returned to Janet. “You remember Miami, the big break-in at Stark Tech?” “As if I’d forget that. Any news?” “Apparently one of his high-tech machines went online and they could trace it right before the connection was hacked and cut. What they came up with was an address in Munich. “Okay, good. Send a team in. They are supposed to examine that address, check it out, look for anything that could give us further clues concerning Rogers and Wilson. They’re friends with Stark, or, were, so I’m sure there will be a connection.”

As soon as they briefed Lomawu on the situation in Cologne, and the unknown attacker was mentioned, Lawrence demanded the footage from the bridge. Whittaker tried to steer them back to Steve Rogers and Lomawu nodded, saying that finding him might take a while but as soon as that was done, they’d definitely have to deal with the other attacker. “Do you know who that is?” “I do have intelligence on this asset, but I need to inform you that this is not a real person. There is no identity assigned to the body of this operative. You can pull your agents out of there; even if you found fingerprints or DNA residue, I can guarantee that none of your databases will come up with a result.” “What do you propose we do instead?” “I know how averse your agency is to trusting others with your targets and objectives, but in the name of his highness, King T’Challa of Wakanda and incumbent Black Panther of our entire people, I politely request to take on the unknown target. We have specialized agents with unique backgrounds that I would like to put in the field.” “Yes. We should-”, Colin started, but Janet interrupted him. “Shouldn’t answer that immediately. Please grant us discussion time. We’ll come back to you.” Lomawu nodded respectfully and Colin pulled Janet back. “Why did you do that?”, he hissed. “Just consider our options for a moment. I know, we’re in no position to deny anything to a king, let alone the King of Wakanda, but we joined units. Don’t tell me we’re short on agents with field experience. Secondly, we’re in no position to grant or deny the request on our own, Colin, and you don’t get to ignore that. Leave this to Kinney.” “You’re in no position to decide over my unit. Also, everyone is busy, we’re drowning in work. I can already see the mountains of paperwork looming on my desk.” He paused, glaring at the woman right in front of him. “What happened to you trying to claim any mission in reach? And, especially, the ones that are not yours?” Colin knew he’d have to push her a little. “What happened to you being such a jerk? Behind my back - that’s fine. In front of my unit, even visitors - that’s just low, Colin. Get over Hendrik.” “You’re stupid if you think that this is about your husband.” “Great. If it isn’t, you have no excuse to behave like an asshole.” Colin snorted and with a dark gaze, he added, “don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” With that, he walked away. Great, that was better than what I’d hoped for.

Janet held her head up. If Colin wasn’t able to talk to her in a respectful way, he shouldn’t be surprised if she’d decide over his head. She rang Kinney’s office a couple of times, but no one answered. Fine. What if this is an emergency decision? She could claim that this was an emergency, that it was a question of death-or-life, but she’d be no better than Colin. It wasn’t life or death right now. Every agent learned the criteria. They were not fulfilled right now. Henderson knew what their superior thought about this topic. “Mr. Lomawu, I cannot say that the agency appreciates giving responsibilities out of hand. Please consider waiting for our director’s decision.” “Of course. My king asks me to express our gratitude, should we be granted authority to intervene in this mission.” Lomawu smiled kindly and nodded. He went back to the streams of intelligence running through the big screens. He knew from the beginning that they’d said no. Just another step in the big plan. Soon, they’d be able to actually start with the executions. No matter if she didn’t want to allow his team yet, soon, there’d be no other way. She just didn’t know that yet.

Colin stood next to his friend, Lawrence. The two men watched Janet rush through the room. “She’s a problem, Colin.” “Don’t think I don’t know that. She needs to leave.” “She’s a stubborn mule. Like you.” “And a risk to the entire operation. If she finds out I give order to shoot on sight, even if she finds out that the Black Widow is with them - and that we knew all along - she’s gonna report to Kinney and get us all beheaded.” “Let me take care of that. She trusts me, at least she wants to. You did a good job in rushing her to a decision, even if it was a no. She needs to feel like everything is in her hands. I’ll get Barton, Maximoff and Lang prepped for the hunt of the Remnant.” “Your asset, the unknown attacker. Why would you send them to kill it?” “How else do you want to get Rogers in? Or Romanoff? I’ve hunted a lot in my life, but they’re game that doesn’t want to get caught. They know we’re after them and both are smart. But we have aces up our sleeves they couldn’t dream of.”

Lomawu checked his laptop and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. Colin continued from there. Whatever Lomawu had planned, the CIA units needed objectives. “Listen up, units, we know exactly where Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson are right now. They are located in a nondescript motel in Cologne. Instruct our assets and direct them to Engelsstraße. We can’t afford to lose them tonight. Get on it!”

