#every time I saw this motherfucker pop up on my switch screen I started smiling uncontrollably and kickin my feet around and shit.

[pepperpixel]

Listened to too much The Orion Experience while drawing Hassel. Could not physically restrain myself from drawing self ship art…. I’m. Sorry ghgh.

[iridescentjin]

Passion Project

Summary: artist!yoongi x poet!reader. yoongi and yn are friends that are attending the same university. in need of a muse for his latest assignment, yoongi turns to you for a rather intimate portrait.

Genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Warnings: some swearing, teeth rotting, heart aching, cliche ass fluff

a/n: This is my contribution to the @heartsforbtsnet​’s “The Chronicles of y/n” collab. It was tough for me to write only fluff, but I loved it. I love Yoongi 🥺. There will be an nsfw follow-up piece.

WC: 3830

Everyone always said “don’t go to art school,” and “what are you going to do with a fine art degree?”

You didn’t know, but you knew what you loved. Your passion is split between creative writing and film photography. You would give anything to be able to write poetry for a living, but you know that you’re no Rupi Kaur. Opportunities for poets aren’t very common. But you remained true to yourself, writing everything at every given opportunity.

You fell in love with photography at 13. You had saved up all of your spare money for a year to be able to take Film Photography 101 at the local youth center. From the first roll of film that you processed, you were in love. And now you’re here. Studying the things you love most.

You were filling an elective requirement and taking an intro to drawing course. Most of the people in there were musicians or writers or photographers like yourself. One of them was the music production and painting major Min Yoongi. You thought it was weird to see him in that class the first time you saw him there. Painters usually knew at least a little bit about drawing.

The first day of class, you’d gone around the room and said who you were and what you hoped to get out of the class. You had said your name and that you hoped to gain any skills in drawing at all. Min Yoongi had said that he struggled with still life, focusing mainly on the abstract in his paintings. He wanted to get better at figures. You could relate because you could draw a pretty decent mountain range, but a person? Forget it.

You knew Yoongi from around campus. A friend of a friend, kind of deal. You sat beside him and another Photography major that you get along with, Jeon Minju. Minju is sweet and silly. Yoongi is quiet and sarcastic. It was a weird juxtaposition that you found hilarious. Drawing might just be your favorite class this semester for that simple reason.

The class started out easy enough. Only drawing shadows. One continuous line drawing. Your favorite was playing with charcoal. It was just fun to manipulate and smudge. You loved playing with negative space and light. And getting your fingers covered made you feel like a child playing with chalk.

Yoongi and Minju were both good with light as well. Yoongi’s shadow drawings were incomparable with the rest of the class. You kept thinking to yourself that it was absurd he was here.

Until it came time for figure drawing.

That’s when you realized that though most artists can figure out light and shadows...figures are something completely their own. You listened carefully to every word from the professors mouth, trying to improve your craft. You were not great by any definition of the term, but man, were you better than Min Yoongi. His drawings looked like they were done by first graders who were trying their hardest to make anything look right but just couldn’t get it.

You tried to encourage Yoongi and not laugh at his drawings, but sometimes it was hard when the person in it looked like a straight up penis. 

“Dude,” you said to him once, “you’ve seen a person before, right?”

He had blushed crimson and turned away from you. You felt a little guilty about making him embarrassed, and you tried to walk it back. The damage had already been done, and he didn’t show you any of his drawings for 2 weeks. When he finally showed you one, it was so much better.

“Yoongi, honestly I’m sorry I made fun of you, but this is so good.”

It wasn’t “so good,” but it was pretty good. You wanted to boost his confidence. It seems to work all right, and he starts showing you more of his drawings. You feel a slight feeling of redemption inside at fixing your own mistake.

Over the course of the semester, you, Yoongi, and Minju spent a lot of time together. Something about bonding over the stress of not being good at drawing had bonded the three of you. Every Thursday you eat lunch together at the taco stand in the student center. You even organized a couple of movie nights, watching B-movies together and laughing at how terrible they are.

Birdemic: Shock and Terror was one of your favorites. The three of you had laughed so hard at it because none of it made any sense, and it looked like it was filmed on the cheapest piece of crap camera in the weirdest locations possible.

You sat in your living room, eating popcorn and chips, watching the movies together. It started out kind of awkwardly keeping your distance from each other. Minju on one side of you, Yoongi on the other.

You kept your shoulders away from both of theirs, tending to lean further toward Minju just because you didn't want to make Yoongi uncomfortable. You felt unsure about him at first. Soon you'd started to get to know him more, and you learned that he wasn't cold like he had initially seemed. He was funny and sarcastic. You loosened up. You didn't mind if your shoulder brushed his or if the two of you shared a snack, occasionally brushing finger tips.

It was comfortable, your friendship with Minju and Yoongi. The three of you nearly inseparable. Your schedule coincided with Yoongi’s more than Minju’s, so you ate lunch together nearly everyday, swiping into the dining hall and finding his friends or yours. They knew now to save 2 seats for both of you.

The two of you were nearly inseparable except for when you were in classes. He would meet you in the quad, paint splatters on his face and hands, beaming at you. It was such a seamless friendship. He was an introvert who was kind of over people. You were an introvert who was kind of over people. It just clicked. 

****

One night in November, you had a movie night planned with Minju and Yoongi. Minju calls you around 6pm panicking because she hasn’t finished one of her photography projects. You had finished it earlier in the week, and you offer to come down to the photography building to help her. She insists that she wants to do it on her own, but she won’t be able to make the movie.

You tell her it was no big deal and that you can reschedule for another time. You text Yoongi, and he asks if you still wanted him to come. At first you want to say no because you aren’t going to end up watching the movie you planned. Then you decide that it would be nice seeing Yoongi anyway. He is one of your best friends anyway, so why not?

When Yoongi arrives at your door, he’s wearing a gray beanie with a square, unamused gray smiley face on it. He has one AirPod in one ear. His slight frame is clothed with a gray hoodie with a white shirt poking out the bottom. He has on fitted, tapered sweatpants with a white stripe down the side. Quintessential cozy Yoongi.

He has a brown bag in his hand that you can tell is full of food. There’s a small damp spot on the side from condensation.

“I brought food,” he says with a shrug. 

He makes his way to your couch like he lives there himself. He tosses the bag down on the coffee table, plops down on the couch, and begins to rummage through the paper sack. He pulls out several different containers, each holding some of your favorite foods. You feel a weird feeling in your chest as you watch him sitting there, casually opening the lids on each of the takeout containers.

