#he does not need to see my various folders of photos of him and how many are there

[just-slightly-chayotic]

sorry but if a celebrity i'm obsessed with (jeff satur) asked to use my phone for a sec i would simply lie and say that it's dead

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Secret’s Out

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Bruce was looking at his emails when Y/N arrived at the table.

She was breathing heavily and her hair was a bit messy, just further proving she had rushed to get there.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she huffed embarrassingly. “My shoot ran over and every one was moving so slowly.”

Bruce smiled. “Y/N. Relax.”

Then he stood up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

The two of them hadn’t seen each other in over a month. Y/N had been traveling for work constantly. And between the vigilante life and Wayne Enterprises, Bruce was running on 2 hours of sleep on the daily.

“I need a drink,” Y/N finally sighed after she got situated.

As if on cue, their waitress dropped Y/N’s favorite drink in front of her.

Y/N eyed Bruce with surprise.

He just shrugged.

Sometimes Y/N forgot how much her father noticed literally everything.

“Thank you,” she told the waitress.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Bruce said with a disapproving look.

She rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re not one to talk, Bruce.”

“You deserve a vacation. I’ll pay for it. Pick wherever you want. Bring Jason. Or some friends.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Bruce…”

It was a warning.

From the very start of their unconventional father-daughter relationship, Y/N had made it clear that she could not be bought. And Bruce spoiling her made her extremely uncomfortable. Even now, she still tried to at least split restaurant checks with him. Bruce always won those battles though.

“I’ll take a vacation when you do,” she finally countered.

That sure shut him up.

“Hey, I actually brought you something,” Y/N changed the subject as she reached for her bag.

A moment later, she lightly placed a manila folder onto the table.

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he reached for it.

As soon as he opened it, he froze.

“I had to clean out some stuff and put things into storage,” Y/N explained. “I found all my mom’s photos. I figured I could make copies of some childhood photos for you.”

Bruce’s silence made Y/N nervous.

“If you don’t want them, that’s totally fine.” She started to reach for the folder out of Bruce’s grip with awkward embarrassment. “It was stupid–”

But Bruce quickly pulled the folder closer to him and stopped her from taking the photos from him.

“Thank you,” he announced.

It made Y/N quickly sit back in her chair, caught off guard by his sincere reaction and how he’d immediately become protective of the photos.

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “Thank you, Y/N.”

He repeated to make sure she understood how thankful he truly was. And Y/N suspected the throat clearing was to hide his emotions.

Now she watched as Bruce slowly went through every picture. He took in every detail with a soft smile.

These weren’t just photos. These were all of Y/N’s memories that Bruce missed, that he could never get back. And he was savoring all of them.

Then Bruce paused and was fully smiling now.

“What?” Y/N asked.

She didn’t know why all of this made her so nervous.

Bruce didn’t say anything as he lifted a photo and flipped it to show her.

It wasn’t from her childhood.

It was a black and white photo of Jason. A candid from when he had escorted her around the slums of Gotham for her most recent gallery show.

After months of thinking about it, Y/N finally had decided she wanted to frame it and hang it somewhere in her apartment. 

Y/N’s jaw dropped with embarrassment and she ripped it from his hands.

“I was developing some photos at the same time as I was making the copies. Must’ve gotten mixed up in those,” Y/N explained too quickly, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze.

It made Bruce happy to know that Y/N didn’t have the same inability to love someone and let people in like he did. It was a relief that she didn’t isolate herself from it like he had. If her mother was still alive, Bruce would thank her for it. But if Y/N’s mother were alive, he would’ve never known about Y/N in the first place.

Their entire dinner was spent with Bruce looking at the old photos. He had at least two questions for each one. Some of them Y/N didn’t remember being taken. But most of them came with stories or a loving memory.

Y/N talked for most of the meal. But that’s exactly what Bruce wanted.

Furthermore, Bruce had nothing of value to update her on. Batman business had consumed his life as of lately, and he had made a promise to never involve Y/N in any of it. And Jason seemed to be on the same page when it came to his other life as Red Hood. 

Both men seemed determined to keep her safe and away from it all. 

Two hours later, Bruce was paying the check and helping Y/N into her coat.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” he muttered as they started walking out.

Y/N had learned by now to give up on those small battles. Jason was the same way when it came to making sure she got home safely.

As they made their way to the exit, Y/N caught a few stares from other patrons who were still eating.

“Do you ever get used to it?” She asked her father in a low voice.

“Get used to what?” He asked, genuinely unaware of what she was getting at.

“People gawking at you.”

Bruce glanced around and unintentionally glared at anyone who was staring at Y/N.

“It’s good that I’m seen in public…for obvious reason,” he hinted in a quiet voice, obviously talking about needing the cover to continue his life as a masked vigilante.

Once they were outside, Alfred was already waiting at the curb with the Rolls-Royce. He greeted Y/N with a hug and a kiss to her cheek before opening the door for her and Bruce.

When they got to Y/N’s apartment building, she said her goodbyes to Alfred. And Bruce walked Y/N all the way up to her door.

Even though Y/N insisted it was overkill and she could get up the stairs on her own just fine, Bruce had seen too many terrible things in this forsaken city. He could think of thousands of things that could happen to Y/N between the car and her front door.

Once Y/N realized that Bruce’s paranoia came from experience, she stopped trying to stop his chivalry and overprotective ways. She finally understood that Bruce had seen things that would prevent her from ever sleeping again. So if walking Y/N to her door gave him a little peace of mind, she wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Y/N turned to Bruce when they reached her door. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Of course. I’m glad we could spend some time together. Thank you again for the photos.”

Y/N didn’t realize that Bruce was about to hang every single one around Wayne Manor. 

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Get home safe.”

——————

Y/N woke up wrapped strong arms, her body overheating slightly.

When she had come home from dinner last night, Jason had already left for patrol.

He hadn’t woken her up when he got back home, just proving how exhausted Y/N had been these past few weeks.

But it was the continuous buzzing vibrations of her phone that woke her up. When she brightened the screen, she saw that she had dozens of text messages and three missed called from Bruce.

“What the fuck,” Y/N whispered as she started opening them.

But they were all about the same thing.

Everyone had sent her similar articles from various gossip websites or news outlets.

BRUCE WAYNE’S NEW GIRLFRIEND IS FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER Y/F/N Y/L/N

BRUCE WAYNE’S FLAVOR OF THE WEEK

IS Y/F/N Y/L/N USING THE PRINCE OF GOTHAM TO FURTHER HER CAREER?

All of the headlines were joined with photos of Bruce and Y/N having dinner last night. Apparently other customers at the restaurant had snuck photos of Bruce greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Y/N could see how it would be misinterpreted as romantic and not familial or platonic. But it still made her sick to see the photos twisted in such a way.

Then there were paparazzi photos of them getting in a car together. Of course there were none of Bruce dropping her off and them going their separate ways. That would be just too convenient for the two of them. 

Y/N’s stomach dropped with panic.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she gasped without realizing it.

Jason immediately woke up. “What is it?”

Y/N ignored him and called Bruce.

“I’m handling it,” was how Bruce answered her call.

“Handling it? How exactly?” She challenged. “We can deny the rumors all we want. But everyone is going to keep tabs on us now, and they’re going to see us together again.”

Jason grabbed his own phone.

One of his brothers must’ve sent him a similar article because he rubbed his face in annoyance, finally understanding the situation. 

Nothing like your girlfriend being rumored to have a relationship with her father, who was also your mentor and adoptive father. 

“Y/N, it will blow over. It always does,” Bruce tried to calm her down.

“So what happens when I get photographed with Jason? Huh? They’re going to just say I’m cheating on both of you with each other or some fucked up shit like that.”

Bruce was silent, because they both knew she was right.

Y/N glanced at Jason, who was already waiting for her gaze.

She took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe we should…Maybe we should just tell the truth.”

“You’ve never wanted that, Y/N.” Bruce tried to argue.

And he was right.

Y/N was terrified of being associated with the Wayne family. People would start believing she secretly built her career off of nepotism that no one was aware of. She also didn’t want that type of attention from the media and the upperclass of Gotham.

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” Y/N finally answered.

Jason reached for thigh and gripped it, trying to offer her some sort of comfort.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” Bruce asked slowly.

“No. Not at all. But I’d rather not have the public think I’m dating my biological father.”

“OK,” Bruce sighed. “I’ll talk to my publicist today.”

“OK.” She bit her lip before adding. “Just…tell them the whole story.”

“Y/N, if you’re worried how it will make me look, don’t.”

“But I am worried about it, Bruce. They’re going to drag you for being an absent father. And none of that is true. They’re not gonna understand.”

“I’ll call you later with an update,” he told her softly before hanging up.

Y/N tossed her phone to the foot of the bed in frustration.

Jason watched as she buried her face in her hands.

“You OK?” He asked as he rubbed her back.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Come here.” Jason pulled her into his chest.

There was no fight from her as he cuddled her tightly.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” she groaned into his shoulder.

“I know. But maybe it’s for the best,” he tried to reason with her.

“And what happens when they catch wind that I’m dating my father’s adoptive son? Huh?”

“We’re not actually related, Y/N.”

She pulled her face back so she could glare at him. “Yeah! We know that! But you do understand that people are going to see it that way, right? Like we’re gonna look like some fucked up incestual couple to them.”

“I don’t really care,” Jason finally told her.

“You don’t care?” She scoffed.

“No,” his answer and confidence didn’t waver. “I don’t give a fuck what people say about us, Y/N. If exposing the truth means we don’t have to think twice about going to events or even just going out to dinner, then I’m all for it. I’m sick of hiding our relationship.”

Y/N blinked. She never considered that their subtle relationship bothered him in any way. She was always a strangely private person, so it felt normal to her. But clearly Jason had been wanting to be a bit more public with their relationship.

“What if this changes everything?” Y/N whispered, not meeting his eyes.

Jason smirked at that and gripped her chin, lifting it up so she would look at him. “Some paparazzi and trash tabloids aren’t going to change how I feel about you, Y/N.”

Y/N laughed lightly at that.

“Maybe we should leave Gotham for a bit,” she offered. “Bruce won’t shut up about paying for a vacation for us.”

Jason nodded. “I think that sounds like a good idea. You’ve needed a break for awhile now.”

“Well…where do you wanna go?” Y/N asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re there.”

She rolled her eyes and hit Jason in the face with a pillow. “God, you really are a sap.”

Y/N appreciated Jason always being able to make her feel better and feel supported. 

But even he couldn’t stop her from wondering...

What would life be like as a Wayne?

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

Father of Mine – Bonus Content

[obeymehasinfluncedmythoughts]

KINDA GROSS BUT ANYONE WITH A UTERUS HAS TO DEAL WITH IT SO FUCK IT

MC having the monster of all periods and all the boys or in the middle of it. And when I say the monster of all I mean it. Everything is happening. Clots, bloating, zits/pimples, PAIN, nausea, heat, anger, emotions going crazy, fatigue, headaches, back pain, insomnia, BLOOD, anxiety, aggression, food cravings, irritability, muscle pains and all the other gross and painful shit we have to deal with every month. How do they survive/react

This personally hits home for me 😔.

Before I was on my birth control, I had periods 24/7, all year. I know it's gross, but at my worst I went through 7 of those overnight pads in an hour. I had to go to the hospital for it (And then proceeded to get called a drama queen by a doctor). My cramps were horrible, and man, I still have bad periods but not nearly as bad as that. This is going to be a bit "gross" (Because despite how comfortable we can be discussing them, and how natural the process is, you can still be a bit grossed out by it. I mean blood by itself isn't bad, but sometimes it's like you give birth to placenta and that's pretty gross) but it's also hella fluffy.

Lucifer.

Very unbothered by periods. Out of any natural body process, it's probably the one that bothers him the least.

He pretty much treats it the same as any other basic need. Every bathroom has toiletries that he's got placed in some neat little box and their medications in any available cabinet.

But that's pretty much all he thought was needed.

When he realizes just how bad your periods are, he's a little under prepared. The household isn't exactly equipped to handle this situation, so he, and a few of his brothers (particularly Asmodeus and Mammon), scramble to gather whatever items might be needed from the various corners of the house.

Lucifer grabs you towels for your bed, in case you're the type to bleed through during the night. He finds you a heating pad, rub-on muscle relief creams, and a multitude of pain meds that exceed the typical Midol relief.

He can get a little peeved about your attitude, but knows that you can't really help it. So he'll grin and bare it, and accepts the fact that you're going to be a bit different until this is done.

Mammon

He's not extremely well-versed in the topic of menstruation.

However, I think this is one of those topics that despite not understanding, he automatically is incredibly accommodating.

There's lots of cuddles, lots of playing with your hair, and a lot of nonsensicle rambling that is mostly comforting (but sometimes headache inducing).

He is a little weird about bleeding through though. Not in a bad "You're disgusting" way, but more of a "I'm extremely confused as to what I'm supposed to do in this situation" way.

Thankfully he becomes pretty quick at just wrapping his jacket around you in public if you do start to leak.

He does think a cold wet rag is the secret to everything lmao.

At least it takes away from the hot flashes!

Leviathan

He might be a little embarrassed when there are obvious signs of a period (like blood or toiletries), but otherwise he handles it normally.

Levi doesn't point out your acne. He doesn't mention when you leak onto his sheets during the night. He won't call you out for being a bit more aggressive then usual (or even crying, because sometimes that's just all you can do).

All he does is just be a silent support. It's a nice break from the others tbh.

Like when you're in the bathroom, turn between feeling like you're going to throw up because your contraction-like cramps are wrecking havoc on your entire body, he'll be beside you. Stroking your back, holding up your hair incase you do vomit, and running around for whatever you need.

Definitely the type who, when you ask him to pick up pad/tampons, grabs every size and brand, puts them in the cart as discreetly as possible, then rushes home in a frenzy.

Satan

Satan is just as irritable during your period as you are lmao.

He's absolutely understanding, sure, but I think he feeds off of anger. So the minute you start getting pissy, he does too.

It's like a sympathy period thing, but uh, more linked to his sin then anything else.

Everyone is absolutely tired of you two squabbling by the end of your cycle.

Someone probably tries to lock one of you away tbh. You two are just extremely annoying.

It's even worse that after every fight you guys just cuddle. Like nothing ever happened. And everyone else is just kinda left there tense as hell because you two were arguing over fucking fruit for no reason.

Asmodeus

He's kinda like a big sister in this situation.

Asmodeus will give you acne treatments, run baths for you (always makes sure you don't worry about cleaning out the tub!), and gives you massages that sometimes get a bit spicy (But he always makes sure you're okay to handle it).

Yeah, I'll say it, Asmodeus isn't scared of period sex.

This is like the one time of the month he actually breaks his "strict" diet and junks out with you.

Cue lots of food photos! And a few that he sneaks of you for his personal folder. Expect to see your rather bloated self as a part of his aesthetically set up phone background. He thinks it's cute!!

A lot of body worship and praise is going down. Between him and Beel it's enough to make your head spin.

Beelzebub

This is like prime Beel time.

Cuddles, food, and massages are his speciality.

(Also not opposed to period sex but tbh he's like, extremely concerned about your well being the entire time.)

He's like, always kneading your muscles and thighs. Whenever you get self-conscious about your pre-period or period body, he'll always be ready to lay down a thick layer of praises that seem almost too good to be true.

Always let's you finish the snacks ❤

He gets you heat and cold packs. Well, tries. Somewhere along the line he gets distracted and tends to come back with cold peas instead of a ice pack. Works the same way, just, uh, food driven.

Beel is extremely calm during this whole thing. He rarely ever gets offended by your emotions or aggression either. Probably just pats your head and walks away when you're getting a bit too much for him to handle.

Belphegor

He is like, the biggest fucking asshole, but like in the funniest way.

Genieunly doesn't care about toiletries or whatever, but he's so blunt about it

(What size pussy kinda guy)

Oh you leaked and bled onto his sheets? Go back bed. Throw a towel over it. He'll sleep on that side if you want.

Absolutely no help to your insomnia btw, unless he's like blessed with magic sleeping powers, you're going to need to stay up with someone else.

Honestly though... he's not the best with handling periods but I think he's extremely casual about it. He doesn't look down on you, or your cycle, an does whatever you ask.

Extremely passive lmao.

[babyboibucky]

Babysitting Bucky - Part 5

Pairing: FATWS!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,368

Summary: You’ve been assigned by the government to keep an eye on the Winter Soldier to ensure that he was no longer a threat to the world.

A/N: It has begun lmfao, check out the link at the end of this post if you’d like to be tagged in the next updates! Would love to receive feedbacks! 

MASTERLIST

-

You found yourself in the conference room of the Avengers compound, together with Sam, Bucky, Sharon and Fury discussing about an upcoming mission.

Sharon went over the brief of the mission with everyone. There was an intel about a certain drug cartel that decided to expand their business and venture into the trade of biological weapons as well. Grabbing the folder on the desk, you skimmed through the information and frowned when your eyes landed on a familiar name.

“Black Sparrow? I thought the entire organization was taken down during the raid years ago?” You asked.

Bucky turned to you, “You know these guys?”

“One of my first missions, I was the assigned liaison officer to check up on the whistleblower who was placed under the witness protection program.” You explained.

Sharon sighed, “Apparently, not everyone was imprisoned. Whoever decided to keep the organization going, we have no idea.”

The mission required all of you to find out about the illegal trades. There wasn’t much information provided, except for the tip that an important trade might be taking place soon.

“Black Sparrow’s nest is said to be hidden within a fruit shop downtown.” Sharon added.

Fury let Sam takeover the strategizing, with him deciding to do a stakeout to see how the organization operates. Once the trade takes place, raid the nest, find out the other groups involved and most importantly the source of biological weapons.

“You up for a stakeout, Buck?” Sam asked.

Bucky shrugged and glanced at you, “Only if the babysitter agrees to do so.”

You let out an exasperated breath, “Mister Barnes, I would appreciate it if you’d address me properly.” You scolded.

Sam cleared his throat, “Alright. Sharon and I will try to research on the potential groups involved in the trades. Stakeout starts tonight so pack your things.”

-

All your things have been packed and you were about to leave your room when you received a call from none other than Secretary Ross.

“Ugh, what does he want now?” You complained to yourself before accepting the call.

“I heard about the stakeout, Agent. Isn’t it convenient?”

You rolled your eyes; the secretary’s voice was too chirpy, as if he was excited. He was definitely up to something, what it was, you still didn’t know. Something about the mission you were tasked to do was off. They didn’t even tell you for how long you needed to tag along the Winter Soldier.

“Yes, sir. I will make sure to keep an eye on the subject and report whatever it is that I find out of place.” You reassured, hoping that the secretary would simply hum in agreement and end the call.

“Good. But wouldn’t it be better if you stir things up a bit?” He asked.

You frowned, “I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

Secretary Ross chuckled, “Push his buttons, Agent. See how he reacts to certain triggers.”

God, he really wants you to dig some dirt on Bucky. You were supposed to tell him that you already tried doing so and that nothing bad happened, but the Secretary reminded you that he wanted to see a detailed report about it and ended the call.

You didn’t want to push Bucky’s buttons anymore. Bringing up the Soldat seemed too much already and he had already proven how much in control he was of himself. However, you felt conflicted as well since you needed to file a report. You could easily fake it though, but you were afraid that the secretary might have eyes and ears lurking around.

You were too deep into your thoughts, almost losing track of the time. Thankfully, FRIDAY interrupted and informed you that Bucky and Sam were already outside the compound, waiting for you.

-

“You’re eight minutes late, Agent.” Sam reprimanded as you approached them.

“Did you have a hard time packing Bucky’s diapers and feeding bottles?” He teased.

Bucky grunted in dismay, “Jesus, Sam.”

“Sorry, had to take a phone call from the secretary.” You responded and began placing your things inside the trunk of the car.

Bucky stiffened at the mention of Secretary Ross, his hands tightened into fists at his side. You eyed his stance and noticed that he seemed uncomfortable. Who wouldn’t be if the government had their eyes on you?

“Nothing to worry about, Mister Barnes. You’re all good. I made sure of that.” You told him reassuringly before sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Bucky drove to the stakeout location with an uncomfortable silence in the air with the occassional directions coming from the GPS. You were slightly nervous about being on a week-long stakeout. It wasn’t because you were afraid of Bucky, but being with him by yourself was intimidating.

Seven days with the Winter Soldier. With no one else around.

You and the Winter Soldier. On a stakeout. For an entire week.

The more you thought about it, the more it was beginning to sink in. You’ve had your fair share of stakeouts in the past, but you were either by yourself or paired someone you closely worked with. But a stakeout with Bucky Barnes? How the fuck were you going to keep calm the entire week and maintain your calm persona?

“So...” Bucky trailed, tone unsure as if he too was uncomfortable with the silence and decided to break it but not knowing how to proceed.

“Do you want to turn on the radio?” He asked and cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on the road.

You looked out the window, “Yeah, why not.” You said with faux nonchalance.

Bucky quickly turned it on and adjusted the volume. He skimmed through various radio stations before settling on one.

Despite having the radio playing in the background, the atmosphere between you and Bucky remained awkward and uncomfortable. You could tell that Bucky could feel it too, so you decided to start a conversation.

“How has it been being an Avenger?”

You didn’t know why you chose that question, but it was the first thing that popped into your mind.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, “Is that part of your research on me or are you actually trying to start a conversation?” He asked, glancing at you with amusement.

“You know what, forget about it, Mister Barnes.” You waved off.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was genuinely curious.” He sheepishly responded, “But to answer your question, it’s been...weird so to speak. Especially having someone watch my every move.”

You shrugged, “Well, I apologize but I don’t have a choice. This is my job and I have to—“

“I know, Agent. You don’t need to explain, I completely understand. I’m really trying not to make it hard for you to do your job.” He explained.

You were actually surprised at how easy it was to talk to Bucky. You were expecting him to be completely broody and tight-lipped, considering all the things he went through. There were times when he’d be moody of course, but for the most part, he was friendly. And very kind.

“Well then I appreciate it, Mister Barnes.” You stated.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, “I’m still looking forward to the day when you’d call me, Bucky.” He said and gave you a smile.

You felt your face heat up from the way he smiled at you and how his eyes crinkled at the sides. He almost looked the same as he did in his photos dated back to the 40’s, when he was oozing with that boyish charm and innocence before he was drafted for the war.

You immediately looked away and bit your lip.

-

The two of you arrived at the cheap motel that was situated a few blocks away from the fruit shop. The building was old and almost looked dilapidated. It was known to be the number one spot for illegal transactions. It was the perfect place for a stakeout.

“The old lady at the reception seemed suspicious of us, I saw how she eyed the both of us when we checked in.” You said upon entering the motel room, groaning at the stench that welcomed your nostrils.

Obviously, the room was far from decent given the quality of the motel itself. There were two beds separated by a night desk and a small coffee table; the cream curtains were splotchy and dusty, some parts of the wallpaper were torn apart and the flooring creaked with every single step.

“I think she was merely judging us, thinking we’re one of those couples.” Bucky said as he placed his bags on the bed.

“Those couples?” You asked, walking over to the other bed and inspecting the bedding.

“Well, I heard this motel is a popular location for shooting x-rated videos.” Bucky explained casually as he walked towards the window, pushing the curtains aside, revealing the perfect view of Black Sparrow’s nest.

You almost choke on your own spit, “You mean to say...that old lady thought we were going to shoot porn?!”

Bucky hummed, “Maybe. It’s probably for the best, that way we’ll remain unsuspicious. Less chances of being interrupted as well.” he replied casually, as if it was no big deal but you also noticed that the corner of his lips curved into a slight smirk.