The night was calm for the most part and that was a blessing. Steve watched over his sleeping comrades, rushing to the Falcon’s side three more times, getting him to the bathroom. Other than that, his thoughts always circled around the same questions. How did Hydra know how to get into Wakanda? They had a mole in there, but for how long? What did they know? There was so much to think about. Steve blamed it on the tiredness that at one point, all the questions and assumptions turned into wild theories. No, he scolded himself, Natasha was not working for the Red Room anymore, she did not call us out of Wakanda to get Hydra’s plan rolling. She was trustworthy. But what if Hydra had known Natasha would call them? Was there a possibility-? Steve sighed and made himself a cup of tea. His face was in his hands; this was all so confusing. They’d left Wakanda on behalf of Nat’s call, to help Bucky. The CIA was after them, but that was to be expected. At this point, it wasn’t even about Bucky anymore, well, to a certain degree, yes, but now, Zola was looming over the horizon again like a dark cloud and everything this man did resulted in death and destruction. How would they get his location? It made sense that the biochemist and geneticist stored his mind in more than just one place, to make sure it wouldn’t get lost at the first hit. Steve balled his fists. He’d take Zola down. But they needed an Agent Sitwell right now, with confidential information to spill.

Suddenly, a phone pinged and Natasha groaned in her sleep. Peeling off Barnes’ metal arm from her waist, she sat up, pushing red hair out of her face with one hand before grabbing her phone. Steve observed her from the darkness, grateful for the serum’s effect on his visual abilities. He made out the Russian’s eyes, which were open wide, quickly reading through the text on the screen. She gave Steve a nod and leaned down to the assassin in her bed, gently patting him awake. Steve quickly walked over, awaiting more information. “They’re coming”, she explained, “the CIA found us. They just left their safe house.” “And how much time does that leave us with?” Bucky looked up, quickly pulling on his suit. “Four minutes. We need to get out of here as fast as possible.” Steve nodded and went on to wake up a pretty groggy Sam, who just groaned and dragged himself to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Nat scurried to pack some stuff, handing Steve and Bucky guns. Especially Barnes’ face lit up when she put something into his hands and the two Russians shared a meaningful expression Steve couldn’t understand. Two minutes left. Crap. “We’re not going to be out of here quick enough. Can you buy us some time?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, quickly going through all the different possibilities when Sam appeared, pale, but standing and eager to get his stuff together. “How far is the local police from here?”, Bucky asked. “A minute away.” “You’re still the same. Always living on edge, huh?” “Well”, Nat grinned. “Anything else is no fun.”

“Agents, confirm your location. Are Agents Cologne and Agents Bonn with you?” “Copy, Sir. We’re a minute from Nießestraße right now. Give us two minutes.” What happened next was completely unexpected. Bucky took his gun and fired two shots, while typing 110 into Nat’s phone. Steve and Sam almost jumped to the ceiling. “Polizei? Ich habe Schüsse in der Engelsstraße gehört. Bitte beeilen Sie sich.” “Good. Get in there.” “Sir. Permission to shoot?” Colin hesitated and looked around. Lomawu was faster than he expected, he’d already started to involve her in a conversation. “Permission granted.” Sam just stared at him, waiting for the assassin to hang up. He didn’t need a translator to understand what Barnes just did. “Are you crazy!? What are you-” He stepped right before the assassin and sent hostile glances towards him. “I just saved all your lives. You’ll see. Let’s go.” “Copy. Reached Nießestraße. One minute.” They rushed through the hallways, Nat had locked the door to her room, securing all traces. They didn’t even manage to put their stuff into the car’s trunk, they just drove off. Police sirens screamed through the night. “Sir, we hear police. What is going on? Sir?” Steve’s hands shook lightly while he kept the speed slow, despite all flight instincts. Several cars appeared in the short street and armed CIA mercenaries in civilian clothes jumped out of the car, guns ready. “Police force? We didn’t send them. Agents, do you copy? Get in there!” The mercenaries stood before the building, waiting for the doors to be opened. The police arrived just a few seconds later, immediately alarmed by the armed men before the building. Bellowed commands echoed through the street and in the rearview mirror Steve could see that the police was detaining the wildly complaining CIA undercover operatives. “Sir, they’re detaining us! Sir, I repeat, what’s going on?” “Sir, we lost them.” “Shit. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.” Bucky smirked.

