#I got so sick of drawing that gun and the ropes. You get the idea

[bbyteach]

heard you were talking shit about my vibe??

[smileyoongle]

Falling for a lounge singer (Yandere!Mafia! BTS)// Kim Seokjin

Requested anonymously.

Summary: Working as a part time singer, you never thought you'd find yourself becoming the centre of attention of a man's life, especially one who you can't run from.

Word Count: 2K

You bowed before the audience at your workplace, an empty smile tugging at your lips as you finally walked down the stage and made your way to the bar. This was the third consecutive day in a week where your boss had made you work overtime without paying you for it. You knew that as a singer who performed in a small but reputable lounge bar, you weren’t worth that much. In fact, the reality was that you could be replaced at any given time, the city not having any less talented singers than you and that made you insecure about your job all the time. But either way, you were just stuck here, trying to push your way through every single day just to clear all your debts.

Life was unfair. It had always been.

Sitting down on a bar stool, you leaned across the counter and rested your elbows on it, the cold surface feeling good against the warmth of your skin. The speakers in the lounge were now playing the latest radio hits, the beats making your head hurt as you were handed a glass of water by the bartender who looked at you with a pitiful smile. Thanking him, you sipped on the water before your manager made his way to you and placed a champagne coloured envelope before you. Frowning in confusion, you gave him a questioning look which he returned with a nervous but angry expression.

“Someone left a tip for you,” he sneered, clearly not liking the fact that you had received money which wasn’t given by him. An asshole is what he was, his intentions of seeing you worried sick becoming more and more obvious with every passing night.

Pursing your lips, you unsealed the envelope only to find a lot of money, money that was probably worth your salary of six months. Your eyes widened in surprise, lips parting as you tried to make sense of why someone would tip you off with so much cash. You weren't even that good and you could never be that good.

“Who?” you asked, following your manager’s gaze to the exit where a bunch of men were making their way out. Almost immediately, you were on your feet with the envelope tightly clutched between your fingers. You needed to know who this man was that was so generous to you. Needed to know what about you was worth so much.

Holding your dress with one hand, you made your way towards the exit, eyes worriedly fixated on the doorway which was now empty. The bouncers nodded at you in acknowledgement while you forced a smile upon your lips and exited the bar, a part of you thinking that he must have left. But just as you came in contact with the cold night outside, your eyes took in the sight of an expensive car with a man dressed in an equally expensive suit surrounded by, you were guessing, his bodyguards. You couldn’t see his face yet, only his back being your line of sight but judging by everything, he certainly was someone in power. But if that was the case, what was he doing in a place so...average?

Deciding to end your curiosity, you called out to him, not knowing that this man was going to turn your life around completely. In a good way or bad? That was for you to choose.

“Excuse me, Si-”

Right then, your heel decided to give away, your ankle twisting painfully before you tripped...except you didn’t. Instead, you felt two hands taking a hold of your waist to steady you, your hands immediately latching onto their shoulder in return. And that’s when you finally saw him.

Kim Seokjin.

The man who was known to be running the biggest drug cartel around the country.

Your breath hitched as your eyes widened in recognition, a shiver running down your spine upon the realisation that he was here and he was holding you. Your fingers involuntarily tightened around his bicep, his eyes intently taking in your face as if you were his prey and he, your predator.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” he asked, snapping you out of your daze. Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, too afraid to even move because what could you even do? If you had known that Kim Seokjin was the one who had tipped you off, you would have probably just handed the money to your manager without confronting him. But here you were, stuck in a situation that you didn’t know how to get out of.

Your ears perked up at the sound of a car door opening, your eyes darting towards the black vehicle that now mocked at you with its open door. Jin swiftly picked you up without a word, a small yelp escaping your lips as you stared at him with fear and panic.

Were you being kidnapped?

Before you could think any further, you were placed onto a cool leather seat, your legs dangling to the side where the door proceeded to stay open. You watched Jin kneel down before you, his hands gently taking off your heel to inspect your ankle as a frown made its way to your forehead. The sudden act of kindness was making you very confused and you didn’t know what to do about it.

Maybe he just treated people nicely before he got rid of them?

A sudden pressure to your ankle had you whimpering and pulling your foot away, your teary eyes meeting Jin’s as he looked up at you with a soft gaze only to have his heart ache upon seeing you in so much distress.

In all honesty, this wasn’t the first time Jin was seeing you and the fact that he had tipped you a fortune was no coincidence either. He had walked into this bar for a deal about a month ago when he saw you, your voice being the first thing that captivated him. You looked absolutely stunning in a satin dress with your lips stained red, your smile taking his breath away even though it was just for show. Ever since that night, he just knew he had to see you and know you even if it meant coming to this place.

When you went to the rooftop to cry your heart out, he was right there in the shadows, wondering just what he could do to take your worries away. When you were being yelled at by your landlord, he was right there holding himself back from ruining that man's life. In short, every single time you thought you were alone, you weren't. Jin was always there, slowly figuring out where he was going to fit himself in your life. This tip that he had given you was guaranteed to solve your problems but along with that, it also made sure that you would want to see him. And that's all he really needed.

“You’re hurt, sweetheart. I don’t think you can walk-”

“Are you going to kill me?” Jin frowned upon hearing your question, feeling a little hurt that the girl he was so insane about, thought that he'd lay a hand on her, let alone kill her. But he had only himself to blame for having an image that was tainted with the blood of many, innocents and devils alike.

"Why would you think that, Y/N?" He asked, placing his hand on the empty space beside you. Your lips trembled as you struggled to answer, your eyes taking in the number of guards around you two. As if reading your mind, Jin quickly dismissed them, your shoulders slightly relaxing as you watched them walk away to where you couldn't see them. Feeling a little hopeful, you wiped away a tear that fell down your cheek and held your head up.

"I know who you are and what you do," you answered, biting your lip as you watched a wave of disappointment wash over him. Jin had been left speechless and he knew that, his jaw clenching and unclenching out of habit. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed, his hand gently taking yours into his as you tensed in your seat.

"I need you to listen to me carefully, sweetheart," he stated, drawing your attention to him and him only.

"I have been watching you for a while now," he confessed with apology filled eyes looking right into yours, "and hurting you, is the last thing I want."

Those words had you feeling breathless, too many emotions bubbling up your throat and making you wanna throw up. You had been the subject of a very dangerous man for quite some time and you had no idea. On top of it all, he said he didn't want to hurt you and you found yourself believing him. Maybe it was the way his eyes held so much adoration for you or the way he held onto you like you were a fragile little doll, you didn't know.

"Wh-what do you want then?"

"To love you," he answered without any hesitation, his hand coming up to brush away your hair from your cheek. His touch was warm, almost comforting, something you hadn't had in a very long time. Having been so lonely all this time, the idea of being cared for and loved seemed too tempting to let go. And knowing just how powerful Kim Seokjin was, it was very obvious that no one would ever dream of hurting you, be it mentally or physically.

But, were you really willing to choose comfort over the fact that he was a murderer?

"M-Mr. Kim, you don't even know me. I'm a normal girl who has a simple life and being roped into yours is the last thing I need."

You stated, noticing the way his eyes held a hint of sadness that seemed to be barely there. Swallowing thickly, you stood up with a pained expression, quickly taking your heels in your hand as you glanced at Jin one last time. This was the right decision, in your mind. Because there was nothing worse than having to live with a man, knowing he was cold and brutal. It was almost as if you'd be his partner in crime, something you just couldn't digest.

Limping towards the bar, you sighed in relief as a sudden silence surrounded you. Jin hadn't said a word to your rejection, making you think that he had understood what you were trying to say. The chilly air felt comforting now, your breath coming to you in waves of warmth. But before you could open the door to the bar, you heard a light click behind you.

Frowning, you turned around, your eyes growing wide upon coming face to face with the muzzle of a gun. Seokjin stood holding it firmly, his eyes red and angry. Your lips began to quiver immediately, your ears taking in the sound of his guards gathering around you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, did it sound like you had a choice?" He sneered, stepping forward and pressing the muzzle against your forehead. You slowly shook your head, a full stream of tears falling down your cheeks as you dropped your heels and joined your hands together.

"Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry I didn't-"

"Shh sweetheart, shh," he whispered, sliding the gun down your cheek and pressing it against your jaw. You could feel his arm holding your waist firmly, a scared whimper making its way out of your lips.

"You have no idea just how crazy you've been driving me, Y/N. Ever since I've seen you, I haven't stopped thinking about you," he mumbled, staring into your eyes so intensely that if not for the present situation, you would've deemed it romantic.

"Every second I've been thinking of things I'd like to do to you. And I can't have you take that away from me now, can I?" You closed your eyes, your body shaking as you sobbed at his words. The proximity was starting to suffocate you, your hands desperately trying to push Jin away from you but he was too strong.

"Let me go, Jin. Please let me go," you begged, your eyes drooping shut as you grew tired, your head falling against his chest. His hand came up to the back of your head, caressing your hair as he pulled you flush against him.

"Not any time soon, sweetheart," he replied, suddenly pulling back and gesturing the guards to the car. Large hands came to grip your arms, a scream sounding through the night as you were pushed inside the car you were seated in before. Your palms pressed against the leather, the door closing shut behind you as you sat up and banged your fists against the window. Spotting Jin outside, you cried louder, hoping he'd take pity on you. Instead he leaned down to where your palms rested on the window, placing his exactly against yours.

"I promise you'll be happy, sweetheart. I promise."

A/N: Guess who's back! That's right! Me! A dumb bitch! Anyway, I'm so sorry for not posting for like more than a year but for some reason, my brain went on a break and it just didn't wanna come back. So much has happened in the time I was away and I wanna give y'all so many deets like, boy trouble- check, best friend turning out to be a bitch trouble- check, getting two surgeries within a span of two months- check. In short, my life is a mess and I'm loving it.

Also, this turned out really long for like all the members, which is why I'm gonna post them separately. I hope I give you guys the same vibes from my writing as before. Or I'd die from shame. Okay I'm off now! Tell me if you liked it.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr | Also on AO3

Chapter 57: Jon

Coming back here would be a lot worse if he didn’t have Tim and Martin with him, Jon thinks as he looks uncertainly around the room. It’s not just the wax figures everywhere, which are creepy enough. There are cobwebs hanging in every corner, draped over half the waxworks, and it’s…it’s a lot.

He takes a deep, ragged breath and steps back slightly, bumping into Martin, who rubs his back soothingly. “It’s okay, Jon. They’re just cobwebs.”

“It’s never just cobwebs,” Jon hisses back.

Martin doesn’t rise to the bait. “Cobwebs mean the spiders are long gone. It’s okay.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” Jon tries to calm down. It’s not really working, though. “Is this it?”

“Yeah,” Basira replied. “We plant the last of it here, and this whole place goes up nice.”

“Remember, we need all of it. This place is bigger than it looks,” Martin says.

Daisy unzips the bag of explosives with unnecessary force. “I heard you.”

“Okay, okay! I’m just saying.”

Jon tunes out the conversation and steps away from Martin, studying the waxworks uneasily. They’re just…they’re just waxworks, he’s pretty sure, just plain, ordinary, creepy mannequins, but…

“So where is everyone?” Basira asks, evidently done with the bickering.

“Preparing, I guess,” Jon says, uncertainly. “I haven’t seen any of them since the last of—w-whatever the hell that was went inside.”

Basira frowns. “It’s too quiet.”

“It could be a trap,” Jon says and immediately regrets it.

Daisy straightens up from where she’s standing. “And? If it is, I give this a squeeze”—she holds up the detonator—“no more trap.”

“And no more us,” Basira points out. Daisy grunts, not really in assent or denial, just acknowledging, Jon thinks.

“Don’t sweat it. At least we’re not alone,” Tim says, false brightness in his voice. He steps up next to Jon and points at one of the mannequins. “Look! It’s Prince Charles! You know, if he was in a horrible accident. Oh, and here’s the Beatles, if they were all in separate accidents. Like if Ringo was in a horrible fire, and Paul was in a car crash, that’s a classic—”

“Yes, Tim, I know,” Jon snaps, more testily than he wants. He swallows and consciously softens his voice. “I saw them.”

The facade of levity drops from Tim’s face, and Martin’s eyes brim with sympathy. It hurts and Jon has to look away. Martin speaks softly. “This is where they kept you, isn’t it.” It’s not a question.

“I-I—yes,” Jon says. A chill settles on his shoulders, and he wants nothing more than to step into Tim and Martin’s arms for them to ward it off, but it isn’t safe, this isn’t the time. Time for that when they’re clear of this place. “They tended to—th-there’s a room, right over there. It’s nominally a workshop, but…well, I suppose technically they were…working on me.”

“Oh, God.” Martin draws in a sharp breath and turns away briefly, and Jon sees his hand curl into a fist. Under his breath, he mutters, “Don’t open any doors.”

“Who told you that, anyway?” Basira demands. “What’s behind them?”

“The Primes. They said we don’t need to know what’s behind those doors, and—” Martin swallows hard and looks at one of the other doors. “We can’t save them.”

There’s a moment of horrible silence as all of them realize, in the same instant, what that means. Tim’s face goes ashen, and he stares at the same door Martin is looking at. Jon’s breath catches in his throat; he knows what Tim is thinking, because he’s thinking it too.

“Tim, no.” Martin reaches out and catches his arm, pale as a sheet. “Tim, we can’t—we can’t let them know we’re here. You open that door, it puts the whole thing at risk.”

Tim backs off, but he doesn’t look happy about it. Jon can’t blame him. He turns to Daisy. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know,” Daisy grits out.

Jon knows he shouldn’t say anything, but he can’t help it. “The others didn’t take this long.”

“The others had obvious structural weaknesses. This one doesn’t.”

“Seriously?” Tim hisses, sounding even more tense than before. “How hard is it to blow up a building? All this stuff—”

“I’m trying to be careful,” Daisy retorts. “I was told to avoid damage to the surrounding structures if I could—”

“Okay, let’s all stop distracting Daisy and get this over with,” Martin says, but even his normally soothing voice has an edge to it. He’s not angry, Jon thinks, just more scared than he’s letting on.

They all are. This is the worst idea Jon’s had since he took the Archivist job, which is saying something. He should have sent Daisy in alone. Shouldn’t have insisted on all of them coming along. He, Tim, and Martin have all been marked by the Stranger, they’re going to attract attention even if Orsinov and the others can’t smell the Eye on them. And the longer it takes Daisy to set the last of the charges, the more tempting opening those doors is.

Especially since he can hear movement behind them.

“So,” Basira says, jerking her head at the mannequin nearest her. “Would you say this is supposed to be Churchill or Alfred Hitchcock?”

Jon appreciates the distraction. “Jowls like that, could be either. I mean, the distinction is a bit—” He wobbles his hand, well aware of the fact that it’s shaking.

“It’s Hitchcock. Churchill’s face was more square,” Martin says absently. He’s fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves in a way Jon’s never seen Martin do before—but, he realizes, is the way he often plays with his cuffs when he’s nervous or anxious or scared. God, how long have they been picking up on one another’s habits and mannerisms?

Tim’s eyes wander over to something in the corner, and his whole body stiffens. Jon, too, goes tense. “What? What’s over there?”

“Nothing,” Tim mutters, cutting his eyes away quickly and looking at the door again.

Jon doesn’t believe him. He comes over to Tim’s side and looks—and his stomach lurches when he sees what’s there. It’s a solid chair with flaked, cheaply done gilding clinging to the badly-done carvings on the back and curved arms. A couple of twisted nylon ropes still lie around the feet and across the seat, and even from here in the dim light, he can see that one of them is still faintly stained with blood.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice weak even to his own ears. “It—it wasn’t as bad as it looks.”

Tim gives Jon a look so filthy he’s tempted to scrub its mouth out with carbolic soap. “I saw you when you got back, Jon. I know how bad it was.”

Basira speaks up in her I-don’t-want-to-deal-with-this-so-I-am-changing-the-subject voice. “How big is this auditorium thing, anyway?”

“I don’t know! Big!” Jon flaps his hands in irritation.

“I mean, it’s not a huge building.” Basira eyes the corners where Daisy is prowling and prodding.

“Jon Prime said it was bigger than it looks,” Martin says firmly. “They’ve done this before. I trust them. If they say we need all of it, we need all of it.”

Basira looks unimpressed. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“I am. This is definitely where they kept me.” Jon points at the chair for emphasis just as Daisy stalks in front of it. “Although I don’t remember quite this many waxworks.”

“All right. I just don’t want to get this far and find out we’re in a—” Basira begins.

She’s cut off by a sound from the door that keeps drawing Tim and Martin’s attention—faint, haunting, hollow-sounding music. All of them freeze, listening. Jon’s never been one for circuses, but he knows a calliope when he hears one.

Be still, for there is strange music.

Jon exhales shakily. “This is the place.”

“We need to see what’s going on in there,” Tim mutters. His eyes have gone slightly unfocused, and Jon can feel the faint prickle of static. Tim is Looking at the door, as if he’s trying to see through it.

Jon grabs his arm more roughly than he should, but he has to startle him. “Leave it. We have a job to do,” he orders.

“Jesus,” Basira hisses.

“What?” Jon, Tim and Martin all ask in unison, in almost the exact same tone of voice, as they pivot to stare at her.

Basira is staring at one of the waxworks intently, her hand on her hip, probably where she once carried a gun. “It moved.”

No. No, this is not happening, it’s too soon—Jon swallows down the panic. “Right, okay, if they’re starting to, ah—we’ve got to go.”

“No, it’s just—” Basira looked equal parts intent and horrified. “Like—it was just a flicker in its eyes. Look at it—”

“Don’t—look, if the waxworks are coming alive, we need to go,” Jon insists. He cannot, will not risk Tim and Martin. Whatever charges are set will have to be enough.

“Just shut up and look,” Basira snaps.

Jon crosses over to Basira’s side and looks. He’s prepared to either brush her off or hurry her along when he sees it, too—a flicker in the eyes of the statue in front of them. He looks more intently…

Those aren’t glass.

The realization hits him a second before the thing locks eyes with him, an expression of total panic. Of human panic, frantically pleading with him. A sick look passes over Basira’s face, but all she says is, “Huh.”

“Oh, God—oh, God, they’re not waxworks,” Jon chokes out.

Martin goes pale. “What are you—” he begins, then takes a closer look at the “waxwork” closest to him and recoils. “Christ!”

“Tim, I—I think we need to see what’s going on in there,” Jon says. People. There are people in there. Trapped and afraid and—

"Yeah.” Tim reaches for the doorknob.

“No!” Martin steps forward and physically puts himself between Tim and the door, drawn up to his full height. His skin is so white as to practically be translucent, worm scars and freckles alike practically floating above his face they’re so well-defined, and he looks both upset and determined. “We know what’s going on in there. We know it’s—bad. We know the room’s bigger than we think, and—we don’t need to look.”

“We need to know when they’re starting,” Tim argues.

It’s a good argument, but Martin doesn’t budge. “We’ll know they’re starting when the music changes. That? That’s probably the organist warming up. That door cannot be open when the song starts proper, Tim.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve read the statements! You know what—what that thing can do—”

“It’s not the same one! That one’s locked in Artifact Storage.”

Jon blinks. “He’s right. I didn’t—”

“It’s not, though,” Martin interrupts. “Remember? Melanie told us last week. She was talking to Sonia about it, and according to her, nobody’s seen it for a while and none of them can remember when they saw it last. I’m willing to bet that when Breekon and Hope delivered that table, they picked up the Calliophone too. And since their whole thing is being unrecognized and unremembered, probably nobody saw them take it, anymore than they saw them get it out of Leanne Deniken’s house the first time.”

Jon draws in a sharp breath. He remembers now. Melanie was trying to find any other circus-related artifacts up there. Sasha’s theory was that it was taken for use in the Unknowing.

Hearing that haunting melody, he suspects it’s right.

Tim subsides a little, but still puts up one last protest. “What if there’s someone in there we can save?”

“There isn’t. Even the ones that are already alive are basically dead.” Martin’s eyes brim with sympathy. “Tim. Remember the statement about Gwydir Forest? The one where Gertrude said at the end that she—she wouldn’t be surprised to see Mr. Skinner’s face at the Unknowing?”

“Yeah, so?” Tim shrugs a little.

“So, his isn’t the only face that’s going to be in there.” Martin’s own face softens, and he takes a half-step closer to Tim. “You don’t need to see that. If—if he’s in there, if he’s waiting for—for his turn at the dance…you don’t need to see that again.”

Tim turns grey, and his face tightens with obvious pain. With a jolt, Jon realizes what Martin is saying. He said it himself on tape the other day: Danny Stoker is probably in there.

Martin’s right. Tim doesn’t need to see that.

He reaches out to touch Tim’s arm, to offer what little comfort he can, when Daisy comes over to them. “Done.”

“What?” Jon says, a bit stupidly.

“It’s done. We’re good to go.” Daisy holds something out to Tim. “Here.”

Tim takes the object, and Jon realizes it’s the detonator. He hasn’t told Daisy they’re letting Tim blow the trigger, but from the way he nods at her, it’s clear they’ve discussed this already. He takes a deep breath. “Right. Let’s get out of here and blow this place to hell.”

“This way.” Basira turns towards the door they came in.

For as small as it is, the building is a maze. Jon would almost suspect it to be the work of the Spiral rather than the Stranger, except that the purpose isn’t to confuse, it’s to conceal. Basira’s studied the layout thoroughly, though, so he lets her and Daisy lead. Martin brings up the rear, probably to make sure neither Jon nor Tim cut back and try to do something stupid like look, or try to get someone out. Jon won’t lie, he considers it, if only because he desperately wants to know what’s going on—it’s a blind spot, no matter how he reaches for it—but there’s enough of him that’s terrified of what the Primes told him to keep him moving forward. Besides, he won’t leave Tim and Martin behind, and he won’t risk getting either of them hurt by taking them in there.

So. Forward it is.

They twist around a couple of odd corners, passing through several rooms they’ve already set charges in. Daisy taps Basira’s arm and points at a narrow corridor; Basira nods, and they slip down it. It’s small enough they have to go single file, and part of Jon wonders if Martin’s going to get stuck, but when he glances over his shoulder, Martin gives him a quick smile and a nod, like he knows what Jon’s thinking. Then again, he probably does. They know each other well enough by now.

A few dozen yards and the corridor opens up into what’s essentially a storage space, probably for, if not theatrical costumes, then clothes to dress the waxworks in. Jon doesn’t want to think about what else it might have been used for, but thankfully, the racks and hangers are all empty. Apart from the way in, there’s another door up a short ramp and a third down a small, hollowed-out space that looks something like an enclosed orchestra pit or a place to work special effects from below a stage. The strange music is just barely audible from above.

To Jon’s surprise, Daisy pulls up short and turns to look at Tim. “This is where we leave you.”

“Wait, what?” Martin says incredulously.

Tim ignores him. “Five minutes?”

“Better make it ten,” Daisy says.

“Right.”

“Wait, wait, wait, no, no, we are not leaving Tim behind,” Martin says, his voice rising in pitch even as he keeps the volume low. “We’re not—that’s not part of the plan! It’s not—you didn’t add that when I wasn’t looking, did you?”

“No!” Jon hisses. “It’s not!”

