#Thank GOODNESS the people holding us hostage have an entire locked floor to themselves

[delta-chan]

When I say the "remake" edition of Costa del Sol is offensive I do not mean that in a memey way--it is legitimately upsetting.

It's all the most obnoxious "wiki-waki hula-wula" stereotypes about Hawaii thrown into a pot, with hula consisting exclusively of the wave motion and how people there relentlessly say "hang loose". One might say "oh, it's just faaaantasy~" but you can't just ape the ~aesthetic~ of a place like this without treating it with respect.

I mean, the mayor's name is Kapono and looks like any uncle you'd see going about your day. You cannot just do this.

They could have had it remain a sleepy recreation of a Spanish costal village, but they just had to... make the whole thing loud. Try and make it some sort of grotesque version of Waikiki? I guess so it's more impressive and wacky...?

Everyone I know who has played Infinite Wealth or at least has seen a playthrough of it says that it's bang-on. So FFVII Re-whatever it is this time leaves an incredibly bad taste in my mouth. It's embarrassing.

[yeojaa]

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears.  You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard.  The best part?  You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main.  He might just love you.

alt summary.  Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing.  jeon jungkook

genre + rating.  fluffy crack, smut.  explicit.

warning / tags.  long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish),  eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch, oral (f receiving), fingering, enough sweetness you’ll get cavities. 

reading.   n/a.  a three part one-shot.

word count.  ~8400

part iii.

JUNGKOOK’S HOTEL ROOM Sunday, 3 May, 2020.  12:20 AM (LA), 4:20 PM (Seoul).

There’s nothing quite like the feeling after a show.  How it crowds cavities behind his molars and sets his heart off on a marathon, exhilaration colouring his cheeks and stealing his voice.  It’s something he’ll never get tired of - all the best parts of this journey presented on a silver platter. 

Still, he thinks talking to you might be a close second.  

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,”  you chide, playfully, with a mouthful of granola.  It crunch crunch crunches in his ears, blocking the sound of his own laughter, ringing and half out of breath.

“I said I’m sorry.  I’ve been so busy.  Things have just been—”  Crazy?  Out of this world?  Some kind of wonderful?  “—hectic.”  He all but throws himself across his bed, the luxurious hotel sheets soft against his still overheated cheek.  It feels nice but steals the strength of his voice, muffling his words as he continues, like a runaway train with no destination in mind. 

You laugh at him as you always do, mirth sprinkled over teasing like little treasures to be found among the vowels and consonants.  “It’s fine , Jay.”  The name - not his name - rolls off your tongue, dragged out by the giggles you can’t help.  “I know you’re a busy guy.  Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done, Jungkook thinks.  You’ve been on his mind every day, in between the practices and the performances.  A silhouette shaped like you - not that he knows how you’re shaped - existing in the recesses of his thoughts. 

“Anyway, I finally stopped losing SR so it’s not all bad...”

He doesn’t register what you’re saying.  Not at first, anyway.  But when he does?  He’s belligerent, the loudest shriek rocketing out of his chest as he dissolves into laughter.  So you were a little bit better than him.  “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, sandbag.”  

Your mockery shouldn’t have the dumbest smile spreading like wildfire but it does, the expression eating up every ounce of his exhausted self.  He can’t fight it, glee working itself every which way until he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his jaw aches.  

“You’re mean,”  he manages in between the teeth-numbing joy, chest heaving.

He’s certain you don’t mean it the way he takes it.  “And yet you love it.”  

God, if only you knew.

He wants to tell you so badly - wants to shout it from the rooftops until he’s blue in the face and without a voice.  He thinks he’d have a chance, maybe, if your passed secrets at midnight and tender goodnights were any indication.

But he can’t, because he’s him and you’re, well, you, and really, it’s just his fault.

“Did you die?”  You steal him out of his reverie, tearing him wholly from inside that overthinking head of his.  It’s one of the things you’re best at (other than keeping him alive in Overwatch).

He sighs and it’s a wistful sound, softer than any other that’s passed between you since getting on the phone fifteen minutes ago.  “I’m good, yeah.  I’m fine.”

“You sure?  I thought I might’ve lost you for a second.”

The playfulness has returned, rounding syllables in a way that’s very distinctly you.  

“Yes, Mom .”  

“Watch it or you’re grounded, young man!” 

“Do you even know how old I am?”  Probably not, because he doesn’t know that about you either.  

For all of the secrets you’ve shared, these very basic pieces of information are ones you’ve never exchanged.  They’ve always been held tightly to the chest, held hostage behind sharp gates of enamel. There was too much at stake when it came to these identifiers.

Sure, you’d told him about your greatest fear - losing one of your parents without being able to say goodbye - and sure, he’d told you his - not being good enough and letting the people he loves down even when he’s trying as hard as he can - but your ages?  Where you grew up?  Your real names?  That was out of the question.

“Are you about to tell me you’re sixteen?  Have I been friends with a high school student this whole time?”  You’re chuckling at your own genius.  He really doesn't think you’re that funny - low hanging fruit and all that - but he likes the way it sounds, curling out of your mouth like smoke.

“I’m actually twelve .  Geez, get it right.”

You gasp, scandalized and as if you really believe him.  It makes him choke on his own spit and he has to roll over onto his stomach, effectively trapping his phone between his chest and the bed as he struggles to regulate his breathing. 

“I’ve always wanted a little brother!”  

It’s a joke.  Obviously , it’s a joke.  He shouldn’t take it seriously.

And yet he’s fueled with the need to rebuff it, speaking before he has a chance to stop it, the words coming in a flurry.  It’s a verbal snowstorm, locking the conversation in place - like Mei’s ultimate except he’s trapped in it, too.  “I have something to tell you.”  There’s no going back now.

For once, you’re not tearing holes in his confidence - not that you ever do with any sort of animosity.  Your relationship was equal parts give and take, honey and vinegar coexisting in perfect harmony.

When Jungkook doesn’t immediately continue, you give him a little push.  “Spit it out, Jay.”

“My name isn’t Jay.”  A small, insecure part of him worries that that’s enough to shatter the careful friendship you’ve crafted.  You - Jinny, the ineffable - remain surprisingly silent.  He’s not sure whether that’s encouraging or disheartening.  “I… haven’t really been honest with you.”

Already he can feel the nervous energy in his limbs, anxiety replacing the high he’d been on only an hour ago.

“I’m…”  How does he start?  “I’m not just… some guy.”  Okay, that sounds bad.  He’s backtracking.  “I mean, I’m a guy.  I’m normal.”  This is going so poorly.  His breath catches in his throat, teeth worrying incessantly over the soft cherry Chapsticked contour of his bottom lip.  “I’m just not, y’know, your average guy.  I’m actually like, uh...”  

Jungkook has never stuttered this much in his entire goddamn life.

“My name’s Jeon Jungkook and I’m the golden maknae of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

It comes in such a rush that you probably don’t hear it clearly.  He’s introduced himself this same way for over half a decade and even it sounds strange to his ears.  

When you don’t respond after what feels like an eternity, he’s left to his own devices, filling the silence with the erratic beating of his heart. 

“Jinny?”  It comes smaller than he means it to, uncertain and filled with hesitation.  Still, nothing.  He wants to toss himself off the 37th floor balcony so he doesn’t have to feel this way.  “Can you say something?”

Your voice is far more measured than his own.  You’re trying to be serious, he thinks.  “I… kind of - sort of - already knew?” 

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I mean, the other members don’t exactly knock before they barge into your room screaming your name.”  A beat.  He can hear the laughter that’s threatening to knock your words into submission.  “ And you posted a cover of a song I sent you.”  

Dammit.  Dammit dammit dammit .

That was definitely his fault.  It’d just been so good - living in his head and in his heart rent-free. “ Never Not’s a good song!”  He retorts, like that’s an appropriate rebuttal.

“I know, doofus.”  

“You’re the doofus!”

The two of you were back, glazing over the revelation like it was nothing more than a little bump in the road.

“Thank you for telling me, though.”  He imagines you’re smiling - can practically hear it in your voice.  Somehow, it feels different.  Sunnier than usual, blinding in its intensity.  “I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“Would you have been mad if I didn’t?”  Though he asks, he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course not.”  

“Really?”

You’re only a little exasperated when you reassure him.  “Of course not.  You’re still you - no matter what you do.”

Whatever best case scenario he’d imagined doesn’t hold a candle to this.  He’s a million miles over the moon.  You must be able to tell because he can hear you stifling sound, trails of laughter buzzing around in his ears like hummingbirds.  

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean ‘what now’ ?  Didn’t you hear what I just said?”  There’s no venom in your words.  “You’re still you, Jay.”

“It’s Jungkook.”  There’s that unabashed need to hear his name.  He hopes it isn’t too obvious.

“I know but that’s gonna be hard to get used to.” 

“Is your real name Jinny?”  He’s always wondered.

“It’s Yoojin.  Jinny’s just my nickname.”  

“Well, Jinny—”  He says it dragged out and silly.  “—want to come to one of our shows?”

“I live in Seoul.”

“So what?”

The second time sounds exactly like the first.  He snorts.  “I live in Seoul .”  

"I’ll fly you to Osaka.”

It’s the first time he’s heard you genuinely shocked.  It strips the usual mischief from your tone, draping it in lily white and baby’s breath.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”  He doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more.  At least, not in a very long time.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

It sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

KYOCERA DOME OSAKA Thursday, 23 July, 2020.  10 PM.

Does he smell bad?  Should he have showered first?  Would you be grossed out?

These are all the thoughts running through his mind, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail.  They revolve in a neverending merry-go-round, creasing worry into his brow and dropping his mouth into a little O-shaped pout.

“You ready, Jungkookie?”  Jimin’s doing what he does best - draping himself across his maknae’s shoulders without a care in the world.  

“Are you nervous?”  Hobi’s swiping through his phone, dark hair a stylishly dishevelled mess around his angelic face.  He’s still got traces of makeup around his eyes and his clip-on earrings glint under fluorescent light.  

A hand lands hard on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a way that’s meant to be reassuring.  “Of course he is.”  Namjoon can read him like a book, shooting Jungkook his signature smile in the same instance he receives one.

“I’m not nervous!”  The youngest chirps in a voice that warbles like a baby bird.

Everyone laughs at that and he can feel his ears burning around the edge of his baseball cap. It creeps over the shell and down his neck, descending blossoms of colour into the collar of his shirt.  

“Shouldn’t you get going?”  It’s Yoongi that reminds him of the time, the rapper only barely cracking an eye open as he taps the face of his steel-cased Audemars Piguet.  He’s right.

Jungkook jolts out of his seat, scrambling to his feet - all four thousand dollars of his designer boots - and nearly knocks Jimin off the back of the couch he’d been precariously balanced on.  The overeager bunny shouts an apology that’s lost amongst even louder laughter as he tears out of the room. 

He’s going to be late .

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast in his life - darting past bicycling seniors and tourists with all the grace of a boy in love.  He somehow manages to find the entrance of the BIC CAMERA store without much hassle, rooting himself just left of the door when his phone screen registers 10:30 PM.

A little triumphant whoop! presses into the sponge-like material of his facemask in the same moment he catches sight of a waving hand.

He’s not sure whether it’s the mask or the sight of you that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Hi.”  You sound exactly like you always have and yet six months of hearing your voice somehow doesn't prepare him for it.  It hits him like a ton of bricks, crashing his resolve into the soles of his feet.  There’s something about you that makes him squint - like staring directly at the sun.  His heart stutters in his chest.  He thinks, dimly, he can hear bells in the distance.  It’s probably from a food stall, but he doesn’t care.  

It’s the first meeting he’s always dreamed of, wrapped up in an adorable pink Cooky headband. 

He’s scooping you into his arms before he can think better of it, twirling you around like the princess you are.  It probably isn’t appropriate - you’ve only just met - but he can’t resist.  You feel so good in his arms, weightless and yet entirely grounding.  

The fact that you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, easily reciprocating his onslaught of affection, doesn't go unnoticed.  He tucks away this knowledge into the sleeve of his shirt for safekeeping.  

“I’m so sorry,”  he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all.  You’re back on your two feet, black military boots of your own on solid ground once again.  

Standing so close, he can smell your perfume.  Its notes of vanilla and cola and something powdery, reminiscent of babies and home.  You’re smaller than he imagined, with narrow shoulders and wide hips.  Like him, you look to be about 95% leg, faded blue denim hugging your thighs and falling loosely around the tops of your Doc Martens. Your top is long-sleeved but semi-sheer and he can make out what he thinks are inkings over your skin, little trails in greyscale and colour that draw his stare.

Stop being weird , he tells himself when he finally manages to refocus, tearing his gaze from the jasmine branches that traverse your limbs and training it on your eyes instead.

Bad idea, Jungkook.

He’s lost in the colour of your irises - an impossibly dark brown that twinkles under the awning lights - and the heart-shaped turn of your jaw.  He’s all too distracted by the high contours of your cheeks, the turn of your button nose, the dusty pink that fills the shape of your mouth and fades prettily against your skin. 

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”  The way your lips move should be a chargeable offence.  They coax into a smirk that’s equal parts soft and vexing, singular dimple presenting itself with the motion.

God, he’s so in over his head.  He can feel it in his bones.

So he laughs - because that’s what he does when he’s unnerved - and the sound is a pack of hyenas.  It’s Lion King on Broadway, sweeping above the already boisterous cacophony of the entertainment district. 

“Your laugh is even better in person.”  You’ve said better and not worse and even though he’s a little self-conscious - a decidedly not Jungkook-like thing to be - he preens from the praise.  

“Yeah?”  Can you see the hearts in his eyes?  He imagines they’ve replaced his pupils. 

“Yeah.  But don’t let that get to your head, mister.” 

“Already has - sorry.”  

You laugh in sync and it’s music to his ears - the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. 

The two of you fall into your routine in a way that feels effortless, the back and forth banter rivalling that of best friends.  

You tease him mercilessly, picking up on all his little idiosyncrasies - how he stands at stop lights, pigeon-toed and adorable; how he jams his hands into the back pocket of his jeans in tandem with the tips of his ears burning bright red;  how his laugh sometimes trips over itself and splinters like a kid going through puberty.  He doesn’t mind any of it, truthfully, because it means you’re paying attention to him just as much as he is you.

Because he sees all of your little habits too - watches them unfold before his eyes in technicolour.  You bite your own lip when you think you’ve said something particularly funny.  You wiggle your head on your shoulders like a bobblehead when he says something snappy, equally biting remarks softened by the way you bob up and down.  You don’t step on cracks, even if it means you’re straining those strangely long legs of yours to carry yourself a few inches further.  

You don’t have any patience - something he’s known since the beginning - but that he realizes with a front row seat when you’re shoving a takoyaki into his face.  There’s steam curling off it and the smell is intoxicating but he can practically feel the roof of his mouth burning when you’re relentlessly offering it to him.  You’re not even deterred by the fact that he’s got a facemask on. 

“Open up!”  

Jungkook wants to say no - should say no, for the sake of his own health - but he accepts it anyway.

It sears white hot pain the moment it lands on his tongue, teeth buzzing uncomfortably as he bites into the dough.  He’s sucking air in through his teeth, the cold barely doing anything to alleviate the sting.  He probably looks stupid as hell.  

Of course, you’re laughing at him, lips curled in on themselves as you try to choke back the sound. 

“Too hot?”  You coo, feigning surprise.  You do feel a little bad - he can see it in the flex of your jaw, how your bamboo stick-wielding hand lingers in the space between you.  “My bad.”

He chews once, twice - tries to keep it to a minimum because holy shit , does it hurt - before swallowing.  It burns on the way down.  “You eat one now.”  He’s pushing the tray towards you, long fingers curled around yours as he all but tries to make you face plant into the plate.  

“I don’t like squid,”  you deadpan, lying through those neat white teeth of yours.  You’d literally made takoyaki at home a few weeks ago.  He’d dared you to put an entire wasabi ball into one and you’d done it.  

“Shut up.” 

“You shut up!”

So it goes for the rest of the night, trading insults over street food.  You share an ice cream-filled melon pan - well, he orders one and you eat all of it but a bite - and you scroll through your phone as he inhales a bowl of ramen.  He catches you taking a picture of him when he’s halfway through slurping noodles into his mouth like a Hoover.  You look a little sheepish when he swallows and levels you with a look that screams unimpressed.

“Is this okay?”  You’re a little uncertain and it’s the cutest thing he’s seen all night, teeth catching your bottom lip.  He wonders, briefly, what it’d be like to do that to you instead.

You beam when he reassures you.  “Of course.” 

“I won’t post it anywhere.”  

He wants to tell you that’s okay, too, but he knows he shouldn’t.  Instead, he simply returns your smile and goes about finishing his bowl of broth.  You take a few more photos - of his face when he’s full-belied and satisfied, of the street where people mingle and mix, of the stupidly big moving crab sign across the way.

He wonders if you can feel it too - the connection that crackles between you like a livewire. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,”  you return your attention to him in the same instant he’s glossing over the shape of your lips, the turn of your nose.  “I’ll pay you back.”

Before he realizes what’s happening, your hand is on his.  You don’t do very much, simply allowing your palm to rest over his, fingers curled around the seam of his thumb.  It’s so much smaller - complete with neatly manicured lilac nails - that he stares down at it for a beat too long.  

You start to pull away - he sees it happening almost in slow motion - when he flips his own, catching your wrist in his grasp.  “No need,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you.  He’s still too focused on the way your hands fit together like two puzzle pieces. 

“We’ll see about that,”  you return, equally as soft.  

Everything feels a little fuzzy, like you’re wrapped up in cotton candy and cloud nine.  

You must feel it too.

But then you’re standing and you’re not holding his hand any longer and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it all over again.  It leaves him heartsick, reaching for your figure that’s already too far away.  

“We should head back - I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Damn him and his poor planning skills.  He should’ve booked you something later in the day.  Why had he thought the 9 AM departure was the best idea? 

“Right.”  He lifts himself off of the wooden bench, returning his facemask to its rightful place as he closes the distance between you in four easy strides.  He tries to ignore the way you smile at him when you’re back together, matching pace through the somehow still-packed streets.

There’s no playful ribbing now.  The schoolyard mockery is replaced with a comfortable silence that sinks into his bones and brushes his hand against yours every time you have to squeeze past a gaggle of people that just won’t move.  It’s familiar without being boring, satisfying the big fat crush that lives in his heart. 

It settles even further when you do the same, head gentle against the curve of his shoulder.  

“Did you have fun?”  He finally asks when the familiar silhouette of the Conrad Hotel comes into view, your driver rolling to a complete stop right in front of the impressive glass structure.

You hum something that sounds like yes as he pays and thanks the driver in the softest Japanese before he ushers you out of the back of the cab.  You’re smiling at him, heavy-lidded and with a tenderness he doesn’t expect.  You must be tired.

“More than I’ve ever had.”  There’s a certain truth to your words, whether it’s from your sleepy state or something else.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,”  he reminds you, guiding you past the concierge with a palm on the small of your back.  It’s intimate in a way he’s not really sure is appropriate but you don’t seem to mind, all too happy to be herded around like a baby duckling.

“Stop saying that.”  There’s no weight behind your words - only sandman’s dust and starry-eyed affection.  Jungkook’s heart plays a staccato rhythm in his chest as he steps into the lift behind you, crowded against the far right wall.  Mozart would be proud. 

Trapped in the small six by six area, his breath seems too loud.  The roar of his pulse in his ears is deafening.  He barely hears his own words when they stumble out of their own accord.  

“I like you.”

Your laugh is the sweetest he’s ever heard.  “I know.”  

“You do?”  He rounds on you in the same breath, your body mirroring his subconsciously.

“Of course I do.”  You’re so confident he absorbs a little bit of it, stepping closer when you do. “I’m your safe place - and you’re mine, too.”

His hands are shaking when they crowd your face, thumbs gentle over the jut of your chin.  “Can I kiss you?”  Spoken like a child asking for a Christmas gift, full of wonder and hope.  

“Hm.”  The vibration of your sigh is felt through his fingers all the way down to his toes.

He decides for you, closing the distance with a roll of his shoulders.  

Kissing you is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined.  It’s better than his wildest dreams.  It’s soft and sweet and done with the utmost care, like you’ll break if he isn’t careful.  You taste as good as you smell - the citrusy tang of your lip gloss reminding him of Lotte World lemonade and picnics on the Han River. 

“I’m sorry.”  It’s an unnecessary apology that gets lost against your lips - because he isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet.  “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess .”  

When you speak, it’s kissing in its most basic form, mouth brushing over his with each enunciation.  He wonders what it’d be like to have you sing a song for him like this.  He decides he wants to find out as soon as possible.  Needs it like he needs air - or more of you.  Either or.

“Thanks.”  

You laugh together and kiss again and again, repeating the motion like overeager high school students behind the bleachers.  He grazes your forehead, pressing sweetness into the tops of your eyelids and you return the favour, sweeping delight over the sharp turn of his jaw and over skin not hidden by the collar of his button-down. 

You’re so involved that you hardly notice when the lift doors slide open, revealing the empty hallway of the 33rd floor.  You break away first, though it’s not without some resistance - both his and yours.  He wants to keep you here with him as long as he can, because it feels like where you belong .

“I’ll see you.”  A last kiss - lingering, longing, littered with words neither of you say.

And then you’re gone.  

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, 5 September, 2020.  2:45 PM.

You live in a nondescript apartment in a nondescript neighbourhood with trimmed hedges and a crisp white exterior.  There’s a doormat - grey, a little frayed at the edges, polka-dotted - and nothing else.  No sign on your door, just the number 134 stamped on the right-hand side, half a foot away from the window that looks into the open-air hallway.  

You answer the door on the first knock, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you’d been lingering just behind the frame, waiting for his arrival.  Your hair’s shiny and freshly washed, damp at the ends where you haven’t wicked all the moisture away.  You look comfortable - if not a little overexcited - bouncing from sock-clad foot to sock-clad foot in your low slung sweatpants and oversized tee shirt. He can see half a dozen plants just behind your bobbing head, his gaze bouncing between pretty ceramic and terracotta pots.

“I half expected you to live in a PC bang,”  Jungkook states, drole and with that trademark grin of his, nose scrunched and eyes waning.

You counter him easily.  “You haven’t even been inside.  Maybe it’s all a front.”

He snickers at the thought, stepping over the threshold once you’ve taken a step back.  It smells like cinnamon and sugar - he wonders if you’ve been baking - and he peers curiously around the apartment.  

“It’s a candle,”  you supply before he has a chance to ask, reading the question in his stare.  

“You mean you didn’t bake me a cake?”  

You offer an extended scoff in place of an answer, rolling your eyes as he unlaces his boots.  “What for?  Your birthday’s already passed.”

“It might not have.”

“It literally has.  I know your birthday.”

Right.  Because he’s him and that’s sort of common knowledge. 

He chuckles to himself as he sets his boots aside, right beside where yours sit, near identical.  He doesn’t need to say anything when he hears you sniff, Rilakkuma-tipped sock nudging his hand away from where it threatens to upend the piece of footwear. 

“I had them before I met you.” 

“Right.”  It’s too easy to tease you - just as it’s too easy to rib him.  This is how the two of you are.  Schoolchildren with big crushes and near zero emotional maturity. 

“Do you want a tour or are you just gonna be some weirdo with a foot fetish?” 

He meets your stare then, both of your expressions ice cold.  If looks could kill .

You crack before he does, though your laughter melds together like a perfect harmony, ricocheting off the art-covered walls.  

“Fine, fine.  Show me around.”

So you do - with gusto and great pride.  It rolls off you in waves, tangible in the cascade of your hair over your shoulder and the way you beam up at him.  You’re like a kid at show-and-tell.

You guide him into the living area - a small space with a comfortable, worn-in grey couch and probably more throw pillows and blankets than is strictly speaking necessary.  There are framed pieces on the wall and it’s the contents that surprise him.  There’s Mercy playing pool, bent over the table in a revealing Playboy bunny one piece;  there’s D.Va in a hoodie and little else, bottles of soju littering both the back and foreground. 

Where the walls are bare, there’s other stuff taking up the space.  Artfully positioned floating shelves house succulents and cacti.  A well-cared for Monstera sits in a far corner, taking up more space than it probably should.  Nestled among its soil are little Animal Crossing Amiibos - Cyrus and Reese, to be exact.  There’s an all-white cabinet with a glass front and some of the most random stuff he’s ever seen:  limited edition Gunpla, a Taiko Drum, and your framed university degree (for accounting, to his great surprise). 

“Is that a Widow bobblehead?”  He spies it last, sitting on the cabinet that houses an impressive array of gaming consoles.  You even have a VR headset, the cords neatly looped together and tucked away beside a maneki neko-shaped piggy bank. 

“Maybe.” 

“You really are a dork.”

“Says the bigger dork?  Really?” 

He could dispute that - easily - but he doesn’t, instead shrugging it off as he flops onto the couch, feet immediately kicking themselves up. 

“What’re you doing?”  You join him even as you ask.  He’s a little disappointed by the polite amount of space you leave - just enough that you’re not touching.  

“I’m tired.”

“I haven’t finished the tour.”

“Tour schmore .”  

You scowl at him and it’s so charming that he wishes you were just a little closer.  He’d kiss that look right off your face if it were up to him.

“What do you want to do then?”  Where the stuffed animal comes from, he’s not sure.  It’s more than a little ratty, soft brown fur faded from what looks like years and years of love.  You hold it tight, clutched to your chest as you recline against the far arm. 

“Watch the Runaway and Lunatic-Hai show matches?” 

You level him with a look that very much tells him he is the bigger nerd.  He doesn’t mind, though.  He’s been wanting to watch these matches for months since it was first announced.  

Unfortunately, you’d promised each other you’d only watch it together, so really, this was your fault.

