#i wish everyone had his own john to go with him anywhere be gentle with him

[terrence-silver]

"I found freedom losing all hope was freedom" with Vietnam twig or old terry please! Love your work!!🥰

---

Everyone trained like this --- those select few chosen ones.

But on them, him and John, the routine was excessively hard deliberately.

Climbing the remote slopes of Jirisan at 1915m. above ground come early dawn, they were burdened with the load of their equipment strapped to their backs in makeshift burlap sacks serving as rucksacks. Inside them, weights. Gi's. Rope. Only one canteen of water each, basic medicine to treat any unexpected injuries --- it was much like their time in Vietnam and the military years prior with the sole exception that they were now in possession of a dictionary of Korean. Master Kim Sun-Yung made it very clear right from the get-go; to learn a Korean style of fighting it was imperative to learn the native language first and immerse oneself fully because English wasn't a tongue he desired to speak in his own country or anywhere else if he could help it. Show the dedication and the respect needed to earn the rank of a disciple and a true acolyte of the arts is what they had to do. He had no intention to give his time of day to a pair of two Americans, regardless if he formerly taught their commanding officer, if it meant they could only communicate with basic stuttering and half-baked phrases, like dogs. He wanted the real thing. Demanded it. They didn't have to like him, but they had to show grit. Those were the rules and the price of admission for his classes and lessons. His isolated, ancient family compound and dojang on one of the forested, hidden peaks; the only way on and off was to climb and make the effort of showing how badly they wanted to be taught and what they were willing to do to get to that privileged position.

So, climb they did.

Across the Spine of the peninsula.

In rain.

In mist.

Scorching heat.

The crisp first snows of winter.

When they needed provisions, because nobody would give it to them.

Terry going first and John following suit, watching over him, attached to the same rope, grabbing unto steep jagged rocks and cold stone slabs with gloved hands, skillfully avoiding tangled tree-roots and the occasional loose pebble there to throw off their rhythm. In the beginning, his nails used to tear off and bleed until they painfully blackened and grew anew, taking with the flesh and blood, marred by frostbite and the pain, bandages sticking into his wounds and chafing into the meat --- his grip still infuriatingly and uncharacteristically gentle, even after 'Nam. After a while, the skin there hardened and his fingers became calloused --- iron instead of glass. Somehow larger. Like he grew overnight on willpower and effort alone. The soles of his feet no longer blistered, the calves on his legs on longer in agony and burning --- the idea of hurt more of a vague background concept and after-taught rather than a hinderance. It is like the climb itself and the exposure to nature's elements was a form of training there to prepare them to break concrete training dummies, bricks and blocks. There was no pain in this dojang. No 'ow'. No 'it hurts'. Terry never lets Johnny see in how much physical struggle he was in either. Wanted to make him proud. Show him how much he's advanced since that scared kid in 'Nam. During the night, though, as they camp out on the mountain tops, taking a break before counting on foot, Terry is overtaken by the sheer ache and he lays on his side in a makeshift tent, gritted teeth, wishing he could rip the bones out of his body and throw them off the cliff, slithering around like a snake instead.

The pain is to be transformative, he reminds himself.

As will be this loss of hope. They will be an investment.

He will attain a new sense of self through them.

He will attain strength. Ultimate mastery.

The assurance he will never be caged again.

Freedom.

But, he must pay with a piece of himself first; nothing was for free.

[mfjenks]

theeey

[hellimagines]

Collateral -- JJ Maybank (Part One)

Masterlist

Summary: JJ’s stunt with Barry bites him in the ass when the angry drug dealer kidnaps you and decides you’re JJ’s collateral for the stolen money.

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, angst, mentions of child abuse and drug use

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!Routledge!reader

Word Count: 4,800+

A/N: I started writing this after binge-watching Outer Banks, and before I knew what was happening, I had written 20 pages of this and hadn’t even gotten to the climax… So, this has clearly been broken up into parts. I have part two already finished, and I’m almost finished with part three, but I’m not uploading them tonight because I want this to see the light of day first, and gain some love before I do anything. Please let me know what you guys think of this! I know there isn’t a lot of mushy-feely stuff in this chapter, and it’s mainly angst but, I had so much fun writing this, so please give it a chance and tell me what you think. Also, it’s canon divergent because I tweaked the DCS storyline and everything after John B. finds the first gold bar.

|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Final Part|

Your shift at The Wreck had been a long and strenuous one, more so than usual, because Kie hadn’t shown up for her night shift which left you to pull a double and cover for her. In your opinion, the nighttime customers were always worse than the morning customers since they typically consisted of kooks and tourons who expected the best of the best and nothing less. You had a short fuse, similar to your boyfriend, and would often get snippy with customers who complained about trivial things: their drinks having too much ice, their salad too much dressing, or their Chef’s Board not enough cheese or the wrong kind of cheese. Kie’s dad kept you on morning and afternoon shifts as much as possible due to the locals of The Cut coming to the cafe during those times, and your ability to make them feel at home while they ate their toast and sipped their coffee. So, having to work a night shift unexpectedly without a break from your morning shift left you feeling exhausted and detached from the world.

As peeved as you were with Kie for pulling a no-call-no-show, you were more worried than anything; especially when you noticed JJ wasn’t waiting outside to walk home with you like he normally was. You hadn’t heard from any of the other pogues since yesterday, when you had to go to work and they went over to Crain Mansion in search of the gold. You would’ve gone with them, but you couldn’t risk missing another day of work and possibly being fired. After your shift yesterday (and noticing the lack of blond curls outside the cafe), you had headed home with the plan to meet up with your friends and learn of any new updates--but, when you arrived, nobody was there. You waited around for the rest of the day, but when 10 o’clock rolled around and nobody had shown, you retreated to your bedroom and fell asleep. When you had woken up around 5 a.m to get ready for your shift at work, you were relieved to find JJ curled around you fast asleep, and your brother, Sarah, Kie, and Pope passed out together on the futon in the living room. They had a pot cradled between the four of them, but you thought nothing of it as you got ready for work. You left behind a note, asking them to stop by The Wreck when they woke up to fill you in on whatever you had missed, but they had never shown up. 

Now, as you locked up The Wreck at the end of your 10 o’clock shift and waved to the cooks and other wait staff as you all parted ways, your worry only increased. The Cut was warm and humid as you made your way toward the chateau, forcing you to shed your work shirt in favor of the tanktop laying beneath. Your hair was pulled into a high-pony, and while it had been sleek and put together at 6 o’clock this morning, you now had frizzed strands falling into your face and the bottom of your hair was sticky from an exploded champagne bottle earlier that night. Your feet ached and your hips felt unbalanced from the constant speed-walking and maneuvering around tables and patrons, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse against JJ in your room and sleep for a solid 12 hours straight. Before you could do that, though, you had to continue your thirty-minute walk to said paradise and make sure everyone was okay. 

As you left the hustle and bustle surrounding The Wreck and the docks, and ventured further into The Cut, you felt the tension beginning to ease out of your body at the familiar surroundings. As much as you loved The Wreck, you were not a fan of the kooks and tourons that migrated there throughout the night, bothering you during and after your shifts. As expected, the night held the worst of the batch, with alcohol and other drugs filtering their systems and giving them loose tongues and firm hands. Even though you could handle yourself and those who tried making a move on you, you never felt at ease or safe while leaving The Wreck; unless JJ or your friends were with you and you didn’t have to check over your shoulder every few feet. Crossing the imaginary threshold between The Wreck and The Cut always eased your mind, allowing you to slow your steps and cease checking your shoulder. This was also primarily because on The Cut, people knew who you were--not only as a waitress, a pogue, or (Y/N) Routledge, but as ‘JJ Maybank’s girl’. It pissed you off to no-end that people referred to you as ‘JJ’s girl’ more than your own name and you’d often chew people out on it, but you couldn’t deny the protection (and love and warmth and all-things-JJ) it gave you. You and JJ had been dating for two years, and while you loved him more than life and he loved you more than surfing, you often wished you could be seen as your own person: as (Y/N). Regardless of your annoyance at being solely known as JJ’s girl, as you walked the barely-lit streets of The Cut in nothing but a tank top and shorts, you were appreciative of your unofficial title. Very few people were walking around this late at night, but those who were offered you a simple nod or kept their eyes trained on the ground as you passed by, a complete contrast to the tourons near The Wreck. You expected this to continue until you reached your house, no longer looking over your shoulder for an unwanted kook or a touron that didn’t know the rules. 

You turned another corner, now only fifteen minutes away from home, and rolled your shoulders to try and release some of the built-up tension you gained from your shift as you walked. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, letting your muscles relax and a gentle breeze from the ocean to cloud your senses. Just as you were about to open your eyes and continue forward, you heard footsteps approaching you from behind. Your eyes shot open and your body turned but before you could see who it was, you felt the barrel of a gun press against your lower back. The metal was cold against your tank top as it dug into you, the owner’s hand coming up to grab your shoulder and keep you from moving away. 

“Maybank shouldn’t be leaving his things unattended, especially ones as pretty as you,” a voice muttered into your ear, jabbing the gun harshly into your spine. You froze, trying to place the voice to a face as you heard a vehicle approach and stop beside you.

“I’m not a thing, actually,” you retorted, keeping the fear out of your voice as the man behind you jerked you forward toward the black SUV. The backdoor swung open, but you couldn’t see who was driving it or if there was anyone else waiting for you inside. “What do you want? JJ isn’t his dad, whatever Luke’s done to piss you off is his own problem, not ours.”

The man laughed sharply in your ear as he shoved you forward, causing you to drop your shirt and tumble off the sidewalk, and your torso to fall into the backseat. You yelled out when the man grabbed your legs and pushed your body into the car, your body bending painfully as he slid in beside you. The door slammed shut and the man backed you into the corner of the SUV, caging your body against the door. Your hand shot down to the door handle, yanking on it to open the door and let you fall out, but it didn’t budge. 

“Child lock, snowball. You’re not going anywhere.” 

You looked up, finally able to see the man’s face as he grinned down at you. His grill shined each time the SUV passed under a streetlight and the black hair dangling in his face tickled your nose from how close he was. Instantly, you brought your foot up and kicked him in the stomach, pushing him away from you as you struggled to sit up. 

“What the fuck do you want, Barry?” you snapped while the dealer across from you laughed loudly and held onto his stomach. 

He smirked at you, “I forgot how much of a kicker you were, snowball.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been tryin’ to sell blow to fucking 8th graders,” you shot back, glaring at him. “Now tell me what the fuck you want.”

He raised his hands in surrender, the smirk never falling from his face. “I want my fucking money back. You little shits stole 25k from my goddamn house.”

“What the fuck are you on about? The last time I went to your shithole was a year ago to buy an 8ball,” you scoffed. 

“And while I do miss the revenue you brought me during your time as a cokehead, I’m not talking about you, snowball. Your boy, your brother, your brother’s new whore, the ex-kook, and Heyward’s son stole from me. I know you’re too smart and levelheaded to pull a stunt like that, and the ex-kook and her boyfriend have too much going for them to fuck it up by crossing me. This means it was either your boy or your brother,” Barry explained, his jaw tight with anger as he spoke.

“First of all, Kie and Pope have names. Second of all, they’re not dating. Third of all, what makes you think it wasn’t Sarah? From what I’ve heard, the Cameron’s have a history of robbing you blind.”

“Because my sister is too much of a pansy to pull a stunt like this, and she doesn’t even know who the fuck Barry is.” Your head shot up at the new voice, and you made eye contact with Rafe in the rearview mirror. “You dirty pogues have corrupted my sister.”

“I see someone’s been bitched,” you chuckled with a roll of your eyes. Rafe’s foot slammed on the break and caused you to slam into the back of the passenger seat with an oomph. He turned around, his arm already raised to throw a punch, when Barry grabbed it first.

“Chill the fuck out, Country Club. Can’t go beaten on her just yet. Now hurry the fuck up and get us to the hanger.” Rafe’s nostrils flared at Barry’s demand, and after a moment of his fist flexing in Barry’s hold, Rafe relented. He jerked his arm back and continued driving in silence. “Don’t piss off the driver, snowball,” Barry tsked, waving his finger in your face.

“Look, why would JJ or Birdie steal 25 thousand dollars from you? You know how much JJ despises you and your business because of what it’s done to his dad and the hole I fell into last year, and my brother doesn’t even know who the hell you are. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Barry chuckled, “I see they’ve kept you in the dark. Did they tell you about the gold they found? That they tried pawning off to me this morning?” At the frown on your face and your furrowed brows, Barry laughed even harder. “Oh yeah, they brought in a seven-pound chunk of gold to the shop this morning. Offered ‘em a cashier’s check worth a couple thousand, but your boy is quite the negotiator. So, I sent them to the warehouse for the cash they wanted.”

“And let me take a wild-fucking-guess: on their way, you jumped them, stole the gold, and left them with nothing but dirt under their nails?” 

Barry grinned at your words, his tongue sliding over his grill as he laughed. “See, this is why they should’ve brought you along! Would’ve saved them from all the trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Well fuck, no wonder they stole from you. You stole from them first, Barry. An eye for a fucking eye, it’s the way of the jungle ‘round here. It’s the only damn law you follow.”

“You’re right, it is the only law I follow. Which is why you’re here, snowball. You see, before I could complete my task, they jumped me and stole my wallet and the gold. You’re smart, I bet you’re starting to see the problem now. No gold, no wallet, no 25k,” Barry seethed, the smirk falling from his face as he leaned forward, pushing you back into the corner of the seat. “JJ Maybank stole from me, plain as day. If I had seven pounds of gold in my hand it would be different, I wouldn’t be as pissed. But, you see, I don’t. So, as you said, it’s an eye for an eye. And what better to steal from JJ Maybank, than the only thing he cares about? The only thing he owns?”

“He doesn’t own me, so jot that down.”

Barry threw his head back and laughed loudly, shooting an unnerving feeling down your spine. Rafe laughed along, though anyone could tell it was forced as his eyes darted from the mirror to the road. “This entire goddamn island knows that he owns you, snowball, and you damn well know it too. Which means until I get my money back, you’re my collateral.”

--

The bruises decorating JJ’s torso ached with each step he took, but he had to keep moving toward the chateau: he had to prove to the others that he was good. He had to prove that he could do the right thing with the money he stole. Even if his dad couldn’t do the right thing, and wouldn’t let him back in the house without another beating, JJ could do the right thing and be good. Even if he stole the money it didn’t matter, because Barry stole his life, and Barry didn’t deserve the money, and Barry wasn’t good. The money would pay off his restitution, and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore and Pope wouldn’t have to feel guilty or worry about it anymore, either. Nobody would have to worry about him anymore, and it would all be good. 

But as JJ limped up the chateau’s steps, repeating to himself that, ‘it was all good, he was good, and everything would be good,’  he wasn’t expecting for the screen door to slam open and for John B. to body slam him into the ground. The blue thermos shot from his grip as he was flung down the stairs, and JJ couldn’t bite back his scream of pain when his already-aching body slammed into the dirt. He didn’t get a second to gather his bearings before John B. was pummeling his fists into his stomach and his arms and his face and anywhere else he could land a hit. JJ couldn’t even lift his legs to fight off his best friend from beating on his twice-battered body.

“This all your fault!” John B. screamed, his face an angry red as tears and spit rained down onto JJ. “He took her because of you!” He ceased his punches only to wrap his hands around JJ’s throat, squeezing and pressing down in an attempt to strangle the life out of his best friend.

Faintly, JJ could hear Pope, Kie, and Sarah screaming, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. His entire body felt cold but his head felt hot, and the buzzing in his ears was growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear. He could see John B.’s face above him, his lips moving as he screamed and sobbed, and JJ could see his own blood splattered on his best friend’s jaw and shirt. Black spots began to dance in front of his eyes, moving inward until he could only see the murderous rage filling John B.’s eyes. Just as the darkness settled over him, he felt John B.’s weight lift off of him and air came rushing back into his lungs. For a few seconds, all JJ could do was choke on the air whilst his body convulsed, and someone rolled him onto his side in a desperate hurry.

“-eathe, breathe JJ, come on.” Someone was talking to him, rubbing their hand up and down his back as he continued to shake. He still couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t tell who was talking to him and rubbing his back and all he really wanted to do was blackout for a bit. A harsh slap against the center of his back had other plans, causing the air to finally force itself into his lungs. JJ began to cough violently, continuing to choke on the air that was now entering his body. He tried pushing himself to his knees as he dry-heaved onto the ground, but his shaking arms and legs were too weak to support him.

Pope was yelling in the background, “Chill the fuck out, JB! You almost killed him!”, his voice bringing JJ’s senses back to where they belonged. 

“He fucking deserves it! He’s the reason she’s gone!” John B. yelled back, his voice deeper than JJ could remember. JJ blinked a few times, trying to focus on the bloody grass in front of him while his two friends continued fighting in the distance. 

“Hey, just keep breathing,” the person helping him - who JJ now recognized as Kie - soothed, pulling his sweaty hair out of his face as more blood dribbled from his lips. She was upset, JJ could tell by the way her hands were shaking and the sound of wet sniffles every few seconds. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, who John B. was talking about, but all that came out was a harsh wheeze from his burning lungs and even more blood. “Don’t- don’t say anything. Please, JJ, just… just breathe for a few minutes,” Kie whimpered before a sob slipped from her lips. 

He did as she asked and allowed his eyes to close, his body sinking into the ground as he focused on regulating his breathing. After a few minutes, JJ could hear John B. storm inside the chateau, kicking JJ’s crumpled body on his way up the stairs.

“John B., stop it!” Sarah yelled as she followed him inside. 

Pope came and knelt in front of JJ, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up. “You fucked up, JJ, worse than I ever thought possible,” Pope sighed as he adjusted JJ against the railing. 

“What-” JJ broke off to cough into his fist, ignoring the blood that splattered across his hand, “what happened?” His voice was hoarse and barely understandable, but Kie and Pope knew what he was saying. 

“You stole twenty-five-thousand dollars from a drug dealer. One of the most nefarious drug dealers on this island, that’s what happened,” Kie said, standing up and pacing in front of the blond. “What did you think was gonna happen, JJ? That he’d let it go?”

“What did he take? The HMS Pogue?” JJ rasped, looking up at his friends in confusion. “(Y/N)’ll be pissed, but we can get it back, or I’ll buy her and John B. a new one with the money.” His thoughts didn’t make sense inside of his pounding head, but he still voiced them regardless. 

“How are you so stupid?” Pope yelled, causing JJ to flinch as the other to shot to his feet. “Why would John B. try to kill you over a boat? Don’t you think (Y/N) would be out here yelling at you, too?”

“My girl doesn’t yell, you know that, Pope,” JJ shook his head. “She’s got work and the boat- the boat is all they’ve got left of Big John,” JJ said, coughing a few times. His head was foggy and his vision was still blurry, so he couldn’t see the mentioned boat sitting on the dock to his left.

“No, JJ,” Kie sighed, “Barry didn’t take the HMS. He took (Y/N). He left a note on the van--he wants his money back, plus the gold, and an extra 5k in exchange for (Y/N). He’ll be back in a week to make the trade.”

“He didn’t say what he’d do to her if we don’t give him what he wants but… it’s not something that needs to be said,” Pope whispered as he carefully watched for JJ’s reaction.

A cold chill fell over JJ, causing him to shiver violently despite the warm temperature outside. “You’re lying,” he spat, forcing himself to his feet. Pope and Kie backed up, steering clear of his sudden burst of energy. “You’re fucking lying, she’s not- she’s not gone, he didn’t lay a fucking finger on her. Barry knows better. You just… you just want me to return the money, that’s it, she’s fine, she’s inside right now, she’s-”

“JJ, stop, please,” Kie cried as JJ spun around, tripping over himself in his haste to run up the stairs. Pope grabbed ahold of him before he could make it very far, pulling him away from the house and John B.’s anger. JJ flailed in his grasp, but he was too weak from the lack of oxygen and two beatings his body had just endured, to fight Pope off. 

“She’s fine!” he screamed, not noticing the tears that were falling from his eyes. “I told her I would protect her, I promised nobody would ever lay a finger on her! She’s inside, and she’s fine--Barry didn’t fucking touch my girl, you’re lying,” he sobbed, straining against Pope’s hold on his biceps.

“Why would we lie about this?” Kie yelled back, suddenly overwhelmed with having to watch JJ fall apart like this in front of her. “Why would your best fucking friend try and beat you to death if it wasn’t true? Why would the gold have been included in the letter? Huh JJ? Do you think (Y/N) would have ever gone along with something like this?” she screamed, her voice hoarse from crying as well.

“We’re telling the truth, JJ. She’s gone,” Pope said, holding onto JJ even tighter as his thrashing momentarily increased. 

JJ let the words wash over him, the truth of his mistake settling deep in his bones. The guilt, and the grief, and the anger weighed him down, and before he could stop himself, he let out a deep, guttural, inhumane scream of agony. Pope couldn’t hold him up anymore as JJ’s knees gave out, his entire body collapsing to the ground while he screamed. His throat burned more than it had before and he didn’t notice when his voice gave out, leaving him a mess on the floor with spit and blood dribbling from his gaping mouth. Pope cradled JJ to his chest, crying into his best friend’s shoulder while Kie fell beside the two, trying to get JJ to breathe again through her own tears.

--

Half an hour later, you were pulling up beside a hanger at the very back of a storage facility. You knew kooks used this area to store their boats, planes, cars, and other expensive things when they weren’t intending to be used in the near future--so you weren’t surprised when Rafe got out of the van and opened up the hanger, revealing a vintage boat and a handful of different furniture. With hurricane season already underway, and summer having begun, you knew kooks weren’t going to be visiting the storage facility very often, meaning there wasn’t a high hope that someone would stumble across you. 

“Welcome to your new home, snowball,” Barry leered, before opening the backdoor and dragging you out of the SUV. He kept the gun pressed against your waist while leading you into the hanger, leaving Rafe to pull the SUV around the corner. It was cold inside, much colder than you were expecting, and you had to fight to keep a shiver from trickling down your spine. “You and I are gonna be real comfortable in here for the next week, maybe longer if your boy doesn’t come through.”

‘He’ll come through’, you thought to yourself, worry spiking inside of you at the mention of JJ. You looked over your shoulder as Rafe came into the hanger and loudly pulled the door down behind him. “So, what? You’re just going to keep me locked up in here until you get what you want? I have a fucking job, Barry. I’ve already called out enough as it is, pulling a no-call-no-show for an entire week is going to get me fired.”

Barry reeled around to stare at you, an incredulous look on his face. “I’ve just kidnapped you and held you at gunpoint, and you’re worried about your damn job?” he asked, waving the gun in front of your face for emphasis.

“Uh, yeah, no shit. My job is the only reason DCS hasn’t snatched me and my brother into the system. Mr. Carrera has agreed to help us maneuver a few technicalities with DCS--so long as I take on extra shifts when needed, and show the fuck up. Plus, a week’s worth of zero tips means bills won’t be paid and stomachs won’t be fed,” you scoffed, knocking the gun away from your face.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, snowball-”

“Ay, nuh-uh, Country Club. Get your own nickname,” Barry cut in, prompting you to raise your eyebrows.

“But you-”

“Nope. Get your own.”

Rafe paused, glaring down at you in thought, before nodding to himself. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, Maybitch-”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you groaned, pressing your fingers to your forehead in exasperation. ‘It’s got a nice ring to it, though, and JJ would eat it up… Could even get a laugh out of Pope, I bet,’ you couldn’t help but think.

Barry knocked the gun against Rafe’s shoulder, shutting him up with a look of annoyance. “Your boy has gotten himself in a lotta trouble, 25k worth of trouble. So until I get my fucking money, you’re not going anywhere,” Barry simplified.

You pouted in mock disappointment, “Could you at least write a note to my boss?” Barry groaned with a roll of his eyes before he nodded his head at Rafe and directed him toward something you couldn’t see. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, Bear. JJ and the others have probably spent the money already. JJ’s got restitution to pay, Pope has an interview he needs a suit for, Kie’s been wanting a new surfboard, and Birdie’s been wanting to fix up our boat with somethin’ pretty. There’s no way they’d let 25 thousand dollars burn a hole in their pockets.”