Clearing your throat, you regained your composure and went to unpack your things instead, starting with some of the weapons you brought. A stakeout often resulted to a raid so you had to make sure that you were prepared in case of an attack. Bucky moved away from the window and closed the curtains again before sitting on his bed.

“Those all yours?” he asked with interest as he watched you arrange your knives and guns on top of your bed.

You glanced at him for a quick second and saw the glint in his eyes as he observed your arsenal, you just hummed in response and started cleaning your guns while Bucky watched in silence.

“When we sparred...” he trailed and you froze, expecting him to confront you when you brought up the Soldat to trigger him.

“You used Romanoff’s technique. Where did you learn that?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Mister Barnes, it’s not that hard to learn that move. I’m just as trained as you and Mister Wilson, I know a lot of moves.” you explained but Bucky didn’t seem to buy it.

“It’s actually kinda hard to execute that move. Not a lot of trained agents can do that easily.” he pressed.

You pursed your lips before looking up at him, “Sounds to me like you’re trying to compliment my skills, Mister Barnes.”

Bucky ended up letting go of the topic.

-

The first few hours of the stakeout was uneventful; you and Bucky simply kept watch to see whether there were suspicious movements in the fruit shop. It seemed to be a regular fruit shop but there were certain people walking in and out of it that looked pretty shady.

This was going to be a difficult task.

There were small conversations between you and Bucky, mostly formal and about the mission. Everything seemed to be going well but you knew that the longer the both of you would stakeout together, the more it was going to be uncomfortable. You figured that you’d cross that bridge when you get there.

It was past six when you felt a pang of hunger; the last time you had a meal was during lunch. You needed to get food before your stomach could even embarrass you in front of Bucky who remained staring out of the window, keeping watch.

“I’m getting us food for dinner, would you like anything?” you asked.

Bucky shook his head, “Anything is fine.” he offered a small smile.

You left the motel and thankfully, there was a nearby Mcdonald’s a couple blocks away. On your way back, you decided to casually pass by the fruit shop to get a closer look. You didn’t want to linger around but you did notice that there were certain people who kept on going in and out of the store throughout the day. You rushed back to your room to inform Bucky about it and upon stepping inside, you were welcomed by the sight of the Winter Soldier fresh out of the shower wearing only a towel that was wrapped around his waist while he was drying his hair with another towel.

Your eyes immediately zoomed in on the droplets of water that was running from Bucky’s neck down to his pecs, sliding lower to his chiseled abs. Your eyes remained on his abdomen, even when the water had disappeared into the towel around his waist. By the time you snapped out of your trance, you shifted your gaze back to Bucky’s face hoping that he didn’t catch you staring at his body.

Oh, but it was too late because your eyes were immediately met by a pair of baby blues.

“I...b-bought...” you stammered and wanted to slap yourself for sounding like an idiot. “...dinner from uh...Burger King.” you continued, unable to look away from Bucky’s piercing gaze.

“Mcdonald’s.” he said.

“What?”

“You bought from Mcdonald’s...not Burger King.” Bucky corrected you, pointing towards the brown paper bag in your hands.

You coughed and finally managed to look away from Bucky’s half-naked figure, “Yes, I meant Mcdonald’s. Sorry.” you softly said and pre-occupied yourself by taking out the food from the paper bag and placing them on the small table.

As you focused your attention on arranging the food on the desk, you felt Bucky hover behind you. His bare chest slightly pressing against your back as he reached for the french fries that was still inside the paper bag. You stood still and tried to keep your cool despite the closeness between you and Bucky. He pulled away just as quickly and grinned when you looked back at him with a frown.

“You smell good, Agent.” he said before grabbing his clothes from his bed and walking back into the bathroom to get dressed.

You blinked a couple of times before you realized what had just happened.

“Fuck!” you whispered under your breath.

This was going to be one hell of a stakeout.

-

Babysitting Bucky Tag List:

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Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14

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[pan-fangirl-345]

Silk and Steel

Summary: When you get back to the dorms after a fight, you know that something is off. Turns out you’ve been transported to another dimension. How do you get back to Izuku and the rest of your friends? How do you get back to your world?

TW: The typical fighting injuries, swearing, and right now, that’s it!

A/N: I absolutely love the idea of being transported to another world, so I decided to write something for it!

You groaned as you trudged into the U.A. dorms, rubbing your shoulder.

“Guys! (Y/F/N) is back!” someone, probably Sero, called and the others swarmed around you.

“Hey guys,” you muttered, wincing at the lights.

“What happened? That guy you were fighting touched your shoulder and then just stood there laughing,” Kaminari said, frowning. “We were watching you on the news.”

“I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure, that guy is a whackjob,” you replied, popping various joints. “And he said something weird to me too.”

“What’d he say?” Todoroki asked, looking more concerned than usual.

“He said, ‘You’ll be returned in 24 hours, I promise’. It was really fucking weird,” you muttered, frowning to yourself.

You hadn’t known what his quirk was, but there was something weird about that way he had fought.

You had assumed that he used hallucinations of some sort, considering that while you were fighting with him, you had had the sensation of falling, and had seen different things.

You and Izuku in a field somewhere, him in your lap, looking up at you lovingly as you both laughed. You and Bakugou dancing at some sort of ball. You and Izuku screaming at each other in your apartment. A little girl hanging on Izuku’s neck as he swung her around.

You weren’t sure what they were, but there was something off about your friends as they stared at you.

“What?” you asked.

“Are you feeling okay?” Bakugou asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

“Um, other than the usual scrapes and bruises, I’m fine. Are you okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

“You never swear though, and normally if someone said something like that guy did to you, you would be in tears.”

“What are you guys talking about? I never cry when stuff like that is said to me. It just pisses me off. And I swear all the time. Pretty sure I swear more than Baku-”

You stopped, realization dawning on you.

“Fucking shit!” you shouted, stomping a foot. “That bastard!”

The other’s eyes widened and you sighed, tearing a hand through your hair.

“I guess I should probably fill you guys in on what’s been going on,” you muttered. “Gather ‘round everybody, it’s story time!”

“What’s going on?” Izuku asked, appearing by your side, wrapping an arm around your waist.

He looked like your Izu, kind of, except that his hair was slicked back and he had an undercut.

“I was just about to explain why this isn’t my world,” you admitted, sliding away from his arm.

“Huh?” he cried, looking bewildered.

There was something off about him, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. There was something different about all the people in this room, but there was something even more different about Izuku.

He reminded you of the Bakugou from your world. There was something about his eyes that was different. They didn’t hold the softness that they did in your world, there was something closed off and guarded about them.

“So, you know how people keep getting mugged by this guy, and they act weird afterwards, like they have brain damage or something? And you know how the hero I’ve been working with was assigned his case?”

“Yeah, what about it?” Izuku asked.

“Alright, you understand that,” you said. “Here’s where it gets a little more complicated. I think this guy’s quirk allows him to travel . . . between the worlds. It seems like he can take others with him when he does it though.”

“What are you on about?” Izuku snapped.

“When I was fighting him, he grabbed my arm, and then I saw all of these different things. I felt like I was falling, and then all of a sudden, we landed on solid ground and he was beneath me, laughing like a maniac.”

“What kind of things?” Izuku asked.

“So, in my world, I’m dating you, but you don’t look like this. And you’re a very kind person. You all seem to be different than the people in my world. It’s almost like you switched personalities,” you said. “When I felt like I was falling, I was with you in one of them, it looked like we were on a date. There was one where I was dancing with Bakugou at some Victorian ball. There was another vision where it looked like you were hanging out with a child that looked an awful lot like our daughter, if we had one.”

“Are you sure you weren’t seeing things because of his quirk?”

“Let me ask you something. What am I like? Normally?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, you’re soft, and kind, and sweet,” Iida said.

“You’re a big frickin’ crybaby,” Izuku muttered.

“Do you see any of that in me right here, right now?” you asked.

“No, not really. It’s like silk compared to steel,” Kirishima admitted.

“Lately, in my world, there has been a lot of quirk marriages coming back into practice. You mix a teleportation quirk and a time control quirk and boom, you get a person who can travel between worlds. Wouldn’t that be a good way to cause chaos? Find a world where one person exists, but they have different personalities?

“I’m different from the (Y/F/N) that you know, and this isn’t the Izuku that I’m dating in my world. Switch the two people, and when they start arguing over who’s acting differently, well . . . there are a lot of things that could be a problem with that.”

“So what are we like in your world?” Kirishima asked.

“Give me a minute,” you muttered, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

“Will your phone work?”

“It is working,” you said, frowning. “That’s weird, I have a connection and everything. Anyway, I have a folder of photos with my friends, so feel free to check through them. There are a couple of videos too.”

You were worried. How was your Izuku handling dealing with a different (Y/F/N)? How were the rest of your friends handling it? What would it change when you got back?

What if no one else figured it out?

“You look worried.”

Izuku, instead of looking through your phone, was standing by your side.

“I am, there are so many things that can be screwed up with me switching places with the me that you know, especially if we’re as different as everyone is insinuating.”

“You look just like her though,” he whispered, touching your hair lightly.

“So, what are things like in this world?” you asked.

“Well, we’re still dating, but like everyone’s already pointed out, you have a very different personality.”

“You act like the Bakugou from my world, just quieter, you don’t yell as much, but you have the same look in your eyes.”

He nodded, but he was clearly seeing someone else when he looked at you.

“Wow! Bakugou, come look at this!” Kirishima shouted, ushering the blond over.

“Am I really like that?” he asked softly, looking horrified.

“Yeah, all the time,” you told him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not yelling. It’s weird.”

“How do you think your world friends are handling this?”

“Probably not well. Bakugou is probably shouting his head off to hide the fact that he’s worried, Izuku is probably this close to crying about everything, and everyone else is probably running around like a chicken with their head cut off. I should be there, goddamn it!” you shouted.

“Hey calm down feisty, we’re gonna get you home, and we’re gonna get my girlfriend back,” Izuku promised.

“Thanks,” you murmured, cracking your knuckles. “I’m gonna beat that guy’s ass when I find him again.”

“He said you would be returned in 24 hours right? Maybe that’s how long his quirk lasts and you’ll be brought back to your world.”

“I hope so,” you murmured. “I want . . . I need to get back to my Izu.”

“We’re gonna get you back to them,” Izuku repeated.

“if you guys are anything like my friends, then I know you will,” you told him. “But how long it’s going to take, that’s a totally different matter.”

[begrudginglytumbling]

An Uncle’s Wisdom

Summary:

Sometimes, just sometimes, it pays to listen to your elders.

or Lan Qiren would like more grandchildren, please and thank you, and Wei Wuxian's ridiculously low levels of self-worth will not be stopping him from creating the family they all deserve.

(Can be found on AO3 too)

Wei Wuxian was decidedly not in the mood when Lan Qiren decided to visit.

He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to tolerate anyone other than Lan Zhan around him at that moment.

…and if he was being completely honest with himself, he might not be able to tolerate even Lan Zhan’s presence.

Yet, regardless of what was going on, when Lan Qiren came round for tea, you sat your arse down and had tea. It was awkward and stilted, yet Wei Wuxian managed to dredge up enough politeness to get through it, and not actively throw the man out.

At least, he thought he’d managed to present a sufficiently acceptable front until Lan Qiren set his teacup down, nudged the coaster to sit parallel to the edge of the coffee table, folded his hands primly in his lap and said, “Now then Wei Wuxian, will you continue with this farce, or would you like to try the truth?”

The flinch was inevitable, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help it, the words stinging more than usual.

He felt fragile, sitting there under Lan Qiren’s gaze, fingers fiddling with his teacup.

Lan Qiren sighed after the silence had stretched on a little too long. “Know that I do not enjoy it when you force my hand, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian merely blinked, uncomprehending and still struggling to find the words that usually came so effortlessly, as Lan Qiren pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the bathroom.

Realisation was a horrible thing, sending ice dripping down his spine when Lan Qiren re-emerged carrying the small bin they usually kept next to the sink. Wei Wuxian knew what was in that bin, and he desperately wanted to forget.

But Lan Qiren seemed insistent on reminding him, pointedly setting the bin down in front of Wei Wuxian, before gracefully sitting beside him.

“Talk to me.”

“Why?” Wei Wuxian’s voice came out quiet and hoarse, his vision blurring as tears gathered on his lashes.

“Because you are struggling, and sometimes talking to someone outside of the situation can help bring things into perspective.”

“Perspective? What other perspective is there?” Wei Wuxian laughed, a wet and pitiful thing. “You can see for yourself, I’m a failure. My existence has a single purpose, and I can’t even do that.”

“Single purpose?” Lan Qiren snapped, clearly indignant at such a term. “Do you deem me a failure then? For spurning this so called ‘single purpose’? For refusing to find a mate and raising a child I have born from my own body?”

“No!” Wei Wuxian cried, grasping at Lan Qiren’s sleeve, eyes wide and horrified. “Uncle I would never suggest that!”

A warm dry hand pat comfortingly at Wei Wuxian’s clenched fists. “Then why do you insist on accusing yourself of such things, hm?

“Because I…I…” he couldn’t help turning his eyes to the bin, to the white sticks littered at its bottom, the bolded ‘Negative’ clear as day on every single one of them.

He startled when Lan Qiren’s slipper came into view, kicking the bin carefully away. “They are not the sum of your worth. Your ability or inability to procreate is not the sum of your worth.”

“But…”

“Have you had your fertility tested?”

“…no?”

“Then if you must lay blame for this, how do you know the fault lies with yourself? Perhaps the fault is Wangji’s.”

Wei Wuxian’s response to such an accusation was an instantaneous and vehement, “No!”

“But you do not know,” Lan Qiren pointed out, even as Wei Wuxian shook his head, refusing to even entertain such an idea.

“Lan Zhan is perfect, this is my fault, not his.”

“My boy,” Lan Qiren sighed the sigh of the long suffering and resigned. “As much as I love my nephew, I will be the first to admit he is not perfect.”

“You…!”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, halting the words likely to spring forth in defence of Lan Wangji, “Let me finish. I do not say this to slander him. I say this because I am fully aware that humans, by their very nature, are not perfect. We are not infallible creatures. As I said, if you must find fault then my nephew is just as likely to blame as yourself.”

Shoulders slumping, a tear finally escaped to roll down his cheek. “But I just want to have a family with Lan Zhan.”

“And what makes you think carrying the child yourself is the only option for that? There are other paths you can explore. Adoption is always an admirable path to take, and, it would seem, is becoming something of a family tradition.”

“You would not think less of me?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice small.

Lan Qiren softened as much as his stiff posture would allow, reaching out to cup Wei Wuxian’s cheek, “a-Xian, how could I think less of you for doing the very same thing that I have done when I took in my nephews? How could I think less of you when Xichen has done the same with his mates and given me a-Yi to dote upon?”

“But don’t the Lan need a blood heir?”

“Blood does not matter. We are not the Jin, nor are we the Jiang. A good heart, a just soul. These things matter. Family matters. By blood or by bond, family is the most important.”

A smile curved Wei Wuxian’s lips. Watery though it may be, it was still true.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“Uncle? Wei Ying?”

The pair turned to see a lightly frowning Lan Wangji standing in the doorway.

“Ah Wangji, you’re home, good.” Dropping his hand to give a reassuring squeeze to Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, he rose to his feet and straightened his clothes. “I shall return in a week’s time. I trust you shall both be here?”

“Of course, Uncle, but…”

“Just tend to your husband, Wangji, and I shall deal with the rest.”

-x-

They were honestly not quite sure what had happened, but a week later, as promised, Lan Qiren swept into their home ladened with forms and files and annotated paperwork.

The three sat at the dining room table, Lan Qiren on one side, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian on the other. A relatively thick folder was pushed towards them.

“Following our discussion I took it upon myself to make some enquires. This is Wen Yuan. He is three years old and an orphan. His parents were tragically killed in a car accident, following which he was placed in some less than satisfactory foster homes before his remaining family could be found and contacted. Unfortunately, due to varying circumstances, his family have been unable to offer the care he needs.”

Wei Wuxian reached out a trembling hand to open the file, his breath hitching at the photograph of an adorable little boy. “Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.” A strong arm curled around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, holding him safe and secure.

“The child’s birth family would like to maintain contact and are accepting of the fact his name will change with the adoption. What matters to them is that the child is loved and well cared for.”

“How…why him?” Wei Wuxian asked, fingers still tracing the curve of a cheek, plump with baby fat.

“As I have already told you, to the Lans, family matters. I believe, even at such a young age, this boy embodies those beliefs of the Lan. I believe he would thrive under your care, and I also believe that you would thrive within a large family.”

-x-

Three Years Later

Wei Wuxian could happily say that the party was going to be a rousing success. With a glass of Uncle Four’s latest batch in one hand, and a plate piled high with various foods made by his sister, his Lan Zhan, and the budding culinary skills of Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop smiling even if he tried.

Taking a seat next to a gently smiling Lan Wangji, he turned his attention to the people gathered in their garden.

Nie Mingjue stood, shoulders slumped and chastised, as Wen Qing listed all the things he needed to do to care for his health. Clearly the instigators of the dressing down Nie Mingjue was receiving, Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang sat to one side, smug little smiles on their faces.

Lan Xichen and Wen Ning were sat beside a heavily pregnant Jiang Yanli, talking about this and that in gentle tones, while Jin Zixuan fluttered about tending to Jiang Yanli’s every need.

Granny Wen and Lan Qiren had taken over the comfortable garden chairs under the shade of an umbrella, swiping at their phones in that awkward way some technologically challenged older people had. But they were content, radiating pride as they told stories and showed off various photos of their grandchildren and family, and shared the odd image that the other didn’t already have.

Jiang Cheng was splayed out on the grass, Lan Yuan, Lan Jingyi, and the neighbour’s kid Ouyang Zizhen sat on his back cheering about defeating the great evil water ghoul. All the while little three-year-old Jin Ling sat giggling and happily whacking his uncle’s head with a foam sword.

This, this is what he’d wanted all those years ago, when he’d had a bin full of negative pregnancy tests and was so very close to just throwing Lan Qiren out of the house.

This was the family he’d always craved

What he’d always wanted.

Snuggled against Lan Wangji’s side, the scent of sandalwood under his nose, and the sounds of family filling his ears, Wei Wuxian could admit that sometimes, just sometimes, it paid to listen to your elders.

[andie01writing]

Beasts Pt 10

I pace the small space of the hospital room dragging the IV pole.

“Tala, you need to lie down,” Trent states from the corner.

“If I move the flush moves through my system faster.”

“Tala, lie down,” Regal snaps entering.

“Waiting on my bear,” I grunt.

“Ah, yes, the surly young man you sent to represent you with the Alphas,” Regal chuckles. “Bold move, Sigma.”

“Please,” I sigh. “The only reason I took that title was so Marrok would allow the wolves…allow Bayley to live in the Ursidae and away from Orton. And that surly bear reminds me a lot of you, old Beta, so tread carefully.”

Grabbing my shoulders, he turns me towards the bed. “In bed.”

“I will sit,” I sigh.

“It is a start,” he chuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“That’s nice, Mark. Now let’s try the truth.”

“I’m fine.”

“You took two bolts coated with wolfsbane.”

“Grazes. Marrok took a bolt directly to his shoulder, go hover around him.”

“Only one thanks to the quick thinking of his favorite Sigma.”

I grunt in response.

The Beta is quiet as he examines the healing wounds on my shoulder and hip. “You are progressing well,” he finally states.

“Well, I was trying to speed the process,” I smirk.

“I’m giving you a low dose of antibiotics just to be safe. Stay still until…” He starts, adding the medication to my IV.

“I need to…”

“Will you keep her in bed,” Regal turns to Trent.

“I have found that no bear can make Ursus Tala do anything she doesn’t want with the exception of Ursavus.”

“Stubborn leaders seem to be a curse we both suffer,” he smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I would say this one was Mark’s daughter.”

“The bears find her stubbornness amusing mostly.”

“I’m right here you know.”

“Tala,” Pete states, entering with file in hand. “There are wolves to see you.”

“How long until…” I motion to the IV.

“Ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Ask them to wait fifteen minutes, Pete.”

“Why…”

“It is seen as bad taste for a wolf to see their leader in a weaken state,” Regal states. “The Marrok will keep himself in isolation for the next three days to ensure he is one hundred percent. No wolf will pledge themselves to a weakened leader. Stay seated until this finishes,” Regal states before turning to leave.

Pete slips from the room behind him momentarily before returning placing the folder in front on me. “Everything the Alphas know.”

“Sit,” I nod to the end of my bed. “Until I have some wolves, I need you to act as my second.”

“What does that mean?”

“Right now, it just means you’re my eyes and ears regarding pack matters. If it were a permanent role there would be more to it. Don’t worry,” I smirk at his panicked expression, “this is just until I’m healed. It’s bad enough the pack is going to come onto the radar of every Alpha prick with the itch to lead a pack and take it away from a weak Sigma. Awarding a bear a role in the pack… Both sides would implode.” Flipping the folder open, I sort through the pages of photos and various reports. “What am I looking at?”

“No one claims the wolf shooter but…” He rifles through the papers coming up with a single sheet. The pictures printed there show a recognizable crossbow and bag of bolts. “He was using a King’s Guard bow and bolts.”

“How accessible are their weapons?”

“They are stored in the armory. Since the treaty, only guards have access there.”

“So a guard had to have given him the bow.”

“Or access. No one in the Southern Territories would blink an eye at a strange wolf wondering around,” Trent points out, joining us.

“Is there any kind of logging system at the armory? A way to see who has been coming and going?”

“There is an electronic lock, we all have distinctive codes. There are a few cameras inside. I will find you a copy of the log.”

I turn my attention to the photos of the shooter. I don’t recognize the wolf but that means nothing. “Did he say anything?”

“Mainly curses towards bears and traitor wolves,” Pete shrugs. “Nothing worth repeating.”

Something in one of the pictures catches my eye. “What is that,” I point.

“A tattoo,” Pete answers.

“Of a snake?”

“Yes,” he states hesitantly.

“That stupid son of a… Regal,” I call, bringing the Beta back into the room. “Get this out,” I hold out my arm with the IV.

“Tala, I’m not…”

“I know who the wolf belongs to,” I snarl, holding up the pictures. “He’s a Viper.”

“Let the Alphas…”

“That bastard attacked my family.”

“The Alphas…”

“I’m a pack leader.”

“With no pack!”

“Fine. Pete, will you please ask the Alphas to come to me. Trent, let the wolves in and then find Konnor.”

“Tala, please don’t start your leadership…” The end of Regal’s sentence dies at the look I give him.

“Bears, go.”

“Tala, I don’t think it’s best to leave you alone,” Pete starts.

“Tala,” Ember crows, strolling through the door.

“Ember,” I smile. “Are you giving up your lone wolf status to join my pack?”

“No,” she smirks. “But I would like to request entrance into the Ursidae.”

“For?”

“There is a position on your guard, I’ve heard.”

“There is,” I reply hesitantly.

“Here I am,” she smiles.

“Any new guards have to go through the Wolfs Guard leader,” I return the smile, nodding towards Pete.

“What?”

“You are the leader, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but Ursavus…”

“Is not here. I trust you to make decisions about my safety.”

He swallows thickly. Turning to Ember, “Can ya fight as well as Tala?”

“Better,” she smirks.

“You’ll get the chance to prove it back in the Ursidae. Ya can have a trial run. Run gather the Alphas for Tala.”

“Yes sir,” she mock salutes.

“Trent…”

“Don’t, Tala,” Pete interrupts.

“I don’t believe I asked…”

“If the wolves don’t show weakness then you should wait. Minutes are not gonna make a difference.”

“Listen to the boy,” Regal states.

“Fine. As soon as this is out I am going.”

“Understood, Ursus” Trent nods.

“Since I’m stuck here twiddling my thumbs, sit,” I pat the bed as I readjust.