You must suddenly remember that, because you’re biting back the words he’s sure were about to tear into him, swallowing them whole as you grab your PS4 controller and begin silently navigating through YouTube.  He smiles, a little triumphant thing he knows you can see from the corner of your eye.

“Happy?”  Resentment mixes with excitement as you return your controller to its rightful home and settle yourself once more against the too-many pillows. 

“No.”  Jungkook worries for your neck when you whip to look at him, brow furrowed and mouth blown out in a pout.  

“Why not?”  

He memorizes the way you look right now, framed against sunlight that spills through your windows and hugging what he assumes is your childhood teddy bear.  It’s an immediate serotonin boost.

“Because you’re all the way over there.”  He sighs, long and loud, head swinging in a dramatic semi-circle.  He can hear you snickering despite yourself - could pick it out in a crowd of thousands, he thinks - and suddenly you’re beside him, distance closed in a heartbeat.

With you so close, it’s hard to think, his thoughts jumbled and tripping over themselves. 

“Better?”  You must know the effect you have on him, because you’re batting those goddamn eyelashes up at him, mouth dancing around his favourite sound in the world. 

“Much,”  he hums, unashamed.  

“Welcome home, Kook.”  The way you say it sparks fireworks in his chest.  He knows you mean home as in the city of Seoul, but it feels like more and he likes that - just like how he likes you and this little piece of normalcy.

It feels good to be here with you, seemingly without a care in the world.  

It’s distinctly different from anything he’s used to - even better than the long hours spent bonding on the internet.  There’s no worry here, no nagging in the back of his mind, no concern that one of his hyungs will burst into his room.  It’s just you and him and commentary on his favourite game. 

That is, until it’s just him and commentary on his favourite game.  He’d lost you somewhere along the way, roughly three hours in.  He hadn’t noticed at first, far too focused on the big brain plays unravelling across the screen, but when you started snoring, he knew. 

You just snored so damn loudly.

“Jinny.”  He feels bad when he has to rouse you, the feeling in his right leg but a distant memory.  

You don’t move.  He wonders when the last time you slept was. 

“Jinny,”  he repeats himself, a little louder this time.  There’s the beginning of stirrings, your head drifting from its position on his shoulder to nestle into the crease of the couch cushions.  “Do you want me to take you to bed?”  

It doesn’t immediately dawn on Jungkook how that sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that,”  you mumble into the woven fabric, half-asleep.

“What?”  

“Nothing, nothing.”  You’re doing that thing you do when you’re impressed with yourself, teeth littering your bottom lip with indentations.  It’s more distracting than it should be, paired with those bedroom eyes he’s not certain you’re in control of. 

Get it together , he scolds himself.  In his mind, the angel powerbombs the devil into submission.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No!  Not yet.”  You’re waving a boneless wrist in his direction, like you’re swatting away an irksome fly.  It’s cute, in a frazzled sort of way.  

“You want to sleep out here?”  He knows you don’t - you’ve complained about it enough times when you wake up with kinks in your neck and soreness in your back.  

“No!”  A huff puffs out your cheeks, blows your grown-out bangs away from your face.  You’re sitting up now, slowly but surely.  There are creases all over your face - an ode to the couch.  He has to keep from laughing right at you - bites it back with a bitten tongue when you sniff and card a hand over through your hair.  “I have a gift for you.”  

You say it so sweetly, he can’t help himself.  

“Is it you?”

He’s honestly not sure what to expect once he’s spoken.  He half thinks you’ll laugh, shove him away from you with a giggle and a roll of your eyes.  He hopes you won’t, though - can feel every fibre of his being strung tight with anticipation and hope and the request of please, love me .

“Do you want it to be?”  You’re looking at him with the strangest expression.  He can’t read it at all, despite how easily he normally does.  It’s white noise, static on a television screen.

Uncertainty grips him.  “I do.”  

“Then I’m yours.”

It’s music to his ears - the key to his heart.  It strips away the doubt, turning it on its head.  

He finally does what he’s wanted to for the past four hours.  

When he kisses you this time, it’s different.  It’s urgent but not rushed;  he takes his time in exploring the softness of your lips, how they fall open under his careful ministrations.  His mouth slants, coaxes you to give everything to him as his tongue passes tentatively over yours.  You taste like lemons again - and a touch of honey.

It’s intoxicating and addictive and he chases the high it gives him, large hands finding purchase against the back of your head and the slope of your jaw.  Fingers thread through your hair - gentle at first, then with more purpose.  He maneuvers you how he needs you and peppers kisses everywhere he can reach.  Your eyelids, your nose, your neck.  

When he ghosts his mouth across your shoulder - mouthing hot over the soft cotton of your shirt - and finds that particular point where your pulse beats, you gasp.

He’d thought your laugh was his favourite sound but he realizes now how wrong he was.

“Do that again.”  You say it together, in perfect sync.

Laughter blooms between you and he muffles his against your throat, nosing over where your perfume lingers most.  He inhales once, twice, and holds you somehow closer, all but dragging you into his lap.  “You’re my dream girl, you know that?”  The words are surprisingly sweet, given the compromising position you’re currently in. 

“You’re not too bad yourself.”  You thread your fingers just as he has, twirling through his just-on-the-right-side-of-too-long strands. 

He moves to pull away, a scoff building in his throat, but you’re having none of it, capturing his lips the moment he’s made up his mind.  You really could read him like a book.  He wonders what you’re thinking now, starts running through possibilities when you bite down just so on his pouting bottom lip.  

A not-so-subtle hint to get out of his own head.

“Stop thinking,”  you hum, lending your voice to his thoughts.

“Sorry,”  he returns in kind, tracing an apologetic tongue over the seam of your lips.  

“Show me how sorry.”  

You sound positively sinful and while it isn’t the answer he’d expected, it stirs something within him - from his chest to somewhere decidedly further south.  He stifles a moan, caging it behind bared teeth as he becomes suddenly far too aware of how you’re making him feel.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.”  The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was made for you. 

“It’s fine - I have self-healing.”

It’s so fucking dorky but somehow, even that makes Jungkook groan.  “Seriously - dream girl.”  

And then he’s kissing you again and again, a devoted parishioner of your church.  They’re this-side of innocent at first, little pecks that dot every sliver of available flesh.  His hands roam in tandem with his mouth, flitting beneath the cropped hem of your top before gliding greedily across the tops of your thighs.  

“Can I get the rest of the tour now?”  He looks like the devil himself, all dishevelled dark hair and that heart-wrenching, lopsided smile. 

You’re impatient though - always have been.  “Straight down the hall.  Last door to the left.”

It’s all he needs to know before he’s on his feet, rising with you as if you were featherlight.  Your ankles lock around his waist, clinging to him like the cutest koala he’s ever seen.  He doesn’t look away - frankly, can’t – as he follows your directions, gaze trained on your eyes and your lips and the column of your throat he wants to see blooming with roses.

“I’m crazy about you,”  he announces, suddenly, as he nudges open your bedroom door.

“I know.”  You say it a lot.  He wonders if you really know. 

By the way you kiss him, he thinks you might have an idea.  It’s not enough, though.  He wants to show you - needs to show you. 

You allow yourself to be tossed upon your bed - soft grey sheets, no stuffed animals in sight, too many pillows again - and he hovers above you, curious.  “Are you sure you know?”  The question is punctuated by the drop of his knee, cotton of his black joggers a stark contrast to the soft linens.

You’re not sure if this is a game - he can read the question swimming in your eyes.  “Maybe?”  You’re upspeaking, which is something you never do.  It’s disarming in a way that makes him want to hear it again, but with his name over and over.

“Maybe?”  He echoes, brow quirked and mouth twisted into an expression that starts butterflies in your stomach.  It’s like a switch has flipped.  For the first time, he’s the heartthrob you’ve seen on stage, the one fansites rave about with fervour.  A force to be reckoned with .  “Let me make it clear then?”

It’s spoken like a question, though it begs no answer.  You’d give him anything he wanted.

“Can I?”  You don’t think you have it in you to respond - not when he’s looking at you the way he is, from behind dark lashes and with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen.  But he needs an answer - won’t go further until he has one. 

“Yes,”  you breathe in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own, far too airy and mellifluous.

He looks like a kid who’s had his heart’s greatest wish granted.  There’s unbridled joy spilling into every crevice, streaming out of every pore as he lowers himself onto the bed.  You’re trapped beneath him - knees situated comfortably on either side of your legs - when his hands find the shorn hem of your shirt, tugging gently at the offending article of clothing.

“Off,”  he says simply.  It’s gone before you can think twice.  Your sweatpants and socks follow in quick succession - he snorts a laugh when he has to tug your socks off by the ears on either side of your ankles - until you’re left in only black cotton that covers hardly anything at all.

Jungkook sighs a sound that shoots straight into the belly of the beast, sparking warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”  

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, hands reaching to cover the places you’ve been self-conscious about since you were old enough to understand what bullying was.  The modest swell of your chest, the tiger stripes along your hips.  

Words are fitted with motion, hands of his own sweeping your arms away from your body. Long fingers curl easily around the dainty turn of your wrist.  “Please don’t hide from me.” 

You can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.

“Tell me about these?”  He means your tattoos, of course.  They’re intricate works of art that span nearly a quarter of your flesh, painting grayscale and colour over cream.  There’s the jasmine he’d spotted the night you met, coiled around your left forearm and up to your bicep in stark ink.  Across your stomach, from the top of your right thigh and over your ribs, are intricate peonies in shades of pink and red and green.  Everywhere lines bloom, etched forever into your skin, his mouth follows.  He can’t ingrain himself in the same ways but he tries, searing devotion in the form of kisses.  

It tickles when he ghosts over your ribs with both tongue and teeth and it’s absolutely indescribable when he catches your nipple between enamel.  

You make that sweet sound he so loves - a heady mix between a gasp and a moan - and he repeats the motion.  You hardly realize he’s speaking when he does it for the third time and adds nimble fingers to pinch and pull the other into the same pebbled state.

“ Tell me.”  He sounds like he’s laughing, trapped halfway down your body with his cheek pressed to the modest swell of your chest.

You’re not sure how you get the words out.  “My mom’s a big gardener.  She calls me her flower.”

“Her flower, huh?”  The question is muffled among your humble cleavage.

“Did I stutter?”  That earns you a sharp tweak to your nipple, the pain shooting pleasure through your limbs in a very unexpected way.  You’ve never been one for pain but the sight of Jungkook staring up at you, head cocked and hands full - well, there’s a first time for everything.

“You want to be nicer to me,”  he states solemnly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the 6 o’clock news and not palming your tits in his much larger hands and drawing out the sweetest murmurs of encouragement.

“I am nice to you,”  you retort - or try to at least.  You hardly get it out before it’s chased out by another one of those lovely sounds that Jungkook seems to be obsessed with. 

“ Nicer , baby.”  

As if to drive his point home, he straightens out, face suddenly dangerously close.  He crowds you with his entire frame, mouth finding yours easily.  It’s not the same sort of kisses you’ve shared all evening;  it’s a display of dominance, a reminder that articulates more than he can say. 

It’s also a distraction, you realize belatedly, with a gasp tearing its way out of your throat. 

Capable hands have found their mark, digits sweeping beneath the seam of your thong.  He lingers just shy of where you desperately want him, expertly trailing featherlight touches through your folds.  He never goes further - doesn’t stretch where you need him most. He’s careful not to brush your clit, focusing instead on the way you’re coating his fingers.

The shit-eating grin never leaves his lips - which never leave your mouth.  He swallows your whines in the same instant he’s pulling them forth, playing you like a fiddle without even really doing anything.  

“Can you do that for me?”  He coos against your neck, that damned voice of his dripping liquid gold into your ears.  

You have to focus hard on what he’s saying because his touch is so distracting.  “What?”  

“I said—”  It stings where his mouth connects, where his teeth nip and spill wine over porcelain.  He’s painting the prettiest pictures, signing his name in the form of broken capillaries.  “—can you be nice to me?”

You’d like to respond - really, you would - but he punctuates the question with the glide of his finger and you can’t do anything but arch into the sudden intrusion.  It feels so good and yet isn’t nearly enough.  

“Kook.”  You’ve never sounded this whiny in your life.  Even his name - one single syllable - hardly makes it past your lips without descending into a cry.

“Use your words , angel.” 

If every nerve ending didn’t feel like it was on fire, you might’ve yelled at him.  Instead, you can hardly form a coherent thought.  You’re too far gone, standing on the edge of a cliff as he teases you open with slow, measured pumps of his wrist.

“I need—”  He’s crooking the single digit within you, right against that spot that makes you see stars.   

“What do you need?  Ask nicely.”

“M-more.  I need m-more .”  A hiccup.  “Please.”  

“Like this?”  You’re empty all at once and then suddenly far more full, the stretch of two fingers stealing the breath from your throat.  “Or like this?”  The pad of his thumb finds your clit with ease, sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three times.  “Maybe like this?”  

He repeats his earlier movements, curling his knuckles in a come hither motion that has you sobbing out his name.

“That’s right.”  Ever the gentleman, he works you through your high, watching your face in rapt fascination as your first orgasm of the night crests and crashes over you, sending shockwaves through your system.  He admires the way your mouth falls open - full lips rounding in delight - and how your eyes screw shut.  

You’re the hottest thing Jeon Jungkook has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,”  he murmurs against your temple, never ceasing the slow drag of his fingers, the carefully measured flick of his thumb.  Even when you’re trembling with oversensitivity, he doesn’t relent, choosing instead to reposition.

His weight is gone as he settles between your legs, knees folded beneath him.  He only pauses his needy actions - almost doesn’t, when your hips roll in an apparent attempt to draw him back in - to strip you of your thong, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder.  

“Give me another, okay?”  

You aren’t given a chance to answer before he slips two fingers back where they belong and seals his mouth over your clit.  The coil he’d snapped earlier returns, tension increased tenfold as he alternates between sucking hard and licking, dragging his tongue over and around his fingers.  There’s too much stimulation.  You’re obscenely wet and you’re certain you’d be making a mess, if not for the careful way Jungkook’s devouring you whole, licking up every bit of slick.

“Kook.  Jungkook .”  His name sounds like heaven coming off your lips.  He replays it over and over in his head as he fucks his fingers into you, tapping a brutal rhythm against your g-spot.  He can tell you’re close again - can read it in the way your jaw tenses and your breathing goes erratic, lungs heaving. 

“Come on, baby.  Let go.”  The second orgasm hits harder, arching your back off the mattress as you fight to keep your knees from snapping shut.  You come with a hoarse cry, legs trembling like a leaf with the effort.  “That’s my girl.”  

He’s upon you again, this time crowding your space as he settles all one hundred and fifty pounds of himself beside you.  He anchors you in reality, preventing your boneless body from floating off by pulling you against his chest. 

“You did so good.”  

You accept his kisses readily, somehow managing to thread your arm around his neck despite the fact that you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.  

Being wrapped up in his embrace is like being home - warm and familiar.  

“I want you.”  

He laughs and you can hear the sound rattling around in his chest.  “You’ve got me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”  You sound a little petulant, like a child being denied their favourite toy.  

“I know what you meant,”  he retorts, squeezing your bare hip affectionately.  “But you’re also exhausted, so get some sleep.  Patience is key, remember?” 

You pout up at him with your messy bedhead and sleepy eyes and he almost gives in right then and there.  It’s nearly impossible not to, especially when you drag your hip across his, your ankle hooking his in a bid to bring the two of you somehow closer.

He doesn’t expect you to relent so easily but your yawn outs you, forcing itself past the cage you’re trying - and failing - to keep closed.  “Fine.” 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be.”  It’s an empty threat - you both know he won’t leave.  “I still have to give you your present, anyway.”

He feigns surprise then, snickering quietly.  “You mean it wasn’t you?”

You don’t have the energy to yell at him, so instead you dig your bony fingers into the vulnerable underside of his ribs.  He squirms away from the feeling but never really goes far.

“It’s a Mercy bobblehead, you butt.”  You yawn again, shiver running the length of your spine as you snuggle more closely against his side once more.  Jungkook tugs your duvet up around your shoulders, tucking you in tightly.  The action reminds you of why you’d bought the gift in the first place.  “I think you might actually be my guardian angel.”

notes.  the end of an era (and by era, i mean a fic).  this honestly turned out to be my baby, so i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it.  i'll likely do some drabbles in the future, because i really, really adore this couple.  as always, let me know your thoughts.  xo

tag list.  @letmebeyour-sun​ @teawithbucky​

[starrywhump]

Could you do a thingy where the hero is a prize or plaything for a villain? Thanks! Bonus points if the story includes mind control or anything similar :D also i love your stuff :)

Thank you for the request!  I hope this story fits it well enough.  Happy reading!

“Villain!” The Hero yelled over the sound of the rain.  They stood shivering in front of the large warehouse that the Villain had listed to be their meeting place.  The doors were locked, the windows had been covered with black paint, it looked completely abandoned.  But the Hero knew the Villain lurked inside, they were just waiting, toying with the Hero.

The Hero retreated back away from the doorway, standing far back to look up at the whole building, trying to find where the Villain might be hiding. 

Their clothes were soaked, making them heavy and awkward, their hair clung to their face.  The few tears that slipped out of their eyes mixed seamlessly with the rain dripping down their face. 

They knew they had to do this, but every moment they had to wait made it so much harder.  Every moment of freedom felt like another pointed taunt from the universe.  They were giving up their entire life, but apparently, that wasn’t enough suffering for them to endure.

“Villain!  I’m here!  Come out!”

The harsh drumming of the rain on the ground filled their ears.  The drops were large enough to hurt as they fell on the Hero’s head and shoulders.  It didn’t matter to them, the rest of their life was going to be filled with pain, they might as well get used to it. 

“Hero, what a pleasant surprise,” the Villain’s purring voice made the Hero’s head snap back towards the door.  They stood there, one hand against the door frame, a grin plastered across their face. 

The Hero clenched their fists at their sides, trying to stay calm, “I’m here, I’ve followed all you demands.  Let the hostages go.”

“Are you alone?” The Villain’s smile did not faltered, the Hero felt sick. 

“Yes, I followed all you demands.  But I’m not going anywhere with you until you let them go,” The Hero took a step back, wanting to keep as much distance between them and their enemy.

“Oh come now do you really think I wouldn’t hold up my end of the bargain?   Can’t you show a little trust?” 

“Are they inside?  Do they need medical attention?” The Hero’s brain was racing.  How where they going to get everyone to safety if they had to go with the Villain as soon as the hostages were released?  No one knew where the Hero was, that was part of the Villain’s deal, so it would take at least a week for the their team to find the hostages this deep into the countryside.  If any of them were seriously hurt they might die before help could arrive. 

“Oh they’re not here.”

“What?” The Hero froze, the thought of running while they still had the chance flashed across their mind. 

“Do you think I’d be stupid enough to have them here?  So you could find a way to beat me, take them and escape?  Oh no, they’re far away.  As soon as our deal is complete, local law enforcement will get their location,” the Villain stepped back further into the dark room behind the doorway, “Come in and get out of the rain, you’re getting soaked.”

“How do I know you’ll release them?  After I... I-”

“After you surrender yourself to me?  Body, soul, and mind?”

The Hero flinched, they hoped the Villain didn’t notice.

“I suppose you don’t know, but if you don’t they’ll all die for sure.  It wouldn’t be very heroic of you to just abandon them like that, would it?  Their blood would be on your hands.”

The frustration brewing in the Hero felt like it would explode, this wasn’t fair.  All they ever did was help people, was put other people first.  And they were now going to be tortured for the rest of their life as a reward.  And this vile, cruel, human in front of them, was getting just what they wanted.

“You’ll let them go unharmed?  You swear?”  The Hero’s voice wavered.

The Villain laughed, “Imagine if I didn’t, wouldn’t that be funny?  If you did all this for nothing at all?” They frowned when the Hero didn’t laugh along with them, “You’re no fun,” they rolled their eyes, “Yes, yes, you have my word that everyone will be released, unharmed.” 

The Hero nodded weakly, they began to walk towards the Villain.

“Stop,” the Villain smirked, “I want to do it.  Take it off.”

The Hero’s stomach dropped, this was the one thing they had been dreading the most, “Don’t-”

“Another word out of your mouth and a hostage will die.”

The Hero couldn’t help a sob from escaping their mouth.  They reached up to their chest, gripping the small amulet that had been keeping them safe all these years.  With shaking hands they pulled the necklace up over their head.  They let the amulet fall from their hand, holding only the chain it was attached too.       

“Good,” the Villain drawled.

A cold vice like feeling wrapped around the Hero.  An invisible force crushed their chest, making it feel impossible to breathe.  The Hero fell to their knees.

“Get up.”

The Hero’s body moved without them, walking towards the Villain.

The Hero fought again each step, their head felt like it was going to explode.

Before they knew it the Villain’s hands were on them, grabbing their chin, “It hurt’s more if you fight, you know that.  Just relax,” they gave the Hero’s cheek a playful slap. 

The Villain held out a small canvas bag.  The Hero’s arm moved to drop the necklace inside.  As the Hero lost all contact with their precious amulet, they felt the Villain’s grip around them strengthen. 

The Villain pulled the bag closed, they put it in their back pocket.  They leaned into the Hero’s space to close the door behind them.  Then turning, they made their way further into the dark room.

The Hero was forced to follow. 

“I apologize for the subpar location, couldn’t take you straight to my place in case anyone followed you.  Transport is arranged for tomorrow, after that the real fun can begin.  I have a room made up for you and everything, you’re going to love it.  But for now this will do.”

A light in the corner caught the Hero’s eye, it seemed to be where the Villain was headed. 

“I have a little spot for you in here,” the Villain pushed through a wooden door leading to the light, they held it open for the Hero. 

It was a dimly lit, broken down bathroom.  The floors and walls were all the same white tile. There was a half broken sink and a chipped bathtub.  The tub was one of those that had a metal pipe going up to a shower head.  There Hero only noticed this because hanging around that pipe were a pair of hand cuffs.  Hand cuffs they could safely assume were for them. 

“Go on, make yourself at home,” the Villain gave the Hero a dismissive wave.

The Hero felt their legs move towards the tub, they stepped in and sat with their back towards the shower.  The porcelain was freezing, their soaked clothes provided little protection.  

The Villain approached them, the Hero felt their own arms begin to reach up to allow the Villain to cuff them.

They wanted to yell, to scream at the Villain, but they couldn’t make their mouth move.  

With all the willpower they had they tried to hold their arms down.  To make this even a little harder for the Villain would be a victory for the Hero.

To their surprise, their hands didn’t move.  They looked up at the Villain to see a look of surprise on their face as well.  

Before the Hero could even begin to celebrate the small win, a pain like they had never felt before lit up their neck.

They couldn’t think.  They couldn’t breathe.  Their vision whited out.

Then just as quick as it had started it was over.

The Hero choked in desperate breathes as they came back into consciousness.  Some part of them vaguely registered that they were no longer under the Villain’s control, but they were too focused on trying to take in as much oxygen as they could to do anything about it. 

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about trying to fight back,” the Villain smirked, “I just lit up every nerve in your neck.  Now imagine how it would feel if I did that to every nerve in your body.  Do you want me to do that?”

The Hero shook their head weakly.

“Hmmm, so are you going to listen and do what I say?” The Villain raised an eyebrow.

“... n-no,” the Hero could barely get the word out between gasps for air.

They yelped as their hand suddenly felt like it was on fire.  The pain didn’t stop as the Hero held their hand tightly against their chest. 

“Nggh.. fuck,” the Hero gasped, trying to breathe through it. 

“Put you hands up and I’ll stop.” The Hero just barely registered the Villain’s voice.

Without even thinking about defiance the Hero pushed their arms up, wanting the pain to stop.  

They felt the Villain close the hand cuffs around their wrists, before the feeling in their hand finally started to fade.

The Hero’s arms were shaking, a mixture of pain, fear, and the cold, finally getting to them. 

“Well that didn’t last long did it,” the Villain laughed, kneeling down next to the tub.  

The Hero’s eyes were closed, they couldn’t deal with banter right now, they were focused on getting through this alive. 

“Bet you wish you had your special little necklace now,” the Villain reached out to touch the Hero’s cheek.

The Hero jumped, turning away.  

The Villain’s hand followed them, “you must feel so vulnerable right now. Tell me Hero, do I scare you?”

The Hero shook their head, turning back to the Villain, “get over yourself,” their voice was weak, not giving the exact effect they were looking for. 

The Villain sat back on their heels, pulling their hand away.  They regarded the Hero with a small smile, “Bash your head against the wall.”

The cold grip of the Villain’s control instantly took hold of the Hero, they couldn’t stop their body from jerking back into the wall behind them.  Pain blossomed from their skull. 

“You can do better than that, come on.  Do it harder.” 

The Hero did, slamming their head into the wall. Their vison went blurry, their whole head ached.

“One more, this time, knock yourself out.”

The Hero couldn’t stop themselves.  With one final flash of pain, the world went dark. 