Daisy growls in frustration. “The range on the detonator is good, but it’s not that good. The only way you can make it blow from outside and be sure of hitting all the charges is if you’re right outside, which is more dangerous.”

“Than blowing it up from the middle of the building?” Jon demands. His heart is pounding furiously.

“Under there, you’ve got a chance,” Daisy says, gesturing to the band shell. “Out there, you’ve got none.”

Martin sputters incoherently. Jon shakes his head. “No—no, that can’t—”

“It can, and it is,” Tim says. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

“Come on,” Basira says impatiently. “They’re going to get started soon. Can’t you hear it?”

Jon is starting to have trouble breathing. “Leaving you behind is not an option, Tim.”

“Tough! It’s the only way!” Tim snaps. “Stop being stubborn and go!”

Martin’s jaw clenches, and he turns abruptly to face Basira and Daisy. “Go on! We’ll catch up.”

“Martin—” Tim begins.

Jon interrupts him, waving at the other two. “Go!”

Daisy shrugs and turns for the door. Basira gives all three of them a long look, then follows.

Tim looks both annoyed and worried. “You two need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“Then it’s not safe for you, either,” Martin retorts. “Tim, please, you can—as long as we get most of them, it’s fine. Th-the ritual can’t, it’s going to fail anyway, so even if we don’t completely destroy the building—”

“Then whoever investigates finds unexploded charges, and starts asking awkward questions,” Tim shoots back. “It’s going to be close as it is. Look, just—just go, damn it. Let me do this.”

“Tim, you can’t—” Jon eyes the band shell. “Even if the explosion somehow spares that area, you’ll be trapped under the rubble until—”

“Jon, I know,” Tim snaps. “Believe me, I’ve been over this already. I know what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t bring you along so you could kill yourself!” Jon snaps back, and then draws in a sharp breath and covers his mouth with one hand as he realizes what he just said. He wants to take the words back as soon as they’re out of his mouth, but at the same time…he realizes they’re true.

Before he can apologize, though, Tim says, “That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” Martin asks. He’s got that same look he had when he barred the door from them upstairs. “Maybe you’re not going to do it yourself, but you don’t care if you live or die, do you?”

“Of course I care, but I’m not going to—” Tim makes a noise of frustration and exasperation. “Look, get out of here, both of you. Go. I’ll blow the building once you’re clear, and if I survive, you can yell at me later.”

“There is—” Jon realizes he’s starting to shout and brings his voice back down to a whisper with effort. “There is no if here, Timothy Stoker. Either you leave this building with us, or—”

“Or what?” Tim challenges. “You knew I might not make it out—”

“I knew none of us might make it out, and I am not going to let anyone die unnecessarily,” Jon says, stabbing a finger at Tim’s chest for emphasis.

“Then go!” Tim snaps. “Both of you. Go. For God’s sake, don’t make this for nothing. It’s worth it if it saves your lives.”

“Our lives aren’t worth you sacrificing yours!” Martin’s voice cracks with emotion.

“They are to me!” Tim all but shouts back.

Jon feels like he’s missing an important piece of the puzzle here, but they don’t have time for him to figure it out. He could compel the answer out of Tim, but even now, even when their lives might literally depend on the truth, he won’t do that to him. Not on purpose. To Tim or to Martin. He won’t betray their trust like that.

“If this is some…misguided attempt to martyr yourself to save the world, o-or—” he begins.

“Fuck the world!” Tim bursts out. “I don’t care about any of that right now. It’s you. It’s both of you. For God’s sake, I love you.” He draws in a sharp breath. “Not—not like I love Sasha. It’s not…I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with both of you for a long time. Maybe as long as I’ve known you, Martin, but—however long it’s been, doesn’t matter. I know you don’t feel the same way about me, but that’s what it is. I love you both, and I will do anything it takes to save you, because to me, it’s worth it as long as you both survive.”

And there it is—the piece Jon’s been missing. His heart drops into his stomach as he realizes that, in all the chaos of the two weeks since he got home from America, he’s never actually sat down and talked to Tim and Martin. He knows he had the revelation about the other two, he knows how he feels, but even when they had down time and some relative peace, he hasn’t said anything. He’s not sure how much of it is cowardice and how much of it is fear and how much of it is just genuinely not thinking about it.

“And just where do you get off pretending you know how we feel?” he demands. He’s angry, but not really at Tim—mostly at himself. “I-I may have taken a long time to realize it, but I love you. Both of you. I should have said something sooner, but God, I love you both. I wasn’t acting in Elias’ office when I said it wasn’t safe and I wanted you two to stay behind. I-it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I wanted you to be safe, damn it. I need you to be safe. I need you to be okay. I can’t—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard before trying again. “I can’t do this without you.”

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the rumble of either pipes or the central air system and the faint hints of circus music filtering down from above. Suddenly, Martin steps forward, his expression a mixture of anger, pain, and fear. He grabs Tim’s face in both hands and kisses him, hard.

Tim makes a muffled sound of surprise, nearly dropping the detonator, then kisses him back. His shoulders relax slightly, and while he seems to have difficulty knowing what to do with his hands since one is in a cast and the other is clutching the detonator, he manages well enough.

The sight does something funny to Jon’s chest. He’s not sure if he should quantify it as jealousy or satisfaction or fear or what. Before he has time to consider it, though, Martin releases Tim, turns to Jon, cups his face, and kisses him, too.

Jon remembers the night they moved into their house, when he watched the Primes and wondered if he would feel differently about kissing if it’s Martin he’s kissing. He can now definitively answer that question with a resounding yes. Martin’s lips aren’t necessarily as soft as he might have expected—they’re cracked and split, probably from biting them in agitation and nerves—but the lipstick he’s taken to wearing more often because both Tim and Jon have complimented him on it smooths over the worst of it and tastes faintly of cherries. Despite the urgency of the kiss, it’s surprisingly tender, and Martin’s hands against his cheeks are gentle.

Warmth floods Jon’s body. It’s the same way he feels when he wakes up in Martin and Tim’s arms—safe, secure, and above all loved. In Martin’s kiss, he realizes that they’ve all been feeling this way for quite a while, that Tim has always thought of him as more than a friend, that Martin’s crush has deepened into real feelings, that he’s a right tit for not having said something sooner.

Martin pulls away from Jon as carefully as he went into the kiss. It still leaves Jon a bit off-balance and breathless.

“We are having a proper serious conversation about this when we get home,” Martin tells them both. “But for the record, I love you, too.”

Tim manages a shaky laugh. “I would hope you don’t go around kissing just anybody like that.”

“Shut up, Tim.” Martin looks from Tim to Jon and back. He still looks upset and scared, but he’s smiling slightly, too, and his cheeks are faintly pink. “Now what?”

Tim looks at the detonator in his hand. “I was serious before. I have to detonate it from down here or it won’t blow them all. And if they don’t all blow…there was no point in doing all this.”

The music shifts. Jon inhales quickly as a voice filters down from the stage above—he can’t make out the words from down here, but the voice is very clearly Nikola Orsinov’s. “Yes. And—we owe it to Danny. And to Gertrude,” he adds softly, looking at Martin.

Martin swallows hard and nods. “Right. You’re right. Okay, then.” He looks at Tim. “We’re still not leaving you behind.”

“Martin, it’s not safe for you two to be here,” Tim says again.

“Tough! Okay?” Martin says bluntly. “We’re not leaving without you. Especially not now. Together, or not at all.”

“That’s the deal,” Jon agrees. He won’t pretend he isn’t scared, but Martin’s right, they’re not leaving this place without Tim.

Tim stares at them both, then smiles, even as tears fill his eyes. “Okay, then. Together.”

They step together into the space. The music is louder here; Jon can feel it pulling him upwards, and he can hear thumps, taps, and creaks as the “dance” begins. He shivers and reaches for Tim and Martin on instinct. They both reach back. Even before this, Jon wouldn’t have expected otherwise, but now he no more doubts them than he doubts his own right arm. The three of them wrap arms around one another, and despite their differing heights, they manage to press their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Jon gasps out.

“I love you,” Martin murmurs.

“I love you,” Tim echoes. He meets Jon’s eyes. “Tell me when.”

Jon nods back and takes a deep breath. “Three…two…one…”

Tim pulls Jon and Martin down into a protective huddle and presses the detonator.

[toosicktoocare]

I’ve got BatFam on the mind. 

Jason sinks back against his couch, humming pleasantly, and he’s just about to kick his feet atop the ottoman and open the new book he’s been eager to dig into for a month now when a quick, patterned knock on his apartment door interrupts his eased thoughts, startling him briefly before he sighs loudly. 

He’s just decided to ignore it when the knocking continues, accompanied, this time, by a small voice he, unfortunately, recognizes almost immediately. 

“Jason?”

He makes sure the groan that builds from the back of his throat is dramatically loud and equally as long as he drops his book on the abandonded couch behind him and starts to the door, undoing the locks and pulling the door open with a familair frown reserved specifically for the damned “family” of his. 

“Replacement,” Jason bites out, fingers curled lazily around the edge of the door. 

Tim’s drenched before him, shuddering slightly with his arms wrapped tightly around his too-slender frame, and his normal, calculated composure looks to be nudging the brink of breaking. He squeezes under Jason’s arm, letting himself into the apartment, and Jason drags a deep sigh out. 

“I need your help.” 

“Did you already forget where the door is?” Jason asks, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Because it’s right there, and I’m happy to escort you out.” 

Unfazed, Tim slows his pacing down, stopping in the center of Jason’s entryway. “Dick’s been kidnapped.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, a bad habit he hasn’t cared in the slightest to remedy. He drags narrow eyes up and down Tim’s uniform. “And I care because?” he draws out, arching both brows. 

Tim sighs at this, and if Jason weren’t borderline dangerously annoyed, he’d be a little impressed that he’s managed to just barely get under Tim’s skin. 

“Look, seeking out your help made the most sense logistically.” 

“Logistically,” Jason parrots back flatly. 

“You’re the closest to our location.” 

“And, you came here instead of helping,” Jason points out, motioning toward Tim’s suit. “Why waste the time? You’re capable of helping him yourself.” He’s hoping, smally, that the fraction of a compliment will boost Tim’s ego up just enough to send him out the door, and yet, Tim visibly deflates before him, tugging his mask off and coughing into the crook of his arm. 

“I shouldn’t be out.” 

“Because you look as if you took a deep dive in the Gotham River in the dead-ass middle of winter?” 

“And because I have the flu.” 

Jason frowns sharply, eyes flicking from one too-flushed cheek to the other. Without thinking fully, he crosses the room and slaps a palm to Tim’s forehead, finding him alarmingly hot to the touch despite the icy water dripping off him.

“You do remember that you’re kind of missing your spleen, right?” Jason questions lowly, stepping back to further assess Tim’s condition through gaze alone. 

Shuddering, Tim hugs himself tightly, eyes casting to the ground. “Dick asked me to come out and help. I told him it may not be a good idea because,” he pauses, turning to hack harshly into his fist, “well, that. But he insisted.” 

“He insisted,” Jason repeats darkly, eyes flashing a brief red. 

Tim meekly nods, swaying on his feet, and Jason growls in the back of his throat, guiding Tim to the bathroom. “Christ. Hot shower and change into something dry,” Jason spits out, already whipping toward his bedroom for his suit. He’s quick slipping it on, easy muscle memory, and he’s just slipped a few guns into the holsters at his sides when Tim clears his throat. 

“You’re going to help?”

“Apparently,” Jason grumbles, hands adjusting the clip of rubber bullets. “The last thing I want is you keeling over in my apartment and the big, bad, Bat blaming me for it. Plus, I now have a reason to rip Dick a new one for being a fucking idiot.” 

“Thanks,” Tim sighs, visibly relieved. “There’s a dock with a wooden boat house at Gotham River, east side.” 

“Got it,” Jason starts, pasuing, mask only pulled over his forehead. “Hang on,” he stops his quick movement toward the door, whipping around toward Tim. “Did you actually deep-dive in the Gotham River when it’s close to the negatives outside?” 

“Got dizzy,” Tim mutters, coughing. “I kind of fell.” 

“Fucking hell,” Jason curses, snagging the keys to his bike before stalking out of his apartment, slamming the door behind him.

***

“Do you have a plan?”

Jason works through a colorful string of hushed curses at the sudden sound of Tim’s rough voice in his ear, forgetting that he’s never actually disconnected his comm. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, eyeing the boat house from his corner cover behind a brick wall. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping or some shit?”

“I wanted to help you. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m borrowing your laptop so I can have eyes on multiple locations.” 

Jason’s working through a grunt that he doesn’t mind, but his brain wraps back around unspoken details. “I have my laptop password protected.” 

“’I am the Red Hood’ isn’t exactly a hard password to crack.”

Jason shakes his head, a huff slipping past his covered lips. “I’m moving far away from all of you after this,” he mutters, standing from his cover and approaching the boat house. 

“Hood, what’s the plan? You’re wide open right now.” 

“About that,” Jason draws out, stopping before the wooden door. He can hear multiple voices behind the rickety walls, Dick’s voice standing out loudly among the others. “I think I’ll just walk in, say a little hello.” 

Tim groans in his ear, muttering how he should have ignored logistics to find someone more competent, and Jason laughs lowly before kicking the door wide open, a sly smile curling against his covered lips as multiple men with guns whip toward the door, numerous barrels aimed right at him. 

Dick’s in the center of the room tied to a chair. His face is beginning to fade to blues and blacks, yet the look of pure, innocent surprise on his face completely contradicts the entire situation. 

“Hood?”

“I’d say long time no see,” Jason starts, one hand slowly moving to ghost above a gun at his waist, “but you’re a little hard to make out with all the swelling and bruising.” 

Dick rolls his eye that’s not swollen to hell, and Jason starts forward ignoring the rings of clicks that echo from every gun that’s pointed toward him. 

“Hey, aren’t you the Red Hood?” 

Jason cocks his head to the side, turning toward the voice. “Well, I do have a hood, and last I checked, it’s definitely red.” 

“Watch it, smartass. What business do you have with this one?” The man speaking, some gruff, bulky blond with distasteful tattoos littering his fingers, motions toward Dick with the barrel of his gun, and Jason tenses slightly, his hand now laying fully atop the gun at his waist. 

“Bird infestation,” Jason grumbles. “Gotta get this one to get rid of the other.” 

“Red Robin?” Dick calls out, jerking against the ropes that have his hands tied tightly behind the chair. “Is he okay?” 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Jason mutters, and Tim crackles in his ears. 

“Hood, I don’t like these odds. I’m going to call for back up.” 

“No need, Replacement.” Jason drags a slow gaze back toward Dick, and though they disagree on 90% of things, they still, somehow, share this odd ability to communicate via look alone, and Dick gives a single nod to his silent question. “I have help.” 

“Jason-”

Jason slips both guns out from his holsters and stretches his arms out wide and open. “Let’s go, boys.” 

The next few seconds are loud, gun shots ringing out from every direction, and Jason feeds off the familair sound, adding into the mix with his rubber bullets that don’t miss. Dick, as he predicted, has broken the wooden chair he’s been tied to and has managed to wiggle his wrists free from the ropes. Jason covers him with one gun while targeting those running toward him with his other. 

The fight lasts a minute and forty-three seconds, with Jason and Dick ending on top, multiple unconsious men at their feet. 

“I’ve already notified Gotham PD,” Dick starts, rubbing at his wrists as he steps over a few bodies. “Where’s Tim? He was fighting outside, and one of these assholes broke my comm.” Dick’s tense, fear laced heavily in his voice, and Jason steadies his eyes into a sharp glare. 

“He’s back at my apartment, sick-” is all he manages out before Dick’s racing out of the boat house. “-as fuck, no thanks to you,” Jason finishes flatly to himself. He slips his bike keys from his pocket and starts out the door when he can hear sirens in the distance. 

***

Jason makes it back to his apartment a few seconds after Dick, and he’s making a very serious mental note to move far away when he slips through the open door to see Dick hovering over Tim, pressing a palm to his forehead, counting Tim’s pulse with his free hand. 

“Dick, I’m fine,” Tim whines, swatting at Dick’s hands, and Jason pulls his mask off and cocks his head to the side. 

“Spleenless, the flu is not ‘fine,’“ Jason gripes out, and Dick whips around to him, eyes wide, before dragging a quick gaze back to Tim.

“The flu? Tim, what the hell?” 

Frowning, Jason approaches the two, eyeing Tim dangerously. “You said he knew.” 

“I calculated a few scenarios,” Tim starts, coughing weakly. “I figured you’d be more likely to help Dick if you were pissed at him.” 

“What kind of fucking backwards logic-”

“-Dick!”

Jason’s unable to finish his thoughts when Dick drops to a knee in front of him, one hand curled tightly around his abdomen, his face pinched in pain. 

“Dick,” Tim presses again, shoving the laptop from his lap and leaning over the side of the couch to get a better look. “What’s wrong?” 

Jason’s seen some shit when it comes to this twisted family he can’t quite get out of, but he can truly say that he’s never seen Dick’s stoic composure crumble under the weight of injury, and his eyes grow wide all on their own, a lump building in his throat. 

“Nothing,” Dick grunts out around clenched teeth, his jaw a hard, sharp line, and Jason blinks around the muted grip of fear, groaning instead and pulling Dick to his feet despite Dick’s hiss of pain at his side. 

“Alright, Dickie Bird. Since my home is now apparently the house of the hurt and helpless, let’s look you over. One bird down in my apartment would be bad, but two? No fucking way.” 

He calls out for Tim to take some damn medicine as he drags Dick into the bathroom, pulling at Dick’s suit until the top half’s pulled down, revealing dark purple bruising littering Dick’s sides. 

“Your ribs?” Jason guesses, and Dick nods, swallowing back a moan of pain when Jason presses lightly on Dick’s sides. 

“Doesn’t seem broken, but we’ll wrap it just in case. I’m sure Alfred will personally kill me if I don’t.” Jason moves for his first aid kit, very much aware but choosing not to adress the hard eyes watching his every movement. 

“Jay-”

“I don’t want to hear it, D,” Jason says, snagging some large bandages he can wrap around Dick’s torso. 

“Thank you.” 

Jason groans loudly, crouching down to start wrapping Dick’s ribs. “I said I didn’t want to hear it. What’s up with you birds and your piss poor hearing?”

“I really didn’t know that Tim was sick. He seemed off, but he was insistent that we go and investigate the boat house. He said he had reason to believe they were smuggling drugs underneath the floorboards.” Dick hisses sharply when Jason tightens the bandages, promptly shutting him up. 

“I should have known that your mother hen instincts would have never let typhoid Timmy go out while sick.” 

Dick rolls his eyes around a wince, hand ghosting across the bandages when Jason stands up and backs away to critique his work. 

“Things just got a little out of hand.” 

“Clearly,” Jason says dryly, and Dick frowns deeply when he stands, the pain pulling at his sides hot and overwhelming. 

“I’ll call a cab-”

“-don’t,” Jason sighs loudly. “It’s late. You both can stay, but your asses are gone in the morning.”

The smile that spreads across Dick’s lips is blindingly familiar, and Jason finds he’s at ease with Dick’s boyish charm overcoming him once more. 

They slip out of the bathroom, and Jason starts to his room to get a change of clothes for Dick, pausing in the doorway to see Tim passed out on his bed, his breaths loud, congested. 

“I can move him to the couch,” Dick offers from behind him, and Jason only shakes his head silently, padding quietly into the room. “You both can sleep in here. He’s already infected my bed, anyway.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes,” Jason sighs, only faintly aware of how many times he truly sighs whenever one of the damn birds is around. He shoves clean clothes into Dick’s arms before stalking around him to change his own clothes, maybe take a hot shower to chase away the lingering chill, and finally, hopefully, start his book. 

“Jay?” 

Jason stops, one foot already in the bathroom. “If you look at me with those stupid, puppy eyes and say ‘thank you’ one more fucking time, I’ll make sure your ribs actually break.” 

Dick smiles wide and holds a hand up in mock defense before he slips into the bedroom and nudges the door closed, and Jason shakes his head, his own breath of a smile flicking at the corners of his lips as he closes the door behind him. 

[littlestarofthewest]

A guy insert where he got hurt or kidnapped (just something bad) and he's really scared/anxious and waiting for Arthurs help while Arthur is also extremely worried. Angst😤

Not sure this is angsty enough, but I gave it a try. And we don’t talk about how old this request is 😅

Morgan’s Wrath

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x male reader | Word Count: 1909 | Rating: Mature

You can barely breathe, the fabric around your face cutting off the air. Strong hands claw into the flesh of your arms, dragging you forward. You kick and scream, trying to get out of their grip, but it's two on one, and these guys clearly mean business.

They push you down on something hard, and before you can decipher your surroundings, they tie you down, rope cutting into the skin on your arms.

Someone rips the fabric away from your face, the bright light hurting your eyes. You blink away the pain, desperate to see where you are.

"Look at you," a voice says. "Morgan's little friend."

Your insides freeze now that you know who's talking to you. Finally able to open your eyes, you look at the O'Driscoll. He's smiling, showing off his remaining rotten teeth.

The last time you saw him, you were in Valentine with Arthur. He didn't dare to do anything but spew hatred back then since he was alone, but now, he's surrounded by four other guys.

"Didn't catch your name," Foulmouth says, raising his brows.

"Probably couldn't hear it over your own stench," you say, looking him up and down. "Ever heard of a bath?"

You see the blow coming, but it still hurts like hell. The taste of blood tells you that it must have split your lip, and it burns when Foulmouth grabs your chin to make you look at him.

"You're going to tell us where Morgan is, or I'll make you."

You remember this morning when you stood next to Arthur by the campfire, both of you enjoying your first cup of coffee. Arthur told you how glad he was that you joined the gang. There's no way in hell you're going to betray him.

"Good luck with that," you say, waiting for the next blow.

----------

"Y/N," Arthur shouts into the woods near camp. He knows it's a long shot, but you sometimes go there when you want to be alone.

When there's no answer, he heads back, finding Tilly and Mary-Beth sitting by their wagon.

"Sure you haven't seen him?"

"We've told you already," Tilly says, furrowing her brows. "Arthur, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure," he admits when the girls keep looking at him with worry. "Just a bad feeling."

"Have you asked Pearson?" Mary-Beth asks. "I think Y/N thought about fishing or hunting today. We're low on food again."

"I'll ask him. Thank you."

Arthur quickly makes his way over to Pearson, anger brewing in his stomach. He told Dutch that they were running low and that he wanted to take you with him for a little hunting trip. Of course, Dutch thought bringing in money was more important.

Instead of spending time with you, Arthur's been away from camp for three days. His whole way back, he's been thinking about seeing you again. Arthur tries to tell himself that he just wanted to get home, but worry is turning his insides, and he has to admit to himself that he likes you. He likes you a lot.

"Hey there, Arthur," Pearson says when Arthur draws near. "Good to have you back."

"Have you seen Y/N?"

Pearson throws some ingredients into the stew pot, furrowing his brows. "This morning. I think he thought about going on a quick fishing trip down by the lake."

"Well, did he think about it, or did he actually go?"

Arthur's harsh town makes Pearson look up with worry. "I'm not sure. The sun was just coming up. I could barely see out of my eyes."

"It's the middle of the day. He should be back by now."

