#but mostly like i already said i just don’t think the scope of her crimes overlaps

[roobylavender]

I saw your post on your dislike for the Sirens concept, could you expand on why you think comics Selina would not be interested in working with Pamela and Harley? Genuine curiosity.

on a very personal petty level it is kind of hard for me to get over the fact that selina and harley’s first meeting in comics involved harley slitting selina’s throat and drugging her to incite her towards violence 😭 i feel like selina at least at her post-crisis origins was very protective of her personal agency and control and abhorred anyone who would dare override it (and that interaction even ended in her saying as much, as did the book as a whole a few issues later) so while i’m sure you could argue the instability of harley’s mental state played a part in that interaction i’m not sure that selina would so easily overcome her suspicion and distrust

on a more general level though i don’t think selina’s scope of crime really matches up with pamela and harley’s at all. volume two’s a tricky book for me bc there are parts of it i like and parts of it i hate and something that definitely falls into the latter category is this idea that selina is so power hungry as to go to delusional lengths to acquire it and wreak havoc thereby. i imagine writers were trying to maintain her golden/silver age motivation about being the queen of the underworld but i do think more considerations needed to be made in light of her post-crisis revamp and more narrowed focus on survival (and even then selina’s golden/silver age crimes weren’t awful, mostly only cartoonish and silly; her silver age rendition made her murderous for some reason but i would ignore that personally bc her creators argued her mercy distinguished her villainy). it’s true there was a stick-it-to-the-man element that was a part of that revamp and that i’m sure was also partly used to draw the overlap between these three characters, but even then, i think what pamela and harley are willing to engage in is well beyond what selina is

modern selina’s very internally focused. she’s reactive more than she is proactive. ig you could argue she’s as loath to the system as pamela and harley are, but i don’t think she’s intent to waste her time or resources doing more than she needs to to live a comfortable life (so no investment in some impassioned mission statement like pamela, and no investment in over the top, excessive chaos like harley). even beyond that, she’s generally opposed to senseless murder. so overall i kind of fail to see why she would have an interest let alone the energy to engage with both of them. to me she’s very much a one woman show whose walls only occasionally come down bc she meets children who remind her of herself and whom she takes it upon herself to protect. maybe i could be open to her interacting with pamela and harley in a purely civilian context where she faux begrudgingly looks out for them, as she always does with her strays, but i don’t think she’d be interested in committing crimes with them

[ikeromantic]

Reunion

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction - this scene occurs toward the end of Ch. 10. Approx. 2000 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Peace

Waking to the feel of his little one in his arms was, Mitsuhide reflected, the single best way to wake. His body still hurt from a myriad of wounds and he still felt a tiredness that was bone deep. But her warmth and the steady sound of her sleeping breath made any discomfort less. 

He intended to lay there and just enjoy their closeness, but his hands could not help stroking her. Light touches on her belly and sides. Stroking her arms down to her hands. She was all softness and beauty as she made little sounds of pleasure in her sleep. Smiling, Mitsuhide pressed light kisses to the back of her neck and shoulders. 

His little mouse took a sharp breath as his lips found an especially sensitive spot under her ear. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy lidded with desire. She turned to face him, pulling herself close.

Mitsuhide started to say good morning, but she caught his lips in a kiss. It was sweet and slow. Full of yearning and the promise of satisfaction. It would have been so easy to give himself up to it. To her.

Instead, he broke the kiss and took a breath to steady himself. “It is late morning. We need to get up.”

She made an adorable hiss of frustration and then nodded. “Fine. But I’m continuing this discussion with you later.” Then she scooted out from the covers to get dressed.

They were both mostly ready when the door to the room slammed open to reveal a red-faced Hideyoshi. While Mitsuhide had been expecting his arrival, he hadn’t imagined it would begin quite like this. 

“I’m coming in,” Hideyoshi shouted, already stepping into the room.

“We can see that. Could you not shout it?” Mitsuhide quirked an eyebrow. 

Hideyoshi’s eyes traveled around the room, clearly trying to determine what he had - and hadn’t - walked in on. Satisfied, he approached Mitsuhide. “Hold out your hand, you slippery-tongued devil.”

“May I hear what i’m being admonished for first?” Mitsuhide wondered what crime it was that Hideyoshi sought to punish today. And what he intended to do. Slap his hand? Break his fingers? Neither seemed quite . . . mother-hennish enough. 

���No.” Hideyoshi put a fist to his hip. “Now put out your hand.”

The chatelaine watched from the other side of the room. She looked a bit worried.

Mitsuhide was more curious that afraid. Hideyoshi wasn’t often able to confound him but he’d managed this morning. Mitsuhide stuck his hand out. “Very we-” His words caught in his throat as a loop of rope tightened over his wrist. “Ahem. Hideyoshi?”

The other end of the rope was attached to a similar loop around Hideyoshi’s wrist. With a tug, he brought their hands together and then looked at Mitsuhide with a grim smile.

The kitsune warlord had been bound many times in his life. With rope. With iron shackles. In a cage. By need and desperation. But he’d never been tied hand to hand with someone quite like this. “And the purpose of this would be . . .”

“It’s so you don’t run off again.” Hideyoshi brought their bound hands up, gesturing with them. “And in case you’re wondering, we will stay tied like this until we reach Azuchi.”

The chatelaine’s eyes went wide. Not with surprise, but with a sudden frustration. Mitsuhide didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what went through her thoughts right then. Afterall, he dearly wanted to finish their ‘conversation’ too, and preferably without Hideyoshi’s participation.

“Spare me this emotional nonsense, Hideyoshi. I swear to every god in existence that I have no intention of running again. Now. Untie me.” 

Hideyoshi chuckled. “Nice try. But I know you don’t believe in any of those gods. And even if you didn’t, I wouldn’t believe you. You’re just going to have to put up with it, just like me.”

“Are you saying you don’t like being tied to me?” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but tease. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Pffft. After the suffering you’ve put us all through, you should feel bad.” Hideyoshi tugged Mitsuhide forward.

“Hey!” The chatelaine approached the two men as one might come close to growling dogs. Cautiously, but with the intent of getting in the middle of the conflict.

Hideyoshi ignored her protest, glowering at Mitsuhide. “Lord Nobunaga told me everything you were up to.”

“Did he?” Mitsuhide’s smile widened. He doubted even Nobunaga knew the full scope or even guessed at some of his machinations.

“Yeah. And what I want to know is why you think you have to do everything on your own?” Hideyoshi pressed his face close enough to kiss. 

It was, Mitsuhide decided, significantly less pleasant than his little mouse. “I do what is efficient.”

“That - exactly that - is what makes me crazy.” Hideyoshi’s hands darted forward and grabbed Mitsuhide’s collar, lifting him off his feet.

Mitsuhide wanted to ask him why this sort of thing had to be repeated so often. It was unpleasant and mussed his clothes. He refused to be shaken by it though. “You may hit me now. Not only will it soothe your temper, I expect it to be very amusing when I fall and you fall with me.”

“Like punching you would make up for anything!” Though Hideyoshi did look tempted by the offer. “I’m going to do something even worse. I’m going to keep you living - and make sure you spend your whole life making this up to the Oda forces.”

Mitsuhide had to admit, that was a pretty good threat, on balance. Better than the usual from him, anyway. And it was impossible to miss the subtext there - that Hideyoshi wanted him around. Wanted to work with him again, and resented this distance between them. Mitsuhide smiled with a certain gentleness. “You know that if I return, I’ll cause you no end of trouble.”

“I’m used to it.” Hideyoshi’s gruff voice also held a note of tenderness.

They both chuckled and Hideyoshi finally set Mitsuhide back on his feet. He looked almost bashful. “It’s not like I expect you to share all your secrets with me. Just . . . send me a letter or something when you plan to disappear. Alright?”

Mitsuhide knew he couldn’t swear to that, not with any honesty. “I make you no promises.”

“You should! Especially after this mess.” Hideyoshi gave him an exasperated look. He was clearly still angry, but his temper had cooled. 

Thankfully there was no reason to respond. Masamune intervened, coming through the open door as if this was his room. He gave the chatelaine a wink and spoke loudly. “You two arguing again? Knock it off and come eat breakfast!” 

Though the interruption was appreciated, Mitsuhide didn’t appreciate that little . . . flirtatious gesture. And now his little one was practically beaming at Masamune. Hmph.

The one-eyed dragon ducked out of the room only to come back moments later, arms laden with trays of food. He knelt and set them down. “It’s nothing fancy but it’ll put something in our bellies before we leave for Azuchi.” He sat himself down and looked at them expectantly. “Well, come on. Nobunaga has already eaten so we don’t want to keep him waiting. But don’t rush either.”

The chatelaine didn’t need a second invitation. She sat down, eager.

Hideyoshi looked from the food back to Mitsuhide. “Alright. I’m postponing this discussion for Masamune, but only until we finish eating.”

“If that’s what I have to look forward to, then I’d rather starve.” Mitsuhide tugged his arm closer to him, but the gesture stopped short.

“We’ll eat and then we’ll talk,” Hideyoshi frowned. He sounded like a frustrated mother, scolding her teenage child. 

Mitsuhide took a breath to calm himself. This wasn’t the time to become frustrated. He gave Hideyoshi a thin-lipped smile and sat with him. Thanks to the rope, that put his little one across from him, beside Masamune. Unacceptable.

Masamune watched them, his one eyebrow rising. “Are you two . . . are you bound together at the wrist?”

Perhaps another chance to lose the rope. Mitsuhide put on a pitiful expression. “It was horrible, Masamune! I pleaded with Hideyoshi to stop, but he forced me!”

Hideyoshi’s cheeks took on a scarlet hue and for a moment, he seemed tongue-tied. “Never- never describe it like that again.” He coughed. “Masamune, this is to keep track of him on the journey back to Azuchi. He won’t be able to sneak off this time.”

Masamune grinned widely. “Oh? I thought it was just the two of you taking the next step. Glad to hear it’s working out for you!” 

The chatelaine nearly spat her rice ball out as she held in a laugh. 

The crimson spread down Hideyoshi’s face to his neck. “I - did you hear anything I just said?”

Ignoring the outburst, Mitsuhide tugged on the rope at his wrist. “I just realized, I can’t use my chopsticks like this.”

“I’m not taking it off of you,” Hideyoshi said flatly. “No matter what.”

Exactly the response Mitsuhide hoped for. He gave the other warlord a heavy lidded gaze. “Oh, I know that, Hide. I wasn’t asking you to remove it. I was asking you to feed me.” 

“No. I’d rather punch you.”

Mitsuhide held in a chuckle. Hideyoshi was too easy to spin up. Now if he could mold that into a need to untie the rope . . . but this path hadn’t yielded fruit so far and Hide’s temper was starting to show. “Ah, I was only kidding.” He turned to look at his little one. “Would you feed me?” He opened his mouth, waiting.

She blushed, her eyes dropping to her plate. It made Mitsuhide want to kiss her.

“Just ignore him and eat your food,” Hideyoshi snapped.

“If you ignore me, I might cry,” Mitsuhide teased.

The chatelaine took a deep breath. “Alright, look. I’ll feed you - but just because you can’t feed yourself right now, ok?”

“Thank you.” Mitsuhide had only decided to ask her because he thought it would be cute to get her to feed him - and because the gambit had run its course with Hideyoshi. But this new tactic seemed to get under the other warlord’s skin just as well. 

His little mouse held out a bite of pickled beet. 

Mitsuhide ate it delicately from her outstretched chopsticks. There was something sensual about being fed by a lover. Or, there would have been without an audience.

“Hmm,” Masamune grunted. “That’s gonna be time consuming. How ‘bout I feed you while you feed him, lass? Here - open up.” And he put a bit of carrot between her lips. 

Mitsuhide’s eyes went wide and the words came out, instantaneous and uncalculated. “No! If anyone is going to feed her, it will be me.” He snagged a bit of daikon and held it out to her. “Say ahh . . .”

Her surprised look made him want to kiss her again. The way her lips closed over the chopsticks . . . Mitsuhide dearly wished for another few hours alone with her. No, more than a few.

“Hey! Wait a minute! You’re using those chopsticks just fine.” Hideyoshi shouted it, as if he made a surprising discovery.

“Oh am I? It’s a miracle.” Mitsuhide smiled across the table at his little mouse and then clacked his chopsticks at Hide. 

Hideyoshi grimaced, and was clearly coming up with a retort but whatever he thought of never made it out. The chatelaine derailed his train of thought by laughing.

A sound of pure happiness that seemed almost out of place after the night’s battle. And yet, it was joy that healed wounds and laughter that proved you were still alive. Masamune joined her and Mitsuhide could not hold back a chuckle. Even Hideyoshi gave an embarrassed chortle.

When she could speak again, she smiled at the three brightly. “It just feels so good to be together again. Reunited with my family from Azuchi.” 

Next: Interlude - Before the Hunt

[janeykath318]

The Beard Effect (Shieldshock)

Getting invited to the super secret Avengers lair was a pretty big deal to a former “science minion.” The Accords had split the Avengers in half and those who had joined Steve Rogers in refusing to sign it were basically fugitives. It angered Darcy that the people who’d saved earth multiple times were being treated like criminals, just so the government had convenient scapegoats. 

Jane and Darcy were both vocal opponents of the Accords because of the gross human rights violations and as a result, a lot of opportunities suddenly disappeared. 

Jane went about muttering how she planned to portal Ross’s ass into outer space and Darcy was fully on board with that plan. 

Unfortunately, before any portalling could happen, they ended up getting kidnapped again. This wasn’t their first rodeo and they managed to overcome the thugs and hijack their van, but it broke down in the middle of nowhere and the two of them were left stranded, with no way to call for help. 

“What’ll we do now?” Jane asked

“Start walking,” Darcy suggested. “There’s bound to be some kind of civilization around here.”

Jane looked skeptical, but she shrugged and started walking. After an hour or so, they found a small lane that wound up and disappeared into the forest.

“That looks promising,” Jane said hopefully. “A Driveway!”

“Or the lane to a lair of villains or serial killers,” Darcy said, earning herself a glare. 

“It’s starting to get dark, Darce. I think we have to take our chances. I don’t see any other signs of habitation.” 

“True, but don’t come crying to me when an axe murderer is chasing you.” Darcy griped, but she started following the path, which turned out to be much longer than it looked.

“Don’t move!” A voice suddenly hissed from the shadows, stopping both women in their tracks.

“See? I told you!” Darcy crowed triumphantly. 

A figure emerged from the shadows, brandishing a gun, which he quickly holstered after he saw who they were.

“Darcy?”

“Clint?” Darcy exclaimed, recognizing her favorite archer and partner in crime. 

“How in the world did you get here?” Clint asked warily. “No one knows about this place.”

“Honestly, it was a complete accident,” Darcy told him. “We got kidnapped and escaped, but got stranded in the middle of nowhere and started walking, hoping to find other non-shady humans. This driveway looked promising, so here we are.” 

Clint looked very concerned and quizzed them on their captors and where they’d left the van before speaking into his comm. 

“I’ve explained the situation to Cap. He says to bring you up.”

“Steve’s here?” Darcy asked, heart doing a flutter of anticipation.

“Yep,” Clint grinned knowingly. He was well aware of the crush Darcy had on said Captain and used to tease her about it frequently. 

“Shall I tell him you send your love?”

“No!” Darcy nearly shouted, face turning pink. “Just get us safely inside.”

“Whatever you say,” Clint said with a smirk, chuckling to himself as he led them to the plain looking ranch house at the end of the lane. There was another brief discussion over the comms and then they were being ushered inside.

It was the typical plainly furnished basic safe house, but it was cluttered in a well-lived in way. Darcy recognized Wanda, Scott and Sam right away and greeted them all enthusiastically. Then Steve Rogers walked in and put a halt to all coherent thoughts. 

The man was gorgeous to begin with, but he’d let his hair get rather shaggy and—glory of glories—he’d grown a beard. He looked a bit world weary and tired, but he smiled right at her.

“Hi, Darcy, Jane.”

“Hi.” Darcy squeaked out, now doubly overcome from the smile AND the beard. She’d always had a weakness for bearded men, but Steve’s glorious specimen took that to a whole new level.

Jane took pity on her and took charge of the conversation, explaining what had happened to them and asking if they could be so kind as to tell them where they were and provide them a lift back to civilization.

“Sure we can,” Steve agreed, “but we should probably wait until morning. Natasha and Sharon are out scoping things out and we’ll soon find out more about your kidnappers. Were either of you hurt at all?”

“Only a few bruises and rope marks. Darcy and I kicked ass. They won’t mistake us for helpless scientists ever again.”

Jane spoke proudly and Darcy nodded enthusiastically. She’d wished Natasha could have seen it. 

Steve outright beamed at this, which caused Darcy to trip and go down in an embarrassed heap. She stayed on the floor, wishing a portal would appear and whisk her away. 

“Why are you like this?” Jane sighed in exasperation as she and Steve helped Darcy up.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, concern in his voice.

Mortified, Darcy couldn’t look at him and mumbled “Yeah. Just tired. Being kidnapped wears one out.”

She wanted to die. Why did she always have to make herself look like an idiot in front of him? 

Steve, being the gentleman he was, volunteered to sleep in the living room so Jane and Darcy could have a bed. Darcy tried not to think about what sleepy Steve would look like as she counted sheep that night. 

She awoke the next morning and wandered out to the kitchen to find Natasha making coffee.

“Sleep well?” The spy greeted her, green eyes appraising her.

“Yes,” Darcy managed. “Though if you have extra coffee, I could definitely use some.” 

They caught up over their caffeinated beverages and Darcy heard more of the story of how Natasha had ended up changing her mind about the Accords and joining Team Cap. 

Right in the middle of a very funny anecdote involving Clint, Sam, and Scott, the door opened and Steve entered the house, sweaty and disheveled after a morning run.

Darcy’s laughter died in her throat as she observed Steve’s damp white shirt and glistening skin, muscles very much on display. 

“Morning, Nat. Darcy,” he acknowledged, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and gulping it down.

Darcy let out a “morning!” and got the heck out of there, face burning again. She needed a cold shower and fast. She heard Natasha laughing at her, but decided she’d deal with that later. Steve was going to be the death of her. 

“Nat, do you know why Darcy hates me? She practically runs away whenever I enter a room and I don’t know what I did.”

A bewildered Steve was asking his friend this question two months later when they were settled in a new, larger, secret compound, joined by Darcy and Jane. He’d liked Darcy a lot and used to enjoy her company, but now, she could barely stand to look at him and he was rather confused and a little hurt. 

“I can’t speak for Darcy, but I don’t think it’s anything you did,” Nat assured him. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“Yes, but she always is too busy or finds a reason to escape before I can get more than one sentence out. I figured she really doesn’t want to be around me, so I let it go.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair in frustration, wondering how in the world he was going to fix this. He missed Darcy and this situation was  becoming very upsetting to him. 

“I’ll see if I can find out what’s what,” Natasha promised. “It is very unlike Darcy to leave someone in the dark if they’ve offended her.”

That very afternoon, Darcy found herself locked in a closet with none other than Steve. All the banging and yelling and swearing and angry texting at Jane and Natasha availed nothing. 

Natasha’s blunt text took the wind out of Darcy’s sails and she looked over at Steve remorsefully. They were right. She’d let her stupid crush get in the way of her friendship. 

“I could break this door down, you know,” Steve offered. 

“No need,” Darcy sighed, smiling weakly. “It’s about time I put my big girl pants on and told you what’s going on. It’s not your fault. I just am a complete disaster around guys I have a crush on and I may have a thing for the beard,” she finished, blushing like a tomato. “Which is why I could hardly say a word to you without squeaking.”

“So I didn’t hurt you?” Steve asked cautiously. 

“No. It was mostly me trying to control my wild urges to say or do totally inappropriate things to you. Face it, Steve. You’re irresistible.”

Steve gave a bashful grin. 

“I don’t know about that. But what if I told you I would be totally okay with you being “inappropriate?” Because I too must confess to having had some inappropriate thoughts.” 

“Really? About me?” Darcy asked, starting to feel very smug. 

“Definitely you,” Steve said, looking at her very intently. She blushed again and moved over close to him so she was right up in his space. 

“So Watcha gonna do about it, soldier?” She asked flirtatiously.

Steve grinned.

“Let’s start here,” he murmured right before he kissed her. 

It was better than her wildest dreams. Holy crap, the man could kiss! Knees already weak, she clutched him for dear life as the kiss deepened. 

“If I’d have known this would be the result, I’d have grown a beard a long time ago,” Steve admitted when they came up for air. “I’m crazy about you, Darcy. Have been for awhile.”

Darcy giggled against his chest. 

“You’re still plenty hot without it, but it kinda was the icing on the cake,” she told him.

Neither of them noticed when Natasha unlocked the doors. She listened for a moment, then smiled triumphantly and texted Jane that the mission was a success. Nothing was seen of either Steve or Darcy for the rest of that day. 

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap) - Part 11

Summary: Sam inherits Steve Roger's crime empire after a handful of his men betray and kill him. The rest of the crime world, sensing an opening, go after Sam and the territories he's inherited from Steve. Thankfully, Steve left him a number, someone to call if he ever needs help. Someone, Steve claimed, he can trust. But can Sam really trust a mercenary with that much blood on his name? And that many knives in his pockets.

WARNINGS: (there will eventually be all of these things) blood, violence, murder, shooting, stabbing, sex, blood play , food related things: malnutrition, feeding, blow jobs, bathing/washing, chronic pain.

18+ Content: Make Good Choices Kids <3

Ao3

Sam was going crazy. Cooped up in this fucking house. And sure, the house was big, really big. There was a fucking bowling alley downstairs for fucks sake. But he'd been stuck here. Not able to leave. And his skin was starting to itch. He'd been Steve's eyes in the neighborhood, always out in the streets, mingling. He was a people person. And now he was stuck inside, with only a handful of people. His only visitor an annoying mercenary with an insubordinate streak a mile fucking long.

Sam rubbed as his temple and stood up, pausing, not sure exactly where he was intending to go. He flexed his hand, the bruise there staining his knuckles. He sighed and moved around his desk, walking out the door and down the hall. He might as well get in his daily laps while he was sitting around doing nothing. He trotted down the flight of stairs behind the kitchen, down to the pool. A bowling alley, an Olympic size swimming pool, what more could he want.

He changed in the locker room and dove in. Swimming lap after lap as he tried to calm his racing throughts. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it was before. Steve in charge. Him making the rounds to the businesses, chatting with all their friends and contacts. He paused to take a breath, holding onto the edge of the pool. He'd sent people to check on them, to make sure they were okay after everything.

A few of them had already been taken by other families. They'd whispered their apologies in back allies and then scurried away, in fear for their livelihoods and their familes no doubt. Sam needed this plan to go smoothly. He needed this shit to end. So he could lay some ground work and get his people back. He still didn't trust Bucky. Not really. He was efficient. And he was loyal. But he was loyal to Steve. And Sam wasn't Steve. Never would be.

He pushed off the wall and dove under again, letting the water move agaisnt his skin as he swam, thinking about how easy it had been to corral them all. Steve had watermarks in his desk, watermarks from all the other families. It was easier to manipulate people when they thought someone else was doing it. He'd sent letters. To each family. From each other. Requesting a gathering, to make plans. Plans to get rid of that unworthy inheritor that had been given Steve's empire.

He smiled to himself as he swam. The best thing about letters like that, was that no one responded to them. Not ever. They never wanted to leave more of a trail than they had to.

