#in case you want to wait to know that phoenix has a CHANCE of violence and doesnt take it

[hershelwidget]

I’ve been playing PLvsPW and for some reason I always thought that in This Certain Scene, Phoenix decks Barnham in the face. I did not realize until I actually got to that scene that I got that impression from fanfiction and I feel like I’ve been played

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Brothers in Arms: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: You try one more time to get your dad to see how great of a man Spencer is but like before, it doesn’t go as well as you hope. Phoenix Arizona is dealing with a serial killer that is masquerading as gang members, but your team sees through the facade.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"We are all brothers under the skin, and I, for one, would be willing to skin humanity to prove it." - Ayn Rand

Summer is almost over which means the cooler temperatures are right around the corner. Virginia is cooling down in the month of September, but you get to go to Phoenix, Arizona for the case you're on. It's going to be a nice change of weather, and it's close enough to your parents that maybe you can visit them. They don't get along with Spencer, but maybe if you push him onto them, they will give up being stubborn and start to see him as someone you love.

Right now, you have to focus on the case at hand. Two officers were killed in action, and the news is on the Phoenix Police Department regarding the issue. Earlier in the evening, the Phoenix Police Force lost two of their own. Sergeant Manuel Rodriguez and Officer Thomas Kayser were killed in the line of duty.

"That's three officers in the past four days," Jordan addresses everyone. "After the first shooting, the Phoenix Police Department assumed gang involvement."

"That's a pretty reasonable assumption."

"True. Almost thirty percent of all officer slayings are gang-related."

"Technically it's closer to forty percent," Spencer corrects. "If a cop isn't killed during the commission of a crime, gang involvement is highly likely."

"Actually, their precinct commander believes it may be a serial and has asked for our help."

"What makes him doubt the gang theory?" Rossi asks.

"A couple of things. Last night's victims were killed exactly the same as the first, shot in the neck. That's something the press didn't release."

"Well, now, wait. There could still be a gang behind this. Killers working together could establish the same MO," Emily states.

"Commander Marks hasn't ruled it out, but there's another detail. The killer took their badges, which I'm guessing is some kind of trophy?"

Jordan is picking up a lot of things while at her time here, but you don't think she will last long by herself.

"Gang members don't usually take trophies. They don't need to. This is an unsub with something to prove, and he's got the entire city on edge. If they kill those who protect and serve, then no one feels safe."

The briefing is cut short so that you can get to Phoenix faster, and you're one of the first ones out of the room. Phoenix is only four and a half hours away from Las Vegas, and you might not be able to leave to go to them, but if they want to come down to you, then you'll give them that option.

After leaving them a detailed message, you gather your go bag and head to the plane where only Spencer is. The others still have twenty minutes to get to you, so you'll enjoy the alone time you both have.

"Hey, I let my parents know that we're going to Phoenix. If they come down, will you go to lunch or dinner with me? This is my last chance to make them like you."

"I don't know," Spencer says with uncertainty.

"Please? It would mean a lot to me."

Spencer has a light bulb go off in his head. If he agrees to lunch, then he can look more into the foster business your parents have. It's not snooping if it's casual conversation.

"Sure. I think we can make that work."

"Thank you."

The rest of the team comes aboard shortly, and before you know it, you're in the air. Hotch has Penelope on video chat so she can be part of this discussion without actually being here.

"Go ahead, Garcia."

"Okay, while you birds have been in the air, I got the 4-1-1 on the first shooting. Every Saturday night, Phoenix PD sets up a DUI checkpoint. Everyone knows it happens. Public awareness is part of the deterrent, so our unsub blows past said checkpoint at ninety miles per hour and is pursued by Officer Jason Kessinger. Kessinger pulls the car over and approaches the driver's side window where he is shot in the throat. He was a single parent with two daughters."

"So, the unsub planned ahead, used the DUI stop to set his trap and then lured the officer to his death. It could have been personal. The unsub might have had a problem with these particular officers or with law enforcement in general. He's sending a message."

"Criminals, gang members, academy washouts, security, and teenagers? The list of people who have a problem with police officers is a long one," Spencer says.

"The victims were shot in the neck so the unsub knew they'd be wearing body armor, and he used a DUI checkpoint. I mean, both incidents show an active understanding of police procedure which narrows it down to anybody who watches television."

"We need to cover victimology. Garcia, find out everything you can about the officers killed and see what they had in common besides their uniforms."

"Will do, but I should warn you, it will not be cake because I have been on the phone with these guys all morning, and pulling files from them has been like pulling molars."

"Is there a problem?"

"You know, aside from the obvious grief for their fallen comrades and their fear of being used as target practice, I get the distinct impression from their crabby behavior, they are none too pleased their boss is outsourcing this investigation to the FBI. Be prepared to hit a blue wall of resistance."

A blue wall of resistance is exactly what you got when you arrived at the police department. There are news reporters outside waiting for comments about what happened, but you bypass them to get inside. Commander Jason Marks is ready to greet you as soon as you walk in.

"Commander Marks, I'm SSA Hotchner. This is agent Todd, agents Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Y/N, and Dr. Spencer Reid."

"I thank you all for coming. Although, I'd like to have a word if you don't mind." Hotch steps off to the side to talk to him, and the Commander turns to one of his men who is talking to a distraught woman. "Lieutenant Peter Evans will answer any questions the rest of you may have."

The Commander walks with Hotch to his office and Evans excuses himself to greet your team.

"Sorry, that was Officer Kayser's wife. They'd only been married a couple of months. She seems to think that the FBI is here to save the day. Is that what you're going to do, Agents?"

You raise your eyebrows at his attitude. He's cocky and skeptical. He doesn't want you here at all since he thinks he can handle it on his own. After all, these are his people and you're strangers. They're all so sure this is gang-related, but you have a job to do. He's ordered to help you in every way he can, so Emily and Derek head to the newest crime scene.

According to Evans, this side of town is Twelve's territory which is the gang that is prominent in this area. Evans thinks they're behind all of the shootings, but he acts like it doesn't matter because the gang is the easy way out.

The Twelves gang has a Captain who goes by the name of Playboy. One of the officers broke up a drug ring and shot his brother who was DOA. They thought Playboy would kill them all. It's a strong motivation, for sure, but the dashcam only showed one attacker. Usually, gang bangers bring more than one person as a backup in case something were to happen.

The only problem with that is the dash cam only showed one attacker, but the attacker showed his face on camera. The running theory is that he wanted to take both of the cops out at the house, but they broke protocol. One of the officers approached the house by himself, forcing the unsub to take them out separately. The officer could have waited inside the car and gained the element of surprise, but he wanted to take matters into his own hands.

The choice of neighborhoods was deliberate since the neighbors are used to hearing gunfire. Everyone will blame it on the gangs and so will the police. The worst thing about this is that everyone with force knows he's out there, and even with the extra backup, Phoenix PD is still going to have to do their jobs.

They could walk into an ambush every time they take a call, and that's the scary part. Penelope and the Phoenix PD techs have gone over the dashcam of the recent murder frame by frame, but there is no way to identify the shooter. The only thing you're getting is approximate height and weight. The unsub's face isn't the only way to identify him, though. You have to look at specific behavioral traits."

"These are the reasons you don't believe it's a gang?" Commander Marks asks when you explain this to him.

"The shooter established what we call a signature, something he did during the murders that wasn't actually necessary. Not part of his MO but identical in every attack."

"In this case, the unsub took the officer's badges. He's symbolically stripping them of their power and authority. This act is indicative of someone who is looking to gain self-esteem."

"Gang members and other assailants who work together kill for different reasons, but usually it's not to gain confidence because they already have it."

In the video, the unsub lingers by the body when taking the badges off the officer. Usually, it would take a few seconds to take that, but the unsub lingers longer than usual.

"Hotch, did you see that? Can we pause this?" Spencer asks the tech who is controlling the video. "Okay, now zoom in and press play. Taking the badge would have taken a few seconds. He's lingering."

"Doing what?" Marks asks.

"That's a good question."

Your phone rings when your dad sends you a message. He and your mom are available for lunch, and you have some time to step away from the job for an hour, at least. This might be the only time you can step away from the job.

"Hotch? My parents want to go to lunch with me. Can Spencer and I go for an hour?"

"Yes. Be ready to come back if we call you."

"Of course."

Spencer isn't too excited to go to lunch with your parents, but you're going to make sure they behave. Your mom isn't as bad as your dad is, but you can tell that she isn't too fond of you having a long-term boyfriend. All throughout your life, whenever you told them you were in a relationship, they either ran them off or became too involved to the point where they left.

"Please be nice to him," you whisper to your dad when you greet him.

Spencer shakes your dad's hand, but your dad isn't too friendly toward him. You four take a seat just as the waitress comes over with some bread. She takes the drinks orders and leaves, and you turn to your parents with a smile.

"Thank you for inviting us."

"I invited you," your dad says.

If this is how lunch is going to go, then you're going to leave right now. Spencer doesn't deserve the shit he's putting him through.

"Can we please be civilized here? We're all adults. I'm not a child anymore. Spencer isn't like my high school boyfriends."

"I know."

"So, are you in town for business?" your mother asks.

"Yes. We're on a case here"

"What do you do, Spencer? I mean, for the FBI. Aren't all agents supposed to be strong when they're in the field?"

Spencer is taken aback by the question, but before he has a chance to answer, you stick up for him.

"First of all, he is strong. He's one of the strongest people I know. Secondly, he does so much in the field for the team. He's also very smart, and I'm very proud of him because of it."

"Tell me something. While you're so busy reading books and studying, how do you expect to protect my baby girl?"

This was such a bad idea. You shouldn't have brought him here. In some twisted way, you thought you could get him to like Spencer, but it's clearly never going to happen. Your dad bullies him whenever they meet, and you can't subject Spencer to this anymore.

"Mom?" you sigh.

"I mean, he has a point," she shrugs.

"I can protect her," Spencer answers.

"Are you the kind of person to run into a burning fire for her? Or are you the one to stay on the sidelines and watch it happen?"

"Dad, please stop," you whisper to him.

"Do you know about her past?"

It's like he's not even listening to you.

"Can we not do this here, please?" you groan uncomfortably.

"I do, but I'd never hurt her like that."

"What if someone comes up and just grabs her off the streets? Would your tiny arms be able to protect her? What if you don't make it in time?"

"Okay, that's enough," you say a little too loudly. "If you don't stop right now, I'm taking Spencer and leaving. You will never see me again. Do you understand me?"

Your dad finally looks at you, and it's like the film has been lifted from his eyes. His eyes don't soften, but he hears the threat in your words.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Alright," your mom chuckles to try and break the tension. "How are you doing in Virginia?"

"I'm fine. Virginia is beautiful. You should really come to visit when you get a chance."

"You should really move back home," your dad comments. "We always need help on the farm."

"You have enough help with the kids you're fostering."

"They don't stay long enough to know what to do. They're only staying for a few weeks."

"I actually wanted to know more about that, sir," Spencer says. "I've been curious about your business since Y/N told me about it. If you don't mind me asking, how are they getting adopted so quickly?"

"What do you mean?"

"The average time it takes for a child to get adopted is six to eighteen months. That's mostly because of paperwork and legal aspects. You said they are gone in a few weeks, so how is that possible?"

"A lot of people want to adopt," your dad narrows his eyes at Spencer.

"Can we please move on to a different subject? I never intended for this lunch to be an interrogation." You turn to Spencer. "Those kids should be lucky they're going into a loving home."

Your dad's eye twitches at the word "loving", but you and Spencer miss it. For the rest of the lunch, the tension stayed an unwelcome guest. Right before dessert, Hotch called you to come back because there is a new crime scene. He gave you the address to go to instead of going back to the police department.

"I don't know why you're being so hard on him. Why are you being like this?" you ask as you and Spencer stand to leave.

"I'm sorry, baby."

You hug your mom first before going over to your dad. He squeezes a bit too tightly, so you pull away sooner than he'd like. He grabs your wrist and you gasp from how tight he's holding it.

"Ow, you're hurting me."

"Oh no, I'm so sorry."

As soon as he lets go, you see the outline of his fingers forms. He smooths your hair back and kisses your forehead. They both pay for you and Spencer and as you're leaving, you rub your wrist absentmindedly.

"He left a bruise on your wrist?" Spencer asks when he opens the car door for you.

"It was an accident. It's fine."

x

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[ao3-rex1223]

Chapter 26: Los Angeles Tea Party

Twelfth Floor Intern Masterlist

Pairing: Miles Edgeworth x fem!reader

Summary: You spend the day preparing with Phoenix and Maya for court tomorrow. You uncover a few things that should help prove your client's innocence and a few things that might put a target on your back!

Tags: Power Imbalance, Mentor/Intern, Miles wants you so bad but he's ethical AF now, No use of y/n, depictions of violence, Discussion of Rape, description of murder victims, adult murder victims, child murder victims, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampies, Loss of Virginity, Miles is the king of prosecutors but also the king of consent, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Blow Jobs, Nightmare about sexual assault, cross posted on AO3

You arrive at Phoenix's office Sunday morning, ready to plan for Dr. Thompson's trial tomorrow.

You fold your arms in front of you, contemplating with your head tilted to one side. "It's hard to say that we've found evidence to directly exonerate Dr. Thompson, but we have plenty that points to everyone else. Additionally, there's nothing that points to Dr. Thompson, either," you muse while pacing Phoenix's office. “Sure he had opportunity, but he has no motive.”

“I wish we could narrow down our list of suspects, though,” Maya adds. She scratches her chin swaying back and forth as she ponders the case.

“What about Eddie? There’s some kind of secret he didn’t want Bill to find out,” Phoenix jumps in.

You take a minute to ponder, tilting your head to the side. “Do you think Wyatt would know? That might be why he was accused in the first place. Maybe Eddie told police it was him to get him out of the way.”

“I don’t think so,” Phoenix begins, “Wyatt only rejoined the dog show community for this show. I doubt he even really knows Eddie.” Phoenix scratches his head. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask, though.”

“Hey, did we ever get the background checks from Gumshoe?” You ask Phoenix.

“Oh, let me check my email.” Phoenix scurries behind the desk and logs in to the incredibly slow computer that looks like it hasn’t seen a software update in decades.

“How is your knee feeling?” Maya asks while you both wait for the computer to boot up.

“It’s pretty good today, actually,” you answer. You look down at your covered knee. You decided since the wounds are still pretty fresh, you’d keep your legs covered with a pair of dress pants instead of your usual preferred skirt or dress. It keeps your scrapes hidden, but it does nothing to combat the California summer heat. Additionally, although you realize it didn't really matter right now, you do so love the way Miles looks at you in your skirts and dresses.

“What happened to the cop?” She follows up.

“Miles got to him. What do you think happened?” You reply sarcastically with a smirk.

Maya chuckles back. “I bet he’s sorry he even found you yesterday!”

“At the very least!” You add.

“Miles looked pretty mad,” Phoenix chimes in. He still works to try and get his computer up and running.

“You have no idea!” You reply with intense seriousness. “I don’t think that kid will ever work in law enforcement again. Miles won't even consider giving him a second chance.”

“He’s always been like that. Miles doesn’t take any slights against him lightly,” Phoenix explains.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” you reply. “He’s always looked out for me since I’ve met him.” Even the day you met Miles, when Sam was flirtatious around you, he acted protective, ordering the young security guard to leave you alone.

Phoenix haphazardly hits several keys on the rustic computer’s keyboard with one hand, and scratches his head with the other, puzzled and squinting at the monitor. “He’s very loyal to people he cares about.”

“But if you lose his trust, it’s almost a guarantee you won’t ever get it back,” Maya adds.

You snort. “I have no trouble believing that." Miles never struck you as a particularly forgiving man.

“Got it!” Phoenix exclaims throwing his hands in the air with celebratory vigor. He carefully reads his email, indicating the report you’ve been waiting for has likely arrived. "Looks like everyone is pretty clean. A few speeding tickets here and there…Eddie got a cannabis charge while he was in college."

"Eddie went to college?" Maya asks. She stares with curiosity at Phoenix.

"Yup," Phoenix answers.

"What for?" You ask.

"Uh…botany," Phoenix reads off the email.

"That explains the plant nursery receipt," you reply, connecting the dots in your mind. He must still tend plants as a hobby. You're glad you sent the receipt to evidence anyway. It should help give you a timestamp for Eddie's location, though you never looked closely at the date on the receipt to see if the plant was purchased the day of the murder or not.

"Why go from plants to dog shows?" You ponder.

"They both have bark!" Maya exclaims with joy.

You and Phoenix chuckle. "I guess it's not as big of a transition as I would've thought," you reply, still laughing.

"There's not much else on here…I guess we can go talk to Wyatt and see if he knows anything about Eddie." Phoenix presses a few more buttons on the computer, presumably to shut it down, but gives up and walks away.

The three of you arrive at the detention center and request to speak with Wyatt. He's still wary of you, but seems less agitated by your presence.

"She nearly got arrested trying to find evidence to help your case…just saying," Phoenix reveals to Wyatt, bragging about your dedication to your client. He gives the veterinarian a big, happy smile.

Wyatt's grimace fades and his eyes soften. "...Really?" He says quietly while looking at you.

"Mhmm!" Phoenix answers proudly.

His shoulders drop and he turns his head down, clearly feeling guilty. His eyes look up toward you and he softly replies, "I'm sorry. Thank you for helping me."

You give him a genuine smile. "You're welcome. I believe you're innocent, Dr. Thompson."

He smiles weakly, lifting his head back up part way.

You take in a breath and exhale a content sigh. "The other show judge, Eddie Kirsh, apparently had some secret that he didn't want Bill to know. Does that ring any bells to you?"

Wyatt thinks carefully. "I'm sorry, no. I hadn't reconnected with Bill until recently and I had never met Eddie before I started work for this show."

"Hm," you rest your chin on your knuckles.

"Are you sure about Eddie? He's kinda small. I'm not sure he could take on Bill," Wyatt comments.

You look curiosity at Wyatt, realizing he likely hasn't even heard how the victim was murdered. "Bill was poisoned with Digoxin."

Wyatt squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head slowly. "Oh, God. What an awful way to go."

You quirk your brow and stare puzzled at Wyatt. "Have you seen someone die like that?"

"Not exactly. I've treated dogs with dig toxicity," he explains, abbreviating the seemingly infamous drug. He frowns with sad eyes. "They get so sick. I've lost a few but if their owners bring them in quick enough, I can save them."

"Do you prescribe that drug for dogs?" You ask, your head tilted to the side, fascinated by Wyatt's revelation. It certainly makes sense why the police might be suspicious of him. Given his veterinary experience, he's familiar with the drug that killed the victim.

"Well, yes. Dogs' hearts can have dysrhythmias too, but that's not usually when I see the ODs. They'll eat the flowers."

You shake your head, trying to figure out if you heard him correctly. "Wait…the…what?"

"Digoxin is made from a plant; a flower. It's called digitalis. Common name is foxglove. They're actually very pretty. Dogs and occasionally a cat here and there will eat them. Pretty much every part of the plant is poisonous enough to cause problems. Poor things are miserable," he explains with a frown, obviously remembering his haunting experiences watching beloved pets suffer.

Your jaw slides slowly to the floor and your eyes widen enough to almost take in the entire room. You turn to Phoenix and tug his arm. "Phoenix! The receipt from Eddie's desk! It was for foxglove!" You jerk back to the window facing Wyatt. "Dr. Thompson," you begin excitedly, "would that flower have the same effect on humans?"

"Well, yeah," Wyatt answers. "You'd need more, but theoretically you could poison someone with it. I understand it's a pretty bitter flavor though. I'm not sure how you'd get someone to eat it willingly."

"Eddie has the knowledge!" You announce triumphantly. "He studied botany! Of course he'd know about the flower!" You take in a sharp, deep breath and force it out. "Don't get ahead of the evidence," you tell yourself. "Okay, Eddie bought foxglove. Bill died of a Digoxin overdose. Digoxin comes from foxglove. It's possible Eddie killed Bill by lacing food or a drink with it. What we're missing is a motive. If Eddie is our culprit, the motive could be the secret, but we need to figure out what that is."

"Maybe we could try talking to Bill's wife again," Phoenix comments. "He and Bill were friends for a long time. Maybe Diana has at least some ideas."

You nod. "Yeah, let's try it. I can't think of anything else."

Phoenix calls ahead and Mrs. Goddard agrees to speak to you again. The kind butler ushers you into the kitchen where Diana sits. She isn't as outwardly distraught, but she instead appears numb; her affect is flat. Her eyes are dry, but in the setting of a very chapped face, almost as though she's cried every tear she had and dried up her skin. Aside from the grieving widow, you notice a beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase on the dining table. They match the photos you found online earlier after searching 'foxglove'. The flowers are thin, pink, downward facing bells. Your curiosity gets the better of you.

"Those are such beautiful flowers!" You comment with a sweet smile.

"Thank you," Diana answers flatly. "Eddie sent them."

That catapults your theory into the stratosphere. If Eddie really did commit the murder, he's a pretty sick monster for sending the murder weapon to his victim's wife. "Mrs. Goddard, I'm concerned there was tension between your husband and Eddie. Are you certain there was no conflict?"

Diana looks briefly at you then back to the table. She shakes her head. She's lying to me. Miles' advice about uncooperative witnesses rings through your mind. 'If they don't comply, you press them further,' he'd said.

You're firm but empathic in your statement. "Mrs. Goddard, I know this is a terrible time for you, but anything and everything you know is important for finding your husband's killer. I can't do that if I don't know all the facts. If there's something you know about Eddie and Bill's relationship that can help, I need to know. Otherwise, a guilty man may go free and an innocent man will be locked up."

Diana turns her head further downward, her eyes looking guilty. "I just don't think Eddie could have done this…even for me."

You try to avoid jumping to conclusions and encourage her further. "What do you mean? Help me understand."

The widow wraps her arms tightly around herself. Her eyes close as a few tears fall down her face. "I didn't think it would go as far as it did. Eddie and I…we became close. Bill is gone so much and Eddie always came around to help out…with the house and the kids. I…was so lonely…Bill had been gone so long…away for back to back shows. Eddie…spent the night." She whimpers. "I hated myself. The next morning, I regretted everything! I was so wrong! I betrayed my husband! I wanted to tell him the truth, but Eddie convinced me not to. He asked me to leave Bill for him. 'Just quietly walk away' he said and we could be together." She sinks further into her chair, shaking with guilt and regret. "But I couldn't do it. I made a vow to my husband! I told Eddie we had to stop seeing each other. Everything had to end. I wanted to stay with my husband." She bursts into sobs. "Oh God, did Eddie really do this!?"

You give Diana some time to regroup her thoughts. As she struggles to pull herself together, the butler brings tea in to serve to everyone. Diana forces a few labored breaths and calms herself somewhat. She carefully lifts her tea cup with her shaking hand and takes a sip of the refreshing hot beverage.

"Quinn, do you know much about Eddie Kirsh?" You ask the kind butler, sipping your tea.

"I can't believe he'd ever hurt anyone. He seemed to care so deeply for Mr. and Mrs. Goddard and the children."

“Even the short time we’ve known him,” Maya begins, “he seems like a pretty timid guy.”

“He really is,” Quinn replies.

"He never made any threats?" You ask.

Quinn shakes his head with a frown. "No. It's hard to believe honestly. He seemed to truly love this family."

Your eyes fall again to the innocuous looking plant that may or may not in fact be the murder weapon, then rise back to Diana. "Mrs. Goddard, I know this is hard and I want to thank you for being honest with me about what happened between you and Eddie. It must have been difficult to discuss that with strangers. There's something else that would help us. Has Eddie tried to rekindle your relationship since your husband passed away?"

Mrs. Goddard sighs heavily, her eyes closed. "Not in so many words. He was here the other day and said he would do anything for this family, for me." She slowly looks back up at you. "I told him I didn't want to see him. Too much had happened…I-I couldn't handle being around him, too."

You tilt your head slightly but keep your eyes on Diana. "How did he take your rejection?"

"I thought he was fine, but that's when you all showed up. I didn't get much time to see his reaction."

"Has he contacted you since?”

“He’s called a few times, but I haven’t called back, yet. I just…don’t know what to say to him.” She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, locking eyes with the floor.