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Pearson says, looking around as if he might spot you any second. "I don't-"

"I'll check the lake," Arthur says. "He has to be somewhere."

"But Dutch-"

"I don't care," Arthur shouts, feeling sorry when Pearson flinches. "I just- I'll go find him."

Arthur storms to his horse, not taking anything with him but his rifle. He reaches the lake in record time and travels along the shore, checking the spots where the gang members usually try their luck with fishing. 

Aside from a lonely fisherman who claims that he hasn't seen anybody for hours, Arthur doesn't see a soul. He's about to turn his horse around when he remembers how you told him about your favorite fishing spot. There's a little enclosure with trees that must have fallen over in a storm. The branches reach into the water, sometimes trapping a bunch of fish.

The second Arthur reaches the spot, he knows that something's wrong. He finds your fishing rod broken on the ground and drag marks in the sand, leading into the trees. Arthur's heart beats faster, and he takes his gun out before venturing into the trees. A quick look around tells him that he's too late. Aside from some squirrels that flee his presence, nobody else is there.

Arthur fetches his horse and tries his best to track down where you went. There are hoof marks on the ground, flattened grass, and broken twigs. It becomes clear that someone came through here in a hurry. It's the only good thing in that goddamn bitch of a situation.

While following the tracks, Arthur keeps scolding himself. He should have known that the O'Driscolls wouldn't give up. He just didn't think that they would actually grab one of the gang. It probably would be a good idea to go back to camp and get reinforcements, but Arthur's worried that you don't have that much time. It might already be too late.

Arthur spurs on his horse, forcing it through the trees at a dangerous pace. It won't help anybody if the poor thing breaks a leg, but Arthur can't bring himself to go slower. His stomach is in such turmoil that he feels like he might get sick. If anything happened to you, it's his fault, and he's worried about what he might do.

Arthur's so caught up in thoughts about you that he doesn't spot the man hiding behind a tree. He fires a shot, grazing Arthur's arm. Surprised by the sound, Arthur's horse bucks and throws him off. He manages to roll over, but stones and twigs dig into his skin. His whole body feels like it's been crushed by a giant's fist.

Another shot sounds and dirt flies up next to Arthur's face. He rolls over into a nearby bush, drawing his gun and squinting into the trees. A man comes running, gun drawn, but time seems to slow down when he lifts it up. Blood rushes through Arthur's veins, pumping so loud that it drowns out all other sounds.

In a red fog, the man in front of Arthur glows like a beacon, becoming the perfect target. Arthur aims without thinking, and before he's aware that he pulled the trigger, the man is already falling to the ground.

Arthur takes a few deep breaths before getting up and running over to his attacker. The man is clearly dead, and although Arthur has never seen him, he's sure it's an O'Driscoll. 

It can't be a coincidence that he's here. Whoever took you must be around there somewhere. It's too bad Arthur can't ask the dead guy. He looks through his pockets but doesn't find much, so Arthur whistles for his horse.

After taking his rifle from its saddle, Arthur ventures into the trees without it. If the man was a lookout, there'd be more O'Driscolls about, and they must have heard the shot. Arthur still has a hard time breathing, worried that he might have just signed your death warrant.

Blood is soaking his shirt by now where the bullet tore up his flesh, but he doesn't have time to stop. Despite his whole body aching, he sneaks through the trees, watching out for more O'Driscolls. He doesn't have to go far. Arthur can hear voices, men arguing with each other.

"You're paranoid, that's what that is."

"I heard gunshots, you idiot. What if there's someone coming for him?"

"He's just a little fish. They wouldn't bother."

"We should just shoot him and leave. Now!"

Arthur's heart might beat out of his chest any second. They must be talking about you. He breaks into a run, not caring that somebody might see him.

"Last chance, boy. Tell us where Morgan is, or we'll shoot you," one of the earlier voices says.

"Go to hell!"

Arthur feels like screaming. You sound horrible, but he'd recognize your voice anywhere. It can't be that he's too late.

"Hey, cowards!" he shouts, breaking through the trees.

One of the O'Driscolls stands right by the trees, and without thinking, Arthur hammers his rifle's grip in the guy's face. He falls to the ground with a loud thud, making the other men look over to Arthur like startled deer.

----------

You can barely see, one of your eyes swollen shut. Still, you'd recognize Arthur anywhere. The shape of his body, the way he moves, and even more so, his voice. You wish you could be happy to see him, but worry consumes you. Arthur fights three against one, and there's still the lookout somewhere in the trees. There's no way Arthur can win.

Foulmouth and his man finally move, but Arthur shoots Foulmouth right in the face before they can draw their weapons.  You get to your feet despite the chair, and without thinking, you throw yourself into one of the men. You both go down while Arthur knocks out the other one. Before the guy next to you can get up, Arthur moves over and grabs him.

"Please, let me go," he whimpers, raising his hands. "I have a family."

Arthur takes the gun out of his belt and shoves him. "Get out of here before I change my mind."

The man scrambles to his feet and runs while Arthur turns to you, cutting up the ropes around your wrists.

"Are you okay?" he asks, helping you to your feet.

"Well, my pride is a little dented. Otherwise, I'm fine."

Arthur's eyes roam over your body before focussing on your face. "Except for this."

He reaches up as if to touch you, but then he takes his hand away. You shrug. "That'll be gone in a few days."

"Sorry I didn't come sooner," Arthur says, watching the ground. 

You can't believe that he thinks it's his fault. From what you can see, he fought tooth and nail to get to you. Blood is soaking through the fabric on his arm, and his whole body is covered in scrapes and cuts. You reach up to pull a small twig out of his hair.

"Not your fault," you say, letting your hand cup his face. 

Arthur looks up, and the way his eyes bore into yours makes your knees go weak. You might regret doing more, but at this moment, you can't help it. 

"Thank you, Arthur," you whisper before leaning in and planting a soft kiss on his lips.

He lets out a soft hum, something you've never heard from him before. Then he goes back to staring into the ground. "Just thought- You know, if anything happened to you-"

"Let's take care of that scratch first," you say, your fingers closing around his wounded arm. "And once we're back, I'll take care of you."

Arthur doesn't say anything, but you've rarely seen him fetch his horse that quickly.

[soobrat]

*･༓☾ kryptonite // Bang Chan ☽༓･*

chapter iii // masterlist

*chapter rating* mature

*warnings* gore, forced vomiting

*word count* 1.1k

*disclaimer(s)* this chapter is kinda disgusting 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

( C H A R A C T E R S  U P D A T E D)

Smoke grunted as he and Taz lugged the rigid body to the deep hole dug in the ground. Smoke tried as hard as he could to dodge the smell of the rotting human being, but it followed his nose.

"Jesus we should've done this a long time ago." Smoke grumbled under his breath before dropping the top half of the human. He couldn't tell if the wetness of the thud was from the damp woodland floor or... the body's head. Taz dragged the other half of the body a bit more before dropping it as well. Smoke peered over at Taz who seemed to fixate on the body longer than usual

"We definitely would've, but no one knew he was dead until today."

They weren't sure of his name, all they knew was that he was a snitch and scapegoat for Papa. Apparently he overdosed on drugs and was dead on their grounds for almost a week.

"Alright, on three kick him in." Smoke peered over at Taz who was still focused on the body.

"It was his skull..." Smoke quirked his brow up.

"What?" Taz snapped his head towards smoke before looking back at the body. There was a puddle of deep red seeping from the back of his head. The skin of the body grew paler, it was nearly blue now. His eyes wide open, eyeballs a ghastly grey. His lips were purple, spread apart so that the insects could crawl and fly in & out as they pleased.

"1..." Smoke started, breaking Taz out of his daze.

"2... Shouldn't you be used to shit like this by now?" Smoke questioned, making Taz look at him again.

"What are-"

"3!" The two men shove the limp body into the grave with one foot. After hearing the brutal impact, they begin concealing the hole.

-

"What did you do to her?"

Yunho and Chan stare in horror as you foam at the mouth and convulse, tied to a sturdy wooden chair.

"I just shot her with the dart she was gonna shoot me with. Did she poison it maybe?"

"Maybe, but my bets are on her and her group of idiots didn't know that tranq darts have to be stored a specific temperature and used ASAP. I'm pretty sure you shot her with an expired dart."

The convulsing pauses, your head flopping forward.

"Jesus, is she gonna die?" Chan finally found the strength to tear his eyes away.

"There's a possibility..." Yunho went pale at the idea of a dead woman being found in Chan's house. He shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering over at Chan.

"We have to tell him."

"Who? Park? No, the last thing we need is to alert ANYONE of this. I'm pretty sure someone on her side has already reported back about this. We've entered into something dangerous." Yunho was growing more and more weary with each word Chan spoke.

"Wow, this is really bad." They both stood there in silent agreement.

"The best to do now is just wait I guess."

-

Scraping of a chair, grunts and whines woke Chan up that morning. He was rushing down to the basement when he saw the look on your face. You looked up at him with horror in your eyes. The tone in your voice was desperate.

"P-please!"

"Well well well! Look who's done seizing!" He chuckles, settling his hands on his waist. He barely got the sleep out of his eyes, but the strong smell of urine and feces woke him right up.

"Please, I can't die! Please don't kill me." Usually someone begging for their life in a horrifying situation like this would be very understandable, but somehow with you, it didn't add up. Just when Chan was ready to ask questions, his mother's ringtone sounded.

Chan's eyes flicked up towards you after pulling out his phone.

"You can't die, huh?" Chan hurried up the stairs, rustling feverishly through the hallway dresser. He returns with a gun in hand. His phone had stopped ringing by then. He untied you with one hand, keeping the gun pointed at you. The ringtone went off again.

"Use your hands to make yourself gag. Now." He hits the green button, waiting for his mother's sweet voice to grace his ears.

"Chan, you've been ignoring my calls! I was worried sick- what the hell is that?"

All Chan asked was to make yourself gag, but you've begun shoving your fingers deep down your throat, drawing bile up.

"Mom I'm so sorry, sorry about lying about my girlfriend. Also I'm sorry I ignored your calls but she's really sick. She's been throwing up so much since yesterday. Must be food poisoning." Chan desperately wanted to look away, but he couldn't let you get away with anything.

"Oh my goodness, she must be in so much pain!" Chan looked at your eyes. They were watering, and struggling to use the arm bound by your side to force yourself to vomit. You grimaced when you got vomit on your hand. You shook it off, sniffling. You looked so weak and pathetic.

"Yeah... she is. Anyways I'll call you as soon as I can and we can properly talk, okay?" Chan hung up before his mother could answer. Your head flopped over again, but this time she began sobbing. Chan saw this as an opportunity to get information.

"Who's coming. I know someone is but who, and what's the plan?" Chan nudged you with his foot.

"U-um... I'm pretty sure it's..." You swallowed and sniffled, struggling slightly against the rope tied around your torso. You looked like you was debating whether or not to say it. You sighed before speaking.

"Taz... it's gonna be Taz or Yeou."

Chan kicked at the chair, only just missing your shin. You flinched.

"Why the fuck don't you know?"

Your sobbing increased in volume, shaking in your confines. You could feel your right arm throbbing from the rope digging into it while you gagged yourself. Your throat burned, stomach still lurching from purging the tiny amount of food from it. This was creeping on the level of things you experienced at the grounds. Either way, you had nothing to lose.

"They're gonna kill me anyways on suspicion of talking, so if I knew anything I would've told you."

"Then tell me everything you know now. Starting with what the two people you mentioned look like in detail."

"Yeou... she's medium-ish height, curvy..." You find it hard to focus suddenly. Your vision became blurry, head spinning. You looked up at Chan, there were multiple of him. He was saying something to you, but it was illegible.

"It's starting again, fuck." He watched in horror as you began foaming at the mouth and convulsing again. He felt his blood pressure rise, realizing he now had no idea who might be after him.

[fruit-teeth]

Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 22)

Over the bathroom sink, Zhanna washed some dirt off her hand and watched as it disappeared down the drain. She and Soldier had spent some time attempting to relocate the raccoons into a small shelter, and while they had succeeded, it had not been clean work in the least. As she managed to dry off her hand on a nearby towel, Lar-Nah entered the bathroom, kneeling down to open one of the bottom cabinets.

“What you looking for, old lady?’ Zhanna wanted to know, turning back to the mirror to fix her hair.

“I spilled some water on the floor,” Lar-Nah responded, ignoring the title Zhanna had graciously bestowed upon her. “I’m going to dry it off before I slip in it.”

“Oh. That is fine.” Zhanna nodded, and she undid the bandage around the stump of her other wrist to replace it with a new one.

Zhanna proceeded to apply the clean bandage to her wrist while Lar-Nah returned to her room. Once the bandage was on, she secured it with a clip and held it up to the light, pursing her lips together. Engineer had promised to make her a robotic hand, but he hadn’t said when he was going to get to work on doing that. She considered asking him about it, but everyone was so on edge lately that it did not seem –

From the room across the hall came a crash, and then an outraged shout. Zhanna froze, peeking through the doorway. “Old lady?” she called, but Lar-Nah did not answer.

Zhanna dashed into the bedroom, arriving just in time to see a frightening sight: a weird man with bug-like eyes had broken into the room. He'd come in through the ripped window screen, and he was currently standing over Lar-Nah, holding a gun to her head. Lar-Nah crouched on the floor, holding her arms up in a defensive position.

“Yell one more goddamn time and I'll blow your brains out, you damn hag!” the man said to Lar-Nah. He clearly hadn’t noticed Zhanna’s presence.

In an instant, Zhanna sprang into action, leaping across the room and punching the man square in the jaw. He fell to the floor with a yell, the gun falling out of his hand. Zhanna kicked it further away, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and lifting him up.

“Who are you!?” she demanded to know, getting right in his face. “Why you here!?”

The man only stared blankly at her, before reaching down and pressing a button on his belt. Zhanna noticed, and she growled, flinging him across the room. He slammed against the nightstand, knocking it over and shattering the bedside lamp on the floor.

“What was noise!?” Heavy’s voice boomed from downstairs, and within moments, he came rushing up the stairs and into the room. Behind him came Pyro and Engineer, and right away, they noticed the intruder.

Heavy helped Zhanna to restrain the man, and Engineer took it upon himself to confront him. “Did Sage send you!?” Engie demanded, looking the man up and down. He then noticed the button on his belt, squinting at it. “The hell is that…?”

“He press that button!” Zhanna explained. “Is it bomb!?”

Despite the man’s thrashing and protests, Engineer yanked the belt off of him, getting a good look at it. “It’s a tracking device!” he realized. “That button must signal someone!” he glared back at the man. “All right, bug-eyes: who’d you call just now?”

The man glared back, before answering, “The name’s Grudge. And why don’t you just wait and see, old man?”

A grappling hook zipped over the window sill and through the cut screen, lodging itself into the wall. Pyro dashed to the window just in time to see yet another man, this one muscular but short, ascending a rope towards the house. Pyro swiftly pulled the hook and tossed it back, forcing the man to fall to the ground with a shout.

“Good work, Py!” Engineer praised, but it was far from over.

Olivia was in the study, and she hadn’t heard much of what had happened. She'd been too preoccupied with looking through newspapers for a new crossword puzzle to notice the commotion, when the door behind her banged open. She turned around, seeing Scout standing there, a bewildered look on his face.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, dashing towards her. “You gotta go, Liv!”

“Why? What is it?” Olivia sensed something was wrong, but the door behind them burst open again before Scout could respond to her questions.

A broad-shouldered woman stood there, a machete in her hand. Her eyes locked on Olivia, and she made a move towards her.

Scout yelled, “Oh, no you don’t!” he then grabbed the edge of one of the bookcases, yanking it down in her path to block her from Olivia. The bookshelf landed right on the woman’s foot, and she screamed in alarm, trying to free herself.

Scout then scooped Olivia up, opening one of the windows and escaping with her. Olivia’s mind reeled, desperately trying to process what was happening. As she looked back at the house, she could see a man trying to climb up into the house through a different window. The intruder was immediately besieged by angry raccoons as Soldier yanked him back down.

Scout led Olivia to the shed, which she had helped Demo, Zhanna, and Soldier convert into a shelter just days earlier. Once Scout set Olivia on the ground, he opened the door and pushed her into the structure.

“Hide in here,” he told her breathlessly. “It’s gonna be okay!”

“But…” Olivia had little time to protest though, as Scout slammed the door. She pushed up a crate, using it to stand on so she could look into the direction he’d disappeared into. He ran back towards the house, grabbing his baseball bat on the way in. An explosion rocked the air, and she could hear Demoman shouting insults at someone.

So this was what fighting was like. Despite her father's constant exaggeration of the battles as if they were some incredible event, she'd never been present for one. The idea of being on a war field, battling and taking down the enemy piqued her interest every time he mentioned it.

But…now that she was here, she felt sick. The pit in her stomach returned, though it was darker this time, so much so that she had to sit down. She drew up her knees to her chest, staring up at the window, her young heart pounding against her chest.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she sat on the shed floor, shivering and mournfully contemplating how weak she was. Had she always been weak? Or had the men her father pitted her against only been too kindhearted to fight a child? Or…

The handle to the shed jiggled. Olivia froze, her eyes going wide as she stared at the handle, realizing with horror she hadn’t locked the door. Leaping up, she quickly locked it, before pressing herself against the door in attempt to hold it shut.

The handle twitched again, and someone banged on the door. “Come on, kid!” an unfamiliar man’s voice called. “We’re not gonna hurt you, we just need you to come with us!”

Olivia’s whole body tensed, her skin covered in a cold sweat. She looked all around the shed, spotting a shovel Soldier had left behind. She grabbed it, preparing to defend herself.

Outside, Rust tried the handle again, eventually settling on reaching for his gun. Jaws had told him this was where she’d seen the girl go, just after a bookshelf had crushed her foot. He wasn’t aiming to hurt this child, but he knew it was going to be inevitable.

The pop of the gun echoed through the air, and the doorhandle fell to the ground. Rust swung the door open, but right when he did, a steel shovel smacked him right in the abdomen. He doubled over with a yell. “God! Fuck! What the hell!?”

Hands trembling, Olivia wacked him again, this time in the head. Rust stumbled back, his eyes filled with palpable rage. He yanked the shovel out of her hand, throwing it back into the grass and grabbing her by the shoulders. “Come here!”

Olivia shrieked, and she began to claw at his wrists with her fingernails, drawing blood. He didn’t let go, though, just squeezing her tighter. Her heart pounding, she kicked her feet in desperation, trying whatever she could to get away.

Rust suddenly let out a pained yell, dropping Olivia and stumbling around in confusion. Olivia wondered if she had triggered that reaction, but as Spy uncloaked behind him, she realized it wasn't her.

Spy caught Rust by the collar of his shirt, twisting him around to confront him, still clutching the bloodied knife. “Such a man you are, going after a small girl!” Spy barked in his face, before looking back at Olivia. “Run! Run into the woods, go hide!”

Olivia struggled to her feet, and without thinking, she escaped into the woods like Spy had said. She dashed into the bushes till she came upon a stump and hid behind it, her whole body trembling with fear at what had transpired.

“Let me go!” being significantly bigger than Spy, Rust managed to shake him away, but Spy tackled him again and held the knife to his throat.

“Just tell me one thing,” Spy began with a snarl. “Is she the target!? Is that why you went after her!?”

Rust grit his teeth. “Like I’d tell you, you masked rat!”

Spy slashed his knife across Rust’s face, making him yell out again. “Talk or I’ll cut your throat!”

Rust shoved him off, cocking his gun and pointing it in Spy’s face. “Look, man,” Rust began. “I got a job to do! And if that means snatching a child up for a billionaire, I’ll do it!”

Spy reached for his own gun, but as it turned out, he did not have to shoot. A bullet whizzed through the air, shredding Rust’s throat and painting the grass red. From the direction of the house, Miss Pauling came running, her shotgun in her hand. When she came closer, she slowed, taking a moment to examine Rust.

“He’s quite dead, Miss Pauling.” Spy assured, trying to keep himself composed. “Thank you…”

“No problem,” Pauling panted. “God, I think they bit off more than they could chew with us,” she laughed breathlessly. “It seems almost too easy! I think—”

Spy cut her off. “Olivia is their target.”

Pauling trailed off. “I…huh? Wait, how do you know!?”

“He said so,” Spy replied, gesturing to Rust’s body. “Sage must be after Olivia, for some reason.”

“Oh, God…” Pauling ran a hand through her hair. “Where is she now?”

“In the woods, hiding.” Spy dusted himself up, looking towards the cluster of trees. “That coward attacked her – she’s terrified…”

Miss Pauling nodded sympathetically. “I imagine, damn…I’ll go check on her, you get back in there!” she gestured to the house.

Spy nodded, putting his gun back at his side and heading back. “Of course, Miss Pauling!”

Grudge believed it was best to escape as soon as it became evident that the mercenaries had the upper hand. Zhanna had locked him in the bedroom, but he'd escaped, running through the fighting and trying to flee through the kitchen window.

Sniper, on the other hand, had noticed him and was standing behind him with his rifle, muzzle aimed at the back of his head.

“I’d get away from there if I were you, mate,” Sniper warned, his voice low. Grudge paused, turning his head to meet Sniper’s eyes.

“Why?” Grudge snarked. “Are you gonna be mad at me? Huh? Is that it?”

Before Sniper could respond, Grudge tackled him to the floor, knocking the gun away from him. Sniper let out a shout, kneeing him in the stomach and tossing him across the kitchen.

Sniper lunged for his rifle as Grudge attempted to recover, but Grudge produced a gun without notice and fired one shot. The bullet only grazed Sniper’s shoulder, but it was enough to knock him back against the cabinets.

Groaning, Sniper struggled to get back up, but Grudge stood over him, pointing the gun right in his face. “Any last words, ‘mate’?” Grudge seethed, mocking Sniper’s accent.

The unexpected happened in what felt like a single second: Sniper observed Lar-Nah standing behind Grudge, but before he could figure out what she was up to, she lifted the microwave from the cabinet and slammed it down.

It fell directly onto Grudge’s head, the glass door shattering around his skull and sending him into stunned shock. He dropped his gun and gasped for breath within the kitchen appliance as he staggered backwards, dropping to the ground. Sniper watched in disbelief as Lar-Nah stood calmly over Grudge, his body twitching two more times before stopping.

“Old hag, my ass,” Lar-Nah spat. She then turned to Sniper, looking at his shoulder. “He shot you, didn’t he?”

“Oh,” Sniper checked his wound. “It’s not serious, he only nicked me. I…” he rose to his feet, blinking. “You…you just…you saved my life!”

Lar-Nah glanced back down at Grudge’s body, and then up at Sniper. “I did,” she scratched at her shoulder. “The microwave was a gamble, but I knew it would work if I angled it just right and—”

“Hey,” Sniper reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “Thank you.” he looked in her eyes, showing her his gratitude was genuine.

There was a brief pause, and Lar-Nah smiled back a little. “You’re welcome.”

Sniper's attention was drawn away by the pop of another gun from the living room, and he dashed to the doorway to see what was going on. Much to his surprise, Helen was standing over one of the intruders, holding a revolver in her hand.

“Took her long enough to show up,” Sniper muttered, realizing that this was the first time he’d seen her since the attack began.

Helen lowered her gun, staring at the woman she’d cornered and glaring down at her.