Sam swam a few more laps and then lay back in the water. Staring at the ceiling as his heartrate slowed. He sighed deeply and then climbed out of the pool, grabbing his towel and patting at his face. His phone buzzed against the concrete floor. Sam looked down and saw his sisters name lighting up his phone, his stomach twisted. He draped his towel over his shoulders and grabbed his phone, sliding his finger across the screen and pressing it too his ear.

"Unbelievable." Sarah's voice says, and he can hear the anger through the phone.

"I'm fine Sarah." He sighs.

"You're fine? Oh you're fine! Praise be! He's fine everyone! Sam Wilson is fine!" The dramatics make him smile though he knows she's angry.

"I am fine. You got my text didn't you?" Sam asks, and starts pacing.

"Yes. I got your text. 'I'm okay. Don't worry.' That text? That you sent me as I watched them carry body after body out of that goddforsaken house." She nearly growled. Sam grimaced.

"Yeah. That text." He said.

"Yeah. I got that text." She said, her voice low.

"Look, I'm sorry okay? I know I should have called. It's just- things have been a little crazy here." He sighs, his feet moving him back and forth across the floor. He rubs at the back of his neck.

"People have been watching me. I can't even leave this fucking house! And I didn't wanna risk calling you. Okay?" He asks, pleading with his sister. He knows she's never agreed with what he does, but she never fully disowned him. They talk once a month. A monthly phone call is what she gives him, and he takes it. He hears her take a deep breath and let it out, can see her trying to get herself under control.

"But you're okay? Really?" She asks, sounding more concerned than angery now.

"Yes. Mostly. I will be. I- you don't like to hear about it. But I'll be fine soon." He says, trying not say anything she doesn't want to hear.

"Okay. But Sam. Something ever happens like that again. You call me." She says, the anger is back, but it's... different. Familial. Sam smiles into the phone.

"Yes Ma'am." He says, and Sarah laughs, easing the tension in Sam's shoulders.

"How are the boys?" Sam asks, crossing his free arm over his chest.

"They're great. They're at school right now. But they told me to tell you hi before they left. Cass wanted me to tell you he got first at the science fair. And AJ won a writing competition, got his poem in the town newspaper and everything." She chuckles, Sam can see her shaking her head, but he hears the pride in her voice, and feels it swelling in his own chest.

"That's amazing. Tell them I'm proud. Of both of them." He says, and he knows he sounds sad.

"I will. Of course I will." Sarah says.

"You're doing great with them." He says after a moment. And she laughs again.

"I know." She says.

"But thank you." And he hears the smile again.

"You won't be able to come visit for Christmas will you?" She asks, sadness tinting her voice now. Sam closes his eyes, lets his head fall back. It's the only time he sees them in person all year.

"No. I don't think so. There's... too much, going on. I wouldn't feel safe." He says, shaking his head, wishing he could reach out and touch her, hug her. He misses them all so much.

"Okay. I just needed to know so I could tell the boys. I already kind of assumed. Mentioned you might not be able to make it." She says, and he hears her sniffle. Feels his throat burning.

"Tell them I'm sorry. I just-" he takes a deep breath, trying to force his throat to open.

"I need to know you're safe. All of you. I can't risk it." He says.

"I know. Sam I know that. Don't think I don't know what you do for this family. I may not agree with everything you do. But I know you're a good man. You always have been." She's quick to reasure him. Sam feels that ever present stab of guilt.

"Sarah." He says.

"I'm sorry. For everything. I'm just- I'm just so sorry." Sam says, as the burning in his eyes runs over, hot tears dripping down his face.

"I know baby brother. We're all just out here trying to survive." She says. Sam smiles, their parents words sounding so right echoing through her.

"Yeah. Some days are just harder than others." He continues the well worn conversations.

"Alway were." She says, and he can hear her smiling again.

"Always will be." Sam finishes, both of them laughing now. Sam hears footsteps behind him and wipes at his face before turning around. He sees Torres standing by the door. The kids gives him a little wave and then steps back outside. Sam sighs.

"Sarah-"

"I know that tone." She cuts him off.

"You gotta go." She says.

"I gotta go." He agrees, his head dropping a bit as his fingers fiddle with his towel.

"I miss you Sam. Please take care of yourself." She says, sniffling again.

"I will. I promise. You give those boys my love." He says, wiping at his eyes again.

"I will. Talk to you soon baby brother. I love you." She says, her voice almost a whisper.

"I love you too Sarah." He says, sighing as the line clicks. He takes a deep breath, kneels by the pool to splash water on his face before patting it dry again. He grabs his clothes and heads for the door Torres had popped in and out of. He's standing right outside when Sam pushes through it.

"She doin okay?" Torres asks, his voice soft. Sam nods, his lips curving just a little.

"She's good."

"Good." Torres nods.

"Helen visited the bakery today. Jimmy said the other familes have been sending people in. They trashed the store front last night. She said he looked scared." Torres says, back to business as they begin walking down the hall. Sam thinks for a second, nods.

"Let's give him some protection. We can afford leaving a few people there with him. Send Maria with a couple guys. She can pick who, she's knows her people. They can figure out what works best and then she can come back here." Sam says, another sigh escaping him.

"Will do." Torres nods, his hands going into his pockets, something he only ever does in the house, Sam had noticed. His relaxed decorum never showing around others.

"Jimmy's been loyal. And he's a good man. He deserves to feel safe." Sam says, stopping in front of his room. Torres nods again and then smiles when he looks at Sam.

"Plus he makes like, the best bread we've ever eaten." He says, licking his lips. Sam chuckled, glad for the small joke.

"Yeah his breads fucking amazing." Sam agrees, letting himself smile for awhile longer.

"I'll go tell Maria. Help her get some things together." He says, stepping away.

"Torres." Sam calls, stopping him.

"I want you to send Helen to the warehouse. Have her scope it out. She can take a few people with her too, get it done faster." Sam says, scratching at his scalp. Torres nods again.

"Have her put up some cameras too. Small ones." Sam says then, quietly.

"Cameras. You still don't trust him?" Torres asks.

"This isn't about trust, necessarily. I just wanna see-" Sam cuts off. What is it exactly he wants to see? He's not sure.

"I just need to see that it's done." He says, brow furrowed. Torres looks at him, his eyes moving over Sam's face. The kid is so observant Sam's a bit worried about what he might see.

"Live feed cameras then?" Is all he asks. Sam's eyes jump to his face, a smirk forming as he looks at the kid.

"Yes. I think live feed cameras are an excellent idea." Sam says, inclining his head. Torres mirrors him and takes a step backward before turning to go.

"I'll have Maria bring us back some bread as well." He calls over his shoulder, making Sam laugh again as he steps into his dark bedroom. He leans against the door in the dark, not sure that spying on Bucky Barnes is the best idea he's ever had. But he's curious. And Sam knows what people say about curiosity, what everyone says, but they always forget that second part.

Sam needs to this ended. Or probably started. Like this would ever really end things. But he needs to send them all a fucking message. He needs the satisfaction this will bring. He needs these fucking familes to know that Sam Wilson is not someone to be fucking trifled with.

[bordeauxatdusk]

Mystique (A Detroit: Become Human Fanfic) Part 1

 Read the full fic (so far) on Ao3 here!

DISCLAIMER this fic is about gay android detectives in 2038. Please know that I am a BLM supporter and that I do not write in this in support of our current shitty criminal justice system. 

Forget-me-nots.

The dead woman’s eyes were the same color as the flowers in her hair.

She was poised, artfully, in an elegant position that looked almost like a sculpture. Rigor mortis held her in place. The crown of forget-me-nots was integrated with an elaborate veil of white lace that fell gracefully down her back.

The bloodstained silk wedding gown she was wrapped in extended outward, rippling over the room, which was staged like a movie set; a host of antique items and classic still-life objects had been structured to frame her. Elaborate globes mingled with vases of flowers mingled with stacks of old yellowing books, covers frayed. Warm light streamed in lazily from large arcing windows, illuminating the oakwood floors of the room.

The light glinted off the pearl dagger embedded in the woman’s chest. In front of her, a gold-leafed, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been left open to the infamous scene:

“O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath.”

A human would undoubtedly call the scene beautiful.

To Nines, however, it was simply another murder.

He was capable of appreciating beauty, although many would be surprised to hear it. (Some people were surprised to hear that androids were capable of any abstract thought at all.)

Nines understand the concept of aesthetic value perfectly well. What he was not capable of understanding was how humans, in their love of aesthetic value, sometimes seemed to discard logic and reason.

The concept of a beautiful murder was immaterial to him. It was still murder. Whether it was committed in a wide-open oak room or in a rotting gutter made no difference.

Nines would hunt down and eliminate the murderer either way.

He was glad that Gavin felt the same, although Nines was concerned that he seemed disproportionately unnerved by something. What exactly it was, Nines couldn’t tell.

He knew that Gavin was upset partially from the rising levels of adrenaline in his scans, partially from the fact that Gavin’s pupils were dilated and he was beginning to fidget in the way he typically expressed distress (tapping his fingers together and pacing, mostly) and partially from the fact that he was increasing his profanity from its normal rate of about every one in fifteen words to every one in ten.

Nines had spent a lot of time analyzing Gavin Reed. Perhaps an irrational amount.

It hadn’t helped much.

Nines guessed that the cause of his partner’s distress must be some deeply-held psychological trauma. Humans often experienced it, and Gavin personally had suffered a difficult childhood. Whatever the reason for his distress, it must be very serious.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘ I don’t know ’, Tina?! ” his partner was currently yelling into his phone. “It’s a simple goddamn question! Do they have jalapeno poppers or not?!”

Fascinating.

Nines was well equipped to read Gavin, but very poorly equipped to understand him. The difference, he felt, was vast. He was... displeased by it. Androids were predictable, generally. Deviants much less so than non-deviants, of course, but they were still more logical than humans. At first Nines had been convinced that Gavin was simply uncomfortable expressing his emotions, but the android had begun to discover that Gavin himself was often unaware of them.

Perhaps there was some unpleasant memory jalapeno poppers evoked for his partner. He would have to ask later. Nines would have preferred to have Gavin leave the room and take a few minutes to calm down, but he had learned recently that it wasn’t an option. Apparently, Nines doing what he was designed to do and examining the physical evidence without Gavin’s interference meant he was “being a fucking know-it-all” and a “stuck-up asshole.”

“Look,” Gavin had said a few weeks ago, waving a hand dismissively to try and distract from the fact that he was clearly upset. “ It’s no big deal. Just don’t keep fucking asking me to leave in the middle of crime scenes, okay?”

Nines had been unable to see the point of this request. “ Gavin, you were clearly disgusted by the scope of the damage done to the victim.”

“Well, yeah,” Gavin had muttered sulkily, “but you don’t need to be all weird about it. Look, Nines, I want to do my job. Let me do it. Even if I’m not really helping, just let me feel like I am, okay?”

Nines had been even more confused. “ If you aren’t going to help, why are you so determined to be there? Humans aren’t exactly well-equipped for forensic analysis to begin with. I don’t hold it against you.”

It had escalated into a full-blown fight that left Nines more confused than ever until Gavin was finally able to articulate that he didn’t want to feel useless.

The absurdity and simplicity of the answer had caught Nines off guard. Gavin Reed, useless? They had won a medal together just six months ago for solving an incredibly dangerous case, saving the lives of ten other officers in the process (and possibly the entire DPD). Their success had almost entirely been due to Gavin. Useless?

Nines strongly disagreed.

He had told Gavin so. Nines always said what he meant.

Gavin had huffed under his breath.

“ Alright, shit, I get it,” he’d said, trying and failing not to smile. “You’re a big fucking suck-up.”

Nines knew enough about humans to understand that the insulting response had roughly meant, in Gavin-language,“Thank you, Nines. I’m flattered.”

What confused him is why Gavin didn’t just say that instead.

Humans never said what they meant. It was inconvenient.

Gavin's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Robocop. You find anything?”

Nines blinked. Gavin was staring at him, phone in hand, waiting.

Nine shook his head. “This crime scene is so elaborately staged, I can’t move through it without risking disrupting the evidence. Every object in this room is potentially a key to solving the case. There’s a very low probability the killer managed to set this up without leaving some traces of his presence behind-- fingerprints, hair, DNA. It would be better to wait until forensics arrives, and allow them to do their job. “

Gavin wrinkled his nose, thinking. It was a habit of his.

(One that Nines found extremely distracting, but it wasn’t the time for that.)

“Is something bothering you, Detective?” Nines asked.

Gavin huffed. “Yeah, stop calling me ‘detective.’ You know my name.”

He paused for a moment, sighed, and then gestured to the scene in front of them.

“It’s this whole thing, Nines. I hate it when they do this shit. It’s so fucked up. Trying to turn something so horrible into something pretty, or romantic, or-- I don’t know. You’ll see. These cases are always hell to investigate. We can’t let a single drop of this leak to the media, or else this poor girl is going to be on the front page of every newspaper across the country. ‘The Girl In the Wedding Dress’, or some shit like that.”

Nines didn’t understand. “I’m not sure I’m following you. You don’t want her case to be publicized?”

Gavin shook his head. “Hell no. How do I explain this? Okay. This girl, she’s not fucking Juliet, right? What's her real name? You know it already with your facial recognition?”

“Ashley Briggs.”

“Okay. She’s not Juliet. She’s Ashley. Ashley was a whole person, with a life and family and friends, and then some fucking creepy asshole murdered her and dressed her up like Juliet. The media’s problem is, they like stories with publicity. They like stuff that has a nice ring to it. Ashley Briggs, not so much. ‘The Girl in the White Dress?’ ‘The Woman in White?’ some other bullshit like that? They eat that up.  A picture of a pretty girl in a wedding dress with a dagger in her chest? That’s the kind of stuff they eat for breakfast. They love it, Nines! It’s like the Black Dahlia. If any of this gets out,  nobody will give two fucks about Ashley Briggs, but they’ll all love her death."

Gavin stopped for a moment to take a breath, hands gesturing wildly, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Rumors will be everywhere. Poor Ashley’s family is gonna have to deal with photos of their little girl murdered and dressed up in a fucking wedding dress all over every tabloid in the grocery store for the next eight years. And not a single one of the people obsessed with ‘Juliet’ is gonna give a shit about Ashley. Everyone’s gonna see her how the killer saw her, how he wanted us to see her, how he set her up: as pretty tragic Juliet in a wedding dress. Nobody is gonna know or remember Ashley Briggs. Don’t you see how fucked up that is? They never give a shit about the victim, even though they pretend to. It’s always about the fucking killer and his ideology.”

Nines was stunned. He had never considered that aspect of a crime before. Looking at it from that perspective, it did seem disturbing.

“They’ll romanticize her murder," he finished for Gavin, who looked almost too angry to continue.

Gavin nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The most fucked up part is, that’s what he wants. Her killer staged her this way because he’s trying to put on a fucking show. This is a murder with a message, we just don’t know what it is. I hate that those bastards always seem to get the attention they want. People always remember the killer, but they never remember the victim. Hell, how many people do you think could name a single victim of Ted Bundy? Or Jeffery Dahmer? Or any of the other sick bastards that decide to take their sexual fantasies out on so many innocent people that everyone forgets about?”

Nines raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know that this murder is sexual in nature.”

Gavin huffed. “Nah, but there’s a pattern when it comes to motive and method. There’s tons of examples. Um. Execution-style gunshots to the back of the head are cold, professional. Victim’s turned away, there’s a distance between them and the killer. No eye contact. Hired killers, a lot of the time.”

Gavin demonstrated with a finger gun, eyes distant, like he was remembering cases he’d seen before.

“Stranglings are personal, and a lot of the time they’re sexual. Killer’s up close, right in their face. Looking them in the eye, watching them slowly die, hands-on contact. It’s ‘intimate’ for those fucked-up pieces of shit. They’re normally sexual sadists. Hate those ones.”

Gavin’s brow wrinkled in disgust as he demonstrated.

“Stabbings are personal too, but in a different way. Bloody, aggressive, painful. Personal vendetta, lots of times. Someone close to the victim with a grudge. Betrayal maybe, ‘cause there’s anger behind it. Besides, she’s staged as fucking Juliet. Who do you think her Romeo’s supposed to be? The mailman?”

Nines hummed in response. He didn’t doubt Gavin’s theory, but any investigation should work from the external to the internal. The solid evidence should be interpreted to form theories, not theories interpreted to fit the evidence. The second an investigator began to let their personal opinions dictate the situation, they became biased.

“I still believe we should wait for the evidence to be analyzed before assuming anything.”

Gavin crossed his arms. His body language throughout this speech had been aggressive. Nines’ scans told him that Gavin was intensely angry.

“I’m not fucking assuming, I’m theorizing. If the evidence says something different then I’ll change my tune. I’m just saying, maybe the fact that she’s being staged all pretty in a fancy room in a wedding dress mirroring the suicide from goddamn ‘ Romeo and Juliet’ might have some tiny romantic undertones, Nines.”

“So perhaps we should interview her neighbors first.”

“Hell yes, we should,” Gavin said. “Starting with whoever found the body.”

He started to turn away to head out the door.

Nines stopped him. “Gavin, wait.”

He twisted back around in surprise. “What?”

Nines pressed his hands together, standing stiffly. “Are you angry with me?”

Gavin stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment in an emotion Nines was unable to read. There was a second of tension, and then Nines’ partner seemed to crumple inward as he sighed heavily, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“No,” he said to the floor by his feet. “Sorry. It’s this case. Stuff like this- it’s fucking creepy. I get all tense. Of course I’m not mad at you, dumbass. I’m just- I’m not good at expressing shit, y’know. ”

Nines walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Gavin’s entire demeanor changed, going from aggressive to something much more vulnerable instantly. It was a switch that, even though they’d been together for six months now, Nines had rarely seen.

“No,” Gavin said softly. “I just want to catch the bastard. Otherwise, cases like this, they always stick with me. I’ll- I’ll see her everywhere. Ashley, I mean. In mirrors, reflections, dreams. Asking me why I couldn’t do it. People always act like murder investigations are some cop-show badass bullshit, but they aren’t. The pressure’s gonna be hell. We’re gonna have to go through her whole life and dig up a lot of secrets. Everyone has graves that are better left buried. Take my word for it, it’s gonna suck. And even if we find the fucking bastard, he still might get off. Normally, I can distance myself from it, I guess, but when it’s something this creepy- I just- I don’t know if I can do it. There's something about this case. I have such a bad fucking feeling about this whole thing. It’s driving me crazy. ”

Nines reached out and wrapped his arms around Gavin, pulling him close. It was meant as a comforting gesture, and he noticed with satisfaction that his partner’s distress seemed to decrease.

Nines was beginning to understand how to react to Gavin’s moods, even if he didn’t always understand the reason why they were happening. They had both worked dozens of homicide cases. Nines didn’t understand how this case was any different, but it didn’t matter. He was programmed to adapt to human unpredictability.

He never knew what to make of Gavin’s hunches, though. They were objectively irrational, and they were also always right. It drove him insane. It defied reason.

Then again, nothing about Gavin was reasonable.

“We’re professionals,” Nines began, “and-”

“And you’re hugging me in the middle of a fucking murder scene,” Gavin interrupted, voice muffled from pressing his face into Nines’ shoulder, “like a true professional.”

“You needed a hug. Let me finish. We’re professionals, and there’s a lot of potential just in this room for the killer to have made a mistake. The chances of him staging all this with zero forensic evidence left behind are very low-”

“Mhmmm,” Gavin said, leaning into the hug.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope,” Gavin muttered.

Nines sighed.

He gently pulled Gavin away from him, brushing off his partner’s coat, which was eternally covered in cat hair.

“We need to go interview the neighbors. Listen. We work very well together. We’ve faced near-impossible odds before. Compared to our last big case, this will most likely be easy.”

“Nothing’s ever easy,” Gavin groaned. “Especially not in fucking homicide.”

“Well then, we’ll support each other, just like last time.”

Gavin smiled wryly. “Are you going to break a rib and give me a concussion again?”

“That highly depends,” Nines said, “on whether or not you plan to shoot me a second time.”

“You told me to!”

“I was paralyzed and all my communications were disabled. I couldn’t tell you to do anything."

“Your light flashed!”

“My LED,” Nines said, raising an eyebrow, “never stops flashing, unless I’m decommissioned.”

Gavin shoved him-- an adorably futile effort, considering he didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Come on, smartass,” Gavin said. “We have some friendly neighbors to interrogate.”

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (5/18)

Chapter 5: Do It Simply

Nick and Madelyn have a heart-to-heart while on a stakeout in Quincy. After some time apart, Deacon shows up at Madelyn’s apartment encouraging her to give the Railroad another chance. When she agrees, Desdemona sends them to a Bunker Hill contact who needs assistance in smuggling somebody out of the Commonwealth—somebody who may have been witness to Eddie Winter’s crimes. Outside of the Ticonderoga safehouse, a suspicious man catches Deacon’s eye and the entire operation goes up in flames.

“If you're going to kill someone, do it simply.” - Johnnie Aysgarth as played by Cary Grant (Suspicion, 1941)

x - x

[read on Ao3] ~  [chapter masterpost]

February 11th, 1958

“I should’ve warned you this would turn into a stakeout.”

Madelyn shivered as she glanced over to Nick from the passenger seat of his Cadillac, tugging the collar of her coat around her shoulders a little tighter. Of all the times they had decided to follow Eddie Winter across town, it had to be the night when a flurry had delivered nearly three inches of snow. Needless to say, she was freezing, half tempted to bum one of Nick’s cigarettes if only to heat up her body in some way. The smoke from his own wafted in the air above his head as he mumbled incoherently, binoculars glued toward the building a few hundred feet away. They’d been sitting like that for a few hours with no movement.

“Damn Winter, thinking we have all night to sit on him,” he muttered, cigarette bobbing between his lips.

“It’s not like we have much else going for us,” Madelyn replied, sifting through the small stack of case files across her lap, ones she had brought with them in their mad dash to Quincy. Ever since the Earl Sterling case, their primary focus had been on Eddie Winter’s activities, mostly because the agency hadn’t received a new job in weeks. There had been dry spells before, but this time it was obvious they were being punished by the Boston Police Department for their involvement in capturing Doctor Crocker. It wasn’t fair, it never was, but there was little they could do but keep investigating.

“Don’t remind me,” Nick grumbled, lowering the binoculars to look at her. “Are we sure this is the right place?”

She hummed, flicking through the various files. They were all labeled in her neat handwriting—WINTER—filled with various leads and rumors from the street, one of which had led them to the Quincy police department. With a nod, Madelyn flashed a sideways smile. “Maybe they’ve got a secret underground bunker.”

Nick wasn’t about to dismiss anything, eyebrow quirking up. “You might be onto something there.”

She softly chuckled, scribbling the words down, even if she felt foolish—not every organization in town had an underground tunnel system, right? As Nick continued to scope out the building, she flicked through her notebook absentmindedly until a loose-leaf of paper fluttered down to her feet. She had nearly forgotten about it, the instructions Drummer Boy had dropped off nearly two weeks ago, directing her to another meeting with the Railroad. Her conscious reprimanded her for making up an excuse for not attending, but at the time, she wasn’t ready to face the group again.

She hadn’t seen Desdemona—or Deacon—since their little adventure beneath Slocum’s Joe. Foolishly, she believed that space would set her mind straight, that her emotions would level out after introspection and some time alone. What she hadn’t realized was that her life had already been drastically altered: Nick believed the Railroad to be a valuable ally, she had an agent for a neighbor, and despite everything, she couldn’t get that stupid, silly, enigmatic man named Deacon out of her mind.