“That’s perfectly understandable. I would recommend keeping your distance from him for now anyway,” you reply. Diana looks back up at you and nods weakly.

“Will Mr. Kirsh be arrested?” Quinn asks. You turn your head up toward him. He clutches his chest and frowns as he awaits your answer.

“That’ll be up to the police and the prosecutor,” you explain. “We’ll have to wait and see what the analysis for our evidence says. If they find anything that even just suggests Eddie killed Mr. Goddard, they could probably justify bringing him in for questioning, at least.” You switch your glance to the flowers. “Mrs. Goddard, would you mind if I take a sample of these flowers?”

Diana looks curiously at you with a quirked brow. “Uh…sure…I guess.”

You apply a pair of gloves, one of the many that have been haphazardly shoved into your purse from the numerous crime scenes you've investigated. You carefully tear one of the bells from the stem of the plant and, strategically peeling off the gloves, you trap the sample inside the makeshift latex wrapping. “Thank you. Oh, you may want to be very careful with these flowers. They’re poisonous,” you warn.

Diana flinches and gasps. She turns to her butler. “Get rid of them, Quinn!” She shouts leaning away defensively from the suddenly frightening bouquet.

“Right away, Ma’am…” He starts to reach for the vase and then stops. “Erm…I’ll get some gloves first.” Quinn steps out of the dining room to fetch some protective gear for his hands.

“Thank you for speaking with us, Mrs. Goddard. Do you think you’d be willing to testify for us?”

Diana shakes her head. “That prosecutor, Mr. Payne, was it? He’s already asked me to testify. I’ll have to be there either way. I just hope he doesn’t ask about me and Eddie.”

“Have you told him anything about it?” You ask.

“No.” She looks at you with a sliver of hope.

“He may not know to ask, then,” you reassure. Quinn returns, hands gloved, and grabs the vase of deadly flowers.

“Maybe,” she agrees with a sigh of relief and weak smile.

“Do you know anything about Mrs. Georgianna Zucker?” You ask.

“I know her from the Book Club. She’s very…posh. She didn’t come from money, as I understand, but she came into great wealth when she married her husband.”

You tilt your head to the side, slightly and look at her, inquisitively. “What do you know about him?”

Diana hesitates for a split second. “Not much. He buys and sells a lot of real estate. He maintains several properties, too. Hotels, retailers, shipping centers; he’s got a variety.” She takes another sip of her tea.

“Is there any chance he would commit this murder to protect his wife?”

Diana looks away. "I'm really not sure. I know he wouldn’t do it himself. I guess when you have that much wealth and power anything is possible for you.” She pauses with a sigh. “If he did do it, he’d definitely pay someone to do it.” She shakes her head with her eyes closed. “I really don’t think he’s behind this, though. Everyone talks about Georgie cheating in those dog shows and I’m sure her husband is buying off the judges to keep her happy, but I don’t think he’d risk his reputation by stooping to murder when money would get the job done just as well. He does dote on Georgie quite a bit. He really seems to adore her. I also know he's close with the mayor. His wife is in the Book Club, too. She's much quieter than Georgie, but then again most of us are, I guess. Mr. Zucker has nearly unlimited resources. I suppose if I were you, I'd leave him out of this. I don't think it will end well for you if you do. I’ve never been on his bad side, but I’ve heard that’s the last place anyone would want to be."

Her comments are ominous but really only spur your curiosity. Mr. Zucker will be difficult to bring to the stand without some hard evidence, so he can sit on your mental back burner for now.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Goddard,” you say kindly. “We will see you tomorrow."

“Thank you. I just want this all to be over. I’d like to be able to bury my husband, but the coroner hasn’t released his body yet.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” you reassure her. “The autopsy is complete.”

You, Phoenix, and Maya head to the police station to drop off the foxglove sample at the lab.

“Uh, so, let me get this straight, pal…” Gumshoe scratches his head. “You want us to test a flower?”

You sigh. “Yes. The drug that killed Bill Goddard is made from this plant. If the drug is found in the disposable cups or plates, I want it compared to this to see if it’s the same.”

“Really? They make medicine from this?” Gumshoe asks in disbelief.

“Yes. Don’t eat it,” you advise. Good Lord, you really are starting to sound like Miles.

Gumshoe laughs with a sheepish smile. “Oh, of course not. It doesn’t even look good.”

You give him a smirk with playfully narrowed eyes. “Thank you for help, Detective.”

“Anytime, little missy!” Gumshoe grins widely. “I’ll be glad when you’re back with Mr. Edgeworth. He’s much nicer when you’re around.”

You chuckle. “I should be back next week.”

“Unless we can convince her to stay with us!” Maya chimes in with a joyous smile.

“Maya, I told you,” you begin explaining with an easy smile, “I have to finish my internship with Miles. I don’t think the university will be happy if I keep bouncing around.” And it will kill you if you have to spend any more time without him.

“Yeah, she belongs on our side!” Gumshoe proudly adds, planting his hands on his hips and pushing his chest out.

“I don’t know, Gumshoe,” Phoenix teases. “I think she could make a top tier defense attorney! Maybe I’ll recruit her for my office after she graduates.”

You let out a chuckle. There’s no way Phoenix doesn’t already understand that although you originally desired defense, you truly are a prosecutor at heart. “At least wait until after I pass the bar to decide my fate,” you joke, giving each person in the room a playfully disapproving glare complete with narrowed eyes.

"At least we get to keep her for the rest of the summer," Gumshoe says happily. "Not looking forward to when you go back to school, though. I'm sure Mr. Edgeworth will be cranky again when you leave."

You can't help but smirk. Don't worry, Detective. I think you'll find Miles in a steadily good mood after the summer is over. He’ll be sleeping much better then, right next to his new fiancee.

You, Phoenix, and Maya make your way back to Phoenix's office and regroup.

“This case sure is a mess, isn’t it?” Maya says, dropping herself down onto the couch.

“Yeah. Eddie’s really looking like he’s our guy, but I just don’t know,” you add.

“Such a prosecutor,” Phoenix teases while playfully shaking his head.

You grin sheepishly. “What can I say, Miles has rubbed off on me.” That sentence sounded innocent in your head. Phoenix and Maya both snicker. You scowl at them and change the subject. “You know, I used to be interning with Mr. Payne. That will be a bit of a strange switch tomorrow. I’ll be against him.”

“Yeah, that will be strange,” Phoenix agrees. “No matter. You’ve got a good instinct. I think you’ll be great. Just remember, we’re not trying to find the real killer. We’re trying to prove our client’s innocence.”

You give a soft chuckle. “I guess that’s why I’m meant to be a prosecutor. Trying to find the guilty is my natural mode of thinking, apparently. I don’t think we’ll have too much difficulty proving Dr. Thompson’s innocence, though. Nothing that we found over the past few days points to him being the killer. Unless, you count the knowledge of the drug, but he seemed genuinely surprised when we told him how Bill died.” Your knee starts to twinge just slightly from all the standing and walking you've done today, prompting you to sit down in the computer chair. The computer has long since been turned off.

“I don’t think it’ll be hard either,” Phoenix concures. “My cases against Mr. Payne usually don’t turn out too tough, though,” he adds with a quick smile before his face fades back into a slight frown. “What worries me is the bribing and the blackmail.” He paces slowly around the office, pondering.

“Yeah, what if we end up shaking a hornet’s nest?” Maya asks, watching Phoenix stalk around from the couch.

“If that ‘Z’ really is Mr. Zucker, I think you might be right,” you add, twisting back and forth in the old, lumpy computer chair. “I was really curious before, but I’m starting to think we should listen to Diana and try and leave them both out of this if we can.”

“Georgianna is already called as a witness for Mr. Payne,” Phoenix reveals. He stops his pacing and leans against the bookshelf, arms folded in front of him with his gaze hitting the floor.

“Her husband will probably be there, then,” Maya says with a worried frown.

You let out a huff and sink down into the chair. Cross-examining Mrs. Zucker will be tricky with her husband watching. Your mind runs wild with images of Mr. Zucker as a big, scary, evil man with hundreds of evil henchmen to back him up. You shake your head. Mr. Zucker is starting to look like a Batman villain. You sigh. “We’ll have our work cut out for us tomorrow. I’m not used to cross-examining.”

“Have you done any before?” Phoenix asks.

“A little. I’ve mostly just done direct examinations.”

“We can go over that. In direct examination, you are allowing the witness to lead the conversation. You’re trying to paint a picture. Your questions are open-ended. In cross-examination, you’re trying to tease out bits of information that may not have been said earlier or you're trying to disprove the witness’s credibility, entirely. For example, Georgianna is angry at Dr. Thompson because he accused her of cheating. You might try to lead her into admitting that she doesn’t like him and therefore certainly wouldn’t have any problems with pointing a finger at him for this murder, even if it’s a false accusation.”

You nod your head in understanding, trying to picture the scenario in your head. You’re fairly certain that after your cross-examination, Georgie won’t want you in the Book Club anymore. You just hope you don’t anger her husband enough for him to come after you. Miles might not even be powerful enough to protect you from him. You suppose if you can leave Georgianna’s cheating accusation out of your cross-examination, perhaps you won’t anger Mr. Zucker too much.

Phoenix reviews the process of cross-examination with you further then the three of you review your evidence and prepare for the trial tomorrow before heading home for the night.

“This Mr. Zucker guy really worries me,” you admit into the phone as you lie on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I haven’t met him yet, but I have heard of him,” Miles replies. His soothing voice calms you even over the phone. “His connections are rather far reaching.”

“I just hope I don’t make him mad. I’ll have to cross-examine Georgianna and I don’t want him to think I’m attacking her.”

“Is she a suspect?”

“Potentially, but she's not high on my list. Someone was bribing Goddard. I think it might have been Mr. Zucker, but I don't think he or his wife would murder someone over this when they could just pay them off. I’m also afraid I’m dangling my hand over a pool of sharks if I dig too deep.”

“Do you think Mr. Zucker could be involved?” Miles’ asks.

“If Goddard was going back on his deal…I don’t know. I just don’t know if someone as powerful as him would kill for something so minimal.”

“Don’t worry about all of that for now. The veterinarian is your client. Your job is to prove his innocence. If Zucker is guilty of any illegal action, his prosecution will be up to me.”

“He sounds like he’s pretty powerful, Miles. What if he goes after you?” You bite your bottom lip.

“He can try,” Miles replies. You can tell he’s smirking, even though you can’t see him. “You don’t need to worry about me, my love. Phoenix has downed entrepreneurs like him in the past. Mr. Zucker would be of no difficulty for me. I do not care about a policy violation for a dog show. If that’s all he’s done, he won’t be hearing from me.”

“And as long as I don’t do too much to anger his wife, I will hopefully remain under his radar.”

“I suspect he knows you and I are at least somewhat connected. If he has any amount of intelligence, he keeps tabs on the legal community and I would wager he is aware of you already. I don’t think he will risk attacking you for such trivial things…not when it’s clear you are under my protection.”

“Even as revenge for his wife?”

“He may be willing to take revenge for his wife, but he would be a fool to attempt to come after mine.”

You roll to your side and chuckle. “We’re not married yet, Miles.”

“We might as well be.”

You pause for a moment, your thoughts wondering. “Do you get a lot of threats, Miles?”

“I do. Most have no credibility. I tend not to fret much over them.”

“I suppose that’s going to happen to me, too when we announce our relationship.”

“Yes,” he answers. You can hear a strain in his voice. “Our announcement will have to wait until after you have moved here. I don’t want you to be still living in the sorority house once we've gone public.”

“How about I move the very next day following the end of my internship?”

“I was thinking five oh-one PM the day your internship ends.”

“Pretty late in the day for a move,” you playfully chide.

“The only thing that needs to move is you,” Miles retorts. “Your belongings can come later.”

You snort into a soft laugh. “Okay, deal.” You sigh, longingly, laying alone in your room. “I can’t wait for this case to be over. I need to see you again.”

“Say the word, I will come bring you home right now.”

“I’m strongly considering it.” You hug yourself with your free arm. “I’m all by myself over here,” you reveal.

“Where’s Nora?”

You chuckle. “She left for a date with Max…yesterday.”

Miles returns with a laugh. “They're doing well together.”

“She’s head over heels,” you add.

“Will your room be entirely vacated by the end of the summer, then?”

“She hasn’t mentioned anything, but who knows?”

“Officer Kent is due for an evaluation soon. He will see a promotion for his role in the apprehension of Hogger.”

“He deserves it. I’m glad he was there to protect my classmates.” You roll over in your bed. “I’m guessing Officer Greenland has been demoted?”

“He has been terminated, yes,” Miles confirms.

“How did his father take that news?”

“I received a very angry phone call from the mayor, but I explained my reasoning and he eventually realized he had no ground on which to stand.”

“Wow, you can even tell the mayor off,” you jokingly state.

“I’ve told off far bigger men than him.”

You chuckle. “I bet you have.”

“How are your injuries today?” Miles asks.

“Fine. My knee was a little sore later in the day, but for the most part it’s a lot better than yesterday.”

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

"I'm glad I have you. I knew as soon as he said he was going to call you, I had nothing to-" you pause as you hear your text message alert go off. Your first instinct is to ignore it but you decide to make sure it's nothing important. "Oh, hold on one second." You activate your speaker phone so you can still hear Miles while you read the text.

"What is it?" He asks.

"I got a text from Phoenix. Sounds like one of the disposable cups had traces of digitalis and our victims DNA. The plant must have been steeped into his drink."

"Deadly tea," Miles jokes.

You grin widely staring at the phone. "Yeah." You laugh with mild disbelief. "We have our murder weapon!"

[crystalkleure]

I have a Concept.

BeyBurst beyblades are supposed to burst. As in, it’s actually a necessity. In spite of the Exploding Beyblade mechanic potentially causing sharp little bits of spintop to go flying everywhere and hit people, what if it’s actually a safety feature?

If I recall correctly, all the way back in s1 territory [specifically in the manga though, can’t remember if we saw it in the anime or not], Valt and Shu just straight-up got their original beys from a store. And there are also all of those Unimportant Characters running around with different-coloured versions of preexisting beys. This indicates that beyblades are, in fact, mass-produced and sold in stores, and those are all built to be able to burst. In fact, I still haven’t seen the newest two seasons of the Burst anime yet, but I’m pretty sure super special fancy custom beys, that some important character explicitly made themself, that have some really creative [and strong] anti-burst features built into them, don’t ever show up as NPC recolour beys? In spite of the trend of “random background characters in new season use recoloured versions of Prominent Character beys from LAST season” to me seeming to indicate that those new recolour beys are either bootleg copycats, or those actual official shelf models have just suddenly started selling really well, due to someone having just recently done something cool with one in a tournament/on TV lol. [Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong on which beys get NPC recolours, I don’t exactly actually, uh, pay attention to all the random background scrubs. That point’s not particularly important anyway because I’m sure unofficial bootlegs are a thing that exists, mmmm delicious plagiarism. The point is the stores seem to sell beys with the normal level of burstability. And so I’m only caring about the everyday random NPCs with no names or anything, if another important character specifically goes and painstakingly recreates a bey similar or identical to another important character’s bey just because they idolize that other character, that doesn’t count. That’s not important here, implication-wise.] So...

What if it’s actually a really bad thing that people keep making their own custom beys now that are increasingly more and more ludicrously difficult -- or even near-impossible -- to burst?

What if the self-destruct mechanic is intended to be an emergency shutdown switch, and actually really needs to not be subverted? We’ve seen what an adept beyblader can do while running at full-throttle -- they’re dangerous, to themselves and their surroundings. Beys have the power to be obscenely destructive...while they’re spinning and battling, primarily. They are by far the most potent while actively in use. But if they hit things too hard like 3-4 times or so...they burst. Their locks disengage, they fall apart, and thus they are forced to abruptly stop. That makes them theoretically incapable of just rampaging indefinitely.

Picture this: One day, in the probably-decently-distant history of the BeyBurst world, a kid has a spintop. Probably made that spintop themself. This kid, it turns out, happens to be one of the Super Special Powerful Kids, who’s not only REALLY GOOD at using that spintop, they also possess that funny little supernatural ability to accidentally create an incredibly powerful incorporeal monster ghost creature thing with their brain. And because they love playing with their little spintop so much, that spintop becomes the vessel for this Terrifying Monster-Shaped Culmination Of Spiritual Elemental Energy or whatever that they’ve manifested. That’s...good, probably, because at least that means the Scary Monster Thing isn’t 1. just stuck in the kid’s brain with nowhere else to go, which would lead to possession that would decidedly be incredibly difficult to deal with without harming the kid, or 2. funneled into something more dangerous to control, like a car or a nuclear warhead or some shit. But then it turns out that the kid is ABSOLUTELY still able to wreak impressive havoc and cause Large Amounts Of Destruction, even accidentally...until the spintop stops spinning. The Power Level drops dramatically as soon as the demon top is still, and it takes a little while for it to build back up once it’s launched again. But what if a feature is implemented into the spintop that allows it to keep spinning for much, much longer? Or just The Supernatural Monster Power itself becomes capable of sustaining it, through wind manipulation or something?

Now, imagine you’re idk, the government or something, someone with Power and Influence over the masses, and you see THAT happen. Shit, that was just a random kid that did that! Looked like any other kid, acted like any other kid! There is no feasible way to tell a kid with Brain Monster potential apart from other kids who are NOT That Powerful, until a brain monster happens. So, if you can’t predict it, and thus can’t do anything to mitigate the potential destruction on a case-by-case basis...well, how about you convince ALL the little kiddies that spintops are just the greatest thing ever, everyone should play with spintops, AND you ensure those spintops are mass-manufactured specifically to not be able to Hold A Charge for too long because...they burst! You’ve designed them so that violence itself causes them to fall apart and stop to cool down! It’s perfect! That way, anytime an odd mutant child with Brain Monster powers comes along, the chance of them funneling their Brain Monster into their spintop is now Very High, meaning that all the Brain Monsters will hopefully end up inhabiting these little plastic toys that actively inhibit them instead of possessing children or nukes. It’s brilliant!

This does raise some questions, though:

1. What happens when someone’s spintop breaks, and they DON’T get it repaired, after they’ve already manifested a Brain Monster to live in it? Where would the Brain Monster go in that case? Uh oh, demon on the loose? Exactly what we were trying to avoid? Shu’s change between Legend Spriggan and Spriggan Requiem in God does seem to indicate that the Brain Monster probably 1. by default, does just camp out in its blader’s brain until a new Spintop Vessel is created for it, and 2. the Brain Monster itself is probably not actually completely strictly sealed into any bey, because it doesn’t disappear as soon as the bey is destroyed, and it doesn’t stay with an old/broken bey that’s been discarded when a new bey has been made for it. Legend Spriggan was discarded and left on the riverbed, and Spriggan Requiem was then made from scratch, seemingly using no recycled physical parts from Legend Spriggan, but Spriggan Requiem’s bitbeast looks only very slightly different from Legend Spriggan’s. All of Shu’s Spriggans are honestly probably still the same creature, just progressively evolved. I don’t think we’ve ever seen somebody make an entirely NEW Brain Monster that does not resemble their original one, it seems the original simply gets developed more and more. One person apparently only possesses the ability to make a single individual Brain Monster. You Get One (1), but you can upgrade it. But what about Hearts? His Dead Hades, which very much had a Brain Ghost in it, was not only destroyed, but assimilated into Phi’s Revive Phoenix, to make Dead Phoenix. What happened to that situation, over time? We haven’t gotten to see. Is Hearts’ Hades truly actually fused with Phi’s Phoenix, ceasing to be its own entity anymore, or does Phoenix simply very slightly resemble Hades now due to its bey being upgraded with physical bits of Hades’ bey? What if it’s not even POSSIBLE to truly fuse Brain Ghosts, especially without consent? In which case...is Hades itself just lingering around back in Hearts’ brain, waiting for a new bey to inhabit, and Hearts isn’t making one because he doesn’t realize Hades isn’t just Part Of Phoenix now? That sounds potentially dangerous, there’s no more outlet for your Brain Ghost, buddy. I want to see Phi and Hearts again, to know what eventually happened there.

2. Why do the tournaments not actually enforce a rule that says “Your bey HAS to be able to be reasonably burstable”? Chouzetsu Wings and the Mugen Lock System did not equal disqualifications. Has it maybe, over time, been forgotten exactly WHY we Need Beys To Burst? Well, that’s a ticking time bomb, then. How difficult a bey is to burst does seem to directly cause its Potential Destructiveness Levels to scale accordingly. [With somewhat of an exception of Pot and his Pegasus, but it should be noted that Pot was not exactly terribly serious about beyblade initially and yet was STILL considered one of the strongest ‘bladers in the world, GT3 iirc, AND he’s very into the whole “Love and light, chillax, be in-tune with yourself and all the energy in and around you, etc.” peaceful thing.] This HAS To Be A Problem. Why is nobody concerned.

3. ...What is causing the general public not to panic about this? Why are people okay with Brain Ghost and Mass Spintop Destruction happening, instead of terrified? This shit is broadcast on TV. The stands during tournaments are packed with spectators. It may be that perhaps not everybody can SEE the Brain Ghosts themselves [and I’m skeptical about that, because there have absolutely been MANY indications that other people know what someone’s bitbeast looks like], but the Big Bada Booms they cause are DAMN sure Highly Visible. Aiga’s father seems to be the only one truly properly concerned about the incredible mass-destructive potential of the spintops. Realistically, The Salem With Trials 2: Electric Boogaloo should be happening due to the Scary Spintop Kids being Fucking Scary, and sometimes quite clearly even out-of-control of themselves.

Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure this is not a direction canon will ever go in, or I think it would have already done it. I don’t think they’re going to explore this route. It’s a shame I don’t have the chops for writing long-haul fanfiction, because if I did I would absolutely be hardcore capitalizing on this idea. This has incredible Worldbuilding Lore Potential.

[poisonously-alluring-sev]

Snape One Shots ~ Gift of Sparks

Summary: Sabrina is a rebellious student who unfortunately will realize that her relationship with another student isn’t going to end well. Also she finds out that someone she didn’t think cared for her actually does.

Pairing: Snape x Female

Warnings: Swearing & Violence

Time: Order of The Phoenix

Word Count: 4900

Recommended Song: Therefore I Am by Billie Eilish

Main Character: Sabrina Sparks; 16; DOB: April, 22nd 1980 (Taurus); American; Caucasian; Slytherin

Running my hands through his hair he let out a groan that I missed like hell. My boyfriend, Christoper Lolar who most people called Chris, was pinning me against the wall in the halls of the dungeons. He wasn't the kind of student who follow the rules, he was kinda like a mix between Sirius Black and Draco Malfoy. He never listened to his parents, pulled pranks, and was loyal to being an asshole. As he grinds against me, getting a moan out of me, he deepened the kiss and before I could even respond we heard someone clear their throat out from the other side of the hallway We had just been caught outside of our dorms in the middle of the night, breaking the rules, and on top of that we had been caught making out and who knows how long that teacher was watching like a creep. Chris spun around on his toes ready to yell or argue with whoever interrupted us. Letting me move from the wall and drop my hands from his hair. Chris crossed his arms as I stood behind him kind of trying to hide from whoever it was. Normally I wasn't the kind of person to do that, but I was, in fact, a lot more bold than him and I was always the person to step in front of others. Waiting as the adult walked closer to us with their wand out as soon as they got a few more feet closer I could tell that it was Snape who had caught us. I knew that we were in for it now as we would have to go to detention and since Chris was in a very dominant mood right now he was going to snap back and buy us more time cleaning the potions class. Running a hand through my own hair I took a step forward and wrapped my one hand around his waist I whispered into his right ear,

"Don't go ham okay? I don't want to spend weeks in detention." He hummed back, but I wasn't sure if he really got the message. Moving my face away from his ear I kept hidden behind him waiting until we were told what kind of trouble we had coming for us. The professor finished walking up to us and shone his light right in our faces making mine crunch up as my eyes were used to the dim hallway and not the full power of the sun.