Barry chuckled darkly with a shake of his head and turned your body around. He forced you to face the spot he had sent Rafe to, where you saw a metal chair bolted to the ground with Rafe stood beside it. He held a boat chain, a lock, and zip ties in his hands and a wicked grin was cracked along his face. Barry moved your ponytail out of the way so he could lean his chin on your shoulder, taking satisfaction in the way your body trembled. “Trust me, snowball, after they see how well you’ve been treated at Hotel Barry, they’ll find a way to get me my money. And you,” he paused to laugh softly in your ear, “you’ll be providing me all the information I need on where to find the rest of that gold.”

‘I’m so fucked.’

--

All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @sophster1881​ @alilcloudy​

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART SIX-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. I apologise for the long chapters. Gif by @xmichaelmyers​

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR| |PART FIVE|

After activating the pager hacking device after you had entered the building, you and Homelander went your seperate ways for the night.

You watched as Madelyn Stillwell hung off of his arm, smiling and pretending that she was actually interested in tonight’s events as Homelander indulged politicians and government officials in small talk. You however, stood in a secluded corner of the room, waiting for your device to break through Vought’s firewalls whilst idly sipping a glass of champagne. You didn’t know how long he had been there, but Black Noir stood by your side, his arms folded over his armoured chest as his suit blended perfectly with the shadows to your right.

You were growing more anxious as time went by. You expected to hear a small beeping noise when your device had finished its task, but the growing fear that the device wouldn’t work caused your palms to become increasingly sweaty. You loosed a shaky breath, taking a small sip of the champagne in your grasp. You found small comfort in the fact that Noir was by your side, grateful that at least someone else knew what you were up to.

From your position in the corner, you could hear various topics of conversation. However, the majority of them were about you. ‘Who was that woman with him?’ You heard someone question, that someone turning out to be the wife of the Secretary of Defence. ‘Who is she? I don’t think I’ve seen her around before’. ‘Her dress is beautiful, no wonder Homelander chose to escort her inside’. ‘He was probably being nice, she doesn’t really belong here’. You felt Noir step out of the shadows and move to your side, his arm brushing against yours as he stood defensive and tall. As soon as he appeared, the conversations about you stopped, everyone averting their gaze to anywhere else in the room but towards you and the Supe. No doubt he would have heard all of the negative chatter his stern stance giving off a pissed off vibe loud and clear.

“Is it normal for you to intimidate people who piss you off?” You asked teasingly, a smirk growing on your lips as you finished the last of the champagne. Noir nodded wordlessly, his helmeted gaze not leaving the gathered congregation before him. You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly as you anxiously peered down at the clutch in your other hand. Still nothing. You huffed through your nose, your anxiety being replaced with frustration. What if all of this was for nothing? What of at the end of the night, the device didn’t go off. What then?

Slow music began to play, a choir of violinists, cellos and various other instruments beginning a long classical piece which you knew would likely last the entire night. “Excuse me, can I have a word?” A toxically sweet voice spoke softly, causing you to turn your gaze and meet the emerald eyes of the blood red reporter from earlier. She smiled a viper’s grin, her eyes turning a shade darker as she towered over over your smaller frame. You blinked in surprise and confusion, unsure as to why this woman was even speaking to you. As if sensing your confusion, her grin widened “I only want to interview you in regards to your entrance with The Homelander himself, it was quite spectacular I have to say”. You laughed breathlessly, unsure of what to do or say. So you shrugged your shoulders “Oh, uh, thank you? To be honest it wasn’t really that-”

“Tell me, is there a secret relationship going on between the two of you behind closed doors?” She pried, her question catching you off guard. You choked, shaking your head in disbelief “I’m sorry? I don’t think I understand” You spoke lowly, standing as tall as your heels would allow. The reporter smirked evilly, knowing that she had gotten under your skin. She stepped closer toward you intimidatingly close with her hands propped on her hips. “Well one would assume that something was going was going on between you two with the way he escorted you inside” She spoke lazily, staring down at you with a bored expression “everyone has been talking about it, you know”.

Your eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare, one that even made the Supe at your side flinch with how much hatred and ice radiated from your form. “He was just being chivalrous-” “Oh, I’m sure he was...” The reporter interrupted sarcastically, picking at her red painted nails through her hooded eyelashes “then again, why else would he associate with someone as dull and uninteresting as you? I mean, look at you. You don’t fit in here, you’re hiding in a corner for gods sake...”

Dull and uninteresting...is that how people saw you?

You tried to maintain your composure, you tried not to take the bitch’s words to heart. But why did they hurt so much?

Dull and uninteresting, boring and plain. You averted your gaze from the reporter’s and casted your eyes across the room. Where your eyes met his. And you knew. You knew Homelander had been listening, given by the stern and unreadable expression on his face. Damn his superhuman hearing, damn him to hell. You could feel him staring after you as you weaved your way through the dancing crowd. You could feel him staring after you as you climbed the main marble staircase, disappearing down the hall and onto a stone balcony. You leaned against the balcony, breathing deeply to try and prevent the tears in your eyes falling.

Why were you hurt so much by this? What did it matter what people thought about you? Why did it matter what he thought about you?

Why? Why did it matter?

It was peaceful out on the balcony, the noise of the Gala inside was nothing but distant rumbles. The music still clear as day. A gentle but cool breeze caressed your skin, brushing strands of your hair out of its well-kept do. Footsteps echoed on the balcony. They were heavy, but taken in a stride that was light and cautious. You didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind you.

“Do you think I’m dull and uninteresting?” You asked him, keeping your gaze ahead and on the night cityscape before you. You heard Homelander sigh, but he made no attempt top move toward you. When no answer came, your chest tightened painfully. Of course, he thought you were dull. Of course, he thought you were uninteresting. He was The Homelander. And you...you were just a nobody.

“It’s John...” You heard him sigh out lowly, his tone of voice showing no sign of teasing or malice. With your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you spun to face The Worlds Greatest Superhero with an expression of pure bewilderment. “What?”.

Homelander chuckled, a genuine sound resonating from deep within him as he stepped toward you, his cape billowing slightly in the wind. “Yesterday...” He began, standing beside you and leaning his hands against the stone railing “you asked if I had another name Homelander, otherwise you were going to call me prick or arsehole. My name is John”. You laughed lowly, nodding your head as you leaned back against the railing with an amused smile. So he did have a name. “It suits you” You responded, looking over at him with a soft smile. John nodded, giving you the same smile in return. “And you know what, any woman that can speak to me with such sarcasm, wit, and foul language, and live to tell the tale, is definitely interesting in my eyes”.

Your laughter echoed out from the balcony and across the city. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It wasn’t like the small sarcastic chuckles, or the amused scoffs you would always give him. This was genuine, this was pure. And he loved every second of it. But why? Why did he enjoy your laugh? Why did he long to see you smile, why did he long to always see you as happy as you were now? You turned to face him again, the frown on your face now non-existent as you grinned. “You know, this is why I don’t leave my apartment” You joked lightly, causing the Supe beside you to scoff. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear anything other than an oversized shirt and sweatpants” He teased, shying away slightly as you lightly slapped his shoulder. He laughed as you pouted, folding your arms over your chest as your eyebrows furrowed.

The music from downstairs floated up on a graceful wind, a slow waltzing piece that would have no doubt been played at a dozen luxurious events prior to this one. John stood up from his position by the balcony, moving to stand in front of you with a soft smile. “Dance with me” he spoke suddenly, holding his gloved hand towards you with a smirk tugging at his lips. Your expression became more confused as you looked up at him with an expression that couldn’t have been more confused if you tried. “What? You want to dance with me?”.

“Why not? It’s a Gala, we might as well” John tried to reason, rolling his eyes as you laughed loudly once again. Placing your clutch carefully on the balcony, you shook your head slowly as you placed your hand into his own. He immediately pulled you close, wrapping one arm securely around your waist, and intertwining his other with yours. The two of you began to sway slowly, your cheeks flushing a bright red at the amount of limited space between you. Your heart was beating so loud, that you were sure the man before you could hear your heart beating wildly in your chest without his superhuman hearing. The thought alone caused your stomach to flutter. Pushing down your nerves, you forced yourself to look up, and almost fell apart. John was staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at you like that before, with such emotion, with such raw-

Pain...there was so much pain.

For a split second, you couldn’t breath. The air was taken from your lungs as John flinched, his grip on your form tightening as his eyes widened in pure horror. Blood splattered the front of his uniform, tiny horrifying droplets coating his skin. A strange warmth suddenly spread over your chest, a deep rumbling cough caused the pain to increase. Blood dribbled from your mouth, your blood. You collapsed forward, the world suddenly spinning in dizzying stars. The ringing in your ears became louder and louder, drowning out the terror-filled shouts from downstairs, and John’s frantic cries. You could make out your name on his lips, his arms wrapping around your form as he lowered you to the ground. You were scared, terrified. What happened? 

You suddenly felt tired, your eyes becoming heavier with every second that passed. It was cold, so very cold. Everything suddenly became numb, consumed by the agony and pain that everything slowly began to fade. You never saw the figure emerge from the doorway, you never heard what John said to that blurry image of a man.

But the last thing you saw was his furious expression. His blue eyes glowing a bright red in rage, hatred, and pure madness.

Tag List: @lauraaan182 @tardis-23 @freshmakertaco @shilsvampsinger @cynthianokamaria  @delicatetimetravelarcade @coloursunlimited @clean-soap @themarch-oftheblackqueen @soft-hargreeves @kennedywxlsh​ @itskatrinahere​

[4dtk]

b’day boy

anon: “hi hi hi hi!!! how’re you!! idk if you’re requests are on but!!! can i request smth where jaehyun thinks the reader forgot abt this bday bc she didn’t text him all day but she actually flys to seoul to see him?? basically johnny helped surprise him!!” quick pretend johnny is living on the same floor as jaehyun for this fic. enjoy anon! :-)

“hey! happy birthday, man,” johnny greets jaehyun, slapping him on the back as the birthday boy answers with a nod and a tired smile.

the dorm’s still quiet in the morning, save for the boiling water and the white noise from beyond the flat. the taller male doesn’t miss the way jaehyun’s smile drops, eyeing his phone a meter away from him in case the plan’s busted.

“hm… hyung, have you heard from (y/n) lately? i haven’t gotten her breakfast text, which is weird…”

jaehyun exits the messaging app for the umpteenth time, seeing if there was anything wrong with the internet or with his phone itself.

johnny shakes his head at the question, going back to prepare his coffee as he struggles to hold back a smile.

“sorry, jae, i’m not so sure about that.”

he saves his phone as it lit up right as you messaged, spamming to the poor guy about nerves and bizarre situations due to your overthinking mind.

(y/n) the homie: ?????? what ???? the hell do i wear!!!!!!!!

(y/n) the homie is typing…

(y/n) the homie: i’m trying to hard rn not to click on jaehyun’s name lol

(y/n) the homie: unnnnf i feel so bad johnny

johnny 🔥🥱🕴: u know for someone that has my contact name in wack ass emojis, i’m not gonna help you fashion-wise

johnny 🔥🥱🕴:  don’t worry k, plus it was ur idea!!!! how’s the packing coming along

(y/n) the homie: haha very funny, i am already on the plane mf

“john, hyung, you already made the reservation for tonight yea?” jaehyun asks sleepily, getting up from his comfy position on the table solely to get a chance at johnny’s coffee.

the other hums, having had made reservations for 12 people. sicheng was joining the boys for dinner tonight and taeyong was bringing his girlfriend as well, leaving one last seat for you.

one last text catches johnny’s attention, hoping all will turn out well tonight.

(y/n) the homie: i’m taking off rn, pls follow the plan or i think i’ll actually cry

johnny 🔥🥱🕴: is typing…

johnny 🔥🥱🕴:  overdramatic. i will, just focus on getting to korea safe yea

you leave it as that, buckling in and settled in quick well once the plane had reached a certain altitude.

the present you prepared couldn’t leave your mind, debating here and there whether jaehyun would like it or not.

would something go wrong? we didn’t fight before this, did we?

your thoughts travel everywhere, trying your best to relax while you find a film to distract you. soon, you ease into the movie and then, into a comfortable sleep.

it’s almost evening when the captain announces the landing in a few more minutes, bringing you to open the window.

although the clouds seemed to dance around the plane and the deep blue of the sky takes over the day, the sight provides little comfort as you practice your korean in the plane.

you repeat the restaurant’s address in your head even through immigration, steps unknowingly speeding up at how excited you were.

on the other hand, jaehyun gets more and more worried at the lack of texts, eyeing the single one sent early in the morning at 3am, while you bid each other goodbye on facetime. nothing seems to get him out of his daze, having been reminded several times of the car that was waiting for him.

as the manager wishes him a happy birthday, jaehyun could only thank him half-heartedly, staring down at his phone with a frown.

johnny 🔥🥱🕴: oh man you gotta have like a full on dance number when u enter or something. your mans can’t stop sighing at his phone like it’s a magic mirror

(y/n) the homie: oh nooo, crap, i feel so bad. i’m omw, gotta thank u for going over my korean before this flight

johnny 🔥🥱🕴: you learnt it from the best

(y/n) the homie: 🙄🙄🙄

your eyes pass through many different shops and districts, observing the busy streets of korea and it’s liveliness and wondering if you will ever be up to living in such an exciting country.

it was a long drive, your feet unable to stop moving while you kept yourself calm by counting the exchanged money over and over. a notification from @johnnyjsuh lights up your phone and brings you out of your anxiety for a bit, the instagram story filling up the screen as he records the grand restaurant that they would be dining in.

johnny 🔥🥱🕴: you here?

(y/n) the homie: yes, almost. this person right here is very jumpy and tense

johnny 🔥🥱🕴: breathe, i’ll give u the green light soon

(y/n) the homie: kk

with one foot out the cab, you find yourself needing to calm your heart, feeling the familiar heat and adrenaline rush through your body at seeing your boyfriend.

you eye your phone for the last time, entering on johnny’s cue to surprise jaehyun. with his back turned to the event room, your lips naturally curl into a smile as you watch him through the glass panel.

the gentle jazz pouring from the speakers give the atmosphere its intended ambience, as the boys catch up with sicheng and others converse with each other. they keep their cool according to plan as you enter silently, the gift clutched under your arm tightly.

“guess who?”

with your hands over his eyes, you can almost feel his shock.

“what... no way,” jaehyun’s jaw drops, gaining some laughs from the members as he turns around rapidly. his latches onto your smile, the corners of his lips slowly stretching into a grin before you stumble back at his embrace.

jaehyun holds you tight, as if you’d vanish once you left this room. his arms were wound around you all the way by the next minute, leaving you with no opportunity to breathe.

“babe, i can’t breathe,” you blurt out, making the male release you almost immediately before you attack with your own hug, loving how you could feel the rumble of his chest as he giggled.

“was everyone in on this?” you nodded as he turned to his members, most of them donning bright, sly smiles and jungwoo even winking when he met his eyes.

“y’all are incredible,” jaehyun throws his head back in laughter, an arm naturally encircling your waist as you pile your present with the other’s, making your way to your seat after.

dinner is filled with joviality and loud conversation, even coaxing johnny into revealing that he was the ringleader of the plan. the birthday boy applauds his subtlety, bringing the night to a close an hour or two later as each member finishes their share of the cake.

“i’ll come in later, you guys should head back first,” jaehyun states, pressing a kiss to your temple as the others bid you goodbye.

the lean into your boyfriend feels natural, the cool breeze brushing past your face as he interrogates you about you ghosting him.

“i was so worried, i honestly thought you forgot about me.”

you chuckle, “do you think i really could? when there’s valentine decorations everywhere? i wouldn’t forget it even if it wasn’t valentine’s,” you mused, matching up with jaehyun’s steps.

“it would be sad if my own girlfriend couldn’t remember when i was born.”

the two of you fall quiet, enjoying each other’s company as you stroll around the park near the restaurant.

“say, did you like the surprise?”

“like? baby, i loved it,” jaehyun pulls you in, the walk stopped short while he holds your freezing fingers, “thank you.”

you answer in the form of a smile, tippy-toeing to reach his lips halfway as the moon shines on. it settles your heart in familiarity and warmness, never losing that giddy fondness whenever you were with jaehyun.

“i’d travel anywhere to be where you are, jung jaehyun.”

[jjmaydank]

Balance

summary: The group thought that after JJ got a girlfriend, she’d balance him out and drain some of his over energetic and sometimes reckless personality. However, you indulge in his antics just as much as he does. 

a/n: This came to me after listening to Queen of Disaster by Lana on repeat enjoy! Masterlist coming soon. 

cw: drinking, innuendos, and weed mention. 

‘No’ you mouth to JJ from across the room. He doesn’t say anything, instead takes a sip of his beer and lifts his eyebrows suggestively. He’s been eyeing the door for the past two minutes. 

You’d love to go back to your car or your place with him but you didn’t want to have the whole gang to know you guys skipped out to mack. 

“Y/N and I are leaving now” JJ announces standing up and reaching for your hand.

“Seriously you guys?” Pope says with annoyance. 

“No we’re not” you say, giving him a look that screams ‘stop’. He responds with a look that says ‘make me’. He steps closer to you, towering over you as you sit. He makes it so hard not to give in. 

Taking his hand and getting up, “We’re gonna go take a walk on the beach before heading home” you say trying to sound convincing. The group eyes you and JJ suspiciously but don’t press you guys further. Just as you think you’ve made it out of the clear, JJ speaks up again as you hold his hand pulling him out the door, 

“That’s code for we’ve gonna go f-“ he’s abruptly cut off by your hand covering his mouth. 

“That’s enough” you say with wide eyes.

“Even if we were it’s definitely not happening anymore tonight” you release your hand from his mouth and watch his expression turn into a defeated look. you wave for the both of you and immediately drag him out of the door. 

“are you serious about us not having sex tonight?” JJ finally speaks up again. You sigh and “no, it’s just the gang doesn’t need to know our business dude”. 

Unaware of how the group can still hear you guys from inside the house. 

-

Stumbling drunk as the party had begun to die down. If you were going to drink might as well do it to get wasted, you weren’t some grown adult woman who enjoyed the taste of wine. 

It would probably be embarrassing tomorrow to face Kie, Pope, and John B but at least you’d wake up next to JJ. 

‘Fuck’, you thought, ‘where’s JJ?” Your hands instinctively reach out to your sides for his familiar hand.

“Take me to J please. JJ. JJ Maybank. My boyfriend” in your head you sounded way more put together than how you actually sounded. Kie understood you though, “sit tight and I’ll go find him okay?” She said placing a hand on your shoulder as if to make sure you were going to stay seated. “No” you said standing up too quickly and stumbling to the side because grasping at kie’s arm. “Take me- take me with you” you plead, your red glossy eyes staring into hers. She sighed and put your arm around her shoulders and her other arm holding you by the waistline making you walk as straight as you could. you stumbled into John B’s place and almost tripped on the porch. 

As soon as you get inside though, you’re stumbling again and this time you actually break away from Kie’s grasp and fall to the side. The armrest of the couch breaks your fall but not before smashing against your forehead hard.

“Fuck” you yell out, voice muffled as your face is pressed against the floor. “Shit” is all Kie says before rushing to your side and pulling you up. The commotion in the living room draws the attention of John B and JJ who has been searching for a lighter in JJ’s unofficial room. They appear from out of the room and find you still on the floor but slowly getting up with Kie’s help. JJ immediately at your side and inspects you for any cuts of scratches. 

“Hey” you smile after sitting up enough to lean against the couch. “Was looking for you” you say using the palm of your hand to rub your temple where the couch had impacted you. John B and Kie have stood up and jumped into action by this point, going into the kitchen to grab an ice pack.

You stop rubbing your forehead and look up at JJ before pouting and asking “can you kiss it better?”. “Of course baby” he says planting a gentle kiss on your temple. “Anywhere else?” He quicks with a smirk on his face. You nod and point a finger at your right cheek. He shakes his head and kisses your cheek, and then pulls away again. This time you point to your lips and lean forward, he happily obliges. It was meant to be a quick peck but you immediately lean into him and rest your hands in his t-shirt, bunching up the material in your fist making sure you can hold him as close as possible as you kiss him passionately. He begins to move his hand from your shoulder down to your waist before John B enters the room again, 

“Guys come on” he says and JJ pulls away from you. He’s smiling sheepishly as John B hands him an ice pack for your injury. 

“Can’t resist” you say, directing it at Kie and John B with a smile on your face.

“We know” they say in unison. 

-

You’re finishing up grabbing lunch with Kie and heading back to her parked car. She’d been telling you about this surfer girl she had met over the weekend that really piqued her interested. You were happy for her, everyone seemed to be finding their significant other and you were just waiting for Pope to meet someone now. 

As Kie began to describe what she and the girl talked about, your phone rang and you politely held up a finger in her direction and answered, “hey JJ what’s up?”. “What are you doing right now?” He asked, you could hear some shuffling before you heard him lay onto a mattress. “I’m with Kie, everything good?” “Yeah just wondering if you wanted to-“ JJ was cut off as your phone slipped out of your hand and onto the floor of Kie’s car. “Wait babe repeat that I dropped you” you yelled so that he could hear you as you reached for your phone. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to have phone sex” he replied casually. You must have accidentally pressed the speaker when it fell and now you frantically moved in order to grab your phone. 

“Fuck JJ you were on speaker” you spoke into the phone and looked over to find Kie trying her best to suppress her laugh. You could feel your face heat up and you debated on what to say next before deciding, “call me in two hours” and hanging up. 

“Kinda wish I hadn’t heard that” Kie finally speaks up. You remove your head from your hands and look at her, “i really had no idea he was going to say that”.

- 

“All I’m saying is that robbing rich people isn’t wrong, it's like restoring balance,” JJ argues, removing his snapback to put it back on, backwards this time. 

“It’s too dangerous” Kie tries to explain, Pope and John B already agreeing with her. 

“Eh I don’t know, it could be fun?” You side with JJ. The day had been unfulfilling, you all could use an adventure. “You’re dating JJ, obviously you’re going to choose him” Pope says, gesturing between you and JJ. You scoff, “I am my own person, my opinion doesn’t rely on him” you reply. 

“Look how about this? We just check the place out, don’t do anything until we know it's risk-free?” you reason. The group doesn’t speak up and seem to be weighing the decision, you take this opportunity to glance at JJ and wink at him. 

“Fine, but only to check the place out” John B says with reluctance, tossing the keys to JJ. He catches them with ease as everyone begins to trickle out the door. 

“Shotgun” you call out, siding your sunglasses on as you make your way towards the passenger door. 

“No, no, no” Kie says, walking at your pace to try to beat you to the door. “Woah what why!” you reply speeding up to pass her. “Because anytime you two are up front, you’re just making eyes at each other and we have to listen to your music” Pope says getting settled in. “He's right” John B states and then shrugs. 

“You guys kiss at every red light, it's boring” Kie says fake gagging. 

“Oh I’m sorry, next time we’ll french to switch things up” You say, turning around to face Kie, Pope, and John B. All groaning, you turn around and reach to intertwine your hand with JJ’s. 

-

“When JJ isn’t here, it's my responsibility to look good and be reckless” You state before downing 3 vodka shots in a row. 

“He didn’t leave, he just went inside to grab more ice” John B says trying to stop you from taking a fourth shot. You swat his hand away but in the process slip the shot on the sand. “Fuck someone pour me another one before he gets back” you pout and look to your friends. 

“Before who gets back?” You hear from behind and see JJ waiting for your response. 

“Nobody. Did you find what you needed?” you say quickly attempting to change the topic. Although you had just taken the shots, your body begins to feel warm. It was the beer you had pre-gamed with mixing along with the vodka. “Nah I think I lost it” he says walking towards you. 

“I have one in my bag” you point him towards the direction of the bag, and allow him to search through your belongings. Finally, he fishes out a lighter. “When did you start smoking?” Pope questions. 

“I don’t” you simply state, taking a huge swing of the drink JJ had given you to hold. “I carry it for when JJ forgets or loses his” you say again, handing JJ back his cup. 

“Aw that’s kinda romantic” Kie says, the blunt she had split with a few others finally starting to take effect on her. 

“Yep, I’m the responsible one” you declare with a smile plastered on your face and the alcohol in your system causing you to slouch against JJ’s shoulder for support. 

“Says the one two drinks away from blacking out” JJ teases, swiping back the drink you had somehow taken out of his hand again. “You’re just afraid to drink like me, because you don’t want to admit I have a higher tolerance” you argue, lifting your head to face his and squinting your eyes towards him in a challenging manner. 