“Another mysterious note?”

“What?” Madelyn snapped her eyes up and over to where Nick was looking back to her with all the curiosity in the world. She couldn’t lie to him, not when it was his job to find the truth. “More or less of the same, requesting me to visit their headquarters beneath the church again. It’s…outdated though. I didn’t go.”

“You have been spending a lot more time at the agency,” he mentioned, stubbing out his smoke in the tiny metal tray of the Cadillac’s center console. “You ready to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head?”

“Don’t flatter me, Nick,” she playfully chastised, before shifting as her legs became restless. “We don’t have to cut the Railroad out as a point of contact, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He didn’t say anything, but the detective always had a certain look about him, a glimmer to his eyes when he knew there was more to the story being told. She sighed, staring back down at the typewritten note and continued. “I just…needed some time.”

Nick took a moment, glancing out the window to confirm that there had yet to be any movement on the building they were watching. Only then did he divert his full attention to her.

“I’ve been meaning to apologize,” he paused, waving his hand in protest when she went to interject. What did he have to say sorry for? “I overstepped some boundaries a few weeks ago, insinuated something I shouldn’t’ve between you and that Deacon fellow.”

Madelyn wasn’t upset with Nick, but hearing his words was somewhat comforting. Though, she was sure she would’ve been in her head about the situation regardless of the lighthearted teasing from her partner and his fiancé. She should be the one apologizing—for dragging her feet, for being distracted, for being stuck in the past. Nick wasn’t the only one she owed that to, but she didn’t dwell on that thought.

“My only hope is that one day, not tomorrow or even this year,” Nick said, treading lightly. “Is that you will be able to move on. It doesn’t have to be with the first handsome guy you meet that makes you smile, but you don’t deserve to live out the rest of your days alone. I don’t want to pretend to know what Nate would’ve wanted for you,” he hesitated, reaching over to place his hand over hers. The cold material of the prosthetic sent a shiver up her arm, but otherwise, his touch was comforting as always. “But this isn’t it.”

Madelyn knew that Nick was right—almost hated that he was. But she couldn’t be mad at his advice, or the mild-mannered way he delivered it. If she had been paying attention, he’d been gently nudging her towards this for months—the grieving counseling sessions, dinner parties, case work that had her interacting with all sorts of people. Her friend was doing the best he could to ensure she had all the opportunities to break out of the shell she had buried herself in for the past year, and for that she was grateful.

“I know,” she finally admitted, a truth that made her stomach uneasy. It was freeing, but the remorse still lingered. “Its tough Nick, to let people in. Not like before when I could trust everyone and anyone despite years of law school telling me otherwise,” she softly laughed, more to herself. “But now? I have my support group. I have my friends. To let anyone else in is dangerous, and to let anyone too close is foolish.”

She didn’t necessarily mean to think about a specific person—certainly not a certain Railroad agent who had stirred up these emotions within her in the first place—she tried to focus on the broader aspect of what Nick was stating.

“You’re right, but it’s so hard,” she steadied her breath so she wouldn’t break down in a fit of sobs like she had been doing so often in the last few weeks when she thought about her departed husband. Codsworth, her newly activated Mister Handy butler, wasn’t sure what to make of her outbursts. “I think of Nate, and the guilt is overbearing. It isn’t right—not when he’s dead, his killer still out there somewhere. I don’t get to move on like nothing happened.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Nick contended, calmly. He fidgeted, lighting up a new cigarette to calm his nerves, or perhaps get rid of the chill surrounding them from the snow outside the vehicle. “What I’m saying is that you should take one day at a time, just as you’ve been doing. Just—” he paused to exhale a small cloud of smoke, waving it away from her. “Be less afraid, especially when somebody dares to breach the walls around your heart.”

Madelyn let his words resonate with her and really settle in her mind. Ever since Nate’s death she had been taking life slowly, but at the cost of living a half-life. She wasn’t herself—hadn’t been for a long while—and even she knew it was well past a reasonable time to be wallowing in self-pity. Perhaps it would be okay to let her guard down, allow her personality to shine after months of fading to the background. She needed to do right by her husband’s memory and live—she couldn’t do that if she was constantly torturing herself. Finally, she nodded, signaling to her partner that she understood. More than that, she agreed.

“Speaking of the heart,” she deftly changed the subject, flashing a teasing grin. “Valentine’s Day is this Friday. Have any plans with Jenny?”

Nick smirked, anticipating nothing less from her. “If I didn’t have plans, it would be a disservice to the family name, don’t you think? Jenny would have me take her name at the registrar’s office.”

“Mr. Lands,” Madelyn snickered. “Lands’ Detective Agency,” she tested, imagining the flashing neon light that hung above the office door. “God Nick, we’re already suffering enough. We don’t need a name change to put a nail in the coffin.”

“Good thing I’ve got Friday in the bag then,” he smiled, without any indication he planned to indulge any details. “The future Mrs. Valentine won’t be disappointed.”

Rather than be jealous, she could only be happy for Nick and Jenny—two people that were so in love and so impeccably made for each other it was surprising they had waited so long to tie the knot. Madelyn was too close of a friend with both of them to feel anything but joy for their relationship, even when she had nobody to go home to after long nights on the job. Well, nobody except Dogmeat and Codsworth.

Maybe her time for happiness would come sooner, rather than later, if she allowed it.

“It’s late,” Nick spoke, interrupting her thoughts. He lifted the binoculars to take one last glance towards the Quincy police station, confirming there had been no further movement. “Time to call this a bust?”

Madelyn agreed. “Bust.” 

February 14th, 1958

Madelyn could hear Bobby Darin playing on the radio from the kitchen as she sat at her vanity that morning, smiling to herself as she listened to Codsworth rummaging around and yammering on while he conversed with Dogmeat in the kitchen. A year ago, she would’ve never assumed she would one day find this aspect of her life normal or comforting, but now, she couldn’t imagine her apartment without the robot butler or German Shepard.

After three weeks, she had finally adjusted to having Codsworth activated, the Mister Handy robot proving to be convenient in more ways than one. At first, it was alarming at how devoted he was to serve her—anticipating her every need and hovering over her every action. Madelyn was appreciative, but being the independent woman that she was, set some ground-rules for the robot to follow so she wouldn’t feel so crowded or coddled in her own home. With some semblance of a routine, she felt her life taking shape once again—even if it seemed more suited for a television sitcom starring Betty White.

She had just finished adjusting her curls when there was a knock at the door, the sound echoing through the hall to her bedroom. Codsworth’s chipper voice resonated from the front room after a few mysterious clanks of her pots and pans. “I shall see who is at the door, mum!”

For a fleeting moment, she figured it must be Nick, there for an early morning visit on his way to the agency. They would typically car-pool to the Fens district throughout the week but as she glanced to her flip calendar on the table, she realized her partner had more important obligations—Valentine’s Day. That’s when her mind switched over and began running through the rather short list of possible visitors who would be at her door before eight on a Friday morning. Piper would’ve called first. Jenny was with Nick. MacCready didn’t know where she lived, neither did Hancock—at least she hoped that was true. Drummer Boy would’ve slipped a note under the door. Madelyn groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose at the possibility it was Deacon.

“Miss Madelyn!” Codsworth sounded confused as he called for her and she was already standing, tightly securing the tie of her silken robe around her body for decency’s sake before striding down the hall towards the living room. The robot was hovering before her open front door. “This man claims to be the milkman, but I do believe we’ve already received our delivery for the week. Is this another alteration to the schedule?”

It was definitely Deacon.

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she approached to stand next to Codsworth, if only to confirm what she already suspected. Bright smile, black hair styled up and of course—it wouldn’t be Deacon without his darkened shades. At least the milkman costume was a nice touch. She had to admit that the effort the man went through for an act was impressive, if not amusing.

“I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me, Charmer,” he frowned, though she could tell he was bluffing.

Madelyn glanced to her Mister Handy unit, who—if she had gotten any better at reading the machine—appeared bewildered. “Codsworth, honey, what did I say about opening the door to strange men?”

“Oh! Right!” he exclaimed, raising his arms in defense. He moved so the bulk of his frame blocked her from Deacon’s view. “Shall I stick ‘em mum?”

She couldn’t contain her laughter, snapping a hand to cover her mouth at the sight of Codsworth hovering threateningly before Deacon, dressed in all-white with an equally entertained expression. She stepped closer, resting a hand against the robot’s cold metal frame. “That won’t be necessary, dear. I was only joking.”

“Are you to say you know this…milkman?” Codsworth questioned, before spinning his arms frantically as he moved back into the apartment on his way towards the kitchen. “Will he be joining us for breakfast? I will need to prepare another plate!”

Before she could interject or protest, Deacon was crossing the threshold with a beaming grin. He was carrying a metal basket just as a real milk deliveryman would and she wondered where he had managed to find such a convincing getup. Instead of white bottles rattling inside there was a brown packaged box and a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in parchment. Madelyn sidestepped around him to the door and contemplated asking him politely to leave but decided against being rude. She owed him a face-to-face conversation after so many weeks of silence.

“A Mister Handy unit?” Deacon spoke before she could, turning to face her. “I guess everybody needs a three-eyed metal husband.”

Madelyn snickered, glancing over to where Codsworth was balancing several tasks at once—eggs over the stove, coffee on the pot and bread in the toaster—all the while humming along to whatever song was filtering through the nearby radio. “Remind me to look into the legalities of marrying artificial intelligence. He may be flighty, but he knows his way around the kitchen.”  

“You just haven’t had me cook you breakfast yet,” Deacon replied matter-of fact. He lifted the basket he carried, changing the subject before she could respond to his remark. “I come bearing gifts.”

She nodded towards the kitchen island, motioning for him to sit on one of the barstools while she circled to the other side. It was a calculated move, wanting to put as much space between them as possible for now. Deacon placed the box on the counter and nudged it towards her. “This is from Irma. Said she couldn’t believe you walked out last time without one.”

Madelyn opened the package to discover a freshly baked blueberry pie, the smell an instant trigger for her mind, sending her back to the brief visit within the Memory Den. At least that all but confirmed what she already suspected—that Irma worked for the Railroad in some capacity. Deacon tapped a few fingers against the empty plate set before him and she sighed before turning to rummage through a drawer for a pie-cutter. Facing away from him, she heard his small chuckle.

“That’s a delicate little number you’ve got on,” he commented. She wasn’t alarmed by his statement, almost expecting it—if anything, she was glad to hear the mirth in his tone as if their quickly formed dynamic hadn’t changed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching as he poured two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice from the pitcher Codsworth had placed. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”

Deacon let out a low whistle. “Silk and lace says otherwise, Charmer.”

“Had to look nice for my metal husband on Valentine’s Day,” she joked, sliding up to Codsworth who was none-the-wiser. It was a shame the robot had a difficult time processing sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

“Mum, I do hope you aren’t planning on spoiling breakfast by eating that pie,” he responded, ruining her act. The Handy unit returned to preparing their morning meal, crisping the bacon on the griddle pan. Dogmeat whined as he circled around the kitchen island, stopping to sniff at Deacon’s feet. He regarded the dog with a smile before lifting the second item from the metal basket, handing the flowers to her and swapping for the pie cutter.

Madelyn examined the bunch of white daisies mixed with blue forget-me-nots, inhaling their sweet scent as she looked over at him. He was cutting slices, ignoring the way Codsworth was peering at him with one, zoomed in eye. The significance of the flowers wasn’t lost on her—forget-me-nots—it wasn’t entirely subtle, even for Deacon. She searched through her cabinets for a vase, delicately arranging the stems and petals as she poured some water inside.

“Irma insisted I couldn’t show up to your place empty handed, given the holiday,” he explained. “As you can imagine, all the flower shops from North End to Cambridge were out of roses.”

She had a difficult time determining if he was being sincere, or if he had really gone through the effort. For all she knew, he could’ve bummed the bouquet off some unsuspecting fella on the street corner. Madelyn decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that he had scoured all the floral shops along the Charles River just for her sake.

“I prefer these,” she replied with a soft smile. He regarded her with a softer expression, though she would’ve liked to know what his eyes looked like behind the sunglasses. Madelyn had resigned herself to the simple fact that she likely never would and would have to guess that they were trained on her—it certainly felt that way, with how her skin tickled with goosebumps.

“Good,” he replied, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. Deacon poked at the slice of blueberry pie he had set on the plate before him with a fork, scooping up a generous bite. “One bite won’t hurt.”

It wasn’t until his arm started moving across the counter space that she realized what his intentions were, and she reflexively stepped back, bumping into Codsworth who was ready to serve their food. She scrambled to move out of the way, realizing the only place for her was the empty barstool next to Deacon. Reluctantly, she joined him on the other side, unable to ignore the way he was still holding the utensil out in offering with a ridiculous, expectant smile. Madelyn braced her nerves and reminded herself it could be another exercise in trust—a rather bizarre exercise—and leaned over the short distance, wrapping her lips around the fork to take the bite. To his credit, the blueberry pie was delicious and so was his momentarily shocked appearance—he hadn’t expected her to comply.

“Breakfast is served!” Codsworth interrupted their strange encounter with his announcement, metal arms whizzing around as he placed the steaming piles of food on the center counter.

The two served themselves, eating in a comfortable silence with the occasional sideways glance and shared smile. The robot continued to whirr as he floated around looking for a new task to attend to while Dogmeat successfully begged for bacon scraps at their feet. Madelyn quickly noticed how domestic the scene looked and felt, even with Deacon dressed up as some imposter milkman. Just like having the dog and the Mister Handy unit was abnormally normal, she felt a strange sense of calm with having the Railroad spy next to her. She wasn’t ready to confront what deeper emotions she possibly had whispering beneath the surface, but intuition told her it was time to stop running and let fate do its job.

“I’ll be honest,” she started, clearing her throat as she set her napkin down. “I may have been avoiding the Railroad.”

“So, it wasn’t just me?” Deacon teasingly asked. “Listen, I know our organization can be a handful, intimidating even. You haven’t even met the rest of the gang yet. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted out,” he paused, head turned towards her. “It’d be a damn shame though.”

“I participated in one job,” she replied. “If you could call me following you around underground in a sewer participation. How is that impressive in any way?”

“I’m easy that way,” he shrugged. “Dez calls the shots, not me. Even if I told her you were dead weight, which I wouldn’t dream of describing you as, she doesn’t seem ready to let you go so soon.”

Madelyn had to wonder just what Deacon had described her as to the Railroad leader. Probably something with too many adjectives while being overzealous and dramatic with hand-movements, if she had to guess. She focused on the important part—despite her radio silence, Desdemona wanted her to stay aboard.

“Is that why you’re here now?” she asked. “To check up on Agent Charmer? Bring me back into the fold?”

He waved a piece of crispy bacon at her, frowning. “Don’t sell my social calls so short. You won’t see me buying flowers for Drummer Boy.”

“Maybe he should invest in silk nightgowns,” she joked, snatching half the piece of meat from his hand.

He let out an airy chuckle while she chewed, eating the rest that he had before shaking his head. “Dez doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks I’m at Bunker Hill, working on setting up a meeting with one of our old contacts. I thought I’d see if my partner wanted to join in on the fun before I go.”

The fact he still considered her his partner after one Railroad outing was endearing. Madelyn still had her reservations, but she knew the organization deserved more than to be written off after one excursion. She softly laughed to herself. “What is with you guys and tourist traps?”

Deacon’s smile gradually increased. “What can I say? We’re a quirky, history loving bunch.”

“What’s the job this time?” she asked, curiously.

“Carrington asked me to find out if one our old Bunker Hill contacts, Old Man Stockton, was still in operation,” he began. “He was a big player back when we were moving people regularly in and out of the city. Now that we’re down on our luck, he’s gone back to his old line of work.”

“Under our current circumstances, we wouldn’t accept an escort job, but the Doc made it sound imperative the subject be moved as soon as possible,” Deacon explained further. “If Dez cleared it, then we’re in the green to proceed.”

Madelyn was astounded by the notion that they could and would help a person willingly disappear but figured an individual must be desperate to turn to an underground organization instead of vanishing on their own. She wanted to know more and the only way to do that was to go along with Deacon again.

“What do you say, Charmer?” he asked, one eyebrow arced high above his shades.

She nodded, flashing a tiny grin. “You’ve got yourself a partner, Deacon.”

He laughed, reaching over to clasp his hand on her shoulder as he brought her in for a quick, sideways hug. Madelyn was startled by the show of friendliness but didn’t express it, swiftly channeling her alarm into ease—she didn’t mind the warmth and feel of his hand on her at all—she actually liked it. He leaned away, fingers trailing across her back before withdrawing fully.

“You know,” he said in a sing-song way. “I noticed you don’t flinch away from physical contact. You aren’t shy. Unlike most people.”

“Most people are uncomfortable with the notion of physical touch, sure,” Madelyn agreed. It figured he had been studying her behavior. “I—I find it comforting.”

Deacon turned to her and she could feel his stare through the reflective shades. Heat spread through her chest the longer the silence stretched between them until his lips pulled up into a sideways smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

February 16th, 1958

On Sunday, Deacon returned to Madelyn’s apartment with a dead drop from Old Man Stockton, confirming the rendezvous point in which a face-to-face meeting would occur. They were to meet the Bunker Hill contact at the Cambridge Catholic Assembly church after dark, long after the parishioners had gone home for the day. The two had been sitting in the empty church for what felt like hours, occupying one of the last few pews while they waited for Stockton to arrive. Madelyn found herself distracted by the moonlight pouring in through the picture frame windows of the towering steeple, dumbfounded that once again she found herself in a place of worship. Just as she began reminiscing about Nate’s funeral service and the hymns the priest sung, she shut her eyes tight, blocking the memory from overpowering her thoughts.

Deacon’s gloved hand bumped against hers. “Charmer?”

“Tourist traps, churches,” she mused. “Why can’t it be amusement parks?”

“You don’t want to know who runs Nuka World,” he mumbled, fingers idly trailing along her wrist where her watch rested until she opened her eyes. “I didn’t expect it to take this long. If we’ve been had…”

“I hope not,” she replied, glancing down to confirm it was midnight. “At this rate, you’ll owe me breakfast.”

He grinned and nudged his shoulder against hers. ���I did promise you I, didn’t I?”

The church’s front door squeaked open, interrupting the two from their banter and they stood to meet the approaching visitors. Two men, an older one dressed in a business suit and coat, the younger one dressed in shabbier denim with a winter jacket and cap. The older gentleman approached as the other stood back, looking anxious.

“Do you have a Geiger counter?” he asked, signaling the Railroad key phrase.

“Mine is in the shop,” Deacon replied in kind. “Stockton, good to see you. Carrington sends his regards.”

Stockton nodded, though he didn’t seem concerned with pleasantries as he observed their surroundings before gesturing to the younger man. “I won’t be long. This is Henry. Henry, these are the people I talked to you about,” he shifted towards the back window where a lantern was. “I’ll fire up the signal.”

Madelyn extended her arm to Henry. “Nice to meet you,” she offered politely. “You can call me…Charmer.”

The man nervously gripped her hand and shook it meekly. “Thank you.”

“Time for me to go,” Stockton stated, still scanning the church as if he was waiting for someone or something to jump out and discover them. “Keep Henry safe. Someone will be here shortly.”

He regarded Deacon with one last steely look before making a swift exit. Madelyn glanced to her partner in confusion, wondering if the Old Man’s departure was all part of the plan. He shrugged but didn’t appear nervous about the change—she’d never seen Deacon anything but calm and collected, anything to the contrary would be alarming. The three stood quietly, Henry continuing to keep his distance as the lantern burned in the window. At twelve-thirty, footsteps echoed outside the church, but the doors didn’t open right away. Madelyn and Deacon exchanged a quick glance and at the sound of more rustling, she withdrew her pistol from her handbag—she figured he might be carrying as well but insisted if either of them was going to brandish a weapon it was going to be the one with connections to the District Attorney’s office.

The two blocked Henry from sight as the large oak door finally creaked open and a figure shadowed by the night creeped in. Unable to determine if they were friend or foe, Madelyn trained her weapon, even if she wasn’t entirely convinced that she would be able to shoot. Upon noticing the group standing near the pews the intruder stopped dead in his tracks, raising his hands defensively.

“Don’t shoot!” he exclaimed before hesitantly taking a few steps closer. Under the dim lighting, she observed the man’s appearance closely—dark skin, warm brown eyes and a black hair shaved down to the stubble. Even though it was still blistering cold out, he seemed unbothered, wearing only jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket with some laced-up Chucks. Even with a gun pointed at him, the man smiled. “Charmer, right?”

He flicked his gaze to her side but didn’t dare to move his arms. “And my man, Deacon. Still wearing sunglasses at night?”

Before her partner could react, she intervened. “Do you have a Geiger counter?”

“Right you are,” he responded, impressed. “Mine is in the shop. All good?”

Madelyn looked to Deacon who nodded, flashing a grin. “High Rise, it’s been a while.”

“Three months since I’ve seen your ugly mug,” High Rise laughed as they exchanged a firm but friendly handshake. He glanced over to Madelyn with cheeky smile as she made to place her pistol back into her purse. “So, this is Charmer? The one who helped with the Switchboard, while you sat on the sidelines.”

She shot a raised eyebrow in Deacon’s direction, but he only offered a sheepish shrug in return. She could only imagine the kind of fanatical stories he had been spreading about her while she had been away. High Rise continued, reaching his hand out to her. “Glad you joined the team.”

Madelyn reciprocated his handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Honor’s all mine,” he replied before tilting his head to get a better look at Henry who had hunkered down in one of the pews. “How’s our friend doing?”

With all the attention suddenly focused on him, Henry slouched further back into the wooden seat. Madelyn took a few cautious steps closer, not wanting to startle him any further. “Are you alright?”

“Mister Stockton…he said I shouldn’t talk too much,” he replied in a shaky voice, eyes darting between the group of people standing. She sat down next to him, deciding to take a softer approach.

“Would you like to tell me what brought you here?” she asked, carefully. At his silence, she nodded, encouraging him. “You can trust us, Henry. We’ll protect you.”

He still seemed skeptical—lips twisted to the side as he avoided looking at any of them. “I—I need to get as far away from Boston as possible,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m afraid for my life.”

“What’s got you so spooked?” Deacon questioned.

Henry shook his head, remaining tightlipped. “If I say, you’d be in danger too.”

“We’re already helping you get out of the city,” High Rise pointed out the flaw in Henry’s resistance. “Might as well double down and let us know of any potential threats coming our way.”

Another moment of silence passed as Henry contemplated answering, fidgeting in the church pew. Finally, he breathed out, looking to Madelyn like a safe haven. “I witnessed a murder. Not just any murder. Last month, I was working as a dockhand on the Harbor when I saw the car pull up—”

Madelyn started adding up the details in her head and interrupted, nearly blurting out the words. “Johnny Montrano Junior?”

Henry’s eyes widened in shock and realization. “Y—yes, how do you know?”

“Some of us have day jobs,” Deacon assured, raising his eyebrows at Madelyn, silently reminding her to reel it in. “Nothing to worry about, we’re still the good guys.”

She nodded in agreement, desperately hoping he would believe them and continue. Henry took a deep breath before resuming his story. “It was late, and I was the last to leave the warehouse but when I saw the men and the guns I ran and hid behind some crates.”

“What did you see?” Madelyn asked.

What she wouldn’t give to have a tape deck to record his statements—she wondered if she’d ever be able to compel him to speak again, if she could ever track him down after he disappeared. Even with Deacon and High Rise as bystanders, a court would likely dismiss it as hearsay unless they heard it directly from the witness himself—probably why Henry wanted to leave Boston in the first place.  