Pete resumes his spot near my feet.

“You too, Trent,” I smile.

His eyebrows meet his hairline as he joins us. “Tala?”

“So, since you are still my mysterious guard, I was hoping you would tell me something about yourself.”

“What would you like to know, Madam?”

“Whatever you’re willing to share. Your past. Your family. Your intentions with Ms. Jax,” I smile as his face flushes. “Anything really.”

“There is nothing in my past that is exciting, I’m afraid. Just the normal family life.”

“So how did you end up here?”

“Peter needed a chaperone,” he shrugs.

“And you were his rescuer,” I prompt.

“As much as he hated the fact.”

“And what are your feelings on the matter?”

“I miss my family but I love my life here. I’m learning a great deal. I hope to continue learning now that I have more access to wolves.”

“Oh? Why are you so interested in the access to wolves?”

“I…”

“He is a historian,” Pete smirks. “Been trying to solve the great mysteries.”

“Like?”

“Well, ummm…Madam, the one I have been putting the most research in is…Well…No one knows why or how our war started.”

“Huh,” I huff. “I never really thought about that?”

“Most of your life you had greater concerns Madam.”

“Well after we get this assassin taken care of, you are welcome to comb through the library here. The Marrok is a big proponent of learning. We have a vast history section, it is probably a bit biased but there.”

“Thank you, Madam.”

XXX

“Wake up, Orton,” I state, bears at my back.

“You have no power here Omega,” the blonde beside the hospital bed sneers.

“No one is speaking to you, Mandy,” I smirk. “And it’s Sigma.”

“I don’t recognize your made-up title.”

“Like Queens of the West that you and Liv like to throw around.”

“What do you need Omega,” Randy mutters, not opening his eyes.

“We need to talk to your involvement with the assassin that tried to take out the Marrok,” Jericho states. “And I would like to make this quick. I need to get home soon.”

“Missing Tyler already Chris.”

“Open your damn eyes, Randy,” Baron barks.

“Bears and the Alphas. Are you really that scared of me little Omega?”

“Who was he, Orton?”

“In case you missed the fact that I’m currently lying in a hospital bed, I have to remind you that I was hit too. Why would I hire someone to hit me too? I don’t know who did this.”

“You’re wound wasn’t too severe. The fact that you were hit means nothing,” I smirk. “The fact that you are still here just means that Regal hasn’t given you a flush yet.”

“What makes you think I had anything to do with anything,” he glares.

“He had the mark of one of your men,” Tony states, tossing the photos onto the table over the downed Alpha’s bed.

Randy paws through the photos. “This isn’t one of mine,” he growls.

“He’s a Viper,” I return the growl.

“No, he isn’t. He has the tattoo but he’s not one of mine.”

“Why should we believe you?”

“If you were a true Alpha, you would know. Alpha’s can hear a lie.”

“Not always. Tala is one of us. We will treat her with the same respect as an Alpha,” Tony corrects. “I vote to bring this to the Marrok.”

“Seconded,” I state.

“So, it passes,” Chris claps. “Let’s get out of here.”

“If she is one of us now, wouldn’t there need to be one more vote to pass now,” Randy sneers.

“Third,” Baron states. “Happy?”

“Get out. I will face the Marrok, you are no longer needed.”

“You heard him. Out,” Mandy snaps.

Konnor and Pete grip my forearms.

“You are needed back at the Ursidae, Madam,” Trent whispers.

“We all need to get home,” Chris states, heading for the door. “Dismissed?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Tony sighs.

“Enjoy your new pack, Orton,” I smirk. “Guards.”

“You need a second, Tala,” Baron states as we enter the hallway. “You can’t always have the bears at your back.”

“I have a few Betas that have pledged themselves to me. I just need a second to choose.”

“None with any experience in the higher workings of a pack.”

“As much as I love Corey, I am not taking your Beta. Him and Ruby have too much business in the Packlands to uproot and move to the Ursidae.”

“What about me?”

Turning I find Tyler Breeze. “Does Jericho know you’re trying to deflect,” I smirk, wrapping him in a hug.

“Yes.”

“You’re serious?”

“As the Marrok,” he smirks.

“Don’t joke like this Breeze.”

Kneeling in front of me, he drops his gaze to my feet. “My loyalty belongs to my Alph…uh, Sigma. Her Pack is where I choose. Her Pack is my defense. Her Pack will be defended by me. This is my pledge.”

I stand frozen at the pledge. My new pack so far consisted of mainly Omegas wanting to escape their packs to somewhere where they will lose the expectations on them. A few Betas merchants wanting to expand their shops into the Ursidae. No one that would want to help in the leadership aspect of the Pack.

“Sigma?”

“Oh..,Um… I will hold you up when you cannot stand. I will wipe away the tears when you cry. I will fight for you when you give up. I will love you. This is my pledge. Rise my wolf.”

“My Sigma.”

“Beta. Why would you join my pack?”

“You will be viewed as the weakest pack. You need someone experienced in pack politics because let’s face it...Well, you suck at politics.”

“I’ll have you know I have been doing a great job as the bear princess.”

“By clashing with the bear king every chance you get. You can not do that with the Marrok.”

“I am aware,” I smirk, rubbing my throat.

“That won’t happen again,” Pete growls.

“There is nothing you can do to stop him, bear.”

“Tyler, that is my head guard, Pete. I trust him more than you, more than me, more than anyone. If there is a way to prevent the Marrok from killing me, I know Pete would die finding that way. Never doubt that and never doubt him.”

“Dango told me about him. I think we will be able to make a good team once I clean him up a little.”

“Bayley will rip your throat out if you touch him.”

“Tala,” Tony calls.

“Yes?”

“I need you to take something with you.”

“What?”

A body slides to a stop at our feet. “Him.”

Nudging the wolf onto their back, Tony’s Beta, Seth. “Why are all the Alphas trying to give me their Betas?”

“Mine will be of no use to you unless you enjoy hounds that can’t keep it in his pants.”

“Then why do I need to take him?”

“It’s still my responsibility to ensure he stays alive,” the Alpha shrugs.

“I’m not the White Lion. My pack is not the dumping ground for Alphas to dispose of their undesirables. I only want wolves that want to be in my lands and work with the bears.”

“I do,” the wolf at my feet groans. “Let me show you.”

“Who did you fuck this time, Seth?”

“Liv.”

“Gods above,” I sigh. “Pack your shit, we leave in an hour. Orton won’t step foot in the Ursidae. He will be safe,” I state to Tony.

“Thank you, Tala.”

“I’m going to need some housing built for all the incoming wolves. Can you gather a crew willing to work in the Ursidae again?”

“Sure thing.”

“Then we’re even. Seth, go. I expect you to be ready when we are.”

“Yes, Sigma,” he groans before slipping off.

“Trent do you have a way back home?”

“Yes Madam.”

“Then our library is yours. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Madam.”

XXX

“The cubs have made it safely home and are halfway to the North,” Konnor reports as I pack.

I had told Drew to take the cubs and start his planned vacation early. “Thank you, Konnor.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I huff as another wave of dizziness passes over me. They have been coming more frequently since returning to my rooms to pack. A weight settling on my shoulder as each pack bond made today starts to settle over me.

“You look pale, Tala.”

“Just a little dizziness from the excitement of the day.”

“Are you sure?”

His hand wraps around my forearm and concern overwhelms my senses.

“I’m fine. Just coming down from the adrenaline of the day. And the Pack connections are going to make my head spin until I learn to control it, I’m told.”

“That’s not it,” Regal states, holding a stack of papers.

“Please. Come right in. Make yourself at home, Old Wolf. Tell me how I don’t know my own body.”

“You don’t,” he smiles gently. “At least not entirely. It’s more than your new pack bonds and adrenaline.”

“What is it then?”

“You are pregnant, Ursus Tala,” he grins. “Congratulations.”

[palbabor-writes]

Yōkai

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Horror Tales

Warnings: Ghosts, spirits, blood, gore, adult language, death, mentions of violent crime

Word Count: 9403

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t. 

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye.

Notes: I went with a whodunit theme for this fic with some healthy ghosts and haunts thrown in. As this is pre-All Might’s retirement, Hawks is the #3 Hero.

Yōkai

Yōkai are a class of supernatural monsters and spirits in Japanese folklore. The word 'yōkai' is made up of the kanji for "bewitching; attractive; calamity" and "spectre; apparition; mystery; suspicious."

The small island of Miyako is renowned for its turquoise waters, pristine coral sanctuaries, amusement parks, and sprawling mansions. All in all, it’s a trust fund tourist trap. Still, like most pristine and shiny things, there’s a seedier underbelly that’s scrapes against the rough, sandy bottom. Come at low tide and you’ll catch a whiff of decay and rot. 

Miyako Island is another example of that duality that exists within everything. No matter how pretty the water, there are always dark creatures that lurk in the shallow shoals and coves.

Hawks isn’t looking forward to his new assignment on the island. He’s been called in by the HPSC and Miyako’s police force. There’s been a string of unsolved murders and, with the onset of August, tourist season is in full swing. Homicide is bad publicity during the best of times. But, combine the discovery of freshly charred corpses popping up in various buildings, piers, and alleyways, with mass hysteria and you’re going to have a big problem on your hands. 

For eight open murder cases, there’s not much for Hawks to go on, and the data he does have is spotty. 

Hawks poured over the notes as soon as he got off the phone with the HSPC, the luster of the new assignment fresh in his mind. He swiped through the briefings and crime scene photos that were attached in the long email from Miyako’s chief of police. 

It looks like the trouble started in the poorer areas of town. No matter how bright the city lights shine, there’s always the common shadow of a downtrodden, overworked, and underpaid populous straining under the weight of “keeping up appearances.”  

Who else would do the nitty gritty jobs that ensured that the tourist season stayed afloat, and, most important of all, profitable? 

Sadly, it’s the blue collar areas that first experienced the horrors. The notes on these cases are borderline elitist, skirting close to xenophobic. The usual: ‘it was just something that happened when you crammed people in that close’. ‘What else did you expect’? ‘Most of the victims aren’t even from the island’. ‘They’re strangers, they’re not locals.’ ‘They’re not one of us’. 

The word immigrant pops up in the documentation frequently and it feels like a slur each time it appears. There’s a slinking, cloying animosity curling behind the looping words. 

It pisses Hawks off.

The only reason he’s been called is because the crimes have jumped over the poverty line. Now, two prominent members of Miyako society have been murdered. So, what’s the connection you ask? 

It’s the state of the bodies. 

All of the victims, rich or poor, have been mutilated. Something sharp was drawn across their skin, cutting and splicing, marring them, marking them. Then, as if to add insult to injury, they’d been set aflame. It must have been a scorching blaze. Something that leaves them so crisped and blackened that they’re more husk than human. In each case, it’s taken dental records to identify the deceased. 

The Miyako chief of police is doing a review of the known peculiars with Hawks. 

“They mirror the, uh, earlier crime scenes. As you can see, this one, she is, er, was a woman in her late 30’s-”

“She was 37,” Hawks supplies, his golden eyes running over the chart that the chief of police is showing him. He’s trying his best to hide his agitation, but his feathers still bristle, the red plumage flaring, refusing to lay against his back. 

“Uh, yeah, a bad age they say.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just, it’s supposed to be bad luck. You know?”

“I don’t. Can we get back to the matter at hand, please?” 

Hawks has to grit his teeth to keep his tone even. He’s really not liking the way these crime scenes are processed and he’s made his opinion known to the police chief and investigative team. Why now, he’d pressed, hours after flying in, sweat still clinging to his brow. Why didn’t the bodies matter when it was relegated to the lower socio-economic citizens? 

He’s also critical and skeptical of the motives of this police chief. There’s something about the whole thing that feels...off.

 But, now’s not the time to project that suspicion. He’s only just arrived, besides, he needs more information, more data. Despite his agitation, he gets why the HPSC sent him on this assignment. He’s known for doing things quickly. Plus, he’s usually calm, collected, and he’s got the clout to get things moving again. 

He’s also observant. The HPSC both loves and hates this particular skill of his, but it’s to their benefit in this instance. His sharp eyes might spot something that’s been missed, they’d said on the phone with him as they handed off his assignment. If he played his cards right, they said, he could pull these murders from unsolved to solved. Oh, and the commission is thinking these murders might involve some agents from the League of Villains. 

It’s not a confirmed connection. 

There’s nothing solid about it, besides the body mutilation and burned corpses. But both are known habits of two members of the League. They’re shadowy leads, more steeped in hearsay than fact. All the same, one is rumored to have a fascination with blood, and the other, has a proclivity for using a bright, blue flame. It’s a hot heat, perfect for cremation and these bodies have all been practically, well, cremated.

“Have you met the other heroes that will be assigned to work with you?” 

Hawks snaps out of his head and nods at the tall, balding police chief. “Amano and Matsuura? Yeah, we’re supposed to take a look at the first locations as soon as this...meeting...is concluded.” Hawks hopes the police chief can hear the air quotes he just put the word meeting in. 

“Good, good. I saw your additions on the later cases. I really feel that we should look a little harder into those. One was a member of the city council. He was beloved by the city and-”

“If I’m looking for a pattern, there’s a higher probability that the killer was sloppier in the earlier cases. New habits and all. I’ll get to the councilman when I get to the councilman. Again, this string of murders started in the lowlands. While I realize that doesn’t get you the most publicity, and I hear a re-election is coming up for your position as chief of police this fall, I’m not going to pick at certain elements of this and leave others by the wayside. 

You gotta’ problem with that, take it up the HPSC. But, listen, they’re a lot meaner than me and they’re not going to like that you’re obstructing my investigation. You asked the commission to send someone down, and, lucky you, you’ve gotten yourself stuck with me.” 

Hawks flashes the police chief a bright grin, his teeth gleaming as his eyes crinkle to crescents. The man stammers for a moment, his face flushing under Hawks’ false joviality, then he tosses a bulky manilla folder on the desk. 

“Why you...I heard you were an arrogant son of a...no, no.” The chief sputters, his teeth clenched, anger bared behind the grinding of his jaw. “You’re right, we’re so very grateful to the number three hero taking time out of his busy modeling schedule to lend us a hand with these murders.”

“Ooh, you saw that spread in the sports magazine? Nice use of color right? Loved that new set of watches I’m sponsoring.” 

Fucking prick. Hawks is used to this kind of irate reaction, hell, it’s pretty expected now. He’d heard it so many times he has it memorized. Yeah, yeah, he’s twenty one, a kid who’s too big for his boots. He has no idea, no real world experience. Did you hear how he talked to me? The audacity.  

Let this guy try to report his snarky attitude, it’s not going to get his low level wannabe bureaucratic ass anywhere.

“I’ll get my agency to send you a signed copy. I had no idea you were such a fan! Lemme grab these files, got some work to do. Catch you around, sir!” Hawks pantomimes a salute, a serious expression making his eyes narrow. Fuck this dude. He’s got bigger fish to fry.

Closing the door on the police chief’s mottled expression, he meanders down the stairs of the police precinct, his wings still arching and rustling his temper. You’d think this case didn’t matter to these buffoons. The sheer implication of Hawks’ presence should clue them in. The HPSC doesn’t do anything lightly. Nah, these killings could be related to the League. Plus, his background checks on the victims had revealed some startling discoveries. 

All of them, down to the nineteen year old restaurant hostess, were involved in minor villain activities. Some had smuggled drugs, some laundered money on the side, one was a known broker. They kept climbing the ladder of severity. It was worrisome. 

While the chances of the LOV’s involvement was low, the commission was still searching for their hideout. He’d caught wind of some of the activity revolving around that ongoing mission. He wasn’t assigned to it, but he liked to keep an ear to the ground. 

Association with the LOV or not, these homicides kept bothering him. There’s something he’s not seeing. He dislikes the sensation. It makes him tense, ill at ease. Once he steps outside the police headquarters he launches himself into the sleet grey skies. 

It looks like rain. 

If he’s wanting to glean as much as he can from those early crime scenes, he better hurry. Hawks doesn’t like rain. It makes his feathers feel bogged down and dampened. Unfortunately, it has the same effect on evidence. Rain can whisk the little details away, slicking and drifting as it washes down to the vast sea. It can easily snag vital clues on its meandering path, erasing as it goes. 

******

The first murder took place on the fourth floor of a shabby apartment. The victim lived in the 19th unit and was a 43 year old male. He was a well known loner. So, it was a shock to discover that he ran a pilfering ring. The ring wasn’t a small scale enterprise either. No, this went deep. It connected to three other islands and the Japanese mainland. There’s no way this guy was a simple recluse. If anything, he was nothing short of a criminal mastermind. 

His body had been left in an odd position. It was likely staged, purposeful.  

He was discovered by his landlord. Rent was due and it was unusual for him to be late with the payment. So, the landlord let himself into the 19th unit. It’s a small wonder no one reported the smell earlier. Apparently, it was putrid, acidic, gut churning. A mix of tarnished copper and old, rotten meat. 

In all likelihood, he was murdered elsewhere and dragged back to the unit. Nothing in the room, besides his corpse, was scorched. The victim was splayed on his small bed, but the placement was strange. His feet were resting on his ashen pillow, shoes still on his feet. Meanwhile, his head was at the foot of his bed, pointing northward. 

Hawks and one of the assigned heroes, a friendly guy named Amano, are going over the case file with two members of the forensic team. Apparently, one of the team members hadn’t been part of the original investigation clean up and bagging. As Hawks and Amano are sharing the crime scene photos, asking the forensic team questions, the taller of the two, gasps, clapping a hand over his lips. 

Hawks tilts his head at the man’s reaction, his feathers automatically feeling for his pulse. It’s elevated and the guy appears to be truly bothered. It’s an upsetting picture, to be sure, but this is his job. He cleans up blood and guts for a living. Surely, he’s seen worse.

“You ok?” Hawks’ asks, his amber eyes shifting over the man’s face. 

“F-fine. It’s just, well, look at him.” 

Hawks takes the photo back. Did he miss something? 

“What about him?”

“Look at the direction his head’s facing.” 

“Uh,” Hawks examines the position of the hazy sun that peeks through the rain clouds outside the window. “North?”

Now the other forensic team member gasps. What the hell? What does facing north have to do with anything? It’s a cardinal direction. What would they say if he was facing the West? Again, are these people deliberately trying to bog his investigation down?

“I don’t see what, uh, relevance that has.” Hawks tells the two, looking over to Amano. The hero doesn’t seem to be bothered by their outburst. He just shrugs at Hawks’ frank stare.

“It’s supposed to be bad luck, but yeah, there’s not-” Amano begins, finally placing some clarity on the forensic team's outburst of paranoia, but he’s interrupted by the taller, jumpier man. 

“Not just that. You collect iron in your blood if you sleep facing north. It brings death.”

The guy said death like it might summon the fearsome spector down on them at any moment. Amano coughs, his hand covering a badly concealed smile. “Yeah, sure. Facing north is bad luck, and, I guess it can bring death, too. Learn something new everyday...”

“Worked pretty well in this guys case,” Hawks muses, arching an eyebrow at the jittery forensic team. “You guys see anything else? Something a little more, I don’t know, pertinent?” 

They don’t get much further with that crime scene.

Amano tags along for Hawks’ review of the other two cases. His agency runs out of this area and he was one of the first responders. He’s not got a lot of extra information, but he knows the people and they know him. It takes the edge off, lets the locals open up a little more. 

The next case is in a home. Well, home feels generous, it’s more like a shack. Apparently, the victim liked to collect cat figurines. Like, really, really liked to collect cat figurines. There’s over sixty of them, they’re scattered around the place, tucked into nooks and crannies. It feels like a thousand little eyes are watching the two heroes as they canvas the space. It’s creepy.  Hawks dislikes the sensation. His feathers keep lifting, feeling, spreading out.

The woman had been found at her kitchen table. She was propped into a chair, sitting, like nothing in the world, save her crisp remains, was amiss. The only way you could achieve a staging of that caliber was to wait for the body to enter rigor mortis. 

That takes time. 

Full rigor sets in around 5 to 12 hours after death has occured. Whomever did this must have had time to spare. And they weren’t worried about being caught during that time. No, they were too busy planning out the dramatic effect of their crimes.  

Once again, he feels like he’s missing something. 

One body was left pushing a garden cart. Literally, the man was found, early in the morning with his hands tied to a wheelbarrow. He was posed mid task, his arm lifted, reaching for someone, or something. Trouble was, the guy didn’t work as a gardener. No, he was a low level broker. Someone darting under the criminal radar. He’d eluded the police and heroes for months. Looks like his luck ran out.

The eighth body, the congressman, was discovered at a popular wharf. This crime scene is still in the process of being cleaned up, so there’s a flurry of people bustling around. Amano, and the other hero, Matsuura, who’s also been assigned to Hawks’ investigation, are talking with witnesses, gathering information and scheduling interviews. This kind of hero work is never ending. Hawks is grateful they’re willing to take on the grunt work. 

As Hawks is kneeling, peering over the ledge of the pier, looking down on the blackened wood and debris, a loud cawing breaks out. It echoes on the wind, coiling and lifting. It’s a funny sound. Like it’s far away and dulled. It makes Hawks’ wings fan out, overstimulated and brittle. The heroes and crime scene investigators debate on the origin of the noise. It doesn’t help that there’s no bird that’s wheeling above them. No, the skies are dark and empty, with a light misting of rain starting to drip onto the lashing sea. 

“What is that?”

“Is it a gull?”

“It’s creepy. There’s nothing even flying around. But, it sounds so close.”

“I think it’s a seabird. It’s gotta be, sometimes they fly out here looking for fish.”

“I’ve never heard a seagull sound like that.”

“There are other birds besides seagulls, idiot. It could be a pelican-”

“It’s a crow,” Hawks’ supplies, standing and turning back to the clutch of people who are quickly gathering up their supplies, doing their best to get the important pieces of evidence protected from the rain. 

“Huh? Did he say a crow?”

“Oh, damn, that’s a sign of death.”

“No...I think it’s illness, not death.”

Hawks’ walks to Amano and Matsuura, he tells them he’ll meet them back at the police headquarters. He needs to start his interviews if he wants to even have a prayer of snagging a bite to eat. He’s been subsisting off coffee since he flew in and his stomach is rumbling, loudly. 

The investigators are still debating the meaning of the crow caws when he takes off. His wings beat powerfully beside his head and he lifts above the grey storm clouds, coasting high, past the skyline. 

The people here are strange. They’re a superstitious bunch for sure. Everything has an underlying reason. Don’t forget to toss salt over your shoulder when you walk into that crime scene, Hawks. It’s bad luck if you don’t. 

Despite the strange mannerisms that surround him, they are right about one thing: there’s more to these killings than meets the eye. 

Things feel off in every crime scene. Were their belongings really left that way? Or, have the details been staged? Plus, the murders keep escalating. The particulars are spreading out and deepening as they interweave. The major connecting thread is still the state of the bodies, but even that is starting to feel vague. Hawks shudders a bit of excess moisture from the tips of his wings. Fingers crossed, some of these witnesses and relatives of the victims will have a little more substance for him to chew on.

******

Oh, they have something alright. 

It’s more hushed rumors and strange folk tales. God, the sheer frightened gullibility of these islanders is wild. The whole place feels so backwoodsey, lost in a bygone era. There’s always a prayer or blessing that needs to be uttered. Or, some supernatural logic that he needs to look into. Did you consider the devil, Hawks? He hides in the details, you know? 

It’s fucking weird. 

Hawks is treading in unfamiliar waters with this tripe. He didn’t grow up with any of this. The HPSC certainly hadn't offered him a course on Japanese islander folk traditions during his childhood. Still, these people, for the most part, seem well off, educated, cultured even. Some aren’t even from this island. But, they seem to be infected with the same disease: ghosts, oni spirits, and bad omens. It’s a whirling circle of nonsense and Hawks’ wants off this ride.   