“Is that so?” he questions. “Yes” you say.

“Oh you’re on” He says, downing what was left of the cup and reaching to pour himself a shot. 

“Great we’re gonna have two passed out people we have to carry home” Kie sighs. 

a/n: Thanks for reading! I will post more soon, I have about 3 prompts waiting to be written in my notes app. 

[kingdomhearts-and-soriku-trash]

Lost Being Found

Sora x Riku fic.

I haven’t wrote an actual fic in awhile and I saw this quote:

“What he feared most was that all this hiding had made it impossible for him to be found again.”

“highly logical behavior” john corey whaley.

And I just...instantly when to Riku and Sora. I went to Riku hiding himself but Sora finally find him😌.

And this is set in the KH2 reunion scene (the one we all love).

.

.

“Wait, Ansem!”

Riku stopped walking and he almost turned to look at the brunette behind him.

“I mean, Xehanort’s heartless," Sora said correcting himself.

He felt a stab in his heart. It’s Riku. It’s him, but he can’t tell him. He can’t show him. He can’t. Not like this.

“I never thought for a second that I’d see you again. Just thinking about the things you did makes me really angry," he says with that soft voice of his.

Who could blame him for feeling that? Riku expected him to go off, expected him to say he was ready to be rid of him and never see him again, but he said words he didn’t expect.

“But you saved Kairi, right?” Sora’s voice went back to its comforting high tone. “I have to be grateful for that. Thanks.”

Riku’s heart stopped for a moment at those words. He thanked him. He wasn’t telling him off, he wasn’t saying he didn’t want to see him again, and he didn’t have to turn around to know he didn’t have a look of disgust. He would just have that look he always had. The look of peace and calm.

With his thoughts and emotions running around, he began to walk away once again. His footsteps echoed on the walls and they were louder in his head. Every step was like walking through mud. He didn’t want to walk away, he wanted to go over to him and say, “it’s me. I’m here. I’ve never stopped watching you,” and try to earn his forgiveness, but he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let him see him like this.

However, as if fate was being kind to him in its own way, he heard footsteps running after him, and he felt a gentle but firm grip grab his hand and pull him to a stop.

“Riku, don’t go!” Kairi’s voice was desperate and his heart was wounded even more. He kept causing people pain, and he felt the need to walk away becoming stronger, but he was stuck. He easily could've broken free of her grip, but...he didn't.

Donald, Goofy, and Sora let out a gasp of shock and his heart began to race faster.

“Kairi, what did you just say?” Sora’s voice was confused...but it was also hopeful. Hopeful that maybe he found Riku, the one he’s been searching for.

“Riku...”. Her voice was soft and even more desperate than before. She needed to let Sora know, she needed to get through Riku’s skull, she needed everyone to be back together.

“I’m no one. Just a castaway from the darkness,” he said in Ansem’s voice. Even hearing his voice made him feel disgusting and he almost didn’t want to open his mouth ever again.

“Sora, come here,” Kairi called out. “Say something to him.” Riku may have cared for her, but even she knew that no one could reach him like Sora could.

He thought he wouldn’t get closer, but he began to walk. He walked slowly over to them, and Riku didn’t know what was going to happen. But then he felt Kairi lift his hand, almost too easily, and lay Sora’s hand on Riku’s.

“Close your eyes.”

Riku looked over to Sora, and Sora looked back with a confused look, but he listened to her. He closed his eyes, and that fear began to kick in again.

He began to fear most that all this hiding had made it impossible for him to be found again.

He thought that this wouldn’t work, that Sora wouldn’t see him as Riku, and that even if he did he would be even more angry to know it was him.

But when Sora opened his eyes and looked at Riku, he knew that he saw him. He didn’t see Ansem, he saw Riku. He saw him and he watched as the love of his life grip his hand with both of his hands and fall to his knees.

“Riku...” he started with his voice now soft and sad. “It’s Riku. Riku’s here.” His voice sounded relieved and he could see that Sora could finally breathe properly.

“I looked for you.” His voice was wavering and he couldn’t look Riku in the eye.

“Come on, Sora. You’ve got to pull it together,” Riku said in that teasing tone he always used with him. He didn't know how to react, he didn’t know what to do, so he fell into his old habit. But that didn’t stop Sora at all.

Sora shook his head. “I looked everywhere for you!” His voice was weak and this time Riku watched as he looked up at him and tears fell from those beautiful blue eyes of his. And now Riku couldn’t stop himself from speaking his mind, finally giving a piece of himself to Sora.

“I didn’t want you to find me,” he said. It was true. He was scared of Sora finding him. He knew he wanted to find him, he knew Sora was aching to find him, but he couldn’t let him see him.

However, he still found him and Riku felt his heart become lighter. He loved Sora with everything in his heart. Their hearts were in tune, he would follow him anywhere in the world, and now he found him again.

And after picking on Sora and his crew, Sora looked at him with a soft and confused look. “Why didn’t you let me know you were okay?” His tone sounded like he was angry that he wouldn’t tell him, but Riku knew he wasn’t angry. He was only worried and relieved.

“I told you. I didn’t want to be found...not like this.” He held his hands in front of him and looked at the fabric covering them. He was wearing the black hood of the Organization, black gloves hiding his hands, and his whole body was hidden away from others.

“This battle isn’t over, and until it is, I still need the power of darkness,” Riku admitted with regret. He didn’t want it, but he needed it for this moment.

“Then let’s finish it. You’re still Riku no matter what,” Sora replied with confidence as he looked at him in the eye with determination.

Riku looked over to Donald and Goofy and Kairi and he felt his heart become lighter. It’s cracks were getting healed.

And deep down, he knew it would get better. They would win, everyone would be safe, and maybe the world will be okay.

And he wished he could hold Sora’s hand at the end of all of this and tell him his feelings...and maybe be blessed for Sora to feel the same.

.

.

Riku was in his bedroom at Master Yen Sid’s tower and he was laying in his bed. He was still wearing his regular clothes, but his jacket and shoes were off, neatly put away. And instead of sleeping, he held a paper above him, having the moonlight and the lamp on the nightstand on the left of him letting him see the paper.

Instead of it being a report of Sora’s perhaps whereabouts or reports about what they found of anything darkness related, it was a drawing Namine gave to him. She knew he was alone and closed off, but she thought maybe he would look at this remember and everything that he had gone through. Everything that Sora had gone through.

The drawing was of him being in his Ansem form with Sora’s hand together with his. Kairi wasn’t there, and he wondered why. He thinks maybe she just wanted to focus on him and Sora.

However, instead of wearing a sad face or another emotion, they both had smiles on their face. Sora had tears sliding down but there was still that smile there. Riku had a smile as well, and he smiled as his pointer finger traced that smile.

"Of course she would know I was happy to be with Sora," he thought.

And at the sight of the photo and the memory of that time, his heart felt heavy. He had hurt people during that time, he had done things he regretted...but he doesn't know if he truly regrets them. He'd do anything for Sora, and he practically did. He wishes there was another way to save him at that time, but there wasn't, so he took that chance. And now he had a scar on his wrist to remind him of his choices.

He let out a sigh and folded up the paper and placed it on the nightstand. He wrapped himself under his blankets and actually tried to sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well since Sora had been gone. He knew he was strong, how could he not? But still, this was the first time Sora was out of Riku's sight. He almost always knew where he was, even when it was for...darker reasons. He always knew, but now he doesn't.

And now he feared most that he wouldn't be able to find Sora. He himself had been found before, despite all his attempts at hiding, and now he worried that he wouldn't be able to find Sora. But he always pushed those thoughts away.

"Sora saved me, so I will save him."

It was a promise he told himself every night, and he planned to keep it.

.

.

SOOOO....It was different in my head, but this was the closest I could get! This one was focusing around Riku :). The next fic will be surrounding Sora and his issues that better be addressed SOMEWHERE in a game. But yeah hope you like this💙💙.

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated - Reference List (for those who wanted one)

I know some of you liked the idea of this when I suggested it, so I've collected all the literature references from AWIAF.

I’ve also tried to include some of the reasons why they were used, you know... just in case you were wondering what’s up with the weird chapter titles :) 

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

Chapter 1 + 6: ‘The diving board’

-   This is from the short story, Forever Overhead, by David Foster Wallace.

-   I recommend reading it, simply because of how strange and alienating it is. However, I don’t recommend it if you’re currently experiencing depression or suicidal thoughts, simply because there’s an undercurrent there.

-   It’s mainly about societal systems and feeling constrained by the pointless processes that make up modern society. I figured the MC felt this way long before she got to the Borderlands.

Chapter 1: ‘John Steinbeck’s characters’.

-   They always play rummy in Of Mice and Men for some reason.

Chapter 4 + 22:  ‘The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase...’, ‘until human voices wake us’, ‘forcing the moment to its crisis.’

-   These are all from The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

-   Although I have very, very mixed feelings about Eliot for a number of reasons, this poem pretty much helped summarise the story.

-   Chishiya pretty much had her ‘formulated’ from the very beginning, having already fixed her position in his plans. However, the only thing he didn’t have formulated was his own feelings.

-   Of course, the actual poem is about a proposal, which is why I couldn’t give you this list before :D

Chapter 4: Utopia by Thomas More.

-   I mean, this pretty much explains itself haha. 

Chapter 7 : ‘A Single Green Light’

-   This is from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

-   Just like the green light on Daisy’s dock is a source of comfort to Gatsby, Kuina and Chishiya become a green light to the MC as they find her comfortable clothes and come to her aid in the militant situation, respectively.

Chapter 8: ‘Mad to Live, Mad to Talk’

-   The Road by Jack Kerouac.

-   This line features in a famous quote that was too long to include as a title: “the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars”.

-   I thought this would represent how frenzied the beach is.

-   Everyone lives each day to the fullest, but it’s transient as they’re killed off every night.

Chapter 10: ‘A Train Whistle’

-   From Concerning the Sound of a Train Whistle in the Night by Haruki Murakami.

-   This is such a beautifully written short story. It’s so simple, yet it explains love so well.

-   The MC pretty much explained this one, but as I’m sure you all know, she ends up becoming the train whistle he needs to cut through the emptiness.

Chapter 11 + the underlined quote: ‘Without a Soul’, ‘I’m tired of being enclosed here...’

-   Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.

-   Chishiya rejects the idea of being tied to someone, despite his instincts telling him the opposite.

-   It’s an argument of rationality vs imagination both on a ‘souls exist/don’t exist’ scale and ‘I love her/I don’t need her’.

-   It was so, so tempting to have that mystery underlined quote be something romantic, but instead it felt more real to have it be something that reflects how far the MC has come.

Chapter 11: ‘In books, I could go anywhere I wanted. I could be someone else. I wasn’t alone.’

-   This was actually inspired by Matilda, by Roald Dahl.

-   Particularly this line: “So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone”.

-       That line has always made me cry. 

Chapter 12:  The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

-   It’s widely believed that Gregor Samsa’s father, who abuses him after he has turned into a cockroach.

-   I figured it could also reflect the MC’s father, as she’s spends the next day after the argument and Niragi’s attack focused on this book and plagued by it.

-   If books are usually her safe space, it has now been contaminated.

Chapter 14: ‘Half-Sick of Shadows’

-   The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Tennyson.

-   For those who haven’t read this beautiful poem yet, the Lady of Shalott is bound to her tower by a curse that will come into action if she ever looks out of the window. So, she uses a mirror to look out instead, but this only makes her unhappy as she watches others’ reaching happiness while she can only experience it through reflections.

-   Like the Lady of Shallot, the MC decides to take her life into her own hands, instead of letting her family hold her back.

Chapter 15: ‘Love and Squalor’

-   To Esme, with Love and Squalor, by J.D. Salinger.

-   In this whole chapter, the MC and Chishiya alternate between love and distrust. They’re somewhere in-between at this point in their relationship.

Chapter 18 + 19: ‘Do Not Go Gentle’

-   As you probably already know, this is Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas.

-   This was included via a request, but it works perfectly for the Borderlands since everyone’s fighting death every single game, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to survive.

-   It can also refers to their plan, and the idea that Chishiya and Kuina will go to extremes (like setting up Arisu) in order to escape the beach.

Chapter 19: ‘I May Think of You Softly’

-   The Crucible by Arthur Miller.

-   Although The Crucible has nothing in common with this fic, this quote itself summarises the MC’s feelings the best: “I may think of you softly from time to time. But I will cut off my hand before I’ll ever reach for you again”.

-   Even though she can’t stop loving him, she refuses to give in to his influence.

  Chapter 20 + 21: ‘Sound and Fury’

-   Macbeth by Shakespeare.

-   The full quote in Chapter 20 is from the famous “tomorrow and tomorrow” speech.

-   Life is simply excessive noise shouted by an idiot, but ultimately is pointless. The ‘idiot’ can be herself, for loving Chishiya; Niragi, for his relentless pursuit at getting back at Chishiya; or even the players themselves for trying so hard to survive.

-   Long story short, everything seems pointless since they’ll all probably die anyway.

Chapter 21: ‘Tread Softly’

-   From He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by Yeats.

-   In essence, she’s begging Chishiya to stop wiping his feet all over her dreams, lol.

Chapter 24: ‘And the Rest is Silence’

-   This is from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and are also Hamlet’s last words.

-   Of course, it refers to death. It’s the last chapter, after all.

-   However, it’s just the death of the first stage, and the next one won’t be so silent :) 

[daintykeith]

DESERVING

Title: Deserving

Summary: A one-shot love story featuring Arthur Morgan and John Marston in which John struggles to understand Arthur's new behavior around camp.

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: mild cursing | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @southernlynxx @rdr-secret-cupid

I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I'm so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme; 

John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’s day!!!

P.D → I was inspired by this photo I took in my game! Totally worth it.

John never thought it would be like this.

At first, it was awkward—maybe bizarre. But that was just the beginning.

As the sun rose from the West, John walked out of his tent like a dead man; dark bags under his eyes and scratching his side, yawning without shame. Thirty minutes of sleep—or less—felt great. Just what he needed, right? Taking guarding rounds at night for the past few weeks to avoid him. Yes, that man. The one who had become his greatest relief and headache at the same time, Arthur Fucking Morgan.

While John agonized, Arthur was at his best. Refreshed, clean, and glowing like a damn pearl who had found its way to the surface, gleaming under the Sun—too shiny for John’s liking. Thankfully, his tormenting and seductive eyes were nowhere to be found yet. But, why was John avoiding him as if he was a pest? It’s complicated, you’ll understand later on.

John walked to the empty soup cauldron and grabbed the coffee pot next to it and a metallic cup nearby. He sighed as he sipped from the coffee he had just poured himself; feeling the smoke coming off his mouth like locomotor steam. He needed it to be functional, it had become his coal and main source of energy.

He stood next to the fire in the common area, waiting for Dutch to give a speech he had asked everyone the night before to hear. Why the hell would he give a speech so early in the morning when even the rooster hadn’t yet given his call to the sky? He wondered, staring his distorted reflection in the coffee in his hand.

It was a quiet morning, everyone who woke up, quickly waved at John and left to grab a coffee, or so it remained until the feared one appeared. He walked graciously without effort, his shirt had some buttons undone that showed his chest and collarbone, looking like a damn angel. He rinsed his face and John saw with detail from afar how every drop of water dripped down his face and neck. It made him thirsty. That man was no other than Arthur Morgan.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and over his nape. To John, that man could’ve been the Devil himself walking on Earth, an angel who had fallen from Heaven for his ego. He was too full of himself, afly in making everyone blush in a moment’s notice. Before John could realize, Arthur was staring at the red in his cheeks and grinned, satisfied from his reaction.

“Damn you!” John whispered, looking anywhere but at him as he burned his tongue and narrowed his eyes.

Arthur, with his smug grin, quickly grabbed his coffee and sat next to the fire a few feet away from John, who didn’t know Arthur was just mesmerized with his foolishness, head over heels for a stubborn and reckless but loveable little piece of shit—a nickname truthful to his nature. A true rascal! Against his better judgement and all prognostics, an all-standing jinx befell upon him like rain in a desert.

He admired John from the ground, his strong jawline, the scars on his cheek that ran to his nose and the corner of his lips. However, his foul mouth didn’t catch up with his beauty—quick witted and far too fast for his train of thought that always got him in trouble. Arthur drank from his coffee and looked at John in the eye who, this time, didn’t turn their gaze away but held it dearly.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” John asked with his raspy voice, trying to sound uninterested but contradicted by the widened pupils in his curious eyes.

A walking contradiction, Arthur thought with a grin. “Wanna’ know?” He took a long swig of his cup and let it sit in his lap.

John hesitated for a moment.  "No." Nevermind.

The blue-greened eye man cleaned the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it and slightly blushed. "What a shame."

John couldn't stop staring Arthur, something had lit in the corner of his mind.

"Anyway, what does Dutch want this early in the morning?"

"Don't know, don't care."  Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at his feet.

John gulped, bothered by Arthur's sudden behavior to which he decided to blind the eye on.

"He's been acting... strange," John mutters, making a long pause.

He was right. Dutch had changed; it was the gleam in the eye he had always told them to not have—those of an ambition far too great, burned by being too close to the Sun. Everybody had noticed but kept quiet, making a silent agreement in not talking about the matter. John had a hunch of what it meant, but also kept quiet.

"No more than you; what's going on with ya'? Did the wolves eat the brain whole? You've been avoiding me!"

Did he notice? He knew he wasn't hiding the fact so well, but admitting it hurt his pride.

"The hell you sayin'?! No, I haven't!"

Arthur smiled in response, as if it was the answer he was expecting.

"Why?"

John narrowed his eyes.

"Why what?"

"You know."

He stood up, spilt the coffee left in his cup into the fire and slowly walked to John. His body swung with temptation, a fierce cat-walk with a daring look in his eyes.  John felt like his feet were stuck to the ground, unable to take just one step aside to avoid the storm walking straight to him. His metallic eyes were bewitched by  Arthur's; he sure knew how to charm him every damn time.

He didn't stop until he towered over John, trapping him with his voluptuous figure.

"Why are you so shy?" He whispered to John in the ear with a burning breath that heated and tinted his cheeks in deep red.

John forgot how to breath. He was so close that he felt their bodies touch and their minds collide.

"I, uh..."

"you what, dear?"

How shameless could the bastard be? Didn't he have any limit?

"I don't wanna talk here; let's go somewhere else." John imposed in a soft mutter.

"Alright."

They went to John's tent taking hands. They were cramped in such a small place, where their breathing burned eachother's skin and only a dim light shined through the entrance. A long pause arrived when the world had seemed to stop rotating and time had gone somewhere else, making everything but them oblivious and unimportant.

"I don't understand why are you doing this," John said with long sigh, finally giving in.

John rested his head in Arthur's shoulder, feeling his body finally relax after the tense moment.

"I thought we were a secret, ya' know?" he muttered, "a thing only you and I knew. Our thing."

Arthur combed his fingers through John's black hair, softly caressing the back of his head and humming in agreement.

"I don't seem to understand why you smile at me every time you see me or why you, like, want to touch me every time you can—or when you look at me like that."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No! I, ugh... I don't know."

Arthur chuckled. “I get it.”

John sighed in relief. Did it mean he would stop acting weird? I mean, Arthur would always be a bastard no matter how you look at it, but he called it an improvement.

“I'm sorry” he continued ”, but there's no stopping me in loving you.”

What. In. The. World. That's not what he meant!

“Arthur, you're not listening—”

“Every damn word, of course I do...”

“Then why are you doing this?!” John buried his head deeper, frustrated. “I'm an asshole, okay, I get it. But that's not a reason for you to do this to me.” Enchanting me, making me drunk with every word you whisper. Damn you.

“John, I—”

“I don't deserve it.”

A long silence between them came to be except for the more recurrent footsteps outdoors, stumping into the grass and dirt. John held tighter to Arthur, who stepped back only to take a closer look to his face, eye to eye.

“Listen closely, you little piece of shit.”

John flinched to the sudden grab by his collar, wanting to look away but Arthur only held his gaze closer.

"There's no denying that you are an idiot— but my idiot. I'm a fool myself, an old dirty bastard that's only getting older with every day that goes by, thinking that I'm the happiest man alive every damn time I look at you and even though I know I don't deserve it either. I ain't a good man, John. And you fucking know it." He grabbed his collar stronger as if it was a threat, with that dead look in his eyes that had seen the deeds their owner had done.

After Arthur realized what he did, he let John go.

“If it was about deserving, John, you would've never been mine."

He gently took John's hand laid it in his face, placing a gentle kiss in the back of his hand.

John couldn't speak a word. His mind had gone blank except for the beautiful image of Arthur lovingly playing with his fingers, laying kisses in the tip of his fingers, and the words that uttered in the corners of his mind, echoing Arthur's whispers.

"I'm sorry, John. But I beg you, let this damn fool love you and show it to you."

John placed his hand in Arthur's earlobe. As if both had read their minds, they looked into each other's eyes before leaning into a soft, gentle kiss.

Their kisses never tasted sweet. It was rough, with sweat and blood that was so common in there lives. Neither of them deserved the sweet taste of paradise, but they were making one of their own.

“You make me feel like a fool, Arthur.”

“You too.”

John wished this moment lasted forever. He wanted to enjoy the moment when their souls had gotten closer, but a voice outside called.

“Arthur, John, Where are you?!” Dutch called, irritated of waiting.

They separated and held each other's gaze for a moment.

“We should go,” John whispered tenderly as he rolled he eyes.

“Let's go,” Arthur chuckled.

Arthur gently held John's hand before heading out of the tent, ready for the world.

[the-darklings]

—𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆;

—PART XIV. | WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 10.4k+

summary: A part of you has missed this quiet, this dark.

warnings: aside from pain? none.

notes: well this will either be the saddest or the happiest chapter of COA so far. Let's roll!

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 12 | 13 | . . | 15 |

“My mother who was a great lover of art always told me that life is like poetry. It rhymes.”

Inhale.

“I believe that everything eventually comes around full circle.” 

Exhale. 

The silver viper ring between your fingers rotates for the hundredth time. 

For the first time in days your hands are not shaking. 

A stillness has fallen over you; a hush that has wiped away all else. A part of you has missed this quiet, this dark. It has given you back a sense of ease. You can’t even feel the pain in your body anymore. There is just…nothing. 

Crisp footsteps approach the spot where you are sitting and you don’t need to look up to know who it is. 

Winston sits down beside you with deliberate slowness but there is a heaviness to it. Distantly, you wonder if anything like this has ever happened before. The man next to you is unmerciful in enforcing the rules in his hotel and city at large. Such a violation must be a first.

You sit in silence for several minutes, neither of you moving. Your elbows keep digging into your thighs but all you can focus on is the ring between your fingers. On the faint traces of blood still lingering beneath your nails and cracks of your skin. 

The stillness between you is the loudest thing you have ever experienced. Matched in magnitude only by the initial few seconds following the gunshot—

“What happens now?”

Your question is so steady, so calm—it surprises you. You might as well be asking him about the weather. 

The older man doesn’t answer right away even though you feel his attention turn to you. 

“The High Table has been informed,” he tells you flatly, his hands clasped in front of him. “This will…echo.” 

There’s just enough trepidation in the final word for you to know that a more accurate expression would be a “shitstorm”. You wait for something—anything—to hit you but nothing comes. Panic, fear, dread that have always followed any possibility of invoking the Table’s wrath is absent. Winston’s words barely register. Maybe you can go into hysterics later. Maybe not. 

“Is there anything I can do—”

“You could come to Paris with me. You still owe me a trip, carissima.”

The ring in your hand rotates again. 

Winston focuses on the movement but doesn’t comment. You’re not quite sure if he knows the significants of the ring in your hand, if he’s ever even guessed it. He has certainly seen it before. He knows you’ve had it for years. 

The silence stretches for what seems like hours. 

“Are you—”

“No.”

It’s an empty answer to an empty question. You’re very not alright right now. 

Your fingers still, folding around the ring till the viper disappears, devoured by your hand. By the prison of darkness. 

Your head finally turns to look at the older man and his expression draws tighter at whatever he finds on your face. 

“Will you—”

“Yes,” he cuts you off before you can finish, nodding his head just once with a pointed stare. “Even if it wasn’t a part of my job—and it certainly is—yes, of course. You need not ask.”

