#he’s prepared to rehabilitate an assassin

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Jason never made his debut as a Crime Lord and instead only comes back to Gotham when Damian insists on training with the Batman, insistent on guarding him from the shadows.

Bruce’s headache reaches epic proportions when neither Talia nor Damian elaborate on the man’s presence other than that he’s “Damian’s older brother”.

[yanderes-galore]

Yippe! Is it alright, then, if I request Romantic Toji Fushiguro with a Sorceror S/O, please? (And if not, its cool, I know you mentioned you needed to like the idea as well) Thank you very much! ^^

Toji has no content from me yet, so, I have to change that obviously.

Yandere! Toji Fushiguro with Sorcerer! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Enemies to one-sided lovers, Violence, Blood, Threats, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Isolation, Sadism, Breaking of bones, Attempted mind break, Forced relationship.

This is quite the position for you.

Toji's known as the "Sorcerer Killer" for a reason.

Imagine if you were a target that Toji was paid to hunt down and kill.

At first the assassin is fully prepared to kill you.

He hates the Sorcerer world due to his past, taking down Sorcerers has never been a challenge for him.

He doesn't care what his client's motives are, a job's a job.

Until he "meets" you.

Imagine if Toji met or found his target, only to realize he doesn't want to kill them.

When he watches you from afar... maybe you remind him of someone?

For some reason he hesitates... his normally stoic and cold behavior snapping a bit.

I imagine Toji would take his time with hunting you, pretending to the client that he needs to get more info.

Which is partially true...

Toji wants to know why this Sorcerer isn't one he can kill without hesitation.

You no doubt sense something's wrong.

Perhaps you are aware people may be trying to kill you for one reason or another.

But you have no clue the infamous Sorcerer Killer is hesitating with you.

I imagine you may remind him of his late wife (regardless of gender).

As a result, he feels...regret.

It wounds his pride, yet while he yearns for the thrill of fighting, he doesn't want to make you suffer too much.

Sorcerer or not, he finds preparing to kill you a struggle.

Even when he eventually wills himself to fight you, he struggles to put his all into it.

He enjoys the thrill, though.

Perhaps some sadism does trickle through his resistance.

Once he actually fights you he tries to view you as just another Sorcerer.

It works due to his bloodlust, making him forget his personal feelings just enough to overpower you.

He recalls the blood splattering on his clothes euphoric and familiar.

Yet... he stops when he notices your weak struggling.

He really should finish the job, his blown wide eyes staring down at you.

But even now he can see you determined to save yourself, despite your bloody wounds and weak breaths.

The wide dilated eyes you give him makes him drop his blood stained weapon.

He grimaces, irritated at himself for hesitating.

Even now he isn't entirely sure why he didn't kill you earlier... or why he still won't now.

Did he watch you for so long that he got attached?

He pauses again, watching your chest heave.

Did... Did he fall for you?

He sighs deeply, what a pain.

It's then you're spared by the Sorcerer Killer.

Well... your life is...

To secure his reward he actually hides you away once finding a way to help undo his damage.

The client wouldn't care as long as you were out of the picture, right?

I imagine despite his earlier violence, Toji would allow you to heal.

Except... to keep you out of the Sorcerer world... he'd probably cripple you in some way.

Break a leg... break an arm... anything to prevent you from using your technique.

He'd probably tease and muse about your position, a sadistic glint in his eyes as he tells you you're useless to Jujutsu Society.

But... Hey... He is too, isn't he?

He finds satisfaction in the fact you have to rely on him now.

He won't kill you, never will, he doesn't have to as you're no longer a threat anymore.

He gets his money... and he gets a cute little partner too.

Even if he had you rehabilitated to the point of walking, you'll never be 100%.

Which means... you can't match his strength.

To keep you out of sight he keeps you in a private home. Perhaps a small home and away from society as a whole?

He's so used to just drifting that it takes him a little while to settle in.

He's oddly affectionate... despite him being your captor and attempted killer.

He kisses you softly, yet if you attempt to refuse he gives you time.

You'll give in at some point...

After all, he gets to keep you to himself.

You may refuse him at first, but really, can you even run?

He just took you in as a secondary prize, removing you from the public eye to wrap tightly in his arms.

You may not have died by the Sorcerer Killer...

Yet sparing you was no act of mercy in your eyes.

[azrielsdove]

Forbidden Love: Lucien x IC!Member Reader

Warnings: Angst

***

You couldn’t help the way your eyes drank in the fire-haired male currently speaking to your High Lord. You sensed the animosity radiating off of Azriel and Cassian from next to you, their annoyance with the Spring Court ever present. You knew that it was wrong, that it would never work. You didn’t want to imagine the way your friends would react if they discovered your little crush on the emissary.

Lucien’s eyes drifted over to you, cold and hard. “Any new plans to attack the members of my court, assassin?” You rolled your eyes at his question, spinning the dagger you held between your fingers.

“As we have reminded you and your High Lord several times, those fae were traitors and not to be trusted. They were not true members of your court.” He scoffed at your answer, shaking his head.

“Why should we ever believe you? All these meetings consist of are you all acting holier than thou, speaking as if we should automatically trust you.” He sneered in your direction, his hatred for you and your court palpable.

“Please, spare us the melodramatics. Not only did I do my job, I kept your court and its members safe from further harm.” You smiled sweetly at him. “A thank you would be nice.”

You could almost feel the fire that radiated in his eyes before he turned back to Rhysand. “Tamlin has requested a personal meeting after Calanmai, to discuss ongoing efforts of rehabilitation at the Spring Court. Can we fit into your insufferably busy schedule?” Annoyance was dripping from his voice, as it usually got by the end of these meetings.

“I suppose I can squeeze you in. I’ll send a message with available days and times at my convenience.” Rhysand gave a smile that showed all his teeth, a deadly threat thinly vailed as a friendly gesture. Lucien gave an equally fake smile back before turning and leaving the room. Azriel and Cassian immediately flanked to Rhys’ side, prepared to fly back to Velaris and debrief. You headed towards the door Lucien had left from, tasked with making sure he didn’t try snooping around the Hewn City. You spotted a flash of red hair turning a corner and started after him.

The corridor you entered was empty, your senses immediately on high alert. Where had he gone? You scanned the alcoves as you passed, one dagger held ready in your hand. You were halfway down the hall when an arm wrapped tight around your waist,

pulling you back into the dark alcove you had just passed. You twisted in the hold until your blade was

pressed tight against your assailants neck, a strand of red hair brushing against your hand.

“Quick little thing, aren’t you?” He hummed, looking down at you with his arm still wrapped around you. You sneered up at him, pressing the blade a little harder on his neck. He chuckled against the dagger, his free hand coming up and tugging your hand away. You sheathed the weapon, placing your hands on his chest with a small smile. Lucien tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, hand cupping your face. “I’ve missed you.”

You pushed up onto your toes, lips brushing gently against his. “I bet i’ve missed you more,” you teased, blood heating at the wicked grin on his face.

“Is that so?” His hand moved to the back of your neck, angling you up to him, lips pressing hard to yours. You sighed into the kiss, the familiar warmth spreading through your body at his touch. The love and joy you felt with Lucien was unlike anything you had ever known. Your fingers dug into his shirt, clutching onto him as if he was your lifeline. His hand flattened against your back, pushing you tighter into him. You gave a small moan as Lucien’s lips moved to your neck, kissing and biting the soft skin.

This was what life should be.

The thought sent a bitter chill down your spine, body tensing in Lucien’s hold. A change he noticed instantly, pulling away to look into your eyes. “What is it, my love?” You felt the tears coming, the overwhelming emotion that attacked when you were most vulnerable.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide like this.” Your voice was small, Lucien sighing at the conversation you’ve had countless times.

“You know I would tell them all in a heartbeat,” he said, looking over you carefully. “My position in the Spring Court means nothing to me, if it came to that. The only thing that matters is you.” Your throat tightened at his words, the love that he held for you.

“I know, Lu.” You bit your lip, thinking. “Rhysand would never forgive me.” Your eyes fell from his in shame, focusing on your hands that still rested on Lucien’s chest. He gave another deep sigh, his hands coming up to cover yours.

“Do they not wish you to be happy?” His question was quiet, cautious. You peeked up at him from under your eyelashes, shaking your head.

“They would never accept my happiness lies with you. I’d be sent away, marked a traitor to the Night Court.” Lucien tucked one hand back under your chin, pulling your face up towards his.

“Then they don’t deserve you here. We could go somewhere else, live with each other. I’d go to the ends of this world to see you happy and at peace.” Your heart squeezed at his words as you pushed up to kiss him again. Lucien, the king of your heart.

Maybe it was time to talk with Rhysand and your friends.

***

You and Lucien stayed in that alcove for as long as you could dare, kissing and touching and whispering sweet nothings. Every goodbye got harder, an inevitable end to your little peaceful bubble. You brushed away the fallen tears as you watched Lucien head out, preparing to winnow back to the Spring Court.

You hated these moments.

You composed yourself before going back to Velaris, putting your cool and calm persona back on. A fact that bothered you, that you now felt to hide your true self from your friends. From your family.

You had been in the Night Court for a hundred years, the feared assassin that Rhysand set on his enemies. You had created a name for yourself, deadly and dangerous. You never cared about the fear you instilled in others, not until you met Lucien.

The first time he had come to your court, you instantly felt drawn to him. It had knocked the air out of your lungs, the deep connection you felt to this unknown male. By the flash of shock in his eyes you realized he had felt it too. After that meeting you had cornered him in the hall, demanding to know what magic he had used on you.

It was only minutes after that he had you pressed up against the wall, his lips doing sinful things to yours.

You knew, in your heart, that he was your mate. He knew it too. The bond you couldn’t accept, not yet. Not when you lived in two rival courts, only seeing each other when meetings were called by either High Lord.

You took a deep breath before pushing the doors open to the townhouse, a smug smile on your face. Rhysand turned towards you, raising his glass of whiskey in greeting. “Get that Spring Court scum out of my town?” He teased, a flare of anger igniting in your chest. You pushed it down, laughing instead.

“Don’t I always?” You cooed, heading towards the ever-stocked liquor cart. You grabbed whatever was hardest, only caring about easing the pain in your heart. How long could you keep this up? You loved your family, you loved the Night Court, but you knew you would never be complete without Lucien at your side. You kept your breathing calm as you poured your drink, acting as if nothing were wrong.

“I wish they’d send someone else. How did he even manage to become the Spring Court emissary? He was not born there.” Cassian was musing, his dislike for Lucien strong. He didn’t like any of the Vanserra brothers, regardless of the fact that Lucien himself didn’t care for them either. “I wonder what kind of pity story he told Tamlin to rise up in that Court. I’d wager that he is only there at the order of Beron, probably with some plan to take the High Lord title for himself.” He shook his head and took a deep drink from his glass. “We shouldn’t let him keep coming here, Rhys. Who knows what he’s really doing?”

Your hand tightened around your own glass, raising it to your lips to try to hide the rage coursing through you. It was always like this after the meetings. They would talk about how horrible Lucien is, theorize about his life. You often kept quiet, throwing in the odd comment to not seem suspicious. It felt like a stab in your gut to hear your family speak so terribly about the male you loved.

“Now, Cass, he has never given us a reason not to trust him. Any of the deals we have made he has held true to.” Rhys swirled the liquid in his glass as he spoke, a smirk on his face. “I would rather never have to see that garish face again, though. He carries himself as if he is so much better than everyone, and for what? Being the disgraced son of the Autumn Court, forced to run to his little friend for safety? Pathetic, if you ask me.” You shot back more of your drink, vision turning red. As if you are any different, you thought, immediately checking that your mental shields remained up.

“I think you give him too much credit, Cass. I’ve sent my shadows after Lucien several times and they never have anything interesting to report. He’s just a sad, lonely male.” Azriel shrugged, as if it should be obvious that Lucien had nothing going for him.

You poured more alcohol into your rapidly emptying glass. It got harder and harder to listen to them as your love for Lucien grew. “What do you think, our deadly assassin? You always follow him out, has he ever tried to speak with you? Glean any extra information about our home?” Rhys asked, cocking his head as he did.

You swallowed the drink you had just taken, forcing a cold smile onto your face. “I think Azriel is right. He never says anything, never strays from leaving. He comes to do what was instructed and then he goes. Everything he does is at the hands of another.” You felt sick to speak about him so, but you were too scared of the repercussions the truth would bring. Perhaps that made you a coward, someone undeserving of Lucien. Soon. I’ll tell them soon, you told yourself, shooting back another drink.

***

This had to be a nightmare.

You stared blankly at Rhys, unable to keep your usual calm demeanor. The look of concern on his face told you that you were blowing your cover, that he was going to know something was amiss now.

You couldn’t get yourself to breathe.

“I can select someone else, if this is an issue? My apologies, I didn’t think this would be the most difficult task i’d ask of you.” You wanted to laugh at his joke, to shake your head and smile and go along with his plan. He was right, out of all the things you had done as the Night Court Assassin, this was far from the worst. You simply had to pretend to be betrothed to Azriel.

At the next meeting.

With the Spring Court.

In front of Lucien.