“I got a call from her.”

“From the victim, your sister?”

“Yeah, it came in at 4:49 am.”

“Ma’m, that’s not possible. The coroner noted that rigor mortis had set in by 2 am”

“She sounded faint. It was like she was underwater, but it was her. She screamed at me.”

“She screamed at you?”

“Yeah, it was this low scream. Kinda, like a gasp? Like she couldn’t breathe. It kept getting louder and louder and louder. It hurt my ears. They felt like they were ringing, pounding. Then, the line just went dead. I can still hear it, that scream. Every time I close my eyes, or whenever I least...I-I can still hear her.”

“Do you have your phone records?”

Hawks is trying to make sense of it all, but it’s like they’re talking to each other before they come into the interview room, telling each new interviewee to up the ante. 

See if you can spook the number three hero. Go on, it’ll be fun. 

There’s a slew of strange occurrences. Disembodied voices, knocking on windows, doors opening on their own, quiet voids of cold that they step into. Ghosts keep popping up.

Then, there’s the oni spirits. They have red faces and they lean in close, their fangs reaching, gnashing, grinding. One woman, who was married to one of the victims, burst into tears, her terrified sobbing turning into a frantic wail. 

She had seen an ogre in her back garden. It was pushing a cart and the cart was on fire. Hawks’ checked his notes as he patted the woman’s back, trying to help her move through a few breathing exercises. One of the victims was found propped, pushing a wheelbarrow, could it be…

No. It’s another dead end. 

This woman didn’t know that dead man, the one who was pushing the cart. She didn’t even live on the same side of town. Ugh, this is endless. It might be easier if he did apply these delusions to his investigation. At least that way he’ll feel sane. 

Some of the victims had been acting suspicious, paranoid, on edge before their deaths. One of them had gotten a phone call in the middle of the night and ran off. The next day she was found dead in her home, burnt and drifting into ash. 

“So, she got the call and just ran out the door?”

“Yes. But, she let it ring four times.”

“You said that already. I’m not sure-”

“She picked it up after the fourth ring.” The aunt of the victim is looking at Hawks expectantly, her blue eyes wide, starting. 

“I don’t-”

“You know what that means...don’t you?”

“The hidden significance of picking up a phone on the fourth ring? No, no I don’t.”

They never fully expand on their weird theories. They’re normal comments to them. He debates looking up the meaning of the number four on his phone, but he tamps down the urge. It doesn’t pertain to the case. It’s useless drivel, a waste of time. 

An adult man shows him this ugly, ugly drawing of a cat. It’s pulling a flaming cart. Hawks doesn’t even want to touch the paper. The man keeps pointing back at it as he goes over his neighbor’s timeline. 

This particular witness is connected to the city councilman. The one that was oh, so important to the police chief. It’s a high profile case and it’s being taken seriously. Yet, here’s this supposedly credible witness, flashing a childish scrawl up to his nose, asking him to look for the phenomena, like it’s a normal request to ask the number three hero to look for nonexistent demons. 

‘There’s gotta be more to this’, he tells Hawks, his voice broken, fervid. ‘Something, something has to be there, after all, the councilman was murdered for a reason’. 

The man with the drawing is right about that, at least. 

These are not random crimes. The MO is too similar. Every single victim was involved in some sort of villainous activity. Yeah, the guys correct on that one sane theory of his: ‘There’s gotta be something there’. But, whatever it is, it’s not this cat thing. 

Hawks calls a halt to their interview and glumly munches on his cold chicken sandwich as he waits for the next witness to be called in. His head is pounding and he’s praying for some new development to fall into his lap, at least that way he can conclude things and get the hell off this island. 

****** 

The 9th victim is an outlier. 

He’s high up in social circles and he was a popular man. He’s also been accused of money laundering, tax evasion and fraud. He was acquitted on all charges, but his past never did stop nipping at his heels. However, that’s not what makes him an outlier. 

No, that’s reserved for the state of his body. 

Most of the victims have been burned to a crisp, leaving nothing behind, save bone and gristle. You can still see this guy's face and defining features. He’s a little charred, but it’s almost like the flames stopped right before they got past his chin. 

They transport his body to the morgue and Hawks finishes the combing of the crime scene, setting up a new batch of interview times and creating witness reports. He leaves just as the sun is dipping under the horizon. 

******

It’s late now, and the cool sea breeze blows in through his open hotel windows, soothing across his crimson plumage. It’s his first evening off in over a week. He’s still working though, typing his reports into his laptop. 

He’s forgone his usual coffee this evening. He wants to try and see if he can catch a full eight hours tonight. God, what a fucking delicious treat that would be. Eight hours? That’s the real ghost here. 

He shuts off his laptop and flops himself across his bed, his wings tucking into his side, burrowing his shoulders into their reassuring warmth. 

He slips into the lull between realities, his mind whirring, the case resting heavily against the forefront of his thoughts. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he can’t distinguish between dream and actuality as he drifts off. 

There’s something there.

It keeps to the edge of his vision, a dark shadow that leeches the color from whatever it touches. He can feel it watching him. It shifts quickly when he cocks his head to get a better look, sliding across the blank expanse like quicksilver, fluid and slick. 

He looks away from the edges of his dreamscape and turns. He blinks in surprise. He’s at one of the crime scenes. It’s the one with the man in the wheelbarrow. There’s a crowd pressing around him and that dark figure is blotted toward the back, lurking, watching. The people around him murmur and whisper, too soft to hear. They don’t seem to notice him. They also don’t appear to have faces. They’re just blank voids, with soft notches where eyes, noses, and mouths should be. Unthinking, Hawks reaches for one of them and his hand slips through the air, weightless and heavy in the same motion. 

When he blinks again he’s in that lady’s shack, the one with all the cat figurines. That wraith is sitting at her kitchen table. It’s not moving and he doesn’t feel particularly threatened by its proximity. Still, he dislikes this whole thing. If he can touch it, maybe he’ll wake up.

He’s stepping forward when he hears a soft mewl. There’s a black cat on a shelf. It’s tiny and lithe. It jumps in front of him, a low purr rumbling from its chest. It looks up at him, orange eyes fastening on his amber ones. Odd, he thinks, that woman only had figures. No living cats were evident in the house. 

The cat chirps four times. It’s a light, high pitched sound that makes his ears ache. It almost sounds like a phone. The cat lifts its tail and turns, padding soundlessly into the next room. Intrigued, Hawks follows.

Now, he’s walking down a street. The cat is still in front of him, weaving in and out. That purr of it is loud and sharp as it vibrates around his ears. He keeps trying to get the feline’s attention. He pspsp’s at the dark cat, clicking his tongue, but it doesn’t respond. Hawks is distracted, not paying any mind to his surroundings, wholly focused on the feline. 

The voice startles him. 

It’s rasping and deep and it’s calling his name. Not his hero name, no, it’s saying his real name, over and over. 

KEIGO TAKAMI. 

Keigo Takami, he thinks, stumbling over words that make him, him. It sounds strange now, foreign. He hasn’t heard that name in such a long time.  How did…

The voice is coming from behind him now. He whirls around and is face to face with that man. The 9th victim, the one whose face you could still see. He’s charred and battered, and blood is dripping in long rivulets from his gaping skin, pooling onto the ashen sidewalk. 

His eyes are wide, searching but not seeing. The pupil and iris are both milky white, rolling around in the cavities of his sockets. Then, his mouth pops open. It’s horrifically wide, like it’s caught in a scream. His teeth are crumbling before Hawks’ eyes, black pearls that slide from the man’s lips and clatter around his feet. 

Hawks is stunned, unsure, but, fuck, he can’t move. He tries to flap his wings, knowing that they’ll tug him away from this horror that’s in front of him. Except, there’s no whoosh of air, no lift. There’s nothing. What? How... 

His hands bat at the emptiness along his back. Where are they? What is this? His fingertips press along his shoulders, searching, desperate. His quirk, it’s...it’s just gone. He’s frantic now and that makes him clumsy. His feet tangle under him and he falls. Grounded, his legs instinctively begin to push away from the shell of a man in front of him.

The figure moves with him. Hawks keeps scrabbling away, but the man is even closer now and his bare feet are disintegrating with each shuffling pad forward. Still, he keeps on. Hawks tries to move again, tries to shift, but he’s been cast in stone. He can’t look away...he can’t…

The man is almost upon him now. His fingers are crumbling, the ash they create is making him choke. He can’t breath, he’s wheezing, unable to pull oxygen through his trembling lips. Hawks’ lungs are burning...

Then, Hawks’ wakes up. 

He’s sweating. His skin feels hot and his wings are flared. The feathers are quivering, searching. They bring him back bits and pieces. There’s someone sobbing two rooms over, someone is sleeping below him, their breath warm, he can almost feel it, pushing in and out, in and out. There’s a phone ringing. How many rings? What if it’s four...

Stop, stop.

Hawks tucks his wings back, ignoring the sounds, the sensations. The plumage wraps around him and he ducks his head into the darkness that they blanket him in. He’s comforted by the reassuring, solid presence of his quirk. He thought he’d lost it. His shoulders still hurt from his flailing motions. What is going on? He’s never had a dream like that. It felt so...so real. 

No. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He doesn't believe in this stuff. It’s not real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

He tries to lay back down. 

He’s cooled off some, but his wings keep flapping, he’s stopped trying to fight them. His quirk is going into overdrive. This hasn’t happened to him in years, not since he was a kid. He tosses his pillow over his head, trying to stifle out the noise his quirk keeps drowning him in. He’s tired and overstimulated. Each breath stings and he tries to count, to walk through the steps that have been with him since childhood. Just be still, Hawks. It doesn’t matter. 

The sun is peeking over the horizon when he finally dozes off, his head heavy, fogged with exhaustion. 

******

Hawks grabs two nitro coffees the next morning. 

He practically inhales the dark liquid, hoping it will let him evade the haze of tiredness that thrums through his veins. It’s a slow day, thank God. There’s nothing of note that occurred the night before. Everything is pacing along its planned trajectory. There are no new bodies and the last interviews go by without any mention of spirits or the paranormal. 

Matsuura offers to take him for some lunch. Hawks, always eager to expand his palette, eagerly agrees and the two men head into the city. It’s a weekend, so the streets are crowded. People recognize Hawks and he chats with them, grateful for the welling of normalcy that the interactions bring. He’s signing an autograph when he catches sight of movement in a darkened alleyway. 

It’s not a particularly noticeable shift, but something about it feels strange. Hawks hands the freshly signed soccer ball back to the gang of kids around him and tilts his head toward the motion. He blinks. What the fuck? That’s not possible. 

It’s the man from his dream. He’s walking, steps heavy, sluggish and he’s moving into the alley. The 9th victim? But, but how? What? 

His wings react to his agitation and he hones in on the spot, reaching, snatching at anything he can sense. His fierce wings never let him down. They’re versatile, practiced and perfected. Feathers detach and shimmer into the midday sun, ducking around corners and onto rooftops, feeling. 

There’s nothing. 

No heartbeat, no footsteps, no voices. Hawks’ eyes had slipped closed as he felt for the man and he snaps them open again, his avian pupils dilating, constricting to a fine point. He turns to Matsuura and tells the hero he’s going to check something out. His wings lift before Matsuura can answer and he flaps into the air, the sea breeze assisting his ascension.

The rooftops are empty and Hawks scans the streets below, his wings rustling as he pulls himself along. Maybe it was a trick of his mind? Did he really see that guy? That’s a stupid question, how could he have? That man is dead. It’s gotta be his tired psyche. He didn’t sleep well, plus this case has been on his brain so much that he’s even dreaming about it. 

He lands on a nearby roof, his boots hitting the tiles roughly. Hawks closes his eyes again, sending a few more feathers out. The man, if he is real, will take this path if he is using the alleyway as an escape. There are no other routes available to him. 

He’s still attuned to his scattered feathers when he hears the cat hiss at him. His eyes open and he sees the animal. It’s a black cat. 

It’s across the street, lingering in an open window, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Hawks narrows his eyes at the aggressive display. There are way too many cats on this island. 

As he and the cat continue to engage in their silent staring contest, he hears a scritching sound coming from the street below. Hawks follows the noise, leaning over the edge of the rooftop. A child is playing below. She is sketching something into the concrete with bits of multicolored chalk. 

It looks like...huh? 

It looks like some kind of cart, but, why...why is it on fire? She is busy tracing the licking flames, a yellow piece of chalk clutched in her small fist. She’s humming a mindless song. It sounds like some kind of dirge. It’s soft and melancholic, following a minor tune. A shiver creeps up Hawks’ spine, but he ignores the pebbling of his skin, shaking his head.

Curious, Hawks wheels down, tapping along the street. He keeps a little ways away from the girl, he’s not wanting to startle her. His long fingers reach behind him, into his utility pocket that sits on his belt. He tugs out a small sticker sheet. He always keeps little trinkets in his pockets. It takes real effort to put people at ease and Hawks prides himself on his ability to steadfastly maintain that part of his image. He kneels on his haunches, dropping himself to a friendlier level before calling out to the little girl.

“Hey! That’s a pretty picture.” His voice is all light and honey and he has a bright smile on his face.

“Oh!” the little girl chirps, beaming her own grin back at him. “Thank you!”

“Tell me about your drawing.”

“It’s a Kasha.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what a Kasha is. Can you tell me about the Kasha?”

“They come to take away bad people.” The little girl replies, going back to her sketch, perfecting her lines and colors. 

“Oh! There’s a kitty in your drawing. Is the kitty a Kasha too?” Hawks asks, noticing the calico cat that’s attached to the handles on the front of the cart. It looks angry, vengeful. Strange for a kiddo to draw something so eerie.

“That’s the spirit of the nekomata, silly. Don’t you know anything?”

“Haha,” Hawks laughs, a genuine sound that makes him throw his head back, his hand bashfully scratching the back of his head. “Guess I don’t, huh? Do you like to draw...ghosts?”

“Not really. If I draw them they won’t-”

A distant voice is calling out a name. It’s female and coming from a house a few feet away, no doubt the girl’s mother or sister. The little girl calls back. 

“Coming mama! I gotta go, mister.”

“Here,” Hawks begins, detaching a smaller feather and drifting the little set of stickers over to the girl’s chubby hands. “Thank you for answering my questions,” he smiles. She coos and snatches the sparkly sheet, the sunlight catches the glitter that adorns the stickers. He tickles her cheek with his detached feather and she laughs. 

Her mother calls again and she starts to run off, her yellow shoes pounding on the street. Belatedly, she pauses before rounding the corner and bows low, a quick thank you slipping from her mouth. He waves back and smiles as she walks into her home, the door clicking behind her. Once he’s alone in the alleyway his grin drops and he stands, looking down at her drawing. 

It’s so freaking odd. Sure, sure, these cases are in the news. But the drawing looks...familiar somehow. 

Oh, that’s why. 

That man he interviewed, the one connected to the congressmen, had drawn something similar. Even then, back in that dark interrogation room, the strange figures looked like something he’d seen before, but where?

That nagging feeling is back. It pulls at the back of his mind. What is going on?

Hawks pulls out a small notepad and replicates the girl’s drawing, noting the colors and positions of the nekomata. As he sketches, his wings arc above his head, lifting and lowering meditatively. 

******

He comes back to the police precinct, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets. As he walks toward the chief’s office he runs into Amano. He’s the elder of his two assigned heroes and a font of knowledge about the island and its inhabitants. Maybe he’ll know something more about this doodle that keeps cropping up.

“Hey, Amano, you seen any weird drawings around town? Or, at the crime scenes maybe?”

“Weird? Like how?”

Hawks pulls out his notepad, flipping to the page with his sketch of the cat pushing the burning cart. Amano chortles, one gloved hand coming to cover his mirth. 

“What is that? It looks terrible.”

“I’m not much of an artist, I'll give you that one. In my defense, it’s based on a kid's drawing, so cut me some slack here, man. She said it was supposed to be a kasha and a nekomata?”

“Oh! Yeah, I can kinda see that now. I know what those are. According to legend, kasha appear during rainstorms. They steal corpses out of their coffins. Some of the older folks say they collect the souls of the damned. You can’t get the souls back if the kasha get them, they’re taken to hell, or eaten, depending on what version of the story you’re listening to. 

I mean, they’re all just old wives tales. We used to tell them on camping trips. They’re bedtime stories, something to scare kids into being good. Ooo, misbehave and you’ll get taken to hell. 

Eh, that feels kinda strong when I say it outloud, hopefully people don’t tell their kids stuff like that. Anyway, it’s not real.” Amano pauses, his head tilting at Hawks’ serious expression. “Isn’t it a little early to be getting into ghost stories? It’s summertime. Besides...” 

Hawks tugs his phone out of his jacket pocket, flicking through the crime scene photos as Amano elaborates on how ridiculous this ghoulish conversation is. Normally, Hawks would agree, but there’s got to be...oh...OH. 

There it is. 

His finger stills over the glass of his phone. It’s tiny, basically a scrawl, but it’s there. He flicks through some of the other photos, swiping through the different locations, searching. Ah-ha! Again, there’s that scrawl. This time, it’s almost cropped out of the photo. Still, there are two crime scenes with the scrawling of chalk. 

It’s a tiny drawing, so tiny he looked right over it originally, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s there, plain as day. It’s a drawing of a tiny cart with a cat pulling the handles, lugging the wheels forward. 

Amano is still talking when Hawks looks back up. Hawks butts into his elaborations, not caring that he’s interrupting the man. 

“Ok, so they take evil doers away? Spooky. Question for you. You got any theories on why it’s cropping up all over town?” Hawks lifts the phone to Amano’s face. Amano takes the device and examines the strange markings, his brow creases, but he hands Hawks his phone back with a small smirk on his lips.

“It’s just talk, man. People do all sorts of superstitious things around here. Don’t look too hard into it. You believe what you want to, I don’t know. If that makes sense. Like those old sayings: ‘Don’t clip your nails before bed’. ‘No whistling at night’. It’s just something to say.

Superstitions are weird like that. Kinda like why you don’t have a fourth floor in a hospital. The number four looks like the word for death when you write it out. It’s bad form. It’s asking for trouble. So, don’t put a fourth floor, and boom, no problems with death.”

Hawks hums at Amano’s explanation. Ok, that superstition about the fourth floor, yeah, that one he had heard about. Amano claps a hand on Hawks shoulder and tells him he’s going to call a few more witnesses in. Hawks nods distantly, his mind whirring, processing. Despite Amano’s assurances, something still feels off.

******

He’s got a night shift. 

It’s only for one evening, so it shouldn't fuck up his sleep schedule too much. Hawks has already decided that he’s going to circle back to all of the crime scenes. He’s not used to being out of the loop, or being the one that people are looking at quizzically. 

He’d shown the drawings to the head investigator and the man had given him a blank look before asking Hawks if he needed some time off from the case. If he’d been asked that question a few days later, Hawks might have taken him up on the offer. 

It’s been five days since he had that dream, but he’s still seeing that man. He’s determined to haunt him, to flit on the side of Hawks’ vision, drifting around like a dead leaf in a breeze. 

He saw him at a bus stop the other evening. His dark hair was plastered to his face, burnt skin sloughing off his shoulders. He looked like a walking horror and Hawks had brought himself to an abrupt stop, staring at the figure below. The bus pulled up to the stop seconds after, the sleek metal shielding the man from view. By the time Hawks lifted himself higher, the man was gone. 

He saw him in windows, peering sightlessly out of the glass. He spied the man walking home from the train, trailing long streams of ash and smoke behind him. He never makes any sound. He’s not alive, so why would he? He had spoken to him in his dream, called his name, but after that? There was nothing. 

The vacancy of his presence is what startles Hawks the most. 

There’s nothing to feel, nothing to sense. It’s just this vast, blank, emptiness. For someone with a quirk like his, it’s deeply unsettling. Hawks’ life revolves around his ability to sense, to feel. The plight of the dead man makes his chest hurt with its loneliness and abject barrenness. Is that what it’s like to die? You drift into this void, alone? He doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Is this his routine? Is he trapped in an endless loop, playing out his final movements? How long does he have to participate in this charade? Is this some kind of purgatory for him?    

Distracted by his thoughts, Hawks spots a different man down a dark street as he flies overhead. It looks like he’s pushing a creaking wheelbarrow. Wait. A wheelbarrow? He looks again, wheeling back through the night sky, but there’s no one there now. No, the street is desolate, not even the gleam of the moon can brighten the winding sidewalks. 

Is this really a ghost? Do these visions even exist? Hawks has never given the topic of the paranormal much thought. It’s always been an outlier, untrue, and untested. A pseudoscience. Well, ghosts or not, whatever is going on, Hawks needs some rest. 

The rest of the night passes uneventfully and Hawks collapses onto his bed, drifting to sleep as soon as his golden head hits the pillows. 

******

After a goodnight’s sleep, it does get a little easier. 

He feels like his mind has cleared, the cobwebs brushed to one side, for now. Despite the clarity, he’s still seeing something. The man hasn’t gone away. No, even the daylight sun isn’t able to banish him. He saw him in his hotel lobby this morning, waiting for an elevator. By the time Hawks zoomed over, he was gone, the only evidence of his presence is the rising numbers on the illuminated floor panel, clicking up, toward the 4th floor.

That night, while getting a late night coffee, Hawks, long since given up his avoidance of caffeine in the evenings, spies something a little more sinister. As he’s paying the friendly barista, he notices someone lugging something across the road. It looks like it’s heavy, dragging against the street. They’re struggling to hoist it and it’s looking more and more like a body to Hawks’ frazzled nerves. He can’t be sure if it’s the specter that’s been lurking after him, but he’s not taking any chances. Again, Hawks is fast, but it’s not his speed that’s letting him down here. 

Each and every time, there’s just nothing there.

Is he freaking haunted now? Is that a thing? That crazy dream hasn’t returned, so that’s one, fleeting, plus. Wait. Does thinking about the paranormal bring it into existence? Is that how ghosts work? Ugh, if he’s going to be plagued, he might as well read up on this shit. What the fuck is going on? Is it the town? Is it the pressure of this case? Is it him?

As he takes himself, and his coffee, up to his hotel room, he ponders the strange predicament he’s landed himself in. He can’t fit all the pieces together. It’s too strange, too abnormal. He wants to lay down, try to get a little sleep. But, a hero's work is never done. He’s got another report to type up and another set of interviews to schedule. 

As he sits at the small desk that faces the window, he hears a strange cawing. It sounds close, almost like it’s right outside the glass. It’s not the call of a seagull, no, it’s that crow again. But, crows aren’t indigenous to the island. He’d looked them up after that discussion on the wharf. No crows have been spotted on the island in over 50 years. The last known specimen was an old bird, living in the Miyako zoo. It died over 3 years ago. 

Hawks pulls himself to his feet, scraping the chair legs against the floor. He opens the window and pokes his head outside. He can smell the salty aroma of the sea. It tickles his nose and makes him take a big inhale of air, filling his lungs with the crisp aroma. The crow can still be heard, shrieking into the night. There’s a soft, familiar, beating of wings, too. He cranes his head, scanning the blackness, his wings are lifted as well, but there’s no bird. Per usual, there’s no movement, and no creature is flapping its way into the night sky. 

He closes the window and the cawing echoes to the other side of the room before fading away. Annoyed, he takes a sip of his coffee. Hopefully that’s the last he’ll hear of it. He’s got enough ghosts fucking with him, thank you very much, he’s not wanting to add a disembodied crow to the role call. 

******  

The next morning Hawks is on a patrol. 