Henry shivered, eyes glossed over in memory. “Everything.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” High Rise spoke, signaling to the dwindling flame in the lantern. “But we shouldn’t hang around here. We can talk more once we get Henry to the safehouse.”

Madelyn’s wanted to argue but she instinctively knew that staying in the church wasn’t the safest choice. She stood, straightening the lines of her dark coat—Deacon had insisted she wear it so they could not only blend into the shadows but coordinate.

“Safe to assume Ticonderoga has been moved, right?” he asked, looking towards High Rise for the answer.

He nodded in answer. “If you drive, I can show you the way. It’s not far.”

Madelyn chose to sit in the backseat of Deacon’s Volkswagen with Henry, wanting to gleam more information about the night he witnessed Johnny Montrano’s murder. Deacon held the door open for her, closing it even though High Rise had yet to climb into the passenger seat and the two exchanged a laugh about it while she retrieved a notebook from her purse. The engine roared to life and slowly they drove away from the Cambridge church.  

“So, you having fun yet, Charmer?” High Rise’s lighthearted tone caught her off guard. Beside her, Henry shifted uncomfortably. “With Deacon, I mean. Of all the people Dez could’ve paired a rookie with, you got stuck with—”

“Excuse me,” Deacon interrupted, turning down a street when High Rise directed him to. “We already have a group codename. The Big Sleep.”

High Rise chuckled. “You’re no Bogart.”

“That’s what I thought,” Madelyn announced, suppressing her laughter at Deacon’s offended gasp. At the next stop sign, he took a moment to glance over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised. To her surprise, even Henry seemed momentarily amused by the group’s antics.

“Maybe James Dean,” High Rise offered with a hum. “I’m being generous with your age. And if you take the fake pompadour wig into play.”

Deacon grumbled, turning towards the other man with his lips in a straight line. Madelyn thought she would’ve been more surprised, but considering who High Rise was talking about, the revelation wasn’t all the shocking. It also explained why curiously, his eyebrows appeared too fair in color and why his hats never sat straight upon his head. A spy had his secrets, she supposed. Noting the stretch of silence, High Rise shifted, turning as much as possible to face Madelyn.

“Deacon may be a terrible liar, but it pays to have him on your side,” he stated.

Madelyn wondered about that, glancing up at the rearview mirror to catch a glance of Deacon’s reflection. Her own face was mirrored back in the flicker of his shades as he offered a tiny smirk. In the short time she had known him, he had offered up plenty of little white lies—nothing extravagant or harmful—and was evasive enough that she still considered him one giant mystery. Nonetheless, she trusted him, and the stunning realization sent a shockwave through her system.

“Another right up here,” High Rise announced.

Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, Deacon had pulled the car along the curbside outside a tall, unlit building. She looked to Henry and the notepad in her lap, sighing in resignation—she’d have to ask her questions inside just as it was recommended earlier—there would be time, even if it took all night. High Rise exited the vehicle first, delight in his voice as he pointed up at the skyscraper.

“Home sweet home,” he announced before turning back to lean against the roof, looking in at Deacon and Madelyn. “All in a night’s work for you agent types, huh?”

She smiled. “Just part of the service.”

“I think I’m going to like you even more than Glory,” High Rise responded, cheekily.

Deacon twisted his body, arm slung over the seat to face her and Henry and seemed poised to say something when the car was flooded with light from an advancing vehicle. It parked on the curb behind them and a few moments later, the headlamps went dark as the engine died. Immediately, Madelyn was on edge.

“We were followed,” Henry was quick to assume, scrambling to try and remove himself from the car.

Even though she had difficulty seeing through his glasses, she could tell Deacon had his eyes trained on the other vehicle and the person behind the wheel. From her angle, she couldn’t tell what the immediate danger was. In the quiet, they heard a car door open and close. Minutes passed before the echo of footsteps followed in the opposite direction of where they were. Instead of relief, Deacon tensed, his arm reaching out for her before waving towards High Rise.

“Get Charmer out of here.”

Madelyn didn’t have time to be afraid as High Rise hauled her out of the backseat with little decorum, encouraging her to run in the other direction as he rushed to help Henry. She ran as fast as her heels would allow through the soft blanket of snow, panic building in her chest at the fear of the unknown. For a split second she hesitated, looking back over her shoulder to see how much distance she had made when a faint click echoed across the quiet plaza. At the same time, Deacon was in front of her, his body meeting hers in a swift collision as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, toppling them both to the ground. They were propelled forward by a large explosion—though Madelyn wasn’t sure what had happened until she was flat on the icy gravel, her head pounding and ears ringing from the lingering sound.

Deacon was still perched over her, resting half his body weight atop her as he shielded her from the distant smoke and flames. Madelyn blinked hard, adjusting her vision before realizing that his sunglasses were askew. Even in the dark of night she could see the faintest hint of what was underneath, and her heart skipped a beat. Blue. With trembling hands, she reached up, pushing them back into place.

His lips twisted into a small, sideways smirk. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Reality sunk in as he rolled away, the two slowly leaning up to survey the damage. It was clear that the second vehicle had been planted with a bomb, set with a remote trigger and detonated by the mysterious driver. Deacon’s car was practically destroyed, and from where Madelyn was, she couldn’t see Henry or High Rise. But the devastation and intent was evident—they had been followed. The Railroad had been targeted again.

Ticonderoga Safehouse had just gone up in flames.

[megan-is-mia]

One Night Only Chapter 1 (Poly! Giomis w/ Artist! Reader)

(more reposting, reader’s nickname is ember)

((the gangbangers names are a reference to the three stooges))

“This is nice” (Y/n) said to herself laying on the floor with her sketchbook open and a pencil in her hand. Her phone was unlocked and was displaying a picture she’d taken that morning. There was a light knock on her apartment door that was then followed by the handle being turned as her boyfriends let themselves in.

“Shit it’s been a long day” Mista groaned kicking off his shoes and tossing his hat and coat on the couch before sinking into the floor next to (Y/n).

“Hang your coat up Guido, at least be a courteous guest,” Giorno said clicking his tongue, he hung his coat up and put his shoes away before joining his lovers on the rug in front of the couch.

“Nope, too tired” Mista replied slumping back and using the couch as a back pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. (Y/n) let out a chuckle as she blew a kiss at her boys before returning her attention to the sketchbook.

“Whatcha drawing?” Giorno said leaning down to squint at the few lines of graphite already on the paper before glancing at (Y/n)’s phone for context.

“Don’t look! It’s not ready yet!” (Y/n) protested trying to swat him away. “It’s supposed to be a sketch of the Veiled Christ, but I’m having some trouble with drawing the fabric,” she said glumly. Giorno let out a soft hum before pressing a kiss to the top of (Y/n)’s ear.

“I think it looks nice,” he said with an affectionate purr that was answered with a light punch from the girl who’s face had turned pink with a blush.

“Oh shush, how would you know? You say that about everything I draw, you know flattery will only get you so far” (Y/n) mumbled with a serious expression despite her flushed cheeks.

“Oh? How far will flattery get him, Ember?” Mista chimed in his eyes dropping down as the pet name left his lips and he grinned at (Y/n). She rolled her eyes and sat up closing the sketchbook with a sigh.

“Maybe a kiss or two. Anyways it doesn’t look like I’m not gonna get any work done until you idiots go home” (Y/n) said getting to her feet and putting her sketchbook away in her bedroom. When she returned, Mista was still sitting on the floor but Giorno had moved into the kitchen and started preparing dinner in her brief absence.

“Since I told you what I did today, mind filling me in on what shenanigans my gangstars got up to since I last saw you?” (Y/n) said sitting down next to Guido and leaning against his shoulder. (Y/n) had learned that Giorno and Mista were in the mob very early into their relationship.

To be honest, it kinda bothered her, but she understood why they did what they did. Between the choice of having them in the mob and having them behind bars for their crimes... she’d always chose the former without a second thought. (Y/n)’s only rule was that they were as honest as possible with her about what they did as mobsters.

“Nothing much ran from the cops, shot some drug dealers. You know the usual” Giorno provided nonchalantly as he mixed something in a pot as a pleasant aroma began to permeate the apartment. When he was finished cooking he called (Y/n) and Mista to the table so they could eat.

Halfway through the meal (Y/n)’s phone began ringing loudly. With a bemused expression, she rose from her seat to answer it, walking to her bedroom so she could have some privacy.

Giorno and Mista exchanged looks, shrugged before continuing eating. They stopped eating upon hearing a mournful cry from the bedroom. Rushing to the door and peeking in to watch (Y/n) pacing back and forth with the phone pressed to her ear.

“Summer’s in the emergency room? She was shot ten times? In the head and spine?! The surgery’s been going on for two hours? Is she gonna be okay?! Yes, I want to see her! Yes, I’ll be over soon!” (Y/n) said before hanging up and shoving her phone in her pocket.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, lock the door when you leave. I love you!” she said throwing a passing glance at the boys as she went. Running as fast as she could down the street before hailing a taxi to speed her the rest of the way to the hospital.

Bursting out of the cab and sprinting to the front desk, (Y/n) slammed her hands down on the counter in front of the receptionist. The woman to her credit did not jump and instead looked calmly up at the frantic girl.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The woman said smoothly in a tone meant to put others at ease. But (Y/n) was not at ease as she panted furiously trying to catch her breath so she could speak.

“Which room is Summer O’Reilly in?! I’m her sister (Y/n), O’Reilly! I want to see her as soon as possible!” She babbled out still a bit out of breath. The receptionist, with a smile still on her face, looked down at her computer screen and typed something in. A few moments later she looked back up to address (Y/n).

“Officer O’Reilly is still in surgery but I can direct you to which room she will be taken too once the operation is complete,” the lady said helpfully and wrote down on a sticky note the location of Summer’s room before handing it to (Y/n) who uttered a quick thank you as she rushed towards the elevator.

Waiting for and then riding the elevator felt like an eternity to the girl who spun around impatiently. Once on the correct floor, she dashed to the room to find it mostly empty. The only person present was Summer’s patrol partner Officer Arabella Aramina who was slumped in a chair by the window.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up kiddo” Arabella said barely gracing (Y/n) with a glance. She kept her face neutral even though on the inside she was seething with rage and sorrow.

“The hospital just called me but they didn’t tell me much. Only they Summer had been admitted to the emergency room with multiple gunshot wounds” (Y/n) said dragging a chair over to Arabella and sitting beside her.

“Yeah gunshot wounds that’s putting it lightly,” Arabella said with a derisive snort. “It was more like those motherfuckers were trying to turn her into human Swiss cheese” she added with a growl. (Y/n) gave her an inquisitive look and she sighed deeply.

“Let me give you the facts before anybody tries to feed you shit. It wasn't supposed to get nasty yah hear. Me and Summer were scoping out a drug deal undercover. We were gonna find the perps and arrest them no pain no foul. But then a third party decided to show up. Turns out the deal was just a set up by Passione to clear out the bottom feeder drug dealers on their turf” Arabella explained her eyes darting around the room trying to avoid making eye contact with (Y/n).

“It turned into a firefight and Passione’s men slaughtered the dealers in a matter of minutes. I managed to get to cover but Summer didn’t and took the worst of it. Weird thing is they quit shooting after her sunglasses came off. And one of the thugs said something about them getting killed for injuring the Don’s member or whatever” Arabella said finishing her story and leaning back in her chair.

“What do you mean the Don’s member? And were they talking about Summer?” (Y/n) said more questions forming in her mind as she proceeded the details of Arabella’s story.

“I don’t fucking know, I couldn’t tell what they were saying! I was hiding in an alleyway. Though if I had to make a guess, I think they mistook Summer for a member of their Don’s inner circle” Arabella said with a sigh. (Y/n) felt her stomach twist into knots as she slumped down into the chair.

About half-an-hour later Summer was rolled in on a gurney and transferred into the hospital bed. Leaping out of her chair (Y/n) was by her sister’s side in an instant hugging the older girl lightly and crying.

“Sumi! You’re okay!” (Y/n) babbled using her sister’s childhood nickname as she pressed her head against the other’s chest. Summer raised a gauze-covered head to weakly ruffle the younger girl’s hair.

“Yup I’m okay, sorry for worrying you Emby” Summer said using her childhood nickname for her little sister in an effort to calm her. It didn’t help much as (Y/n) continued to sob against Summer’s hospital gown. The sisters remained embraced for a long time neither speaking until Summer began drifting off from all the drugs still in her system.

(Y/n) didn’t want to leave her sister’s side but the night-nurse kicked her out after about an hour. She began walking home to jittery to call a cab, her eyes darted mistrustfully down every alleyway she passed as she balled her hands in her pockets.

“Well, well, well what do have here? A little lamb wandering out in the night all by her lonesome” a creepy man’s voice said as he sidled up to (Y/n). His grin was rotten and half the teeth were missing from his mouth.

“She’s a real cutie ain’t she? What’s a fine young thing like you doing with a frown on your face?” Another man had snuck up on (Y/n)’s other side also grin unpleasantly. He had more teeth than his friend but his face covered in scars and bumps from brawls.

(Y/n) kept her head down trying to ignore the men, she even tried to walk faster to shake them off but they easily kept pace. The men (Scars and Smiles is what she decided to call them in her mind) were soon joined by a third man who walked directly behind the girl.

“Did your boyfriend dump you, sweetheart? I could be your new boyfriend sweet cheeks” this third man said, (Y/n) glanced over her shoulder and shivered at the sight of the man’s heavily tattooed skin.

“S-s-sorry, I’m not interested. I already have boyfriends, but thank you for the gracious offer” (Y/n) said her stomach flipping like a fish. She quickly dubbed the third man Tattoos as she tried to get away.

“Aww the little lamb is so flustered she can’t even think straight” Smiles groping (Y/n)’s ass and chuckling cruelly when she let out a squeak.

“I bet that pretty mouth of hers can make lots of other cute noises when it’s wrapped around my cock” Scars growled and smacked his lips loudly before grabbing at (Y/n)’s ass as well. Unlike Smiles though, he didn’t let go and continually squeezed the girl’s rump like a stress ball. Without thinking (Y/n) swung her fist and slugged him in the jaw. Scars released her ass to grab his face while Smiles and Tattoos stared dumbly.

Not wasting a moment (Y/n) began running as fast as she could. If she could make to her street she’d probably be safe but that was eight blocks away and the men chasing her were closing distance fast.

One of them took the lead and threw himself on top of her slamming her to the cement. Her hands were torn up by the friction of the concrete against her flesh and her nose was broken on impact.

“Gotta now you little bitch” Tattoos hissed and leaned down to lick (Y/n)’s neck having been the one to tackle her as Smiles and Scars finally caught up.

(Y/n)’s head had hit the ground pretty hard so it was understandable that her ears might be ringing a bit and her vision might be cloudy as a black limo pulled up to the curb beside her.

“Well, what do we have here? If I’m not mistaken it’s Liario, Elmo and Ricci~” A familiar voice said as the limo window was rolled down. “Weren’t you three already warned that the Don won’t tolerate this behavior anymore” the man in the limo went on in a bored tone.

“Help me! Please!” (Y/n) croaked spitting out blood that had trickled down from her nose into her mouth.

“Shut up bitch the men are talking!” Tattoos snarled slamming (Y/n)’s head back down against the ground. She let out a howl of pain which was answered by the sound of a gun being cocked.

“Please don’t shoot me! I don’t wanna die! Please, my sister’s in the hospital!” (Y/n) blathered the blood running into her eyes now as the limo door was opened and the man inside stepped out before slamming the door shut behind him.

“I told you to be quiet!” Tattoos roared bringing his hand back to strike (Y/n). She squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the hit but when it didn’t come her eyes popped open in curiosity. The man from the limo had grabbed Tattoo’s wrist mid-swing before pressing a pistol against his temple with a grim expression.

“I wouldn’t hit her again if I was you Ricci” the man from the limo said coldly. “I really wouldn’t, do you know how many times you just insulted the Don just now?” the man said in a low tone his eyes dropping down to look tenderly at (Y/n) before returning to gazing at Tattoo with an icy gaze.

“What the fuck is going on?” Scars muttered massaging his still sore jaw as the man from the limo clicked his tongue.

“By my count that was two acts of physical assault and two acts of verbal abuse against the Don’s property,” the limo man said his brow furrowing in annoyance. “Of course it had to be four, absolutely unforgivable” he added which rung a faint bell of recognition in (Y/n)’s pain-addled mind.

“I don’t think you even deserve a second warning for this heinous crime. No one disrespects the Don of Passione or his prized Ember” the limo man said firing a bullet through Tattoo’s brain killing him instantly. Scars and Smiles received similar punishment even as Smiles tried to run yelling “Please Capo forgive us! Have mercy Capo Mi—“ but he was dead before he could finish the plea.

With all three thugs dead, the limo man pulled (Y/n) up from under Tattoo’s corpse and off the pavement into his arms. He opened the limo door and gently placed the girl inside before sliding in himself. Blinking weakly (Y/n) felt her heart skip a beat as she realized there was a second man in the limo.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to get out to scold them Guido, or kill them for that matter. They must have really ticked you off and—” the second man whose voice had been causally bored came to an abrupt stop when he looked down at (Y/n). The girl felt herself blushing under the blood on her face and tried to sit up but the first male put a hand on her chest to keep her laying flat. The second male gently cupped her face in his hands with an expression of concentration.

“Stay still Ember, this is going to hurt but please bear with it” the second male said his golden curls of hair resembling an angelic halo to the bewildered girl’s unfocused gaze. A moment later sharp pain shot through (Y/n) and she began moaning out in pain. The first male had taken up petting her sides and mumbling encouraging words while his partner fixed up her wounds.

The shock of the fix-up was too much for (Y/n) to handle and she passed out before it was over. When she next woke up somebody was dabbing a wet towel against her face. Her eyes flickered open to see an unfamiliar girl with a determined expression dipping the towel back into a bowl of warm water and continuing to clean up her face.

“I’m Shelia E” the girl provided before (Y/n) could even open her mouth to ask. “The Don and his right-hand man brought you in about an hour or so ago” she added answering the second question (Y/n) had planned on asking as she looked at the room around her: it was a very ritzy looking bathroom.

“You were covered in blood and your clothes were filthy so they were throw out” Shelia E went on moving the towel to clean behind (Y/n)’s ears. At the mention of clothes the girl’s eyes darted down and she blushed when she saw all she had on was a silk bathrobe. Even her bra and panties had been removed making her shift uneasily as she became aware of the sensation of the air on her nethers.

“Hold still, I’m almost done. I had to cut part of your hair off because of all the blood and dirt. Hope you weren’t too attached to it” Shelia E said sternly as she finished cleaning (Y/n)’s face and surveyed her work with a satisfied nod.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Shelia E said pulling (Y/n) to her feet and herding her out of the bathroom into the small sitting room attached. (Y/n) sank into a large comfy looking loveseat that took up a quarter of the room trying to process what was going on.

“Wait what? Why do I have to get dressed?” (Y/n) said confusedly as Shelia E dropped a large box with a bow on it in her lap.

“Well I don’t want to judge but I think you need a little more clothes than just a robe. I don’t think the Don would like want your first introduction to his underlings to be so racy... but hey that’s your decision, not mine” Shelia E said with a shrug. Blushing vividly (Y/n) opened the box to find a beautiful red dress made of crushed velvet. Lifting out it out of the box, the bottom of the dress fell to the floor and the shoulder straps tied behind the neck.

“Where are the undergarments?” (Y/n) said turning the box upside down with a perplexed expression, a throng dropped on her lap but there was no matching bra. Shelia E shrugged and gave (Y/n) a nonchalant look.

“Great he’s a pervert just my fucking luck. I hope my boyfriends never find out about this, they’d never let me hear the end of it” (Y/n) grumbled and untied the robe dropping it on the floor. She slid the panties up before letting Shelia E help her into the dress which zipped up the back and fortunately had a build-in bra so her boobs were under control.

She refused Shelia E’s efforts to style her hair or put makeup on her face. Tying her hair back into simple braids that wrapped around her head like a circlet before joining into one braid that ended at the nape of her neck. Then applying some light make-up before turning back to Shelia E with a nervous smile.

“Okay, I’m ready to meet the Don... I guess” (Y/n) said allowing Shelia E to lead her out of the sitting room and down a set of carpeted stairs into the bustling club below. (Y/n)’s heart pounded and she kept her eyes down as she was led through the crowds of people talking, drinking, and laughing.

Until a familiar laugh caught her ears and made her head shot up to look for the source: Giorno. Once her eyes locked on him it was like everyone else in the room faded away as she sprinted towards him. She bumped into people and almost tripped in the stupid shoes she’d been forced to wear but it didn’t matter.

“GIORNO!” (Y/n) squealed and threw herself at the blonde. Giorno barely has time to react to his girlfriend launching herself into his lap but he managed to wrap his arms around her even as his chair tipped and toppled under the sudden movement.

The Don’s guards hadn’t been able to react in time to the girl throwing herself into the Don’s lap and knocking him over but they quickly swarmed in ready to remove the intruder. Giorno put up a hand to signal there was no need to act even as his face was covered in kisses by (Y/n).

“Hey don’t I get some sugar too?” Mista said squatting next to (Y/n) and Giorno. Without a single word (Y/n) eases her waist off of the blonde so she can tackle-hug the brunette and shower him with the same intensity of affection.

“God I’m so happy to see you! I was hoping I’d have a chance to... before I had to go see the Don and his lieutenant and thank them for saving me from some thugs” she said half-laughing and half-crying from the stress. Her head dropped to press against Mista’s chest as the laughing devolved into just crying.

“I’m a fucking mess aren’t I?” (Y/n) said between sobs. “Summer got shot by mobsters and I think she might have accidentally gotten involved with Passione’s Don because.... because” she was too distraught to speak as Mista scooped her up and carried her into a quiet drawing room with a couch at the back of it. He sat down on the couch with (Y/n) curled up in his arms like a puppy.

Giorno followed after his boyfriend and girlfriend into the drawing-room shutting the door behind them. He placed a hand on (Y/n)’s back petting lightly as he sank onto the couch beside Mista.

“Start from the beginning, all we know so far is that you left your apartment in a hurry and ended up on the bad side of town,” Giorno said in a soothing tone as he continued to pet the girl’s back.

“You’ve met my sister Summer right?” (Y/n) began and received affirmative nods. “And you know she’s a cop...” again she paused and again she was given the go-ahead to continue speaking. “Well while she was on a stakeout for a drug deal there was a firefight lead by Passione. And they stopped after hitting her cause they didn’t want to get in trouble for killing the Don’s member. She’s at the hospital now and in critical condition” (Y/n) managed to say without falling back into sobs.

“And then on my way home from the hospital I got jumped by gangbangers but a limo stopped and I guess the man erm men inside were the Don of Passione and his right-hand man. So now I owe a debt to the Don for saving me and I need to make sure my sister won’t be attacked by anyone while she’s in the hospital” this time she fell into sobs and Giorno and Mista let her cry until she regained control of herself.

“You look nice” Mista offered trying to lighten the mood. He hated seeing his girlfriend cry and he hated seeing her stress over things even more. He was hopeful that the flattery would trigger the normal response of brushing-off the words yet secretly accepting them as well.

“Don’t you even start Guido! I didn’t pick this monstrosity! Apparently, the Don had my old clothes thrown out and left this red eyesore as my only choice of attire” (Y/n) irritable said before Giorno’s nose pressed against the nape of her neck under where the dress was tied.