As if the pain of being separate from him wasn’t enough, you would parade around in front of his eyes with a male who wasn’t him. The thought sent a stab into your already injured heart, a reminder of how pathetic you were for not just telling Rhys.

You blinked, clearing your throat. “No, uh, I can do that. Sorry, it just took me by surprise.” You knew it was a weak response, and by the narrowing of Rhys’ eyes he knew it too.

“I don’t trust that Lucien has been coming completely innocently. I have seen the way he looks at you during our meetings when he thinks no one will notice. I am worried he has been sent to try to trick you into a courtship, some sort of sick pairing between the Night and Spring courts.” His scoff of disgust sent another pang through your heart. “By alluding to your engagement to Azriel, we can observe their reaction. See if they slip up with any emotion, anything that proves my theory.” A smirk appeared on his lips. “Besides, what better pairing than my feared Assassin and Spymaster?”

You forced yourself to laugh, nodding along to his plan. “A deadly pair.”

***

You slid your hands down the front of the elegant dress you wore, looking over yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful, a deadly angel donned all in a blue so deep it was nearly black. Your hair had been twisted up, exposing the expensive earrings and necklace you wore. The gems on them direct matches to Azriel’s siphons, a silent claim that you were his.

As if the giant diamond on your finger didn’t make that clear enough.

You knew it wasn’t real, that it was all a facade. You truly did love Azriel, just not like this. Somehow even pretending to be with another male made you nauseous, uncomfortable in your own skin. You couldn’t help but worry about how Lucien was going to feel when he saw you. Would he understand none of it was real? Or would he fall for the trap Rhys had laid?

“You look lovely.” You turned to the low voice coming from your doorway, a small smile plastered onto your face. Azriel knew something about this plan upset you, cornering you about it earlier that week. You had insisted it was nothing to do with him, that there was no real issue. You faked “confidence issues”, worry that you wouldn’t be able to pull it off. You felt like he hadn’t believed you, but he did not argue further.

“As do you,” you complimented back, the words truthful. Your friend looked as handsome as ever, dressed in his finest to escort you to the meeting.

As his betrothed.

You walked over to him, placing your arm delicately in the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go raise some Hel.”

***

He believed it.

Lucien’s eyes were full of pain and betrayal as he took you in at the side of the Shadowsinger. He stared far too long at the ring on your finger, far too obvious to everyone else. Rhysand smirked from beside you, confident that his plan had succeeded.

You wanted to scream.

Azriel’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you protectively. Typically you would feel safe in his hold, but every touch from him felt like razors across your skin. Especially with the way Lucien looked at you.

There was anger there. He truly believed you had tossed him aside for Azriel. You felt sick again, swaying slightly in his grasp. Azriel’s arm tightened around you, concern on his face as he looked down. “You okay?” He murmured, not wanting to draw any extra attention to you. You nodded, looking away from him. You didn’t trust your voice.

“Allow me to extend my congratulations to you and yours, Rhysand.” Tamlin spoke smoothly, a genuine smile on his face. You realized that he didn’t know about you and Lucien. You couldn’t help but to glance over at him, your heart aching at the empty expression on his face. You wanted to scream. This plan was ridiculous.

“Thank you, Tamlin.” Azriel spoke politely, his body against yours all of a sudden too hot. Every instinct told you to run to Lucien, that it shouldn’t be Azriel you are stood next to.

“I must say, Tamlin, that you may be more clever than I gave you credit for,” Rhysand began, inspecting his nails as if this was a mindless discussion. No. No. No.

Stop this.

You need to STOP THIS.

Your mind was screaming at you, but your body was frozen in place. Horror coursed through your veins, disgust in yourself twinning with it. Why hadn’t you spoken up sooner? You looked to Tamlin, his brows furrowed as he listened to Rhysand.

“An alliance between our courts would be something extremely beneficial to you, wouldn’t it? So beneficial, in fact, that you would resort to such lowly measures to try to secure it.” Rhysand glanced up at Tamlin then, lips pursing as he took in the genuine confusion on his face. Rhysands eyes narrowed, looking between Lucien and Tamlin. “Or did you not know? What your emissary has been doing here?” Tamlin now turned to Lucien, eyes wide.

“What are you talking about?” Lucien spat out, his typical cool demeanor gone. Rhysand smiled gleefully, gesturing over to you.

Say something. You need to say something.

“Your little game you’ve been playing with my assassin. Trying to win her heart, her hand in marriage.” He laughed. “It’s too bad our Shadowsinger here got her first, isn’t it?”

Coward. Coward. COWARD.

SPEAK UP.

Lucien turned slowly to you, eyes rimmed in red. “Is this true?” His voice was quiet, broken. Your hands shook as you took him in, the heartbreak so strong you could almost taste it.

“I-I,” you stuttered out, looking to Rhysand in a panic. How could he do this to you?

How could you LET him do this to you?

You shot away from Azriel, sucking in deep breaths of air. You turned wildly to Lucien, tears streaming down your face. “No.”

Rhysand gave a cruel laugh, drawing your attention back to him. “Whatever do you mean?” He asked, venmo dripping from his words. You wanted to cower at his anger, to back away and continue on with the plan.

But you had remained quiet long enough.

You shook your head, voice growing stronger. “No.” You looked back to Lucien, every inch of you hoping you could fix this. “I do love Lucien, Rhys. But it is not how you think.” You took a step closer to him, a pathetic relief soaking through you when he didn’t back away. “I have loved him from the moment we met. I have loved him secret, hiding this part of myself from you all.” You took another step. “I wait, heart aching with the pain of being apart from him, for these stupid meetings. I stay awake at night and watch the stars, imagining him doing the same.” More tears fell, matching ones trailing down Lucien’s face as you took another step towards him. “I live for hidden moments in dark corridors, for whispers of love only when no one else can hear them. And i’m tired.” Your voice cracked as you took the final step, bringing you right in front of Lucien.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered, slowly holding your hand out to him. You needed his strength, his warmth. He glanced between your hand and face, expression unreadable.

And then he took a step back.

The air disappeared from your lungs, your knees shaking as they struggled to support you.

No. No. No.

You had to fix this. You looked towards Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. They wore similar expressions of shock and…pity. Pity.

You fell to your knees. “He’s my mate,” you choked out, the already silent room going even quieter. As if time itself stood still at your proclamation.

“Lucien is my mate,” you said again, anger with yourself charging through you. “He is my mate and I never told anyone. I allowed us to suffer in silence, too scared to tell you the truth. I thought you’d dismiss me from Court, from your life if you found out, Rhys.” More tears fell as you watched the flicker of pain go across your High Lords face.

“No, I would never-“ He started, moving towards you.

“Wouldn’t you?” Rhys stopped as you cut him off, gazing down upon your tear stained face. “Look what we are doing right now, Rhysand. The mere thought of Lucien being interested sent you to create a whole plan to catch him.” You looked down in shame. “And I let you do it.”

You felt like you may die right there. You had waited too long to say anything, you had allowed Lucien to be humiliated in front of his High Lord and yours. You had hidden your heart too deep, too afraid of what would happen if your friends found out about Lucien. All for you to lose him in the end.

A hand appeared in front of your blurred vision.

A familiar, welcoming hand.

You looked up to see Lucien’s face, a small smile on his as he helped you up. You stood in front of him, unsure what to say.

“You want this?” He asked quietly, tucking his hand under your chin. You swallowed, nodding.

“I only want you. Now, and forever.” It was true. You realized now how silly you had been, how you never should have feared losing your friends and court. All that mattered was Lucien. The male created just for you.

“My mate,” he whispered, before pulling you in and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was full of fire and love, the now acknowledged mating bond singing. You melted into him, holding him as tight as you could. The rest of the room disappeared, leaving only you and Lucien. You felt as if you were glowing, wrapped up in the love he exuded.

You pulled away only when your lungs cried for air, smiling up at Lucien. He was yours. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

You turned to Rhys, grasping Lucien’s hand tight within yours. “If you wish me to go, then I will. But I will not sit and suffer and lie in fear any longer. I love you, all of you.” You looked at Lucien next to you. “My heart and soul belong with Lucien. I hope that you can accept that.”

Rhys rushed over to you, grabbing your hands into his. “How could you ever think that? I made this plan thinking he was trying to use you. If I had known, I would never-“ his voice cracked as he looked at Lucien. “I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies. I would never do anything to compromise her happiness.” You felt new tears slide down your cheeks, both relieved and embarrassed. You should have trusted Rhys, not hidden away in fear. You squeezed his hands, bringing his attention back to you.

“I should’ve told you a long time ago. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, pulling you in for a hug.

“No, i’m sorry. I never should have created an environment where you didn’t feel safe telling me this.” His eyes were shiny as he moved away, releasing you back to Lucien. “Whatever you want, I will grant. If you wish to live here I will accept you with open arms.” Tamlin stepped up next to him, nodding in agreement.

“My Court will always be open to you as well. I can’t imagine anyone who deserves this joy more than Lucien.” He gave him a broad smile, happy for his closest friend. Lucien nodded once in thanks, an arm wrapping securely around your waist. His fingers traced the diamond ring on your hand, slipping it off easily.

“I think we should replace this, don’t you?”

***

Some Time Later

You were admiring the elegant gold ring on your finger, watching the way the suns rays bounced off the firey ruby in the center of it. No matter how much time had passed you couldn’t help but be stunned by the beauty of the thing. The balcony door opened behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. A pair of lips met your neck, kissing you as you hummed softly.

“Early morning?” Lucien asked, teeth grazing your skin. You leaned harder back into him, welcoming his touch.

“Mmm. Rhys wanted to go over my upcoming assignments. He’s…worried about me completing them.” One of Lucien’s hands slid down over the slight curve of your stomach, the beginning signs of the life growing inside you.

“He’s not underestimating my wife, is he?” Lucien asked with a playful bite to your neck.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I told him it was fine, and if I felt I could not complete a task I would tell him so. He still didn’t seem convinced, if i’m being honest.”

“Hm. Perhaps i’ll have to talk to him.” Lucien turned you in his arms, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. “Let him know how perfectly capable you are.” You smiled up at him, kissing him again. Lucien tugged you close, opening your mouth with his. Ever since he found out you were carrying his baby, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of you.

Not that you were complaining.

***

[duckysprouts]

current bat games au lore

ok so here is part of what we have so far:

jason is no longer from district 2, he was originally a scrappy orphan from 12; he changed his name to "RED" after lazrus therapy and becoming a gladiator

Nightwing has a notorious reputation in the capitol as vain and bitchy. he constantly gets procedures done to look as young and beautiful as possible and will actively sabotage the new tributes' relationships with the capitol citizens. in reality, he is trying to protect the younger victors from being sexually exploited by putting himself on the front lines as the sex symbol

tim is the newest victor of the games. his mentor was barbara and they are both secretly working for the anti-capitol resistence.

damian is the political baby of a strategic union between talia and bruce to unite their clans without drawing suspicion from the government on why they're working closely. his parents are both big players in the capitol.

the al ghuls are the tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists of the capitol who believe the revolution is nigh. but instead of underground bunkers they prepare for the apocalypse by training their children in several warrior arts

bruce's alter ego is batman, political terrorist who is working behind the scenes to take down capitol corruption (good luck buddy)

the capitol has a capped maximum on how much wealthy citizens can donate as sponsorship because otherwise bruce wayne would sponsor all the kids in an effort for them to live

when jason was thrown into the arena, he had no living mentor and had to fend for himself. batman secretly helped him with tips and advice on how to survive

Nightwing tried to talk bruce out of sponsoring jason in the arena. it wasn't out of cruelty; he just thought it would be a better investment to sponsor a child who is more likely to live instead of a starving little boy from the weakest district bound to die. bruce sponsored jason anyway

bruce's parents were assassinated for the treasonous act of believing district citizens deserved human rights

jason's abundance of sponsorships made him a target in the arena. he got really messed up and had to go through a brutal, traumatic, and experimental rehabilitation called the lazarus project. he came out of it brain damaged and now most of his body consists of lab-grown flesh or robotic parts. (notice his fake eyes and how most of his body is covered up)

the hunger games are like the annual SuperBowl. for the rest of the year the capitol citizens enjoy entertainment like celebrity escorts (Nightwing) or gladiator games, which is basically the WWE but more deadly and no predetermined winner (RED)

gladiators all have a number that is worn by players and fans alike. most gladiators wear theirs on their armour but RED wears his as a corpse identification tag on his ear

tim purposefully makes himself seem boring and unlikable so that the capitol will allow him to go home rather than stay at the capitol like nightwing and RED.

tim is probably on like 10 different government watchlists

damian keeps nightwing around as a friend/babysitter, since he gave every other one he had a mental breakdown

damian keeps jason around as a personal weaponsmith/arms instructor (hired by talia)

talia and bruce have split custody of damian

nightwing and RED are top-celebs in their fields

bruce's name is brucellosis I'm sorry that's just the way it is

bruce stopped sponsoring for a while after jason's injury cause he blamed himself

hunger games sponsors are like gambling or horse race betting. if your sponsored victor lives you get more money back. but it is so costly with such high stakes that most people don't do it

nightwing volunteered for some random kid who he had no connection with because he has no self-preservation and is kinda self sacrificing like that

nightwing's mentor was starfire. he had a massive crush on her and she'd pat his head

RED has a tense relationship with bruce and Nightwing but also trusts them more than anyone else

there are more but they require more context and characters so hang tight. suggestions welcome! just dm me in my inbox

[elysianstars]

Persona 5 Playthrough Commentary, Part 5/??