It’s one of those few, serene moments where you feel immensely grateful for having him in your life. To a point you doubt there are any words that could aptly express it. Neither of you is prone to displays of sentimentality though so you choose to say nothing. Still, you think he can read it on your face. See it in the way you blink just a little too fast and swallow thickly with a grateful dip of your head. 

Your fingers stiffen into a fist, and you feel the metal ridges of the ring cut into your flesh. It’s a dull, vague discomfort and you turn to stare at the too-clean floor for another beat before you rise smoothly, your joints clicking. 

Nothing hurts and the fingers of your other hand flex. Experimental. Deliberate. 

Your turn to go. 

“Where are you going?”

You pause, but don’t look at him. “I have unfinished business.”

More hollow, calm words that drag from somewhere deep down. From the abyss. 

But because Winston is Winston, he doesn’t drop it like most would. “I know what Johnathan did was—”

Inhaling sharply at that name, you begin walking away. 

“V,” Winston calls out, and you hear him rise. “(Name).”

It halts your feet, that tone. The authority in it. 

But you don’t stop because you fear Winston. You stop because you respect him enough to do so. Care for him enough to at least hear what he has to say if he’s so insistent on saying it. 

“If you do this,” he begins, and there is such worn heaviness in his voice that it almost makes you falter. Almost. “You will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Don’t go down this path again. 

He doesn’t have to add it verbally for you to hear the words in the space between you. Be it because he doesn’t want a bigger mess than this has already become or because he wants to shield Jo—

Or maybe he just cares about you in his own way. 

He knows what revenge does to a person. He knows how slippery of a slope hate can be. He has seen what resentment has turned you into once. 

That, you think coldly, was child’s play compared to now.  

You look back at him over your shoulder. His face is still drawn, his eyes narrowed, but you know that if you choose this, he will not stand in your way. 

A man who believes that everyone is a master of their own fate. That one has to learn how to live with the consequences of one’s actions. 

You are the father I wish I had. You taught me well.

It’s what you want to say but don’t. 

Instead, something far less kind leaves your mouth, “The only thing I regret right now is not letting him bleed out on that platform.”    

With that, you turn to go, and he doesn’t try to stop you again.

Kimber Super Carry. 

A custom semi-automatic model with a good sturdy handle and sleek edges, making aiming easy and reloading smooth due to lightweight casing. The seven-round magazine is the smallest capacity it’s manufactured to as far as you know but it’s undoubtedly a weapon crafted for death all the same.

A gun that was fired on Continental grounds. 

A gun that—

Your feet halt in the debris of a dream. 

John’s home is now rubble. 

You haven’t seen it since the news about its destruction reached you and you drag your eyes over the ruined space. Once upon a time, you think it would have made you sad to see this. Now, you don’t feel much besides an inkling of satisfaction. 

Consequences.

The echoes of them are everywhere you look as you move through the ash and the dirt. Your footsteps crunch underneath you, and the charred remains still stink of smoke even with the heavy deluge of rain falling down on it.

Your grip on the pistol doesn’t loosen as you step slowly through John’s home. 

As if there’s anywhere else he would go to mourn, to wait for what he already knows he will not escape. 

Like a ghost, you move across the graveyard of John’s dream. Your eyes linger on the half-burned photograph of him and Helen that still sits on the crumbling mantelpiece. Half of John’s face is burned away, leaving an echo of a smile and love and you stare at it for longer than intended, your jaw set. 

You find him minutes later, sitting alone and hunched over on a blackened armchair. 

He doesn’t move. 

Even though you know he’s aware of your presence. 

Rain trails down your face and you blink the tiny droplets out of your lashes as you step into the room unhurriedly.

The dog suddenly appears, dashing towards you from behind the seat and wags his tail happily at the sight of you. He nudges your hand with his nose and your fingers absentmindedly play with his ear, patting him a few times. 

Your eyes don’t leave John’s prone figure once. 

A dark spectre haunting the ruins of his own life. 

Lips parted, he lifts his head towards you eventually, a thin bracelet tangled in between his bloodied fingers—the same hand you injured with your blade only hours ago. His face is bruised just like yours, and through the space between you, the roar of rain washes away the would-be silence.

He doesn’t say anything. 

Your lips curve. 

“No apology this time?” 

John with his sorrowful, dark eyes who is always quick to plead for forgiveness. As if you have the power to absolve him of his many sins. You are not his absolution. He has shown that time and time again. 

There is, perhaps, no one left on your side now.

John’s shoulders slant backwards with a deep breath, his voice a rasp, “Not when I did something I know there will be no forgiveness for.”

You stare at him. 

He’s not wrong. 

He doesn’t look at the gun but you’re both intimately aware of it. His hand had forged your own after all. Right now all you can think about is those long months of work you had to put in just to barely keep up with him—too slow, too erratic, too rigid. His grip on your wrist and the low, measured words of instruction, of guidance. 

Viggo Tarasov never made you. He gave you the tool to make yourself.  

John Wick never made you. He guided the creation with his careful, deadly hands and an unspoken promise that he will be by your side, always. 

Santino D’Antonio never made you, either. 

You did it all yourself. 

“I spent the journey here thinking how I’m going to put a bullet in your head,” you inform him calmly, amiably. “How far we have come, Jardani.”

His sad, worn expression goes rigid at your gentle murmur of his real name. A name you have held sacred in your heart and hidden so meticulously underneath your tongue for years. 

This is not anger, or rage, or hurt. 

This is just…nothing. The final stage perhaps. 

“He had me hunted,” John mutters in defeat, his voice thick with pain as he stares up at you. “I gave you time, (Name). What was I supposed to do?”

“Stop, Jardani,” you whisper sadly. “You could have stopped for me. Like he did.”

John’s expression creases and you watch as rain trickles down his nose and lips. His confusion is palpable. You take a single step towards him and the dog whines, sensing the shift in the air. 

“I was taken after we split apart,” you reveal to him and make sure that every word sinks in, your words slow and deliberate. “That trouble you wanted to help me with initially, remember? The Black Dragon and the Lovers. You won’t know much about the latter because it was after you left. But you know how it goes. Bad blood from years ago come back to haunt me. I was taken but managed to break out with some help. I rushed to the gallery. I got there only minutes before you did. And then I asked him to stop. Call the contract off. Do you know what he said to me?” you wonder bitterly and don’t wait for his reply. “That he’ll do it. You were minutes away from freedom, Jardani, and now look at you.”

Doomed. 

One way or another. 

Now, there will be no ticket back. No peace. 

You watch the realisation sink in. The quiet agony that follows right after.

“I—”

“I don’t care that you didn’t know,” you choke out, pained, watching the planes of his face crease at your wet words. “I just wanted you to listen. How much more? How much more can you take from me?”

You wait for his answer but this time he has nothing to say. Nothing, at least, that won’t be empty words designed to make you forgiving and docile. 

“I walked through your home and figured it would be symbolic to finish it here,” you continue through the thundering of rain and the dog whines again, quieter this time. “But then I realised something. You want this. You want it to be by my hand. The moment you pulled that trigger you knew exactly what would follow. All that carnage. An attack on Continental grounds. A forfeited life debt that makes your life mine. You knew that I would never forgive you for almost taking the people I consider my family away.”

Drawing a breath, you lift the gun in your hand but don’t aim it at him. The gleaming, silver surface greets you and in it, you see a blurred reflection of your eyes. The shadow of emptiness there. The hollowed out person staring back at you reminds you of a girl from years ago. 

“You did love me,” you go on after another moment, still staring at the gun. Your body is soaked from the rain by now but you ignore the heavy weight of your clothes clinging to your skin. “I think a part of you still does. But the sad truth is that you never loved me more than this. This dream of a normal life. You leaving was never about a choice between Helen and I. It was always a choice between being John or being Baba Yaga. You didn’t stop for me because you couldn’t. Because you don’t know how to stop. Not even for yourself. I bet you used to wake up every morning, look in the mirror, and feel just as empty as I do. Maybe you thought that by running from this life—from yourself—you could be happy. And I think you were for a while. But Tarasov was right to say that we’re cursed, the three of us. We don’t get happy endings.”

You lower the gun and take another few steps closer towards him, watching his expression as you feet creak on the damaged floor. He looks accepting of whatever you will say or do next.

“You said…almost.”

A brief, harsh smile contorts your face. “Yeah,” you acknowledge quietly, viciously, your grip on the gun creaking. “You failed. I made you fail. Santino lived. I don’t know…I don’t know for how long…or if he will ever—”

You can’t continue because it hurts too much. 

Because you remember a haze of blood and Winston pulling you back. You sobbing that Santino is still warm, that he’s still breathing. 

A bullet that had hit the side of his head, creating what had appeared like a river of gushing blood. 

Missed shattering his skull by 2 millimetres. You saved him, (Name).

Winston’s hand on your shoulder, gripping, gripping, trying to tug you back and over the edge with his words.  

“Critical care,” you spit out and press your lips together to stop yourself from cracking now. “They don’t—he might still not make it and even if he does…there is a high chance of permanent damage. It’s too early to say yet.”

John exhales, staring up at you in wonder. Maybe even relief. You don’t care enough to search deeper than that. 

You simply don’t care. About any of this.

Taking another step towards him, you reach into your pocket, pulling out the ring that’s been with you for years. Your only reminder of him. 

The man in question goes as still as death at the sight of it. 

You can still remember his muted disappointment at the fact that you no longer wore it. He no doubt thought that you had gotten rid of it.

“I wonder what it says about me that I still have it,” you mutter with a bitter chuckle and droplets of rain cover the metal in moments. “I kept it with me for years. And when Santino asked me if the fact that I still have it means that I love you, I told him no. But that was a fucking lie. I convinced myself that I wanted to mend our relationship because of what happened to Marcus. So I would never have regrets but that was only half the truth. I just…missed you. A tiny part of me never stopped loving you. Despite everything,” you exhale weakly, pausing, and your expression hardens with your next words. “Until you pulled that trigger I would have still forgiven you. I still loved you. Even after all these years. Now…Now I don’t know what you are to me. Not anymore.”

John’s breathing has picked up, his chest moving up and down as he stares up at you. For once, his calm has fled and his dark eyes are desperate, wilder. 

“(Name)—” 

“You will never stop,” you state frankly, knowingly, your tone wooden. “You will destroy yourself, Jardani. This vengeance will consume you till the man Helen and I both loved is long gone. I don’t hate you. I pity you for that. I pity you.”

The ring in your hand stills. It hovers against your skin. This familiar warmth of metal you’ve clung to for years. 

The rain falls harder, beating against your skin, a distant rumbling of thunder echoing in your bones.

The girl who had needed this blanket of safety and comfort is gone now. 

You don’t need anchors to the past.

You just need Santino to live. You need Roberto to recover.  

You just need yourself. 

No one else. 

Your hand tips to the side and gravity does the rest. 

The ring sails through the rush of falling rain and drops at John’s feet and into the ruin surrounding you both soundlessly. 

Like a stroke of the sharpest blade, it cleaves the past from the present. 

“I will not kill you,” you tell him simply, but you’re not sure if John is listening. He’s staring at the ground, at the ring, and you can no longer see his face. “You will live and reap the consequences of your decisions. Maybe one day I can find a way to forgive you for this. I…I don’t know. But know that if you ever touch the people I love and care about again…” you give him a grim, empty smile. “You’re as good as dead to me.”

Silence. 

You’re not quite sure how much time passes.

Eventually, the downpour eases up, a few minutes of tranquillity following that. 

There’s a dull crack of someone stepping onto burned wood and your head slants to the side. 

Charon stands still and silent in the ruined doorway of the living room. His face is solemn and like a messenger of death, he chills the space at least a few degrees. 

Behind his glasses, his eyes glow with quiet, unspoken regret as he looks at John. 

The High Table has been informed. This will…echo.

This, you know then, is about to go South in the worst way possible.

His stare is full of relief when it meets yours though, and you know that he was prepared to find a very different sight. 

John dead. Or maybe you dead, or even both of you. Destroyed by the others’ hand. 

Won’t that be ironic?     

“Mr Wick,” Charon begins and John’s head rises slightly at the call, just barely. “You have been summoned, Sir.” 

There is a breath of quiet and then Charon’s eyes transfer to you. Something about the look on his face makes you release a slow breath. 

“As have you, Miss.”    

The dog naps draped across you both, seemingly the only one enjoying the heavy hush hanging over the car. 

John doesn’t speak. You don’t either. 

Charon knows better than to even begin and untangle this mess of a situation. So he does what he’s always done, and that’s obey his orders without comment. 

You stare out of the window, taking in the scenery of your city and wonder if you are still living in a world that has Santino in it. You have no way to contact anyone and his condition—

“You’re right,” John’s voice slices through your thoughts and you almost flinch, your fingers stilling against the dog’s ribs. “Everything you said back there. You were right. I love Helen but a part of me…a part of me never let you go either, (Name).”

You don’t reply. 

He’s not expecting it either because he no doubt realises that his confession is ill-timed. 

You imagine it’s less about forgiveness and more about…

You’re not sure what it’s about. Not anymore. 

What’s done is done. 

It will not change anything now.

Your fingers play with the chain around your neck as you continue staring out of the window. 

The quiet stretches on and by the time the car crawls to a stop just outside of Bethesda Fountain, you know that Winston is waiting for you. The fountain is the man’s favourite spot at Central Park and both of you have taken walks here several times over the years. As have—

As have you and Santino. 

Cockiness in his step and a sly smirk on his face. 

You rip the door open, gasping for breath, and try to blink away the phantom of him beside you, offering the crook of his arm to you. 

Walk with me, cara mia?

He’s not dead. 

Yet, adds Kishi’s cold voice inside your head.

No, let him live. Let him live even if I— 

“It has been a pleasure, Mr Wick,” Charon says politely, offering his hand to John as you round the car. The two men shake hands and you can see John’s hesitation, his attempt to read the situation. Charon stares at him for a beat before adding a quieter, “Goodbye.”

John’s head lowers in understanding and he moves in the direction Charon extends his arm towards, leaving you behind. 

For a few moments, you stare at the man who has been a part of your life for years. Who has seen you at some of your best and worst. 

“Miss Vipress.”

Charon’s voice sounds defeated, a touch sad, and behind his glasses, you see a glimmer of remorse. 

“Take care of the old man for me, would you?” you request softly, taking a step closer when you notice John pause, realising you’re not following him. “The safe in my room. There are two letters inside. One for Winston and one for Santino—”

You work your jaw, trying to bite back your emotion and Charon’s neutral expression strains, too. 

“The combination is 29091942.”

For the first time since you’ve met him all those years ago when you were nothing more than a young naive girl, lost and alone, you see Charon’s expression crack. Just slightly. Just enough. 

He knows what those numbers mean. 

Winston’s birthday. 

“Would you—” your wet whisper breaks off and he nods his head promptly. 

“Of course, Miss,” he tells you quietly and offers his hand to you, his eyes sad. “It has truly been an honour and a joy.”

You grasp it firmly, squeezing the gloved fingers before leaning forward and wrapping one arm around him too. Charon is rigid but doesn’t push you away. 

“Thank you,” you breathe into his woollen coat, scratchy and comforting and him. He smells like the Continental. Like home and you soak in that scent one last time. “Take care of them for me. Please.”

“I will.”

You step back but he doesn’t let go of your hand, giving it another gentle squeeze before releasing your digits. 

You both know this is goodbye. 

There is no other reason as to why you would be summoned. 

With one last look, you turn to go, straightening your spine into a rigid, unyielding line. Whatever it is, you will face it as always. 

There she is, a sly voice hums in your ear. My sea on a stormy night, hm? 

John is still waiting for you a respectful distance away, his eyes downcast, and you move past him without a word. The dog trails after you, his tail wagging and you hear John follow moments later. 

Winston is waiting for you by the fountain, his head tilted towards the sky like his thoughts are miles away, and the muted glow of the setting sun paints him in a golden light. 

You come to a stop before him as always and his eyes go to you first before John halts at your side, too. 

Your stare is desperate, you know that, but something in your heart eases when Winston simply dips his head in a tiny nod of reassurance. 

Still alive. 

Oh, Santino. 

You cling to that knowledge with every shred of your being. 

The older man takes you and John in, all limbs attached, and his eyes flicker to you again. He doesn’t say anything but you can’t help but think that perhaps some minute part of him is proud. Maybe just a little bit. If you’re foolish enough to allow yourself such a pathetic thought. 

“Johnathan. V.”

“Winston.”

John’s voice is weary, guarded. There is subtle tension coiling those limbs that tells you he’s expecting an open attack at any given moment. But if that were a case it would have happened by now. Something else is going on and Winston’s thoughtful hum as he stares at his old friend only confirms it. 

“What am I looking at?” John asks eventually when Winston does nothing more than gaze at him blankly. 

The older man bobs his leg up and down, still staring, but the look in those blue eyes is cutting. It surprises you a touch—the lack of pity you see there. 

“Camorra has doubled Santino’s open contract. It’s gone international.”

14 million. 

Your blood chills in your veins. 

Gianna dead. Santino clinging onto threads of life. 

It surprises you it’s not more. For Camorra, that kind of money is pocket change. 

John exhales. “The High Table,” he assumes. 

Winston hums again, nodding. He looks no less weary, then, and something tells you that the worst is yet to come. 

“And the Continental?”

Your muscles lock. For one, sluggish second you see red. Almost go for him with your bare hands alone. 

After what he did—

Winston’s head snaps up, and this time something old and merciless stares back at you both. “You shot a member of the High Table on company grounds, Jonathan,” he reminds him coldly, the corners of his mouth tilting downwards. “You leave me no choice but to declare you Excommunicado. The doors to any service or provider in connection with the Continental are now closed to you.” 

No weapons. No medicine. No supplies. 

Every helping hand cut off and your body effectively tossed to the very bowels of the pit that is the underground world ready to be devoured. 

You’re not surprised that it takes John a few moments to digest something like that. 

Your eyes lower and you smile. 

A sad, accepting thing. 

“I am so sorry,” Winston says with an exhale. 

Your eyes lift and his stare is on you. 

“Winston,” John growls under his breath. “She had nothing to do with this.”

The man before you blinks, sparing his old friend a brief look before he nods his head. “Oh, I am well aware of that. The High Table, however, does not see it that way.”

You look towards the lake, towards the sky, towards the trees. 

“Santino lived because of (Name) interference,” John insists, his voice growing colder, harder. “She saved his life.”

Winston rises to his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets as he strolls closer. His steps are forceful though, and there is just a trace, a glint, of anger there as he stares at John flatly. 

“Do you believe that I do not know that, Johnathan? The fact that Santino lives is the only reason why, unlike with you, there is no bounty on her head. Yet.”

“But—”

“There are no buts about this,” Winston cuts in, his calm words laced with ice. “The security footage from the museum was retrieved. Can you guess what it showed? V saving your life time and time again. The High Table believes that she should have shot you in the head the first chance she got and been done with it. Her inaction with Tarasov and subsequent saving of your life when you came after Santino—one of their own—has been deemed treasonous.”

John is quiet after that; a rolling, barely contained storm.  

You’re still staring at the trees, silent. 

In the far distance, kids screech happily as they chase pigeons. 

You wonder if any of them belong to the Bowery King.

Winston steps closer and you meet his stare calmly, expectant. “I told you this would happen, my dear. I did warn you,” he remarks unhappily but his words lack accusation. They’re just…sad. “You can’t expect to walk this line between both sides forever and come away unscathed every time.”

Luck runs out. Consequences follow. 

His words from your last summoning right after Tarasov’s death. 

You should have known that it’s only a matter of time before they came back to haunt you. 

“Keep him safe.”

It’s the only request you can think of. 

The only one that matters right now. 

Because the list of people that would rather see Santino D’Antonio dead is a long one.

Winston’s mouth thins into a hard line but he dips his head in agreement, his gaze solemn, and the relief that follows that is immense. He will keep his promise. Even if he doesn’t like the Italian. You would trust no one else with it. 

“I’m sorry but both of your lives are now forfeited.” 

There is regret there. Genuine and plain to hear and see. 

The older man looks like he rather be doing anything but standing here with you and delivering this news. 

“Then why are we not dead?” John wonders carefully, his words low. 

Winston’s head tilts, almost insulted, and that ruthless man you have come to respect and rely on and even love over the years stares at John like he has said something incredibly funny. 

“Because I deemed it not to be,” he replies bluntly, his head turning to nod at someone behind John. 

You hear a faint command of “now” and every person in the Bethesda Fountain Square simply stops. 

They turn to face you as one, and your eyes track over the crowd, taking in all the faces surrounding you. 

Winston’s eyebrows arch, amused, and you think that on any other day you might have been both amazed and terrified by such a casual display of power. Of influence. 

Winston is the beating iron heart of New York City. 

He nods once, and every person in your line of sight turns around and walks away.

Dozens of people. Gone.   

Just like that. 

The older man pulls back his sleeve, checking his watch before calmly informing you, “You have one hour. Couldn’t delay it any longer.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out an all too familiar object and offers it to John. “You might need this. Down the road.”

A Marker. 

Your jaw clenches subtly. 

Another trap for someone. 

Those wise blue eyes move towards you, and you force back a scornful smile. “Let me guess? Locked down?”

Winston sighs and slants his head in agreement. “Yes, any and all of your arsenal located at the Continental is hereby locked down and no longer accessible to you,” he informs you coolly. “They have forbidden anyone from so much as touching it. Everything is now under the Table’s jurisdiction.”

Your lips pull back but it’s not a smile. “Good luck to them,” you mutter tightly. “They will never get their hands on my work.”

You had made sure of it.

His lips twitch slightly, a gleam in his eyes. “But of course not,” he agrees easily, knowingly. “However, this was in my personal possession and as such I see no reason as to why the Table’s restriction rule should apply to it.” 

A tiny box rests in his palm, even smaller than the Marker he offered John moments prior. 

You know that dark gleaming surface well. 

Your breath hitches, your wide-eyed stare flying up to his. “Is that…”

“Mhm.”

He offers it to you and you reach for it, having to draw a few deep breaths to keep your voice steady. “Thank you, Winston.”

A possible lifeline down the road. And a personal risk if anyone ever finds out he gave it to you.

His weathered, warm fingers linger against yours for a beat. “You know what you have to do,” he tells you pointedly, sternly. 

You will always make the same mistakes. You will always lose.

Yes, you do know. 

You’ve always known.

Fight, Winston’s expression tells you and you straighten, your fingers clenching around the tiny box. Make me proud.

I will.

His mouth twitches again. 

“I do.”

Here at the most critical time in your life—and even with the lingering, awful dread churning in your gut about Santino—you feel calm. 

You feel the calmest you’ve ever been. 

Santino will live and I will succeed. 

You repeat it in your head. Over and over. In the beat with your usual counting.

Those words will be forged into reality and you don’t care who you have to go through to make it happen. 

The significance of your exchange with Winston might have escaped John, but that doesn’t stop his next, icy words. “Winston, tell them, tell them all,” he starts and for the first time since his house, your look towards him. It isn’t John speaking, not right now. “Whoever comes, whoever it is, we’ll kill them all.”

We.

Before you can interject, Winston speaks with a faint smile, his previous coldness easing a touch. “Of course you will.” 

For several moments, you all stand unmoving but you know you can’t delay any longer.   

“Johnathan.”

“Winston.”

The man glances at you, a furrow between his brows accenting the deep lines of his face. “It’s a goodbye, my dear.”

You don’t so much as blink. “For now,” you note coolly. 

“Coffee and brandy are 7pm sharp every night,” he remarks casually, seemingly pleased at the steel in your voice, and his hands slip into his coat pockets. “I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

You read his words for what they are. 

I’ll be waiting for you back home. 

Nodding your head once, you turn to go. You don’t look back, either. It would hurt too much. There is always a chance—

No, no chances. Not this time.

With every step, you repeat your new mantra in your head. Form a new plan. 

Continental first. Not for weapons. But because you need—

“(Name).”

“Make it quick, John.”

His fingers brush over your hand and you pull back, halting on top of the stairs. He stands a few steps below and dog joins you at the top. 

“We should stick together,” he tells you urgently, his voice soft, cautious. “If there are people out there who are after you then they will use this opportunity.”

“Let them.”

Let Lucien come. He wanted you over the edge. 

Right now, you feel ready to rip his spine out with your bare hands. 

