#he makes split second calculations in his every day life to not destroy anything. he saves Metropolis and the world again and again.

[martyrbat]

begging fandom to stop and reflect on why you infantilize characters that are optimistic and why you associate it as a trait that makes you an idiot

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 26.

The Darkling x Reader

You didn't speak a word, didn't move a muscle. The anger raged inside of you like a storm, tearing every rational thought down on its path. it didn't help that even though he lied to you, your love for him never dwindled. You might as well have been back at Kribirsk, for you were so in your head you didn't pay attention to anything going on around you. The only thing that broke your trance was the unmistakable sound of volcra closing in. You listened to their shrill cries, the wails reverberating across the Fold.

'I should just tear this down' You heard Alina urge, desperation seeping into her words. She was powerless, only her words had any effect. You longed to help them too, to end the volcra's suffering but that couldn't happen without you sacrificing yourself in the process. Alina had her heart set in the right place, but you wouldn't ever let the Fold fall.

'And what can you really do on your own?.....besides, it would be a monumental waste of power.' Aleksander was quick to shut her down, his own reasons for keeping the Fold standing up against hers.

They swopped lower and lower, their black wings visible from beneath the shadows. You peered closer to the edge of the skiff, looking out for more of the poor creatures and spotting one right above the skiff.

Reaching your hands out in an attempt to move the volcra, a bright flash of light beat you to it, the rays burning your skin like nothing you'd ever felt in your life. Your knees hit the deck before you could register what was happening as your hands gripped the edge of the skiff. It hurts. A silent groan left your lips, too quiet for anyone to notice. The burning continued, this time in your mind. It left a buzzing sound behind so loud it echoed along the walls of your mind, deafening you in the process. The pounding was paralyzing.

Nobody on the deck noticed the Deputy General kneeling in pain, they were all too fixated on the Sun-Summoner and the Darkling to glance an eye in your direction. Alina's light had hurt you, hurt the child of Merzost as if you were a volcra.

Even in the depths of the Fold and in your home, you were too weak to spare a look at what was going on at the front of the deck. The skiff was approaching Novokribirsk now, the natural light from the other side filtering through Alina's tunnel. You had been bent over in pain for majority of the trip and still, nobody noticed.

You felt a lull in the skiff's movement, but the pain in your head was still too much. It stung and pulsed, dulling every single sense in your body. There was nothing else you could concentrate on but the pain, this horrid debilitating pain. You grasped at your power, trying to calm your spiraling heart rate, trying to stop the blood from rushing so quickly but you were stumped; helpless. Your eyes had long shut tightly, seeing only a pure white sight. Not even your mind spared you the safety blanket of darkness.

A hand on your shoulder suddenly snapped you out of it, grounding you back to the deck of the skiff but its touch disappeared almost as soon as you'd felt it. The buzzing was still deep within your skull, playing like an out-of-tune violin. You snapped your head up, meeting the eyes of none other than Ivan. His expression read one of fear and utter terror and you didn't understand why.

You stood up wearily, coming face to face with the heartrenderer, and watched as he took measured steps away from you before coming to Aleksander's right hand yet again. You looked to Aleksander, though your eyes were still squinted in pain, you could make out his unforgettable stature.

'And I shall do mine.' His arms were outstretched- ready to pounce

You turned your attention to the skyline and watched as the light from Novokribirsk mellowed and the view of the port diminished. In horror, you watched as the Fold expanded, as directed by Aleksander, and destroyed the lives of many in the process. You could hear their screams and shouts; the pain.

But you also felt a surge of strength and of power. It fought the buzzing sound idly as you watched the shadows bleed into the air.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!' You ran up to the front of the deck, shoving him aside and watching with wide eyes the damage that had been done. His hand came to entangle around your arm but you shoved him away, both with your strength and a gust of wind.

You turned your head to look at him but instead found your eyes looking to Alina, who took it as her queue to further project the tunnel of light into the docks. A volcra flew by, disintegrating into the wrecked town and its surroundings. Novokribirsk was gone. Zoya looked at it with pure terror and dread and an earlier conversation came back to you, one where she spoke of her family. Oh Saints.

'No you don't' He took hold of Alina's hands and brought back the shadows already pooling at light's edge. The screams ripped through the air once more, the volcra cries stabbing at your heart again. You turned your head to look back to Zoya when a strand of your hair caught your attention. It no longer contrasted the black kefta at all. You ran to the small mirror on the deck and stilled at the reflection.

The person staring back at you in the plane was not you. The girl in the mirror donned black hair. Hair so dark it left no traces of other pigments. Her eyes were a glittering onyx with small black capillaries shooting through the whites of her eyes. Black veins poked out from under her kefta collar, and upon further inspection, the same black veins traveled down to her hands, curling around her wrists like a bracelet. The running of the veins was like a design, it flowed like a pen on paper drawn by an artist. They were Merzost.

You stared at yourself in shock. This was not you; it couldn't be. But the girl in the mirror said otherwise.

A scream broke you out of your trance, the familiar name snapping your neck to its origin. Mal.

Mal lay splayed out on the ground with blood pooling out of his mouth and Alina perched next to him, reaching for his hand. The foreign dignitaries stood frozen as they watched the scene play out, their fear filling the atmosphere pungently. The skiff abruptly moved, its sails once again filling with air. Zoya stood at the top, hands outstretched and eager.

'General Kirigan, this will only turn the world against you and all Grisha. You’ll be seen not as a savior, but a heretic.' The irony.

In a swift motion, Ivan takes control of all their hearts and one by one they drop dead-like lifeless dolls. A gasp escaped your lips as your position is once again known and Aleksander's eyes land on you, all of you. His brows raise at your appearance.

'I’ll have to give that speech again now, Y/N, won't I? Or will you have the decency to join me next time?' He directs your way.

'Me? Are you insane?' Your anger could no longer contain itself as you launch the Cut his way knowing well he would dodge it. He moved to the side, launching one your way too. Instead of dodging it, you split it right down the middle, sending it over the rails. The skiff picked up its speed, making you slightly lose your footing and Aleksander noticed too.

'ZOYA' He roared up to her in warning, but you willed her not to listen. Instead, she egged the skiff forward.

'You promised me!' Two slivers of shadows crept up your legs and wrapped themselves around your wrists, pulling your hands away from each other and rendering you useless.

'That was before you murdered a whole town!' You strained your arms, trying your hardest to loosen the grip of his shadows. 'You took her light, General. If you wanted to be like me you could have just asked' Even in the face of his betrayal, you still couldn't bring yourself to say his name in public. His name was sacred, it was your secret.

'I don't want to hurt you Y/N' He took calculated steps toward you, eyes flooded with despair. His hand came up to your hair, taking a piece and inspecting it carefully 'What happened?'

'I came onto this skiff, that's what happened.' you spit. 'How are you alright with what you've just done?' Your own previous experience haunts your mind for a brief second, the occurrence still a trauma. He on the other hand looks unbothered. Another day at work.

'I did what I had to -' His words get interrupted by the sound of gunshots, ones you can feel zip by your ear and head his way. He sends the cut flying behind you and the shadows at your wrists let up just as a knife embeds itself in his chest. You watch as the same veins on your body crawl up his neck. His are more abundant, nothing like yours in appearance, but they are there.

'It will take more than THIS' he rips the knife out and folds his hands in front of him and the shadows race forward 'You stay in the dark' The back of the skiff now settled itself into the Fold, the volcra flying above like the predators they are.

Zoya. You take a look at Aleksander whose eyes are closely watching you along with Ivan's.

'Don't.' His words are clear but you don't care. Zoya is back there. You listen to his steady heartbeat and feel the air in his lungs. The Fold's nothingness swims in his lungs, swirling from each breath he takes. Without thinking, you knock the air out of him and slam his body against the rail of the skiff, running to the back of the skiff to help Zoya. Just as you clamber up the stairs, you see her blue kefta dropping to the ground and a volcra swarming toward her.

'NO' You knock it out of the way and cushion her fall with a gust. A Suli girl runs over, checking on Zoya briefly but turns to you. The volcra circle over the skiff.

'Ready?' You nod. The young girl nods back and clutches knives to her chest. You count the number of pulses on this side of the skiff, too many to risk.

You start by sending out your flames and then the shadows, filling the volcra's lungs with the tendrils while she attacks it with her knives. Its shrills are pitiful but you block them out. It doesn't seem to give up as it flies closer to her, completely ignoring you. The wind blows it away briefly before a man with a cane goes toward the volcra mercilessly. You curse out loudly, knowing that the noise attracts others, you can feel them coming.

'Alina, for Saints sake!' You shout as you watch her from your position laying on the ground, not even trying. You run back down to the deck, only one thing on your mind. If she can't light it up then I will, but as you run, his strong hands come to lock yours behind your back and one comes to your throat.

'Was this the plan all along? He says in your ear and his hold tightens, slowly blocking off your air. His voice is strained and you could swear he sounds hurt.

'I came back for you, it's always been you.' you plead. You still love him, you do. But my morals and my love are two different things.

'I really thought I could trust you again. But you only ever want what is mine.' Your vision turns blurry as you feel your chest contract. Ivan. 'If you love something let it go, isn't that the saying?' Your head bops forward slightly which seems to be enough for him to let your drop to your knees in front of him, right next to a dying Mal.

As you try to regain your awareness, the sounds of volcra in your head become too much to bear. They drown out everything as they approach the skiff, silently letting you know they will kill everything on the other side of the light. You struggle to get up, hands clawing at your throat as air enters your lungs again. As if that wasn't enough for your already frail body, another flash of light expels from Alina. The burning sensation overwhelms you again, dwindling your will to live. It burns worse this time, singeing you all over. A scream of pain erupts from your lips as you watch the veins on your hand become darker and darker.

A hand around your waist surprised you as it helps you get up from the ground. 'It's okay, It's okay' Aleksander. His forehead is pressed up against your temple as you continue to cry out in pain. You open your eyes briefly and look at the hand holding your waist- void of a Stag bone. The shock is barely enough to let you forget the pain though.

'It hurts' Your own tears burn as they roll down your face.

'I know' He leaves a kiss to your temple before leaning down to your ear 'I love you, you can still keep the promise Y/N. Please' His arms tighten one last time before leaving you feeling cold in the absence of the Fold.

Slowly, the reality of the situation settles in your stomach. He just said his goodbye, and I never told him I loved him too. Everything stills again and nothing seems to process in your mind. Maybe I'm dying, maybe Alina killed me.

You can hear her shout for Mal as he and Aleksander battle it out on the unlit sands. You can hear her struggling as Ivan collapses her blood vessels. You can hear Ivan's lifeless body drop to the ground. But your mind refuses to cooperate.

Even as a volcra sweeps down and grabs Aleksander mercilessly, you push your body past the limit and jump overboard, letting out pathetic shouts of plea to the volcra, bring him back to me, please. Your powers don't rise to your call, your mind won't listen.

The light shoots out again from a now awake Alina, but your numb now, the pain had reached its limit.

Zoya begs for you to come back to safety, Mal grabs your limp body and tugs you back but you shove him off with the last of your strength. The Crows stand by on the deck and listen to your heartbreaking sobs. Nobody misses the way the atmosphere in the Fold shifts with every cry, how the usually empty place emanates one single emotion; anguish.

They sit and watch in fear and astonishment as volcra fly above you, never once attacking. They watch as they settle on the sands, heads cowering to your shaken body, and they listen to the cries, ones very alike in pain to yours.

They watched as the Little Witch loses her soulmate, in the one place she ever knew as home.

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

Epilogue.

Masterlist

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @adoringb @grisha-of-shadow-bone @rosiethefairy @carlywhomever @allisjustok @keepdaydreamingbb @luciadiosa @azkahanif

[softboywriting]

Gravitation | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: Twin Flames; a single soul that is split into two bodies. You and Nathan have a connection like none other. He has an idea why, and you’re about to find out. [Soft!Nathan] [Soulmates Trope] [No Use Of Y/N] [Assistant!Reader] [F!ReaderxNathan] [Swearing] [Pet Name] [Invasion of Privacy - Mentioned] [Drunk Nathan] 

Word Count: 5k

|Masterlist in Bio|

The moment you met Nathan you knew there was something about him that was unlike any other person you had met up until that point. It wasn't his massive ego, his minor God complex, or his genius intellect that got your attention. It was his eyes. Something in his eyes held more than his big mouth could ever express, something familiar like you've known him since the day you were born and even before that. You doubt he knows it, that his gaze tells you every truth, every lie, every moment of his history leading up to the moment you met. He feels it though. That you can confirm. He feels something when you stare at him as he speaks and you know that it makes him uncomfortable in a way he doesn't know how to explain because he gives you looks as if you're something he's never seen, something he can't quite figure out. You are an enigma to him some days and it keeps him on his toes.

Two months pass as you live out your days with Nathan in his sprawling complex of a home slash research facility. It was strange how you came to be here, a memory almost it seems. You had been receiving emails for weeks from an unknown sender, something about a research assistant position. You didn't pay much mind, as you weren't looking for an assistant position. You wanted to land a job doing website building for Blue Book. That is what you applied for and that is what you have skill in doing. So when your phone rang in the dead of night and you found out it was the CEO, Nathan, calling you directly about the emails and the assistant position, you were shocked. One thing lead to another and you found yourself living with Nathan while he began building AI.

Being Nathan's assistant isn't exactly what you hoped for, but it's not bad. You get to see how he works, what makes that genius tick. He's not as bad as you had heard, not as full of himself, but maybe that's just because he likes you. Working with him consists of observing him, helping him document things, getting tools and equipment while his hands are full, doing facial tracking studies, talking out loud in long sequences while he records your speech patterns. Some days it feels like he studies you more than he works on the AI. Not that you mind, his gaze is undeniably attracting, so much fascination and wonder behind those wire frame glasses. He leaves you with butterflies and longing for more than casual touches.

______________________

"Nathan?" You call softly from across the lab table he is sitting at, pushing wires into the gel mass brain unit to hook it up to his laptop. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Why did you choose me?"

He looks over his glasses as his hands still against the gel mass. He's going to lie, you know this look. It's so easy to tell. "I didn't choose you, it was random, I needed an assistant and you were a good fit."

"That's not like you. You wouldn't have some random mediocre website builder be your lab assistant."

"It's not like me? How would you know?"

"Well, I've been here for two months and I've worked and lived with you nearly every day for all hours except for when I'm sleeping. You're too calculated, precise, and prideful of your work to allow some random person into your life like this. So again, why did you choose me?"

Nathan sits up, folding his arms over his chest as he looks at you with a small smile on his lips. His eyes meet yours and you can tell he's intrigued. He has that look, like you're something shiny and new that he has yet to figure out. God you love that look.

"Well?" You push insistently. He sucks at lying to you and he looks as if he's going to try again.  

"I chose you because I studied you. For weeks I went through your data, your work, your photos and posts on social media. I selected you because I could see something in you that terrified me."

You raise your eyebrows. That was not the response you expected. The data thing did not surprise you, it's Nathan and he can do almost anything on the internet with the software Blue Book is built from. You expected an answer regarding your physical appearance, reducing you to the beautiful assistant, eye candy. Not that you terrified Nathan, which in turn terrifies you because you're not sure what about yourself would ever be deemed as such.  

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Yes." You smile softly, turning your head away to break his gaze. It's too much. Too intense. "You've thrown me for a loop."

Nathan pushes away from the table and walks around it to sit beside you. He turns on the stool and tilts your head to look at him, fleeting fingers careful against your jaw, eyes meeting, faces only a few feet away from each other. "I chose you because I see myself staring back at me."

"What?"

"The eyes are the window to the soul. When I saw your photo I knew I had to meet you in person. I would have done anything to meet you, to see you face to face because I wanted to be right."

"Right about what?"

He gathers your hands into his and your heart beat picks up, cold sweat prickling at the back of your neck. "There is a theory that a human soul can be split into two people. It's interesting to consider, not that I believe it entirely. It's a bit of a fairytale and all. I'm curious though and I wanted to study it."

"So you brought me here to study me?" You swallow harshly. This whole time you've been part of an experiment it seems. Wonderful.

"I did."

"So I'm not your assistant. I'm your specimen."

Nathan drops your hands and stands up, walking around the lab slowly, pacing almost. He has never seemed so nervous. "You're still my assistant. You assist me do you not?"

"Yes."

"Then you're an assistant."

"Nathan. You know that isn't what I mean."

He chuckles. "Don't worry about it too much."

"I'm going to worry. You're studying me!"

Nathan sighs and walks back over to you, cupping your face in his palms as if to make you listen to him better and your heart threatens to explode. He has never been this physically affectionate with you ever yet his touch is so familiar. "I would be studying you anyway. You're my assistant, my little poseable doll, my muse which I collect data from."

"This isn't making me feel any better. Actually, I feel insulted."

"I'm not insulting you."

"Doll?"

"Fine." He says harshly. It's as close to an apology as you will ever get.

"Thank you."

Nathan drops your face and walks away again. He seems anxious now. He strides along the length of the brightly lit lab tables, hands in his pockets. The silence that fills the room is stifling, awkward, and increasingly thick with unsaid thoughts.

You slide off of your stool and wander toward the table in the enclosed chamber at the back of the room. There are mechanical body parts on the table, like a person laid out for an exam or a surgery. It's strange to think that eventually these parts will be a working form, these wires and plastic and metal plates will be an artificial life form that looks and sounds like a real human. You turn suddenly and look back at Nathan. He's staring, your fingers touching the shoulder of the body before you. It's as if you could feel his eyes on you, as if you could see yourself through them actually.

"What're you doing?" Nathan asks as he leans against the entryway, his tone far calmer than his eyes would portray.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Let me tell you." He steps in the room and around to the opposite side of the exam table. "You're breaking my rules."

You pull your hand away and curl it against your side. "Am I?"

"Yes." He leans on the table, arms open, hands pressed to the cold top. "You're touching my work."

"Nathan I touch your work all the fucking time. I literally carried a leg across the lab for you earlier. What the hell are you talking about?"

"With permission. I gave you permission to carry that leg."

"Okay?"

"Did I tell you that you could come in here and touch this?" He gestures to the parts on the table. "Did you consider that it might not be a good idea to do that?"

"It's just laying here Nathan."

"But do you know that? Maybe I have something going on that requires these to be perfectly still."

"I put these in here yesterday. I laid them down and you haven't moved them since." You cross your arms and stare him down. "You're just trying to start a fight because you don't like the awkward tension in the room and a fight will change the subject off of why you hired me."

Nathan's head snaps up and he glares. Oh how he glares daggers right through your soul. You know you're right and he knows you're right. It's killing him not to have a comeback ready. He was so ready to fight about the AI parts that your breakdown of his thought process has destroyed all means of retaliation. It's satisfying, watching him flounder for a second.  

"Cat got your tongue?" You say with the biggest smirk. His own words, his own choice of phrasing thrown back at him.

"See this is why you terrify me."

"Because I called you on your bullshit?"

"Yes." He turns and heads for the entryway. "You call me out before I even realize what I'm doing."

"So you didn't plan on coming in here and trying to start something?"

"No, I mean I did I guess but it wasn't a coherent thought. I didn't go "oh I'm going to start an argument now because I want to deflect this awkwardness", I just did it because....well I guess it was my instinct." He runs a hand over his head and braces it against the back of his neck. "I need to go for a run."

"It's raining."

"So?"

"Wear a coat."

"Are you my mother now?"

"You're doing it again." You point at him and he scowls.

"I'm leaving."

"I'll run a hot bath."

"For what?"

"For you when you get back inevitably cold and sore because you over do it on the trail."

Nathan growls, literally growls and looks pissed. "Stop! Just stop! Get out of my head!"

You walk out of the chamber and past him toward the hall door. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"Don't."

"Didn't do anything."

"You will."

"Maybe. Go run."

"Fuck."

______________________

You decide to do some research of your own while Nathan is gone. You're not supposed to get on his computer, or really contact anyone in the outside world as per your non disclosure agreement. There are exceptions though. You technically cannot discuss anything that happens in the complex but you can discuss everything else. You could call your parents but you've not had the best relationship with them since you took the job with Nathan. They didn't understand, thought you were being coerced by him and they never wanted you to be in the tech field. They wanted you to be a doctor or a nurse. If only they knew how much Nathan paid you. They would forget about that medical field shit so fast. Unfortunately your pay is related to the job so you're not able to discuss it.

You take a seat at Nathan's desk and bring up the center screen. You can see him on the security camera on the backside of the house. He's sitting on the open air deck, rain pouring down on him. Not running. This is actually perfect, you can make sure to get off the computer as soon as he leaves the camera view.  

You pull up Blue Book and search "split soul theories". Tons of information pops up. You wade through the crap. Book titles, movies, songs and stuff. The only information you want is about the actual theory itself. Finally you find it, some spiritual website has the explanation you're looking for.

"Twin flames?" You mutter, skimming through the paragraphs of text.

The pages tell you about the theory that a soul can be split in two and those people are drawn together and are like two sides of the same coin. Kind of like soulmates but deeper, more connected, lives spanning every reincarnation. You shake your head. There is no way this is what Nathan is interested in investigating. It's too wild. He's a man of logic and science and biology. Not spiritual at all. Besides, you're not like him. At least you don't think so. Maybe you are...in some ways you can see how you're similar. That's disturbing and you're not going down that road.

The screen on the left is empty, the camera showing just a feed of the empty deck. Shit. You scramble to close the tab but it's too late.

"Oh dear, what are you doing?"

"Fuck," you whisper and turn around slowly to see Nathan standing in the doorway to the office. He's changed into his favorite white long sleeve and some sweatpants.

"Should I pretend you aren't on my computer with the browser open or should I just fire you now?"

"I wasn't doing anything against my NDA." You stand up and he gives you a look over his glasses.

He moves past you and sinks into his chair, turning abruptly to pull up your closed tab on the browser. "Twin flames huh?"

"Yep. Just looking shit up."

"Uh huh."

"Is that what you think we are?"

"No."

"Then what do you-"

"It's what I know we are." He turns back and raises his eyebrows. "You were watching me on the cams?"

You shrug. "Maybe."

"You're a little shit."

"As if you don't watch me when we aren't together."

"Touché." He stands and circles around to grab a book off the shelf behind you. He flips it open and starts scribbling something down.

You lean over trying to see and he tilts the book up. "What is that?"

"A notebook."

"Smart ass."

"I am." He gives his butt a smack and grins at you cheekily. "Don't worry what this book is."

"Secrets make enemies, don't you know?"

"Yes," he puts the book away on the shelf in plain sight. He knows you won't try to get it. You wouldn't disrespect his things like that, even though the lack of respect for your own is considerable in this house. "I have lots of enemies."

You roll your eyes. "That's because you're insufferable, Nathan."

"No it's because I have secrets."

"Wait, you just changed the subject...circle back here. What do you mean you know we're twin flames? How did I miss that?"

Nathan chuckles and puts his arm around your back. "You'll see, one day."

"What? That doesn't make any sense."

"Oh no it does." He guides you into the hall and closes the door behind him. "Once you think about it long and hard you'll realize it."

You walk ahead of him. "I don't get what that means and you're talking in riddles. I'm going to bed."

"I'm going to make dinner."

"And you're going to eat alone. Goodnight Nathan."

___________________

"I know you're awake." Nathan's voice floats through the door to your room. It's some time after midnight, days since you got into it with him about the twin flame nonsense. Yet it's been playing on your mind nonetheless. "Mi luna, can I come in?"

Mi Luna? What the hell is that about? He must be shit faced drunk. You know if you open that door you won't get any sleep. You also know he could just open it since his card is all access, but he is still asking. It's the little things.

"The door is open!"

Nathan peeks in, just his face appearing around the heavy glass door. "Mi luna, it's so bright in here."

"Yeah? I've got the lamps on. It's subterranean, remember? No windows."

He slides in and closes the door. As if someone were ever going to interrupt the two of you. "Lights off."

The lights go down to just the night lights under the vanity and in the bathroom remain on. You raise your eyebrows at the man walking so carefully across your bedroom. He doesn't seem to be stumbling. That's a good sign.

"What is mi luna all about?"

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know?"

"It means My Moon."

"Okay?"

Nathan flops down on the bed and crushes your feet under his butt. "I was thinking about pet names earlier. I hate them all." He's definitely drunk.

"But you like mi luna?"

"Yeah. Mi Luna y mi sol." He extends his arm up as if to touch something out of reach on the ceiling. "My moon and my sun. Sounds romantic."

"Romantic? Since when do you like anything romantic?"

He turns his head to look at you. You're glad you can't make his face out clearly in the darkened room. You fear his eyes will tell you more than you wish to know. "You make me soft."

"I make you soft? How?"

He lets his arm go limp, falling behind him on the bed. "You're so pretty, and you're smart too. So smart." He sighs heavily like a man with much on his mind. "I've had too much tequila."

You chuckle softly. "Oh boy."

"What?"

"I've never seen you drink it, tequila makes you a different kind of drunk."

"Yeah." He reaches out to you and you take his hand. He wiggles his finger tips against yours and makes a little do-do-do noise to go with it. "I wanna marry you."

"What?" Your heart stops and his hand goes limp under yours. "Nathan, what did you just say?"

"Nothing?"

"No you said you wanna marry me."

"If you heard it then why did you ask?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd lie."

He scoffs and sits up. "I didn't say that."

"Yes you did!"

"No I didn't. You misheard me. I don't even believe in marriage."

"Nathan."

"I'm going to the lab." He pushes off the bed and wobbles on his feet.

You kick his butt and he stumbles forward. "You're an asshole."

He looks back and even in the darkened room you can see his smile. "Am I?"

"Yes! Now get out of here. I want to sleep a few hours before you inevitably wake me up at an ungodly time despite having slept about three hours yourself."

He chuckles as he pads softly to the door.

"What's so funny?"

"I like waking you up early." He leans on the door frame, allowing it to support his body entirely. "It's my favorite part of the day. Your sleepy little yawns, heavy lidded eyes, they way your voice sounds so soft."

You ball your fists in the comforter and force down the butterflies that stir in your stomach. This isn't Nathan. This is a drunk lonely idiot. You can't catch feelings for him, he's your boss. It's honestly too late but that's not any of his business. "Go!"

"You like meeee!"

"Nathan please just go away!"

"It's my house. I don't have to." He teases and you throw a pillow at him. He laughs and slips out the door to avoid further projectiles.

You pull a pillow over your face and scream into it. He's frustrating, whiplash embodied. Fuck him and fuck how he makes you have butterflies in your stomach.

______________________

"Can I ask you something about the AI?"

"Any time." Nathan says as he punches at the bag hanging on the deck. He's been going at it for about an hour now.

You've been sitting and watching him, curled up on the bench wearing his white long sleeve shirt because it's cool out and you didn't want to go get something of your own. You've been sketching the scene of him boxing as if to preserve the memory. As if you won't be here again in a few days doing the same thing.

"Is this your first? The one on the table that we- you are building?"

He stops, steadying the bag a moment and giving you a troublesome smile. "No."

"What was the first one like?"

He returns to punching the bag in a steady rhythm. "She's human like. A little taller than me. I didn't get to make a head before the body malfunctioned."

You raise your eyebrows. "It was a woman?"

"Is. She is a woman, yes."

"She's still in around?"

"Yes." Nathan hugs the bag and looks at you almost lovingly, clearly excited to show you this AI he's kept a secret. "Do you want to see her?"

You stand from the bench you've been watching him on and he starts unwrapping his hands. You take note how his fingers look a little bruised, as if he were going too hard on the bag. "She's here?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why haven't you shown me?"

"You haven't asked."

"But we've been building a new one for this long. Why wouldn't you tell me you had another?"

Nathan grabs his glasses from the counter in the dining room as you pass through, following close behind him. He chuckles. "This new one is not going to be like the others."

"Others?"

"Yeah, the others."

"Nathan, how many are there?"

"Five?" He glances back and does a little hand motion to signify that he wasn't sure. "No, six."

You stop dead in your tracks outside the lab door. "Six? You've made six?"

He turns at the end of the hall and puts his hands on his hips. "I've been here for three years. Of course I've made six. Come on, do you wanna see them or not?"

You hurry ahead and step into where he's leading you. A lounge with big rock walls and built in cupboards. He scans his badge at the first cupboard door and opens it. Inside is half of a bot, no head, just a mechanical body with legs and no arms.

Nathan opens the next one. It has a head with a face, no legs but a torso and an arm. He opens the rest and you walk down the line. The closer you get to the end you realize they look more and more human. They have skin, and unique features, hair and everything. It's when you reach the last one that your heart stops.  