"What the hell are two students doing down he- Oh Ms. Sparks and Mr. Lolar, should've known you'd both be here." Chris tensed up once Snape spoke and I just stood there hoping things don't go down too mad. Chris covered his eyes when Snape raised it into his face and said,

"Hmm. Seems as though Ms. Spark isn't as tough as I thought." He was pointing out the fact that I was hiding behind my boyfriend Chris let out a growl in my defence in said,

"You don't know anything about her, now could you please lower your wand." Snape glared at him and slowly lowered his wand eyeing us both like we were about to jump at him. I wouldn't put it past Chris to actually jump at him. I moved closer to him and frowned at Snape as he insulted me and I wasn't the kind to enjoy taking those. Snape scoffed at the sight, slowly turned around and said as he walked away,

"Mr. Lolar, detention starting next week, and Ms. Sparks," He turned back around to look at me, "Probably best if you get started tonight." I groaned and started to walk up to him, but Chris caught my wrist.

"No way." Snape raised an eyebrow at him and straightened out his posture and said,

"I'm sorry Lolar?"

"There is no way she's going to detention, and either is I." Snape seemed to raise his eyebrow even more at this and said,

"You can't argue with me Mr. Lolar, rules are rules."

"Well, you should just shut your mouth and leave us alone." I elbowed him in the side when I glanced over at him. He just frowned at me.

"Say one more thing out of line Mr.Lolar and your behaviour will be addressed by the Headmaster."

"Piece of shit," Chris mumbled, and when Snape took a couple of steps forward I knew that we were in for it now. Sighing out loud I moved out of the way for Snape and he walked straight up to my boyfriend and said something very quietly that I couldn't hear. He spun around with a bit of a smirk on his face and yelled at me to follow him. Looking back at Chris he seemed very angry, angry because he wasn't able to fight back at Snape. Being very confused as to what just happened I followed Snape, which was more like chasing after him until we got down to his classroom. It was like 12 am so I was decently tired as it was and this wasn't going to help. He slammed the door shut behind me making me jump a bit since there was no talking as we walked here. He huffed as he passed me and sat down at his desk. Sighing out loud he told me to just wipe down the tables, even though it looked like he already had someone do it today. I wasn't really in the mood for arguing with him more since I didn't want to be down here any longer than I had to be, and I also didn't know how many days Snape wanted me down here.

In case you couldn't tell, Snape wasn't that big of a fan of my work. Being the modern-day James Potter it was clear when I put my first step out of line Snape was ready to have me clean his class every night. When I got together with Chris after he moved to Hogwarts from Iverrmory after he lit the place on fire, it was clear that we were going to be the most popular couple who also happened to cause a lot of trouble. Being lost in thought as I cleaned I didn't notice Snape trying to talk to me until he yelled my name. Being as shocked as I was to his booming voice I stayed calm and wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of scaring me with his voice. Looking up from what I was doing I hummed back in response as he continued.

"He's no good." I stopped what I was doing confused as to what he meant by that.

"What?" He rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

"Mr. Lolar. He's a no good, rebel child." I was now questioning why he thinks that he had the right to act like my Dad.

"And why the hell do you think that." I stood up straight and crossed my arms ready to throw some hard punches at him. I was never a really nice person to any of the professors and I wasn't planning on being nice to Snape, ever, mainly now. He huffed at me as I continued.

"What makes you think that you have the right to act like my father?" He raised an eyebrow at me and said,

"Oh no, I would gladly never like to be your father. Mr. Lolar however, his parents are death eaters." This time it was my turn to raise an eyebrow and question him.

"So, it's not like everyone is perfect." He seemed to soften his gaze on me for a second, but it could just seem that way as it was fairly dark in the room and he was on the other side of it.

"No, you don't get it to do you?" Snape stood up and slowly walked towards me, but before he got about five feet to me, he leaned onto one of the desks that I had just cleaned.

"He's a death eater." Now I was pissed.

"And how do you know that hmm? Do you spy on him and his family or do you enjoy making rumours about people who have a better chance and getting laid than you?" I knew that it was a little over the top, but I wanted to get my point across to him, and it clearly worked since he stood up and glared at me as I had just smacked him. Well, I guess I smacked his ego a bit.

"Why you ungrateful-"

"Oh no, I'm grateful alright. Just pissy that I have to spend the first hours of the day with you." We glared at each other for a bit before I realized that even if it was true how could he know? Dumbledore wouldn't know, but he would keep a lookout. And if Chris was, he hasn't done anything of the sort. I mean yes Voldemort is back, but when all of that happened Chris was with me, and he has never even left my side. Now I was wondering if I asked the right question will he try to hide the fact that he knows something I don't and possibly even admit to being a death eater himself. I was smirking my head off at this point and Snape was probably wondering why until I asked him,

"If Chris was a death eater, how in Merlin's name would you know? Hmm?" I raised an eyebrow as he kept a straight face. I could tell that he was getting annoyed by my snappy behaviour so I wasn't surprised when he told me,

"Just get back to cleaning or I'll double your detention."

"Oh, so you are hiding something," I mumbled loud enough for him to hear. I watched as he tensed up and continued to tense him with,

"Chris hasn't done anything wrong, but break school rules, so if you know he's a death eater, you must have some kind of-"

"Enough!" He yelled as he turned around. Trying not to seem surprised by his yelling I stood there with my arms crossed as he continued.

"Fine. If this is what you're doing to get out of detention, be my guest and leave. But having it with Flich isn't any better." I nodded to him, grabbed my stuff, and left to the common room. Smirking my way back through the halls I came into contact with Professor Flitwick and since I had just come from detention I didn't bother hiding since I would just tell him that I was with Snape. My only mistake was, he wouldn't believe me as it was 1 am. Realizing this as he told me that it wasn't possible I went on to tell him about what happened. That I had already been caught in the halls tonight and I did detention but left out the part where I probably got more. He still didn't buy it and took ten points from my house. Almost immediately I was going to scream at him for not believing me, but he walked away quicker than I could think. Cursing Flitwick under my breath I walked into the common room to see Chris waiting for me. He walked up to me and said,

"You alright?" He came up and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" I kissed his cheeked and said under his breath,

"Damn bat, he's lucky he didn't take me instead." I shoved his shoulder and walked up to my dorm with him following.

"What happened anyway?" I wasn't going to tell him all of the stuff Snape told me so I kept that part short and talked more about Flitwick acting all proud and tough about catching me. I knew that Snape was going to notice the loss of points from me and wonder why. Maybe then Flitwick will realize that he was too up in his own ass to remember that Snape doesn't go by school rules when it comes to detention. I would love to see his guilty face when that happens. Kissing Chris before I snuck into my dorm I knew that all of that talk I had with Snape was going to stay in my head so I quickly wrote it down on a piece of paper as to ease my mind about it and maybe get some sleep as it was already stolen from me because of Snape. I rubbed my eyes before I laid down in bed because I still felt like there was a bright light shining in my eyes thanks to Snape.

Waking up the next morning wasn't fun. I woke up to the sound of a screaming owl. Groaning as I got up I opened the window and stared into the eyes of a small barn owl with a small piece of parchment. Pulling it from its beck I read the information on it which happened to be the time and date of my next detentions. Sighing at the news I got ready for breakfast, realizing I had bags under my eyes I threw on a pair of sunglasses and some basic clothes. Knowing it was a Sunday, most people would be sleeping in so the great hall was going to be a bit empty this morning. Getting my spot at the table I knew that Dumbledore wasn't going to have any kind of speech for us today so the food was out as soon as the hall was decently filled. Not really in the mood to eat a whole lot I just took some toast and bacon. Slowly eating the food on my place, I felt a hand be placed on my shoulder and as I turned around I got a face full of the lip. Chris wasn't really the one to show romance in public places, he just kinda does it to show off in away. After that, he sat down beside me and making my day a little better. He talked with our friends who happened to sit on the other side of us and even though I wasn't talking, I was enjoying their chatter about nonsense. Laughing along with them for the majority of breakfast was a blast. It wasn't often during the weekends that you got to stop and talk about random stuff versus classes if you even talked about them at all. Nearing the end I just so happened to look up at the teachers' table and saw Snape staring me down like a hawk, but soon I realized he was glaring at Chris. Remembering what happened last night I frowned at him and just out of spite I leaned over it Chris and gave him a gentle peck on the lips smiling at him making him smile back. Also causing his jockey friend to wolf whistle and him to throw food at them for it.

We all joked around a bit after that and I also caught Snape looking like he was about to jump up and down with anger. I smirked at him since I knew had won this time, but I also caught the attention of some of my girlfriends who didn't seem to think to it hold back. They asked why I smirked at Snape then starting making jokes to which I laughed at, but Chris didn't I looked over and he didn't seem happy so I whispered to him,

"Snape was making accusations about you last night, saying that you're not good for me and whatnot. So I throw one back at him." He chuckled.

"That's my girl." He then went on with making fun of his friends. Once we left the great hall we all decided to head back to the Slytherin common room, even though we had to sneak in our Ravenclaw friend and have a bit of a hang out in Chris' dorm which he also shared with a friend. We knew that we would get caught for a couple of reasons, the obvious being we snuck another house member into our common room and the fact that three girls were in the boy's side of the dorms. We didn't care though, it was our thing to break the rules and we had taught so many others about sneaking into the dorms that everybody used it at some point. The professors didn't care to keep up with our lot. One of the girls had stolen some mead from the kitchens during her detention and brought it with her since we would probably be bored if we hadn't had something to drink. Plus it was the weekend and we could always just take a potion to help the hangover if we even got one. We each lay on different beds tipsy and holding onto our boyfriends and girlfriends laughing our asses off about random things, not really caring when someone came by and said that Snape was here to lecture someone or something and he might do a dorm check. We didn't care. It wasn't the end of the world for us to hid the girls and the random Ravenclaw in here. The Polytheism common rooms were much bigger than the others. We each had queen beds and we all shared a very large bathroom with closets large enough to hide people in them. With a student quickly opening the door letting us know he was coming, I quickly ran into the bathroom with everyone, and the mead, cast an enchantment that blocked out any noise or visible thing from outside the circle. Even though we had that going for us we still hid as he could easily walk through it and right away tell that someone had cast the spell.

Hearing the boys still talking and then the bang of the door bursting open we seemed to all know to block our breathing when it didn't even matter. We heard Snape's loud voice through the door and then it was followed by a softer voice coming from a student. Even though we had the guts to stand up to Snape we weren't too fond of yelling like he was. After a good bit of them being quiet as he looked around just checking things, I prayed we hadn't left anything in there that belonged to us, like someone's shoes that clearly weren't meant for a guy to wear. And if we did I hoped that one of them would be smart enough to think of something on the spot, but the chances were slim. I cursed to myself that if I got detention again I would lose it. Once he left we all sighed and ever so slowly opened the door as one of the boys went out to make sure that Snape wasn't going to barge in again.

Feeling no need to leave the common room for the rest of the day, every now and then one of us would have to go get another thing of mead, and if possible, a bottle of fire whiskey. When it was my turn to go, I got a thing of mead and fire whiskey, but nearly got caught, causing my tipsy self to literally down the whole thing of the fresh liquor. I was going to magic away the bottle as there was no need for it, my hand was caught mid spell by someone who probably wasn't happy to see this sight. Knowing it was either a prefect, Percy, or a teacher I groaned out loud and wasn't surprised to get a groan back by Snape. I was so close to the common room that if I could get away from him quickly enough I could hide somewhere and lose him. He said something to me, probably was an insult, and as he turned around I slipped my wrist out from his hand and made a run for it. I got decently far before I ran right into a wall causing the mead to break and cut my hand, along with the now dizzy feeling in my head. I wasn't too sure if it was the fact that I was most likely drunk or because I slammed my face into a stone wall. Landing on my ass I knew I had no chance of getting away from Snape now and I was kind of freaking out about the amount of blood that was coming from my hand, or many I was being dramatic. Either way, the professor didn't care he just pulled me along with him to his classroom to where he yelled at me to sit on the desk as he ran away somewhere. Being drunk and left alone to my thoughts, things get weird, I don't think I need to explain it, but by the time Snape got back, I was a bubbly laughing mess. He looked at me almost fearful and mended my wound closed with a spell I had never heard of and then forced a potion down my throat.

"Ew. Not as good as fire whiskey." I frowned at the taste in my mouth as Snape rolled his eyes and said to me,

"You'll be staying here until you sober up, it won't take long, the potion will help with that, and the healing." I huffed and said,

"It better work quickly because I don't want to spend any time with you." I glared at him, but since I was drunk it looked more like I was messing with him and not like I actually meant it. Under his breath, I heard Snape say,

"Me too." He walked over to his desk and started to work on some papers. I was getting a bit bored after a couple of minutes so I got off the desk and sat on his as he worked. Clearly not happy with me and my behaviour he told me to get off. I didn't listen, obvious. Even in a drunk sat I wasn't having it for him. He put his arm out and pushed me off without even having to stand up. Feeling like an idiot on the floor drunk me decided I had, had enough of this and started to walk away, but before I could do that he locked that doors. I groaned out loud until the potion was starting to work and I wasn't so drunk anymore, I just sat there on one of the stools and waited until he let me go, not even bothering to look back at him. I couldn't remember what happened, but I knew that at least for my friends I would need another bottle. I personally wasn't going to drink out of it, I was just going to give it to them and say I had something else I should get to. I did in fact, I was going to do some fieldwork into finding out if Snape was a death eater and maybe even find out if Chris was one, or becoming one rather.

It was around 4 pm when I decided to go on a search. I knew Dumbledore might have some news and he was never the kind of person to hide information that might be of benefit to stopping people that used the Dark Arts. He also might not know anything about it and possibly look into it and maybe then I'll get my answer. Making my way to Dumbledore's office I stopped at the hospital wing and asked Pomfrey for something to help my hangover. She didn't really ask about why the hell I had alcohol and she was used to me showing up randomly and asking her for a potion. Once I got to his office my head had stopped pounding and I felt a lot more focused. I hadn't sent a letter asking if I could stop by so I waited outside his office and listened through the door just in case he was busy talking to someone. I leaned against the door I noticed no noise so I gently knocked on the large doors to which opened by themselves. I slowly glanced around the room and noticed him sitting at his desk looking up over glasses at me like he didn't know I was there until I got closer to his desk. He put down his quill and said,

"Ms. Sparks, what can I do for you?" I wasn't planning on being an asshole at this moment since this was important to me so I kept things quick and short.

"Sorry I didn't send an owl asking if it was alright if I showed up."

"Oh, don't worry dear, I was just writing some letters." He took off his glasses, folded his hands as I said to him,

"I was just wondering something. The first being Snape had me for detention the other night and Flitwick didn't believe me when I was walking back to my dorm so he took off points."

"No problem dear, I'll take care of it." He folded up a piece of parchment as I continued.

"Thank you, sir. Now the second is I was wondering if maybe you had heard of some strange activity that to do with Chris..." He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion and asked,

"Strange activity as in..."

"Death eater stuff sir." I felt a tad uneasy when I said those words as I didn't want Chris to be evil as I was hoping that none of what Snape said was true.

"I also heard the rumours from Snape the night I had detention." I quickly added to which he sighed and leaned back in his large chair and said to me,

"I wouldn't take all of Severus' insults seriously my dear," I let out a sigh, but it was too soon as Dumbledore continued saying, "However I think it was a smart idea for him to warn you about Mr. Lolar." My eyes widened as I was not ready to hear bad news about the person who I rebuilt from his aggressive past. Dumbledore stood up and walked around the other side of the desk to face me and said,

"We are aware that Mr. Lolar's family are involved with the Dark Arts and there is a high possibility that he might be involved with it. Knowing that Voldemort is back is starting to connect things that we just overlooked before, one of the main concerns is the Lolar family. I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved with all of this." I felt like I had been lied to and that everyone was in on it. I knew Chris's parents, they are the nicest people I've ever met. They were really happy when Chris left his bad behaviour behind once I showed up in his life. It was like everyone was playing a joke on me and I was about to become one of those victims in saw or something. Then it dawned on me. If they were death eaters they knew that my bloodline was very involved with the Dark Arts, but my father had pulled them away from it when Voldemort died the first time. Realizing that Chris might just be with me to get my family to join again hurt so bad I can't put any words on it. It wasn't only just the heartbreak that Chris was using me for power, but it was also the betrayal factor that really hit hard. Taking a step back the Headmaster noticed my stunned face and pulled me back to reality.

"I think that Professor Snape was just trying to warn you about the possible threat." I knew that now I was going to have to act natural around Chris until he got caught. It was going to be so hard to keep a normal face and not think about it when he was around. I left the Headmaster's office after he gave me a few words of comfort and as I made my way back to the Slytherin common room I was hit over the head with something hard and then I noticed someone casting a spell. As soon as my vision stopped dancing around I saw Chris and his weird quiet friends hovering over me. I saw Chris pulled out his wand and smirk at me. I tried to move and grab my wand, but I had been shoot with a paralyzing spell. There was no way I was going to be able to get up and defend myself. I stared at Chris in the eye as he said to me,

"Maybe if you hadn't been sneaking around trying to find some way of bringing me down this wouldn't have happened." He sighed out loud and said in a whisper, "Mother is going to be so disappointed in you. She thought that you were different from your family." Trying to scream as loud as I could I got hit in the head again with a very blunt object and as I started to become unconscious I heard one of his companions say,

"Maybe if Snape wasn't such a headstrong loser this could've worked." In that moment I knew that I was going to show Snape that he was wrong to think I was weak again Chris. I was going to prove him wrong that I needed someone better than Chris, I now knew that I was the best person for me.

Any Requests?

[bangtanlalaland]

falcon | jjk 01 (m.)

synopsis ⇣ Jungkook Jeon, known as “Falcon,” unites with his best friend to rebel against the twisted, dominant system of the city, Python, until everything changes when he crosses paths with one of many enemies.

— dystopia au; enemies to lovers au

⇢pairing: free runner!jeon jungkook x detective!female reader    ⇢featuring: free runner!park jimin, free runner!kim namjoon, free runner!min yoongi & police captain!jung hoseok

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 12.2k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: (this fic is totally inspired by mirror’s edge), there’s isn’t any smut in this chapter (but there will be in future chapters), slow burn, some fluff in there, so much dialogue (it’s literally a MOVIE), some violence, some blood, some death, swearing lots of action (oops), fighting, free-running, lots & lots of drama (srsly get your popcorn ready), mentions of premonitions, major plot twists, infidelity (sorta?), mentions of sex, some sope action (yes i said it), namgi is also a thing (oop), basically jungkook is a rebel & proud, jimin is very clever (like woah), namjoon is a leader & sweetheart (as always), yoongi is a bad guy (¿woahhh did we expect that?) hoseok is a fuckboi (i’m sorry ugh :(((), also viper in this story is actually taehyung (oop), police stuff (duh), lots of bi stuff going on here, (much love for the lgbtq community)

artwork poster by: @hellenys​​

song rec: “falcon” by jaden smith

a/n: woah! so this is yet another wip that I’ve had for so long. I’ve made the decision to make this a series! (or maybe a two-shot) still not 100% sure yet, but I am honestly beyond relieved to finally release this. also a huge thank you to @hellenys​ for the artwork! I was actually inspired to start writing falcon after seeing her work. (specifically the photo above^) so you guys go check her out, her artwork is amazing!

Smack.

The sound of your boss dropping a chunky stack full of vanilla colored folders onto your desk, in your cubicle, startles your attention from sipping your now third afternoon dose of coffee. You swear he has been on your ass ever since you stepped foot into the clouded atmosphere of the police department. You were convinced you’re in Hell. Literally.

He eagerly spills, “These missing persons reports aren’t going to solve themselves. I can’t even step out for a $5 burger at that fast food shit place down the street without the press breathing down my neck about the citizens’ missing loved ones.”

You sigh for what has been the one thousandth time today so far. Going on one thousand-one. This city has been getting worse as the days go by, missing persons reports dating as far as 10 years back, maybe more if you really dig deep in there. Runners scatter the rooftops of the city, yet you and your entire team were left with zero leads. And your boss was right; the press was constantly nagging like a toddler at the age of two. Yet you and your tiny team were responsible for getting hands dirty and finding answers. And here he goes yet again…

“Contact the victims families. See if there’s any new information they could give us. Just in case. Over time, victims may remember details they happened to leave out- ” The phone for the department rings on your desk, and you hold your index finger up as if to politely ask your boss to shut his damn mouth so you can answer the phone.

“Python Police Department.” Your face grows concerned, mouthing to your boss: “Missing Person.” He throws his hands up and shakes his head in response, waiting for your departure from the phone. The elderly woman seemed borderline upset, but mostly depressed. As if all the life that was once in her was drained completely. After reassuring you will find answers, you hang up and turn to face your boss.

“It was a lady named Mrs. Jeon. She wants to follow up on the case for her son. Jungkook?” You say, more so as a question rather than a statement, in hopes that you pronounced his name correctly. Your boss nods in approval, clearly knowledgeable of who you’re talking about.

“Yeah she calls here at least one or twice a week saying the same thing over and over again,” he pauses momentarily then starts, “I remember that kid. He was in high school when his mother reported him missing,” he continues while shaking his head.

“I’ll never forget the day dispatch called me out there to see what was going on. This was back in my rookie detective days. At first I thought maybe he’s just playing hooky. Happens all the time, right?” You nod in agreement. You’d heard of his name before but never looked into it, considering you’d just been promoted 4 months ago. And for the first month, you’d only been sent to canvas witnesses. Although sadly, Jungkook is simply one among hundreds if not thousands of cases that have gone cold.

He continues, “But then, we checked the grid and his chip was gone. We didn’t get any alerts about its removal, so it was definitely shocking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean it was gone?” You ask with crossed arms.

“Well, more like the grid showed that the chips’ location was his home. Obviously, he isn’t home and we searched the house. No chip.” He pauses for a moment as if processing what he’s about to say, “Someway, somehow, he removed himself from the grid. But, he wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reassured Mrs. Jeon that if he didn’t show up in two days then we could file a missing persons report. She insisted that something was wrong and didn’t want to wait two days. But she had no other choice, and so she filed the report and days turned into weeks, months, and years.”

“How long?” You question.

With a sigh he replies, “Five.”

“No wonder she’s calling.”

“I know. But that’s the weirdest thing about it. As I mentioned, Jungkook wasn’t the only one with a missing chip.” He reassures with a sigh of what you assume is exhaustion.

“And?”

Your boss squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking.

“Follow me.”

He leads you to the “Cold Cases” room. It looks almost like a library, but instead of children books it’s several cases from murders to runaways — where endless amounts of evidence, files, reports, and other tangible items are stored. He scrambles through a pull out drawer of folders labeled and sectioned off in alphabetical order. He then pulls out a vanilla folder, and opens the file, revealing a photo of a young teen with dark, brown hair and plump, pink lips.

“Mrs. Park. Mother of Jimin Park. She filed a missing persons report the same day Mrs. Jeon did. They actually came together. And apparently they live on the same street.” He states while exiting the room and striding you into his office.

You inquire, trying to catch up to his quick pace. “So what are you implying?”

“I think…” he trails off, placing the folder on top of his desk and flopping into his office seat. “Jungkook and Jimin decided to drop out of school and run away in the sunset together.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, let’s talk about the runners that run the rooftops. I know you’re still trying to get the hang of things, but there’s a pattern with this.”

“Okay?” You more-so question, rather than stating.

“First things first. Their chips. Runners always remove them, except we get alerts when done so.” He pauses. Of course you’re aware of the misdemeanor charge for that, right?” You nod in a “yes” gesture.

“Good. So, first they remove the chips. Second, they completely vanish. No one sees them for good and has no knowledge of where they are. It’s like they never existed, right? Families, friends, co-workers or whoever they know don’t see them anymore.”

You nod again, catching along. “Mmhmm.”

“Then, a missing persons report is filed. Either by a relative or a close friend. With that being said, it only makes sense that Jungkook and Jimin would be close together at least. I mean surely if Mrs. Park filed a report with Mrs. Jeon then couldn’t they both have known each other? Or at least had some knowledge of the relationship their sons had with one another? And again, the chips. Surely, they were in this together, and there’s not one part of me that doubts it.”

You take a deep sigh, soaking this information in, “Makes sense.”

“Look,” he says, while moving closer to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You gaze upon him, admiring the beauty mark on the left side of his top lip. His chocolate waves crown his face.