Lucien. The pale-haired monster who robbed you of the precious hours that could have averted this entire mess in the first place. 

He might not have pulled the trigger but he took from you the only chance of fixing this peacefully. 

His name has joined the list of those who will be dead soon enough. 

He wanted a dance. You will give him a hurricane. 

“In an hour we’ll be hunted by at least half of this city.”

Your eyes sweep over the park before they drag back to him and your brief smile is cold. “No, John,” you disagree mildly and watch him blink. “What will happen is that you will be hunted by 90% of them because they’re money hungry and 14 million is a pretty price to pay for someone’s head. People will come for me, too, but they will be so eager to get to you first that I will be long gone from this city by then. Buy me at least an hour, would you?”

You turn to go but he grips your wrist and you tense, rotating your body back in his direction. 

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“(Name), please.”

Your eyes narrow and you tug your wrist back. “I don’t owe you anything, John. Good luck. And I mean that, but you’re on your own.” 

It’s started raining again.

The harsh, cold liquid slides down your arms and clothes as you dash up the staircase of the Continental.

The doorman pauses when he sees you, inclining his head in polite greeting. You only spare him a brief smile before dashing inside. Ignoring the wet squelch of your shoes against the gleaming floor, you go straight for the elevator, not needing to look towards the reception to know that Charon is not back yet.

Your eyes track over the people in the lobby, watching for any threats. Even with 35min still on the clock, you’re not about to take chances.

Wiping the water from your face, your partially numb fingers press on the floor one level below the basement. The basement floor only Charon and Winston have access to. The vaults. But you know better than to tempt fate. You’re not here for your solutions or poison.

The door pings open and you pull the door to the side, pushing ahead as quickly as possible.

Continental’s medical floor is eerily still. Most visitors receive care in their own rooms. This floor is for emergencies only. For worst of the worst.

Hurrying along the hall, you stumble to stop at the sight of a lithe frame of a woman sitting alone on a bench ahead. Her tattooed fingers rest on her other heavily bandaged hand and you exhale slowly, approaching cautiously.

Ares looks up, her expression pinched. She doesn’t look surprised to see you.

The clinical, dim light makes her face look more gaunt and the usually fierce glow in her blue eyes is dimmed too.

She rises slowly and you can see the difficulty in the action.

Your paralyser, as always, has done its job well.  

“Ares—”

It’s slow and clumsy and you see it coming but don’t try to dodge.

Her punch connects with your lower jaw and your head snaps to the side, the impact rattling your teeth.

You steady yourself with a wince, your fingers rising to nurse your tender skin and meet her raging eyes with a single, understanding nod.

“Yeah, I deserved that,” you mutter tiredly, wiping at your still damp skin. Your eyes lower for a second with a shaky swallow. “Can I see him?”

It’s a faint question, brimming with uncertainty.

For several minutes she only glowers at you, unmoving.

You’re about to plead with her that you have to see him but her hands lift before you can open your mouth again.

Alive. For now, she signs and her movements are more sluggish than usual. But no one is allowed to see him. Still in operation.

Swallowing, you glance towards the floor.

Few droplets of water have fallen to the floor from your dripping clothes.

“And the blood?”

They had enough.

The puncture wound in the crook of your arm twinges at those words.

An emergency transfusion had been a priority after the doctors just barely managed to stop the bleeding.

Noting the still furious twist of her features, you let your eyes flutter shut in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe quietly. “But what was I suppose to do?”

Ares doesn’t hesitate.

Shoot him in the face.

Your jaw clenches and you shake your head. “You know I couldn’t do that.”

And my friend and boss might die because you could not, is her angry reply and your throat closes up. I thought you cared about him more than that.

“I do care for him. I—” you shoot back immediately but your words twist around your tongue, halting you. “You have no idea just how much I care about him,” you add quietly, your voice thin, and something about the hard set of her features eases a smidge at that.

“I guess the punishment fits the crime,” you continue with a sardonic twist of your lips. Your eyes meet hers and the confusion you see on her face, in turn, confuses you. “I’m being made Excommunicado, Ares. I have 35 minutes before it goes live,” you explain slowly, your voice pinching with pain.

She blinks, her lips parting slightly.

The morose curve of your lips stretches. She knows full well what this means.

That’s why you move closer towards her even as your jaw still aches from her earlier punch. Reaching deep behind the layers of your clothing, you pull out an ordinary looking flip phone, holding it out to her.

“So please. I know you’re angry at me. I know, but—” you plead for her and tighten your grip on the burner phone. “I need to know. Whatever happens to him I—please, Ares. Please.”

After everything that’s just happened, she doesn’t have to do anything you’ve asked of her. She doesn’t owe you anything.

But her hand grasps yours, tightening her thin but worn fingers around your own. Your shoulders sag in relief as she pulls the phone from your hand and slips it into her pocket with a single, reluctant nod.

She still looks angry but—

“Thank you,” you whisper with a wobbly smile and focus on her bandaged hand. “Your hand?”

Roberto, you know, is recovering already.  

She doesn’t get to answer though.

Because before she can do so, a door opens from behind you, and a group of purposeful footsteps approaches.

At least four pairs.

“Well, well, look who it is.”

Your expression slackens.

Ares doesn’t react fast enough.

Hector reacts just fast enough.

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline or that humming dark or desperation or just anger and poor timing on his part, but you slam the man twice your size against the wall with a strength that causes a bang to rip through the empty hallway.

“Where were you?” you snarl, furious and low, your blade against the curve of his throat as you other tangles in his silky, dark suit. “Where the fuck were you?”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Hector warns softly, his mouth twitching into a sneer, but something glints in those icy eyes for a brief second. Surprise. “I’ll give you one free pass given the circumstances but there won’t be a second.”

Bodies surround you, but you ignore them, still glaring at the man before you.

“V, stop!”

“Oh, let her beat his ass, Julian,” another familiar voice drawls, unconcerned, his voice full of amusement. “I’ve been waiting for a rematch for years.”

A frustrated sigh. “Shut up, Step, you’re not helping.”

Another tall figure comes to a stop beside you—one that towers even over Hector but neither of you looks away from the other. “Let’s cool it, everyone,” that deep rumble of a voice tries to ease the tension. Dario. If Julian fails to mediate, then the burden falls onto him. Some things truly never change. “Come now, bella. Ease it up. V.”

You ignore Ares. You ignore the other members of the Four who are watching you and Hector with clear worry.  

“Where were you?” you wonder with a quiet exhale, your fury palpable.

Hector scowls at you and leans into your blade. The metal kisses those mighty wings but there is no fear in his eyes and your expression warps with rage. “Did you hit your head?” he mocks, annoyed. His grip on your hands constricts, his rings scoring your skin. “I was covering your slow ass and taking on a small army so you could get to Santino quicker but oopsie, am I right?”

You drop your hands away from him with disgust, breathing heavily and Hector rolls his eyes, fixing the cuffs of his suit with a bored expression.

“You failed him,” you whisper, choked, your voice soft with vicious sort of accusation. “You failed Camorra.”

The lowest insult you can offer him. His loyalty to Camorra is absolute. He may not follow the individual but this harms the entire family.

It goes so quiet at your words that you could hear a pin drop. Even Step’s not so subtle snickering ceases. Like they can all appreciate that this situation may take a turn for worse very quickly.

The last time you two fought, there was blood spilt.

This time, you imagine it might come down to more than just blood.  

Hector straightens, his sharp features stony. “I know.”

But it’s not enough.

And you can’t stop the avalanche now that it’s been unleashed.  

“He needed you to be there for him and where were you?” you continue on, spitting out every word out like a curse, an anathema. “You should have been faster getting to the gallery. You should have been better.”

Hector peers at you, unblinking.  

“Are we still talking about me?”

You leap at him but this time he’s ready for you and catches you in his grip, his back hitting the wall again, quieter this time.

Julian and Dario are there at once, their hands trying to drive you apart but a cool, calm command freezes you all.

“Enough.”

Charon.

Others look towards the man at the other end of the hallway but you and Hector are unmoving, still glaring at each other. You’re practically shaking with fury.

He’s right.

Your words were directed more at yourself than they were ever directed at him.

And yet.

“This doesn’t concern you, butler,” Hector calls out coolly, his quicksilver stare drilling into you and his grip on you doesn’t loosen. Smart man. “This is a Camorra matter.”

“Miss Vipress is not, however, Camorra.”

The unspoken Get your hands off her is clear to anyone with any semblance of common sense.

Hector relaxes against the wall, his head tilting as he waits.  

“If you’re done with your hissy fit, sweetheart,” he speaks gruffly after another tense few seconds and clicks his tongue. “We need to talk. In private.”

All eyes are on you.

Hector only blinks, bored.

You release your grip abruptly, your fingers flexing, and Ares practically materialises by your side while Dario partially places himself between you and the Camorra Devil.

Your eyes slide towards Charon who stands with his hands clasped behind him. He’s still clad in his coat and scarf from earlier, indicating that he’s just returned. Winston is nowhere to be seen. You incline your head in a silent thanks and cut a brief look at the Camorra Elite.

All four are rigged out in their typical dark suits. The deep burgundy you have also seen them wear is for Camorra’s special occasions only. Like births, deaths and coronations.

You suddenly recall that Julian and Dario never wore the typical Camorra wine red on Gianna’s coronation and your curiosity peaks. Except, of course, you have no time for a catch up with them now. No matter how welcomed the distraction would be.

“Fine,” you mutter, your muscles still taut. “Hurry it up.”

Hector brushes past Dario and the Four part for him, following his lead effortlessly. They move like a well-oiled machine. Dario shares a brief look with Julian, and the shorter man looks like he’s forcing back a sigh, his dark moustache twitching.

Hector wrenches the first door in the hallway open, slanting his head in your direction impatiently.

Ares, Dario and Julian walk in first; all of them varying degrees of uneasy.  

Step moves to follow, too, but Hector raises his hand, stopping him halfway.  

“Not you.”

Step with his thin, wiry frame and pale face looks like a kid picking a fight with a bull. Even though he’s the youngest from the guard, that makes him no less dangerous. You can’t quite see his eyes behind those customary round sunglasses he usually wears everywhere but you can see the irritated strain on his face.  

“You’re joking.”

His voice is low and stark with bitter disbelief but Hector doesn’t so much as twitch.

“No,” Hector deadpans without missing a beat. “Guard the hallway. We don’t need ears.”

For a second, those pale eyes jump over your shoulder where Charon no doubt lingers.  

“Fine,” Step forces out, forcefully cheerful and his head tips in your direction, his grin bright. His tattoos stretch across his neck and he wiggles his fingers at you, his own Camorra rings gleaming in the artificial light. “Would thy fair lady like anything from the vending machine? My treat.”

Your eyes go to Hector for a second.  

“Skittles.”

Step grins even wider, if possible. “Only if you let me eat the yellow ones.”

You almost smile, then. If all this wasn’t going on, if Santino wasn’t clinging to life and you weren’t about to become one of the most wanted individuals in the world, you might have.

“Sure,” you agree before adding a deliberate, “I reckon I owe you after the last time.”

Hector’s eyes narrow at that, becoming two slits, and Step’s strained grin transforms into something slyer, more biting.

He always enjoys having something over Hector’s head.

He pushes the glasses up his nose and gives you a staged nod. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he gives Hector another stare before wandering off without a backwards glance.

The leader of the Elite’s gestures for you to get into the room and you push past him.

Julian is signing something to Ares when you enter, and Dario stands beside them, his hands burrowed deep into his suit pockets. His long hair is pulled back into a high bun as always and loose strands brush against his beard when he turns towards you.

Beneath their pitch-black jackets, you can just make out the gleam of their weapons.

They’re armed to the teeth.

Good.

The other two turn to you when you enter the room and you try for a smile, no matter how forced.

“It’s good to see you both,” you tell them and mean it and both men smile, too. Your attention swings back to Hector, however, just as the Devil closes the door behind him, sealing you all inside. “But whatever it is that you want from me make it quick.”

A subtle threat.

The man doesn’t outwardly react, simply lifting his arm.

“Catch.”

Your hand snaps out, your actions instinct alone, and grab the tiny object that sails through the air towards you.

It’s small and cool to the touch.

Your fingers loosen from a fist, blinking in confusion and something in your gut hardens at the realisation of what exactly you’re looking at.

“They—” your voice cracks and you pause, forcing calm back into your demeanour as you turn your attention to Hector who only stares at you emotionless. “They will not follow me. I’m an outsider. Half of them don’t even like me.”

The ring of Camorra sits in your outstretched palm.

The ring only the Head of Camorra is permitted to wear.

Or, in this case, the Acting Boss appointed prior.

Your stomach churns.

You have seen this ring on Giovanni’s hand many times. The golden metal that gleams like new even though you know it’s been in the D’Antonio family for generations. The blood-red ruby the size of your thumb nail glimmers in the light and you stare at it in disbelief. You can’t even begin to imagine this ring’s worth.

“You’re right,” Hector retorts blankly, unfeeling, and crosses his arms over his chest. A ripple of his muscles teases the deadly strength there. In dimmer light, his pale eyes seem to almost glow with wry mirth as he addresses you. “Frankly, they rather shoot you dead than follow you. But there are still those who value what that ring represents. That believe the order and the command that comes with it. Those who answer to that ring will obey. Princeling at least had enough foresight to prepare for the worst case scenario. Little Saint has made you his heir, sweetheart. And until he either dies or revokes the title himself, it’s binding.”

Binding because it came from Hector himself and no one would ever question his loyalty or integrity towards Camorra.

Santino has outmanoeuvred everyone by giving away his symbol of power. The very ring he’s been desperate to wear since he was a little boy.

A safety net in case he dies.

The realisation makes your heart hurt.

The families of Camorra will not obey you because, to them, you are nothing. You have not been sworn in, do not answer to their laws and their authority. But they cannot harm you either. And anyone who does, Camorra or not, risk invoking the wrath of the entire family if they do.

But above all that—

Those who answer to that ring will obey.      

Your head turns towards the other two Elites’ and Ares. They’re already looking at you and not one of them looks surprised by this turn of events. Either they already knew beforehand or know Santino well enough to not put a gamble like that past him.

Almost in sync, the three of them bow their heads.

A show of respect. An unspoken promise that what you command, they will do.

A shuddering breath rushes out of your lungs that has nothing to do with your damp hair or clothes.

Clenching your jaw, your eyes drag towards Hector who hasn’t moved from his spot by the door.

He doesn’t budge, his arms still crossed over his chest, stretching the seams of his suit.

The Devil of Camorra does not bow his head to you.

He bows to no one.

The only man he’s ever respected enough for such a gesture is rotting six feet under the dirt and his ring is now in your hands. You don’t think there will ever be another individual alive that Hector will ever respect enough to bow his head to them. Oh, if only Giovanni had known years ago that one day you will be bestowed the most valuable heirloom in his family’s possession.

You imagine he would have killed you on the spot.

He laughed, and he said, ‘He is more like me than I realised. He would let this whole world burn to ash, as long as she’s the one standing beside him in the flames.’  

Gianna’s words echo at the back of your mind, and a part of you wonders if perhaps Giovanni always did know. If perhaps he always suspected that due to whatever circumstances you might reach this moment in time one day.

You think about your brief conversation on that snowy balcony at Prague and know that you’re right.

“Stay here,” you tell the trio on the other side of the room. Your words sound far away, distant, but strong too. Focused. “No one who isn’t us or the doctor comes near him, understood?”

Your stare drifts to the far off wall in a daze, and you know that somewhere in this building, Santino is out there fighting.

As will you.

Nodding your head at them, you turn to go.

Hector’s arms loosen across his chest and he steps after you when you move in the direction of the door.

You halt at once, your head snapping to face him.

“What are you doing?”

A slow, lazy roll of his eyes as he fishes for a cigarette.

“Coming with you. Were you not listening? I go where that ring goes,” he informs you dully, and lights a cigarette with expert ease. He takes a deep drag, savouring it, and frowns at you, the deep curve of his eyebrows pinching together. “Drop the fucking scowl, sweetheart. I know you think that just because you’re in New York and your connections here run deep, you’re untouchable or some shit but you’re wrong.”

Smoke rolls from between his lips as he talks and your scowl only deepens. In return, he looks amused at best. “In twenty minutes half the scum of this city will come for you just to prove a point,” he reminds you, tapping the glass of his expensive watch, and the bird tattoo on the back of his hand flutters like your slipping time. “Don’t let your over-inflated sense of self-importance cloud your common sense.”

Your turn towards him fully, your chin tilting.

“You will stay here,” you tell him calmly, ignoring the way his eyes narrow and every strong muscle in his body quivers as if in anticipation. “And you will guard him with your life.”

You think you hear Julian curse under this breath. Dario takes a step towards you both.

“Are you ordering me?”

A dark, silky snarl of a question.

Your expression is as rigid as your body. Your fingers around the Camorra ring tighten. “I’m asking you. And I only do that once out of respect.”

A glint of something in his eyes that’s gone too quickly for you to examine.

He retreats and it feels like missing disaster by a breath.

The cigarette returns to his mouth and he grins around it. It’s a callous, mocking thing.

“Fine. Enjoy being hunted, sweetheart.”

You stare at him for a beat, too aware of your time constraint.

Camorra ring rolls in your damp palm again. Grasping it, you drag the heavy metal onto the middle finger of your left hand. Your fist clenches, the skin under your knuckles straining. The ring glimmers in the light, filling your veins with…purpose.

I will see you again, Santino.

Inclining your head in an equally disdainful manner, you only offer the man before you an aloof, “Blood for blood.”

Camorra’s words.

D’Antonio family words.

This time Hector’s version of a smile reveals teeth, almost pleased.

“Blood for blood.”

Streets blur around you.

Stumbling through the rain and the puddles drowning the New York streets, you count every breath you take, focusing on both not exerting too much energy but also your surroundings.

Everyone is an enemy.

In 7 minutes that will become a painful reality.

No one has tried anything yet. But you have seen and felt far too many eyes on you already. Many are no doubt weighing the risks. There is no reward for killing you, and most know the danger that shadows your every step.

You don’t need to touch them to kill them.

Ducking into a narrow alleyway, you slam your body weight against the sturdy metal door. Your fists follow, slamming against the door over and over again.

“Doc! Let me in! It’s me!” you shout over the pour of rain and slam your fist against the metal a few more times. “Doc!”

The door swings open suddenly and you brace yourself against the door frame.

Doc’s frantic stare meets yours and all he forces out is a shaky, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Bowing your head in respect, you push past him. “Yeah, I know,” you mutter under your breath, working on steadying your breathing. “I just need a few things. I still have time so—”

Your words die on your tongue and you halt, your eyes narrowing.

John sits on the patient chair, his white shirt undone and a lamp shining over his bloodied shoulder.

Fresh blood.

He grips a gun in his hand but doesn’t raise it in your direction.

You hate the fact that he looks relieved—happy, even—to see you.

Blinking, you swipe your forearm over your face and move towards the shelves. Doc rushes back towards John and you glance at the clock on the wall.

4 minutes.

“What happened?” you question coldly and start opening different drawers and pulling ingredients apart.

“Ernest.”

“Funny guy but always lacked common sense,” you drone without looking at him and rip another drawer open, rummaging through the content inside. “Did you know that he tried to ask me out on a date once?”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

3 minutes.

Grabbing a familiar-looking vial, you give it a shake, lifting it to the light before you unscrew the top and drown the liquid inside.

The taste is bitter and numbs your tongue a little. You allow your face to scrunch up in disgust and shake your head harshly.

“I’m going to pay you back, Doc,” you wheeze, continuing your frantic search.

The older man huffs and you hear the fatigue there. “Just try and not make a mess.”

A few beats of quiet follow aside from your hurried rooting around Doc’s supply closet.  

“Where is it, Doc?”

“Indonesian Green Erla—”

“I’ve found the plant,” you cut him off, glancing at the clock on the wall again. “Where is it?”

2 minutes.

Doc works with nimble, experienced fingers but he’s meticulous and his focus remains on John’s wound. The man in question looks bewildered by your exchange but doesn’t interject.

“Doc—”

“You gave it to me because you told me that you were afraid of what it can do—”

“Where is it?”

You have never dared to take that tone with him. Because you like him and respect him too much. But your frayed temper strains and the coldness in your voice stills both Doc and John.

“Doc, I need it.”

The clock keeps ticking.

Your head snaps towards the wall for the hundredth time.

1 minute.

“Floorboards. Under the table by the wall.”

You rush towards it, pushing the table aside roughly, and ignore the clatter of glass as vials and medical supplies fall.

Slipping free a blade, you wedge it between floorboards, trying to rip it open.

John is urging the Doc to hurry but you focus only on your task.

“Five.”

John counts and your breathing kicks up a notch.

The wood creaks, finally coming loose and you rip it away, dropping it unceremoniously beside you.

“Four.”

You pull different boxes and packages apart. You know what you’re looking for.

“Three.”

Your eyes snag onto a tiny box and you grab it. It’s a twin—the same dark, smooth material that fits into your palm—to another tiny box already sitting in your pocket courtesy of Winston.

“Two.”

Your two deadliest creations. One created out of hate and malice and another out of hope for a better future.

One finished. One incomplete.

“One.”

Your gaze snaps to John’s just as the clock above head strikes 6pm.

Time’s up.

. . .

an: And so everyones’ favourite Italian lives. For now. :) also the man really said “fuck tradition, I do what I want” and we love to see it!!! 

Fun fact, I was planning to do Chicago (finally) right after C13 but since Chicago will be a 2 parter, I imagined that waiting for six weeks to know if Santino lives might not have been that much fun for you lot lol. 

Also a few people really worried about Team John after C13 and were like “Team J is ded” and actually as you can see from the events of this chapter the exact opposite is true. Now, you may be reading this and be like “how is this positive for them?” but this had to happen. V needed to realise that she still clung to John and loved him but it wasn’t the right kind of love. A love for a man gone, a spectre, a dream. Her dropping the ring represents her letting go of the past and starting completely fresh. Their mend after Marcus was just a prelude oppose to actual break. This is the break. All these years, V has blamed herself for John leaving by assuming that she wasn’t good enough or that John loved Helen more. Neither is true. The choice was always between who John was and who he wanted to be. He loved both V and Helen the same and it really could have gone either way. Now, at this juncture, they can start again on the same page. Now, this is not to say he’s magically forgiven for all the shit he did. He isn’t. A lot still hinges on Santino and how he will get on in the upcoming chapters. But a lot of you were like “um kat wtf?” and I hope this chapter proves that I do things for a reason and that this build up has been coming for a while now. 

There’s been a lot of things set up that are yet to be revealed. 

As always, all my love to all of you for your support and encouraging comments <33 and love for my dumb OCs, too! Love you guys and hope you’re all staying safe!

[gumnut-logic]

Staring at the piano keys is something I find myself doing far too much. No music, just sitting there, losing time, thinking. Some days it's okay, but others cause the keys to blur and, no, I really shouldn’t waste time like that.

Music is a distraction. I can lose myself in it. It could be considered a drug, a painkiller, numbing whatever is bothering me, but it is also a release. I can channel what I’m feeling. Get it out and feed it into the keys, translate it into sounds I can’t vocalise myself.

It’s a voice.

Today was a very bad day. We lost children and that always hurts. It had been particularly hard on Scott because he had to face the shocked husband of a dead young woman while cradling her crippled body in his arms. I...it was bad.

He wouldn’t talk to me. Both Gordon and John tried, but no...none of us were at our best. I had my own unpleasant situations in that wretched rescue. We all had and I hate to say it, but I needed to fix myself before I could help my brother.

So I fled to the piano.

I played for a long time. Some of it I remember, some of it I don’t and have no wish to, but at some point, I realised I was being watched and that stopped my fingers.

He was standing beside our portraits, hands in his pockets, sadness in his eyes.

And my face was wet.

Damn.

Scott didn’t say anything, just grabbed a box of tissues off Dad’s desk and placed them softly on top of the piano. I still hadn’t found any words myself, so I said nothing and just grabbed enough to wipe my eyes.

There were no great gasping sobs or anything, just those silent tears that sneak out when you’re hurting. I wasn’t surprised when his hand landed on my shoulder. Scott is always the supportive one. He worries more than he should.

“Sorry.” I admit it came out hoarse and embarrassed.

“Nothing to apologise for, Virg.” Again with the squeezing of the shoulder. “Part of me wishes I could do the same.”