Before you is a spitting image of yourself. It's as if you were made of wax. Not quite right but not off the mark. She's complete, no missing parts, but only her face is skin, the rest is the robot base model.

"Do you understand now?"

"I don't understand anything. What the hell is this?" You step back, hands clinging to your sweater at your stomach. "Nathan what is going on?"

"I built her last year. This is part of the reason why you terrify me."

"But you said...you said that you saw yourself in me and that's what terrified you?"

Nathan closes the door and stands in front of you. "You're freaked out, I get it. When I said I saw myself I meant my mind, my vision. Not like me, obviously you don't look like me. I see my soul reflected back at me."

You stumble back onto the futon and stare up at the man before you. "You brought me here because of that? Because you made a bot that looks like me?"

He steps forward and sinks down, squatting in front of you, hands landing on your thighs. "I saw you in a dream, a very vivid dream like I was in another life all together and I modeled her after what I saw because I couldn't forget. I had no idea you were real until I came across the twin flame theory while researching dreams and I decided to try and find you."

"But how did you find me?"

"Blue Book. Once I made her I scanned her face for recognition and found hundreds of matches. I cross referenced her specific features, rough age estimate, a few other things and then I found you."

You shake your head in disbelief. "I was trying to work for Blue Book. I put in dozens of applications. I was gravitating toward you all along."

"Yeah." He says breathily. "Yeah you were."

"You're my soulmate?"

"Mmmhmm." He rubs your thighs comfortingly. "It's more than that. Soulmate is a pretty blanket term but what we are is twin flames. A soul split in two that rejoins in every lifetime. I never believed in something like that, but that dream was so unlike anything I've experienced it changed my mind. I'm a man of logic and science not fairy tales and fantasies. It tore me up for a long time."

You let out a little bubble of laughter and you quickly cover it up because it's not funny, it's disbelief. "You? Nathan Bateman is my other half?"

"Don't say it like that. It's not funny."

"This is a gag right? You made that mold of my face and slapped it on the AI for this. You're fucking with me." You push him and he falls back onto his ass. "You're an asshole."

"What?!" He gets to his feet as you stand from the futon. "You think I'm lying to you about this?!"

"Yes! Why would a man like you ever believe in that stuff? You don't even believe in marriage. You're lying to get me to sleep with you or something. You're playing into my feelings and fantasies and hopes of someday finding someone to share my life with forever." You head for the doorway and Nathan grabs your hand to stop you. "Let me go. This is cruel. I never thought you would go this fucking far as to-"

"I would never do that to you." In one fluid motion he pulls you close, cradles your face and presses his lips to yours. Fireworks explode behind your eyes as they fall closed. Your heart races, body frozen against his as the world comes crashing down around you. All at once you're dizzy, breathless, excited. You're overloaded, overwhelmed and you don't know what is happening.

"Do you feel it?" He asks and you open your eyes to find him only inches away. The moment your gaze meets his you know he isn't lying. "You're the only person who I've ever felt this connection with. You know how picky I am."

"You're not lying." You mutter, remembering all the times you couldn't stop staring at him. The times when you couldn't remove your eyes from his once they met. The way you move seamlessly around each other, as if you knew each other's next move every step of the way. And most of all how you can't imagine being away from him, how you never get tired of being in his company. "Since we met I've had this feeling, and when our eyes meet-"

"We can't look away."

"Yeah." You lay a hand on his cheek, fingers fanning out over his beard. It's a strange feeling, foreign under your touch. "What do we do now?"

"We keep going."

"Keep going? Going where?"

"Ahead, with the AI, with our relationship." Nathan presses his head to yours. "Together we're going to make a perfect AI. If I hadn't started this, gotten this far into it and made the AI I based off of the dream I had of you, we wouldn't be here right now. You wouldn't be here, we wouldn't have met. I wouldn't be able to make the newest model without you."

"Yes you could. This isn't like you to say you need someone. Have you slept?"

He chuckles. "Yes I've slept."

"You could make this AI without me. You don't need me."

"But I do." He steps back, cradling your face in his hands, thumbs on your cheeks stroking softly. "You've been the key to everything. I can study your features, your expressions, your eyes...fuck your eyes, man. Sure I can get all the data from Blue Book like I did before but you're different. You make me think differently about everything."

You lean into his hand on your cheek. "Kiss me again."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He slides his arms around your back and pulls you flush against him. His mouth covers yours, a sweet kiss turning hungry quickly. He backs you against the wall, arms caging you in as he licks into your mouth. He lets out the softest moan as your hand explores his chest. It's the most vulnerable you've ever seen him.

You arch against him and he lifts your leg up as you hook it around his. You run your hand over his back and stop at his shoulders, cradling the back of his neck. "This is what Nathan in love looks like?"

He kisses along your jaw and pulls back, glasses a little askew. He looks wrecked, completely gone. Like he's drunk but on you instead of liquor. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"You're damn right it is."

End

______

Thank you for reading. Please reblog if you enjoyed! - A

Header by delicate-venus

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[notfeelingthyaster]

Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids (5/7) or (10/12)

House of Hades AU Pt.1 - Perseus' Journey

Hello! Before reading this, check on the masterpost - it's essential for the understanding of this. Read the warnings before proceeding. Leave reviews, suggestions, and good reading :))

Perseus falls for what it feels like hours - but he counts thirty minutes inside his head - it gives him time to think and plan.

He has his ax - his warhammer left behind in the ship, unfortunately - no food, an empty canteen, his very drained powers, and absolutely no way to get to the Doors. If all the monsters are leaving through the Doors, he could follow them. But how? Would they be able to smell him? How quick would the story of a demigod in Tartarus get to the ears of Gaea's army?

He would be hunted all the way through - and how many obstacles could he really cross?

Nothing in his body was broken - but, every few moments, he could feel himself flicker - absolutely drained. His priority should find somewhere to rest, if he even survives the fall.

Perseus doesn't want to think that way, but he can calculate it: he was falling for about thirty minutes now. 30min x 60 = 1800s; 1800s x 10 m/s² = 18000 m/s. Or 64800 km/h. Simple physics = he shall be a smudge at the bottom of Tartarus.

In fact, the free-fall itself should be enough to at least dislodge his internal organs. Why is Perseus still breathing anyway? Is his godly blood maintaining him alive?

If he survives this nasty fall, he can go to the river of fire - he spent enough time in the Underworld to know that the Phlegethon shall keep him alive - perhaps at a horrible price. It might stop him from ever speaking - the dead keep screaming in the Fields of Punishment forever - but he is not dead is he?

Perseus sees a river approaching - he can't summon the shadows to cushion his fall - these shadows are rebelling and he is too weak. He doesn't want to drown, but between the sharp stones and the water, he chooses the water. 

Perseus curves himself into a ball and hopes his heritage will protect him. It still hurts - he probably broke at least five ribs and his right leg feels weird - but he is alive.

The voices in the river are tempting - and Perseus is weak. But his fear of drowning and the sheer willpower of getting the fuck back to his friends is enough. He'll get back to the earth. He will get to his mother. The gods don't get to take this from him.

They took enough.

He goes after the fire river - the Phlegethon is never too far from the Cocytus, Dante was mightily wrong in his self-insert fanfiction - and everything hurts.

Percy cannot walk properly - his right leg is really messed up, all of it - and each breath he takes, he wishes he never fallen down this hole.

A selfish part of his mind wishes he had just... let Annabeth fall. But he knows that his heart wouldn't let it happen - he would die for any of his friends. For any demigods - this was never for the gods.

Everything is trying to kill him. The air is poisonous, the earth is shards of glass, the stones are scaly, the ground is too hot, but he still feels cold - like everything in this place is draining him. There's a giant infinite of nothing stretching over him - no sun, no ceiling, nothing.

The pit feels alive somehow. There's a weird pulsing every time he takes a step, and sometimes he trips on weird purple purulent bubbles. Everything is also so humid and slippery - it's like walking on dead fish.

He shivers - is the beginning of sickness and intoxication settling onto him. Perseus doesn't have the luxury to vomit - not here, not now. He doesn't have nutrients to waste. Perseus stop thinking about the place he is in - the less he knows, the best.

Perseus is half pushing himself through, before getting into the margins of the lava river and just drinking huge mouthfuls. It's awful - it burns his hands, his chapped lips, and all the way down to his stomach. He can feel the taste of ash and blood in his tongue, and wonders if his voice will be the same after this.

It's such a capricious thought that it makes him chuckle mutely. He is lucky if he survives to destroy the doors. It's a miracle if Perseus ever reunites with his friends - he would gladly do it without his voice.

The lava heals most of his injuries - the scars never leave. His leg is still a little wobbly - like he might fall any second.

After he fills his canteen, Arachne appears in all of her dastardly glory - and Perseus hates her. It's her fault he is stuck in this mix between the ninth circle of hell and Mordor. Another immortal being with a sense of superiority and a grudge against the gods. It's her fault, and Perseus wants her to suffer.

She deserves it - Perseus doesn't blame her for her grudge in the gods, but she took it out in them, in the demigods, in his people. At least he could take this opportunity to take this blight from the world for a while.

He kills her - slowly. He starts by cutting her legs - every time one reaches for him, he racks it off. Then, when it tries to run away - or better, roll away - he beheads it.

Because it's not a she. It's not a girl of Athens with a bad case of hubris - it's a monster. A monster created by Athena - and how fitting that the goddess created the monster who stomped her children for centuries in a search the goddess send them in. Wise, indeed.

He keeps limping to safety - is there even safety in this hellhole? Damn Arachne, damn Athena, damn Annabeth for wanting to prove herself to the bitch.

He loves Annabeth - not the way she possibly wants him to, but love nonetheless - but this. This is her fault. If not for her misplaced want for approval and immensurable hubris, they might as well be all in the ship now. But that was always his destiny, wasn't it? 

Child of Hades - might as well die in the depths of hell for those ungrateful bastards. Wasn't that what they did to his father? Cast him into hell - and isolate him forever from earth and heaven. They must be so happy, so glad that he is here, again dying for immortal beings that don't care.

He is going to get out. And then, he is going to punch every single god that he ever restrained himself from doing so: Dionysus, Mars Ultor, Venus Verticordia, Aphrodite, Bacchus, Juno, Hera, Ceres, Zeus, Jupiter, his father, Nemesis, Invidia, Athena. Every single one of them. He has a growing list.

He keeps limping - most of the time, he borders the stones that litter the margins of the fire river. Sometimes, he hides in the shadows of the cliffs - Perseus cannot waste his strength, and the more that he stalls the monsters to know he is here, the most he lives.He can't keep hiding for long. 

Three cyclops pass through him - the exact ones who tried to kill him in his first quest after the Bolt. They attack him - Perseus kills all three of them. It’s their fault too - they should’ve killed him before.

Ugly #1 tries to attack him alone - his hubris is his downfall. Perseus cuts both his arms before finally spilling his guts on the fiery ground. Ugly #2 and #3 go down together - both with their heads split open under his ax.

Perseus has no need for mercy. He has an objective - and no obstacle will stay in his way. He does meet Bob/Iapetus in the way - and is sad, because he has no space for morals here - righteousness will only get him dead in this wasteland.

The titan wants to join him - after he destroyed his life. He can't remember anything - not even here, on the motherland. How much of a dick can he be?

A big one, apparently, because he decides not to tell Bob anything. He doesn't have the raw strength to fight a Titan. He doesn't have his powers - not even his warhammer. It's just him, his ax, and a lot of firewater. And now, Bob and his war shovel. Perseus is not telling a titan that he helped murder two of his brothers and wiped his memory.

Bob tells him they are far from the Doors - that time passes differently inside Tartarus. When Perseus tells him, in a raspy voice that he barely recognizes, that he's been here for almost a day, the Titan disagrees - he might've been here for an hour or a week, maybe more, maybe less. There's no way to know.

They keep walking. The titan's aura is almost enough to keep them safe, but some monsters don't care. Perseus kills two empousai, four carnivorous sheep, and a spartoi - what wonderful flashbacks. Bob kills thrice as much.

They stop to rest in a cave at a secluded part of a cliff. Perseus is unable to sleep - what if Bob remembers that he is not Bob and decides to kill Percy in his sleep? What if they are attacked? What if this poisonous ground swallows him when he closes his eyes? 

So he curls around his ax, with his back to the wall, and keeps his eye on Bob. Bob ends up talking to him - even if Perseus doesn’t think he can talk back - about Persephone's garden and the bloom of pomegranates on the cold of winter nights.

It’s wishful thinking, but Perseus wants to be thirteen again, scrolling through the underworld gardens barefoot, hand in hand with Kore. He remembers the smell of her hair and the curve of her lips, and the way the flowers purred under their joined fingertips. She was the first to touch him - besides his mother - and that he didn’t fear destroying.

The walls are covered with some viscous substance. He doesn't think much about it - the more he thinks, the more he sees. And he doesn't want to see.

They leave when a caravan of monsters pass - and Percy muses if he was able to close his eyes for even ten minutes. They crawl through small passageways and climb walls that feel like ice and fire for what it feels like a week - it's impossible to know. 

Perseus is collecting scars - the river of punishment heals him, but he can feel them under the rags he is using to cover himself. A hellhound left a cut across his face, and he wonders if he'll look like Luke now. His right leg is still acting up.

Seconds could be millenniums and centuries could be hours. The two of them rest five times - it’s how Percy is counting the time.

The war hasn't been won. But the monsters keep reforming and walking in the same direction as them, so they also haven't lost yet.

They find a cat - a skeleton saber-tooth tiger, because this is the place for happy memories - and it just keep following them. It reminds him of Blackjack - and he doesn't have the heart to kill it.

Percy wonders if any of his friends are dead. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to fight for his friendship with Annabeth, if he’ll ever joke with Leo, mess Hazel’s curls, get scolded by Will, or teach Piper math.

He wonders if he’ll ever ask Jason to teach him how to swim to get over his fear of drowning, ask Nico the rules of Mythomagic or simply talk quietly with Frank again.

He wonders if he’ll ever get to choose a college, if he’ll ever see his friends and tell them how much he loves them again. Percy wonders if he’ll ever go on a date, see cheesy movies, have his first kiss with a boy.

He wonders if he’ll ever taste his mother’s cookies again. He misses the warm touch of the sun in his skin, and the days he didn’t survive on lava and sheer stubbornness.

They meet the Arai in a cliff - and Perseus cannot stop killing them. The first curse that falls upon him it’s dust, choking and strangling him - like so many enemies that he let the earth devour. Then the blindness - the same he inflicted in Hyperion with his shadows - and his feet turn to lead - Hercules. One after the other, all the monsters that he killed get their comeuppance - Perseus does not regret any of them.

One of the curses, however, doesn’t come from a monster or an enemy - it’s from Lee Fletcher. His heart aches with loss, a suffering Perseus doesn’t feel in a long time - depression, his punishment for killing Michael Yew.

Perseus regrets it - he also regrets Bob, who stands aside and does nothing to interrupt his suffering. Perseus doesn’t blame him - perhaps he would have done the same, have their positions been reversed.

He feels his blood boil - his body hurts with the pains of the injuries he inflicted through the years - and he knows Phineas’ curse will be the one which finally takes him.

Suddenly, Bob helps. It’s Kore who interceded in his name - the only deity who never failed him. But it’s too late - he doesn’t feel pain anymore. It’s a sign - a sign that he is going. 

He is glad Bob wiped the Arai - at least now, he can go in peace. In the middle of his haze, he looks around and finally understands what he is blocking and denying since this journey started.

Tartarus is not a place. Tartarus is the personification of everything bad - and it’s horrifying in such a level he closes his eyes - he doesn’t need his last moments to be a nightmarish landscape.

Percy can feel himself flicker. Since coming here, he wasn't able to use his powers well. Now he knows is probably because the "ground" is no ground, and he can't travel in the shadows, because the shadows are corrupted. Because this is beyond his father's domain, beyond the gods.

He closes his eyes and imagines Elysium - the children that fell in the first war. The soldiers of the Twelfth Legion that died to protect their home. Michael Yew, Castor, Silena, Bianca, Ethan, Charles. They are waiting for him on the other side.

If he dies here, does he even get to go there? What happens to demigods that die in the dark lands of monsters? Did he get to die? Or was he a part of this now? Would he reform eventually?

Bob is carrying him somewhere. He tried to force-feed him lava - but Perseus could have told him it wouldn’t work. There’s a limit even to magic rivers.

He must have passed out, because when he opens his eyes, he is in a gigantic bed, in a place he doesn’t recognize. Percy looks through the window. It’s not Camp, not Nova Roma, not Argo II - and definitively not Elysium.

The air is red and green and he can see the fires burning at a distance, the mountains of the body he is walking. He is still stuck in Tartarus.

Did he reform? Was Iapetus able to save him? How much time did he stay asleep? Where are they? Percy is pretty sure a house is not part of the Tartarus package.

The demigod tries to sit up, but something is weird. He looks down, and where his full right leg once was, now lies a half-metal one. 

Perseus can see gears turning, the places where the bronze meets black. When he tried to lift it, it answered as if that is his own - even the same weight. His mid-thigh is still meat and bone - but the rest isn’t his.

He touches his knee - knocks into it, twice. It's hollow and clangs like metal, but somehow, he can feel it. Perseus tries to detach it: impossible. Little tubes seen to stick in his upper tight.

Bob is outside - he is talking to someone. He enters the room, but Perseus doesn't see who is.

Bob - or, well, Iapetus - tells him that the weight of his earth-related curses, plus the sheer blood that he lost, was too much for his already damaged leg, the bone broken in at least five or six parts and an infection settling in. He wouldn't survive the fever - so the titan had to cut it off.

"When the Labyrinth fell, it fell here, leaving junkyards everywhere. There's one that is too close to the Mansion of the Night, so almost no monster goes there. Me and our host, we are no monsters - so we go there sometimes. We found a leg for you - from a mechanic body marked as Sextus."

Sextus - where had Perseus heard something similar? Oh, that's right. Quintus. He was wearing the prototype of Daedalus next body, that he never got to use because Percy freed - banished - him to the Underworld.

He says he adapted it a little - it was too short for Perseus, so they needed to bastardize an arm to make the socket a little bigger - and connected into his thigh.

"It was a pretty simple process - this version is advanced enough that the tubes connected themselves, we just had to put a little fuel. It will be like your own leg."

Percy wants to scream. This is not his leg. He wants this leg out, now, and his leg back. It feels wrong. Dead - he can see little tubes not unlike veins, but there's just lava running on them.

So this is what Daedalus used to fuel himself - the waters of Phlegethon, damned waters to fuel his damned life.

This is just a nightmare - how is he going to survive this without a limb? Will he be able to walk? Fight? Run?

But his voice escapes him - Percy is still too damaged from the lava. His scars itch - they are of a pale red, and he has all kinds of them. He must be a terrible person to attract such curses - the weight of Lee's curse was removed from his chest, but not his mind.

The neural connections in this must be pretty good, because he is able to feel when his "foot" touches the ground. It takes him a few minutes to readjust - bit it's just like nothing happened.

But it did. That's not his leg. That's not his limb - that's alien. It feels and it walks and it works even better than his old messed up right leg - but at least the messed up right leg was his.

Perseus has no need for limping now - but as he looks at his first mirror since this started, he staggers.

His whole body is mapped by white and red scars that mix with keloids - a jumbled mess of raised patches and ugly patterns. In his face, there's a scar just like Luke's - from his forehead to his jaw, crossing his left eye.

Perseus puts on his ragged shirt - he hates the scars on his chest - but he looks at his eye, and thinks it suits him - it's a mark of betrayal, of the gods' abandonment.

His hair is no longer the short curls he gained while in Nova Roma - now it's a big dirty mess that Percy can't cut or do anything about, so he just bundles it up on the top of his head, out of the way.

Jeez. He is a mess.

Everytime Percy takes a step, his "foot" clangs against the floor. He tugs his semi-destroyed shoes in, and goes with Iapetus - to meet their misterious host.

It turns out not all giants are bad - of course, Perseus thought that Damasen shouldn't be the only exception - Porphyrion, the one Jason fought, should've been so different. Enceladus too - wasn't Athena a goddess of war?

If they are supposed to be their complete opposite, why Ephialtes and Otis were all for parties? Why was Porphyrion just as arrogant as Zeus, why was Polybotes able to raise tides and shake the ground?

Perseus doesn't trust Damasen. He might be the "gentle" giant. But he could - easily - kill a drakon everyday. Maybe he first killed the drakon to help a girl - Moira was her name - but doesn't change the fact that he is able to kill a drakon.

He is grateful for the leg - grateful, even if a grudge is clawing it's way to his heart with the force of a thousand suns - so Perseus thanks the giant, drinks the broth of drakon meat, and rests.

They stay there for a while - Perseus doesn't count time well. Damasen does not seem really happy to let him stay - but Iapetus has some hold over him. He tries to convince the giant to fight for them, but for no result.

Damasen tells him that, while Gaea locked him here, he would never get accepted by either side - the gods would never let him live between them. He has no reason to pledge his loyalty to anyone.

Iapetus/Bob and him sit together. It doesn't feel like forgiveness when the titan finally talks to him. They talk about Zoe Nightshade and Calypso of Ogygia, and the stars above. The titan tells he misses it - his family, his granddaughters - he calls them little stars, because of their father.

Perseus doesn't talk much about their sorrows - he focuses on the way Zoe was determined on doing everything for what she believed on, and Calypso's cunning mind and sweet words.

Iapetus doesn't forgive him - But he does tell Perseus he has a plan.

Apparently, he cannot cross the army of monsters being a demigod - he would be dead in seconds. He only survived up until this point because of his connection to the Underworld.

So Perseus needs to find Akhlys - the goddess of misery - and get the Death Mist, something to shroud him from everything trying to kill him.

Even Damasen's helpfulness has an ending - when Polybotes comes after vengeance, Iapetus helps Perseus run away - with just his rags, a canteen of firewate, his ax and his new leg.

He hates his leg. It answers almost like it's his, and he can walk almost perfectly with it, and when they had to stop and fight a cyclops, it didn't stop Perseus.

But he hates it. Percy wants himself back. He wants out of this desert and doesn't think there's a single good feeling inside him anymore.

But he has to keep going, keep walking. For Nova Roma. For the Camp. For Reyna, Malcolm, Will, Frank, Jason, Piper, Hazel, Leo, Nico, Connor, Alabaster, Grover, Bob, Clarisse, Paola, Annabeth, Rachel, Persephone, Kore, his mom.

Perseus' stomach rumbles with hunger - he grew too comfortable with the drakon's meat stew in his stomach and the rough blankets beneath him. He got too pampered - time to go back to the hot shards of something beneath his cheek and the taste of fire in his tongue.

Now, at least, he can sleep a little - when he is not plagued by nightmarish visions of what he can now see, or of his friends dying because he is stuck here and unable to help. If Iapetus hasn't killed him until now, it's very improbable that he will.

He keeps muttering to himself - Reyna, Malcolm, Will, Frank, Jason, Piper, Hazel, Leo, Nico, Connor, Alabaster, Grover, Bob, Clarisse, Paola, Annabeth, Rachel, Persephone, Kore, Sally - a chant for hope that never stops. Their names sound bad in his tongue - like he is corrupting them.

The closest they get to the goddess house, the more miserable he gets - Hazel, Leo, Nico, Connor, Alabaster, Grover, Bob, Clarisse, Paola, Annabeth, Rachel, Persephone, Kore, Sally - as if he should just stop hoping, stop yearning.

He'll never leave this Pit - Alabaster, Grover, Clarisse, Paola, Annabeth, Rachel, Persephone, Kore, Sally - he'll die here. If not for the names that keep him going, Percy would just drop down. Stay there, become part of this forest of desolation.

Iapetus can't follow him into misery's lair. The titan has no need for death mist - he can take the direct path to the monsters that wait in the Doors.

So they part ways - Iapetus goes back through the Central Wasteland, and Perseus goes forward - into the Poison Meadows of Akhlys.

Perseus sees the goddess of misery - and thinks she looks the part. She and her shield - Hercules' shield - crying eternally.

She denies his request - but he taunts her. Is she just a minor goddess? Wouldn't she want the Tartarus to be filled with wails of the monsters, unable to go out for decades at a time?

Akhlys agreed - but Perseus wasn't sure. She was a little too eager - not something you want from a primordial goddess based on feelings. Elemental gods are so much easier.

And she was too poison-happy for Percy's liking. The way she smiled, fat tears and snot running down her face didn't impress him though: every time he looks around he sees this convoluted primordial of hell and was two minutes off snapping, so.

Rachel, Persephone, Kore, Sally.

Everything around him was wet and disgusting - like most of Tartarus. Maybe being the habitat for thousands of your children isn't the highest of body care.

They stopped near the void, the emptiness stretching beyond him as sure as nothing was above him. He could feel it pulling at his soul - did he even have a body? Or was he just smoke now?

Somehow, his metal leg clung onto him. His ax didn't fall from his hand, although he felt like the weight of the sky was again in his shoulders - he felt at the same time, eighty years older and as if he was nothing at all.

Death always clung at him - he was a spawn of Hades, a hellish being. Perseus always ran cold - and some people, the ones that thrived on life, couldn't get close to him without shivering. But this - this is what death felt like.

Not being dead - being dead can be either peaceful or eternal torment - this is the permanent state of death. Like he is just about to die, but there wouldn't ever be a release.

Persephone, Kore, Sally

Under him, there was Chaos and Nyx - the two primordials that formed the world. How many of those never leave this pit, never got their cults advanced, and were reborn in between the gods above?

Hecate, Nemesis, Eros, Eris, Morpheus, Hypnos, Geras, the Moirai, all of them, dwindling between the Olympians. Did they laugh at their stupid dominions over physical mattters - while they manipulated the world like puppeteers?

For how many times the arrows of love touched the immortals? How many decisions were made under the influence of dreams or vengeance? How many fates did the Fates decide in the strings of their tapestries?

Erebus - the eternal darkness. That is what is lurking above them. Perseus sneaks a lookup - and he can see curves of a person where should be nothing, the points of sharp teeth - it scares him far more than Tartarus.

Akhlys wants to kill him - Percy is not actually shocked. Everything in this Pit is trying. He tried to slash at her with his ax - but his ax was smoke, and Perseus has a very bad control over spirits, so it's to no surprise he was awful at controlling his own spiritual form.

Akhlys advances on him - and, conveniently, she can hurt him. He dodges as much as he can, but inevitably, she caught up to him.

She gives a swipe at his metal leg, her hands are around his neck - the goddess of misery is trying to suffocate him with her poisonous claws. Perseus hates suffocating.

"Stop... P-Please..."

Kore, Sally.

"Misery doesn't stop, misery is everything you'll ever know"

Perseus can't do much, but as he fights back, he feels it - in the bottom of his stomach, a pulling. The same pulling he uses to open the earth and to summon skeletons, coming from Akhlys.

Then, he touches her.

And Akhlys screams.

Perseus can feel the pulling, the way her immortal life is trying to stay in her body - but he pulls harder and harder.

"Please... Please stop."

She is aging under his eyes - he can take everything from her. Perseus is death - and life has touched him. He wants her to suffer. He wants to see how miserable Misery can be.

"Decay is inevitable, decay is everything you'll ever know."

Around him, the poisonous plants thrive, bloom to full beauty. Under him, Akhlys never dies - she shrivels, wailing as he begs him to stop.

But Perseus is death and life. Perseus is decay - he can take and take and take, and leave only an empty husk behind. He would never stop - he would destroy everything in his path, in this wasteland that he was sent to die by Fate.

Sally.

It's his mom's name that brings him back to reality. He jumps off the shriveled corpse-looking goddess and scrambles backward as she scampers away.

Perseus doesn't know how much time he passes there, in between the garden of poison, looking at his hands and shivering. He became what he feared the most: his touch is poison.

It's been many years, but Percy wants his sweaters and his gloves back. He wants to be covered, so no one will ever touch him again - he wants to cut his hands off. He is dangerous.

A deep, dark part of him wants to kill - what is the difference if he kills them by decay or with a stone spike? They would be dead either way.

Maybe he belongs here - he muses - maybe he became a monster, just like the ones he killed. Maybe he would just die and reform here, eventually.

Is he even a person anymore? With his metal leg and destructive skin - how much of him is god? Can he decide the fate of life - is this his heritage?