[cherubchoirs]

Cake’s Bad End Au Part III: The Holy Grail

Here it is, the posts that will finally outline the events of my Bad End AU! I’m not a writer in any sense, but with so many people enjoying the content I create for this AU and several people asking about it, I wanted to write up a synopsis of the events that take place and, more simply, what this AU even is. This is my idea of what happens when Akira takes Yaldabaoth’s deal on Christmas Eve and all of its implications, so I hope everyone enjoys it and that it puts the pieces for my AU in context. There will be three parts: Akira, The Thieves, and The Holy Grail. This is Part III: The Holy Grail, which details how Akira is saved and how the Thieves ultimately conquer Yaldabaoth. (7,325 words)

(TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse and some descriptions of illness/pain)

When the Thieves meet again, there’s a strained sadness, close to hopelessness as they look at each other in turn and wonder if anyone has any ideas...the longer the silence hangs over them, the closer they come to saying out loud only things Goro has had the courage to say until now but, surprisingly, Ryuji speaks up. He prefaces what he’s about to say with acknowledging how stupid it’s probably going to sound and that he never really understood too much how the Metaverse worked but...with the scar on Akira’s chest, with the way it bled to summon that god, is it possible Akira’s heart was stolen and...if they get it back...maybe…? He trails off with the idea as no one speaks up, thinking it must have been SO stupid the other Thieves don’t even want to recognize it, but Ann says hesitantly that she thought of something similar. Ryuji nods excitedly to her and looks over to Makoto, their stand-in leader, and he’s hopeful by the look of concentration on her face as she considers what Ryuji says. They wait on her silence before she asks Goro about Akira’s heartbeat, how he didn’t feel a pulse, and Goro completes her thought by saying, as a being of the Metaverse, Akira’s heart being stolen has translated into something literal in a sense. His heart is actually gone...but it’s not in the way the Thieves’ had stolen them before, correct? After all, Akira is a pure being that Yaldabaoth is attempting to “perfect”, Makoto positing that perhaps his shadow was destroyed similar to a mental shutdown but Goro suspects it could be that he is severed from his shadow...and if that is the case, his shadow exists in some capacity somewhere as it seems not all of his memories are entirely lost. A rescue mission in a sense seems more feasible after seeing the god that controls him and if they were to find his shadow – or his persona – lost in the sea of souls, there must be a way of reconnecting the two in order for Akira to regain his heart.

All of this is conjecture, they understand that, but Futaba immediately begins to think on how she and her Persona might be able to find Akira’s heart...surely it must remain somewhere in Mementos and if she begins attempting to track for Arsène’s signature, maybe...maybe they could find him. And while he may have forgotten himself being stolen from Akira, perhaps, if Goro really does have similar capabilities, he could negotiate with him in the same way Akira used to in order for Arsène to remember himself. It’s a longshot and they all know it, but what in their work as Thieves hasn’t been? It will require them to face down a hostile Metaverse, perhaps even moreso now, time and time again before they may even get a hint of Arsène, but they all agree to the plan...including Goro, who mostly holds out hope that in finding Arsène, they’ll learn exactly what happened to Akira.

So with a plan in place, they push forward into Mementos once more and day after day they will spend hours roaming its halls, Futaba helping to cloak them along with smokescreens they’ve created using Akira’s old notes, but still they seem endlessly hunted with the Reaper in particular tailing them far more often than it used to. It’s grueling work, however, the team’s morale whittling little by little every day after an excursion that leaves them bone-tired but no closer to finding their answer...and what if they’re wrong? What if the god has totally destroyed Akira’s shadow and has modified him after causing a mental shutdown in him? It must be possible for an entity like that to accomplish as much...but even still, they persist because, after all, this is their best option – they can’t leave Akira as he is, and it’s either fight to the death or bet on Arsène still existing somewhere in the vast reaches of Mementos. It’s exhausting, it’s thankless, and the public continue to shift more and more due to the amounts of hearts Akira reaps, but it also reminds them every day that this cannot stand, that Akira would never have wanted this...even if he was the one that created it.

It makes all their pain well worth it when Futaba’s search finally pings late into the night in another trip to Mementos – a signature like Akira’s, like Arsène’s, wandering deep in the Depths where they know they can’t stay for long without fear of being devoured. It’s a mad dash toward that signal before they lose it, Futaba keeping a good track of it even as it moves erratically through the floor, and finally, finally, all of their patience and hard work can pay off. Arsène obviously isn’t whole, his mask cracked with broken horns and torn wings, making it clear how forcefully he was ripped from Akira in order to sever his will of rebellion and brainwash him for that god. He initially behaves similarly to the other shadows that wander the Metaverse, although his attacks are far more frenzied and disjointed, but, knowing all his weaknesses, the Thieves can easily surround him to attempt a negotiation...and it’s one that proves interesting, even difficult, given Akira’s propensity to wear masks. They must answer in a way Akira would like, the true Akira and not the one molding himself to whatever the other person might want to hear, so it takes the effort of each and every one of them coming together to answer the questions Arsène poses to them. Goro takes the helm on speaking with him, however, distinctly aware of how similar he and Akira could be if the disguise was peeled away from them both, and with that knowledge coupled with consultation between all of the Thieves, they come to reason with Arsène and in doing so, he remembers himself, he remembers Akira.

He takes up residence in Goro’s heart after thanking the Thieves for finding him, admitting that he too initially sought them out but, given his weakened state and his separation from Akira, he forgot himself. They learn from him all that happened to lead Akira here, how the false god had led him through this past year, how they had forged a powerful bond just as Akira had with all of the others here, how that trust was betrayed...how all of them disappeared and Akira was left to decide the fate of the world while held hostage under threat of death, under the coercion of his teammates being revived, under the impression of a cold and callous public that cared not for him nor any of Thieves that had been lost. In that state, he made the wrong choice – he gave in to his own desires and the god ripped Arsène from him, tore out any connection they had to each other in a bid to destroy Akira’s rebellious spirit and make room for him to take up residence where Akira’s heart had once been. Arsène was not gotten rid of himself as Akira was still human at the time and doing so would have killed him, with the false god a bumbling fool himself that has no knowledge of how the human soul works and so could never safely perform the operation himself. So Arsène was cast off into the depths instead, where Yaldabaoth knew he would ultimately forget himself and, in time, possibly expire due to his lack of a human host at that point. In other words, Yaldabaoth is arrogant, narrow-sighted, and stupid, hardly a god but instead just a being given immense power that had twisted Akira’s cognition...for all those months, in fact. Akira, locked in the Depths of Mementos under the guise of the Velvet Room, the two fused in such a way that Akira was, without knowledge, exposed to Yaldabaoth’s distortion each time he stepped foot into that cell – with no image of rebellion to protect him, he was slowly poisoned with Yaldabaoth’s influence, insidiously, to the point that it may have helped tip the scale in Akira’s decision. Now knowing the truth and knowing what their leader had suffered to bring him to this state, all that’s left was to see if the Thieves could return Arsène to him...or if it really would come down to their deaths.

Now would come the full exploration of Akira’s cathedral – the Thieves wait until there is another lull in hearts being stolen, knowing it means Akira must have returned home in order to rest. It could be their final mission, all of them knowing one of three things will happen today: They die, Akira dies, or Akira comes back to them, and while they have no idea which one it will be, they have steeled themselves for any and all possibilities. Back into Mementos, back into the cathedral, now fighting through zealous shadows that attack them for daring to step foot on holy ground again, but when they find Akira isn’t resting on his throne, they know this has become a full on infiltration. They treat it like always, sneaking over the rafters, hiding in shadowy corners, working deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine structure to find where he must rest in order to avoid the shadows that crowd his nave. Out of the public areas, they find the cathedral full of angels that serve Akira and are single-minded in his protection, particularly against the Thieves that have angered their god so. But their resolve is hardened, no longer fearful as they fight through blood and tears to carve a path to Akira’s private quarters where his personal servants launch one last stand against them. They are hellbent on destroying these invaders but it comes nowhere near the absolute rage felt by every single Thief, tearing them apart to finally find Akira once more, already awake and waiting for them. He’s exhausted now, the smile gone from his face that looks sicker than it ever has, wasting and no longer in the mood to humor them. He draws his scythe without words this time and they know it’s now or never, they would have to fight, wear down whatever resolve he still has left, and return Arsène to him just as Yaldabaoth’s control breaks but before he comes to his child’s aid.

The timing needs to be perfect, Goro having to gauge that opening as he stays in close with the others keeping him protected against any of Akira’s blows. The fight is a desperate one, Akira clearly burning himself out by fighting so soon after his punishment for defying Yaldabaoth in saving the Thieves the last they met, but it’s exactly as they had hoped even if it pains them to think what he must have gone through for it. It allows them to reach his breaking point sooner, to rip off that yoke of control where they can hear him, hear their Akira in his voice, and in that second, without a beat between them, Goro breaks through the ranks of the Thieves to summon Arsène. He rushes into Akira, the other boy dropping his weapon as Goro’s hand slams into his chest and all the Thieves huddle in around them, no clue how they could help but lending all their strength and all their pleas to Akira to accept Arsène, to remember himself if only for one second to open his heart again...and Goro feels Arsène leave him, the heaviness of his presence lighting off of his heart. The mark on Akira chest tears again, bleeds once more, but only a moment later it fades...not gone, but now a scar instead of an open wound as Arsène manifests before him once more, asking him to take back his future. The pain it causes Akira is immense, Yaldabaoth roaring in his head and attempting to drown Arsène out, drive him out of his heart once more where only one of them can stay. Akira screams and shudders, collapsing under the weight of a splitting headache...but it feels familiar, like he has been called to this before. He feels like he teeters on the edge of death but Arsène’s voice is familiar...all of their voices are familiar in that instant...he can’t put the memories together, they’re too fractured, but Arsène’s voice drives over Yaldabaoth’s reminding him that he did all of this for them, will he abandon them now and let them die?

Never. Akira will always save them, no matter the cost.

Led only by his emotions, he takes Arsène’s contract to expel Yaldabaoth from his heart in an effort that sees him fold in on himself entirely where Goro catches him, the cathedral beginning to crack and collapse around them like the Palace of a fallen ruler. They move quickly, rushing from the quickly disintegrating building and the palpable anger of a god that’s had his most devout servant stolen from him by Thieves. This is the point at which the Bad End AU splits into its good or bad ending (NO I haven’t decided on what is the “true” ending skdfd) – Akira either dies shortly after these events or he continues to live on in order to assist them in felling Yaldabaoth. If Akira dies, he does so just as they reach the end of Mementos – he tells them he doesn’t have the strength to go on in reality and even now, his body is only sustained by feeding off of Mementos, off of what Yaldabaoth continues to give him. As a last bid to help them, through pained and breathless apologies as a fever grips him and his vision begins to fade out, he uses what’s left of his strength to reopen the Velvet Room and return Morgana to the Thieves, as well as have Lavenza and Igor’s aid as Goro must work in his stead now. He apologizes for this, especially to Goro, thinking...they must have made a promise like this before, right? Goro is stained with his blood by now, coated in the smell of fresh roses as the Velvet Room door opens once more and Morgana rushes out, desperate to help, to guide, to give them hope...but he knows he’s too late seeing Akira’s limp and fading form held fast in Goro’s arms. Lavenza comes behind him, passing by Goro’s shuddering frame as he squeezes Akira, holding him tighter and tighter like that will keep him there with them, and she sits beside him. Akira apologizes to her too, in a voice so quiet only she and Goro can hear, and she forgives him, telling him she always knew he would make the right choice in the end while Morgana comes to join her. He gets in close to Akira, telling him how proud he is and how he doesn’t need to worry anymore – Morgana will lead them all to victory and he can just get some sleep...he’s tired, right? Akira nods, smiling again as Morgana presses in against him and the last things he can feel are Morgana’s comforting warmth and the safety of Goro’s arms before he leaves Yaldabaoth in capable hands.

Should Akira live, however, they reach the edge of Mementos just the same and Akira unlocks the Velvet Room as well, but he instead informs them he can’t possibly exist in reality. He asks them to just leave him to his fate for rebelling against Yaldabaoth, but Morgana and Lavenza arrive to offer him shelter in the Velvet Room which, now free of the god’s control thanks to Akira, he should be safe in as Yaldabaoth will find it impossible to reach. The Thieves know it’s their only choice, very aware that they’ll die if they stick around to think about it too much longer, and so they leave Akira in the hands of the Velvet Room before exiting the Metaverse at Lavenza’s insistence that they go home for a rest – Morgana will contact them the following day to coordinate their efforts. Akira escapes to the Velvet Room, finding himself exhausted and confused to the point that he immediately collapses and spends the next full day asleep. Morgana sticks close to him, only leaving when Akira wakes once more and he needs to go into reality to fetch the other Thieves for a full meeting after all this time.

When they arrive, all of them are ready to rush to Akira, to welcome him back and have a mini celebration for his return...but he’s not healed the way they all expect. He looks no different and he informs all of them he has no memory of them, not even a sliver beyond splintered pieces that flash without his consent that he cannot piece together, and he is not at all human. But Arsène, all of his memories were whole...Akira just shakes his head, suspecting Arsène sacrificed quite a bit in order to fight with Yaldabaoth for his rightful place, so while Akira can feel again, while his rebellious will has returned and he feels an unspeakable amount of betrayal toward his father, the specific memories of his human life are gone. He informs the Thieves that he trusts them implicitly and he will fight for them and their ideals, so they can figure out the rest once Yaldabaoth is...gone, but his voice is full of obvious reluctance and immediately Goro states he’s too much of a liability to go into battle with against his “father”. The Thieves object instantly, saying it’s Akira’s right to stand up against him just like all of them have done in the past and that they believe in his trust of them, that he initially did all of this for them. Akira nods, however, noting that Goro’s point is one based on logic and could be correct – While Akira has regained some of his heart, it is broken in a sense and he doesn’t wish to hold the group back from what they must do. The risk of him bowing to Yaldabaoth’s control isn’t minimal either, so he would ask to act as support and perhaps provide an expert source of navigation for their return to Mementos, given that he understands it as it is really just a part of himself. No one had expected Akira to jump back in as leader, exactly...but to hear him say he would act in a support capacity without fighting to go up against the one who wronged him so terribly is unnerving to the Thieves. It’s just...not how Akira would act. They try prompting him further but his response stays the same – Goro is being logical, he shouldn’t be on the frontlines. Morgana takes over for him at that point, saying it most likely is for the best to let Akira act as he thinks he should with a threat like this looming over all of them. Still, despite the Thieves being put off by an Akira that seems more like a shell than the friend they knew...they have Morgana back and Akira is there to help them at the very least, and they need to take victories where they can. Goro isn’t so easily sated, but he knows he needs to swallow his emotions for the time being too.

Truthfully, Akira knows it may not even be the best logical answer to allow him to go along with them at all as he feels Mementos churning and twisting, having already taken a small private trip before the Thieves had been gathered to see the agitation in the shadows there (just to the first floor, just out of the curiosity that has always plagued him), yet they still don’t move to attack him. He’s slightly puzzled by the development, but he knows it’s something to do with the public’s cognition along with...his father’s, but he has been cut off from Yaldabaoth’s thoughts, and so he doesn’t pursue the question any further for it is not his place to guess at the divine. Akira still believes in the divinity of Yaldabaoth, that he is indeed a god that was born of people’s will, and it’s difficult to accept the fact that he’ll soon be standing by the Thieves’ side in opposition even if he now does believe his father is wrong. Even still thinking of him as a parent, as the one that provided for and protected him...knowing that going to him now with his convictions set to aid the Thieves meaning that either they or his father will have to die. But he can’t let humanity suffer under his cruel and callous rule, he can’t let him drain humans of their independence and their right to grow and change, because Akira knows it’s not out of care for them but instead hatred for their failings. Even in his faltering resolve, he knows what is right and what is wrong...and Yaldabaoth, his father or not, is wrong.

And, though he senses love and devotion from the Thieves, he senses their discomfort with him as well, their fear of him and the way they emotionally recoil when he speaks (he doesn’t have human speech patterns down, so his intonation is still odd and flat). Goro is particularly repulsed by him, lashing out at him and criticizing him while the other Thieves quickly rush to his defense despite the obvious misgivings of their own...but he feels a depth and breadth of emotion in Goro focused solely on him that is nearly alarming to a being like Akira. And for his part, he feels love and devotion to all the Thieves, but it simply lacks context, the memories that would provide him understanding and the human capability to experience emotion to provide him clarity...and similarly, his feelings for Goro are profound and complex, ones he can barely understand and parse let alone come to label in neat categories. All of this mixed emotion dictates to Akira that he must remain strictly as a functional unit of the group, providing them aid and navigation when needed without adding anything unnecessary that may cause strife and therefor miscalculation. The Thieves themselves feel deeply guilty for their own anxiety around Akira, but...he truly isn’t their leader, he isn’t their friend, yet they understand how much of an effort he’s making now to support them. There will be time to heal after all of this and that thought keeps them going as Morgana helps bridge the gap between them, helps ease all the tension they feel in order to work with Akira the way they need to. Only Goro seems resistant to it, but they do know why he, out of all of them, would struggle the most with what’s become of Akira.

They don’t really have the luxury of waiting and getting used to each other, however, Yaldabaoth moving forward with what he had decided on Christmas Eve now that he’s lost Akira. Akira knows his plan, that he will force the real world to fuse with the Metaverse now that the bridge between himself and reality is gone – humanity was judged to be sinful and only granted a reprieve because Akira worked so tirelessly to instill Yaldabaoth’s ideals into the public. So with only some rest, the group can wait no longer as reality bends around them to resemble the Depths of Mementos and, with the Thieves receiving some guidance from the Velvet Room, they move forward to save humanity one last time. Akira does well to mind himself, assisting in tactical orders or, if he finds his mind buckling, keeping himself silent to focus on blocking out Yaldabaoth’s ideals, his insistence, his voice ringing in his ears still. He can manage with the help of Arsène and Futaba by his side but the further they go, the closer they get to his temple, the more silent he becomes and the seed of doubt planted in the Thieves grows little by little...but still, they push forward, they know Akira can overcome this. However, they know all too well that the real test starts when they reach the shrine of the Holy Grail, when they once again face the god that had held him captive and stolen his human life, the very will from his heart. Goro strongly suggests Akira leave them before they do so, but in his first show of true emotion, true conviction, he rejects the idea immediately, saying he will never be free if he doesn’t enter that temple with them...if he doesn’t find closure with his father. He can’t falter now, he can’t afford weakness, or he will surely wither when this world disappears with Yaldabaoth – and he will not betray them. The Thieves all agree after some contemplation and Morgana’s blessing, Goro the last to accept Akira’s presence but there’s something different in his eyes when he watches the other boy now before they enter the shrine.

Their final confrontation arrives, the Grail shining brilliantly in the center of the shrine surrounded by his devout followers and Akira is immediately inundated with thoughts that are not his own, Yaldabaoth’s voice booming against his skull in reprimands, in disgust, in hatred for him. He speaks to the Thieves too but Akira knows his words to them are different and they begin their fight, attacking him from every angle in blows Akira can faintly feel ghosting over his own body. He grits his teeth against the lashes, all of them paling in comparison to the fight to continue controlling his own body under the oppressive weight of Yaldabaoth’s presence encroaching on his heart. There will be a place for you, my child, there is always a place for you by my side to join in my reality...Repent. Repent and return to me if you wish to protect not just these humans but the ones scattered in every corner of the world, the ones who will suffer without you. Repent, or they die along with you. His father is growing angrier, wrathful toward the rebellious Thieves before him and the son that has abandoned him, soon no longer wishing to humor them as he takes his true form, the one they had seen come to Akira’s aid that day in the cathedral. Akira has fallen to the floor, clutching at a chest with a wound that’s reopening, little by little the flesh tears and begins to bleed around his fingers as his resolve wanes in all the pain he feels, in the guilt he feels at his betrayal and the grief he can feel in Yaldabaoth. What a terrible child, what an ungrateful child...what a cruel child to strike at the god that had protected and nurtured him so.

The Thieves stand up against him even now though, the blows they level against him growing more and more painful to Akira, his thoughts breaking apart as he forgets,  Arsène’s voice growing weak and distant and Yaldabaoth’s growing ever more powerful...and he finds the pain fading as he takes up his scythe, as the name “Akira” flickers out of his mind. Akira opens his eyes to look up, to see the Thieves bloodied and battered and still fighting as Yaldabaoth rains an onslaught of devastation onto them only for them to support one another, protect the weakened to heal them while the others attack with a ferocity that one exhausted and drained human being should never be capable of. Futaba is focused on the battle in front of her but immediately turns to see Akira as he rises, weapon in hand once more and looking too oddly calm. She calls out to him in fear, the other Thieves picking up on the shaking in her voice and those on the backlines grip their weapons in sweating hands, healing each other once more as the god mocks their sentimentality, their insistence to save those who never asked for them. Akira’s movements are unsteady, each one is fought against as that shred of his heart restored to him screams in protest and while the Thieves are forced to raise their weapons against him again, they know he’s struggling with every swing of his scythe, he’s fighting himself more than he is them. Memories flash, he remembers the fear, the dread of losing his humanity, losing the will to care for the people in front of him now that call to him, who are fighting for their lives but do no harm to him even as he attacks them just as Yaldabaoth commands. But his body is pulled unwillingly, his heart is with him again even if he’s too stupid to remember the people that love him, even if he’s too selfish to keep them safe like he once promised he would. It’s Yaldabaoth’s bid to control him but he is no longer a part of Akira...he can’t be, his heart belongs to him and him alone, and he can’t afford to cause suffering to those that would risk their very lives to return it to him...even if they go against the people and even if they are sinners. That’s what Yaldabaoth would say, but he lied, time and time again he told malignant untruths to Akira, who now does his best to keep standing even as that excruciating pain returns to him in punishing waves. It’s the least he can do, stand with them as they do all the heavy-lifting for him, lower the scythe he can raise at them but not Yaldabaoth still...he wonders if he was this pathetic in his human life, but then isn’t that just like a human? Having to lean on others?

But he is quickly punished for his endless defiance and his wicked treachery, for the very thought that he should admire human weakness. His vision shutters, the sounds around him ripped away, even the feel of the wind battering against him is stolen with such speed and such force it’s almost painful, every sense suspended. Numb even to pain he wishes would come back. Complete deprivation. Akira has felt it, it’s not the first time Yaldabaoth has taken every sense without warning as a way of breaking his hysterias...so they are not totally severed, are they? He closes him off to everything, allowing only the experiences he deems appropriate, usually just his voice, his words after Akira has experienced a loneliness so penetrating he’s on the edge of losing even the false identity of The Son. But here, the silence, the lack of existence, only lasts long enough to remind Akira of all he has suffered, of all he has had, before Yaldabaoth’s voice speaks to him, no longer roaring, no longer shaking him with the very sound of it, but instead how he would speak to him in the days they spent in the Depths alone, only together surrounded by shadows. It’s stern, but it doesn’t have that hostility, it is only for him even if he knows his father must still be striking at the Thieves, working every second to kill them while he comes quietly to his child. He will have no place with them, he is no longer human and he will only repulse those he fights for now, the ones he now swears allegiance to will abandon the unnatural child...it is in human nature to do so. He asks that he repent, that he assist Yaldabaoth is killing Thieves that will only betray him, and the child can return to his only home in the Depths of Mementos, the human who’s heart has stopped and who’s blood is now made of the Holy Grail’s ichor. They are of each other and the two cannot be split, not after Akira’s resurrection through his elixir, and no measure of rebellious will, no measure of human stubbornness, the refusal to admit loss and all the deficiencies and fallacies of mankind, can bring Akira the humanity that has died. So he faces the choice of rejoining his father now, swearing his loyalty and returning his control to the god he is bound to, or Yaldabaoth will offer him the mercy to kill him with the others, to put him out of his misery if he chooses to drive himself mad by aligning himself with humans when he can only be rejected by them. But Akira can feel Yaldabaoth’s grip loosening, not because he wills it but because Akira’s own heart is interfering, gnawing at his power over him and allowing his senses to filter in little by little. Yaldabaoth’s offer, rejoin or perish here, show that his yoke has been thrown off of Akira’s shoulders – he cannot simply kill the Thieves and take Akira for himself again, he must return willingly...and so he appealed to his emotions, threatening him with loneliness, the exact punishment he had used on him to great effectiveness time and again.

But it’s enough. Maybe Akira will always be alone like this, maybe the humans he fights for now will leave him, but he tells his father it’s okay as his sight flickers in and out, muffled, distant sounds reverberating in his ears...because as much as he is no longer human, he is not like Yaldabaoth either, is he? Yaldabaoth is disgusted by him in a way too, he hates the human parts of him that react with emotion, that are irrational and distracted by hobbies, undeserving of the halo around his head in Yaldabaoth’s eyes. Yet his father asks that he stay with him, continues to reach out to him even as he actively opposes him and it is not a functional request - Akira knows Yaldabaoth does not believe he needs him by his side to destroy the Thieves, nor does he fear his child could be his downfall if he does not rejoin him...instead, Yaldabaoth feels richer with him, a fulfillment when they speak together, and he had learned to attach himself to something so imperfect, something that angered him, repelled him, something he should hate and yet felt what, in his own heart, could be thought of as the opposite. So why not the humans too? They will reach out to him, they will feel richer for knowing him, but they will not punish him so for the things they hate about him...and Yaldabaoth has grown malignant in his hatred for humanity, those he is meant to save from suffering. Even as The Son, a being meant to believe only in the word of his father, Akira knew of this hostility, always aware in some part of himself that it was wrong no matter how many times he may have forgotten that. So...weren’t all their arguments just leading up to this? His senses continue to return, flooding into him as he admits to his father this fight is what he wants, he wants to stand in opposition to Yaldabaoth, to the father that retracts his hand now in anger, in insult, in pain of rejection. He can hear Futaba shouting frantically for him when focus returns to his features, his slack frame immediately tightening up at the pain that rushes through him again but he remains upright, spine stricken straight as pearl-like eyes stay fixed to the blinding angles of Yaldabaoth who redoubles his efforts to destroy the Thieves that have stolen the one thing he may have ever cared for.