I turned to look up at him and found such hollowness in his eyes, it hurt. It was obvious that the day was haunting him as much as it was me, he just...

“Did you want to spar? Go for a run? I can come with.” They were Scott’s usual coping mechanisms. Anything to get that desolation out of his eyes.

“No. I...” And he seemed to lose his words. Scott’s shoulders dropped a little and his hand returned to his side.

I shunted to one side on the piano stool. “Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit down, here.” I patted the cushion.

Scott stared at me. The stool wasn’t a big one and it would be cramped, but I could see the decision made in his eyes and a moment later, my big brother was thigh to thigh beside me, staring at the piano keys.

“I don’t know how you do this.”

“And I don’t know how you find running in circles to be so therapeutic either.” I let my fingers run over the keys before choosing a simple, but familiar tune from our childhood. One our mother had taught all of us to play a very long time ago.

“Is that a hint?”

“Take it any way you like.” I stopped playing and gestured for Scott to give it a go.

My brother was hesitant. I wasn’t surprised in the least since I think he had been about fourteen the last time he had touched a piano other than to help me move it.

“This is silly.”

“I could be offended at that, you know.”

He sighed and I felt his entire body sag beside me.

“C’mon, Scott, you never know until you try.”

“I’m not going to know enough to do what you do.” There was frustration hiding pain.

“You don’t have to.” My shoulders tightened. “Think of Mom.”

That did it. His back straightened and the glare he shot me was more anxiety than anger, but his fingers reached for the keys, lining up in the familiar practise routine from all those years ago.

Mom taught us all, but I was the only one who followed through. John has a beautiful voice that he refuses to use. Gordon’s isn’t bad either and he can string a jaunty tune together on a keyboard when pushed, but music just isn’t his native environment. Alan has his guitar, but it is more ornament than instrument nowadays.

Scott...I don’t think Scott has even let himself try. His interests just lie elsewhere. He has no use for music other than as a companion on those runs, or for shaking the walls of the gym. Part of me wonders if losing Mom caused him to stop any and all aspirations in that direction. Music was definitely a reminder of our mother.

His fingers were hesitant, off beat, but the tune was sketched out in the air, each note following the other in an inevitable trail of hurt.

Because that is what it was to watch my big brother attempting to lose his pain in my piano. It was my turn to put my hand on his shoulder.

I found it trembling.

Note after forced note, harsh and unschooled, yet beautiful in their own way. My fingers squeezed unprompted and Scott looked at me, the music coming to an abrupt halt.

Blue flashed so much.

“You are so much like Mom.” It was quiet, soft.

My eyes widened and my hand shifted across his back wrapping around his shoulders. “I guess one of us has to be with all these hotshot speed junkies in the house.”

Those eyes dipped back to the keyboard and his fingers poked at a few more keys, this time in a tune I hadn’t heard in a very long time. “I often ask myself ‘what would Dad do?’ Dad was, is, such a big influence in our lives.” His fingers played the piano softly. I reached out and played a one-handed counterpoint to those gentle keys. The air around us echoed the melody off the glass walls. “I never have to ask myself what Mom would do.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

His fingers stopped and my counterpoint fell away. “Because she’s in you...so much. I don’t have to ask, because you know already.”

I straightened just a little, not entirely comfortable with the concept. Dad...Dad had difficulty with me after Mom’s death for this exact reason. Difficulty that I had since found understandable, but it would always be hard.

Now my brother was saying the same thing.

“I...I know I look like Mom, but that hardly means I know what-“

“Virg.” My name was said with such desolation it hurt. “I was older.” He swallowed and I felt that shared pain from all those years ago. “You...you are more like her than you know.” A sudden snort of derision. “Everyone knows of the great Jeff Tracy. The self-made billionaire and his five sons.” Scott dipped his head, once again staring at the piano keys. “Mom is rarely more than a foot note in his bio. Little does anyone know just how much Mom contributes to this family even now, so long after we lost her.”

I stared at him. This was new. Scott was usually so much about our father, so much focused on what Jeff Tracy would have done. The arm I still had around his shoulders tightened just a little. “I could say the same thing about you. What you would do is likely what Dad would do.”

It was a scoff and Scott’s hand came down on the piano keys in a discordant jangling of notes. “God, I miss them.”

I had no answer to that, only an empathy that hurt. Abruptly, I returned both hands to the keys. This was old brought anew by today’s events and it was automatic to attempt to flush the pain through my fingers. Music climbed into the air again, a random sonata from my piano training so long ago.

Scott reached out and caught my hands, stilling the tune. “Never change, Virgil. I need you just as you are.”

I stared at him. What he was asking was impossible, but I could see in his eyes the desperation of a man clinging to his tenets. “I will always be here for you, Scott. Always. You know that.”

“I know that.” It was said ever so quietly, but it was parroted as if it wasn’t believed.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The hands holding my fingers tightened before letting them go. Scott straightened, swallowing. “I think I’ll go for that run.” He slid out from under the piano and stood up.

“You want company?”

“No, I’ll...I need some time to think.”

I stared up at him, worried. “You sure?”

That hand landed on my shoulder again and squeezed. “I’m good. Thanks for the piano lesson.”

A frown. “Anytime.” It came out dry and in need of moisture.

His footsteps on the hardwood floor walked away from me and disappeared into the stairwell.

I was left staring at the piano keys, caught in thought about Mom and Dad and a big brother who took far too much onto his shoulders.

What would Mom do?

What would Dad do?

I frowned and hit one of the keys a little too hard. The note bounced off the ceiling and hit me about the head.

I didn’t know what either of them would do, but I knew what I needed to. I stood up and the piano stool clattered to the floor as I followed my brother out of the room.

Perhaps it was time to start thinking about what Scott and Virgil Tracy would do. After all, that is who we are.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Chapter Eight

“’In light of how much Viper Canyon has grown in just the past year or two, I think it’s best if we elect a new sheriff as soon as possible. Are we all in agreement?’”

November 1852

Slowly but surely, the schoolhouse was being filled by the citizens of Viper Canyon arriving from their homes. Along with them, the heavy presence of unease and disquiet filled the air, and there was little small talk amongst the people as they sat down at the students’ desks in wait of the first ever town meeting.

Winnie wouldn’t have come to the meeting at all if it weren’t for the fact that she was the only person with a key to the school. As its sole caretaker, she stood in the back, wishing she were at home with Mamma and Bea. 

The meeting had been called to discuss the bank robbery – even the mere thought of outlaws anywhere in the area made her stomach turn. Most of the women, it would seem, shared the same sentiment as Winnie – or there were still things to be looked after at home, like children and housework.

Timothy Putnam, proprietor of the Sidewinder Saloon, was chosen to lead the meeting. He’d always been regarded as one of two de facto leaders of the town alongside Mr. Monroe. 

He stood at the front of the room where Winnie usually taught her lessons and cleared his throat. The room immediately turned and watched him carefully with baited breath. 

“As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’ve had to call a town meeting of sorts to discuss the events that took place at the bank this past Saturday.”

“Usually this sort of thing would be taken care of by a lawman. But seeing as our previous sheriff, Mr. Daniels, passed during the bout of flu a few years back, we have no man of the law left. Unfortunately he had no successor and at the time there was no one available to take his place, so the jail has been empty ever since. ” 

Winnie had seen the empty jail on Main Street and wondered why there was no sheriff or deputy to look after it. Naively, she figured it was because there was no need for one in such a peaceful town. Her stomach twisted.

Winnie turned over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. 

Quickly, with only the sound of his heavy boots against the floor boards giving him away, Elijah slid into the back of the room. He stood there in the corner and waited for Putnam to continue.

“In light of how much Viper Canyon has grown in just the past year or two, I think it’s best if we elect a new sheriff as soon as possible. Are we all in agreement?” 

There were several quiet responses, all positive, and a great nodding of heads as the people all looked between each other and then back to Putnam. 

“And what do you think, Mr. Yates? It was your bank that those outlaws robbed, after all…”

Mr. Yates was a man of advanced age, with a nearly bald head and shaking white hands dotted with brown spots. He was gentle and sweet and generally regarded as a saint, and his voice passed through his lips like a whisper of wind. 

“A new sheriff would be for the best,” he nodded decisively. “Those men should be hanged for what they did to our poor John. May his soul rest in peace.” 

The crowd murmured words of condolence and Mr. Yates settled back into his seat without another word. At his side, his son, Percival, gave him a tender look.

“I agree wholeheartedly that we should elect a new lawman,” Mr. Monroe spoke up. “Seeing as we have all of these children and families in town now. But one does have to wonder how he would be paid.” 

Winnie pondered quietly in her corner. She was lucky enough to be paid her wages directly from the parents, seeing as there was no formal government in Viper Canyon to collect taxes to then divvy up between public servants – or nearby schoolboard to see to her salary. If there was a sheriff to be elected, that meant everyone would be responsible for ensuring he got his pay, and it was unrealistic to have each citizen in town come by to the jail to drop off his paycheck bit by bit. The next step would obviously be taxing the people, but…the idea of creating an entire local government seemed daunting. 

“Excellent point, Mr. Monroe,” Putnam agreed. “We’ve covered Miss Hawkins’s salary quite easily by having the parents pay for their children's schooling directly, but…there have been a few flaws in that method.”

“Flaws?” Robert Campbell, the tailor, asked from his chair. “How do you mean, Mr. Putnam?”

“Consider if a child wanted to go to school but their parents couldn’t afford Miss Hawkins’s wages outright. If we were to set up a fair tax system, where everyone pays a small bit towards the school, then every child could afford to attend. Isn’t that right, Miss Hawkins?” 

Putnam looked towards the back of the room where Winnie stood. She squirmed as every pair of eyes turned to look at her. 

“Yes.” She cleared her throat, not having expected to speak. “Exactly, Mr. Putnam. Every child should be able to go to school and learn, regardless of how much or how little their parents may make.”

“Very civilized, very good,” Mr. Monroe nodded. “It’s about time we started doing things the right way around here!” 

Like a flock of birds stopped on the street, everyone’s heads bobbed up and down, making small, short sounds of approval.

“Well then, I believe we’ve come to the consensus that we should move forward with establishing some form of government for the town. But there’s still an incredibly urgent matter at hand – what are we going to do about a sheriff?”

“I say we nominate one as soon as possible, straight away.” Mr. Monroe was deathly serious. “Preferably right now at this very meeting.” 

“Well, that might be a bit soon, don’t you think?” 

Robert Campbell was already a meek man, and he shrank at the thought of possibly being nominated for sheriff. 

“There are vicious killers on the loose!” Mr. Monroe cried. “Those wicked criminals murdered poor John in cold blood. We have no time to spare!”

“Yes, I do have to agree with Mr. Monroe,” Putnam said. “Who knows when the outlaws will strike again? Not only was poor John Williams viciously killed, but they nearly robbed our entire town blind.”

Mr. Yates shakily came to his feet. “Don’t worry, your money was insured. I shall see to it this is all sorted out as quickly as possible.” 

Percival helped his father sit back down with a sheepish look at the crowd over his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Mr. Yates. My point is, who knows what they’ll do next? Their first crime here was so heinous…perhaps without a lawman, they’ll think they can get away with much more. It’s imperative we move this process along as quickly as possible.”

Elijah shifted uncomfortably in the corner. Winnie cast a look at him, having not seen him since he abruptly left town nearly a year ago. He was the same as ever – maybe a bit older looking, more tired. He caught her staring and Winnie backed down from his green eyes, pretending to stare at some of her students’ assignments pinned to the wall.

“So, are we going to nominate anyone to vote on? All of the men in town are here. It should be a fair vote.” 

“Yes, let’s begin nominations. But keep in mind the men that can’t make the commitment – men with families and large businesses to run.” 

That excluded more than half of the room. Even Joseph Ebey couldn’t be nominated, seeing as his large farm needed looking after and his wife was due to have their first child any day now. 

Clarence Monroe was a bachelor and the successor of his father – but Winnie figured no one in their right mind would elect such a soft and awkward man into an important position like that of the sheriff.

“The obvious choice here is our Elijah McLain,” Mr. Monroe called loudly. 

He looked up from beneath the brim of his hat. “Sir?” 

“You’re strong, reliable, you have a good head on your shoulders…and all that time hunting and trapping for the Hudson Bay Company made you an incredible shot – I’ve seen it with my own eyes!” 

More positive sounds came from the crowd.

“What do you say, Elijah? Do you accept your nomination for Viper Canyon Sheriff?” 

He thought about it for only a few moments before taking a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Sounds all right to me.”

“Well, then. Our first nomination goes to Elijah McLain. Does anyone else have anyone in mind?” 

Winnie thought she could hear the crickets chirping outside. 

“Anyone?” 

“Elijah’s perfect for the job,” Mr. Monroe reiterated. “I’d trust him with my life.”

“Is there anyone who disagrees? Who thinks Elijah wouldn’t be a good fit for Sheriff?” 

Silence. 

“Well, then. By order of acclimation, Elijah McLain is now the newest sheriff of Viper Canyon. Congratulations!”

To Be Continued

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Nine Coming Soon

(These group scenes take me so long...such a short chapter that took me forever! I hope you guys like the story, things are finally falling into place for the main plot to begin :) let me know what you thought and thank you for reading as always <3) 

[sxveme-2]

Strawberry Pancakes // Bucky Barnes

MASTERLIST

SEQUEL TO BLUEBERRY PANCAKES

DESCRIPTION: Lily Osborne and Bucky Barnes were never blessed with an easy relationship. Whether it be emotional trauma, or Lily's parents trying to be evil scientists. But they somehow made it work, after coming together once again after the birth of Lily's nephew. They were smooth sailing for a while. He proposed, they got engaged, but have yet to marry. While also juggling raising a teenager together as Hunter reaches the age of 16 now. All the while struggling with adjusting to their new lives in Long Island, balancing careers. Meanwhile, Lily struggles with the new found fame of being the fiancé of The White Wolf; and handling the tabloids critiques on her life and gossip columns digging up any information they can on her. While trying to maintain a low profile; and handle her life as it is. And becoming parents. Lily for the second time, while Bucky, well, this is his first attempt at a biological child. All the while a new threat from their past rises up once again, blind siding the family. Bringing forward old hatchets that had been buried, and putting their relationship at risk once more.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

STATUS: Unedited

NOTES: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Four: The One With Walker

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3043

     As the party continued, drinking and laughing ensuing, Lily found herself growing a tad wary. She only had a certain level she could take, but it had gotten better over the years. She was able to tolerate longer parties and could spend more time with people without feeling drained. As much as she loved Natasha and Steve, Lily still had her limits. But she also knew that these were Bucky’s people, and he savoured any moment he could get with them all in one room.

So she’d stick it out, if only for him.

“Why don’t we head up to the roof?” Tony suggested, wrapping his arm around Pepper’s waist, “It’s a beautiful night.”

Everyone agreed, but Lily found herself lingering behind the crowd. She used the excuse she was grabbing another drink, but everyone knew she needed a moment to herself. Over the past few years, the Avengers had picked up on a few of Lily’s ques that she needed some time alone. If not only to recharge her social battery so she didn’t end up falling completely silent for the rest of the night.

“Rebecca’s dropping by,” Bucky whispered in his fiance’s ear, “Why don’t you go out and greet her. So you don’t have to idly walk around an empty room.”

Lily nodded and blushed as he placed a gentle kiss on her temple. The blonde grabbed her jacket from the rack before making her way down the stairs of the hall and out the front door. She felt a smile grow on her face as the warm yet brisk air of New York in March caressed the exposed skin on her chest. Lily had to admit, she missed living so close to the city. There was a certain air to the thick of New York that Lily had always loved, and living in the Manhattan suburbs gave her the domesticity she craved, all while giving her the ability to venture into the city when she wanted to.

“Seems whenever I see you, you’re always lost in thought,” a man’s voice chuckled, one that Lily wished she could block from her memory, “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Lily turned her head, a tight smile on her lips. There John Walker stood, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans. She honestly didn’t want to know what he was doing around the area, conveniently during the night of Nat and Steve’s rehearsal dinner. But yet, there he stood, in front of Lily, trying to feign innocence. Despite the awkward tension that sat between the two.

“Hello John,” Lily greeted, tugging her jacket tighter around her.

“So uh...what’re you doing here in the city? Don’t you and Buck live out in Long Island?” He asked.

“His name is Bucky,” Lily corrected, shooting a glance at the man before turning her attention back to the cars that raced past her, “And we’re at a dinner with some...close friends.”

Typically, Lily wasn’t a confrontational person. But something about John Walker just set her off. She was known for her sarcastic remarks and passive-aggressive comments when it came to people like Walker, but even still, it wasn’t a common occurrence. Lily just didn’t have the time to deal with people who wished to be nuisances to society on a daily basis. She had to do a study on him to ensure he hadn’t harmed himself while taking the super-serum. And much to her dismay, he was perfectly healthy.

“Sorry Miss. Osborne-”

“Ms. Barnes,” she corrected.

“Right, Ms. Barnes,” he chuckled softly, as though he were attempting to ease the tension, “Speaking of that, you two haven’t gotten married yet. Mind me asking?”

“That is none of your concern, sir,” a familiar female voice sighed as she approached the two, “Come, Lily, it’s chilly out here. Let’s head inside with the others,” Rebecca commented, scowling at John as she lead her brother’s fiance back into the building.

Lily and Rebecca had a relationship that was built on mutual concern for Bucky but evolved into a beautiful mother-daughter relationship that Lily was thankful for. Lily had lost her mother those years ago when she was arrested, and though younger than Bucky, Rebecca took the mantle quickly. She gave Lily advice, helped her with boy issues, and even gave her excellent parenting advice. Specifically when it came to raising a little girl. If it weren’t for Rebecca, Lily wasn’t sure she would have been able to make it through the last four years with Stella.

“Thank you, Becca,” Lily sighed as she lead the woman up towards the room, “I have no idea why he’s around this area right now anyways.”

“Men like him don’t have to have reasons to be the way they are,” Rebecca sighed, waving her hand passively, “I assume we’re heading to the rooftop? These Avengers never did have any respect for the elderly.”

Lily chuckled and pushed open the door to the rooftop patio, smiling brightly as the Avengers waved the two over. Everyone embraced Bucky’s younger sister and gave her warm welcomes. Lily didn’t hesitate to slide right into Bucky’s side, curling into him. The fire table was lit and warm, and Lily found herself reliving the first time she and Bucky had a conversation alone. It was the same night he had kissed her for the first time.

She’d never forget that day.

“That John Walker character was bugging poor Lily while she was waiting for me,” Rebecca commented as she took a seat across from Lily and her brother.

“Really?” Bucky questioned, looking down at his wife-to-be, “What did he want?”

Lily simply shrugged her shoulders before thanking Nat for bringing her a drink, “Nothing. Just being Walker, I guess.”

A conversation broke out about how truly agitating John Walker was, Lily found herself drifting into her own thoughts again. Was her and Bucky’s wedding really that important to people that everyone felt the need to bring it up in almost every conversation? Typically, it was people asking only her about it too. It was as though it was riding on her to put a ring on his finger and keep him away from other prospects.

“How’re the kids doing you two?” Wanda hummed, crossing her legs as she sipped her drink.

Lily perked up at the mention of her children. If anyone ever wanted to get Lily out of a solemn state and really have her engage in conversation, all they had to do was bring up Hunter and Stella and she would go. They were her favourite topic of all time. There were no real words to describe just how proud Lily was of her children and how proud she was of the job she and Bucky had done giving them the best life they could. That was a parent’s job after all. And she’d be damned if she didn’t do her job to the absolute best of her abilities. Especially with Hunter. He had gone through more than Lily ever wished he had to experience, and giving him at least a few proper years as a teenager was all she strived to do.

“They’re good,” Lily nodded, readjusting her seat, “Hunter was suspended from school but rightfully so. Stella’s still...Stella.”

“Oh no, what happened with Hunt?” Nat asked, tilting her head.

“He lost it on a teacher,” Bucky sighed, rubbing gentle circles into Lily’s arm, “It’s all worked out though so no worries.”

“And Stella’s just enjoying having Hunter home so that she can annoy the living daylights out of him,” Lily chuckled, finishing off her drink and setting it down beside her, “She’s all excited about the wedding. I’m convinced she’s the one walking down the aisle.”

A light-hearted conversation stemmed from the comments Lily made, and time seemed to slow down as she basked in the comfort of her close friends. Whether it be their laughs or the fact that everyone simply seemed at ease when they were around each other. It made a strange sense of calm fall over Lily, and she wished she could freeze time and relive those moments over and over again. It was her favourite part of the Avengers. Seeing them being human and living together in harmony for once.

As the night came to an end, Lily had found herself pulling Rebecca to the side, “Hey why don’t you come back home with us? Spend some time up in Long Island?”

It didn’t take long for the three Barnes to end up piled in the car, heading back home to where she prayed, Stella and Hunter were fast asleep. But knowing Hunter’s past babysitting skills, she figured it would most likely be them coming home to the two watching a movie with the dogs at their feet, Alpine curled in Stella’s lap. As sweet as it was, Lily couldn’t help but shake her head at the lack of parenting skills her typically dotting son had.

-----

The following morning, Lily really didn’t want to drag herself out of bed to deal with the whining animals who were no doubt about to start fighting each other one story below her. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled softly at the peaceful face of her fiance. Bending down, she pressed a gentle kiss to the man’s temple before stepping into her slippers and walking down the stairs to where the three animals were having a stand-off.

“I am not doing this with you guys today,” Lily sighed as she plucked Alpine into her arms, “Let’s get you all fed before you wake the whole house.”

“Seems they already woke up two,” Rebecca chuckled as she stepped down from the final step of the stairs, “Is this how you wake up every morning, dear?” she asked, following Lily around to the kitchen.

Sighing, Lily nodded as she placed Alpine down on the counter next to his feeding bowl, filling his and the dogs below the counter, “More or less,” she chuckled, sliding into one of the stools at the bar, “then in about an hour the other three will end up down here asking for breakfast.”

The older woman chuckled as she started to brew the pair a pot of coffee, “Well I have to admit, you’ve done an excellent job at making it seem like nothing is bothering you.”

Lily tilted her head to the side and furrowed her eyebrows at her sister-in-law’s comment. The blonde wasn’t entirely sure what the younger Barnes was getting at. As far as Lily knew, she was doing fine. Aside from the anger, she felt towards Walker, the frustration she had about the wedding, and the increasing attitude coming from her son. Specifically when it came to talking about his younger sister. But other than that she was doing fairly well, all things considered.

“Oh don’t give me that look, dear,” Rebecca chuckled, pouring the cream into each mug, “I know you more than you think. Tell me what’s been buggin’ you.”

Lily chuckled and shook her head at Rebecca’s comments. She was fine. And it wasn’t for Lily to confide in her fiance’s younger sister, she would be fine. Whatever Lily had on her plate was something she could handle, and as much as she did appreciate Rebecca’s help, she was fine. Lily had handled much worse than a bit of attitude from her teenage son. She was sure it was just him going through some sort of teenage angst.

But sometimes at night, when Bucky was snoring soundly beside her, Lily felt that she may have done something wrong in her life. Maybe it was something she had done that caused such a reaction from Hunter. She knew it couldn’t be Bucky, the two were kindred spirits. They complimented each other. Every so often Hunter would slip up and call Bucky dad, but no one commented and just went on as if it was normal. Whenever friends asked, Hunter responded by saying that Bucky was his dad, simple as that. He and Stella got along well, considering their age gap. He was always the one who offered to babysit her if Bucky tried to get Lily out of the house. But she knew it couldn’t have been easy having a new addition to the family.

“I worry that Hunter is resentful towards Stella,” Lily blurted out before sipping her coffee.

“And why do you think that?”

“For almost two years, he had finally found a stable family. One where he didn’t have to worry about his mom crying herself to sleep at night anymore,” Lily began, biting down on her bottom lip, “He had the father he lacked as a child. And then Stella came. And she was Bucky’s biological daughter...I just feel like he feels like the second place to her.”

Rebecca nodded along with Lily’s words. The only person she had ever really talked to about the worry she had with Hunter and Stella was Rose. She’d brought it up passively with Gen but never really went into detail. Rose was the middle child of three. Lily felt like if there was anyone she could confide in about the possible rivalry between the two, it would be her.