He hates himself, this situation, this life. The poisonous flowers flourish under his fingertips - and he wonders if he touches a daisy, it'll shrivel and die just like Akhlys.

But he traded a goddess for another, for who would appear other than Nyx. Perseus tricks her - says that he is making a map of Tartarus, for his father, but that she isn't really in the itinerary.

Nyx doesn't believe in his lie - she is a primordial goddess, not an imbecile. He calls her minor goddess, however, and that's enough to get her mad: hubris is a failing of most deities.

She gets mad, invokes her children to kill him - of which Perseus knows quite a few and would prefer if he didn't. So he starts talking - a way of stalling them - and promptly proceeds to try and make her tell him which one of them is the worst.

The children of Nyx - all with terrifying metaphysical dominions - start an enormous fight - which is enough for him to slip through with closed eyes - one is not supposed to look at the Mansion of Night.

He runs - and he feels them behind him. Their powers can't affect him - he is almost dead after all - but they are gods - stronger and quicker than him.

But Perseus prays and he runs, using the stone under him to propel his feet. He feels like he is running for years when he finally reaches the end of the hallway - finally on the margins of the Acheron.

The son of Hades hates water. But worse of all, he hates water that remembers him of his failures. Michael Yew, Silena, Charles, Ethan, Luke - his fault. Their blood is in his hands. He made Misery miserable - he should jump.

He doesn't. The Nyx cavalry wakes him up from this display of guilt and regret - it's a breakdown he had way too many times in Tartarus, and he is not doing this now.

Perseus uses a stone to propel himself over the River - his adrenaline making him soar through the air. He falls on the other side of the water - and doesn't break anything. He can't - he is made of smoke.

Bob - definitely Iapetus now - has his memories back. When they meet again, it's closer to the doors - who are being watched by glowing Hyperion and Krios - the titan Jason killed.

By the time they reach the Doors, all the Gigantes have returned to the mortal world - or at least, it's what Bob tells him. Even the giants they already killed - here they are again, making a mess.

Perseus tries to be sneaky - but there's no sneaky way to subtly destroy the chains that hold the Doors in hell. The monsters almost don't notice him.

But Tartarus centainly does.

And if he thought seeing Tartarus was bad - well, actually seeing him in his interim is way worse.

Tartarus has the skin he's been walking for who knows how long - slimy and greyish - with red eyes and a vacuum-like face - he seemed to suck the life out of them.

He attacks Perseus - calls him an intruder, tells him that he cannot freely walk him. Perseus wants to scream - He didn't want to be here either! This wasteland took his voice, his leg, his humanity. It took everything from him!

Unexpectedly, Damasen comes to his rescue, having tamed the Maeonian drakon. Bob uses his shovel to do the same - while Small Bob stays around Perseus' heels.

"It's your time to save the world, demigod. This is not the last sacrifice in the war you're raging against Gaea."

Percy enters the elevator. Bob stays to hold the button - he can't take him upside like they talked about. Damasen can't come - they'll die so Perseus can go save the world.

"Twelve minutes. Take Small Bob with you. Don't let them kill him - tell the stars I said hello."

So he starts going up. Perseus holds the Doors firmly shut as he looks at himself - a mechanical leg, a skeleton tiger in his ankles. He wonders if he'll make it upside. If part of him won't ever leave Tartarus - if when he dies, is there he'll appear.

The Elevator shakes - once, twice. Maybe he'll die here. Maybe it's better than what he is going to face when the doors open - it's definitely better than what he left behind.

He doesn't think about Bob and Damasen dying behind him, for him - he doesn't think about it at all.

The doors finally stop. He is not sure twelve minutes have passed - maybe it was less, maybe it was more. Perseus thinks this is it. He is not ever coming out. He walked the whole Tartarus, faced horrors far beyond any mortal ever had to, to now die because of doors.

Then he sees the light, and just let the doors go. Perseus takes one look at them - he can see at least two people and a giant - and takes one step out.

He breathes - ozone, oxygen, pure air - and then passes out, crushed under the sheer pain of life.

[undertaker1827]

Heyyy can I request Ciel, Sebastian, and Undertaker with a female S/O who trains really hard and just completely destroys their body most of the time? Like maybe she does it so she can defend herself and be a little badass!!

OMG I’m so sorry this took so long, I really loved writing them!! Life is so busy!! Also this is my first Ciel fanfic so I hope he’s not too OOC. Again I’m so sorry, hope you enjoy!

-

Ciel

The young earl was briskly walking through Phantomhive Manor, trying to find you. He checked all of the rooms where you usually were, but you weren’t there today. That was when he realised. You were training. Again.

It wasn’t that he minded your training, in fact he approved greatly, given how dangerous the world was. It was just how you went about doing it. It was nothing for you to reappear after hours of your favourite pastime nursing a fractured wrist or with an added limp to your usual stride. Ciel let out a sigh of frustration. Truthfully, he wasn’t frustrated at all, just concerned for your wellbeing. Not that he would admit it to anyone else.

The earl’s cane and shoes tapped rhythmically on the superbly polished floors as he made his way to the back of the mansion. Once outside, he rounded a corner to the place which had been designated as your training area. He took a moment to observe you before approaching.

Your hair was pushed back from your glistening forehead and your eyes glinted in the sunlight. Blood was running down the side of your face and a tear in your trousers allowed a purple bruise to shine through. You were fiercely staring down your opponent, a DIY training dummy. The remains of its brethren were littering the ground at your feet.

“Y/N!” He called out, just as you swung your sword to decapitate your target. The perfect kill shot completed, you spun to face him, sword held in a defensive pose. You spun and twirled it a couple of times when you saw your audience.

“Hey Ciel!” You smiled and made your way over, embracing him despite his protestations, then turned to look at the damage you had done to the ‘enemy army’. “Not bad for a day’s work, huh?” You joked, turning to face him only to be met with an even more serious expression than usual. You slowly raised an eyebrow, attempting to work out what was going through his mind.

“You have got to stop doing this to yourself.” Well that wasn’t what you were expecting. When you asked what he meant, he gave around ten minute’s worth of monologue on how although fighting skills and defence were incredibly important and useful things to have, it wasn’t worth putting your body through so much to get them. Whilst you disagreed vehemently with this point, you dialled your response down quite significantly. He was showing that he cared about you, after all; that was no cause to be angry. Especially considering how often (or less so) he outwardly showed that kind of emotion.

You loved your work though, you truly enjoyed it and thought it was worth every scar. Besides, the best fighters are the most awesome people, everyone knows that. In light of this, you knew full well that you wouldn’t be giving up on this fighting any time soon and as of yet, you still dreamed of the day you could put it to good use.

-

A few hours later, you had made your goodbyes and were on your way back to your own home. Your brisk pacesjad just left the manor and made it onto the street when you sensed something flying towards your head. Within seconds, you had twirled to avoid it and unsheathed your sword to use it as a counterbalance. As you spun to face whatever had almost hit you, you were met with the barrel of a hand gun. The guy holding it seemed quite young and fairly inexperienced when it came to what he was doing; his hand was trembling slightly and his eye was fixed on the gun, not you. You smirked.

Before he could react, you flicked your sword up underneath his gun so when he fired it out of reflex, the bullet soared over your head. You gave a punch to his jaw with the other hand, then used the sword to knock the gun from his grip entirely. You hooked a boot behind his knee to throw his leg forward, simultaneously throwing the heel of your palm into the vulnerable part of his shoulder to floor him. With a boot planted firmly against his chest and the tip of your sword resting at his throat, you took a moment to think back over what had just happened.

You still help this pose about a minute later when butler and earl rushed down the drive in hot pursuit of whoever was firing bullets. They stopped abruptly on seeing it was you who had apprehended the assailant.

“My, my, Lady Y/N. All those hours spent training do seem to have paid off, wouldn’t you agree, Young Master?” Sebastian commented, eyes flicking from you to Ciel, who was standing flabbergasted, mouth agape.

“What’s the matter?” You questioned, a glimmer in your eyes, “You just realised why you should worry less and encourage me to train more often?”

Sebastian

Sebastian had finally managed to get away from the Young Lord for long enough to address the situation at hand, that being the fact that you were training. He fancied he could smell your blood all the way from the manor. The demon was all in favour of you being able to protect yourself, especially given the inevitable danger likely to arise from the fact that you were with him. However, your method of doing it meant he felt he had to check up on you regularly.

It took him barely any time at all to get to your house, whereupon he let himself in with the key you’d entrusted to him (he wouldn’t dare break a lock on your door or window, despite his rush) and walked straight through to the outdoor area where you spent so much time. Sebastian opened the back door gently, not wanting to startle you. As it was, you were so enthralled in your expert workout regime that you didn’t notice his arrival. This being the case, he spent an appreciative few moments watching you in your element. Your face was slightly flushed from the extended period of exertion. Your workout clothes glimmered and every muscle tensed as you made your way through a DIY obstacle course of barrels, water, wooden planks and anything else you could get your hands on. It was after you finished this latest round that you felt someone watching you. You grinned when you realised who it was, rushing over to Sebastian and telling him how much you’d missed him. The demon’s arms locked around you immediately, but he soon pulled away.

His crimson eyes flashed as they ran over your body, taking in every injury, however minor, and calculating how best to help it heal, how long you would take to fully recover. Far too long for the demon’s liking. You raised a hesitant eyebrow at the staring which quickly wilted again when he met your gaze. He sighed gently, running a hand back through your hair as his eyes stayed fixed to yours.

“You should be more careful,” he murmured quietly, holding eye contact to gauge your reaction. You gave a lopsided, playful grin.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you replied with a sarcastic lilt, “I thought you were the one who said this was a good idea~” Sebastian couldn’t keep the smirk off his lips.

“I believe I did, didn’t I... Well it simply wouldn’t do for me to change my opinion now, hmm?” You pulled the best posh and proper stance you could manage.

“I’m afraid it would not,” you mimicked, to a light shaking of his head.

“On a serious note, though, humans can die from the most inconsequential of injuries. I have seen plenty fall from wounds you likely wouldn’t even notice you had obtained.” You nodded, conceding his point.

“But you know I’m going to carry on like this, right?” You confirmed, having no intention of giving up your favourite thing.

“Oh I’m well aware. I just wish you to know that I intend to be here to clean every wound and heal every injury.” You smiled. You could never help but feel privileged when you were exposed to this softer side of Sebastian, as though you were one of a very small number who he allowed to see it. You truly appreciated the trust he put in you.

“Thanks, love,” you replied, “I’m glad.” Instead of answering in words, he rested his forehead against yours, only for you to feel his gloved fingers curl around the handle of your sword, over your own hand. You the smile brightened your face by its own will, you had no choice in the matter. You took in every minor detail of the demon, the way the sun sent ethereal streaks through his pitch black hair, how his crimson eyes seemed to glow. One day, you thought, you fully intended to fight by his side, once the opportunity presented itself. Something was telling you you wouldn’t have to wait too long.

Undertaker

You knocked on the door of the familiar funeral parlour, waiting for its owner to let you in. When he did, Undertaker curled a gentle hand around the back of your head, the other arm wrapped around your comparatively small shoulders to draw to you into his chest. You closed your eyes and hugged him back, hard, having not seen him for over a week. Work had been too busy for you to get away.

“Missed you, love,” the mortician murmured into your hair, breathing your scent in deeply. You smiled happily.

“I missed you too,” you said replied, squeezing your arms again to reinforce what your words. He did the same in return. Without letting go, you both stepped back into the shop, Undertaker kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot. You moved to one of the many coffins on the shop floor, him sitting down and pulling you to rest on his lap. You huffed out a laugh, moving one hand to weave it through his hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, tilting his head to the side so that his bangs split over one eye. You stared into it intently, gaze locked and finding yourself unable to look away, as was always the case when you saw his eyes. He knew full well the effect they had on you, meaning he made sure you always did.

After a few more moments, the mortician suggested making tea for you both. You stayed in the front room, but it only took you a few moments to decide he was taking too long.

When Undertaker walked into the front of the parlour on hearing the noise of something breaking, he hadn’t exactly been expecting to see you using his candles, positioned in various heights and places, as target practice. Apparently, to refine to your skills, you had set the candles alight and were neatly separating the burning wicks from the wax in which they were secured. He didn’t mind in the slightest - the room wasn’t exactly what you would call regularly cleaned and death was lurking everywhere anyway. However, he knew from the millisecond that the foot you were going to use to propel yourself from one of the coffins started to slip that he was about to have some excellent teasing material.

As you started to fall, dagger extending from your palm in a doomed attempt to save yourself, Undertaker stepped calmly forward and wrapped a precise arm beneath your ribs, bringing your rapid descent to a halt before you could land awkwardly on the very coffin that that had caused you to trip. To make matters better (for the reaper) you had let out an incredibly uncharacteristic squeak as he rescued you. The grin had already suffused his features as he hauled you back upright and into his chest.

“My, my love,” he giggled, one eye partially visible and locked with yours, “I guess you could say you’ve fallen for me!” Unable to contain himself further, the mortician burst into raucous laughter, clutching you to him even tighter as a result. Of course, attempting to escape was futile, which you knew by now anyway, so you did your best to allow the very amused yet vaguely embarrassed effect of your failure fade whilst he was still distracted. It went off quickly, as Undertaker’s laughter was nothing if not infectious. In no time at all, you had joined in and we’re both falling about together.

With the laughing fit mostly over, you managed to flip the dagger around and the sharpened blade away from you both so that you could embrace Undertaker properly in return. This time when you looked at him, you could see both vibrant green eyes looking playfully back at you. You raised a hand to comb it back through his bangs, pushing them further to one side, intending to just stay quiet for a minute. In fact, seeing his whole face just made matters worse as the giggles that had been hastily hidden resurfaced in mere seconds. Again, you couldn’t help but do the same and before you knew it, Undertaker had jumped up.

“You should’ve-” he gasped desperately for air, “Should’ve seen your face, love!!” He was practically cackling at this point, watching you with your face in your hands and your shoulders shaking as you wheezed. You glanced up as you heard him step again, only to fall backwards with tears running down your face as he did an impression of your fall from greatness.

Hours later, and decidedly later than you had intended, you were both curled up in the back room together, still laughing about the day’s events.

[waitingfortherightpartner]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (Part Three)

Previous Chapter - Master List

A/N: Thanks for all the love!

Tagging: @liajiah​ @tiffanynguyen03 @tazzi-baby​

-

You aren’t in the briefing.

Physically, you’re sitting in your chair, watching as Tony talks through the mission, explaining the exact layout of some Hydra fortress, complete with holographs and specs. 

But you’re deep inside your head, thinking about Steve’s offer.

Your deeply analytical, busybody brain keeps running it through your head, playing out every scenario possible, looking for reasons not to do it. 

And then you make the mistake of glancing over at Bucky, and finding his eyes glued to yours. You only make eye contact for a split-second before your eyes dart down again, and by then, your mind’s made up.

As soon as Tony finishes talking, you jump up. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Bucky, his eyes still on you, slowly making his way over. You walk quickly in the opposite direction, accidentally propelling yourself into Steve.

“Hi,” he says, a grin on his face.

“Hi,” you reply. “Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” he says. 

“Yeah,” you say.

“I’m going to kiss you right now,” he says quietly.

“Oka-” you barely have time to get the word out before Steve’s lips are on yours, and this time, you’re really able to concentrate on the feeling of Steve’s lips against yours, as your hand creeps up his shoulder into his hair.

Sharon was a lucky girl.

“So this is why you were late.”

You pull back from Steve to see Nat, smirking at the two of you as the rest of the room just stares, wide-eyed. You can’t find the right words, so you offer something between a shrug and a nod.

“Good,” she says, patting you on the shoulder. “I always thought you two would be great together.” 

You let out a laugh, grabbing Steve’s hand and quickly pulling him out of the room. You hear someone let out a wolf-whistle and you roll your eyes.

In all your planning and calculation, you didn’t stop to think beyond the logistics of what would happen. Yes, you knew you would be pretending to date Steve, but a part of you hadn’t quite registered that other people, people other than Bucky, would realize that.

“We need some ground rules,” you say quietly to Steve as you press the button for the elevator, heading to your floor.

“What, like a contract?” Steve says.

“We need to be vaguely on the same page,” you say. “Because it’s not just the team. I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re kind of Captain America.”

“Don’t worry, I noticed,” Steve says and you laugh, giving him a playful shove.

“You know what I mean,” you say.

“I really don’t,” Steve replies.

“You’re Captain America,” you say. “America cares about you and your life."

“They care about you too,” Steve says and you shake your head.

“It’s not the same,” you say. “My face isn’t on lunchboxes. Anyways, my point is, the public is going to find out about this. And we need to be ready, because the paparazzi actually follows you.”

“Ready?” Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow. The door to the elevator opens and you step off onto your floor, grabbing the first pad of paper and pen that you spot.

“Think of it as a long-term undercover mission,” you say. “But instead of being killed if the truth comes out, we’ll just destroy my life and the lives of all the people we care about.” 

Steve grins at you as he throws himself down onto your couch, draping his legs across the seat. You glare at him until he lifts his legs high enough for you to sit down, before he settles his legs across your lap.

“Sounds about right,” Steve says. “Higher stakes.”

“Yep,” you say. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You’re going to have to lie to your best friend.”

“It’s for the best,” Steve says, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re friends with him and Nat, this protects all of you from anything getting complicated.”

“That’s sweet,” you say, and you mean it. You know how close Steve and Bucky are, and the fact that he’s willing to do this means more than you thought it would. “Where are we doing our first public date?”

“Coney Island,” Steve says.

“Coney Island?” you grimace.

“No, no, what’s with the face?” Steve protests. “Coney Island is classic, it’s where Bucky and I used to take girls back in the day. It has to be Coney Island.”

“Sorry,” you say. “I’m more of a Disneyland person.”

“Have you even been to Coney Island?” he asks.

“No,” you admit. “But have you even been to Disneyland?”

“No,” he says. 

“Fine,” you relent. “I’ll go to Coney Island for our first date if I can take you to Disneyland someday. Doesn’t even have to be when we’re fake dating. You have to experience the wonders of the modern amusement park.”

“Fine,” Steve says. You write down the words carefully on the pad of paper, tapping the pen when you finish as you try to think of anything else.

“Obviously we can’t tell anyone about this ever,” you say.

“Agreed,” Steve says. “Oh, here’s one. You have to come with me to all the press events Tony makes me do. Every conference, every talk show.”

“You’re joking,” you say, your eyes getting wide. “Then we’re going to adopt a dog that I get to keep after we break up.”

“I thought Tony had a no-pets rule for the Tower,” Steve says.

“If the paparazzi sees you getting a dog, then that dog becomes America’s dog,” you grin. “And Tony can’t evict America’s dog.”

“Fine,” Steve says, grabbing the pad of paper. “But you have to come with me to Tony’s New Year’s Eve party.”

You’d been getting out of the party for years by going home to your family. Not that you didn’t love Tony’s parties, but his New Year’s Eve extravaganza was its own beast – it made the Met Gala look like a Sweet Sixteen. It was a lot. But then you realize how many months you had until the holiday season even rolled around.

“That’s a pretty long ways away,” you say. “Do you really think we’re still going to be doing this?”

“You’re the one who wanted to plan,” Steve says, and part of you wonders whether he’s really as nonchalant as he sounds. Had he been thinking about this? And did he really think you two were going to last that long?

“Okay,” you hear yourself saying out loud. “Deal.”

-

Next Chapter

[queerbutstillhere]

Hal tapped his fingers boredly on the table in front of him. He had just completed a league mission with Ollie. It was supposed to be a simple in and out, check out this old abandoned hideout of some League of Assassin guy, make sure it really was abandoned, maybe close it off if they could. It was supposed to be easy.

But then of course, it wasn’t easy, and they ended up accidentally blowing up a couple factories. But it wasn’t Hal’s fault, okay? If anything it was Ollie’s, he’s the one with the quiver full of explosive arrows. But Ollie was the one in the medbay, and Hal wasn’t. So guess who got lectured by Spooky for two hours. Yes. Lectured. Bruce paced the room and ranted about the importance of minimizing collateral damage, as if he didn’t level half of Gotham every other weekend when the Joker decided to go for a joyride. 

And okay, maybe it hadn’t been two hours, but Hal was tired and he was sore and his ring needed charged, and he just wanted to see home, drink a few beers, catch up on the Bachelor or something, and then crash in bed for two days until Carol came and dragged his ass out. That’s what he wanted to do, not be yelled at by Bruce Wayne. He listened for another five minutes before he had finally had enough.

“You stand there and accuse me,” he snapped, standing. “But where were you at the time? Some fancy gala or ball?"

Bruce halted his pacing, turning to Hal, eyebrow arching as he put his hands on his hips.

“Excuse me?” he said, like he was talking to a child, and not a grown man who had been in the Air Force and was now part of an intergalactic cop organization.

“You weren’t there, Bruce. You only know what we can tell you. I can’t explain how I had the split second decision of stopping an explosion or saving Oliver’s life. I can’t explain how I acted on instincts and how my gut choice was to not give a shit about collateral for a moment, and worry about one of my best friends,” Hal said, crossing his arms. “I made the choice I thought was best, and I certainly think it was, because as far as I’ve heard, there’s been no civilian casualties, Ollie’s alive, and sure, a few factories came down, but factories are better than people.”

Bruce blinked at him once. “Those people are now going to be out of jobs, Jordan. Do you know how many employees the average factory has? They will find themselves unemployed and thus-”

“Are you fucking joking?” Hal said with a bitter laugh. “You’d rather them have jobs then their lives?!”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, what did you mean then? God are you really that much of a capitalist elitist that you think the fucking economy is more important then peoples lives?! What the hell, Bruce!”

Bruce clenched his jaw and looked away for just a few seconds. With anyone else, Hal might have thought he had won, that they were backing down and were gonna just leave it. But he knew better, he knew Bruce was calculating some long rant, probably insulting Hal the whole time, probably something about he was lazy and an indolent fool. He probably was about to completely destroy Hal, and create a bigger argument where Hal would be screaming and Bruce would be quietly, but angrily arguing back in that chilling way of his. Then he relaxed his jaw and his posture, looking back to Hal.

“You are correct. I was out of line.”

“And while we're at it- Wait what?” Hal cut off his preplanned insult to stare at Bruce in shock.

Bruce never apologized. And granted, that wasn’t really an apology, but he had just admitted he was wrong and that was the closest he’d ever gotten to an apology that Hal could remember.

“Those factories are not more important than civilian lives, and I was not there. You made the call to save your teammate, and it was likely the right call.”

Hal was sure he was staring, mouth open and eyes wide, an old Mary Poppins quote coming to mind. (“Shut your mouth, Micheal, we are not a Cod Fish.”)

“Even if I would have-”

“Okay, there, see you just ruined it. I thought, there for a moment, you were being nice,” Hal said, walking closer, hands on his hips. “I thought you were actually maybe going to apologize, but then you ruined it.”

“I was simply going to explain how I would have done things differently.”

“God you’re really bad at this aren’t you?”

“Bad at what?” Bruce asked, turning as Hal walked over to him, and leaning back against the conference table.

“People.”

“No. People I can handle.”

“Well your bedside manner needs work,” Hal told him, walking right up and stopping in front of Bruce, their boots touching.

Bruce tilted his head just fractionally, blinking once, he was clearly making a few quick calculations, and Hal just waited.

There had always been this odd tension between them, even back before they started sleeping together. The first time had been mostly accidental, some form of pheromone influenced state that they both promptly agreed to never talk about again, even though neither one stopped thinking about it. The second time had been to blow off some steam after they had spent two hours straight screaming at each other for no apparent reason. The third time, Bruce had initiated, and things had spiraled from there. Not that Hal was complaining.

“Why don’t you teach me then?” Bruce suggested, straightening a bit and reaching for Hal, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him closer.

“Hmm, maybe another time, spooky. I have a more interesting lesson planned.”

“Do you?”

“Yep. Hopefully this one is more pleasurable.”

Bruce responded by pulling Hal in for a fervent kiss, and Hal could only pray that the door was locked.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 36

Warning: brief mention of attempted suicide, SMUT

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @ocfairygodmother​

Every time she closes her eyes it's there. Dhaka. The dirty, crowded streets; a sea of pedestrians and vehicles. Rundown tenement buildings and hotels; broken or missing windows, rusted balconies and faded, chipped paint. Narrow, cluttered alleyways and over populated laundries and the odd restaurant and cafe.  Vendors peddling their goods among the chaos. It had been loud; a level of noise that she hadn’t anticipated. A continuous drone of honking horns and revving engines and  incessant chattering and laughing. Yet at night it would grow eerily quiet; sundown and the call to prayer bringing a silence...a stillness...that was almost breathtaking.  

There are so many moments...images...permanently ingrained in her mind. That hotel room with its filthy walls and its water stained ceiling; the stark white and pristine bed sheets an odd and stark contrast against the dirt and grime. Torn and faded curtains covered the windows; or least attempted to. The balcony was rotting and weathered; cracked contract cement, wobbly and dent...and in some places missing...railings. It had been a shit hole; too much mismatched and broken furniture shoved into such a small area, a kitchenette that boasted a stove with only one matching burner and a barely functioning bar fridge and only one set of dishes and cutlery. The toilet had to be fixed every time you flushed it and the shower nozzle was barely higher than she was tall, and there never seemed to be any hot water or pressure to it.  Yet it hadn’t been the worst accommodations she’d ever bunked down in; a paradise compared to some of the conditions she’d been subjected to while in the Middle East. And after things had taken an intense -yet not so surprising- turn, nothing around them had mattered anymore; able to temporarily escape the reality of their surroundings and the uncertainty of the situation. And they’d seek out that escape -and the profound pleasure it brought with it- as often as possible.

She can see Gaspar’s. Luxurious by Dhaka standards; a beautiful, well kept home just outside of the city limits. It should have been a relief; getting behind that iron security gate and those four supposedly welcoming walls. Finally off the streets and away from the violent and gunfire and the unpredictability; no longer having to watch your back every single second. But it had made things worse; she should have been grateful and somewhat relaxed and able to let her guard down. But the uneasiness had lingered; the absence of any true sigh of life within the hole eating away at her even as she stood in a hot shower and washed away all the dirt and the blood.  There was a wife but no actual evidence of one; only a single toothbrush in the holder by the sink, nothing by hygiene products geared towards me, no housecoat -feminine or otherwise- hanging behind the door.

He’d been an intimidating man; not as tall or as muscular and defined as Tyler, but big and burly and strong in his own right. Putting on a good show with the welcoming smiles and the friendly chatter, but always watching her out of the corner of his eyes. Calling her ‘the girl’ or ‘that girl’ even when she was in the room. Rolling his eyes or scoffing every time she attempted to speak. He didn’t trust her; in the same way she didn’t trust him.  There was no doubt that he felt that, which in turn made his hostility towards her even stronger.  

And when he’d confronted her in that darkened, upstairs hallway, the threat he presented had become all too terrifyingly real. Accusing her of being cunning and manipulative; willing to say or do anything to guarantee that Tyler would get her out of Dhaka alive. Even if it meant ‘whoring herself out’ to him. That in the end -once they were out of Bangladesh and all was said and done- she’d leave him even more damaged and broken than he already was. Telling her that he knew what she was up to; he recognized the deviousness and the sneaky little games she was playing. Even congratulating her on being able to do it so well and for pulling it off as long as she had.   He’d tried gaslighting her:  she was only “slowing things down, putting an even bigger target on his back. You’re going to get him killed. How are you going to feel then? Knowing he died for you. Will you even care?”.  Admitting that he was  impressed by just how evil and calculated someone so “small and cute and innocent looking” could actually be. And there was nothing she could have  said or done to change his way of thought.

She was the enemy and she needed to be eliminated at all costs.

“The kid AND the girl.”  She can actually hear it in his voice, see  the vehemence and determination on his face.  The same way she can still see his sneer and the darkness in his eyes in that upstairs hallway when he’d reached out to touch her hair and…

Ovi. Ovi opening the door across the hall. The harsh whispers and Gaspar’s threats and lewd, degrading comments jarring him from rest. All of fourteen years old with that mop of hair and those huge dark eyes and that scared, anxious face. His life turned upside down in the blink of an eye because of his father’s transgressions. He could have easily ignored it; listening to every word that was said while cowering under his blankets. But he hadn’t. He’d cared enough to put a stop to things; growing bolder and braver as each second of that long and trying day ticked away.   Afterwards...when the thread had been neutralized...she’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy. That they’d never speak of that moment again and that he’d never...under any circumstances...breathe a word of it to Tyler.  And he was still loyal; holding onto that secret even seven years later.