“What I’m trying to say is- If you find one of them, chances are you’ll find the other. Just… please be careful, ____. If these guys can suddenly vanish off the grid without a trace, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

Meanwhile, Jimin barges into a hideout on a rooftop (now part of an abandoned building) far into the city, but enough distance from prying eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, sweating and bent over as he removes his earpiece, swiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He runs his fingers through his jet, black strands. The sun slightly scorched his once pale cheeks, resulting in a rosy, pink shade.

“Fuck!”

Namjoon removes his headset and arises from his seat in the area that he and his mates have labelled as “coms,” having hacked into the city’s surveillance system.

“Good job, Phoenix. Water?” He asks, while offering Jimin a sip of his bottled water, before downing it completely.

“Fuck, no. I almost fucking died!” Jimin replies, still panting.

“Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Namjoon retorts nonchalantly.

He crushes his plastic bottle and lunges it toward Jungkooks slumped figure over the couch nearby. He grunts in response, jerking up in his sleep. Being on the run for the past 5 years has only caused him to be as alert as a hawk.

“You’re up next, Falcon.” Jungkook shakes his head, gaining consciousness of his surroundings again. His black tank top and white nylon sweats having stuck to his form. His milk, chocolate strands blanket his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The faint sunlight helps to awaken him from his slumber, as he covers his eyes to adjust to the sunrays. Jimin, who now has gained his breath back, flings his earpiece at Jungkook.

“Blue lights are heavy today. Watch your ass, huh?” With that, Jungkook stretches upward while placing the earpiece on. On his way towards the tiny kitchen area, Namjoon keys into the channel.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook gulps his banana milk and returns the carton to its place in the fridge. Wiping his mouth to rid the milk residue, he responds, “Go for Falcon.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this. But it’s time for a test run.”

Jungkook is silent, yet internally screaming. He hates test runs. Who doesn’t though?

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve told you before that one time won’t count. But, I need to calculate your momentum, and it helps tremendously to compare to your previous test runs.” Jungkook wasn’t worried about speed, but more so about his body. The last time he’d done a test run, he had completely passed out from overworking his body. Namjoon couldn’t leave the hideout, given that blue lights were everywhere and he didn’t want to risk not having anyone watching over the place. Luckily Jimin was already out for a run, and decided to take a detour to rescue his best friend. But, Jungkook does not like to fail. In fact, he despises it. He’s afraid that he’d fail. Again. He takes a deep breath.

“I know you can do it. The advantage now is that you actually got rest.” Jungkook couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He knew the last time he was going non-stop and being the stubborn bunny he is, Namjoon warned him more than once that he’d burnout sooner or later. But that’s the conflict with Jungkook. He grew complacent of being on the run constantly. It’s his life now; he hates the society he lives in and refuses to live according to the systems’ standards.

“Copy that, Thunderbird.” Jungkook responds, his arms and hands flexing, veins popping, as he slips on his neon red fingerless gloves. He pulls the straps of his black mask over and behind his ears — completely concealing most of his face.

Namjoon smiles in response, “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s bring that energy to the test, Falcon.”

Back at the station, you step out of your formal addression towards your boss and slip, “Hobi, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just can’t see myself losing you. You know how much you mean to me, right?” He asks, while reaching his hand towards your cheek with the intent to caress you but your reflexes immediately catch on, and you turn the opposite direction while muttering under your breath, “You know that we can’t-”

“I know. Sorry.”

A brief moment of silence shares the space between you both. Hoseok Jung, or as your recent pet name for him: Hobi, is not only the police captain of the Python Police Department, but currently your main squeeze as well. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. You can’t quite pinpoint what “this” with him is, given that neither of you made it official yet or set any boundaries. Which resulted in this continuous cycle of confusion on where you stand in this said “situationship.” But you don’t probe him, instead you just go with the flow and see where things lead. The only major conflict is that no one at the station should know about your doings. Or else there would be major consequences to face. You suppose that’s why Hoseok is the way he is with you. Maybe you’re nothing but a fling to him. Although some of the things he says deem otherwise.

“Last I heard, his street name is Falcon.” Hoseok skims through a folder on his desk that contains numerous papers, all to what you assumed held important information, then he pulls one out.

“I have a list of coordinates for locations where security cameras are installed and picked up high runner activity. Check those out and see if there are any leads. If no luck, go out and canvas witnesses on the street.” You nod in agreement, gathering your belongings to head on your way when suddenly you feel Hoseok’s grasp on your wrist. You immediately turn your gaze towards him, eyes blown wide as saucers.

“Please, be careful. Call me when you make it to the first and last location.” You eye his grip on you and snatch away quickly, regaining your composure.

“I will,” you respond, while slipping out of his office to leave the building.

On the rooftops, Jungkook gets into position. Staring ahead of himself, he takes a deep breath, awaiting Namjoon’s marker. A tiny droplet of sweat drips down the right side of his face, trailing down to his neck.

“On your mark. Ready.” Jungkook takes another deep breath. The sun suddenly becomes beyond its warm state, at this point, it’s scorching. His palms are damp. The black of his tee absorbs the city’s heat.

“Set.”

His mind goes racing in a million different ways. It was strange that at this moment, his mother crosses his mind. He wondered if she was okay. But, he couldn’t risk seeing her. Exposing himself. Then blue lights would find out, and   he’d be done. For good.

No, can’t risk it. No matter how much it hurts.

Since the age of 18, Jungkook called the rooftops his home. Some part of him felt selfish for only thinking of himself and leaving his mother behind. But he knew she would only scold him for rebelling against the system. Therefore, it was imperative that he left. For months, he and Jimin elaborated an escape — consistently backtracking and fixing any errors in their plan.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always go as planned and being just a couple of high school kids, Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t fully thought out the whole “where would we bunk” deal. But, all changed when they reached the rooftops. Although the first two years were literal Hell. Probably part of the reason Jungkook had become too exhausted at the end of it all. It was horrid to run non-stop, stability not being an option. Jungkook and Jimin had several quarrels with other runners. It became a cycle that Jungkook grew weary of:

Getting accepted into a hideout → Developing trust with other runners → Everything feels comfortable now →  Someone does something to show their true colors (Runners are out to get each other, despite the consequences. Whether the reward is for money, power, or maybe even freedom) → Jungkook and Jimin realize they can’t trust other runners → In conclusion, they flee → The process repeats

That is, until they met Namjoon. At first, he resisted. He previously had one roommate before that betrayed him, just as other runners betrayed Jimin and Jungkook. He thinks of him sometimes, and he’ll never forget his name. Yoongi Min, who goes by Firebird. Blue lights offered Yoongi a deal: to persuade Namjoon into a trap, at a disclosed location, in return for clearing his own name of all criminal records — freedom. Yoongi had been Namjoon’s roommate for four years, eventually growing close and becoming trustworthy of one another. Even coining each other’s names together, as a team. He always thought he’d take over the city of Python with Yoongi. Thus, that’s why Namjoon took Jungkook and Jimin in; because he saw them as himself and Yoongi, knowing that he would have wanted someone else to do the same for him and his once good friend.

“Go.” And with that, Jungkook powers forward leading with one goal in mind: Fast.

“I want you to head straight as far as you can. Got it?”

“Copy,” Jungkook slips. He starts at a steady pace, sliding under pipes connected to cooling fan systems, and vaulting over fences being sure to avoid high voltage ones. However, his velocity decreases when doing so. Namjoon takes note of that.

“Try to keep a linear direction as much as possible. Jump to the next building, using the metal pipe as a pole.”

Jungkook makes an estimate on how fast he should run to land onto the pole that’s adjacent to the rooftop of the building he’s currently on. He backs away about two meters and plants his feet on the ground, getting into position. His body exerts force and within seconds, Jungkook leaps from the rooftop. His heart dropping to his stomach, silently praying that his calculations were correct; and within seconds he lands onto the metal pole, his toned biceps clinging on for life. The leather gloves he wears grant a better grip on the surface, as he pulls himself upward, finally reaching the rooftop.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep pushing!”

Jungkook heaves, but knows he can’t stop now. He continues to scan his surroundings, taking in the view of the city from his vantage point. The sun still beams within the distance. Glass buildings towering the city, camera drones and lightweight super-jets scattering the sky.

No time for distractions.

Jungkook continues on his path as instructed by Namjoon. Lightly jogging, he rapidly picks up his pace until he takes a quick glance to his right and something catches his eye: a security camera, hanging below a billboard on the current building he stands on. He treads forward, and notices a blue light on the camera that blinks rapidly. He sticks his middle finger up towards the object and makes a swift turn to walk away when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.

You push open the door to the rooftop access, finally having reached the top of the corporate office building of Cobra Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in the city. To your surprise, on your left, there stands a man with doe-like eyes and lengthy, coffee-colored strands concealing his face. Your mouth flew agape, realizing that this is your first encounter ever with a runner — his neon red gloves serving as evidence.

“Falcon, what’s going on? I’m picking up a blue light within your perimeter,” Namjoon keys in. Jungkook says nothing, simply eyeing your form. He’d never been in love, and it wasn’t as if he’d recognize love even if it were standing right in front of his face with a big sign that said: “Hey! It’s me. I am love.” It was your essence that gave him an odd feeling. A feeling that intrigued him for some strange reason. But then you flashed that shiny PPD badge, which glistened in the sun, and it caught his attention — instantly sending a wave of discouragement throughout his heart.

“I’m Detective ____ with PPD,” you slip.

“Abort the test run! Get the hell out of there!” Namjoon commands on the other end of Jungkook’s earpiece. You attempt to step closer to the man, but he raises his hand up.

“Don’t come any closer.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I-I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?” You reassure while gradually lifting your hands up in the air, as if surrendering to him. He scoffs, obviously not impressed by your coy tactic.

“A blue light wanting to talk? Nah, don’t think so,” he spits while clenching his fists and backing away.

“No, please! I-I-” You suddenly become tongue-tied, as the man evidently runs away out of your sight, leaving you behind. Frozen in place.

That asshole.

Your cell rings conveniently at the right moment.

— Hobi ❤️ [Incoming Call]

You swipe to answer, and can’t even get a “hello” out before Hoseok starts on his shit again.

“Goddammit, ____! I told you to call me when you got to your first location.” He sounds furious, as if you’re his pet on a leash.

“Okay, dad!” You retort, clearly annoyed with him in this moment as you make your way down the exhausting flight of stairs inside the building.

“You know what-” Hoseok runs his fingers through his waves. “My place. 30 minutes.” The sound of a click on the line indicates that he hung up, leaving you with a frustrated temper.

Jungkook storms into the hideout, snatching his mask off of his face. Namjoon rips his headset off, visibly pissed.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Jungkook scoffs, currently not up for anyone’s shit, as he trails to the fridge to grab his carton of banana milk yet again. Namjoon rolls his eyes while shaking his head. Jungkook releases his lips from the carton and slips, “Nothing.”

The sound of Namjoon’s tongue clicking echoes through the space, “Bullshit! You know our code, and you did NOT follow!”

With his back, turned Jungkook takes a deep huff, cheeks on fire. Jimin silently creeps nearby and coyly chimes in,

“See a blue light, call it a night. Don’t take flight, and you’ll put up a fight.”

“That’s right, Phoenix. We do NOT stick around once a blue light is within our sight. We take flight. Is that understood?” Namjoon probes with a stern tone, directing towards Jungkook.

The youngest turns face forward, with a clenched jaw and jutted chest. He says nothing, clearly testing the eldest. Namjoon steps forward and closes the gap between one another, so close that their noses nearly touch.

“Is that understood?” He inquires, his voice a few octaves lower. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before breaking.

“Copy.”

“Get your shit together, Falcon. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” Namjoon pulls away and brushes past Jimin, heading out of the kitchen. Infuriated, Jungkook lunges the now empty carton toward the wall ahead of him and also brushes past Jimin, who grasps his wrist in time to halt him. A look of worry spreads across Jimin’s face.

“Come on, Kook. You know Thunderbird. He’s just trying to protect us. It’s like… his job.”

Jungkook stays silent, thinking if he would ever get to see your innocent face again. Jimin nudges his arm to grasp his attention.

“You do know that you can talk to me, right?” He reassures with a promising expression. Jungkook simply nods and walks away, leaving Jimin worried. He knows when something is wrong with his best friend. He can feel it. But he also knows that Jungkook is a tough cookie, and it will take time for him to finally crack.

Meanwhile, Jungkook locks himself in his room — having confined himself completely from the world even if it was just for a few hours. How could he be so stupid? Why couldn’t he just talk to you like you wanted? Maybe you were a good person. At least that’s what he assumed, considering your beautiful face.

No. Snap out of it!

He can’t trust anyone. It’s for his own good. As the sun sets, he peeks through the glass window in his room to soak in the view of the city. Streams of pink, yellow, and blue paint the evening sky. If only he’d introduced himself to you, maybe he would feel a slight less pain in his chest. It was something Jungkook craved that he’d never gotten yet.

Intimacy.

Hoseok is frustrated; he runs his fingers through his hair for what has felt like the millionth time today.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asks with a dark, lustful feel in his eyes. You gaze at him in complete silence.

“Can’t obey me anymore or what?” He lets out a frustrated sigh while gripping your hips.

“Oh you’re asking for it, huh?” He coos while mustering up the idea to tickle his way into getting a response from you. You break the silence, the sound of your laughter filling up his penthouse. Giggles and gasps for breaths emit from you, a sound that Hoseok thinks he could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired.

“Oh my-! S-stop!”

And like a light-switch, he abruptly stops. His hands falling down to your sides, gripping your hips again. He gazes into your stare for what feels like an eternity. That familiar beauty mark on his lip is your favorite sight. He notes your eyes landing on his lips for too long, and he takes the opportunity to inch forward and meet yours.

He tastes like coffee — the kind you have in the morning before heading out to the station. The kind you’re used to sipping while reading emails at work or making phone calls. Or even the kind you order from your favorite coffee shop where you first met him and continue to meet up with him there to discuss anything work related.

Your lips soften against his, as his softens against yours. You’re not even sure how that is possible. Physics? Maybe.

However, the thought of your relationship with Hoseok crosses your mind. And  before you could even think twice about what to do, with his tongue literally down your throat, you unexpectedly shove him lightly. His eyebrows furrow in response, concerned if he’d done something wrong (when he could swear you like french kissing, considering you both do it all the time, and he remembered you mentioned one moment how much you like to do so).

“What are we? What is this?” You blurt out. Hoseok’s expression makes you instantly regret asking him. He pulls himself away from you completely to pace back and forth with his hand on his hip, shaking his head. Your gaze drops to the floor, feeling like such shit for bringing it up. But you’d be damned if he made you feel bad, because you have to know. For your own sake. Your own sanity.

“Are we really doing this right now?” He asks while sitting down on the leather loveseat.

That’s it. Something in you snaps.

“Hoseok!” You screech, gaining a wide-eyed stare from him.

“We’ve been fucking for over 2 years! What did you think? That I was just going to keep floating around, letting you stuff me every fucking week and not say anything about it?”

You are a panting, hot, and frustrated mess on the verge of tears from how upset you are. Hoseok watches your riled up figure, and he can’t seem to bring words together. He’s had a long day and wants nothing more than to release his stress into you either on his bed, or this loveseat, or maybe the kitchen counter if you can’t make it to his bedroom. But your emotions are clouding the atmosphere, and it’s something he can’t handle.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he states dryly.

You felt like someone just hammered a nail into your heart. Your mouth flies agape, sucking in a breath to contain yourself from crying in front of his eyes.

“Why can’t we just fuck and not go through all of this? What do we need a label for anyway? It’s not like anyone at the  station is going to find out.” He shrugs, emitting a chuckle paired  with a nonchalant vibe.

Drip.

And then a tear fell down your cheek, prompting yourself to march out the front door and never look back. Clutching your crossbody, your leather chelsea boots click against the hardwood floor. Before Hoseok had the chance to grab you by the wrist, you were gone. You continued strutting down the hall, better yet lightly jogging to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Your fingers find placement on the ↓ button for the elevator.

Ding.

The moment the elevator doors shut is when the tears came streaming down   your cheeks, like a waterfall. You knew all along it was a bad idea to get involved with Hoseok. You’re sentimental and have always been so. “Catching feelings” while having weekly sex with him was bound to happen eventually. All in all, you could say that you saw the end coming, but at least 70% of you wanted things to be different than what they were. As your mother would call it, “living in la la land.” For the remainder of  the night, you comfort yourself on your couch, stuffing your face with leftover chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne. All while venting on the phone to your childhood friend and updating him on the current situation with Hoseok.

“Ah. I’m sorry, noona. Hobi is a real ass sometimes, you know?”

You take another sip from your wine glass, “Ugh. That’s the thing!” You pause, popping a strawberry in your mouth, “I knew it. And yet, I still fell for him. I’m just horrible, a mess.”

“Don’t say that,” he replies with a yawn following his response.

“It’s true, Yoongi! I’ve literally been letting him in this whole time and not standing my ground. It’s so pathetic of me,” You sigh with a frown upon your face that Yoongi obviously cannot see.

“Wow. He was that good, huh?” You roll your eyes just thinking about it, “Ugh, yes! Don’t even remind me!”

“Well-” yet another yawn cutting him off again, “Just take your time, you   know? I’m sure it won’t be that easy to get over him. But eventually, it’ll happen.” Your eyes begin to tear up again, “You really think so?”

Yoongi hesitates for a brief moment, “No, I’m just trying to get you off the phone so I can go to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi Min.” His cute giggle lifts your mood in a contagious way — making you laugh out loud along with him.

“You’ll  be fine, ____. Really.” A tear finally drops down your face. This is why you love Yoongi, and why you’d been friends with him almost your entire life. He’s someone you can trust, always having been there for you. It didn’t matter the distance you were from each other, or how long it had been since you contacted one another, you both would pick up right where you left off.

“Goodnight, Yoongs. Love you.” His gummy smile appears as he replies, “Love you too, ____. Goodnight.”

After hanging up with Yoongi and having your belly full enough of strawberries and wine, your thoughts continuously play over the events of today, making you realize how drained you are. Then the image of the runner from earlier crosses your mind. God, was he the hottest man you’ve seen in awhile, at least from what you could see due to his mask covering most of his face. But his lengthy strands paired with his toned biceps and tall, lean figure are what got you. The sun bounced perfectly on his tanned, body, displaying a gorgeous shimmer of sweat he was drenched in, kind of reminded you of your fave Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.

His eyes were bright and beautiful, and you’ll never forget the way he was startled when you approached him — like a deer in headlights. You wonder what else was “hot” about him that you didn’t get a chance to see. Okay, maybe it’s just the wine talking. Some part of you wished you could have at least asked what his name was, but he wasted no time in evading you. Even though you felt a slight sting  in your heart, you couldn’t blame him for leaving. After all, you’re a cop and he’s a runner. Of course he’d “run” from you.

Hoseok is sound asleep until an alarming tone from his cell phone startles him from his slumber.

— Yoongi Hyung [Incoming Call]

“Shit.” Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh before answering. His tired, raspy voice is heard from the other side of the line. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know you tell me.” Yoongi deadpans.

Hoseok sighs in response. Pulling away from his phone to read the time: 12:42 AM. He clenches his fist and runs his fingers through his messy mane.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I need you to look into someone for me. Get ____ on the case,” Yoongi demands with a slight hint of desperation.

Seething, Hoseok retorts, “Fucking hell. Why couldn’t you wait until the morning to tell me?”

“It is morning, and before you step into the station I need to make sure it’s the first thing on your agenda. I need this done asap.”

Hoseok remains his composure on the outside but is internally screaming.

“I don’t know, Hyung. I can’t guarantee it. I have ____ on the Jungkook Jeon case, and I may have her finally close it. Hopefully-” Yoongi scoffs, on the other side, clearly not happy.

Hoseok adds, “What’s this all about anyway? And what do I get for it?”

“Did you forget who’s the eldest here?” A moment of silence falls into the phone.

“Didn’t think so,” Yoongi continues. Hoseok feels small. He always does when being confronted by Yoongi.

“I’ve cut a deal with Cobra Enterprises. The company will have a meeting tomorrow with PPD about a new project to take place. I want you to look into a guy. I’m sure you remember him. Namjoon Kim.” The youngest sighs yet again. He remembered Namjoon from his rookie days, and he also recalled Yoongi had failed to go through with the set-up.

“Press ____ to look into his file and continue there. Drop her from the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok’s mouth flies open in shock at Yoongi’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to-”

“Do not try me! Now, you’ll do as I say without giving me any shit, understand?” Yoongi retorts, his voice now at a higher volume than before. His deep violet-haired, skinny stature dressed in a purple v-neck, paired with a black leather jacket and leather jeans. He paces back and forth, flipping a pen between his slender fingers. The visible ink of his black, circuit board tattoo trails from his neck down to his right shoulder and ends at his wrist.

“Yes, Hyung,” Hoseok states, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“Get her on the case for Namjoon and find out where he is! Tell her he goes by the name Thunderbird. These rooftops are massive. Viper and I cannot find him alone. Having her would help tremendously. Besides… she’s smart, and I’m sure she’d be able to get to him before I do,” he continues while staring at the view of the city from his hideout.

Hoseok lets out with a tinge of annoyance in his reply, “Fine, fine. Alright!”

“Don’t do this, and I will tell ____ about our little secret. I’m sure she wouldn’t be too happy about that either. Especially not now.”

“You better not say shit to her, you hear me?” Hoseok works up.

“Get the job done, Hobi.” Yoongi ends the call.

No, you could not find out. At least not like that. Hoseok doesn’t want you to know about the little fling with his hyung. He knows Yoongi would do anything to destroy the side thing Hoseok has with you, since he’s jealous. He wants Hoseok all to himself.

The ringing of your cell frightens you out of your sleep. Your eyes land onto your clock placed beside you on your nightstand. You silently curse whoever dares to awaken you at this ungodly hour of 3:18 AM. Surely it was none other than Hoseok Jung. You dared to not answer, but part of you needed to if you wanted to keep your job. You were slightly worried his calling may be job-related anyway. At least you hope it is, because you can’t think about how he’d hurt you the previous day. Your exhausted form answers the call with a swipe.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scan your bedroom in the moonlight. Your right hand finds it’s way to rub your eyes.

“What?”

“Just open the door. I’m here.”

You stay on the line, and groggily drag yourself out of bed to head beeline for the front door of your apartment. Through the peephole, there stands Hoseok with his iPhone to his ear and his head hanging low. You unlock the door and tiredly pull it open to finally meet eyes with the bastard. Yesterday’s events flash through your memory, and you’re drawn back into the mood you were in before you knocked out for what seemed like only ten minutes.

With furrowed brows you question, “Hoseok what do y-”

His lips crash with yours, cutting you off completely. Your hand that once held your phone, now wraps around his neck, easing him closer to you. His firm hands now grip your hips, flushing you to his body entirely. His plushy lips play with yours, naturally gliding and smoothing against their own accord. The bitter taste of coffee lingers on his lips, to what you assumed he more than likely had a cup of Joe before arriving to your apartment. He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes, caressing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he pauses for a beat, “It was wrong. I was wrong.”

A low sigh escapes your lips. Hoseok cups your cheeks, and gives you a small peck. You pull away to take hold of his hand and lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind the two of you. You find yourself sitting on the side of your bed, with Hoseok joining you. He rests his cool palm on your warm, exposed thigh, courtesy of your pajama shorts. Your fingers find placement on top of his hand. He stares into your gaze, guilt settling deep within his gut. Part of the reason he’d always treated you like nothing is due to his feelings for Yoongi. He likes this thing with you: being able to have you whenever he wants, do whatever he wants to you, and treat you how he wants.

It’s almost like he owns you, except he doesn’t. But he likes the complacency of the situation, knowing that you’ll always be there when he needs you. Yet he knows it’s selfish and such a narcissistic quality about himself, but he wants what he wants and cannot stop his actions. It’s this never-ending dilemma he’s stuck in of leading you on or admitting his feelings for you. Because all in all, Hoseok wants to “have his cake and eat it too.” On the other hand, Yoongi stands on the sidelines — waiting for the day he & Hoseok could be together. And now it’s worse since you’ve poured your feelings out to him. Although for Yoongi, it’s everything he’s ever wished for.