“So you don’t like the dress?” The blonde commented nuzzling absentmindedly at her neck. (Y/n)’s cheeks turned almost red as the dress as she let out a nervous giggle.

“Well okay, I guess calling it an eyesore is a little strong. It’s just... this dress must have cost thousands of lires. It’s too expensive for me and I’ve got practically nothing on underneath this thing” (Y/n) admitted quietly, noticing with some secret satisfaction that both boys looked hot and bothered now. Giorno has started kissing down the expanse of her bare back and Mista’s face had burrowed into her bosom to motorboat.

“Stop it! I still need to look presentable for the Don! I’ll come find you after my appeal and—“ (Y/n) was cut off by Mista’s head popping up from her boobs to crush his mouth against her lips playfully.

“—Nope, your appeal is happening right now” Mista said pulling back briefly then sticking his tongue in (Y/n)’s mouth and reaching around to untie the straps of her dress. Giorno has taken hold of the dress zipper in his mouth and began pulling it down. The drawing room’s door opened as Shelia E poked her head in. Both boys paused while (Y/n) scrambled to make herself presentable again.

“The car is ready and waiting out front Don Giovanna,” Shelia E said neutrally before shutting the door. (Y/n) stared blankly at the door before beginning to laugh nervously.

“Funny, that’s funny I could have sworn she called you Don just now” (Y/n) said still laughing uneasily when Giorno and Mista stared at her calmly her laughter began to fade into silence.

“Y-y-you’re the Don of Passione?” the girl said incredulously. When she received only cool nods, she felt her stomach twisting and her limbs became wobbly. If Mista hadn’t been keeping her on his lap with one arm around her waist, (Y/n) was sure she would have fallen onto the floor.

“I think I’m gonna faint” she mumbled as Giorno and Mista led her to the limo the blonde sliding in first before (Y/n) was set in his lap and the brunette sat beside them slamming the car door shut as he did. (Y/n)’s brain struggled to put all the pieces together but when it all came together her face fell into a grimace.

“Summer’s going to be targeted for being my sister isn’t she?” she said numbly. “I’m entwined with the mob now and that means I’ve put her in danger just for sharing blood” (Y/n) tearfully melting against Giorno’s chest desperate for the stability he usually brought.

“Don’t worry about your sister, I’ll have some of my men sent over to the hospital to watch over her. Nobody will lay a finger on her except for the doctors until she’s at full health again” Giorno soothed running his fingers up and down (Y/n)’s sides in a calming matter.

“Really? You’d do that for me? Th— How much will I owe you Don Giovanna?” (Y/n)’s tone warped halfway through her response going from cheerful relief to cold resignation. Giorno felt a painful pang in his chest at hearing his title leave her lips.

“There’s no need to call me that Ember. Giorno or GioGio will be fine” he said nuzzling her forehead and kissing her. “Nothing’s changed, I’m the same person I was a few hours ago” he added pressing a kiss to (Y/n)’s chin.

“But I’m not! A few hours ago I was just (Y/n) O’Reilly. Now I’m Don Giovanna’s hussy!” (Y/n) said as a troublesome thought started worming its way into her mind. What would happen when Giorno and Mista grew tired of her? Surely they wouldn’t have her killed right? But the memory of how Mista had coldly executed the gangbangers was still fresh in her mind and she shivered in silent terror.

“Don’t worry so much, everything will be fine. Believe me” Mista murmured into her ear reminding (Y/n) that he was present and slipped his hands under her dress, pulling at her panties so they slid to her ankles. “We’ll be home soon so we can resolve some unfinished business” he added with a purr and kissed her bare shoulder.

Despite these words sounding like there’d be a brief respite for the girl, the dress was already on the floor of the limo before the three reached their destination. (Y/n)’s shoes had also been lost somewhere in the car amidst the passionate chaos.

Mista took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around (Y/n) making her decent enough as he lifted her up into his arms to carry inside the mansion and upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Giorno. The girl hid her face against his chest which made his heart skip a beat excitedly. Once in the seclusion of the bedroom he set (Y/n) on the bed and began smooching up her neck before making hickies. However, he didn’t get much further before the sound of light snoring ruined the mood. Somehow, someway, (Y/n) had fallen asleep despite the romantic attention.

“Heh guess somebody’s too tired to get freaky” Giorno commented yawning and stretching as he began to undress. Mista threw him an evil look but also began changing out of his suit. (Y/n) continued to sleep sprawled out naked as a babe until one of the boys’ finally manned up enough to grab an old tee shirt for her to wear.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to talk business tomorrow then, maybe she’ll finally agree to move in with us” Mista mused as he tucked (Y/n) under the covers before sliding in beside her and pressing his face against her chest. Giorno made himself cozy against the girl’s back kissing her shoulders lazily a few times before resting his head on a pillow. Tomorrow would be a new day, and a new dawn would rise on the story of the Don, his Lieutenant, and their Artist Ember...

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

In A Blur

Characters: Spencer Reid x Reader, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner

Word Count: 1,431

Warnings: minor angst, fluff at the end

Summary: Spencer is by your side when you get shot on the job.

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me. if your tag doesn’t work three times in a row (three stories i post in a row) then I will be removing you.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“FBI!” you yelled as you rushed into the unsub’s apartment, your gun trained in front of you professionally. Morgan and Reid were behind you as you went in one direction and they in another.

“Clear!” Morgan yelled when he finished scoping out a room.

“Clear!” Reid followed right behind him. The room you were in must have been the kitchen, and it was a complete mess. Dishes were piled in the sink, all of the dirty, and it looked like the unsub hadn’t cleaned at all, if not ever. There was only one window in the kitchen, and it was open, allowing the curtain to flow as the wind blew in. Morgan and Reid walked to the kitchen to see if you were safe when you walked over to the window and peered outside. The fire escape was the only way out, and when you looked down, you could clearly see the unsub trying to escape through that.

“There he is! He’s trying to escape! I’ll go down here and you cut him off through the alley in the back!” you ordered as you escaped. Without waiting for agreements from your coworkers, you rushed down the stairs, trying to take a shot whenever you could. The man was good at running, and he seemed to evade every attempt at you shooting him. Reid and Morgan rushed out of the house without another word, worried that you were going to get hurt if they didn’t show up on time.

“Tyler! Stop!” you yelled when he hit the ground. As quick as you possibly could, you made it down to the bottom before running at him. The heels you were wearing made it almost impossible for you to gain speed, so you kicked them off as you ran which gave you the momentum you were looking for. Tyler ran as quick as he could into the alley, and you hoped that Morgan and Reid were there to arrest him.

As soon as you rounded the corner, Tyler held a gun to your chest before shooting two rounds. He didn’t aim very well, and your bulletproof vest stopped the first bullet from entering your chest, but the second one was much lower, and it managed to go through the vest and into your stomach. Your whole body froze as pain spread through it like crazy. You couldn’t seem to move because you were scared if you did, you go crumbling to the ground.

He smirked at your reaction before putting the gun at his throat. Reid rounded the corner from the other side of the alley and yelled as Tyler shot himself. He must have thought it is better to die than have the police catch him for his crimes. Spencer ran to the man as he fell to the ground to see if he could find a pulse, but he knew that wouldn’t be likely.

The man who was trying to save the criminal was the love of your life. As soon as you got shot, your whole life flashed before your eyes, and all you saw was Spencer. The way he made you laugh, how he put you first before anything else, and how he cared for you every second of the day. He made you laugh when you wanted to cry, made you feel worth it when your depression was at its worse and made you feel beautiful when you had sweats and no makeup on. He was the best boyfriend a woman could ask for, and you didn’t know if you would even see tomorrow. It was a miracle that you were still standing, but you could tell from how wobbly your knees were, that you would fall at any second.

“Spencer?” you called out. Your voice seemed far away, but you had to say it.

“Yeah, are you okay?” he asked just as Morgan came from around the corner with the rest of the team.

“I just realized…” you started coughing up the blood that had made its way up to your throat, “that I’ve been shot.”

“Y/N!” he yelled as he scrambled to get up just as you crumbled to the ground.

“Officer down! We need a medic!” he yelled at the rest of his team. Hotch was already on the phone as the rest of the team came rushing to you. Spencer yanked off your bulletproof vest before pressing his hands against your wound. The vest absorbed most of the blood, but with it gone it was free to gush.

“Spencer,” you gasped as more blood came out of your mouth.

“I need you to keep your eyes open for me, Y/N. Please stay awake,” he begged as tears fell from his eyes.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered as your eyes began rolling to the back of your head. Your eyes slid shut despite Spencer yelling your name. Everything happened in a blur; running after the unsub, getting shot, and feeling like you were dying.

Maybe you were.

Maybe you did.

********************************************************************************************

Spencer could not stop pacing the emergency room while he waited for you to get out of surgery. After you had closed your eyes, he didn’t want to think about what might happen if you died. He hoped that the surgery went well as they gave you blood, nutrients, and to get the bullet out of your stomach. He had been pacing while the rest of the BAU team watched.

“Spencer, maybe you want to--”

“No, I’m not leaving,” he cut Morgan off.

“She’s going to be alright,” JJ said in a calming voice.

“Yeah, I know she will be,” he said mostly for himself. Due to his eidetic memory, he couldn’t get the event out of his mind, and he realized it will be locked in there for as long as he shall live. Spencer bit his nails in nervousness despite you always telling him he shouldn’t do it. He couldn’t calm his racing mind as he thought about what you were going through right now.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” the doctor asked once he came to the waiting room. Spencer was immediately by his side as the rest of his team joined him. The doctor didn’t look very happy, and his heart stopped in fear of the bad news.

“Is she alright? I’m her boyfriend. Please tell me she’s going to be okay,” he pleaded with the doctor.

“She is going to be fine. We got the bullet out, and she’s resting right now. Fortunately for her, the bullet didn’t hit any major organs, but her recovery process will be long. The bullet was lodged next to her spine, so I don’t want her walking, even with crutches. She will mostly spend days in bed except for bathroom breaks, showers, and to stretch her legs every few hours. She will need someone with her to help with those things.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do everything. Can we see her?” Spencer asked with a breath of relief.

“Yes. She’s groggy, so I don’t know how much you’ll get to say, but she’s awake,” the doctor nodded. Spencer and his friends followed the doctor to your room, and he was the first one in. When you heard the door open, you sleepily watched the love of your life walk in with your best friends. Spencer was immediately by your side, grabbing the hand that had your IV in it.

“Spencer,” you whispered, barely audible.

“Don’t talk, okay? You’re going to be okay.”

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked as Derek walked to your other side and smoothed down your hair.

“Tired. Sore. Hungry.”

“She won’t be able to eat anything for a while. I need her blood pressure to get up as well as her iron levels. Once that happens, she will be able to eat,” the doctor informed everyone.

“I’m staying with her here,” Spencer declared as he pulled up a chair next to your bed.

“I think that’s a good idea. The rest of us have paperwork to do. We’ll be back in the morning,” Hotch spoke as the rest shuffled out. “Oh, and Spencer, you need to get some sleep.”

“He can sleep here,” you offered groggily.

“Okay,” he nodded before leaving you and your boyfriend alone.

“I should have been there for you,” Spencer started to blame himself, but you cut him off.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he smiled tearfully before kissing the back of your hand. You knew your recovery process will be a long one, but with Spencer by your side, you could get through it.

********************************************************************************************

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[claimingtheflame]

Lincoln Trail Mental Health Facility Part 1

Once again I want to reiterate that a lot of these posts are diaries I wrote never finished. Some of them jump around in my life. The story is about something that took place several years after D left

I remember the moment I turned in the paper. It was nothing. The last question asked my thoughts on the final death of Juliet. I sympathize. To this day I do. Many people probably do. She ended her life because she was in the grip of a mythic tragedy. Who could walk away from such a fate?

Except. Even though this is exactly how I felt, my teenage brain did not yet have the skills to articulate this. I ended up writing something like "I feel what juliet did was right. The world is ugly and filthy and who wants to live in it without someone you love." Because I was an edgy goth kid.

This would send me into the clutches of my own sort of tragedy. A brutal, destructive storm began churning that friday that would completely knock me out of my stupid unlaced combat boots on monday.

It happened like this. I walked into first period, Biology. I sat next to Adam, my closest friend. A knock came shortly after the period started and it turned out to be a senior girl who wanted me to be escorted to Mrs Mudds office. I did not know who that was. It turned out she was a counselor. She had coppery hair and a long, perky, somewhat simian face.

In this story, there is a long list of incompetant people who should not have had their jobs, and possibly should have been in prison. Mrs Mudd is not one of them. As much as I dislike her to this day. Maybe she did really mean well. Maybe she was just swept away by the drama of the whole situation. This is Elizabethtown KY after all.

We talked for a few hours. Looking back, I really don't think I said anything to her that should have been construed that I was depressed or suicidal. We talked about a secret place I visited in the woods behind my neighborhood. We talked about various religious beliefs and about music I listened to. Either way, my mom picked me up from school and I was somewhat excited for the break-in monotony.

We have drove to Lincoln Trail Behavioral Health Center , and I really didn't know what was happening. I had friends who had gone, but I didn't really believe that's why we were there until I saw the look on my mom's face as we walked in. There was a serious feeling of betrayal then. Like God woman haven't you put me through enough. This was an unfair thought. My mother is the second person blameless in the story. I would find out later that basically everybody from my school was telling her I was planning on killing myself quite literally. Mrs. Mudd had apparently told them that the place in the woods was my planned spot to die. I had self-harmed in the past. It was all pleasure related though and I thought it had nothing to do with my mental health. Either way it had been months prior to this, but it added to the Snowball Effect.

I'll admit that I didn't really understand my own mental health at this age. I had just been released from D's clutches only a few precious years earlier. I had no clue what was going on. I was going through a suspended childhood in many ways. All that said, Lincoln Trail Behavioral Health System did not help or address any my mental health issues. Let me reiterate. Aside from some experimental self harm 6 months prior(I received counseling, was evauted, etc), at age 15 I was pretty well behaved. I rarely got in trouble. I certainly never acted disturbed. Lincoln helped nobody who actually went there. In fact I barely escaped with my life and sanity. This is not a dramatic statement. This was a terrible place, as you will learn.

I was obviously scared the moment I walked into this place, all the stories I heard. We were buzzed through a security door after a few accusatory last looks at my mother when I went in quietly. I heard if you resisted or yelled that they gave you a shot in your ass of some kind of sedative. I did not want to give anybody the satisfaction roughing up the goth kid and shooting them in the ass. This was a short-lived Triumph. I would learn quickly that this place was not for me and that there was some horrible mistake pretty early on . I was led to a room and told to take off my clothes down to my underwear. I was told to turn around in front of this guy, who nodded with approval after watching and told me to put back on my clothes. I was wearing really baggy SpongeBob boxers. I guess I could have gotten away with hiding something into the facility. That's the thing. I wasn't a f****** delinquent. Not yet or not anymore depending on how you look at the chronology of things I did as a teenager. Anyway I do remember a kind moment here. The guard escorted me down a hallway and a girl smiled at me brightly. "It's really not that bad here." She said. I smiled and shrugged. This was more of a kind gesture than I realized, I would find this out later.

I was then led to the office of the first real fuckup in this story. This would be my counselor. I don't remember her name. She was somewhat nice to begin with. I'll call her mrs. Wannabe because later she would read a bunch of poems about her Native American ancestry. This extremely blond, blue-eyed woman with a square German face and freckles. Me and Wannabe would talk for about 30 minutes and she would send me on to my actual psychiatrist. I do remember this man's name. I will never forget it. His name was dr. Kodali. We can call him King fuckup. Fuckup prime.

He was a small man, with a small mustache, and skin the color between a beet and a russet potato. He spoke in broken English. He asked me why I thought I was there. I told him about the paper I wrote. He smiled and said " yes we all say things we don't mean. " he asked me if I follow the rules at home. I said yes as long as they are within reason. He laughed at me and said " my own daughter thinks several of my rules are not within reason. Children come to learn to obey. " we did not talk about depression, and this statement would turn out to be significant in many ways. It would come to outline the failure of this institution to children who actually suffered depression. Which I will admit that back then I might have been suffering from. Certainly anxiety. But who doesnt, to some degree?

Let us frame our Shit Pit King with what I didnt know about him before I explain my own experiences. He received kickbacks for pushing certain medicines. This is an important detail. He had been accused on several occasions of over-prescribing meds. He was widely hated as a doctor, and I can't believe he still has a job.

During my first visit, he was mostly dismissive. Interrupted me and laughed at me often. He was mostly interested in my behavior. If I acted up. If I respected authority. Literally nothing about suicide was discussed. So why did this guy prescribe meds at the end of our conversation? He picked up the phone, called my mother, and gave her the dosage information. I narrowly escaped this medicine, whatever it was, due to a surprising hero figure in the story who we will discuss later.

He dismissed me and I was sent to "group" for the first time. This is nothing like "support groups" you see in Lifetime movies. It was a huge room, an obnoxious amount of desk chairs crammed in a circle. Boys on one side. Girls on the other.

I immediately dislike this. It feels tense, and I feel scrutinized. I try to ask a girl near me if I can use one of her pencils. She folds her arms and rolls her eyes. " I can't talk to him." She says to the ceiling. This gets the attention of the counselor of the group, who is actually just an early 20-somethings aide of some kind, there are a few of these. This one I call Nick neckbeard. He says " we are here to work on our problems, not to date. " I am immediately embarrassed. I definitely wasn't trying to date anybody. I let it go but it does set the tone.

Since I am the new kid, a round of introductions is done. Not a lot of these people are notable other than the fact that a lot of them are in here for drugs. Some are in here as an in-between stage between Juvenile Detention and Society. I get the distinct feeling that most of the boys are here for drugs and violent crime. I reflect bitterly that I am in here for writing a stupid paper.

There are several thug wannabe types, maybe two or three other white guys that aren't like that. One obvious skinhead as well. It's split in half racially. Five white Boys & 5 black. There was a round of introductions. Most were there for, as mentioned, substance abuse and violent behavior. The skinhead boasted of being in because he stuck foreign objects in his body. He stabbed himself with pens and various utensils. Another boy was in for desecrating graves. The girls were almost exclusively substance abuse. There was one Arab girl that was in there, and though she talked much I never quite understood why except that I knew she definitely needed to be in there. She either talked incessantly of sex or repeatedly told this story about a "bad doll" that lived in her house- all in broken english.

So this was the introduction to the place. Honestly yes, I would have problems with the other patients. That's really out of the scope of the story though. They are mental patients. What do you expect?

The true problem with Lincoln trail was its staff and overall structure. Such a problem was this structure that it would break me down to that kernel of a child you see on all the other stories on this blog. Such that Lincoln trail would reduce me again to that boy child whispering a question to the darkness: "Why am I being punished?" It would make me know, through recognition and reinforcement of abusive themes I was already familiar with, that I was not in a safe place.

The first night I felt this first blow through humiliation and guilt. It was a simple thing really. We were sent to bed. A corridor with a small basket on the outside of each door. A female counselor was pointing each of us down the hall to our rooms. When my time came, she pointed vaguely down the hall to the right side. I tried to ask for clarification and she shouted "Right there!" And my immediate reaction to being chastised like this was to go to one of the rooms with my belongings. She did not stop me.

I noticed one of the wooden bed frames(they were double rooms with single bathrooms) had no mattress. My roommate was a boy my age. He had close-buzzed haircut. He seemed politely surprised. I shrugged and got in the shower. When I turned the water off, I heard yelling on the other side of the door.

The boy was yelling angrily that he did not know who I was and that he had nothing to do with me. He was explaining that I came into his room unbidden and to no fault of his own. I dressed quickly and came out of the bathroom as soon as possible. A middle-aged blond woman grabs me by the arm and began leading me out of the room. When I asked her where we were going she did not say anything but tightened her grip and sat me down in a chair. This woman becomes important later. Five minutes later Dr kodali came into the office with my other counselor, both looking at me sternly.

I apologize for not knowing the exact words of the conversation. Basically the boy was supposed to have his room to his self. He was gay and had been known to have had sexual contact with other patients. They grilled me hard about whether or not I was gay and deciding whether I should be disciplined. Dr kodali somehow remembers that that my girlfriend had given testimony(positively) over my mental health and he seemed to leave it at that. The blonde lady didnt seem convinced.

When she led me back to my(actual) room, she took the liberty of going through my clothes and belongings. She confiscated basically all of my clothing, saying that it would distract patients(black jeans and tees...none of my flashier stuff). She confiscated my copy of Cannery Row, all my homework, and my shampoo. She really let off on me while doing this. Talking about how sneaky I was and if I was planning anything with Chester(the gay guy) that she would know.

This was Day 1. I would kneel beside the bed that night and pray(I just prayed to 'the goddess' back then), just to feel peace inside. I was so put-upon about the stupid clothes. They were my armor, in a way.

The next day would be a lot worse. I'd learn a lot.

[jcmorgenstern]

@superohclair oh god okay please know these are all just incoherent ramblings so like, idk, please feel free to add on or ignore me if im just wildly off base but this is a bad summary of what ive been thinking about and also my first titans/batman meta?? (also, hi!)

okay so for the disclaimer round: I am not an actual cultural studies major, nor do I have an extensive background in looking at the police/military industrial complex in media. also my comics knowledge is pretty shaky and im a big noob(I recently got into titans, and before that was pretty ignorant of the dceu besides batman) so I’ll kind of focus in on the show and stuff im more familiar with and apologize in advance?. basically im just a semi-educated idiot with Opinions, anyone with more knowledge/expertise please jump in! this is literally just the bullshit I spat out incoherently off the top of my head. did i mention im a comics noob? because im a comics noob.

so on a general level, I think we can all agree that batman as a cultural force is somewhat on the conservative side, if not simply due to its age and commercial positioning in American culture. there are a lot of challenges and nuances to that and it’s definitely expanding and changing as DC tries to position itself in the way that will...make the most money, but all you have to do is take a gander through the different iterations of the stories in the comics and it’ll smack you in the fucking face. like compare the first iteration of Jason keeping kids out of drugs to the titans version and you’ve got to at least chuckle. at the end of the day, this is a story about a (white male) billionaire who fights crime.

to be fair, I’d argue the romanticization of the police isn’t as aggressive as it could be—they are most often presented as corrupt and incompetent. However, considering the main cop characters depicted like Jim Gordon, the guys in Gotham (it’s been a while since I saw it, sorry) are often the romanticized “good few” (and often or almost always white cis/het men), that’s on pretty shaky ground. I don’t have the background in the comics strong enough to make specific arguments, so I’ll cede the point to someone who does and disagrees, but having recently watched a show that deals excellently with police incompetence, racism, and brutality (7 Seconds on Netflix), I feel at the very least something is deeply missing. like, analysis of race wrt police brutality in any aspect at all whatsoever.