You shake off the feeling and sit next to him. You dig into the food, picking out pieces of oi kimchi with your chopsticks and popping them into your mouth. Looking at the table, you see that Yoongi got extra of your favorite, oi kimchi, even though he doesn’t like it very much. You smile at the sight of it then keep eating.

The two of you sit in near silence, chewing away on the samgyeopsal and galbi.

You turn to him and ask, “Do you want to watch a movie? It’s almost Thanksgiving. We could watch my all time favorite Thanksgiving movie.”

“Two questions,” he replies. “One: THERE ARE THANKSGIVING MOVIES? Two: YOU HAVE A FAVORITE!?”

“Well, one, yeah. And two, of course.”

You switch on the TV and click over to the hard drive that you have connected to it. You hover over the title “Thankskilling” and turn and look over at Yoongi. He reads the title and chokes slightly on his food. A satisfied smile spreads across his face, and he nods at you. Both of you turn your attention back to the screen.

The two of you laugh out loud immediately upon, “Nice tits, bitch!” being uttered by the turkey. Yoongi laughs hard out loud.

“Oh, I am so excited about this,” he utters.

The movie continues on, you and Yoongi laugh and add commentary as you watch. The tears brim in your eyes as you watch, and Yoongi grabs your leg hard as he laughs at “Gobble, gobble, motherfucker.”

You look down at his hand on your knee and stare at it for a moment. You feel weird seeing it there, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels warm, calming, and comfortable. Yoongi turns and sees his hand resting on your leg. He immediately pulls it away and looks up at you, cheeks turning pink. You turn away and try to pretend like you didn’t feel something in the pit of your stomach.

The rest of the movie, the two of you sit a little further apart from one another, still laughing and commenting the whole time. When the movie is over, you chat, turning slightly toward one another, joking about the turkey and school with one another.

After an hour, your roommate walks into the apartment from her study group with her friends. She looks up at the two of you on the couch and raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry, yn, I didn’t realize you had a date tonight. I would have stayed out longer.”

You feel the heat coming to your cheeks, and you drop your head. “It’s not a date. It’s just Yoongi,” you snap as quickly as possible.

You don’t look at Yoongi at all, so embarrassed by Jinhee’s comment.

“Well, I gotta go,” Yoongi mutters awkwardly next to you.

He gets up and stalks out the door quickly past Jinhee. He barely tosses a “goodbye” your way as he makes his way into the hallway. You glare at your roommate, and when she closes the door you roll your eyes.

“Thank you so much for making that as awkward as possible,” you say and begin cleaning the food off the coffee table. You sulk off into your bedroom as soon as you have cleaned up. Jinhee shouts sorry after you.

***

Near the end of the semester, the professor assigns you a project. Any medium that you want to use to draw. 5 human figure drawings.

Passion.

That’s it. That’s the whole prompt. He didn’t give you any more information. He just said passion. When asked by students, he did say that it could be the same figure or 5 different figures. Any size. Any paper. Any style. And an author’s statement about the techniques used and how it represents passion.

Easy enough. But challenging in so many ways. You decided to draw your 5 best friends - Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin. The passion there would be the different passions you see within all of them. Jungkook’s passion for boxing. Jimin’s passion for baking. Hoseok’s passion for dance. Namjoon’s passion for social justice. Seokjin’s passion for acting. Together, the five of them were the most passionate people that you know. They were chasing their dreams, and it helped you feel like you could absolutely complete the assignment.

Yoongi was a different story. He seemed panicked from the moment the professor said that it was figure drawings. You could see him wracking his brain for something that could represent passion to him. You wanted to grab his hand and comfort him, tell him it would be okay.

You and Minju chatted excitedly after that class about the ideas that you had. Yoongi lagged behind, dragging his feet slightly. At the lunch table in the dining hall, Yoongi seemed distracted, poking his food and barely eating.

“Yoongi, what’s your deal, man?” Minju asks, a small smirk on her face.

“I’m not sure,” he says in a faint voice.

Minju turns to you and shrugs. You keep working on your bowl of cereal. You know it’s not the most nutritious meal, but hey, you’re in university. This is the time to eat cereal for every meal. You aren’t sure what you could even do for Yoongi, and you’re pretty sure the project is getting to him. He was fine before class started.

“Hey, Yoon, is it the project getting to you?”

“I just don’t know what to do,” he grumbles.

“Well, that’s okay, Yoongi. You have some time,” Minju pipes.

You stuff another bite of cereal into your mouth, looking between the two of them. You aren’t sure what you could even encourage him to do because you know him, but you don’t really know his passions beyond painting and music.

“Maybe you could draw something that has to do with painting?” you ask between bites.

“I just don’t know,” he says and turns his eyes back down to the plate in front of him.

The three of you sit in awkward silence eating your food. You are unsure how to comfort your friend, but you don’t want to push him any further. When lunches ends, you all go to your classes, saying brief awkward goodbyes.

*******

You hardly see Yoongi except for in class over the course of the next two weeks. He’s a little distant and stoic in class, so you just focus your attention on drawing your final project. You love the way that the shadows you create on the paper show the love and beauty within your friends. They aren’t perfect drawings, but you see each of your friends in each of the drawings.

For your artist statement, you decide to describe the technique and medium normally but write the statement about them into poems. 

Seokjin. Charcoal on paper. The faces you wear Hide the pain within you You put on each of your masks Dazzling the crowd Your eyes sparkle They tell the story Of your life And the thousand others You play

Namjoon. Graphite on paper. Someone said You couldn’t do it When in reality You were doing it all along You hold up the world Against the light To see it for what it is Examining it like a researcher Like a warrior You won’t stop

Hoseok. White charcoal on black paper. Your movements Fluid Like water Dancing Lapping at the shore

Your passion Love Like the moon Pulling Pushing the passion from within you

Jimin. Graphite on paper. Like the cinnamon roll. You are warm and sweet. Filled with love and spiciness. Without the tang of the cinnamon, The sugar would be too sweet. Without the sugar, The cinnamon would bite too hard. You, like the cinnamon roll, Are a comfort A joy A love To be savored.

Jungkook. Charcoal on canvas. The sweetest and softest. The kindest and brightest. The golden boy. The strongest and the fiercest. The boldest and the truest. My golden maknae.