“Stella was not something we planned for,” Lily chuckled, remembering the day she found out she was pregnant, “But I know that we were meant to have her. To have something physical that connected us. But even before Stella, Hunter and Bucky had that father-son bond. I just worry that there’s jealousy. He’s already been through something similar.”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, leaning on the counter.

Lily let out a deep sigh, leaning her head back to keep the tears from spilling out of her eyes, “His biological father had a little girl with his new wife. And she was their entire world. I just worry that he feels like he’s not good enough sometimes. That’s why his parents had other kids.”

Rebecca nodded along with her words once more before speaking again, “Do you and Buck plan on having any more?”

Lily chuckled into her mug, shrugging her shoulders, “I mean I stopped taking birth control a while ago. But I’m 38, turning 39 soon. I guess it’s not something we really think about,” she answered, tilting her head, “We’ve talked about it briefly. We’d like to but it’s not something we’re planning for.”

“I can tell you that if you have another,” Rebecca sighed, “Stella will give you the same worries. It’s just an innate thing between siblings. That rivalry. I know Bucky felt it with me. When I came along, because of our age difference, I know he felt almost like because he was getting older, our parents wanted a replacement.”

Lily nodded slowly, “I suppose so,” she whispered, resting her elbow onto the counter as she looked down at her coffee.

Stella was the greatest thing to happen to Bucky and Lily collectively. She was the perfect mix of the two with a slight lean towards her father. But it made Lily feel like she had found the very thing she thought she had with Scott. She was happy with Bucky, happier than she had ever felt. He made her feel like she was truly the most perfect girl in the world. No matter the things that she had faced. But Hunter was the son that Bucky didn’t make, but had anyways. And Stella truly did just solidify the family and everything that they were together.

“Walker,” Rebecca prompted, sipping her coffee, “What happened last night, does that happen often?”

Lily chuckled lowly and nodded, “Yeah he and his wife didn’t work out so I think he’s just looking for some validation of some sort.”

“Has Buck talked to him?” She questioned, prompting Lily to finally start talking again, trying to help her work through the different issues she was facing and how she was feeling.

Rebecca and Lily had developed a relationship that can only be described as an unbreakable bond. The two were two halves of the same whole. Both had an undying love for Bucky Barnes and shared similar trauma throughout their different lifetimes. Lily was able to confide in Rebecca when it came to anything, even Bucky. Whenever she and Bucky got into a bad argument, it would be Gen or Rebecca on the other end of Lily’s phone.

“Yeah, yeah he talked to him once at this fundraiser we went to,” Lily nodded, circling the mug she held with her finger, “Wouldn’t surprise me that if Bucky sees him soon, he’d be a dead man walking.”

“See who soon?” Bucky’s groggy voice echoed through the kitchen as he walked in.

“Walker,” Rebecca sighed, pouring her brother a mug of coffee, “She was just telling me that he’s been a bit persistent with her.”

The look on Bucky’s face made Lily’s heart sink. She knew that Bucky wasn’t a jealous person, but whenever it came to Walker, something was set off inside of the supersoldier. He became overprotective and borderline possessive of his fiance. It sometimes worried Lily, but she knew he would never do anything to hurt John, especially since Lily had asked him many times not to, and to just leave it. But she knew how much it ate away at Bucky that John was trying a bit too hard to be super friendly with his wife-to-be.

“Can’t believe he talked to you last night,” Bucky muttered as he poured sugar into his coffee, “Apparently he’s coming by the centre later to meet some of the other recruits.”

“But you’re off today, Buck,” Lily smiled tightly, tilting her head to the side, “So you won’t be able to talk to him.”

“Yeah well, I was thinking of stopping by and seeing Sam. He’s picked up a session with a few veterans so,” Bucky returned, mirroring the same smile that was plastered on Lily’s lips.

Before Lily could return with another comment, there was a loud knock on the Barnes family home’s door. The three adults exchanged confused looks before they all walked from the kitchen. Lily quickly shooed the dogs and Alpine out into the backyard before following the two siblings through the halls towards the large front door. It was only 7:30 in the morning. No one in the house was expecting visitors at this time, especially since Hunter and Stella would still be passed out for at least another hour. When Lily opened the door, she found her jaw smacking against the floor beneath her at just who decided to show their face in her face, let alone show up at her very door.

“Hey, Lily.”

[mayibeyoursbanks]

Long overdue but finally here:)

Part 1

TW: sexual assault attempt, mild language

“Josslyn” Part 2

———————————————————————

3 months. The longest you had ever gone without seeing or talking to JJ. And honestly, they had been the longest 3 months of your life.

The only Pogues you had consistently seen since the day you stormed out of the Chateau were Sarah and Kie, them being the die-hard girl friends you loved. The few times you had interacted with John B and Pope had been without JJ of course, they knew not to bring him anywhere near you. They both assured you they thought he was an asshole, but also knew you didn’t want them to choose sides, which they were undoubtedly thankful for.

Sarah and Kie however, showed no mercy when it came to shit talking JJ. When you needed to get mad, they pushed you along. When you needed to cry, they brought the tissues and ice cream. When you needed to stare off in to space, they sat next to you the entire time.

At first, you screamed about everything. About how he didn’t chase after you. How he tried to fix something that didn’t exist. How he led you on. How you let yourself fall in love with your best friend. But now a days, the only thing you were really mad about anymore was that you let him STILL have this power over you.

3 months. The amount of time it took Kie and Sarah to convince you to go back to the Boneyard for the first time and let loose like you would have on any other Friday night. You despised the idea, and felt sick at the prospect of possibly seeing JJ, but with a lot of begging and pouting, you let your best friends drag you over to where John B was manning the keg.

“Well shit! Is that actually Y/N Y/L/N?” You heard the familiar and inviting voice.

“In the flesh, Routledge. Miss me?” Ok, you couldn’t deny how good it was to see John B again. The boy had always been a steady rock in your life, and was probably the only Pogue to pick up on your feelings for JJ all those months ago, despite his oblivious tendencies.

“You know I always do. It’s good to see you back in the wild. Once upon a time, parties used to be your natural habitat,” he said as he passed you and Sarah beers while Kie handled her own.

“Oh shut up John B. Just give me a hug already.” It took no further convincing for John B to wrap his arms around your figure, you relishing in the feeling of familiarity.

You so desperately wanted to ask about JJ, but decided to not bring it up. Taking a sip of your beer after John B released you, you let the feeling of warm courage flood over you. You finally took a moment to listen to the music, and when you saw all the people moving toward the dance floor, it was like your instincts kickstarted all over again.

“Kie. We’re dancing. Now.” As you grabbed your friend’s hand and winked at Sarah, leaving her with a laughing John B. You heard Kie whoop in approval as she followed, and you took another large sip from your drink and pushed forward. You and Kie ended up in the center of the pit, and you just let loose and let the music move your body. Kie giggled but joined you nonetheless. At that moment, all you knew, all you wanted to know, was the sweet feeling of release.

There was no telling how long you had been dancing, but you had undeniably become the focus of the party. Somehow in your hazed state you had climbed up onto the makeshift stage where someone controlled the music, and you had invited a handsome looking Touron over to dance with you.

You pulled him behind you and as his hands grabbed your waist you started to sway against his body, a smile growing at the warmness and closeness of it all. Another couple sips of beer and you were full on grinding on the boy you had never met before, his exploring hands all the more welcome.

The only boy who you had ever danced with like this was JJ. Everyone who lived on the Cut knew you trusted very few men to handle you when you weren’t completely coherent, and JJ had practically been your body guard at these parties. The feeling of an unknown person’s body against yours with no rules or watchful eyes was a welcoming sensation, one you relished in your drunken state. You were honestly about to turn around and take your escapade farther, but that’s when it happened.

You by chance had looked out at the crowd two feet away from you, and had made eye contact with the last person you wanted to see you in this position. Those blue eyes that you used to love so endlessly met yours and shocked you out of your haze.

And then you noticed the music.

You had to go and ruin it. So you could get a quick fuck. I'm sure you had fun doing it. And now I'll make a big fuss.

As you stared at JJ’s eyes filled with- no not anger, or even jealousy, just sadness- you smirked at the more than appropriate lyrics in the background. Maybe his stare hadn’t sobered you up completely, because the next thing you knew, you were downing the last of your beer and throwing the cup to the crowd.

But now we're off and we'll never be on again. I hope that it was worth it fucking Josslyn.

You grabbed the Touron’s hands and pulled them tighter around you, picking up the pace and intensity of your dancing.

Don't wanna fight, I just never wanna talk again. I hope that it was worth it fucking Josslyn.

You reached up with one hand and brought his head down to your neck, and you could hear him chuckle as he began to lay sloppy kisses under your jaw. Never breaking eye contact with the boy that broke your damn heart.

I know we weren't together, but we're more than friends. Said you couldn't see me while she gave you head.

As you danced with the now very horny Touron, your mind went back to that day for the millionth time, and you thought of all the memories and the hopes and the wishes and the futures that JJ had ruined that day.

So please don't ever call again. I hope that it was worth it fucking Josslyn. Yeah, I hope that it was worth it.

You were still staring at JJ when you felt a hand slide in between the fabric of your shorts and your skin. You looked down and saw the Touron’s ring disappear beneath your shorts, and felt a deep breath down your back. You’re breath shortens.

You quickly grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand back to your waist, but he was strong. And your senses must have still been a little muddled too, because you hadn’t even noticed the other hand slowly lifting the hem of your tank top until you felt a cool breeze on your stomach. You reached to pull on that hand too, but were just as successful as your last attempt.

You looked back at the crowd, and met JJ’s eyes once again, just where they were last time. Except instead of a vengeful smirk, you looked at him with pleading eyes, and mouthed a small “help.”

You felt your zipper being undone, and you suddenly couldn’t do anything. There were hands sliding over your body in places you didn’t want them, and you were powerless. All you could do was close your eyes and hold your breath, which did nothing but give the boy behind you the wrong idea.

You listened to the blurry thump of the music as you felt the boy’s hand slide further up to your chest, and in this moment you had wished you never let Sarah and Kie drag you here. You were about to scream when you felt your bikini top untie, but then-

“Get your dirty hands off her you bastard!” A familiar voice yells from very close to you, and you flinch away from the noise. The boy’s grip on you lessens slightly and you fall to the floor, scrambling away. You feel hands pull you up to your feet and find yourself making eye contact with Pope, thinking he must have been the one that yelled. But the screaming continued.

“Calm down man, we were just dancing. She was enjoying it.”

“That’s what you call fucking dancing?!?! Putting your hands down her shorts and trying to take her shirt off in front of everyone?”

You turned around and saw a blonde, immediately recognizing JJ, quickly approaching the Touron.

“Hey. Hey. Back off. It’s all good.”

“No. No it’s not all good. You’re a slimy perv. You and your friends better get the fuck off this beach before I beat your ass.”

JJ was now nose to nose with the guy, staring him down like all hell was going to break loose. If looks could kill.

“Chill. We’re going. It’s not like that was your girl anyway. And if it was- ” Before he could even finish his sentence JJ’s fists were flying, landing one punch after another.

People started screaming as the blonde toppled the Touron off the platform, delivering blow after blow. Instincts took over, and you took a step toward the fight, reaching for JJ’s arms to get him to stop. But Pope wrapped his arms around you even tighter and you screamed in his face to let you go. You tried to kick your way out, but Kie and Sarah moved to hold you from the front.

You see John B run to the middle and start to wrestle JJ off the Touron, and only after getting hit himself a couple times was he successful. The Touron scrambled to his feet, face covered in blood and nose crooked, and when one of his friends tugged in his shoulder, he started running back up the beach, yelling about needing to go to a hospital.

Sensing the party was clearly over, the bystanders began to pick up all the forgotten solo cups, and you broke down in Pope’s grip. John B was still pinning JJ to the ground, yelling at him to calm down. You felt tears stream down your face as the past five minutes fully sunk in. Pope slowly let you down to the sand, and you slammed your eyes shut and put your head between your knees.

Feeling Kie’s gentle hand across your back, you started to slow your breathing, realizing you were ok in this moment. Breathing deeply, you looked up to find JJ, bloody nose and quickly forming black eye, in tears similar to yours, staring right at you.

“Y/N?” You didn’t reply, you just kept staring at those piercing blue eyes that you didn’t know whether to miss or claw out.

“Did he hurt you? Where did that asshole touch you?” All you wanted, to your surprise, was JJ just to hug you. To hug you tight and never let go. You tried to tell him this with your eyes, but you knew he was afraid to get close to you.

“Y/N. Just please tell me you’re ok.” You respond with no words, you just crawl across the sand and tackle him into the sand. He lays in shock, not knowing if he should lay his hands on you just yet, but you reassured him by squeezing him harder. You needed to hug your best friend.

JJ finally picked up on it, and wrapped his arms around you and held onto you with everything he had. Sitting the two of you up, he gently caressed your hair while you broke down once again.

Tears streamed down your cheeks and your body shook in JJ’s arms, and he sent quiet “sshhs” into your ear and gently rocked you back and forth. You dug your face into his neck and cried every single tear you had left.

3 months. It had been 3 months since you last hugged JJ, the only constant in your life and the only person you could ever trust with your heart.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so so sorry. I should nev-“

You rapidly shook your head, signaling him to stop talking. You didn’t want to talk about that day, or the words you said, or what he did to you. You just wanted to hug your best friend.

JJ, picking up on that, slightly nodded and went back to rocking the two of you. Both of you had your eyes closed and were covered in sand, blood, and eachother’s tears. You felt JJ’s grip on you tighten even more as he began to shake. He needed to hug to his best friend.

You didn’t know what this meant for the two of you. You doubt you could forgive and forget what he did that day, or what he did for weeks and months. And you felt sick at the thought of trying to confront your feelings with him right now. But right now you didn’t care. Right now, you focused on his breathing, and his arms tightly gripping you close to him. Because right now, in this instant, you just needed to hug him.

———————————————————————

Tags: @tangledinsparkles @the-crackhead-next-door @imsad05 @pankows-girl @howdyherron @poguemacking @dpaccione

[autumnblogs]

Day 13: Double Mobius Reacharound

https://homestuck.com/story/2073

Of all the characters in Homestuck, Sollux’s self-hatred is probably the most exaggerated, exacerbated no doubt by his role in the death of his girlfriend and his psychic brain. I like him, he’s an alright guy, and I wish I had more to say about him to be honest. I guess if there was one thing I was going to say about him, I think I said it already - Sollux serves as a mirror image of Dave, and Sollux’s decision to bow out early probably foreshadows the way that Dave will eventually decide that fighting is not for him.

More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/2082

How does Paradox Space know which angel to use? This is a bit of an odd moment. Maybe I’m missing the refrance, but I’ve never quite understood why Terezi reacts this way, with all of the additional periods. Sollux seems quizzical, but Terezi doesn’t react.

Also, this is the first in a serious of lines I’m going to be examining in relation to Aradia. Keep that on the back of your thinkpan.

https://homestuck.com/story/2085

Sollux and Aradia have a very sweet, tragic little relationship, and even though it doesn’t last into the longterm, I’ve always enjoyed these two together.

https://homestuck.com/story/2101

Whether retroactively, or intentionally, the sensual scantily clad fairies in Tavros’ room are a lot more noticeable on re-reads. Tavros has a pretty unassuming demeanor, and I’m not here to trash him pointlessly, but I think that Tavros has some pretty troubling patterns of behavior that can go unexamined because of the fact that he’s a victim. More on that as we go.

https://homestuck.com/story/2112

Far from a passing fancy, Tavros’ interest in animals does seem to be genuine. I wonder if he had a little farm with a bunch of these critters. We never get to see much of his other Fiduspawn if he has any.

https://homestuck.com/story/2114

Karkat and Tavros both do this, which I think is interesting because of the fact that they have opposite relationships with sleep and dreaming - Tavros spends most of his time in game asleep and dreaming of Prospit, Karkat has horrible insomnia.

https://homestuck.com/story/2122

Our very first conversation with Vriska has her tune in pretty much entirely to bully Tavros. The interesting thing is, while Vriska’s treatment of Tavros is pretty objectively bad, the way that she harasses him is actually pretty closely in line with the way that other trolls treat their friends, mutual aggression and nastiness. Vriska’s aggression isn’t addressed at someone who’s responding in kind though - Tavros is gentle where other trolls are vicious, deferential where other trolls are assertive. It’s this contrast that makes the shamefulness of Vriska’s behavior obvious to pretty much everyone but her.

https://homestuck.com/story/2123

Gamzee and Tavros are a ship tease that didn’t really end up going anywhere, but one of the things I think is interesting is the way Gamzee’s language goes from extremely lackadaisical and chill to kind of energetically violent around Tavros. Most of the time, Gamzee’s pretty laidback, but there’s a lot of language relating to murder in Gamzee’s enthusiasm here.

https://homestuck.com/story/2127

While Terezi’s Dragon doesn’t really have much of a choice in terms of its relative absence from her life, the sparse communication between the two and emotional distance is, I think, a parallel with Rose.

https://homestuck.com/story/2128

Because of the fact that we don’t get as much of a look into the Trolls’ home lives, it’s less easy to narrow down what their “finer” anxieties are, but it’s clear that they follow the same pattern of having their sleeping selves wake up as a result of internal synthesis of some kind - confronting their subconscious anxieties, and consciously accepting a part of their reality that they’ve been deliberately shutting out.

There’s probably a number of things that were instrumental to waking up for Terezi, not the least of which is accepting that Vriska is not the friend that Terezi thought she was - waking up to the fact that she was being used by an abuser in a co-dependent relationship. Coming to terms with her blindness could represent growth into a healthier sense of self, one where she finds validation internally and in healthy friend and family relationships. All that being said, her relationship with Vriska is still her most important relationship, and realizing that a problem exists is only the first step in solving it.

https://homestuck.com/story/2134

Time to stop being cagey about it, I guess. I have long viewed Aradia’s story as being one that is about surviving depression, which I say as a depression survivor. I relate heavily to the language that Homestuck uses to describe Aradia’s lack of passion and lack of enjoyment of things that she used to enjoy - especially the way that she lashes out destructively to try and alleviate her boredom and frustration.

https://homestuck.com/story/2137

On an unrelated note, Aradia has the Crosbytop. I believe I’m starting to remember how it got into her hands.

https://homestuck.com/story/2139

I’ve always thought that it’s interesting that Kanaya’s language directly mirrors Karkat’s from when he was harassing Jade, but their sentiment is almost precisely the opposite. She borrows another Karkatism almost immediately. So pretty much from the word go, we’re clued into the fact that Kanaya and Karkat have some relationship with each other that goes beyond the purely familiar, in the same way that Dave and John’s tendency to mirror each other’s language helps us to understand their friendship.

For a girl who doesn’t feel too many emotions, Aradia can be pretty sassy.

https://homestuck.com/story/2144

I have a friend who’s a bit of a Vriska kinnie (and feel like I’m pretty Vriska-esque myself), and one of the things that we both do that I’m seeing in Vriska here is fill dead air with chatter. I could be reading into it a little, but I think it should be a clue that Vriska is an intensely anxious kind of character.

https://homestuck.com/story/2145

In a parallel to Sollux’s introduction, we can’t immediately be Vriska. We couldn’t be Sollux because he was too busy stewing in his own self-criticism. There’s a push and pull going on between Vriska’s narcissism and her over-the-top self-deprecation.

https://homestuck.com/story/2150

I might be pulling this out of my ass, but I feel like there’s a case to be made for Aradia and Vriska actually being pretty strong parallels to each other - the only two trolls to get the tiger, faciliitators of destiny, devil-may-care grave-robbers. I don’t actually have a fully formed thought to really draw the two together, but I feel like there’s really something there. The way that Aradia puts Sollux to sleep here in order to ensure that the Right Disasters befall him is parallel to the way that Vriska puts people to sleep at clever points to make sure that Jack is created, and so on and so forth.

Maybe in the same way that Sollux serves as a parallel to Dave and helps us to understand what the right decision is for Dave, Aradia parallels Vriska and helps us to understand that roughly the same things are good for the two of them. Much later, (Vriska) basically chooses the same path of staying out of harm’s way and trying to enjoy the rest of her relatively eternal existence.

https://homestuck.com/story/2161

As soon as Karkat talks about Kanaya with anyone else, he further reinforces there is a friendship between the two of them.

Another quick note, as long as we’re here, I’ve kind of been putting this off, but I suppose with the one and only use of “autistic” as an insult in the comic, it’s finally time for me to bring this up:

Homestuck has a pretty problematic relationship with victims of abuse and people suffering from mental and physical disabilities. While on the one hand like, almost all of Homestuck’s main characters are disabled and abuse sufferers in some way or another, there are a lot of ways in which it’s not so charitable to them.

Some of it is stuff like this - early Homestuck uses the word retarded a lot as an insult, and has this single instance of autistic - all in all, that kind of language is problematic but in and of itself, not too egregious - Homestuck is a product of its time in that respect.

Stuff that I take issue with is more subtle - mostly stuff surrounding Jake and Tavros. I’ll have more to say on it later, but I wanted to find a good natural time to bring it up, and now seemed like a fine time.

https://homestuck.com/story/2162

Nepeta and Equius give us some information that helps grow our understanding of troll culture. We’ve already had some conversation about whose blood is better than whose from Sollux, but Equius starts to help us understand that some trolls take blood color extremely seriously.

These kids may not replicate the social anxieties of earthlings 1:1 but they still have plenty of things to be anxious about. The more I read Hiveswap the more I become convinced that most of these characters were never people we were meant to become terribly invested in - a lot of the function of the trolls, from a narrative perspective, is to give us parallels to the human main characters and insight into their lives, as well as to give us exposition on just how Sburb works exactly. And then most of them are pretty promptly killed off or put on a bus once their purpose is served (or in order to serve their purpose!)

Back to the subject of the social anxieties that the trolls have to deal with, Alternia is all about hierarchy baby.

https://homestuck.com/story/2173

Vriska may be a born cheater, but I’ve always sort of gotten the impression, based on the killer nature of FLARPING which is alluded to plenty in other situations, that if she’s cheating here, it may be the kind of cheating that is encouraged.

Between that and the way that Tavros and Aradia were discussing the “True Spirit of Flarping,” I can’t help but remember a description of the way propaganda works from some time ago. Propaganda doesn’t usually follow the story arc we are accustomed to, where we start with a character or characters who do not yet possess the tools or abilities they need to succeed, grow to overcome their weakness, and then overcome the problem that they couldn’t before.

Propaganda, instead, introduces us to characters who are already strong, facing enemies who are weak, or problems who are easy. They are strong because they are the heroes! Their enemies are weak. And the function of it is to intimidate the enemies of the person putting out the propaganda, and to rile up aggressive sentiment in those who are on the side of the propagandist.

We’ve already talked about how, in Homestuck “roleplaying” in both its more figurative and literal uses, is a way in which characters act out society’s expectations for them. In that way, I can’t help but view FLARPING as something of a propaganda tool itself, and one that’s pretty integral to Vriska’s way of thinking throughout the comic.

You’re either someone who is strong, or someone who is weak, and if you’re strong, you’re one of the victors, if you’re weak, you’re one of the losers, and you deserve whatever the victors decide what to do with you.

What I guess I’m building up to here is that there are real world societies that Troll Culture seems like an exaggerated parody of - particularly the more militaristic aspects of the Romans, and the Spartans. I’m going to wait for another time to write down all my thoughts about them, because this is turning into a bit of an essay, but suffice to say, it’s probably going to coincide with the one about Patriarchy whenever I get around to it.

https://homestuck.com/story/2175

There’s an interesting thing going on here between the way that Tavros is drawn (nearly identical to his imagine spot about flying around on Prospit), and the way that his erratic behavior isn’t actually all that different from the way characters normally do absurd and dangerous things here.

I’m by no means excusing what Vriska is doing here, but I think that between the fact that Tavros already wants to fly anyway, and the fact that again, characters do this kind of self-destructive thing in Homestuck all the time anyway, although to less of an exaggerated degree, Andrew is drawing a parallel between the narrative prompts from the Exiles, Vriska’s manipulations, and the intrusive thoughts that we already have on our own anyway.

Vriska manipulates Tavros the way that Doc Scratch manipulates her, although considerably clumsier, by getting him to do what he already wants to anyway.

https://homestuck.com/story/2177

That’s really all there is to say on the matter.

It’s like poetry, they rhyme.