“I assume Sage sent you,” Helen began, her voice low and menacing. “And if he did, I’d like you to take back a message for him.”

Shell staggered to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth. “Fuck you,” she snarled. “I’m not taking back any message for you, bitch!”

“Oh? Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Helen pointed the nozzle of the gun at Shell’s jaw, lightly tapping it. “When you see Phoenix Sage, tell him that he’s a fool if he thought he could take me down this easily.” She then gestured to the mess that was the battle’s aftermath. “You’ve lost a few of your teammates already, it’s in your best interest to leave before we kill the rest of you.”

“You…bitch,” Shell repeated, her eyes bearing a cold, steel glare of hatred. She backed off, however, knowing she and her remaining teammates were outnumbered. “I’m not gonna forget this, all of you are gonna pay for this shit!”

Helen could only stand there and watch as Shell gathered her live companions and walked out of the house, disappearing into the woods. Despite the fact that the mercenaries had plainly defeated the bounty hunters, they were certain to return: Helen was well aware that people like that didn't go down without a fight.

Sniper took that moment to approach Helen, clearing his throat. “You’re not gonna…kill all of them? They’re gonna tell someone.”

“Oh, please,” Helen scoffed. “They’re bounty hunters. They won’t go to the authorities, I know these kinds of people…” she smoothed her blouse out and took a breath. “Anyway…you and the others, clean this place up. I’ll be hosting another meeting to discuss what just happened here.”

As she walked away, Sniper couldn’t stop the glare that crossed his face. Once Helen was out of earshot, he muttered, “Yeah, sure, make us clean up after you did bloody nothing…”

Out in the woods, Miss Pauling searched high and low for Olivia. She hadn’t found her yet, and the panic had set in.

“Come on, Olivia, it’s okay!” Pauling assured. “That guy who grabbed you is gone, its okay!”

A twig snapped by the trees, and Pauling turned to look, going quiet. After a long, few seconds of silence, Olivia emerged from behind the stump.

Relieved, Pauling knelt down to examine her, fixing her hair. “Hey, hey! Are you okay?”

Olivia only nodded. She was still terrified, but she’d calmed down somewhat. Now she was just tired.

She rooted herself against Miss Pauling, murmuring, “I just wanna go inside…”

“Okay…yeah, I understand.” Pauling carefully picked her up, smoothing her hair back. “We’ll go inside, I’ll get you some juice and a snack, okay?”

Olivia nodded again, pressing her face into Pauling’s shoulder. She smelled like sweat and blood mixed with deodorant, but Olivia didn’t care.

Miss Pauling carried Olivia out of the woods and into the backyard, where Demoman immediately noticed them.

“Lasses!” he exclaimed, rushing up to examine Olivia. “Oh, wee thing, are you all right?”

Olivia sniffed, lifting her head. “Yeah,” she answered. “I hit a guy with a shovel.”

Demo smiled a bit at that. “Did you? Aye,” he ruffled her hair affectionately. “You look knackered!”

“I’m gonna take her to the kitchen for a snack,” Pauling explained. “She’s had a long day, and—”

“Oh, not the kitchen,” Demo grimaced. “Sniper’s mum took a lad out with the microwave in there.”

Pauling blinked, unsure if she’d heard that right. “A microwave!? Oh, wow…guess we’ll need a replacement. I can take care of that mess, though…” she sighed, handing Olivia to Demo. “Can you…I don’t know, keep her somewhere safe and quiet for a while?”

“Can do,” Demo nodded, accepting Olivia. “Come on, lass, let’s relax for a while…”

He took Olivia inside, situating her on the couch with a blanket and a glass of water. As Olivia sipped on the water, she watched while the mercs cleaned up the mess around them.

She couldn't decide how she felt...she felt much better now that the threat had vanished, but she couldn't stop thinking about the fight she'd been in. What had that man been planning to do? She didn’t even want to keep thinking about it, choosing to take another big sip of water instead.

Spy could see Olivia huddled up on the couch from the other room, and he could tell she was still terrified. A combined feeling of pity and anger burned within him, getting stronger as he glanced over his shoulder at Helen.

Perhaps Spy was not thinking straight after what had just occurred, but he blamed Helen. All of this happened because of Helen’s need for Australium, and now her own child was in danger. And did she care? That was a bit confusing...Helen was talking to Miss Pauling about something at the moment, but Spy couldn't tell what it was.

He sensed he couldn't keep what he knew about Helen a secret any longer as he went back to scooping up bullet fragments from the floor.

[gingernastyy]

Arthur:

Arthur hasn’t really taken too much thought about the idea of being a father. He has this constant residual fear that no matter what he did he would end up just like his dad.

His dad was an outlaw and Arthur got roped into the life because of him and Arthur is sure that if he had a kid they’d be dragged into the life too.

Being with Mary changes his mind. He felt like maybe he could do the father thing. The way she talks about running away together gives him the hope of having a better life. He could see them having a nice place with a fence, with a dog that lazily lays on the porch and a couple of kids running around.

He swears if it can become true he would be a better dad than his was and would do anything, and he means anything, to protect his kids and Mary.

When they broke up he was devastated. It led him into a life feeling like no one would ever have him, no one would want him to father their kids.

It’s a sad and lonely night of him drinking when he meets Eliza. They start talking before hooking up; a few times from time to time. As harsh as it is she’s a bit of a rebound after Mary. They were friends but he never felt strong enough to marry her. It makes her getting pregnant feel even worse.

When Eliza had Isaac he felt lost and scared for the kid. He knew that his life would endanger the both of them sooner or later. But swore he would do best by Eliza and helped out anyway he could. Then when they were both killed he didn’t know how to cope with it. He repressed everything that happened to them, only a few journal entries talking about what happened. But those entries and the sketches of Eliza and Isaac where in the journal that he lost in a fire.

It’s after Isaac had lived and died that Abigail has Jack. Being around for the time that Abi is pregnant makes him reflect on when Eliza was. God, he wishes he could have been there for Isaac’s birth. He feels guilty for being around when his brother’s kid is born but not there for his own.

As much as he hates John for leaving Jack and Abigail for that whole damn year, he enjoyed stepping back into that fatherly role to help Abi. There was something that felt so natural about taking care of the kid, guess he did picked up some traits from the short time he had with Isaac.

Abigail had questioned him a few times on about how he’s so good with Jack. She swears she’s had to tell almost everyone who’s held him to support his neck but not Arthur. He bounces and sways while holding Jack that calms him down that she believes that there is no way that it’s the first time that Arthur has held a baby.

A part of him thinks he should propose to Abigail to make up for not marrying Eliza but he knows that it won’t make amends for what had happened. Besides he’s too caught up on Mary and Abigail is to in love with Marston that he knows he will be turned down.

When/if he gets out of the life he considers adopting. Even if he can’t find someone to marry, he’s okay with being a single dad. He’s also happy to adopt if it’s the only way he and his partner couldn’t physically have kids. He feels like Hosea would be proud of him for helping out a kid like Hosea and Dutch did for Arthur (though he would want to avoid the outlaw part). He knows going through the legal system would be challenging with the price on his head but if he found a kid like Hosea found John and himself, he’d gladly take them in as he own.

He finds himself to be a tough and not really an emotional guy but having his newborn baby and the first time his thumb is grabbed by that itty bitty hand he damn near cries.

Years of being an outlaw has been beneficial for one thing... when the baby cries Arthur is able to get up right away. Late at night he’s the one who wakes to change diapers or calm nightmares. He’ll put himself to exhaustion to let his partner sleep.

Usually he falls asleep on the couch or a chair after rocking his baby back to sleep, baby on his chest and his hand on the little ones back.

He’s very supportive of creativity- especially as an artist himself.“Pa and me” or the full family sketches are tucked in the front cover of his journal. He wants those drawings to be the closest thing to him. He always makes sure to tell his kiddo that they’re doing a real good job and are already better at drawing than he is.

Play wrestling and piggy back rides are what he’s great at. He’s always asked to do or straight up just climbed on until one or the other happens.

Luckily he’s taught a kid how to ride a horse before so he feels pretty confident in teaching his own. If he could teach Jamie to ride his horse, with his thousands of questions, he feels he can teach his own kid(s).

Teaching his kid(s) to read and write is much harder than Hosea ever made it seem when he was teaching John and Jack.

He wishes that grandpa Hosea could meet his family. There are nights he looks to the sky and wonders if he’d be proud of him, getting out of the life and having a couple of kids of his own. He knows that Hosea had wanted that for Arthur for so many years.

As bad as he thinks he is at hunting and fishing he’d want to teach his kid(s) how to do both. It’s always good to know how to handle a gun and also know basic survival technics. He’ll mumble a side comment about wishing that Kieran could be there; he was always better at fishing but say it was nothing if he was asked about it.

He would go a little into the overprotective category. If someone was threatening his kid(s) he would get real quiet with the person, put his hand on their shoulder and get close. He would explain how he has killed before, has enjoyed doing so in most cases, and if they don’t leave his baby alone, he will find plenty of enjoyment killing this person.

Hosea:

Bessie and Hosea had always talked about having kids. They just were never sure when would be the right time, if there ever really is a right time when you’re a couple of outlaws.

Hosea jokes that maybe raising John and Arthur could be in a way, a test run before they have some of their own. They’re already almost fully grown so they could skip past the diaper phase and “terrible twos” and if anything could blame Dutch for the way they turn out.

Teaching John how to read really told Hosea that he does have the patience to have kids. He loves that boy dearly but it took a lot of work to get him to even focus to be able to educate him.

When Hosea and Bessie left the gang for awhile they set up in the Grizzlies East. During this time they tried to start their own family. If they were going to have kids it would be the time to do so. But either there was something with him or with her, or just unfortunate luck, they could never seem to get pregnant.  

When Hosea drifts back into the outlaw life they have moment of agreeing that maybe it was the best that they weren’t able to have a kid, as much as it devastates them both.

Hosea wishes that Bessie was still around by the time that Abigail has Jack. He knows she would have loved that kid like her own. She surely would have spoiled the hell out of that kid not that Hosea is any better.

He’s definitely had a moment when looking at the photograph of him and Bessie that he thinks that even though they weren’t fortunate to raise their own kids, but they skipped right to being grandparents.

As a father, Hosea is kind, patient and always there for his kid(s). He saw his father about three times in his life and would want to be there for his kids to make up the time he feels he didn’t have with his own dad.

As the comedian he is, or thinks he is, Hosea would be the dad who can’t pass up a good dad joke. He’d tell one about “you know the best way to catch a fish? Put your line in the water.” He would have to bring up the time that Arthur was suppose to go fishing and brought back a fish from the market, claiming he’d caught it and then next time that Hosea and Dutch when in town the store clerk asked Arthur how that fish that he bought was. Hosea we’ll find any opportunity to laugh at Arthur about it.

Hosea is the best at storytelling. He would tell his kid(s) stories every night. He’s able to work those years of stage acting into the voices he uses during his storytelling.

He and Bessie were always fans of playing dominos so he would want to show his kid(s) how to play. He’d often bring up how he always accused her of cheating during playing because she was that good. Arthur, though taught by her, didn’t seem to have her luck with the tiles.

On sick days he’s getting medicine, soup, crackers, pulling out blankets and whatever will help his kid.

He wants what is best for his kid(s) but also encourages them to write their own path. They can be whatever they like if they set their minds to it. No matter what, his love is unconditional and he wants to see them do their own thing.

Dutch:

Dutch is a hard one when it comes to being a father. He wants a kid to enlighten them with his wisdom, to show them everything he knows. At the same time having a newborn with all that crying and loosing sleep, especially being the leader of a gang, doesn’t sound ideal. Toddlers tend to be very... sticky, which he wouldn’t be a fan of either.

He would want to have a kid, much like John and Arthur were already functioning on their own that he can already start having conversations with, being able to teach them how to fish, shoot, and talk about the injustices in the world around them.

If he had a kid, like about a toddler in age, he would read them Evelyn Miller and explain, even though it would be going over this kid’s head, that “what Mr. Miller is saying is... “

Dutch values an education but has little patience when trying to teach. Even with John and Arthur, Hosea did more when it came to helping them learn how to read and write.

He’d be less of dad that says “I love you’s” and more often be the one that says “I’m proud of you”

He would be able to playful tease his kid and his competitive side would be great when they get old enough to race and play poker.

His relationship with Annabelle was really the only time he considered having a kid of his own. He loved that women and if she wanted a child he would figure out a plan for way for them to have a kid.

He thinks that maybe once they are able to get one good robbery that when they leave to New York or Tahiti, where ever they may land that he considers the idea of starting a family.

[queerebrum]

what we've got going is good | Jordan/Derek (Darrish) | 1.1k | Panty Kink | Rated T. Also, I blame @luulapants

If Derek was human, he might actually be concerned about how fast his heart was beating as he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the swath of black silk sitting just feet away from him. They were barely distinguishable from the black bed covers, but he knew it was there, like someone had outlined the pair of silk panties in his mind.

His throat clenched every time he swallowed, tight with fear, with anxiety, with hope.

It had been years since he even thought about doing something like this. The memories had hit him unexpectedly days ago; flashes of himself as a young teenager, dressed in a pair of Laura’s panties that had somehow made it into his laundry. He remembered staring at himself in the mirror with the brightest, widest smile. He felt pretty. His mom had always called Laura and Cora pretty, but there, alone in his bedroom, Derek had felt pretty too. That memory had been lost for years. It had burned to ash with the rest of his family.

He’d told Laura about it once, when they were in New York. He’d told her about wearing her panties and feeling pretty and she’d laughed her bright, warm laugh and told him that she loved him and she thought he was pretty no matter what.

That memory had been cut in half and buried deep in the ground, surrounded by a spiraled wolfbane rope and bathed in blood.

But both of them had come back to him suddenly, seemingly out of the blue. He’d been clicking around on Jordan’s computer ordering pizza when he’d somehow miraculously hit a magical combination of keys that reopened a closed web page. As soon as the noise had started playing Jordan had whipped around, eyes wide and face red, babbling an apology and snatching the computer away from Derek as if he’d done something wrong.

Derek didn’t remember what exactly happened next, too busy lost in the throes of memories triggered by seeing men in panties on a porn site. A site that Jordan had clearly looked at at some point.

Which is how now, with less than a half hour til Jordan was due home from work, Derek is sitting on the hellhound’s bed staring at a pair of black silk panties that he’d ordered off the internet, because contrary to popular belief he did know how the internet worked.

Jordan was into men in panties, or at least, he’d looked at them. And then he’d been embarrassed that Derek had seen it. It didn’t give Derek the most confidence that this was a good idea, but after remembering as viscerally as he had, he felt like he owed it to his thirteen-year-old self to at least try.

Jordan loved him, or at least, that’s what he said. He loved Derek and they didn’t hurt each other. Jordan smiled at Derek and told him he loved him and he’d never pushed past a line that Derek set down. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as cherished as he did with Jordan.

(If he thought really hard, it probably coincided with the last time he’d even considered wearing panties. Laura. Laura had been the last person who had been thankful for Derek the way Jordan was.)

For Laura, Derek decided, reaching out to snatch the panties off the bed. He’d do it for her.

--

Derek heard the door open and Jordan called out, “Der? Are you here?”

Drawing in a breath and throwing one last glance at the mirror, Derke called back, “In here.”

Dutifully, Derek heard Jordan stop to take his shoes off, and the clicking of the gun safe as he tucked away his service weapon. Anticipation built in Derek’s chest but he couldn't help the tiny quirk in his lips. He tried to draw in a long breath but then, Jordan’s footsteps started back towards the bedroom.

Derek couldn’t bring himself to look, standing in the middle of Jordan’s bedroom in nothing but a piece of black silk that barely contained his dick and showed the bottom of his ass cheeks. He knew his face was burning red, all the way to the tip of his ears. He was glad – not for the first time – that Jordan wasn’t a werewolf. He knew his scent was laced with fear and anxiety and frankly, he was sick of smelling himself.

“Derek…” Jordan spoke softly, stepping into the bedroom.

Derek kept his gaze firmly on the floor. “I just...the other day, your computer. I thought…”

“You look amazing,” Jordan whispered, incredulity and wonder in his voice. “Can I…” Derek finally turned his head to look at him, and let himself take in the bright smile and soft expression on Jordan’s face. The hellhound’s hands were at chest level, extended towards Derek. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” Derek replied quietly, air finally rushing into his lungs in relief as arousal spiked in Jordan’s scent. “Yeah, you can touch me.”

Jordan’s hands were always surprisingly soft and he touched Derek like he was fragile, like he was something breakable and not a born werewolf. Nobody had ever touched Derek like that before Jordan. Derek resisted the tears – of contentment, relief, fuck, of Joy – that threatened to spring into his eyes as Jordan rested his hands gently at Derek’s hips, thumbing the waistband of the panties softly.

“Did you...do this just for me?” Jordan asked, leaning close and resting his forehead against Derek’s.

“Not...just,” Derek replied softly. “I...Used to steal my sisters panties. I liked to feel pretty. When I was younger, before… everything.”

“Well, you certainly look pretty.” Jordan’s face cracked into that incredulous smile again and Derek felt his own smile widen. Jordan’s hands moved around, gripping lightly at Derek’s ass through the thin material. It tugged the silk against his dick, which was starting to take notice of the situation and Derek let out a little sigh of pleasure.

“God, pretty isn’t even strong enough.” Jordan whispered, their foreheads and his hands on Derek’s ass still their only points of contact. “Do you feel pretty, Der?”

Derek glanced to the side, at the full length mirror he’d pulled out from behind the door while he was waiting for Jordan to get home. It leaned against the dresser and currently it reflected them from the chest down. Jordan’s beige uniform against Derek’s warm skin, Jordan’s hands contrasting with the dark silk against the curve of Derek’s ass. “I think so.”

“Let me show you.” Jordan whispered. Derek tore his eyes away from the mirror to see hunger in his boyfriends eyes. “Let me show you how pretty you are to me.” Derek’s cock hardened further, pressing against the silk, cursing another quiet moan to slip from his mouth at the sensation of smooth silk against him.

“Please,” he whispered. “Show me.”

[atinytokki]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Chapter 4: Allies

San had been aware that they were travelling north for some time, presumably to challenge the navy fleet, but when the course of the Haemin ship slightly shifted in the morning towards northeast, his curiosity was piqued.

Hues of dawn filtering in and the feeling of the ship changing direction awoke him and despite not being called to any task, he contrived an excuse to go on deck and find out what this was about.

“My patients,” he explained quietly to the guard overseeing him. “I need to check on them.”

“Battle is over,” the translator reminded him, joining the conversation. “You are no longer doctor.”

“But they could still die,” he hissed, leaning closer. “If not properly cleaned and re-bandaged, there may be infection.”

The man tilted his head in confusion and San sighed before mimicking sickness. “You know, infection?”

The translator sighed and looked away. He knew San was right, even though he had probably been ordered not to let any of the war prisoners on deck. San nodded him on, waiting for his good sense to win out.

“Alright, be quick.”

He couldn’t get much information out of his patients, all of whom didn’t speak his language and none of whom were officers. At least he managed to save them all.

But when his translator pointed to the captain’s quarters and mimed vomiting, an opportunity suddenly arose.

The man was half in his bed and half out of it, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and the familiar stench of rum permeating the room. San cracked a smile. He wasn’t infected, he was drunk. As to be expected from a sloppy Haemin captain who clearly did not want to be deployed.

“Make him a stew. Lots of broth, vegetables, and meat. Not too spicy,” San ordered the translator who raised an eyebrow at being ordered around before nodding and disappearing in the direction of the galley.

Finally, he was alone with the war plans.

Ignoring the sound of the captain emptying his stomach contents into a bucket, San ran around the small desk and peered at the maps laid out across it.

The positions of a few known ships were marked on it.

What he assumed was the Black Crow was last sighted on route to Panhang, a few escort ships were just leaving Kon, and closer to where he was, a small drawing depicted yesterday’s action.

A skull represented the Navy ship they’d just sunk, the Horned Arrow, and from it a line stretched away to the northeast, named The Paragon.

“That’s us,” San whispered. At least now he knew what ship he was on. It was more than enough and the soldier could return at any moment but he glanced at the door and decided to dig for more. What was life without risks?

A second map underneath the first portrayed a closer view of some of the islands San recognised. There was Coral Harbour, the Dagger Cliffs, even Maddox’s island.

San furrowed his brow in confusion. How had the Haemin navigators even gotten their hands on this information? 

The third paper was a scroll in a foreign language, so San discarded it. It was probably orders from their king or generals, but not until it fell to the ground and turned over did San notice what was illustrated on the other side. He smacked his head in annoyance at what should have been obvious from the combined documents.

They were of Haemin’s entire fleet interrupting trade routes and cutting off the islands from the mainland. The Paragon was headed for Maddox’s Island— they weren’t going to fire on the coastline.

They were going to hit the colonies.

...

As they made their way down to the beach, Yunho listened intently to all of Mingi’s memories. Nothing quite unearthed them like coming into port at the home where he’d lived longest, and there were many amusing stories to be told of his life before the ATEEZ.

“And to think I was worried that she fancied Hongjoong!” Mingi laughed nostalgically, leading Yunho down the path to the beach. A misstep could send them down the cliff, so it was a good thing Mingi knew his way around. “She only even met him a few times. All along Hongjoong wasn’t the person I should’ve been intimidated by.

“Hey,” Yunho recognised the slow downturn of Mingi’s lips and stopped him before he made himself feel guilty again. “You were just a boy then, you didn’t know any differently.”

“Maybe not, but there’s something that is my fault,” Mingi sighed, pulling on his hair. “If not for me, he would’ve never been ambushed and separated from Eden or stranded on that island...”

“But Mingi,” Yunho insisted, turning him around to face him. “If not for those things happening, none of us would’ve met each other.”

Mingi opened his mouth to say something else and Yunho cut him off. “Everything happens for a reason, Mingi. I know that now.” Pursing his lips, he gazed out at the sea and let his own inhibitions go before resting his forehead against Mingi’s. “It’s in the past. You need to let go so you can heal.”

“And you need to allow yourself to feel things so you can heal,” Mingi whispered back, smirking again slowly. “We’ve made a mess of things, haven’t we?”

Yunho snorted out a small chuckle and squeezed Mingi’s shoulders. “I think we had better figure it out, for Jongho’s sake.”

“For our sake, too,” Mingi responded warmly, a bitter smile shared between them before noises from the beach interrupted the moment.

Yunho pulled away and blinked, recognising the voices. “Is that...?”

“Seonghwa!”

...

Yujin swallowed nervously. That was a very angry Seonghwa in front of him, and he didn’t look like he was joking around with his gun.

“I-I-I’m...”

“Spit it out!” Seonghwa growled, clicking off the safety.

“I can tell you what happened!” Yujin screamed, curling into himself. “You want to know about the Captain, don’t you?”

“I know what happened,” Seonghwa snapped back. “You back-stabbing lot abandoned him, and he met his end at the end of a rope— or at least I hope so, instead of some worse way afterwards. So you had better have a good explanation for me not to blow your brains out on the spot.”

“He told us to come here... we were just following orders...” Yujin’s eyes filled with tears and something in Seonghwa softened. “You can ask the officers aboard, we truly had no idea—”

“Officers on board?” Seonghwa interrupted, pulling away to glance at the ATEEZ again. “Which officers?”