You looked at your drawings and the pages, the short poems. You feel a pride inside that swells in your chest as you breathe deeply, looking down at it. The way that you feel like the aura of each of your friends radiates from the pages. Even from the black and white, you can feel Hoseok’s orange, Seokjin’s pink, Jungkook’s red, Jimin’s purple, and Namjoon’s blue. The warmth of them jumps off the page.

You wonder to yourself how Yoongi is doing.You send him a text, and he doesn’t respond. You assume he’s working hard on all of his classes because it’s the end of the semester. Personally, you’ve put together a portfolio of 200 poems and completed a photo folio. You were burned out, and you felt like the drawings took the most time for you. You can imagine that with painting and drawing, Yoongi is swamped.

You see him on the day that you’re supposed to have a gallery walk for all of the classes final projects. He isn’t in the room at first when everyone starts setting up, their pieces and their statements displayed together. He jogs into the room a little late with papers stuffed under his arm, pressed against his side.

He lays out his drawings hastily and flops down a paper in front of them in the last open spot. He doesn’t greet you and Minju, but you figure he’s just stressed. The class begins, and you make your way around the room. You read each artist’s statement carefully, feeling self-conscious about yours when you read the explanations that your peers wrote. Much more in-depth about the topics and the subjects. You worry about your grade.

You make your way to Minju’s, and you smile at the drawings of cameras and photographers. Minju is so committed, so passionate about photography. You can feel her smile in each of the drawings. They’re not perfect, but they are pretty good. Minju was the most talented of the three of you. The smile creeps across your face again as you read the words detailing her love for photography, the way a camera feels in her hand, the joy she feels when the developer starts to reveal the image.

When the timer goes off, you continue to move. There are a few more that you read before you arrive at Yoongi’s. You stare at the pages, your eyes darting around the page at each of the features. Your breath catches in your throat, and your stomach does a flip. There’s no way.

On the pages before you, you see the curve of your own nose and cheeks. The way your hair rests against your collarbone. The glitter in your eye. You can’t mistake the face and body that you see in the mirror every single day.

You snatch the artist’s statement off the desk and pull it close to your face. Your eyes scan the words as tears start to well your eyes.

Passion. To me passion is the way that you can watch any B movie and find the good in it. Passion is how you write poem after poem, searching for the precise word. Passion is the way that you want to capture every beautiful moment on film. Passion is your smile as you read a text from your mother. Passion is the way that you bite your fingernails when you’re thinking hard. Passion is the way that your pen moves on the paper as your forehead crinkles. Passion is the way you make me feel. Passion is you. Graphite on paper.

You can’t stop the tears that fill your eyes, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You turn and scan the room. You can’t see Yoongi through the sea of bodies across the room. The feeling overwhelms you, so you decide to take a moment in the hallway. No one will notice you're gone.

Once in the hall, you take a deep breath. You hear a shuffling down the hallway from you. You snap your head toward the sound, and there stands a cat-like man in a black sweatshirt and a gray beanie. He’s looking at you with a sadness in his eyes, and the tears start to fall from your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, walking toward you.

You shake your head unable to form the words.

“Did you see it?” he asks, timidly. “Oh my god, you hate it!”

He turns his face away from you, but he doesn’t walk away. He brings his thumb up and wipes a tear away from your cheek. You sniffle and wipe the tears from the other side. Your eyes finally meet his.

“No, I didn’t hate it, Yoongi. So far from that.”

A light spreads to his eyes and across his face. “Really?”

“Yoongi, those things that you wrote. Did you mean that?”

With a smile on his lips, he gently grabs your chin and says, “I meant every single word of it. Over the last few months, things have seemed...lighter. Brighter. You’ve done that in my life. My paintings are more bright, with warmer colors. Hell, I’ve been whistling. You make everything seem okay. Honestly, yn, you make me so happy, it’s stupid.

“Yoongi, I feel the same way. You should read the sappy poems that I’ve been writing. You have changed me for the better. I look forward to talking to you every day. I light up if your name shows up on my phone.”

You mean to say more, but at that moment, Yoongi tilts your chin toward him and presses his lips against yours. His mouth is soft and pillowy; the sweet minty flavor in his mouth draws you in further. You kiss him more deeply and wrap your arms around his neck. When the two of you separate, you smile at him. You can’t help but be reminded of Cho Chang in Harry Potter. You kiss the boy that you like so much while there are tears on your face.

The classroom door clicks, and you hear a familiar voice from the room.

“Oh god. It’s about time you too,” Minju calls toward you. She giggles then you hear the door click shut.

“As much as I love this moment, we should probably get back inside and get back to class,” you whisper against Yoongi’s lips.

“I don’t want toooooooo,” he whines and kisses you again.

You pull away from him and lace your fingers through his. You pull the reluctant man toward the classroom. He whines and moans the whole time, but eventually, he gives in and enters the classroom with him.

After the class period is over, you and Yoongi walk down the hall with Minju, you two holding hands. You kiss him on the cheek, and Minju murmurs, “gross.”

“I don’t even care what grade I get,” Yoongi says. “I got the best possible thing from that class.”

He looks at you and both you and Minju, and the two of you groan at the cheesy comment.

“What? I mean the ability to draw better,” he laughs. “Oh!? Did you think I meant you? Look, you’re great, but I mean...I’m an amazing drawer now.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Bad Habit 4- Unnatural Selection [Billy Russo x Reader]

A.N.: The great feedback that I got made this chapter finish way faster than I had intended to, so there it is! Please keep that coming, your feedback makes me so happy <3

Special thanks to: @littlexredxriddinghood @badkamelia @hxbbit @dyingformyships @fictionwillneverdie @the-doctor-9-10 @theskytraveler @anolympianhero @just-another-potterhead @fictionalthrill @completeshippertrash @ninjathrowingstork sylviebret @onyour-right @itsjustmylifeconfessions @badwolfsupernova @asongofmarvelanddc @xsarahlouisex @x-ximenas @lostkizzy and lovely anons! Without your amazing feedback, it wouldn’t get written <3  

Characters: Billy Russo x Reader, Karen Page, Frank Castle, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, Claire Temple

Summary: Dark alleys are dangerous, and that’s a well known fact. 

Click here for: Bad Habit 1, Bad Habit 2, Bad Habit 3

Warning: Explicit language, cussing.

Word Count: 3330

Please tell me what you think<3

Gif isn’t mine! 