The murder cases have stagnated again. While this, on the whole, is good news, simply because there are no new bodies, he still can’t get that damned drawing off his mind. It feels like things are slipping away from him, pulling out with the tide and into the vast realm of the dreaded: unsolved cold case. 

He’s frustrated, no, he’s not frustrated, he’s pissed. 

He feels like he’s letting the whole town down. He’d been called out here to do a job, but what good has he really been? Sure, the townsfolk are weird, the police chief is an ass and the lead detective pretty much has Hawks written off as a conspiracy theorist nut, but he was sent here to do a job. He’s good at sniffing things out. He’s good at being a hero. He’s not good at waiting, and that’s all this case has turned into, one long stint of stagnation and thumb twiddling. 

Hawks glides across the bright sky, the sun reflecting warmly on his ruby red feathers. His eyes and wings are alert, feeling for any disturbances. He’s rounding onto the main street when he sees him.

It’s a living, breathing man. Hawks can feel his heartbeat, it’s pounding against the man’s breastbone. Only problem is, he shouldn’t be in the realm of the living.

The 9th victim ducks into a large bank, his familiar dark hair gleaming in the sun. 

Hawks maneuvers to land immediately, his wings tucking against his back and dropping him to the earth at an alarming speed. He startles the small huddle of pedestrians on the sidewalk, but he’s too intent on catching his quarry to smooth any ruffled feathers. He races up the steps of the bank, one broad, gloved hand yanking the glass door open.

There he is. He’s talking with someone. Hawks can almost hear what he’s saying, he just needs to get closer…

“Sir? Can I help you?”

It’s a bank employee. He’s wearing a crisp blue suit and his eyes are wide behind his horn-rimmed glasses. Hawks pauses at his question, then slides past him, but it looks like it was just enough time for the 9th victim to evade him. He’s walking now, disappearing from view, stepping down a back hallway. It looks like he’s following someone…

Hawks turns back to the bank employee, his wings vibrating with annoyance and impatience. “I need to talk with that man, he’s wanted in a murder investigation. My name is Hawks, my hero number is-”

“Oh, I know who you are. O-of course, please, do what you need to d-”

The bank employee’s voice fades as Hawks lifts himself, pulling over the heads of the people waiting in the lobby. A few feathers dash out, feeling, searching. 

Where did he go?

Hawks reaches the hallway in record time, his wings folding as he paces over the marble flooring. There’s not much back here, but it does lead to a large, closed vault. Damn it all. 

“Sir, sir, SIR! Can we help you? I am the bank manager. You’re not permitted to be back-”

“Sure, you can help me. I need access to this vault. There’s a man, you can check your security cameras, he just walked-”

“I do not have access to the vault. You will need to make a formal-”

“Whaddya’ mean, “you don’t have access”? Then find someone who does. Two men just...Damn it…”

Hawks phone is ringing, he tries to ignore it, but it persists, vibrating and chiming against his leg. The bank manager is bristling, his mustache quivering as he babbles on about warrants, and how heroes can’t act like cops. It doesn’t matter if Hawks is the number three, he can’t ignore protocol. He needs to come back with a warrant, or get out…

His phone’s ringtone continues to slice through the tense air and Hawks, after the 9th, exasperating, ring, lifts it out of his pocket, glancing at the caller ID: it’s the HPSC. Fuck. He accepts the call on a final, shrill note.

“Hawks, here.”

“You need to come back...there’s been...All Might...Kamino...attack…”

An intermittent static keeps breaking over the phone line. It’s a crackling sound, snapping and rustling, it makes his skin crawl. It almost sounds like someone is whispering something, just below the faint hissing. “What? The line is breaking up-” Hawks lifts the phone, ah, there’s no bars in here.

The bank manager is still carrying on, heedless of Hawks’ inattention. “And so, I am within my rights to ask you to-”

“I’m going to need you to wait here and don’t move. Yeah, yeah, sure thing buddy, I don’t have a warrant, but I can make things pretty rough for you if you don’t do as I say. You don’t want to be involved in this case, believe me. Now, do what I asked and stay here.”  

Lifting his wings, he flies across the lobby again, swiping a quick text to the police chief, if they hurry they might be able to catch this un-dead, dead guy. He jets himself onto the sidewalk, scattering a gaggle of beach goers. 

As he re-dials the HPSC’s number he hears it again. It’s the call of that crow. It startles him and he almost doesn’t lift the dialing phone to his ear. God, this has gotta stop. He scans the sky for any physical sign of the screeching bird. It’s close, cawing and shrieking into the wind. It’s different from the other calls it’s made. It sounds angry, desperate, trying to reach him...trying to tell him something... 

The line picks up and a voice repeats the familiar greeting of the HPSC. 

“HAWKS, here,” he says, vexed, eyes scanning, looking for the disembodied crow. 

The person on the other end asks for him to hold, and a few seconds later the head of the HPSC is answering, her soft voice both grating and reassuring to Hawks. 

“Hawks. You need to return to Tokyo, immediately. All Might has been attacked by All for One. There are developments that we cannot discuss over the phone. Leave whatever intel you’ve gathered for the Miyako police chief and get back here. This is a national emergency. We need all hands. I don’t need to tell you, but the implications of this are dire. Hero society as we know it will be forever changed. I repeat, drop whatever you’re doing and get back to headquarters.”

The line clicks and that static sound rises again. There’s a garbling, muttering sound that’s rising from the hiss. It’s saying his name. KeigoTakamiKeigoTakamiKeigoTakami. 

Then, all is silent. The voice is gone, the cawing is gone. A deep feeling of dread washes over him. It makes his feathers flair, plumage spreading and flexing. All around him, voices are chatting, laughing, living. They have no idea, blissful in their ignorance. Everything is, no, nothing is ever going to be the same again. God, All Might. If he can’t recover, if he dies... 

Hawks lowers the phone, his eyes wide. Suddenly, all these ghosts of his don’t feel so important now.

Notes: @hawksweek2020​

Beta edited by @albinoburrito​

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Behind The Family - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 2)

Part 1 

2020

You woke up to the sound of soft giggling in your bedroom. You turned around on your bed to see your husband tickling the twins as they leaned against his leg. You smiled as you watched the smile on their faces and their tiny hands trying to push Harry’s large hands away from their bellies. 

“Whoops, looks like we woke Mummy up,” Harry said. “Sorry, love.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you smiled. “I love waking up to the sound of baby giggles.”

He laughed kissing your forehead, “They woke up about an half hour ago. They’ve been fed and changed, so now it’s playtime.” 

“Aren’t you super dad,” you smiled sitting up beside. 

“Took you long enough to realize this,” he joked. 

You rolled your eyes and took Finn into your arms when he reached out for you. 

“Such a Mummy’s boy,” Harry laughed snuggling with Amelia. 

“He takes after his Daddy,” you pointed out. 

“That he does,” he smirked. 

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around your baby boy and he placed his head against your chest. You smiled kissing the top of his head as you rubbed his back. 

“Speaking of super dad, your first Father’s Day is coming up,” you smiled. “Is there anything special you want to do?” 

“Other than spend time with my babies, no,” he smiled. 

“Oh, so you’re okay with watching them while I go to the spa or something?” You joked. 

“Hey now! That’s not what I meant,” he laughed. “I meant all of us. You’re my baby too.” 

“Damn, there goes my plans,” you giggled. 

“Ha-Ha, you’re so funny,” Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, you know I’m fucking hilarious!” You pointed out. 

Harry gasped covering Amelia’s ears causing her to giggle, “Y/N! How dare you use such language around the children.” 

“I slipped! Besides I get it from you,” you smirked. “I talked like a saint before I met you then it was down hill and bunch of F-bombs from there.” 

“Oh, puhlease,” He shook his head “You wish. I seem to remember you not being very saint like at all especially when you came waltzing into my room wanting to me undress you.” 

“Hey! I needed help,” you defended. “And you didn’t exactly turn me away.” 

“Because you were hot,” he said in a duh tone. 

“Am I not hot now?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Now as in general, or now as in literally right now with your bedhead and sleepy eyes?” He joked. 

“You better watch it,” you pointed at him. 

He laughed, “Baby, you know you’re still hot. In fact, I think you may actually be hotter now than back then.”

“God, you make it sound like it was forever ago,” you laughed. “We’re not old even though you do dress like a grandpa sometimes.” 

“I do not!” He exclaimed. 

“Eh...” you shrugged. 

“Well then,” Harry said. “I guess I’ll go downstairs and make breakfast for myself and no one else.” 

“Good thing I’m perfectly capable of making my own breakfast,” you smirked. 

Harry looked back at you sticking his tongue out at you causing the babies to laugh and clap their hands. You and Harry both lost it when the babies tried to stick their tongues out as well. 

“They’re so cute,” you smiled. “We make some cute babies, don’t we?” 

“Yeah, we do,” he smiled tickling Amelia’s belly causing her to giggle. 

**

A few days have passed and you were still trying to place something special for Harry’s first Father’s Day, especially since he did such an amazing and thoughtful job on your first Mother’s Day. You were on the computer searching for ideas while the babies were napping and Harry had gone to the gym. You didn’t want it to be too over the top, but you didn’t want it to be small either. 

While searching on the internet wasn’t the most helpful, you decided to look at the folder of photos on your laptop instead. You smiled as you looked through all of the photos you’ve taken of Harry with the babies and during your pregnancy. That’s when you got the idea for a gift. You quickly gathered all of the photos you wanted to use in the collage and put them in an order. 

The middle and largest photo was one of Harry holding the babies for the first time in the hospital. He was shirtless, holding the two bundle of joys in his arms, as he looked down at them. Tears had fallen down his cheeks and it was one of your favorite photos you’ve ever taken. Surrounding that photo, you had chosen some of your favorites of him with the babies and of you from your pregnancy. You used those as a border for the larger photo, leaving a space for a caption “Happy 1st Father’s Day! We love you - Finneas and Amelia Styles” and a spot to put their handprints in the shape of a heart. 

Once you were happy with the outcome, you sent the photo to one of the poster/photo companies you work with when you need large scales of your photos printed. Just as you were finishing up, you heard the front door being opened. You quickly finalized your order and closed your laptop before turning around to greet your husband. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled. “How was the gym?” 

“Great,” he said. “I’m going to feeling in tomorrow though.” 

He grabbed some water from the kitchen before walking over to you and giving you a kiss. “How’d everything go here?” 

“The babies have been sleeping and I got some work done,” you said. 

He nodded, “I’m going to go shower and then I’ll take over baby duty if you want to rest.” 

“You’re the best,” you smiled. 

He smiled kissing you again before heading up to the bedroom. When Harry was out of sight, you grabbed your phone and started texting Harry L about setting up some things for Harry’s other Father’s Day gift. It was always a pain trying to find something the man hasn’t already got for himself or something he wouldn’t just go out and buy himself. Luckily, Harry L had gotten word of some new things from various designers and instead of telling Harry about them first, he contacted you. 

You had looked at the different pictures and chose a few pieces which you would be picking up in a few days. After taking care of that, you decided to look through the kitchen to make sure you had all the ingredients to make Harry’s favorite breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. You wrote down everything you didn’t have and made plans to go to the market tomorrow. 

While you are doing that, Harry had made his way down from taking a shower and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Whatcha doing?” He asked putting his head in your neck. 

“Just making a grocery list,” you said. “I’ll probably be going tomorrow if that’s okay.” 

“Should be,” he nodded. “I’ll be home most of the day.” 

You smiled turning around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Babies still asleep?” 

“They are,” he nodded. “I checked in on them before coming down.” 

“Sooo hypothetically if we wanted to have some Mummy and Daddy time... we could?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Hypothetically, yes I believe we could,” he said. 

“Good to know,” you said unwrapping your arms from him and going back to your list. 

“Hey! Wait a minute,” he groaned. “What are you doing?” 

“Finishing my list,” you said. 

“So, we’re not going to be having any Mummy and Daddy time?” He pouted. 

“It was hypothetical remember,” you said. 

“That’s not fair,” he groaned. 

You laughed shaking your head, “Oh don’t be pouting. It was a joke, now come on,” you said taking his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom. 

**

It was finally the big day. Harry’s first Father’s Day since the twins were born. All of his gifts turned out perfect and were neatly wrapped and ready to be given. You made sure to wake up before him, so that you could sneak down to the kitchen with the babies to start making breakfast. You fed the babies and put them in their chairs with some toys while they watched you get to work on making breakfast. 

You softly played music as you danced around the kitchen, the babies loving every second of it. They even started to join in by moving their heads and arms around as they sat there. Even though you were cooking a lot of food, it didn’t take very long to finish everything up. You brought everything to the table that you decorated and just when you moved the babies over to the table, Harry started making his way down. 

“Happy Father’s Day!” You smiled quickly. 

Harry smiled sleepily as he scratched his belly walking towards his little family, “Thank you,” he smiled kissing you first and kissing the top of the babies head. “This looks delicious. I smelled it all the way from our room.” 

“I know it’s a little much for the two of us, but it makes great leftovers we can eat the rest of the week,” you smiled. 

“I’ll need to make sure I spend some extra time at the gym or some more Mummy and Daddy time,” he winked. 

“Behave,” you giggled hitting his shoulder. “Now, go ahead and sit down. I just need to get our drinks.” 

Harry sat down and looked over at the babies. They were staring at him as they chewed on their tiny hands. 

“Are you two hungry?” He laughed. “You’re still too young to have these, but I bet we’ve got some yummy baby food for you.” 

“On it!” You smiled grabbing some baby oatmeal and mixing it up for them and bringing it over. You handed one bowl to Harry, while you two the other bowl. 

Both of you started feeding the babies in-between bites of your own food. 

“One of these days I feel like I’m going to put the wrong spoon of food in my mouth,” Harry laughed. 

“Oh, I know,” you giggled. “Don’t jinx us, now.” 

After breakfast was over, Harry took the babies into the living room while you finished cleaning up. Once you were done, you went to join Harry. 

“Thank you, baby,” he smiled. “Breakfast was so good.” 

“You’re welcome,” you smiled. “Now, do you want all of your gifts now or later. Or would you rather have them scattered out throughout the day?” 

“Baby, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he groaned. 

“Says the man who went a little overboard with my gifts,” you pointed out. 

“That’s different,” he stated. 

“How so?” You asked. 

“Because I love giving more than receiving,” he said. 

“Don’t I know it,” you winked.

“Behave!” He mocked. 

You laughed, “Anyway, and that’s exactly why you deserve every little bit from today. Now, how do you want to do this?” 

“We can scatter them out, I guess,” he said. 

“Okay! I’ll go get the first one,” you smiled. 

The first one was something small. You had gotten him a ring with the babies’ birthstone and their birthday engraved on the inside. It also had two tiny gems on the side with your and Harry’s birthstones. 

“Oh, wow,” he whispered opening it up. “Y/N, this is beautiful. I love it.” 

You smiled, “I knew you had been talking about getting a ring or something for the kids, so I decided to get one for you. It works as both a ring or if you wanted to wear it on your necklace chain too.” 

“I love it, so much, thank you,” he smiled leaning over to kiss you, which was a bit difficult since the babies were cuddling into his chest. 

“You’re welcome,” you smiled. 

The rest of the day was spent with the babies and some more time for Mummy and Daddy. You also gave him the rest of the his gifts, which were mostly new shirts, shoes, and sunglasses. However, you made sure to wait on giving him the photo until after dinner. The babies had been put to bed and the two of you were enjoying his favorite dessert. 

“Now, there’s one more present left,” you said getting up from the couch. 

“Geez, Y/N,” he laughed. “You’ve already given me a shit ton already.” 

“I know, I know, but this is my favorite one and I know it’s going to be yours too,” you smiled. 

“Okay, now you’re killing me here,” he laughed. “What is it?” 

You went into the other room, pulling out this massive wrapped picture frame you had hidden behind a bookshelf. When Harry saw you with it, his eyes widen at the size. 

“Bloody hell, why’s it so big,” he laughed. 

“That’s what she said,” you joked. 

“Really, Y/N?” He laughed. 

“Sorry! Sorry, the wine’s getting to be a bit,” you giggled. “But go ahead and open it.” 

Harry put down his wine glass and quickly started tearing at the wrapping paper. He knew exactly what it was the second he torn the paper and saw the picture frame. Once all the paper was off, he took in every inch of the photo or should he say photos. 

He bit his lip as tears threaten to spill over at the sight of his babies tiny hands in the shape of a heart. Harry didn’t say anything for what felt like forever. You knew it was mostly because he was probably overwhelmed, but you couldn’t help, but wonder if it he didn’t like it. 

“So, what do you think?” You asked. 

“I love it,” he said not looking up from it. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe... well I mean I can believe you’d do something like this, but seeing it... damn it.. this is without a doubt the best thing I’ve never received. Thank you so fucking much.” 

You smiled wrapping your arms around him, “You��re welcome.” 

“I love you,” he whispered putting his head ontop of yours as he wraps his arms around you as well. 

“I love you, too,” you smiled. “Happy Father’s Day.” 

Harry smiled leaning down to press his lips against yours. It may have only been his first Father’s Day ever in his life, but it was already his most favorite one yet. 

[amydancepants-peralta]

baby, I’ve got you on my mind 

“Thank you for that update, McCla- I’m mean, McCarthur.”  

Clearing her throat, Amy ducks her head down to focus on the paperwork in front of her, quietly praying that nobody has noticed her mistake.  She knew the chances were slim, given that it was her third slip-up since her briefing had begun fifteen minutes ago, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the concept of returning to work after three months of Pure Family Time was going to be way harder than she’d anticipated.  

There had been a part of her that was so. eager. to return to work today, taking extra care to iron her uniform into perfectly symmetrical pleats and polishing her badge so that it shone with just enough pride.  Rumours had been circulating around about somebody trying to make adjustments to her precision based filing system (and she wasn’t mad, she just wanted to talk to whomever they were), and as the weeks wore on and Jake returned to work, it became apparent that her FOMOW was no longer something that Amy could easily hide.

She has loved every single second of being a Mommy, right down to the sleepless nights and the cold mornings with her son sleeping snuggled warm against her, but there was no way that Amy could deny how much she missed the order of the NYPD.  She had craved the regular flow of paperwork (some that even needed to be notarised); the meetings and seminars and conference calls and oh, how there were so many binders waiting to be filled.  

In the past few weeks it had become habit once Jake returned home each evening, to spend the first half hour (at a minimum) telling her about his day - filling her in on any cases that had opened while she’s been away.  She lapped up all the information eagerly, throwing out ideas as they came to her, and the sheer thought of being able to play a part in regulating justice to their city made her giddy with excitement.  So Amy had been excited to return to work, if only to scratch the itch that her FOMOW had left her with.  

As it turned out, she had a much larger case of something brewing underneath her skin - something that was increasing dramatically with every passing second.  

Amy had FOMOM:  Fear Of Missing Out on Mac.

It had, for example, been exactly one hour and thirty seven minutes since she’d walked out of her and Jake’s apartment, blowing goodbye kisses to her son as he rested comfortably in his father’s arms.  One hour and thirty six minutes since she’d reconsidered the whole notion of returning to work, her fingers hovering over Holt’s number on her cell phone as she made her way down the stairs, and one hour and thirty four minutes since she’d convinced herself that she could totally do this.  

(Also, it has been sixteen minutes since she’s realised just how many officers on her team had names that began with the letter M.  And how her mind no longer seemed to be able to say any other name that began with the same combination of consonants and vowels without automatically reverting to her son’s.)

She hadn’t even passed the two hour mark yet, and already Amy felt like she’d been away from her family for eight years.  

Her phone lights up from its resting place along the edge of the podium, and she glances at it quickly, trying her best to tamper down the racing heartbeat that accompanies the notification that her husband has sent her a photo.

This was it.  This was the text Jake was going to send to her, that announced excitedly that their prodigy of a son had managed to figure out how to walk, fifteen minutes after she’d stepped out the apartment this morning.  Or that he’d pronounced his first word - a clear and proud call for Daddy - and that Jake hadn’t managed to get video of it but it was so amazing, babe, I wish you could have been there to see it!

Her hands grip the wooden edges of the platform her Return To Work speech occupied, eyes glued to the background picture of Mac sleeping on an also sleeping Jake’s chest, and from the tables before her one of the officers clears their throat politely.  The sound cuts through the spiral Amy was beginning to gravitate towards, pulling her attention back to her team, and with an apologetic smile she wraps up the rest of the briefing quickly.  There were still four and half pages left of her speech, but it’s nothing that she can’t compose in an email when her mind is a little less preoccupied, and in all honesty the only order of business she can focus on right now is Priority One: Unlocking her phone.

*

There have been many, many advancements in the name of modern technology; and 2 hours, 53 minutes and 47 seconds into Amy’s first shift she has twice already cursed the fact that nobody has created the option for a person to be able to reach into their phone and touch the subject of an image.  Never before has she had such a craving to squeeze her son’s chubby cheeks, to feel the unbelievably soft skin that she knows he has.  

Her husband, in yet another display of sweetness, has been giving her regular updates on his and Mac’s day at home together - and two minutes ago he’d sent through a photo of their son, reclined in his baby seat, with apple sauce spread out allll over his cheeks.  It was equal parts adorable and painful for Amy, for her to not be able to a) grab a cloth and wipe away the mess as her son grins up at her, and b) smother his tiny face with a million tiny kisses.  

She missed him.  Missed him more than she’d thought possible.  Her arms felt empty without their son in them, and it’s nearly impossible for her to imagine what life was like before their family had become a party of three.

In absolutely no surprise to anybody other than himself, Jake has turned out to be an excellent father.  He’s been by her side through the whole thing - even the middle of the night feeds, taking to burping their son like a pro - and the way Mac’s face lights up whenever his eyes land on Jake (and vice versa, it’s honestly just the sweetest thing to see) tells Amy all that she needs to know.  Their son is going to adore Jake, and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that her husband is EVER going to walk away from his family.  

Distractedly, Amy shuffles the paperwork around on her desk, offering a tight smile to one of her colleagues as they pass.  Get it together, Santiago.  You are a badass police sergeant for one of the strongest teams in the entire NYPD.  You can get through one shift without seeing your son.  Her phone vibrates with an incoming heart emoji filled text from her husband, and she takes his support as fuel for her cause, standing up from her desk and taking purposeful strides towards the filing cabinets.  You’re a badass police sergeant with a highly effective, strongly sought after filing system, and you can do this.  

Her eyebrows knit in disgust as she opens the first drawer, taking in the messy array of folders that occupied the once orderly space, and she supposes she should be thankful in some way that there was someone in the office who thought that this hot mess worked better than her system (and therefore provided a worthy distraction for her entirely preoccupied mind), but in all honesty she’s just completely horrified.  

Already composing a polite but firm memorandum in her mind, Amy begins pulling the files out of their incorrect positions, glancing at her watch as she gets to work.  

Only five hours, two minutes and twenty seconds to go.  

*

It’s 4 hours and 28 minutes into Amy’s workday when she hears the elevator doors open and a tiny gasp escape Officer Alvarado’s mouth, and with a quick lift of her head she notices why.  Jake has suddenly appeared on her floor, with their son safe and sound inside the carrier strapped to his chest.  His smile lights up the room - like it always does, even at home - and even though he’s clearly trying to make his way towards Amy, it seems that the sudden appearance of Mac Peralta in the precinct has garnered every single officer’s attention.  

Amy’s not one to pull rank (honestly, who is she kidding?) but her footsteps are quick against the linoleum floor, increasing in intensity the closer she gets to her husband, and Jake’s already in the process of unclipping a strap as she nears.  “I figured you’d probably be in need of a pick-me-up right about now,” he mumbles, his voice soft enough to only land in Amy’s ears.

Nodding eagerly, Amy shoots her husband a grateful look before smiling in Mac’s direction, stretching her hands out as he lifts his own in recognition.