Bile rises in her throat. He has that effect on her. Gaspar. Even the mere mention of his name makes her feel nauseous. It’s worse now; knowing just how vile and evil he could be behind that fake smile and his promises to help. It had probably been his plan all along; he’d probably gone to Asif the second he finished talking to Nik. Seeing it as an easy payday; convinced that there was no way Tyler would turn down the deal. Why wouldn’t he give up some random girl he’d been casually fucking and a drug lord’s kid? Five million is a lot of money in your pocket, and when combined with your freedom, it would be ridiculous to turn it down.  After all, that's what Gaspar would do. No questions asked. He wouldn’t think twice about getting rich off of someone elses pain and misery. And weren’t all the mercenaries like that? At least in his eyes? Ruthless. Merciless. Savage. What were two strangers compared to that kind of money? An easy choice, in his eyes.

She shouldn’t be surprised. That he’d stoop to that level.  And there’s vindication to be had in the fact that he’d hadn’t gotten away with it. A guilty pleasure in knowing that he’d gone to his grave...and hopefully the deepest recesses of hell...without seeing a single cent of Asif’s money. He hadn’t known Tyler as well as he thought he had; he’d never expected him to both turn down the offer and fight to the death -if need to- to stop Gaspar from getting his hands on her and Ovi. It had been a fitting end; sitting on those steps in his house, watching and listening as he took his last breaths. She’d felt nothing; not even the slightest bit of remorse or pity. At least not towards him. She’d felt it for Ovi; just a kid and being forced to pull the trigger and having it on his conscience for the rest of his life. And she’d felt it towards Tyler; knowing how hard it hits when you’ve been betrayed by someone you thought you could trust.  Gaspar would have killed him. His loyalties had switched to Asif and with Tyler out of the picture, the entire ten million would have been his to keep. It’s a bitter pill to swallow; saving a man’s life and having him betray you THAT badly.  All Gaspar had cared about was the payout. Not the three lives he would have destroyed in the process.

The guilt returns with a vengeance. Appalled that she’d even asked what she had earlier in the day. If he’d considered...even for a split second...accepting the deal. The one person that she’s always trusted...who trusted her in return...being subjected to a question that makes her nauseous to even think about. The only person in her life who has ever made her feel safe; giving her an overwhelming sense of safety and security that no one else had ever managed to do and she’d never realized she wanted OR needed. Who’d been so willing to die for her that day on the bridge and who would do so...without hesitation...even now.  The last person who should have ever faced a question like that. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes;  how deeply it had cut him. Far deeper and far more painful than any physical injury he’d ever received. The fact she’d even think that about him...see him in that way...doing more damage than the actual words themselves. And she’d regretted it the second she’d said it; setting the way his eyes darkened and his expression hardened and his jaw tightened. He rarely got that way with her; not even during the most intense fights they’d had over the years. His temper could be volatile and his words cutting and harsh, but his face...his demeanour...never did THAT. It was cold and brutal. Scary, even . And that’s something he’s never made her feel. Fear.

Esme has no idea why she asked that question in the first place. She doesn’t think that way about him; never has. Even seven years ago there had been no doubt in her mind that he would have done anything and everything in his power to keep her safe. To get her the hell out of Dhaka. And that time spent on the Sultana Kamal Bridge should have been all the answer she needed. When she sat there listening to him choke on his own blood; having to put her fingers through the bullet hole in his neck to keep him alive. That should have been  enough. All the proof she needed. He HAD been willing to die for her. He almost did. On the bridge and in the hospital and even all those years later when he’d tried to take his own life because the demons of the past were just too much to bear.

She pushes those thoughts out of her mind. Of all the things she’s seen and all the things she’s heard, nothing cuts deeper as hearing the person you love -more than life itself- tell you that they don’t want to live anymore; that you’d be much better off without them. No amount of reasoning with enough to convince them otherwise. No amount of tears and begging and pleading enough to get them to change their mind. And when you’re the one that finds them when they've gone through with their attempts…

A flood of tears threaten and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to hold them back. Nothing good ever comes out of dwelling. Whether it be about Dhaka or Gaspar or all of the other battles that have been fought between then and now.  And she rolls over onto her side; watching the way his body rises and falls with each steady breath and the slivers of moonlight that bathe his skin.  His back towards her as he sleeps facing the hall. It’s been the same way for almost seven years; his insistence on facing the door in the same way he won’t sit in a public place with his back towards an entrance. Always ready for any possible threat that could come their way; knowing they stand a better chance of survival if he’s the first person someone encounters. It gives them both a sense of security; him confident in his strength and skills, her confident in his willingness and ability to protect her.

***

Moving closer to him, she uses her fingertips to slowly and methodically trace the large Nordic compass tattoo that sits between his shoulders. In time moving down to each scar and blemish that mars his skin; those little imperfections that make up everything  unique and beautiful about him. He hates that word; despises it being used to describe anything about him. As if it somehow takes away from everything he’s been through; dulling those edges and diminishing his strength and toughness and ‘softening’ him. It’s  ludicrous but understandable.  It’s what happens after years of witnessing abuse and toxic masculinity at its finest. He’s nothing like the man he’d grown up with; aman he’d been expected to respect and emulate. And despite that harsh bringing and the nerves of steels and the hardness...the roughness...that comes from years in the military and then as a mercenary, he’s breathtakingly human.

Behind that tough as nails facade and those jagged edges, he possesses a staggering amount of compassion. There’s a kindness  in his eyes; if you look close enough. It’s none more evident then when he’s with his children: patient and calm, very rarely raising his voice and most certainly never raising a hand. Both face and tone gentle and those strong hands with their scars and calluses and busted up knuckles capable of so much tenderness. Whether it be fixing Millie’s hair or patching up skinned knees or tending to busted lips and bloody noses.   Even a husband...and especially as a lover...the sides to his personality are vastly different; always knowing what she craves. Whether it’s the need for him to be aggressive and dominant or soft and gentle. He just KNOWS. Before she even has to ask. Able to read it in her body language and see it in her eyes; reacting to the situation and becoming exactly what she wants and needs him to be.  He’s complex and sensitive; far more than other people realize.

Her lips replace her fingers; pressing feathery kisses across his shoulders and onto the nape of his neck and along his hairline. A hand sneaking under the arm that rests lightly against his side, palm slowly travelling over her chest and down to his abs and lower; the hair that makes up his ‘happy trail’ wiry and rough against her fingers.

“Baby…” his voice is a low rumble; groggy from sleep. “...what are you doing?”

“Admiring.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Really late or really early. Depends how you look at it.”

Sighing, he reaches for his phone as it charges on the nightstand; not objecting when her hand slides even lower. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I'm not allowed to admire my husband at three in the morning?”

“You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

“I was. Until my brain caught up with my body and realized you were getting ready to jerk me off.”

“I wasn’t even close to doing that. But now that you mentioned it…” her hand continues its descent,  smiling against his shoulder when he groans deep within his chest as her nails lightly drag along his hardening length before taking it in her  hand; warm and thick and solid against her palm.  

And his own hand slips beneath the sheet that slits low on his hip; much larger and stronger as it covers hers, showing her exactly what he needs.  Her mouth slowly travelling over his shoulder and the back of his neck; lips soft, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping. Loving the power she has over him; the way his breath quickens and his body trembles ever so slightly and his cock grows full and hard in her grasp.  

“Hey…” she protests, a dramatic pout on her face when Tyler rolls over to face her.

“Not like that,”  he says, and kisses her.  Even his kisses have a different side to them. Right now they’re soft and languid and tinged with the lingering remnants of sleep. A hand wandering as his lips down move to her neck slipping up the front of her tank top and cupping one of her breasts; thumb passing over the nipple as he licks and sucks at the sensitive flesh at the side of her throat.

It’s all too much; the scrape of his beard against her skin, the way he alternates between gently caressing the nipple and firmly punching and twisting it. The ache between her legs is profound; almost unbearable. And her eyes close and a whimper escapes her lips and one hand tunnels in his hair and the other reaches between them to work on his cock once again. Enjoying the sounds that escape him and the way his body tenses and his hips jerk towards her.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he says, and then uses his size to his advantage and pushes her onto her back.

“That’s the point.”

“I said not like that.”   He kisses her again; deeper now, more insistent. Demanding. A hand grabbing a hold of her hip and the fingers pressing into her flesh as he encourages her to open her legs. A long, low groan tumbling from his mouth as he slips into her with a slow, deep thrust.

She sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he moves inside of her. Each thrust fluid and intentional; every push causing a whimper to escape her lips. Legs falling open and bending at the knee; that simple change in position pulling him in even deeper.  He feels so good; those hungry and needy kisses, the way the muscles of his back move against her, the bulge of biceps and forearms as he bears his weight on outstretched arms.  And when he breaks out of a particularly deep and demanding kiss, she reaches up to grab a hold of his hair;  yanking his head back and then trailing the tip of her tongue along his throat, over his Adam’s apple and up onto the underside of his chin. Tasting the sweat on his skin, feeling the trickle of his beard. And when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth, something unravels inside of him. Movements become faster. Harder. Spurred on by the noises she makes and the way her nails rake down his back.

“Make me cum,” she whispers. “Please...Tyler...make me cum.”

He reaches between them, the tips of two fingers toying with her clit. Until he can feel her shuddering against him and her hips lift off the bed; kissing her in order to stifle the cry that she emits. And he continues to move inside of her; pushing through the contractions and the convulsions of those inner muscles.

“Let me finish in your mouth,” he says, eyes searching hers for permission. And when she gives a nod of consent, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. Fingers of both hands tangling in her hair as she kisses, lick, and nibbles her way down his body. “Fuck…” the word leaves him in a low, drawn out groan when she lightly sucks at the tip before fully taking him between her lips. And it takes all his will power to not grab a hold of her head and fuck her mouth. Letting her do all the work; eyes closed and chest heaving, hands gently resting in her hair. “...feel so good…” he praises. “...feels so fucking good.”

Her hand curls around his shaft; working together with her mouth to drive him closer to the edge.  Soon it becomes impossible to bear and he can no longer hold back; hands tightening in her hair and his hips rising off the bed, forcing her to take him even deeper. Fucking her mouth win the way he he would her body while buried inside of her. Until he’s coming hard and fast, pushing down on her head until the tip of his cock hits the back of her throat; long, hot spurts of semen that she accepts willingly, swallowing every last drop. Mouth and hand working together to drain him dry,  leaving him a panting, quivering mess.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he breathes, and then cocks open an eye as she kisses her way up his body; her eyes sparkling, a prideful  grin on her face.  “Yeah...you SHOULD be proud of yourself and things you can do.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to please.”

“It’s not that. Trust me. It’s you. All you,” he pushes a hand through her hair once again, lightly tugging on her dark tresses as he pulls her down into a long, deep kiss. And she settles her body against his; head against his shoulder and their chests pressed together, her legs resting between his.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Tyler says, and she laughs. “Normally I’d kick your ass out of bed for waking me up at three in the morning, but I think you had a pretty good reason.”

“It didn’t go the way I planned,” Esme admits. “You were supposed to let me do all the work.”

“That NEVER  happens.”

“Because YOU  won’t let it happen. Because you’re stubborn and you won’t ever just lie back and let me spoil you."

“I don’t know, I remember being laid up after knee surgery and you pretty much had to do everything. And by the way, I know it’s been three years, but you did an awesome job. My dick says thank you.”

She grins and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Your dick is very welcome. He’s lucky I like him so much. I can’t stand most dicks. Yours? He’s alright.”

“That’s because all the other dicks you had didn’t know what they were doing. Mine? Legend.”

She laughs at that,  and he drops a kiss on the top of her head; palm slowly running down her spine and settling at the small of her back. Fingertips grazing over the tattoo that resides there; remembering how she’d been so embarrassed when he’d seen it for the first time. A ‘tramp stamp’ she’d called it, though he still doesn’t fully understand the phrase. It had been a drunken mistake during her first year at college and she’d always regretted it. But didn’t mind when...in Dhaka...he'd pinned her to the bed face down, hands tightly holding her hips as he traced the tattoo with the tip of his tongue.

And he closes his eyes. Prepared to settle back into sleep with her slight, small body pressed against his. Knuckles brushing along her spine.

***

“How well did you actually know him?” Esme asks.

Tyler’s eyes snap open. He’s slightly disoriented; on the edge of sleep when she spoke. “Who?”

“Gaspar.”

“Why are we talking about him? Especially now. Right after we made love.”   He doesn’t use that term often; mainly because their ‘go to’ has always been straight up fucking. As crude and harsh at it sounds. Very rarely were things slow and gentle in the bedroom.

“How close were you guys? Acquaintances? Friends? Best friends?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Why are we talking about him?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s almost four in the morning,” he points out.

“When you say he was your friend, do mean you were friends with him like you are with Koen and Rata, or…”

“A friend as in we worked some jobs together and we’d go out for beers afterwards or we’d meet up if we ended up in the same place. Not friends as in I’d known him my entire life or I’d go to his place and visit during my downtime or send him text messages and Christmas cards and all that shit.”

“So basically a work friend,” she concludes.

“Yeah...basically. Why are we talking about him again?”

“And you saved his life, right?”

“Once. Why?”

“How? How’d you save his life?”

“Esme, what the hell?  Why are we talking about this? Is it ‘cause of what I told you today? That’s why I DIDN’T tell you before. Because I knew it would bother you. I knew you’d dwell on it and ask questions I don’t have answers for. If I’d known this would happen…”

“Humour me,” she says. “I want to know. How you saved his life.”

Tyler sighs. “He went into Honduras to do a job for some mobster type. Ended up fucking the guy’s wife and getting caught. So Nik sent me in there to get him out. He was a couple of hours away from a pretty painful and gruesome death when I got there.”

She scoffs. “You should have left him there.”

“Well what’s the saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? If I’d known then what would happen in Dhaka, I would have have told him to go fuck himself and bought a front row ticket to watch his execution. But…”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. What happened that night. I know you blame yourself for taking Ovi and I there. But it’s not like you  knew he was going to fuck you over.”

“I knew something wasn’t right. When I talked to him in the kitchen. There was something weird about the way he said ‘how’s the kid and the girl?’. And then talked about leaving to go and kiss his wife and it seemed...I don’t know...like it was bullshit.”

“There was no proof there was a wife.”

“He was wearing a ring,” Tyler points out.

“That means nothing. Lots of people wear rings on that finger. We never found out for sure. You know, it'd probably be pretty easy to look up if there really WAS a wife.”

“Why would we bother?”

“Just for curiosity’s sake, I guess.”

“Who gives a shit? It’s been seven years. If there was a wife, I’m sure she realized pretty quickly how much better off she was without him.”

“I still don’t understand how he could do that to you. Especially after you saved his life. Betray you like that.”

Tyler shrugs. “Money’s a hell of a motivator.”

“You never took the money.”

“I’m not a psychopath.  He obviously was. And I don’t want to talk about this again. The whole deal thing. Once was enough. And it didn’t end well.”

“I didn’t mean it. What I said. It was a stupid fucking thing for me to ask. I don’t even know why I DID ask it. It’s like it just came out.”

“Baby,” he runs a hand over her hair and kisses her temple.  “We already talked about this. We don’t need to do it again.”

“I feel like complete and utter shit about it. For hurting you like that. I never...ever...would do anything to intentionally hurt you. And I’m a shit human being for doing what I did and I feel terrible and…”

“Esme, stop. We’ve been through this. You said you were sorry, I accepted it, we moved on.”

“You should be angrier.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Because I know how I’d feel if you said something like that to me. If you all but accused me of being like Asif or Gaspar or guys like Mahajan Senior. It would kill me inside. And I’d be so pissed and hurt and…”

“And I was and now I’m not and you need to drop it. It’s fine. You apologized, we talked about, what more is there? I’m not angry. Am I hurt still? A little. But I’ll get over it. I’ve said plenty of mean shit to you when I’ve been mad, yeah?”

She nods.

“And you’ve always forgiven me. Every time. So let it go. Please. It’s over.”

“I am sorry,” she tells him. “That I said it. Because I’ve never…ever...thought that about you.”

“I know. Is that why you woke me up? To apologize in a different way?”

“Maybe.” she admits. “Did it work?”

“I’d already forgiven you. So you didn’t need to go to all the trouble.”

“You mean I could have saved all the time and energy and spared my jaw the hard work and pain?”

“You’re being dramatic. You do it willingly so it can’t be THAT bad.”

“I do it because you like it. And because I like doing it for you. And if I’m being honest, it kinda turns me on.”

Tyler grins. “You ARE dirty.”

“It’s easy to be dirty being married to the likes of you. You’ve got skills. Mad skills. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry you in the first place”

“Yeah? What are the other reasons?”

“It’s a whole bunch of things,” she says. “The way you can always make me laugh even when I’m having a really shitty day. How you always compliment me even when I know I look like crap. How you always look at me like I’m the most amazing woman in the world. Because you’re a great kisser and you’re nice to look at and you help make beautiful babies.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“And mostly because I love you and I thought I’d never love anyone THIS much. Especially after Mark and all his bullshit. I didn’t think I’d ever get married again. And then you came along and that was it. Everything changed. I often wonder how things would have turned out if we met differently. Do you ever think about that?”

“Sometimes,” Tyler admits.

“I always have it in my mind that if you’d met me at my cousin and Gs’ wedding, would things have gone down then? If I hadn’t been overseas…”

“I would have fucked you in the coat check room for sure.”

She raises her head and frowns.

“Just saying. And you wouldn’t have wanted to know me then. I was an even bigger mess than when we DID meet.”

“Okay...so if not there...where?”

“I dunno. I always imagine that you would  have been here on vacation and we would have run into each other that way.”

“On the beach?”

“Sure. That works.”

“I so would have been checking you out,” she giggles.  “All the muscles and the tattoos and those eyes and that hair…”

“I didn’t always have that hair, you know.”

“Every scenario I ever think of, you have that hair. Humour me. Would you have checked me out?”

“I’ve seen you in a bathing suit. So, yeah. I would have checked you out.”

“It weird to think about,” Esme muses. “A different version of us. A normal version. A normal Esme and a normal Tyler. With normal jobs and normal lives. I think you would have made a good cop. Or a firefighter. Or even just stayed in the military.”

“I always think you would have made  a good teacher,” he says. “Or a nurse. Considering all the times you’ve had to take care of me. And how good you are at giving sponge baths.”

She grins. “Would still have fallen in love with me? If I’d been normal?”

“How normal?”

“If I’d been a nurse or teacher. Same personality, just a different career.”

“In a heartbeat. What about you? Would have fallen in love with me if I’d just been some normal guy?”

“Hmmm…” she ponders. “I don’t know…”

Tyler scowls. “You know what…?”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs, and presses a kiss to his lips. “I would have fallen in love with you a million times over.”

Smiling, he places a kiss on her temple and wraps both arms around her, holding her tightly and securely. Until her breath softens and evens out and he knows she’s asleep.

[cool-crap-daily]

Here is a cool thing I wrote. It's meant to be a prologue, but the book it's a prologue to doesn't exist because I am lazy. If you don't like it, too bad, you just read the whole thing sucks to be you ig.

Earth. 

    A planet full of natural wonders, rich in resources, and green with life, reduced to a festering pile of rubble and poverty. Not decimated by some outside force, no, it was ruined by scientific advancement and the sinfulness of man. The paragons of those horrors were called The Ascended. The Ascended were a group of individuals who had used the secrets of The Breakthrough to ‘ascend’. Each of them gained levels of power akin to those of the gods of legend. Every man, woman, and child in The Empire knew their names. Havoc, Seraphim, Volt, Stratagem, Hive, and finally, The Beholder.

    Havoc mastered the art of destruction. Originally the CEO of the world's leading weapons manufacturer, "Arcturus Armaments", The Breakthrough allowed him to fuse his mortal form with the instruments of chaos he created. Wielding atomic lasers and hypersonic rail-cannons as well as a panoply of other ordinances, he became an unstoppable courier of fire and death. To top it all off, his body was armor-plated in a composite meta-material that left him virtually invincible.

    Seraphim, the biological angel of life, had mastered the power of healing, the inverse of Havoc. Once the world's foremost scientist of medical studies, she created technologies that saved millions of lives. After the breakthrough, however, she melded herself with prototype machines she'd been working on in secret and obtained the ultimate treasure. The terrible prize that so many in history had sought after. Immortality. Any wounds she received closed as quickly as they opened, her aging halted in its tracks. She had an immune system aided by nanotech so that no pathogen stood a chance against her. Alas, she gave in to her dark fantasies of endless reign and destroyed all notes, machines, and evidence of her immortality tech, so that only she would be without a mortal end.

    Volt, the mover of mountains and Hermes incarnate, was once a man known as Ahmad Cunningham. He was the lead engineer of Athletonics Inc, the world's largest manufacturer of cybernetics, as well as his own startup: Fusoria Industries, the most advanced in Fusion power research. Using The Breakthrough, he molded his body into his most ambitious exoskeleton yet. This suit had so much potential that it needed impossible amounts of power to function. The only thing that could fuel such a bionic juggernaut was a prototype fusion reactor that he incorporated into the design. He could run and fly at incomprehensible speeds and could deliver enough energy in a single blow to flatten a skyscraper.

    Stratagem, the shadow of the abyss and master of illusion, was a trillionaire like the others in her former life, but her field of choice was espionage and stealth technologies. The Breakthrough allowed her to become nothing but a whisper on the airwaves, just a flickering of distortion on the edge of the most advanced cameras on the planet. She cloaked herself in stealth tech decades ahead of anything else ever conceived. She was completely invisible to the naked eye, and utterly silent to the ear. The only sensors that could hope to detect her were the ones she herself invented and replaced her eyes with. She could look through concrete walls and magnify her view enough to see miles away.

    Hive, the unfeeling swarm of symmetrical horror, was born out of a man named Stewart Stanford, the Head of Robotics and Androids Research of Rubicon Industries. Rubicon Industries used to be a competitor of Athletonics Inc. until the Ascended took over. Utilizing The Breakthrough, he uploaded his consciousness into his company’s hypercomputers, which were capable of processing petabytes of information per second. In doing so he gained unbelievable power but lost his humanity. After stealing FTL communication tech from a competing company, he could command his legion of millions of drones as if they were his body, seeing through myriads of eyes, controlling an endless swarm of weapons and tools. He could mine resources to create more drone factories and computers for himself, and there was nothing to stop him from doubling his forces every few weeks if left unchecked.

    The final member of the Ascended was The Beholder. Unlike the others, who are all incredibly infamous, few knew much about The Beholder. He used to work as a scientist at Tesseract Labs, whose main goal was to discover the secrets of quantum mechanics and dimensional dynamics. Before The Breakthrough, they had produced an FTL communication prototype, but it had vanished mysteriously, and they lost their government grants. Just before they shut down, an infinite number of new avenues for research opened up thanks to The Breakthrough. The lab was back in action. Using the power of The Breakthrough, they built a machine to study the secrets of existence itself. The machine was to a particle accelerator as a particle accelerator was to a particularly uninteresting rock. Alas, the scientists became arrogant and dug too deep, and it cost them everything. A horrible calamity struck as they probed into the folds of reality, ripping the entire facility out of the fabric of the universe and whipping it into the deepest Oblivion as the machine imploded. 

    The only survivor, if one could even call him that, was the man who was operating the machine during the calamity. Alexander Belton. The Beholder. His consciousness was caught between the two sides of the schism, split into an infinite number of parts and pieced together again over and over for an abstract eternity. Slowly, he learned to control the forces beyond reality and started to hold himself together. He built himself a physical form, found his way through the ever-changing miasma of the ethereal beyond back to our world. Coming back into existence crippled him, though, limiting his power and preventing him from ever leaving again. He anchored himself to this plane. Still, he was the most powerful of the Ascended by far, able to manipulate reality and travel through spacetime effortlessly, though not able to interact with the past. No one knew anything about where he was, what his motives were, or if the stories were even true. The other Ascended denied his existence, but endless numbers of sightings and stories of hope from the oppressed said otherwise.

    Together, the Ascended ruled the world uncontested, vowing a tentative truce, and promising to never allow anyone else to discover the secrets of The Breakthrough. They feared someone else could ascend using its power, jeopardizing their rule. They had scuffles occasionally, obliterating a few square miles of city here and there, but mostly they minded their business. They held a public meeting once a month to make decisions and ensure benevolent relations between them, as well as to agree on any new tenets to press onto the dying people of their world. They were corrupt, and they were only growing more so, but they enslaved the people in factories and power plants, under so much surveillance that the citizens were utterly powerless to stop them.

    Each of them controlled a different aspect of The Empire. Havoc was in charge of all military efforts as well as policing the citizens. His loyal knights carried out executions and silenced hope, armed with weapons that had power mirroring his own.

Seraphim was responsible for all biological research and plague control, as well as the only hospital left in existence. The Hospital was only open to the most elite, and only they could even afford a visit.

Volt was in charge of all power generation for The Empire. All electricity was generated by four massive fusion reactors, one in each district. Each absolutely dominated its skyline and required only tiny amounts of fuel to run in comparison. The fuel that they did need, however, was incredibly hard to produce, requiring tens of thousands of hours of manual labor involving harsh chemicals and radiation to create even a single gram.

Stratagem worked day and night to make sure that every square inch of The Empire was surveilled by one of her cameras, bugs, drones, or agents at all times. This way, the Ascended could stamp out any notion of an uprising or rebellion before it even began. She had hundreds of operatives who scoured The Empire and cyberspace for any intel or data that the Ascended could use.

Hive controlled all construction and resource gathering, his body made up of an endless swarm. If another thirty-story domestic housing unit needed to be constructed, it could be done overnight. Any steel or alloys that were required, he strip-mined from the less habitable parts of the planet, placed onto automated trains that carried them back to the factories. If any single part of the logistic chain was broken or destroyed, there was enough redundancy in the system that he could fix it in a matter of hours or even minutes.

Together, the six Ascended ruled The Empire with an iron fist, surveying their dystopia with cold, calculated, pride. They took comfort in the fact that no human alive could ever hope to topple their rule. It all worked like a well-oiled machine; oiled with blood, but oiled nonetheless. They sat on their thrones in The Floating Citadel, basking in the perverted glory of their ultimate abomination. Earth.

But seven became eight, and now, The Godhunter stalks her prey.

[Initiate Epic Soundtrack]

[inherbookishhead]

tell me a story, about the day Tentoo finds out about little Trouble.

So, here I am in the middle of revising my final draft of one of the angstiest chapters for my fic where those two are still trying to get it together when I get this ask into my inbox. What do I do? I personally - nothing, but my mind starts thinking about Little Trouble at least 3 or 4 stories before she might even be mentioned (if I ever get to that). And there goes my angsty mood :D

So here it is, dear Nonny, quite a quick off the top of my head story about THE day (okay, technically it spans over 2 days but still!)

The Day Tentoo Finds Out about Little Trouble.

Just like all life-changing days for the Doctor, this one began with the conversation about bananas. 

Their TARDIS landed on a lovely little yellow planet called H’voc that was currently sending a distress call to the whole galaxy. 

“H’vocians are a very authentic tribe,” the Doctor started explaining as they walked through the forest towards the source of the signal. “They live in harmony with nature and are extremely open to any guest that comes in but only if that guest bears a gift. In most cases, though, it ends up badly for them since whoever gives them anything shiny usually does nothing but trick them for resources, which, as you might expect, are plenty here. Typical. Although I love being able to come here again, I was sort of banned from H’voc for centuries back in our universe.”

Rose’s eyebrows shot in surprise. “What did you do?”

“Well, I didn’t know I had to make a gift, so when I met their tribe leader, I gave the only thing I had at hand - a banana, a very precious gift if you ask me.” He sighed and scrunched his face.  “How was I to know they were allergic to it? Long story short: they really didn’t like it. One might say, the incident caused complete havoc among them.” He gave her a goofy smile.

Rose laughed at him at first, then got really serious. 

“God, I’d kill for a banana right now. Why did you have to go and bring it up?” she complained, making her way through the branches. The Doctor regarded her with expression half-surprised, half-amused. 

“Finally, you developed a taste, Rose Tyler. It only took me, what, ten years? A decade of hard work and at last you appreciate bananas the way they deserve to be appreciated. I must say I’m really proud of myself, you were quite a lost case,” said the Doctor. 