Looks like my theories on what happened with Futaba's mother were pretty accurate, then. Ouch.

I still don't get why her sin was wrath and not sloth. That means there's sloth, greed, and envy left to tackle, so three more Palaces if the pattern keeps up?

Pleased to see Akechi getting dragged now, for criticising the Phantom Thieves. Serves him right for picking the fight. Still, every time he invites me out somewhere, I will put on my clown shoes and go skipping merrily to meet him. It's Complicated.

The Futaba Rehabilitation Mission was fun, right up until someone mentioned swimsuits at the beach. Then I felt a terrible sense of impending dread. The only bright spot amid that cringeworthy nonsense was Yusuke's aesthetic lobsters.

It's frustrating, because in other circumstances Ryuji is great, but put him within a certain radius of a girl and his sense of decency plummets. Ironic, considering one of his first lines of dialogue was to call out Kamoshida's behaviour. Be better, bro.

Morgana seems sad and I'm concerned. Why is everyone else not concerned too.

Hawaii? Who goes on a school trip to Hawaii? Sure okay then. When Yusuke turned up too, I was fully prepared for him to admit he got distracted and managed to take the wrong plane. Also I have given up hoping Ryuji will be better. At first I really liked him, but I think I'll have to stick him on the ignore pile, with Mishima and the fortune telling scammer confidant.

Speaking of the fortune teller, I was looking forward to seeing how Sae would mention her, since some of her 'you must have known a person with skills like this' accusations have to reach a bit. Sadly, she did not outright accuse the Phantom Thieves of getting magic glimpses of the future.

WELL. It looks like someone did take care of the headteacher, even if it wasn't the Phantom Thieves! I'm not sorry.

The fact that Akechi sees the gang head into a Palace, and doesn't turn up as a panicking outsider soon afterwards, kinda illuminates things doesn't it.

The spaceport started off so nicely. New party member who's adorable in her little musketeer getup, fun design, good music. But actually, fuck everything else about that dungeon with its annoying mechanics and the most miserable godforsaken boss fight I have yet endured.

You know what, I don't even care he got assassinated at the end. Eat the rich. And now everyone is going to complain and blame the Phantom Thieves, and Ryuji will have a tantrum because the hypothetical girls he wanted to impress wouldn't be so impressed, and I'll have to sit wearily clicking through all of that.

The game is pushing me to rank up Maruki's confidant now (which I understand is Important), and he's saying increasingly weird stuff. No clue where that's headed!

[beneath-a-moonlit-lake]

Rereading MDZS again and it strikes me just how JGY argues that the friendship and assistance he offered to LXC is a debt that LXC owes to him. Does LXC even 'owe' JGY anything even if you look at their relationship from a purely transactional lens? We see no evidence that LXC has failed to support JGY. LXC helps him to expand the hunting grounds at Mt. Baifeng, drinks the tea that Meng Yao prepares to shame the other cultivators for their behaviour, speaks up for him when Jin Zixun throws his wine cup and reiterates, over and over again, that he believes in JGY's innocence in the face of WWX and LWJ's accusations. There is also no evidence that LXC has done anything to oppose Lanling Jin, before and after JGY became the leader of the Sect.

More importantly, LXC also saved JGY's life in return. JGY was counting on LXC's appearance after the assassination of WRH to prevent NMJ from cutting his head off.

In a flash, a figure in a radiantly white robe darted out of the forest. It was like Meng Yao had laid eyes on a god. He immediately scrambled over behind him. “Zewu-jun!! Zewu-jun!!” Nie Mingjue was so overwhelmed with rage that he didn’t even ask why Lan Xichen was suddenly here. He bellowed, “Xichen, get out of the way!” Baxia bore down on them so menacingly that Shuoyue had no choice but to leave its sheath. Lan Xichen moved to meet him, partly to support him and partly to stop him. ... “There’s no need to doubt it,” Lan Xichen said. “The very reason I am here at this moment to assist is because he sent me a message asking me to come. By what other coincidence would I be here?”

-- MDZS Vol. 2, Nie Mingjue's Empathy Flashback

JGY saved LXC's life and allowed him to return to the Cloud Recesses and lead his clan into war against the Wen Clan. LXC defended JGY against NMJ and presented the evidence that allowed JGY to be rehabilitated into society and claim his place as a hero of the Sunshot campaign.

Genuinely tragic for LXC that what he thought was a friendship of mutual support and affection was actually a debt to be used for leverage against him.

He inhaled deeply, then rasped out, “But never have I ever wanted to hurt you!”

-- MDZS Vol. 5, Jin Guangyao at Guanyin Temple

Also kind of interesting that JGY seems to think that the lack of desire to inflict harm is what will exonerate him, especially when the fundamental cause of misery in his life stems from a callous disregard of his needs and desires rather than any deliberate malice.

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 87

We have some background about Pride's work in Father's plan. My guess is Pride's job has been to ensure whatever leader was following Father's plan. So everyone was either a puppet or was forced to follow the plan.

The oldest date mentioned in Madame Christmas's search was 50 years ago. Wrath meanwhile is 60. Hawkeye mentioned in chapter 62 there is a parliament in the Amestris government which is a military puppet. Perhaps Pride's job was to manipulate the government into a military dictatorship in preparation for Wrath's eventual Presidency.

Christmas = CHRIS MUStang.

Is this kind of city planning currently or previously used anywhere in the world? The power lines are underground and the passages for them also double for sewage and runoff.

Since they're all deserters, that means 2nd Lieutenant Black Hayate is the only member of the crew with a military rank now.

Roy would have no reason to hide he was responsible for the President's assassination from his subordinates, so it definitely wasn't him. So that leaves Graman as the mastermind. The only question now is if he baited Bradley with the intent to kill him from the start or if he saw an opportunity with his arrival.

And also, why did the train conductors assist? Is Graman just that well connected within East Amestris?

Sloth likely doesn't remember (too much effort) but it must be awkward for Major General Armstrong to be sitting beside the Homunculus who wrecked her fortress and who she tried to kill a few months ago.

Greed's totally got the hots for Lanfan.

So in chapter 84, I guessed that 5 months have likely passed since chapter 83. Now I can mention why. Ed says that Lanfan only spent 6 months in rehabilitation. I'd mentioned that the entire Briggs arc took place roughly over 6 weeks. So we'd need the timeskip to be about 5 months if Ed is giving such an exact amount of time for Lanfan's rehab.

Ed saw Greed's shield is tougher than Pride's shadow and decided to copy him. Ed's entire playbook is to see how other people use Alchemy and copy it.

More talk about the nature of Pride's shadow. As Ed mentions, a Homunculus's limbs dissipate when disconnected from the main body.

Pride's body doesn't bleed and Roy mentions his apparent age varied over the years, so this means Prode's human appearance isn't his true body but just a vessel. It's kinda like how Father's appearance is just a vessel to carry his true form in.

So Pride's "shadow" is actually part of his true self. And it's the same substance that Father's true form is made of. So this would mean Father figured out how to exist outside a vessel, at least to a limited degree.

Whatever Pride is made of, it's photosensitive. It can travel far distances by hiding in shadows, but it needs light to be able to act. But too much light can destroy it.

Greed snuck back control of Lin's body when no one was looking. (you can tell cause the hair is covering his right eye)

We can definitely tell Greed witnessed Pride eat Gluttony because he had sharp teeth when he gritted them. It was Greed, not Lin, who was angry to see how callously Pride would kill one of his own.

back

[viking369]

Putin in Dresden

OK, let's see if we can connect a few dots. We know Bad Vlad was in Dresden in the late 80s (just what his brief was remains an open question). We know the KGB was running revolutionary groups out of Dresden (Red Army Faction, Baader-Meinhoff, PLFP). We know the KGB was running out of Dresden rather than Berlin because they thought there were no prying, Western eyes in Dresden (It probably kept the operation away from prying, GRU eyes as well. And Stasi. Apparently much of this was done without Stasi's approval or even knowledge. At the very least, it gave Stasi plausible deniability.). We know they kept the operation records in Dresden, close to the vest (only summaries going to Berlin and Moscow), and the operations included bombings and assassinations in the West. We know that in the late 80s a number of KGB officers saw the writing on the wall and started preparing for their personal futures by setting up entities in the West and skimming Soviet money into them.

And we know that in December 1989, Bad Vlad suddenly emerges from behind the curtain in full hero mode. The Berlin Wall had fallen the month before, and an angry mob that had been busily tearing apart the Dresden Stasi HQ started turning its attention to the nearby KGB HQ. Putin bluffed the mob into jogging on, protecting the facility (Accounts differ on whether he was brandishing a pistol. Putin himself has never claimed to have been armed.).

Now we get to the speculative parts. Just what was Putin doing there? Actual information is thin on the ground (more on that in a bit). This lack of information has led the usual suspects to conclude Putin deliberately destroyed the records to hide he was chief of Black Ops at the Dresden station. Ahem. People, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Putin's career before and immediately after Dresden does not support this grandiose conspiracy theory. Bad Vlad was the guy who carried the briefcase for the actual players. Did he work with the officers who handled the foreign revolutionaries? Yes. Was he himself the show runner, or even a show runner. Let's just call it unlikely and leave it at that.

As to the lack of documents, Putin himself has said he along with everyone else was burning documents as fast as they could, which appears to be true as far as it goes. There is very little documentation concerning anyone who was operating at the Dresden station. Most of our information on Dresden comes from three types of sources: 1) KGB associates of various sorts who flipped prior to Putin's being there and so could not have known about Putin's activity; 2) KGB associates of various sorts who are selling memoirs and such; and 3) people who may or may not have been in the revolutionary groups and may or may not have been to Dresden but who are more than willing to talk about it in an effort to rehabilitate themselves. Little of this information can be corroborated, and even less can stand on its own without corroboration. Except perhaps for those who just want to attract readers and viewers, as opposed to those trying to parse actual information from fool's gold.

So what happened in Dresden in December 1989-January 1990? All evidence indicates a massive amount of documents were destroyed. But suppose that isn't the whole story (Try to contain your shock.). Suppose an ambitious, reasonably intelligent, and in his mind underappreciated KGB officer saw a number of those documents and didn't see "security risk" but "leverage". Here were a pile of Soviet officials, including who knows who many KGB officers, with their fingerprints all over "third-party" wet operations in the West. Officials and officers who were now trying to make nice with the West, even find soft landings there. Landings that would get a whole lot bumpier if Western authorities learned of their parts in killing Western citizens.

So this KGB officer packages up these gold nuggets, perhaps with the assistance of a couple of close associates, but how to move them? Certainly not through KGB channels. Enter Major General Horst Boehm, Stasi chief for the Dresden district and the KGB officer's long-standing local contact. Unlike Putin, Boehm had been unable to protect Stasi HQ, and it was royally trashed to his chagrin and shame. It was apparent to Boehm the game was up and he needed friends in other places. Whatever the KGB officer threw at him, Boehm slurped it up with a big spoon. So he moved the documents to Destination Unknown on one of Stasi's rapidly crumbling and therefore unsupervised mule trains. Probably via Rotterdam, but that's experience talking, not evidence.

Corroboration? None. You see, in February 1990 Boehm and two of his district chief colleagues became so depressed and ashamed over everything that they "committed suicide". Am I alleging our KGB officer had them whacked after their services were delivered? Absolutely not; there's no way he had that kind of pull. Boehm was terminated with extreme prejudice because, among his efforts to cultivate friends in the West, he devised a plan to leverage his knowledge of the complicity of Dutch and Swedish officials in East Germany's international arms smuggling. Boehm's two colleagues were probably in on it, but that's fuzzier. The only question is how anyone with sufficient muscle to hit three secure targets in an East Germany still crawling with Soviet military and security forces found out about Boehm's plan.

His documents secured and Dresden station being cooked, our KGB officer is transferred to Leningrad. From there he blackmails his way up the ladder, builds a coterie of cronies around him, and takes command. And becomes filthy rich in the process.

The interesting question before us now is, "What has changed?" Why is Putin no longer concerned about burning down whole wings of the house, ranging from foreign relations to former friends? I figure the options are as follows, and they aren't mutually exclusive: 1) He figures he's so powerful he no longer has to rely on the Dresden docs; 2) He figures he's so powerful the gang he built around himself using the Dresden docs is expendable; 3) The people who could have been threatened by the Dresden docs are now all gone, the docs are now irrelevant, and any part of his power still based on those docs needs shifted. I recommend that intelligence agencies focus on researching those points.

[phonkscribes]

Can I request some Headcanons of Hanzo staying/being helped rehabilitated with the healer idea you got awhile back, the reader trying to help him recover but things just feel off about them

Tainted Waters

He recalls passing through a clearing, away from the pagodas and structures where his enemies sought his head. The archer's vision was blurred, murky by exhaustion as he did his best to get away. The shouting of the men echoed from the trees as he tried to urge himself forward, just as he's always done. Human limbs ache as he drags himself weakly, unaware of the other who was watching him begin to succumb to his own misery business. In the moments that he stands, a shadow drapes itself over his own, causing him to jerk around with his bow in hand with an arrow slotted through the string.