Sam was back to sleeping in the back row of the car, thankfully, he was getting better and hadn’t thrown up again. Steve was driving but kept watching Natasha. “How did you know?” She looked up, pretended to look surprised, or maybe she really was, he couldn’t say. “There’s an informant who owes me.” “Mind telling me where I’m driving?” “The files don’t say anything, so I’m not sure as to…” Bucky interrupted her by grabbing the files she’d managed to get a hold of in the chaos of scrambling out the apartment. His eyes flew over the pages of Russian. “These are useless. I looked through them five times already.” “But you don’t know what to look for”, Bucky stated, “this letter in this spot here doesn’t make any sense. Hydra is hiding stuff, obviously. Give me my file, please.” He read through them, comparing them. “This is fake. I never had a mission in Augsburg. I’ve been to Germany many times, but this is wrong. Go there.” “Are you sure? If this is not where Zola is, we’d lose half a day.” Bucky huffed, still looking at the papers, tracing the Russian letters with his metal finger. It made an eerie, scrubbing sound in the low hum of the car. “I’m sure. It says that I shot an officer of the Military Intelligence Brigade, but didn’t kill him, leaving after visual recognition confirmed the Winter Soldier’s presence. That’s bullshit. Before Fury in DC, one bullet meant one corpse. Besides, Germany was always kill mission or recalibration. This would just categorize as intimidation, nothing else.” The hair in Steve’s neck was raised. Just intimidation. As if that was a good thing. What would happen if they visited those places in Germany? Could he trust Bucky to not have another relapse? “Is there anything special in Augsburg?” Natasha looked up. “You missed out, Rogers. After the war, troops didn’t get pulled out of Augsburg. The US Army main quarters for Germany remained there, plus one for the War Crimes Groups. The city still is basically a US town with all the soldiers there. A lot of the area consists of army buildings and Zola could’ve easily hidden his brain in there.” “Exactly. Hydra dug deep roots in Germany.” “We’re not gonna touch his brain, though, right?”, Sam murmured, half-asleep, “‘Cause that’s gross.” “Yeah, you’re definitely not gonna touch anything”, Nat chuckled and felt his forehead. “How do you feel?” “I don’t think I’ll throw up again.”

Masterlist

Hey you, dear reader. Thank you for reading this story. I mean it. You’re super precious to me. You invested time and emotions into this. Thank you. I’d be more than happy to hear what you thought and felt. Please comment or reblog with a comment. Tag your friends under this to share your exciting new read. Thank you and have a wonderful day! :D - Sophia

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adaandportmafiaimagines · 8 years ago

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[Dazai Osamu X Hacker!Reader]

[Slight!Chuuya X Hacker!Reader]

Inspired by the Vocaloid song [ERROR], originally sung by Lily but Ritsu Namine made it popular. The translation is found here.

(Read: LONG chapter(s) [first chapter alone is 7 pages] ahead under ‘read more’ and endgame is Dazai because I can’t get enough of him)

Description

“Chuuya, Dazai… I’ve got a pleasant surprise for you…” The flaming red haired directed the two children to a room, filled with flashing lights and blank screens, “meet the upcoming mastermind of Port Mafia’s technology system… at a young age, she already understood and hacked into thousands of Japan’s advanced systems…” The two children squinted their eyes, bust able to see an outline of a small figure, motionless, as the third child sat on the chair, “children… meet [Surname] [Name].”

Can you see it? The tears in my eye I'm blurred by the colours of life What did you leave me? Ask me - I'll collapse

“Mommy…” The five year old child quietly directed her question at the older image of herself

“Yes darling…?” The said mother of the child softly looked at her daughter with sorrowful orbs

“Why… are they burying daddy?”

This simple question, this innocent and naive question made the old woman’s eyes water. Transparent droplets of liquid escaped their homes and slid softly down rosy cheeks.

“M-mommy! Why are you crying? A-are they doing something bad to daddy?” The little child panicked, “daddy still has work to do tomorrow… what if he’s late because he can’t get out? Daddy promised me to buy me that bunny plushie for my birthday! B-but he can’t do that because-because-”

The mother engulfed her daughter in a hug. Her salty eyes escaping some more from her closed eyes. How could she tell her innocent child that her father was killed? How could she tell her that he could never wake up? She knew that their jobs in the mafia would be risky, but never had she thought that one of them could loose a life…

How fragile human lives are…

What a merciless world this is…

Around 8 years later…

The flaming red haired woman led the two boys zigzagging through the Port Mafia’s headquarters. Her strong strides never loosing rhythm as she explained that to both celebrate the future of Port Mafia two executives (they both were developing fantastically), and they need more children around their age to bond with, she decided to introduce them to yet another future mastermind.

The three walked into a room without any source of light bulbs, if it was not for the flashing tiny dots on both monitors and system/base units, along with screens, the place would be thrown in total darkness.

Endless amount of wires, thick and thin, snaked around the floor, overlapping with one another, though non were tangled, these wires were plugged into dozens of base units, almost as tall as Kouyou herself. Among the mess, in the middle of the room, the faint outline of a raised platform could be seen. Perhaps a desk?

“Ane-san,” Chuuya started, “who is that?”