But there’s a moment as he stands by and watches, eyes moving to follow the movements of the Thieves, that it seems they...his friends...have a chance, it seems they really may be able to stand against his father and triumph...but it’s short-lived. He strikes them all down, each one of their bodies striking the earth beneath them and they can’t move, they can’t stand even though he can feel their struggles, their desperation to just get up one last time, their despair when their bodies refuse to obey. Now only Akira stands behind them, a coward who can feel Yaldabaoth’s gaze on him, burning into whatever soul he may have left, who mocks him for rejoining these pitiful thieves, who mourns the fact that he must kill him now with the others for his foolishness...to lose his child so pointlessly, even a god must grieve for him. Akira chokes on his words, wanting to encourage them to stand again but he can’t, how can he ask so much of them when he’s contributed nothing? And yet...it rises up in him, but he realizes it’s the cognition of the people, of the public as Morgana joins him to stand again and refuses to fall before Yaldabaoth, no matter how many times he may strike him down. Human hope. Human hope, which Akira so deeply admired, now stands up to his father small...but growing. It flickers but Akira can feel it too, he can feel what Yaldabaoth stole from the people, from his friends, from himself, and he begins to straighten his stance again even against the pain blooming from his chest. It’s hope, but hope fueled by anger, by a righteous fury unlike anything he felt working for his father, and Arsène’s voice overtakes Yaldabaoth’s as he can’t bear to hear anymore of his sanctimonious lecturing when he stole Akira’s very heart. Human hope and human anger, human rage at cruelty and unfairness, it overtakes him, a sin! A sin, Yaldabaoth screams at him, a sin to feel such wrath, feel it no more! If the Thieves cause the child to commit such grave atrocities, they will die to cleanse him and force his repentance at the time of his own death.

No more. No more victims, not him, nor the Thieves that saved him, nor the humans he abandoned.

His body burns and it’s licked with blue flames, Arsène appearing at his side as shocks of black return to his brilliant white hair, light, barely there irises showing in eyes no longer blind. The public rises up behind the Thieves, Morgana standing first and the pain is fading from Akira’s body, the others rising in obvious agony as his scar stitches itself up once more and he can no longer hear Yaldabaoth in his head, his voice only on the outside now, only what the other Thieves can hear. He walks forward to join them, raising his scythe as he finally speaks, tells Yaldabaoth this must end, he is no longer in the favor of the people, and if he doesn’t heed what humanity wishes, Akira must be the one to strike him down. An ungrateful child...perhaps so, but he will never be controlled by another, he will never allow himself to abandon his ideals that he fought for and he will not allow himself to ever again forget the humanity he so foolishly lost, so let him be the ungrateful child. And it’s laughable to the Thieves, to Yusuke, to Haru, to Goro who had to do just the same as Akira does now...Goro who stands just by Akira’s side now with barely any space between them, and Akira can feel the spike in anger in his father at the display. They’re not meant for this, are they? Yaldabaoth attempts to strike down the Thieves beside him again but they refuse to fall now, still demanding Akira repent now for joining the sinful masses and Akira rejects his offer, no more salvation. If he wishes to keep humanity in the dark, if he wishes to continue to control them under a vindictive rule, then the son must punish the cruel father.

Akira awakens to his true self then, the one that still sleeps within Arsène – Satanael, the one Akira knows innately as the child of Yaldabaoth in Gnostic lore, the child that works tirelessly for his father until he learns how wrong he is, how false he is, how unfair and resentful he is toward humanity, and he rises up against him to release them before he is cast into hell for his betrayal. The chains of the shackles around his wrists are broken when Satanael is born, taking his stand before Yaldabaoth in defiance for a life lost, for putting his Thieves through so much grief, for nearly sacrificing all of humanity. He cannot take back the mistakes he made, but he can take his stand to save them all now and there’s a quiet moment in that stillness, Satanael leveling his gun at Yaldabaoth’s head, a moment of grief passing between father and son, before Akira allows his persona to pull its trigger and shatter Yaldabaoth, destroy the face that Akira once held a hand in reverence to. And the god folds in on himself, a piece torn from Akira as his life fades out over them and he says his goodbyes to his child, to the one who still somehow came to fulfill his role as the trickster against him. He loses his form, returning to his inert state as the Holy Grail that naturally finds its way back to Akira, floating quietly before him in silent moment of reflection until he reaches out his hand and it dissolves. Ripped open, taken from, and now healed just a bit again...what remains of Yaldabaoth is now a part of him, his humanity forever gone. But in this state, with the will of the Thieves that gather around him now, he can rewrite the world as it should be based on their wishes...and so it is done. The Metaverse fades, reality returns to its untouched state, and Morgana, along with Akira himself, are preserved by their wishes and their wishes alone.

Shibuya has returned to normal, the public milling around them seemingly unaware of what they all just accomplished, but Akira can feel now that they are free, at the very least. He thanks all of the Thieves and they return the sentiment instantly, the wall between them and him seemingly vanished, crumbled at least, as they all express happiness at the peeks of black hair and his clothes now changed in reality, meaning he has some solid form again. He’ll keep getting better and so will they, so they insist they’ll see him tomorrow and absolutely, no questions about it, spend some time at Leblanc to catch up (he’ll love the coffee, they know it). He smiles again, this one more full and more earnest despite his grief, accepting their offer but wishing to return to the Velvet Room for now, too exhausted to carry on and the Thieves all agree...but as the group splits off and he watches his new but familiar friends leave in contentment, in relief, in a renewed sense of trust in him, he sees that Goro doesn’t follow suit with them. He’s quiet, but only because Akira senses a weight on him, one he can’t sort through himself and while Akira can’t fathom the correct human response, he instead just asks if he’ll be there tomorrow too...at Leblanc, a name he thinks he knows, that feels safe...he adds that he hopes he will be when Goro maintains his silence at the question. There’s a moment of hesitation but there’s a shift too, a small bit of surprise, before Goro looks toward him to nod with a faint but sharp smile, adding that he hopes Akira won’t forget before he takes his leave as well. And while Akira still feels so many volatile emotions in him, something did change between them before Yaldabaoth...and he needs to understand who he was, who they were, and without knowing why or how right now, he knows Goro will be integral in regaining what he gave away. He leaves the bustling square only when Goro’s been swallowed by the crowd, exhausted but with Morgana padding along at his heels in high spirits (but sooo ready for a cat nap, he says). And while it will be slow, while Akira distinctly feels he will never be human again, he knows now each step back will be one into his old life, into his friends’ lives, into what he and Goro share, and he can take his time.

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 2

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Chapter 2!

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Summary: “Did you really teach yourself magic?”

“Yes. I learnt from whatever books it could find on the subject.”

Janus nodded. “Impressive."

Warning/s: food mention, fantasy racism.

Characters: Logan, Remy, OC, Virgil, Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on AO3

2 | Getting to Know You

Logan followed the group just barely as he found himself constantly distracted by his surroundings. The paintings, tapestries, vases, and statues, there seemed to be nearly no blank spaces anywhere, yet it didn’t feel cluttered at all. Everything was remarkable and expensive looking. And eye-catching.

In fact, he didn’t notice when the group had stopped moving and walked right into Virgil, which caused him to stumble backwards. Thankfully, Virgil caught him before he fell onto his butt.

“Careful where you’re walking, Lo. you don’t want to end up walking into a door,” Remy remarked from the front of the group.

Logan blushed. “Sorry.”

Virgil just helped him to his feet and nodded.

“Okay, now please pay attention. This hall has all your rooms and this one,” Remy pointed to the first door on the right. “Is mine. They’re all identical and I couldn't be bothered to assign them to you, so take your pick. Everyone has an hour to get settled then we meet back here in the hall for a tour. Good? Good. Farewell.”

And with that, he retreated into his room. Roman chose the room beside Remy’s and Remus took the one beside him, then Patton took the last room on the right side. Virgil took the first room on the left, which left Janus, Logan, and Willow in the hallway.

“Um, thanks, for earlier. With explaining the last-names thing,” Willow said.

Logan nodded. “It was no problem.”

“You would be surprised how many people find it problematic to understand non-humans,” Janus remarked.

“Well, I have no such prejudices. Also, thank you for calling out Roman’s behaviour.”

“Of course. I can’t stand elves who believe themselves higher than everyone.”

“You can’t stand elves in general,” Willow muttered.

“And for good reason. Have you seen Roman?”

Willow winced. “Remus was nice… kind of.”

“She called you a dog.”

“It’s a common mistake.”

“You’re too forgiving.”

Willow rolled her eyes and turned to Logan. “They’re such a hypocrite.”

Janus huffed. “I’m right here.”

“You’re being mean though, so I’m ignoring you.”

Janus rolled their eyes then also turned their attention to Logan. “Did you really teach yourself magic?”

“Yes. I learnt from whatever books it could find on the subject.”

Janus nodded. “Impressive. How did you manage to find a tome that explained pronunciation?”

“I didn’t. I sort of figured that part out from watching the testing ceremonies.”

“In that case, why not replicate the simple performances other mages made beforehand? It’s not against any rules to do the same spell sequence as someone else.”

“I didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Perhaps it was a bit… over the top to do the spell I did, but I managed to leave an impression.”

Janus smirked. “I suppose that’s a good reason. Anyway, it looks like we’re the last to pick rooms. I’m taking the one on the end, see you both later.”

With that, the trio split up into their rooms. Janus taking the one at the end on the left, and Willow leaving the choice between the two doors between Janus and Virgil’s rooms for Logan to choose between. He chose the one next to Virgil’s, allowing Willow to have the room closer to Janus.

Inside the room, there was a queen-sized bed with four tall wooden posts that suspended a silky blue canopy. There was a dresser, a wardrobe, a writing desk, and a half-empty bookshelf. The books didn’t seem to be anything special. Logan’s bag was already on his bed. He only now realised that he’d left it in the carriage. One of the staff members must have brought it here. Thank goodness they brought it to the right room.

Wait, that was his bag, right?

He double-checked the contents and sighed in relief that it was indeed his bag. After that slight scare, he began unpacking his things and sorting the room just how he wanted it. He was delighted to find some fresh blank papers on the writing desk and a few sharp pencils too.

Forty-five minutes later, everything was organised just the way that Logan wanted and he was… bored out of his mind. He flopped down onto the bed and was distracted for a few moments by how incredibly soft it was. After that novelty wore off though, he found himself bored again and stared up at the blue canopy.

His mind once again thought of how frightening this was. He was truly out of his depth with the complexities and splendour of high society. Perhaps there are some books he can find on the subject to help him. ‘How To Fit In With The Upper Class’

He got up from bed to check if there was such a book, or at least something similar, on the shelf. To his dismay, there seemed to only be fictional novels and a dictionary. He’d need to ask Everleigh about looking out for something at the library. Was there a library here? Remy said that they’d have a tour later so he supposed he’d find out then. Wait, when was that tour?

He checked the clock and noticed that… barely three minutes had passed since he went to lie on the bed. Darn it, there were still at least ten minutes to kill before the tour.

He could have read the fiction novels, but honestly, none of the summaries seemed very appealing. He wondered if he could write something but he didn’t have anything to write. Trying to take a nap was pointless so he found himself just sitting on his windowsill.

The view was rather breathtaking actually. Below there was an array of cobblestone paths, lined with green shrubbery, some of which were dotted with white, pink, and purple buds. There was a hedge in front of the iron fence that lined the property, and beyond that was the dark spruce forest that grew high and looked thick and full of secrets.

Logan wondered briefly what secrets really were hidden there in the forest. Creatures? Monsters? Come to think of it, what was hidden here in the manor. Sure, the students had been permitted to explore the entire estate, but Remy had said that they couldn’t go to the tower. What was in that tower? Books full of forbidden knowledge? A porthole to another realm? A gnome that could turn thread into gold?

No, that was stupid, gnomes don’t like being indoors and surely the Royal Family wouldn’t keep anyone hostage in their private estate. But still, what could be there? It must be something important if even Remy wouldn’t let them know what it was.

“Okay, Tour Time, come on out or get left behind!” Remy called from the hallway, causing Logan to practically fall back into reality as he fell off the windowsill.

He groaned in pain as he got up then went out into the hallway to find Remy and the others waiting for him.

“Alrighty, we’ll begin here. This is the east wing, also known as the guest wing. This particular hallway has been cleaned up for us to use this year so please respect your rooms. The other bedrooms are locked so don’t bother looking at what is inside of them. Now if we go this way...”

The tour lasted for three hours and was mostly without interruption as everyone seemed awestruck by the magnificent manor. Logan was glad not to be alone in his awe as they went through the many different halls and passages. There were countless bedrooms in the east and west wings, private bathrooms on the first floor, several studies, sitting rooms, a library [that Logan clocked for later], extensive several acres of gardens, a ballroom, and a large dining hall fit for royalty, which is where they finished the tour to eat lunch.

There was a variety of smoked meats, fresh loaves of bread, tossed salad, a platter of cheese, and lemonade to wash it all down. Logan didn’t know what half of the meats were but tried a little bit of each. He found that he preferred sticking to the familiar beef slices for his lunch and enjoyed them in the form of a little sandwich.

He noted that while Virgil ate the simple sandwich like him, Roman, Remus, and Patton seemed to prefer the salad, while Willow and Janus ate more meat. Willow preferring theirs medium rare while Janus had used some magic to cook theirs further. Logan wondered if this was to do with their race. Willow was part wolf while Janus was part dragon, making them both somewhat carnivores, so craving a lot of meat seemed reasonable. Maybe he could ask about it later if they didn’t mind.

They had certainly seemed the friendliest to him so far, apart from Patton of course. But Patton seemed the type of person who made friends with everyone. Janus, as Willow had implied earlier, was acting cold towards the twins, and Roman seemed to be returning the same cold energy towards everyone apart from Patton. He even seemed cold to Remus, but more in an annoyed sibling fashion. Remus himself seemed indifferent to everyone, just happily chatting with Pat and sometimes blurting inappropriate thoughts. Willow looked still a bit shy though not nearly as tense as this morning, and Virgil was being silent and mysterious as ever.

“Now that lunch is done, let’s have an icebreaker,” Remy suggested.

“It seems quite warm in here, are you sure the ice needs to be broken?” Patton asked.

Everyone was silent for a moment, either cringing or holding back a laugh. Remy looked like that comment had physically pained him as he stared at Patton.

“Just for that, you’re up first, Patty.”

“Oh, um, what are we doing?”

“We’re going to go around and share a fun little fact about ourselves,” Remy explained.

“Alrighty, well, I like frogs. Sometimes, my brother and I go to the marshes and catch a few to just look at them.” Patton stated.

“You have a brother?” Remus asked.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, my little brother Morgan. He’s twelve and likes frogs almost as much as me.”

“That’s so cool. My brother isn’t even remotely interested in what I like.” Remus sighed.

“That’s because you like gory stories about seafaring hooligans,” Roman said.

“They’re not hooligans, they’re pirates. And I’m going to become one someday.” Remus declared.

Patton cocked his head to the side. “Oh?”

“At least I’d want to do the sailing part, I’ll leave the plunder and pillaging to the others. Unless I get bored,” Remus shrugged.

“I suppose we can accept that as your fact, Remus,” Remy said. “You wanna go next, Rome?”

“Roman, and yes, I shall. I am the best swordsman among the nobility. In fact, I’m to be knighted once I come of age,” Roman declared.

“You need to do an incredible deed to become a knight,” Janus pointed out.

Roman huffed. “Well, I will have you know that my great deed was saving the crown prince himself. Single-handedly.”

Virgil snorted at that.

Roman sneered at him. “And what do you find so amusing, Stormy Knight?”

“You lying about 1, becoming a knight and 2, saving the prince. Everyone knows he’s kept protected in the castle so that no one even knows his face. There's not even a remote chance that you’ve met him.”

“Well, I have. He’s actually quite handsome and much more sophisticated than any one of you. He even personally told me about his idea for this school.”

Virgil just shook his head with amusement.

“I agree with Virgil, you’re lying through your teeth. I suppose we’ll all just have to assume you’re nothing important.” Janus declared.

Roman glared at them. “I am the heir of Lycrest Isle, therefore future governor of the Eastern Ocean. I am a very important person, if not the most important here.”

Janus smirked. “Yet you’re so boring you have to lie about yourself.”

“You-”

“Can go next, Janus, since you’re so eager to speak,” Remy interrupted, steeping between the elf and dragon just in case.

“Alright then. Well, I am known in Evergreen Valley as close to royalty, since I am not only a dragon shifter but also the song of the western governor, Declan the fearless.” Janus stated.

“Cool story kid. Wolfie, you’re up.” Remy announced, ignoring the growing tension between Roman and Janus.

“Um, I grew up with Janus, my eight cousins and two younger siblings, with who I am very close,” Willow said.

“I thought you were part of a pack?” Remus said.

“I am. My pack includes my biological family, and many cousins who I was raised alongside,” Willow explained. “What did you think being a part of a pack meant?”

“Well, if you are a part of a pack, then how did you grow up with Janus?”

“I fostered with the Redrunner pack for most of my childhood,” Janus clarified.

“Oh, so you guys are like childhood friends?” Patton asked.

Willow nodded. “Yep.”

Roman looked over to Willow and said. “I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

“How long you’ve had to stand them.”

“Hey!” Janus snapped. “That is a direct attack against my character.”

“And calling me a liar isn’t?”

“Virgil called you a liar, I only agreed with him.”

“Don’t drag me into this.”

“Yeah, can’t you fight your own battles, Dragon?”

“You want to fight me, Elf?”

“Okay, no, that is where I draw the line,” Remy said in a booming voice that instantly silenced the two teens. “You don’t have to like each other, or get along that well, but there will be no physical fighting while you are under my care. In fact, if I see any of you harm each other, then I’ll send you straight home, no excuses. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir,” everyone replied.

“Great, well, that’s enough fun bonding time for today, I suppose. You can all go back to your rooms now.”

And so, that marked the end of Logan’s interactions with his class for the day, since he went straight to bed once he returned to his room. He had not gotten much sleep the night before due to nerves and excitement, so after everything that had happened, he was more than ready to drift away to dreamland.

Now that he had met his classmates, and gotten to know them if only briefly, he sorely hoped that they wouldn’t cause any disturbances to his learning magic. He didn’t want to fail the second test because of some argumentative teens taking up class time. He would be taking the test alone anyway, so he supposed that it wouldn’t affect him if they all failed. But really, he hoped that was the only fight he’d have to witness this year...

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask.

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[visander]

A Losing Game (3/6).

Magnus remembers when his life started to go wrong.

You can read this chapter on ao3 here. The wonderful art featured below was done by @thelightofthebane and by beta for this event was @bamf-alec​.

Chapter Three:

The next time Camille brought Magnus along with her to do something, they found themselves in an empty warehouse. Upon reflection, Magnus thought it was very cliché.. There was a man there, older than the last one. He was tied to a chair when Magnus and Camille walked in. Whoever had tied him was gone already and now it was just the three of them alone in that dark, drafty building. 

Magnus hesitated when he walked in and saw exactly what was going on, but Camille snapped at him to come in and he listened without a word. The man bound to chair was big and full of muscle. Magnus remembered being thankful that he was tied down because he was sure this man could beat the shit out of him if he wanted to.

He tried to ask why they were there, but Camille ignored him. She acted like she hadn’t even heard him speak. Instead, she focused on asking the man questions about who’d tipped him off, who’d told him this or that, who had betrayed her, acting as if Magnus wasn’t standing right there, watching in bewilderment. 

The man insisted that he didn’t know what she was talking about. Camille clearly didn’t believe him and Magnus himself hadn’t known what to think. Later, he’d be convinced that the hostage was innocent after all but back then, he hadn’t been so sure. He’d still been convinced that Camille wouldn’t do this to someone who was innocent. The last man she’d killed had to have done something deserving of his fate. This one too. There was no way this could all be happening to them for nothing. Magnus still thought that Camille wouldn’t do that. Even if they didn’t deserve death, they’d done something to get themselves here. 

Camille got sick of it all quickly: sick of trying to dig for answers and having the man insist he didn’t have any when she was so clearly convinced that he did. First, she slapped him across the face. Then, she punched him, and kept punching him until blood was dripping from his face down his chest and cascading across his body.  It was only his nose that was bleeding, Magnus recalled, but it was bleeding so much that the entire scene looked so much worse than it was. He hadn’t thought Camille’s delicate-looking hands could inflict so much damage. He’d been taken back that her nails still looked perfect. She tried for a while longer to get the man to give her answers that he truly didn’t seem to have, while Magnus stood and did nothing the entire time. 

He stared dumbfounded, not assisting her, but also not doing anything to help the man. He just stood there frozen with wide eyes and, when Camille finally turned to him and snapped ‘shoot him’, Magnus still didn’t move. His face twisted when he finally processed her words. His stomach flipped suddenly, making him anxious he’d throw up right then and there. He hadn’t signed up to shoot people. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone. He’d thrown up alone in the bathroom of his apartment the night he saw Camille shoot someone for the first time. Afterward, he’d promised himself that he’d never do what she did, no matter what Camille said. Magnus wasn’t a killer. 

He did try to refuse, at least.

“I can’t,” he had said to her. He’d thought Camille would be annoyed with him at first, but then she’d do it herself. She did have a gun, after all, same as the one she insisted Magnus be holding as they walked inside. Now, it was cold in his hands. The safety was off. It was loaded. It had been loaded the entire time he’d carried it on him, but it suddenly felt much less like a toy and more like a real thing, capable of ending someone’s life. How had he held this before and thought it was so cool?

Camille glared at him. Then, she moved towards the man in a flash of anger. She was ripping off the binds tying the man to the chair and then backing up with a look of calm contemplation and strange excitement. 

The man scrambled to his feet. Magnus expected Camille to shoot him right then. She had to be letting him get up so that she could shoot him. Yet, she didn’t raise her gun even when the man was standing. Magnus didn’t understand what she was doing until the man's eyes locked on the gun in Magnus’ hands. 

Camille would shoot the man if he dove towards her, but Magnus was the weakest link here and all three of them could see that plainly. The man Camille had brutalized could probably see it more than anyone. Magnus might be his chance at getting away alive. The man didn’t waste a moment before he was lunging towards Magnus, grappling to try and get the gun from his hands.

Magnus yelled for Camille, but she did nothing except stand and watch, blinking impassively as the scene unfolded around her.

Magnus raised the gun and pointed it at the man at last, yelling at him to back up. The man didn’t. Instead, he dove for Magnus again and, without even deciding to do so, Magnus found himself pulling the trigger. The man dropped to the ground before he could even process what he’d done. His ears were ringing with the sound of the gunshot. His hands were trembling as he lowered the gun. 

The man laid dying on the floor, choking and jerking as he made horrendous noises Magnus wished he couldn’t hear. It wasn’t like in the movies. He had shot him in the chest, but he didn’t die instantly. He stared wide awake with a panicked, far too human expression on his face as he struggled to breathe. 

Magnus only looked away when Camille reached out to tip Magnus’ jaw up towards her. “When I tell you to shoot,” she said, after a long moment. “You do.” Her words were sweet like velvet, discordant with the threat that lay plainly behind them, where the man lay dying on the floor, Magnus’ shaking hands still holding a gun he’d just fired.

Camille dipped forward and pressed her red lips against Magnus’. The kiss was not sweet. Her lips were cold and left dark lipstick smeared across Magnus’ face, marking him. Her sharp nails dug into the skin under his chin, leaving a shallow scratch mark as she finally pulled away and turned to leave him standing there, as if nothing at all had just happened between them, as if Magnus’ lips weren’t stained red like the blood that was trailing far too close to his shoes.

Just like before, he didn’t tell anyone about that night. He certainly didn’t tell Alec about the kiss. Somehow, it was the kiss that stuck in Magnus’ mind, lingering just as heavy as the memory of watching someone he’d killed slowly realize they were dying. It hadn’t felt like something romantic. 

It had been her showing him exactly how fucked he was. When Magnus kissed Alec later that night, he tried not to cringe at the feeling. If Alec noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. Magnus was thankful for it at the time.

Now, though, Magnus wished that Alec had noticed. He wished he’d asked what was wrong and refused to let Magnus push him away. He wished Alec had pushed him until he’d broken down and admitted it all.

Maybe, Magnus would have ended up in prison. He had killed someone, but maybe the police would have been able to help him, too. Either way, he was sure things would have ended up better than they did. Ragnor would have come to visit him. Alec too. Magnus never would have thought of being in prison as nice but it would have been. 

Magnus envied that version of him, locked up and ignorant to just how bad things might have gotten if he hadn’t been. 

.

The day passed in a weird amalgamation of fake normalcy. Magnus uncuffed Alec and let him go to the bathroom. After, he’d intended to cuff him back to the couch, but Alec had asked if he could have some coffee instead. Magnus nodded. When Alec sat at the counter with his mug, Magnus didn’t tell him not to. He could have cuffed him to the barstool if he really wanted but, thus far, Alec hadn’t moved to attack him or run outside, so Magnus let him sit, occasionally using his free hands to lift the mug to his lips. 

Alec eyed him, as if daring Magnus to break whatever moment they were having and restrain him again. When he didn’t, Alec’s first instance of  being unrestrained in Magnus’ house passed in silence. It was probably incredibly stupid for Magnus to loosen his control on Alec so easily, but he was hopeful that Alec understood the situation they were in now. If Alec wanted to leave, he’d have to hurt Magnus to do so. If he tried to leave, Magnus would have to hurt him in return to stop him. 

Magnus wasn’t sure of much between him and Alec but he did know that neither of them wanted that. Yet, Alec wanted to leave and Magnus couldn’t let him. He wasn’t quite sure how that would possibly pan out, but coffee at the counter as they made small talk wasn’t that awful a start. 

Alec, somewhat awkwardly, asked what Magnus had been doing recently. He struggled to answer and, after a long moment, Alec coughed and started telling him about how Izzy was dating this cute nerdy guy who Alec would never have thought she’d be into. He rambled on about it, clearly just trying to fill the silence with something.

Magnus and Izzy had always gotten along. They’d been friends towards the end, in a way that was more than just Magnus being nice to his boyfriend’s sister. He’d missed her for a while after everything happened. He’d lost more than just his boyfriend that day. He’d lost Ragnor. He’d lost Isabelle, who’d quickly become one of his best friends. The only one left had been Raphael and… well, it was a dark time for both of them. Magnus didn’t think he or Raphael had been a good influence on each other. 

Without Ragnor, their anger ricocheted off each other and amplified itself. Maybe, that anger had never really gone away. It had just stewed and become something more essential. Magnus was still angry. How could be not be? Ragnor was gone and he had nothing else to do but sit and blame the person who’d taken him away, along with Alec and anything else good that Magnus had ever had. 