The luminance from the moonlight glows throughout the space that’s your room. Hoseok shivers slightly from your touch, the warmth of your fingers encases his cold, slender ones. You both sit in silence for a moment, just taking in each others presence. You attempt to gather your own thoughts of why Hoseok couldn’t wait to apologize until the next day you both work.

“Hoseok.” You let out, a yawn following afterwards.

“Hm?” He responds while glancing into your eyes with those gorgeous brown   eyes, his strands gracefully dressing his forehead in that familiar middle-part style.

“Cuddle?” You ask sheepishly why reaching your arms out towards him, offering your warmest embrace. His lips curl up into that stunning smile, making his eyes shut instinctively. He removes his bomber jacket and shoes, then climbs into the opposite side of your bed. You follow suit and pull your duvet over the two of you. Your arms naturally wrap around his abdomen, and  you curl up into his chest. Admiring the familiar scent of Hoseok’s  fresh, linen garments with a hint of some expensive cologne. He smells so clean, as a man should. It sends you into a trance. Your ear rests on top of his chest, growing familiar with the rhythm of his heartbeat. And it’s just enough to put you to rest.

—

The sun peaks from the skyline, beginning its journey to  rise. Deep orange and yellow hues paint the sky. A gleaming ray of light shoots throughout the hideout the three men share together. Namjoon is the first to awaken, his beach-sand colored hair ruffled in a slight mess. With a bare upper body and boxer briefs, he slips from his mattress on the ground to head for the washroom — his disheveled state still working to fully awaken. After finishing up his morning routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and grooming his hair, he slips on black nylon sweatpants and a red fitted tank, displaying his black, circuit board ink on his left forearm snaking up to his left shoulder and neck. He stares at his own figure in the mirror, silently hating himself for letting Yoongi talk him into getting a matching tattoo.

If only he’d knew where Yoongi’s loyalty really lied, he’d  never would have given in to him. A slight pang in Namjoon’s chest  resurfaces. He missed Yoongi, a lot more than he wanted to. Because it was more than “friendship” with him. He loved Yoongi and wanted to confess his feelings for him, but he was afraid his confession would lead to corruption of their friendship. He was also afraid of Yoongi’s “distant” personality. He was for sure it would have ruined them, even if their friendship blossomed into something more. Unfortunately, after Yoongi became a traitor in Namjoon’s eyes, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had for him and continues to have. It was  ever since that one night they’d both had a little too much soju that things led from one thing to another. He relishes in the memory of Yoongi’s lips pressed against his.

The lingering, sweet taste of alcohol on his lips is the fondest moment Namjoon has of Yoongi. He had never been more aroused by anyone else ever, and Yoongi had just that effect on him. One thing led to another, and before he could process what had happened, the next morning he’d awaken to the sight of Yoongi naked and wrapped around his chest. Ever since, the entire dynamic of their friendship had changed. Yoongi hadn’t spoken of the previous night, and neither had Namjoon. He’d never thought that a week later, he would have had no other choice but to kick out the one person he had grown to trust for so long. He never forgets the look in Yoongi’s eyes. Puffy, red, and swollen from the tears he’d cried.

Namjoon  had never seen him this shaken up before, considering his inability to show his feelings. But he believed Yoongi had done all of this to  silently punish him for sleeping with him. Liquid forms in Namjoon’s  eyes as his mind goes in circles consistently, playing the events over and over in his mind — reminiscing on the presence of who he thought would have eventually been his lover. While brewing a cup of coffee, Namjoon readies himself for the day. Upon arrival to the coms room, he seats himself at his desk, an arrange of five monitors on display. The longer one in the middle is the portal to log into Thunder, a tracking software he’d created, with Yoongi, that’s designed specifically to pinpoint a runners’ location. Of course, he had re-programmed said software to track Jungkook and Jimin’s location whenever they’d go out on a run, which is why they use an earpiece that has a tracker installed.

For safety purposes, he’d also designed it to detect when other runners are nearby while also detecting blue lights in the surrounding area. Each runner is part of a team that is represented by a color on the “rainbow spectrum,” and each color has a leader. Namjoon being the leader of Red, and along with Jimin and Jungkook representing the color. Although, the only colors from the spectrum that have been confirmed are: Orange, Yellow, and Green — while Blue and Violet have yet to be discovered. In the meantime, Jimin tosses in his sleep as though he’s experiencing a nightmare. Something within his slumber startling enough to jerk him awake, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted dramatically. His chest rising up and down as he trails his fingers through his onyx strands that fall back  onto his forehead. His arms find their way up to block the sunlight from his window that forces to blind his eyes.

His body is warm, and after sitting up completely, he realizes his white tank is soaked in perspiration. Jimin snarks at the cold sweat clinging to his upper body. Rolling out of bed, the cool tile below him makes his body shiver. He pulls his top over his head and off, flinging it to the corner of his room. His toned upper body glistens with sweat, covered with the tattoo “Nevermind” on the left side of his abdomen. Jimin rushes to the washroom to start up the glass shower.

He hops in immediately; cool streams of water race down his fit figure, drenching his black strands and gradually decreasing his body temperature. He runs his index finger across the inside of his wrist where another tattoo is displayed: 13. A small grin crosses his face, thinking of the  time he’d met Jungkook when he was 13, how they’d instantly bonded, and how far they’ve come in their lives. The number also resembling the day of his own birth. But Jimin’s smile fades, after realizing the dream he had. He knew something was wrong, because for weeks now he’d been having these nightmares that something bad would happen; everything would change, yet he wasn’t 100% sure how. Even though things were okay now, but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe his gut instinct was trying to warn him.

Knock x2.

Jimin jumps slightly at the sudden knock, and his gaze snaps up to the bathroom door, “Dude… Gotta pee,” Jungkook’s tired form slips. Outside the door, he can barely keep his eyes open — having almost pulled an all-nighter, listening to music and lifting weights in his room. Jimin swings the door open, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Scared the shit out of me, you know?” Namjoon arrives in the hallway.

“Morning, boys! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. So, get some breakfast and meet me in the coms room when you’re done.” Jimin nods and adds coyly, “Ay ay, captain!” Jungkook groans in response. On the other side of the city, the smell of eggs and bacon sizzling in a pan acts as a cue for Hoseok’s awakening. His arms stretch out, releasing  the tension that’s settled in them. He checks his phone for the time  only to find missed calls and texts, from none other than his hyung.

— Yoongi Hyung [5:02 AM] just wait till u come home. u will fucking get it!!!

— Yoongi Hyung [4:59 AM] are u fucking kidding me… i come here for dick and this is what i get? where tf are u???

— Yoongi Hyung [4:57 AM] whatever. coming in with the spare key u gave me.

— Yoongi Hyung [4:56 AM] u ass. i’ve rung the doorbell a thousand times already. are u that asleep?

— Yoongi Hyung [4:54 AM] Missed Call (x2)

Shit.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Hoseok jumps slightly at your cheeky greeting of you standing at the doorway of your room.

“I made breakfast if you’re hungry. I’ll be heading out in a few to   follow  up on any leads I can get with the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok takes a huge gulp before spilling, “Yeah… About that.” He drags, while slipping out of bed. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer.

“I uh-” He pauses for a moment, remembering the threat Yoongi had given him. You stand there, all eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m dropping you from the Jungkook Jeon case,” he states rapidly. Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would you do that?” Hoseok sighs, thinking of anything off the top of his head to lie.

“Just-  Leave it to me. I did some digging when you left the station yesterday,”  He continues while slipping his shoes on.

“I want you to look into something else,” You nod for him continue.

“Namjoon Kim. Known as Thunderbird. He’s got a record, but he’s also  been reported as missing just like Jungkook.” Hoseok breaks away from  your gaze for a moment, internally hating himself for doing this to you. He knows he’s no good for you.

“Do you still have that list of coordinates I gave you?” He inquires, while simultaneously looking up at you and tying his shoes.

“Mmmhmm,” you simply mutter, watching his form in silence. It is clear that he’s about to leave but you waited  for him to say so. Hoseok grabs his jacket and notices you’re still standing in the doorway. He pauses to slip, “I should get going. I have some errands to run-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, the tone in your voice clearly revealing that  no it is not “fine.” You’re slightly upset really, but part of you expected Hoseok to not stay around since you’re convinced that the only reason he’d came to apologize to you was to clear his conscious. And  because, well, he was alone and wanted some form of companionship. Typical, right? Another part of you cringed at the thought you assumed  he’d treat you as if you’re both together, even though you’re not. So, it isn’t abnormal for him to just leave. It’s not like he’s committed to you. Except your heart tells you it’s just not fair. Hoseok doesn’t miss the look of disarray that spreads across your face, due to  his departure. He looks to you before leaving your apartment.

“Maybe I can come by later?” You internally cringe at his request whilst trying to not get your hopes up.

“It’s not a big deal, only if you can! Don’t go out of your way for me. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.” He hesitates for a brief moment, then awkwardly nods as if slowly trying to process what you said. A feeling deep inside tells him that you know he’s full of shit. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious, but that makes him feel even worse for leaving you on his off day, just to be with Yoongi. The instant you shut the door behind Hoseok, your heart broke. You want to regret getting into this thing with him, but you know it was something you wanted at one point.

Jungkook attired himself in his usual pieces. Black ink tattoos of an  “X” covers just below both of his elbows. His signature three, silver hoops dangle within both of his ears, as he deliberately munches on a protein bar, while standing in the coms room.

“I specifically asked you both to come once you were DONE with breakfast,” Namjoon retorts indirectly towards Jungkook, who is undoubtedly dropping crumbs on the ground.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jimin throws his hands up and shakes his head as if to surrender, his jet-black strands swaying about in front of his eyes.

“As I was saying…” Namjoon continues, “I have different tasks for you both.” Jungkook’s eyes stay glued on the eldest. Jimin’s toned arms are crossed, tilting his head to the side.

“Phoenix,” Namjoon tosses a wireless earpiece to Jimin. “I want you to head over to the docks. I’ve been picking up high blue light activity lately in that area.” Namjoon gropes his chin, as if in deep thought. “Check it out and see if there’s anything you could find that’ll tell us why they’ve been so trigger happy lately.”

Jungkook abruptly stops chewing and tunes out after hearing Namjoon’s request. That is why he felt different about you. You didn’t hurt him like most blue lights would hurt runners if they’d ever been caught. That’s the difference.

“Falcon!”

The slight ringing in Jungkook’s ears immensely fades away after he realizes Namjoon is talking to him. His eyebrows rise up, as if silently asking him What? Namjoon removes a black messenger bag he has around himself and tosses it to Jungkook, who almost didn’t catch it due to the crumpled granola wrapper still in his hand and Namjoon’s sudden reflexes.

“Since your little encounter” Namjoon makes the quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “I’m sending you on a fast cash mission. You know the rules.”

Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, as if to emphasize his point. “I’ll be guiding you, but keep your eyes peeled. Your name isn’t Falcon for nothing.” Jungkook shrugs at the audacity.

“When you reach the location, there will be a runner by the name of  Viper waiting there for you. Give him the bag, and safely return back to the hideout without being detected by any blue lights.”

“Copy that.”

Namjoon nods in response, “Oh. Before I forget.” Namjoon reaches toward his glass desk to pull out a black, wireless earpiece.

“I know you’ve been borrowing Jimin’s earpiece since yours broke. So, I made a new one.” Namjoon extends his hand out to Jungkook then snaps away.

“Try not to break it this time, huh? Materials are kind of… limited.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and obtains the piece to delicately place in his ear. He places the bag over his head and lets the strap rest on his shoulder, adjusting it to his liking — making sure it’s tight around his torso. Jimin follows and pushes his earpiece in.

Namjoon makes an overly-dramatic clap noise with his hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s get to work!” On their way from the hideout, Jimin stops Jungkook before they proceed to go on their separate ways.

“Hey,” Jimin spills, his eyes now crescent, moon-shaped due to the sizzling sun displayed brightly in the sky. Jungkook replies, “Yeah?”

“Just, uh…” Jimin lingers on for a moment, observing the ambience as if he’s searching  for something. His eyes land back on the youngest, admiring how innocent he is. Jimin loved Jungkook as his own brother, and he’d do anything to protect him. He’s convinced he’d do more than Namjoon.

“Be  careful. Okay?” A tinge of worry oozes from Jimin’s command. He wishes he could just tell Jungkook the dreams he’d been having lately, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset him, yet he knows he’d have to tell him sooner or later. Because recurring nightmares that Jimin has are always to some extent: true. It’s been that way for as long as he could remember. The first time he’d experienced it was when he was seven years old. He dreamt the same dream during that time, that his father was caught in a rainstorm and passed away due to a car collision.

The first night he experienced the nightmare, he was afraid; and although he’d warn his parents, all else failed. They thought it was just another bad dream that would pass. A few weeks later, his father passed away due to a DUI car accident. Jimin was devastated, and although he was right all along, he hated when the same dreams occurred because he knew eventually it would no longer be a nightmare — instead a reality.

“Always,” Jungkook answers, while turning around to jog in the opposite direction. Completely unaware of Jimin who’s still left behind and laying eyes on him. An ounce of worry overtakes him, that he misses Namjoon’s calling of his name.

“Phoenix, do you copy?” Jimin snaps back from his daydream,

“Y-yeah. I mean- Copy that. I’m here.” Namjoon keeps track of Jungkook’s location and notices Jimin’s stillness.

“Alright, let’s head west and take it from there. It’s a straight shot.” Jimin starts his run, climbing over fences, sliding under pipes, and running on walls. Namjoon uses the digital map to pinpoint the intended location.

“Looks like the docks will be on the west side of the Cobra Enterprises building.

“Copy that.” Namjoon takes a sip of his now lukewarm, medium, roast coffee.

“Switching to channel two, be right back.” Jungkook sits on the edge of a building, looking below his feet where the grand city of Python seems so tiny. Pedestrians look like ants from his perspective. Moving vehicles give the appearance of toy cars kids play with. The sound of a deep voice keys into Jungkook’s earpiece.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook swings his feet playfully, enjoying the summer weather, “Go for Falcon.”

“You’ll be heading east to The Echidna. Viper will be there waiting for you. Deliver the package to him, and make it back safely. Remember, no blue lights.”

Hoseok turns the key to open the door of his apartment. The sound of the front door closing startles a naked Yoongi, who steps foot into Hoseok’s room with a towel wrapped around him. His soaked, purple strands dripping with water. Hoseok shuffles his jacket and shoes off, yet notices the penthouse is filled with silence. He’d hoped Yoongi had just given up for now and left, but he knew him. He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted.

His fingers glide through his own soft waves, and he treads upstairs to his room. His heart suddenly pumps faster when his eyes land on the back side of Yoongi, who has removed his towel to dry his hair. His pale, porcelain skin glowing and glistening with water and sunshine. Hoseok takes a thick gulp and clears his throat. Yoongi finds Hoseok behind him and gives his signature smirk, “Good morning.” Yoongi drops his towel on the ground and gestures a “come here” motion with his finger, and Hoseok follows.

“Missed me? I know I missed you,” Yoongi caresses Hoseok’s cheek, gazing into his brown irises, his bed-hair adding a nice final touch.

“I’m sorry, I-” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s index finger placed on his lips. He commands, “Just shut up and fucking kiss me already. You owe me. Big time.” Hoseok chuckles before leaning in to wrap his arms around Yoongi, placing his hands along his back, pulling Yoongi flush to his body.

Before heading out to investigate the supposed “Namjoon Kim” case Hoseok urged you earlier to begin, you chose to pay a visit to your favorite chocolatier in the mall, the one that sells your favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. The fresh, cool breeze of the air conditioner blows through your hair as you strut through the front entrance of The Echidna. The chocolate shop wasn’t far from the main entrance, on the entry level so you decided to take your time, casually strolling through the mall. The smell of pretzels, pizza, and other delicious foods filled your senses as you passed by the food court. After a minute more of walking, you reach the shop and realize they are running a promotion: Buy one dozen of chocolate-covered strawberries, get another half off.

Just in time.

On the rooftops, Jungkook blasts over buildings and latches onto pipes, ladders, and other obstacles that help him navigate throughout the environment.

“Thunderbird for Phoenix.” Jimin keys back into Namjoon while taking a break from running.

“Go for Phoenix.” Namjoon tracks Jimin’s location, and notes how far he is from the intended location.

“Good job. You’re on the right path. You should be able to see the front side of the Cobra Enterprises building from where you are.” Jimin scans his surroundings on the east side, and notes the building with a golden, cobra snake symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Continue your normal path and you’ll notice the building will then be on the east side of you.” Jimin nods in approval, “Copy that.”

Yoongi and Hoseok lie in bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Hoseok rests on Yoongi’s chest, drawing circles on his chest with Yoongi’s fingers laced in his strands.

“So,” Yoongi breaks the silence. “So?” Hoseok questions, admiring the soft supple skin under his fingertips.

“Gonna tell me where you were last night?” Just as Hoseok gathered up the courage to respond, Yoongi cuts him off.

“No, wait! Let me guess. With ____,” he states with a dry tone. A tinge of jealousy behind his words. Hoseok turns his head around, facing Yoongi.

“Are we really doing this again?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Hoseok off of his chest. Hoseok’s eyebrows naturally crease in response.

“Yoongi, seriously?” The eldest says nothing, his back now turned to the youngest, having flipped over on his side.

“What fucking more do you want?!” Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair, his strands falling back onto his forehead. Yoongi keys in on him, with a furious gaze. “Us!” He exclaims, sitting up and easing his way out of bed to slip on his jeans.

“I fucking want us,” He continues, more-so demanding rather than stating. Hoseok takes a deep breath. “You know that I’m working on that-”

Yoongi seethes. “Yeah, and for how long?!” His voice raising with fists clenched on his jeans, zipping them up. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He adds, slipping on his signature, purple v-neck.

“____ is in love with you. How do you just “work on that?” He emphasizes with air quotation marks. Hoseok struggles to answer, leaving his lips parted slightly. A moment of silence falls between the two. Yoongi takes this as a cue of defeat — slipping on his leather jacket.

“Exactly.” He exits the bedroom, leaving Hoseok to ponder in his thoughts, while left in bed naked, regret filling him completely.

Yoongi saunters downstairs and slips on his boots, departing from Hoseok’s loft. He runs his fingers through his hair, while marching down the hallway of the complex. His mind continues to race many miles per hour. His finger presses the button to signal the elevator, and to his surprise, the doors open quicker than he’d expected. He takes a deep breath while stepping in and recounting the moment he’d had with Hoseok.

He hates himself for getting caught up in this situation with him, and now with you involved made matters worse. His heart aches at the thought of what things would be like if he hadn’t traded Namjoon out. Yoongi misses him, but he knows he’d never accept him for who he is and he wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done. A pang in his chest approaches, knowing that he and Namjoon’s future was now long gone, and merely nothing but a dream now. It hurts, and he’s hurt. Which is why he’d pressed Hoseok to get you to look into his case in the first place. He needed this. Needed closure. He misses Namjoon, and there isn’t a day that passes when he doesn’t think of him. He needs him.

You’d chosen the dozen of half milk-chocolate strawberries and half white-chocolate covered strawberries. For both sets. The cashier carefully hands you the paper bag, with two gorgeous arrangements of twelve strawberries in each box. You gracefully exit the chocolatier with the brightest smile on your face, strutting toward the entrance of The Echidna to make your departure from the mall. Jungkook awaits on the rooftops, peering at his surroundings to ensure no one is in sight. And by no one, he specifically means blue lights. His tired being squats down, seating himself on the ground, nearby one of many dome-shaped, skylights that sit behind him. The sun toasting his skin causes him to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Namjoon scans the time on the Thunder portal, noting that the runner should have arrived by now.

“Viper should be within your perimeter. Do you see him?” Jungkook scans his peripheral, but there is no sight of said runner. “No, he’s not here.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, as he doesn’t see any hint of a runner nearby the mall. The only indicator visible is Jungkook’s location. A red, blinking dot on the map.

“Something’s not right,” He says to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook feels a presence behind him and just before he could turn around to say something, a deep, baritone voice speaks out.

“Thanks for meeting me here, this was a great spot.” But when Jungkook’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form, his mouth flew agape.

Violet. One of the colors on the spectrum that hadn’t been discovered yet.

There was no way, he thought. No way it was possible. And then the eldest spoke again, realizing Jungkook’s expression.

“Hey. Red, huh? Wait-” He pauses, Jungkook clenches the bag’s strap tightly. “That’s the color where- What’s that leaders name?” His finger taps his chin as if thinking. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue… Sounds like a month?”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. How did he know Thunderbird’s real name?

“How do you know his name?” Kook questions, gripping onto the bag tighter.

“It’s Joon, right? Namjoon! There it is.” Namjoon keys in to double-check on the youngest.

“Falcon, has he arrived yet? I’m still not able to see him.” Namjoon grows hesitant from not receiving a response.

Jungkook abruptly throws the bag at the man standing in front of him and darts in the opposite direction. Viper sprints behind him and tackles the youngest down onto one of the skylights, their figures thumping and sliding against the glass. Viper bangs Jungkook’s head into the glass. Jungkook throws a harsh punch straight to Viper’s nose and tackles him down, his body now caging him in.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jungkook seethes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Viper grins with a mischievous expression. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at his coy remark. His hands grip around his neck, applying pressure with much force.

“Falcon?” Namjoon keys in yet again. Growing suspicious, he continues to scan the area and notes a blinking, blue light that appears to be moving. His assumption is that whoever it is may be inside the mall. “Fuck.”

A tinge of venom seeps from Viper’s words, “Tell that leader of yours, that Firebird is looking for him-” He chokes, Jungkook applying more pressure.

“He better- get ready.. for him too.” He adds with a menacing laugh. Jungkook releases his neck and throws another punch to his face, his knuckles aching as a result. Viper continues to laugh, and manhandles Jungkook. His back falls back onto the delicate material below them. He drives his foot against the side of Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly.

“Ahhh, fuck!” Jungkook groans, his fists clenching from the pain.

Jungkook forces a kick straight to Viper’s face, grazing his nose with his shoe, causing drips of blood to spill. Jungkook clenches his teeth and tackles Viper down again, and then suddenly.

Crack.

The two men gaze down below them, and witness cracks scattering along the glass of the skylight.

“Shit,” Jungkook slips.

“Falcon!” Namjoon yells into his earpiece.

Viper watches Jungkook’s expression with wide eyes, his lips parting in shock. Jungkook slowly stands on his two feet, removing himself from on top of the eldest and attempts to escape, but with the added weight of being on his feet, the glass shatters into pieces, Viper’s form falls through the skylight, en route to the interior of the mall. Jungkook trips, losing his grip on the edge, his veins popping out as he forces his body back up onto the rooftop.

You fumble in the pockets of your leather jacket to obtain your car keys. Until the sudden sound of shattering glass startles you and out of the blue, an intense cracking, thud-like sound follows by a body falling splat onto the ground level of the mall. The contents in your hands drop in response, and the only melody filling your ears is the screams throughout the entire atmosphere, civilians pushing their way to the nearest exit. A thumping beat resides in your chest, and it’s as if your heart pounds so loud you that the noise suffocates your hearing above everything else. Your mouth falls open, and your instincts tell you to examine from above, where the body initially came from. And then your eyes meet a familiar face; to say you were shocked was an understatement.

There he was. Again. The man you’d seen yesterday. You knew it was him because you remember those eyes, his hair, and that black mask. After locking eyes with you, he immediately vanishes. You glare at the body that lies on the ground, slowly inching toward the male. With shaky hands, you kneel down to feel his pulse under his neck and there’s nothing.

Jungkook charges off the rooftops of The Echidna, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. The last thing he needed was for blue lights on his tail. And he saw you. He fucked up again. You saw him, and now there’s nothing he can do to un-do what happened. The sound of Namjoon’s voice resonates within Jungkook’s earpiece. “Falcon! What the hell happened? Did you deliver the package?” Jungkook says nothing, instead, he runs.

Namjoon sighs in frustration.

“I’m here,” Jimin keys in. Namjoon locates Jimin’s location.

“Fuck,” Namjoon replies.

Jimin asks with a hint of confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon sighs.