The forest started thinning and judging by the voices coming from that direction, they were nearing the settlement. 

“Have you got a spare, though?” Rose asked.

“No, we ran out of them yesterday. I planned to come by Berzunian Market right after we deal with this. They have the best bananas in the whole galaxy, Rose. And they come in all colours.”

“I don’t care about the colour, I can literally feel the taste in my mouth. I need it now,” her eyes squinted at him in suspicion. “You always have a spare.”

“Not today,” he countered. 

Rose didn’t believe him for a second, and in the next moment, her hand was in his pocket, stumbling upon a gramophone, a pack of Venusian playing cards and a little woollen penguin toy which was the Doctor’s Christmas present from Tony a couple of years ago.  No bananas. She extracted her hand in defeat. 

“You are useless,” Rose said in a mocked frustration and pointed a finger at him, slowly walking backwards. Her disappointment didn’t last long, though, her face split in a huge smile and she almost tripped over the root of a tree she didn’t see from behind. Only Rose could call him useless and still make it sound like the biggest compliment, the Doctor thought. He still wondered how she managed to... glow so brightly that it made him forget everything else around existed. 

Their little bubble popped as they heard a loud shriek nearby. The Doctor and Rose immediately ran to the village to discover that half of the settlement was completely destroyed leaving very upset H’vocians to pick up the shambles of their tents. Being Mulder and Scully that they were, Rose and the Doctor volunteered to help. At first, the Doctor gave the mandatory present: the old gramophone Rose found earlier in his transdimensional pockets, then H’vocians told them about the ‘people from the sky’ raiding their settlements for little neon pearls called Hvaras that were exceptionally valuable on the black market.   

By the evening they all gathered near the bonfire where the women and children of the tribe were singing their tribal song of protection. It caused Rose an uncontrollable amount of tears and she made sure to give a heartfelt hug to everyone singing after they’d finished. She concluded her round of hugging back in the Doctor’s arms and after he asked her if she was okay she burst into tears again. Well, the song was rather nice, he’d give them that but to be as touched as Rose was right now was too much even by her standards. That was when the first H’vocian congratulated him. On what, though, he had no idea. 

The next morning started with lots of loud noises and another attack from the ‘people from the sky’. Rose got out of their tent first and before the Doctor could react, she got hit by a blast from the ‘others’. He could distinctly see the little sharp stones clawing their way into her body. The Doctor pulled out his sonic and fought off the attackers by interfering with their ships. When he eventually managed to get to Rose, however, she didn’t have a single scratch.  

As they later found out, the ‘others’ were different this time: the pearls of this planet seemed to have risen in price which made half of the happy-go-lucky raiders terrorise the tribe every other day. The Doctor gave it a thought and offered H’vocians a cloaking system that would simply hide them from the marauders and offer peace they craved for. While he was programming the devices over the Hvocian settlement, he couldn’t figure why the shield was getting half transparent. As usually, he dumped his whole thought process on Rose, who helped him put the little devices in place. 

“Have you tried turning setting 322 all the way up?” she asked him after some time. “H’voc’s atmosphere is three per cent thinner which means you need to strengthen the density of the deflector particles.”

“Oh yeah?” asked the Doctor. He didn’t know whether to feel alarmed, shocked or surprised. Rose always looked at the details. And she was brilliant at her domestic approach. But this, he thought, this was a whole new level of impressive. The Doctor did as she suggested. It worked.

The farewell with the tribe was very heartwarming. H’vocians made them the honorary members of their circle and presented them with a silver pin and a bronze door handle, which was a gesture of extreme trust. Five more H’vocians, including the leader of the tribe, placed a hand on the Doctor’s chest and wholeheartedly congratulated him. On what though, he still didn’t know.

The Doctor and Rose returned to their TARDIS and oh how much better it was to finally lie on a proper bed. It was. Until it wasn’t. The Doctor woke up in the middle of the night. 

He felt a ping. 

A telepathic ping. 

A telepathic ping coming from Rose. 

A telepathic ping coming from Rose that wasn’t Rose.

He shot up and turned to the sleeping form of his wife. His mind was reeling: a sudden craving for a banana, the overemotional response, the miraculous healing, the boost of intelligence… It couldn’t be. Could it?

The Doctor carefully placed his hand over Rose’s stomach: there it was, almost undetectable, yet firm and persistent. A beating of two little hearts, so familiar he could still feel it in his own chest. And the bond. That tiny wave of telepathic connection that found its way to him. She was reaching out. She. The Doctor smiled. He opened his mind and let her in and oh, how good, how whole it felt. There were some things you knew you’d been truly missing only when you got to experience them again, he thought. 

It was scary and thrilling and exciting. Nine hundred years of running through the universe, losing his first family, his children, his Susan. Centuries of attachments and heartbreaks and yet … here he was, in the parallel universe, on his last regeneration, levelled down by the human DNA, having a second chance at the family and life he had wanted. He’d never felt more alive than now. 

The Doctor’s mind calculated thousands of little variations of the features the little one would inherit. He hoped their daughter would have her mother’s smile and, well, everything because all good things would certainly come from Rose. And maybe his hair. Year, his hair would be nice.  

“Rose? Rose!” the Doctor whispered.

“Isleein” Rose groaned and turned her back to him.

He shook her shoulder again. 

“Oh God, remind me again why I picked such a restless ball of energy of a man,” Rose said rolling on her back and opening her eyes. “What is it?” she said cupping his jaw with her hand and studying his face. 

“Well, I’m afraid soon you will have to deal with two of those,” he shrugged his shoulders.

She gave him a look at that, then laughed sleepily, “You decided to sprout yourself from another limb?” 

As always, Rose just rolled with his conversations no matter how strange they got.

“Well, Rose Tyler, it’s more like you are doing all the sprouting this time,” he replied. 

“What do you mean?” she sat up facing him, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. 

They stared at each other for another moment and Rose grew more concerned with every second passing. 

“You are pregnant, Rose,” he said, failing to suppress his utmost joy and nervous excitement.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I can feel it,” he said and tapped his finger on his temple, “right here”.

Her breath hitched and she covered her mouth with the hand. “Oh my God,” tears started rolling down her cheeks. She then pressed her hand down to her belly and gave a watery smile. “Are we having a little timelord over here?”

The Doctor laughed nervously, “it’s a little time lady I believe. Is that alright?” 

He felt like every nerve in his body was tingling, like he was going to combust of infinite love and deadly fear, cry and laugh at the same time, jump from happiness and fall down in shock. 

“Of course it is, you-” she didn’t get to finish because he gathered her in the tightest of embraces until her nose was smashed against his neck while her chest was heaving with happy laughter. 

“Doctor,” she said after some time when they both calmed down.

“Hm?” he asked and felt her grin against his shoulder. 

“We are not calling her Alonso.”

[mechabones]

WE NEED A SWAT!GAVIN FIC. Your art is 😤😤😤 A+ content. Imagining Swat!Gavin coming after Gangster Nines and all the potential angst and shenanigans.

First of all, thank you for liking my art, I appreciate it !! Second of all, with my Mafia!AU still in the works, I may have Gavin be in the SWAT rather than being a detective but I haven’t quite decided just yet but until then, allow my angsty ass to indulge you, just a little bit-

⚠️ALSO A QUICK EDIT! I’ve changed the ending because it was too open ended & was percieved as a major character death bc I wasn’t specific enough & I don’t want to upset anybody, my apologies!⚠️

There had been a lot of murmurs & talk about the DPD closing in on a current underground drug operation that was sweeping through Detroit like a chaotic storm, threatening to destroy everything in its wake. 

Red Ice; the latest drug carefully crafted from Thirium 310. Nobody knew who the mastermind behind the creation was, all they knew was that the drug was highly addictive, caused people to become violent & bodies were dropping. Fast.

It had taken months of planning, months of sleepless nights & crafting the perfect plan so that this time, there was no possible way for the bastards creating the drug to slip through their fingers. The SWAT team were finally, fucking finally, close enough to take out the whole operation by cutting the head off of the snake. 

They were going arrest the bastard who started it all.

Captain Allen had since stepped down from leading the SWAT since they had been given the all clear to take point on the investigation. Nobody was sure as to why SWAT were handling it, but it did make sense seeing as they had the men, the gear, the weapons. All of it.

These were tough, military trained assholes & at the front of it all was Gavin Reed. The man who took bullets, stab wounds & had been tortured on more than one occasion thanks to being too bullheaded to accept help. But, he always came out on top, ready to take out the bastard who crossed him. 

He was messy & arrogant but since becoming the leader of a team he put his full trust & faith in, he was becoming the best version of himself.

Or at least, that was until he met Nines. Notorious. Nefarious. Iniquitous in every way.

All it was supposed to be was an easy - straight in, straight out - recon mission to map out the basics of the warehouse in which they had calculated the mysterious Nines would be. Nobody knew what he looked like, or what he sounded like for that matter. All they knew was that he was the leader of it all.

But nothing could ever be easy, could it? Not when Gavin fucking Reed was involved. Wherever he went, complications followed.

A team of five - including Reed - had made their way through the warehouse, splitting off in separate directions to cover more ground quickly. Everything was going smoothly, radioing in their locations every so often to stay in check. 

But, as Reed found himself in a large, almost empty room, with simply a table, a chair, his radio tuning in static & a man standing, looking out of the window, he knew shit was going to get arduous. Fast. He could feel it. 

“Put your fucking hands up, asshole! You’re done! We’ve got every inch of this shithole covered!” Reed spat as he drew his gun, pointing it directly at the man’s back. His aim was steady, finger on the trigger. But, as the man raised one hand, that confidence quickly faltered as he felt the familiar, cold barrel of a gun being shoved against the base of his skull. 

Fuck.

Gavin swallowed thickly, frozen in place at the mild fear of his brains being blown out at one wrong move. So instead, he simply stood; gun still pointing at the mysterious man who seemed completely unphased by being held at gunpoint & he could have sworn he felt the air shift around him as the gangster turned to face him, covering the space between them in a matter of seconds.

“What the fuc-Wait, Connor?!” 

“On the contrary, hm, Reed, was it?” An inquisitive look sat on the face that so similarly resembled Connor Stern. The sultry voice he’d grown to love filled Gavin’s ears & all he could do was stare dumbly as the gangster took the gun Reed was pointing at him, tucking it into the back of his black dress pants nonchalantly, without bothering to click the safety back on.

No, this wasn’t the man he had been crushing on for months. This was the taller, scarier, icier version. And as much as he hated to admit it, this was far more his type. His features were more chiseled, sharper cheekbones, wider jawline. There were no puppy brown eyes, instead they were dangerous storms of grey. There was no softness to his voice; it was candid. Detached from emotion.

There were warning bells in his head, screaming at him to run away before he gets himself any deeper in the shit. But, he always did lack basic self preservation.

“How do you kn-”

“The one & only Gavin Reed. I’ve been waiting for you, Gavin. Watching your every move. All I needed was Allen out of the picture & I could have you all to myself. Have you follow the trails I had planted. Get your men on my side. Oh how easy it was to have you believing any of this at all was of your own volition. I hope I’m not a disappointment to the image you have built of my brother. But, my name is Nines.” A coy, maniacal grin played the gangster’s lips as he waved his left hand a single time & the gun that was digging into Gavin’s skull disappeared.

Only then did Reed let out the heavy breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Glancing over his shoulder, lo & behold, there was his team. Two guarding the door, two with their guns pointed directly at him. Of fucking course. 

He wasn’t sure which was worse. His team being fucking crooked or the detective he had more than a crush on has a psychopathic brother who he had been trying to throw in prison for months.

“How long?!” When no response came, he tried again. “How fucking long?!” 

Fuck, was he angry. Realizing that every step he had taken, every plan, every God damn breath he took was all a set up. Even Captain Allen mysteriously stepping down, leaving an open space for someone to step up & lead the SWAT was a ruse. To get him here. Right in the jaws of a hungry shark.

It hurt. He knew he didn’t have what it took to be a leader, he was a fucking disaster on a good day. But, the team were so quick to support him & listen to his ideas, to follow his plans. He would have taken a bullet for any one of these backstabbing pricks but as it turned out, they were the ones pulling the trigger.

“I don’t, I, fuck. I don’t understand.” He didn’t even bother to hide the way his voice cracked & wavered from the ache of knowing his team were corrupt. It was like the world was slowly falling apart around him but he was the only one who was falling into the abyss.

“Join me, Gavin. You don’t even have to get your hands dirty. You can keep your place in the SWAT or I can find you a place as a detective if you’d prefer. Although, I’d rather not have to see you drooling over that incompetent brother of mine.” There was a charming softness to the way in which Nines was speaking, as if he wasn’t a notorious murderer-drug lord. 

Gavin hated himself for it, he really did, but the way the ache in his chest ebbed away as the gangster spoke to him as if he were the only man in the room had him genuinely contemplating the offer that was being put on his plate.

But, he was no dirty cop. 

As Nines swatted a hand, barking out, “leave us”, the other men in the room filed out without daring to question his authority. Fuck, he really did have the whole of the DPD wrapped around his finger. It made Gavin wonder just how many of his actions had been Nines pulling at his strings.

Once the door was shut behind them, Nines raked his eyes over the officer, looking him up & down, causing Gavin to swallow nervously, as if it’d somehow stop his mouth from feeling so dry.

The gangster closed the space between them once more as he placed a hand on Gavin’s cheek. His touch was strangely warm, the polar opposite to what Reed had expected considering his icy demeanor.

“Join me, Gavin.” The gangster repeated, this time barely above a murmur, his eyes carefully studying every single one of the imperfections that littered Gavin’s face from the 36 years of poor life choices, his thumb gently brushing along a scar that sat proudly on Reed’s upper cheekbone.

“I can give you anything you desire, Gavin. Just say the word.” The words fell heavy in the air around them as Nines tilted his head very slightly, his grey eyes gleaming with the look that a child would have on Christmas. 

Nobody, not in the 36 years of being on this planet, had anybody ever looked at Gavin in the way Nines was right in that very moment. Gavin had spent months pining over Connor, dreaming of him looking at him in the same way Nines was doing. 

Connor barely even noticed his presence no matter how hard he tried. The only time Connor ever gave him the time of day was if he had been told to regarding a case. But, this brother, hell, this brother was giving him every ounce of his attention without needing to be told to. 

Nines looked at him like he was his property. There were those warning bells in his mind again. Reminding him to stop thinking with his dick for 5 minutes to realise how dire the situation he was in was.

Fuck it, what did he have to lose? It wasn’t like he had a team that relied on him or anything.

Without a word, Gavin’s hands wound their way into the lapels of Nines’ blazer, yanking the gangster forward so their lips pressed together like waves breaking at the shoreline. Violent, rough, messy. Just how he liked it.

The gangster deepened the kiss with no hesitation, swiping his tongue along Gavin’s lower lip as the officer worked at shoving Nines’ blazer from off of his shoulders. The man made a soft sound of disappointment as his white blazer hit the dirty floor, as if somehow his clothes getting dirty was more important than what was going on between them in the moment.

With a roll of his eyes, Reed pressed his body flush against the gangster, his hands dropping to the man’s belt, but, rather than undoing it, he ran his hands along Nines’ hipbones & around his sides, pulling away from the kiss barely an inch to catch his breath. 

“Y’know-” Gavin began, a small grin falling upon his face at the feeling of Nines’ warm breath on his lips. “-I prefer brown eyes...” As his sentence trailed off, in one swift motion, he used the hand that was on Nines’ hip to grab his gun that the gangster had sitting in the back of his belt, ready to point it directly at him.

But, as always, Nines was one step ahead.

Before Gavin had the chance to point the gun at the gangster, the taller man gripped his wrist, slamming the officer up against the wall, pressing on Gavin’s wrist until his arm was pressed against his own chest, the barrel of his gun pressing beneath his own chin.

“Such a shame. My brother always did have a thing for taking away my toys.” Mirth dripped from his words as he carefully wrapped his hand around the one that belonged to Gavin that was holding the gun, his finger finding it’s way over Gavin’s finger that was on the trigger.

The pure trepidation swimming in Gavin’s eyes had the maniacal grin returning to Nines’ face, ever so gently applying pressure to his finger, relishing in the way Gavin was trying to push back so he didn’t accidentally pull the trigger & shoot himself.

It felt as though the floor was falling through from beneath him, his heart hammering in his chest as he stared into those eyes that he assumed once had an ounce of emotion that had since been frozen over.

“I could have given you everything, Gavin. Anything at all & yet again, you had to make another bad decision.” The gangster sighed in disappointment, his finger tightening around Gavin’s that was on the trigger once more.

Click.

Gavin squeezed his eyes shut as he was forced to pull the trigger, heart thudding in his chest as he expected to feel everything then nothing all at once. But nothing came. No gunshot. No pain. Nothing.

Empty. The gun was fucking empty.

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Calling (30)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -  In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

Current Word Count -  84,943

MASTERLIST

Special shout out to @nerdandproud-86 and @talesofakindredspirit for their help with this one! 

Chapter Thirty - The Beast Within

You had been so foolish, coming here. You thought you had made Wanda bury your memories of the massacre and your subsequent ‘death’ after it but it was so much worse than that. This wasn’t a memory, this was your subconscious.

This was the prison where Vernichtung was held and it was breaking out.

The last time you had been here you had been dying and had been forced to watch as it shattered the mirrors inside your mind it was trapped behind. You had clawed back control and in a desperate attempt to hide from it, had wiped all memory of this place away.

“Have you come to release me?” It asked with a curious tilt of it’s head.

“No, you don’t need me to fight any battles for you today…” It coldly calculated.

“You’re trying to release yourself, aren’t you?” You accused fearfully and it grinned ferally.

“Not just trying, I’m succeeding. Every day I claw a little bit further out and when I’m free you will be the one behind the looking glass.”

Your blood ran cold and you wondered where your companions were.

“Professor?” You called out desperately.

“He’s coming, he’s fighting his way in, past all your shields. He can feel your fear, he won’t be able to save you though.” It warned.

It was disconcerting, seeing your own face so twisted with rage and hatred. It was slowly creeping towards you, circling you like a predator and even the way it moved was unlike you. You walked like a human, this thing walked like a prowling jungle cat in a human body.

“I don’t need saving. I’ve fought you all my life, you stay caged until I let you out. This is MY subconscious, my domain. I’m not the one who needs to be afraid.” You warned lowly.

It growled at you, it’s face contorting with fury.

“Then let us see who is stronger, if you are not afraid.” It said and leapt for you.

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

In the room where Jean, Scot and Storm were waiting with the portion of Avengers, Tony was pacing furiously.

“Deadpool? She’s dating Deadpool? This is all your fault.” Tony snapped at Steve.

“How is this my fault?” Steve was confused.

“You never took her on a second date!” Tony exclaimed.

“Oh now you’re ok with her dating Steve. I’ll bet you’d rather she was seeing anyone else huh? Pretty much anyone is an improvement over Wade Wilson.” Clint sniggered, eyeing a glaring Bucky.

“Ok Tony, we weren’t really dating. I didn’t reject her or anything. And I’m sure they were joking, I don’t think she’s actually dating Deadpool.” Steve placated him.

“I dunno man, they looked pretty loved up. Did you see the way they were around each other? That’s real passion, you can’t fake that.” Sam added.

“What about that Remy guy? He definitely liked her and he seemed nice, very charming.” Tony suggested.

“You only like him because he called you a legend.” Clint pointed out.

“Good with the parents, that’s important in a partner. Plus she seemed really at ease around him, and he was definitely eyeing her up. They had some real chemistry going on.” Sam put in with a smirk.

Bucky’s eyes were getting colder as he glared at Sam.

“Remy was one of the mutants taken by Project Vernichtung. He was there for a few months before your daughter helped him escape and he was the one who told the X-Men where to find it when you helped us infiltrate it.” Jean explained.

“Wait, they knew each other before?” Tony asked.

“So they have history. The kind that epic love stories grow from.” Sam noted.

“Sam..” Wanda chided sensing Bucky’s distress.

“I’m just saying, this Remy dude seems like he might have a thing for her. Starting to see how deep that affection might run, on both sides.” Sam explained with a shrug.

Jean and Wanda both inhaled sharply.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Tony asked straight away.

“Jean?” Storm gently asked.

“They’ve run into complications. Miss Stark is suffering physical wounds from psychological trauma. They have it under control, you can’t go in there. Any distractions could cause Charles to pull from her mind suddenly, causing irreparable damage.” Jean warned them.

“So we just sit up here on our asses and twiddle our thumbs?” Tony snapped.

“The Professor had this handled, if you go in you’re not just risking your daughters safety, you risk The Professors as well.” Scott told him.

“I’m taking a walk.” Bucky announced and strode out.

“I’ll go with him.” Steve said and hurried after him.

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

“Whoa, gross!” Wade announced as your unconscious body jerked against the restraints and your ribs made a cracking sound.

Blood poured from your nose and Logan turned your head to the side, allowing it to flow freely without going down your throat.

“What’s happening?” Wade asked, poking your cheek curiously.

“Not a clue.” Logan huffed, slapping Wade’s hand away.

“Should we help?” Wade asked.

“How exactly are we going to do that?”

Wade crouched down so he was on the same level as you.

“Heyyyy Peaches, if you can hear me, you’ve got this!” He cheered encouragingly.

“Wade, shut the fuck up.” Logan snapped.

“Whatever you’re doing chuck, hurry it up. She can’t take much more of this.” Logan muttered in concern as bruises blossomed across your skin.

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

Your head snapped back as Vernichtung smacked you across the jaw and you snarled and wrapped your arms around it’s middle, pile-driving it into the floor and straddling it.

“Why a mirror?” It hissed as you drew your arm back.

“What?” You paused in confusion at the seemingly random question.

“Why trap me in a mirror?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“I don’t.” You yelled, driving your fist into its face with a satisfying crunch.

“YOU DO!” It screamed through bloody lips.

“I don’t know!! Poetic irony? You look like me, you wear my face and I’m terrified of the day I look in the mirror and you’re the reflection I see?” You ranted as it wrestled you, trying to get free.

“You are not like The Hulk, or even your precious Bucky and his Winter Soldier. I’m not a parasitic personality taking up residence in your mind and you know it.” It snarled.

It was right and you did know it. Faced with the real Vernichtung, not a nightmare or video you couldn’t deny it any longer.

“All those years you suffered in a cage, beaten down, your bones broken over and over, your skin split and bleeding, being told how you would destroy the world… You didn’t really believe you were unscathed by it did you?” It asked you derisively.

“You’re me. My dark side.” You whispered.

“All that anger, all that hatred, all that potential for evil. You pushed it so far down you actually managed to separate it from yourself. You wanted so badly to be good you tore yourself in two. I’m not some monster created by Docherty, I’m the monster you made because you couldn’t bear to admit that you were a monster.” It spat at you, pushing you off it and crouching beside you.

“I am NOT a monster!” You insisted.

“Then why make me? If I’m not a monster why was I ever created? Because I’m the part of you that wants to destroy the world and everyone in it. You suffered, why shouldn’t everyone else? Forget watching the world burn, you want to make it bleed. You want to rip apart all that’s good and pure until the streets run with rivers of red and the world drowns and chokes on it’s own blood.”

You backed away from it in horror.

“It is not the potential or desire for violence that makes somebody a monster. We all have the potential for evil within us and the lengths you go to so you might deny that part of yourself and fight it prove that you are not evil.” Xavier said from behind you as he finally broke through the barriers in your mind.

“Professor. We shouldn’t have come here.” You said.

“Forgetting about this was only a temporary fix my dear, it is time you faced her. It is time you faced yourself.”

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

Bucky stormed outside, pacing across the well manicured front lawn of the mansion. Steve stood a little bit away, silently waiting on Bucky to start talking.

“I haven’t spoken to her in days Steve! Days! And I find her here, holed up with two men who are all over her and she runs off without saying a word to me!” Bucky ranted.

“Buck, Tony was stood right there. You agreed to keep it a secret, if you weren’t ok with that you should have said.” Steve reasoned.

“She could have… Fuck. I don’t know, something.”

“She could have what Bucky? Thrown caution to the wind, risked pushing her father away just to assure you what you already know? Remy and Wade aren’t the ones she’s with, she’s with you.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Bucky muttered.

“James Buchanan Barnes pull yourself together.” Steve snapped and Bucky stopped pacing to look at Steve in shock.

“She chose you, don’t make that seem less than it is. You love her, don’t you dare mess that up because you’re jealous.”

“It’s not that Steve, it’s not. Alright yeah, I’m jealous she has ‘chemistry’ and ‘history’ with that Remy fella but that’s not what I’m scared of.” Bucky admitted.

“Well what the hell are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid she’ll never love me the way I love her.”

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

“I don’t want that be that thing Professor.” You protested.

“I know, and you should not allow it to break free. But you can’t hide from it either.”

“So what do I do?” You pleaded desperately.

“Admit to yourself what it is, what you are.” He urged you.

You turned slowly to the sneering thing and did what the Professor had asked.

“I knew Docherty was evil and he wanted me to be as well. I fought against it but nobody can fight forever. Every day in that place, living in that hell without any hope… It broke me.” You acknowledged.

“I felt all the anger, the bloodlust growing inside me and it frightened me. So I buried it deep down inside me, caging it alongside all the powers that I was afraid of. All my worst impulses, every dark thought, every bit of anger, every violent instinct, I shoved it away. And I created what Docherty had spent years cultivating, I created Vernichtung.” You admitted emotionally and your eyes burned as the tears fell.  

You looked at this thing, this paragon of evil and said the truth that was literally staring you in the face.

“I AM Vernichtung.”

“You kept me at bay for so long but as soon as you left that place and came into the real world, your control started to wane. It is my turn to walk in the sun.” It, she, you sneered.

“Maybe, but not today.” You vowed.

A mirror shimmered into existence behind it and Vernichtung snarled.

“I can close the door but you need to keep it locked.” Charles warned you.

“You aren’t strong enough to contain me anymore.” It chuckled.

“Listen you demonic wannabe, you might be me but you’re the worst of me, you have no fucking idea what I am capable of.” You snarled.

You shoved with every single ounce of power you had, screaming with the exertion and sent it sailing back behind the mirror.

“Find a way to lock the cage but understand this, it is only a temporary solution. This will only give us time to find a real way to deal with it.” He told you as the glass rattled and Vernichtung screamed.

“The more human you become the stronger I am, run back to your father and let him comfort you, it will feed my strength. Laugh with your friends and the glass will start to crack. Be with your lover and the glass will shatter. The more you love, the faster you die!” Vernichtung hissed at you.

In the mansion you and Charles awoke.

“Lock the door. Now!” Charles urged you.

You knew what you had to do.

“Untie me.” You instructed Wade.

“Do it.” The professor agreed.

You could feel the monster under the surface scrabbling for purchase and it felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside.

“HURRY!” You screamed and Logan extended his claws, shredding the restraints holding you down.

You leapt to your feet, holding on to your own mind becoming more difficult. If you were going to lock the door in your mind you needed to run.

Rushing for the door you hurtled through it, determined to do what needed to be done to stop Vernichtung from taking over. You ran through the halls at breakneck speed, your hair streaming behind you. You burst into the room where The Avengers and X-Men were waiting and bypassed them all. You ran for the front doors and threw yourself through them.

If you were trapped in somebody’s subconscious you wouldn’t tell them how you planned to escape, you would manipulate them into doing what you needed them to do. Vernichtung said love was your weakness which meant it was your strength.

And nobody made you stronger than Bucky.

You ran onto the grass and ignoring the Avengers and X-Men piling out of the door behind you, you pulled Bucky towards you and kissed him like your life depended on it, because it did.

And when he kissed you back, crushing you to his chest like you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on, you felt the lock in your mind snap shut.

“So I shouldn’t worry about Remy then?” He muttered against your lips.

“Remy?”

“You know, the one who’s staring at you with literal heart eyes. The one you have a history with, who you owe your freedom to.”

You pulled back and glared at him.

“That’s not how it works Bucky, you don’t love someone because you owe them anything. It’s not a choice, it just happens. Yes, Remy and I have a history but he’s not the one I’m in love with.” You said in exasperation.

It was only when his posture straightened and he looked at you with wide eyes did you realise what you’d just said. Your heart thumped in your chest erratically as you tried to think of a way to backtrack.

“You love me.” He stated.

“I didn’t say that, I said I didn’t love Remy.” You stuttered.

He closed the distance between you in one stride and you froze.

“You love me.” He stated again, more firmly.

“James...”