The first thing you could smell was the disgusting scent of antiseptics, which was so sharp that it made you scrunch up your nose before opening your eyes, your vision coming back slowly. As soon as you turned your head, a nurse came over to you.

“Hi,” she smiled warmly, “I’m Claire. How do you feel?”

“I-“ You tried to sit up and hissed when a sharp pain shot through your abdomen. She rushed to help you and you licked your lip, feeling the scab forming there already,

“Fuck.”

“You got lucky,” she said, “Whoever attacked you missed the organs, we stitched you up.”

You touched the side of your abdomen carefully, feeling the bandages, and she took a deep breath.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

You shrugged slightly.

“We didn’t find any proof of sexual assault,” she said, “Were you mugged?”

You stayed silent, biting inside your cheek.

“Was it someone you know?”

You shook your head silently, and before she could ask any other questions, Karen, Matt and Foggy walked into the room and Karen rushed to your side as soon as she saw you were awake.

“Oh my God…” She hugged you tight, “I thought I’d lose my mind, Y/N, what- what happened?”

“Thanks, Claire.” Matt muttered as she walked past him, and Karen’s eyes searched your face, wincing silently as she saw your forehead.

“I’m fine.” You muttered, “How did you-“

“They found your phone, and called me.” Karen stroked your hair while Foggy smiled at you sympathetically,

“Hey you got mugged in a dark alley, you’re a true New Yorker now.”

“Is that so?”

Matt nodded, “Yeah, Foggy is a true New Yorker because he fights a lot in dark alleys.”

Foggy shot him a look and you turned to Karen,

“Do I look as bad as I feel?”

“Probably worse.” Foggy quipped and you made a face,

“It’s still a good thing that I don’t look as bad as your taste in women,” You stated, then turned to Karen, “You have a mirror?”

She dug into her purse and pulled out a small mirror, handed it to you and you heaved a sigh when you saw your reflection. The right side of your forehead had stitches, your lip was split, already scabbed, and there were dark circles under your bloodshot eyes, so you closed the mirror shut.

“It’s so gonna scar.”

“You’re gonna look badass.” Karen tried to smile with tears in her eyes, then hugged you again, as if you could die anytime.

“I’m the only person in New York who got assaulted and wasn’t saved by a superhero,” You muttered when she pulled back, “I mean I’m not even asking for Avengers at this point, where was the super powerful dude? And super powerful other dude? The chick with leather jacket I might be in love with? Also,  Devil of Hell’s Kitchen totally let me down, I was hoping to meet the guy sometime where I could play the damsel in distress.”

Matt looked uncomfortable for a second for some reason, then cleared his throat as Foggy and Karen exchanged glances.

“Police is outside, they want to ask you some questions, usual drill.” Matt changed the subject, “If you need a lawyer, we can-“ he was cut off when his phone started ringing and he excused himself, then walked outside to answer it. Foggy turned to you.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

“I’d rather get a life sentence,” You joked, then huffed out, “Can you ask them if I can leave? Every second I’m here makes a dent in my bank account.”

“Y/N…”

“No, seriously, I want to go. I hate hospitals,” You muttered and stood up very slowly, then turned to Foggy,

“Come on then, lawyer. Do your thing.”

Going to your house was a disaster, because you were now one of the worst things you could be in New York; a slow walker. Everyone kept bumping into you, and you had decided to support the whole Mr Robot look, with a black hoodie pulled over your head so that you could hide the stitches on your forehead. Your lip started bleeding anytime you smiled, -not that you were in the mood for that- and overall, you felt so shitty that you could hardly believe it.

There was also the fact that you could sense an emotional breakdown coming. No matter how much you tried to repress it, you could feel it inside of you, so you really wanted to be in the house, and be alone if it was possible.

Karen had dropped you home and left after you spent at least an hour assuring and begging her to go to work. You texted your boss, explaining the situation as little as possible, but of course, Vicky being Vicky knew how much you needed money and therefore how you could never afford skipping work, so she called you.

You didn’t answer, instead you quickly texted her that you would explain it later and turned the phone in your hand, then walked like a zombie to the bathroom, noises included.

Now to think of it, you did look like a zombie. From what you could see from the mirror, bruises were slowly but surely making their way on your skin, your hair was a mess, your face looked like you had just walked all the way to Mordor and the bandaged skin of your stomach felt way too dry. You ran a hand through your hair, and washed your face as best as you could without getting any water on the stitches or bending down, then looked your reflection dead in the eye.

“Now would be the time to break down…” You muttered, “Come on, I don’t want it to be in public. Waterworks, work your magic.”

Nothing.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your phone, then found the contact name. Even if you dreaded the conversation, you figured the faster the better, so you hit call and took the phone to your ear.

“Can’t answer the phone right now, you know what to do.” Your brother’s voice reached your ear and you gritted your teeth.

“What. Have. You. Done?!” You asked through clenched teeth, “Call me, or else I’m coming to whichever hellhole you call home and bust your ass.”

You hit ‘end call’ and made your way to the couch, lying down carefully and switching your laptop on. If you were attacked, stabbed and were in God knows how much debt because of that fucking hospital bill, you deserved a couple of hours of ignoring reality.

When your phone buzzed thirty minutes into the show, you were already under the blanket with a hot cocoa cup in your hand, so you put it down and looked at the screen, Billy’s name flashing in front of your eyes. You pressed the phone to your lips but decided to ignore the call, even if you were craving to hear his voice.

After all, you were a mess and you couldn’t let him see you like that. Let anyone see you like that.

Besides, considering how you had stitches and a split lip, you were pretty sure you had stopped being his type last night, after he had kissed you.

The thought alone made you feel worse than even before, but you tried not to let it get to you, so you turned your glances to your laptop, heaving a deep sigh before turning the volume up and throwing your phone to the small coffee table. At least you would keep your dignity and save yourself and Billy from going through the whole awkward stage of not seeing each other again.

You wondered for a second whether you should google saddest movies to help you cry and get over it, but you were way too invested in the show you were currently watching so you made yourself comfortable, slipping deeper into the warm and fuzzy blanket, the sleep slowly wrapping you into its arms.

When someone knocked on your door, it was already dark outside and your whole body had gone stiff from sleeping in the wrong position on uncomfortable couch. You rubbed your eyes and slowly got off the couch, grabbing your sweater from the chair, it had suddenly become colder in the living room.

“Seriously Karen?” You mumbled to yourself as you walked to the door and put the sweater on, “Unbelievable, what are you, a nurse now?”