An assassin?

Before he can let that arrow fly, they're already in his face. A hand as swift as his own finds his neck, and after that... everything fades. This is not the end, even as he thinks it to be; which is why he's thoroughly confused as to why he finds himself in a bed of another and being taken care of.

When he wakes up, one of your little helper's startles, and runs to get you. Which just confuses Hanzo further.

Really just what the hell was going on here? He didn't have time to rest or sit around in bed all day when there was still so much for him to do.

As the door closes, he's quick to rise and pull himself out of bed. Luckily, you're quick to appear, slipping in through the door without so much as a sound.

"Ah... good, you're awake"

Your voice is silk against his ears, but does well to keep him paranoid. He jumps, and turns to face you too quickly, looking for his weapon of choice and his quiver of arrows.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?", he fires at you straight away, understandably. He's been essentially kidnapped here, not knowing he'd been saved from an early fate.

You're patient even as he gestures at you accusingly, like you'd done something wrong.

You could liken him to a feral cat, hissing at the person who took it in. How cute.

After explaining his situation to him, he doesn't quite settle down but tries to say that he's quite fine and ready to leave... the pain in his side says otherwise.

Whether he likes it or not, he's going to have to stay, if not for a short while until he's able to get back on his feet again.

It's a liability to him, one of the very few times where he's ever felt so vulnerable. It'll be hard to trust you even if you've just saved his life.

Strangely, in spite of staying at your estate, you're never to be seen or found. Even when asked about by your servants, they only ever say nice things and say that this is a common occurrence.

It only builds to your mysterious nature as he walks around to investigate his surroundings better. A part of him feels shame, because it is as they say. You've only ever tried to help him recover and here he was trying to find out more about you.

When you finally do happen upon Hanzo, you accidentally scare him, not that you meant to but he just happened to be deep in thought about something.

He's never been an anxious man, one that's certain about things and sure of what he has to do unlike his brother, but in your presence he can't help but to sense that there's something more to you. Something that isn't quite right.

You run your examinations on him, to which tells you everything you need to know about the man.

Has he ever heard of self-care because, goodness... he's in a worse state than what the surface tells you.

A longer stay is required, much to his dismay.

You want to be sure that he won't fall back into his bad habits.

It isn't easy to just give up on them either, and you'd know this best.

That's why he needs someone to be there for him, if he's not going to be there for himself.

To celebrate his journey to getting well again, you've prepared a grand feast yourself, with plenty of vegetables for his immune system and vitamins to help him get back onto his feet.

The scents are mouth watering, and watching you beckon him over to your side to eat tugged at his heart strings.

It's all so familiar, so nostalgic that he can't help but to awkwardly sit down and take up a plate of his own to eat.

It'd been too long since he's had something like this, sharing it with someone without the fear of what hangs over his head.

"It's... delicious", he says, but you can feel how he says it.

Your hand, rough and warm places itself on his shoulder

"Eat as much as you'd like then, get stronger Hanzo"

He can't shake off the gentle feelings stirring in his chest, but he cannot shake off the way that your palm scratches his skin either.

There's so much he doesn't know yet, so much more that he wants to know, but he isn't sure how to go about it.

As the night ends, he lingers, waiting to catch you when you're alone to talk

Right as he goes to seek you out, you happen to find him again, only he doesn't spook as bad as he had the first time.

"You seem to keep looking for me, Hanzo. Is there anything you need?"

"H- what gives that away?"

To which you smile, pointing to the dragon tattoo on his shoulder.

"I have my... sources", you answer much to his surprise.

[misaverawrites]

What If You Kissed Me? (Steve Rogers x Reader)

summary: You were placed in charge of Bucky's rehabilitative care after coming back from Wakanda, you and Steve get to know each other pretty well.

tags: mentions of rehabilitation, mentions of winter soldier!bucky, minor spoilers for up until avengers: infinity war, kind of in a fucky spot in the timeline lol don't look too closely lol, Steve saves you on a mission, kissing, she/her pronouns, description of a knife, steve knocks this lady out, non-graphic descriptions of violence.

a/n: y’all i am down bad, i started rewatching marvel movies from when i was a kid (phase 1/2) and f u c k i love them lol

There wasn't much of a reason for you to form connections in your life, it just slowed you down. That's what you'd believed as you made your way from college to the C.I.A to S.H.I.E.L.D. You'd been recruited into one of the most secret government agencies in the world and that was enough for you. Until they put you on his case.

"James Buchanan Barnes, birthdate March 10, 1917," Director Fury and you stood in an elevator, he read aloud all you needed to know, "Former assassin for Hydra, now currently works as a supersoldier for us. You will keep a close eye on him and work with him on rehabilitation. You will also have to deal with Captain Rogers and Sam Wilson, who hang around despite the fact that I damn well tell them not too." You silently nod, taking the file from the Director's hand. This was something you weren't prepared for, one of your first assignments ever being the rehabilitation of one of the most wanted men in the world, who is also an Avenger, as well as deal with his Avenger friends. You shake off the nerves as you thumb through the file once more, feeling the director's gaze on you. You look up and wait anxiously for the elevator to stop, when it does you suddenly feel hot and your stomach feels like a deep pit, you have to do this. The elevator doors open and Fury hands you a new identification card with a new clearance level that quickly sets you at ease. It read to you clear as day, Clearance Level 7 Agent. You smile softly at the new badge, pinning it onto your breast as you follow after Fury. He enters an area you'd barely even known existed as he stops in front of a room, escorting you inside.

"Sergeant Barnes, I assume your time in Wakanda served you well?" Fury says, James, nodding in turn, staying quiet. Fury looks at you and back at the Sergeant, before leaving the both of you alone. You offer a polite smile at him, not knowing what to say at this moment. "Sergeant Barnes-." You try to begin but Bucky raises his hand at you, "Call me James, please." You nod, pleased that you and he could have this level of mutual awkwardness with one another. "Welcome back from Wakanda, James." He nods as you decide to sit down with him, "So, has anything happened in your life lately?" He sits in silence, possibly deciding what he trusts you enough to tell you right now. "I found a little grocery store, near my new place. Sam's been making me try new stuff, turns out we didn't cook very well in the 40s." He jokes, causing you to laugh, "What food have you liked the most now?" He exhales a bit and sits up, "Well, everything feels overwhelmingly spicy, you know? Hydra well... they fed me what I basically ate in the army or they didn't feed me at all... I just really enjoy having the choice, even if the choice is in my face and everything." You nod a bit, listening to him talk about anything... Wakanda, his life before as he calls it, all the changes in his life, you can't help but find it all terribly interesting. You feel entranced by the things he's telling you about his adventures during the War, something you'd only ever learned about in textbooks with black and white photos and mild interest and now it was here in front of you. Until you hear a knock on the door.

"Hey, Buck... Oh- sorry." You turn around at the knock, only to see him. Steve Rogers, Captain America as he is more well known. You smile politely and stand, "You're fine, Captain, James and I were just finishing up and then I'll be out of your way." He shakes his head and the smile he gives you makes you want to faint. He was something out of a dream, he holds out his hand to shake yours, a gesture you meet. His hands are firm and large, practically dwarfing the size of your own. “You’re alright,” He says, “Do whatever you need to do.” He offers you that smile again; causing your stomach to turn over, and it makes you want to pass out in terror. This is stupid and you know it. Having a crush on Captain America, a living legend and Avenger, who is also the best friend of your rehabilitation charge, these feelings are new to you but you decide to shake them off. You were still a professional adult woman.

You continue working around the two men, watching them talk about whatever, and you can't help but steal a glance at the Captain every now and again. He's so much more different than anything you'd seen out on the news, he's human.

That's why, when you are tasked to go on a mission with him, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, you can't help but feel nervous or even a bit useless. Two super-soldiers, a woman who was bred and raised to become a spy, a soldier who was damn good at his secret task, and you, a normal young woman who was just able to become a SHIELD agent and get placed somewhere as lucky as with Bucky being your "charge." You sigh as you pull on a bit of protective gear, turning to see Steve, who suddenly pulled his eyes away, he wasn't staring at me, you reason with yourself. "It's your first field mission like this, yeah?" He asks you as you nod nervously, it was scary enough being on a mission like this, but admitting it to someone like Steve Rogers? Terrifying. It was supposedly easy, but, with a squad like this. You knew Fury was lying out of his ass. In an abandoned warehouse that held SHIELD and Hydra secrets, you were all tasked to do a full sweep, make sure whatever rats are lying low, go down, and grab those secrets.

"Alright, well stay with Bucky and you'll be alright, I know you can handle yourself though." He gives you that smile, again and it makes you want to melt. "How do you know I can handle myself, we've never even gone on a mission." He gives a shrug and a smile, "Some people just... have a way that you can tell. You're one of them." You feel warmth on your skin and watch as the look in his eyes scream admiration. The helicraft carrying the five of you slows and the door slides open, allowing Sam to move past you two, not before shooting a look over to Steve, and dropping out, his wings carrying him over the warehouse for any recon needed on this mission. There's only a bit of time left and you exhale, trying to dispel even an ounce of the nerves bouncing around in your stomach. Steve places his hand on your shoulder, as the door opens once again, allowing you all to parachute out of the helicraft. "(Y/N), Buck, take the left side, try to minimize casualties for now. Natasha and I will take the right side, keep your comms on." He then walks off with Natasha and you go off with Bucky.

"You need to make your move." You hear Bucky from behind you, causing you to turn and face him, "What do you mean?" Bucky rolls his eyes, "I mean Steve. He likes you, you like him. Seriously, you two... Wait." There's a quiet beeping, it pulls you both from your conversation, Bucky goes after it, leaving you alone. You stay on guard but the worry overtakes you until you feel the blade of a knife, sharp and shiny, pressed against your neck.

"Shit." You whisper as you feel a woman holding you now, "I've been compromised." You whisper, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a warning call over comms. "Now, what is a normal SHIELD puppy like you doing here?" The woman asks, you simply stay quiet, maybe I can catch her leg and flip her? You think to yourself. That is until you feel yourself pushed forward onto the ground, you crawl trying to get away from her until you turn back to see Steve, covering her mouth and knocking her out with the front, more blunt side of his shield.

You slowly begin to stand up that is until he takes you into his arms, weaving his hands into your hair, "You scared me…” He breathes into your hair, holding you to his chest. “I heard you and Bucky and then Bucky said something about a trap and I-.” You pull away from him, “You heard me and Bucky?” He simply nods, and you feel a bit embarrassed, he knows about your stupid, massive crush on him. “I haven’t been in love since 1945, but, I know it when I feel it. That’s why I’m telling you, I have feelings for you and I’m so happy you feel the same.” This doesn’t feel real in the slightest, but as far as you are aware, this is the happiest moment in your life.

Steve presses his lips to yours in a kiss that makes your heart skip a beat, his hands threading through your hair and land on your hips, you’ve imagined how his lips felt and in reality? They’re better. You only pull away once you hear Sam clear his throat on the comms, reminding the both of you that you’re on a mission.

“Hey you crazy kids,” You hear Bucky snark at the two of you over comms, “Wait until after the mission?” You roll your eyes but pull away from Steve, not before kissing him one more time on the cheek. "Let's get coffee after the mission?" He asks you and you give him a wide smile and nod, "Of course, Steve." The use of his real name makes him smile at you as he wraps his hand around yours as the two of you continue on with the mission to come.

[elionwriter]

PROMPT / DRAPLE OF A POSSIBLE FUTURE FIC (PART 2):

"I need your help, Mando" says Greef Karga in his holo-message one day. "I know how busy you are lately, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important and I didn't need someone I trust on this". When Din answers the call he learns the details of the mission: Greef had taken so much at heart the renovation and improvement of Nevarro that he had made contact and tried to help cells of patriots of other planets that wanted to attempt the same. One of said groups, on a backwashed planet of the Rim, was having some troubles with a Crime syndicate that thought their efforts would do bad for business. Din's mission was to meet these people and help them plan a strike against the criminal organisation.

Upon reaching the planet and looking around, Din sighs, thinking that it would take a miracle to rehabilitate the place. Everything and everyone is so dirty that he wonders how an epidemic hasn't broken out, the people looks like little, feral animals rather than sentients and he's pretty sure there are some commercial traffics going on that had been banned long before the Empire. Then again, he isn't really surprised, the laws and enforcements of the New Republic don't reach this part of the Galaxy, these planets don't even have representatives in the Senate to speak up for them. They're on their own.

It's as Din is waiting in a crowded square for his contact to arrive that he catches a set of eyes fixed on him. He had felt someone following him from the moment he had left his ship but they hadn't come out yet. He looks down at the creature staring at him with hudge magenta eyes, three of them, and quickly realises it's a child, a girl. She's of a species he has never seen before, with bright yellow skin and feathers covering her head (the yellow and fluff or her feathers is dampered by the grease and dirt), she has four feathery arms and bony legs. She smiles brightly at him and waves. "Need anything, kid?" He asks. "You're sooooo shiny and cool! Can I be your friend?" She asks, voice full of awe. There is no deception in that statement and Din chuckles at it. Patiently he tries to shoo away the child telling her that he is waiting for someone and that things are about to get dangerous.