He directed them to a leather chair, one fit for rotation, and if they squinted their eyes enough, an outline of a child could be seen.

“Might be a dummy Chuuya.” Dazai started, “or maybe a corpse.”

“Dazai,” Kouyou gently scolded, her equally red eyes narrowing, though her expression showed nothing but amusement, “you’re not really leaving a good first impression by saying that.”

“Sorry, sorry ane-san.” He sheepishly rubbed his head, though as if he just made a stupid blunder instead of deliberately mistaking someone for a corpse

“Now then… [Name]-chan, would you please introduce yourself to the future Port Mafia executives?”

The dark leather chair rotated sideways, so the child could face all three. From what little light was in the room at the time, Dazai could see that she wore a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her dark coloured skirt was wrinkled, though it flowed just above her knees along with an equally dark knee-high socks, her formal shoes were blended in the darkness so well that it might as well be nonexistent, her tie, unlike both Dazai and Chuuya, was so loosely tied that the knot ended up at her chest, as if she just slapped it on in the last second.

All in all, she looked nothing like Port mafia’s mastermind hacker Dazai had in mind.

Nor could he predict how painfully important the said girl could be in his future.

Ahh… that was… the start huh…?

Blue, red, and white are mixing I'm shouting from this world

What was I wishing for? I was tired from chasing after it

Years flown by like minutes after [Name] made friends with both Dazai and Chuuya. Perhaps, it was precisely because of how everyday was both so tiring and energetic that the days turned into months…

The two males never did get along as one might describe as ‘partners’, no, not the romantic one, but the one where they work together and go on dirty jobs. Even when Dazai was promoted and became the youngest Port Mafia executive, even when the much feared Soukoku was formed, while their teamwork spread despair among the Mafia employees, deeply rooted into their souls, on the other hand, their personalities could not conflict so much anymore.

It had become a common occurrence for the [hair colour] female to not-so-gently whack both red and brown on their head if they annoyed her too much.

In other words, every half hour then.

And [Name]?

She, like her honey-brown orbed male, developed quickly before (just like Kouyou predicted) becoming one of Port Mafia’s top hackers.

“Say [Name]-chan…” Dazai asked to the fifteen year old, as the tiniest (belated) celebration was held in Dazai’s apartment for him becoming an executive, “why did you become a hacker? Surely, someone with such high intelligence could become a well-respected government official where the highest protection could be given? But, that’s not to say Port Mafia lacks any protection…”

“Why ask Dazai?” She answered, sipping her favourite drink, her [eye colour] watched carefully at the ice in her drink

“Just curiosity. But, to be honest, you do not necessary have to tell me if you’re so seriously against it.”

“Dazai’s right,” Chuuya walked towards the two, and in an instant, the calming look on Dazai’s face morphed one of a scowl, Chuuya’s expression was almost an exact mirror image, [Name] however, just retained her pokerface, “you can tell me about it.”

“Oh? Who’s talking? I-is it a ghost? I can’t see anyone.”

“You-!”

[Name] sighed, she pondered to whether tell the story just to get them to not murder each other for a while. Ah well, there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of sharing one’s past eventhough one of them is an executive right?

That’s… what fr- no, no such words and meaning exists in Port Mafia.

“As you may know, I have an ability… dubbed, “The Sun Also Rises”�� its power is similar to our only star – the Sun.” She held up her ice drink and activated her ability, the chunk of ice in her glass melted until it was no longer there, “I can manipulate heat with my entire body, which gives off light at the same time… that light could be used on solar panels to generate electricity.”

“… Which is why the laptop you carry has solar panels… so you could work without depending on electricity in an emergency…”

“Exactly correct Dazai. Now… as to why I became a hacker… my parents were in Port Mafia as well, and my mother was also an experienced hacker, my father, on the other hand, was one of the lowest ranking employees they have… as unlikely as it was, the two fell in love and… here I am.”

She took a mini break in her explanation by sipping her favourite drink, which now was disgustingly warm (no) thanks to her Gift. She made a disgusted face, throwing her tongue out. All Dazai could think of was how the normally expressionless female could made such an expression, it really was a valuable and rare moment.

Damn… such a nice change… he thought, she should express herself more…

“Then, father died… perished because of a bullet wound, which of course, was fatal… though he was one of the lowest members of the organisation, he was popular among the mafia as well… always looking out for people when he was on missions, which was partially why there were a lot of people at his funeral.”

Her once calm [eye colour] hardened, before continuing.

“However… the thing is… it was his day off, mother was in an important meeting with the executives and she took me along, of course, I wasn't present in the room, but outside, playing on a gaming device, while father was at home… resting as he got home late last night. However, several hours later someone broke the news to mother and I that father died.”