“No, Phoenix. You’ve made it to the destination. I haven’t heard from Jungkook since he arrived at The Echidna, and he isn’t responding.” Jimin’s eyes widen. Oh no, had something happened to him? What if… the dream?

“Wait what? Do you need me to head over there?” Namjoon shakes his head, as if he could see him.

“No! Stay where you are. Just find out what you can find, and I’ll be here. I’ll handle it. Over and out.”

Jimin’s heart drops. He hoped Jungkook was okay, for his own sake. He couldn’t lose another person close to his heart.

Namjoon locates Jungkook’s location, and he’s storming like a lightning bolt. He removes his headset to meet with the youngest. Jungkook pants, his chest rising and falling.

“Falcon, what the hell? How many times do I-” Namjoon is cut off by the expression on Jungkook’s face. He stops in his tracks and notices his mask is already off, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His hands are shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook begins rambling, “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck just happened!” Tears stream down his cheeks, he feels like he’s on fire, his chest continues to gasp for air. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“I-It all j-just happened s-so fast, I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon notes his trembling hands; he’d never seen him so worked up before.

“He- he came. And then I saw his purple shirt a-and I panicked, I didn’t know what the fuck to do! I-” Jungkook sobs with an aching pain on his side. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“Okay, Kook just calm down. Follow me into the coms room.” Upon arrival, Namjoon processes what had been said and his eyebrows furrow in reply. “Wait… His shirt? It was what?”

Jungkook makes an attempt to calm himself down, his rosy-tinted cheeks stained with wet tears. “Violet. It’s the last color on the spectrum.”

Namjoon shakes his head, now pacing back and forth. “This could only mean one thing…” He trails off, pondering the fact he discovered a new color on the spectrum. He scrolls through the portal and peers at the map, finding the different colors of the spectrum scattered across the city of Python. Every color except Violet.

“That’s why Thunder couldn’t pinpoint his location. Violet isn’t yet programmed into the software. Which means-”

“Firebird.” Jungkook slips.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps toward him with wide eyes, “Where did you get that name?”

“Viper said it. Firebird is looking for you.” He pauses, to let in a deep breath, “And you’d better get ready.” Jungkook groans in discomfort, a sharp shock of pain shooting through his side. He watches Namjoon’s figure, noticing the startled expression on his face.

No, it can’t be. There’s no way he was looking for him. Even if he was, why? After all this time, why now? And what was it that Namjoon had to prepare for?

And then everything came crashing down. “Shit,” Namjoon spills.

“Who is Firebird, anyway?” Jungkook questions with curiosity. A distinct chattering sound can be heard from Namjoon’s headset.

“Phoenix for Thunderbird! Do you copy?” Jimin chimes in with a slight tinge of frustration and worry clouding his being.

Ignoring Jungkook’s question, Namjoon places his headset back on.

“Go for Thunderbird.”

Jimin sighs in relief, “Oh, fuck. I thought I lost you for a sec.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “What’s going on?”

With a heaving, sweaty chest Jimin states, “We have a problem. A really, fucking, big one.” — his eyes keyed in and widening at the sight of what’s happening at the docks.

[caritobbg]

Secret Love Song - Spencer Reid x Reader (Part 1)

A/N: Hi everyone!!!!! ♥ this is my first little imagine/fanfic of Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader. I’m not sooooooo good writing in english, but here it goes? hahahahahahaha

I’ll should be posting the second part maybe later in the day or perhaps tomorrow ♥ Hope you like it!!!!!!!

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

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Five women were murdered on the eve of Valentine's Day.

Spencer is afraid you could be the next victim, but knows that the only person who can stop the killer is you.

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-I wish that it could be like that, why can't we be like that? 'Cause I'm yours… Why can't we be like that? Wish we could be like that… -

"Thank you very much Agent Hotchner" she said shaking his hand "it is an honor to work with you and your team" "The pleasure is ours" she said smiling "I will introduce you to the team ..."

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Three years had passed since that presentation. Three years in which her life had been directed to what she always wanted: to work at BAU. From that moment, her world took a 180 ° turn. She met her best friends, always up for a girls' night out at karaoke and, although she didn't like it very much, clubs.

(Y / N) was always a quiet girl, she loved reading all kinds of books, cooking, writing, listening to lyrical music, something that anyone would consider strange for a 24 year old girl ... but for someone in particular it was not ... Spencer Reid At first he did not want or, rather, he did not believe in love at first sight, he supposed that it was totally ridiculous for a person to fall in love with someone he had just met, until he saw her.

*

“I want to introduce you to our new partner, agent (Y / L / N) (Y / N)” said Hotch at the foot of the stairs with her next to him “they are agents David Rossi, Penelope García, Derek Morgan, Emily Pretniss , Jennifer Jareau and Spencer Reid "

" Nice to meet you all " she said smiling

" The pleasure is our little one "said Rossi shaking hands

" It will be incredible to work with you, I can assure you "Derek said smiling

" I need you to tell me one thing ... "

"Tell me ..." looking at Penelope who had a serious face

"When is your birthday?" smiling "I swear I will have an incredible party with lots of decorations and balloons and a giant chocolate fountain and ..." "January 31st" she said laughing "I'm not much of going out to celebrate, but I think I will do it with all of you"

*

From that day on he knew she was the perfect girl for him but ... he was scared. Fear of losing out, getting hurt, being rejected. And she felt the same ... after her last relationship she had given up on love, she no longer believed in him ...

"We have a case," Hotch said from the stairs. "Conference room, Garcia in a few minutes will give us the details." (Y / N) grabbed his pencil and pad and went to where Hotch indicated. Once in there, Penelope began to give them the details of the new case.

"My loves, this case happened just a few blocks away and it is… a strange thing… considering the circumstances in which these five murders took place." Garcia said showing one by one the photos of five murdered girls, "Bonnie Stewart, Daisy Jonas, Jessy Edwards, Margot Pinnock and Willow Phoenix, were found murdered with multiple stab wounds in the abdomen and chest with only one week of each other"

"Where did you find them?" Rossi said

"That's where I'm going" replied his partner "each of them was found a block from the karaoke bars they went to with their friends."

"They are all similar" Spencer said looking at everyone "short hair, brown eyes, height doesn't seem to matter."

“Our aforementioned doesn't know how to interact with people of the opposite sex, he tries to flirt with them, it doesn't go his way and once he finds them alone he subdues them, he needs to be in control. He has the profile of a narcissist in my opinion "

"Could be," Derek said.

"We already have something, at least," said Hotch as he separated them into groups.

(Y / N) and Derek went to speak to the Phoenix and Jonas families who, as you can imagine, were heartbroken over the loss of their daughters. They still couldn't understand how it could have happened. They told them that they had gone with their friends to spend the night and make plans for Valentine's Day * Great… I had forgotten that this date was coming soon… * she thought

"When will you tell him?" Derek asked him keeping his eyes on the road a few blocks from the offices “tomorrow is Valentine's Day”

“I don't know…” she simply replied “he told me that he was seeing someone else, a friend that he liked for years and that he never knows. could get out of his head "

After a few hours of discussion and exposing the clues they found, they concluded that the person they were looking for was a man in his thirties, with short brown hair, a normal build and a history of violence towards the opposite sex.

"Do we have a name?" asked Hotch who was arriving with Rossi

"Yes, and I'm afraid he's someone known to one of us" JJ said with a worried expression in his eyes. Emily, who was sitting next to (Y / N), did not have the right words to say it "It's ..."

"My ex-boyfriend ... Cam Greyson" (Y / N) replied with sadness and bitterness

"So ... I was right" Rossi said, everyone was looking at him confused.

"Look at the photos, who of us do those girls look like?"

"(Y / N)" Penelope couldn't believe it

Spencer entered the room praying that what he had heard had not been true, especially knowing where that bastard was going to attack again. For a few minutes the entire room was silent, no one dared to speak, not even him.

Seeing the person she loved like this, destroyed, upset, afraid of being next, was the worst thing that could have happened in her life.

"Garcia. Reid. " Hotch said snapping him out of his thoughts "Did you find the next place Cam is going to attack?"

"Yeah ... at the Night Owl bar, five blocks from here" Reid said

"That's the bar we always do our girls' night at. !!!!! " JJ commented with more concern in his voice than anything else "We have to talk to Joey, he sure is going to know something"

"We did it a few minutes ago, we already warned him" Spencer said trying to sound understandable

"I heard that he’s doing something there tomorrow" said Rossi looking at his companions "several people signed up to do a little karaoke show to celebrate "

" I need to take a breath "(Y / N) got up leaving everyone speechless; Spencer went after her but…

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Spencer POV's

"Pen ... could you give me some advice" I said as I entered her batcave with her, as we all call it; I was nervous because it was weird for her to ask for this kind of advice, but she was one of my best friends, so it was worth a try.

"Sure honey, what's wrong?"

"N ... I don't know how to say it, but ...

"Are you going to tell her? " that question took me by surprise

"H ... how ...?"

"We all know that little one, we know you like (Y / N)" typing as fast as possible on his computer to find the next place our unsub was about to attack " I found it!" We spoke to the owner of the place, one Joey Batey, he had known the girls for a few years as they would always spend their girls nights there. The place was set in those British bars that (Y / N) always liked and… wait…

“Spence, the only advice I can give you is to tell her, it could be too late if you wait” ¿Too late?

“What do you mean?”

“Our unsub… is him…” showing me a photo of him…

My blood boiled as I remembered everything that ... that idiot had done to him. He mistreated her, cheated on her for a year, 55 days, 2 hours and 48 seconds, he tried to make her life hell! I remember that when she decided to end the relationship I was by her side no matter what was going to happen, I consoled her, there were whole days in which she spent crying until she fell asleep in my apartment, she did not feel safe in hers since that bastard had the keys ...

"Come on, we have to let them know" I said, running out of there,

"She knows, Spence!" looking towards where they were all gathered; Seeing her in that state left me paralyzed. I love her ... I love everything about her ... her love for books, coffee, her smile, her voice, when she helps me get out of awkward situations, the way she laughs when we're together watching movies, her ...

"Garcia. Reid. " Our boss said, taking me out of my mind. "Did you find the next place that Cam is going to attack?"

"Yes ... at the Night Owl bar, five blocks from here"

"That's the bar we always do our girls' night at! !!!! " JJ commented with more concern in his voice than anything else "We have to talk to Joey, he sure is going to know something"

"We did it a few minutes ago, we already warned him" I said quickly but at the same time not wanting to run over me with my own words

"I heard that he’s doing something there tomorrow, several people signed up to do a little karaoke show to celebrate"

"I need to get some air " I went behind her as soon as she crossed the door with Penelope, but someone stopped me

"Leave her ... she needs some space, pretty boy" Derek was behind me "this is a bucket of cold water for both us and her"

"I don't want her to suffer again ..." without looking at him

"Will you tell her?" again? Am I really THAT OBVIOUS? "Tomorrow is ..."

"I know, it's Valentine's ..." staring at him "there are very small chances that she feels the same as me, 10 to 30% that it will be a success, which I am ..."

" Spencer, she loves you! It shows in the way she looks at you, in which she talks to you, everything in her indicates that she is 100% "

" Guys, come on, we need to discuss the plan, then we will comment on it to (Y / N) "said JJ from the conference room "I don't know if you will like this, but it is the only way to catch it"

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

"NO! NO WAY!" as she walked across the room; they want her to be the one ... "Reid, she's the only one who can stop him, there's no other way!"

"David, that man did many things to her, including threatening her with death in front of us !!!!!"

"This is up to her" Emily said covering her face

"None of us sing very well what we say" said JJ on the verge of a fit of anger "(Y / N) has an incredible voice !! Even Joey said he has everything he needs for the show available! "

"I will do it."

*No, please no…*

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

(Y / N) POV's

* Please no ... not again ... *

I felt that panic was consuming me little by little since they named it. My mind kept repeating over and over again the events of that past relationship: the mistreatment, the yelling, the fights, the ... hitting ...

“I need to get some air” and I got out of there as fast as I could, went down the stairs and went to the little kitchen where we always met to rest when we finished the paperwork

“Are you okay sweetie?”

“No, Pen… not really "Shedding some tears" just thinking that those girls are dead because a son of a bitch is obsessed with me makes me sick to my stomach "

" Come here "hugging me" it's not your fault! We're going to catch that bastard and everything will go back to how it was before, I promise you ”

“ I know we'll catch him, but how? ”

“ Don't worry about that, the others are coming up with the strategy to use ”

“ Yes… "

Before he could answer me, we heard screams from the living room. We both looked at each other and went there without making any noise and listened carefully to what everyone was saying.

“None of us sing very well, let’s say. (Y / N) has an amazing voice !! Even Joey said he has everything he needs for the show available! " yelled JJ; I looked at Penelope just as surprised as she was, we understood what our friend was referring to ... go to that show and catch him ...

"I will" I said from the door "when do we start?"

3rd person POV's

After they got the strategy and capture right, (Y / N), Emily and JJ went to spend the night at Penelope's house and prepare for the next day. It was going to be a very complicated day in that they wanted to ditch their friend as a diva to blow away a little stubborn named Spencer Reid.

"If Spencer does not come tomorrow I swear that I will make his life hell" said JJ leaving the room ready to sleep with a white T-shirt and long light blue pants "seriously, we will all be present to arrest him and nothing happens ”

“ I agree ”said Emily grabbing a few blankets for four o'clock; even though spring was approaching, the cold was still present in the city "I don't understand why it's like this"

"It's obvious !!!!" Penelope yelled, scaring everyone

“Oh come on! I know Spence doesn't like me "

" His eyes say otherwise, beauty "while Pen put a hand on her shoulder" Let's go to sleep "suggested JJ looking at the face of (Y / N)" tomorrow will be a long day and we have to prepare all of us "

* Time lapsus *

“Well then this is the plan” Joey said once they were about to do a little rehearsal “you will have to sing two songs, one fast and one slow.”

“Yeah, which ones? I don't even know where… ”pensive

“ (Y / N / N), do you remember that song you told me you wrote a few months ago? When we came back from the Rivera case in California ”said Emily

“ Yes… I remember her ”

“ You wrote a song and you never told us ?! ” screaming almost indignantly JJ

“Yes” this time laughing a little “it started with a few small notes on the piano and ended up being one that I never dared to sing in public, less in front of Spencer”

“We have a keyboard, you can play a little if you want and we'll tell you if it's perfect for the occasion ”while Joey guided her to the piano

“ I can't, it's… ”

“ Come on (Y / N / N), you don't have to sing it now, it's just the melody!

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8Hkgp6zSGI) (from 0:00 to 1:45)

He began to play. His hands flowed delicately over the keyboards of the beautiful keyboard, JJ and Penelope couldn't believe it. Emily knew about this song, when they came back from California she had seen her write something in a notebook while the rest of the team was resting.

*

Emily was next to (Y / N), waking up a little from that hour and a half of sleep, she watched her carefully while she wrote in a white colored notebook with white letters that said songs.

“I wish that we could be like that? What do you write?" she said, pulling her out of her thoughts

"N ... nothing ... is ..." closing her notebook

"A song?"

"Yes ..." as she opened it again "I always carry it with me, it's like a diary full of thoughts and phrases in which I write everything that happens to me "

" It's something very nice "smiling" name? "

" Um ... I decided to call it... "

*

In the midst of that memory, he did not realize that he began to sing a part of the chorus ...

“Why can't I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor? I wish that it could be like that, why can't it be like that? 'Cause I'm yours "

she stopped playing surprised, she had been carried away by her feelings, again ...

"Ok ... that's a resounding yes" JJ surprised by that chorus "we already have one"

"Spencer will have to come because I swear that ..." Pen said

"Please don't mention it" she said with a bit of sadness "let's move on to the next one"

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 26: Scraps

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences 

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content 

Chapter 26/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Five+

Wherever she was, it was quiet and safe. It was also dark. She thought that her eyes were open, but she could not see anything at all. It was like the time her family had gone to that cave that Jesse James had hidden in, and the tour guide had turned off all the lights so they could see how dark it was. She and her brothers had waved their hands in front of each others’ faces, laughing themselves silly at the fact that they couldn’t see them. But she wasn’t worried; not now. The taste of elderflower tickled her tongue, she was bone-weary, and whatever she was lying on was deliciously soft. A sound like water lapping at the shore rocked her, and she felt no pain in this half-world.

It was her time; and she was ready to go.

Something cool touched her; something sharp and prickly that prodded her forehead, her cheek, her chest. She wheezed and tried to protest the invasion, but no words came out. It was like trying to talk underwater. A babble of sounds mixed with the rushing noise in her ears; and though she thought she heard voices, she could not make out their words. Her eyes were shut after all, and she had not the energy to pry them open. She wished they would stop, these things that tormented her. As the voices grew louder and came into sharper focus, she tried to flinch away and failed. Being touched hurt. The voices hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything…

“….Miranda….”

Oh. That voice. She knew that voice. It washed over her like dark honey and she panted, desiring more of its soothing tones.

“Severus?” Her own voice was a pathetic plea, but she was past caring about trifling things like dignity and pride. She was thirsty for his voice, thirsty for his touch, thirsty for his very presence, and dying—of thirst or something else—but dying all the same.

“I’m here. Don’t talk. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s.”

Her heart tripped; and though she had surfaced to intolerable pain, she was willing to bear it for a little longer, if only for the pleasure of hearing him speak. She was no longer content to lie still and wait, she had to move, had to touch him. But her limbs ignored her like rebellious children, and she could only whimper her disapproval as the thing underneath her jerked her body. White-hot streaks of agony stabbed her everywhere, and she heard him swear brokenly under his breath. That wouldn’t do. She would be brave for him. She quieted her complaints and willed her eyes to open. And, though it took every ounce of strength she had left, open they did, and she saw him.

His face was pale, like always, and his hair hung limply on either side of his angular cheeks. It was oily today, like it was when he’d spent too much time in the potions room, or when he’d forgotten to wash it for too long. When they had first met, he had been careless about that aspect of his appearance. But after she’d gone to Romania, every time she saw him, his hair had been scrupulously clean. She’d never mentioned it, but she had noticed. He must not have expected to see her today.

“Severus,” she whispered, “it’s been good.”

His tone was stern when he answered her. “Miranda, I absolutely forbid you to die. It is completely out of the question.”

A laugh bubbled up in her, and she tasted blood in her mouth. “I don’t think there’s anything that can stop that now.”

“You took the Stasis Potion, did you not?”

She struggled to remember, but her brain felt soft. “I…think the Spiridus…fed it to me.”

The ground jerked beneath her, and her stomach rolled as the world around her started to spin. A sickening heat flashed through her body, and she thought she might retch. She could not tell how long the torture continued, but just when she thought it might go on forever, it stopped abruptly. Now she was blessedly still, and a soft, wet rain was kissing her face. God she was thirsty.

“Kiss me, Severus.”

A shattered moan escaped his throat, and he brought his lips down on hers. She drank the life she knew he was willing into her, even though she could feel it pouring back out of the innumerable wounds that had destroyed her body. Everything she’d ever felt for him; desire, anger, friendship, compassion, blended together into a brilliant mass. She sank into it, and as it washed over her she felt a tenderness beating at its core. As the jackel-men had ripped open her body, this feeling wrenched open her soul, and she was undone.

His heart was in his eyes, and he was close enough that she could feel his breath. She would tell him now, before she lost the chance to do so.

“Severus, I want to tell you…”

He laid his finger over her lips, and she closed them against the weight. “I said you are not allowed to die.”

His hand rested gently on her cheek, and she turned her face towards it. Then there was darkness again, and an awful sensation; she was being sucked dry, pulled apart, suffocated.

Then there was nothing.

*****

Apparating in a state of agitation, particularly while bringing the body of an injured person along for the ride, was a feat that Severus did not desire to repeat any time in the near future. He glanced at Miranda’s inert form, finding that the experience had thrown her back into unconsciousness. As he choked on the malodorous stench of decay that hung in the air, he reflected that it was probably better that way. Whoever was responsible for the brilliant idea of placing the emergency entrance to St. Mungo’s between a line of Muggle dumpsters should be submerged in one and lit on fire.

He flicked his wand violently at the stretcher he’d transfigured from Miranda’s sofa, levitating it off the filthy street with a sickening jerk. Berating himself for his carelessness, he ran his fingers lightly over her battered face. Her breath was still coming in shallow, irregular pants, and the pulse at her throat was thready. A steadier wand swish set the stretcher moving, hovering through the air on invisible strings. He hurried up the delivery ramp with his patient close behind, to a large metal door painted with the warning “Do Not Block.” His slapped the ‘D’ with far more force than necessary, and an unpleasant pulling sensation drew both of them through the entrance into the brightly lit passage beyond. A witch with dark hair and enormous, rectangular glasses was perched at a desk, imperiously directing a queue of witches and wizards in various degrees of distress. He joined it begrudgingly, burning through the remainder of his patience with the speed of an inferno devouring tinder.

“Welcome to St. Mungo’s,” the witch said in a voice like a strangled goat when she finally deigned to notice him. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

“Severe injuries sustained in battle,” he replied tersely.

The welcome witch was unimpressed. “Name of the injured party?”

“Miranda Jane Rose.”

“Affiliation?”

“Order of the Phoenix.” He put his hand on Miranda’s wrist, reassuring himself that her heart was still beating as the inane interrogation continued.

“Magical I.D.?”

Would the witch never get on with it? “I don’t have it.”

She gave him a disapproving sniff and thrust a stack of parchment into his hand. “I see. In that case, you’ll have to fill out all of these.”

“I hardly think this is the time for such nonsense. Or is it the hospital’s practice to allow patients bleed to death while they attempt to satisfy the insatiable demands of pointless bureaucracy?”

“Hospital protocol exists for a reason, sir.”

“Apparently so. The more patients who perish in the anteroom, the fewer you actually have to bother with treating.”

“It’s not my fault you forgot the necessary parchments. Residence?”

“A cabin at Upper Diddling, near Brighton.” Two more questions and then he was going to cast a Confundus and take her to triage, protocol be damned.

“Place of birth?”

“Edgewater, Kansas.”

“Kansas?” The welcome witch peered over the rim of her oversized glasses. “Do you mean the Kansas in America?”

“No, I mean the Kansas in Northumberland,” he sneered. “Of course I bloody well mean the Kansas in America.”

“Is she a MACUSA citizen?”

“Yes.”

She clucked her tongue. “Why didn’t you say so at the beginning? Foreign citizens require a completely different set of parchment.”

“What this woman requires is a healer’s attention immediately,” Severus growled, sliding his wand out of his sleeve. “And if you possessed the brains of a flobberworm, she would already be receiving it.”

“One more word like that out of you, sir, and I’ll be calling security.”

“Professor Severus, I wasn’t expecting to see you again today.” Healer A’isha appeared from around the corner, and Severus quickly replaced his wand. “Has something happened? There is blood on your lips.”

His hand automatically went to his mouth and his fingers came away streaked with red. “It’s not mine. It’s…”

“What is going on here?” Healer A’isha had cleared the desk and now had an unobstructed view of Miranda’s mangled body. “Is she one of yours?”

“Yes.”

Healer A’isha began barking orders. “Miss Rhea, I am taking this woman and Professor Severus to triage.”

Miss Rhea put her hands on her hips and snarled another attack. “Healer A’isha, these people are not cleared to enter the hospital. I was just about to pull the files with their security questions. That is, assuming they’re even on the Order’s list at all.”

“I am overriding that protocol.”

“If they turn out to be Death Eaters, I want it noted that it was your rule-breaking that let them in.”

“I’ll put it in my report. This way, Professor Severus.”

“But the parchments,” the welcome witch whined as they maneuvered Miranda around the impediment of her desk.

“Send them up with Healer Augustus. He will be on the hourglass within the next ten minutes. And send up Healer Hippocrates, too.”

“Healer A’isha, you know he hates to work when he’s already flipped his hourglass for the day!”

“He’ll hate it more if he misses this, I promise you.”

Severus could have kissed her. As they moved swiftly through the candlelit corridors, he felt air moving through his lungs for the first time since he’d seen Catalina at the castle gates. Even as they walked, Healer A’isha was making her preliminary examination, her long brown fingers moving lightly over Miranda’s motionless form.

“Tell me what happened,” she said in a tone both firm and gentle.