I think it can be compellingly read that batman does heavily play into the military/police industrial complex due to its takes on violence—just play the Arkham games for more than an hour and you’ll know what I mean. to be a little less vague, even though batman as a franchise valorizes “psychiatric treatment” and ��nonviolence,” the entire game seems pretty aware it characterizes treatment as a madhouse and nonviolence as breaking someone’s back or neck magically without killing them because you’re a “good guy.” while it is definitely subversive that the franchise even considers these elements at all, they don’t always do a fantastic job living up to them.

and then when you consider the fetishization of tools of violence both in canon and in the fandom, it gets worse. same with prisons—if anything it dehumanizes people in prisons even more than like, cop shows in general, which is pretty impressive(ly bad). like there’s just no nuance afforded and arkham is generally glamorized. the fact that one of the inmates is a crocodile assassin, I will admit, does not help. im not really sure how to mitigate that when, again, one of the inmates is a crocodile assassin, but I think my point still stands. fuck you, killer croc. (im just kidding unfuck him or whatever)

not to take this on a Jason Todd tangent but I was thinking about it this afternoon and again when thinking about that cop scene again and in many ways he does serve as a challenge to both batman’s ideology as well as the ideology of the franchise in general. his depiction is always a bit of a sticking point and it’s always fascinating to me to see how any given adaptation handles it. like Jason’s “”street”” origin has become inseparable from his characterization as an angry, brash, violent kid, and that in itself reflects a whole host of cultural stereotypes that I might argue occasionally/often dip into racialized tropes (like just imagine if he wasn’t white, ok). red hood (a play on robin hood and the outlaws, as I just realized...today) is in my exposure/experience mostly depicted as a villain, but he challenges batman’s no-kill philosophy both on an ethical and practical level. every time the joker escapes he kills a whole score more of innocent people, let alone the other rogues—is it truly ethical to let him live or avoid killing him for the cost of one life and let others die?

moreover, batman’s ““blind”” faith in the justice system (prisons, publicly-funded asylum prisons, courts) is conveniently elided—the story usually ends when he drops bad guy of the day off at arkham or ties up the bad guys and lets the police come etc etc. part of this is obviously bc car chases are more cinematic than dry court procedurals, but there is an alternate universe where bruce wayne never becomes batman and instead advocates for the arkham warden to be replaced with someone competent and the system overhauled, or in programs encouraging a more diverse and educated police force, or even into social welfare programs. (I am vaguely aware this is sometimes/often part of canon, but I don’t think it’s fair to say it’s the main focus. and again, I get it’s not nearly as cinematic).

overall, I think the most frustrating thing about the batman franchise or at least what I’ve seen or read of it is that while it does attempt to deal with corruption and injustice at all levels of the criminal justice system/government, it does so either by treating it as “just how life is” or having Dick or Jim Gordon or whoever the fuckjust wipe it out by “eliminating the dirty cops,” completely ignoring the non-fantasy ways these problems are dealt with in real life. it just isn’t realistic. instead of putting restrictions on police violence or educating cops on how to use their weapons or putting work into eradicating the culture of racism and prejudice or god basically anything it’s just all cinematized into the “good few” triumphing over the bad...somehow. its always unsatisfying and ultimately feels like lip service to me, personally.

this also dovetails with the very frustrating way mental health/”insanity” or “madness” is dealt with in canon, very typical of mainstream fiction. like for example:“madness is like gravity, all it takes is a little push.” yikes, if by ‘push’ you mean significant life stressors, genetic load, and environemntal influences,  then sure. challenge any dudebro joker fanboy to explain exactly what combination of DSM disorders the joker has to explain his “””insanity””” and see what happens. (these are, in fact, my plans for this Friday evening. im a hit at parties).

anyway I do really want to wax poetic about that cop scene in 1x06 so im gonna do just that! honestly when I first saw that I immediately sat up like I’d sat on a fucking tack, my cultural studies senses were tingling. the whole “fuck batman” ethos of the show had already been interesting to me, esp in s1, when bruce was basically standing in for the baby boomers and dick being our millennial/GenX hero. I do think dick was explicitly intended to appeal to a millennial audience and embody the millennial ethos. By that logic, the tension between dick and Jason immediately struck me as allegorical (Jason constantly commenting on dick being old, outdated, using slang dick doesn’t understand and generally being full of youthful obnoxious fistbumping energy).

Even if subconsciously on the part of the writers, jason’s over-aggressive energy can be read as a commentary on genZ—seen by mainstream millennial/GenX audiences as taking things too far. Like, the cops in 1x06 could have been Nick Zucco’s hired men or idk pretty much anyone, yet they explicitly chose cops and even had Jason explain why he deliberately went after them for being cops so dick (cop) could judge him for it. his rationale? he was beaten up by cops on the street, so he’s returning the favor. he doesn’t have the focused “righteous” rage of batman or dick/nightwing towards valid targets, he just has rage at the world and specifically the system—framed here as unacceptable or fanatical. as if like, dressing up like a bat and punching people at night is, um, totally normal and uncontroversial.

on a slightly wider scope, the show seems to internally struggle with its own progressive ethos—on the one hand, they hire the wildly talented chellah man, but on the other hand they will likely kill him off soon. or they cast anna diop, drawing wrath from the loudly racist underbelly of fandom, but sideline her. perhaps it’s a genuine struggle, perhaps they simply don’t want to alienate the bigots in the fanbase, but the issue of cops stuck out to me when I was watching as an social issue where they explicitly came down on one side over the other. jason’s characterization is, I admit and appreciate, still nuanced, but I’d argue that’s literally just bc he’s a white guy and a fan favorite. cast an actor of color as Jason and see how fast fandom and the writer’s room turns on him.

anyway i don’t really have the place to speak about what an explicitly nonwhite!cop!dick grayson would look like, but I do think it would be a fascinating and exciting place to start in exploring and correcting the kind of vague and nebulous complaints i raise above. (edit: i should have made more clear, i mean in the show, which hasn’t dealt with dick’s heritage afaik). also, there’s something to be said about the cop vs detective thing but I don’t really have the brain juice or expertise to say it? anyway if you got this far i hope it was at least interesting and again pls jump in id love to hear other people’s takes!!

tldr i took two (2) cultural studies classes and have Opinions

[loserclubsblog]

Assassin's Match

It was raining at 2:47 in the morning and this did not make Richie's assignment any easier. Of course that didn't mean he couldn't do it. He was really one of the best for the job, but the heavy sheets of rain were like a vail covering a large range of his vision. It was times like these that he was now greatful for his contacts that had replaced his coke bottle glasses. The wind speed was brushing 5 mph, pulling favoritism of the shot to the south. He would need to readjust with the wind and the rain so that his shot would rain true. As he looked through his scope and found his target. Tightness pulling at his chest and ragged short breaths racked his body as the thrilling rush of adrenalin surged though him. His finger wrapped around the trigger. One inhale of focus. One exhale for calming effects. His finger tightened around the trigger. He had closed his eyes to listen one last time before...

BANG! The sound echoed around him.

Richie opened his eyes wide, taking another look through his scope. Blood was sprayed across the older man's chest. This would have been a nice shot. Well... if it had been his.

"SHIT!" Richie yelled through the rain. This was the third time this had happend. This was the third time someone had taken the kill shot right before him. Whoever this was that was stealing his targets were taking his paychecks as well.

Aware of the change in plans, Richie needed to pack up and leave in a hurry. After only a couple of minutes of packing and storing his rifle, he headed towards the stares. Abandoning his spot from the broken window. As he flew down the three stories and burst through the doors, the car was already running. Yanking open the passenger side door and slinging the rifle in the back, he jumped in. Before he was really good and in the car, the tires screeched and the high speed drive was now in place.

"So did you take the headshot or go for a bullet through the chest?" Beverly asked sitting right next to him. He let out what came as a frustrated grumble. At that Beverly slowed down, either deciding that they were far enough away or shocked at the response. "What the hell does that mean? You did kill him didn't you?" She looked over at Richie with a raised eyebrow and a condescending tone.

"He beat me to it. Again. So no." Richie couldn't look at her when he said it. He knew she wouldn't be happy with this. This would be the third paycheck that he had promised her, and he failed to come through. He knew she had needed the money. He knew he couldn't deny her that much longer. They were best friends and literal partners in crime, but he wouldn't blame her if she left for someone who could pay her. "Don't worry. Im still gonna pay you. I promised I would."

"You don't have to worry about that. I won't hold you to that one. Just bag a damn kill for the love of God Rich." She let out a sigh as she took a left at the intersection. "What are we gonna do about this jackass? We can't just let him steal our checks."

"I don't know. What do you want me to do?" His voice sounded uncomfortable at this sudden question, his body language even more so. He shifted in his seat and his gaze went to an impatient Bev.

"We have a few options. Take your pick." This was not what Richie was expecting. He didn't like being put on the spot. He killed for a living. He knew one of the options Beverly was getting at. Richie stared out the window as the heavy rain rolled down it. It looked as if he were in one of those cheesy music videos where they sang about sad love. Although this was sort of ironic. Richie was sitting here making a decision about a man that he had only come in contact with twice in his life. Wait for it. Here comes the ironic part. He had only seen him twice in a far off distance hopping from rooftop to rooftop, but he had admired this man. The agility of him. The way he swiftly took the shot and left the scene. This man had a strong hold on Richie and he didn't even know his name. Hell, he could walk up to the man on the street and not even know it. He had never seen his face.

"I don't know who he is. I don't know where he lives. I dont know his name. I don't know who his employer is, or if he even had one for that matter. What the fuck do you insist I do Bevvie dear?" The tone of his voice showed a bit of his annoyance. Well, annoyance and frustration. Frustration seemed to be the tone of the night. As it usually was when shit like this happend. They had been robbed of a perfect hit again in the last two months and now they were on the lines of finding new employment. This was in all a touchy subject for the both of them. Then taking in consideration of Beverly, he calmed down. She was only the driver because when Richie found her on the streets, she had nothing. He had taken her in and given her a home when she only had the streets. If the bottom fell out on them, he knew she would be the one to have a harder time with it. She would never find a job as good as the one Richie had given her. Richie gave her half of the profits he had made from each job. Every single bullet that hit it's mark was a split profit for the two. When Beverly questioned him on it he simply stated that he wouldn't have gotten the money if he was caught and thrown in jail. Seeing the logic in his words, she never questioned him on it again. He reached out to touch the back of Beverly's head as she leaned into his touch. "I just don't know what you want me to do about it."

"Richie if you were more careful maybe. If you checked other possible vantage points. See where other blind spots might be, and trapped him." Richie retracted his hand at that. Resuming his gaze out of the window.

"You say that like I haven't already done it. I do that every time and I don't know where he could possibly have shot from. There was no other blind spot except from where I was. Even If I did know where he was, what do I do? Again, still no clear solution. Do I talk to him? Do I ask if he wants to come over for tea so we can work out an agreement?"

"Beep beep Richie." Beverly's clear sign that he had gone to far. Oh well. He had said it with such a sarcastic tone that it even made him roll his eyes. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with finding him for other purposes than we could get somewhere." This made Richie's blood run cold. She couldn't have ment it the way she said it. She didn't know that side of him. He hadn't told her.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He shifted in his seat again, aware of the heat burning his face. He was glad that it was dark out so she couldn't see his cheeks turn the color of her lipstick.

"You know what I'm talking about. The way your eyes glaze over when you think of him. How it's so damn hard to pull you back down to earth when you look that way. When you told me about the way he jumped from rooftops, and the way you described his body to me when he did it." A strange fear rose in his throat. He wasn't afraid because he was attracted to a man. Beverly had already known he was attracted to men. They had even shared a few of them in their day. It was the strange fear that she knew him so well.

"Just shut up and drive." Richie mumbled under his breath. When they got home, they immediately locked up and dried off. Then they made the call that had been much dreaded since the car ride. They had to make a call confirming the kill. Although it had not been their kill. Therefore they would get no money and another threat imploring that they would be fired and this new gunman would be hired in their place.

Well that had been what they expected. Instead what they got was a new name on their blacklist. Stan was surprisingly calm when they told him about the mystery man. He just simply jumped into the phone and said something along the lines of not having to pay so it would be like two birds with one stone, or something like that. Stan was always using those weird bird terms for everything. The call ended and they went to bed, trying to get as much sleep as possible before they would have to get up and do their research tomorrow morning.

The next day they woke up to the bright sun and went straight to work. They had checked for cameras in that area and the blind spots. They had circled the block a few times and looked for possible vantage points until they found a good enough spot. They had even logged every person that had walked by, if they weren't living around the area. They say at a small coffee shop on the next block over and just enjoyed the day as It went by. The harsh rain of the night before had made a nice cool day with a rainbow in the sky. When it was getting late, Richie had treated Beverly to a nice dinner before walking back home. They had not taken the car for the simple fact that it would be easier for someone to identify them. As time grew near they had gotten in their uniforms. Beverly wore black leather pants and a black hood that zipped up in the front to make a gorilla mask. Richie on the other hand wore something more extreme, but more flexible. After all, he was the one that had to run around and bend to defend himself if needed. Although it had only come to that once or twice. He had never really gotten caught and that was partially due to his clothing. He had wore a black hood with black jeans that pooled around his ankles. His shoes were black arm boots that were a size to big so no one could backtrack to his foot size. He wore black latex gloves for fingerprints and a handkerchief around his face that had an image of the bottom half of a skull. He had metal chains around his pants, but those were only for design. They really helped if he needed them for locking doors behind him or stabilizing his rifle for the right angle. They were strong for those jobs. When they pulled out of the driveway, they had made small conversation, but had mostly ran the plan back over together. After they were positive that they had it down pat the conversation came to a slightly interesting topic.

"What are you going to do if he steals your shot again?" Richie had already thought of that. In fact he had been thinking about that all day. The first two times he had seen the extremely complicated precaution the man had taken. He had know where he was from seeing him flee the scene, seeing where he had originated from. He couldn't tell last night from the heavy down pour where he had been hiding, but he doubted the man would be scaling buildings in such conditions.

"I've already searched all other possibilities for him to hide, but the only place is our building. Our spot. The only clear shot from one window to the other. I doubt he'll show tonight." Beverly seemed to think about this for a quick second before she had another whole new thought. One that Richie wasn't sure he could answer. One that he wasn't sure he could think about right now, or else it would throw his entire game off.

"What if he comes and you run into him? What are you going to do about him? Are you gonna talk to him or respond with violence?" The question was expected. At least the first part of it. He hadn't thought that if they did bump into each other it could resolve into violence. Shit. Now he was only going to do a halfass job. The rest of his mind would be spent on thoughts of a small interaction that may or may not happen. When he looked to Bev, she had a look that demanded an answer.

"I guess that all depends on his preference, and my mood.... or actions that I may do leading up to that moment. That is to say if he eve-"

"He may show up though and you may just happen to cross paths. You need to be ready for that if it happens. Are you gonna be ready Rich?" Richie sat in silence the rest of the way to the building. Pondering what could happen. As many nights as he had lied awake at night wondering what it would be like, or what this boy would look like if he had come face to face with him, he hoped he didn't see him. He was really praying to God that he would not come face to face with his faceless man tonight. He just wanted to do this job, get his money, and head on to the next assignment. Was that to much to ask in this life.

At the end of that thought the building came into view. He had grabbed his rifle and slung it over his shoulders right when he jumped out of the still moving car. Normally he would wait till the car was almost stopped, but he already was struggling to keep his mind on task. He didn't need Beverly asking one more question that would take up the rest of his thoughts and concentration. As he crawled up the steps to the fifth floor he analyzed the railing. He could slid down this in attempts for a fast get away. Now on the fifth floor, Richie walked to the end of the hallway. Opening the door to the abandoned burned down room, he strode to the window. So far so good. He had set everything up and had gotten his scope out to align it with his victim. He just secretly hoped he was still alive. That this mystery murder hadn't beat him to it. When he looked through his "magic gun telescope" as he liked to call it, he was happy to see his man getting frisky with what looked to be a whore of a slut. This was most likely why he was on Stan's list. But in all honesty, if Richie was a Senetor with that kind of money, he would invest his in the same way. That is if the Senetor would even have to buy his own slut. The difference between Richie and this so called Senetor is that Richie wouldn't be married. He would never get married. These thoughts occupied him while he set up. That was good though. He had no room to concentrate on anything else. He would need to use a silencing piece at the end of his rifle though since the Senetor was in such company. He would also have to wait till she fell asleep. This was going to be a little while as they were just now getting jiggy with it.

It had been two hours and the whore was just now starting to drift. It wouldn't be long now and he knew it. Getting ready, he made sure the kill round was in place. Boy was Beverly going to enjoy this one. Although this man was old and wasn't flexible enough to do anything to interesting, he had a hell of a lot of toys. He may in fact buy one of those for Bev for Christmas. The woman's eyes had been closed and her movement had been silenced for the last twenty minutes. She was asleep. Balancing on the balls of his heels in a squatted position, he was taking stance. He wrapped his latex covered finger around the trigger. Inhale. Exhale. Eyes closed. Pull. He opend his eyes just in time to see the body jolt and the woman shriek. That was his que. He turned around pulling along his rifle carrier and quickly packing it up. He had everything under control. This was just like any other well executed job. He had just slung his rifle over his shoulder like he always did and rounded the corner of the hallway to the stare case when it came out of nowhere.

He had pulled back enough just in time to miss a direct punch in the face. When he had corrected his stance, he noticed who he was looking at. This was the man who had scaled buildings and jumped rooftops. The man who had stolen three paychecks and had either invaded or prevented sleep. This man was the only thing that Richie could see for a few seconds that felt like time had stopped in itself. He was beautiful. The most handsome thing he had ever seen in his life. That was until his wet dreams were abruptly interrupted by a knife that was coming towards his face. It was clear now. His fears were exploited. The man that he had dreamed on talking to and maybe a nice date was attacking him. He Would have to fight back.

Thanks for reading. Sorry for any Grammer errors! This has been in my drafts for a year now and I thought it should finally be posted though. Love you guys and let me know if time should be invested in a continuation!

[lalunaunita]

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 4

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7    Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy

Rating: Teen

Summary:  Batman talks to Catwoman, but the mystery only deepens. He and the Commissioner interview another of the thief's victims. 

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 4

Gotham City still vibrated with energy at the witching hour, especially on a Friday night. The Batmobile cruised lesser-used streets in the dark parts of town. Pedestrians and revelers were everywhere, despite Batman’s attempts to avoid them. He set the Batmobile to autopilot and switched his monitor over to his drones—the latest appropriation of Wayne Industries tech to be added to his arsenal.

The drones scoped out wide areas of Catwoman’s usual stomping grounds, hovering high over the city and zooming in on rooftops and out-of-the-way places. He eliminated several sections of the city, unable to find her anywhere. Batman sighed. It would be his luck if she decided to stay in for the night.

A shadow flowed across one rooftop, disappearing behind a pigeon coop.

Gotcha, thought Batman.

He parked the Batmobile in a dark alley and cut the engine. In moments, he was accelerating up toward an ugly old stone gargoyle, its shoulders wrapped in his grappling hook line. He pushed off of a cornice with both feet and used his momentum to flip up and over, landing silently on the roof.

No sound betrayed Catwoman’s surprise at seeing him, but he felt it emanating from the dark corner behind the pigeon coop.

“Catwoman. I’m just here to talk,” Batman said, gloved hands held out in front of him. He used the rough tone he affected to hide Bruce Wayne’s memorable bass.

“Talk? Seriously? Since when do we exchange pleasantries, Batman?” Catwoman took a few cautious steps around the side of the coop, one clawed finger trailing the chicken wire enclosing it.

“Since that time you helped me stop the Joker,” replied Batman.

He could hardly see her. She was dressed all in black with her signature cat-eared cowl covering everything but the pale oval of her face, topped with the goggles she wore to hide her identity. Then she finally stepped away from the shadow of the coop, and muted moonlight shone off of her slim leather catsuit. Her sinews and curves were all of a whole. Her muscles were tense, ready to strike or spring away. Batman couldn’t blame her.

“Well, I couldn’t let him kill people, could I? He’s a homicidal maniac. I have friends, family. It was nothing to do with you,” Catwoman said, tilting her head imperiously.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “I think we have another situation involving common interests, so to speak. Crimes involving cats are happening in our city. What do you know about it?”

“Is some little psycho killing cats? It’d be better if you hadn’t told me,” hissed Catwoman.

She gripped the whip coiled at her side. Batman put up a hand again to reassure her, even as he slowly reached for a batarang in his belt.

“No. Cats are being stolen. Primarily expensive cats, but also cats from all around the city. You can see how it looks.”

Catwoman’s posture went defensive as she faced him squarely and crossed her arms. “I can see how it looks? Batman, I steal dead things. Inert things. Things that don’t require care and feeding. Things that make me lots of money.”

“So you’re saying you haven’t been stealing any actual cats? Not a one?”

“Not one,” she replied, dropping a hand to her hip. “But I’ll keep an eye out for you, alright? I don’t like competition.”

A rare half-smile drew up one side of Batman’s face. “I suppose that’s the best I can ask for. Don’t steal anything tonight, alright? I don’t feel like chasing you down again.”

Catwoman snorted. “I’ll consider it. See you around, Batman.”

With that, she stepped to the edge of the roof and launched herself into a graceful dive. Batman’s stomach went with her for a moment, but then he saw her whip snap out and coil around a streetlight. She swung away into the night.

So that’s what it looks like, he thought as he left in the other direction. In the morning, he’d contact Commissioner Gordon and let him know he’d confirmed their lead suspect.

Catwoman cursed to herself as she dropped to the ground behind a dumpster, certain that she’d lost Batman. There was no way to know whether she’d fooled Gotham’s number one detective. She was sure he had a tell, but she’d yet to discover it. Until that time, she suppressed her own reactions as best she could when they had one of their rare meetings.

It had been difficult managing the charity ball on top of her already packed agenda. She’d almost decided not to don the catsuit tonight. As Selina Kyle, she was doing everything in her power to provide for the neglected cats of Gotham. As Catwoman, she was taking direct action.

Hopefully, leaving early from her own charity ball hadn’t been too noticeable. There were bigger fish to fry this evening, and she couldn’t afford to worry about her image right now. Not with lives at stake. She’d received a tip about a pet store with a stock of kittens that barely received enough food and water to live. Her anger spurred her on.

Catwoman unscrewed the bottom of her whip handle, revealing a hidden compartment with a key fob. She pressed a button on the fob and was rewarded with a quick flash of lights and a twip-twip noise that echoed around the dingy alley. She grinned maliciously to herself. The old gray van with ridiculous cat ears on the roof was over the top, but Catwoman had no faith in Gotham PD’s ability to track even the most ostentatious criminal vehicle. Look at all the ludicrous clown cars the Joker had driven over the years—no cops had ever managed to track back to the place he stashed them. She’d already given Batman the slip, so there was no one to follow her.

Catwoman got behind the wheel and twisted her key in the ignition. The engine’s low purr matched her chuckle of delight. This was going to be fun.

She maneuvered the gray van through quiet streets until she came to a run-down commercial area of town. She pulled up to the curb in front of a store called Feline Boutique. Feeling brazen, Catwoman knelt and popped the pathetic lock on the front door in a matter of moments. A bell tinkled as she crossed the threshold of the dark pet store. She made a beeline for the back room, pushing aside a heavy curtain to peer in.

There was no one around. The place was dark and still—except for a few tiny mews from one corner of the room. Catwoman tapped a button on her goggles and illuminated a small area with a narrow flashlight beam.

“Sweeties, I’m here to take you home. Just be patient for me a little longer, okay?” She crooned in a soothing voice as she came to a stack of cages.

The meowing intensified as she pulled two kittens from the first cage and loaded them into a soft-sided duffel slung over her shoulder. The kittens struggled to climb over each other, but fell back with adorable clumsiness. Catwoman’s flashlight raced over the interior of the cage as she turned her head. There was no water in their dishes and just a crumb or two of kibble left. Catwoman’s anger burned hot. She quickly opened the second cage and, reminding herself to be gentle, took out two more kittens. She removed every kitten from the room and zipped the duffel mostly closed to keep them from tumbling out. The bag shook a little as the kittens rolled about inside—there were a lot of them.