You unlocked the door and opened it, but as soon as you did, you froze, cussing at yourself for not looking through the peephole first.

Billy stared at you for a couple of seconds, the playful light you could see in his dark eyes dimming along with the small smile which disappeared as he took in your appearance.

“What the fuck?”

You shrugged slowly, leaning against the door.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice came out a little hoarse and he ignored your question, his brows pulling into a deep frown.

“Who did this?”

“Your guess is good as mine, buddy.” You muttered, walking back to the living room to grab the antibiotics and the pain killer. You got two from the box and filled yourself a glass of water as he closed the door behind him and followed you to living room.

“I’d say sorry for the mess, but you know, I got stabbed last night so that rules out the whole tidy clean apartment shit.” You popped the pills into your mouth and took a big sip of the water, watching him clench his jaw in anger, flexing his fingers as if he needed to hold or crush something.

“You- you got stabbed?”

You motioned at your stomach, and lifted the sweater a little so that he could see the bandages,

“Hurts like a motherfucker.” You stated, “Not as badass -“

“Who?” he growled lowly, cutting you off and you shrugged,

“A guy.”

His expression darkened as he thought it over, then took a step towards you,

“Did he…?”

You shook your head before he could finish his sentence, then let out a bitter laugh,

“I guess I had some luck last night,” You mumbled, “Hey, do you want some coffee? I promise I won’t charge you this time.”

“Y/N…” He muttered as you walked over to the cabinet, looking for a clean mug “When did it even happen?”

“Last night.”

“I was with you last night-“

“Well you weren’t with me whole night.” You stated, “You’re a great kisser by the way, did anyone tell you that?”

“Y/N.”

“You dropped me off, and um… Karen wanted to meet me outside, she and her friends were at this bar- I changed, went outside, and I was…I was distracted, looking at my phone, so someone grabbed me and dragged me to a dark alley.”

He ran a hand over his face, pacing in the room.

“You went outside at 2 in the morning and wandered into a dark alley alone, without any weapons,” he said forcefully, “Is that what you’re saying?”

“In my defense, I wasn’t actually in the alley until the dickhead pulled me into it-“

“Are you insane?!” he exploded while you spilled the coffee into your mug, “Do you realize what could’ve happened?”

“I’m sure you are about to enlighten me about the danger of going out alone. You, a guy. Enlightening me, a gal. About how dangerous it is outside.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, as if trying to control his temper.

“Have you seen your face?” he managed to say after a couple of seconds of silence and you felt your heart sink.

Of course.

You had almost forgotten.

“Yeah, I have,” You managed to say, “Good thing you don’t have to if you don’t want to, though.”

He stared at you as if he didn’t understand what you meant, and with a horrible panic crashing down at you, you realized your eyes had started to sting.

Oh no.

Fuck no, body, you came this far, you’re not gonna break down in front of Billy with the good hair.

“Besides-“ You tried to hold your ground, “I’m not one of your soldiers, so you don’t get to yell at me or- Oh Jesus Christ, you should go.” You said as soon as your voice cracked and you fanned yourself, taking deep breaths. He frowned slightly.

“You okay?”

“I’m gonna start crying really hard in a minute so- you should definitely go.”

It was official that something was wrong with you, if a knife wound didn’t manage to make you cry but the thought of being unwanted by the confused guy standing in front of you did, you definitely had issues.

“Y/N-“

“Fuck-“ you walked past him and made your way to your bedroom, then slammed the door behind you, breathing fast and your throat tightened as it all dawned on you, and you sat down to the floor, your head spinning way too bad to stand up straight. The sobs shook through you, and you buried your face into your hands, sniffling before looking up as Billy knocked on the door.

“May I come in?”

You shook your head as if he could see you, and wiped your nose. “You should leave,” You croaked out, “It’s gonna scar.”

“What?”

“The-the stitches, it’s gonna scar.” You sniffled again, “On my forehead. And also my stomach. All because-“ Another sob stopped you from talking and you dug your nails into your palms, leaning your head back, trying to breathe through the sobs and heard Billy heaving a sigh from the other side of the door.

“Were you serious about the stun gun?”

You wiped your eyes, “No.”

“Good, because I’m coming in.”

“Billy-“ You were cut off when he opened the door and stepped inside, making you look down, still taking fast breaths. He approached you slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal and sat down next to you.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You muttered, sniffling before another sob hit you, and you wiped at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater, trying to control your breathing but it was no use. “God-“ You pressed your hand on the bandage, the wound felt way too dry and all of a sudden you were crushed by the urge to rip it off, rip the bandage, rip the wound, rip everything until you reached your bones just to ease the crawling inside you disappear, but he seemed to understand what you wanted even before you had the chance to rip the bandage off, because he grabbed at your hands and pulled you closer to him until you were in his lap, and you buried your face to the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. His long fingers ran through your hair, and he messaged the back of your head, hushing you gently.

“It’s okay,” he muttered into your hair, “Y/N, listen to me, it’s all gonna be okay.”

You shook your head slightly and took in a deep breath.

“I got scared.” Your voice came out as a murmur like a child’s.

“I know. It’s not gonna happen again.”

“And it hurt- it still hurts.” You sniffled and he nodded slowly,

“Yeah,” he said slowly, “I know it does, but it’ll go away in no time. I promise.”

You heaved a deep sigh, calmness slowly creeping onto you along with exhaustion while he caressed your hair, and you licked your dry lips.

“Do you think it’ll look horrible?”

A small chuckle vibrated through his chest and he shook his head,

“It won’t even scar, probably.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve actually had my share of serious injuries.” he shrugged, “Yours isn’t deep enough to leave a scar, sweetheart.”

You could feel the warmth filling you and the cold, paralyzing fear being smothered by it, while a small smile pulled at your lips.

“You sure?”

“Mm hm. I’m telling you, it’s a paper cut compared to what I’ve seen.”

You scoffed, but decided not to comment on it, so you just made yourself comfortable in his arms, relaxing your grip on his white shirt. Even if you knew it was gonna be uncomfortable in a minute, you were way too exhausted to move, so you just closed your eyes, enjoying his touch in your hair, and exhaustion soon turned into numbness, and numbness soon turned into sleep.

When you woke up, you were in your bed with no clue of how you got there, but the hushed whispers coming from the living room gave you an idea. You pushed the warm covers off your body and slowly made your way to the living room to see Billy getting into his coat while talking on the phone.