Silence, “At that time, I did not know what the word “died” meant, well, perhaps my parents wanted me to stray as far as Port Mafia as I could… huh? Well, guess that failed, I mean… look at me now. Anyhow, the thing is… though some amount of money was stolen, there was not a single sign of struggle at out house… besides, father would never be outdone by a simple burglar… which lead both I and mother to the conclusion of… someone purposely murdered him.”

“And so by doing technology-based work, and moving up the ranks using any means necessary, you could uncover the profiles along with autopsy and paperworks, some of these are not even revealed to the victim’s family.”

“Correct again Dazai… but to be honest… I guess I really had a thing for numbers and hacking… unlike humans, if you simply input a correct numerical formula and formula alike, the computer would do exactly what you told it to do… whereas humans would constant have their own minds… along with pure emotions as obstacles… but then, I guess I was lonely too as well, I mean, I used to think numbers were my friends, who would do anything I asked…”

“Ah, you’re so weird [Name]-chan~” in an instant, the teenager felt a harsh click on her forehead

“Wh-what was that for Idiot-zai?” She pouted, her free hand furiously rubbing the spot

“Oooooh, nice nickname for this right here!”

“Shut up little guy.”

“You-!”

“But [Name]-chan, if ‘friends’ is the wrong word for us, we’re your… well, we’re less than friends, but we’re something… ah, except for this right here… I don’t wanna be even acquaintances with him.”

“My thoughts exactly Dazai! You’re just a bandage-wasting-sorry-state-of-a-human!”

“Ehhh- but who was it that got promoted to an executive in this room I wonder~? Executives raise their hands~” Only a bandaged hand was in the air, “only me then~”

WHACK. WHACK.

“O-ouch… so harsh [Name]-chan…”

“C-couldn’t you be a little bit gentler next time [Name]-chan?”

“And here I thought I could go an hour without having to hit you two…” The only female muttered, deadpanning at the two’s over-dramatic responses, “but, shall we… have a toast?”

“To what?” The opal eyes questioned, though he raised his glass as Dazai did the same

“To… whatever this is.”

“Well… to our complicated relationship.” Dazai named

“To our relationship- wait, that sounded so wrong.”

“Hush Chuuya… to our relationship…”

“Cheers!” Three voices of different pitches simultaneously resonated throughout the Sun-kissed room.

[Name] then remembered something on the back of her mind. A wish made years ago…

-Flashback-

“Why do other children fear me so much?” The child, no bigger than ten questioned, compared to other kids her age, she doesn’t show a variety of emotions

“Is it… because of this so called “Gift”? Is my ability more of a curse…?”

She laid fresh flowers down on the gravestone, looking up at the midnight sky, thousands of bright jewels blinked down, compared to the endless expanding universe, she and her problems seems so small and insignificant.

“You said… on clear nights like this… you would always wish for something trivial and achievable, but you couldn’t bring up the courage to do it or the circumstances were vastly against you… you then explained to me that important wishes, no matter how impossible they seem, you would save those for comets…”

I wish for…

“Hey… would my selfish wish be granted? ... Please answer me… father!”

People to accept for who I am… people who would not be afraid of my position and intelligence… people who I would like to call… “friends”

-Flashback END-

Dazai remembered that on that day, he wished to see [Name] smile… however impossible that sounds; he would be the one her vibrant smile would be directed to… though it sounds possessive, it was just a not-so-innocent teenage boy’s thoughts.

Is this what they call “love”?

Or is this what they call “friendship”?

Ahh… those were… peaceful days… tranquil days indeed…

How much?

Sitting in a certain Port Mafia’s office, with heaps of paper on the desk which hid the working member behind as another mastermind sat on a nearby chair, hurriedly clicking the buttons on her GBA[1] as if her life depended on it.

“[Name]-chan… maybe you should stop playing and work…” The red haired voiced his concern at the female.

Why? You ask. Partly to stop suspicions on how he got a female in his office, partly to stop people questioning her if they suddenly barged into his office, but mainly because with the way she was so absorbed in it, she reminded him of his oh-so-wonderful partner.

“Why? It’s a good game.”

Just like a certain bandage-wasting-human… “Say… did you hear about the legendary stolen sapphire-”

He stopped abruptly, gone the peaceful expression on her face, but replaced with partially between horror and anger.

“Sapphire… sapphire… Pokemon Sapphire… Kyogre just awakened by Archie, leader of Team Aqua and-”

“Wait, that was what made you ticked off with such a despising expression?!” Chuuya exclaimed, astounded how a simple game could cause his emotionless friend to be capable of such intense emotion.

“Chuuya, Kyogre wrecked my entire team… even with the usage of dozens of revives and both super and hyper potions… but then, it is a legendary, so what can you say?”