“Seonghwa!” 

Mingi and Yunho came jogging down the hill, hurrying their speed when he spotted them and crushing him in a hug, completely disregarding Yujin.

Seonghwa found himself dropping the gun in shock and lifting his arms to hug them both back fiercely.

He’d dreamed of this moment, and it was actually happening.

“You’re alive!” He laughed through tears when they pulled away.

“And you’re here!” Mingi exclaimed with a smile so bright it rivalled the sun.

“Where have you been?” Seonghwa immediately asked, shaking from the excitement. “Is Jongho—?”

“He’s fine,” Yunho reassured him quickly. “But he’ll be upset if we wait to tell him we found you.”

“Let’s not keep him waiting then!” Seonghwa laughed as he scooped up his weapon and jumped into the longboat with them, headed towards the ATEEZ. A feeling he’d long missed.

Yujin cowered in the back and Seonghwa didn’t speak to him. He still had some explaining to do.

The general noise of the main deck faded into a reverent tension the moment the prince stepped back on board. Almost as if...

As if they had thought he was dead, too.

The quiet was broken as Jongho came flying down from the quarterdeck and buried himself in Seonghwa’s coat.

“I-I missed you,” he choked out something that sounded like both a laugh and a cry. “I was worried that—”

“I know,” Seonghwa sighed, holding him close. “I missed you, too.”

Suddenly embarrassed for being sentimental in full view of the men, Jongho led the officers into the captain’s quarters and got them some drinks while Seonghwa looked around and let the emotions wash over him.

Four of them were reunited, already better than he could have asked for.

“How did you end up in Panhang?” Jongho asked, sitting next to Seonghwa at the table and instinctively leaning his head forward for Seonghwa to play with his hair.

“I came here on the Black Crow,” Seonghwa informed them dryly, sighing when Jongho pulled back to give him an alarmed look before offering his head again. “I suppose I brought it on myself. Being cooped up in the palace was driving me mad and I hoped to find you. Evidently it was the proper course considering how fast I ran into you.” 

The group of them chuckled at that. Nothing like a random stroke of fate in their favour for once.

“I’m glad I don’t have to sleep in a dingy inn at least,” Seonghwa pointed out. “I’m afraid I did get used to luxury pillows.”

“Well, we can still show you around Panhang,” Yunho offered. “If you want to see where Mingi and Hongjoong grew up.”

At the mention of Hongjoong all the air went out of the room again.

“I’m... I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news again,” Seonghwa muttered, closing his eyes. “But Hongjoong—”

“We know,” Jongho whispered, relaxing even more and laying his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “We heard when we came back from the islands.”

“Don’t blame yourselves,” Seonghwa cautioned quietly as he watched his friends’ gazes lower in shame. “The situation was very complicated. Even with all of us there I fear it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“I can’t imagine how horrible it must’ve been to witness,” Mingi whispered, dragging his hands through his bright red hair. Seonghwa could guess why it had changed to that colour and he overlooked it with a pinch in his stomach at the longing in Mingi’s eyes. He had clearly wished to be there.

“I’m glad you were with him though,” Yunho sighed shakily. “I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“Actually,” Seonghwa’s mouth went dry and he tried again. “Actually, I didn’t see anything. The explosion sort of interrupted things.”

A glint returned to Mingi’s eyes, and the room went quiet again with unasked questions before Seonghwa asked a question of his own.

“What became of Eden? I assume he’s not with you.”

“Eden stayed behind,” Yunho explained with a sigh. “On our way to the mystic he was injured in a jaguar attack, but we got him to the temple in time to be saved. Unless something went drastically wrong, he’s alive.”

Seonghwa considered the pirate’s reputation. His survival was hardly surprising, though it did make him wonder how he would react if he heard the news.

When they’d been quiet for long enough to come back to reality, Jongho sat up and looked Seonghwa in the eye.

“We’ll understand if you don’t want to sleep here anymore,” he murmured gently, prompting Seonghwa to look around the room.

If the Black Crow had been reminiscent, this was full on reliving memories. Seonghwa didn’t like the idea of sleeping in this room alone, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to leave it.

“I’ll stay,” he decided, and Mingi quickly elected to sleep there as well, taking up Hongjoong’s bed so it wasn’t empty. It fit perfectly in Seonghwa’s eyes.

Looking around, Seonghwa couldn’t help but think about how they’d all ended up where they truly began. “Do you know why he promoted me?” He asked his gathered friends in a stroke of nostalgia. There was no need to ask who he was talking about.

Mingi sat back and eyed him as the memories came back. “He told me he had spilled too much information to you.”

“But if that was true, he should’ve shot me or had me thrown overboard instead, shouldn’t he?” Seonghwa challenged.

They all chuckled fondly. Perhaps he should have, but Hongjoong wasn’t one for doing what he was supposed to.

Seonghwa shook his head and set his cup down. “No, I believe he promoted me because he could tell I cared more than I let on. And he wanted to give me something to be a part of.”

“I think he’d confirm that... if he were here,” Yunho mused before standing to collect the cups, a slow smile spreading on his face. They were all part of something, even now. “Half of us are together again,” he pointed out. “Just three more whose whereabouts remain a mystery.”

“Actually, make that two,” Seonghwa informed them, standing to shed his coat and his boots. “I’ve met Yeosang recently, and I have a general idea of where he is. Wooyoung and San however...”

“They’re alright,” Jongho remarked with a measure of confidence in his voice that Seonghwa had missed. “They’re smart and resourceful- I trust them.”

And so they bid their goodnights and settled in, Seonghwa sinking into his familiar hammock with a bittersweet ball of emotion in his throat.

“Will you be alright?” Mingi whispered from Hongjoong’s bed. It was still Hongjoong’s.

Seonghwa turned to face him and nodded truthfully. “As long as we have each other.”

...

Hongjoong awoke to a fuzzy feeling in his head and a strange pain in his side. Deep in the guts of the Black Crow, the chill of the night fogged his breath and had him reaching for the blanket laid over him.

“Was someone sitting on me?” He muttered into the wintry air, mostly to himself until he realised he wasn’t alone.

Lieutenant Park was sitting on the floor in front of him, beet red in the face, with a card deck laid out between them.

“Uh... Maybe?”

The events before being injected were blurred together in Hongjoong’s mind, but he brushed them aside and focused on struggling to sit up.

He glanced at Park curiously when the blanket slipped off his shoulders and the lieutenant purposefully avoided looking at it.

“I think Lieutenant Byun has gone soft on you,” Park explained, clearing his throat with the awkwardness that told Hongjoong he was much less confident handling the prisoner on his own. So that was where the blanket had come from.

“Has he?” Hongjoong hummed distractedly, gathering the deck and shuffling it with ease. He removed the card values they didn’t need and dealt each of them twelve cards, laying the remaining eight in the middle. “How about a trick-taking game?”

He had a feeling Byun wasn’t the only officer who’d gone soft.

“I know this game,” Park announced with a grin as they began, both trading out cards with the centre deck before declaring their combinations. Suddenly the lieutenant had hope of winning, unless his opponent tried anything dirty.

But soon Park was sour again when the prisoner had him beat in sequences and sets alike and moved on to lead a trick.

“Byun’s convinced you’re not the degenerate pirate scum you’ve been made out to be,” Park finally replied, looking away from Hongjoong’s face as the pirate played a different suit.

“What about you?” Hongjoong asked, sitting back as Park led another trick and did the arithmetic in his head. The pirate was ahead.

“I haven’t made up my mind, but I know I’m not supposed to have an opinion. I’m a lower ranking lieutenant, I follow orders...”

“And if you were ordered to help degenerate pirate scum instead of imprison them— what would you do then?” Hongjoong posited, an amused lilt to his voice as he took yet another trick. His memory was beginning to return as the drugs wore off.

“I— No, no,” Park caught himself before he fell into a trap. “I see what you’re trying to do. But we have no reason to aid pirates. They’re wicked and vile, the Navy is the upholder of civilisation and-and nobility and justice—”

“Byun becoming disillusioned by the horrors of navy life, despite studying hard since youth in accordance with the wishes of his parents? That actually sounds like my sailing master,” Hongjoong commented dryly as he quickly calculated which cards were left.

“B-But Lieutenant Byun would never become a pirate!” Park spluttered, aggressively scooping up the pile as he took a trick.

“I think he might prefer it to this,” Hongjoong muttered. “And I’m speaking from experience.”

“Oh, nonsense! The life of a pirate must be worse. Constant violence and threat, needing to steal to get by...” Park trailed off and took the next trick. He was catching up.

“But there is freedom,” Hongjoong insisted firmly. “I wouldn’t have chosen it otherwise.”

Soon they were nearly out of cards and the lieutenant smiled confidently at his opponent. “You weren’t as good as I thought.”

“Are you sure about that?” Hongjoong said, taking the final trick.

“But...” Park furrowed his brow and looked down at the cards in front of them. “I won more tricks, didn’t I?”

“I won the last trick, that’s an extra point,” Hongjoong reminded him. “Plus I scored thirty points before you had any in the declaration phase, which is another bonus. Add them up yourself, you’ll see.”

The twinkle in his eye told Park he had been played and he gritted his teeth. He should’ve expected it. “You knew what cards I had, didn’t you?”

“It’s a strategy game,” Hongjoong shrugged, flicking a card at him. “Not that difficult to figure it out if you pay attention.”

Lieutenant Park was dumbfounded. “So you didn’t cheat.”

“No,” Hongjoong laughed, putting a hand to his mouth to quiet himself. “Do you want to play the six round version or...?”

“No thanks,” Park huffed, crossing his arms. That a pirate could beat him without cheating was somehow even more bothersome. “How did you even know all that about Byun?”

The senior lieutenant wasn’t exactly an open book when it came to his home life, no matter how observant the pirate was. 

“The steward told me,” Hongjoong said, shivering and curling in on himself. It was impossible to trap any escaping warmth with his shackles blocking him.

“Are you cold?” The lieutenant asked, a note of hesitation lingering in his voice.

Hongjoong nodded sheepishly.

“I’ll get you some proper clothes, the midshipmen have extra.”

This was his chance.

Park stood and turned to head out the door, making it only two steps before Hongjoong was suddenly behind him, the chain that restrained him to the floor suddenly wrapped around the lieutenant’s neck.

He had to reach up quite a distance, so his aim wasn’t the most accurate, but he took the seconds he had bought before his legs gave out to demand in a low voice, “The Surgeon said one of the princes was here before he knocked me out— which one was it?”

“The... younger prince... Seonghwa, I think?” Park gasped out. “Listen, I’m willing to talk, this isn’t necessary.”

But it didn’t matter anymore. Hongjoong had hit the ground and shook now even harder. “He’s... alright?”

“Yes,” Park answered, scooping up the blanket again and throwing it around the prisoner. The clothes would have to wait. “Why, did you think something happened?”

“The Haemin attack,” Hongjoong explained, shaking his head. “He was in the square when the explosion happened, I-I couldn’t be sure... Lieutenant, I don’t know where or how any of my crew are— they could be dead for all I know!”

“Well, the prince is very much alive,” Park assured, trying to quiet him. “And he’s well enough that he decided to throw himself into more action than he was getting in the palace.”

“He’s here,” Hongjoong repeated as it hit him full force. “He was right here and we missed each other...”

“It was orders,” Park shrugged, putting away the cards. “And by the way, the Admiral will skin me alive if he catches a whiff of this, so let’s pretend it never happened.”

“But why did he come to the Black Crow?” Hongjoong continued to ask questions, a low-burning panic nestled in his eyes.

“It seems he requested to,” the lieutenant answered with a sigh, hoping it would satisfy the pirate enough to change topics. “Admiral Kim was quite put out at first when the correspondance reached us.”

“No, that’s impossible,” Hongjoong scoffed, running his hands through his hair and ignoring the jangle of the chains. “He’d never willingly help Kim, not after what he did... he just wouldn’t...”

“Hongjoong.”

The prisoner looked up in surprise at Lieutenant Park using his name.

“Things have... changed,” he explained gently. “Since the attack at Namhae, since the beginning of the war. The world has become a different place.”

Hongjoong’s eyes filled with moisture and he glanced at that small patch of blue he could see through the porthole. “Please let me go to the window,” he begged once more, ignoring how his voice cracked with bitterness.

Lieutenant Park tensed and considered the request. It could be an escape attempt, he shouldn’t allow it...

In fact, he should’ve left the pirate to his misery hours ago, but the longing in his eyes to just taste the sea air again struck him to his core.

Quickly he pulled Hongjoong up and supported him from behind, moving to the small window and watching him reach through it, extending his arm as far as it could go and feeling the gentle spray of the waves, resting his forehead on the sill. There was a deep connection there, one Park couldn’t hope to understand yet.

“That’s Panhang,” Hongjoong suddenly said, pulling his arm back in to peer closer at the coastline.

As Park watched him closely, he could only shake his head.

It was no longer a question of which of them would give in.

Now it was a matter of how long he had before everyone found out.

As Hongjoong gazed at the shores of a land he’d long left behind, he hoped with everything in him that his friends were out there somewhere.

Now all he needed to do was get to them.

... 

Far away, a disillusioned naval officer was dealing with the wishes of his parent after a summons to the head navigator’s study. There was no way for him to continue to pretend to be in Doljeon when the prince himself had reportedly left the palace.

“You think after everything that man did to me, that I’d willingly work for him?”

The father leaned against his mahogany desk for support and entreated his son to think rationally as he once had.

“You wouldn’t be on the Crow, maybe an escort ship. Once you’ve earned trust and accolades, perhaps then you can take over my position.”

“Has it occurred to you that I don’t want your position?” Yeosang hissed back. “It’s always been about what you want.”

“There is a chance, Yeosang, to save your reputation,” Father shot back sternly. “Follow orders like I raised you to and maybe you’ll find yourself enjoying navy life.”

“When are you going to cut your losses and realise I’m not the person you raised anymore,” Yeosang sighed, shaking his head. There really was no way out of this one.

“This isn’t a debate, Yeosang,” the head navigator snapped. “If you won’t take your commission willingly, I’ll put you up for the draft, and I can guarantee you won’t prefer hard labour on the big warships to the job I’m asking you to do.”

The longer Yeosang looked at his father, the less he felt like he knew him.

“I’m not the only one who’s changed,” he choked out through bitter tears, before turning to go, accepting his fate. “Mother would be ashamed of you.”

He didn’t look to see his father’s reaction, wandering instead to the main sitting room and gazing at that portrait of his parents that sat above the fireplace.

It was all he had left of his mother. And even now, he had no idea what she would think. But if she was anything as fair and kind as everyone said she was, surely she would disapprove of Father.

Surely she would desire her son to be free to choose for himself, even if that meant taking a different path than the one laid out before him from the day of his birth.

Yeosang hoped she would at least forgive him.

Taking one last look, he walked to his room to pack everything he would need by himself.

Their secret guests needed to be informed of the change in plans, so Yeosang crept to the hidden room he had successfully relocated everyone to and explained the situation.

“Father and I are both leaving, with no certainty of when we’ll return, but the staff know you’re here and will continue to care for you secretly or deliver you wherever you need to go, I’ve ensured it. For now... I’m afraid this is goodbye.”

“You’ve done more for us than we could’ve ever asked,” Yechan thanked him quietly. “Be careful out there.”

“I will,” Yeosang promised. “Someone be sure to give Yuma extra carrots for me, and if I never return... feel free to do whatever you like with the place.”

It was fitting, he thought as he watched his father’s carriage leave for Panhang and a rendezvous with the Crow through the window. Letting the young boys whose backs men like his father had built their careers on run amok through his priceless mansion.

Soon, his own carriage to Kon arrived and he turned his thoughts to the sea.

Secretly, he preferred it to being locked up at the estate. It was a chance to be informed of what was happening in the world. But at the same time, he had promised Seonghwa to return to him, and this was an order to sail the opposite direction.

Yeosang sighed and handed the footmen his bags. He’d just arrived from Kon and now he was going back. There was no use being upset about it, the driver wouldn’t leave without him- his father’s orders.

He spent the ride drafting up another letter to Seonghwa. His father wouldn’t tell him where the prince had gone, but surely King Junhee would pass the letter along when it reached the palace. The golden seal of the Kang family was still good for something.

Kon was mostly emptied when he arrived this time, only a few escort ships waiting for deployment, one of them being the Indeok, the ship to which Yeosang was assigned as navigator.

First Lieutenant Yoo Dojoon greeted him formally and handed him off to a lower-ranking Lieutenant Jung to be shown around. The man still looked relatively young despite the facial hair and as he muttered about having to do all the work something in his manner seemed familiar.

Even the curve of his nose looked like one Yeosang recognised, but not until he had given the captain their heading and been settled into a cabin of his own with some maps to look over did he realise what it was.

The man had looked like Wooyoung for a moment.

Yeosang sighed and put away his work, blowing out the candle and falling into his hammock, trying not to let his thoughts fixate on times past.

Wooyoung was fine. He was out there somewhere, hopefully with San and the others, far from the war and the Admiral’s ruthless conquests.

Yeosang would be fine, too. As long as he didn’t think about the Admiral he’d soon be escorting, that same man who’d had them chained, starved, beaten, and interrogated and who he was now supposed to respect and support like none of it had happened.

Everything was fine.

...

The night was not as calm as Seonghwa had hoped.

He escaped from a nightmare where he drowned again and again, slipping through Junhee’s fingers every time he tried to save him and woke to what seemed like a dream— until he realised the redhead sleeping in the bed across the room was Mingi, not Hongjoong.

The hour was early, but the prince needed some space and fortunately, Seonghwa knew exactly where to go.

The moment he walked out on deck he found someone waiting for him, and he was inclined to roll his eyes and ignore him, but Yujin blocked his path to the galley and sank to his knees in front of him.

“Seonghwa sir... I mean, Your Highness,” he began shakily. “I’m telling the truth, we did as we were told.”

Seonghwa pressed his lips together because he knew now that it was true. That didn’t mean he liked it.

“And if it means anything to you,” Yujin added, lowering his head. “I’m sorry for your loss. It wasn’t only yours.”

He was right. Seonghwa wasn’t the only one effected by the events on Namhae, and now that he was back, he had others to support, too. Including the crew that had waited here, wondering if any of their officers were ever coming back.

Seonghwa placed a hand on Yujin’s shoulder and brought him back to his feet.

“I’m sorry, too. For leaving and- and doubting and attacking you.” He sighed at his own recklessness. His own aimlessness. “I was just angry. It won’t happen again.”

Yujin swallowed hesitantly but didn’t amble away like he usually did.

“How would you like to come cook breakfast with me?” Seonghwa suggested. A peace offering of sorts.

Yujin nodded and seemed to relax, following Seonghwa into the kitchen, where they fell easily into the familiar rhythm of preparing food, a wealth of which was available thanks to their being anchored in plentiful waters for fishing.

Yunho noted Seonghwa’s lingering distress when they were called to breakfast on the quarterdeck again for a breath of fresh air and opted to distract him with humour.

“I don’t think your brother the king would be pleased to have you gallivanting with pirates again,” he remarked with a smirk.

Seonghwa smiled back. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sobering, he glanced at the shoreline and wondered what his brother would think. “Maybe one day I’ll send word so he knows I’m alive, but I have no intention of returning to do battle with the Admiral. Not until this war is finished and the people I love are safe.”

His confession prompted the question they’d all been thinking about since yesterday, this time voiced by Yujin. “What next?”

Glares from around the breakfast table landed on Yujin for raising the question. “Someone had to ask.”

In unison, they sighed and cleared away their meal. The ATEEZ had been anchored long enough. It was time to make some decisions.

“Here’s what we know,” Jongho said matter-of-factly. “The Black Crow is anchored not far from here and we could run into her at any moment. It’d probably be best to leave soon.”

“The Crow is here,” Seonghwa repeated aloud. Of course, he knew this, but as he continued to think about it he realised it was significant. “Kim is here at the moment instead of invading Haemin, which means the rest of the fleet will be gathering here as well, which means—”

“Less security on the islands!” Mingi gasped, quickly picking up his train of thought. “There won’t be half as many men as there were before, we could easily sail east again.”

“Maybe even free Maddox,” Yunho added, excited. “It’ll be good to have some allies, don’t you think?”

Seonghwa nodded firmly. “Sailing east, saving friends, re-establishing the pirate havens— I can think of no better future for the ATEEZ than that. Are we all in agreement?”

The three voiced their assent eagerly, and Yujin went to tell the men.

This was what the vessel had been made for, and rediscovering that purpose seemed to clear the way for their destiny again.

“He’d approve,” Mingi sighed as he took the wheel and watched the sails unfurl. Out of all the things they’d done since returning, this one felt right.

And so in Hongjoong’s name, they turned east, away from the harbour where he was already anchored, chained to a ship they wanted nothing to do with.

...

The morning chill brought a new tension to the decks of the Black Crow.

Admiral Kim looked out his tall crystal clear windows at the rocky coastline and its lighthouse beacon with displeasure.

Lieutenant Byun was standing awkwardly by the door with ill news.

“I honestly have no idea where he went. He’s not on board, he wasn’t in town at the market or the inn— it’s as if he simply disappeared.”

Kim huffed through his nose and glared at the glass in front of him. “He could’ve hitched a ride here without making me look like a fool.”

There was no clear solution, to hunt down Prince Seonghwa would cost them time they should be spending on travel to the trade routes where Haemin was wreaking havoc.

“Navigator Kang has arrived,” Byun continued with a sigh. “I’ve put him up in your cabin assuming the prince doesn’t return to claim it. Other than his absence, everything is ready to go.”

“Leave him then,” Kim ordered, shooing the lieutenant away.

He had things to attend to, he’d have to carry out his plans concerning the prince another way. 

...

Wooyoung flexed his fingers a few times in between pulling cannons back and forth to be cleaned. It was early in the morning and they were still too close to the coast to expect action, but the mindless busywork their masters set them to was no stranger to the former powder monkey.

So much pulling wasn’t conducive to the healing of his broken hand, and he could practically hear San scolding him for it, but there was hardly any pain, and if anything, the injury had made him stronger.

Curious where the fleet was going even as he despaired sailing farther and farther away from San, he cornered his brother in a quiet lower deck hallway and asked about their heading.

“Navigator Kang finally came aboard so we could go,” Woosung huffed, still uncomfortable with the furtiveness of it all. “You’ll have to ask him what the destination is.”

“Wooyoung?”

The voice interrupting them was so familiar, it sent Wooyoung spinning around to see none other than the navigator himself, staring with amazement in his eyes at the unbelievable coincidence that crossed their paths once again.

Of course. Navigator Kang, the second.

“Yeosang!”

...

Taglist: @serendipityunho @celestial-yunho @atzjjongbby @89staytinyzen21

A/N: It’s been a month... regrettably :,) School has been a lot and this chapter was tricky for a few reasons but I hope you’re still enjoying it and willing to stick around for the next, whenever it comes around! (You might want to do a quick review, because all our boys are on ships now- The ATEEZ, The Black Crow, The Indeok, and The Paragon- which means, inevitably, it’ll be easy to get confused. Bear with me!) Don’t forget to like and comment <3 ttyl

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[ladylynse]

Hey, folks, not sure if writing a bonus chapter of my Star-centric reveal fic Helpless counts for DP Side Hoes Week since it’s not a new fic, but I’m going to pretend it does. (This can be read on its own if you go off the starting point of Star already knowing Danny’s secret.)