She's completely undeterred by his words, smile still plastered on her face. So he follows a different line: "Shouldn't you go back to your parents?" " No." "Are they around here?" "No" "Aren't they worried you're out here on your own?" "No" He considers it a moment then asks "Do you...have parents?" "No" she answers with the same airly smile of before. "Anyone that takes care of you?" "No" "A home to go back to?" "No" "Friends...?" "Everyone is my friend. Do you also want to be my friend?" Din sighs, starting to loose patients, wondering what the hell is his contact waiting for to show up. Before he can say anything else the kid points at his blaster "Did you kill anyone with that?" "Yes, I did." "Cooool! Was it a really bad guy? Did a lot of blood come out?" As a last resort Din pulls out a handful of credits and proposes "If I buy you something to eat, will you leave?" She thinks it over a second and asks "can I have caramelled Meiloorun?" Din nods "Even the big one?" Din gets her the treat and watches her skip away happily. It's not long after that he is approached by the right hand man of the organisation he's supposed to aid.

He is brought back to their headquarters and they discuss matters out. Din is surprised to find that they are a group of very level minded and shrewd kids with very good projects for the future and feels more prompted to help them out. They study a plan to strike against the criminal organisation and call it a night. Din is welcomed to stay at their place. As he steps out of the run down building to catch a breather and take a look around he finds the same kid from before waiting for him outside. He asks how long she has been standing there and finds she had been standing there for almost the entirety of his stay. "Hadn't we agreed that you would leave?" He asks "I did leave. Then I came back!" Din sighs. She asks for his name but luckily doesn't really wait for an answer before giving her own. "My name is Ky'lla. Are we friends now?" Din tries very hard to mentally create an interference over the name. Learning her name is definitely not wise and he wonders why she is so stubborn on the idea of befriending him of all people. But as he notices the way she studies with shiny eyes his armour he thinks he starts to understand. "Are you following me because you like my armour?" "Yes! I like shiny things and this is the shiniest thing I've ever seen! Also, you're big and buff and you're really nice too! You bought me candy! Nobody ever buys me candy!" She says excitedly. Din known he shouldn't ask but the question is out before he can stop himself. "Where do you come from? What happened to your family?" She thinks it over a moment then points her finger towards the sky "My homeworld is in that direction. I came here with mom, but mom died a long time ago'. It's sad but I have a lot of friends now." Something tells Din that all the "friends" she talks about are just a bunch of random strangers and passer bye; that befriending everyone she meets is the kid's subconscious response to her loss. "Don't you remember the name of your planet? Or of any planet nearby?" "No. But I am pretty sure it's in that direction" she says pointing in a different position of the sky altogether. "And...were the people of your planet all of your same species?" "Yes, they were." Great, Din thinks, there's really nothing he can do for Ky'l..THE KID considering he has no idea where "there" in space is and has never seen anyone of her likes before. He sees her yawning. Well, there is one thing he can do. "Do you have anywhere to sleep?" "There's the back alley a few streets over with comphy sacks..." She answers and Din pushes her inside the building "tonight you're sleeping in here" he says directing her towards the room meant for him. She flops over on the bed and asks "can you tell me a story?" "Go to sleep" "But if you killed people you must know stories of battles and duels! Can you tell me the most scary one you know?" Din sighs but for some reason finds himself flopping on the floor, near the bed and telling her what they told him, the first nights he was brought into the covert, of the Mythosaurs and how the Mandalorians learned to tame and fly them. He falls asleep as the words and memories cling to him, as he envisions the pendant with the Mythosaur skull he had given Grogu. The pain for loss of him spreads through his tired body like a fresh wound. Ky'lla falls asleep whispering with awe the word "Mandalorian".

In the morning, he wakes her up, gives her a few ration packs and tells her that she really must stop following him now. For the first time she looks actually sad, but doesn't protest as she goes.

Din catches up with the rest of the group and together they prepare the assault to the criminal syndacate's main objective. At first everything goes as planned but quickly things get messy. Din realizes he has to expose himself more than he intended. Firing up the jetpack, he flies up to the targeted power generator and places a frag mine over it. He fires at will at all the enemies that try to approach but one expecially sneaky killer works his way behind him and, preparing his sniper rifle, aims at a junction in between Din's armour. Din notices him a moment too late as the trigger snaps. He braces for an impact that doesn't come. He looks at the man with surprise and finds terror and bewildermente on the other's face as well as he tries to fire over and over. The rifle is insistently empty. Din takes the moment and turns it to his advantage firing his own blaster which knocks the assassin down cold. "I was the one to steal the rifle's charges. Was I good or what!?" Chirpes in a familiar voice. Din is only partially surprised to find Ky'lla popping out of nowhere, proudly waving the rifle's cartridge around. He wants to thank her, ask her how in kriffin hell she managed that and scold her for putting herself in danger's way for him but his pragmatic mind refrained from that. He quickly pulls the child in his arms and flies them both away from there moments before the charge on the power generator goes off in a hudge explosion. "Whoaaa" Ky'lla exclaimes over his shoulder as flames and electric shocks destroy the surrounding space. The patriots cheer happily below as the last standing members of the criminal syndacate run away.

Din is celebrated like a hero but he pays the compliments no mind. One of the young women of the group cuts off a ringed finger from one of their victims and tosses it to Din "there's a hudge bounty on this one! You should collect it, it's the least we can do to thank you." Din accepts the prize and parts ways with the group, Ky'lla following him around like a shadow. When he reaches his new ship and opens the ramp to it Ky'lla takes a shy step backwards and says "I guess it's goodbye, then. It was nice being your friend..." Din smirks at her from behind the helmet and says "Do you really think I don't know you're just going to sneak into the ship somehow? Let's save time and come in." Ky'lla looks at him in disbelief "you really mean it?!" Din signals her to follow and with a high pitched squeel she goes to hug his legs. "I've got some friends, I'm sure one of them will accept to take care of you" he says, even as part of him already knows that the kid will stick to his side.

Din prepares the launch sequence and soon they are travelling in hyper space. He sends Ky'lla to immediately take a shower in the 'fresher and in the meantime he sends a message to Karga to report on the end of the mission and to prepare the money for the bounty he collected.

Ky'lla comes back to the cockpit looking ten times brighter and fluffier than she did before. "Since I'm staying with you for a while, can you teach me to fight like you do?!" Asks the child. "I could be very good! With four arms I could grab the bad guys from the scruff and tickle them to death!" She says stating her case. "Do you really want that? It's a difficult and intense training..." "Sure! And can I have an armour like yours too?!" "You must become a Mandalorian and earn each piece of it to have one." He says carefully testing the ground. "Then that's what I want to be: a Mandalorian! Can I?" "Well, technically everyone can become a Mandalorian..." "THAT'S AWESOME! Till yesterday I was no one and now I'm gonna become a Mandalorian!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The child starts running around bursting at the seams with happiness. Din laughs. "I want to learn everything there is to know about Mandalorians!" She exclaims and Din sighs out a "Yeah, so do I" "Why, don't you know everything about them already? You are one" He explains that there are very few Mandalorians left, that a lot of their history and culture has been wiped out and that he had very limited access to what was left growing up.

Eventually, the kid tires out and falls asleep in her seat. Din looks back at her and replays all the recent events in his mind, trying to figure out just how he found himself with a new kid under his responsibility. This had been a wrong move. The last time he did so broke his heart and even if it was the right thing to do, he doesn't know if he can get over that same loss again. His latest adventure however lights up a sudden and inspired idea in his mind. He reaches for the console and sends out two holo messages. One to Luke Skywalker and the other to Bo-katan Kryze asking her where to meet up and stating with confidence that he has a proposition for her.

[obsidiancorner]

ObiYuki- Terminator

Wherever You Go- Chapter 2 Word count: 1400

They are in and out of their respective surgeries and training faster than Shirayuki would have suspected. It was still a couple of months worth of what amounted to rehabilitation since their whole lives had changed when they went under the knife. They’d both had implantations put in just behind their ears, similar to a cochlear implant but with more extensive wiring involved which allowed her and Obi to communicate without words and that was something that took some getting used to. Tapping the bone behind the ear turned on communication, similar to that of a radio but on a frequency only their specific implants and brains can communicate on. That was all the augmentation Shirayuki had to go through.

The rest of her time had been spent in learning battle tactics, how to work on the hardware that had been installed on Obi and the software within the computer system now attached to his chest, resting behind a new skeletal system of Titan Steel ribs that are hydraulically powered to lift away from his body to act as a bumper in case of high energy impacts using a more advanced version of their vehicles’ collision avoidance technology. But those weren’t the only alterations made to Obi’s body.

Oh, no.

His retina on his right eye was replaced with a micro screen that can see the infrared color spectrum. It is terrifying to look at when it is turned on- though she will never tell him, since it turns his beautiful golden eye a hellfire red.

It was awful the first time he turned it on and she knew he watched her body heat make a subtle but notable dip by a degree as the chill of fear sought out every nook and cranny of her entire body.

He’d raised his hand to that bone behind his ear and she panicked over what he was going to say to her. “You okay,” he’d asked her, and he looked the least assured she’d ever seen him when she only managed a nervous and weak attempt at a smile and the most subtle bob of her head to indicate a ‘yes.’

They’ve come a long way since then. He knows now she just hadn’t been expecting it and he confessed that when he saw himself in the mirror as the bandages were pulled off, he had felt the same way she had.

It just reinforced and still to this day reinforces that he had gone through such a drastic transformation. He’d been in lengthy surgeries off and on for a week before everything was done. But nothing had stopped her in her tracks like his glowing red eye. Thankfully, he’s figured out how to turn it on and off at will by now.

A self contained air system was added to his back to work in low or no oxygen environments and he has a whole exoskeleton suit to go over everything made of the same new steel his internal structuring- complete with some sort of bizarre skin-like texturing over the top so he could pass for a much bulkier version of himself should he ever need to undress in front of anyone not qualified to know that he has been turned into a very real cousin of the cyborgs of science fiction.

What was the most unnerving of all, though, is when they’re in their training sessions and the skin-like covering to his exoskeleton unravels itself so he can use the plasma blasters concealed in his mechanical palms.

As the training regimen mounted in difficulty to prepare them for what lies ahead, Izana’s intelligence team gathered known targets through various infrared camera systems placed throughout the country. Traffic cameras; security cameras at banks, police stations, government buildings, hospitals, and even some highly frequented shopping malls; as well as intelligence officers sporting IR sensitive glasses were all in use to work in tandem with facial recognition software that allows them to match heat signatures with faces since the alien population ran much colder than natural humans and their facades only masked it, leaving them appearing as hypothermic humans to any infrared scanner.

Within six months, they rolled out as a team toward their first assignment: the assassination of a reclusive confirmed alien, living out in the woods near the tanbarun border.

----------

Year: Ad Pacem- 1107

Months turn into several years as time passes so slowly and so quickly all the same as Obi and Shirayuki become the top ranking covert ops pair. Meanwhile, the aliens developed better concealment techniques, leaving Clarines to also alter their detection methods.

As bodies of assassinated aliens rolled into the university at Lilias, studies revealed they had a different blood type entirely. It appeared human to the naked eye, but when tested, it revealed an extra component so blood testing became a requirement for anyone going into government buildings, hospitals, and other necessary buildings for basic human life. A quick prick of the finger was all that was needed, like testing for blood sugar.

It was only after that system of testing rolled out that a file for Touka Bergatt, a member of Clarines nobility, hit Shirayuki’s desk as their next mission. Once she was done processing their target, she reached up a shaky hand to press the comm button on her mastoid bone.

“H-hey, Obi?”

“You wrang,” he drawls, as the door to her office slides open, revealing an exoskeleton free and shirtless Obi, drying his hair with a towel he quickly discards in a heap in the corner, done with no purpose other than to get under her skin. “Excellent timing, by the way. I was just heading to see a handler about a mission.” He whips the chair beside her around and plops down with his legs stretched out and his arms crossed and resting over the chair back. “Rumor has it that our new mission came in.”

She levels him with a glare because that is impossible. This mission is top secret. He was likely coming to remind her that lunch had been served two hours ago and she hadn’t left her office since she walked in at six this morning.

“I’ll eat something later,” she remarks without looking at him. He chuckles as she punches a few keys on her keyboard and Touka’s face pops out of the hologram monitor on her desk.

Obi snorts as he drops his head onto his hands. “You didn’t really call me in to look at his obnoxious face, did you? You know he’s not my type.” His head rolls to the side so he can look at her and he pokes her in the ribs in a quick but soft jab.

He’s teasing but his cavalier attitude is grating since she knows what she knows and he hasn’t even asked about the importance of what is happening. Without looking, she thrusts the burn-after-reading level of classified dossier into his chest and ignores the fact that the bone of her wrist smacked into his external ribbing hard enough she’ll have a bruise later.

“He’s our next mark-” she turns to face him- “you ass.”

She felt rather pleased with herself as she watched the color drain from his face. At least it’s sinking in now.