“I missed you,” Magnus said aloud eventually. He hadn’t even been sure what Alec was saying before he cut him off. He was probably being rude, but he hadn’t exactly chosen to speak, either. The words had simply bubbled out and besides, they were something much more aligned with the truth than whatever odd conversation he and Alec had been having about siblings and partners. 

“I missed you too,” Alec murmured after a long, quiet moment. He seemed reluctant to admit it. Magnus wondered why. He wondered if it was a lie. He wondered if it mattered even a little bit if it wasn’t the truth. 

He and Alec were soulmates. Magnus knew without a doubt that their story was supposed to end with them together, and yet, that wasn’t what happened. Did it matter that they’d missed each other, when considering everything else? No, it didn’t. If anything, it made everything even more tragic and the last thing Magnus needed was another tragic fucking story. 

Magnus got up, moving to do the dishes. Alec sat behind him. Neither of them spoke, until Magnus finally turned and led Alec back into the living room, where he cuffed him to the couch yet again. 

When he glanced down at his phone for the first time that morning, he had a message from Raphael. It read simply: ‘She’s pissed.’

Magnus shoved his phone into his pocket without answering. They’d known she would be. That was the point. 

.

Magnus tried not to think about the night that everything changed. He and Raphael didn’t speak about it, even after all these years. They had never spoken about it. They probably never would. 

Magnus was fine with that. He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about what he could have done differently. He tried not to think about the countless mistakes he’d made. He tried not to think about the fact that it was all his fault, but at night, even after all these years, he still had nightmares about it. 

He didn’t think he’d had a single nightmare since that didn’t involve Ragnor, Camille, Raphael and Alec. Every nightmare he had involved one of them; Ragnor most often, Alec coming in just behind and on the tail end were Camille and Raphael. Sometimes, he dreamt about what actually happened. He relived it night after night, though sometimes his head was much more creative. 

He dreamed about things going differently. He dreamed about him and Alec making it work somehow. He dreamed that they’d stayed together. He dreamed of Ragnor at their wedding, giving a speech. Everything was always perfect and then, in the end, Camille always showed up again. Magnus dreamed that she shot Alec, Ragnor, and then, she shot him. Sometimes, Raphael was there. Sometimes not. Ragnor always died and Magnus’ dream always ended just as Camille raised a gun and shot him, too.

They say if you don’t wake up when you die in a dream, you die in real life. Magnus never had the pleasure of seeing if that was true or not. He always woke up just then, covered in sweat and gasping for air like he’d been holding his breath all night. 

That night, with Alec cuffed on the couch for the second evening in a row, Magnus had that same dream. This time, though, he got to get up and stared at Alec from the doorway, watching his chest rise and fall in time. This time, Magnus got to get up and see that Alec was fine. He was alive. Camille had not come to kill him in the middle of the night. 

That night, Magnus didn’t stay awake worrying until sunrise. He didn’t work himself up in circles, worried that something had actually happened to Alec and having to convince himself that Alec was probably fine and it was just a dream, having to remind himself that Alec didn’t want to hear from him, even if something was wrong. 

But even watching Alec, there was something about the dream that lingered in Magnus’ head. There was something about Camille, something about the way she’d looked that Magnus couldn’t quite shake. He convinced himself that it was anxiety left over from the dream, that it was something about being the only one awake late at night, something about seeing Alec on his couch, something about the situation they were still trapped in. 

He brushed it off, but staring at Alec, he felt a slow cold dread spreading in his stomach. For just a second, something occurred to him that hadn’t before, something that he shrugged off in the warm, comforting morning light. 

What were the odds that Alec just happened to be there, guarding a shipment that was intended for Camille? One she’d have to know they’d want to sabotage, one she might have suspected they were looking into? What were the odds of that being an accident? 

Magnus got himself a glass of water then went back to bed, where he struggled to sleep for a few more hours before he finally drifted off. He didn’t think about it again after that. Alec worked for a small, specialized company. There were only so many of them and, if you wanted the best security in New York, you’d call them. It made sense why Alec had been there. It wasn’t very coincidental at all, when Magnus really thought about it. The odds were rather high.

That was another mistake Magnus made. He should have thought about it a little more. He shouldn't have brushed off what occurred to him that night.

The next morning, he woke up and uncuffed Alec like he had the day before. They made breakfast together and sat silently, eating as if everything was normal. Magnus didn’t think about Camille once. 

.

“So, you’re just going to keep me?” Alec asked evenly the next afternoon. 

Magnus was sitting with a book propped open on his knees. He’d been pretending to read it and trying not to glance over to Alec, wondering what he was thinking about, when Alec finally spoke.

Magnus pressed his lips together and pointedly didn’t look up. He turned a page and found even more words that didn't seem to mean anything to him. “What else would you like me to do with you?” he asked. 

Alec stared at him, his uncaring facade cracking. “You can’t just keep me. I’m not a pet you picked up.” Alec’s voice rose in anger. He hadn’t gotten angry with him since the day Magnus had first taken him. “I have a life, Magnus. I have a life outside of you and whatever criminal mess you’re constantly wrapped up in.”

Slowly, Magnus closed his book. He looked up to Alec, scanning his angry face. Alec looked like he expected him to be angry at his outburst in return, but Magnus wasn’t. Part of him wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. Being around Alec didn’t make any sense. Having breakfast with him, making small talk like nothing was wrong — none of it made any sense but this, this finally did. 

“My other option is to kill you,” Magnus said softly. It could have been a threat. To anyone else being held hostage, it probably would have been, but Magnus didn’t mean it as one. He wasn’t trying to scare him. It was just the truth. 

He couldn’t let him go. He was willing to do so much for Alec, but letting a witness who’d seen what Alec had seen go like nothing had happened was out of the question. Magnus couldn’t do that, not even for him.

Alec blinked as his words sunk in. The anger disappeared on his face. They stared at each other for a long moment before Alec, in an equally as soft tone, said, “So, what? I just stay here, tied to your couch every night? I never see my family again? No one knows where I am or what happened to me? I just disappear and stay trapped in your loft for the rest of my life?”

Magnus moved to put his book down on the coffee table. “That—” he said as he rose to his feet, “—or I could have someone shoot you.”

He stared at Alec, gauging his reaction. He was past the point of pretending he’d be able to do it himself. If Alec would rather that, Magnus could call Raphael and have him do it. Then, he would take a very long vacation and contemplate throwing himself off a bridge, like he had years before.

This time, Magnus might just go through with it. He wasn’t sure.

When Alec said nothing, Magnus went to go make them both a drink. For the first time since he’d gotten there, Alec accepted the whiskey that he was handed. He grimaced as he took the first sip and then downed the whole glass in one gulp and made a face after like it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever tasted. 

“Another?” Magnus asked, half joking.

Alec handed his glass back with his uncuffed hand and nodded. 

.

“How could you keep doing it?” Alec asked after a while, his words forced out like he couldn’t bear to hold them in any longer. He’d had more than a few drinks and Magnus had as well. Apparently, they were past the point of avoiding questions and holding back their words. At least, Alec was. 

“What do you mean?” Magnus asked, pretending not to immediately understand the question. 

“After what happened, how could you just keep doing it?” Alec looked up at Magnus, his eyes desperate for an answer, desperate to understand. Magnus wondered how long he’d wanted to ask Magnus that. He wondered if Alec would be disappointed at the truth.

Magnus shrugged one shoulder. He looked away. He was sick of looking at him. He was sick of the way his heart ached when he did. He could ignore it normally, but the alcohol made everything worse. Whiskey was his heartbreak drink and it was the only thing he’d drank for years after he and Alec stopped talking. Perhaps, choosing it again tonight hadn’t been a wise choice.

“Why would I stop?” he asked eventually. He dared a glance over. “I didn’t have you anymore. I didn’t have Ragnor.” Magnus knew his words were bitter. That wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been Alec’s fault they’d stopped talking. Neither of them had a choice, but that was the moment that Magnus’ life had irreparably changed. Burying Ragnor, losing Alec — what else did Magnus have to do besides get revenge? He had no one else to fight for, no one to change for, no better life to long for with anyone who mattered. Ragnor had been Magnus’ best friend, Alec his life. Without them, Magnus hadn’t cared anymore. 

“I stopped caring. Nothing mattered anymore,” he summarized finally. He took a sip of his drink and then choked out a soft, bitter laugh. “I was dead, Alec. What else could I do?”

“You could have come back to me,” Alec murmured quietly. Magnus thought he was kidding but, when he looked up, Alec was staring back seriously, his eyes soft and hurt. “We could have run away together. You could have stopped. Everyone thought you were dead. You could’ve been anyone. I could have become anyone.” Alec fell silent as if he’d suddenly realized just how unrealistic that all would have been. 

Not impossible, no. Some people did that. Some people left and managed to find a new life so disconnected from their old one that they never had to look back, but the odds of that having worked out for them were so slim. Alec’s family would have done anything to find him. They’d have followed him to the ends of the earth, even if he didn’t want them to.

They’d have gotten caught or recognized somewhere. Something would have gone wrong. It was a nice thought anyway, a nice thought now gone sour with age. 

“I loved you so much,” Alec said finally.

“I loved you too,” Magnus responded. 

Neither of them said anything else. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. What was the point in thinking about how things could have been different? There wasn’t one, but Magnus understood anyway. It seemed so impossible that they’d ended up here and not in one of the millions of universes Magnus was sure existed where he and Alec were together and happy and where Ragnor wasn’t dead. 

He didn’t think there was anyone who had ever loved someone as much as he loved Alec. It was truly astonishing that that hadn’t been enough. 

.

Everything with Alec came to a head far before the night it actually happened. Perhaps, they had been doomed from the start and it hadn’t been Camille who’d ruined them at all. Magnus wasn’t sure and he wasn’t going to dedicate his time to rehashing it. What he did know was that they fought. They’d been together for about a year at that point, the happiest year of Magnus’ entire life still and up until that point, they’d never really fought before.

The only time they’d come close, they had been disagreeing about Magnus’ work with Camille. That’s what they fought about that day too and yet, the day had started so nicely. Ragnor was gone, leaving Alec and Magnus in their apartment all alone. They’d made out on the couch and done nothing but enjoy the presence of each other all morning. Those days were Magnus’ favorite. Even now, he’d look back and remember those mornings with Alec pressed against him as something sacred and blissful. He’d go there in his head when he needed an escape and he was weak enough to allow himself to. 

Eventually, the kissing had come to an end and Magnus had told Alec that he was meeting Camille later. It was supposed to be Magnus’ day off, but he didn’t officially have days off and even when he tried to ask Camille not to call him on specific days, she only seemed more inclined to call him then, so he’d stopped asking.

Looking back on it, Camille had been jealous of Alec. She’d been jealous of Magnus’ devotion to him. Magnus was stupid and blinded when it came to her but he still loved Alec more than anything else and Camille hadn’t liked that one bit. 

Alec had gotten mad at him. He’d told him that he didn’t like Camille or that Magnus was working for her, but Magnus had heard all of that before. He knew Alec didn’t like her. Then, Alec had said something Magnus hadn’t heard before.

“I found blood, you know,” Alec had snapped. “On your shirt after you came home last week.” 

Magnus was sure he looked horrified when Alec’s words sunk in. He wasn’t that good at hiding his emotions back then. Alec had liked that, how open he was. Now, he could hide everything without even trying. He supposed he and Alec had that in common now.

“Whose blood was it?” Alec asked when Magnus failed to speak.

Magnus didn’t answer him. What was he supposed to say? That he’d shot someone? That he didn’t even know the guy's name? Instead, he turned and stormed out. He was angry but, truthfully, he wasn’t angry with Alec, even then. He was angry with himself and, for the first time, he was angry with Camille for making him do all of the things she had. 

Magnus knew then that he was going to lose Alec. He’d thought for a while that Alec would realize Camille wasn’t all that bad and it would be fine, but that wasn’t the case. Camille wasn’t fine. What Magnus was doing with her wasn’t fine and if he didn’t do something about it, he was going to lose Alec. 

Outside, Magnus just happened to run into Ragnor.

Magnus wondered a lot what would have happened if Ragnor hadn’t come home right then. Magnus would have left. Maybe, he’d have gone to confront Camille by himself. Camille might have shot him instead. Or maybe Magnus would have sat outside and calmed down enough to realize that was a horrible idea. Maybe, he’d have gone inside and told Alec everything instead and Alec would have convinced him to go to the police for help.

 Magnus wasn’t sure, but either way, he was sure that Ragnor would still be alive. Magnus might have died in his place, but maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe, he and Alec would have figured it all out and he would never have lost his best friend. Maybe, he and Alec would have been happy together for the rest of their lives, like they were supposed to be.

None of that was what happened. 

Instead, Magnus sat in Ragnor’s car and broke down crying. Magnus didn’t tell Ragnor everything that had happened, but he managed to tell him about the first man he’d seen Camille shoot and that had seemed to be enough for him to understand. He didn’t tell him about the man Camille had forced him to shoot. He didn’t tell him about all the people who’d come after.

He’d been so scared Ragnor would hate him if he knew everything. He loved Ragnor so much. He looked up to him and admired everything he did and, for some reason, he looked at Magnus and saw something worth admiring back. He couldn’t deal with Ragnor hating him. 

Ragnor paled at what little Magnus had managed to say, but he also didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look scared either and that calmed Magnus so much. Ragnor always knew what to do. He always took care of everything. 

“We’re going to go to her and you’re going to give her the gun back and you’re going to tell her you’re done,” Ragnor said calmly. 

Magnus had brushed his tears away and then nodded. If Ragnor said that’s what they’d do, then of course that’s what they’d do. 

Looking back on it, Magnus wasn’t sure what Ragnor had been thinking. Magnus was pretty sure Ragnor had thought Camille wouldn’t hurt them. They, unlike the man she’d shot, had people who’d miss them. They had phones with location services on. They were even connected to Camille. Magnus had a photo of him, Camille, Alec and Ragnor in his room, taken back when Magnus had still thought Camille was everything she wasn’t.

They would be too messy to hurt. That’s probably what Ragnor had thought. She wouldn’t be that bold. They were safe. If Magnus went and told her he was done, that would be the end of it. 

Magnus should have told Ragnor everything. He should have made sure he understood the scope of what was happening here, but he hadn’t. He was ashamed of how far he’d let it go and he didn’t want to tell Ragnor about what he’d done. So, he didn’t and even though he knew better, he started his car and he drove them to Camille’s, so Magnus could tell her he wasn’t working for her anymore and pretend that he thought that would go over well.

Magnus had understood the situation so much more than Ragnor did. He knew how unhinged Camille was. He knew how untouchable she’d made herself. He should have insisted that it was a bad idea. Ragnor would have trusted him if he had said it, but Magnus just wanted so desperately for someone else to tell him how to make this right.

He had never regretted being so selfish in his entire life. That moment where he decided to listen to Ragnor when he knew he shouldn’t, when he knew Ragnor didn’t understand how bad it was, haunted him like the rest of that day would.

Last Chapter | Master Post | Next Chapter.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 9

"Take Me Instead"

Ao3

Warnings: canon typical violence, major injury

-o-o-o-o-

"Well, look what the bat dragged in."

Dick resisted a wince as his back was practically stabbed with the barrel end of an assault rifle. He twisted his wrists behind his back, locked there by his own cuffs. Not for the first time, Dick felt a ping of hatred for Bruce's constant paranoia. Plans for everything, even themselves. Therefore: cuffs are batproof.

And that wasn't all, Duke kneeled beside him in the exact same situation. On his knees, guns aimed point-blank, meaty hands on his shoulders to keep him down as none other than Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow, in his full get-up approached his new hostages. 

This definitely won't be good. Dick didn't know how long he could last. Crane's knack for dramatics and monologues were ear-bleedingly boring on the best of days. Dick already had a headache thanks to the lucky shot one of Crane's children-of-the-pumpkin-patch-lackeys got on him with the back of their gun. Hey, sometimes even Nightwing accidentally got hit. He's human. 

Honestly, Dick wasn't upset about being caught. Hell, he wasn't even that worried to see Scarecrow walz towards them with his dramatic scythe dragging on the floor behind him. Not even the flashing red lights of the lab they were currently in and the intruder alarms blaring put him on edge. What sent an ice cold shard of worry straight into his chest cavity was that Duke was caught also because of Dick's initial mistake. 

Duke. The guy who was still in training. Who was just barely figuring out his meta abilities. Who could fight like a bat out of hell but who has never faced Scarecrow. Duke probably didn't know what to expect with this encounter, and judging by the glances Dick could feel being shot his way by his newest brother, Duke was expecting Dick to come up with something more productive than twisting his hands in his own cuffs again. 

This was Dick's fault. He was the one who suggested Duke came with him to check out the labs built near the Fashion District. It's primary purpose was to research medicine for the brain. Things to help seizures, depression, etcetera. Which, of course, made it a prime possible target for Scarecrow whenever the villain managed to escape from Arkham. 

The thing was, these labs were already raided for it's chemicals the last time Crane escaped. Normally, the guy was a little smarter than to go to the same supply of chemicals for his fear toxin twice. Dick took Duke for this reason, because it was good to learn how Scarecrow worked before actually facing him. That, and it needed to be checked anyway. He didn't actually expect Crane to be here, let alone in full get up.

It must have been a trap. 

Well. Judging by the outcome of the circumstances, it most definitely was a trap. Crane was up to something. Something more than sending the mass population of Gotham into a fear crazed frenzy. 

Crane stopped in front of his two captives, flicking his scythe around his body with the smoothness of silk. Dick let his neck relax as the scythes blade went under his chin to lift his head. It was just a fear tactic. One that Dick wasn't falling for. Crane was using the outside of the blade where it was dulled. If he was using the inside, then Dick might have been a little on edge. 

Get it?

He stared right into the stitched eyeholes of Crane's hood. Clenched his fists behind his back. "What's up, Crane?" Dick kept his voice light and level; he even let a smile curve his lips as he spoke. The best thing you could do while dealing with Crane was remain calm and not show the slightest sign of fear. Hurt his ego. Make him sloppy. 

It didn't seem to immediately rub Crane the wrong way though. He didn't even tense. "Well, you see, I've seemed to have come across two little birdies with their little wings tied-" Ugh. Dick wanted to barf- "and now I have to decide what to do about them."

"Ah you know," Dick replied in a sing-song tone. "Could just leave us alone. Birds tend to take care of themselves."

"Hmm, I suppose." The scythe was removed from under Dick's chin, but Dick kept eye contact as Crane stepped away. "After all, everyone knows it's bad luck to keep two two birdies locked up together."

Dick really wished that Gotham's Rogues would quit it with the theatrical flair. It almost made Dick miss Blüdhaven where everything was straight to the point. The amount of monologues Dick had heard from spending the last two days alone visiting the manor could fill a novel. And at least no one in the ‘Haven called him a bird. 

"So I guess the only thing for you to do is to let us go." Dick sighed, like he was upset about it. Crane twitched and Dick couldn't help a confident smirk. "Unless you want the big bad bat to drag you back to Arkham so early into your escape. Your lackeys got lucky with us tonight, but do you really think you can take the entire clan with what you have now?" 

Crane remained silent for a moment, and Dick could practically sense Duke resisting twitching or saying anything. Which was good. Duke’s being smart. Letting the guy who's fought Crane for almost as long as Robin had existed do the talking. Dick knew how Scarecrow ticked. In the end, it was always about fear. If his victims weren’t afraid then he'd get bored. Sure, he'll also most likely use Fear Toxin, but it was obvious Crane was planning something. He normally resisted throwing around Fear Toxin willy nilly. If he had a plan, the toxin was put away until he really needed it. 

"Actually, little bird," Crane finally said, his voice deepening almost an octave. "I could have use of you. You see, I'm an expert at my craft, yet you bats always seem to not be afraid. Even when the world is trembling in terror, you bats hold strong. I don't understand it. I need to study this. Make a toxin that's impossible to resist."

"It's called an antitoxin," Dick scoffed. "No matter how many times you change the formula it's still always the base formula. Every hospital in Gotham had loads of the antitoxin."

Suddenly, Scarecrow was snarling, right up in Dick's face. Dick heard Duke swear under his breath, but Crane didn't seem to notice. He was too focused on staring through those threaded eye sockets right into Nightwing's milky lenses with narrowed, cold brown irises. 

"No," Crane hissed, "you bats have something different. You get scared, but never afraid. I've seen you cry and scream on the ground, writhing in your own terror, but you always- always stand back up. I'm tired of making formula after formula to guess what finally takes you down for good. I need a subject. I need a bat to test on instead of random people in the street."

Dick immediately felt himself tense, but he tried not to show it on his face. 

Okay. So Crane wants a human lab rat now. But not any human, a member of the very group of people he's never been able to truly defeat.

Okay. 

So this was definitely turning out badly. 

"Sorry, Jonathan, Sig and I are actually completely booked today. How bout next week? I think I can squeeze you in for, , hmm, let's say, next Tuesday?"

Scarecrow paused, tilted his head, then Dick knew he made a mistake. 

"Ah yes, the Signal." Crane turned towards the yellow clad hero and Dick was moving forward before he even registered that hands tightening on his shoulders, keeping him forced down to his knees as Crane approached Duke. "Gotham's newest little bat, only; this one likes the sun."

Dick watched as Duke squared his jaw and didn't say anything. Dick couldn't see his eyes through the helmet on his face, but he could imagine the unafraid glare Duke must be giving. 

"Hey," Dick called in an attempt to get the attention back onto himself, "we're not finished, Crane."

"Actually," Crane replied, his voice sounding excited and wistful, "I think we are."

Dick watched with a growing sense of horror and anxiety as Crane bent down and grabbed Duke by the chin, forcing Duke to bend his neck back at a painful looking angle. Duke grunted and attempted to tug his shoulders out from the grasps holding steadfast onto him. 

"Tell me, morning bird," Crane whispered just loud enough for Dick to just barely hear him. His voice was husky with excitement. "What do you fear most?"

"Crane! Leave him alone!" 

Dick went ignored as Scarecrow backed up, letting go of Duke's chin with a shove. He nodded and soon Dick was watching as Duke was hefted to his feet by the grunts behind him and held in place tightly. Dick struggled on his knees. 

"It's not Signal you're wanting, Crane, you know this!" Dick tugged on the restraining holds still on him. He tried to get his feet under him, but the men holding him down had more power over him at the moment. Dick snarled. "You've had a grudge against me since I was a kid! If there's anyone you want for this, it's me! Let him go! Take me instead!"

Dick could swear he just saw the jagged cut of a grin on Scarecrow's face widen. Sharpen. "Yes, Nightwing," Crane agreed, his tone sinister with a touch of silk. "I've always hated you. The Robin without fear. It would be a pleasure to get you finally choking on your own tears. You were always the light to his shadow. However," Crane stopped to grab Duke by the arm and drag him forward, "I'm finding myself more interested in how the day to his night will react to my toxins." 

Crane shoved Duke back to the lackeys and then shoved his scythe back under Dick's chin. "You'll have to be patient. Don't worry, whatever I create with him will be my masterpiece, and you will get a taste of it soon enough. 

Dick snarled, his gut churning at the thought of Duke being tortured for who knew how long into the future. He tried to find his feet again, throwing his body back to unbalance the holds on him and get away from the scythe both at the same time. 

This time, Dick was lucky. He managed to knock the men off him and climb to his feet. However, it was all for naught when one of the lackeys did the smart thing and hit him at the back of his skull with the butt of their gun. 

Dick saw stars, and maybe his superhero name being shouted, but all he could grasp onto was that he was on the ground now, desperately trying to get a grasp back on reality as his head screamed in pain at him. 

He just managed to focus on a blur of yellow being dragged off, but that focus only lasted a second before another blast of pain erupted on the side of his head, and he knew no more. 

-o-o-o-o-

The feeling of gravity rolled, shooting Dick from unconsciousness straight into awareness as he was flipped from his stomach onto his back. He groaned, a migraine pounding away. The side of his head felt warm and wet. He had to blink a few times to reboot his brain and remember how he got here and why he was in so much pain. 

And then, he remembered. 

He jolted, shooting up to sit up but he was immediately met with resistance via Tim's hands grabbing onto his arms. The world swirled around him—looking similar to an old album cover from the 70s. Dick shot his arms up regardless of the dizziness attacking every one of his senses and wrapped his grasp around the front of Tim's suit. 

"Signal-" Dick wheezed, tried to explain, but Tim just frowned and then began to shove Dick back to the ground, keeping his grasp on Dick's arm to pin him there. Tim was shockingly strong. Or maybe… Dick was shockingly weak. 

Dick shook his head, but it sent the 70s into the 60s and his thoughts almost slipped away like fine sand. Duke. He had to focus on Duke. He was in trouble. Had Scarecrow already tested out his first drug? Was Duke already reliving his darkest nightmares? Dick didn't know everything about Duke, but he did know that in the short time he's been a part of the family business that he's already seen so much shit. The Joker and what he did to his parents being at the top of the list. 

Dick remembered the first time the fear toxin made him relive his own parents' demise. He couldn't stop shaking for days. 

This was Dick's fault. He was supposed to keep track of Duke. Show him the in's and out's of dealing with Scarecrow from the early stages, getting him prepared for when Crane eventually decided to reign his terror across the streets. That was the advantage the family wanted to give Duke. Make it so none of the future battles with Gotham's main gallery felt like it was too much. When you're new, big names could be confidence rattling. 

And Dick had failed Duke. He brought Duke out. Dick didn't prepare for an actual attack.

Dick got Duke captured. 

By Scarecrow. 

It was all his fault. 