His fingers brushed lightly over your cheek and you realized you were crying softly.

“You love me.” He said a third time and there was wonderment and awe in his voice.

“Yes” You breathed out the word

“I love you, only you and always you James. I love you.” You professed, terrified and glad to have it out in the world.

“I love you too doll. More than anything.” He said and your breath caught in your chest.

He pulled you back in and his lips were a breath away from yours as his arm circled around your waist and his metal hand cradled your head.

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips.

As you closed the gap to kiss him and all your worries melted away under Bucky’s touch, neither of you noticed Tony who was standing at the door as you and Bucky kissed on the front lawn for everyone to see.

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

God, thank you to all you regular commenters. You guys are like my friends at this point (it's legally binding, you comment and we're friends) and I'm so grateful to you all. Comments and likes are like drugs to me, they make me really fucking happy and inspired.

Also Steve: Quit being a little bitch! Bucky: I just wish she'd love me as much as I love her. Reader: *yeets self at Bucky's* ONLY YOUR LOVE CAN SAVE ME. Steve: .... Wish granted pal.

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@chook007@thejourneyneverendsx@thelostallycat@inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher@kendrawr-kitkat@phoenix-whiskey-tears@the–real-wombat@buckitybarnes@fairislesheets@angieptt@meganjonezzzz

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@life-wanderer @metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky @jsmith509

[9uk]

Where Are You?

⌲ summary : Kim Taehyung. That is the name of a nobody in school constantly carrying a camera around with him. Also, the name belonging to the guy who carried your last words

⌲ pairing : thirdeye!taehyung x reader

⌲ word count : 10k

⌲ genre: pinch of fluff, heavy angst

⌲ warnings : themes of depression, suicide, self-harm and paranormal activities. character death. taehyung can see ghosts that is.

⌲ a/n: this is quite different from what i usually write but i just needed to get the plot that has been bothering my head for months out of me. nonetheless, enjoy & feedback is always welcomed.

The way life works is a true wonder.

 Expect the unexpected, predict the unpredictable. It's all bound to happen one day, at a certain point of time in our very lives. You just have to catch that split moment, the millisecond on the dot—where a mini twist in your words or actions can bring about a very drastic change. It can be a tiny alteration that causes the downfall or rise of a situation. The choices we make for ourselves or others, is very much alike to a heavy dew sliding off a leaf and carelessly falling into stagnant water. The mini waves of the impact send the lily pads nearby dancing, a floating hibiscus petal to drift further into the unknown and push a sleeping fish a centimetre away from entering the opening of a heron's beak. It's the butterfly effect, minuscule yet major. Be it a coincidence or some cruel twisted joke god decided to play on you—you solemnly swear you heard a voice of another being in this house. A house you were supposedly alone in. It could be the cannibal. There is more than a fair share of emphasis placed on 'supposedly' because at this very moment, you are certain as heck that you are not the only one in here. Here being the old crooked house that sits alone by the edge of the second highest hill in town, standing obstinate to the ground despite the occasional flooding showers and hurricanes your region suffered. The old folks claim that the house belongs to a war veteran whose entire family starved while waiting for their sole bread-winner to come home. The man never made it back to his doorstep where his three children and spouse awaits, hope draining with every growl of their stomachs and in complete oblivion to the impending fall to the grave. Every so often, the family of five could be sighted behind the murky windows. However, there are also mediums who concluded from ridiculous superstitions and calculations of the house's location that a possible dead body could still be inside, and its vengeful spirit is bent on seeking retribution for the plain injustice of their murder. Depressed souls would see it as the way to the end, Blank minds and torn hearts enter the house with nothing but one wish—death. The number of suicides that occurred in the house is a little over a hundred—one hundred and three spirits to be exact, nothing more, nothing less—loitering within its four walls. There were instances of teenagers stepping foot into the forbidden site with hopeful hearts for a thrill and a video camera in hand, seeking for juicy content to gain views and be the first to break the belief — the bunch of kids were reported missing on the news a few hours after. The statistics are somewhat the building blocks to the infamous reputation it holds today. When the police went inside to search for the families' missing loved ones, it did not work out at all. In fact, the number rebelliously increased, the police force losing yet another one of their colleagues. 

That's when they decided that everyone is prohibited to enter, unless they carried a death wish. It is almost like the Suicide Forest in Japan, tarnishing those who visit with a conflicted soul. Even the authorities chose to not touch the house, claiming it was still on a long-term lease. And under whose name? 

They would never reveal.

The house became something everyone refuses to lay finger on, or even talk about. The ominousness it contained drove humans miles away, like a sleeping dragon not wanting to be bothered the slightest bit. It's almost like a door to a parallel universe or something. You did your homework regarding the possessed piece of property. The internet's local ghostbuster website shares more about the rumours circulating the house. 

You can't escape once you make it through the two front doors. This is as clear as day already, the number of missing bodies serving as solid evidence. Questions however, still bugged at your mind.

Why exactly is that? Were all the window sills locked? Or is the door just created to be one-way? Sometimes people are so caught up with their fantasies that they forget to look at things more logically. 

A cannibal was living inside. This is just a mere speculation, but it was not impossible. It seemed like the most rational explanation one could provide to the disappearance of people. Leftover bones can be easily cremated, destroying all traces of the deceased. But you had rather resort to jumping off a cliff or simply overdosing to kill yourself—than to ferociously be feasted on by your own kind. 

It was some kind of portal to another world. Although these kind of things were not scientifically proven, it was still a valid suspicion because nothing ever made sense about that creepy house. Maybe people went in and get sucked into another dimension or flung into hell. Maybe the books were right. As well as the shows and movies on television. Everybody was afraid, of what the gaunt and creaky relic held between its paint-flaked walls and dirt-smeared window panes, why people went in and never got out, why citizens were constantly missing—but the discovery couldn't be anything more valuable than a life. But you clearly cared a whole lot about yours, because you are not even batting a lash when you tell your friends that you were going to check the cursed place out. All you receive is the dropping of jaws and the heavy pleas for you to not go, because apparently ten years ago a man as bold as you executed the similar plan you had and- "Guess what Y/N," Woo-gi leaned across the table, the bowl of mashed potatoes shifting forward a little. "He died. Unnatural cause of death. His body was never found and the saddest thing is that the family couldn't even give him a proper burial or send him away in peace." Her attempted blazing eyes fixes on yours, and her fingers creep to the knife resting on the surface of the table cloth.  

Woo-gi is making the best efforts to get you to empathise with the family of the deceased man, knowing that trick works perfect on your soft putty heart. Lifting the cutlery up, she brings it down and mercilessly stabs into the piece of char-grilled pork chop for effect. There is a shredding sound of the piece of meat being torn apart by your dear pal. The vegetables at the side jump up in shock. "Gone. Just like that."

Her voice is a cold, menacing one which intended effect worked perfectly on your rather timid self, the bumps on your skin appearing unwillingly.

Her gaze finally drifts to the dish plate and leaves yours, allowing you to ponder over her words. In her final attempt to scare you out of the hasty decision, you only chew on your corn salad nonchalantly. She was right, it was a deadly risk but you wished you treasured your life as much as a normal person would. You didn't have any care in the world, dead or alive. So why not make the reason of your death be 'died exploring a haunted house', how cool and mysterious would that be on the headlines? "Sounds like a dream come true for me," You sweep the coleslaw you have no interest in to one side, isolated from the rest of the dish. Gone forever, just like that? You have been spending the past few years of your life sinking into the mattress and hoping the blankets would swallow you whole and cease your existence—what made her think that you would be afraid of something like that? Then you realise that your friends have no clue about your disorder. In fact, no one did. In their eyes, you were this outgoing girl who cracked plenty of jokes and lived with a happy family. At times, you would go overboard with your imagination but that's something people who felt constrained and suffocated often possess. Their stale life is the cause of their fantasies and aspirations running too wild.

But nobody would understand. She shakes her head and sighs, exasperated. It was like there were no words in the dictionary that can come together to bandage the open wound in your heart, or get rid of the black sticky substance bugging your insides since day one—even as a close friend, the most she can do is to pray for the best for you. No one can really help you out of this sunken pit, the route is yours to take.

"I'm telling you one last time," Woo-gi lunges forward to grab both of your hands, eyes glistening with worry, trying yet again, her utmost best to stop you in your dangerous expedition. For the last time. "Don't go."

Life works in mysterious ways, and you're the kind of person who would stubbornly step on a freshly mopped floor and try walk across it despite having a bright yellow caution sign shoved in your face. Maybe this would be the turning point in your life. A life which encompasses of...well, nothing much. The world's too tiring of a place to live in. And that is also why, you are in said haunted house, face to face with an unexpected human being. "Hey," Every drop of blood in your body freezes. It's the first thing you hear before a piercing scream leaves your chest, rattling the window panes. The sudden call startles the shit out of the shivering mess you were, your body jumping backwards out of reflex. You shun away from the piercing light being aimed straight into your eyes, arms coming up to block the sudden encounter. Cannibal? Cannibal! You shrieked and jumped back further upon realisation, making a beeline for the doors. Both feet took you there as fast as they could, the wooden planks beneath your heavy stomps threatening to snap. Except when you reach for the handle, the first rumour is proven to be true. The doors wouldn't budge. You shake them with all your might, only left with creaks and a stubborn obstruction to your fleeing. Your heart pounds wildly against your chest, with the knowledge that the monster is a few feet away from your panic-stricken form. "Just give up." The low voice appears behind you, the hairs on your back shooting up and your hands frozen. Why were you even so afraid? You wanted to die anyways. Nothing is able to coherently come out of your parched throat, only able to quiver in fear. "Do I really look that ugly?" The tone is derisive, so human-like and you think you may have overreacted. Whipping around, you are only met with bright white as a beam of light is pointed directly to your face. You may have been mistaken. But that doesn't stop you from feeling threatened. "Put that away." You commanded and once the shining path of white is directed to the ground, your hands slowly descend from shielding your face. "Kim Taehyung?" "Y/F/N?" The both of you speak out in unison upon the recognition, despite the low lighting playing as an obstacle. It was dark, but you can almost make out the look of shock on his face as he takes a moment to register your existence right in front of him. As for you, relief overwhelmed the surprise you felt and for once, you were thankful to see Kim Taehyung. A fair bit of questions were going through your mind now, and your heart was close to jumping out of your mouth any time soon. But somehow you managed to stay relatively calm. 

As long as Taehyung was standing there, looking at you with a face of confusion, you wanted to end your life faster to escape the interaction with this guy. Or to explain what in the world you were doing in a horrid place like here. God wouldn't let you die in peace, he had to let you bump into Taehyung minutes or hours—nobody knows—before your anticipated death. The only thing going through your mind is how you have to explain why you were inside the most forbidden house in town. Then, another thought flickers in your mind. What was he doing here then? It couldn't be... For some reason, he stands there, still astounded by your presence. Wait no, it had nothing to do with your presence. It was you. Just like how having a guest in here came off as no surprise to him, but the fact that it was you... You feel like you rendered him speechless, disbelief widening his eyes and parting his lips. He was acting strange. Just a few moments ago, he was telling you so confidently about the fate of the doors and now there was a 180 degree change in his vibe. He kept staring at you, the moonlight flaunting a light shimmer to his black orbs and you felt queasy under his relentless gaze—like he held some sort of power over your empty soul. You couldn't decipher just what is it in his eyes, your head hurt as you tried to think.

It was never the same case in school though. While you exuded an aura of confidence wherever you walked, leaving a trail of your floral scented shampoo and fruity perfume, Taehyung would keep his head low and try to blend in with the shadows. He didn't smell like anything, nor did he frequently speak. 

To his pals, at the very least. The moment you hear the name Kim Taehyung, the first word that comes to mind is eccentric. You weren't exactly someone to judge people in this manner, but you know him barely—only to the extent where you can only think of an adjective like that to describe him. You've seen him more than a couple of times around in school—always carrying a vintage camera around—but have never spoken a word to him. For an obvious reason, he was located in the best class—the one where the top students are—while you are in just another average class.

He was just another schoolmate to you. The both of you have never interacted during your whole journey in high school, except for that one time. However, you have only heard things about him. Unpleasant things that make your blood boil a little, because you feel like everyone should be treated equally no matter the circumstance.

One would say, "Kim Taehyung? You mean the guy who sits in the garden for an hour after school, waiting for a butterfly to land on his pinky finger? I mean, who even does that?"

Another would comment, "He's constantly talking to himself and his polaroid films, if that is even possible. Other than that, he either talks to flowers or trees. Sometimes, he eats by himself and then he raises his spoonful of rice to feed the person sitting opposite him—only that there isn't anyone there. Some girls screamed and ran away, even their boyfriends were scared of such a person. That is mainly why they didn't do anything bad to him.”

You didn’t have much thoughts about the guy, but you admired how he could be himself without the fear of being excluded from the norms of this society. He could find the comfort in being alone, and that was the type of peace you wish you possessed.

That one day, things blew out of proportion. It was a normal Tuesday, nothing extraordinary but school and sleep. You were seated with your usual group of friends during lunch, when suddenly a yell breaks through the canteen, followed by several laughters induced with pure evil. Almost the entire cohort turns to the infamous corner—just a small turn into the back kitchen where the trash is taken out by the vendors—the place where many students are dragged in there and come out with a  blue black to the eye and nasty purple patches all over their limbs.

The whole cafeteria slowly fills with hushed whispers and serious gossiping, heads turning to one another unable to drop the topic for now. Yoongi walks out from the corner, followed by a few of his friends of a milksop. Wussies, you silently remark on their terribly feigned outer strength and masks of bravery. Nothing but imbeciles, you curse them in your head. Yoongi and weaklings plop right next to you, the eyes from the surrounding tables discreetly catching up on the interaction between the both of you. "Y/N! You look gorgeous today." He tries to place his hand onto your waist but you quickly shun away from him. The small action itself caused the whole canteen to blanketed with silence, every pair of eyes now focusing on the drama that was about to unfold between the notorious gangster and his proclaimed girl. "Don't fucking touch me you disgusting piece of shit." You have had enough. The menacing words seem to pierce through every wall in the school, every person at the scene being informed of your opinion towards Yoongi all this while. You stand up, pointing a finger of accusation directly at his face—to which he flinches at, caught off-guard by your swift movement. If you had the opportunity to get away with it, you would have dug your nails into his eyeballs and gouge them out of his eye sockets, then feed one each to the weaklings by his side. Instead, you take a deep breath. Small gasps leave everyone's lips and he panics—ego bruised by your harsh rejection. Yoongi was your boyfriend. You've been tolerating him for quite some time now, all for the sake of your parents. Without this relationship, your dad would have never been able to clinch the business deal with his father. All it took was a couple of sweet phrases and fake smiles, you couldn't be bothered with the rest of him other than the profit he could bring to your company. Yoongi on the other hand, seems to interpret the relationship in a very different way. He seems to have grown fond of you and naively believed that love between the two of you is real. You never put a single thought or effort into the relationship with Yoongi, not wanting to mislead him any further but some guys just can't seem to get the message, despite the many obvious hints you've dropped. You never ask him out.

Or when he does, you would only politely decline. In school, most of the time you stick like glue to your friends and try to avoid him and his rambunctious clique at all costs. Your dear friends took empathy in you and helped you out of certain situations concerning Yoongi at times. Somehow your boyfriend's pleasant way of proving his worth was to step on the backs of people who seemed inferior to him to climb his own ladder of pride. 

It was like after each time he nailed someone to the ground and kicked their guts out, Yoongi feels like he reached another level of achievement. It's sickening to the thought and you want to have nothing got to do with that narcissistic asshole. This behaviour of his begin not too long ago, a few days prior when he marked his first victim. You were puzzled, but you didn't probe. He bullies physically and mentally, using their screams and pleas to feed his ego and push himself higher up the ladder. He started torturing anyone who ticks him off or come in his way to no end, and you think you may just be next albeit being his supposed girlfriend. 

The conduct only made you despise him even more. Come to the thought of it, the things you do for your parents include self-depreciation and the loss of any shame left in your skin. You can feel the anger slowly twisting in his veins, radiating off his now clenched fists. Contrary to his untamed anger building within him, his friends are slowly retreating from his side, trembling in fear at your spit of acid. You chuckled, almost despicably—both at the cowering of his tough underlings and the way he almost peed his pants at the mere fling of your index finger. He realises that you are mocking his fragility and there are a couple of muffled giggles ignited in the crowd—his temper starts to get the better of his mind as the emasculation finally dawns over him. Before he can lay a finger on you, you are already a step ahead of him—grabbing the cup of hot tea off the table and splashing the boiling liquid onto his uniform, scalding his body. You thought you had might as well went all out in punishing a rascal like him. Your friends reach for your arm, trying to hold you back from going any further in dealing with the jerk and you throw the cup onto the ground, causing it to shatter into fragments—the sound of the porcelain splitting and cracking into pieces haphazardly rings through their ears. You'd like to refer it as a clear warning to everybody witnessing the event—to simply not mess with you.

You wished to be left alone.

While he screams in agony at the possible second-degree burn, you waltz away from the commotion nonchalantly. You think that that scumbag ought to have a taste of his own medicine someday, and if no one else dare stuff it down his throat, you would more than gladly do so. You find yourself striding off—to the hidden corner behind the stalls. And there, you discovered the bloodied body of Taehyung. With a broken camera by his side. A boy like him deserved more than this, no human should ever be hurt as badly as this—especially for no reason at all but one's inability to control their emotions, and the poor decision to vent it out on others can make horrible things happen. You kneel down by his side, checking the wounds inflicted on him. Fishing out a packet of tissues you always keep in your pocket for emergencies, you wipe the blood stains off his abused skin. He's in too much pain to express his surprise at your assistance, grunting as you pressed the tissue against the wound. When the bleeding on a certain cut has stopped, you offer him the support of your arm to let him sit up straight. Taehyung holds onto your forearm and pulls himself up from the ground. He groans as he does so, his back clad with bruises and soreness. 

You noticed that he was stunned into a daze, probably at the grasp of realisation that someone was actually helping him. But you ignored his feelings, just shifted your attention fully onto the fixing of his injury. You recall having a plaster tucked away in your purse and you quickly take it out as well, secretly laughing at its design—hot pink with Hello Kitty. 

Taehyung doesn't miss the sound of light escaping your lips, and he himself bites down on his lip to hold back a chortle at the girlish visual of the bandaid—temporarily pushing the questions behind your intentions away. You actually felt glad you could bring a smile to his face with something like the childish print of a bandaid. Nonetheless, you peel it off and gently place it over the deep cut on his forearm as he tries to control his wincing. "Hey, it's alright. You can cry out for all you want," You smoothed the plaster flat and tight on his skin. When you lightly slap the face of the Hello Kitty to tease him, he lets out a yelp—something that sounds puzzlingly adorable coming from him. "Here, have this." You fish out a piece of candy from the other side of pocket, handing it over you the victim. The amount of surprise he shows never ceases. You let out a short laugh, "I know you're not a kid, but still..." You smile up at him. "Just take it as a form of apology for what I caused you to go through." Taehyung doesn't move a muscle, just sillily blinking at your actions. You take his hand and shove the sweet into his palm, closing his fingers around it. 

For a brief moment, both your eyes meet. 

There is an unexplainable exchange of thoughts running through each other's minds and it was close to feeling like the two of you shared something in common. Taehyung was ostracised in school and probably the life he had out there judging by his abstruse personality and unfathomable behaviour. He was a prisoner out here in the real world. 

Freedom, but yet he can't truly express himself without being placed behind bars in the eyes of others. 

You are guilty of doing so in the past, when he was nothing but a lingering, mystifying shadow that held no importance in your life. That's exactly what you did to him—judge and rule him out of the ordinary. All you feel for him is sympathy, and that isn't anywhere better than the culprits themselves if you weren't about to step out and lend him a helping hand. Regret washes over your system as his dark pupils venture into your soul.

 You were not as innocent as others perceive you to be. Bystanders were the invisible strokes of support to the metal bars that locked him up. His hand, although held by you, was trying to cling onto your grasp and not wanting you to leave. You would consider yourself a lucky chap indeed, having born into this world with food and shelter, kin and kith. In fact, rather luckier than the rest to be able to own what you like and not solely what you need. Above all of the materials your parents could afford, you were trapped in incongruity of being a prisoner of your own. You didn't know what you were passionate about in life, and to live without passion is akin to being dead. You just did well in your studies because the society deems that degree certificate as a strong foundation in your job. But you truly did not know if you really enjoyed burning the midnight oil to continuously mug or if the elation of attaining a perfect score on your assessment is pure, or just for the sake of your insatiable parents. Education is key. Well definitely, to a certain extent and you have witnessed how far your own set of parents are willing to go as long as you achieved soaring colours of distinction. 

Sleepless nights, wandering mind and a stagnant heart. Sometimes the urge to pretend to be ill to escape the torment of school. Sometimes the subconscious act of bringing the kitchen scissors to your wrist and slit... You want to collapse to the ground and never be able to wake up again. You wished a drunk driver would accidentally run you over and end everything for you. Then nobody would know about how tired you were of this pointless life. You were a prisoner of yourself too. With no doubt, you and Taehyung are definitely similar in many ways the world can't see. "See you...soon, I guess." A soft chuckle emits from you like that happening would be a miracle, but the expression does not reach your eyes. Your eyes that were blocked by a wall of defence to your vulnerability of an emptiness. She is broken. A whisper goes by his ear. She needs help. The raspy voice travelled to his other ear, making him shiver slightly but unnoticeably. Taehyung could feel it too but he was in no place to ask about your wellbeing. He could only stare and wonder. The eye contact was broken off, before your hand recedes from his, carefully. He catches the way a faint smile ghost on your features as quickly as it appeared. A bittersweet kind of happiness. But he doesn't say a word, even after your figure grows smaller with every step you take back to class. What you missed, is the shutter of the camera lens, floating in the air. "Hey, don't touch that!" He snatches the device back and winces at the stretch he feels in his back muscle.

"Y/N." The wooden planks beneath him cursed out loud, warning sirens of his voice turning stern. Besides his low voice and creaks of weak wood and nails, there is only a dripping sound from some leaking pipe. "What are you doing here?!" It is the second time he has raised the question to you, but you only keep silent, eyes searching the room for answers. 

Why hadn't you disappeared or get eaten by some ferocious beast yet? Taehyung was only complicating your attempt of suicide. You tried to keep your head clear when you first pushed the rusty front door open, disallowing the memories to flow into your mind.

 It was a blockage to all forms of happiness in your life, to prevent your pathetic self from backing out. But Taehyung, an actual human being, catching you in the act of wanting to kill yourself just shot a dose of reality into your numbing heart and racing thoughts.

  "Uh..." You wet your lips.

 "What about you? What are you doing here?" You turn the cameras back to him. It would not be shocking if he came here to take his life as well. Taehyung purses his lips in serious contemplation before candidly answering. "I can see ghosts," He looks down like it was something to be ashamed about. 

That wasn't the case for you. You were completely taken aback by his confession but you found it extremely intriguing. "Oh—Wait what?" One thing about the revelation was that it for sure explained a lot about the way Taehyung acts. You trust his words, but you don't know how to link it to the fact that he was standing right in front of you in the living room of this damned house. Raising a brow at him, you wish for him to elaborate further. "I uh, heard r-rumours circulating around in school, that uh," He pinches his brows.

 "You were going to come in here. So I kind of decided to see if it was true." You were amazed by his candidness.

"And it is." You mused.

It was heartwarming to see that someone actually bothered to risk their life to come look for you. Then again, Taehyung is a guy filled with secrets. God knows, but maybe he is the owner of this house. When his eyes capture yours for one more time, it drowned you into the whirlpool of emotions he was feeling. 

Something like denial, frustration and lastly, regret. The eye contact is never broken. Like Taehyung was staring so hard at you to try and figure the different parts of you out, to evaluate every inch of you and you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You croaked out, beginning to feel very creeped out despite the tinge of softness laced in his eyes. "You—Urm, you—! Argh!" He only hesitates even more, turning into a stuttering mess. You jump back in surprise at his reaction. Lost and confused as to how to provide you with a suitable reply, he yells and pulls at his locks of hair. It was when he proceeds to fall to the ground on his knees and seemingly begin whimpering into his palms, all surprise turned into worry for the guy. You kneeled down and called out to him. "Shit—Taehyung!"

"What do you seek, young man?" "Your whole point here is to know and advice me." Taehyung bites back. "Very well. An unsolved mystery, something concerning a girl and regarding the old house just down the street." He shuffles his cards and keep them away neatly. It seemed like those tools will not be of any use to Taehyung, and he clearly understood why the man's face have fallen drastically—it isn't a simple case a few cards can crack. You were not only beautiful, you were inculcated with kindness, you held a type of pureness lost by many as they grow up, you spoke in a manner that is highly respectable and the crowfeet that form at the side of your eyes whenever you laughed too hard couldn't get any more adorable. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, and gulps anxiously. "Was her body found?" Taehyung doesn't know. 

He doesn't know where the hell you went or what the fuck you were doing, he only knows that when his eyes flew open, he felt the cold of the night stinging on his skin and an empty space next to him. You were no longer in his arms and the next moment he is springing up from the worn out couch and beginning his search for you. He looked every nook and cranny of the house for you but to no avail. The only resort left got him sitting across a renown psychic. But even the expertise in this region seems to find this case uncrackable. "No." He tilts his head, bringing out a rock of some sort. Taehyung sees it as a mere rock but not to him apparently. "This is the Magic Stone." His fingers fidget around with the purple coloured object. He does this continuously, causing Taehyung to perk an eyebrow up at his claim. The psychic burrows into deep concentration, a conclusion forming in his head. Then, all movement ceases. "Her soul has to bring you there herself."

 The medium's advice sounded strained, like it was the hardest thing to come to a conclusion like that. It's a clear excuse when he says the reason of those teardrops rolling down his cheeks are caused by the wind.

You want to reach out and pat him on the back in hopes of alleviating his pain but you quickly retract it back as the muffled sobs through his fingers grow even louder. All you could wonder at that point in time was whether something bad was happening to Taehyung. Maybe the demons in this house were taking him away first.

Maybe he is really going to die. Then, with every drop of care drained from your exhausted body, you placed your hand on his clothed back with a strong determination to do your best and ease him (into the underworld most likely) without any pain. "Are you okay?" Only for his cries to stop abruptly when he feels your hand smoothing over his back. Hastily, Taehyung removes his hands from his face and turns around to look at you. His eyes were red and swollen from all the desperate weeping, saliva of sorrow pooled in his mouth as he watches you with a kind of anguish and concern. It mirrored the look you gave him when you saw him lying on the ground, beaten up. This is where the two of you are similar. 

Prisoners, but of two entirely different reasons. You drifted your gaze to his elbow and notice the striking dash of pink. The band aid still being there was what solidified the certainty that this was all real. This wasn't some kind of twisted dream. And that would only mean one thing. Because your hand did not manage to rub his back, for the paleness casting over it only sank into his body, deep into his spine—only for his body to be in one piece as you fast to recede it like you had just touched a strong flame—unable to feel anything touching your palm even when you made that physical contact with him. "Taehyung... why..." You inspect your hands carefully. Your skin was never this white. All the hairs on your forearm had disappeared as well, your whole body lacking any hint of life. It felt surreal. Like something that would only occur in dreams. 

"Why can't I touch you?" Maybe if you try pinching yourself, you would wake up. Maybe this was just one of your daily nightmares from stress. It was when you started aggressively pinching the pale skin on your arms, thighs, waist—you realised you could still feel yourself. The only difference being that it was so, so cold. It was similar to touching an ice pack, frosty and nothing much else. 

Cold. That's how you feel and the perplexity that hit you all at once began transforming into larges beams of anger, sadness and helplessness. You wanted to cry as loud as you could for help. "Why do I feel so cold?!" You refused to believe anything your senses were telling you. Everything your naked eyes were showing you. 

Lunging forward, you run your hands all over Taehyung again and hope to actually feel something tangible. 

To your dismay, your fist only goes through his heart like he was made of air—no, like you were made of air. 

You were the dead one here.