“Miss,” he says as he flips through the file with Touka’s expected upcoming engagements both private and public. “This is going to be hard.”

She sighs. The risks are high with this one. “I know.”

----------

Taking him out was a nightmare. He was never alone- not even in sleep. There was always someone keeping an eye on him. It took a month of staking him out to learn the singular weak point in his coverage. Once a week, on Monday evening, he was allowed ten minutes of completely private time. He spent it locked in his room at his compound, sitting on a call with some unknown woman.

It was then Obi struck, perched high on a hill from almost a mile away. Just before he made his call.

The instruction to ‘leave him afterwards and let his death look like a standard assassination’ was a gross miscalculation by King Izana’s intelligence committee. Touka Bergatt was not only King Izana’s biggest opponent and most vocal dissenter in the political sphere, but he was also the highest ranked alien in Clarines- information Izana’s team hadn’t found yet.

His assassination led to an active invasion. Within the week, several small ships and one monster lead ship moving into the Earth’s immediate neighborhood in space, positioning themselves just outside of Earth’s orbit.

[widowsofchaos]

Can I request “147. “I’m not sure how many coffees it takes to be happy, but so far, it’s not twelve” from the prompts list??❤️

❝ Never Enough Coffee

summary: black coffee is vital for one grumpy unstable 100 year old man.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

Cait, I love you so much. It’s not even funny! Thanks for requesting, you’re the damn best. Icon? Indeed. I did this with Bucky, cause we just a bunch hoes for that beautiful dork. <3

Fluff, grumpy Bucky, Sam, and Bucky banter, and a smidge of implied smut. I apologize that this isn’t that good, or have poetic wordplay that I’m practicing, I just haven’t written anything in over two years, so be gentle with me! Lmfao, I hope y’all like this! Pls request more!

Requested from this prompt list.

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s a crime.

A crime against humanity — not even Captain fucking America going against the Accords, against 117 fucking countries can touch the immense severity of this.

It’s bright and sunny, 8 o’clock in the morning to be exact, and Bucky Barnes – the Sargent of the Howling Compandos, Brooklyn’s forgotten 40s’ Casanova, the Winter Soldier, the fist of HYDRA, a ghost story, one of the best assassins in world history, right next to Romanoff, respectfully — is up and out of bed.

And he’s ready to have heads roll.

The compound’s windows are wide open and the sun is mockingly baring it’s warm ass into his groggy eyes. His nose is scrunched up in annoyance, sitting in the compound’s kitchen, as he begrudgingly sips his coffee — black like his soul.

“Good morning, old man.” A sing-song tone pierces through the air, disrupting any peace and quiet Bucky clings for.

Of fucking course.

“Fuck off, tweety.” Bucky’s lowly growled as he sipped his beverage. A sneaky chuckle filtered behind him, “Tsk, is someone a little grumpy?” Sam’s babified tone causes Bucky to clench his metal hand into a fist, the metal softly rearing.

Samuel Wilson, a former United States Air Force pararescue airman. Use to work at the Veterans Affairs department to assist soldiers for rehabilitation services, and much more. Has been an helping aid for Bucky during his rehabilitation back at Wankanda.

A man of honor.

But as of today, Sam is in the same damn boat as Bucky. Grumpy, exhausted, and infuriated. Not an soldier, not the Falcon, just Samuel Wilson. A man who yearns for his bed. So fuck honor right now, he’s wants to push buttons. A bilious man on a mission.

Waking up early for a long meeting among the Avengers, and then training new S.H.I.E.L.D recruits. Long strenuous hours of combat, practice at the gun range — oh God, he’s not ready.

He was a inch away from ripping Steve’s head off earlier at 6 in the morning, to go for their run. Almost flipping Steve off, and tell him to ‘go fuck himself in his perfectly sculpted patriotic ass’. He didn’t though. Rogers didn’t deserve that.

Barnes on the other hand?

If Sam has to be miserable on this damn boat with Bucky, best believe he’s gonna make him suffer along with him. Barnes and Wilson are kindred spirits when it comes to terms of bickering. A love-hate yin-yang, can’t live with each other, and can’t live without each other.

All for one, bitch. Wrestle with Barnes off the boat—figuratively.

If only.

Gripping the mug tighter in his flesh hand — just a little more tighter and Bucky could crack the cup into multiple little pieces.

But he won’t let his frustration get the best of him, no matter how much Sam gets a hard-on for pissing the WWII veteran off.

It’s a NASA mug you bought for him, a constant reminder that lets him know how you pay attention to his personal interests, and he cherishes everything you buy him.

Just being in your presence is the only gift he ever truly wants.

A whirring noise infiltrated through the air, and entering the kitchen. A gust of air whipped against Bucky’s dome, a flash of red and grey wizzing by.

The ungraceful flight caused Bucky’s long chestnut tresses to be ruffled in different directions, and even get his ends in his eyes; earning a belly laugh from Sam, and a programmed chirp from the infuriating metallic bird.

Redwing. The trusty companion of Sam. His empathic link, his side-kick — a pain in the ass. Might as well be Sam’s child. Jesus — it is.

“I swear Wilson, one of these days, I’m gonna get Alphine to destroy that thing. Don’t be surprised to find it dead with claws marks, and chewed wires.” Bucky’s steel gaze that bored into Sam’s soul, spoke volumes of distain.

“You will do no such thing! You keep your furry menace away from my child!” Sam roared, extending a threatening finger at Bucky, his brown face turning a shade of slight burgundy as his face flushed with rage.

Sweetly petting Redwing on it’s head, whispering assurances that no act on it’s life will occur.

“Then tell your kid to stop baderging me in the morning!”

“It’s not his fault, you’re a grumpy old man!”

“Shut up!”

“At least, my son is just playing around! What about Alphine?! She’s an attention-seeking hog, and always fucking with everybody. But the moment you or y/n walk through the door, she’s a little angel! Her grimy little paws behind her back! Your kid is indeed a menace!” Sam’s sneered as he protectively held Redwing against his chest.

“You take that back! She’s a good girl!” Bucky’s stood up from his chair, ready to fight. His Alphine? An angel! His sweet little princess!

Another heinous crime in Bucky’s books: don’t ever insult Alphine.

Sam and Bucky kept bickering back and forth, voices rising higher and higher. Tempers flying. Releasing their frustrations onto each other, insults hitting each other like bullets, but yet not a slight crack in their shield of friendship.

“Would you two stop it?” A sweet melodic voice rang through the two aggressive voices that dominated the area. Bucky’s head swiftly turned to see you standing at the kitchen entryway in all your glory.

Even with messy bed hair of your curls straying in different directions, in Bucky’s eyes the curls was voile and woven by baby cherubs. His mind going hay-wire with the mantra of mineminemine when he see his red Henley that was hanging over your shoulder, perky breasts bounce effortlessly against the fabric, and weary eyes — you glowed as if you had an halo.

As if diamonds and pearls were glimmering underneath your pores — illuminating a shimmering bronze complexion.

“Good morning, doll.” A genuine smile curled on Bucky’s dreary mug, hightlighting. Dashing and wrapping his biceps around your waist, softly kissing you, instinctively you ensnared your forearms around his neck, clinging onto him like a life-line. A small whimper erupted in the back of his throat.

This is what he needs. To stay in today, and crawl in bed with you, and be as one. Craft a makeshift of the walls of a womb, limbs entangled, inhaling breaths, lulled by synchronized heartbeats.

“Good morning, doll.” Sam mocking Bucky’s endearment in a lower octave, a poor imitation,garning a low snarl from Bucky.

“Stop it you two. It’s too early for this shit.” You sighed, eyes closed, as you basked in Bucky’s natural sweet musky and mint scent. Rubbing your nose in his broad chest.

Both of you tuning out Sam slamming the refrigerator door as he scoured for ingredients, and clanging his pan on the stove to prepare his breakfast.

Bucky grumbled incoherent colorful hexes as he gingerly placed chaste kisses against your hairline. Sniffing your hair, needing to scent you like a wolf to gather his bearings.

You giggled at the breathy pecks, refusing to let you go, such a possessive teddy bear he is.

“Jesus, he can’t function without you.” Sam chided, as he cracked eggs into the sizzling pan, wordlessly Bucky buried his face into your curls, to prevent giving Sam a good old fashion tongue-lashing.

“Sam, knock it off. Just because you’re angry, doesn’t mean you have to bother Bucky.” A grin stretched on Bucky’s bearded jaw. His best girl always defending him.

“Nah, he’s insulted Redwing. Made my boy feel bad, remember I can feel everything he feels. And right now? He ain’t feeling all to happy.”

Chest puffed, demonstrating an angry father protecting his metallic pup, “Barnes needs to apologize!”

Softly tugged at the long hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, Bucky whines from being detached from your hair, sternly gazing into his blue-grey pools, “Baby, what did you say?”

Guilt floods him, he didn’t mean it, he’s just — angry! “I said I would get Alphine to hurt Redwing—”

“Threats of claws and wire chewing!”

Bucky winced, “But he said Alphine was an attention hog! That’s she a menace! Our little one isn’t that!” Bucky whined. You had to stifle a laugh, oh for sure, Sam is right on the money.

Alphine is a spoiled brat, but it’s still wrong. She’s a good girl when she wants to be.

“First Bucky apologize to Redwing, and Sam—” your eyes shift to look beyond Bucky’s broad shoulder, to see Sam rolling his eyes, “Apologize to Bucky.”

Both men grumble like over-grown toddlers, “Fine.” Bucky yields, “Alright.” Sam caves in. Bucky reluctantly turns his body to face Sam, “I’m sorry Sam and Redwing. I didn’t mean what I said. Redwing isn’t bad.” Bucky looked to the metal bird, genuinely apologetic.

“I’m sorry too. Alphine isn’t a menace.” Sam mumbled, resuming to petting Redwing. “Okay, good. Now that we’re back to friends, let’s have some breakfast.” You faux cheery tone set a serene atmosphere.

Redwing flew and circled around you, chirping a hello. You blew a kiss to the empathic companion, as it took it’s rightful place back on Sam’s shoulder.

Bucky resumed back to his seat, to mull over his coffee, and Sam back to continue to prepare his omelette, wordlessly.

You smirked as you snaked your way to hug Bucky from behind. A chaste kiss on his temple, a shiver crawling down his spine.

Your nimble fingers found refugee in Bucky’s long waves, massaging his scalp by the pads of your tips.

His lashes fluttered closed, savoring your touch. “Yes, doll. Just like that.” His head hung backwards, his chiseled face facing you.

You placed a lingering kiss on his forehead, as you didn’t relent your soothing kneading. A broken moan escaped Bucky, not caring that his grunt was near close to the spectrum of pornographic.

Sam nearly vomited over his sizzling eggs, “Ew, both of you knock it off.”

“Oh shut it, Foghorn.” You muttered, plump lips inches away against Bucky’s forehead. Painting silver-toned kisses on his smooth skin, Bucky snorted.

“Son, I say – I say, ah he’s about as sharp as a bowling ball.” Bucky’s sardonic jeering guised under a over-extragerated southern accent making you both burst into fits of laughter. A pissing on the iconic cartoonish rooster. He open his eyes, as you two laughed, Bucky just adores your cute giggles. How your nose scrunches upward.

“Oh ha, ha, ha. You both are assholes.” Sam grunted, as he thrusted his spatula in the pan to fold his omelette.

“We made a funny son and you’re not laughin’ ”, you participated in the wisecracking, in an nasally southern belle accent, quoting the famous rooster.

“Knock it off.” Sam murmured, his eyes lowered, throwing daggers at the cackling couple. The chuckles died down, “Alright, alright, we’re sorry, Sam.” You fluttered your eyes at Sam, “You know I adore Falcons.” You delicately plant your chin on Bucky’s dome, as he repositions his head.

“I prefer Hawks.” Bucky’s kvetch crawls under Sam’s skin, “Hey!” He shouted, “Enough!” You chuckled, stoping anymore childish fights.

“I need more coffee to handle him.” Bucky spoke as he gulped down the rest of his caffeine’s beverage. You took the mug from him, “I’ll get you more, baby.” Twisting your head to his side-profile, you meshed your lips on his.

Bucky has a small goofy grin, “Thank you, doll.”

Sam finally finished with his breakfast preparations, sat at the island far away from Bucky, you quickly replaced his silver-ware with a plastic fork and knife.

No stabbing at this early hour.

One incident of an injured bird, and wolf was enough.

“I have a rising suspension that this isn’t your first cup this morning” you peered over your shoulder, to see Bucky just hazily staring at you, chin leaning on the heel of his palm.

He hummed in response, “Not even close, doll.”

“I can tell, you’re a little grumpy today. Although, I don’t want you strung out on caffeine just so you won’t rip someone’s head off.” The steam of black coffee wafts in the air, as it poured and slushed in the coffee maker.

Bucky fussed, “You know I’m not a particularly happy fella, doll.”

“Well, I just want my man to be happy.” The coffee-maker dinged, signaling the coffee was finished. Quickly taking the pot out to pour the hot steaming blackness into the cup, and making your way to Bucky.