In the same way that Bro manipulates Dave by imposing an idea of what it means to be a man on him - someone who can be beaten within an inch of his life, or beat someone else to within an inch of his life without batting an eye - Vriska tries to manipulate Tavros throughout his arc, and this kind of so-called “tough love” is just the start of it.

There’s a lot of supplementary material that delves deeper into Vriska’s rationale for her mistreatment of Tavros, but she makes it clear herself as we go through the comic that she at least justifies her mistreatment of Tavros by telling herself that the purpose of it is to toughen him up (so he can be one of the strong people, a winner who gets the girl.)

https://homestuck.com/story/2178

As he often is about what’s going on with other people when he’s distracted from thinking about himself by his own agitation, Karkat is probably right about Vriska - girls like her are a dime a dozen in the upper classes, and that’s the point. The point of troll society is to produce people like Vriska amongst the highbloods.

https://homestuck.com/story/2195

Let’s dig into Vriska’s self-stylization as an apocalypse buff for a second because it’s not something I think gets talked about a lot.

Apocalypticism is, in my estimation, kind of a form of generational narcissism. There are doomsayers in every generation, who claim that this is it - this new catastrophe, this new social situation, is the most important thing in the world to ever happen. The end is here. All of world history culminates in this.

I don’t mean to downplay the actual existential threats of our generation of course; climate change, late capitalism, that sort of thing. But I think Vriska’s Apocalypse Buffery fits pretty well into her need to be the most important person in Paradox Space all the time.

On another note, Luck in Homestuck is very closely related with a few concepts like Agency in Homestuck through the Aspect of Light. Terezi will later assert that luck doesn’t matter at all. What’s up with that?

Maybe Luck and Karma are two sides of the same coin (ha!) Both of them are pieces in the puzzle of Theodicy, that is to say, the metaphysics question of why there is bad in the world.

Someone like Vriska (at the beginning of her arc) would say that it’s happenstance - bad things and good things can happen to bad and good people, there’s no greater meaning behind it. Vriska has a hard time taking responsibility for her own actions - her locus of control is external, for the most part.

Terezi on the other hand mostly attributes everything to a person’s actions, hence the need to punish bad people, and reward good ones. Terezi would say that good things happen to good people, and bad things happen to bad people. Her locus of control is internal.

Maybe the answer is both motherfuckin’ things.

https://homestuck.com/story/2202

Just as Vriska’s introduction is through a conversation with her victim, so Doc Scratch’s introduction is through a conversation with his victim. Or at least, his most immediate victim.

It’s like poetry, they rhyme.

https://homestuck.com/story/2204

Kanaya pretty well sums up here what I was getting at when talking about Terezi and Vriska’s different locuses of control.

There’s no real good or bad luck here. Good luck for someone is bad luck for someone else, often enough. What “good luck” means to Vriska is that events go down the way that she personally wants them to.

And so, by seizing control and power in situations where she is helpless, the Thief of Light ensures that she always has all the luck.

Kanaya might not be right, by the way, not 100%. I’m not a stoic. You can’t just magically wish away suffering by deciding that actually, you’re 0k with it, anymore than Aradia can. Like I said, the truth probably lies somewhere between Luck and Karma.

https://homestuck.com/story/2207

While the terrifying violent monitor and the emotionally abusive manipulator are bifurcated, Vriska has a lot of the same emotional responses to her guardians as Dave does to his singular guardian - notice the similar, self-soothing language that Vriska’s narrative employs compared to the way that Dave self-sooths when trying to convince himself that the way Bro treats him is just fine and normal.

https://homestuck.com/story/2211

Equius to me is a super interesting character, because on the one hand, he’s a joke character Andrew uses to antagonize the audience by being gross but Andrew also uses him to say the quiet part loud - Homestuck is already, to begin with, a pretty lewd webcomic full of horny characters whose emotional hangups and destructive relationships with societal norms sabotage their chances at happiness. That’s all Equius is. His entire function from start to finish, aside from a source of ribald humor, is to draw attention to the fact that everyone in this comic is looking for comfort in someone else’s body, comfort from the way that unrealistic societal expectations and their attempts to live up to them don’t match up to what’s inside of their heart. Equius is a parody of Homestuck inside of Homestuck. Absurdly overpowered, ridiculously horny, all twisted up inside.

https://homestuck.com/story/2220

The language here that Equius uses - degenerate - is evocative of the sorts of right-wing authoritarian hate mongers that Equius’ ideology stands in for. Equius, of course, has doubts about said ideology, which he starts to express through transgressive relationships pretty much as soon as we meet him, like the one with Aradia. The fact that he can’t make sense of the warring ideas inside of him almost literally kills him.

https://homestuck.com/story/2221

Except that what kills him literally is a shitty clown.

I think what’s going on here is interesting, because if you want to read Equius as like, Homestuck in a nutshell, Equius’ ideological hangups are co-morbid with his sexual hangups, and resolving one set would probably go a long way toward resolving the other set. Equius is, for lack of a better term, a deviant. The sorts of things that excite him (here, viscerally) don’t match up with his idea of how troll society is supposed to be.

Equius and Gamzee are confronting each other with a different vision for what Troll Society is supposed to be like.

https://homestuck.com/story/2222

In stark contrast to the shallow and insincere hostility of Trolls who are actually friends with each other, Vriska and Equius maintain a veneer of social grace as they mutually plan to backstab each other.

https://homestuck.com/story/2237

Vriska is pretty clearly projecting here, but she’s also 100% right. I guess when you know somebody, you know them. Or it could be happenstance.

Her view of redemption is also transactional. “I will make things the way they were before, and things can go back to being the way that they were,” she seems to say. It’s a very legalistic view of it, and while it might have a place in a justice system, even the extremely legalistic Terezi can tell that that wouldn’t actually fix anything. Maybe the physical and emotional damage could be repaired in theory, but if the actors in the situation don’t change themselves in fundamental ways, this is all just going to recur in the future.

Forgiveness isn’t something an abuser can earn - nobody has the right to claim that they have restored a relationship that they destroyed in the first place by demonstrating token repentance.

https://homestuck.com/story/2238

If Andrew already had in mind that Equius should in some way be a part of the gestalt of souls that is Lord English, he’s foreshadowing it early here by comparing Equius’ voyeuristic habits to Scratch’s.

https://homestuck.com/story/2244

I’ll lay my cards on the table and say I think that Doc Scratch can present the facts 100% and still be dishonest. I’m a compatibilist - I think that Free Will and Accountability are compatible with the idea of a deterministic universe. Doc Scratch doesn’t have to talk anyone into anything, but the material conditions that led everyone to the decisions that they chose to make were orchestrated by Lord English. Scratch may not be making any decisions here that effect the outcomes, sure, but the game was rigged in his favor from the start.

Again, I’m not excusing Vriska’s actions here. But for the same reason that we wouldn’t blame Tavros for jumping off of a cliff just because trying to fly is something he already wanted to do to begin with, I think it’s clear to anyone with eyes that Doc Scratch is at least partially responsible for creating this little monster.

Vriska’s complicated. Let’s move on so this whole post doesn’t turn into more Vriskourse. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

https://homestuck.com/story/2258

You know you’re going to anyway.

I guess what intrigues me so much about this section is the gradation between manipulation and coercion.

https://homestuck.com/story/2263

Vriska might be a born cheater, but Doc Scratch is a sore loser.

She’s pretty easy to root for when she’s against him.

https://homestuck.com/story/2269

Man, Act 5 Act 1 is just absolutely lousy with conversation about choice and luck.

https://homestuck.com/story/2276

Part of what creates ambiguity in terms of how much Vriska’s choices are her nature versus the conditions that shaped it is on display here in her conversation with Aradia.

Vriska doesn’t really know how to interact with people positively, like, at all. Nobody’s ever taught her. She doesn’t know what it means to be a friend to someone. She doesn’t know what it means to help someone. She doesn’t know how to be loved or forgiven.

Is this like the scorpion and the frog? Or does she have free will? (I’ll give you a hint, it’s the second one.)

https://homestuck.com/story/2280

This whole sequence is just a delight. The trolls are really just such disaster people, and if I can be excused, it’s easy to put more emotional distance between myself and say, Equius, than it is between myself and Vriska and Terezi. Like I said, Equius says the quiet part out loud, so there’s really nothing much to analyze there.

Aradia’s inability to control the ribbits is part of a general mood of a lack of control that she has as a character. Vriska’s lack of control causes her to rage at the heavens and lash out at the people around her. Aradia is just 0k with it, and neither is a healthy coping strategy. The result is that the two of them break a lot of shit.

https://homestuck.com/story/2305

For the first time in his life, Karkat is not alone.

https://homestuck.com/story/2319

I could really be mistaken here, but the way this whole sequence is presented here really feels, on an archival reread, to be telling me, “You do not need to care about these characters.” Certainly they serve a function in the story, but with the exception of a few of them (literally only a third of them), they serve as tools in an authorial toolbox to help flesh out the setting - not so unlike the Carapacians actually, but with a lot more personality.

https://homestuck.com/story/2323

Kanaya is threefold one of the few of her kind, making her extra special. While she is closest with Rose, she’s a clear parallel to Jade, who if memory serves, suffered frequent accustations of being a Mary Sue early on. Kanaya’s level of specialness (in terms of combined rare factors) outcompetes even Jade’s. Probably a part of the playfully antagonistic style of Homestuck in general.

https://homestuck.com/story/2338

It slipped my mind earlier that the honey on Sollux’s hands was being directly juxtaposed with Dave’s blood on his own hands, and here Kanaya’s.  All three of them are, to some extent or another, contemplating their mortality. As Kanaya said just a few panels ago though, death is confusing without the finality. Just another way that Homestuck plays with the nomenclature of endings and beginnings and intermissions and brings into question the usefulness of those categories.

https://homestuck.com/story/2343

I have always enjoyed the dynamic that Kanaya and Eridan share with each other, and I wish there were more conversations of her just dunking on him.

Also of note in this little conversation is the way that Kanaya and John mirror each other’s language. This is an example though where they could not possibly be mirroring it the way that Dave and John might be when they’re talking about Bec, or the way that she and Karkat might be. They have, it seems, the same penchant for mischief.

https://homestuck.com/story/2345

Like her counterparts from Universe B, Kanaya’s preoccupation with relationships and personal contact is made manifest through her Squiddle Lunchtop.

https://homestuck.com/story/2350

Both of the main Pages in Homestuck are characters whose primary usefulness is seen through their ability to make friends and broker alliances. I suspect that being a Page in Sburb is to some extent a bit like being an ADC in League of Legends.

The ADC or Attack Damage Carry, if you’re not familiar with the nomenclature, is a character who starts the game weak, and remains vulnerable throughout such that the whole team has to play babysitter. If you think that sounds unappealing to play, you’d be right - it can be pretty hard to find someone willing to play ADC, especially with the popularity of high-risk high-reward Asassins (not so unlike a thief!) who are their direct counter.

In spite of their relative vlunerability, the ADC has absolutely dominated the meta of League of Legends for the past ten years for the simple reason that there is absolutely no substitute when it comes to controlling objectives.

Maybe Pages are a little bit like that. Frustrating to be one, frustrating to have one around, but extremely rewarding to invest in. It’s too bad nobody can be arsed to give them the emotional support they need to flourish. Too bad they have such... intractible character flaws.

https://homestuck.com/story/2356

Kanaya’s inability to stop mothering people sabotages her chance at winning Vriska’s affection - no doubt because Vriska has misread the situation as Kanaya being her romantic rival for Tavros’s attention. For the better, I guess, since Rosemary is my shit.

Trolls sure are weird.

https://homestuck.com/story/2369

Vriska has already figured out the point of Sburb, and perhaps the ultimate riddle, although she clearly hasn’t figured out the ramifications of it yet.

In any case, it should be clear how she has interpreted Sburb’s directive - authenticate your own existence through reproduction.

Being a winner, having self-worth, being able to justify your own existence means being strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough to shape the rest of existence in your own image.

She’s missing a critical detail, and its absence means she has it completely backwards.

https://homestuck.com/story/2370

We already know what is on the other side of the portal. Vriska is making herself out to be the final boss.

The final boss and the treasure are the same thing, in her mind.

The struggle is the objective.

The fighting is the point.

https://homestuck.com/story/2374

Just wanted to take a second to say that this whole sequence is so unnerving and horrible that I was sure she was going to murder, violate, and/or eat him, not necessarily in that order, the first time I read through this.

The sad reality is, this is the fucked up courtship ritual of a girl who has no idea how to be intimate with other people.

https://homestuck.com/story/2391

And that’s where we’ll pause for the night, having finished nearly 300 pages as promised.

Hope I wasn’t getting too lazy there at the end.

I’m enjoying my weekend.

Hope that yinz enjoy yours once it rolls around.

For now, Alive and Not Sober, Cam signing off.

[johnshelbysbabygirll]

Don’t trust anyone - JOHN SHELBY X READER

hello loviess

another imagine and i know you recognize the scene very well

i didn’t write all the talking, i couldn’t reproduce it, but i hope you like it xx

You walk into the room right behind John, who have his hand on your belly. You are in five months, but you can't be too happy about it right now. Not after what happened last night when John was out, taking innocent people life while you were at home terrified for his own.

All the family is here and Tommy apologized to all of you and started sharing the money to everybody, starting with Arthur and John and ending with Curly and Charlie. Even when you two can get the house you always wanted, you aren't happy knowing how John blamed himself when he got home. He couldn't sleep at all.

Arthur stand up to watch all of you with emotion all over his face, even if he tries not to. You know about their plan from Linda and she was so happy and excited about it. Polly hold Arthur, smiling even if she has tears in her eyes and Ada does the same with a proud smile.

- Sister, Arthur was always like a big brother to you, Tommy too. You hugged him tight before you speak.

- Take care, Arthur. And call us anytime.

Your smile is truly, even if you wished they will stay here with the rest of you. You love this family and they are all so important to you, in fact they are the only family you ever truly had.

- You two better be coming to visit us with the little Peaky, don't ya John boy.

Arthur speaks to John and he slowly slap his back, John returning the gesture. He is so sad, looking at Arthur with a lost face and he tries so hard to control his emotions. You sigh.

- Can you two just hug already? We are family. You don't have to be tough here, you said trying to sound like a joke.

After the hug that melts your heart, Arthur went to Tommy who was far away from what was happening. He was thinking at something.

- I'll be off then, Tom. I'll see you, brother.

He didn't answer. In the entire room is a bad feeling and you can't be the only one feeling it.

Arthur glare at you and John again and they reach to the door, but they stop in their places when Tommy speaks with a cigarette on his lips.

- You can go, but you won't get far, Arthur.

- All right Tom. Arthur says and his tone is full of disappointment.

- I spoke to Moss last night. He told me that the Chief Constable of Birmingham has issued a warrant for your arrest. Murder...

Everyone is speechless. They don't understand and neither did you. You all look at Tom, confused and you feel a bump of fear in your throat as you reached for John hand. He slowly look at you.

- It will be alright. Calm down love, he softly whisper in your ear but you know that he said that just to make you feel better, not because he really mean it.

- John, they're coming for you as well.

He foresaw that. You did too. But you are shocked just like everyone in the room.

Your start to breath faster and you can feel your hands shaking. John is frozen next to you; he couldn't believe that Tommy, his brother, did this.

- Michael...

- What the fuck? Arthur shout and that is the moment when everyone started to realize that this was for real. Everyone is on their feet around Thomas desk, it is just you still on the chair.

- For the murder of Hughes. Polly, for the murder of Campbell.

When he come to his senses, John help you stand up and he gentle press his lips on your forehead.

- Don't worry, love.

You don't  like it how that feels, like it was the last time he kissed you. He's angry, you can see it on your face.

- John, you cry his name but he quickly went next to Arthur and you hear him shouting at Thomas. Why you didn't tell us before?

Everyone in the room is scared and agitated, but beside that, everyone is angry. Thomas continue his speech while the rest of the family is screaming in his face; that won't stop him. You feel like your head is spinning around and your body is shaking.

- So I've made a deal...

- They'll hang us! Arthur screams, the veins on his forehead popping up.

- In return of giving evidence against them.

- They'll fuckin hang us!

- It's all taken care of. Lizzie, collect all the money and bring it to the cellar. When the police come in, do no resist. You go with them, you do no say anything.

"They'll hang us"

You keep hearing Arthur's words in your mind and you almost faint. Just the thought of this made you sick. You know this is not good for the baby, but right now you are too worried for John.

- John! Ada called for your husband and he's immediately next to you, his arms around your waist as he pull you closer to his chest. You don't realize when you start to cry, don't want him to be taken away from you.

- Come on love.

He grab your hand and you both left the living room unseen. He press you against the wall under the stairs from where you can still hear the screams coming from Thomas office. John's lips are on yours, sweetly kissing you and trying to calm you down. In the same time, wanting to keep your touch in his mind, knowing he will be taken away.

- [Y/N]...He gently lift your chin so you can look at him. Stop crying, please. It's hard enough already.

He close his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see you crying for him anymore.

- What? Why...Let's run away somewhere. Anywhere.

You rush to grab his hand and run with him, but he stop you by pulling you into his arms again. You fall at his chest, crying as you beg him not to leave you. He place his palm on the wall beside your head, capturing you while you look right into his icy blue full of pain eyes.

- I can't put you and the kids in danger.

- No...You cry again and your fingers are stuck into his coat, trying to keep him with you. He let his hands on your cheeks again, touching your hot skin and then your hair.

- Listen to me, he says in a soft voice as he bends down a little to be at your level. I will be taken away, [ Y/N].

You let your head on the wall, closing your eyes as tears keep falling from them. John continue.

- You have to take care of you, of the kids. You are the only one they have and you have to be strong. For them...For this, he touched your belly again and he slowly kissed it, kissing your lips after.

- They will kill you, you mutter in pure terror and John sigh as he press his body against yours once again.

- They won't, love. We are the Peaky fuckin Blinders, don't we.

His beautiful grin is back, but you know better. Everything is just shit right now.

You pull him to you, kissing him intensely and passionate, wanting to forget about this chaos just for a little moment.

- I love you, [Y/N] Shelby. I fuckin love you.

- I love you, you say looking into his eyes as a tear fall from your eye on your cheek. You better come back to us in one fuckin piece, John.

John come closer to kiss you again, but he didn't have the time to. The police rush into the room and they quickly and harsh push everyone on the floor. Everyone except Thomas who was still smoking, looking at his family.

One copper push you at the ground to check on you, not finding any weapons. You have tears in your eyes and on your cheeks, while looking at John who is fighting four of them, but with not a chance.

- Get your fuckin hands off her! She's fuckin pregnant! John shout with his face red in anger and he tries to break free, until he was push against the wall next to Arthur, Michael, Polly and Finn.

- You have to do something, Thomas. You hiccup and you punch his chest, trying to get something from him.

- I already told you, [Y/N].

- Fucking do something! You yell until a copper grabs you, forcing you to walk behind Linda with your hands at your back.

John is still trying to escape, turning his head backwards to see you as they get him out of the house.

- [Y/N]! He shout your name as he is push to another car, him trying to resist them; you quickly turn your head to him.

- John!

- Do not trust fuckin anybody!

These are his last words before they close the doors.

***

One month passed by and nothing changed. They are still in prison and the coppers don't even let you see your husband.

You cried yourself to sleep every night since then. You want so bad to get drunk, to forget about that stupid day, but you resist it. You have to take care of the baby.

- Hello, [Y/N]. You look good.

You are in Thomas office once again. You puff at his choice of words and remain silent, knowing you're not looking good at all. You barely washed yourself in the past few weeks. The kids are at with the nannies most of the time, so they don't have to know about their dad. Being alone at night, in the bed you once shared with John, became your worst nightmare.

- I do not came here to talk about me, Thomas.

- I suppose. I listen, he lights up a cigarette and you're craving one so bad.

- I want to see John.

- I can't help you. He look up at you and you angrily close your lips.

- You can and you will.

His face is surprised, he didn't expect this.

- I said...

- Fuck off, Thomas! I truly believed in you, always. You saved me so many fuckin times and I will always be grateful for this, but you can't mess up this family like this. I won't let you ruin everything. I have to see John, I need to see my husband.

You were furious at the beginning of your speech, but you end up in tears.

- I can't carry on anymore, Tommy...Not without him.

You let your hands on your belly. It's been only a month, but it's slightly bigger now. Thomas remain quiet as he finish his cigarette, watching you.

- Think about Charlie, how much he need you. John has four kids that need him, five soon. They love me as well...They really do, they are wonderful, but...I'm not their mother. They adore him.

You start quickly talking, not even finishing your words as you start to cry even louder. You take a sit on the chair when the floor start moving under your feet.

- Please, you whisper and he look away from you for a moment.

- You are too good for this family, [Y/N].

- Not true. Your tone was certain.

He smile a bit.

- It is. John saw that too.

- What the fuck does that mean? You ask confused, feed up with Thomas Shelby.

- 9:00 am, five minutes only. Do not be late.

***

You made yourself look nice for John. You know that this won't really matter to him, not in this dirty place, but you feel it to do it.

The grates are open now, a copper walk in and you keep your breath when two others coppers walk inside with John, who is furious and tries to hit them. You hard him screaming his name on the hall just a few moments ago, laughing like he completely lost his mind. And that worried you, but that was until you saw him.

- [Y/N]?

His mouth is open in shock now as he is watching you. You glare at him in the same way. His blonde hair is grown now, just like the beard that suits him so well. He look as handsome as always.

You nod, smiling and looking at him in tears, finally seeing him again after so many days. You run into as soon as they release him and he got you into his warm arms, pulling you into his chest.

- No touching, one of the coppers speaks but you couldn't care less.

- How did you do this? How are...How are you here?

He is so surprised, he can't find his words as he caresses your hair and cheeks, wanting to make sure you're real.

- Thomas, you answer quickly before pressing your lips on his. You two immediately forget about the coppers right next to you as you deep kiss each other.

The kiss last too little when John is pulled back by the coppers, but that didn't matter to him cause he pull you closer to him again. You inspire his familiar smell, feeling right back home into his arms.

- How are you? How are the kids? The baby?

You laugh as his questions and you can see little tears in his eyes as you slowly kiss him again, gaining a glare for the coppers.

- The kids are with Ada right now, they know that you are in a business trip. My girl, you said making him laugh a little cause he mostly want another boy, it's gettin bigger by the day. And me? I'm fucking fantastic right now. The best I've ever been in the past few weeks.

His hands are rubbing on your belly, touching gently and as he bends down he kiss it a few times, making you smile.

- My boy it's the strongest.

You laugh again and you never laughed that much since he was taken away. His smile fade away a little.

- I know you are not good, love. He touch the dark circles under your eyes and slowly kiss them. The coppers not bothering to warn you again.

- I'm fine. What about you? You slowly ask, knowing that this place can't be good.

- This place is full of fuckin shit, he says louder so the coppers would hear. And as you may have heard, I'm not recognized here for the best behavior.

Oh, you heard it.

You take his hand in yours and lift it up to your lips, slowly kissing his bruised knuckles. He watch you in awe and he kiss you again with the same passion as he did the first time you two kissed, almost three years ago.

- Take care of you too, John. You softly speak and caresses his cheeks. Also, you look fuckin handsome with this beard.

You bit on your lower lip and his grin is back, beautiful as ever. He move closer to you to talk in your ear. The coppers are next to you in one second, but he quickly lift his hands up in defense.

- I just wanted to tell her that I can't wait to be home, with this beard between her legs, eating her out until all my enemies in this town will hear my fuckin name.

You can't look at the coppers faces, that made John laugh so hard, cause you can feel your entire face red.

- I love you, you say with a smile on your lips and you grab the back of his neck, bringing him to your lips again.

- I love you so fuckin much, doll. My doll.

He smile grow bigger, but your kiss is interrupt once again by the coppers. Time with John is over.

- You will be out soon, love. You whisper in his ear as you hug him tighter, wanting to memore every single part of him.

- Can't wait, he smile and he kiss your lips and belly again. Your fingers are still caught with his until he was pushed out of the room and his beautiful face left you.

- I fuckin love you, [Y/N] Shelby!

You hear him screaming and laughing just like he did before and you smile, your hands on the belly, talking with it.

- This is your daddy. He's a gangster, but he loves us. And he's gonna be there when you will arrive, I promise to you.