“Okay, keep an eye on him, don’t let-“ he stopped talking as soon as he saw you and checked his wristwatch, “Stay there.” He commanded to whoever it was on the phone and hung up, and you checked your phone.

“You should rest,” Billy said as he typed something into his phone and you looked out of the window, it was still dark and the living room was showered in moonlight. You took a step towards the silver light, and tried to smile,

“Paper cut, remember?”

“You’re still a civilian,” he stated, “Not used to that shit.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have… this thing. Just came up.”

“At 4 in the morning?”

He nodded, “You’ve got protection, if you really want to leave the house, please make sure-“

“Protection?”

“Two of my guys are at the door.”

You gawked at him, “At my door?”

He nodded again, busy with his phone and you stole a look at the closed door, then turned to him again.

“Billy, I-” You took a shaky breath, and ran a hand over your face, careful with the stitches, “Listen I’m- I don’t need it. I’m sorry about the whole….you know, breaking down thing, but-“

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You could feel a headache slowly making itself known by the pounding in your head, and that, pain of your stomach, and painkillers together made a really bad combination when it came to your speech, because before you could control yourself, the words had already left your lips.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looked up from his phone, “Why am I doing what?”

“You know what. You don’t even know me all that well. Why are you here, being all…this?”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, making you feel naked under his gaze, then shrugged,

“I’m after your wealth.” He said sarcastically, motioning at the old living room you were in, which was a mess just like the building itself. You shook your head slightly and tried to smile.

“Right.”

He paused, as if contemplating what to say, your questions seemed to make him defensive all of a sudden for no reason.

“Why was he after you?”

You frowned, “I’m sorry?”

“There’s something that just doesn’t add well up,” he said, “The guy who attacked you… He didn’t mug you because you still have your phone and I’ve seen your wallet on the table, he didn’t try to…do anything to you, you said so yourself. He just attacked you, out of nowhere. Why?”

As it turned out, he was both beauty and brains. You opened your mouth, the urge to tell him hitting you with its full force, but after a second you felt the courage leaving your body, so you just bit on your lip, averting your eyes from his dark ones. That seemed to make him chuckle bitterly and you cleared your throat, blinking back the tears as an awkward silence fell upon you for the first time.

“Looks like we both have secrets.” He said after a couple of seconds of silence, and walked past you, opened the door, ordered something to the men waiting at the door then closed the door behind him, leaving you there completely dumbfounded.

Part 5 is here! 

[marblesarelost]

Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

                                                     Chapter 8

The next morning, Darcy scooped up the last bite of her cereal, watching an episode of The Herculoids in the common room.  She judged the amount of milk left in the bowl with a practiced eye; not quite enough for more cereal.  Sad.  She lifted the bowl, slurping a little as she drank the milk down, burping contentedly when it was gone.  "Stay classy, Artoo," Tony said behind her, and she giggled. "You know it. You gonna veg out with me today?"  She leaned backwards over the back of the couch, looking at him upside down. "I don't do cartoons. What's in the TV Guide for the afternoon?" Tony asked, grinning at her and coming all the way into the common room, hiking a hip up onto the side of the couch. 

"Creature Feature?" Darcy offered. "I Was A Teenaged Werewolf and Godzilla with subtitles?" "Make it both Godzilla?" Tony asked, and Darcy pouted, her bottom lip sticking out. "Oh come on --" "Darcy," Steve's voice rang out from the hall. "You busy?" "Yep!" She replied. "Watching brainless TV and pretending the outside world doesn't exist for the day, Steve." Tony frowned as Steve came in, jumped onto the couch. "Share the blanket," he said, grabbing some of the brightly patterned fabric.  He looked down at said pattern, then back up at her, raising an eyebrow.   “Falcon?" "Tech enhanced and studly, this way no blow to your ego or Steve's," she shrugged. Tony considered, nodded. "Makes sense. So, Herculoids?" "Space Ghost next or the Tarzan/Zorro/Lone Ranger Hour?" She asked brightly. Tony saw Steve shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Space Ghost.  Are you Jan or Blip?" "Definitely Blip. He saves everybody all the time," Darcy said, nodding firmly. "Steve, why are you still standing? You can't watch cartoons standing." "I'm not watching cartoons," Steve said, though he glanced at the screen. "There's Zorro?" "The Zorro/Lone Ranger/Tarzan Hour," Darcy replied helpfully. "I think it lasted two seasons in the eighties, and then Filmation did a reboot in the late 90s, early 2000s." "Thanks. Look, Darcy --“ Steve began, and she held up her hand. "Am I about to get a lecture?" "Not a lecture," Steve said. "I want to know why you didn't tell us about the situation in Eastern Europe escalating." "One; the Avengers are not the parents of the world, two, I asked him if he wanted you to know and he said no, and three, I know damn good and well you were briefed on the situation within an hour of my having the information so four, fuck off and let me watch cartoons." Darcy said the last with a bright, toothy smile, one that Tony recognized a bit too well; you don’t have the right to give me shit, was the sentiment behind that kind of smile. "I was not informed that you had gone on a date with him the evening before," Steve said, frowning. "Listen, Darce, I'm sure there's lots of perfectly nice guys in New York, heck, that work in the building, that would love to date you." "Wait." Darcy paused the cartoon and looked up at Steve. "Are you trying to tell me who I can date, Steve?" "I just.." He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight awkwardly. "He's not a good guy, Darce.” Tony watched all of this avidly, his gaze switching back and forth between the two, picking up the box of Lucky Charms beside Darcy and popping some into his mouth before it hit him, and he snickered. "I said I'm jealous, I'm jealous again," he sang, and Darcy paled. "Is that what this is?" She asked, slowly pushing the comforter off her lap and rising to her feet to face Steve. "Are you jealous, Steve?" "I just don't think you're thinking this through is all," Steve said. "He's talking a great game and he's got kind of a dangerous thing about him, gals like that, I knew a girl in Brooklyn who dated one of Meyer Lansky's friends because of that." "Hey.  Steve.  Stop now.  You're just digging yourself deeper," Tony said, watching Darcy's face turn a mottled red. "Too late, you're fucked, been nice knowing you." "First," Darcy hissed, "you're not my dad, my grandpa, my brother, or even my cousin. And even if you were, you still wouldn't have the right to tell me who I can date, fuck, kiss, make out with or go down on. You got that, Rogers?"   "I'm just --"