“She was in Romania on a mission for the Order. There was a battle with an army of creatures. We thought she was lost, but a being called a Spiridus brought her here.”

“A Spiridus? I have only read about them. What potions has she taken?”

“At least three vials of Strengthening Solution.”

“Ah. That accounts for her pulse. She should not have taken so many.”

“I am aware of that. She also took a Stasis Potion.”

“I am not familiar with that potion. Is it one of yours?”

“Yes.” Unlike the welcome witch’s sniping, this volley of questions was somehow soothing to him.

“When Healer Augustus comes, I will need you to list the components of the completed potion to him.”

“I understand.”

“What were the creatures she fought?”

“I don’t know what they are called.  I lent her comrade my portkey to come here. She will be able to tell you more about the battle itself.”

At last they entered the winged doors of triage, and Severus brought the stretcher to a halt. Healer A’isha ran her wand slowly over Miranda’s body. As she traced each limb, an image of her patient’s bones and organs appeared in color-coded light. Green for health, yellow for mild injury, purple for severe injury, red for mortal injury…Merlin there was so much red…

“I should have brought her via portkey as well, it would have been faster,” he blurted. “All the members of the Order have been carrying portkeys since Arthur’s attack. But I remembered what you said this morning about moving injured persons and I thought…”

“Peace, Professor,” she said, halting his babbling. “It was better to bring her the slower way and avoid moving her as much as possible. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you,” he choked, his vision blurring for a moment. He shut his eyes, he was not going to cry again, not here, not now.

“Healer A’isha?” A disgustingly chipper nurse in blue robes swept into triage, with an irate Romanian witch close at hand. “I’m not sure, but I think this witch is looking for someone. She came in with the finger-print linked portkey, so I don’t think she’s a Death Eater; but the Rosetta Stone is acting up again; and she doesn’t speak any English; and we’ve just been going round and round for the last twenty minutes.”

“Thank you Nurse. That will be all,” Healer A’isha said, dismissing the woman briskly.

“{Professor Snape, this is the most disorganized hospital I have ever seen. Things are not like this in Romania,}” Catalina complained.

“{I don’t disagree, Doamnă Dragnea,}” Severus replied.

The next half hour was a blur of answering questions, translating between Healer A’isha and Catalina, and doing his best to avoid staring at the lighted map that revealed the extent of Miranda’s internal injuries. He could read the thing well enough to tell that his Stasis Potion had worked better than he’d ever hoped that it would. Unfortunately, he found that he was in no way gratified by that knowledge. Rather, he felt vaguely sick when he realized that his efforts at brewing an experimental potion were the only thing standing between his lover and her grave.

A rotund Healer with spectacles and a white handlebar mustache joined them presently. He barely bothered to introduce himself as Hippocrates Smethwyck before he and Healer A’isha whisked Miranda away for treatment. For a moment, the ground seemed to shift beneath Severus’s feet, as though he had been running for hours and had come to a sudden and unexpected stop.

He had no idea what to do next.

An athletic boy in lime green robes, surely too young to be a Healer stepped up to him, saving him the trouble of taking a decision.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” the boy said with the wide-eyed eagerness of a Hufflepuff. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Augustus Pye.”

Severus eyed the boy—young man—shrewdly. “Of course I remember you. Class of ’89. Decent N.E.W.T. work.”

“Thank you, sir. Coming from you, that’s a compliment. I’m a full Healer now.”

“Congratulations.” A headache was starting to pound behind his eyes, and he was beginning to see stars at the edge of his field of vision.

“Why don’t we go find somewhere quiet to sit,” Augustus suggested. “I’m afraid we’ve got a little more parchment work to fill out. Might as well be comfortable while we do.”

“As you say.”

Answering yet more questions sounded as appealing as taking tea with Dolores Umbridge, but Severus had not an ounce of fight left in him. He allowed the new Healer to lead him and Catalina into a deserted alcove, fitted up with a low-burning candelabra and three enormously comfortable armchairs. Catalina promptly curled herself into a ball and fell asleep, and Severus couldn’t say that he blamed her.

“Okay, Professor. Let’s take it from the top.”

*****

Severus’s throat was raw when he pried his stinging eyes open sometime later. He did not ever remember closing them, but when he had rubbed them with the backs of his chapped hands, and glanced out the arched window that graced the alcove, he saw the moon was high in the sky. When he’d arrived at the hospital on this second errand it had been barely sundown. It must be near midnight now. Catalina still slumbered in the chair next to him, and Healer Pye was nowhere in sight. He made an attempt to extract himself from the armchair, but his joints were so stiff that it was not worth the effort. His stomach rumbled, requesting his attention, but he ignored it, as though his discomfort might somehow aid Miranda in surviving the night.

Light footsteps drew his attention, and he saw Healer A’isha enter the alcove. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her expression was implacably serene. As she sank into the vacant chair, he braced himself for the blow that he knew he could no longer avoid.

“Miss Miranda is alive, Professor Severus.” Healer A’isha’s voice was as cool and calm as her bearing. “Healer Augustus and Nurse Grace are settling her in a room, and then you will be able to see her.”

“Thank Merlin.” It was as close to a prayer as he’d ever said in his adult life.

“Infidel,” Healer A’isha teased with the ghost of a smile. “We have done as much as we can tonight. We must wait until her body has cleared the Strengthening Solution before we attempt anything further.”

“It is dangerous to wait, I take it?”

“Yes, but it is more dangerous to add to the stress on her systems now.”

“I see.” He no longer felt hungry—he felt like his stomach was full of lead.

“It will be as Allah wills, but do not lose hope. She is strong, and we will do our best by her. I promise.”

He snorted. “You say that to everyone.”

“I do. And I mean it every time.”

“Healer A’isha, I am well aware that your promise is worth fifty of any other Healer’s. But don’t lie to me. If she is dying, simply say so.”

“We are all dying, Professor Severus. But if she has any family or friends who would want to see her alive, you may wish to give them the opportunity.”

She did not torture him by completing the thought, and he nodded numbly, grasping the mirror she held out to him with stiff fingers.

“Just return it to a Nurse when you are finished. I must go home now, but you are in good hands, and I will return in the morning.”

“Thank you, Healer A’isha.”

“It is my pleasure, Professor Severus.”

He forced his creaky legs to stand so that he could return her bow. Once he had gained his feet, he paced the alcove, loosening his limbs and avoiding the calls that he knew he had to make. He allowed himself five minutes of procrastination, then he turned the mirror over in his hands.

A wizard with bright eyes and a voice too cheerful for the witching hour appeared in the glass. “Good evening, sir. Where can I direct  your call?”

“Mr Aaron Lee, number 76, MACUSA Embassy, London.”

*****

“{I think she looks worse now than when we brought her here,}” Catalina said darkly.

“{I don’t recall asking for your opinion,}” Severus retorted, privately agreeing with the Romanian’s assessment.

The three of them were alone at last in a cramped, windowless, but mercifully private room in Jude the Unfortunate’s Ward for Hopeless Cases. In addition to the poisoning from the extra Strengthening Solution and the physical damage to Miranda’s body, the căpcăuns contained a venom in their claws that was spreading a slow, deadly infection throughout her system. Add to that the Stasis Potion which, while it was working for her, was also, in some ways, working against the Healers, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not she would ultimately pull through.

Severus was pacing the paltry length of the sterile space, dodging chairs not nearly as comfortable as the ones in the alcove. His attention was divided between staring at the charmed etching on the wall that claimed Miranda was still breathing; and staring at the body on the narrow bed that was so still he hardly believed that the etching was correct. Miranda was laid out as for the undertaker, as pale and motionless as a marble gisant waiting to grace a tomb. She was clean though; someone had washed away the blood and sweat and dirt. The wounds were staunched and dressed where required. Her caretakers had even taken the trouble to comb her hair and plait it into a shining braid that snaked over her shoulder. She looked like the storied princess, patiently awaiting the live-giving kiss.

Unfortunately, he was not that kind of a prince, and this was not a fairy tale.

Around two in the morning, according to the miniature astronomical clock above the door, Rachel Lee joined the somber trio. She came bearing a pair of bento boxes and a thermos of hot tea, and she would not be satisfied until both Catalina and Severus were crammed into the chairs, balancing the offerings on their knees. Catalina dug in immediately, but Severus picked at the miso salmon and the rice, until Rachel cajoled him into trying the cucumber salad. The tanginess of the vinegar married with the depth of the sesame oil coaxed his dormant tastebuds to wakefulness, and he found he had more than enough room to demolish the whole of the dish and wish there were more.

“{I can’t stay long, Maggie is waking up constantly to nurse these days. Growth spurt, I think,} Rachel said in ponderous, but intelligible Romanian.

Severus cocked an eyebrow at the American witch. “{Rachel. You didn’t tell me you spoke Romanian.}”

She winked at him. “{You didn’t ask. I picked it up when I was procrastinating translating all those potion texts. Why don’t you both come back and sleep for a while? We have loads of room in our flat.}”

Catalina’s exhausted eyes brightened at the mention of a bed. “{But only if it will not be any trouble,}” she stipulated wearily.

“{No trouble at all,}” Rachel insisted. “Well, Severus? Won’t you come too?"

“No, I thank you. I want to be here when Aaron arrives with Miranda’s parents.” He did not, in point of fact, want to be there when Miranda’s parents arrived, but he felt that he owed them his presence, even though he doubted they would return the sentiment.

“I understand, and it’s a standing offer. Anytime you want to drop in, day or night, no warning necessary.”

She collected the dishes and left him with a MACUSA eagle that would gain him admittance to the Embassy. Catalina trailed after her, yawning. He shifted in the chair, but every position was equally uncomfortable. Eventually his legs fell asleep, and he sat, staring at Miranda over his steepled fingers, wandering in and out of a doze as the minutes ticked away.

Mercury was halfway across the painted sky on the clock, and Severus’s sleepy brain registered it was nearly dawn, when the door opened again. Aaron, almost unrecognizable without his carefree grin, led a pair of Muggles into the hushed room, and Severus rose stiffly to his feet with all the eagerness of a man facing the gibbet. Miranda’s father was a barrel-chested man, nearly as tall as Aaron, with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed, hoary beard. Her mother was a willowy woman, her dark hair peppered with silver, her grey eyes the mirror of Miranda’s and brimming with tears.

“Conor, Monica, this is Severus Snape, the fella I told you about,” Aaron said, breaking the silence. “Severus, Conor and Monica Rose.”

Now that he was facing Miranda’s parents, pinned by Conor’s suspicious glare and Monica’s gaunt sorrow, Severus wished he had taken Rachel up on her offer of respite. What a damned, sentimental idiot he was to think he should be here at a time like this. What was he even supposed to say to these Muggles? So nice to meet you Mr Rose, I’m the one who’s been fornicating with your daughter for the last year or so. Mrs Rose, how enchanting to finally make your acquaintance. I am a great admirer of your embroidery work, especially the piece gracing the wall of your daughter’s bedroom, with which I am intimately familiar.

In the end, when Mr Rose crushed his hand in an iron grip, he simply muttered, “Good morning Mr Rose. I am sorry we did not meet under better circumstances.”

Conor pumped his hand once and released him. “So am I, son. So am I.”

Severus bristled at the epithet ‘son,' but bit his tongue. Conor had obviously not meant it as a compliment, and in any case, he had already moved past Severus and drawn up a chair to sit at his daughter’s shoulder.

Monica held out her hand to him in a polished, but distracted greeting.

“Professor Snape, we’re glad to meet you. From what Aaron was telling us, we have you to thank that Miranda is still among the living,” she said warmly, but her eyes kept darting between his face and her daughter’s body.

Her gratitude made him feel worse than Conor’s spite ever could have accomplished. “I’ve done nothing to deserve your thanks, madam.”

She neither confirmed nor denied his statement, and he let go of her hand in order to place a chair for her by Miranda’s side. She slipped into it, and brushed a stray lock back from her daughter’s bruised face. Aaron took the final chair, and Severus backed away as far as the room would allow, feeling as unwelcome as Actaeon in Diana’s wood. He wouldn’t put it past Conor to turn and rend him if the opportunity presented itself.

“I don’t know, Conor,” Monica said in a strained voice after she’d examined the state of her child. “She looks better than she did after that time with the Jersey Devils. Remember? It took the Healers a week to set her straight and we still had to get Father Donnelly to exorcise her.”

Conor glanced up at his wife, and a boyish smile broke across his face, making him appear years younger. “You might be right, Butterfly. Do you remember that, Aaron?”

Aaron let out a low whistle. “Sure do, Conor. The Tin-Hat Brigade was busy for a month, writing copy for the tabloids, trying to convince the No-Majs that the whole shebang was a result of fumes from a putrid cranberry bog.” He gave a jaw-splitting yawn. “She’ll pull through. She’s too tough to die.”

“Don’t I know it. Takes after her Ma.”

“You’ve got the eagle I gave you?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. The welcome witch’ll be able to call an escort for you when you’re ready for a break. Rachel’ll be around later this morning, and I’ll be back after work.”

“Thank you Aaron, for everything,” Monica said.

“No trouble at all. I’ll see you soon.”

The room seemed smaller after Aaron had taken his leave, rather than more spacious. Severus was painfully aware of the awkwardness of the situation and, much as he was loathe to leave Miranda’s side, he was becoming more certain by the second that his presence was not at all desired by her progenitors. With a sick heart, he slunk towards the door, Bellerophon repulsed for having dared to sully paradise.

He was in the hallway when Monica spoke his name; but he pulled the door shut after him, pretending not to hear.

He would rather wander the world blind and broken by his own decision than give the gods the pleasure of casting him out.

*****

On Tuesday the Healers decided to risk administering the first round of antidotes to the struggling patient. That night, Miranda was feverish, tossing and muttering nonsense; still unaware of her surroundings. In the small hours of the morning, she finally settled into a quieter sleep; although her face was still flushed and her breathing rapid and shallow. Monica dozed, feet tucked up on her chair and her chin resting on her knees; Conor sat, busily whittling with a large pocket knife, letting the scraps of wood fall heedlessly to the floor; and Severus paced, determined to wear a track in the tile beneath his feet. He had not bothered to enquire if the Roses desired his presence at their daughter’s sickbed, and he had come into the room, both this evening and the one previous, prepared to insist on his entitlement to be there. He had a list of reasons, carefully curated and impeccably logical; not one of them stooping to the baseness of feeble-minded emotion. Neither of his antagonists condescended to question him, and while Monica was unwaveringly polite, Conor's adroit blend of silence and pointed observation communicated his opinion of his daughter’s paramour with perfect clarity.

“Miranda never mentioned you,” Conor said matter-of-factly without looking up from his creation.

Although he had thought his armor impervious to slights, Severus was taken aback by how much that revelation stung him.

“That does not surprise me,” he replied evenly.

“Aaron mentioned you’re wrapped up in some dodgy shit over here.”

“That is not untrue.”

“Said you’re head-over-heels stupid for my girl, but that nobody’s supposed to know.”

Severus was going to hex that American blabbermouth at the first available opportunity. “Aaron talks too damned much.”

“He does, don’t he?”

Conor let that comment hang in the air for a while and continued his work; slowly transforming the smooth wood into a trim little sparrow. Severus resumed his pacing, dividing his attention between crafting an appropriately acrid diatribe with which to revenge himself on Aaron Lee, and berating himself for the mistake of giving the man that much information in the first place.

At last Conor spoke again, and his voice was soft, unmarred by the edge of hostility that had been present in it up to now.

“You know, I’ve always been proud of Miranda. Couldn’t ask for a tougher, smarter girl. And sweet too. Sweeter than she ought to be. But damn if she don’t scare the shit out of me something regular. I suppose every father comes to the understanding that he can’t protect his children, ‘specially once they’re grown. But most fathers don’t have to watch their girls get cut to pieces by things that ain’t supposed to exist except in nightmares or Hell. Humbles a man.”

“Most unfortunate.”

“Eh, a man has to be humbled now and then. It ain’t good to have too much pride, makes your head soft.” He looked up from his whittling finally, and his eyes had the twinkle in them that Severus had only witnessed when Conor was talking to those in his favor. “What I’m saying is, I’m glad that she’s got you at her back. Even if you are stuffed shirt Englishman.”

It was the most flattering insult Severus had ever received, and he was embarrassed at how much it soothed his troubled heart. “I take it you expect me to thank you for that.”

“Nah. I expect you to sit down and play a round of Rummy with me. That pacing’s driving me nuts.”

*****

By the end of the week, the Healers were cautiously hopeful that Miranda would recover. The balancing act continued between the spells and potions she required, and the amount of stress her damaged body could stand; but the scales seemed to have tipped decidedly in her favor. Severus found that he was firmly ensconced in the strange little coterie of her family and friends; and—stranger still—he found that he was pleased to have been accepted into it. His days had settled into a grueling, but satisfactory, routine which allowed him to spend most of his unscheduled time in Miranda’s hospital room. He did yield to Monica’s insistence that they take a walk in the early evenings, and he did consent to eat whatever food Rachel foisted on him. But he drew the line at actually retiring to the Lees’ flat to sleep, preferring to catch what rest he could at Miranda’s bedside, or in his office between classes.

On Saturday evening, the entire party conspired to drag him away to the Embassy for dinner. Rachel had prepared a feast of sushi, sukiyaki, pickles, and sliced mango. Intoxicated by the mutual good-will, and one glass too many of sake, he had relented to Rachel’s gentle commands that he lie down after dinner for a catnap. When he opened his eyes several hours later and stumbled into the darkened kitchen, he cursed to himself that he’d let so much time slip through his fingers. With clumsy hands he lit the lamps and put the kettle on for tea, flinching at every clang and clatter that he made. He did manage to wrestle both the tea leaves and the water into the pot without breaking anything or burning himself by the time Catalina slipped into the flat.

“{Good evening, Severus,}” she said, looking amused by his state. “{It is good that you finally slept. We were becoming worried for your sanity.}”

“{A concern I share every day, considering the company I keep,}” he quipped. But the nap had done him good—though he’d never admit to it. “{How is she?}”

“{The same. The Healers say it is only a matter of time before she wakes up, and that then they will have a better idea of how long it will take for her to recover.}”

He poured them both a cup of tea and they gathered companionably at the table to partake of it. “{Will you be returning home soon?}” he asked.

“{Yes. I want to stay until she wakes if I can. But I cannot put off going home for much longer. Gabi is waiting for me.}” Her brow furrowed at the mention of her brother, and she hastily turned the subject. “{Before I go, I would like to meet your son, if opportunity permits.}”

Severus choked on the tea he was attempting to drink. “{Pardon me? I do not have a son.}”

“{I…you don’t?}” Catalina eyed him dubiously. “{Are you certain of that?}”

The memory of the appalling conversation he’d had with Miranda in this very flat sprang to mind and he shook his hair forward to ensure that his ears were concealed. “{Quite.}”

“{Oh. Well. Never mind then.}” She took a prim sip. “{Is English weather always so dismal this time of year?}”

“{Catalina,}” he said in as stern a tone as he could manage in another language. “{Why were you under the impression that I had a son?}”

Her cheeks colored and she pursed her lips. “{I was making assumptions where I shouldn’t have. I knew that Miranda had a son and I thought that her child would naturally be yours as well. Pardon me for the mistake and for prying.}”

Had the lights in this room always been so blinding? And why had he suddenly forgotten  how to breathe? Quick, fool, pull yourself together and get whatever information you can out of her.

“{How do you know about Miranda’s son? It’s not something she talks about with most people.}” Like her lover, for instance.

Catalina gestured like an angry bird. “{We talked about it on the mountaintop when we were waiting for the Sânziene. I already knew she was a mother because Doamna Lupul made it a stipulation that she be one to participate in the competition. I was exempt from that requirement because my brother was one of the lost children, but Doamna Lupul said that a mother would have true sympathy for the families who had lost their sons and daughters, and so could be trusted with competing, even though she was a foreigner.}”

“{Naturally.}” It took every ounce of restraint to hold his tongue in the hopes that she would continue and reveal whatever else she knew.

The silence discomposed her and he was rewarded. “{She said his name is Isaac and he’s eleven this summer. I assume he is in America?}”

“{Where else would he be?}” Merlin, if he were that old he must be David Clearwater’s progeny. He would be at Ilvermorny by now. How could she never have mentioned him?

Catalina hastily finished her cup and excused herself to bed, but Severus hardly noticed her going. He let his tea go cold and left it sitting on the table as he wandered out into the night towards the hospital. But when he reached Purge and Dowse, Ltd, he kept walking, venting his frustration on an empty beer can that he hexed up the deserted street as he fumed.

A son. David Clearwater’s son. And she’d never told him—never even hinted—insisted she couldn’t have children at all. But then, he’d never thought to ask the devious woman if she already had children, had he? None of it made any sense to him. No, that wasn’t true. Some of it did make sense; and as the threads wove together, he did not like the picture they made in the least. But he was a logical man; a sensible man; and so he did what any man of his ilk would do, and made a list.

Item the first; Miranda had a life that he knew nothing about; moreover, it was a life with which she wanted him to have nothing to do.

Item the second; Miranda was pleased enough with his services as a companion and a lover that she had spoken favorably of her return to Britain following her Romanian misadventure. As far as he knew, she had no immediate plans to return to America.

Item the third; Miranda was a capricious witch, and he would not be at all surprised if one day she left him with no warning whatsoever.

Item the fourth; she had beguiled him to the point that, if he were not already in love with Lily Evans, he would think that he harbored the traitorous emotion for her instead.

Item the fifth; he had even started to hope that one day—in some far off nebulous time that would surely never come to pass because he would be dead before it could—they would make a home together with a stone cottage and a potions room and a dueling hall and a garden in the back (not that he’d imagined it in any sort of depth, thank you very much).

Item the sixth; She obviously was making no such plans. How could she wish to make a future with someone when she could not even be bothered to tell him such pertinent information as the fact that she had a bloody child back home that called her Mama?

Item the seventh; if he were wise, he would end this whole incautious affair immediately. It was an irresponsible whim and indulging it—especially since she obviously did not suffer the same doltish regard for him—was moronic at best.

Item the eighth; Hecate’s Withered Tit, he did love her. Thank Merlin he’d never been stupid enough to say so.

Item the ninth; he was a damned idiot.

He slashed the can with a savage hex and it skittered through a broken grate into the sewer. His breath came in pants and he raked his fingers through his hair, as though he might plough some sense into his brain. The moon was his only witness; and he thought that he could see the cold goddess’s face; heartlessly taunting him from her chariot on high.

*****

Something was resting on Miranda’s chest. Something warm and comfortable. She wanted to wrap her arms around it and keep it there, but she couldn’t seem to move them. She also wanted to scratch her nose; the itch there was driving her crazy. But  there was no sense in fretting about things she couldn’t manage, so she just floated along in this dreamy limbo; certain that at some point she would be directed what to do next. She knew she was dead. And since she wasn’t in torment, she assumed that she’d avoided Hell. Maybe this was Purgatory, and soon she’d be handed her load to carry up the mountain where she would sing the praises of God with her fellows on the climb to Heaven.

Gradually a chill seeped into her bones, and the pressure on her chest became crushingly burdensome. She struggled to breathe against it, and wondered why she bothered. If she was dead, what use was oxygen? But struggle she did, and with every pant, another part of her body joined the chorus of pain. Her head hurt. Her legs hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her chest hurt. Good Lord, even her fingernails and her hair hurt.

Maybe she was in Hell after all.

There was a scraping noise in the world outside her body, and for a sick moment she thought it was a demon preparing a blade to vivisect her like she’d seen in a picture once as a child. She thought she’d been shriven before she’d made that final quest, but maybe it hadn’t taken.

Deciding it was better to see the evil threatening her than imagine what might be there, she bravely pried her eyes open. At first everything was a confused blur of light and shadows, but as she ponderously blinked, her vision cleared.

“You look like hell, Pixie,” said a voice that was almost as comfortable as the weight she’d left behind.

She peeled open her dry, cracking lips and mustered a smile at the sight of her dear Papa. “You should see the other guy.”

“I’ll bet you handed those mongrels their asses.” He leaned down to kiss her, and his whiskers tickled her cheek. “It’s good to see you, girl.”

“Where’s Mama?”

“I’m here, darling.” Her mother came into view next, kissing her with cool, soothing lips. “You gave us a scare.”