“There’s my little guy!”  She cries out, sliding one hand along her son’s back as his chonky little arms and legs begin to wave around in excitement.  He coos as she lifts him out of the carrier with Jake’s help, and the sound buries deep in her heart as the feeling of utter completion begins to wash over her now that Mac is leaning against her chest.  

Shifting her shoulder slightly, Amy tilts her grip slightly in an effort to show off to the crowd her greatest achievement to date.  “Squad, meet our son - Mac.”  

There’s a crowd of tiny waves, all of which are greeted with a tiny saliva-covered fist moving back and forth from Mac’s mouth; and after a few more minutes of leg squishing and attempts to reach out for various badges, Amy’s squad disperses - suddenly aware that absolutely none of them were currently doing their work, and that there was no way they could hide such a fact from their boss.  

Jake’s palm rests against Amy’s shoulder as she leads them towards the third floor break room, a quiet eating space that has yet to be tainted by the questionable eating habits of either Scully or Hitchcock.  “You have had many brilliant ideas in all the years we’ve been together, babe, but I think this one might just be your best yet.”  Amy announces to Jake as she settles into a vacant chair, grinning over at her husband as he chooses the seat opposite.  

He smiles, that gentle nod of his head that he does when he’s secretly proud of his actions kicking in, and Amy stretches her left leg out to brush against his.  His beam grows brighter as he leans forward, brushing his fingers gently along the tiny curls that have begun to form on their son’s head before replying, “Safe to say, I’ve gotten pretty good and picking up on the my wife is having a meltdown style of texting.”

Scoffing, Amy cranes her head back slightly to take in her son’s adorable face as she responds.  “I’d like to think I’ve handled today pretty well.”  It’s a lie, and they both know it.

Letting out a soft laugh, Jake shakes his head slightly.  “Tell that to the fifty-odd messages I’ve received from you today.”

She feels a soft blush wash over her cheeks, but Amy doesn’t care in the slightest.  They both know that Jake fared no better when it had been his turn to return to work, and they’ve come to the total and utter acceptance that Mac Peralta just so happens to be the most adorable and addictive baby that ever graced the earth.  Facts are facts, and there was no point hiding it.  

“Okay, so maybe I’ve - ”  Pausing mid-sentence, Amy takes a closer look at her son, fingers swirling around his soft hair carefully.  

“Ames?”

“His hair has grown.”

Nodding, Jake scoots his chair closer, and the corresponding scrape sounds oddly loud as it bounces off the surrounding walls.  “Yeah, he’s definitely going to end up with my curls.  It’s both a blessing and a curse, but he’ll figure that out eventually.”

Amy shakes her head quickly.  “No, I mean it’s grown.  Since this morning.”

“Babe, it’s been five hours.”

“It has, though!  See this curl?  It’s WAY more pronounced than it was earlier today.  It wraps around my finger twice now!”

His eyes are dubious, but if there is anything that Jake has learned by now it is not to doubt his wife, and so he responds simply with a nod.  It’s not convincing in any way, shape, or form, but Amy is way too distracted to bother with a rebuttal.  

“I knew this was going to happen!  He’s growing so quickly, babe.”  Her eyes have turned wide as saucers, and she can feel her eyebrows raising to nearly the point of her hairline, but none of that matters in the slightest.  “We’re going to miss out on so. much!  Why did we not take this into consideration?”  Her lips press against the top of Mac’s head as she holds him closer, jiggling one knee on reflex as he wriggles slightly in her arms.  Slowly, Amy begins to feel her chest tighten up as all of the niggling doubts of her returning to work rush to the surface.

“Ames”.  Jake’s hands rest gently on top of her own, squeezing slightly as she raises her head to meet his.  “We’re not going to miss out on anything.  You have put together the most thorough, well-spaced out babysitting schedule that has meant that one of our friends or family is always going to be around when we’re not.  With any luck, it’ll never be longer than eight or nine hours before we’re all home together again, and either one of us is always only a video call away.”  

Nodding, Amy drops her head back down to leave another kiss on Mac’s forehead, and she takes in a deep breath of that incredible new baby smell while she’s there.  Already, she can feel herself being to reset.

“There are going to be a thousand moments, some big and some small, and yeah, maybe we might miss a couple here and there, but the most important thing is that Mac is already so, so loved.  He knows that, and we know that, and honestly that’s all that matters.”

Amy’s pounding heart slowly lessens its assault against her chest, and as Jake’s hands tighten their grip over hers she begins to nod.  If someone had told her eight years ago that the immature cop that sat across from her would end up being the source of some of the sweetest things she’s ever heard in her life, she would have laughed in their faces.  But here he was, holding his rightful title of Greatest Husband and Father Ever, and honestly she wouldn’t have it any other way.  She smiles, leaning in slightly to bridge the gap between them with a chaste (read: work appropriate) kiss.  “I love you so much, babe.”

He mirrors her nod with his own, throwing in a wink.  “It’s easy to do, Ames.  I am very loveable.”

She knows it to be true, but still Amy rolls her eyes.  “Whatever, Peralta.  You’re just lucky that we make pretty cute babies.”

“Liquid fire, Ames.  I said it on Day One, and there’s no way I’m backing down.”

Letting out a contented sigh, Amy pulls Mac in for one last tight squeeze, taking in another hit of his perfect baby scent before standing.  “Alright.  I’ve got to get back to work now, otherwise it’s just never going to happen.”  Leaving one last parting kiss on Mac’s forehead, she passes her son to Jake, still unable to tear her eyes away from him for too long.  “Thank you so much for bringing him in today, this is exactly what I needed.”  Her son grumbles out a protest in the sudden change of plans, and it’s all she can do to not pull him immediately back into her arms.  

Jake smiles, reaching out to fiddle with Mac’s flailing right arm as he leans towards Amy for another sneaky kiss.  “I figure once he’s big enough to fit into that NYPD onesie the squad gave us, we’ll just set him up with his own desk in the corner.”

“There you go, with another brilliant idea!”

Gripping Mac’s hand in his fingers, Jake calls out “Goodbye, Mommy!”, and oh, how Amy’s heart begins to ache.  She feels it squeeze tighter as her two favourite men walk towards the elevator, and it gives one last protesting ache as the elevator doors slide shut.  Her feet feel heavy as they turn away from the exit, and she flicks her wrist upwards to check the time again. 

2 hours, 57 minute and 38 seconds to go.

*

There’s a vague memory of paperwork, interrogations, and a quick debrief as Amy’s shoes hit the pavement on the sidewalk outside the precinct, and her mind is still partially thinking of a case that landed on her desk late this afternoon when she notices what has easily turned into one of her favourite sights to see:  her husband and son, waiting patiently outside for her return.

Her hands may be a little grabby as they reach for her baby boy, but Jake only chuckles as he passes Mac over, running his hand up and down her back in greeting as she smothers her son’s face in kisses.  She mirrors the kisses with another one on Jake’s cheek as he reaches for her purse, gripping it with one hand as he takes her free hand with his other, and Amy’s smile is undeniably bright as they make their way down the familiar path home.  

Tomorrow, she will interview a suspect and put all of her efforts into finally cracking the drug ring that had begun to fester on the streets of Brooklyn.  Tomorrow, she will play her part in the takedown of a organised crime kingpin that has held reign for far too long.  

But for now, Amy’s going home to spend time with her family - this little family of three that might be smaller than others, but that her and Jake have created on their very own, and nobody can tear away from them no matter how hard they try.  Sometimes, she will be a badass sergeant that can take down New York’s worst with a swing of her fist.  And sometimes, she’s simply a mother at home with her family, singing along to nursery rhymes and wiping spit-up from her blouse.

She misses her family when they’re not together, and she misses her work when she’s not in uniform - and even though there’s still a tiny portion of lingering doubt that maybe she won’t be able to handle both, with Jake’s fingers gripped tightly against her own on their walk home a sense of calm washes over her.  

Both are equally important, and both are 100% worth it, and if one means missing out on something from the other, there is always going to be one Most Important detail to consider - that she and Jake were working hard to create a safe and loving world for their son.  

And that was worth fighting for, even if it came with a little FOMO.  

[isisparker]

Candid

[The Rookie - Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen - Chenford fanfic]

word count: 3k a/n: first attempt at a Tucy/Chenford fanfic, so I apologize for mistakes and whatnot in advance! this was inspired by the latest episode as I wonder just how many humiliating pictures has Tim taken of Lucy and whether those are the only ones? also this takes place post- 2x12 “Now and Then” and, well, a bit canon divergence as have you...

~~

Therein -- according to Jackson -- a folder of incriminating pictures of Lucy on Tim Bradford’s phone. Confirmed by Lopez that such files of Bradford’s rookies exist, Lucy reasoned it is all Jackson’s fault that she’s sitting in a bar bathroom trying to find said folder of herself. A folder on her T.O’s phone that she... borrowed...