Catwoman turned to leave but stopped, noticing a pen and notebook on a desk by the door. She bent and jotted a quick sentence. Ripping the page loose, she folded her note and tucked it into the uppermost cage, where it couldn’t be seen from ground level.

She made tracks then, certain she was pushing the limit of her time window. With the kittens secure in the back of the van, Catwoman buckled in and drove away. She heard sirens as she turned the corner, but saw no lights. She’d made it.

“Another day, another ticked off cat owner,” Commissioner Gordon muttered to Batman as he pushed aside the heavy curtain and motioned the vigilante to precede him.

Batman entered the back room of the Feline Boutique, ducking his head to keep his cowl ears from tangling in the curtain. The dirty storage area of the pet store was made uglier by the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights that illuminated it. Batman looked at the empty kitten cages in one corner, all the doors hanging half open.

“Where is he?” Batman asked, turning to the Commissioner.

“Who—oh, the owner? I… convinced him to take a walk around the block. Not a very nice man. I’m hoping a few moments away will calm him down, but it’s doubtful. I wanted a few minutes to process without him shouting in my ear.” The Commissioner’s lips wrinkled under his moustache.

“Mmm,” hummed Batman as he pulled his trusty flashlight from his utility belt and snapped on the beam.

He started with the bottom row of cages, noting their dirty interiors and the absence of water. The cages didn’t get any better the higher he went.

“I talked to Catwoman last night,” he mentioned casually as Commissioner Gordon turned a keen eye over the rest of the space.

“Is she the culprit?” the Commissioner asked bluntly.

“She says she didn’t do it,” Batman replied, “but she did.”

“What, you have proof? I can call the station right now!”

Batman shook his head, then stretched up high to get a view of the top cages in the stack.

“Hold that thought, Commissioner.”

Batman fished around in the top cage and pulled out a square of paper, folded once. He flipped it open.

“I told you I hadn’t stolen one,” the note read in a neat, feminine print.

“Your proof, Jim,” Batman said, passing the note to Commissioner Gordon with two fingers.

“How did you know?” the Commissioner asked, taking the note. He reached for the walkie-talkie at his belt.

“Catwoman tries to hide it, but she’s got the same body language tells anyone else does when they lie. It doesn’t amount to evidence, of course, but it’s generally wise to know when someone is lying to you.”

The sound of heavy stomping feet interrupted them and a tall man with slicked-back black hair burst into the room.

“Where are my cats?” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Commissioner Gordon’s chest.

The pencil the Commissioner held snapped in half as he leaned back, startled.

“Mr. Ricks, as I already explained, we’ll try our best to find your cats,” he replied.

“You need to do better than that! I’m out of business without my cats. The store’s called Feline Boutique - without the felines, I’ve got nothing! I can’t wait on you. I’ll be better off looking for them myself.” Vitriol and spittle flew from the man’s mouth in equal measure.

Batman took half a step forward, but the Commissioner fixed him with a steel glint that he then turned on Mr. Ricks.

“You’re welcome to try. I recognize that this is your livelihood, Mr. Ricks, but you are the third angry cat owner I’ve dealt with in two days. You can trust that this is my top priority. Now, if I find that you have interfered in the investigation in any way, or harassed any of my officers, I’ll pursue obstruction of justice charges against you. Let me do my work.” The Commissioner didn’t raise his voice, but a cold fury burned in his eyes that made Mr. Ricks back away.

Mr. Ricks visibly swallowed. “Alright then, Commissioner. Uh, thank you for your time. Uh-”

“Where’s the back door?” Batman interrupted.

“Over there.” Mr. Ricks pointed with a weak hand.

“Jim, I want you to take a look at something,” Batman murmured.

The pair of them stepped around Mr. Ricks, who still stood there dumbfounded.

“Have a good day, Mr. Ricks,” the Commissioner said as the exit closed behind them.

In the alley behind Feline Boutique, he let out an exasperated sigh. He scratched behind his ear with the broken pencil and pocketed his notebook.

“I don’t understand it, Batman. The cats in that shop weren’t valuable. Why would Catwoman steal them?” The Commissioner asked.

He followed Batman’s line of sight as the caped crusader pointed a gloved hand down the alley.

“What do you see back here?” Batman asked.

“Trash. Garbage cans. Dirt,” the Commissioner replied.

“But no cats,” noted Batman. “Usually Gotham’s alleys are full of stray cats scavenging food. I didn’t notice the decrease in animals until a few nights ago, but I believe it’s been going on for a long time.

“This isn’t about money, Jim. Catwoman’s angry about these cats. Angry enough to steal—and who knows? Maybe even angry enough to kill. I’ve got to stop her.”

“What will you do?” the Commissioner asked.

Batman tapped his chin. “I have a plan, but it’s better if we wait until tonight. I’ll contact you once I have everything I need. For now, please make sure all the evidence is logged in. Catwoman has famously slipped beyond Gotham PD’s reach in the past. It’s time to put a stop to it.”

[gotstory]

My 20 Year Old Idol Husband - Day 18 - I’m Fine

20 yr old Jungkook, at the top of his idol boyband career, has a secret only he & his bandmates know – An underground relationship, with you, a girl he met at a fanmeeting. Things get a little out of hand and you find out you’re pregnant.

Read: Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3 / Day 4 / Day 5 / Day 6 / Day 7 / Day 8 / Day 9 / Day 10 / Day 11 / Day 12 / Day 13 / Day 14 / Day 15 / Day 16 / Day 17 / Day 18 /

It was a normal day for the boys as they shuffled around their studios, practicing or recording.

Namjoon in particular was getting slightly impatient.

(Last night - Namjoon)

"Alot could happen in 3 weeks."

Yoongi frowned, "couldn't she just come with us?"

Instead of waiting for Bang PD to arrive, he decided to drop him a text.

- PD nim, I have been thinking about our previous tours abroad and wondering if we can hire a billingual PR manager to come along with us for the next tour.

The reply was almost instantaneous.

- We have been thinking about it too and have someone in mind. But we found out the agency let her go and we still haven't been able to get in touch.

Namjoon took the chance and pushed for it.

- PD nim if you don't mind, I do have someone to suggest whom we have worked with during the last Europe tour. We can discuss this in detail maybe later today?

As he focused on waiting for the reply, his heart was racing a little.

Why am I being nervous about this? It's not even my girlfriend...

Just then the door of his studio shifted a little and in came Bang PD with a smile.

"Oh! PD nim! Were you already here?" quickly, a wide smile came over him as he stood to greet his boss whom he hadn't seen in some time.

As the older man sank down into the cosy grey sofa and squashed abit of the Van cushion under his weight, he spoke up in a light tone.

"Namjoon-ah, why are you bothering yourself with these matters when I've already got a whole team of staff to look into such things? It's not like you haven't got enough work on your hands."

Namjoon wasn't sure if he was being scolded for being nosy or was Bang PD trying to thank him for going beyond his scope.

He sat down and with a pressed smile, began to put forth some of his plans he had been working out in his head.

"Actually, PD nim, there's this one person we really hope to have along with us..."

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

Back in the agency where you used to be, things were running as usual. But your co-worker and bff, Fan, had been having a hard time coping with other reporters who had no interest in the music events they covered. It was mostly a touch and go approach that left her missing you, her partner in crime, even more. Days were getting tougher and she even entertained the though of leaving altogether since there was hardly anything else to look forward to.

As she packed up her stuff ready to leave for the day, her boss strolled by with a worried look.

"Hey boss, everything fine? You look like you just lost your company."

He smirked tiredly, used to her teasing. "Thankfully not. It's just that one of our Korean counterparts have been asking for Chae-rin and it was a pity I let her go. I don't even have anyone else I could send as a replacement."

At the mention of your name, she entertained some hopes of reuniting with you.

"Then just hire her back and send her over to Korea! You do know she's IN Korea right?"

Surprised at this piece of newly acquired information his brain quickly turns the numbers and realised that it clicked.

"But wait," he said, "didn't she say something about needing to rest for her health?"

Fan quickly brushed it aside, "well yeah but it's been awhile now she's probably fine. Why don't I call her for you just to... You know, see if she fancies something like that? Oh and, which company are we talking about here anyway?"

The boss ponders, "That sounds good, Fan. It's the one.... with Mr Bang and BTS."

Her breath hitches and chokes in surprise as he catches on quickly, "What's wrong? You alright?"

"Oh nothing!" she laughs, "I'm feeling just fine! I'm fine! Yea, definitely, just fine!"

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

I'm feeling just fine, fine fine...

You wake up to the sound of your new BTS alarm, it was your favourite song of the moment after seeing the elaborate choreography and how it was such a comforting yet emotional track. You look around and find a note stuck to your phone. It was neatly written and you recognised Jk's handwriting from the numerous letters he'd written over the last year.

'Noona, (they insisted I be fair and call you that) we won't be back early tonight because of the rehearsals for the tour schedule next week. If you get bored, just get a cab and let me know where you are. The hyungs and I will be at the studio so please have a good rest and eat well. Jin-hyung says he made some soup and the kitchen is yours. Please call us if you run into any trouble at all.

-JK'

Of course, it would be a surprise if these busy idols were mopping around their house in the peak of their career. You weren't even expecting to see them altogether, recalling what a feast it was last night which only showed how long it had been since they could all rest at home together in the same space.

Finally. Some time to explore the city!

You thought to yourself, slowly reading off the messages you ignored since the night before.

There were a stream of pictures and messages from your ex colleagues and friends, as well as a few from Jungkook mainly to check if you were awake yet.

Just then, your phone rang and to your surprise it was Fan. Excitedly you answered it with your croaky morning voice.

- Ahem, ah, ah. Hello!

- Oh gosh, Chaerin, sorry did I wake you up? I didn't check the time difference!

- Don't worry it's noon here. What's up? You hardly call!

- Yeah I know, it's only been like what... Less than a week since you're gone and I'm dying without you.

You laughed at her cutely exaggerated tone which you missed.

- 4 days to be exact. It's only like what, my 3rd day here? It feels like I've been gone forever though. I miss working already.

- Really? How's your... Erm... Body? Has all the... Discomfort worn off?

You pause at her overly cautious choice of words and found it strange.

- Are you with someone?

Fan smiled, knowing how sharp you were.

- Well yes, and I wanted to ask if you really MISSED WORKING WITH US SO MUCH THAT YOU WISHED YOU COULD COME BACK?

Placing deliberate emphasis on the keywords with her back facing the boss, Fan definitely knew what she was doing and wanted you to catch on it.

- You're in the office aren't you... With, let me see... At this hour, wouldn't there only be the boss left? Hang on, are you saying he wants me to come back? Oh come on...

Giving an air punch, Fan was more than excited even though there wasn't even a conclusion.

- Not just me but before you... TURN ME DOWN, I just wanted to know it might be because you're PLANNING TO SETTLE IN KOREA?

- What are you going on about, Fan? You know full well the reason why I was dragged here! of course I have to settle here with... Well, you know who! And eventually I'll have to find a job and---

Quickly, Fan cut her short and put the phone to the boss.

- OKAY OKAY! I got that I got that! Hang on yes yes!

Nervously, he took it and tried to be as casual about it as he could. Unknown to you, there was actually a huge sum of money behind the contractual agreement which BigHit had offered. One that made it harder and harder for him to turn down or ignore. He knew the ball was not in his court and he had to get you back no matter what it took.

After half an hour of lengthy explanations and persuasion, you finally got the full picture.

- So, boss, ah... I mean, erm John, you're telling me the Korean agency we worked with, wants you to post me there as a permanent PR manager for them, while you manage the press at the Europe office, is that it?

- Yes, that's exactly what it is but of course, I'd have to hire you in order for that to happen.

It sounded like a good plan that would help keep your time occupied with income while you got a legitimate work pass to be in Korea as how you needed to. Only thing was letting them know, you'd soon be needing to use some maternity leave and that could potentially cause issues.

- But there are so many PR managers in Korea, why us and why me in particular?

- Beats me! but I know you've always outshone in your abilities and it doesn't surprise me if you were headhunted directly by them. It's just that they probably didn't know you had left the country and man, their staff are so persistent! There were a couple of mails I missed around the time you left which I ignored, since well, you left, but they've called me countless of times this morning as if they can't even wait an hour longer for me to disclose your details. But I told them I'd have to speak with you first. You know, PDPA can be a real bitch these days...

It was true.

Personal data protection was such a sticky issue that never let anyone in this media line rest. Of course, it didn't make any business sense for the boss to let another agency poach his ex-staff when he could possibly leverage on it. Anyone would. But you still didn't get it - why you?

- Before we go on, Mr John, which agency is this that has put forth such a strange request?

As if haunted by the thought, he sighed and sank into a chair.

- Apparently they said the leader made a direct request this morning for it and it became urgent. Remember the boyband you covered at your first stint? What was it again...

He motioned to Fan asking for the name of the band and she quickly showed him her Season's Greeting calendar with the 7 smiley boys.

- BTS. That's right. The Bangtan Boys.

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

The day whizzed by and you were completely caught in the flurry of calls, and emails you thought you never had to open again.

In a matter of hours, you had set up your laptop and found a small empty area where you could sit comfortably and wasn't occupied by one of the boy's laundry or gadgets.

The call had ended abruptly when you told Mr John to send you the emails for your consideration since Fan was probably freaking out at both her roaming call charges and the surprise of it all.

The leader made a request this morning? That's not possible... Namjoon? But why?

Bewildered, you let the mails load by the chunks until you hear the arrival of new mail from your boss - you had always gave it a different colour code just so you'd never miss it.

As you clicked it open, you saw the unmistakable BigHit email signature and a long mail thread which you read every single word not missing any of it. You could tell it was written very directly due to the probably lack of English expertise from the local staff but was succinct and sufficient to get the point across.

It was simple. They wanted you to work for them - with lodging and everything else taken care of.

This is more than perfect!

After going through the legal and operational details over the phone with their representative, you carefully broach the subject of possible maternity leave, in the near future. To your surprise, they were not only supportive but assured you that even the expenses would be taken care of so long as you were returning to your duties after that. The only thing was that you would have to start work the day after tomorrow in view of the tour that was upcoming.

Another long flight. Packing after you've just unpacked.

With a small sigh, your eyes caught sight of the neat scribbles Jungkook left for your this morning and smiled to yourself. Well, it wasn't that bad if this meant you were able to be with him for the next 3 weeks. It had just been 3 days with the boys but the thought of not being able see, hear, and just be near him had grown so uncomfortable that it made you teary.

Hurriedly you shook these thoughts off and took a deep breath, picking up your phone to text Jungkook.

- Work hard for today Kookie, I've got some news for you tonight :)

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

Hours later, Fan sorts out her own paperwork and ties up loose ends in the office, and prepares to take the first flight out in the morning to meet you. Unlike you, she had to get on flight soonest in order to arrive on the same day you start work.

Looking through the texts, she remembered having Jimin's number from the time when she pressed Chae-rin for at least one emergency contact other than JK's, in the event where she wasn't contactable. Picking up her courage, she decided to send him a text of her arrival... After all that you've done for her, being there for you in this uncertain period of your life, was the least she could do, of course, with some help, a surprise appearance would be the cherry on the cake.

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

The doors of the apartment swung open hastily and you hear the familiar banter of Jin, Namjoon and J-hope, as they discussed formations for the concert. They were so loud it sounded more like a party than 2 people just talking.

'No, no, no... hyung, I'll change it and Taehyung will sit on Namjoon and me because -- AAAigoo Jungkook-Ah! Your big bag is in my face, watch it!' It was J-hope, the loudest of them all, sounding suddenly cautious at the silent arrival of Jungkook, probably squeezing through the door with his over-sized bag.

'Sorry hyung! You okay?' Without even looking back, he habitually kicked off his shoes and tried to mask his excitement of finally being able to see you at the end of a long day. Going straight to his room, he finds your bags sitting at the door, luggage zipped and packed like the day you arrived. With eyes wide in shock he starts going into every room in search for you and when you were nowhere in sight, he grabs his phone and starts calling you, frantically looking around the living room if you'd left him a note or something.

The older boys, especially Namjoon, calmly check out Jungkook's room to see what he was being flustered about only to be startled by sudden movements among the rack of Jungkook's black tee-shirts.

'OOH! OOH! OOH! What-what -- Ahhh... you scared me!' Hushed Jin who put a hand to his chest after seeing that it was you, hidden behind the clothes. He looked extra warm and fuzzy today, in a turtle neck and glasses you seldom saw him wear.

You put a finger to your lips and motioned for Namjoon to come closer as you whispered to them. 'The company told me about your request.' You said, to the 3 older boys who were crouched down with their faces inches from yours in the dim corner. You continued, 'I'll be moving to the empty apartment next door in the morning.'

'JJINCHA???' J-hope exclaimed only to be quickly silenced by your hand.

'But why're you hiding from Jungkookie?' Namjoon asked. 'You trying to make him think you're leaving? You want to prank him?'

You nodded. 'It's now or never, isn't it?' with a cheeky wink, the brothers nodded and stood up giving you an "OK" signal, and started going into their overly exaggerated acting mode.

Jin sat on the bed while Namjoon went out to look for Jungkook, and J-hope started talking loudly again. "OMO! Jungkook-ah~~ Why are all her luggages packed up again? Aigoo, Jungkook-ah!"

As the boys gathered, they thoughtfully positioned Jungkook's face in your view, a clear sign they had done this so many times for the camera.

Namjoon started on his worried low voice, asking Jungkook if there was something wrong or if there was anything else he hadn't told them about. Before Jungkook could even respond, Jin chimed in like a comedic duo with Namjoon, picking up line after line, not even letting Jungkook process what was happening.

'... and you know, its getting late now, where do you expect her to go? right? her bags are all packed and she isn't answering her phone, are you sure she didn't say anything else to you? Jungkook-ah, check your phone again, did you miss some messages?'

You watched as Jungkook stared blankly, trying to recall while he cocked his head to one side, eyes fixed on the packed suitacases in deep confusion. 'No... Noona only said she had something to tell me tonight, but... but...'

'Something to tell you? Ah! That's right, she has to go back home that's why these are all packed!' Jin added quickly.

'NO!' was Jungkook's only response and you could see J-hope trying not to laugh at the innocence of this man-child. He was practically about to throw a fit at his 'helpful' hyungs in his sheer helplessness. As he mumbled unintelligible words to reason out why it wasn't possible you would leave, Namjoon decided to give it the final blow.

Putting his hands over JK's shoulder, he brought him nearer to where you were hiding as if to tell him a secret.

'Jungkook-ah, actually, I spoke to Bang-PD about Chae-rin.'

Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath in disbelief as he shrieked in a high pitch tone you'd never thought he was capable of. 'You, WHAAAAT???? HYUNGGGGG!!!!'

He continued, 'so I told him that for your sake, and hers, she has to move out of this place. Jungkook, hyung is sorry, I really tried my best to speak up for you but I think we can't have a girl here.'

You saw the Jungshook gifs appearing before your eyes as he froze in place, not even attempting to refute all that he heard. You made a mental note to commend his loyal and abiding nature even though it seemed like Namjoon had just turned his back on him.

After awhile, Jungkook spun around, looking at the other boys, studying their faces before going straight to J-hope giving him a deep closeup view of his bright round eyes.

'Wohhh, too close, Jungkook, too close, what-- what--' As he observed the reactions of his brothers, he stood up, surveying the room this time calmly and with sharp eyes, he realised how they had been deliberately leaving an empty space in front of his clothes. It was only then that he faintly saw some colours hidden behind the row of monochrome clothes, and took a deep breath of relief.

'Noona~ I know you're there. Come on out now, you have some explaining to do.' He closed his eyes with a satisfied grin and mild annoyance, pointing in your direction.

Slowly, you emerged bashfully, to the wind-screen wiper laughs of Jin and J-hope.

'Sorry, Chae-rin, we're just really horrible at acting no matter how hard we try. But for now I think we will leave you to deal with our little Kookie, see you outside for dinner! Bye!' In the blink of an eye, the hyungs exited and shut the door behind them as you heard their quick footsteps scurry down the hallway.

It only took you half an hour to explain the situation to Jungkook as he took it all in.

'Are you saying you'll be travelling with us when we're on tour, and when we're back, you'll be staying beside us?' He summed it all up in a sentence.

'Well, y-yes.... but Jungkook I'm going to be a company staff from now on, you need to be mindful of that especially when we're around the other people. I will have real WORK to do, not just tagging along.'

The glee on his face was so evident that you weren't sure if he was really seeing the full picture. Giving you a total embrace, you could feel his muscles relaxing slowly in your hold while he buried his nose in your hair.

'I don't care about that,' he whispered, slightly emotional all of a sudden. 'As long you're not leaving, I know I'll be fine.'

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

The next morning, Jungkook headed for practice early, filled with newfound vigor. They go through their routines, new formations, have meetings back to back and work from sunrise to sunrise.

A staff also meets you at the apartment, rather surprised that you had made your way to the door.

'How did you manage to get here?' He asks, slightly puzzled since it was a very secured residence.

Flustered, you blurt out whatever came to your mind. 'Oh, I met Namjoon while I was coming and he showed me the way, ha... yea that boy has good a very good memory for these things yea?'

'Ah, Namjoon? Yea, he did? I heard he doesn't request for staff directly but he specifically asked for you to be brought in as soon as possible... You guys must be close huh?'

As he opened the door to the adjacent apartment, your eyes saw the largest and most spacious loft-like studio, with full-length glass windows and light day curtains blowing in, fully furnished, open concept space. There were 2 rooms in view and a small kitchen, and a balcony. For a place like Seoul, you knew this had to cost a lot being in the same building as the boys.

The staff continued, 'there will be another staff joining us tomorrow and it seems you both are acquainted. It hasn't been sorted out where she will stay but for now, please settle in here as your home while you work with us. Since you're friends with the boys already, I guess there is no need for us to introduce you?'

You brushed it off casually, 'yea you must have had so much to do with my sudden arrival, please don't worry yourself with these trivial matters. I'm thankful enough as it is that Mr Bang made these arrangements himself.'

'Sure, in that case I will leave you and if you need any help just call for myself of any of the managers. We'll see you at the company tomorrow, Ms Chae-rin.'

As he closed the door to your new home, you pick up the shiny new card that came with a long black strap. Your passport-sized photo greeted you back with the same smile as you read the words beneath it to yourself.

BIGHIT STAFF

Strategic Artiste Management & PR Lead (BTS)

This meant a promotion in your career; a new role - not to say the least, one you've proved your worth for, but more impressively,with a team under your lead, the one to call the shots on the bulk of their public appearances, personal welfare, and the first say over the boy's schedules.

As you go through the contract that you had read tens of times over before inking it, you shake your head in disbelief. This was practically the role of a highly paid corporate nanny over 7 grown boys that the world was fawning over.

But well, who's complaining? And you knew deep down, with Jungkook by your side, you'd be more than just fine.

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

Thank u for your likes, reblogs, reads and for waiting ... and I will keep updating this book!

Please feel free to leave me your comments and if you are going for LYinSG, see u there! :))))

This story can also be found on wattpad with my same username:

[megers67]

A Little Reunion

Okay, this is a fic about my most recent OC, Yoshimi (whose bio you can read about here with additional trivia here). I wrote it mostly to get a feel for writing him and I think, on the whole, I still have some things to shake out, but I still really like this character so hopefully I get to do more with him in the future. There are a lot of writing mistakes because I wrote it late at night. But since it was written more to get a feel for character, I don'tcare enough to put in the effort to clean it up.

Anyway, this is just Yoshimi running into a former student of his and maybe a little impromptu crime stopping on the side.