"Second," she interrupted him, poking him with her fingernail, "if you wanted a fucking date, you've seen me every day for the last year, you could have asked any time. I might have said yes. I might not have. I never really thought about it, because," she poked in time with her next few words, "you. Never. Asked." "Do you think that's all this is? Me being jealous? I'm just concerned because he's a dictatorial super villain and you're a civilian member of the support team.  I'm concerned what kind of information he might be able to get out of you.  I'm concerned about the safety of the team, and your safety." "You were scared to ask," she said, shaking her head. "And now you're jealous because someone else did. Someone you don't approve of.  Someone you think isn't good for me.  And you're using the other as a cover." She stepped away from him, still shaking her head. "We're done, Steve. If I keep talking, we won't be friends anymore." She reached for her blanket, folded it over her arm, and walked out, strangely dignified for someone wearing footie pajamas. "Tony -" Steve began, but Tony shook his head, standing up. "You fucked up, Rogers. You fucked up hard." He walked out as well, heading for his workshop. Once there, he called Pepper.  "Pepper. Go check on Darcy, would you?" "What's wrong?" "Steve said some shit about her and Doom.  I probably didn't help." "Tony..." Pepper sighed, and he quickly defended himself. "All I said was that Rogers was jealous." "Okay," Pepper replied. "I'll check in with her." "Take her shopping. Do something." "And what will you be doing?" "I'm gonna find something to work on, or else I'm gonna punch Rogers myself.  It wasn't pretty, Pep." "Okay."

Darcy stomped through her apartment, seething. He wasn't even her boyfriend. One date. One. She'd expected a lecture, she'd expected a quiet conversation between friends, she'd expected better. Instead, Captain Motherfucking America had given her the equivalent of the "nice guy" speech. "Bastard," she muttered, flopping into the overstuffed ugly chair she’d thrifted, shaking her head. Jealous.  He was jealous. "Fucker should have said something," she sighed at the ceiling. "He should have. He should have said something."  She closed her eyes, tried to calm her breathing. "Fucker." A knock at the door jarred her out of her reverie. "Who is it?" "Pepper." "Let her in, FRIDAY." The door clicked open, and Pepper slipped in, closing the door firmly behind her before kneeling in front of Darcy, smiling gently. "You okay?" "Yep.  Peachy keen." Darcy bared her teeth. It wasn't a smile. "Tony told me." "Figured." "You knew not everyone would approve." "I knew he wouldn't," Darcy said, sitting up, leaning forward. "But trying to hide his jealousy behind concern for the team is bullshit." "True.  And you did the right thing, walking away." "I'm a grownup," Darcy nodded. "I didn't slap him. Even when he intimated I don't know what I'm doing." "Do you?" "No. But does anybody, when it comes to dating?" "Good point," Pepper agreed. "Want to go shopping? We'll get something lovely and elegant for the next time you see Victor.  Tony’s dime." "Yes," Darcy agreed. "Something in green."

The reinforced heavy bag shook with every punch, Steve's labored breathing echoing in his ears as he poured his frustrations into physical activity.  "Hey," he heard from behind him, and turned to see Sam standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Bad day?" One last punch. "Darcy's dating Doom." Sam tossed him a towel, and he wiped the sweat from his face. "I...didn't handle it well." "You didn't see the chemistry between them the other night after the fight at the pool?" Sam asked, and Steve looked away. "You did." "He's a dictator, Sam. Rules his country with an iron fist, what would he do with a swell dame like Darcy?" Steve crossed to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, drank it down in a few gulps, took out another and drank half of that. "He seemed okay the other night," Sam began. "Isn't he changing stuff in Latveria? Moving toward democracy?" "So he says," Steve snapped. "I've got legitimate concerns, Sam. Sure, he's saying all the right things right now, but what if he's not playing straight?  Heck, how long until he gets a wild hair to go after Sue Richards again?  At best, Darcy's a distraction to a guy like him.  And I don't want to see her hurt." "Wow." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Let's start with why you're so upset over this." "She's a member of the support team.  She lives here.  She's got a lot of info that Doom could use against us," Steve said, keeping his gaze on the bottle in his hand. "Nothing to do with the way you watch her sometimes," Sam said dryly. "Nope, you're not jealous." "My personal feelings aren't involved," Steve snapped. "This is purely about the team and about her value to it.  Do you think I don't know that everyone seems to see her as a sort of baby cousin or baby sister?  She charms Tony, she soothes Natasha and Clint, she does Wanda's hair --" "She does Bruce's dictation, she is literally Thor's adopted sister, and she plays video games with me and Clint," Sam finished.  "She set up movie night for you, and she's teaching Vision how to knit, getting him used to tactile sensations and how to gauge his strength.  Yeah, Steve.  We all love her in our way.  But you notice nobody else is freaking out because she had a date with Doom." "Natasha knew.  Natasha helped her get ready," Steve said, shaking his head. "I don't understand how she of all people isn't seeing this as --" "Natasha isn't interested in her," Sam said flatly. "You are. And you're jealous, and you're angry with yourself because you think you waited too long." Steve's jaw jutted out, but he stayed quiet.  "Darcy likes you.  But Steve, as hard as it is for you to hear, she doesn’t like you like that."  

“She doesn’t have to, I’m not standing here saying she has to, I just -- he’s not -- he’s not right for her. He’s not,” Steve insisted, and Sam shrugged.

“Here’s the thing, Steve.  You’re a hero, you’re an all around good guy, but you can’t see the future.  You don’t know that.  You don’t know that he’s not gonna be good to her.  You don’t know how this is going to end, if it’s going to end. She might break up with him.  She might marry his ass.  We don’t know, and you know what?  That’s not on us,” Sam pointed out, half-smiling.  “It’s not on us, man.  She’s a grown-ass woman, okay.  She’ll make her own choices.  And she might end up with a broken heart, but you know what?  Those heal.  If he goes chasing after Sue Richards again, I don’t have any doubt but what Darcy will get ‘Tasha or Clint to fly her to Latveria, she’ll tell him off to his face and come home and eat ice cream and get over it.  She’s a grownup.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a security concern,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.  “He’s still an unknown at this time.  Okay, I can’t say he’s an enemy, I can say I don’t know him, and based on his past, I don’t trust him.”

“Nobody says you have to. You just have to trust Darcy.” Sam clapped Steve on the arm.  “Come on.  Let’s go get a shake.”  Slowly, Steve nodded and headed to the locker room.