“I say stop playing such games or you’ll become intelligently declined like Dazai!”

She blinked at him. Her [eye colour gem] meeting opal before she resumed playing on her game, “It sounds as if… you’re almost jealous of Dazai.”

“Why-! I am more certainly not jealous of that!” He stomped to her form and yanked the game device out of her hands, “this is what I would love to do to him if it’s not for that blasted ability of his!”

Her GBA ruthlessly hit both ceiling and floor a few times before completely smashed into useless pieces because of Chuuya’s ability.

“Chuuya.”

“What?” He asked, still irritated. Him? Compared to that bandage-wasting-womanising-good-for-nothing-absolutely-useless-

“You are jealous.” She patted his shoulder, which tensed at the contact, before walking out of the room, not fazed at what just took place, “oh, and by the way, you own me a new GBA.”

[1] – Let’s just say that the Dark era BSD universe is set in 2010s, thus it would be possible for reader to have Pokemon Sapphire as it was released in Japan in 2003.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #DazaiXReader

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tortuga-aak · 7 years ago

Text

There's convincing evidence that speed limits are way too low

Thomson Reuters

A Michigan State police officer advocates for raising speed limits.

Studies show that people's driving speed doesn't change when speed limits are altered.

The ideal speed limit is the 85th percentile speed, but most are set far below that level.

Because tickets generate revenue, some police departments keep speed limits low under the guise of safety.

In reality, roads would probably be safer if speed limits were higher.

When Lieutenant Gary Megge of the Michigan State Police attends a meeting, he sometimes asks, “How many of you broke the speed limit on your way here?”

Hearing his question, you might assume that Lt. Megge is a particularly zealous police officer.

The type of person who walks half a city block to avoid jaywalking on an empty street.

The model citizen who defers almost obnoxiously to the letter of the law. But that is not the point of Lt. Megge’s question at all.

“We all speed, yet months and months usually pass between us seeing a crash,” Lt. Megge tells us when we call to discuss speed limits. “That tells me that most of us are adequate, safe, reasonable drivers. Speeding and traffic safety have a small correlation.”

Over the past 12 years, Lt. Megge has increased the speed limit on nearly 400 of Michigan’s roadways. Each time, he or one of his officers hears from community groups who complain that people already drive too fast.

But as Megge and his colleagues explain, their intent is not to reduce congestion, bow to the reality that everyone drives too fast, or even strike a balance between safety concerns and drivers’ desire to arrive at their destinations faster. Quite the opposite, Lt. Megge advocates for raising speed limits because he believes it makes roads safer.

Traffic engineering 101

Every year, traffic engineers review the speed limit on thousands of stretches of road and highway. Most are reviewed by a member of the state’s Department of Transportation, often along with a member of the state police, as is the case in Michigan. In each case, the “survey team” has a clear approach: they want to set the speed limit so that 15% of drivers exceed it and 85% of drivers drive at or below the speed limit.

This “nationally recognized method” of setting the speed limit as the 85th percentile speed is essentially traffic engineering 101. It’s also a bit perplexing to those unfamiliar with the concept. Shouldn’t everyone drive at or below the speed limit? And if a driver’s speed is dictated by the speed limit, how can you decide whether or not to change that limit based on the speed of traffic?

The answer lies in realizing that the speed limit really is just a number on a sign, and it has very little influence on how fast people drive. “Over the years, I’ve done many follow up studies after we raise or lower a speed limit,” Megge tells us. “Almost every time, the 85th percentile speed doesn’t change, or if it does, it’s by about 2 or 3 mph.”

As most honest drivers would probably concede, this means that if the speed limit on a highway decreases from 65 mph to 55 mph, most drivers will not drive 10 mph slower. But for the majority of drivers, the opposite is also true.

If a survey team increases the speed limit by 10 mph, the speed of traffic will not shoot up 10 mph. It will stay around the same. Years of observing traffic has shown engineers that as long as a cop car is not in sight, most people simply drive at whatever speed they like.

Imgur via @BeautifulMaps

Luckily, there is some logic to the speed people choose other than the need for speed. The speed drivers choose is not based on laws or street signs, but the weather, number of intersections, presence of pedestrians and curves, and all the other information that factors into the principle, as Lt. Megge puts it, that “no one I know who gets into their car wants to crash.”

So if drivers disregard speed limits, why bother trying to set the “right” speed limit at all?

One reason is that a minority of drivers do follow the speed limit. “I’ve found that about 10% of drivers truly identify the speed limit sign and drive at or near that limit,” says Megge.

Since these are the slowest share of drivers, they don’t affect the 85th percentile speed. But they do impact the average speed -- by about 2 or 3 mph when a speed limit is changed, in Lt. Megge’s experience -- and, more importantly, the variance in driving speeds.