Or what happens when Lucy steals Tim’s phone, Jackson becomes a frustrated accomplice [and a good soundboard-slash-wingman], and Tim does what does best: taking unwitting pictures of Lucy Chen.

~~~

It was all Jackson’s fault.

No, really it was!

It was all Jackson’s fault that Lucy Chen had locked herself in a bar bathroom, hunting down an elusive folder that legend says majority of young, bright eyed cops lost countless sleep over: Officer Tim Bradford’s Incriminating Photos of His Rookies.

Hell, she would have laughed off the very mention of such a thing had fellow officer-slash-roommate Jackson West not open his stupid mouth and verified its existence. 

(Okay, to be fair, it all started because of a 488 and Lucy chasing the damn kid through a park where Surprise! a pie eating competition was being held and, well… after a spectacular header into the contestant table resulted in an arrest despite finding herself covered in meringue and whip cream, when her training officer held his phone up, gave his signature shit-eating smirk before saying “Geez, Chen, I’ll run out of space soon…”, which Jackson later speculated that Bradford probably kept a folder filled with Lucy-inspired exploits, and followed shortly by having Jackson’s own T.O., Angela Lopez, confirming that “Oh yeah! Bradford has folders of all his trainees’... uh… mishaps? Incidents?” “Humiliating moments?” “Your words, Boot, not mine.”; so you can imagine why her paranoia placed the entirety of this adventure all on her friend!)

Because let’s be real: no amount of sanity on her end would have resulted in talking a few unsuspecting colleagues into a night out at a relatively unknown (well, to everyone but Lucy, who had the foresight to check the area out) bar and pool hall, proceeding to needle her fellow rookies to distract her T.O., and then coming into possession of Tim’s phone (that she had discreetly, uh, borrowed from his person) in an attempt to break into-- no, wait, unlock it and save her future self from potential blackmail.

“Just say ‘deleting embarrassing photos,’ Luce.”

“Shut up, Jackson.”

“Hey! It wasn’t my idea for you to steal--”

“Borrow! I’m not keeping it. Just borrowing it…”

“Right…” She didn’t need to glance up at her friend to notice the disbelief oozing out of him. “It wasn’t my idea for you to ‘borrow’,” damn Jackson, she didn’t need to look up to feel his quotation marks, “his phone, just so you can delete the pictures he has of you. So why do I have to be your accomplice--”

“It’s not a crime to borrow a friend’s phone.”

“It is if he’s your T.O. and, oh yeah, he doesn’t know that you lifted it from him!”

Lucy waved her hand, “Schematics…” she murmured, trying to limit her attempts at his passcode lest she end up locking the phone for hours. She could feel Jackson’s eyes roll as she added, “And you’re not my accomplice. You’re my lookout. I just… need…” The distinct sound of a phone being unlocked briefly pierced the gender neutral bathroom that the pair of rookies were camped in, causing the young woman to do a soft congratulatory fist pump. “Aha! Got it!”

Another cellphone ping crisped the air, causing Jackson to make an inquired hum before emitting a small sound of distress.

Which meant that Lucy’s window of opportunity was closing faster than she anticipated.

“Luce,” Jackson started, “Nolan can’t keep Bradford preoccupied for long!”

Lucy’s eyes were focused on the cell screen, her fingers scrolling and tapping to find the folder that started this utterly insane journey. “Tim loves knocking Nolan down a peg or two. As long as Nolan keeps up the charade of losing, we have time!”

“But that was before Lopez and Harper cajoled them into involving money, Luce! Plus Harper is Nolan’s T.O! She’ll be able to sniff out his act faster than the other two!”

“Well then Nolan would be shitty at undercover work if he’s unable to keep his part up!” Lucy growled, “Just like you’re doing a horrible job at being my back-up! You’re supposed to keep quiet, communicate with Nolan, and let me find what I need to-- Oh my God, yes! I found it!” She felt Jackson jump immediately to her side, his curiosity gleaming out as strongly as her own.

Figuring on a longshot when she had seen a folder simply titled The Boots, inside of it produced multiple other folders labeled with various numbers that an ordinary citizen wouldn’t comprehend. But Lucy knew a badge ID when she saw one and quickly located her own as she scrolled through the column of numbers. Before she clicked on it to see just how many photos she’ll have to terminate, Lucy prayed that there wasn’t a lot of memory she’d have to delete, at least enough for Bradford to notice. Oh she figured on leaving a few (c’mon, her mama didn’t raise an idiot), but for her own dignity she hoped Tim didn’t gleefully capture that many embarrassing moments!

“Okay,” she breathed, adding a bit of levity, “let’s see exactly how sadistic my T.O. is…”

Lucy clicked on the folder… and blinked at it in shock.

One photo.

“What the--?” she gasped, staring at the single picture in her folder.

Jackson muttered a few curse words as he too stared at the folder’s content, knowing that they were in fact screwed.

The anxiety that had built up in Lucy’s stomach quickly twisted into dread as she took in the lone picture; an image of her uniformed T.O., one Tim Bradford, scowling and holding up a piece of paper that seemingly foretold what lied ahead beyond that bathroom door: BUSTED.

“Goddamn it!” Lucy groaned, slumping backwards until her head hit the stall with a defeated thud.

Jackson’s phone pinged a text message and Lucy didn’t need to glance over to know who sent it nor what it said. Her friend’s pale reaction spoke volumes.

“How screwed are we?” she asked, closing her eyes and truly not looking forward to all the burpees that man out there will be barking at her for the foreseeable future.

“We?” Jackson gasped, astonished, “Oh, Luce, there is no ‘we’ involved in this half-baked plan you concocted--”

“Hey--” she sat up, eyes blazing to defend herself only to shut her mouth over his continued tirade.

“--because of your desperate need to prove that your superior officer is either that big of an asshole to collect incriminating photos like trading cards…”

Yeah, if her eyes were lit to defend herself, they were definitely ablaze at the mere mention of her partner. “Tim is not--”she started to growl, only to still be bulldozed by her friend.

“--or, depending on how many photos he has of you, has some sort of underlying feelings beyond the professional that you may or may not be feeling yourself!”

“I… uh… What?!” Lucy felt sufficiently gobsmacked by Jackson’s words. She quickly picked up her jaw, lest she keep it open in surprise. Where the hell did that come from?! She even managed  to utter her bafflement as much.

Jackson crossed his arms and leveled her with a look that was a mix between bemusement and pity. “Three words: Sad, Drunk Lucy.” 

Lucy blinked up at him, genuinely confused save for the gnawing piece of her gut that says there is truth to his words. “Jackson, I…”

Jackson’s phone thrilled, interrupting whatever excuse seemed to want to slip from Lucy’s mouth. She had never been more grateful for it, especially as he reacted to whomever was on the other end, giving tense responses to them until he hung up. He regarded Lucy, more resigned than anything. “That was Lopez. She talked Tim into giving you a five minute reprieve before he barged in here demanding his phone back. She suggests we take it.”

“We?” Lucy echoed his reply, this time with mirth versus his own frustration. She looked down at Tim’s phone, fiddling with it nervously. “She called to save your ass, West. I think you should take it and leave me to my punishment.” Lucy heard Jackson’s steps reluctantly head towards the door. Her mind was already shuffling through various thoughts before she realized that the heavy sigh she heard wasn’t her own but from Jackson. She looked up, surprised to see him with his back resolutely against the door. He had his head tilt, curious, as he said, “You didn’t know.”

“Know what, Jackson?”

With a small smile, “That Tim Bradford and his -- quote -- ‘frustrating smirk that I don’t know whether to kiss or smack off his handsome face’ was the cause of Sad, Drunk Lucy.”

Lucy felt herself flush and knew immediately that the crush she had for her T.O., the man that had not too long ago literally pulled her up and out from a grave into light, wasn’t hidden quite as much as she had thought. Oh her mother would have a field day that she was susceptible to the Savior Complex!

She nodded her head sadly, “I was… slightly… aware of my crush on Bradford.” Lucy gave her friend a determined look, “It’s just a small thing, Jackson. Unrequited and easily managed.”

When Jackson snorted at her last few words, she narrowed her gaze and implored for an explanation. The man shook his own head, refusing to utter another word. Lucy stood up, about to demand for him to explain himself when Jackson gripped the door knob and said, “I’m going to do you a favor, Luce, and buy you some more time.”

Confused, “What? More time? For what?”

“To look for your folder.”

Lucy scoffed, holding up Tim’s phone. “But there is no folder, remember? This was yet another one of his stupid Tim Bradford tests! One that I failed, by the way!”

Jackson gave her a knowing look, “Lopez said that she saw it. But that it’s not what you think it is.” He opened the door slightly and proceeded to set the lock before he turned and added, “I can probably hold him back for another five minutes, Luce, but then I’m afraid he’ll end up kicking the door down.” He winked, “Good luck,” before disappearing from her sight.

What? The folder wasn’t what she thought it was? What was she to make of that?!

Lucy scrolled through the folders in The Boots, nodding as she concluded that she wasn’t mistaking them for other than badge numbers-- Wait a sec… She paused at a sequence that screamed out in haunting familiarity.

12919

Her hand unconsciously ghosted over a spot on the lower left side of her body. No. No... He wouldn’t. There is no way he’d use those numbers! No way that he’d use that particular date as a label to a folder of her most humiliating moments on the job! Tim wouldn’t be so cruel!

Lucy’s hands shook as she opened the folder, only to find to her dismay that it was indeed filled with pictures of her! She perused through, noting all the various moments of hilarity at her expense, and trying her best to remain calm and refrain from wanting to kick her T.O’s ass! Oh, she really didn’t need an extra five minutes, especially with her sudden urge to punch Tim’s face, no matter how infuriatingly handsome he is!

She intended to close the folder, the desire to verbally assault Bradford so strong, when her eyes caught a few abnormalities to her supposed gallery of shame. One was the photo they took at the hospital with the young boy that those two Instagramers had harangued. Another photo was of the two of them when Tim had gotten his commendation. There were a few more group pics scattered throughout and with the common trait being of the two of them sitting or standing next to each other.

And then there were the pictures that Lucy wasn’t aware had been taken of her! Some of them were taken in their shop, angled almost as if he had taken his phone from his pocket and took it with ninja-like discretion. Lucy noted that she was mostly gazing out the window in those pictures. A few had the light of the California sun emit a soft glow to her profile. Another batch of those had the shadows of the night sky cast around but never swallowing her. There was one that was taken while she was studying up on codes in the break room. A hard look of concentration with a hint of quirkiness when she had a pencil dangling from her lips. One picture had her talking with Nolan before roll call, her eyes sparkled as she was caught mid-laugh. Another picture was taken while they had answered a call near an animal shelter. Lucy couldn’t believe her luck when she talked Tim into letting her take a minute to look in on the canines! She must have been so enamored with the little creatures that her partner snuck a photo of her joy while she was cooing at one of the fur babies. On and on the different shots of her ranged; beyond the laughable moments to more delicate and lovely candids. Photos that exposed her in such a soft and unflinchingly human light that Lucy couldn’t help but feel her eyes water as she looked through them.

Lucy would have gotten lost staring at all these pictures had she not stumbled on a picture of herself in the hospital bed after one of the most traumatic experiences of her life. Or at least she assumed it was of her after the event, for the picture itself wasn’t a full body profile but merely a prominent shot of her hospital admittance band wrapped around her wrist. She held her gaze on the band, wondering why, of all things, it compelled Tim to focus on that particular shot.

Her eyes bounced back to the date featured on her folder and Tim’s voice weaved through her stream of thoughts. She remembered them to the point it became a mantra she buried within her heart.

“It wasn’t your day of death, Officer Chen. It was the first day of the rest of your life…”

Lucy mused on that, wondering… maybe even hoping? But hoping for what? Would she really, honestly, want what a piece of her heart is denying for fear of losing so much? She could stop. Just chalk it up to her T.O. having a secretive photography skill. Nothing more to ponder on. She really could stop despite the gallery of evidence literally in the palm of her hand. But Lucy couldn’t help but speculate if Tim himself saw that date not as a reminder of trauma but of feelings that was, maybe? possibly? born from that incident.

And boy did that thought take her breath away!

A little giddy at the idea that her feelings weren’t unrequited afterall, Lucy nearly missed the two harsh raps against the bathroom door. She, however, didn’t miss the bark of said man of current adoration as he called for her attention.

“I won’t hesitate to kick this door down, Boot, if you don’t get your ass out here! Now, Chen!”

Oh shit, she thought as she knew that he truly would cause such damage. She exited out of the photo app and swiftly shut his phone down. She quickened a glance at herself in the mirror, realized that she was presentable enough, and scrambled towards the door just as she heard him growl a countdown.

“--4, 3, 2…”

She swung the door open, looking up at him with her most dazzling smile. With the knowledge that she had gained, she wasn’t at all intimidated by his imposing scowl as he towered over her smaller frame. “Hi!” she squeaked, and wincing a bit at that sound. Okay so maybe he still instilled a bit of fear despite the fact that she knew how truly soft he was towards her.

Tim had one hand braced against the door frame while his other was on his hip as he leaned a little closer to her. His eyes darted up and down her person and she knew it was his way of making sure that she was physically fine. When he seemed okay with his assessment, his eyes pierced into her own and, well, Lucy tried her best to not look as guilty as she felt.

But there was a reason Tim was amazing at his job. “Chen…” he started, narrowing his eyes and holding his hand up, palm out. “My phone.”

Lucy was torn between acting petulant and feigning ignorance or just outright owning up to her misdeed. As she found herself in a staring contest with her seasoned colleague, Lucy realized that she had a better chance at coming out unscathed if she were honest versus dishonesty, no matter how playful an act she could put on. With a cheeky grin that she knew he found both infuriating and amusing, she pulled his phone from her back pocket and handed it over, and said, “Here you go… sir.” She hadn’t meant to add the address, nor meant to make it sound as sultry as she did if she had to go by his eyes briefly widening before becoming predatory.

He pocketed his phone but kept his gaze solely on her. The calculating look he had made her squirm and wow, she was in trouble, wasn’t she?

And because he knew her so well, Tim allowed a small smirk to slowly grace his face as he said, “You’re trouble.”

Lucy blinked, thinking she misheard him. She was about to voice as such before Tim shook his head, leaned in closer and clarified, “You heard me just fine, Officer Chen.”

She will utterly deny it to Jackson, goddamn it, that a small shiver fell through her when Tim used his authoritative voice on her. Just as she will deny the effect he had as he pulled back and grinned openly at her when he added, “Hope those photos were worth it. I know they are.”

Lucy gaped at his bravado, her mind racing as to how to properly respond to Tim openly candid with her. Before she could form a cohesive response, a flash nearly blinded… Oh no, he did not!

“Yep,” Tim smiled at his phone, already saving it into its designated Lucy folder, “That’s going into the Favorites.” He turned to head back towards the pool hall, but not before glancing back at his partner with a genuinely soft smile as he asked, “You coming, Lucy?”

Oh yeah, Lucy grinned, this was all Jackson’s fault, and she couldn’t be happier for it!

~fin~

[justanotherone16]

He pressed send. And then he waited. The extreme tedium of simply waiting was not something that Mycroft Holmes could tolerate. His brother’s erratic behaviour and inability to accept the normalities of every day life was well known, and indeed Mycroft’s unwillingness to play along with the inane and mundane of ‘normality’ could well be inferred. Few people, however, successfully inferred or recognised that Mycroft’s consequent impatience manifested as restlessness too.

Dr Watson would surely come. He always does. Mycroft drummed his fingers rhythmically on the black folder that rested upon his lap. In times gone by Sherlock didn’t have a Dr Watson that Mycroft could go to with sensitive information, or emotional conundrums. No, in times gone by, he just had to take it straight to his brother. All things considered the widening of the tiny pocket of trust around Sherlock was a good thing; there was considerably less chaos.

A thick film of fog choked London, almost Dickensian in its persistence to blanket the city. November was in full swing and the days were drawing in rapidly. Today, the fog and the biting, piercing cold only served to cheer on the early darkness, that was knocking at the door in spite of it being just 15:42.

Mycroft was so lost in his pondering that he was somewhat startled when the car door opened suddenly and the familiar figure of John Watson ducked into the car and settled next to him.

The scent of winter air clung to John’s coat and his cheeks were rosy with cold. He rubbed his hands together in a feeble attempt to warm them.

“I hope you’ve planned at a stop at a coffee shop, I’m freezing my bollocks off” John joked as leaned back into his seat and blew hot air in between his hands.

Mycroft pushed the small red button near his window which rang through to the driver. “The closest Nero please.”

The car pulled away slowly and joined the chaos of the London afternoon traffic. “I didn’t expect you to agree, should I be worried?” John asked lightly.

Mycroft didn’t speak, he just opened the folder in his lap, which had been fulfilling a singularly percussive purpose while he had been awaiting John’s arrival. Mycroft took 3 separate pieces of paper and passed them wordlessly to John.

John’s brow furrowed as he scrutinised the contents, trying to understand the context. “Okay so three dead men... yeah I don’t get it. Why are you showing me these?”

Mycroft took a deep breath, placed the folder on the seat beside him. “Jonathan Callaghan, Zachary Noble and Jack Sharpe. Long-term heroin addicts that Sherlock has had previous associations with. All overdosed on Tuesday evening.”

“Shit... how?” John shook his head as he perused the documents, wincing inwardly at the photographs.

“Their heroin was laced with a fatally high level of fentanyl. It would seem that the quality of heroin circulating the streets of London is categorically unsafe.” Mycroft gave John a knowing look.

“I don’t think he’s using”.

“No, he isn’t. I would know”. Mycroft assured John.

John put the paper down and turned to face the elder Holmes. He was balding quickly now; ageing fast.

“Right so, why are you telling me?” John asked.

Mycroft rubbed his face with his left hand and when he spoke, there was more than a hint of resignation. “Because Sherlock will hear of these deaths soon, and more I should imagine. Many of his homeless network will fall victim to this. And... Jonathan in particular, was quite close to Sherlock, well about as close as anyone could get to him during this time of his life. Jonathan saved his life three times. Once he personally provided mouth to mouth and administered adrenaline that I had provided him with. The other two occasions he called me, even on pain of death from Sherlock. I... well I will always be grateful that Jonathan was with Sherlock in those... instances.”

John was sat dumb struck. That was a lot to take in; a great deal to unpack, with a man who rarely paused long enough to unpack anything.

“So, Sherlock will be upset? I’ve never heard him mention any of them, or Jonathan?” John tried.

“I should think so... He rarely discusses his past with drugs, I think because the regret, shame and fear of the power it had over him is too much. But, I do fear when he finds out he will be somewhat aggrieved. I don’t believe he will seek out drugs to cope with that, given what he will know about the chemical composition. But I can never be sure with Sherlock. And when I saw, saw these photos of these men. Men I have interacted with, men who have saved my brother’s life on more than one occasion- dead... I can’t help but picture, in my worst nightmare, Sherlock in the same state. This news will come to him. Not from me, probably not from you. But he will hear. And once again Doctor Watson I must ask you to look after him. Please.” Mycroft’s voice was uncharacteristically small. The pain of the past and anxiety for the future swam in his eyes.

“Of course I will look after him. Always. Although, for all of Sherlock’s complaining it doesn’t sound like you’ve done such a bad job yourself. In these kinds of conversations, I am increasingly surprised that Sherlock was alive to meet me.” John lowered his voice too. He didn’t see eye to eye with Mycroft and he never would. And there were half a million things that John wanted to tear into Mycroft for. But the care he had for his brother was clear and unrivalled.

“Thank you, John.” Mycroft smiled weakly.

John smiled grimly in return. “So alongside being there for Sherlock and keeping an eye out. You know he will pursue this. Try to find the source and stamp it out?”

Mycroft nodded and took a long sharp breath. “Yes I know. And I’m sure he will be successful. I’m primarilh concerned at how he will take the passing of Jonathan, Zachary, and Jack. You know... He went back to find them once he had gotten clean himself, for his longest period of sobriety, not long before he met you. He offered to fund their own rehabs. All three men declined of course. For various personal reasons.”

John was consistently surprised at what he did not know about Sherlock. While the pair of them virtually ignored the swathes of Sherlock’s life that were taken up by being high and shooting up, the effects and associated risks seemed to lurk everywhere.

“Perhaps I should tell him? Tell him what you’ve told me so that we have some control of the situation?” John asked.

“No. Sherlock won’t appreciate the idea that I am soundboarding you. If you must bring it up. Tell him only that I had made you aware of the lethality of heroin currently for sale in London and nothing else.” Mycroft firmly answered.

The car stopped outside a cafe Nero and the driver got out of the car, locked it, and strode into the shop to order coffee.

“When Henry returns with your coffee, walk back to Baker Street. Sherlock will assume you got the Metropolitan line at 4pm.” Mycroft said conspiratorially.

John nodded and defaulted to silently waiting for the driver to return with his coffee. “Are you okay Mycroft?” John asked seriously.

“Me? Yes of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

John just eyeballed Mycroft, trying to the best of his ability to convey a ‘don’t be dense, I’m not fucking stupid’ sentiment in response.

Mycroft stood down his defences and sighed. “Yes, I am okay. Just, let me know how Sherlock is. And... I’ll, well I’ll thank our lucky stars that Sherlock did live past 30. And have a quiet toast to Jonathan Callaghan, who saved my brother 3 times and deserved far more than he got in life. That’s your coffee John. Don’t worry, it’s decaf, soya milk, one vanilla syrup shot. Text me if you need anything.”

A steaming cup of coffee was passed back to John. He couldn’t help but notice the Christmas theme on the cup- that time already?!

“Right, yes, yeah. Thanks for the coffee and, um take care. I’ll be in touch.” John said climbing out of the car, the chill in the air swiping at him as he did so.

[graphicabyss]

?人 NEWS

I wrote an enormous post, or rather an essay, concerning NEWS, Tegoshi, and everything that went through my mind in the past month. Honestly, it’s mostly my way of coping, getting it out of my system and sorting out my thoughts and feelings. But I decided to also post it here for those who might want to read.

It was a long time coming. The rumours were lurking around for years and a month ago they bloomed. And yet, the full realization is yet to dawn on me. When something devastating happens, our mind tends to shake off the pain by either exonerating the beloved person who hurt us, or blaming them and distancing away from them. It's really hard to stay objective. But I'll try.

Coming into this fandom, I prepared myself for disappointment. Once I was a TVXQ fan. You know, the 5-nin TVXQ that was going to be "together forever" and all that. So I wowed never to get that invested in a pop band. When NEWS came along, I tried not to get too attached. I knew it would hurt me, sooner of later. And for awhile, it worked. But, as years went by, I knew I lost the battle. We humans need to cling to something. Thus, nearly 7 years have passed.

To me, Tegoshi has always been a key component. He was the one that led me to NEWS. Or rather, how pretty he looked in a dress. Tegoshi always kept me interested. Sometimes he excited, sometimes he annoyed, but he was never ever boring. He was made of contradictions, both in words and in actions. Nothing ever adds up with him. He made me want to understand him but I could never quite grasp it. Thinking about it now, perhaps it was because he doesn't really understand himself either.

In these years, I had several crisis points where I considered leaving the fandom, all caused by something shitty Tegoshi said or did. But every time I bounced back. Of course, I didn't do it for him. I did it for myself. However, his selfishness has always been offset by his kindness. The last time was him crying at the end of Neverland tour and how sorry he looked. Till the end, I wanted to believe that his common sense and loyalty won't let him do something reckless and stupid. Yet, here we are. The interview he gave to Bunshun led me to believe that he would do the right thing. He said he would show his gratitude to JE and would definitely make his fans happy but now it's the furthest thing from the truth. The fandom is disappointed, confused, angry.

Some people say to get over it, that Tegoshi was meant to leave or some shit. But I think those people fundamentally misunderstand the heart of the problem. It's not that he left that infuriated the fandom. It's how and when he left. Most fans would support his decision to leave if the transition was done properly. He owed us that much. A proper apology. A proper gratitude. A proper farewell. The announcement had me in disbelief. I expected him to at least finish the contract, do the Story Tour, no matter how long it takes, and show the members, staff and the fans the respect they deserve. To cut it short feels like a violation. At the very least, we need a closure. The last goodbye. The last concert. The last something. He just left JE after 17 years like it was nothing.

More than anything, what he did seems so stupid. He had it so fucking good. He was always in the spotlight, both on stage and in TV shows. The other members did most of the offscreen work allowing him to shine. He was supported by endlessly patient members and staff. He had the freedom to choose and all the work he wanted for each of his passions - ItteQ, Soccer Earth, OpenRec. And he had fans that always supported him, no matter how many scandals he had.

What was so important that he had to give up on all the amazing benefits he had? To betray all this trust? And on top of it, at a time like this? When all world is going through so much shit? When the fans need moral support more than ever? What were the "dreams" that he talked about?

The ability to rant on Twitter? Making duckface selfies? Fucking around? Assembling a shitty rock band? Performing with strippers? Some kind of unique business opportunity? He talked for years about wanting to perform overseas or hosting fan events but right now these things are offlimit anyway. Why couldn't he at the very least explain his decision properly? Just that alone will definitely hurt his further career in the long run. The press-conference lasted 2 hours but it answered none of the questions that really mattered and there was no remorse. Though at this point, I can't trust anything he says anyway. He created his Twitter account the the evening it all went down and didn't bother explaining himself. He just jumped off the ship and let other people deal with the damage.

Even now, it all seems like some kind of bad dream. Then again, all of the 2020 does.

When I first saw "手越退社" trending on Twitter back in May I felt like I was spinning into a downward spiral, like all air was sucked out of me. And it wasn't the "oh, no! what will the band do?" I never went to a NEWS concert and never brought any merch. To me, it wasn't really the feelings of a fan whose band faces a crisis but rather that of an entrepreneur who invested too much money into one asset and watched it plummet.

Fandom stuff is a currency that can devalue in a blink of an eye. Its valuable as long as its core message is intact. This is why I can't stand people being petty over scans or videos. I share when I can knowing it will make someone happy because I know that tomorrow that someone might move on. When I stumble upon old closed journals with password-protected downloads they feel like ancient abandoned temples. The treasures in them turned to dust.

4nin NEWS were based on unity, the combination of 4 unique characters. Four components, each of them essential. Now that concept failed. It's like standing in front of a collapsed building. I try to assess the damage. How much of it can I salvage? Repurpose? How much is lost and needs to be cleaned up? Should I even bother?

What do I do with hundreds of live performances and TV shows, in HD, lovingly downloaded and stored?

What to make of thousands of scans, magazines, pamphlets, almost each image edited and sorted? Thousands more stored neatly in folders, waiting to be posted. Countless screens and gifs.

What of the member ai fanvideos that gained over 100k on Youtube bringing joy to so many people? I already got the first heartbroken comment saying "we won't ever see them like that again, will we?"

What to make of my unfinished stories? Honestly, it's one of the things I'm most proud in my entire life. Now their future is uncertain.

Do I take down the poster on my wall? The CDs on my shelf? Soon I will have to looks at my enormous stash and decide for each item. Things that once brought joy now cause pain.

NEWS weren't selling music, they were selling ideas and dreams. The cute band photos now cause hurt and anger. The uplifting songs about unity won't be convincing. All the concerts lost their charm.

Am I being too dramatic? Probably. Perhaps the issue itself may seem trivial to an outsider but our grief is real.

Tegoshi keeps saying he loves NEWS and adores the members. But to me, loving is doing everything you can to avoid hurting the ones you love. Perhaps he means it, but that love will never compare to the love he has for himself. Despite what he says, I doubt we'll even see them together again and I'm not even sure I want to. I knew apart from Koyashige, the members aren't really that close personally. Tegoshi is shallow and seeks popularity more than anything. I'm sure than now he'll hang out with even shadier characters than before. The members used to provide him with the much needed tough love. Now, with nothing and noone holding him back, he'll give in to his overblown ego.

I'm not sure how I feel about NEWS continuing as 3. I mean, I support their decision and that's probably what most fans want but to me, I don't know if it'll work out that well. They were already a band with a lot of luggage and now, just like in 2011, they are a band that induces pity. They would have to rearrange so much to try and fill this huge gaping hole. Not to mention they will struggle vocally. No songs, no choreography can be unaltered. It might be better to go on within the agency doing their own things. But then that would just mean Tegoshi was indispensable and all the work they put in will be wasted. The Story must be competed.

In the past week I went through various stages of grief. The anger was strong and so was disbelief. Now it's finally subsiding, giving way to acceptance. It won't come soon but I'll let all the emotions run their course. The fact is Tegoshi remains very entertaining and the temptation to keep following him and rant about him is strong. I probably wouldn't even fight it if he were to leave with at least a shred of dignity. But with the way things are, I refuse to support him in any way. And I will at least try to phase him out as much as I can as I realize that even my anger is playing into his hands as he wants nothing more than attention, good or bad. Instead, I'll try to focus on those who do deserve support.

I'm not yet sure how to proceed with the blog and everything else but I'll take my time and figure it out. The truth is Tegoshi was one of the two major things that have kept me here for so long. And no, the second reason is not Shige. It's the people. Out of all the fandoms I've been in over the years this one really felt like home. I met so many amazing people here, even though many of them have since moved on. I felt accepted and appreciated.

This week has been an emotional roller-coaster. But today I feel fine. I have a dozen reasons to be depressed. But I'm not miserable right now because of the fandom. I've had about 10 people write to me within several days. Some of them I haven't talked to in months, some I've never talked to before, and some from other fandoms. They reached out to share their thoughts and feelings, and I appreciate it so much. I felt less alone. I felt a sense of solidarity, a sisterhood. Many agreed with me and it was touching but even more touching were the people who didn't necessarily agree with me and still wanted to hear what I had to say.

Perhaps it's patronizing but I feel like right now the best I can do is stay connected and go through this together. If I can help others, through informing, making someone smile, or supporting emotionally, it's all worth it.

[jasontoddiefor]

Chapter 11 of that one story in which Robin #3 is magic, literally.

Read on AO3

Robin woke up again when somebody knocked gently against his door. Sleepily, he crawled out of his bed and walked over to the door. He had fallen asleep in yesterday’s clothes and given the bright sunlight already shining through the curtains, Robin must have slept through the night.

Tentatively he opened the door just a crack. He expected Alfred, not Nightwing to be standing there, looking quite nervously. He was dressed in civilian clothes and it painted a quite different picture than that of the serene vigilante of before. He seemed tired, vulnerable.

“Can I come in?”

Robin opened the door wordlessly and stepped aside to make space for him.

Nightwing entered the room and looked around. The room was a little more lived-in than it had been when Robin first saw it, but it still wasn’t anything special. Still, somehow he was embarrassed by it. Robin had been made to be striking and the room wasn’t special compared to all the others in the manor.

“It’s nice,” Nightwing said, walking up and down.

He was uncomfortable in Robin’s presence and stalling time on top of it. With a sigh, Robin sat down at his desk chair.

“Do you want anything in particular, Nightwing?”

Nightwing frowned at him, confusion sprinkled all over his face like his freckles.

“Night- you can call me Dick, if you want to.” Dick stopped talking, halted, and realization took hold of him. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Richard ‘Dick’ John Grayson,” Robin replied easily, the knowledge of the previous Robin’s identity as clear as if he’d downloaded it from the batcomputer. “Twenty-one-years old, Blüdhaven vigilante operating as Nightwing . You’re also a founding member of the Teen Titans, a group of mostly teenagers to young adults, most of whom were former sidekicks of-“

“Woah, woah, kid, slow down.” Dick held up his hands in a placating manner, now grinning sheepishly. “I see you know your stuff. But yes, you can call me Dick if you want to.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Well, I have to ‘know my stuff’ as Robin. Not that I’m doing much of that right now.”