 DOOMBOT BRIGADE 1328 ONLINE.

…..WORKING….

UPDATE DOWNLOADED.  PLEASE STAND BY FOR INSTALLATION.

…WORKING….

INSTALLATION COMPLETE. ORDERS WITHIN PARAMETERS. ACCEPTED.

The line of sleek metal war machines spread out, a faint blue glow about them as they began to advance toward the enemy’s position, the Ukrainian general watching from behind the lines via satellite feed.  The once serene field echoed with gunfire within seconds, the Soviet forces opening up on the advancing robots, their green and chrome metallic bodies slender, but still making fantastic targets.  Nothing happened.  The machine gun fire didn’t slow them, didn’t stop them.  An artillery shell’s whine was heard, then the explosion seen, driving up dirt, grass, debris.  The line didn’t stop, simply walking through the crater left by the shelling, relentlessly moving forward.

“Advance behind the ‘bots,” the general ordered.  “Slowly. Artillery, take their bearings and the force field into consideration as you figure trajectory.”  The Ukrainian forces fell in behind their robotic allies, the infantry nervously looking around, wincing at the sound of gunfire ahead of them, weapons at the ready.  The artillery boomed behind them, arcing up and well over the Doombots at targets beyond them.  

APPROACHING OPTIMAL RANGE. WEAPONS CHARGED.  ENGAGE ENEMY?

The general tapped “yes” on his tablet.

COMMAND ACCEPTED.  ENGAGING ENEMY COMBATANTS.

Five thousand rifles rose in steel hands.  Five thousand visual sensors found targets.  Five thousand laser rifles began to fire as the Doombots kept walking.

WOUNDED ENEMY COMBATANTS. CAPTURE YES/NO?

The general swallowed, tapping yes.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. DISENGAGING 100 UNITS FOR CAPTURE/CONTAINMENT.  FIELD AID YES/NO?

Yes again.

COMMAND ACCEPTED.  ENEMY COMBATANTS RETREATING/RETRENCHING. PURSUE YES/NO?

No.  The orders were clear; let the first few skirmishes retreat and send word back in hopes that the Soviet would realize they no longer held the upper hand, and would sue for peace.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. WARNING.  WARNING.  AIR STRIKE APPROACHING, APPROXIMATELY TWO MINUTES UNTIL ARRIVAL.  ENGAGE FLIGHT CAPACITY YES/NO?

Yes.

A third of the brigade stopped in their tracks, their legs locking together, slowly rising into the air until they reached about fifty feet off the ground, then cutting through the sky as easily and as quickly as a bird, heading toward the approaching bombers and jets.

“Jesus Christ,” the general’s aide muttered, watching as the Doombots dealt out death, seemingly unstoppable.  “Thank fuck he’s on our side.  How many of these do you think he has?”

“What, robots or brigades of robots?”  The general muttered.  “Who knows?” The aide shook her head, eyes glued to the screens.

“Thanks so much for making me feel better.”

“I’m not trying.  Doom is a genius.  And just think, these are only the field troops.  Have you seen the elite forces?”

“No.  Do I want to?”  She asked. In response, the general slid his tablet page over two pages.

“The elite forces are carbon copies of Doom’s armor,” he began, holding out the tablet so she could see. “Robotic, so they have none of his special talents, but they are capable of independent thought, they don’t rely solely on orders.  They command his field forces in Latveria, and it’s said they have more abilities than the ground pounders.”

“Dear God.”  She shook her head.  “Attacking Latveria --“

“Would be, is folly.  No one knows how many of these he has, no one knows how many of the field troops he has.  All of that is secret.  Not to mention the force field generators throughout the country.”

“Again.  Thank God he’s on our side.”

 Victor smiled to himself, watching through the cameras in the visual sensors of the ground troops as they engaged the Soviet throughout Ukraine, looking for weaknesses, areas to improve.  There was always room for improvement.  “Status report.”

FORCE FIELDS HOLDING.  BATTERY CAPABILITY RANGING FROM 80 TO 95 PERCENT.

“Current losses?”

CURRENT LOSSES AT LESS THAN THREE PERCENT, was the answer from one of the Doppelganger Doombots.

“Excellent.  What caused those?”

WIRING DISLODGED DUE TO SHOCK FROM ARTILLERY/BOMBING, FAULTY BATTERY, FAULTY SERVO GEARS IN JOINT AREAS.

“Have the faulty units returned to the technicians,” he ordered.  “Delegate two units per compromised unit for recovery and return operations.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS, the Doppelganger unit bowed its head.  

“What is the situation in Poland?”

ALL DOOMBOTS ARE IN POSITION FOR INTERCEPTION.  NEW PROGRAMMING HAS BEEN DOWNLOADED, INSTALLED, UPDATED.  AWAITING ENEMY COMBATANTS.

“Excellent.  Continue current operational plans.”

 The Ukrainian commanders were effusive in their praise.  The casualty rate had been cut by eighty percent, every skirmish had ended with the Russian forces being forced into retreat, and they had taken back a full twenty miles of front.  “It’s a slow process,” one of them said with a shrug.  “And this is open terrain; I’m not looking forward to clearing cities, even with your ‘bots, Lord Doom.  If you’ll forgive my plain speech,” the man added, looking a little chagrined as he remembered his manners.

“Good soldiers speak plainly,” Victor replied, nodding.  “Taking cities is always a difficult endeavor, major, especially when civilians are at risk, and provocateurs are easily hidden.”

“We’ll work out the strategy,” one of the other commanders said.  “One of the main issues is sniper fire.  They won’t hurt the ‘bots, of course, but the men coming in behind them.”

“The Doombots are fully capable of flushing out sniper nests by tracing the line of fire,” Victor informed them.  “And then flushing out the nests.”

“We’ll work it out,” the commander repeated, though he was jotting that down.  “But so far, Lord Doom, your aid has been invaluable.”  

“Better to put out my neighbor’s fire than to wait until my own wagon catches,” Victor paraphrased one of his people’s sayings.  “My only regret is that it took so long.”

“The past is past, let it stay there,” another interjected, shrugging his shoulders, and they went on to discuss their next strategies.

When the teleconference was finished, he studied the battlefield, gauged the response of the New Soviet, and called for one of the Doppelganger units.  “I must be away for a few hours,” he said.  “Inform me immediately if anything changes.”

YES, LORD DOOM.

Stay Tuned, True Believers!