Dick had to find him. Save him. He had to fix this. So he tightened his hands in Red Robin's suit and tried to sit up again. "Signal-" Dick tried again, but Tim didn't listen. He just shook his head and opened his mouth. Said something. Dick realized he couldn't hear. Everything sounded like the static on an empty radio channel. His own voice rumbled in his chest, vibrated inside his skull, but he couldn't pick apart anything else. And while the threat of deafness thanks to what was definitely a concussion scared the shit out of him, he couldn't just sit here and let Tim shove him back down to do nothing while Duke was most certainly in danger. 

Dick forced strength he probably didn't have and attempted to shove Tim off from him. Somehow, against all odds, it worked. However, just moving his arms like that caused a spike of exhaustion to spear into his gut and it took every ounce of willpower in his body to work himself to his feet. 

He stumbled once he was standing. Everything was spinning. His lack of hearing made his sense of balance dim. It was suddenly like he was a passenger in his own body. He knew he wanted to take a step forward, but he wasn't sure he did. His stomach rolled and he closed his eyes to catch his breath, but when he opened his eyes again he was laying back down face up, hands on his chest and legs straddling his hips. Pinning him down. 

Dick felt sick. 

He... He had to save Duke. He had to get whoever was on top of him off. 

He twitched and his eyes closed again, only this time it was against his will. Something stinging stroke across his cheek, but everything was far away and he couldn't find his hands. 

He fell into darkness again. 

-o-o-o-o-

He woke up feeling similar to how Buster from Mythbusters looked. His head felt muffled. Far away. So much so that it took a minute for the migraine to kick in once he cracked his eyes open. 

The lights were dim, thank heavens, so it only took a moment for Dick's eyes to adjust. He easily recognized the medbay of the Batcave, having woken up here too many times to confidently number. He reached up to his head and felt bandages wrapped tightly around his skull. Then, he blinked and realized there was a presence besides him. It took him a minute for his eyes to travel over to the side, but when he did his eyebrows rose and he went completely still. 

Duke was there. In pajamas, sitting on a plastic folding chair off to the side of Dick's bed. Not a scratch on him.

Duke, probably having sensed Dick as well, looked up from his phone towards where Dick laid. A smile broke out on his face. 

Duke started speaking, but Dick couldn't hear him. Not that Dick cared at the moment. He was too happy seeing Duke looking completely fine. Exactly as he should be. It was like a dream. Could this be a dream? Dick hoped not.

Duke finishes speaking, tilting his head and brows scrunching up. Dick realized that he must have been asked a question, but because he was too busy reeling over how this all seemed so impossible—because he could have sworn Duke was captured—to read his lips. Dick cleared his throat, thankful that he could still at least hear his own voice, and gave a shaky smile.

"Cn't hear ya," he muttered, his voice too scratchy and his energy too low to do much more than that. Duke's eyes widened and he looked to the side to definitely swear. Dick won't tell Alfred though. It's not like he heard it. 

Duke looked lost with himself for a moment, bringing his hands up to his chest beginning to sign what he wanted to say letter by letter. Duke's still learning sign. Cass was teaching him and he was learning quickly. He was still a beginner though and didn't know how to say much more than basic conversation. Dick felt a laugh escape his throat, sending a spike of pain into his head. 

"E-S-C-A-P-E" Duke signed, carefully shaping every letter with concentration over his facial features. He began to start singing something more, but then he stopped mid "N" and looked over to the entrance of the bay, relief melting the hard edges of his face. Dick turned to look af well and what he saw didn't really surprise him. 

Bruce, still garbed in his suit, but his cowl and cape were absent. He looked tired. Frown pulled down a little more than usual. The bags under his eyes a little more vibrant. Bruce analyzed the room for a brief moment, but a smidge of life seemed to return to his face when his gaze landed on Duke and Dick. His lips twitched. They didn't become a smile, but it was almost one. Dick had learned to live with Bruce's almosts. 

Duke opened his mouth and, judging by the way that smidge of relief and happiness on his face rapidly declined, Dick could guess what was said. Bruce expected Dick's hearing to be back by now. Dick tried not to let that clench something in his gut. 

Bruce walked forward, his footsteps soundless, before he settled besides Dick's beside and snapped his fingers next to Dick's ear.

Dick tried to listen. He really did. It just… wasn't there. He took a calming breath, released it, then shook his head. 

Now Bruce was full on frowning, and Dick almost expected Bruce to turn tail and retreat, maybe to call Leslie or research hearing loss caused by concussion. Instead, he was shocked to find that Bruce simply turned to pull another chair to his bedside, his hands already delicately placed in front of his chest. 

Can you hear anything?

Dick shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek. 

Should not be permanent. Leslie said to call her if it takes longer than a day to start returning.

Dick nodded. Took another breath. He could feel it lingering behind his eyes, the fear of never being able to hear ever again. It made him want to throw something, but Duke was here, and Dick couldn't focus on himself right now. He had to know what happened after his head was smashed in. Thankfully, Bruce seemed to know him well enough to expect that of Dick. That to avoid breaking down he needed to worry about someone else. 

Escaped on his own. Called the family to find you.

Ah. So in the end, it was Dick who needed rescuing. Duke handled himself. Which, somewhere at the back of Dick's mind he knew Duke was a skilled fighter. He was a quick learner. Versatile. Give him a situation and he'd work it to his advantage. And maybe Dick was so worried because even though Duke was nowhere near the youngest of the family, he was still the baby of it. He'd lost his parents so recently. He was the newest to the fold. His trauma was still ripe. And maybe it was the big brother in Dick, but he didn’t want to fail Duke like he's failed all the others. Jason died because he wasn't there. Tim felt abandoned because Dick thought he was ready to let go of something he was still attached to. Damian died after Dick failed to defeat his killer. He never noticed Cassandra and her pain when she was with the League. 

He didn’t want to be the cause of something so… so horrible in Duke's life. He didn’t want to look back on Duke and see regret and hindsight. 

That almost happened tonight. 

But he escaped. He handled it. Crane didn't torture anyone tonight. 

Duke was okay.

He sighed and sank into the cushions of the cot and smiled when Bruce lifted a hand and wrapped it around his knee, squeezing slightly in reassurance. Dick shot one last glance at Duke and smiled. Duke beamed back, albeit a bit apprehensively. Dick didn't take the hesitation to be completely open with the family personally. Duke was still new. Soon enough, they'd all get used to each other. 

Get some rest, Bruce signed and Dick hummed. Yeah, he felt tired all over again. Must be the head injury. Maybe the relief that everything had worked out at the expense of his hearing. 

And Bruce said Leslie predicted it shouldn't be permanent. Within a few days, it would be like nothing happened. They'd continue to hunt Crane, only next time he'd be the one cuffed and dragged away. His vacation from Arkham wouldn’t last long, Dick would personally attest to that. 

He'd do anything to make sure his family stayed safe during these stressful next few weeks that always follow an Arkham breakout. Everyone would return home safe, every single night. Dick will make sure of it. Hearing or not. 

No one will be hurting Duke. Or any of his family. Not while Dick Grayson had a say in it. 

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Three: Pestilence (Ignis x Reader) Chapter Twenty-Three

The following day, Noctis and Ignis sat at a table in the dining car. Their gazes were focused on the passing scenery. "Feels good to ride the rails," Ignis commented, shattering the silence between them.

"Sure does," Noctis replied, his eyes never leaving the beautiful scenery.

"Eager to drive once we're in Gralea?" The strategist inquired.

"If they'll let me."

"We're fortunate to have the Regalia at all. We owe the first secretary our thanks."

"She'd get more thanks if she gave us a discount."

"Those transceivers are top-notch. I recall when the Hydraean raged-In the midst of the empire's retreat, one conspicuous craft remained behind: the chancellor's. The last thing I remember seeing was his ship, heading for the altar. I fell unconscious...and was powerless to stop him," Ignis said.

"I'm just glad you're alive," Noctis spoke his true feelings. "And what happened (Y/n). I can't even imagine what it was like for her."

"Indeed," the tactician sighed sorrowfully. "I failed to protect you both."

"Are you really still talking like that?" The younger boy huffed. "I don't see why you're so hung up on it. I mean, we're both okay."

"Noctis is correct," (Y/n) said as she appeared out of thin air, standing at the end of the table. "There are moments where we are powerless and unable to protect those we cherish. What truly matters is Noctis and I are here with you, Ignis. The fault lies with the chancellor. He is a twisted man and is responsible for what transpired in Altissia."

"I cannot deny your words, (Y/n), for they hold truth," the tactician confessed.

"Let's rid ourselves of such a melancholic topic," she said. "How's your eyesight?"

A giant smile appeared on the bespectacled boy's face. "Blurry, but shapes and colors are prominent."

Noctis looked toward the Horseman. "That's good, right?"

"Very," she giggled. "Although, I am rather flabbergasted at how brisk the remedy is working. It's possible there's a small amount of energy left within your body from wielding the Ring which is aiding your body in healing."

"Does that mean Specs could regain his sight in a few days?" The raven-haired boy asked with a hopeful tone.

"If he's able to see shapes and colors by now with only two treatments, it's highly possible he'll regain his eyesight in a couple days." She turned her gaze back toward Ignis. She climbed into the seat beside him and placed a hand on his cheek, turning his face toward hers. A smile morphed on her face when she took off the visor and analyzed the scars marring his eyes. "The scars are also mending. You will most likely regain your eyesight before they vanish."

As Pestilence dropped her hand from Ignis' cheek, a cold sweat washed over her body as a familiar pain arose in her chest. Unconsciously, she fisted the fabric covering her chest as her breathing became shallow. With shaky arms, she pushed herself out of the booth. She didn't make it far before collapsing to her knees.

Noctis was the first to notice her state and went to her side. "H-Hey, what's wrong?"

"Noct, what is it?" Ignis asked when hearing the boy's worried tone.

"I don't know!" He shouted as he caught the girl before her entire body crumpled to the floor.

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip to keep herself from crying out in pain, but she was unable to hold the whimpers at bay. Ignis heard and carefully maneuvered out of the booth, using his hands to guide him. While his eyesight was returning, it was only mere shapes and colors at the moment. Fortunately, that was enough for him to reach his beloved's side. Carefully, he took her body out of Noctis' grasp and pulled her close. He held her gently as he asked, "What ails you, (Y/n)?"

She closed her eyes as she leaned against him. "A-Ardyn..."

Noctis' eyes narrowed at the mention of the chancellor's name. He clenched and unclenched his fist, tempted to slam it against the ground in anger. "The hell did he do to you, (Y/n)?"

"I-I know not of what he's accomplished, but King Aeshema has detected a dark entity residing within me. I fear it is the "gift" the chancellor mentioned."

Ignis remembered all too clearly what Ardyn spoke of on the day of the rite. While he was unable to see her current state, he imagined how much pain he inflicted upon her without laying a hand on her. "There must be a way to purge it from your body."

With shaky hands, (Y/n) conjured up the glass vial containing the healing remedy. She handed it to Noctis, who was perplexed as to why he was receiving such a thing. "Please, Noctis, take this. Could you be the one to administer the rest of the remedy?"

The raven-haired boy hesitantly took the vial. "Why does it sound like you're leaving?"

"I fear the worse is about to happen," she confessed. "If what Ardyn said is true, then I should be as far away from you and the others as possible."

"What nonsense do you speak of, (Y/n)?" Ignis hissed.

"This entity dwelling within me will soon flourish and I will no longer be in control of my own body." She broke free from Ignis' tender touch and forced her body away from his. With feeble legs, she pushed herself off the floor and set her sights on the adjoining car. She stared through the window on the door and her eyes widened in horror when spotting the man behind her tainted body.

Ardyn grinned at her before spinning on his heels and walking way. Pestilence dragged her legs forward, but she only made it a few steps before someone latched on to her wrist and stopped her from leaving. Before she could argue, she was spun around and pulled against a toned body. One arm snaked around her waist while fingers secured her chin and tilted it upward, forcing her (e/c) eyes to lock with emerald ones.

As (Y/n) was about to make a remark, Ignis slammed his lips against hers. Her eyes widened in shock at the ferocity behind the kiss and would have stumbled back if his other arm wasn't wrapped around her waist. She debated kissing back but feared if she did her conviction to leave would shatter. Placing her hands on his chest, she tried to push him away. Unfortunately, he didn't budge an inch. The kiss dragged on and the pain in her chest became bearable and soon extinguished.

When the needy and intoxicating kiss ended, Ignis' opened his scarred eyes. He kept ahold of her chin as his foggy eyes could make out her gleaming (e/c) ones. Though blurry, he knew exactly what his eyes were focused on. "The Astrals themselves will have to strike me down before I let what happened in Altissia repeat. I refuse to lose you again."

(Y/n), eyes still wide as saucers, scanned the advisor's face. His words made her heart thump wildly inside her chest, but she had to chase after Ardyn. "Ignis, I..." Her eyes darted toward Noctis before returning to the strategist. She grabbed the wrist of the hand holding her chin hostage and pried his fingers from her face. "I hope you'll forgive me." With those final words, she vanished into a cloud of smoke.

She reappeared in a random car, looking around for the chancellor as the pain from earlier returned. When spotting the man, she followed him. A few people aboard the train eyed her strangely as she hurriedly ran down the aisle and toward the connecting car. As the distance between her and Ardyn shrunk, the pain in her chest festered.

Entering the next car, (Y/n) summoned her staff and casted a shadow spell. Black tendrils barred the door located in the back, preventing the man from exiting the train car. The small group of people saw the appendages and quickly ran to the previous car in fear. Now it was only Pestilence and Ardyn.

The chancellor chuckled as he swiveled on his heels to face the girl. A wicked smile blossomed on his face as he removed his hat and politely bowed to the Horseman. "Ah, a pleasure to see you again, (Y/n). I presume I've the honor of using such an alluring name, correct?"

"I've no time for formalities or idle chitchat," Pestilence snapped. She held her staff in one hand while the other remained over her chest. She was still weak from the earlier pain and was having issues standing on her own feet when it returned tenfold. Fighting through it, she jabbed her staff in the chancellor's direction. "Your plans will fail, Ardyn."

Another menacing chuckle emitted from him as he took a single step toward her. "You sound quite certain, my dear. Although, my plans have already been set in motion. I'm afraid you're too late."

(Y/n) backed away from him as he slowly closed the distance between them. She was sweating bullets from the increasing pain, her legs shaking. She lowered her staff, using it as a crutch. She was unable to keep the tendrils alive as they disappeared in a black cloud of smoke. Her back collided with the door, gritting her teeth in agony.

Ardyn came to a sudden halt, covering his face with his hat. "You are the last remnant." He lowered his hat, revealing daemonic features. An eerie black substance oozed from his mouth and cloudy eyes, his skin a sickening pale hue. The black veins within his body were prominent against his pale complexion.

A gasp of horror came from the Horseman at the frightening sight. She tried to cast a spell, but his hand lunges out and wraps around her throat. The moment his hand began squeezing her throat, the pain in her chest reached an unbearable level. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but no sound came from her throat as it was constricted by Ardyn's hand. "Shall we depart, my dear?" He chortled, enjoying watching her writhe in pain as she tried to fight against him.

(Y/n) dropped her staff. It 'clacked' against the floor by the chancellor's feet. Even in her frail state, she tried to pry the man's hand from around her throat. Due to the pain in her chest and the lack of oxygen, her strength was greatly diminished. She tried to kick him, but she couldn't swing her legs hard enough to do some damage and force him to release her. Her vision slowly began fading to black and eventually, she lost consciousness.

<-----------<<<<<

Noctis, who remained in the dining car after Ignis left to search for (Y/n), stared out the window and admired the scenery as he sat back down at the booth. He tore his gaze away from the passing scenery and glanced down at the glass vial in his hand. He fiddled with it for a few minutes before placing it in his pocket.

After a while, Gladio visited the dining car and told him what he learned on his reconnaissance mission given to him by Ignis. Each passing day, the night grew longer. Sunlight was slowly vanishing from Eos and no one knew how long it would take for the darkness to consume the entire planet.

Once the brute left, Noctis was soon visited by Prompto as the train passed by a snowy mountain range shrouded in mist. They discussed the strange phenomenon for a few minutes before the raven-haired boy felt a chill down his spine. He looks around the dining car and suddenly realizes that no one else is moving. Everything is blanketed in gray and everyone is frozen in place. Seeing Prompto was missing, Noctis stood up. "What's going on?"

Noctis suddenly hears Ardyn's voice behind him. "It's a real mystery."

He promptly turns around to find the chancellor standing not too far away.

"I'm not liking that snow cloud. Kind of gives me the chills. Like, who comes up with this stuff? I couldn't dream something like this if I tried. It's a wondrous world," the man said.

Noctis glared at him as he growled, "The hell are you doing here?!" He springs forward to punch Ardyn in the face, but he dodges.

"Whoa, what's going on?! Easy there, buddy. Didn't see that coming. You alright?"

The raven-haired boy conjures a sword and swings it at the man, who steps back just out of range. "Shut up!" Noctis hissed.

"Be careful there! Wait-is this for real?" Ardyn questioned with a worried tone. He turns on his heels and begins to run away. Noctis pursues him into the cabin car. The chancellor runs into one of the cabins and shuts the door.

Noctis walks down the aisle toward the cabin and jerks the door open. "Show yourself!"

Suddenly, Ardyn leans over from behind Noctis. "Uh...Noct?"

Said boy swings around with his fist, hitting nothing but air. Once again, Ardyn has vanished. The young boy clicked his tongue in frustration. "That son of a bitch..." He runs to the next car, where he sees his target backing away.

"C'mon, Noct. You're scaring me! Seriously, man, cut it out!" Ardyn wailed in fear. He passes to the next car, where Noctis continues to pursue him. "It's not safe. Plus, you're causing a scene. Quit playing around, okay?"

Noctis catches up to the man and conjures a sword once again, which he immediately takes swing with, attempting to bisect him horizontally. "You think this is funny?!"

Ardyn ducks the blade, then quickly scrambles to his feet and runs toward the next car. "Dude, are you seriously trying to kill me?!"

Inside the next car, Noctis was distracted when his foot kicked something. Looking down, he saw a strange object. He kneeled down on one knee to get a better look at it. When he picked it up and analyzed it, his eyes widened once recognizing what the object was. It's (Y/n)'s staff. He pushed himself up, taking the weapon with him. His eyes trailed up and down the staff before looking back in the direction Ardyn vanished. Gripping the staff tightly, his knuckles turned white. He knew something had happened to the Horseman and who the culprit was. "Damn bastard... I'll make sure you pay!"

[musesofolive]

I’ve been thinking harder on that Sahar x Isla ship from the incorrect quotes and it’s encouraging me to think how it would happen outside my head.

Let’s say Isla gets taken down the pathway where she’s kidnapped by a dark magic bounty hunter and brought to Viren, only before she’s imprisoned by him, she manages to get away from the bounty hunter. At first she tries to find the pathway the hunter used with no luck, and she desperately spends some of her months trying to find a way back over the border to Xadia. No matter what she tries, she cannot do it. Any spells she tries backfires and the only pathway that’s clear is being defended by humans who will kill her on sight. She’s stuck, and the realization makes her both want to scream and cry.

She ghosts through to Duren, and it’s pretty peaceful there, she can survive very well with stealing a few loaves of bread and vegetables after dark. But as she scouts the city during the day, she sees a child about to get trampled by a horse and carriage, her good heart can’t just watch that so she breaks from the shadows to save the child. This blows her cover and she barely escapes from the town with her life, and she ends up hopping the border over to Neolandia. Neolandia’s a lot tougher to survive in, between the blistering heat and the people being a lot tougher and on edge than the people of Duren. She’s starving, not having eaten in a few days and she’s desperate. The first apple she sees sitting on a window sill, she grabs it, only for someone on the inside of the house grab her wrist in return. It’s the youngest of Sahar’s brothers.

He’s about to yell out to get someone, but he sees the desperation and fear in her eyes, how vulnerable she looks, and he can’t bring himself to end her cover and instead manages to drag her inside the house before she can escape. He gets into an argument with his older brother about what to do with her, especially with Sahar coming home tomorrow. The youngest argues that they can’t cast her out, she won’t survive, the middle argues back that they can barely afford to feed themselves, much less an elf. The father sits and listens to all of this, all while staring at Isla who’s crouched on the floor and trying not to shake but clearly is, before making the final decision that she will stay, but she has to pull her weight and help however she can around the house. They can’t afford free-loaders. This is something Isla readily agrees with and is relieved to be watered and fed with the closest thing to a bed she’s had in months. She was given Sahar’s old room, actually.

Anyways, tomorrow comes, Isla’s up with the rest of the family, doing her assigned chores and making light conversation where she can. But eventually, they all dip off to work, and she stays behind, bored once she’s completed every chore she can. Hours pass by, only the youngest comes home, but he’s resting before going off to another job. Sahar comes home earlier than they exepected, and the first one she sees is Isla. She freaks out, wrestles Isla to the wall as her brother comes down to yell at her to leave the elf alone. Sahar is eventually sat and the situation is explained to her. She’s extremely unhappy about it, making this clear to Isla, any time they interact. Isla takes it all the way until dinner when Sahar makes a last scathing comment and Isla’s had enough. She stands up from her seat and rants about how she never wanted to be here. She never asked to be kidnapped away from her lands to be used as fodder for dark magic or torture or information or whatever else she had been kidnapped for. She never asked to be stranded in a land filled with people who would kill her first and ask questions later. The last thing she wanted was to out her cover in Duren but she couldn’t stand to see a child die when she knew she could save them. Elves had been unfairly cruel to humans, yes, but she didn’t deserve to be held accountable for actions done that had been out of her control since birth. She wasn’t a soldier, she didn’t hate humans, she just wanted to see her family. The entire table goes silent when she’s done speaking, and it stays that way as the meal ends and she helps them clean up.

Isla and Sahar have to share the bedroom, which is incredibly awkward given the argument that just went down. But eventually Sahar speaks up, apologizing for any especially uncalled for comments she had made, but that still didn’t make up for the fact that there was no trust between them. Isla was fine with this fact, they were strangers it was fair, she could prove her trustworthiness at least, and says as much. They lay on opposite ends of the mat and fall asleep.

Isla ends up cuddled around Sahar the next morning anyways, because she’s a cuddler when she sleeps, which makes for a very embarrassing wake-up call that stiffens both of them when they head out to meet the rest of the family. They all talk for a little bit, Isla’s a bit more adjusted and friendly with them, something Sahar takes notice of, and then they all leave. Sahar stays behind though, and Isla’s like “sooo, what are you going to be up to?” And Sahar’s just like “checking over the house, papa’s worried with all the recent break-ins around town that they might be next, so I came down to offer some security.” It leads to a brief and gruff reveal that Sahar works directly as crown guard for the royalty of Neolandia, which Isla’s pretty impressed with and relates it to a similar dream that Torin wanted when they were younger. They continue to talk just as Sahar’s about to exit the house, and Isla almost goes with her until she’s stopped by Sahar who’s like “you can’t be seen in broad daylight, are you crazy? Get back in the house.” And Isla, however unhappily with being left alone, nods.

She does her tasks while Sahar takes patrols around the house, checking the windows and locks to make sure they’re tight and secure. Comes back inside to find lunch prepared for her by Isla who tells her she was bored and had nothing else to do so, made her lunch, which Sahar accepts and they carry on conversation.

This happens for a few days, allowing Isla to bond to Sahar and her family more, though the news about the break-ins becomes increasingly worse. And eventually, the robbers strike Sahar’s house. Sahar catches them first, since she was already staying up to guard the house, the commotion causes the youngest to come down to see if he can help in any way, but the robbers then take him as a hostage, which forces Sahar’s hand to back down. This draws Isla’s attention however, and she’s just around the corner, hearing all of this go down. Well, she’s not about to let the people who have been so kind to her just get robbed blind without doing anything about it, so she sneaks out through a window unseen. At first, she’s looking for any sort of plant-life she can manipulate, but this is desert land, so there’s not much in this area. She stops in her tracks upon hearing hissing though. They’re cobras, and she starts speaking with them and convinces them to go in the house and at first freak out the robbers, but if they don’t budge, to go in for some attacks. Snakes do the thing, they wrap around the robber holding the youngest and he panics, trying to get them off his foot which makes him let go of his hostage. With Sahar’s family no longer endangered, she’s back in action, taking them both out and tying them up. The snakes start coming for Sahar too, but Isla runs up to them and stops them before they can, thanking them for the service, and they slither off. Sahar realizes Isla helped protect her family and gains a bunch more respect for the elf that only shows on her face as she hauls the robbers off to be handled by the law appropriately. But one of them catches sight of Isla just as they disappear.

The coming days are much more relaxed, giving Sahar actual time to spend with her family and Isla, they’ve become good friends. Though talk begins to spread about a stranger who’s living in Sahar’s house and that a robber said he saw an elf before he was brought in. The rumors make Sahar uneasy and she tries to dispel them anyway she can, but there’s not much she can do, people still talk, and she’s due back at the castle in the next week. Isla learns of this and finds she’s going to miss Sahar immensely, Sahar admits she will miss her too. But, it has to be this way, she has to continue her service to provide for her family. Isla, being a family person herself, understands this completely, she’d be doing the same thing for her own if it came down to it. Sahar leaves officially with tight hugs and goodbyes from all her family and Isla, who gifts her a small, and inconspicuous desert flower, which Sahar spends much of her journey back admiring.

The next few days are fine, normal, if a bit sad and quiet to Isla. Sahar feels the same as she guards at the castle, Nalira and Inan, the two children royals, tease her about having met someone. She brushes this off as she tries to think of a way to get Isla back to her family. This leads her to write to General Amaya, someone she’s met and trained with on occasion and has a somewhat good standing with about her inquiries. The peace ends about a month and a half later when the bounty hunter Isla had previously escaped from finally tracks her down, having been looking for her ever since she escaped. She is kidnapped from the house quietly, and forced back on the road, imprisoned once more.