“And if it means, making you a shit-ton of coffee, just to get you to crack a smile, so be it.” A toothy smile winked at Bucky, your shiny oval-arlyic nails scratched behind Bucky’s ear — his sweet spot.

It took all his strength and restraint in his body not to take you right there in the kitchen,

“I’m not sure how many coffees it takes to be happy, but so far, it’s not twelve.” Bucky lifted the cup to his pink lips, his eyebrows wiggled at you jokingly. Sam choked on his chewed eggs, drinking water to wash down the food that traveled down the wrong pipe.

“Jesus, Buck —” cough. “Twelve?!” Sam was patting down his lips with his napkin, “I would crawling up the walls by now like a crackhead.”

You snorted, bent over, lowering your lips to Bucky’s ear, salutary and husky, “I wish you had me crawling up the walls, babe.” It was now Bucky’s turn to choke, narrowing his eyes to you, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, doll.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your hands innocently in surrounder, defensely, “I’m behaving.” Your coy smirk said differently.

A debauched moan grumbled in Bucky’s thoart, “You know what — fuck work today, I’m gonna have you front, side-ways, and the back. All damn day. Now that put a fucking smile on my face.” Bucky stood up from his seat, his intimating stature hovering over you.

Sam’s arms flew in the air in defeat, bile rising in his throat to the mental picture of two of his closest friends having cotious.

“We eat here.” He whispered under his breath, very aware of Bucky being able to hear him crystal clear.

You shuddered, “Really ... ? How about we start to have sex right here, right now?” You sunk your nails against his chest, trailing down his torso. Bouncing on the tips of your toes, to kitty lick the tip of Bucky’s nose.

“NO! Why do you two get off torturing me?! Go fuck in your room, you heathens!” Sam roared, picking up his empty plate to clean in his sink, Redwing chirped in agreement.

“Twah, poor baby.” You lean over, after jokingly leering at the birdman, stepping forward to Bucky. Tilting your head up to him, his natural body heart buzzing over you, pressing your lips to his, meeting you half-way.

“C’mon angel, let’s get back to bed.” Bucky mumbled against your lips, softsoftsoft, so this is what love feels like. As if his soul had a million suns radiating in his cavity, circling around his heart like fiery orbs. Happiness stretching like the milky way, interstellar clouds of dust decorating in his hues, grey-blue of spiral galaxies of adoration beam right back at you.

To be touched — to be loved.

Bucky linked his calloused fingers in yours, you loved the contrast your bodily textures. Bucky was soft buried underneath hardened shields of battles and trauma. You love to trace his scars – the scarrings of an old soul.

Bucky and yourself practically skipped out of the kitchen, with not so much of a goodbye to Sam.

No offense taken, he knows he’ll see the two soulmates later. A little frustrated that he’ll be training recruits solo today, but what can he do? Love cannot be stopped.

Sam snickered, happy that those two are happy and care-free. “Look at those lovebirds, Redwing. Ah, our favorite type of birds.”

-

tags: just tagging my favorite writers and mutuals who inspire me and had the pleasure of talking to:

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor @helahades @cake-writes @nacho-bucky @cherrypickertheory @sinner-as-saint @imanuglywombat @bugsbucky @romantic-barnes @speechlessxx @honeybucks @cherienymphe @venusbarnes @wkemeup @simsadventures @invisibleanonymousmonsters @ozarkthedog @sebbybarness @avintagekiss24 @wiensrsoldier @all1e23 @xetoilerouge @et-lesailes @spacesnail3000 @moonbeambucky @buckyskorpion @buckysknifecollection @buckys-darling @sapphirescrolls @bitsandbobsandstuff @extremelyblackandwhite @scrumptious-delusion @until-we-fall-in-love @fafulous @rogueobservation @your-persephone-writes @sophiria @cpn-hydra @browngirlmagic @jobean12-blog @carolmaximoffs @caws5749 @marvelcapsicle @star-spangled-beard-burn @missmonsters2 @xbuchananbarnes @captain-kelli @fvckingavengers @suz-123 @redgillan (there’s much more I wanted to add but I couldn’t fit more in, lol!)

[justforbooks]

Malcolm X (born Malcolm Little) was an African American Muslim minister and human rights activist who was a popular figure during the civil rights movement. He is best known for his time spent as a vocal spokesman for the Nation of Islam.

Malcolm spent his adolescence living in a series of foster homes or with relatives after his father's death and his mother's hospitalization. He engaged in several illicit activities, eventually being sentenced to 10 years in prison in 1946 for larceny and breaking and entering. In prison, he joined the Nation of Islam, adopted the name Malcolm X (to symbolize his unknown African ancestral surname), and quickly became one of the organization's most influential leaders after being paroled in 1952. Malcolm X then served as the public face of the organization for a dozen years, where he advocated for black empowerment, black supremacy, and the separation of black and white Americans, and publicly criticized the mainstream civil rights movement for its emphasis on nonviolence and racial integration. Malcolm X also expressed pride in some of the Nation's social welfare achievements, namely its free drug rehabilitation program. Throughout his life beginning in the 1950s, Malcolm X endured surveillance from the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) for the Nation's supposed links to communism.

In the 1960s, Malcolm X began to grow disillusioned with the Nation of Islam, as well as with its leader Elijah Muhammad. He subsequently embraced Sunni Islam and the civil rights movement after completing the Hajj to Mecca, and became known as el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz. After a brief period of travel across Africa, he publicly renounced the Nation of Islam and founded the Islamic Muslim Mosque, Inc. (MMI) and the Pan-African Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU). Throughout 1964, his conflict with the Nation of Islam intensified, and he was repeatedly sent death threats. On February 21, 1965, he was assassinated in New York City. Three Nation members were charged with the murder and given indeterminate life sentences. Speculation about the assassination and whether it was conceived or aided by leading or additional members of the Nation, or with law enforcement agencies, have persisted for decades after the shooting.

A controversial figure accused of preaching racism and violence, Malcolm X is also a widely celebrated figure within African-American and Muslim American communities for his pursuit of racial justice. He was posthumously honored with Malcolm X Day, on which he is commemorated in various cities across the United States. Hundreds of streets and schools in the U.S. have been renamed in his honor, while the Audubon Ballroom, the site of his assassination, was partly redeveloped in 2005 to accommodate the Malcolm X and Dr. Betty Shabazz Memorial and Educational Center.

On February 19, 1965, Malcolm X told interviewer Gordon Parks that the Nation of Islam was actively trying to kill him. On February 21, 1965, he was preparing to address the OAAU in Manhattan's Audubon Ballroom when someone in the 400-person audience yelled, "Nigger! Get your hand outta my pocket!" As Malcolm X and his bodyguards tried to quell the disturbance, a man rushed forward and shot him once in the chest with a sawed-off shotgun and two other men charged the stage firing semi-automatic handguns. Malcolm X was pronounced dead at 3:30 pm, shortly after arriving at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. The autopsy identified 21 gunshot wounds to the chest, left shoulder, arms and legs, including ten buckshot wounds from the initial shotgun blast.

One gunman, Nation of Islam member Talmadge Hayer (also known as Thomas Hagan), was beaten by the crowd before police arrived. Witnesses identified the other gunmen as Nation members Norman 3X Butler and Thomas 15X Johnson. All three were convicted of murder in March 1966 and sentenced to life in prison. At trial Hayer confessed, but refused to identify the other assailants except to assert that they were not Butler and Johnson. In 1977 and 1978, he signed affidavits reasserting Butler's and Johnson's innocence, naming four other Nation members of Newark's Mosque No. 25 as participants in the murder or its planning. These affidavits did not result in the case being reopened. In 2020, the Netflix docuseries Who Killed Malcolm X? explored the assassination, which launched a new review of the murder by the office of the Manhattan District Attorney.

Butler, today known as Muhammad Abdul Aziz, was paroled in 1985 and became the head of the Nation's Harlem mosque in 1998; he maintains his innocence. In prison Johnson, who changed his name to Khalil Islam, rejected the Nation's teachings and converted to Sunni Islam. Released in 1987, he maintained his innocence until his death in August 2009. Hayer, who also rejected the Nation's teachings while in prison and converted to Sunni Islam, is known today as Mujahid Halim. He was paroled in 2010.

A CNN Special Report, Witnessed: The Assassination of Malcolm X, was broadcast on February 17, 2015. It featured interviews with several people who worked with him, including A. Peter Bailey and Earl Grant, as well as the daughter of Malcolm X, Ilyasah Shabazz.

Malcolm X has been described as one of the greatest and most influential African Americans in history. He is credited with raising the self-esteem of black Americans and reconnecting them with their African heritage. He is largely responsible for the spread of Islam in the black community in the United States. Many African Americans, especially those who lived in cities in the Northern and Western United States, felt that Malcolm X articulated their complaints concerning inequality better than did the mainstream civil rights movement. One biographer says that by giving expression to their frustration, Malcolm X "made clear the price that white America would have to pay if it did not accede to black America's legitimate demands."

In the late 1960s, increasingly radical black activists based their movements largely on Malcolm X and his teachings. The Black Power movement, the Black Arts Movement, and the widespread adoption of the slogan "Black is beautiful" can all trace their roots to Malcolm X. In 1963, Malcolm X began a collaboration with Alex Haley on his life story, The Autobiography of Malcolm X. He told Haley, "If I'm alive when this book comes out, it will be a miracle." Haley completed and published it some months after the assassination.

During the late 1980s and early 1990s, there was a resurgence of interest in his life among young people. Hip-hop groups such as Public Enemy adopted Malcolm X as an icon, and his image was displayed in hundreds of thousands of homes, offices, and schools, as well as on T-shirts and jackets. This wave peaked in 1992 with the release of the film Malcolm X, an adaptation of The Autobiography of Malcolm X. In 1998, Time named The Autobiography of Malcolm X one of the ten most influential nonfiction books of the 20th century.

Malcolm X was an inspiration for several fictional characters. The Marvel Comics writer Chris Claremont confirmed that Malcolm X was an inspiration for the X-Men character Magneto, while Martin Luther King was an inspiration for Professor X. Malcolm X also inspired the character Erik Killmonger in the film Black Panther.

Photo Above: The Audubon Ballroom stage after the murder, with bullet holes marked by circles

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[perfect-fourth]

[ Contrary to what one might expect of a ‘prison’, Jhin’s 19 years in Tuula actually weren’t traumatic and horrible for the most part.  Of course, it was still a prison for him, and he was kept under careful observation at all times. 

Their aim at keeping him imprisoned in Tuula was rehabilitation as averse to punishment(something they were never successful at).  Jhin had a lot of privileges while he was imprisoned, and he was on a first name, buddy-buddy basis with most of the monks who resided there.  He also developed most of his cooking skills in Tuula, as they’d eventually assign him to to the kitchen to help prepare the days meals for everyone in the monastery.  He was trusted enough for this, even if he did, on occasion, “slip-up” in his “healing process” and murder a stray monk or four-- which wasn’t as often as you’d think.  Being as exposed as he was in Tuula, he tended to shut that part of himself off as much as he could; for a multitude of reasons.

One big reason they refuse to kill him and seek to try and heal him from whatever is wrong with his mind is due to the sheer improbability of death in Ionia.  The chance of him coming back as a vengeful, and likely incredibly powerful spirit should he die, is way too high to risk. 

Jhin is 100% aware that this is one of the reasons he’s still alive, and while a part of him does actually want to try to get better, he knows that that would probably mean he’d end up being assassinated shortly after he was ‘fixed’.  It would also inhibit his ability to create, not just in the sense of uh... murder art, but as a whole, which is something he wholeheartedly believes shouldn’t be repressed or stifled.  He also just doesn’t really believe he can be redeemed, on a more depressing note.  What is done is done, no redemption, yada yada, dramatic introspective tortured artist noises. ]  

[jjba-hell]

Take of Epitheus

So this is the second half of my most recent piece. Context for reader’s relations and abilities were stated here- you can read the pieces separately (but I’d appreciate if you read them together UwU)

Prompt chosen was: Happy ending because a happy ending for us would have just been if our faves could LIVE

Triggers: mention of death, caring and rehabilitation of extreme bodily trauma (I guess you could put that under gore?) dark yet hopeful

@giogio-gucci-gangstar @risottoneroo @lasquadraweek2020​ @junosartsthetic​ 

2,5K words, gender neutral reader- good luck

“Will you please stop being a crybaby and let me take off the bandages already?”

You were busy finicking with Formaggio’s bandaged chest- the burns he had gotten over most of his body needed intensive care but he whined about it every step of the way.

“Hey hey! Come on, be gentle with me!”

Your gaze shot up to meet his cringing face. “I AM GENTLE!”

You moved quicker- opting to rip off the stained gauze from the burn ointment that peeled off the burnt skin with a sticky squelch.

“Would you rather have Melone do it?” You grumbled, more to yourself but he grabbed your wrist.

“No! Please no, you at least listen when I whine- he just ignores me.” In his eyes you could actually imagine seeing some form of desperate pleading so you sighed, continuing to gently remove the rest of the gauze.

“Can I put the air conditioning on for you while I prepare the soak?”

He looked so ashamed of himself as he nodded, you couldn’t help but feel a scrap of sympathy for him.