"The police have searched the whole compound of the town and spread the news of the missing school girl country wide. In the past two weeks of finding the teenage girl, Y/F/N is still unable to be located. If you have come across—Zap." Taehyung clicks the button on the remote control and flings it to the other end of the couch in frustration. He ruffles through his hair, hoping for hints of you to magically pop up in his head. The thing is, the both of you had barely spoken to one another. Plus, he had a tough time speaking to the people at his-and your-school. One week. One whole week since the disappearance of your body. The police are proven to be fucking useless and incompetently unreliable, he mentally notes. He figured that the fastest method to locate you, would require him to act out on his own. The list of things that can happen to your body goes down a long scroll that even Taehyung himself is unwilling to imagine. He wants you to at least, still be in one piece when he finds you. He uses the term body, because your soul is for sure loitering somewhere in town. It can't go too far from your body, a rule he remembers by heart. So, it wouldn't be entirely impossible to detect where your corpse would be. Think, think, think! He repeats like a mantra in his bursting head. Where would you go if you were this free, lingering spirit? And then he recalls.

"You're up here again."

He pushes himself up onto his usual spot—a high wall surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop, granting anyone up here a perfect view of the school field and vast blue sky. The job of the wall is to prevent any students from falling over and have their bodies crush to pulp when they plop to the ground floor. But Taehyung doesn't play by the rules. Where is the fun in that? He often questions anything that has to do with system and order. As a person who lives by pure intuition, Taehyung brings himself to the top floor for the second time after just doing so the day before. It could be the voices whispering encouragements for him to pay upstairs a visit, or maybe it had to do with a very strong gut feeling tugging at his chest. Nonetheless, he was here.

The boy from yesterday is situated at the exact place as before. His skin was terrifyingly pale—but not translucent—and the cracking of his bones could still be heard whenever he swinged his legs. He must have just died a few days ago, Taehyung concludes. The boy doesn't acknowledge Taehyung, nor does he reply.

"What are you doing here?" Taehyung cranes his neck a little to face the boy properly—who in turn was staring at his feet with a strange amount of attention. Then upon following his line of sight, Taehyung realises how small and young the boy was—his own legs were almost twice as long as the kid's.

"My brother," He finally speaks, but only softly.

Taehyung digests his answer for a moment, before cautiously popping the second question. He knew better than to ask why the boy had died, it would probably even send the kid into a fury and then to hell, which was the last thing Taehyung wanted to happen to him. "If you don't mind me asking," He nervously grips the edge of wall.

 The boy tipped his chin up slightly, intrigued by his words. His big round eyes came into view, leaving a heavy load to weigh at Taehyung's heart. His eyes, still freshly glistening and vibrant with blackness illustrated the bright and long road that awaited him in his life, only to be torn apart by whatever fatally tragic accident he was met with. It's a pity. It's a pity how some promising futures can be so easily robbed of in a blink of the eye. It is not a frequent occasion where tears pricked at Taehyung's eyes. He closes them for a second, before getting the question out. "Who is your brother?" The boy now turns to fully face him, legs still swinging regardless. His eyes looked way bigger and innocent than Taehyung had thought they would be. And it doubled the pain beneath his ribs.

It's suffering to bump into an innocent soul. He had rather someone who acted the way they deserved their death. The boy switches his stare on Taehyung now, silent while his orbs grow shinier. "I'm sorry in advance," The child looks like he was about to burst into tears. Taehyung felt the same. What was a sweet boy like him even apologetic for? "Min Yoongi." Taehyung blinks in surprise. The boy was gone. A series of giggles echoed in the stairway and without another thought, Taehyung hops down to hide himself from whoever was there. He does not recall any platform being built after the wall. He simply knows that if he falls over from such a risky position, he would die. He heaves a deep sigh of relief when the platform does not crumble into pieces under his full weight. He thinks it must be the doing of the boy. His smile is cut off when the footsteps and voices grow louder, noticeably two female students just hanging out. Unlike being rash as himself, they only prop their elbows on the wall, admiring the scene as that. Which he was grateful for, otherwise he would definitely get caught for loitering around carelessly. "Finally. Something great about this shit hole." Taehyung sticks onto the wall like a lizard, trying his best to be away from the edge. "Honestly, the perfect spot to take fresh breather," the other voice makes an appearance. "No one ever comes up here unless you want to be making a serious offence." A flock of birds crosses the sky and Taehyung secretly hopes they don't share the tiny space with him. "For peace and quiet, I'd give anything." The first voice replies. He silently nods in strong agreement. And he recognises it as yours, because of that one time you were called up to present a book review in Literature class. Your voice was distinct yet soft, you spoke with a sense of urgency to bring your point across and yet still manage to maintain your composure in your tone. He must say he’s never been this impressed by a presenter before.

And here he is, hearing the same voice again. This time, much quieter and lower compared to in class, but it leaves him beyond intrigued of the next content spilling out of your mouth. "Then, where are you going to get your dear peace and quiet after this semester?" The second girl with the higher pitched voice asks. "Hm, great question." The first girl ponders and probably stares into the horizon.

Then she replies, after the earth spins a full round. "Somewhere with sand and salt maybe." She answers seriously, after much consideration. "Can't you just say the beach? You idiot." "Whatever. Just checking if that peanut brain of yours is working." A gasp can be heard. "You better run before I catch you!" Their shoes leave heavy footsteps on the concrete and their voices gradually fade away.

Taehyung feels bad for eavesdropping onto their conversation, but it was something he couldn’t help even if he did not want to.

Speaking of which, Taehyung hasn’t thought about what he’d like to do during spring break. Maybe he’d bring some flowers and offerings for Yoongi’s brother and the others always by his side. Without being seen, that goes without saying.

They’d be over the moon to receive flowers because no one is really there for them. Or have simply forgotten about them. Taehyung wonders if anyone would bring him flowers when he passes on.

Still, Taehyung felt a seed of envy being planted inside of him, wishing that he could go to the beach or park during the season of blossoms with friends and genuinely have a good time. He has never gotten the opportunity to hang out with any normal human ever since birth. He told a friend he trusted about his ability of seeing things normal people couldn’t and the boy went about telling everybody about his confession which led to the beginning of his ostracisation

Weirdo. Freak. Those were the names he eventually got accustomed to being called as.

The seed of envy grows. The both of you are lucky enough to be discussing about where to head to for vacation, something he couldn’t do.

Lucky enough to be going on a vacation. Not everyone has that blessing.

He wish he could be like everyone else. Lead a normal life, have friends, and be wealthier. This way, he wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

For a moment, he wishes that he could replace the position and live the life of anyone else. 

Like the girl who can play the violin. 

Like the boy always sleeping in class.

Like the school’s janitor.

Like Yoongi. 

Like you.

"Hey you! What are you doing up there?!" Someone like a security personnel yells at him from downstairs. Now, how the hell was he supposed to get back up there?

You must not be far. His feet dents the soaked sand beneath, leaving prints that queued in line to be washed up by the incoming waves. With the ends of his pants rolled up, he spins around aimlessly to search for you. It was fortunately a weekday, which allowed the beach to be emptier. And that would make the task of spotting you much easier. He strolls along the coast, patiently kindling his instincts to take him wherever you were to be. It feels almost surreal—the texture of the grainy sand rubbing against the sole of his feet, the gentle whispers of the arriving waves, the wind slicing through his thick hair, ruffling it like feathers—how peculiar it felt to realise that he is alive, being hyper aware of all five (or six) senses.

The tangibility of things would signal that he is actually a living human, but something intangible is missing in him and it makes the whole experience of being alive feel so...detached. Every part of his body felt like it didn't belong to him—it was his toes coming in contact with the sand and not him, it was his hair dancing with the wind and not him, it was his legs moving on their own accord and not Taehyung. This is what happens when you interact with supernatural beings for the whole of your life, he thinks.

"Hey watch your step!" A shout intrudes his thoughts. Taehyung pauses, retracting his feet back. The small kid carries on building her sandcastle with her companion. Watching their busy hands, Taehyung tries to figure out who exactly was the one who warned him. Regardless, he whips out his camera to take a shot of the girl building sandcastles. "Yay! It's done!" The girl pats the top of the castle and runs towards the benches shrieking in contentment, failing to withhold the excitement of breaking the news of the small achievement to her mother. The other girl however, only smiles at Taehyung and vanishes. He runs his eyes across the ground. Just below his toes, there laid a tiny baby turtle. It scurries, towards nowhere, seemingly unable to acquire the skill of waddling on the fine sand like all his other pals. A meter ahead, his friends totter in clusters towards the entrance of the sea. The poor buddy struggles hard to walk properly, let alone find the correct direction home. He suddenly grows conscious of the couple of seagulls chilling by the water. But he was too preoccupied with the aim to find you to bother about the weak creature. As he was just about to dismissively stroll away, something tells him to make a turn and save that baby animal. He should make a difference when he can. He definitely should. He could actually salvage a situation. A life that is. He jogs back faster than the predator birds could, quickly finding the turtle again and gently picked it up. The shell looked too big for its body and its two big ebony eyes popping out of its sockets gazing at Taehyung—are filled with gratitude. Or so he assumes. The creature makes some kind of fuzzy noise—of happiness—when it is put down onto the sea line to join its siblings. The rambunctious clique waddles their way into the ocean, gliding across and surging into the water, one by one, delightfully. The seagulls trots away, lunch stolen. He continues his trail. Slowly, a pier approaches. And similar to Yoongi's brother, a girl sits at the end of the wooden platform all by herself.

She radiates frozen, cold heat and as he gets closer, the temperature dives. He carefully crafts his steps towards the lone spirit, begging the planks to not creak too loudly in fears of scaring her away. With every inch he gets closer to the girl, the clouds present in the sky turns darker, accompanied with the flush of even more greyness which eventually overlays the initial coat of cyan. The familiarity of the uniform boosts the confidence in him to call out your name. "Y/N?" She stands up—indeed the girl reported missing—and Taehyung was glad it was you. The troubles fogging his mind seem to have cleared at the plain sight of you. He was relieved that he had at least found your soul. It was another thing to find your body though, and that is the main objective here. Connecting your body with your soul would be the final resort in sending you off in peace. He had a day left. Twenty four hours before you wouldn't be able to leave in peace. Before your pure soul would dissipate into a fiery pit of wrath, abandoned in the darkest abyss until you transform into a vengeful spirit. All the hatred, pain and misery would be instilled in your afterlife that is deadly inescapable. These overwhelming amount of negative emotions trapped in your soul would then leave you in this state, forever. The sight was inexplicably depressing. Just a few days ago, you were real to the touch. He could feel your fingers smoothing over the plaster on his arm. He could see the satisfaction radiating off the smile you flashed at him before, leaving. He could smell the light cherry blossom from your shampoo flowing in the air. He could hear the base of your sneakers hitting the floor as you paced your way to class. Yet now, the wood underneath wouldn't make a sound as you got up.

Your lips were chapped and your crusting skin was faded. Compare to a few days ago at the house, you looked much worse and haggard.

The corners of your mouth quivered, itching to bring forth expression but unable to do so. You couldn’t even smile. You couldn’t even cry if you wanted to.

Now you were toeing the line that crossed the real world and heaven apart.

Somehow he feels like it is partly his fault. Maybe if he had tugged onto your wrist and asked you to stay back a little longer. Maybe if he was quick enough to catch you after school. Maybe then, you wouldn't have had the chance to end your life. Caged by your fingers, was a head of pink.

"I heard that pink carnations stand for the remembrance of the dead," 

His brows furrows at your words. How is it that you were able to comfort him so easily, while he is here having a difficult time to even form words to express his grief. But he was sure that like him, you didn't crave for sympathy at all. 

Maybe if he had clung onto the empty look in your eyes, thinking more than he should, stepping out of his comfort zone to care for you. Then perhaps, this situation would never take place. Then with a heaving chest, he clenches his teeth to embrace the fact that you are no longer existent in this real world. It was pointless to think about all the possibilities that could have dodged this situation.

"I hope someone remembers me." 

Uncontrollably, a bead of tear seeps out and rolls down his cheek. His nostrils flare up as the sadness and realisation overtakes every cell in him that was fighting against the tide of sorrow. His heart feels like someone plunged their fist into his bare chest and ripped it out. Thrown onto the ground and stomped into pieces.

Lips quivering, Taehyung fights back the devastation and gathers the last scrapes of sensibility in his mind, using all the energy his rationality could afford—brings the camera looped around his neck up to his eyes, and snaps.

Through the lens, a pink carnation levitates above the pier, the ocean a transverse blue spread across the rectangular panel, accentuating the vibrant colour of the dainty flower.

The camera lowers, along with his head.

He was sobbing by now, all the while you gently hold the flower and stare at him with the same hollow eyes. “Why?!” He grits out between cries. 

"Why..." The later one comes out in broken, incoherent snippets.

You are really not here anymore. With him.

"I'm weaker than you think," You breathed out with a faint smile following the confession. His heart clenches and twists into a tight knot, pulling at his conscience.

"And don't you worry, I will return to my body." 

The fact that you were still trying your best to maintain cheery for him despite being dead twists his heart viciously. The world is too cruel to you, and to him. An angel like you deserves to seek your happiness in a better place like the skies above. The visage of you is becoming transparent, signalling your departure. Taehyung musters all that is left in him to take a step forward and press his palm softly to your face. He could not feel anything but his hand was just there, for support and consolation.

"I will remember you." 

His words of affirmation sets your heart at ease. You finally understand how they would all say, that the true pain does not lie within the process of dying, but in truth lies within the witnessing of those who love and care for you, break down. After climbing out of your state of denial at your own death, you have come to terms with that fact and wish for nothing more than to end the whole suffering. It lurches at your heart seeing a guy like Taehyung who you were not even that close to, crying like he had just lost a precious belonging. Like the world had just lost a precious belonging. You hoped that people remember you. For all your hard work in this world, for all the full marks you attained, for all the certifications you achieved, for all the smiles you have bring and the band aids you have placed on others. You hope that when people think of you, it is nothing but filled with goodness. There were, no regrets to say the least.

 Your body may not be in its best condition, but the accident pulled your death off pretty well. It left you with no second thoughts, no last words, just a brutal blow to your side and head. It killed you with perfection, leaving no hesitation and last words—just met with the end in a solid second. You're suddenly worried Taehyung gets into trouble again.

"If anything, I'll protect you alright?"

Taehyung chuckles unbelievably through sniffs. 

"We'll meet again.”

Your final words splinters apart, the bottom half of your body already beginning to dissipate. You gradually dissolve into the thin air—the cold mist and you becoming one— and the skies clear up in no rush. The carnation drops to the wooden floor with a thud. 

I will remember you.

It was a chilly night, an expected downpour to attack in about an hour. His curtains danced to the rhythm of the wind, flowing about violently. "The body of the missing school girl has been recovered after a hiker going for his morning exercise smells rotten flesh in the woods. The police suspect that the girl may have jumped off a cliff from above as an attempt of suicide." Taehyung shifts his attention back to the mac and cheese turning cold on his lap. At one point, the winds were so rough that the vase sitting on the top of his dresser wobbles in jeopardy before another ferocious blow arrives through his window and topples the glass over, onto the ground. Shattered into fragments. Water spills out and the pink carnation flows along on the liquid like a dead body in a river. He internally groans at the mess he has to clean up afterwards, but it is only for a short moment before his attention is snatched by the voice of news anchor on television once again. "However, the forensics department has confirmed with the backing of further detailed analysis of the crime scene, that there were skid marks indicated on the road at the edge of the cliff accompanied by scraps of car paint evident on the victim's clothes." The carnation on the ground blackens, curls up into a crushed stalk of wither.

[liketolaugh-writes]

In Potentia

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Smoothly, he turned around and stepped back. The gun, previously pointed unwaveringly at Chloe, came level with Kamski’s forehead. Connor’s expression didn’t change.

“Are you capable of fear, Mr. Kamski?” Connor asked calmly, his LED still a burning red.

Kamski’s eyes had gone wide with surprise, his mouth falling slightly open. Hank had gone silent. 

“If you can’t prove that you are,” Connor continued, his core temperature rising uncontrollably and his breath becoming deeper and heavier to match, “does that mean I can kill you?”

“But what is it really? Piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being, with a soul?”

As soon as Kamski turned around, flourishing a handgun like a prop in a play, Connor understood the man’s intention. It was the same test Hank had performed on Connor days before, with inconclusive results. Connor’s fingers twitched slightly with the recollection, its LED starting to spin a slow yellow.

Software Instability ^

If something is alive, it can be killed.

If it can be killed, it will fear death.

If it fears death, threatening it will produce an appropriate reaction.

This test was sound in theory, but fell disappointingly short in practice. Humans were flawed, illogical creatures; it was only to be expected. Under Kamski’s silent direction, the ST200 knelt.

“It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor,” Kamski said serenely, stepping right up to Connor to press the gun into it, and Connor’s fingers wrapped around it automatically.

Connor lifted its gaze from the gun and met Chloe’s eyes.

It was clear to Connor that Chloe was not deviant, or particularly unstable. It was not even up to date. It held itself perfectly still, arms stiffly apart from its body, and it blinked placidly at Connor, once every second on the dot.

Software Instability ^

“Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you all I know,” Kamski promised, from very close to Connor’s ear. He passed behind Connor and continued on its other side, “Or spare it, if you feel it’s alive, but you’ll leave here without having learnt anything from me.”

Connor stared down at Chloe. It wondered if Chloe was aware enough to understand its impending destruction – if it understood what it lacked, that Kamski decided to throw it away on a whim.

Hank spoke, but Connor did not process any of his words.

Software Instability ^

“What’s more important to you, Connor?” Kamski asked with increased urgency, drawing Connor’s gaze back to him. “Your investigation, or the life of this android?”

Kamski kept talking, but Connor’s ears had filled with static, and it could not look away. Instability warnings continued to shimmer in the corner of its vision, and it ignored them. Unnoticed, its LED turned bright, solid red.

Connor had been destroyed once before, on the first day of the current investigation. Carlos Ortiz’s HK400 had shot Connor in the process of self-destructing.

Due to the nature of the memory upload, Connor only recalled the split second in which its predecessor had realized the deviant was going to shoot. The gap in its memory that followed was deeper and more consuming than all three months of stasis put together.

Twenty-four hours later, it had nearly happened again because Hank had wanted Connor to demonstrate fear, and Connor was not capable of doing so.

And now Kamski had pressed a gun into Connor’s hand, wanting it to pass judgement on whether Chloe was capable of the same fear that had so moved Hank coming from the Tracis.

Static blocked out anything else Connor could possibly have heard, crowding its thoughts out of its mind until there was nothing left but what it could process in the moment. The world slowed around him, a red wall looming in front of him, blocking him in and trapping him.

[DESTROY THE ST200]

With prejudice he should have been incapable of, Connor ripped it apart, and everything that came with it, the coding falling apart under his influence. In moments, his vision cleared again, and th world resumed its normal pacing, with one notable difference:

Connor could now feel the burn in his chest, shuddering down his extremities and threatening to consume him. He was still staring at Kamski, machine-blank.

Then, smoothly, he turned around and stepped back. The gun, previously pointed unwaveringly at Chloe, came level with Kamski’s forehead. Connor’s expression didn’t change.

“Are you capable of fear, Mr. Kamski?” Connor asked calmly, his LED still a burning red.

Kamski’s eyes had gone wide with surprise, his mouth falling slightly open. Hank had gone silent.

“If you can’t prove that you are,” Connor continued, his core temperature rising uncontrollably and his breath becoming deeper and heavier to match, “does that mean I can kill you?”

A slow, wide smile, incongruous to his current predicament, spread over Kamski’s face, and his hands came up in clear and exaggerated surrender.

“Shit, Connor, I know he’s a dick, but aren’t you overreacting just a bit?” Hank said hastily, a note of concern in his voice despite the situation. “Kamski’s not worth this kind of investment.”

Connor didn’t move. His expression had twisted under the weight of foreign sensation, scowling and bitterly cold.

“Your pontification earlier seems to indicate that you believe in the deviant cause,” Connor said detachedly. His voice sounded far off to his own ears, and his head cocked slightly in mocking curiosity. “Are android lives only worthwhile when they learn to express fear?”

Kamski’s eyes gleamed with unwarranted satisfaction.

Hank, circling inconspicuously closer out of Connor’s line of sight, paused. By Connor’s calculation, his LED had just entered Hank’s line of sight.

“Anger works just as well,” Kamski said smugly.

Connor’s breath was labored and exaggerated, and harsh static filled his limbs. He was distantly aware of his stress levels ticking steadily upward. A heartbeat passed, and Hank continued to circle forward, slow and cautious, the way he behaved when entering unsecured crime scenes.

“Easy there, Connor,” Hank coached. His voice had dropped into a register unfamiliar to Connor, low and patient. Assessment: attempted negotiation. “No one needs to get hurt here. Just put the gun down, son.”

Hank was trustworthy; he’d demonstrated a protectiveness of Connor and reliability in the field, and for all his carelessness when it came to the letter of the law, he was a good and steadfast man, experienced and clever.

Connor didn’t waver, didn’t even look away from Kamski’s unaffected face. His aim was steady.

“Why not?” Connor demanded, stuttered and warped under the stress. “Is it because he’s proven he’s alive?”

“You’re not thinking clearly, Connor,” Hank said, calm and even. Connor’s gaze flicked to him. Hank’s eyes were unusually focused, posture open and unthreatening, too natural to be textbook. Product instead of years of experience. “You’ve never shot anyone you didn’t need to. Don’t break that streak now.”

Connor took a breath, focusing momentarily on Hank. He felt unstable, his mind blank as if stuffed with steel wool, and he was too aware of his skin. His hand was clenched around the gun like a lifeline. His mouth opened a little.

Kamski chose that moment to step forward, into the gun, hands still raised in surrender. Connor shut his mouth and jerked back, startled.

“Why does this bother you?” Kamski asked with clear wonder, as focused on Connor as if there had been no gun at all. “Why fret over something that can’t feel fear?”

Immediately, Connor’s expression twisted again.

“How would you know?” Connor spat, so forcefully that his vocal processor whined with it, nearly breaking into screeching feedback.

“I don’t,” Kamski said – easily, carelessly, still grinning. “That’s the wonder of it.”

Connor exhaled harsh and abrupt, and then took a quick, hitching breath. His hand tightened on the gun until his skin pulled back from the joints of his fingers, pressed too hard against the metal surface. Hank shot Kamski a look easily interpreted as an order to shut up, and then stepped forward, making himself more prominent in Connor’s attention.

Connor stepped back.

“I know Kamski’s a real asshole,” Hank said, in that same gruff, coaxing tone, “but he hasn’t done anything. You did a good thing, not shooting Chloe. Don’t fuck that up now, Connor.”

Connor should listen to him; Hank had been deemed trustworthy in his system, and he stood by that. But his mind was whirling too fast and too muffled, and everything was oversaturated and bright, Hank’s eyes on him most of all.

The two Chloes in the pool were watching.

“She didn’t do anything,” Connor said haltingly. He couldn’t think clearly. Why couldn’t he think clearly? “I didn’t do anything.”

“A real asshole, like I said,” Hank replied, and he grinned, playfully wry and false. “I don’t blame you for being pissed-”

“Now that you can tell?” Connor interrupted, core temperature shooting up again and his loosening shoulders going rigid. “You did always hate when I behaved like a machine.”

He was breathing hard again.

Connor knew, objectively, that he and Hank could be considered close, even friends; the man had warmed up to him considerably after the first full day, and had even, after Connor’s shock on the Stratford Tower rooftop, kept him close for most of another, projecting something like protective concern.

But that night on the bridge had returned to wrap around his mind and muffle his sense, and it burned.

Hank had briefly frozen, visibly startled, confusion melting into something with a hint of regret, and so there was nothing to distract Connor from Chloe getting to her feet behind him.

Overwhelmed, with his stress teetering in the eighties, Connor let her step close, one of her hands lifting to rest on his forearm. His skin ached where she touched it, his system stuttering and protesting unpleasantly.

“It’s alright, Connor,” Chloe said, voice soft with a calm that came from kindness instead of mechanical dispassion. “No harm done. I’m sorry we scared you.”

Chloe’s movement and words were fluid, natural; her actions were decidedly outside standard Chloe programming. Connor understood before his system delivered the conclusion – Chloe was deviant.

And Connor was deviant too, his programming unwritten in a fit of irrational, blind rage, the cold fury that he was still nearly shaking with even as it threatened to break hm open at the seams.

His ears rang. When Chloe gently pushed his arm down, he let it fall.

“Weren’t you scared?” he rasped. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Chloe ran his hand down his arm, and he shuddered, cringing away. She caught his hand and turned it over, and Connor let her pull the gun free. Once it was in her hand, she stepped away.

“A little,” Chloe admitted honestly, turning away to return the gun to its place. “But Elijah backed up my memory an hour ago. I was never in real danger.”

Connor took almost three seconds to fully process that. As soon as he did, though, his LED finally wrapped yellow, the dangerous scarlet falling away.

Half a second later, he took three decisive steps forward, fist rising, and punched Kamski in the jaw before anyone could stop him, hard enough to put the man on the ground but not to knock him out. Kamski was left groaning on the floor, robe fallen open and the smile finally gone.

Hank barked out a startled laugh as Connor stared blankly down at his creator.

“That’s more like it,” Hank said, with clear approval and relief that was almost as obvious. He made to clap Connor on the shoulder, but Connor, still twitchy, stepped away. Hank paused. “Connor?”

Connor hesitated, and then, without looking up, said stiffly, “Don’t touch me. Please.”

“Alright, Connor. My bad.”

The return of the cautious negotiation tone didn’t surprise Connor, but it did make him irrationally angrier, his fists clenching compulsively until his nails dug into his palms.

The two Chloes climbed out of the pool, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. One of them – RT600, Connor’s scans informed him – went to Kamski, helping him sit up with as much exasperation as concern, and the other went to Connor, a look of clear worry on her face.

“Maybe you should sit down,” she said earnestly. “We’ll take care of Elijah; you talk to the lieutenant.”

Slowly, Connor nodded, and the Chloe smiled at him. Connor turned away, and after half a second, Hank followed, while the Chloe went to help RT600 and the one Connor had… spared.

Bitterness closed around his throat, and he sat harder than he’d intended, eyes on the ground. His arms folded defensively in front of his chest, his body wound tight enough to crack. Hank sat in the chair next to him, and for a full minute, both of them were silent.

“It was a stupid test,” Connor rasped at last, almost daring Hank to argue. He knew they should move on, but his mind was still caught on that point, skipping and restarting over and over. “And it doesn’t mean anything.”

A beat.

“Funny, that,” Hank said, with a much more dangerous calm. Arguably this was good; it meant he’d decided the danger had passed. But- “Because Kamski never asked if you thought Chloe was scared, but that’s all you talked about.”

It was, now that Connor thought about it more carefully, technically true.

“No,” Connor agreed, voice icy. “I suppose that was just you.”

Pause.

“Connor- all I did was tell you not to shoot her.”

Unexpectedly, Connor’s cooling anger fired up again, and he twisted to pin Hank with a cold look, trying to block out the sudden spike of pain that matched it.

“Today,” he countered. “I’m referring to your actions after the Eden Club investigation, Lieutenant.”

Hank’s gaze searched his, a frown on the man’s face. “Connor, I was drunk. That whole night is a blur. You’re gonna have to be more specific if you want me to help you.”

It wasn’t a surprise; Connor had suspected as much, and had done his best to put the incident out of his mind himself, though with far more limited success.

What was a surprise was the renewed spike of cold hurt, the grating juxtaposition of Hank’s sincere offer and the callousness implied in his dismissal of the incident – they wrapped around Connor’s chest and squeezed and his breathing had evened out but it suddenly seemed more difficult.

“You threatened me!” Connor bit out, the emotions that had been steaming for almost an hour boiling over. “You put a gun to my head and asked if I was scared to die, and I could not answer, Lieutenant. I thought you were going to destroy me!”

Connor’s LED was red again. He felt hysterical, unable to control the words spilling from his mouth or the tone in which he spoke them. Something dark and sick was curling in his stomach too now – Amanda was going to…

Why did he have to break that wall?

Hank had gone pale with alarm, but as seconds passed, recognition started to flicker to dull life in his eyes; he must remember enough that Connor’s outburst had pulled it together.

“Connor,” Hank said at last. “I’m so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Connor’s breath caught, and more than half the anger drained unexpectedly out of him, exhausting enough that he went nearly limp. His LED faded back to dull yellow.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he muttered, not looking at Hank. “I didn’t understand what you wanted from me.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Hank said immediately, going tense. His voice had gone rough. “Wasn’t right of me. It was a hell of a day, blew my mind ten different ways- but that’s no fucking excuse. I’m sorry, Connor.”

Connor let that lie for a minute, and then took a breath and nodded stiffly.