Dick winced and, deflating like an old balloon, sat down on Robin‘s unmade bed.

“It’s not an easy time for Bruce- all of us really. Jason’s death… Nobody but that fucking clown is to blame, but Bruce still feels responsible.”

Dick’s eyes hardened and his voice edged on the corner of terrifyingly dangerous just after mentioning the Joker.

“But I’m not Jason!” Robin argued. “I’m not much of anyone but Robin, and Batman doesn’t even let me be that!”

Robin crossed his arms over his chest, already in a fool mood. The day had hardly started and he was already angry. Great. Dick observed him silently and Robin didn’t want to know what kind of impression he was making on the other vigilante.

“I might not be able to change Batman’s opinion on that, not given the terms we are on now, but I could use another set of eyes.”

Dick seemed to be hesitant saying those words, but Robin almost immediately began vibrating with energy.

“You want my help?” Robin asked, almost toppling his chair when he hurried to stand up.

Dick nodded seriously. “Yes, that’s why I came to the Cave originally. I’m tracking a ring of arms dealers and Batman has the better tech, but I think I’ll work just as fast with you helping out. So do you want to-“

“Yes!” Robin shouted. “Yes, yes, yes, please. I’ve been trying to solve old cold cases from the police, but without leaving the manor my investigations have been going super slowly and please let me help!”

Dick laughed and stood up. “Alright, alright. Down to the kitchen again then? Alfred's made breakfast and my files are downstairs. I suppose I have to get them from the Cave. You can change into something fresh in the meanwhile.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

As soon as Dick had left the room, Robin rushed to his wardrobe and quickly put on new clothes. A pair of sweatpants, gray this time, and a comfortable black and yellow Batman sweatshirt later, Robin was sitting at the kitchen table, munching on his cornflakes while Dick was sorting through his files.

Alfred had tsk’ed once in disapproval, but given that Robin wasn’t supposed to be in the Cave, they had to take their work upstairs.

Working alongside Nightwing was fun. The vigilante was perceptive and Robin admired how efficiently he worked, and how well he knew his city and its criminals. He gave Robin a quick rundown of what organization they were dealing with, how they operated and what had tipped Nightwing off.

Then the two of them started tracing the organization’s work back to Gotham, slowly dismantling them. After a couple hours had passed, they had connected the dealers with their buyers and began strategizing how to take them down.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Nightwing told Robin.

Robin smiled, this time with nothing holding him back. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself either, Nightwing.”

Nightwing messes up Robin’s hair delightfully, not even stopping when Robin shrieked.

“I told you, it’s Dick. If you’re gonna stick around a while longer, it’s only right you call me by my name.”

Robin pushed away the sheets of paper they had covered with mindmaps and leaned forward on the table, mustering Dick.

“Are you also going to stick around?”

Dick scratched the back of his head, eyes darting to the family photo sitting on the window sill. It was a small picture in a wooden frame depicting Alfred, Bruce, Dick and Barbara somewhere in the gardens. Right next to it was another picture of Jason, probably only a few months after his adoption, in his school uniform, standing in the foyer together with Bruce. Bruce was beaming and Jason smiling shyly. Robin wouldn’t know what he’d do if Batman ever smiled at him like that, probably start crying.

“I think I’ll show up a little more often,” Dick finally answered. “The Titans- they’re fine. Blüdhaven, of course, still needs me, but she’s not called Gotham’s sister city for nothing. If Gotham gets worse, Blüdhaven does as well. It’s in my best interest to keep an eye on Gotham as well.”

Dick said Gotham , but Robin guessed what he actually meant was Batman .

“I’ll make sure everything works out here in your absence,” Robin promised. “Or, I’ll try my best at least.”

“That’s more than enough, trust me,” Dick smiled.

That was when Alfred entered the kitchen and with barely ten words, told them to pack up so he could prepare lunch. Quickly, Robin and Dick cleaned up and put the various sheets they had stolen from the arts and crafts room in different folders so Dick could take them home comfortably.

Dick put everything in his blue messenger back and set off to deposit it back in his room. Since he said nothing to Robin, Robin decided to follow him. The family wing looked just like it did a month ago, freshly cleaned with nothing out of place.

Dick opened the door to his room and let Robin inside. Now that Robin was seeing Dick’s room for a second time, he could see how well it fit Dick. The CD player in the corner was angled in such a way that you got the best sound and the stacks of CDs next to it were a wild mix of modern pop, the 80s and bands that used to be popular a couple of years ago.

The right wall of the otherwise blue room was covered by a large mural. The skyline of a city with a lot of air balloons swinging gently in the wind above.

“Where is that?” Robin asked.

“Huh?” Dick turned his head to look in the same direction as Robin. “Oh. That? That’s Paris about ten years back? It was the first big vacation Bruce and I took. We went to Europe and tracked through France. Nobody knew who we were, it was quite refreshing. Especially since I hadn’t gotten used to the fame that came with being Bruce Wayne’s ward yet. There was a tournament or so near Paris and the sky was full of the balloons. It was the highlight of the vacation for me. And if not for the drug-dealing ring we accidentally shattered, I think it would have been Bruce’s as well.”

Robin, who had sat down on the bed, did a double-take at hearing about Dick and Bruce's adventure.

“You accidentally took down a drug-dealing ring? How do you even do that?”

Dick laughed and sat down on the ground, leaning against his bookshelves. “Okay, so it’s probably not even that funny, but you know how Bruce has a sixth sense for crime? So we’re walking down that beautiful alley and Bruce just freezes and squints at some shady dudes in one corner…”

Dick latched onto the story, narrating in great detail Robin and Batman’s adventure in Europe. And because he kept making references to other missions and the like, Dick kept going off track and told Robin more and more stories.

The longer he talked, the happier did Dick seem to become, and Robin too was pulled in by his enthusiasm. Some of these stories Robin knew, but the more he learned, the more did he realize that factual knowledge couldn’t compare to Dick’s vibrant description of the time Batman and Robin saved the holidays. The life Dick had lived was so colorful and fantastic - Robin wanted something like that for himself.

He could do without taking a swim in the sewers, but he’d give everything for Batman to look at him with the same fond exasperation Dick talked of.

“And that’s the reason why Bruce and I shared a hotel room,” Dick ended his monologue. “Talking rooms - is there a reason we relocated to the guest wing?”

Robin shrugged. “I think that’s Alfred’s doing. Bruce wasn’t sleeping well here.”

“Or at all?” Dick guessed with a sigh. “It’s no surprise with Jason’s room next door.”

“I found him in there in my first week,” Robin blurted out. “I don’t know what he was doing. He was just sitting on the ground and I had no idea how to act!”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dick said. “Everybody grieves in a different way.”

Robin knew that Dick was trying to reassure him, but his words weren’t helping. Robin was well aware of how grief worked, it was part of their job and so he knew it, but he still couldn’t do anything to support Batman because he kept locking Robin out.

“But I still want to help him and I can’t because he won’t even let me come near him.”

“I promise I’ll talk to him when he gets him tonight. Maybe I can get Bruce to slow down a little. We’re not as close as we used to be, but maybe I can improve the situation a little.”

“And what should I do in the meantime?”

Dick reached up and pulled a book out of his shelf. Easily, he threw it at Robin. “Live a little.”

Robin caught the book and turned it around so he could read the cover. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

The book looked rather old and worn. A quick flip through revealed pages covered in all kinds of ink and markers.

“What’s this?” Robin asked.

“The first Harry Potter book,” Dick answered. “I had to read it for class a couple years back and took a lot of notes in it. Kids your age are supposed to like it-”

“You mean one month going on one decade?” Robin replied snarkily, but Dick didn’t even  bother to reply to that.

“-and even beyond that. It’s just a fun book to read. Try to broaden your horizon a little further away from Robin or you’ll go mad.”

Dick fell silent and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he tilted his head slightly. He was observing Robin - no, the mask Robin couldn’t take off.

“And we need to do something about that too. You can’t keep running around  in the house with a mask and without a name.”

Robin just rolled his eyes. He supposed this was where he differed from regular humans. Robin was all he was and all he ought to be. He didn’t need to broaden his horizon.

“I have a name! I already told you that! It’s Robin.”

“Yeah, no.” Dick shook his head. “Robin is a title . You need a name.”

Robin didn’t get it. Maybe this was another one of these civilian life things he was supposed to follow now? It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, the others just didn’t understand that Robin was all he would ever be and all he was supposed to be. It was fine, he didn’t mind if he would actually get to do his job.

“I’m fine without, really,” Robin insisted.

From Dick’s sigh, Robin deduced that he didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t like this discussion would go anywhere anytime soon.

“Just try it, alright? You don’t just have vigilantism in your DNA.”

Robin was going to argue that he very much did, going by the components that constructed his DNA and its donors, but decided against it in the last second. If Dick was too stubborn to see it, Robin would just have to accept it and move on. At least he’d have some more entertainment for the next weeks.

“Thanks for the book,” Robin said instead.

Dick smiled. “No problem. You can tell me what you thought of it when you’ve read it. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it. Bruce would always try to overinterpret the book instead of just enjoying it.”

Robin blinked.

“How do you just enjoy it?”

Dick began to laugh and threw back his head so far, that it knocked against his bookshelf, but even the sudden pain from that didn’t seem to deter him.

“I’m serious!” Robin said, his cheeks flushed red. “Explain!”

But Dick kept on laughing, bright and joyful.

[lucy-luckk]

The Only Woman in the Room

Wednesday Morning  May 27, 2020 Channel 5 Studio  TW: Mentions Sexual Assault  Word Count: 1541

Lucy stopped dead in her tracks the moment she walked into the meeting room and her eyes landed on the channel president and some other fairly important people. This was not a good sign. Her boss’ boss wanted to see her twenty minutes before they were supposed to be on air. 

She took a seat next to her producer, Mark, her legs crossed at her ankles and her hands in her lap. A perfect lady since that was what this meeting called before. She tried to catch Mark’s eye, to read some kind of clue in their eyes as to what this meeting was about, but he was pointedly avoiding her gaze. It was really bad then. Working together like they did, she could read his face like they shared some kind of mental connection. 

Frank, the channel president, cleared his throat and Lucy’s head whipped to his general direction. The meeting was starting then. “Lucy, do you know why you’re here?”

One, two, three - She always counted slowly in her head before answering anyone’s questions. It made her feel like she had control over a situation like this. “No, I can’t say I’m sure why. Is this truly something that couldn’t have waited until after the show today, Frank?” First names. Never ‘mister’. 

“Well, if you would have answered your phone, we could have avoided this.” His voice was raspy, like he had a frog in his throat he just couldn’t kick. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes either, just down at his hands, which he was wringing incessantly. “Have you been on your phone at all? Looked online? Fielded any conversations from friends or family?”

Lucy counted in her head while she looked around the room at all the men looking at her with very guarded expressions. Her eyes finally landed back on Frank. “No, I typically turn off my phone unless I’m on call. What is this about, Frank? Just get to the point and stop wasting my time.”

Frank glanced over at an associate. The lawyer Lucy recalled from a previous meeting she had when she accused her cohost of sexually assaulting her. He pulled out a manila file folder and slid it in her direction. Lucy eyed it confused, again taking time to look at all the men in the room, before she picked up the file and started flipping through the contents. She kept her face stone cold as she realized what she was looking at. Photos. Of her. In various states of undress. The majority of them, though, were completely nude in positions that might just make the devil blush. Lucy still hadn’t reacted, whether from shock or pride she wasn’t sure. 

Mark spoke up then. “They were posted last night, along with a video, on a revenge porn site.” 

“A video?” She croaked, the only sign she was in any distress at all. She was aware the photos existed, but she had never consented to any video being made. Her eyes burned as she held back the tears that welled in her eyes. She would not cry in front of all these men. She’d already just lost their respect and she wasn’t about to dig herself deeper in that hole. She cleared her throat before continuing, her voice angrier now to cover the fact she just wanted to crawl under the table. “Why? Who? Who the fuck posted these?” 

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Mark rested a hand on her wrist, trying to comfort her probably. “Greg and Ashley were also in the video... They worked here about two years ago, you may remember. We think Greg posted everything,” he explained. It was better to hear it from Mark then any of the executive assholes that had no right to be in the room. “Kevin and the legal team are working to get everything taken down for you,” Mark explained with a nod in the lawyer’s direction.

“It’s on the internet, Mark. There’s no taking it down…” This is why she hated the internet. And technology. And men. They ruined everything. Why would Greg post any of this stuff in the first place?

Frank pulled her from her thoughts in that moment. “Maybe that was something you should have considered, Ms. Luck.”

Lucy balled her fists together. “Say that again, Frank, and I’ll shove my foot so far up your-” Mark dug his nails into her wrist, a warning, and Lucy clamped down on her tongue. She truly didn’t need to make her day worse by getting fired as well. 

The president gave her a long look before clearing his throat. “You weren’t thinking, so now we’re in clean up mode. There is a morality clause in your contract. However, we can understand these images were apparently taken in a private moment. For private purposes. You’re our head morning anchor and you’re damn good at your job. Ratings have gone up since we brought you on. we‘re not firing you today. So, that begs the question how do we handle this? We take you out until all of this passes.”

“Take me out?!”

Frank pressed on. “You will not speak of this to anyone. You will do no interviews. You will not be on social media. And you will be off air for four months. At least. Suspended with pay.”

“You’re suspending me?!” 

“Once everyone has forgotten about this misfortunate lapse in judgement, you can come back fresh and well-rested.”

“Someone posts images of me without my permission and you’re suspending me? You should be speaking out against the man that did this. Does Greg still work here? He should be fired! We should run a piece about how there is no legislature or precedence in court when it comes to fucking revenge porn! Why are we ignoring this when you could let me take a stand?”

Frank silenced her with a look. Mark, who was likely on her side, stayed quiet. “We will not add fire to the flame, Ms. Luck,” Frank sternly advised. “Greg no longer works here and you are welcome to approach him and this situation through the correct legal channels, but you will not be using our network as a platform to spin your mistakes into some positive light.”

“You’ve got to be fucking --” Mark’s grip tightened again. Lucy looked around the room again and was struck at how there were no other women to come to her defense. Many of the men looked awkward. One was undressing her with his eyes. The rest looked unimpressed by Lucy. She was not about to win this battle. She was still caught up on one issue though -- Why did Greg release these images now? A thought stuck her suddenly. She remembered who Greg had been friends with back in the day. “How does this affect my case against Ross? And the investigation into him sexually assaulting me?” 

More quiet. Finally, the lawyer answered. “Allegedly. He allegedly sexually assaulted you. I promise you it is something we take very seriously, Ms. Luck. The findings on our end were inconclusive. With this new evidence that you’ve had sexual encounters with other employees in the past, well… Mr. Harper will finish up his two-month suspension without pay and be moved to another station.”

Lucy sucked on the bottom of her lip. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing now. It was bullshit. All of it. “That’s not consent. The two incidents shouldn’t even be related! You should be firing Ross!” She was standing now, her finger pointed at the lawyer accusingly. 

“Control yourself Ms. Luck.,” Frank warned. “We’ve said our piece. If you would like to continue to have a job here, you’ll be quiet and take the suspension. Mark will walk you out now.” 

Mark stood and grabbed Lucy by the hand, looking at her apologetically. “Go home and tell your wives and daughters how you handled my life. I hope they cut your dick’s off in your sleep. Oh wait, they can’t because you’re all cowardly bastards. Fucking sausage fest in here…” 

Mark pulled her out and closed the door behind them. “What the hell, Lucy?”

“What the hell? What the hell was that, Mark!? Did they cut off your tongue? Did they have you by the fucking balls the whole time? You’re my producer, you’re supposed to have my back! You didn’t say anything! You just sat there and let them slut shame me.” 

“I want you to have a job, Lu!”

“And I wanted so much more from you,” she remarked sadly, heading towards her dressing room to gather her things.

“Lu! Wait! Where are you going? You have to leave the property.”

“I gotta get my purse because I’m a fucking woman, Mark!” She yelled back, giving him a majestic middle finger. He followed closely behind.

She got to her dressing room and slammed the door. Mark knocked. “Give me five minutes, asshole!” She yelled, grabbing her phone out of her purse. She powered it on before climbing underneath her vanity. She had hundreds of unread text messages and missed phone calls. The tears finally started to spill over as she dialed only one number, ignoring the rest. “Daddy… I need you. Come to Vesta please.”

[cherryfi]

Blame it on the Bokbunja: Epilogue

Plot: You and San finally have enough evidence to take Jinyoung down but, the outcome is not what you expected and to add insult to injury it’s made clear that San doesn’t trust you.

Part 1 

A/N: I’m really not sure how I feel about this ending lol, I’m a little disappointed but, enjoy!! Let me know what you think! 

REQUEST ARE OPEN!!

You never thought you’d be back here.

Stepping out of the car, you give one last look to San in the driver’s seat, he gives you a half smile and you wave before closing the door.

“I’ll see you when you’re done.” You nod and walk up the steps to the building. To the place where you used to work. The air is still tense between you and San (well you and Ateez, actually) but, you were working on it.

Maybe this mission wold prove to them how dedicated to your new position you really were. Maybe it would show the other members how much you really cared for San.

From the outside, the corporation was like any other government building. It was non-descript.

It was a large red-bricked building, comprised of some 10 storeys, with the country’s flag deposited outside at full-mast. From the outside, it looked quiet but, you knew the inside was bustling with activity.

Especially since you’d gone AWOL.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take the final steps, wondering if it really is the best idea to follow through with this course of action. Once Jinyoung had you in his clutches, it was more than likely that you were dead.

You’ve been burned, after all so, your being here could only spell trouble.

And it does.

But surely, he wouldn’t have me killed on Corporation soil? He’s a lot of things but, rash isn’t one of them.

Jinyoung would never make a move without having all the cards in his hands, you knew that from years of debriefing with him.

You turn to look over your shoulder once more at San, who smiles at you, it’s clear he was watching you the whole time.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to make a run for it?

You take a deep breath and swagger into the building, trying to create an air of confidence, even though you feel terrified.  

 You stifle the smirk that wants to break out onto your face as the front of desk clerk looks at you in shock but, he quickly catches himself and buzzes you in.

“Mr Kim called and said to send you straight to his office. Please follow the guard, he’ll take you there.” You thank him for your day pass and follow security as they take you to the lift.

Jinyoung’s office was in the centre of the Corp’s building on the 7th floor but, needed security access to get to it, this trip was nothing new  but, this time you had power.

You’d always panicked when you were called into his office but, you’d still respected him. Respected him for his hard work  and morals. You’d been inspired by his ‘underdog’ story.

Kim Jinyoung had been the head of the Corporation for 15 years; he’s made his way up from the head of security position that he’d been granted upon his entry into the company. Jinyoung was a well decorated soldier, quickly rising to general’s rank and it was his hard work and ingenuity that made him the perfect candidate for the Corporation.

But more than that, you’d respected Jinyoung because he could have ended up like Choi Jisung, he knew Jisung but, avoided all attempts to join, instead choosing to remain on the straight and narrow.

Kim Jinyoung had grown up a street child, you knew little about his upbringing, other than the fact that he and San’s father had grown up in the same children’s home but where Jisung decided to create his own ‘army’, Jinyoung joined the national one instead.

He’d successfully avoided a life of crime and made a respectable name for himself, despite the hardships that came from growing up in a run-down boys’ home.

But his military service had been fraught with criminal activity. From drug smuggling to murder, he’d done it all and his position in the Corporation was bought with bribery and blackmail.

Jinyoung was no better than the people he claimed to hate, his hands were just as dirty and stained. He’d done things that were unforgivable – of course, you didn’t know this until San burst your bubble.

So here you were, about to burst his.

The security guard walked you into his office, bowing politely when he was dismissed before closing the door.

As confident as you’d been before, the door clicking shut, diminished it all, leaving you on edge but, you weren’t going to let Jinyoung know that.

You quietly took a seat across from his desk and tried to appear as nonchalant as possible; you looked around the room silently, waiting for him to make the first move.

Jinyoung’s office hadn’t changed since you’d last been there.

His office was made of cherry wood, the walls and panels facing inward towards the rest of the floor were lined with the stained wood, giving it a rustic and almost homely vibe. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the city below, giving a beautiful view of bustling metropolitan centre. Behind you was a bookshelf complete with various books and files that he’d collected over the years and behind him, he’d hung his awards on the wall.

In contrast to the rustic room, his desk was glass and bare. It only had a potted plant: a winter cactus, and one photo of his family. You remembered this picture; it was from that he’d taken to Egypt with his wife and kids.

Would it ruin his wife to know what kind of man she’d married?

That wasn’t your problem, it was his for being so deplorable but, it didn’t stop you from thinking about she’d take it if she were ever to find out that her highly decorated, Army General husband was really a war criminal.

 “What brings you here Y/N? I thought you’d be somewhere in Aruba with your mouth firmly attached to San’s dick.” You raise your eyebrows at the harsh tone that he used.

Obviously, I’m not the only one who’s lost respect for the other.

You only smirk in response.

“Why would it have to be Aruba?” He gives a short, humourless laugh. You know why but, you want to goad him.

You want him to snap.

“Because I expected you to be on the run, as far away from here as possible. I expected that your boyfriend would have in hiding, we gave you a deadline and you didn’t follow through, you know what that means. Tell me Y/N, how does it feel to be so easily swayed from your job by a pretty smile? I always thought you were capable of running this place but, obviously didn’t have what it takes. ” You laugh heartily at that and he just blinks in response.

Him threatening your life was an unwise decision especially with all the dirt you had on him.

You were about to ruin this man’s entire career.

“I have no need to run, you and I both know that you can’t touch me. If you could, both San and I would be dead already. No, I’m not running. I actually just came to do you one last favour Jinyoung; let’s call it a parting gift from me to you huh?” You dip down into your bag and pull out the manila dossier, thick with evidence, from your bag and slam it down onto the table.

The picture of his family wobbles and topples over.

How fitting.

“And you’re right, I don’t have what it takes to run this place, if your track record is anything to go by.”

Jinyoung sits downs at his desk finally, opening the folder and leafing through the pictures.

He goes pale as a grin slowly takes over your face.

Gotcha.

“I suppose you’re wondering what this is huh? Now I know that you’ve always dreamed of being in politics and given the progression of your career it’s only right that you make it there but, and I’m sure you’ll agree, only honourable people deserve to be in politics. There are far too many rats running the country and it’s high time someone flushed them out.” He glances up at you, his hand on a photo of him snorting cocaine off a woman’s chest.

“What is this?”  His voice is deceptively calm but  it clear that he’s livid, he’s practically frothing at the mouth

Jinyoung is panicking.

“It’s a collection of memories Jinyoung, a little scrapbook of your memories. Can’t you tell? My favourite is the one where you’re accepting bribes from Lee Taeyong.”

“Get out! Get out of my office, right now!” You laugh as you stand up and smooth down your outfit.

“With pleasure, I’ll leave these here for you to think about, San has plenty more copies, if you need to take a closer look. I just find it so funny how you were more than happy to see so many operatives die trying to catch a man that you claimed was a menace to society, when really, you were just scared of the intel he had on you.” Jinyoung gapes and it only makes you angrier.

You think about all the pressure they put on you to succeed and how easy it would have been for San to kill you, all because Jinyoung couldn’t keep his nose clean.

“You’re no better than me. In fact, you’re no better than San’s father. You spent all that time saying that you wished he’d relied on you instead of turning to a life of crime but really, he would have ended up in the same position. You’re a monster and a murderer, you’re nothing like the hero that you portray yourself to be. I hope when you go to sleep at night that this haunts you.”

“These are doctored and you’re a fool for trusting someone like Choi San, he’ll take what he wants from you and when it’s all over, he’ll leave you dead in a ditch. You’ll be nothing more than a notch on his designer belt.” He spits the words venomously, the vein in his forehead throbbing but, it doesn’t matter because you can see the fear in his eyes.

You add salt to the wounds.

“It’s funny you should mention San. You see, I thought it was more than enough to just scare you with these images, maybe even get you off his back but, there’s something about trying to kill someone that makes them want to obliterate you. San sent these to a few of your ‘friends’. I didn’t know that you had a boss but, according to him there is someone you have to answer to and they’re not going to be happy when they see these pictures.” You shrug lightly, picking up your bag and heading to the door, you only stop when Jinyoung calls out to you.

It’s his feeble attempt to garner some support.

“What happened to you Y/N? Does he have you so hypnotised that you believe every word he’s said? I thought you were better than that. I had such high hopes for you. Hell, I even introduced you to my family; think about what this will do to them.”

“Everything San has said, he’s backed up with evidence and all you can do is try to manipulate me. You should have thought about what this would to your family when you were doing it, that’s not my problem.”

You release a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding as you slam the door. The journey back down to the lobby is quiet… and lonely.

It gives you time to ponder his words – Would San really get rid of you when you stopped being useful?

You can’t help the butterflies when you that he’s waiting for you outside, in the car, exactly in the same spot you left him.

“That was quicker than I thought it would be, did they give you any trouble?” You shrug as you put on your seatbelt.

“Not really. What could he really do anyway? The evidence is right there.” Sensing your slight discomfort, he only nods, reaching for your hand while he changes the subject.

“How about we go for dinner? There’s a new place that I want to try.”

  It’s not until the next morning that things take a turn.

You’re at home with San.

He’s in the dining room, with the other members as you’re sat in the kitchen.

You’ve been kept separate from all Ateez meetings.  

Even though you’d proven that you were trustworthy, the other members were still uncomfortable letting you be around their work, lest this was another ploy to take them down.

Although to be frank, San didn’t trust you either. He’d kept you under house arrest, under the watchful eyes of his staff, who rarely let you out of their sight. It was uncomfortable but, necessary.

If this was the only was to get San to trust you, then you’d do whatever it took.

You quietly sip your coffee when Wooyoung walks in, carrying a laptop, the other members follow in behind him.

“I need you to read this new story.” His face is stoic, not giving away any emotion and you look at San for confirmation.

“Read the article.” Although quiet, his voice carries command and you do at told. The title reads: “Head of Secret Service Agency Jinyoung Kim found dead in his office; investigation to follow.”

You gasp and look up the members, they’re watching you closely, gauging your reaction.

You read on.

‘The head of secret service agency ‘the Corporation’ Kim Jinyoung has been found dead by apparent suicide in his office.

Officers were called into the government building, this morning at 5:45am by office cleaners who found him sitting at his office desk, dead. The cleaner, who’s name has not been released, found Kim after they entered the office to enquire about taking out his garbage. When he had been unresponsive to their knocks, they opened the door and were greeted by the grizzly sight.

Officers have yet to release further details although it has been made clear that there is an ongoing investigation into what could have caused this sudden turn of events; for a man who had hopes of entering politics.

There is much speculation about how he died with one source stating, that it was a single bullet wound to the head. A suicide note was found but, its contents have yet to be released.

Speaking to reporters at Atiny news a source close to the family has said that his wife is devastated: “She never expected this to happen, he was in good spirits when he left for work yesterday morning, it didn’t seem like anything was wrong. She’s really in shock.”

You stop reading the article, shocked into silence.

“Why are you showing me this?” Wooyoung looks at you, his expression still unreadable.

“We thought you’d want to know.” Wooyoung smiles at you sadly.

San wraps his arms around you from behind, his head on your shoulder.

“How are you?” You sigh as he whispers in your ear.

“I’m shocked I guess. I didn’t pull the trigger but, I might as well have.” The others sit around the island as Hongjoong scoffs.

“The man’s a snake; don’t feel sorry for him. You think he’d care if you’d been killed? He would’ve just sent someone else in after you.” The others nod in agreement.

“I don’t but, I feel sorry for his wife and kids, they don’t deserve this, if it comes out that he was dirty, she won’t get his retirement fund and you know how people are; they’ll destroy her too.” You place your head in your hands as Jongho speaks up.

“He should’ve thought of that before he nailed his coffin. Think of all the people’s lives he’s ruined. His wife will be fine; she’s got a good support system around her.”

They all file out after that, leaving you alone with San, they’re faces showing clear signs that they didn’t like your response.

“They don’t trust me.”

“Can you blame them?” He doesn’t bat an eyelid, rebutting your statement with ease.

It leaves you floored.

San places his hand under your chin, making you look him in the eye.

“Y/N, I know you mean well, and the others do too but, it hasn’t been long enough for us to trust you with the intricacies of this job. Even you talking to your boss yesterday. You could have easily been a double spy. What would we do if you were only using us to give your boss more information or to buy yourself time? What would I do then? There’s a lot on the line.” Even though what he says is reasonable, you can’t help the surge of anger that rushes through you.

“What about me isn’t trustworthy San? I told you everything that I knew about the Corporation, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been able to get to Jinyoung. There’s no way you could walk in there and not get arrested or killed!” You throw your hands up and push San’s hand away, ready to dramatically storm out of the kitchen.

You know the other members are nearby and can probably hear everything that you’re saying (they’ve gone right back to making sure you’re barely alone with San, even at home) but, you don’t care.

“Do you know how my father died?” His voice is hushed but urgent, his eyes showing a vulnerability that you never thought you’d see from such a staunch man.

He was pleading, without words, for you to understand.

“I read about it in your file.” San scoffs.

“Of course you did.” Your previous job was still a point of contention across all of Ateez, who couldn’t understand why San would still want you around.

It was a point of contention among the members, founding and otherwise: What would stop you from double-crossing them the same way you did your bosses.

San sighs.

“He was double-crossed by someone he trusted, and he’d known that man for years. For most of the time I’ve known you, you were plotting to kill me. That’s the reality of it. I love you but, I don’t trust you; not yet.” His face is solemn but, he isn’t budging.

You get it.

“I get it. If a man that your father considered a friend could betray after years of friendship, then what’s to say I won’t do the same? I understand that San, I do but, how am I supposed to prove that I’m trustworthy? Haven’t I shown you all that enough?” You hear a distant ‘yeah right’ and several noises of agreement, from the dining room but, you ignore it.

If San heard he makes no show of it, his face remaining unchanged.

“The short answer is no. Trust is hard-earned, and in this business? Even more so. It’s going to take time before I trust with more than just my house-key.” He leaves the kitchen after that, leaving no room for argument.

You can only mull over his words.

He was right.

If you hadn’t fallen for him, wouldn’t you have killed him?

How different were you really from the man who killed his father?

In the minds of Ateez, you were just as bad, if not worse and it would take time before they looked at you as anything other than the enemy.

It was clear that you were on their watch-list but, it didn’t matter, you would do whatever it took to get back in their good graces.

New mission: make Ateez trust you again.