Sahar’s family finds out the next day, and they’re horrified, writing to Sahar about the news. When she hears of it, she’s immediately worried and angry, with all Isla’s done and grown on her and her family, she feels she has a duty to keep her safe too. Plus, her correspondence with the general had been successful, Amaya seeming to understand the situation and not being out for blood. She quickly sends word to Amaya that she will be seeing her and the elf very soon. With that, she regrettably asks for leave once more, under the urgency that someone has kidnapped a person belonging to her family and she feels the only one responsible enough to retrieve them. The King grants the leave, with the wishes that her family will be alright. Not long after, Sahar has a horse and is on the road. It takes two weeks of searching to find the two of them, in a shady Xadian Creatures auction ring for dark magic mages, scientists, or just plain enthusiasts. She knocks out the guards that are holding everything back stage, searching for Isla, but she’s no where to be found. She almost begins to panic until she turns at the last second and sees Isla being shoved around the corner and up the stage. She has to think fast, she can’t just storm the stage, she would be brought down and killed before she could even cut Isla’s bindings. So instead, she creates a panic, opening the cages of every alive creature in there and letting them storm out. It creates the diversion she needed and she grabs for Isla, running out with her and almost about to make it when the bounty hunter stops them. He’s angry, the elf already cost him the very hefty price Viren had set out, and now he’s about to lose even more money. A fight starts between Sahar and the hunter. They’re both skilled, but Sahar’s not as well rested as she should be, too worried about what might become of Isla. Her edge is not as sharp as it should be, and after some more dirty moves from the hunter, he’s about to go for the finishing blow. Before he can, Isla rushes in, doing her best to tackle him and lock him in a chokehold. She holds it until he passes out and she breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes he’s still alive before checking over Sahar. She tries to treat the soldier, but is brushed off and is instead pushed to the horse as they ride away from the chaos before more bounty hunters can see what’s happening.

They settle down to camp when Sahar passes out from all the blood she’s lost from her wounds, Isla barely catching her from falling off the horse. She heals her friend’s wounds and hugs her tightly when she wakes up, crying about how she had been so scared that Sahar wouldn’t wake up. She just hugs Isla back, reassuring her that she’s fine. Eventually, Isla is filled in about how Sahar managed to convince General Amaya to grant her safe passage over to the Sunfire’s hold of The Border since she’s an innocent of the war and not a soldier. Isla starts crying, she’s so happy and this gets Sahar even more hugs which she returns bittersweetly. She had been doing this because she understood more than anyone what it was like being away from her family, but the thought of never seeing this bright and cheery elf again, who had more grit than anyone gave her credit for, gave a dark pit to her stomach. But she brushed it off, it wasn’t her place to ask the elven woman to stay where Sahar knew she couldn’t guarantee her safety.

The next few days are spent travelling to The Border, both of them getting increasingly more sad about Isla’s departure. They reach it, Sahar gives instructions on where to go so General Amaya’s personal assistant will escort her and Isla nods, but she doesn’t turn to leave just yet. She just stares at Sahar, before giving her a last, tight hug, thanking her for everything she’s done. That she’s loved getting to know her and seeing behind the soldier mask, that she’s loved getting to be her friend. Sahar’s only happy to have helped, and more than glad to have met such a brave and kind individual. They pull back, faces close, there’s an opportunity to kiss, and Sahar forfeits it by pulling away and telling her to get home to her family safely. As much as she wanted to, it wouldn’t be fair to Isla to complicate her emotions and then try to make her pick between staying here and going home. Isla is disappointed by the action, but understands and says goodbye as she turns away.

A year passes, the battle at the Storm Spire happens, and Isla catches wind of the fact that Neolandian soldiers are here. Hope catches her throat at the thought of seeing Sahar again and she travels over as quick as she can. And we will say that this is an AU where Sahar managed to convince Kasef to go with him because she fought extra hard to go to Xadia for the same reason that Isla’s rushing to the scene now, and also Kasef’s not dead, missing an eye and several arrow scars in his back, yes, but not dead, and he’s showing signs of recovery. Sahar’s got her own set of scars from this battle as well, she feels awful about the whole thing, she barely remembered turning into a lava monster, and even less so fighting an entire battle, but she was back to normal now. Anyhow, while taking a walk to clear her head, she hears a rustle in the branches, she goes to attack in case it’s an enemy, only to have pinned Isla to a tree. They’re both surprised, before Isla starts laughing with a “this seems familiar! Do you always greet people you haven’t seen in a year like this?”

A smile spreads across Sahar’s face as she drops her weapon, bringing Isla in for as tight a hug as she can which Isla returns. Both claim that they missed the other so much, and this time when they pull back from it, Isla goes straight in for a kiss, just ecastatic to see and hear and feel the person she’s grown so fond for again. It surprises Sahar, but she can’t react too much because Isla’s already pulling back and apologizing for doing that, she should have asked first or even just confessed first. While she’s rambling, Sahar finishes processing that the feelings she thought she was the only one harboring at this point are in fact returned but no matter how many times she tries to interrupt, Isla keeps apologizing, so she settles for actions and captures Isla’s lips in another kiss to shut her up, pulling her as close as can be.

“S-so, you love me too?”

“Yes, I believe you had my heart the minute you saved me from the brink of death. The first thing when I woke up was your face encased in the moonlight as you brought me up to speed. I wanted to tell you at The Border but I...didn’t want to make you choose. It seemed unfair to give you that information just as we were both unsure if we would see another again.”

“I almost wished you had told me, it would saved me a few months of wishing I had told you! But, thank you for thinking of me, and I guess it doesn’t matter now, you’re back, and I’ll never be happier again.”

And it was all cute and fluffy and their relationship lasted forever, the end.

[cavendish-dakota-central]

Inspired by:

I got extremely carried away shaping Heinz into a hero and even more determining what circumstanced could possibly require Perry to need saving X)

Also I interpreted this as an Owca Files style mission and wrote it as an all!human au so I hope you like it

Thanks for this idea, it was a lot of fun to write.

-

Out of everyone on Owca's team, Perry was by far the most proactive. He had a certain something within him that demanded he take charge. Not that it was bad, in fact- leadership was his strongest attribute.

He had been slow to warm to his teammates, but now that he understood each of them as individuals, he had become fiercely loyal to them as a team. They often warmly joked that Perry's instinct to protect kept them the safest agents in Owca, even accounting for Heinz's -inator mishaps.

Perry was always the first in and the last out.

Lately, Heinz was working on laying off on the (often explosive) gadgets and learning to trust his OWN instincts- per Owca's request.

At first, it was incredibly difficult for him. Heinz had learned early on in his life that his instincts weren't very good at all. They caused him to act without thinking and his tendency to ramble often got the better of him. People didn't typically like those qualities, and he felt he had worked too hard to mess up his shot with Owca now.

Nevertheless, he had decided to try it. Perry's faith in him made Heinz want to try and to become better.

It was very nearly his worst mistake yet.

The team had run into a warehouse, blind. Perry had raced in ahead of the others to make sure the area was safe to enter.

The team was on the trail of a dangerous villain whom they'd been chasing through the city for the last several days.

This villain they were chasing was someone so dastardly, and who ignored the evil code so blatantly, that even Love Muffin had exiled him. He, in short, enjoyed overriding the minds of other evil scientists and using them as pawns in his twisted game. He worked them to the brink of exhaustion, forcing them to build him powerful weapons. Now that they finally found him, there was no time to waste.

The team of five sneakily lept in through a window in the roof, but the moment their feet hit the floor, the room began to fill with a masking smoke. It was still early evening outside, but the sunlight couldn't reach into the windowless room. In seconds, the agents found themselves unable to see their own feet through the thick mist.

"Perry?! Maggie?!" Heinz called for his teammates. He heard the sharp voice of Maggie calling back 'Here!' and a relieved bit of laughter from Harry, the pair barely visible to his left. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he quickly recognized Karen's sauve but unconcerned figure just over his right shoulder.

"Alright, that just leaves Perry," he commented, troubled not to have heard from him yet. He tried to push away the uneasy feeling. After all, he was sure Perry was plugging the source of the fog.

He felt his theory had been confirmed as the fog began to clear and he saw the familiar, well-dressed man standing just across the room. His bright teal shirt and brown vest were easy to see through the dissipating clouds.

But there was something amiss about him.

Perry abruptly began walking towards them- but his pace wasn't right. His body was too stiff and the orange shoes Heinz occasionally mocked him for wearing weren't slapping against the ground in the usual way he had grown accustomed to.

"Uh... everyone?" He grabbed the team's attention. Maggie and Harry turned to him and Karen even spared him a glance, "Take a step back. Mmmmm... maybe two."

His gaze stayed fearfully transfixed on Perry.

The agent was closing in. The gentle gleam in his blue-green eye missing, leaving them lackluster.

"Hey, Perry," Heinz chuckled nervously, "how are you! Did you happen to get a haircut or something because I could swear that-"

"His hat!" Maggie suddenly called out.

The band around Perry's hat was a different color- that was the difference Heinz had picked up on. Owca agents had bands around their hats with a unique identification sown into them. Instead of his usual brown-red band, a completely black ribbon was in its place. And the band was most likely the device now taking over Perry's volition.

Karen suddenly snapped to attention, her fists raised and green eyes narrowed.

Heinz tried to mirror her, but he already knew he was at a loss. He didn't have any gadgets left on him, per Perry's recommendation, and he certainly couldn't win at hand to hand combat. Years of experience had proven that much to be true.

"Oh, of all the times to be a good guy. I spend YEARS creating traps and -inators to take this guy down and then the ONE TIME I NEED THEM-" he ended with a defeated sigh. He quickly settled on a different approach,

"Perry, now hold on a minute! We're your friends!"

The other agents faltered as well, exchanging indecisive looks. Not only did none of them want to fight their friend, but none of them wanted to fight Owca's number one agent. Heinz had fought Perry for YEARS before joining Owca and had won roughly once out of hundreds of battles. Even with four of them, those weren't excellent odds. They didn't want to hurt him either.

Their fearful eyes must have ignited something in their team leader because suddenly Perry stopped.

The control seemed to let him go. His bright eyes widened and looked over the four in unprecedented, overwhelming confusion.

"You're going to be okay!" Heinz promised, reaching out with one shaky hand.

For a moment Perry looked relieved, like he had woken up from a terrible dream to find reality untouched. He took a step forwards and then winced, freezing in place immediately. His kind smile twisted into an agonizing grimace. His worn, skilled fingers clamped down on either side of his head and in a single agonizing moment, he collapsed limply onto the cold floor.

"Perry!"

Heinz raced to him, but the sight of a new figure appearing out of the subsiding fog stopped him. The newcomer was tall and elegant looking. He wore a perfectly tailored white suit and held a shining remote in one well-manicured hand.

"He's a strong one, I'll admit," the man's voice hummed in a cold, uncaring tone. He looked down his nose at Perry and turned the dial on his remote.

Perry quickly climbed back to his feet, standing at attention, his eyes once again empty. It felt like a knife through Heinz's chest to have Perry's eyes look right through him.

The ex-evil scientist faltered. The other agents prepared themselves, squaring up for a fight, but Heinz did no such thing. He simply took a determined step forwards.

"Let him go!" Maggie demanded.

"You think he's strong, just wait until we get our hands on you!" Heinz threatened through gritted teeth.

The man only laughed with a lightheartedness that conveyed nothing more than mockery,

"You won't- get a hand on me that is. Not as long as I have him. Consider him my hostage."

"What would he want he want us to do?" Maggie asked Heinz.

The scientist's provoked rage suddenly washed away as his teammates looked to him expectantly. It was true, Heinz knew Perry the best- but he didn't think like him. He didn't have Perry's skill or experience as a good guy. He wasn't naturally sharp-witted or focused. And he certainly didn't have Perry's instinct to know what to do....

All at once, Heinz realized something more. It was true, he had been failing to live up to who Perry believed he could become- but that was okay. He did have instincts, they were just different. His instinct was to adapt, and that took failing before he could succeed.

Heinz might not know what to do when it came to fighting or making a plan, but years of hardship had taught him that he could always find a solution.

What's more, he had something no other agent did. He had a little bit of evil helping him find his direction. And it was because of that evil that he hadn't ENTIRELY listened to Perry's advice. He still had a gadget or two left on him and that was all he needed. He just had to get creative.

Heinz cleared his voice and stepped forwards confidently.

"I have to say, it looks like you've got us. I mean, taking one of our own to use against us?" Heinz gave a falsely wholehearted slow-clap and let it ring through the empty room, "That's just not something just ANYONE can accomplish."

"Th...thank you?" The man in white answered with a baffled head tilt.

Heinz continued, gaining traction, "As an ex-member of Love Muffin I can't AGREE with your methods per se, but as a scientist of my own, I just have to know how you do it before you lock us away or enslave us for your own schemes. And anyways, you must have some triumphant dialogue planned!"

"I... I suppose." The mind-controller replied, "I've been waiting for the right nemesis but I have been dying to explain."

"Explain away!" Heinz insisted energetically. He slowly approached the figure and his army of mind-controlled guards as he spoke. He passed Perry without sparing him a glance.

He continued, trying not to let his voice waver,

"I mean, something to transmit that kind of signal to so many people would need to be incredibly powerful, but you would also need to keep it near you at all times," Heinz prodded.

"Well, I won't go into the details," the evil-doer blushed at another taking an interest in his work, "but it's quite simple really. I keep it all powered through my watch right here!" He held up his wrist. On it, was a massive chunk of metal with numerous controls all over it, "I am able to control the minds of each of my subjects with the simple press of a button!"

"Well it's a shame I won't be able to learn more before the obvious, taking over the tri-state-area and all that fuss," Heinz replied, acting as disappointed as possible by the prospect. Fear was gnawing at his chest but he refused to give in. He couldn't afford to if he wanted this plan to succeed.

He confidently reached out for a handshake and- caught up in the moment- the villain did the same.

Heinz grabbed he man's hand tightly and, with his other, produced a small, handheld -inator out from his pocket.

The -inator didn't have much of a name nor did it function at all like it was supposed to. Heinz hadn't NECESSARILY counted it as a gadget because it wasn't intended for Owca work nor evil. It was, simply, SUPPOSED to recharge the team's communications devices. However, it didn't work yet and instead, one blast from it had overheated Perry's phone so greatly that it melted on the spot just a few days prior. Perry had blatantly shunned him for several hours afterwards, so the incident was still fresh in the scientist's mind.

Sure enough, Heinz's scheme worked perfectly. The moment the -inator's blast connected with the bracelet, it began to overheat.

"Ah! Hot!" The villain immediately panicked. He unlatched the watch and tossed it to the ground. He rubbed his wrist with his other hand, relieved, and watched the bracelet crackled and spark until it became a puddle of half-melted medal.

The evil man let out a sigh of relief before he opened his eyes once more to see a cunning smile beaming away on his enemy's face.

"Oh.... damn...." he realized.

Heinz punched him square in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

The guards who had been under the villain's control immediately became aware of their surroundings and asked each other what was going on to little avail.

By the time Heinz made it back to his team, Harry was holding a barely conscious Perry upright. The black band fell from his hat and softly to the floor.

Karen aggressively smashed it under her boot.

Heinz ignored everything happening around him and focused on the gently-opening blue eyes of a particular secret agent. His long, boney fingers carefully cupped under Perry's sharp square jaw.

"Are you okay?"

Perry gave a weak thumbs up with one hand and then shakily stepped up to throw his arms over Heinz's shoulders. The scientist's long arms caught him and his tall frame leaned down to hold Perry so tightly Heinz was almost worried he would crush the smaller man. After a moment, Heinz felt Perry smile as the famous agent buried his face against his old nemesis's neck.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stick to my gadgets from now on."

Perry gently shook with silent laughter and replied by hugging Heinz even tighter.

Heinz let out a small breath and lowered his head onto Perry's shoulder. He chuckled with relief of his own, "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume you agree."

[imagining-sio]

Red Blood & A Heart of Gold V

Summary: shit goes down and I thought the gif was funny

Jason Todd x reader

Chapter Five

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The party was going great. I was silently judging everyone as they clearly showed evidence that they were alcoholic assholes. Many of the women were A, desperate to give Wayne their number, and B, either way too old, or too young to do so.

No word from Gordon on my earpiece, which was good. Until the signal ceased entirely. I ushered Mr. Wayne to the side of the room as I tried to figure what was wrong with the earpiece.

That’s when it all went to shit.

A violent, wild spray of bullets echoed throughout the ballroom. Men appeared at every stair well and were spaced out evenly on the balcony above. This was not how it was supposed to turn out.

“Ladies and Gentlemen will you please shut the fuck up!” Black Mask stood at the podium onstage. He took the microphone in his hand, standing upon stage, flanked by four gunmen behind him. He stood out among the other masked men due to his White suit and ebony mask. His gloves matched the color of his mask. No one in the entire room wore a white suit, making him stand out like a sore thumb.

A tense silence grew over the room. Many couples were huddling together out of fear.

“Thank you. Now you are probably wondering why I’ve decided to crash this boring party. But I personally could use a little boring.” he continued.

I kept Wayne close, making sure that he was within arm’s reach. We were at the back of the crowd, which was by the kitchen doors. I kept a hand on his back as I peered behind us, we were just under the balcony, where a goon stood.

“On my signal you run into the kitchen,” I said to him, subtly pulling my pistol out.

“What?”

“Just, do as I say Mr. Wayne. When I say run, you run through the kitchen until you get into the street, call the police; and tell them what’s happening. Do you understand?”

He nodded with fear in his eyes. I flicked the safety off my weapon as Black Mask kept monologue-ing. I crept under the shadow of the balcony, ever so slowly to make sure that the goon directly above me could not see me move. I looked back at the billionaire bachelor mouthing “run”. He nodded, crawling on all fours into the open kitchen door before getting up to his feet and running. I noticed that some of the other hostages had watched the wealthy man run into the kitchen.

I held a hand out to stop them. I motioned for them to slow down and to crawl on all fours, slowly. Carefully, more and more people were escaping through the kitchen doors.

“Hey!” a goon shouted, spouting a spray of bullets my way. I ducked, covering a wealthy woman crawling before peaking over the top of the table to shoot the goon. The shot hit the man as he reloaded his weapon, causing him to fall from over the rail. I whirled around and shot the goon directly above me before he had a chance to shoot. He fell onto one of the round tables, his finger still on the trigger, causing a barrage of bullets toward Black Mask. People scattered in all directions, running for their lives to the nearest possible exit. Through the midst of all the chaos, the conductor of the entire thing locked eyes with me through his skull shaped masked.

He pointed directly at me and ordered his men to open fire.

“Shit!” I sprinted to the nearest cover, which for me was under one of the round tables. In doing so, I dropped my pistol. I was quickly pulled out by my foot, revealing a goon who was very angry with my recent actions. I used my free leg to kick him in the face, allowing me to get to my feet. I punched the man in the gut several times before kneeing him in the skull. As soon as the man was down, another tackled me. I rolled, making sure the man rolled past me in order for me to get him off of me. He swung his leg, swiping mine out from under me, making me fall on my ass. I shoved my foot in his face several times, but he grabbed my ankle and twisted it, making me shout in pain. I grabbed a champagne flute and threw it at him. As he recoiled in agony from the alcohol burning his eyes, I handcuffed him to the table before knocking him out.

I stood up gingerly, making sure that no one else was around. The crowd was still running around, but there were far less of them than before, which was relieving that they had gotten out safe. I reached under the table to grab my pistol before peaking over the table once more. Just I peeked my head over, a man fell onto the table I was hiding under. I yelped in fright, backing away from the unconscious man frantically. I looked up from the balcony from where he fell, spotting a familiar figure beating multiple goons to a pulp before shooting them at point blank range. Where he shot them I had no view of from the low vantage point I stood in.

“You never know when to stop do you?” Black Mask hollered at the Red Hood from just a few feet away.

“I’m sure women tell you that all the time!” Red shot back as he easily threw someone over the balcony a few feet away. I shot a few rounds toward Black Mask, causing the man to duck in fright. He shot back upright, easily spotting me before I ducked down behind a table.

“Nice of you to join us detective! I have to say, your reputation precedes you!” He shouted across the room, his personal guard spreading out on both of his flanks. This night just kept getting difficult for me. I held my pistol with an iron grip, my white knuckles were shaking in fear.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’d show up to a place with class!” I hollered back, doing my best to keep my composure. I looked around for something, anything that could get me out of this mess. I made sure to stay under the height of the tables while I crawled to the nearest exit.

“Oh you wound me so!” he feigned hurt, placing a gloved hand over his chest.

“I think that you and I both know that this can’t go on forever, sweetheart. I’d hate to ruin that nice suit of yours.” his voice echoed through the room, which had now gone eerily silent.

“I dunno; I was just starting to enjoy this picnic,” I spoke, my sarcasm echoing throughout the room,

“I think we both know you’re outgunned little girl.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

“As much as I enjoy the conversation; I’m afraid I’m gonna have to kill you now, darling.”

Just as I made a move to try and shoot him once more, maybe even my last shot in my lifetime; a figure tackled me from the side, causing the both of us to skid into the kitchen. I immediately recognized the red helmet of the man on top of me.

As the kitchen doors closed a violent spray of bullets echoed through the ballroom of the museum. Glass rained down from the small porthole in the steel door. He remained over me, shielding me from any glass shards or ricocheting projectiles. One of his gloved hands cradled the back of my head while the other held my waist against him. He lifted his head, leaving a small amount of room between us.

“You okay?” I could only nod my head.

“Find them!” Black Mask shouted from behind the door. Hood lifted himself off of me and began to barricade the entrance into the kitchen. I too got up and tried to help, although I was not as strong as he was. I stuck a measly chair under the doorknob, while he somehow dragged an entire shelf in front of the door, rendering my chair and efforts moot.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” he took my hand as we raced out of the main room of the kitchen.

“I had him!” I tried to pry from his grip, even though it was futile.

“This isn’t up for debate, (Y/N)!” His voice sounded pressed.

“I don’t take orders from a murdering vigilante!” I shot back.

“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder!”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“You asked for it, Jones.” he grumbled, swiftly turning heel. He wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifting me off the ground like I was paper. Just as he stood up I kneed him in the chin; not only causing him to drop me, but his helmet to fly off. I grabbed his helmet off the ground, chucking it at his head before running back toward the main ballroom.

As I entered the kitchen again. Three of Black Mask’s men had broken through the barricade. I skidded to a halt in order to stop myself from barreling into them.

“Boys.” I sized them up. I noticed next to me on the table was a cast iron pan. Since I was without a weapon I instinctively snatched, holding it like baseball bat.

One of the three men launched themselves at me. I swung with all the might I could possibly muster up. A loud pang echoed as I hit the man across the head, so hard that the pan broke off its handle. The goon fell to the tile floor, out cold. the other two men looked down at him, then me, and then each other. I wasn’t down to wait for them to form any sort of plan.

I beamed the handle at one goon’s head as I attacked the other. I kicked the left goon’s knee sideways, simultaneously elbowing him in the face. As he fell I smashed his head into the wall. The right goon, whom I had thrown the pan handle at put me in a chokehold. I planted my feet on the wall in front of me launching us into the table behind us. However, his hold did not waiver. I searched for anything that could get me out of the chokehold, as I was quickly losing oxygen. I tried to pry my hand in between my throat and his arm, but he caught on to what I was trying to do, grabbing my hand and pinning it behind his other arm.

I flung my legs up in the air, yanking myself onto the ground; taking the goon with me. I flipped the man over me, grabbing whatever strewn object I could get my hands on and throwing it at him. That object happened to be a plate this time around. It shattered upon impact, but the man remained undeterred. He easily got back up to his feet, grabbing me by my hair.

“You’ll pay for that you little bitch.”

“Yeah; well fuck you too.” I spat back.

I punched him in the throat, making him gasp for air. I grabbed the back of his head and sent it directly into the metallic table behind me; instantly knocking him out.

I panted, surveying the damage I had caused. My throat burned from the chokehold, and the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. My side still hurt from all of the exertion I had endured the whole night. I was actually proud of myself for not getting killed, and everyone getting out safely.

That was, until I felt a pressure behind my back. That and the cocking of a gun.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, detective.” Black Mask spoke from behind me.

“I’m surprised you would get your hands dirty.” I shot back at him, only for him to shove the pistol further on my back.

“Maybe I’m getting tired of you playing hard to get.” He said with a sinister tone.

“You touch her one more time; I will make you wish you weren’t born.” Red hood, (with his helmet back on), appeared from the side, brandishing his own weapon toward the masked leader of an organized crime ring. Black Mask yanked me against him, moving the pistol from my back to my head.

“Wow; had no idea you had a possessive streak in ya, Red.” Mask chuckled, finding the situation amusing.

“She’s not involved in this,” Red was radiating anger, clear as day.

“Really? The police detective tasked with arresting me is not involved? What kind of horseshit are you selling me Hood?”

“This is between you and me! Now; let. Her. Go!” He pulled out his second pistol, only causing Black Mask to nudge the pistol harder against the side of my head.

“I dunno, I’m starting to see why you like her.” the man retorted, flicking the safety off. He placed his free arm around my stomach, drawing circles over it. I cringed at the touch, trying deperately to get out of his grip. Hood growled form underneath the helmet, his grip hardening upon the pistols. There was a tension as thick as ice throughout the room. No one dared to move; or breathe for that matter. I was quivering inside, but I was not about to neither Black Mask or Red know that. Then a very stupid idea came to mind.

An extremely stupid idea.

I threw my head back at Black mask, head-butting him as I hard as I possibly could. I heard a distinct crack, most likely from the mask itself. The man yelped in pain, clutching his face as blood poured out from beneath the black mask. I ducked down to let Hood shoot several rounds, one hit the sprinkler system causing water to spray everywhere. He threw a smoke bomb on the ground and grabbed my arm, yanking me up to my feet.