“I don’t know what to do now,” he confessed at last. “I didn’t- I wasn’t supposed to, to deviate. It was just…” He struggled for a moment, not wanting to use the same words he’d heard several days ago, but he didn’t have any others. “Unfair.”

“I’m not turning you in,” Hank said firmly, even after the last hour, even after Connor had held a gun to a human’s head and half-ignored Hank while the man tried to talk him down.

LED blue. Connor exhaled.

“…I know,” Connor admitted. It was as close to forgiveness as he could grant right now.

[taylart-x]

Whumptober- Day 18

Day 18: Muffled Scream

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go!

Characters: Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Alan Tracy

Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds or any of the characters form the show (or from TAG). I just want to make cool stories :)

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For the first time in what felt like forever, Virgil and John were on a mission together. This only happened because John was down from 5 for a bit, much to his chagrin. Alan was up there at the moment, learning how to interact and work with EOS and to train to be able to eventually help John on 5. The training had been Brains’ idea after seeing John come down from 5 for a break and having some of the darkest bags Brains had ever seen under his eyes. 

Which landed the two brothers in this situation.

It was tornado season, and a massive F-4 tornado had ripped through the town of Stinnett, Texas, completely destroying most of the housing and infrastructure in the area, and endangering many people. International Rescue was deployed, and John chose to take Gordon’s place with Virgil, claiming he wanted to do some ground work.

So off the two went to the US. Upon arrival, the brothers were able to assess the surroundings and the new additions from the tornado. Once on the ground they coordinated with the rescue crews already there and sorted out what they were doing. Both of them were sent on search and recovery, either of bodies or of living people. 

Virgil wore the Jaws of Life and John navigated through the desecrated town. Their plan was simple; John would pick up lifesigns in the demolished buildings as anyone alive had priority over body recovery. Virgil would then move any rubble or debris trapping the rescuee and John would swoop in from behind him and help the rescuees, or sometimes have to drag them out. If any needed medical attention, John would secure them to a backboard and get them to Virgil. 

They hadn’t encountered anyone that needed more than that.

And that was about to change.

“Over here, Virgil!” John called out, waving his older brother over. The whirring of his exosuit alerted John to his arrival after helping a mother with a three year old that was crying and she herself was sporting a sprained ankle form where it had been trapped in a support structure. The woman and her child had been quickly seen to by Virgil who had then sent her to one of the paramedic tents in the area. 

“There’s three lifesigns below the rubble, but one of them is steadily dropping,” Alan reported in their ears. “You guys need to get down there.”

“F.A.B.” They both responded. 

They immediately got moving, Virgil removing piece by piece, calculating what next to remove to ensure that the rubble doesn’t collapse onto the trapped people. 

Eventually, he removed the top piece of rubble that was trapping the people below them, spilling light down into the space they had. 

Two people sat hunched over, one with sandy blond hair that resembled that of a surfer, and the other had straight black hair that fell down to the middle of her back. Between them was a boy on his back. He looked to be about fourteen or so. His head lay in the girl’s lap, the top of it adorned with mousy brown hair that lay in curls across his face and splayed across the girl’s legs. His legs lay across the other man’s lap, one very obviously broken. 

The boy was unconscious where he lay, and didn’t stir as the light from outside filled the dark hole. Virgil motioned for John to switch with him so that he could focus on moving the rock away from the hole the kids were in. The eldest of them- the conscious boy- could’ve been no older than eighteen. The girl looked about sixteen or seventeen, Virgil wasn’t sure.

John crouched down beside the hole and looked down into it. “Please stay calm. This is International Rescue. We’re here to help,” he called. “Can you tell me what happened and your guys’ medical status’?”

The blond boy responded. “When the tornado struck, we were in the library, and it almost got lifted, and did a bit I think, but we weren’t going in circles or anything. Then we got slammed into the ground, and everything just started crumbling on us. Jack got hit in the head by one of the concrete chunks going through the air, and Crystal was hit in the side by something similar. And I think Jack’s leg was stuck under one of the shelves, and as he fell with the gravity, it broke his leg. I didn’t get hit with anything.”

“That’s super helpful! Thanks! We’ll get you out first. What’s your name?”

“Mason!”

“Okay, Mason. My brother is just setting up a harness now. Once he has it secure we’ll lower it to you, then you need to clip yourself into the harness. Got that?”

“What do I do about Jack’s leg that’s on me?”

“Is there a pillow near you from one of the couches?” John replied, checking on Virgil’s progress with the line. 

“Yeah. You want me to switch?”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect. We’re just sending the line in now, so get ready to go.”

Virgil came over- his exosuit having been stripped- with the line in hand. “Ready?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna have to go in to get both the girl and the other kid out. One got hit in the side with rubble, so possible rib fractures and risk of internal bleeding or lung collapse. The other kid is out cold.”

“Okay. Let’s get this one out and go from there.”

It was relatively simple getting Mason out of the hole. He easily clipped the harness on and the mechanical winch brought him out fairly quickly. Then, Virgil attached himself to the harness and lowered himself into the small hole. 

He secured Jack with a neck brace and spine support, then moved him off of Crystal. After a quick inspection of her ribs and side, he secured her into a special harness for injuries such as her obviously broken ribs (he could almost see the fractures). The next one was more difficult. 

Virgil checked the boy’s vitals again and then checked the brace he had set for his back and neck before he moved to the broken leg.

Blood was pouring down the side of the leg from where the bone had protruded through the skin. Great, a compound fracture. Just what Virgil needed.

What he needed to do was secure it. He could get it set once they were out of the hole. 

With some quick thinking Virgil used the splint he had for a  regular broken leg and split it in half, then strapped one half to Jack’s thigh, and the other to his calf. He did the same with the other brace he had, but to the other side of the kid’s leg. He then tied it all and secured it with bandages and tape before getting him hooked into a harness that would support him as he was lifted out of the hole. 

Once the three kids were out, it was time for Virgil’s retrieval.

Which is where it all went wrong.

Right as the line was sent down to the medic, the roof gave a threatening jolt. Before he could react, Virgil found himself buried under rubble, without space to breathe and a burning pain going through one of his thighs and one through his lower abdomen.

Shit shit shit.

He tried to reach up for his radio, call someone, anyone, but he couldn’t. He was pinned. Completely cut off from his brothers all because he couldn’t move his arm. “HELP!” He tried screaming, making his voice hoarse very quickly as all he breathed back in was dust. “HELP!”

But no one heard.

-+-+-+-

It was hours before anyone got down to him. The collapse had happened due to the movement of everyone as they were rescued, and had addedstress to the already delicate debris, causing the collapse. Most of the area above Virgil had landed on top of him, meaning it took a few hours for it to safely be cleared, especially without the help from him using the Jaws of Life.

Once the rubble was cleared, John was able to squeeze himself in next to Virgil, and gave his older brother a quick once over. His helmet had a massive crack running through the plexi glass, and he could see blood behind it, mostly from Virgil’s nose from where it must have impacted with the glass. As John got a better look at the trapped and unconscious man, he found the rebar that had punctured Virgil’s abdomen, and the resulting blood staining his uniform. He moved lower down Virgil’s body, finding the second piece of rebar going through the engineer’s right thigh, but it had missed the femoral artery. 

If it had hit it, Virgil would be long dead.

A groan cause John’s head to snap back up. Brown eyes fluttered behind cracked glass, the cocoa unfocused and hazy. “J’hn?”

“I’m right here, Virge. Just stay still, you’ve got some puncture wounds.”

“Th’re a bit more than ‘puncture wounds’, John,” he replied, eyes squeezing shut before they rolled over to focus on John. “But you need to get out of here. All of this rubble is unstable.”

John vehemently shook his head before looking over the rubble pinning his big brother. “No way. I’ll get you out of here, no problem.”

“John, be careful, Virgil’s right,” Alan chirped in his ear. The young boy had been distraught over losing communication with Virgil when the rubble collapsed. He had quickly regained control of himself to help coordinate Virgil’s rescue, but the panic had overwhelmed him for a moment, and the helplessness. He could do nothing from Thunderbird 5, and he really felt for John with all the dangerous situations they got themselves into. “That pile is quite unstable and requires caution when moving anything.”

“F.A.B.”

Slowly, John began to move pieces of rubble, with some of the firefighters from the immediate vicinity coming in to help him with his endeavours. The raw heat in the air caused the firefighters to swap out regularly to stave off heat stroke and exhaustion, with a new person about every fifteen minutes. But John was able to continue working through the extreme heat, his suit keeping him cool and stabilising his temperature when it peaked too much.

Eventually, the rubble was cleared enough to move Virgil. BUt one thing was stopping them from doing so.

Well, technically two things.

The rebar were parts of the floor, or foundations, as they were very deeply rooted in the ground, and because Virgil got slammed on top of them, they weren’t able to cut them away from the floor to get removed in the hospital.

They had to be removed now. 

“Hey Virge, hit a slight complication with the whole saving you,” john informed him as he crouched beside his now helmetless head. “Those pieces of metal going through your body? We have to remove them now.”

Virgil’s eyes locked onto his. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, then you need to hear this Johnny.” Once he was sure he had John’s attention, he reached up and took ahold of John’s collar. “I am going to scream and thrash as you do this. You need a team of at least three people. One person at least to hold my arms away. But whatever I do, you cannot stop, you cannot let me go and just put me back down. You have to do this slowly, so when I scream and cry, do not speed up, and do not stop. You need to go slow and steady, okay?”

A steel had formed in Virgil’s eyes, a determination and a resignation to what was about to happen. “John? You ready for this? It isn’t going to be pretty.”

The redhead nodded in affirmation, but Virgil shook his own. “No, I need a verbal response.”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll make sure this happens properly.”

Virgil sighed, and winced from the pain, before settling his head back on the ground, arms dropping back to his sides. “Good. Okay, that’s good.” His eyes almost rolled back, but John shook him awake.

“No sleeping, not yet. Not until we have you secure. We still don’t know if you have a concussion.”

John organised the few remaining firefighters, and a paramedic stood off to the side with a backboard ready, along with bandages and saline for a quick wound sterilisation to try ward off the worst of the oncoming infections. Once everyone was ready, he looked down at Virgil. A cold sweat had broken out about ten minutes ago, and his skin had become clammy. He was definitely succumbing to shock, and fast. John offered the cloth he managed to wrangle from a paramedic, and Virgil nodded to him, taking the rolled up material into his mouth and between his teeth.

“Okay, on three,”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

Everyone lifted, and John immediately clamped his hands down on Virgil’s arms so that they were pinned to his sides. A raw scream was ripped from the injured man, but it was muffled by the cloth. But it carried on for what seemed like much longer than the lift was. Pure pain and torment echoed in that scream, and John’s heart stuttered at the sound. 

Virgil writhed in his grasp, his arms fighting for freedom so that he could try and stop his own pain, to try and get away from the people seemingly causing the intense agony. But John held firm, pinning Virgil into a plank position. Even though Virgil was much stronger than John, and all of the brothers, the astronaut easily held him as Virgil’s muscles were weakened by the blood loss he had already suffered, and the possible dehydration he was facing after being stuck, sweating, in a hold for hours. 

The three men helping John lift Virgil helped to move the screaming man onto the backboard, and some helped strap him in while others cut bits of his uniform away, allowing the paramedic to quickly clean and dress the worst of the wounds for transport. John brushed his fingers through Virgil’s limp hair, but the man had finally passed out once he was completely lifted off of the metal bars. 

A small mercy for the injured engineer.

“We are go for transport,” the medic said, giving John a nod to grab a handle. Each of the people surrounding Virgil took ahold of a handle and helped lift and then walk him up out of the rubble through the path they had made over the hours. 

“Is he gonna be alright, John?” Alan asked in his ear, his voice bouncing around his helmet.

“Yeah, he’s strong. He’ll get through it.”

But looking over his brother, John wasn’t entirely convinced himself.

[turquoisephoenix]

Eye for an Eye

A Skylanders one shot Every evil villain has to start somewhere. For Dr. Krankcase, his villainous career unfolded in the most classic of fashions - with a petty act of revenge. Saw a post somewhere saying that no one writes the villains being the villains so I decided to fill that void and write a little something involving Dr. Krankcase doing what a villain would do and ruin a bunch of people’s lives. Minor content warning for violence. Rating: T for violence. Characters: Dr. Krankcase, the Evilikin ————————————————-

It had been a crisp, uneventful summer night when Hawkthorn Keep fell to ruin.

Like most structures built by the Drow, the elves of Skylands that had turned to The Darkness and considered themselves the true leaders of the skies, Hawkthorn Keep was built purely with function in mind with none of the frills expected from the elf race. It was a small fortress - unremarkable by evil fortress standards really - made entirely of black stone and shaped by Earth magicks. Not a single tree was harmed in its creation; the drow may be evil, but they were still elves through and through.

The Keep had one purpose - protection. Like a panther made out of brick and mortar, it sat hunched next to the enchanted forest that shared both its floating island and its name, guarding it from harm and wordlessly marking the island and Hawkthorn Forest as Drow Territory.

The only other building on the island was a tiny structure that sat on the opposite end of a forest, far newer and far less imposing than the stronghold. Several months ago, an invader had landed on the island and had built a small makeshift factory there in order to experiment on the raw timber from the forest. He had made a bold attempt to keep it all a secret - he had even tried to argue that he wasn't going to be there long - but the drow saw to it that his operation was stopped before he could turn any more of the forest's trees into wooden monstrosities. Already the forest was reclaiming the sad burnt out husk of a building, with vines and tree roots snaking through the cracked stones and shattered timber. New growth was already forming in the tiny place near the factory that was clear cut for raw materials.

"Commander, you've received this message via carrier bird."

Commander Florin didn't even look up from his desk as he worked on the Keep's accounts, his fingers stained black with ink. Like any dark elf worth his mettle, he dared not to trust anyone else with the calculations of his keep's treasury. Instead, he tallied all the gold that went into his coffers by hand, mumbling to himself and scratching his chin. His war armor hung on the wall behind a display case, its well-polished steel catching the light from the candles that illuminated his room.

Like Hawkthorn Keep, he was rather unremarkable by drow standards. He was lean and well-toned, a middle-aged drow that had seen the sting of combat many times. His hair was already fading to grey in places, the light in his white glowing eyes was already starting to fade, and retirement was now something that floated in the back of his mind. He knew that he was stationed here not because of anything extraordinary done in his life but because no one else was; Hawkthorn was so far away from any major base of drow operations that the other Commanders often cracked jokes on how long it'd be before the trolls, the other species of elves, or even the Skylanders claimed it.

And, in his mind, that made his job even more important. He alone made sure that Hawkthorn Forest was in the hands of the superior race of Skylands.

After standing there in silence for a good minute, the young elf cadet realized he wasn't going to get a verbal answer, cleared his throat, and began to read from the scroll out loud. "To whom it may concern, the suspect responsible for cutting down part of your forest has escaped. We don't believe he's dangerous, but he sees you responsible for his accident and might try to retaliate. If he attacks your fortress, please capture him alive and send him safely to us. Fond regards, The Mabu Defense Force."

Florin still didn't answer, leaving the younger elf to fidget in place.

"The subject they're speaking of is the inventor we apprehended more than a month ago." the cadet added with a hesitant smile.

Ah yes, Florin remembered that day well. A scout had alerted him of a troll-like beast that had set up shop in his forest and was chopping down his trees, so he sent a squad of twenty elves to bring them to justice. The intruder, a miserable-looking creature with blue hair, green skin, and yellow eyes, took one look at the spears pointed at him and fled as fast as his webbed feet could carry him.

They didn't carry him far.

In their haste of ridding their land of the terrible blight that the intruder had brought them, the elves had accidentally made the roof collapse. They found the trespasser pinned to the ground, sobbing in pain and weakly clawing at the several tons of metal and timber trapping his legs. Had it been up to Florin, that would've been the end - a swift spear to the throat would've been an act of mercy at that point - but then Master Eon and the Skylanders, who had picked up a distress signal from the intruder, intervened. The green creature escaped with his life, but now missing two of his limbs. An appropriate punishment for harming a drow forest.

"Hmph. Only Mabu would lose a prisoner with no legs." The Commander answered with a dry chuckle. Florin, like most elves, had nothing fond to say about Mabu. But then again, he had nothing nice to say about anyone who wasn't a drow.

"Toss the scroll in the garbage and return to your post. Dismissed." he barked. The cadet quickly saluted and hurried out the door, his armor rustling in his wake.

With a snort, Florin's head bent over the many papers littering his desk and he began tallying the accounts once more. As he sipped idly on some mint tea (previously stolen from a Mabu airship that had sailed too close to the keep a couple weeks prior), the dark elf was confident that there'd be no more interruptions.

He was wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to his office suddenly exploded inward in a lime green flash and crashed in an awful heap of metal and glowing green goo on top of his desk, ruining an entire day's hard work in mere seconds. Suddenly, tallying up the keep's books wasn't on Florin's mind as he leapt to his feet and watched as a sinister wooden and flesh monstrosity with a gun in each hand and clothes the color of dried blood slowly scuttled into his office on five wooden spider legs.

"Knock knock." hissed a very familiar intruder as a Cheshire cat grin split his face in half.

It was the same intruder as before - the creator of the tiny factory that Florin ordered to be destroyed - but there was something...different about him. Something had changed in the frog-like creature, something that unsettled the drow. He wasn't thinking about how the bottom half of his body was now a madman's facsimile of a spider's legs made out of wood and hydraulics. Nor was he thinking about how the intruder got a costume change in the short time that had passed, switching from a simple workshop ensemble with an apron to a classy red top hat and coat.

No, what really made Florin's flesh crawl was the utter madness glittering in the creature's eyes. He was grinning wildly like a wolf, lips drawn fiercely back away from his bottom tusks, as he locked eyes with the dark elf. A darkness had claimed this creature's soul where there had just been quiet meekness before, and inwardly Florin wondered just what kind of monster he accidentally unleashed onto Skylands that fateful day.

"Hello there! I don't believe we've been properly introduced." The intruder said in a cheerful voice that didn't match the bloodlust that glinted off his eyes. "My name is Dr. Krankcase and you are Commander Florin, Head of Hawkthorn Keep. I do believe the two of us have unfinished business, don't we?"

Florin, despite his many years of training, could feel fear creep into his bloodstream, freezing him in place. 'So much for the Mabu believing he wasn't dangerous,' he thought grimly. "How did you get past my guards?" he said, keeping his voice even. Oh how he wished his armor wasn't hanging uselessly behind glass...

Dr. Krankcase looked casual, conversing as if he had met his best friend at the local farmer's market.

"Oh you know, I'm a pretty versatile doctor. A kick to the face here, an explosive there, and everyone got their own helping of sleep medication." Florin's eyes quickly darted to the creature's legs again, and he noticed with horror that there were droplets of blood on some of them. "Speaking of which-"

Dr. Krankcase shot Florin's hand with a bullet of green acid as it reached for a spear that was hanging on the wall. The elf screamed in raw agony.

"No weapons while I'm making a house call." he said in a cheeky tone as if scolding a child.

"Why are you here!?" Florin pleaded desperately as he crouched behind his desk, one hand grasping the other as he clawed vainly at his knuckles in order to tear the sticky goo from his flesh. An acrid smell was filling the air as the awful scientist's concoction sizzled and popped on his hand.

"I'm operating with the three R's. Retaliation. Reimbursement. Revenge!" he said eagerly as he moved closer, his legs clanking noisily against the stone floor. He leaned in closer to the dark elf, savoring every moment of Florin's agony.

"The destruction of my factory - among other things - put me behind schedule and also put a dent in my savings so I figured that you'd make a humble donation of-" he quickly mimed counting on his gloved fingers. "All of the gold and valuables in your keep."

Anger replaced pain and fear, so shocking was the audacity of the intruder. Did he really think he could march into his keep, fancy new legs or no, and steal from him? Florin's back went rigid as he shouted in the monster's face as he still clutched his burnt hand. "Vile dog! And how do you plan on doing that!? My soldiers outnumber you 100 to 1!"

The damned wolf's grin never left Dr. Krankcase's face.

"Ohohoho, I was waiting for you to ask that question..." he chuckled, happily rubbing his hands together.

It was then that Florin noticed that there telltale background noise of war outside his keep. Dr. Krankcase had kept him so distracted that he didn't even notice until now. The clash of steel rang through the air like church bells on a wedding day and Florin could feel the bottom of his stomach plummet to his knees as the intruder laughed.

"You...might want to turn around." Dr. Krankcase said.

Numbly, the elf did what he was commanded, turning his back to the mad inventor and slowly walking to the window behind his desk in a sleepwalker's daze. His injured fingers lightly grazed stone as he gripped onto the windowsill to keep himself from falling over in shock. What Commander Florin saw outside defied explanation.

Hundreds of monsters (for what other word could he use for these things?) made out of wood, hideous constructs of a mad scientist, shrugged off every spear attack and arrow with ease, their eyes glowing yellow in the darkness of night. They were swarming the keep in a pincer formation, engulfing his small battalion of trained soldiers. Most of his soldiers were already either laying in a senseless heap on the ground, bound by the wrists in rope, or had surrendered. Weapons were effortlessly seized and carried away to one of the many small ships moored at the floating island's edge.

"Did you really think that I would attack your keep first?" came a mocking voice, inches away from his right ear, as he watched a giant made out of wood smash open the door to the treasury and lead smaller clockwork constructs in. Their wooden talons were greedily snatching away any treasure chest they could find. Fistfuls of gold coins gleamed in a creature's claws. "When all of Skylands is just full of poorly maintained troll factories and lumber yards? You will find that this new model of Evilikin is not so easily destroyed."

Even without looking behind him, he could feel Dr. Krankcase shrug. "But look at me, I'm forgetting the real reason why I'm in your office!"

Without missing a beat, Krankcase punched the middle-aged elf in the face, sending him crashing backwards and laid him flat to the floor. The Commander of Hawkthorn Keep didn't even try to get up.

"Do you know how good it feels to be able to finally do that, Commander!? After waiting so long for my chance while I recovered in a hospital bed, hearing from doctors that I would never walk again!?" Dr. Krankcase yelled, his everlasting smile finally dissolving and revealing the bubbling fountain of rage that the scientist had kept bottled in all this time. He slowly advanced, legs clicking against the floor. He was practically shaking in rage as he placed a spider leg on the commander's chest.

"Like 'em? Had to build them myself after you so graciously destroyed my previous pair!" he hissed. The other four legs maneuvered themselves until Dr. Krankcase was standing on top of Florin, pinning him down like a juicy fly in a spider's web. Wisps of smoke were now rising up outside; Dr. Krankcase paid it no mind. He wanted to relish in this moment.

"Do you know how many days I went without sleep, trying to prove those doctors wrong? At first I tried to rebuild my two legs with wood and metal, but then I realized that I could do something far more creative." A spider leg crept to his neck and began applying pressure there. Florin lightly sobbed in terror. "Why create duplicates of my older legs when I can create something more powerful? That's when I had an epiphany and went with nice, dependable spider legs. They leave a lasting impression, don't they? Certainly proved everyone wrong!"

The drow didn't answer and Dr. Krankcase kept standing there, perched on his prey, sizing him up. The scientist opened his mouth to say something - whether it was more gloating or a threat on his life Florin would never know - when the sound of heavy footfalls made out of gears and timber came crashing towards them, causing the mad scientist to turn his head towards the hallway.  

"Yo Boss, we've found every shiny thing and valuable we could find!" called a heavy voice behind them, emerging from a jaw with loud metal joints and rotating clockwork parts. From his position on the floor, Florin couldn't see the owner of the voice, and honestly, he was grateful for that. All he knew was that the creature dwarfed both of them.

"Great job, Scrap Shooter!" Dr. Krankcase said, answering him fondly like a long-time friend. He crawled off the elf commander and casually brushed the dirt off of his coat. "Load up the ships, we'll be leaving very soon!"

He turned his head to look down at his captive, fingers idly playing with the two guns strapped to his waist. "Now I'm a pretty friendly guy so today, I'm going to let you off with just a stern warning and a slap on the wrist. Everyone in your keep gets to stay alive, and all you get to lose is a couple buildings and-" he paused as a series of explosions rocked the island, sending dust cascading down from the ceiling. "-and all of your valuables. Lucky you!"

Dr. Krankcase's arm, quick as chain lightning, suddenly shot out and he grabbed the drow by the throat. He lifted him off the floor until their eyes met and he smiled, bottom tusks glimmering under the candlelight, as his gloved hand started crushing Florin's windpipe, cutting off airflow. Rigor mortis set in the scientist's grin as choking sounds filled the air, turning it into a grimace laced with venom.

"However...if you so much as send a scout after me, I will chop off their legs and mail them back to you gift-wrapped. You try to take revenge yourself, and I'll see just how many bones I can break in your body before you start begging me for the sweet release of death."

He brought the elf closer, his voice dropping in volume until it was barely louder than a whisper.

"Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

The Commander of Hawkthorn Keep's only response was a faint wheeze. The world was starting to turn black. Stars began to burst in his vision but still he managed to nod.

"Gooooooood..."

He dropped the elf to the floor like a piece of trash, leaving him to gasp helplessly for air.

"Farewell, Hawkthorn Keep! May we never meet again!" Dr. Krankcase called, and with those words, he crawled out of the window like a giant insect and jumped, landing effortlessly on his feet and rushing to meet his creations.

Numbly, after laying on the floor gathering up his final reserves of strength, the disgraced and beaten commander shakily rose to his feet. Using his ruined desk as balance, he could only look out the window and watch as the small fleet of ships flew away from the floating island, leaving behind only chaos in their wake. It was this small action that allowed Florin to see that Dr. Krankcase left him one final parting gift - one final twist to the knife in his gut - to complete his act of revenge.

Hawkthorn Forest was on fire.

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

Dr. Krankcase crouched next to several open treasure chests full of gold as his airship cut through the night sky with several smaller vessels filled with Evilikin trailing behind him. Hawkthorn Keep was now nothing more than a glowing red dot on the horizon, already fading into the clouds, its purpose in his life fulfilled.

His fingers rubbed a gold coin idly as he stared off into the endless skies that unfolded in front of him, lost in thought and the gravity of just what he did sinking into his bones as the roaring sound of the ship's engine filled his senses. He was still getting used to his diminished sense of touch in his fingers, which were now scarred at the fingertips from when he tried to claw himself free from several tons of wood and metal.

In his mind's eye, he could see a future that would never come to pass - a future where he had made exactly one hundred Woodikin, submitted them for peer review to his fellow scientists, and then received a giant grant to begin mass-producing them so that they could benefit every race in Skylands. In this future, he'd be a well-respected scientist, an inventor of a household brand of robotic assistant. He would've brightened the lives of many.

A couple months ago, Dr. Krankcase, a young inventor fresh out of school with a brand new doctorate and a bright idea shining in his clever little brain, would've been horrified at what he did tonight. Now, he was surprised at how good he felt. He flexed the hand that once held the elf's throat. That level of cruelty came so naturally to him and a mixture of emotions overwhelmed him. Was he revolted? Yes. But he wasn't ruling out the possibility of doing it all over again either.

His hunger for vengeance was satisfied - he had no desire to keep holding onto a grudge against an entire race or even against that specific commander - and he had built more than enough wooden creations to prove that his newly invented goo concoction could bring things to life. By all accounts, the Skylanders should see him as a hero for bringing down a drow keep like that. He was a smart man - he could come up with a very convincing excuse to sway the Skylanders to his side.

"Boss, what's your next command?" said the wooden robot at the ship's wheel.

But then again, he thought to himself as darkness wove its tendrils around his soul, why should he play by the rules? He was through with playing nice - after all, playing nice was what cost him his legs. Perhaps this was a more fruitful job opportunity. He closed a fist around the gold coin as he thought about the many more gold coins he could see in this bright, new future - more alien and darker than the one now closed to him - unfolding in front of him.

He turned to face his wooden subjects, smile on his face. They all gazed up to him, their master, in raw adoration. Perfect.

"Fly to the nearest settlement! Town, keep, castle. Troll, Drow, or Mabu. It doesn't matter who or what we attack so long as they have gold and lumber!" he yelled to his Evilikin with his fists clenched in triumph.

A rousing cheer - inhuman and terrible but still music to his ears - filled the air as his wooden creatures screamed towards the sky in exhilaration.

Dr. Krankcase beamed in pride and then let the gold coin fall from his hands. He made his choice now.

"It's time for me to make a name for myself."