This is important because, as noted in a U.S. Department of Transportation report, “the potential for being involved in an accident is highest when traveling at speed much lower or much higher than the majority of motorists.” If every car sets its cruise control at the same speed, the odds of a fender bender happening is low.

But when some cars drive 55 mph and others drive 85 mph, the odds of cars colliding increases dramatically. This is why getting slow drivers to stick to the right lane is so important to roadway safety; we generally focus on joyriders’ ability to cause accidents -- and rightly so -- but a car driving under the speed limit in the left (passing) lane of a highway is almost as dangerous.

Traffic engineers believe that the 85th percentile speed is the ideal speed limit because it leads to the least variability between driving speeds and therefore safer roads.

When the speed limit is correctly set at the 85th percentile speed, the minority of drivers that do conscientiously follow speed limits are no longer driving much slower than the speed of traffic. The choice of the 85th percentile speed is a data-driven conclusion -- as noted Lt. Megge and speed limit resources like the Michigan State Police’s guide -- that has been established by the consistent findings of years of traffic studies.

Yet most speed limits are set below the 85th percentile speed. We first investigated this topic at the urging of the National Motorists Association, a “member-supported driver advocacy organization” that has made raising speed limits to the 85th percentile one focus of its efforts.

One member pointed us to a 1992 report by the U.S. Department of Transportation on the “Effects of Raising and Lowering Speed Limits,” which, beside making the same arguments described above, noted that the majority of highway agencies set speed limits below the 85th percentile, leading over 50% of motorists to drive “in technical violation of the speed limit laws.” Lt. Megge believes the compliance rate in Michigan to be well under 50%.

It seems absurd that over half of drivers technically break the law at all times. It’s also perplexing that speed limit policy so consistently ignore traffic engineering 101. So why do people like Lt. Megge need to spend their time trying to raise speed limits?

REUTERS/ Mohamed Al Hwaity

How Saudi Arabia got us all driving 55 MPH

"When I drive that slow, you know it's hard to steer. And I can't get my car out of second gear. What used to take two hours now takes all day. Huh, it took me 16 hours to get to L.A."

~ Sammy Hagar’s hit song “I Can’t Drive 55”

In 1973, the Egyptian military crossed the Suez Canal in a surprise attack on Israel. It was the start of the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, and also low speed limits in the United States.

When the United States began resupplying Israel with arms, the Organization of Arab Petroleum Exporting Countries announced an embargo against the United States and several other countries. Combined with other supply constraints, it led to a quadrupling of gas prices, shortages of gasoline, and long lines at the pump.

In an effort to reduce America’s need for gas, President Nixon issued an executive order mandating a 55 miles per hour speed limit on American highways, which Congress made law the following year. States are officially in charge of setting their own speed limits, but national leaders (semi) successfully cajoled states by tying compliance to federal highway funds. Since driving at high speeds is less efficient, the policy is estimated to have saved 167,000 barrels of oil per day, or around 1% of American motor oil consumption.

David Falconer / EPA / US National Archives

Even as the effects of the energy crisis drew down in the 1970s, the new federal speed limit remained. But rather than insist on the limit in order to reduce gasoline consumption, members of Congress maintained the policy because they believed it led to safer highways.

This is shown by a debate over a measure passed in 1987, which allowed select states to raise the limit on certain roads to 65 mph. The New York Times reported that “Critics immediately warned that there would be a surge in highway fatalities.” The dissenting chairman of the Public Works and Transportation Committee called it “irresponsible, life-threatening legislation.''

Congress abolished the national federal speed limit in 1995. Many states increased their speed limits before they could even post new signs, but many speed limits remained low. Twenty years of a 55 miles per hour speed limit created a low baseline that drags down speed limits today.

Why speed limits are low

If you peruse the websites of state’s departments of transportation, you’ll often find a very technocratic explanation of the 85th percentile principle. Speed limits are consistently lower than the 85th percentile speed across the country, however, because there are many limitations on following the principle.

Florida’s Department of Transportation, for example, extolls the 85th percentile principle, yet the state legislature sets maximum limits for each type of roadway. Locally, officials can come under pressure from parents and other safety-conscious groups to lower speed limits.

Consistently, the 85th percentile loses out to the perception that faster roads are less safe, so speed limits should be low. It’s a misconception, Lt. Megge says, that he faces often in his work. When he proposes raising a speed limit, the initial reaction is always “Oh my god! You can’t do that. People are already going too fast.”

People think raising the limit 10 mph will lead people to drive 10 mph faster, when really changing the limit has almost no impact on the speed of traffic.

The same lack of understanding motivates public health pushes for lower speed limits that influence legislation. The World Health Organization, for example, advocates low speed limits to prevent road fatalities, and cites studies showing that accidents and fatalities increase with traffic speed.