Now that everything was over with the Boss’s take down, you were left having to rehabilitate your team back to functioning people. Your stand could only heal so much- mostly keeping their souls attached to their bodies- but the physical healing you had to do yourself.

Formaggio could at least stand up and lead himself to the bath you had prepared for him but some of the others weren’t so lucky. Prosciutto took a particularly bitter hit at his pride with his busted right leg which you had no choice but to amputate so getting him clean was a particularly tense event you deeply dreaded.

You advised Formaggio to take his time in the bathroom as you changed the bedsheets but you knew he had limited mobility so you’d need to help him with his back.

Pesci wasn’t so lucky...he was in literal pieces, Illuso was still in the hospital you dumped him in while Melone was doing the research to find the cure for the disease still ravaging his system. Melone got off pretty well- you had recognized the snake that bit him and got him on anti-venom within a few minutes so he was back on his feet in a week- albeit a bit mute. Ghiacchio was holding on for dear life- you had replaced his windpipe but you’d be lucky if he wasn’t paralyzed from the neck down. Risotto was luckily just a few gunshot wounds heavier but they weren’t the only ones you had chained back to their bodies.

You slid down on the edge of the bath beside Formaggio to run some of the water over his back. His shoulders slumped. You understood why- they were all like this. They felt defeated- by their own sudden inability and you couldn’t reassure them that they were lucky enough to be alive, figuring you’d personally rather be dead than hanging on for dear life.

“You can help yourself right?”

He could only nod.

You got up and let him help himself, wrapping him back up in bandages and gauze before wrapping up the laundry and taking out the food from the freezer to thaw for his dinner. “Call me when you need me.”

Outside Formaggio’s apartment you popped the trunk of your car and tossed the second batch of laundry into the trunk. A few cars behind your own, another car door opened and out stepped a dirty blonde in a red suit.

You narrowed your eyes at him as he approached, suddenly noticing how young he was.

“What do you want, kid?”

You called back as he approached. The second he took a step too close to your liking you gave one back. “That’s close enough. What do you want?”

“You’re La Squadra’s healer, aren’t you?”

“What about it?”

“You saved some of my friends a few days ago.”

You couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow. “You worked under Bucciarati?”

“Yes- I do. Or rather, used to. Listen, I’ve been tracking you and this is the third time you’ve come here this week... what are you doing?”

You racked your brain for a second. Part of your stand’s ability- working with the chain that links soul to body allowed you to see some memories people held near the end of their lives.

The kid wrapped in flowers at the coliseum... that’s where you’ve seen his face before.

“Panacotta Fugo?” You guessed from the names you’d heard in the kid’s soul.

His eyes widened a bit. “Yes, how did you-“

“The kid I saved at the coliseum... you were in his memories. Could’ve sworn you were nowhere to be seen, though.”

At this point you were playing mind games with Fugo, you didn’t need more complications to your life.

“I’m trying to help you. You probably know Giorno-“

“That blonde kid that healed Abbachio.” Of course you were referencing the other man you had found on the beach after you helped Risotto.

“Yes, I‘ve come to understand that you’ve been working around the clock to heal your teammates. You can keep people alive but not heal them.” He seemed to be a bit annoyed by finding a new way to approach the subject he wanted to talk about without you changing the subject.

You leaned against the back door of your car. “Then you’ve also figured out why I didn’t come running to the new Don to heal my teammates.”

You refused to continue giving this kid more information so you popped the driver seat door open.

“Bucciarati owes you, as does Abbacchio, and Narancia. Surely that’s enough leverage for you to gain something out of the situation.” He said simply, trying to get closer which you answered with another step back.

You pondered the idea- thinking out loud. “Three wishes from the Don’s inner circle but nothing from the Don himself. Hmmmm.” You tapped your fingers against the roof of the car. “Still can’t figure out why YOU came to deliver this news.”

Fugo seemed to curl in on himself, casting his gaze down at the pavement beside him. “I’m grateful for you saving them when I was too much of a coward to even join them on their crusade. If it weren’t for you, half of them would be dead.”

“Hm. And what insurance do I have that this isn’t some kind of trap?”

Fugo’s gaze shot back up with shock in his eyes. “A trap? Why would you think this was a trap?”

You shrugged. “A traitorous group of skilled assassins? You’d be missing on a grand opportunity to weed out any dangers for the new Don.”

The realization dawned on Fugo’s face- it was clearly not something he had considered.

“Tell Bucciarati that I’ll be at Libechio’s tomorrow at noon for half an hour. I’ll bite from him.”

And with that you stepped into your car and left. You came to a final stop at Risotto’s apartment- trying to get the stubborn bastard to rest instead of trying to walk on his janky leg.

“You seem less patient.” He grumbled as you eventually plopped down on the couch with a groan.

“Yeah, I’m chewing through my own problems.”

He slid down in the seat across the living room from you. “Which would be...?”

“One of Bucciarati’s old underlings came to me- promising some shit about helping me.”

Risotto’s eyebrow shot up. “Help you with what?”

“Taking care of you guys, Ris. I can only heal you so much but the Don can actually fix you.”

“Why would he offer the help?”

You sighed- forgetting that you hadn’t told any of them about what you did after you got Risotto to safety.

“Because I offered mine. There’s three of them that got a new lease of life because of me.”

Risotto seemed to digest your words behind his curled up fist, propped up on his lap.

“I’m not stupid, Ris. I know how dangerous it is. So I figured I’ll talk to the ones that owe me, personally.”

He lifted his head a bit, frowning up at you. “And what would you ask the three of them?”

“Heal you guys fully, of course.”

“But three of them are indebted to you.”

It took you a moment to click what he was getting at.

“You’re implying I ask for three things.”

“You can finally leave the mafia.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Was it really how far you’d come? Had you come full circle? Was it time for you to finally do what you’ve been dying to for years?

You’d soon find out as you sat down at your table at Libechio’s with a hot plate of food- a commodity you’d been refusing yourself since Formaggio got burnt.

You’d just finished when Bucciarati walked in, unaccompanied for once.

“You look good for someone who used to be half dead.” You commented as you slid back in your seat, leaning one arm over the backrest with a cup of coffee in your other hand.

“I have you to thank for that.” He smiled warmly, sliding into the seat across from you.

You swirled your coffee in your cup, trying to get the sweetener at the bottom to dissolve into the black liquid.

“You were a weird case- it’s not often the chain gets broken and someone latches themselves back on.”

Bucciarati laughed, folding his hands over each other on the table. “You make it sound like you helped me out of curiosity.”

“You think I did it out of kindness?”

He tipped his head to one side, as if he was trying to understand you. “Why else would you?”

Ah, the billion lire question. You didn’t know why you ran down the beach to grab hold onto Abbachio’s soul until his team mates came over. You didn’t know why your first reaction to Narancia’s soul floating out of his body was to grab hold and wait until it could return to its body. You didn’t know why you desperately begged Bucciarati to zip his soul back together. But it didn’t change the fact that you did and it was Diavolo’s who was sent into oblivion.

It couldn’t possibly have been because you were a good person. Were you banking on having these debts paid out? You certainly weren’t thinking it at the time.

“I don’t know, in all honesty. Suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Bucciarati’s tea arrived a few moments later and as he was adding the sugar he came forward with the reason for your meeting.

“As far as you probably know, my team and I are indebted to you but you are, understandably, mistrustful about the olive branch offered to you.”

You scoffed. “That’s an understatement, however I’ve come to offer collateral for our dealings.”

Bucciarati seemed to freeze in place, his teacup halfway to his mouth as you leaned in.

“And what would that be?”

“Simply reverting you back to your previous state. It’s as simple as that.”

Bruno placed his teacup back into its saucer with a serious look on his face. “May I ask you a question, y/n?”

You leaned forward with your arm on the table. “Of course.”

“What is it that you’ll be asking of us?”

You took a steady breath. You were unsure if you were going to indulge in this but it was do or die at this stage.

“For Abbachio’s life, I want my team healed completely- all damage inflicted on them needs to be reverted. I know what Giorno’s stand is capable of and I know he can heal them- even restore limbs as far as my understanding goes.”

Bruno only nodded. “Understood.”

“Second...” the words got caught in your throat but with a shaky determination you uttered the words. “I want to disappear. I want nothing to do with this gang, ever again. My existence, as far as any of you are concerned, is unknown.”

With a slight reluctance he nodded. “And your last request?”

“My team get the last request to do whatever they want. Weather that be to earn the Don’s loyalty or chicken out like me, the decision is theirs. And I expect you to respect it.”

Bruno met your gaze head on, before giving a heavy sigh. “Your requests seem fair. But you’ll have to ask Giorno yourself.”

You left Libechio with Bruno, sitting down in the back seat as Fugo drove you there- his eyes glancing up at the rear view mirror to yours every now and again.

“How old are you, Fugo?” You eventually asked. You could tell he was young but if he had just been on verging on 21 or 22, you weren’t sure.

“17.”

Your jaw dropped a bit at that formation. “Ah, life’s done you dirty you and you, Bruno?”

“Turning 21 in a few months.”

“Fuck. You’re infants.” You huffed as you leaned your elbow against the door.

“You’re not that much older than us.”

You couldn’t help but throw your head back and laugh. “I passed 20 a long time ago. Back when things were much simpler.”

For a moment you rode in silence until you sat up and spoke to car as a whole. “Simply speaking as a coward and an unwilling participant in this bullshit, lemme ask- don’t you wish you were normal?”

You never did get an answer, not even a glance in the mirror from Fugo...

You didn’t say anything as you arrived at the villa, tiredly hauling yourself out of the car and following Bruno through the expansive hallways. You’d seen Giorno before- you knew he was young so you figured he and Fugo were the same age, or at least so you hoped- oh the team’s going to pop their stitches at hearing their ages.

You walked past Mista, the gunslinger that helped take down Ghiacchio, so you stopped in your tracks, turned to him and surveyed his face. “So that’s what you look like up close.”

Mista shrugged with a slight smile- was that... dare you say... personality?

He was about to open his mouth to say something to you but the baritone voice of Abbachio had you turning around to find him approaching you from a different hallway. “You know I never did catch your name.”

When you had held onto Abbachio’s soul on the beach, you had sensed some struggle within him- you recognized his story, understood what he was going through... but for men like him, coming back from the dead had two possible effects- either anger for refusing them the relief of death... or peace and clarity.

“You don’t need it. How’s life?” You smirked at him. He gestured for Mista to leave- which he did with a roll of his eyes so you and Leone were standing in the hallway alone.

“I wanted to ask you something... when I was dead, I saw things, people I’m pretty sure I would only have seen in the afterlife...”

“They’re real and chances were you were in the limbo between living and dead for the duration of the experience but I pulled you back.”

He glanced to the side, as if he was considering your words for a moment before nodding down the far end of the hallway where Bruno was standing, waiting for you. “He’s waiting.”

He spun around on his heel and walked away.

“Your friend really did forgive you, Abbachio. If you weren’t meant to come back I wouldn’t have been able to bring you back.” Was all you called back at him.

You walked past Bruno into the room Giorno was waiting, the door shutting behind you to leave you alone with the new Don, a bit on edge until his face emerged from the seat he was sitting in and you couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“So you’re the one I have to thank for my team’s survival.” He attempted to start the conversation.

You reached into your back pocket for your cigarettes and when you turned back to face him, his stand was at the ready.

“My my, no need to be on guard. I wasn’t part of the traitors.”

You brought a filter to your lips and walked towards the balcony, lighting the end without a word. “I’m guessing you’ve been briefed on my wishes?”

“I have- and I can agree to all of them.” He said as Golden Experienced de-materialized.

You hummed in content. Simply waiting for the ‘but’- it never came.

“No exceptions?”

“No, your requests are understandable and manageable. It’s you and your team’s motivations I wanted to know more on.”

You leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, tipping your head back to look up at the orange sky, painted by the setting sun.

“You mean why they were after Trish and Diavolo?”

“Yes.”

You picked your head up and took a drag from the cigarette between your fingers, letting the smoke dribble from your mouth.

“They wanted Trish to gain access to Diavolo. I wouldn’t have let them lay a hand on her. As for that bastard Diavolo, I suppose it was the shitty pay and the fact that they killed my brother and his husb-“ you forgot the marriage certificate was forged. “His lover.” You corrected yourself.

“So why wouldn’t you join in against the coop?”

You took another drag, hoping you could dull your own senses enough to not care about the words that came out of your mouth.

“I didn’t want to die. A stupid sentiment for a hitman but I felt like I can give still do good.”

“Then how did you end up in the gang in the first place?”

“My stupid, very dead brother. Whose killer you so graciously tossed into a garbage truck.”

Giorno actually laughed quietly at that, folding his arms over his chest as he joined you beside the balustrade.

“What did you do before it all?”

“I was a forensic pathologist, though I apprenticed as a mortician for many years.”

He nodded, gazing up at the sky with you.

“I admit, you’d have been a good addition to my own team but I understand your reasons for wanting to leave. There’s just one thing I ask of you- since it seems your stand can trace some things deep within a person’s soul...”

You didn’t completely think it’s fair, your part of the bargain was already done so you suppose you agreed on the terms simple because you were curious yourself... “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know the identity of my real father.”