This time he actually threw me over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” I battered his back, but he kept running. His silence is what scared me most. I tried my best to pry out of his grip, but his arm was firmly across the back of my where my thighs met my ass. He easily ascended the stairwell two steps at a time.

“Red, you can put me down now,” I said, worry lacing through my voice. He remained silent. I couldn’t tell his expression under the bright tomato colored helmet of his but I doubt it was a pleasant one. We reached the rooftop of the museum, and one could easily here the police sirens from the street down below. Red set me down gently on my feet before he slammed the metal door so hard I felt the echo.

“Red?”

“Are you alright?” he cupped my cheeks, surveying if I had attained any wounds.

“I-I’m fine, Red,” I said to him, taking his hands within my own. He stared at me through his helmet before backing away. He began pacing running his hands over his helmet as if it was supposed to be his hair.

“Red?”

“Are you insane!” his voice boomed, making me back away a few steps. He yanked his helmet off of his head, revealing his angered expression paired with the domino mask.

“Do you realize you could have gotten yourself killed?! You’d think it would be you to realize that you can’t throw your life away!”

“You’re one to talk! I was doing my job! This isn’t a hobby for me, Red. It’s my duty to make sure people are safe, and if it costs me my life; then so be it!”

“You have people who care about you! What do you think will happen when they find out you aren’t coming home!”

“Why the fuck do you care!?” I shouted before continuing.

“You’re the one who’s been killing people! You don’t think that the people you murder have people they care about? You have no right to explain to me on what I can and cannot do!” I angrily approached him, making sure to show that I was not afraid of him as I poked my finger in his chest. I looked him dead in the eyes. I could hear him seethe, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. He snatched my wrist in his iron grip, like a bear trap. I was useless to try to get out of it.

Thunder rumbled above in the night sky, an accurate analogy to our current situation. Hood sighed, the cold air causing his breath to steam, falling flush against my cheeks. His grip softened from its iron grip to a much gentler caress against the back of my hand.

“I’m tired of losing the people I care about.” He spoke softly, just above a whisper. His throat bobbed, contemplating if he should continue.

“I’ve lost people too, Red.” I said softly, taking his hand within my own this time.

He ducked his head down, taking a breath before looking back at me. His mask did a good job of disguising his expression but not by much. He looked as if he was pleading for me to either stop or for me to continue. I couldn’t think of anything else to possibly say, all I could do was caress his hand as he did mine.

The rain pelted the rooftop, soaking us to the bone.

“I’m sorry.” Red spoke, leaning his forehead upon my own; “I didn’t consider how you felt. I just wanted you to be safe, Laura.”

“Just don’t do it again okay, Red,” I said softly, allowing myself to indulge the moment, a small yet present smile falling upon my lips. It was as if we knew each other for a lifetime, like we have had the conversation a hundred times over. It felt like home.

I inhaled a deep breath upon this revelation, quickly removing myself from the moment.

“(Y/N)?” Red asked.

“You need to leave.” I said looking back toward the door. I checked my phone, seeing numerous texts and missed calls from both Jim and Babara.

“(Y/N)-,” he pleaded. I picked his helmet up and shoved it in his chest.

“If you want to keep this gig you need to go now.” I said firmly. He held the helmet in his hands, but his eyes were trained on me.

“This is the last time I do anything for you, understand? Next time we meet; I won’t hesitate to arrest you.” I gnawed my lip, it was more so for me to tell myself that than to threaten him. I rubbed my arms in a desperate attempt to keep warm. I watched as he walked up to me, hemlet in hand. He pursed his lips alomst contemplating his next move. He leaned down and pressed his lips upon my forehead. I leaned into the sensation, before checking myself back into reality again.

“Please, go,” I said sadly. Tears welling in my eyes.

“I’ll be in touch.” He put his helmet on running over to the ledge of the building.

“No you won’t.” I said under my breath.

————————————————————————

[oselatra]

Hypocrisy

The SHOT Show (Shooting, Hunting and Outdoor Trade) recently took place in Las Vegas, despite the fact that 58 people were murdered and 851 were injured in a mass shooting there mere months ago. It seems in poor taste.

Hypocrisy

The SHOT Show (Shooting, Hunting and Outdoor Trade) recently took place in Las Vegas, despite the fact that 58 people were murdered and 851 were injured in a mass shooting there mere months ago. It seems in poor taste. Even more distasteful was the fact that Arkansas Governor Hutchinson attended to help gun manufacturers drum up more customers. But there's no need to worry about the safety of Hutchinson or the gun dealers in Vegas. It's not just gun safety advocates who know that guns don't make us safer; these firearm manufacturers know it, too. The SHOT Show was practically a gun-free zone. Per their website, "NO personal firearms or ammunition allowed. Only firearms on display by exhibitors whose firing pins have been removed (and have been inspected by SHOT Show Safety Advisors) will be permitted on the show floor." These firearms experts are happy to make money off of our tragedies, but clearly know better than to put themselves in the line of fire. It's appalling that our governor signed a bill in 2017 allowing loaded guns into bars and on our college campuses, which are two of the very last places guns should ever be. And it's even more appalling that Hutchinson enjoyed a level of safety and peace of mind at the SHOT Show that he is denying to public college students in our state. Has there ever been a more blatant display of hypocrisy?

Austin Bailey

Little Rock

Brother's keeper

I read the article "Lock Up Last" (Jan. 11). Thanks for all the information on a good program.

It made me angry that no increase in funds had been given in 20 years. Dedicated staff persons, judges and probation officers have helped many youths. I commend each of them for their service to build better individuals with personal attention and guidance.

Benton and Washington counties have large corporate offices that could contribute to the entire system. All would benefit greatly. State legislators have the ability to request additional funds, too.

Be your brother's keeper for his son or daughter. He would do the same for you. Giving a hand up enriches each soul.

Anita Gatzke

Little Rock

End of FEMA?

Hurricane season wrapped up by the end of November. The last days to file Federal Emergency Management Agency claims for hurricane damage by Hurricane Irma were in November. So now that hurricane season is over it is time once again for Republicans in Congress to try to cut funding for FEMA before hurricane season starts again at the end of May.

Why do Republicans want to cut FEMA? The main reason is because Republicans hate President Carter, the Democrat who ushered in the new agency back in 1979. Republicans hate Carter because his attempt to rescue a bunch of American hostages from Iran was thwarted when one of Carter's rescue choppers hit an airplane. Anyway, the pertinent reason is because Carter expanded bureaucracy by creating another federal agency that wrested control of disaster funding from the hands of Congress.

Why is FEMA so important? Sometimes, legislators such as U.S. Sen. Tom Cotton vote against disaster relief. Cotton voted against relief for Superstorm Sandy back in 2013. Congressman French Hill recently voted against relief for hurricane victims in Puerto Rico. FEMA is a more reliable source of relief than Congress. But all good things must end, and so it may be with FEMA. Republicans are hot to eliminate the agency.

Arkansan James Lee Witt said, "As director of FEMA, I responded to 350 presidential disaster declarations. Disaster responses are about people, not politics."

Gene Mason

Jacksonville

An analogy

Recently I had what NPR calls a driveway moment listening to a young lady named Joy Buolamwin talking with Guy Raz about facial recognition and skin color. Buolamwin is a graduate researcher at the MIT Media Lab. Two years earlier she was experimenting with artificial intelligence and facial recognition. She discovered that the software was not able to identify her black face. Only when she put on a white mask did the computer respond. Why didn't the computer detect her face? As Buolamwin explained, computer vision uses machine-learning techniques and the training was done with a set of faces that were not diverse, preventing detection in some cases. Buolamwin returned recently from Hong Kong, where she toured local startups, one of which used a social robot outfitted with facial recognition. Imagine her feeling when the demo worked on everyone in the group except her. It seems the software has not been improved. The main thrust of the interview was to point out the problems as police departments add facial recognition to their crime-fighting toolbox. But possibly misidentifying criminals was not what kept me sitting in my truck until the story ended. The following analogy was playing in my brain. Little Rock schools are as deficient as facial identification software. They lack diversity and we seem hell-bent on keeping them that way. The lack of diversity causes skewed results just as it does in computer facial recognition. Common sense and experience tell one that rejection hurts deeply. Rejecting thousands of our little children causes harm, sometimes lasting, to their self-image and heavily influences behavior. We have gone out of our way to create places for preferred children to attend school while turning our backs on thousands of others, forcing them to go where told. That cruel, harmful mindset prevents diversity and helps form the calloused, criminal minds of some youth.   Not long ago a man holding the highest religious office in Arkansas gave a sermon praising parochial schools. He inserted "pagan" for the word "public" when he used the phrase "public schools." For example, he was proud to tell everyone how far he rode his bike past the "pagan schools" to get to his parochial school when he was a child. Sadly, he showed no remorse when confronted at the end of the service.  Consider the thinking of an esteemed social activist living over 2,000 years ago and ask what he would do for the children in Little Rock. He would say, "Merge the private schools with public schools in such a way so as not to traumatize anyone during the process. Keep children together for as long as possible in the best facilities possible and above all with the best educators possible. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited." (Romans 12:16)

Richard Emmel

Little Rock

An open letter to President Trump

News reports state that in a recent meeting you wondered aloud why so many people interested in immigrating to the United States are from countries that do not even have a modern sewage system and public restrooms with actual toilets. Why, you reportedly asked, does not the United States have more immigrants from nations like Norway?

Persons from nations dreadfully impoverished by overpopulation, Western colonialism and corruption in their own governments are eager to escape their indescribably dire circumstances. For about 125 years, the world has perceived the United States as the place to do that. In your father's lifetime, even countries like Norway were sufficiently uncomfortable and lacking in opportunities for betterment that many people left. However, in the past 100 years the Norwegians have made many improvements, so many that there is reason to question whether the United States could possibly offer a better quality of life.

And, in fact, the United States no longer can. Beginning with Ronald Reagan's presidency, government policies have impelled the United States toward overpopulation, colonialism (by global corporations) and corruption in government setting her on a slippery slope to misery, rather soon to become commensurate with that of the nations you derided.

Please, seek answers to this very important question you have asked.

Pamela Gibson

Little Rock

From the web

In response to an Arkansas Blog post about Sen. Tom Cotton telling constituents to never contact him again:

I have never heard of an elected government official sending out cease and desist letters to the people who elected him to office and whose salary, insurance, etc. Arkansas taxpayers foot the bill for. Also, when disabled people showed up at his office in Little Rock and Washington, D.C., with questions about health care, he gave orders to his office to have them arrested by the police. Why hasn't Tom trained his office staff to answer constituents' questions on the phone or in person? They could read off a script he types up for them. I don't think Tom has plans to come back to Arkansas. Maybe we could withhold his paycheck until he learns some manners. Not much of a threat since he now works for big donors with big money. I just wish he didn't have Arkansas attached to his name.

Now that FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe is retiring early, does that leave an opening for Tom? I have read five different reasons for McCabe leaving.

ShineOnLibby

Hypocrisy

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/lucky-season-13-kicks-off-supernatural-lost-found/

Lucky Season 13 Kicks Off for Supernatural Lost and Found

Supernatural season premiere days are special. There’s so much anticipation and excitement; I swear it must be visible from space! In the early years of the Show, there was a much smaller group of fans who squee together on the internet, but even then we were all so passionate that the feeling was incredible. Now the rest of the world has caught up – now there’s a special issue of Entertainment Weekly, there’s Jensen on Live, there’s Jared on Kimmel, there are interviews and videos and even the network tweets about the show coming back! That excitement that has always been there is magnified, but the sense of shared passion that has always been there too is just the same. Not every season premiere has been one of my favorite episodes, but this one I loved. The opening montage was excellent, set to the melancholy ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica as we remember how desolate and alone the Winchesters are as the season begins. The new title card is equally awesome – I actually gasped out loud when I saw it. (I watched with two kids and a dog, all with strict instructions to be totally silent, so they all grumbled every time I made involuntary noises.) Variety reported that the rating for the premiere held steady averaging a 0.7 rating in adults 18-49 and 2.1 million viewers. That is down only slightly in the key demo but even in total viewers with the Season 12 premiere (0.8, 2.1 million). It is also up compared to the Season 12 average Live+Same Day ratings (0.6, 1.7 million per episode). We open on Dean standing over Cas’ body, and Sam trying to communicate with Jack. In other words, right where we left off. Which made me very happy indeed. The times when the season premiere has started with a time jump have never sat well with me. I want to see EVERYTHING, Show; I don’t want you to cut things out! This should be a surprise to no one at this point, but the cinematography was gorgeous. An early shot of the boys racing down the road in the Impala is especially beautiful and probably as complex to film – the camera behind then beside then finally in front of the car. I’m sure that wasn’t easy to pull off, but it really really worked. Sometimes Supernatural looks more like a feature film than a television show on the CW, which is a credit to all the talented crew members who make that magic happen. The episode was emotional from the get-go, not just with Dean and Sam’s grief over the loss of Cas and their mother, but also with the new character I didn’t know how I was going to feel about. Alex Calvert did an amazing job portraying Jack, as did Andrew Dabb with writing him. The second he looked at Sam hopefully and asked ‘Father?’ my heart did a painful little squeeze. Calvert plays Jack with such innocence, and such hopefulness, that I couldn’t help but be drawn in and start rooting for him. Even when Dean, shoot-first-ask-questions-later-guns-blazing, shoots at him and the boys end up tossed across the room and unconscious. While Sam and Dean are out, Jack takes off in search of his father – and food – sans clothes, which makes for some amusing moments at the local pirate themed fast food joint. It’s not every day a naked young man steps up to the pirate statue outside and tries to order a father.   Even in such an emotional episode, Supernatural showed its trademark ability to combine humor with seriousness and sadness. The fast food joint has a menu which not-exactly-motivated employee Clark (Rob Raco, who provided some much needed comic relief in this episode) has altered so that ‘butt’ appears in each item. I feel like I should be ashamed to say this amused me greatly. And naked Jack conversing with the pirate statue was pretty priceless too. Clark calls his mom, who is also the sheriff, and I’m once again reminded that I love Supernatural for so many reasons – including that it populates its world with a whole bunch of kickass female sheriffs. This one can stay too! She shows Jack kindness, and he calms down and opens up a little – in fact, he and Clark end up sharing way too many candy bars that Jack is able to magically zap out of the vending machine. Jack: I love nougat. Oh Jack, I’m not going to be able to hate you at all, am I? Meanwhile, Dean and Sam wake up (in unison, as the Winchesters do everything), Dean from a nightmare about his mother burning. The brothers disagree about how to deal with Jack. Dean, predictably, wants to kill the monster. Sam, predictably, isn’t sure Jack is a monster. This is the dynamic Jensen and Jared told us about at Comic-Con, that Sam and Dean would disagree about how to deal with Jack. Of course, Jared and Jensen made it much more interesting than it sounded. Dean is so full of rage and has no outlet for it other than trying to take down Jack since he can’t take down Lucifer. Jared shows us Sam’s struggle to figure out whether to be angry or afraid or empathic with Jack – Sam, more than anyone, knows what it’s like to be judged by your blood instead of who you are or what you do. He’s been pre-judged a freak or a monster because of his own blood, even by his brother – and he knows just how painful that is. Sam isn’t willing to jump to that sort of conclusion, and Jared lets us see the emotionality in Sam’s struggle. Sam also believes strongly in redemption – his own and anyone else’s, including Jack. He wants Jack to have that chance, at the very least. The episode shows us how far the Winchesters have come too, because (as Jensen kept assuring me every time I worried about it these past few months), the brothers disagreeing does NOT mean the brothers being angry at each other or any less bonded. They’re talking to each other (mostly), and they’re laying out their opinions on Jack calmly while listening to what the other one is saying too. That’s real progress for Sam and Dean! All this as they’re both nearly overcome with grief over their recent losses. Not too shabby, boys. The brothers also don’t entirely agree on what happened to their mother. Sam wants to hold onto hope that she’s surviving in the AU; Dean insists there’s no way she’s not dead. He’s learned – and this broke my heart to hear – that good things don’t happen to the Winchesters. They don’t get a break. So he doesn’t expect one. Cas and Crowley and Mary, Dean believes, are dead and gone. The depth of that loss is monumental. Disagreements aside, Sam and Dean soon have more immediate problems to deal with as they pursue Jack because a trio of really nasty angels is on Jack’s trail too – and they are not at all fans of the Winchesters either. (I was actually glad the drunk girl turned out to be a dick of an angel because the whole character was so grating. I realized part way through that scene that she probably was an angel or a demon, but that was the only thing I really anticipated all night, so I count that as a win). Anyway, the angels are also not fans of Cas and don’t seem to care that he’s dead, so suffice it to say I was really rooting for Jack and the Winchesters when the big fight scene with fake-drunk angel and her colleagues in the jail went down. But first, Sam manages to tase a freaked out (and thus dangerous) Jack who is overwhelmed by angry angel radio in his head (that the tasing worked was quite a surprise to me and I’m not sure it makes a ton of sense, but whatever). The Winchesters and Jack all get locked up by the competent lady sheriff (well played by Andrea Menard). The sheriff had already endeared herself to me by admonishing one of her deputies that “there’s no such thing as weird. Everyone is normal in their own way.” She already realizes Jack’s not entirely your run of the mill guy after his fingerprints turn up wonky (and he can make candy fall out of vending machines), so when Dean tells her the truth about monsters, she doesn’t freak out – she believes him. Sheriff to Dean: So what, are you some kind of superhero? Me: YES!!! Dean: I’m just a guy doin’ a job. Meanwhile, Sam and Jack are locked up together. Jared played this scene brilliantly. Sam is locked up with Lucifer’s son, and considering all those years of trauma in the cage locked up with Lucifer, this has got to be an incredibly terrifying situation for Sam. You could sense his fear, see it in every subtle movement, every nervous gesture. And yet Sam pushes through his fear, trying to communicate with Jack and not assume the worst of him. Padalecki makes all this thoroughly believable, which is no mean feat for such complicated emotions. Oh Sam, so scared and yet so brave. Sigh. There’s a provocative close up of Sam framed behind the bars of the jail that took my breath away. You can see so much in his expression, thanks to Padalecki’s acting chops. Enter the trio of angel dicks, who hold the sheriff’s son hostage and order her to kill Dean if she wants her son to live. Miriam and Dean engage in some verbal sparring first, which turns poignant when she says that Jack can do almost anything. You can see the moment when Dean thinks that might mean bringing people (or angels) back from the dead, because Ackles can show us that in a split second, and then she brutally quashes it, assuring Dean that Castiel is 100% dead – and that it’s his fault. OUCH. Cue a big fight scene, this time with fists and angel blades instead of words. Carlena Britch (fake-drunk-fries-loving angel girl) tweeted that she and Jensen did their own fight scenes, and that it was awesome – even though she fractured her thumb! You can tell that they did indeed do the fight scenes themselves in some of the screen caps, which capture Dean thrown to the floor, his bowlegs coming in handy (no, he’s not in the middle of busting a dance move though he’s athletic enough to look like it) and even his momentary WTF expression as Miriam breaks a table in the middle of their fight. Sam and Dean take quite a beating, then Sam shows off his smarts and manages to draw an angel-banishing sigil on the floor with his own blood (OUCH). That takes out two dick angels but not fake-drunk-girl angel. The sheriff’s son gets stabbed with an angel blade, which made me scream because even in the small amount of time we got with him, Rob Raco made me care about Clark. And the fake-drunk-girl angel finally stabs Jack with an angel blade. Which does absolutely nothing. Woah. Sam gets to subsequently take her out, which made me jump up and yell YES! GO SAMMY! (Which is a credit to Carlena Britch making me loathe her!) Goodbye dick angels, and hello to Dean realizing that even if he’s not a Jack fan, the fact that he has so much power might be useful. Or at the very least, they shouldn’t let him just wander around and be a threat to people if he gets scared.  So for the time being at least, Sam and Dean agree that they should take Jack with them – “home”. (I get all wibbly every time they talk about their home.) I found myself emotionally invested in the Jack story line, which was a surprise. But I was even more invested in the other emotional theme of this episode and this season, which is loss. A familiar theme for the Winchesters, who have endured more loss than most people do in ten lifetimes. Both Jared and Jensen were outstanding in their depiction of the emotional trauma the boys have once again endured. Jensen shows us the depth of Dean’s loss as Sam suggests that before they burn Castiel’s body, they try to get God to bring him back. “Don’t you think I already tried?” Dean demands, and then we see how he bloodied his knuckles back at the pirate fast food place. He leaves Sam and the Impala and hides out behind the building to make a plaintive, desperate plea to Chuck – or God. I think just about anyone who has been watching this Show all along recognized the similarity of this scene to that iconic scene in ‘Home’ when Dean leaves Sam and goes around the corner of a building to hide so he can call his Dad and beg for some help. He’s lost, he’s scared, and he needs his father – and he gets no answer. This scene, 12 seasons later, brilliantly echoes that heartbreaking moment. I will never get over the way Ackles shows us the cracks in Dean’s emotional armor and lets us see his pain even as Dean himself fights to keep it hidden.  The scene itself is gorgeous; Dean silhouetted in front of a beautiful lake and mountains and sky. At times, when he’s vulnerable like this, Dean Winchester still looks like a little boy, and my heart just breaks for him. You can see the sliver of hope he’s desperately clinging to at first, as he raises his eyes to the heavens. He demands that God bring them back, bring them all back. Dean: We’ve lost everything. And now you’re gonna bring ‘em back. Okay? You’re gonna bring back Cas, you’re gonna bring back Mom. You’re gonna bring them all back. All of them. Even Crowley. That was when I lost it. Dean asking for Crowley to come back, just wanting so much to go back to the way things had been, for some reason that pushed me over the edge. Maybe it’s because I know Sam Smith and Misha are indeed back, and Mark Sheppard is not. That somehow makes the loss of Crowley so much more REAL. We really have, in every sense of the word, lost him. And that’s when I lost it. Dean, lip wobbling and eyes brimming, punches his fist into the side of the building, wood splintering around his bleeding knuckles. I sat, lip wobbling and eyes brimming, trying not to sob out loud in front of kids and dog. And when Dean knows that nobody is coming to help – that Mary is really gone and Cas is really dead – his stoic resignation is almost more painful to see than his desperation or his rage. That familiar bowlegged profile, but his head hung low in defeat. I couldn’t even breathe right then, the pain was so acute, seeing Dean Winchester like that. I wanted to shake my fist at Chuck too, demand that he come back right the hell now and fix things for the Winchesters. That resignation is evident in the closing scenes. The boys and Jack return to the little cabin where it all went down. You can see the trepidation on Dean’s face as they drive up, as he thinks about what he has to face inside that house. Dean stands over Castiel’s body, pulls down the sheet to look at him once more, then tugs it back up almost angrily, struggling to contain his emotions. He rips down a curtain, tears it in half, and begins the work that he’s done so many times before. Binding the body of someone he loved, carrying them to the pyre he’s split the wood for and built with his own hands.  There’s a moment when Dean almost loses it, and the camera is tight on Ackles’ face as he leans over Castiel’s body, just a split second pause and a half-choked back sob, and then he grits his teeth and gets on with his work. My god, that moment nearly broke me. It was so quick and so subtle, but so powerful. Meanwhile, in the bedroom upstairs, Jack faces his mother’s body. He gingerly touches her foot, sadness, and confusion on his face. She taught him a lot even before he was born, so his loss feels real – as does the loss of Cas for him as well. Because it turns out the father Jack is looking for? Is not Lucifer at all. It’s Castiel. That’s who Kelly wanted to raise her child, and Cas had agreed. It’s Cas who Jack believed would protect him. That reveal was unexpected, and that made it all the more emotional. In fact, Jack reminds me of early seasons Cas with his naivete and combination of intelligence, power and literal interpretations of pretty much everything. He certainly seems more like Cas than his actual father, Lucifer. As the boys and Jack watch the pyre burn, I found my heart was still in my throat. The music in this scene was sweeping, epic – like something that you’d hear in a Lord of the Rings film, and yet absolutely perfect. Sam, tears in his eyes, tries to help Jack grieve. Jared shows us so much pain in Sam, just with those few words, just with that look on his face. He’s lost his mother all over again, and his friend. Sam: You say you’re sorry. You say goodbye. And Dean stands silent, bruised and battered, his face bloody. But it was his eyes that destroyed me – so chillingly blank. The eyes of someone who has endured too much trauma, too much grief, too many losses. He looked despairing and hopeless, and my breath caught at seeing all that pain on his face. And you can see the moment his training and determination kick in, when he pushes it all down and squares his jaw and forces himself to go on, to do what he has to do. And maybe that is the most painful moment of all. Damn boys. You are all killing me, and it’s only the first episode of the season. I’m used to Jared and Jensen knocking it out of the park week after week, year after year, but big kudos to the casting wizards for Supernatural – once again, they’ve pulled off a miracle with Alex Calvert. Playing opposite Jared and Jensen really shows how good you are, and Calvert kept pace throughout. He showed Jack’s human side endearingly, especially in his scenes with Rob Raco, let us see his vulnerability and longing for the parents he didn’t get to even meet, and yet keeps us just a little bit nervous with that smirk that sometimes looks way too much like Lucifer’s. As the episode ends, Dean is grieving both Cas and his mother, but Sam is reluctant to assume that Mary is dead. And in fact, he’s right. We end with Mary and Lucifer in the AU, with her realizing he’s not going to kill her after all. Which could be so much worse. I feel so lucky, so incredibly grateful, that after watching the premiere of season THIRTEEN of this show I’ve loved for so long that I am still this blown away by it – the quality of everything, from writing to directing to music to cinematography, and the immensely powerful acting of this cast who never ever, no matter how long they’ve been doing this, ever phones it in. Check out next week's episode trailer for 'The Rising Sun' which we can only hope will bring some light into their world. Here’s to Lucky Season 13! Don't forget that Lynn's bestselling book Family Don't End with Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Has Changed Lives makes the perfect stocking stuffer with the upcoming holiday season!

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