“When you look at it from a pure physics standpoint,” Megge says, “and ask would you rather hit a bridge abutment at 10 mph or 40 mph, you can’t argue with that. But when I look at correcting a speed limit, I am not advocating driving faster, and that’s the hard part to get over.”

If someone could wave a wand and get every American to drive below 60 mph, roads would be safer. But since law enforcement can’t keep over 50% of Americans from speeding, putting a low number on a sign can’t make roads safer. Fortunately, American roadways are safer than ever, with highway fatalities at historic lows. Roads can be dangerous, but the perception of roads getting increasingly dangerous is a false one.

Plenty of public safety advocates of lower speed limits, however, would disagree with the actions of individuals like Lt. Megge. Just as Megge can point to the results on hundreds or thousands of roads which have become more safe or equally safe when the speed limit increased, other researchers looking at data sets of speed limit changes have come to the opposite conclusion and advise that raising speed limits comes with the price of thousands of roadway fatalities.

None of these studies mention the 85th percentile principle -- at least in our review of them -- and Lt. Megge expressed surprise at researchers coming to this conclusion. Given that debates over speed limit laws often enlist experts who make clashing predictions about the effect of raising speed limits, we got the feeling that speed limit policy would be a lot more consistent if the public health community and traffic engineers collaborated more often.

@boetta via flickrThe other reason speed limits may remain low, which John Bowman, Communications Director of the National Motorists Association strongly insists on, is that cities and police departments use traffic citations as a revenue generating tool.

As Bowman says, when speed limits are artificially low, it’s easier to give out citations and pull in fine revenue.

Due to concern about such “speed traps,” Missouri passed a law in the 1990s that capped the amount of a town’s revenue that could come from traffic tickets.

In 2010, auditors discovered that Randolph, Missouri, generated 75% to 83% of its budget from traffic tickets. The tiny town of around 50 residents, which is located near several casinos, employed two full-time and eight part-time police officers, turning it into a speed trap poster child.

Figuring out how common the tactics used by Randolph’s police department are around the country is difficult, as is tying it to a conscious decision to keep speed limits low. Each town or city makes its own decisions, which makes it difficult to know how comprehensively speeding tickets are used as a revenue generator.

Further, it is very easy for police departments to defend pushing officers to issue more tickets as a goal intended to further roadway safety -- as the LAPD did when found in violation of a state law banning traffic ticket quotas last year.

In our conversation, Lt. Megge stated that he believes speed traps to be a “big problem” and counter to police officers real role of altering dangerous behavior.

In a Detroit News article about a number of towns ignoring state law by not reviewing the speed limits on stretches of their roads, Megge said that he believes the communities did so in order to avoid revising speed limits upwards. This allows them to keep collecting ticket revenue on “artificially low” speed limits.

Slowing down

Given the inevitability with which most drivers speed, it’s heartening that roadways can be made safer through the very achievable means of traffic engineers setting more realistic speed limits -- rather than the nearly impossible goal of getting everyone to drive ten to twenty miles per hour slower.

But it also seems counter to other goals. Most people may drive at a reasonable rate, but is that speed low enough to accommodate bikers, protect children at play, and make our cities more walkable?

“I don’t want to lie to people,” Lt. Megge tells us. It may make parents feel better if the speed limit on their street is 25 mph instead of 35 mph, but that sign won’t make people drive any slower. Megge prefers speed limits that both allow people to drive at a safe speed legally, and that realistically reflect traffic speeds. People shouldn’t have a false sense of safety around roads, he says.

David Lofink/Flickr

If people and politicians do want to reduce road speeds to improve safety, or make cities more pedestrian friendly, Megge says “there are a lot of other things you can do from an engineering standpoint.” Cities can reduce the number of lanes, change the parking situation, create wider bike paths, and so on. It’s more expensive, but unlike changing the number on a sign, it’s effective.

Raising speed limits up to the speed of traffic can seem like surrendering to fast, unsafe driving. But it would actually accomplish the opposite. If advocates like Megge are right, following the 85th percentile rule would make roads safer, and it would also mean taking speed limits seriously.

In its 1992 report, the U.S. Department of Transportation cautioned, “Arbitrary, unrealistic and nonuniform speed limits have created a socially acceptable disregard for speed limits.” Lt. Megge has worked on roads with a compliance rate of nearly zero percent, and a common complaint among those given traffic citations is that they were speeding no more than anyone else.

With higher speed limits, Megge says, police officers could focus their resources on what really matters: drunk drivers, people who don’t wear seat belts, drivers who run red lights, and, most importantly, the smaller number of drivers who actually speed at an unreasonable rate.

It seems counterintuitive, but it’s a formula Americans should love: Raise speed limits, make roads safer.

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