Gathering for a training session was supposed to be a good thing. A simple thing. Straightforward. Except nothing’s really straightforward anymore, and Star’s not sure why she ever thought it would be. [FF | AO3]

-|-

“Why are they here?” Danny hissed to her, unable to hide his nervousness as he peered around the corner of the school at Paulina, Dash, Kwan, and Valerie. Valerie was the only one prepared—she was already doing stretches, while Paulina was just using a compact to touch up her makeup and Dash and Kwan were arm-wrestling on the bleachers—but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Star had invited them all to the football field, to meet on one of the rare Thursday nights when Valerie didn’t have to work, and they had all come. That already spoke volumes, whatever Fenton thought.

Star crossed her arms. “Because I asked them to come. Because they all need a training session, too. And because you brought enough weapons with you, anyway, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but only because you said you wanted to try different stuff, and….” Danny trailed off and set the box he was carrying on the ground. The others would know Danny was here if they looked over and saw her standing where she was, but he was mostly hidden by the corner of the school. If he decided to bolt, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. He wasn’t afraid to use his powers in front of her now, providing he thought no one else would notice. “Seriously, Valerie does not need to be here. She has better aim than most people.”

“Which you know how, from watching her toss stuff into the garbage can from halfway across the room?”

Danny didn’t answer, but that was fine. Star didn’t really want an answer. She hadn’t pushed Valerie on that front, and she hadn’t really pushed Danny, either, aside from a bit of pointed needling. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth yet.

The fact that Danny was Phantom, that Paulina had a crush on the kid she routinely called a loser, that Dash idolized the guy he shoved into a locker almost every day, that Valerie had dated Danny despite ranting about Phantom at every opportunity, was more than enough to take in.

If Danny didn’t want to tell them his secret, fine. Whatever. She wouldn’t tell them either. But letting himself be bullied to this extent for the sake of invisibility was just stupid. Maybe it was being a halfa, maybe it was being a teenager, but he did not have the sense of self-preservation he claimed to have. Star had seen social suicide more than once, and this was definitely it.

You could still not draw attention to yourself without being the school punching bag.

Frankly, she’d argue that Danny would draw less attention to himself if he wasn’t always being picked on and showing no physical signs of it. Really, if he could be slammed into the street so hard that it formed a crater and he didn’t even bruise, being shoved into a locker wasn’t going to leave any marks. And it didn’t. Nothing she’d seen did, at least not for any length of time. Eventually, someone else would notice, and that would be the attention he claimed to not want.

Of course, when she tried telling that to him, he didn’t listen.

“Look,” Danny said quietly, “I’m fine with showing you some stuff, but they’ll…. They’ll have questions. And Dash will shoot me with something. You know he will. I’ll just pretend to get sick and—”

“Stuff it, Fenton, you’re doing this.” He blinked at her, and Star rolled her eyes. “Seriously. It’s not going to blow your secret. Trust me, no one is going to put that together without more clues than the fact that you know how to use the stuff your parents invent. Which is totally normal, seeing as they’re your parents. Besides, if you were this freaked out by the very idea of anyone seeing you as a semi-competent ghost hunter, you’d have never led us all when we fought to get our parents back. You even said yourself that you know how to work all their gear. It’s not like that’s going to be a new revelation.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it.

She smirked. “Let me carry that box for you, and you can go back to pretending to be a weakling. Want me to tell them Jazz dropped you off?”

“They’re not going to ask,” Danny muttered, but he helped her pick up the box of weaponry—which was good, because it was heavier than it looked. She grunted and shifted its weight, trying to get a better grip. The last thing she wanted to do was drop this and set something off.

Even knowing what she did, it was hard to remember that Fenton was really strong—especially compared to what she’d seen him do in gym class, which was practically pathetic by anyone’s standards. Sure, she didn’t expect everyone to be able to climb a rope, but he couldn’t run for thirty seconds before gasping for air. For someone who fought a lot, he was really unfit.

Of course, that might be because he spent most of his time flying and phasing and not running and dodging like the rest of them. Or at least not dodging as much as the rest of them, since she’d seen him dodge, and his quick reflexes spoke for themselves. Granted, they all had the chance to hide, and he didn’t.

But all too often, hiding meant being cornered, and being cornered meant being helpless, and she wasn’t doing that again.

Which was why they were doing this.

Besides, Danny owed her for keeping this a secret. Well, technically, either they were even or she owed him for saving her life more than once, but he thought he owed her, and she wasn’t going to correct that assumption.

“Fenton’s here, you guys,” Star called as they got closer. Danny was doing a remarkable job of trying to hide behind her, keeping well out of Dash’s reach without making it overly obvious that that’s exactly what he was doing. Really, she’d never realized how good he was at that kind of thing.

Star dumped the box unceremoniously on the bleachers, unable to hold it any longer, and winced at the clink and clatter of the weapons inside. Luckily, nothing exploded. She glanced over her shoulder at Danny. “What’d you bring?”

“Just a variety of stuff,” he mumbled, edging around her towards the box.

Dash beat him to it. “Outta my way, Fenturd,” he said. He tossed a couple of ecto-guns towards Kwan and kept rummaging. “I don’t see that bazooka thing in here.”

“It’s not a beginner’s weapon.”

Dash rounded on Danny. “You think I can’t handle it?”

Danny’s eye twitched. “It’s best for everyone to start off small.”

“I told him to bring more compact stuff,” Star put in before Dash could get out the retort that had to be on the tip of his tongue. She peeked into the box, spotting a small cylinder which had rolled into the back corner. “Seriously, Fenton? I told you the lipstick laser thing was a bad idea.”

“Ooh, I want that one,” Paulina said, finally putting her compact away and coming over. “Make up is the best weapon a girl can have!”

Star bit her tongue and handed the weapon to Paulina. She couldn’t contradict her in front of everyone and expect to remain friends. Besides, she was pretty sure the whole point of the Fenton Lipstick thing was to make a weapon that was easy to carry around and to hide. In Paulina’s case—and even in her own, if she trusted herself a bit more—it would work perfectly.

Danny claimed these weapons didn’t actually harm humans, but she was pretty sure he was a halfa because of some lab accident—can’t just have been contaminated food if he was the only one out of the whole family affected—so she didn’t put too much stock in any of the so-called safety features of these things.

Still.

There were enough ghosts around that she was willing to take the risk.

Of course, Dash and Kwan were already shooting at each other with ecto-guns and trying to dodge the blasts, so she should find out soon enough how detrimental it was for a human to be hit.

“Is that a whip?” Valerie asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny as she looked up from the box.

“Jack-o’-nine-tails. You’ve probably seen my dad using it. It’s, um, a little more advanced than some of the other stuff. Not really point and shoot, I mean, but if you can get a ghost—”

“I’ll play around with it,” she said, scooping it out of the box and heading to the far corner of the football field, well away from Paulina and Dash and Kwan.

“You thought I’d be good with a whip?” Star asked, not bothering to hide her smirk.

“You’re a cheerleader,” Danny muttered. “You have to have a good arm. Here,” he said, abruptly changing the subject by pulling a baton-like weapon out of the box and handing it to her. “This is Mom’s latest version of the Fenton Utility Weapon. It’s similar to the version you used on the pirate ship, but it can do a lot more stuff. If you don’t like that, try the wrist ray. That’s Sam’s favourite.”

Star pressed a button on the side, and a green light shot out of the top like a light saber. Danny jerked back, narrowly avoiding the beam. “Sorry,” Star said. “I didn’t know it was going to do that.”

“Press that button again,” he said. She did, and the light vanished. “Now grab it at the top and twist. Just, like, half a turn. Point it away from me and press the button.”

This time, something like a cattle prod shot out of the end and crackled with electricity.

“You can experiment with it; there are a bunch of different settings, but the button is always the main on/off activation. Press and hold it to activate the safety when you’re done. I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll set up some targets and see if I can convince the others to actually use them.”

“I didn’t invite everyone just to mess with you. You know that, right?” Danny avoided looking at her, so Star added, “I figured you’d say no if I asked.”

“So you did it anyway? I told you, I don’t want to stand out in a crowd.”

“That’s not what this is about. It’s…. Danny, you’ll always be able to fight back against ghosts. You’re a weapon; the only extra stuff you need to carry with you is a thermos. Do you even remember what it’s like to feel helpless?”

He snorted. “Of course I do. Being the kid no one pays attention to is great, since it’s easier for me to sneak away, but sometimes I can’t use my powers. Case and point, the last time you used something like that.”

Star frowned. “You practically equipped the entire class. How exactly were you helpless?”

“Fine, so maybe that’s not the best example. But even when we were stuck in detention together, I couldn’t really fight back until you were out of the room.” He hesitated. “And, I mean, yeah, in hindsight, pushing you through the floor might not have been the smartest idea, especially when I didn’t know what you were going to fall onto, but I’m still not great at clones. The point is, my hands are tied if someone who doesn’t know my secret is right there, watching me, and all the ghosts know it. Including some of the ones I haven’t run into before, apparently.”

There was a yelp from the middle of the field, followed by Paulina’s indignant, “Watch where you’re pointing those! You almost messed up my hair.”

Star wasn’t entirely surprised that Dash’s response was more laughter than apology.

“Yeah, okay, but believe it or not, these guys? And me, obviously? Always helpless in a ghost attack. No defense. It’s basically run, hide, hunker down, and hope someone—you, the Red Huntress, even your parents—comes along and saves us. And it sucks. A lesson in how to use your parents’ stuff might not stop Dash from whaling on you, but if he decides to buy something—”

“He’s just going to keep that ecto-gun. You know that, right?”

“—then he’ll have a way to fight back and defend himself. That assurance is invaluable.”

“He took the net-gun, too. Neither of those is invaluable.”

Star growled. “Fine. You’re not happy. I get it. I’m sorry for thinking I could help my friends.” Sarcasm wasn’t a good point to end this conversation on, not when he was helping her, so she added, “Thanks for not backing out when you saw them.” She couldn’t keep her annoyance and exasperation out of her tone, but it was marginally better than saying nothing.

“I promised you a weapon. And they would’ve found out you had one sooner rather than later.” He shrugged. “It might be better this way.”

Great, now she felt horrible for overreacting. Star took a deep breath, let it out, and then said, “Yeah. But I’m sorry. Really. I should’ve run it by you.”

“Trust me, this is not the worst surprise I’ve gotten in my life.” He grinned at her. “See if you can find all the weapons in that. My last count is twelve, but I don’t know if I’ve found them all, either.”

Danny ran off to try to convince Dash and Kwan not to shoot at each other—or maybe to tell Paulina not to try to use the laser to scorch a picture into the grass—and Star couldn’t help but laugh. It was just….

Even with all he put up with as Fenton, even with all he did as Phantom, he was still nice enough to take the time out of his night to make good on a promise to her. She knew Dash’s opinion wasn’t going to change overnight and that he’d have Danny in a locker tomorrow, given the opportunity. She knew Paulina would sneer at him and call him a loser even if she never relinquished the lipstick weapon. She knew Kwan wasn’t going to see this as anything but a bit of fun—bonus points if a lot of it came at Danny’s expense, most likely.

But she also knew it could be a start, and he couldn’t even see that.

Star jogged closer to Valerie—not near enough to be within range of the whip, which Val seemed to be getting the hang of very quickly, but near enough that she was sufficiently far enough away from the other three. Danny was right; Valerie was good, even with a weapon she hadn’t used before, and the others…. Well, not so much. But that might just be because they lacked focus.

That and Valerie’s black belt training, since that probably helped somehow, albeit not necessarily when it came to using a new weapon.

Star tried multiple combinations of movement on the puzzle box that was the Fenton Utility Weapon. She’d found five more weapons—pole extension, machete-like blade, mini grappling hook, electrified whip, and what was presumably a phase-proof weighted net—when she heard Dash and Kwan cheering, followed by Paulina’s trilling laugh.

Somehow, it didn’t come as a surprise to see Danny entangled in the net-gun’s phase-proof net.

It certainly couldn’t be the first time he’d been caught in one, but he could hardly get out of it using his ghost powers, and the fact that Dash was beginning to jog around and drag him meant he couldn’t get out the way anyone else might, either.

Star ran over. “Cut it out, you guys. Fenton’s helping us.”

“It’s fine,” Kwan said. “We’re training.”

Dash grinned as he ran past her. “Yeah, Fentoenail’s the ghost, and we need to wear him down.”

Right now, all they were doing was covering Danny’s clothes with grass stains as he tried and failed to wrestle free. If he wasn’t so resilient, he’d end up with a bad friction burn, but as it was….

“Don’t worry about it,” Paulina said as Dash passed Danny to Kwan. “They’re just having some fun.”

Danny was right. She shouldn’t have invited them. She didn’t even know how to make them stop. They weren’t going to listen to her, especially if Paulina was on their side.

She still had to try, though. “C’mon,” Star yelled at them, “Fenton’s doing us a favour! Don’t you wanna be able to do something the next time a ghost attacks instead of just running away?”

She could see that Danny had set up targets at the far end of the field. She could also see that they hadn’t been used. At least, she was guessing that the scorch marks in the grass were from when the weapons had been aimed at him, not at the targets, since they were similar to the ones left earlier and, well, since they led away from the actual targets. Dash and Kwan should have decent aim, and even Paulina….

“This was a stupid idea, wasn’t it?” Star said to Paulina when no one answered. “The only one who’s getting anything out of this is me. And Valerie, I guess.” Star glanced over her shoulder to see what Valerie was doing—surely she’d try to step up to help Fenton? They were still friends—only to realize that Valerie was no longer there.

“What are you talking about?” Paulina said. “I’ve got this cool new lipstick weapon. I can’t wait to show the ghost boy. I’m going to ask him to teach me to use it, and we’ll spend so much time together, and—”

A high-pitched scream cut Paulina off. Dash. He and Kwan had stopped dragging Danny and were instead running back towards her and Paulina, and behind them—

“Yes, you should run, whelps,” Skulker said, levelling a pair of missile launchers at them. “I am the Ghost Zone’s Greatest Hunter. My reputation should precede me.”

He’s baiting Danny. Star didn’t know why it surprised her. He was ignoring Danny for now, focusing on them to force Danny into action. Taking him while he was strapped in the net would be cheating, not just easy prey. But as long as they were there, Danny couldn’t—

“C’mon, Star, move,” Paulina grabbed her hand and pulled, and Star obediently started running.

She was always running.

She hated running.

“I…I can’t….” How could she say this and not completely lose her social standing in Paulina’s eyes? “It’s my fault Fenton’s here. I’ve gotta help him. You guys hide.”

“It’s just Fenton,” Paulina hissed, tugging her harder as Star tried to slow. “He’ll be fine. He always is. Besides, he brought all those weapons. He has to know how to use them.”

“He needs to get out of the net first.” She jerked her hand free. “Just hide. I’ll find you as soon as I cut him free.”

“The ghost boy can help him.”

The ghost boy was him. Danny might be able to get free easily enough once the others were gone, but if something slowed him down—

“It’s my fault he’s here,” Star said again, and then she turned and started running the other way. Paulina shouted after her, but when Star finally looked back, Paulina was rounding the corner of the school.

Dash and Kwan would be able to keep her safe. They still had an ecto-gun, maybe two, between them. And Paulina still had the lipstick weapon. Valerie…. Star didn’t even know where Valerie was. Somewhere safe, probably, having spotted the ghost and run in a different direction? Except, if she’d seen the ghost, wouldn’t she have said something? Or, more accurately, screamed something?

Star tried to remember what combination would yield the knife on the Fenton Utility Weapon. When she wound up on something that looked like garden shears, she deemed it good enough and kept running, holding the weapon out to one side in case she tripped.

She was not exactly inconspicuous, and it wasn’t long before she was back to wondering if she was even sane. Skulker was pointing the weapons at her now, and she was still running towards them, and Danny—

Why wasn’t Danny freezing or blasting his way out of the net?

Why hadn’t he transformed?

Why was he just sitting there?

What the heck was he waiting f—?

A blast of pink energy hit Skulker’s form. Star ducked on instinct, despite still being over ten feet away, and only looked up again when she heard the Red Huntress speak. “Hey, ghost scum, scram or see what it’s like to face a real hunter!”

Star scrambled forward, closing the distance between her and Danny while the Red Huntress distracted the ghost. “Why the heck didn’t you transform or try to get away?” she hissed as she made a clumsy attempt to cut him free. “We’re lucky the Red Huntress showed up when she did!”

“Lucky,” Danny said flatly. “Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.” He took the Fenton Utility Weapon from her shaking hands and cut himself free. That was just as well; she could see at a glance that there was no way either of them could untangle the knot by hand, not when it was pulled that tight, and she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to use his ice powers in front of the Red Huntress.

He collapsed the weapon, handed it back to her, and crawled free. “Keep low,” he said, as if she planned to do anything else while Skulker and the Red Huntress traded blows practically on top of them.

She followed him to the bleachers. As cover went, it was barely better than nothing. “Why aren’t you going to help?” she whispered. “Even if you don’t want to transform here, you can run off and—”

“She can handle this one,” Danny said, nodding in the direction of the Red Huntress. “She’s a good shot, and I don’t want to push my luck.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want her to realize that there are two ghosts here. It’s not exactly a secret that she hates Phantom.”

Star frowned. “Why didn’t…?” Maybe she shouldn’t ask. Maybe she shouldn’t press him. But, given what she knew, his inaction seemed at odds with the way he usually went about trying to save them all. “I don’t get it. This is a ghost. I know the Red Huntress is here now, but you couldn’t have known she was coming. Why not just free yourself once we were all running away? You know no one’s going to look back until after they hope they’re out of sight.”

Danny shrugged. “Cameras?” He didn’t even try to sound particularly convinced.

“Fenton, c’mon. Remember how I said I wasn’t stupid?”

He sighed, looking utterly unconcerned by the firefight going on in the air barely twenty feet away. “Look, the Red Huntress has a way to detect ghosts. It’s, like, a smaller, way more inconspicuous version of Mom and Dad’s Fenton Finder. And it’s accurate. And when it goes off, if she can get away to help, she does. So I wasn’t surprised to see her turn up.”

Star stared at him. “You can’t know that she wasn’t busy. That she was close. You just…. You can’t. Which makes you not trying to save our butts kinda dangerous, don’t you think? Just because you handed us all weapons ten minutes ago, doesn’t mean we have a clue how to use them effectively. I couldn’t even….” She waved the Fenton Utility Weapon around vaguely. “This kind of thing takes practice. More practice than five seconds.”

He had the nerve to smile at her. “Glad you recognize that. Do you think you want to stick with that weapon or try a different one? Like I said, Sam—”

“Danny. I’m serious. I don’t…. Even if you weren’t really hurt by Skulker’s weapons, we could’ve been. The Red Huntress….” Star trailed off, watching as the hunter in question pulled out a thermos of her own—not a Fenton Thermos, despite the obvious similarities—and captured Skulker. “She’s not always going to be there. And neither are you. Which is why I want to learn something. But I can’t…. If you planned this, if you talked to Skulker and the Red Huntress and—”

“Wait, hold on, you seriously think I planned this?” Danny looked incredulous. “Star, I don’t plan ghost attacks. I don’t stage anything to look like the good guy, whatever my parents think. And even if, for some obscure reason, I decided to try, you really think the Red Huntress would agree to help? No. Just, no. Even if I asked her as Fenton, she doesn’t trust ghosts. She’d never agree to a crazy plan like that.”

“Well, then how else can you explain being so…so nonchalant about all of this? You didn’t even look particularly worried when I came to help you out of the net!”

Danny let out a slow breath, glanced over in time to watch the Red Huntress speed away on her jet sled, and turned back to Star. “Okay. Look. I didn’t know Skulker was going to show up until a few seconds before he actually did. That’s usually all the warning I get. But I knew the Red Huntress was close. I saw her. And I know how sensitive her watch is. I knew she was going to hear it beep and then find a way to run off and come back to fight Skulker. I…I know who she is. And how dedicated she is. Even if she’d rather have a crack at Phantom, she’s not going to just let a ghost go when they’re threatening her friends—or anyone else in town.”

Star frowned. He wasn’t saying what she thought he was saying, was he? That was ridiculous. Just because he wasn’t the only classmate she had who ran off when a ghost attacked—

“Is everyone okay?”

That was Valerie’s voice.

A few seconds later, she was running around the corner of the school.

Her eyes barely scanned the football field before they zeroed in on Danny and Star, despite the fact that they were still crouched in shadow beneath the bleachers.

“Star? Danny? Are you all right?” Valerie ran closer, circling around the bleachers to meet them from the back. “Did Paulina and Dash and Kwan get away okay?”

Valerie never had liked Phantom.

“We’re fine,” Danny said. “Glad you got away safely, too.”

“You two were cutting it close,” Val said. “Star’s right; we really needed this training session. I…. Thanks for showing us your parents’ stuff, Danny.”

Danny hadn’t really shown her anything. He’d confirmed that the weapon Valerie had chosen was a whip, and she’d figured the rest out for herself. Without nearly decapitating anyone or, as far as Star had seen, even shocking herself with its electricity feature.

Like she was familiar with the weaponry, if not the weapon.

“We’re going to have to do it again,” Star murmured. She had to be wrong. This…. No. This was Valerie. Her best friend, aside from Paulina. “Might not bother to invite the others if they won’t take it seriously, though.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “I know what you mean. They never listen to me. I was thrilled you listened to me and asked Danny to do this. I should’ve thought of that ages ago. But if we can at least get you to be able to defend yourself, we can work on the others.”

Was she pretending her extensive martial arts training was enough to give her an edge to using ghost hunting weapons, to the point that it didn’t matter that she should be completely unfamiliar with the technology?

“I, uh, vote that they don’t come if I do this again,” Danny said.

He was pretending this was normal.

He was always pretending.

So was Valerie. And, now, so was she. Even with them. Even with each other. Even….

Oh, man, should she tell Valerie her suspicions? Even if she never mentioned anything about Danny? Would that be enough to get Val to open up to her if she was right, or would it just make her brush it all off? Danny had tried to throw her off the scent, but his secret was different, and she and Valerie had always told each other everything. Which boys they kinda sorta liked, what they actually dreamed of doing when they were adults, as opposed to what they thought they’d end up doing, what they really thought about—

“I’m off Monday night,” Valerie offered. “I wouldn’t mind trying a few more of your parents’ weapons, Danny, if you’re up for this again. Just the three of us. We don’t have to tell the others, and Lancer usually doesn’t give us an awful amount of homework right away.” She glanced at Star but said to Danny, “Sam and Tucker can come instead. I mean, you’ve probably shown them this stuff already, but Star and I can use the extra help.”

Maybe this wasn’t really happening. Maybe she was just dreaming this, and she’d wake up and she’d have to live through another Thursday and then they’d get to the real training session that night, where none of this had happened.

Except Star’s heart was still thundering in her chest, and she already had a cramp in her leg from crouching in this position, and she didn’t even need to raise a hand to know that she was shaking.

“That works for me, unless I get detention or something.”

Valerie snorted. “Try not to sleep in class or miss it entirely.”

“I mean, I always try.”