—————

Funai Yoshimi really liked summer break. For as much as he liked teaching and looking after his kids, he liked the breather that usually came with it. The summer was a longer break so most students went home for a much longer period of time rather than stay at the dorms. That meant that he had the place to himself for a good chunk of the break and that he had the time to just relax. For Yoshimi, that meant walking the nearby town and getting some reading done with some people-watching on the side. It was nice seeing the thriving life of people going about their daily business.

With that in mind, he found himself getting a coffee at a small bakery on his way to one of the larger parks when he spotted a familiar face. One of his former students was sitting at one of the outdoor tables at the corner of the property. She had been one of his brighter students a few years ago so he was already proud that he saw that she was in a police uniform.

While the young woman was distracted by her phone, Yoshimi walked over and tapped his cane on the leg of her chair to get her attention. “Hope you’re not on that thing while you’re on duty, Kiddo.” He distinctly remember having to be on her case all the time about her phone when she was his student.

Takei Ayumi blinked in surprise then looked up, already beaming since she recognized the voice. “Mr. Funai!” She stood to give him a big hug, which he returned as best he could with one hand on his cane, the other holding a large latte, and carrying a book under his arm. “Wait, is this how you dress when you’re not at school?”

“In the summer, yeah.” Yoshimi’s students usually saw him in a business casual brown suit, complete with a sweater vest and a tie. Right now however, he was in vacation mode. Socks and sandals, khaki shorts, and a loud shirt that had a pair of sunglasses tucked into the collar. Even his hair was different as his long hair wasn’t in the usual plain ponytail but had flowers braided into it. He even was careful to keep the strands of his grey streak together.

Takei gestured to a spare chair. “Sit! I’m on break so I have time to catch up!”

There was no way that Yoshimi would refuse, so he took a seat with his back to the corner so he could see the rest of the cafe then propped his cane against the table. “Are you enjoying police work?”

“Well, I only just made it through training so I’m still pretty new with all of it. I like it so far though! They assigned me a partner who has been on the force for about ten years so he’s showing me the ropes.”

The teacher took a nice long sip of his coffee. “Still going for detective? I know you talked about it a lot in your last semester with me.”

“Yeah! I still have several years of experience and as an officer and additional training to get through, but I’m on track. The Chief said that my quirk will come in handy so I might be able to assist in investigations early!”

“That’s great! How’s your quirk control?” Takei was one of those cases who had a quirk that wasn’t destructive or dangerous in any way, but very easily overwhelming. When she touched an object, she could automatically see the past 12 hours that object went through. It’s pretty much impossible to not be touching things at any point in time so it had taken a lot of work. Yoshimi, with support from the school got an old buddy of his from his hero days to make a bodysuit and gloves for her woven with the girl’s genetic material. This made it practically invisible to her quirk. Wearing it under her clothes meant there was a buffer between her and anything she could come into contact with. Whenever she did want to use her quirk, she could easily remove the gloves. That was the kind of assistance that going to Saisei could provide that the average person may not be privy to. Such support items were expensive, but were crucial for some just to live a normal life.

The woman held up her hands showing that she was still wearing her gloves. “Still going strong. I’m mostly working on extending the scope of it. I know you were working with me on the timing, stopping, starting, forward, backward, and the speed going through it, but now I’m working on my visual and audio range. If I can consistently get to a meter, I think that would be really amazing. Still got a long way to go on that front. Let me see your cane.”

Without question, he handed it over. Takei took off one of her gloves and clutched it. Her eyes glazed over as she began to rewind the last 12 hours. Yoshimi could tell she was just speeding through and not really looking judging by how quickly her eyes seemed to be moving. However, the officer’s expression changed, as if her curiosity was piqued and slowed down. After a moment or two, she chuckled and let go of the cane.

“Sensei, who was that guy on the train?”

“Some asshole who decided that he absolutely deserved a seat despite the fact that it was a full train and everyone who was sitting had a disability of some kind. I was even ready to accept that he had an invisible one, but he made sure to let everyone on that train know that he wasn’t, in his words, a cripple.”

“So you smashed his foot with your cane?”

The man just shrugged. “He seemed determined to need a reason to need a seat, so I gave him one.”

“Technically…. I could pursue assault charges for that. However, it wasn’t reported by anyone and neither I nor another officer witnessed it when it happened so I’ll just let you off with a warning this time, Sir. Just don’t do that again.”

“Duly noted, Officer.” Yoshimi gave a salute for good measure as his grin widened. He took his cane back and propped it against the table once more. Yeah, she was going to be just fine.

He saw another police officer coming up to them with a tray that had a couple of pastries and two coffees on it. The officer was younger than the teacher, likely in his early 30s. “Takei, who is this?”

“Sir, this is one of my teachers from Saisei! Funai Yoshimi.” She then introduced the other man to her former teacher. “Sensei, this is my partner, Okura Kosuke. He’s showing me the ropes now that I’m on the force.”

The two men shook hands as Okura took a seat. “So, Mr. Funai, what did you teach?”

“I’m a freestyle dance teacher,” Yoshimi replied with the unshakeable confidence. While the other man was utterly confused, Takei looked on in abject horror. She was hoping beyond hope that it would end there.

It did not. The teacher felt he hadn’t mortified his former student enough so he decided to flail his arms, making sure to bop his head to imaginary music as he did so for a full minute. It was�� it was pretty bad.

After a few beats, Okura started laughing. Hard. There were tears and everything. “You, I like you,”  he managed after he regained his breath. “I need to remember that for when my son gets older!”

“The effect would be better if I was standing and my back would let me. Also, it’s good to throw in either a really old and outdated move or one that is really current and popular with the kids. Never fails.” To emphasize his point, Yoshimi gestured to Takei who was holding her beet-red face in her hands, looking like she wanted to melt into the table.

“But I’m not even at Saisei anymore!” It technically wasn’t a whine, but the sentiment was similar.

The teacher pat her on the shoulder sympathetically, but still had a shit-eating grin. “Sorry, once you’re one of my Kiddos, you’ll always be a Kiddo. You could probably start a support group about that.” It wasn’t the first time he embarrassed a former student and absolutely won’t be the last. That’s a pleasure he plans on taking to his grave. “You should have seen Tajima’s face when I was in his family’s bookstore!”

Yoshimi paused to take a moment to triumphantly drink from his coffee, during which time the police officers settled. Takei seemed desperate to change the subject. “How’s Junichi doing, Sensei?”

The man winced for a moment. “Unfortunately he passed a year ago.”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright. It was hard for a while, but I knew from the beginning that he wasn’t going to have a long life, so I was prepared for it. At least he had a nice life. He loved his ball and climbing through my clothes. When it was getting to the end I was spoiling him a bit and gave him small amounts of dog food as treats.”

Okura spoke up for the first time in a bit. “Dog food?”

“My preferred pets are rats. Anyway, I’ve got Kamiko now and she’s the sweetest little girl but she really has a bit of a chewing problem. Want to see pictures?”

As he was pulling out his phone, he noticed a figure racing past behind him from the direction of the blind corner. Since he was a retired pro hero, he instinctively looked at his watch. You know… just in case something came of it. He had a gut feeling about these kinds of things. When the figure reached the intersection, Yoshimi and the officers heard someone yelling about a thief further back. It didn’t take a genius to piece those pieces of information together. The officers reacted quickly, but because they were delayed in getting the information, the suspect was already across the street and rapidly disappearing from sight. Potential movement quirk. After about 30 seconds, Yoshimi could tell that the officers had lost the chase. 30 more seconds later they began walking back to the cafe.

Alright, he’s seen enough. His quirk allowed him to travel back to where he was 90 seconds in the past. It wasn’t a grand amount of time, but more than enough to get a second shot at an event that just occurred.

Flash back!

“-should have seen Tajima’s face when-” The man stopped mid-sentence to give himself a second to adjust, blinking his eyes rapidly. Jumping back could be kind of disorienting and typically made him at least slightly nauseous. However, he’s done this sort of thing countless times before and was more than capable of handling it. Looking at his watch, he saw that he’d jumped back to approximately 30 seconds before the figure first appeared.

Takei, as a former student of his, recognized the signs that he used his quirk. “Sensei?” She began looking around to find a potential reason for the older man to have jumped back.

“You have your handcuffs on you right?”

Right, so whatever happened, it involved a criminal of some sort. That was all she needed to get her to stand. “Any quirks, Sensei?”

“Possibly a movement quirk, but undetermined.”

Okura, for his part, didn’t really know what was going on, but was experienced enough to read the change the tone had taken. He stood up as well.

Yoshimi checked his watch. “Okay Kiddo, ready up in five, four…” the rest of the countdown came in the form of silent head nods. Just as he reached one, he jutted his cane out behind him with the perfect timing to trip the suspect and send him sprawling. The officers were on him in half a heartbeat. Since the criminal had been turning a blind corner, Yoshimi timed it perfectly, and the police on the scene were already prepared, the guy never had a chance in hell. There was a struggle, but nothing that posed much of a challenge. The shopkeep that accused the young man was able to catch up to give their official statement.

During the fallout, the teacher caught the eye of his former student. She shrugged apologetically with her hands full. This was going to take a while and they likely won’t be able to continue their conversation. Yoshimi nodded his head and raised his coffee in both an understanding and a goodbye before collecting his things to resume his original plans for the day. They’ll run into each other again, he was sure of it.

[newgeht]

16, 23, and 49: Merik, sterza, and graytear in that order 👀

So I had a ton of fun writing these! Especially the Sterza one, medieval AUs always give me life. Cutting it off after the Merik, otherwise thise post will be super long LMAO

Merik - “We aren’t even friends!”

“We aren’t even friends!” Erik growled out, pulling his arm from Meredy. “Now leave me alone, will you?” He took a sip of his bleach cocktail, very uninterested in the maguility mage. They were supposed to be scoping this dingy place out and as always, the maguility mage took things too far.

She was very drunk and very annoying, two things that shouldn’t be combined. “That’s not what you said last night,” she hiccuped, inching closer to him.

Erik sputtered and clasped his hand over Meredy’s mouth. In a low hiss, he whispered into her ear, “Watch your tongue, candy. I’m not in the mood to put up with this shit right now.” He shifted so no one could see them. He could barely see under the dim lights of the bar, but it didn’t mean that no one was watching.

He could feel her lithe tongue against his hand and he let go, wiping her saliva on her sleeve. Her blue eyes were dreamy, her body swaying to the beat. “Ok, ok. But you know Jelly said to keep an eye on me. And all you’ve been interested in is that putrid drink in front of you.” She sloppily gestured to the tonic.  

But she was wrong. His single eye was always on her. And if he wasn’t, he was always hiding in the outskirts of her mind.

Sterza -“I will beat the title of ‘prince’ right the hell out of you!”

Erza was furious. This was the last time she would let Sting out of her sight. Anytime they were in public, he managed to slip away from her grasp. His escape always led him to trouble, whether it be with girls or getting into a fight.

She believed that as his bodyguard, (escort, or whatever you’d like to call it) she was supposed to be on duty until the king released her. And yet, she wished she could be kicked from this job. It was too much to look after the Prince of Fiore. And he wasn’t much fun to hang around either.

“Sting!” She called out, holding her hand over her mouth. “I will beat the title of ‘prince’ right the hell out of you! Get back here right this instant!”

A pair of hands were placed over her eyes and she fumed. Now was not the time to be playing games, “Remove your hands from my sight, you scoundrel.”

Though the body didn’t listen, Erza could feel her stomach drop ten stories. What a pervert! In one fell swoop, she turned and smashed her steel gloved hand against a familiar head of blonde hair.

“Ow!” Sting groaned, holding his head. “I was only trying to have some fun, princess of knights.” He teased, a familiar toothy grin growing on his face. “Lighten up a little, will ya? No one’s ever gonna give you a kiss if you act like this.”

At the mention of a kiss, Erza blushed. She couldn’t help it, but romantic affairs always made her so flustered. “I-I’ve gotten a kiss before. Don’t assume such things.”

Another thing, she was very bad at lying. She squirmed when Sting came closer, eyeing her with those sparkling blue eyes.

His toothy grin flared into a devious grin. “Oh yeah, then show me. Your future king demands it.”

He brought his face closer, puckering his lips obnoxiously. And the knight couldn’t help herself, she smacked him with her iron gauntlet. A third strike and Sting would have been down for the count.

He stumbled back, rubbing his face. “I should have expected that.”

“No kidding,” she said curtly. “Now, we have things to complete before the sun falls. No more games, prince.”

“Ugh… Being a prince is too much work.” He laughed his rejection off, but little did she know he would keep trying.

Graytear - “I’m begging you.”

He never expected Crime Sorciere to show up to the GMGs or be a part of the aftermath. Mostly because he didn’t want to see her. That violet haired woman, the daughter of his caretaker -Ultear. Her red orbs haunting him, following him into darkest fantasies or most joyous dreams. It infuriated him how much she was in his thoughts.

Gray had thought he would never see her after Tenrou, but here she was; fighting annoying dragon babies. These miniature versions of the real dragons kept coming in wave after wave. He was losing stamina, and he didn’t think he would last much longer. But Ultear kept him going, he couldn’t see her go down by them.

But then they got separated, Gray had been in search of Ultear ever since he noticed. But the more he looked, the more he felt time was running out for their sake.

“Ultear,” he called, his throat raw from yelling. The current commotion wasn’t in his throat’s favor, he ripped through those loud explosions and fights going on around him.

Was it possible, she got crushed by falling debris? He shook his head, stepping over rubble. That wasn’t possible, someone so strong would never receive that fate. Gripping his necklace, he prayed that it wouldn’t happen -that he would see the dark haired beauty one more time.

Rounding a corner, he could see the outline of a figure kneeling amongst the fallen walls of various buildings. “Ultear?” His voice a crisp whisper.

She stirred, those signature white bows glistening in the given light. He felt lighthearted to see her once again, hastily making his was through the crushed terrain. “I thought you… What happened?…” She looked past him, not focusing on him. “Are you ok?”

“Gray!” With a flick of her wrist, everything slowed. Hope had shone in those red eyes, but he knew he couldn’t be saved.

A burning sensation could be felt against his bare back, sending small waves of his pain. But then it became more concentrated, that searing heat coming drawn to his abdomen. Then it spread through him, his stomach torn from the beam of energy that him. A shot of blue escaping from his insides, blood spewing everywhere.

It felt like a lifetime as his body fell to the floor, he was dying. Ultear made quick work of those draconic-creatures, falling to her knees. “Gray,” she pulled his hand over the gaping hole, tears already rushing down her face. “Freeze it, please. We can fix this,” she sobbed.

But he wouldn’t comply, his magic reserves were gone. He grunted as he tried, not one drop of magic left. He wished he could see her smiling again, Gray didn’t want to see Ultear in a state such as this. “Go, Ultear. Go help everyone else, I’m just one person.”

She shook her head, pulling him into her lap. Everything began to go dark at that moment, the world becoming fuzzy. All he could see was light, bright and warm. Though screams of terror rung in his ears, and the sobbing of Ultear.

As he fell away, he could feel a greater power being drawn to him. Something from the bounds in which he could control. And from there everything reversed.

The next thing he knew, he awoke in a hospital bed. Those he called family, watching over his state. But he was just with Ultear, wasn’t he? He was supposed to be dead, unless everyone else succumbed to the dragons.

They were in relief to see him awake. Once he had eaten, they explained they found him unconscious on the battlefield, next to a white ribbon.

His window of reality was shattered in that moment. She did exactly what Ur did, sacrificed herself for him. But he couldn’t accept the fact, Gray was lost.

His time had ended with her.

[scripttorture]

I was wanting to write an Avatar the Last Airbender fanfiction and in one of the scenes, Azula (who has fire powers) will torture someone by using her powers to touch and burn them. She has a lot of control over her powers but I’m not sure how to pull it without killing the victim. I thought it could feel like touching something hot more than touching an actual flame.

(Firetorture 2) Would this seem high tech (if a lot of people in theuniverse have elemental powers) and would possibly too much liketorturers have a lot of control/skill? I also wanted to show Azula ashaving either Anti-social Personality Disorder or Borderline. Wouldit be problematic for a torturer to have a Personality Disorder(instead of only mental problems as a result of torture)? Azulaalready seems like she canonly has a personality disorder. Do youthink certain problems(3) like memory trouble would show updifferently in someone with a personality disorder? Lastly, wouldhaving other torturers who don’t have disorders before torturinghelp with avoiding the ‘mentally ill people are violent’ idea?Thank you for your help! If you have suggestions on how to avoidproblematic stuff, let me know. The torture is mostly out of hate butshe could ask questions and receive flippant answers/lies. I’llhave to see which the victims ends up doing when I write the scene.(Azula ask 4) I wanted to add, I’m also aware that Azula, at 14,isn’t able to be diagnosed with a personally disorder yet. She’llbe 21 in this AU story.

Ihave actually watched this show! Which helps an awful lot with thisparticular question because I think a lot of it is heavily rooted inboth the cultures the story created and the characters themselves.

I’llbe honest I know next to nothingabout personality disorders. So while I know Azula’s behaviour andpersonality I don’t feel I can say whether it fits with apersonality disorder. I can give you my opinion on using mentally illcharacters as torturers and my opinion on how being a torturer mighteffect someone who is already mentally ill (this would be an educatedguess as no studies on the subject exist, so far as I know).

Butlet’s start with the fire.

BecauseI know the setting I feel pretty confident that this isn’t hightech. It’s using an ability that a lot of people in this world arejust born with. Yes Azula is shown throughout the show as beingparticularly skilled with that ability but I don’t see any reasonwhy that means the torture scene itself should be written as‘skilled’.

Someonecan be an Olympic runner and trip over their own feet. Someone can bea martial artist and get into a drunken brawl.

Justbecause someone hasparticular skill with some sort of physical ability doesn’t meanthey’re using it all the time.

Ithink the key with this would probably be to highlight during thescene just how unskilled what Azula is doing is. She’s prettyarrogant so I think if the scene is from her perspective a good wayto do it would be highlighting how ‘easy’ this is compared to hernormal firebending. That these tricks are things she could do sinceshe was 5 (or similar).

Historicallysome burning tortures have used flames directly but using a heatedobject of some kind seems to have been more common globally. I’munsure if there’s a specific reason for that. It could be down topracticality (ie it’s probably easier to handle a heated piece ofmetal with tongs then it is to keep hold of a flaming piece of wood).It could also be down to cultural preference in some cases (ieEuropean historical branding tortures were partly about creating aphysical mark on the victim identifying their crime).

Iimagine the closest sensation to that whirling flame the canon showswould be steam or hot air.

Asfor how to do it without killing her victim- I think the main thingto worry about is how much of the body is burnt.

Theskin is an organ and like any other organ it can fail. Burns,especially deeper burns, to larger areas of the body are more likelyto be fatal.

Concentratingthe attacks to smaller areas is a good first step.

Thereare also areas of the body that are best avoided if you want thevictim character to (realistically) survive. The mouth, nose, neckand anus are the main ones. I don’t think anything directlyto/capable of blocking the urethra is a good idea. I’d also suggestavoiding concerted attacks on the scalp. And, as I said, keeping theoverall burnt area to a minimum.

Attackson other areas may not kill the character but have the potential tocause lasting disability. Which you may or may not want in yourstory. Burns to the hands and feet can rend them unusable. Burns onor too near the joints can restrict movement in that joint. Burns around the eyes can blind.

Thesetting also has a form of magical healing if I remember correctly.You may want to think about how that affects lasting injuries and howmuch of this could be treated in the setting.

I’dsuggesting keeping any individual burns smaller than the size of thevictim’s hand and keeping them spaced out. You may also want totake a look at the archive for ScriptMedic’s blog as she wrotequite a lot on burns and their treatment.

Asfor the way you’re planning to tackle Azula-

Ithink it’s important to remember that mental health problems can beco-morbid. Having one condition doesn’t necessarily protect someonefrom another.

Idon’t personally know anyone with a personality disorder but I doknow people with other forms of neurodiversity and some havedeveloped memory problems following traumatic events.

Ithink unless a condition directly effects memory it’s probablysafest to assume that memory problems would manifest the same way asin a neurotypical character. A neurodiverse character may reactto those problems differently but I think that’s a slightlydifferent subject.

ActuallyI think that’s probably the best way to think about ‘differences’in symptoms between neurotypical and neurodiverse characters:concentrate less on whether a character ‘could’ have particularsymptoms and more on whether they’d naturally respond to thosesymptoms differently.

Ifyou’re unsure of how a particular symptom would interact with acharacter’s preexisting mental health problems it might be best tochoose another symptom. Or do further research on the original mentalhealth problems the character has.

AndI think that leaves me with the question of mentally ill characterstorturing.

Ithink a lot of canons leave fanfic writers in a tough spot herebecause so many villains are either coded mentally ill or explicitlymentally ill. And the canon often links that to the bad things theydo.

Thatleaves fanfiction writers with a problem because writing away eitherthe villain’s bad actions or their mental illness is a huge changeto the character. It takes away from what they were and often rendersthem unrecognisable.

Iwould definitely encourage writers to stop creating so manycharacters like this but when it’s a character from another canonthat a writer is using- I think that’s a more difficult question.

Inthis particular case I think the fact Azula is in a rare position ofpower also contributes to the problem. Because regardless of othertorturers/baddies around her sheis the ring leader and the one in control. She has a greater degreeof responsibility because she is probably orderingothers to act as well as acting directly herself.

Sothis isn’t a mentally ill person committing a violent act underorders, she’s inciting and orchestrating the violence. Everythingis under her control.  

Includingcharacters who were not mentally ill before they started torturingseems like a good step: it should help tie at least some of themental health problems these characters have to torture rather thanthe characters themselves. But this doesn’t really change thepotential implication that Azula is evil because she’s mentallyill.

Inan original story I’d suggest including ‘good’ characters withthe same mental illness. I’m not sure how much scope you have forthat here. If you have room for original characters to play a largepart in the story (or think that similar symptoms apply to one of theheroes) then I think that’s definitely a good idea to explore.

Thisis where knowing the source material comes in handy.

BecauseAzula is also the favoured aristocratic child of an absolute monarch.Azula’s environment hasactively contributed to her becoming the villain she is. Everybit of bad behaviour she displays in actively encouraged. Her bloodthirsty tendencies were taught.

Andon top of that the canon shows that her worst instincts areconstantly indulged, no one is allowed to say no to her. Even whenshe is obviously in the middle of a mental break down.

Showthat environment and how toxic it must have been. Emphasise it. Worklittle bits of it in throughout the story in as many ways as you can.

Showhow much she’s thrown when things don’t go her way (becauseobviously everyone follows her orders, they always have before). Showthe roots of her pettiness and violence, remind your readers of thepeople who encouraged and nurtured it. Show your readers that this isa woman who was taught from childhood that her value is in hercapacity for violence.

She’sreally hurt the enemy this time. Daddy will be so proud.

Mentallyill or not this is a big part of Azula’s motivation for violence.She has always previously met with approvalfrom the people who matter to her when she displayed violenttendencies. She has gone through her entire life being rewarded forbrutality. Of course she’s brutal.

Includingthat background in your story as clearly and as consistently as hermental illness should help give a more nuanced narrative. Lessmentally ill + BAD and more… a discussion of how environment and inborn factors can warp someone.

Weall have a capacity for violence and aggression. Most of us aren’tencouraged to act on it.

Showall the factors that went into creating Azula andthat should break the neat progression of mental illness to violence.

Ihope that helps. :)

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