“Guys.” Star didn’t realize she’d actually spoken aloud until they were both looking at her. “Another training session sounds great, really. I could definitely use it. Just…. I don’t want to plan it right this minute. I’ve got…stuff to think about.”

“Like what you’re going to say to Paulina if she broke a nail and blames you?” Valerie asked. Star shot her a look, and she relented. “Okay, okay, I might still be a little bit bitter over the way she cut me out. But, really, I’m glad you’re finally taking the initiative and doing this. You need to be able to protect yourself.”

“We all do,” Star said, but they already could. She was the only one of the three who couldn’t. They were willing to help her, and that was great, but….

Seriously.

How had she not noticed this before?

Especially after she’d figured out what was up with Fenton?

Not that she’d known exactly until she’d tricked him into confessing, but still. She’d known something was up. And with Valerie, she…hadn’t.

But something was very clearly up, and now Star was almost certain she knew what it was, and she just….

“Why don’t we head to the Nasty Burger? The others are probably there anyway, and you can catch up with them. It’ll calm you down. You still look pretty freaked out, Star.”

Was that Danny telling her that he knew that she’d figured it out? The thing he’d hinted at but never explicitly told her?

“You wanna bring your parents’ stuff to the Nasty Burger?” Valerie asked. “And you want me to walk in there with you? You think I want to lose my job?”

“Well, you guys can go ahead. I’ll just stash the stuff in my locker or something and meet up with you after.”

“The school’s locked.”

“Then I can take it home. Or phone Jazz. Or just skip it entirely. I mean, Sam and Tucker—”

“We’ll help you pack up,” Star interrupted, “and you can phone Jazz to pick you up again while I text Paulina. Valerie’s right; she’ll be with the boys. We’ll, um, meet up with you another time, unless Jazz is okay with running the stuff home on her own and you can catch up with us later.”

Star knew she wasn’t mistaking the look of relief that crossed Danny’s face. “Sounds good.”

It was what he’d asked her to do: cover for him when the others couldn’t.

She just…hadn’t imagined it would be like this.

Of course, she’d never imagined any of this. How could Danny and Valerie—

“C’mon, Star.” Valerie pulled her up to her feet, and Star couldn’t find the energy to resist. Danny was ignoring them, talking on the phone to Jazz—or Sam or Tucker pretending to be Jazz, for all she knew. “You’ll feel better with a small, low-fat chocolate shake in you. My treat.”

“Thanks,” Star murmured.

“Trust me,” Valerie said as she let Star collapse onto the front bench of the bleachers and began to pack what was left of the FentonWorks weaponry back into the box, “some training days are rougher than others. You can’t let one bad experience turn you off. The key is to stick to it.”

“Right.” Star wasn’t going to disagree. This had been her idea. She’d asked Danny to do this, and she’d asked everyone to come here. Including Valerie, who obviously didn’t need it nearly as much as the rest of them but had been happy to come anyway.

But maybe that was okay. Maybe she didn’t have to confront Valerie on this. She was still coping with finding out about Danny; she could broach the subject with Valerie later. Much later. Or maybe she could wait for Valerie to feel comfortable with telling her on her own. That was possible, right? She was already keeping Danny’s secret. She could keep Valerie’s, too.

She didn’t have to mention that it was odd that Valerie knew exactly how to disengage a tangled, torn net from a net-gun that she had supposedly never used before.

She didn’t have to ask how Valerie knew to collapse and then activate the safety on the Fenton Utility Weapon.

She could just…turn a blind eye to it for now. Like Danny was, and probably Sam and Tucker, too.

She could let a couple of the best ghost hunters in town teach her how to defend herself against ghosts, even though neither of them would admit to being nearly as good as they were in front of the other.

Yeah.

She could do that.

And if the opportunity ever came up to try to subtly convince Valerie that Phantom wasn’t the evil piece of ghost scum she thought he was, well, Star could take it. She owed Danny that much, since this clearly hadn’t worked out as she’d hoped. Valerie already knew Star supported Phantom, so it wouldn’t be strange. And if Star had to hint that she knew Valerie’s secret to get her to listen, well, she could cross that bridge when she came to it.

Some things really needed to be taken one day at a time, and Star was good at that.

-|-

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[silenthillmutual]

2020 Creator Wrap

I was tagged by @stvlti to do the 2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works tag! Thank you, sm!! c:

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Tagging: @lawliyeeeet​ @soupcans @kunoiichi @milk-teeths @darkpaladin and anyone else who wants to!! Though there’s no pressure to do this if you don’t want<3

So... according to my AO3, I seem to have published or updated 63 works in 2020, which is just a whole hell of a lot more than I usually do! So I’ll pick the going from oldest to newest that I’m most happy with :)

CONTENT WARNING though, under 18 please do not read below the cut as two of the fics are M and one is E. Additional content warning: two deal with self harm and one with intrusive thoughts, and one with pregnancy.

01 || Communication (T)

I think this was when I really hit my stride with understanding how I wanted to characterize Daniil, specifically, and more generally when I worked out how I wanted to write his relationship with Artemy. I tend to focus on the ways in which they communicate differently, and I think I pulled off their voices relatively well.

Favorite moment, when I managed to slip some autism into my characterization:

This is a flaw of his - a messy, embarrassing secret, this inability to distinguish jokes and sarcasm from serious discussion. He masks his insufficiency with a flat-toned seriousness. People find it harder to separate the sarcasm and the jokes from his regular speech when he makes no vocal distinction, and he enjoys the discomfort it brings in others. He considers it, to a degree, payback. A taste of their own medicine. And when he wants to make it clear where his feelings lie, he’ll be picky with the words themselves. He is, if absolutely nothing else, exceptional in the area of verbal self-expression. 

02 || sine sole sileo (M)

This is one of my older works and it is far from being my best, it’s terribly out of character and woobifying, but I’m fond of it as my first really long and more emotional work for the fandom. I had fun writing the first chapter out as a Twitter thread, and then expanding on it. It’s multi-chaptered and actually finished, which is something I have a hard time with!

Favorite moment, which I still actually kind of like, despite everything:

He knows the silence behind the doors, too. It’s a stillness that makes the tips of his fingers buzz. How many days has it been now? Three, four? Artemy though he’d changed the sheets, added new notations. Welcomed in the vocals, the strings, the what-ever-else accompanied performances like this in the Capital. His verses hadn’t been well-sung, but the band had started to play with him. He’d come to anticipate the thrumming percussion. A heart with its own rhythm. Footsteps that rose and fell. Words that lilted, that lead, that brought the symphony to a heightened frenzy.

But silence is a kind of noise too. Where the heart doesn’t beat. Where the voices don’t speak. Even when there is nothing, there is noise.

Artemy has to take a breath before he opens the door. He knows he won’t like what he sees, but he’s seeing so much more in his mind than will be there to greet him. His eyes shake and jostle him to great many things: a gun, a hook, a rope, stained bedsheets and curtains ripped from windows. He sees death even before his eyes adjust because he can smell it, and because he can hear it.

Twelve, he thinks.

03 || o tempora, o mores (M)

This fic was my baby! I wanted so badly to write a character struggling with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder the way I do, and while it’s not my best-performing fic for the fandom (I haven’t kept track of which one is, actually) it’s probably my favorite. I worked so hard on this one, trying to replicate what it’s like to struggle with OCD, and it felt so gratifying to do. I’m currently working on a follow-up to this one, and I’m very excited for it as well!

Favorite moment is really the whole thing, but I do like this in particular, because I feel it really resonated with how intrusive thoughts and compulsions work for me:

The self-talk gives him enough of a boost to get him through the doors of the hospital. It feels safer here, where there’s only the ill and the dead instead of the thousand living eyes trying to touch him. No one comes to bother him here, just him and Artemy and sometimes Clara and Rubin until a few days ago –

YOUR FAULT. HE IS SICK BECAUSE OF YOU. HE IS IN TROUBLE BECAUSE OF YOU. IF RUBIN DIES, IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Daniil mutters. THE EYES KNOW THE VACCINE DIDN’T WORK. THEY ARE WAITING FOR YOU TO ADMIT IT, ADMIT THAT THERE IS NOT ENOUGH TO PROTECT THEM SO THEY CAN HAND YOU TO THE DOGS. THEY WANT TO RIP YOUR BODY OPEN AND DEVOUR YOU. CANNIBALS, ALL OF THEM. AND YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER. “Stop it,” he repeats, and tries to dig a jagged nail into his wrist.

It won’t go. Too slippery from the ointment Victor applied. He has something in his bag to help, another jagged edge, a rusted pair of scissors lost to their original purpose. The Morae were busy here, he’d thought the first time he saw them, and had laughed at his own clever joke. But now he feels the red string is his skin.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.                                  (it is starting to hurt these could be infected they are dirty they are rusted,) Eight.                                     (but it has to be ten he has to get to ten it has to be even) Nine.                                     (has to be a multiple of five but even always even, no odd numbers in sight)

04 || vita in motu (E)

Heheh I’m in danger (chuckles).

I’ve only managed to get one piece of hate for this fic which I figured would draw way more ire and make me orphan it, and I’m glad I haven’t had to because I’m stupidly attached to the concept. I was trying not to go for E rated fics for this, but this fic meant so much to me to write and for something marked explicit I put a lot of thought into how I wanted to characterize Daniil for it.

So. Yeah. Publishing it was scary as hell but I’m glad I did. I also got some really nice feedback on it, and more than I expected to. I’m very happy with how it turned out.

Favorite moment was actually much longer at the start of it, though kind of like with o tempora, o mores I actually really like how the whole fic turned out. But I really liked this part because I view Artemy as someone who would be very grounding for Daniil to be with:

“Stay in the moment,” Artemy tells him, and kisses him again, kisses him slowly. “Stay here with me. I love you.”  

 It should be utter nonsense, to give in so quickly to this, but Artemy makes it easy. Daniil would never have seen this in his future, would not have even made this as a joke. Something had to beat down his resistance to the emotional, a pro to outweigh the cons he associated with vulnerability. Keeping tightly bound was the safest bet, the easy one. He could say he lacked emotion, and anyone would buy it. Nothing short of a miracle could drag him back to the land of the living – but then again, nothing short of a miracle could have saved this town. Artemy Burakh is a man who manufactures miracles.  

05 || it’s sacrilege, you say (T)

This is the last fic that I wrote out that I took a lot of time planning instead of going “hey, I think this idea would be neat” and slapping it onto paper. And I think it turned out really well!! I almost wanted to do something darker with it, more akin to Silent Hill, but I have other ideas in mind for that kind of AU that I’ll play with later, one of which will be a sort of crossover with TMA.

Favorite moment is when I actually implied the twist, though I’m not sure you can call it a twist at all when I used proper tags:

Her eyes drift from Daniil to the wall, pivoting to look through the window. “No,” she says. “I don’t know why he made you.”

 The center of Daniil’s chest feels like a flower, budded but unopened. Smooth, perhaps, but heavy to move, and his petals are made of something sharp. Crystal, maybe. And he can feel the petals start to part with her words, though they make so little sense to him. He steps forward, closer, half expecting Aspity to recoil from him, but she stays unnaturally still as he approaches. He reaches out to wet his lips, dry as sand, before he speaks. “Made me?” There’s no tone in his voice. “What do you mean, made me? And who are you talking about?”

 She doesn’t turn to face him. She blinks, and lashes fall on sunken cheeks. “Do you remember how you got here, doctor?” He opens his mouth, but she’s faster. “Not to my home. To Town. Think: Can you remember how it is you came to be here?” Daniil grinds his teeth on the side of his tongue, sharp edges digging into the flesh. The flesh.      The flesh    . “Take your time,” she says, but it sounds like a joke. “The last train that arrived brought the menkhu, and no one else aboard it. There are no other ways into our Town.”

[crazywritingbug]

Scars- Michelangelo

Michelangelo x reader

So my Leonardo fic got a huge response, and I’m hoping this gets the same! Enjoy!

Mikey got the call too late.

He’d heard his phone ring, but in a sleep drunken haze, he’d ignored it, trying to slip back into the dream of cuddling with Y/N. It was close to an hour later when he rolled out of bed and picked up his phone. Three calls, he had three calls from his sweet Y/N. It was going to be a good day if he got to start it by hearing her voice. He let them play as he dressed. 

“Good morning Mikey!” She greeted with the cheeriness of a morning dove. “I know you’re probably still asleep, but I am just calling to let you know that I am on my way over.” Only she would call; she claimed she was too clumsy to walk and text. “I’ll see you soon love!” 

The next one crushed the excitement that rose in him at the idea of seeing her. She sounded scared as she spoke.

“Mikey, please answer. I’m being followed. I...I don’t know who the guy is but he does not look like his is friendly.” She paused for a minute, the sounds of the city street coming through the phone. “I can’t tell if he is after me or if he is following me to find you guys, but I’m not going to let him find where you are. I’ll head for Broadway and Fifth. Mikey...please help me.” The message ended with that plea and with his heart cracking.

“I will, angel.” He muttered, shoving his nunchucks into their place on his belt. “I promise I’ll help you angel.” Then the third message began to play.

“Mikey!” His heart dropped. He’d never heard her sound so afraid, never heard her voice quaver like that. “Please answer Mikey! The guy, the guy has a gun...and oh gosh, Mikey he’s working with the Foot Clan!” Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. “I’m..I’m hiding in an alley Mikey...Help...please…” He could hear her take a shaky breath that almost matched his own before she had the best and worst thing he’d ever heard. 

“Mikey, I don’t know what is going to happen in the next ten minutes,  but I know that no matter what happens, you’ll find me. Whether it’s in this life or the next.” 

“No.” He wanted to scream the words, but in his fear all he could do was whisper. “Don’t talk like that, don’t say that, please baby, I’m going to find you, just don’t talk like that. Don’t.” 

“Oh no…” She whispered. “They now I’m here. Mikey, I’m going to run. I l-” The call didn’t end. He almost wished it had. Then he wouldn’t have heard her yell, heard the men laughing and the sounds of a struggle then the silence that followed. No. Not Y/N. Not his sweet, beautiful, angel. He...he couldn’t lose her. Not to the Foot Clan. He had to find her. 

“Leo! Donnie! Raph! Help!” Mikey was screaming now.

***

Two days, Y/N had been missing two days before they had any leads. Even then, all they had was an anonymous tip left with the NYPD that Y/N was being held in a riverside building. And if the Foot soldiers that were crawling over the place were any indication, she was there. Mikey couldn’t wait, he had to get her. Who knew what had happened to her already? 

“We need a plan.” Leo’s hand on Mikey’s shoulder was the only thing keeping him put to listen to the plan. Simple and easy multidirectional attack. It got him in quickly, got him to Y/N quickly to find her bound to a chair and covered in...No. Please don’t let that be her blood. 

“Y/N!” He cut the ropes, catching her as she fell limply from the chair. The blood was sticky and warm under his touch, her breath barely there. He cradled her close, a cry escaping his lips as he caught sight of the source of the blood. A wound, slicing its way across her throat. Crap, crap, crap, oh crap.

“Y/N, angel cakes,” Mikey blinked back tears as he spoke. “Please wake up, let me see your beautiful eyes,” The only sign of life in her body as he stood was the slight rise and fall of her chest. “Come on baby girl, don’t leave me. I need you angel.” That was an understatement. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? We’re gonna get you better, and when you are better, we’re gonna have that Marvel marathon, you’ve talked about. We’ll eat those pokibowels you love, and...and...I’ll make you a milkshake...and…” He ran as he spoke, tears rolling down his face. “We’ll snuggle…” He burst out of the building, drawing the attention of the police that were backing them up and loading up the Foot Soldiers. “Help! Please help her!”  

The paramedics rushed over, a gurney between them. He didn’t want to let go of her even as they took her. He kept begging, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Save her, please, whatever it takes, save her. Don’t let her-” He couldn’t say it. He could say die. How could he? In less than two years, she’d become his everything. Y/N was the girl who could make everything better with just a smile, whose kisses made everyday the best day and whose music lulled him to sleep every night since she’d given him a CD of songs she wrote. She was his sun, moon, and stars.

“Mikey, she’s going to be...fine.” Leo’s words didn’t help as the ambulance doors shut. How could they when Mikey was covered in the blood of the girl he loved? He...he loved her. He loved her and he’d never told her. He’d done everything he could to show her, but he’d never actually said so. He was a terrible boyfriend. He hadn’t even picked up the phone when she called. He hadn’t-

“I...never told her…and it’s my fault. This is all my fault.” The last word came out as a sob. 

“That’s bull-” Raph started but Mikey cut him off. He didn’t want to hear it. He wanted Y/N. Her touch, her voice telling him that it wasn’t true. 

“I slept through her call! She called asking for help, for me to help her! And I ignored my phone because I wanted to sleep.” Mikey wiped angrily at the tears. “I am such an idiot!”

His brothers’ arguments fell on deaf ears. All that Mikey wanted was her. Wanted to hug her, kiss her, hear her voice, and to tell her how much he loved her.

***

The police called a few hours later, telling him that she pulled through and would be released soon. Y/N was okay, so why did Mikey feel so sick? Why didn’t he go see her? Everything in him sobbed for her so why couldn’t he get himself past his bedroom door for a solid week? 

A knock pulled Mikey off of the bed he hadn’t slept in and to the door. Opening it, he almost began crying again, this time from happiness. 

“Y/N!” He pulled her into a hug before she could say a word, breathing in the scent of sweet peas that always hung around her. Hiding his face in her hair, he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears as she pressed a kiss to his neck, the only spot she could reach. Mikey wanted to kiss her deep and long, but what if he hurt her? It was his fault she had gotten hurt in the first place, his fault that she had a bandage wrapped around her throat, and he didn’t want it to happen again.

“Mikey, love, what’s wrong?” She always knew when something was wrong. He never had to say a thing. He needed to say it though, no matter how scared he was of her leaving him when she knew the truth. When she knew it was his fault.

“I missed you angel…” He muttered into her hair. “I...I am so so sorry…I never meant to ignore your calls. I didn’t mean to oversleep. I never meant for you to get hurt because of it. You almost died and...it was all my fault…”

“Mikey.” Her tone was scolding as she pulled away, but her gaze was as gentle as her touch as she cupped his face gently, wiping away the tears he couldn’t hold back. He leaned into her touch, trying to keep his eyes off of the bandage. How could she be so kind?

“Nothing that happened was your fault.” She whispered. “It wasn’t your fault and never will be. The only ones at fault here are the Foot Clan, and from what I hear, you’ve already whipped them.” She kissed his snout gently, popping up on her tiptoes as she did so. “It’s their fault. You found me just like I knew you always will and you saved me, Mikey.” He leaned into her touch for a moment before turning his head and kissing the palm of her hand. She was so amazing…

“I love you Y/N.” He whispered, pulling her closer. Not that she could get much closer to begin with. “I love you so much and I should have told you before all of this. But I promise I’ll never miss another chance to say it.”

 She smiled, something lit up in her E/C eyes as she spoke. “I love you too Mikey.” It felt so good to hear her say those words. So sweet, so amazing. Just like the coconut flavored kiss he captured. 

“I love you.” He muttered, guiding her into his room without releasing his hold on her. She kicked the door shut behind them.

“Silly Mikey.” She muttered before he claimed her lips again.

[linkspooky]

mysophobia for chisaki kai the image of uncleanliness is other people.  /@villainmonth/ by @inumaqi @linkspooky

Dirty, dirty, dirty, 

Filthy. Sickening. Hurting him. Everything was…

♚

The place he was abandoned smelled awful. He found the source of the smell, another human being. The corpse of someone caught in between the teeth of two birds who were fighting over it. The chewed up meat looked exactly like the texture of sludge as they had spit it up all over. They were fighting over the man’s intestines like it was a rope to play with. Internal organs bloomed from his stomach in a macabre idea of a field of flowers. And in that moment Chisaki realized that man was dead. There was nothing beautiful about that body, it was ugly, it was abandoned, forgotten. Rotten. Most of all it was dirty. And he thought to himself. “Well, how about me? Can I continue to live?” He could not help but picture his own image, murdered by crows, as they fought over who got to devour what was left of him. He never realized humans had such filthy organs inside of them, until he saw them all spilling out. Not just him, everybody had intestines crawling around in them like snakes. Underneath the corpse’s skin, there were maggots writhing around. Chew chew. Munch munch. Rip rip. Tear tear. It was hard to believe something so hideous had ever been alive, but Chisaki realized everyone was like that. They were all hiding something hideous inside of them. After all when his parents saw what he could do with his quirk, they chose to abandon the child they could no longer look at without thinking how hideous he was. Grotesque. His fingers curled into shapes that no longer looked human, more like the talons of a crow, the air was thick with the scent of rotting, and his own insides were beginning to melt. Blood, bile, organs, meat, he was stuffed full with so many disgusting things. He wanted to get rid of all of it, he wanted to be empty.

Painfully, his whole body wretched and he fell over vomiting as if he wanted to pull his stomach and intestines out through his throat. He was just a dirty child. He lived in filth, his parents abandoned him in this filthy place, and he was going to die covered in its filth. At that moment a material like putrid slime sunk deep into Chisaki’s skin, all the way down into his bones, and became a permanent part of him, as vital as his heart, or his lungs. The urge to live, to climb to the top of this trash pile, no matter what he had to step on in order to do so. So one day he could escape the filth. So one day he could be clean, and those parents would be wrong. He stepped over the corpse he found, breaking the bone of its arm. If he had not chosen to keep walking forward at that moment he would not have met him. A large man whose face he could barely make out. Chisaki wished he had cleaned his mouth, because blood was now dripping from his lips and he had made a mess of the lower half of his face. Got no place to call home, kid? What’s your name? Can you speak? The name his parents gave him. The name he wanted to forget. “Chisaki. Chisaki Kai.” Chi in Chisaki as in to treat. It was the worst possible family name for a diseased child to have. The man offered his hand to him.

But Chisaki could not take it. Because the hand looked dirty. He remembered the rotting away fingers of the corpse, and was overcome again with nausea.

♚

Chisaki Kai, no longer a child but also not a man either wore a black mask to cover the entire lower half of his face. The reason for this was simple, he hated breathing other people’s air. 

His boss told him he was a fussy child, but thought he would grow out of this germaphobia of his as he got older. It was a part of growing up the old man told him. But, Chisaki Kai never grew up.

He lived in a small room as sterile as a hospital room. No one else was allowed to enter. There he always had two air purifiers running, and the room itself smelled of rubbing alcohol. It had a sterile, hollow scent. Every single wall was white because Chisaki wanted to notice every stain immediately as it happened. The shelves were lined with disposable latex gloves, and surgical masks. He ran up the bill when they were already hard pressed for money because he could not touch his own dirty clothes, but he needed to wash them the moment after he finished wearing them and paid someone else to do it. He was often buying new clothes as well and throwing out old ones after wearing them only a few times. His hands were incredibly rough. He washed them more times than necessary and even wore leather gloves over each of his fingers at all times. He pulled on his gloves to make sure they were secured tight, a nervous tick he had developed over the years. He never once let his hair grow long, because he knew filth could accumulate, oils, dirt, mites in longer hair so he cut it himself. 

Chisaki did not consider himself a clean freak though. In fact he was fine if the entire rest of the base was in shambles, even if it did hurt his pride a little. He did not mind if someone left their shirts on the floor, or if the entire room was torn apart like a hurricane hit it. What he despised was other people. Other people. They all carried a sickness. Every one. They were just petri dishes for generating bacteria. He wore gloves because he did not want to touch their skin. Just one contact was all it needed for contamination to spread. Most of all he did not want to touch a human hand. He did not want to be touched by them. He did not want to feel their hand in his. He did not want to feel their warmths mixing. Because all he thought about in his stomach, mixing and churning was cross contamination. He was scared of their hands. And their horrifying insides. Perhaps that was why he fought the way he did. He did not even have human hands. These were claws. The talons that belonged to overhaul. The raven that tore out the eyes of the dead, and crushed their organs between his beak, because the old man ordered him to, because the yakuza needed it to protect their honor. 

Chisaki hated touching people in any way, and he hated any kind of contact. But that was the quickest way to fight. When the boss told him to kill, he put his hand on them, and their entire body became nothing more than a smear of blood. When he was covered in someone else’s blood, Chisaki wanted to roll around and scratch until he had scratched off all of his skin from his body. But he had to suppress that urge. He lived by swallowing his own vomit so the boss would not look bad. Now that he thought about it, maybe he was a little bit fussy when he was young but it wasn’t this bad. He started wearing a mask everywhere the first time the boss ordered to kill someone. No, he didn’t care about killing at all, he just hated the mess. It was disgusting being painted in someone else’s organs. He wished the boss would give him a different job though, killing was grunt work, that was not the job of family. 

The old man had no children. He had a daughter but she fled from this life. One day he would die and pass it on to his most loyal man instead, and that would be Chisaki. He could protect everybody much better as a leader, than he could with this quirk. To be honest despite the tremendous strength of his quirk he hated it. Guns could make people’s insides explodes just as well, it was pointless. But. This quirk was the only reason the old man needed him around. Chisaki has switched his mask recently. A black mask was not enough, he was still too filthy. Plague masks worn by doctors had that long crooked beak to keep impurities out of the air. That was all he ever wanted, to just feel a little bit clean, pure, even though he was standing in a pool of blood he made from the people the old man told him to kill. “And if we do that the yakuza and eight precepts can emerge from the darkness and-” He thought if he explained it right, if he made the boss understand then the boss would let him protect everybody. That was what he said once. So you got into a fight because they called our family villain bastards? Thank you… for trying to protect our honor. He was living to repay him. Nothing Chisaki did was ever for himself. He knew he was not a human. He was a crow that flew in that man’s shadow. He was not human. He was not human. He was doing his best to be the boss’s tool to be used so why. Why was the boss looking at him that way? Why did he never thank him again after that? 

“I already told you no. To do that to the girl… What are humans to you?”

Humans. Other people. Diseased. “If you’re going to disobey our way of thinking, then you should just leave.” No, no, no, You can’t throw out family. That was why he took care of that girl after her mother through her away. He remembered why. Why the old man was suddenly so concerned about human life. That girl was his own flesh and blood.  She belonged to him body and soul. And Chisaki a diseased child. Who belonged to no one. His gloved fingers curled, and he dug hisnails in hard enough to draw blood even though the sight of his own blood disgusted him. “No… All I want to do is repay you for taking me in. Enough is enough. Just shut up and watch.” 

He raised his fingers, all five of them and placed them on the boss’s head. Human brains are so fragile. They cannot survive the shock of being scrambled once, even if they are immediately put back together. The old man. The old man. The old man was sick. And from then on out, he needed to live a hospital room with four white walls just like the one Chisaki lived in. 

♚ “…Filthy.” Overhaul wheezes. He is covered in blood once more, its seeped into the fabric of his jacket. He knew he was going to throw this jacket away after the meeting was over. He is glad his mask sometimes is suffocating to breathe in, or else he might start to hyperventilate. He was in a life or death fight and all he could think about was how he had to touch that person with his bare hands to get his quirk to work. He shivered. Even if they were gone now, the remnant of their touch, the bacteria still remained. He could scrub, scrub, and scrub until his hands were raw. It would not wash away. It would just not wash away. His hands were covered in blood, and it had soaked somewhere underneath his skin and become a part of him.

Itchy. Itchy. Irritating him. Irritating his eyes. Eyesore. He’s allergic. He can’t stand it. He finally gives in to his ruge, and starts to scratch at the base of the birdlike mask that hands around the front of his face. He continues to scratch, but just touching his gloved hand to his skin irritates him even further. Bacteria can spread and multiply on the surfaces of clothes too. Once you see it, once you realize that they are everywhere and invisible, it becomes impossible to escape from. You see bacteria everywhere. You see traces of sickness in everything. And at that point there’s nothing you can do about it, you have no choice left but to go insane. Everywhere he looked, he saw it. People who were sick just like the old man on his white sheets. He was just lying there on his sick bed and Chisaki… Chisaki was the one who…. It felt like his whole body was screaming at him. Someone like him really was not suited to being alive, as if living was just another symptom of sickness. His flesh raw. His eyes bloodshot.  “You guys have an illness. Illnesses must be cured.” He starts to walk away because he does not want the ash of the fire to hang onto his lungs. Once it’s stuck it’s never going to get out. Once something is dirty it can never be cleaned. “I took the money. Let’s get out of here before some heroes arrive, overhaul.” Nobody calls him Chisaki anymore and that’s fine. Because that kid died of illness a long time ago. “It’s all sick people, everywhere I look. Every last one of them.” After this he decided to meet with the league of villains, people who were just sick in the head. 

[mithranqueersmusings]

soooooo i was wondering if you could write a short little mclennon mafia au where paul is the detective and he gets caught by the famous mob boss John and some gay stuff occurs

gay stuff?? thats my favourite kind of stuff! i feel like this got way too long but im just a sucker for violence (sue me)

----------

Paul slowly regained consciousness and he could taste the metallic flavour of blood in his mouth. There was a throbbing pain on the side of his head and when he opened his eyes to see there was nothing but darkness, he was wearing a blindfold. He tried to shake his hands to wake them up but he found them bound behind him and the panic began to set in. It was all coming back to him now in fragmented pieces: he had a lead on the location of John Lennon, the most wanted man in Liverpool, and stupidly he had gone alone. He'd been working on this case for years now and he was desperate to finally catch the guy so he decided to scope the place out as secretively as he could, but before he could even get a good look he was knocked out from behind. The room smelled damp and he could hear someone breathing on the other side of the room, he wondered where his gun was. Suddenly he heard footsteps of heeled boots and his blindfold was ripped off, revealing none other than the man he'd been hunting for the majority of his career. He had a basic idea what he looked like, brown hair and a Roman nose, but the only photographs had always been too blurry or too far away to get a really good idea, and he had to admit that he was surprised by how unthreatening he looked at first.

"Nice of you to join us McCartney." John lifted the blindfold off his head slowly then discarded it to somewhere in the room. Paul could get his bearings now but it didn't help much that he had no idea where he was, surely somewhere in the warehouse but even that wasn't certain. "And what exactly were you expecting to do here today? Something tells me you weren't just popping in to say hello." A smirk spread across his thin lips and it made Paul feel sick.

"We're gonna take you down, Lennon. You can do what you want with me but someone else will follow my lead, and they'll catch you." Paul struggled against the restraints but it was no use, it made John chuckle lowly.

"Whatever I want you say? Now, isn't that nice?" John took a step to the other side of Paul and bent down so their faces were level, he looked as though he was inspecting Paul's face. "I must say you're the prettiest detective they've ever sent after me." His breath was hot against Paul's bruised face and it made him shudder.

John pulled away and took a few paces across the room appearing to be deep in thought. Paul desperately looked around for anything that could help him get out of there but the room was entirely bare. What he thought was strange was that it was only the two of them in the room, John had no goons there to protect him, and Paul wondered if he'd be able to take him by himself. He fidgeted again in the chair, his wrists felt raw from the rope that was tightly tied around them and his shoulders were beginning to ache. Whenever he struggled John looked amused and Paul cursed himself for being so foolish and allowing himself to be at the mercy of such a lunatic. Blood was slowly filling up in his mouth, he didn't know where it was coming from, and he had to spit on the floor to get rid of it which drew a dramatic grasp from John.

"Now, now, now. That's not very polite. What do they teach you over at that police station?" He tutted and began rooting in his pocket which only made Paul struggle more.

John took a few strides towards Paul, placing his hand on the back of the chair and tilting it upwards so that Paul met his gaze; Paul felt panicked, his feet were tied to the legs of the chair and there was nothing he could do but be moved around by this other man. John flashed him a grin and quickly pulled out something from his pocket, and before Paul knew it there was a switchblade poking at the skin below his jaw. His breath stopped, the cold metal so close to piercing his sweaty skin. Was this the end? John saw the panic in Paul's and he seemed to feed off it, he ran the blade gently across the skin without drawing and blood and Paul feared the slightest twitch of the hand or the chair slipping from his grasp suddenly.

"You're even prettier when you're scared." John's voice grew low and he tightened his grip on the back of the chair "It's a shame I'm going to have to kill you, seems a waste of such a nice face."

Paul's eyes flicked up to meet John's, his pupils were massively dilated as he resisted thinking about how much John must have been enjoying this "Don't kill me then." Paul breathed out raggedly, his Adam's apple moving painfully against the tip of the knife.

"No? Maybe not... Maybe I could find another use for you." John practically purred as he lightly dug the knife into Paul's soft cheek, drawing trickles of blood pouring down the skin which made Paul hiss.

John quickly pulled away then and bent down on his knees, running his hand down Paul's clothed thigh. Paul wasn't sure what was worse, the threat of death or whatever this was. His breath was hitched and the taste of blood was becoming overwhelming, the pain in his head screaming for relief. John continued to move his hand down until he settled on the restraints on his ankles which he cut quickly without a word. Paul's eyes grew wide as he hesitantly shook both legs slowly to regain the feeling in them. John began to move behind him now, trailing his hand across his skin up to his shoulders and the second restraint was cut. Paul sighed at the feeling of relief but didn't dare to move, the knife was still dangerously close to him and he was certain he must've had his weapons stripped of him.

"Don't get any ideas now, McCartney." John still spoke in a low tone "Even if you somehow overpower me there's no way you're getting out of here without my say so." He moved in front of Paul again, the knife glistening in the low light of the room. "Do you understand?"

Paul nodded but when John squinted his eyes in disapproval he managed out a strained "Yes."

"Yes, what?" The smirk returned to John's face as he lowered himself onto his knees in front of Paul once more.

"Yes... Sir." Paul choked out, even with his hands and feet free he felt more trapped now than ever before with John's predatory eyes on him. The panic seemed to have shifted into a new territory now, and there was a small voice in Paul that wanted to admit that he was excited, that he liked it... Whatever was about to happen Paul didn't know and he certainly hadn't anticipated when he set out that night, but there was a part of him that wanted to go along with it, a part that needed to.

[omnivorousshipper]

Hobbs and Shaw: The Tigress

This was a request by @ihavesthings

Summary: When Sam wakes up in an unknown place, surrounded by unknown people, she expects either her Dad or Deckard to rescue her. But it’s someone else who comes to her rescue.

Warnings: kidnapping of a child, child in danger

“God damnit! Where the flying fuck is he!? Fucker should have been here already!” An angrily spat out somewhere further in the room. Sam let out a tiny whimper as the shattering of glass followed the man’s outburst. The man luckily sounded too far away from her, as she heard his angry footsteps echo off the walls of the room they were in. 

Sam tried to wiggle back in her chair, but the thick, rough ropes tying her down held her securely in place and dug into her wrists and ankles. The ropes kept her arms and legs immobile, and bits of it were coiled around her chest, restricting her breathing. A few tears slipped down from the blindfold that was tied too tight around her head. She could feel them travel down her face and right over the duct tape covering her mouth. The tears finally dripped off her chin and fell into the unknown, making Sam realize who helpless she was. 

She had no idea where she was. She had no idea who the men in the room were. She had no idea why she was there. She had been waiting outside her school for her dad, when a car had driven up close to her, and a man had grabbed her. She had tried to scream, but a sharp pain in her arm had stopped her and made her world go black. When she woke up next, she couldn’t see anything or say anything she could only hear the strange men around her talking.

Dad, Deck, anyone! Please! I just want to go home, Sam thought desperately, as more tears started escaping her eyes that she had screwed shut under the blindfold. She couldn’t help her muffled sobs as she shook in her bonds.

“Hey! Someone shut the brat up!” The same man from earlier yelled.

Sam flinched back instinctively.

“Hey, man. Cool it. She can’t do much. She’s just scared,” another man closer to her said. “Has Hobbs not called back yet?”

“No! Fucker should have called by now!” The first man hissed back, a loud hollow bang sounding through the room. “If he wants to see his kid alive, he better do it soon.”

Her violent sobs caused Sam to shake. Dad! Please help! I want to go home! Please, somebody help me!

The men kept talking back and forth, but Sam couldn’t hear any of it over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Her breath was getting quicker, and even though she was taking more and more, it felt as if she wasn’t getting enough air. Her heart was beating too fast; so fast, Sam swore it felt like it was about to beat right out of her chest. The darkness around her seemed to be closing in on her, and emphasizing the ropes around her. They seemed to get tighter and tighter as she wiggled against them, a futile attempt to loosen them. There was a continuous stream of tears running down her face, soaking the blindfold.

Suddenly, a hand was on her shoulder, and Sam screamed. 

Dad! Deck! Help me!

“Hey! Hey! Calm down!”

Even though the man was shouting, Sam couldn’t hear him. Fear and adrenaline were coursing through her, the only one thought going through her head. 

They’re going to kill me!

 “Someone shut her up!” A voice screeched, only barely being noticed by Sam, who cried harder and tried to shout through her gag.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. We need you to calm down,” another voice said next to her, the hand on her shoulder rubbing up and down her arm, trying to sooth her. Instead, it had the opposite effect, causing her to try and move away from the offending appendage. She tried to voice her disgust, but to no avail as her gag kept her mostly quiet.

“Fucking hell! First Hobbs doesn’t contact us, now his brat is freaking out! I knew we shouldn’t have taken this job-” the shouting man started to rave, but was suddenly interrupted by a loud bang. “What was that?!”

Several more bangs followed and Sam felt her heart stop as she recognized those bangs to be gunshots. She was frozen as fear as they started to get closer and the men who were in the room with her started to panic.

“Is that Hobbs?”

“Can’t be! He shouldn’t know where we are!”

“What about the guy he’s with, Shaw?”

“Can’t be him either, he was with Hobbs last time we checked.”

“Then who the hell-”

Gunshots rang out through the room, cutting off the loud conversation the men had been having. Sam whimpered out, scared of not being able to move and hide like she wanted to. Fear kept her from trying to wiggle the ropes loose, too scared of drawing attention to herself. 

The gunshots stopped suddenly, and the room seemed to be completely frozen as Sam could hear a set of footsteps coming closer. Each step was a sharp click against concrete that reverberated off the walls. Every click was like a gunshot in itself as they got closer and nobody said anything for several long moments. As the person seemed to finally step into the room, a voice called out.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you lot? Kidnapping a child. Makes me sick,” a British woman spat. Sam’s ears perked up. Was this new person here to help her?

“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you and your boys need to leave before I shoot the girl,” the man who had been shouting from earlier said. As he finished, the cold barrel of a gun pressed itself against Sam’s temple and made her shake harder.

Please, I don’t know who you are, but please save me!

All she could do was strain her ears for the woman’s response as the gun stayed pressed against the side of her head, even when she tried to move it away.

“You call yourself a man? I’ve seen neutered mutts with more bollocks than you. You’ll pay for taking her, you absolute piece of shite,” the woman hissed out, venom practically dripping from her voice. 

“And what are you going to do about it, you old broad? One false move, and I blow her brains out-”

A gunshot rang out, silencing the man’s threats. The gun was jerked away from Sam’s head and it felt like she could finally take a breath as the cold steel disappeared. There was a loud thud right next to Sam and then the clattering of the gun as it hit the floor as well. 

“Anybody else?” The woman asked, a hint of smugness seeping into her voice. After a beat of silence, she continued. “No? Good.”

The clicking of heels started again and drew closer to where Sam was still tied up. Sam tried to stop her shaking, but was not able to. Images and ideas of what this new person had in store for her was too much for Sam. What if the woman was going to do the same thing the man had done? Try to use her to get to her dad? 

These thoughts kept swirling through Sam’s head as she listened to the woman come closer. Suddenly, there was a hand on her’s, and Sam was flinching back harshly.

“Shh, love. It’s all right. I’m here to help you,” the woman said, her voice much softer and kinder compared to earlier. She sounded like a teacher Sam had in elementary school, an older lady who loved talking about her children and grandchildren. “Now, let's get these things off of you.”

Sam could feel the woman’s steady and warm fingers pull the tape from her mouth, taking care to minimize the pain. As soon as the gag was gone, Sam was gulping down air.

“That’s it, darling. Deep breaths,” the woman hummed and rubbed Sam’s back. With her other hand, she untied the blindfold and pulled it away from Sam’s face. 

Blinking, Sam was met with a dim room that looked to be in some sort of basement. All around her were at least a dozen men wearing suits, standing still with their hands behind their backs as they simply stared at Sam and the woman. Sam could not help but shrink back from the intimidating scene. 

“It’s all right, dear. Those hulking brutes are mine. They won’t hurt you,” the woman said, her tone reassuring.

Sam finally turned to the woman for the first time, and blinked as she took the woman’s face in. 

~~~

“Hey, Deck. Whatcha lookin’ at?” Sam asked, jumping on the couch to sit next to Deckard, who was scrolling through his tablet. 

“Just through some family pictures,” he said. Without thinking, he moved the tablet to one hand, and lifted his free arm, allowing Sam to slip under it and cuddling into his side. Bringing his arm back down, he held the tablet so Sam could look at it with him. “My family can get pretty absent minded, so it’s always been my responsibility to keep the family photos organized.”

“Really? That’s really cool! What’s your family like?” Sam asked, staring at the tablet in wonder. The picture on the screen showed a much younger Deckard wearing a swimsuit and sitting on the edge of a pool with his feet dangling into the water. He was smiling at the camera and was holding up a gold medal that was hanging around his neck. 

“A bunch of reckless fools, who only occasionally get a good idea in their heads,” Deckard chuckled. 

“All of them?” Sam questioned, looking up at Deckard with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, all right. Mum isn’t too bad. It’s mainly my little brother and sister,” Deckard admitted with a soft smile. “Here. Let me see if I can’t show you a picture of them. Mum insisted we get an updated family picture.”

Sam watched patiently as Deckard searched through his pictures and found the right one. When he did, it was a picture of two men and two women. Deckard, Hattie, and the other man, who must be Deckard’s brother, stood around an older woman who was sitting, all wearing formal clothes and giving the camera subtle smiles. 

“So, you already know who Hattie is-”

“The hot spy lady,” Sam interjected.

“Yes, her,” Deckard laughed. “And the guy with the road burns is Owen, my little brother.”

“What happened?” Sam leaned closer to the tablet, trying to see his scars better.

“A bad accident. He’s better now,” Deckard said simply, his voice not giving his thoughts away. “And the lovely woman who’s doing her best Queen Victoria impression is my mum, Magdalene.”

~~~

Looking at the woman, Sam blinked at her, not believing it was the same woman from the photo. 

“Are you Magdalene Shaw?” She blurted out and immediately cringed. She didn’t want to seem rude to her rescuer by asking stupid questions. Instead of reprimanding her, the older woman smiled kindly at her, showing her perfect teeth.

“Yes, I am. And you must be Samantha Hobbs.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam nodded back shyly.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, love,” Magdalene said softly as she brought out a knife and swiftly started cutting through the ropes tying Sam down. “Don’t much like formalities. Takes too much time from all the fun things we could be doing in life.”

As she said that, the last coil of rope snapped, freeing Sam. She massaged her wrists, which had been rubbed raw from her struggling against the ropes. Looking up at Magdalene, Sam could see her staring intensely at her hurt wrists.

“I’m fine,” Sam quietly said, not meeting the older woman’s eyes.

“Even so, dear, I would like to have you looked at. Make sure nothing happened,” Magdalene responded, voice just as quiet as she gently lifted Sam’s chin and looked her in the eyes.

As Sam stared into Magdalene’s light blue eyes, she could see that they were full of concern and love. And for the first time since she was kidnapped, Sam felt herself relaxing and feeling truly safe. Hesitantly, Sam nodded back and gave the older woman a small smile. 

“Good. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Without thinking, Sam took Magdalene’s offered hand, and slowly slid out of the chair and took slow steps since she had been forced to sit for so long.

“Samantha, love. Would you mind doing something for me?”

Looking up at Magdalene, Sam gave her a nod.

“Could you close your eyes? I don’t want you to see some…” she paused for a second, trying to find the right words. “... unpleasant sights.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. She clutched onto the woman’s hand and pressed herself up against her. Tucking her face against Magdalene’s side, Sam screwed her eyes shut and trusted the older woman to lead her to safety. “I just want to go home.”

“I know, love. I know.”

As Magdalene led them through the place Sam had been held captive, Sam could not help but feel hypnotized by her voice as she kept a steady stream of conversation going. She was going on about the places she had visited just recently: Rome, Paris, Berlin, and some cities Sam had never even heard about. Even though all of her stories sounded interesting, Sam could not muster up much energy to ask her many questions. But, it seemed as if Magdalene understood that, and talked enough for both of them.

When they finally made it to several cars parked outside, Magdalene ushered Sam into the backseat and scooted in next to her. And without hesitation, Sam was pushed up against Magdalene’s side again, feeling exhausted. It felt as if everything had gone out of her, and now she just felt numb. All she wanted to do was sleep, but first she needed to know something.

“Magdalene?” Sam quietly caught her attention.

“Yes, love?”

“Are my dad and Deck coming?”

“Of course,” Magdalene smiled down at her, and wrapped an arm around her. “You should have heard both of them. Like two angry bears looking for their cub. You’re one special little girl for having both of them looking after you.”

“They’re pretty awesome, aren’t they?” Sam smiled and cuddled closer. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“You won’t have to wait too long, love. They’re on their way to meet us as we speak.”

Sam smiled, already imagining the crushing hug her dad was going to give her. Letting her head settle more against Magdalene’s side, Sam could feel herself slipping into sleep. Blinking her eyes open, she tried to stay awake long enough to ask Magdalene one last question.

“Magdalene?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Would it be okay if I called you grandma?”

Biting her lip, Sam waited for a long moment, and when the older woman said nothing, Sam pulled back and looked up at her. 

She was expecting a look of shock and abhorrence from the woman because of her request. But, instead, Sam’s eyes grew big when she saw the older woman looking at her with watery eyes. Suddenly, she was pulling Sam into a hug.

Sam was stunned by the action, but was soon hugging her back, feeling truly loved.

“Of course you can call me grandma, love. I’d be honored,” Magdalene whispered into Sam’s hair, her voice nearly cracking. They stayed like that for several minutes, but soon, Sam’s eyes were growing heavy again and she started to sag against Magdalene. Feeling this, Magdalene gently tucked Sam into her side, never once letting her go.

Finally slipping into a peaceful sleep, Sam could not help the smile that stayed on her face as she snuggled closer to her new grandmother.