She tried to lift her arms to embrace her parents, but they were too heavy. “Why can’t I move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead for a week now. The Healers are pretty sure you’ll be right as rain eventually, but it’s going to take time,” Conor reassured her.

She should have been happy. Hell—she’d cheated Death—she should have been ecstatic. But instead she felt like an abandoned shell; like a stranded traveler who’d missed the last train; like the lame boy who had hobbled along after the pied piper only to be shut out of paradise.

“Mira, are you alright?” Monica’s discerning eyes were searching her face with concern. It would frighten them to know that their daughter was lying there wishing she were dead. They mustn’t know. She wouldn’t let them know.

“I mean, all things considered, I’m peachy.” She tried to smile for them and doubted she managed. “How long have I been here?”

“Severus brought you here a week ago tomorrow,” Conor said with an ease that startled her.

“Severus? When did you meet him? And when did you get to be on a first name basis with him? He’s usually a stick in the mud.”

Her parents exchanged a knowing look over her head, the kind that usually made her want to roll her eyes in irritation. Unfortunately, her eyes hurt too much to roll at the moment.

“What can I say, Pixie, we bonded over our mutual terror that you were going to kick it.” Conor laughed. “I’m not denying that he’s a stuffed shirt, but the man’s crazy for you, that’s for sure.”

Miranda no longer felt the pressure on her chest—she felt like she was in free-fall. She hadn’t said anything stupid had she? She did remember being emotional when Severus had found her dying in her cabin, but she hadn’t thought she’d actually said anything about it. Hadn’t he stopped her before she’d passed the point of no return? God she hoped so.

“I don’t know about that,” she protested weakly, but the door opened, and her admirer swept into the room, commanding everyone’s attention.

He looked angry, but that was usual. Her parents greeted him like an old friend, which was strange to witness, but not unusual for them. Her parents had a way of befriending even the most standoffish persons. In a whirl of hand-shaking and congratulations, her parents tactfully excused themselves to the tea room, and before she could speak a word to defend herself, she was alone with him.

When he turned to her, he was a man at war with himself, and she could see the battle playing out in his eyes. The ever-present pique yielded to something softer, and while she told herself it was melancholy or fatigue that effected the change; she suspected it was something else that she did not wish to see.

“It is as I said,” he observed, “More lives than a cat.”

“I’m durable. It’s one of my more useful qualities.”

He smirked at her, burying his heart beneath his sardonic mask. But his lips trembled on hers when he kissed her, and she could taste the salt of his tears. She tilted her head back, taking what he offered, and refusing to think about the implications.

He did not linger there, but seated himself next to her bed and retrieved a book from the folds of his robe.

“As I recall, the only sure way to keep you in bed when you are convalescing is to read to you constantly.”

Her relief at the realization that she would not have to make conversation was palpable. She was far too exhausted to know what to say.

“You remember right. Although I don’t think I could move now even if the room were on fire.”

That softness flickered across his face again, and he reached out to grasp her hand with his.

“Soon, my Barbarian. Soon.”

*****

He was a genius, if he did say so himself.

When he’d first volunteered to superintend Miranda’s recovery, he hadn’t been certain he could manage the necessary alterations to his quarters that the situation required, but it had all come off without a hitch. The Extension Charm had worked perfectly, enlarging the interior of his rooms without requiring him to go about the drudgery of moving any of his books. There was space enough for Miranda’s turntable, for her pictures, for her books and sundries. He’d selected the best of her nieces’ and nephews’  drawings to arrange on the wall by her side of the bed, and he’d widened his armoire for her clothing. The pièces de résistance were the windows. Each room now sported windows running from floor to ceiling; charmed so magnificently that one could open them wide to let in a magical breeze and smell the air outside. It had taken a fair amount of trouble but, as he expected her sojourn in his rooms to be a lengthy one, he wanted her to be comfortable.

He set himself to the pleasant task of arranging her books on an empty bookcase, sorting them by subject and author as he did. If he were honest, he would admit that he harbored the foolish desire for her stay to be indefinite. But he was practical enough to realize that she would not wish for it to be so. Two weeks at St. Mungo’s and she was already chaffing; already longing to fly. He would keep her here for as long as he could, but in the end, he knew that she would leave him behind.

When he had been a child, he had learned to live on scraps. Scraps of food. Scraps of attention. Scraps of love. He had hoarded each paltry piece and squeezed as much good out of it as his tiny hands could muster, like a man squeezing blood from the proverbial stone. It hadn’t been enough, but he hadn’t had a choice. As a man, he had yet to come to a place where he truly had a choice. For fettered as he was by his vows to Lily, Albus, and the Dark Lord, how could he possibly be free?

Miranda was a better woman than he deserved, and even her trifling regard was preferable to being alone. He knew that, when she left, it would be worse than if he had never met her at all. But he also knew that, although the scraps of affection she let carelessly fall from her fingers would not satiate him, he would accept those scraps like priceless pearls and store them up against the black day when she finally left him for good.

It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would have to do.

*****

By the beginning of November, her parents and Catalina had returned to their respective homes, and Miranda had been released to Severus’s care. She had a daily routine of disgusting potions to take, and painful exercises, both physical and magical to perform; as well as a diet to follow that was designed with more strength-building than palate-pleasing in mind. Severus was a cruel task-master, and she was beginning to see the side of him that his students whispered about behind his back. But he also touched her with a tenderness that broke her heart, and fretted around her like a worried hen caring for its brood.

One Friday evening they sat in front of the fire while the rain pattered on the enchanted windows, echoing the mournful storm outside. He was at his desk, marking a pile of essays and muttering to himself about the idiocy of his students. She was curled up on the sofa, whittling away at a chessman for her nephew Brendan. Although she was going out of her mind from her confinement, she was trying to embrace the sedentary time as an opportunity to renew her acquaintance with the almost-forgotten hobby. If she were diligent, she might be able to make a present for each of her nieces and nephews by Christmas.

Severus threw down his quill and rubbed his temples. “Enough. If I read one more word of this rubbish tonight I shall go mad.”

“Encouraging words from their teacher.”

“It is not my fault that these dunderheads have had a string of incompetent teachers before me. Not only do I have the students’ natural stupidity to contend with, but I must repair all of the mistakes made by their previous so-called instructors as well.”

“I have every confidence that you will succeed, or die trying. You’re as tenacious as a pit bull when you get your teeth into something.”

“Your words of praise never fail to overwhelm me.”

He retrieved a stack of books from his shelf and deposited them in her lap.

“What’s this?” she asked, curiously examining the covers.

“Miss Lovegood gave them to me after class today. She said she used to read them when she was ill and she thought you would enjoy them.”

She opened the top book and smiled to see the opening of the first story. “ ‘To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name.’ Did you ever read these?”

“I?” he said, feigning indignation. “I, muddle my brain with such common twaddle? Surely you jest.”

“Well if you haven’t, you should. A little light reading is good for the soul. How did she know I was down here anyway?”

He sat down on the sofa and took her feet in his lap, rubbing his fingers over them in practiced circles until she sighed and sank back on the pillows; content.

“Ah, that. She claims that the thestrals told her.”

“The thestrals? Does she talk to them often?”

“Only once a week when they have tea.”

“Tea?” Miranda laughed merrily at the idea. “I can see her doing that. Have you been to this exclusive tea?”

He cleared his throat and she could see the pink tinging his ears. “Certainly not.”

“Don’t you lie to me, you have!”

“I will not dignify that with an answer.”

“Do you think she’d let me come along?”

“Of course she would, she delights in the ridiculous. And I’ll have you know…”

His words ended in a hiss and he dropped her foot like he’d been burned. His playful mood turned instantly serious, and he got up without a word to fetch his cloak and mask. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She hated to see him this way. Hated to watch him go into the lion’s den alone. But she tried to keep her anxiety to herself. He needed all his wits about him, not the burden of a silly woman worrying for him at home.

“Tell the Dark Lord I said hello.”

“I think that I shall not say that, if it is all the same to you.”

He kissed her heartfully and she gave him a careless smile. Then he traced her cheek with his finger and left without saying goodbye. Neither of them ever said goodbye. It was a good luck charm; as though by refusing to acknowledge the parting they could ensure the return of the one who had gone.

She stretched like a cat and braced herself on the back of the sofa to complete the arduous task of getting up. Although the silence in these rooms never bothered her during the day, at night it pressed in on her with bony fingers; like a boogie man that only crept out from under the bed when the parents were asleep. Her turntable was nestled between two of the bookshelves, and her records were lined up neatly close at hand. She pulled one out and set it spinning, letting the rich, mellow voice cover her fears.

At the dark end of the street, That’s where we always meet…

The renovations to Severus’s quarters were beautiful. They must have taken him days to complete. He’d brought all of her favorite things to keep her company while she healed. He showed her every day by his actions how much he cared for her. And though he still often adopted the role of the cold, callous Englishman, he was letting her glimpse the man underneath the facade with such casualness that she wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it.

She loved him, she couldn’t lie to herself about that. But she was never, ever going to tell him. There was simply too much standing in the way.

A pile of wood scraps from her whittling had accumulated on the floor by the sofa, glinting in the light of the fire. She knelt down to scoop them up, even though bending that far made her body scream in protest. She welcomed the pain, as though she could expiate her failures with it. When she had pushed herself up to her feet again, she swayed unsteadily, then limped across the stones to the fireplace, and cast the scraps into the flames.

They sparked, and danced, and crumbled to ash, like the dross of obliterated dreams.

*****

End Notes:

The Rosetta Stone is a charmed translation aid that works about as well as google translate.

Gisant: a recumbent effigy for a tomb, representing the deceased.

Jersey Devils are something like wyverns.

Miranda is quoting from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story, A Scandal in Bohemia.

The song she is listening to is At the Dark End of the Street by James Carr.

This story is the first of a trilogy. I’ll post chapter 1 of book two, libera nos a malo, by the end of the week.

As always—thank you for reading!

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-five+

libera nos a malo masterpost+

[gimmeyoon]

Iron World: 4

✰ pairing: Yoongi x Reader

✰ au: Cyberpunk

✰ word count: 2.9k

✰ warnings: explicit language, major angst, mentions of death and violence

✰ summary: ❝Welcome to Iron World, the latest virtual reality online game. Choose your class, join a guild, and explore the depths of this planet. As one of the first 20,000 people to explore this brave frontier, how you enjoy this immersive experience is up to you. There is so much to do and see, you’ll never want to leave.❞

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   It's not easy. Not that anything had been since Namjoon got trapped in the game. But this, having his friends do this. This was hard.

    He knew Bangtan would do anything to get out, and he was pretty sure the owner of Babylon was just a computer generated character, so his life had essentially no meaning. Unless there was the chance that the game had created sentient characters, but that was a rabbit hole Namjoon had already gone down and he had not found any answers down there. It was the computer's life or his friends’, and he was positive he would always choose his friends.

    But sitting in a car outside the bar, while watching them do the work was harder. Sure he had made the call to go ahead with the next mission, but his own skill set didn't really work into the plan. He was on standby in case they needed someone to hack into something later, but assassination was not in his wheel house.

    So he was to watch the feed V was sending from his own eye-surge to Jugeum. Most of the feed was Chimmy, as he and Taehyung sat at the bar and talked as if they weren't waiting for the owner to enter the building.

    Agust D and J-Hope sat next to Namjoon, watching the feed with critical eyes, despite the lack of progress in the last hour or so. If anything had progressed it Chimmy's blood alcohol content.

    Thankfully, that was what Phoenix and Worldwide were preparing for. Chimmy's job was to get sloshed like he usually did at Babylon. Once he saw the owner, Taehyung would get eyes on him, and then the two across from Namjoon would head in. Cooky would stay outside with J-Hope and Namjoon incase any guards were waiting outside the building for them. Worldwide would use his crowd control skills as an enchanter to keep the other players and computer generated whoevers distracted while Phoenix took the owner out. They would pretend to be a couple interested in business as to try and throw off any signs of danger they might present by approaching the owner. 

    She had offered to kill him before Namjoon could even ask if anyone felt comfortable. He wondered how she did it. How she was able distinguish between what was real and what was not after all this time.

    For a moment he wondered if she could. He wondered if maybe it didn't matter to her whether the owner was real or not. He was an obstacle and Phoenix was the kind of person who removed obstacles. He didn't think he could be like her. He spent too much time thinking about the consequences. He supposed that was why he was the leader. He worried all of the time so no one else had to.

     Worldwide was the obvious choice for the plan, they needed crowd work, but he had come up to Namjoon after the meeting to make sure he was okay with everything. Namjoon asked if he looked as anxious as he felt. Worldwide laughed as he confirmed the leader's fears, but then Namjoon didn't feel so worried anymore. Worldwide and J-Hope constantly made Namjoon feel at peace. They had a way of making him think that everything would be okay. They took care of him, which he was not used to at all, but he appreciated it.

    V also had a way of making Namjoon feel calm, but in a much different way than the older two boys. Where Worldwide and J-Hope made Namjoon feel calm by reminding him that everything was going to be okay, or making sure that he went to sleep or ate a meal, V made Namjoon feel calm just because the former was. V always seemed so well adjusted. Whenever Namjoon felt like it was game over, V was somewhere in the base laughing as if to remind Namjoon that there was no need to worry, that he could do this.

    Chimmy made sure to watch after V which gave Namjoon a sense of relief. Occasionally the cleric would walk up and hug Namjoon unprompted, which was strange at first because Namjoon was not big on physical affection, but Namjoon realized it was more about what Chimmy needed than what he did. Recently, it seemed like Chimmy needed to hug Namjoon whenever Namjoon needed a hug, so he figured it was a mutually beneficial act.

    The tanks weren't as big on playing the "cheer up" game as the rest. Cooky was the strongest member, definitely physically and probably emotionally as well. He's like Phoenix in that way, both of them willing to do whatever it takes to get out of here. Namjoon always feels guilty asking them to do things because he knows they'll say yes no matter what the consequence. He genuinely can't believe they aren't falling apart with the things he's asked them to do.

    Agust D is that way too, but Namjoon can't bring himself to ask him to do anything. He always volunteers though, and Namjoon can't bring himself to ask him not to either. He acts like everything is okay, but he's changed. Namjoon didn't notice it at first, but Worldwide and J-Hope knew right away.

    Namjoon hears Chimmy say that the owner is here, and he gives Worldwide and Phoenix the nod to head inside, as Taehyung turns to reveal a man in a purple suit, counting money in a booth at the back of the bar.

    Agust D snorts beside him, and Namjoon can't hold back the laugh that falls from his lips at the theatrics of the game. It feels so morbid, because he still feels bad for killing this probable illusion, but the game never ceases to surprise him with the sheer level of absurdness it's willing to go to.

    Phoenix and Worldwide pass through V's line of sight a few moments later, prompting him and Chimmy to pretend they're playing pool so that the Beast Lord is close enough to pick up the conversation.

   “May I help you?” the owner asks, bringing his money closer to him, as if robbery is the worst of what Phoenix and Worldwide are there to do.

   “That depends,” Worldwide asks, his voice charming, “are you the owner?”

   “Who’s asking?”

   “My girl and I would like to talk business," Worldwide replied, pulling Phoenix into his side.

   “I think your girl isn’t very interested in talking the owner said, eyeing the slit on her leg, and causing a curse to fall from Yoongi’s mouth.

   “What?” Namjoon asked turning towards the necromancer, ready to scold him for the jealousy he assumes he must be feeling in this moment. If Agust D is trying to keep his feelings for Phoenix a secret he's doing a terrible job.

   “He knows,” he said, moving towards the door of the car.

   “Agust D,” Namjoon warned, grabbing his arm. “We don’t know that yet, don’t blow the operation.”

    “Let go,” the necromancer said, just as V cursed, and began moving towards Worldwide and Phoenix.

    Namjoon watched as the owner pulled a gun on Phoenix. “Who sent you?” he demanded.

    Namjoon turned to follow Agust D just as the necromancer entered the bar. J-Hope grabbed his arm, keeping the Wizard in his place.

    "Let's see what he has planned."

   As he crashed into the bar, Yoongi was momentarily distracted by Worldwide’s power. The rest of the room remained frozen, as the enchanter did his crowd work. The only threat was the owner as long as Worldwide was able to sustain this. Yoongi almost let himself feel relief at that.

   “Please,” Phoenix said as Yoongi neared the table, her hands up by her head. Too far away from her concealed knife for Yoongi’s liking.

   “Well, how polite,” the owner said, pressing the barrel of his gun to Phoenix’s chest. “Tell your friends to leave,” he said.

   “Worldwide, Chimmy and V, leave,” she said motioning with her head towards the door.

   “And the new one,” he said, looking right at Yoongi.

   Phoenix looked over her shoulder, offering Yoongi a small smile to try and comfort him. “I’m okay,” she said. “Leave.”

    Yoongi almost scoffed. If anyone really believed he ran in here just for the computer generated purple suit man to tell him to leave, they really hadn't been paying attention to how Yoongi was playing this game.

   “Take me instead,” Yoongi spoke up, raising his hands over his head. “Get everyone else out of here and just the two of us can talk.”

    “Stop,” Phoenix said. “You can’t keep doing this.”

    “Why not?” Yoongi asked, slowly taking steps towards Worldwide and Phoenix. “Worldwide, get everyone out, and I’ll do whatever this nice man wants, yeah?”

    The owner shrugged. “I don’t give a shit who leaves, as long as they take all their weapons with them.”

    “Okay,” Yoongi said. “Frisk me, and hand whatever you find to Phoenix.”

    “Nice try,” the owner replied. “but I think I’ll be keeping whatever I find.”

    “Okay,” Yoongi said, as the owner pressed his gun closer to Phoenix’s chest.

    “Run,” the owner said, to which Phoenix nodded, before shooting Yoongi a look that said if he survived this, he would die.

    He wasn’t certain he would live, though he liked his chances considering he might already be undead. His plan wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t really even good, but he figured it was better than whatever sitting-duck plan the rest of them had.

    He kept running through the night in his head. Phoenix should have killed the owner automatically. Worldwide never should have spoken to the owner. It was careless. Or actually, Yoongi thought, it was Mono caring too much. Yoongi was pretty sure the wizard wanted to give the owner a chance to prove his humanity. A chance to confirm Mono's greatest fear, that Bangtan was becoming a monster. But that wasn't the case. All of this was a sick game made by the creator, and the owner was just another way to torture them. He wasn't real.

    And he wasn't going to get a chance to walk out of here and hurt the rest of the guild. Yoongi was going to make sure of that. He just wasn't so sure he was going to get to walk out of here himself.

     Here goes nothing.

    "Fuck," you cursed as you joined the rest of Bangtan outside of the bar. "What's his fucking problem?" you asked, running your hands through your hair, a look of disbelief on your face.

    “What’s his plan?” Namjoon practically shouted, the change in events clearly stressing him out.

    “I don’t know that he has one,” Worldwide responded calmly. “He just saved us, because that’s what he does.”

    Namjoon nodded his head, though he still looked as stressed as before. You all were blind now, unable to see what was happening. It killed you.

    You hated him for this. He should have let you die, he had already saved your life once. Now you owed him twice-over. You'd never be able to make it up to him now.

    But what was worse was the way your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. You were starting to think he had a death wish, and you would kill him for that, the irony be damned.

   You didn't have time to register what was happening, as you were knocked from your feet and thrown a meter from the building. You only realize he's in trouble, when J-Hope curses beside you, a scream tearing from your mouth as the whole building in front of you is ablaze. It's like a bomb has gone off, and you feel anger consume your heart as you realize that means the creator led you in there to shoot the guild like fish in a barrel.

    You're on your feet, as tears begin to fall from your eyes, your throat raw and aching as you raise an arm to cover your face from the heat of the fire. You fall to your knees once you realize that there's no way he could have survived it, the flames are everywhere.

    You should have fought him harder. You should have insisted he leave. You were strong enough to take the owner on, though the gun was a problem you hadn't quite figured out how to fix yet. You just needed a few more moments to think, but Agust D had to be a fucking hero like he always was.

    You fucking hate him for that. You hated that he didn't think about how much this would hurt you. You hated how much this hurt. Mostly you hated that of all the people in this game, he was the one you liked the most, and again you let yourself feel close to someone, just for this hell of a game to rip them away from you forever.

    You're crying so hard you can barely make him out, when Agust D emerged from the entrance, the flames not even making him flinch. Your mouth falls open as you try to form words, but you're feeling too many things for any human language to express. You realize two things at once: you're gaping at him like a fish out of water and he is completely naked in front of you. You turn away, a heat on your cheeks as you look at Chimmy, who has the audacity to wink, before removing his jacket and walking towards Agust D.

    Two jackets tied around his hips, and one covering his torso later, Agust D holds a key up to the group as you turn back around to face him.

    "He lives a few blocks from here,” he coughed, smoke coming out as if he was a dragon.

    You wonder if maybe he is now. That would explain a few things, namely the walking through fire part.

    “Agust D,” you started, your voice cracking a little. You take the few steps between the two of you and pull him into a hug. It was so unlike you, and you could tell the rest of the group realized this as the air grew thick around you. “Don’t fucking sacrifice yourself for me again,” you said as you pulled back, your watery eyes meeting his.

   “But it worked out so well,” he said, just as Chimmy cleared his throat behind them.

   “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” the cleric said.

   “Right,” you said, quickly taking the key from Yoongi’s hand and stepping away.

    “You two head back,” Namjoon said to Chimmy and Agust D. "We'll get the tech for Mr. Moon."

    The ramen he made after finally getting back to his apartment just isn't hitting the spot the way it used to. As he sits alone at the small table J-Hope brought him after insisting he should make his apartment more homey, he can't help replay how everyone looked at him. He knew Chimmy wanted to ask how he survived it, his eyes keep meeting Yoongi as he ran through all of the tests he had learned as a cleric, but just like before Yoongi didn’t know. Apparently he was one of those fireproof zombies.

    He thinks the worst part of it all was Phoenix. She looked so sad, an emotion he had never seen from her. She was many things, but a crier was not one of them, yet she shed tears for him. He knew he should have felt sad himself, but his heart practically fluttered at the thought that Phoenix liked him. That maybe she liked him as much as he liked her.

    A knock at his door brings him back to reality, his ramen having grown cold as he replayed the night in his head over and over.

    When he opens the door, he has to work hard to maintain his composure at the sight of Phoenix. He's just about to ask her if she wanted to come in, when she closes the distance between the two of them, and places her hand lightly on the back of his neck, encouraging his lips to hers.

    And then they're kissing, and Yoongi is using every fiber of his body to try not to cause another explosion, but she feels so soft under his hands and so sweet against his lips. He holds her tightly against him for fear that this is all a dream and she'll disappear at any moment.

    When she pulls away, all Yoongi can do is stare back in disbelief. He’s thought about this moment so many times since the game change, it almost doesn’t feel real now.

    “Thank you,” she said as she looked up at him. “You really have to stop saving me though.”

    “I can’t,” he said. “Not unless you stop putting yourself in danger.”

    “I can take care of myself.”

    “I know,” he replied, his thumb running over her cheek as he studied her face. “but if you die, we all do. There’s no way we make it out without you.”

    “Well,” she said, a tinge of blush on her cheeks. “if you die, then I won’t make it out. So, no more hero shit.”

    “You think I’m a hero?” he asked, smirking.

    “No, you think you’re a hero. I think you’re an idiot that’s trying to get himself killed.”

    “So far that doesn’t seem possible,” he said, looking down at his feet, as she unraveled herself from him.

    “Yeah,” Phoenix said. “I’m glad the game’s keeping you around.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah,” she smiled. “Good night, Agust D.” she said with a small wave.

    “You could stay,” he offered, a little embarrassed with how quickly it fell from his lips.

    “In your dreams,” she said with a wink, before turning and walking away.

     She was right he thought. She’d be in his dreams tonight; just as she had been every other night.

© gimmeyoon — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, or translation onto other sites even with proper credit given is not permitted.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Caged Birds Don’t Sing -Chapter One-

The following AU includes, but not limited to: Bird wings. Monsters. Depression and lots of pain! I’m just jumping right in, y’all, and this chapter goes from zero to a hundred real quick

TW: Blood, vomit, violence

——————

Chapter One

Phoenix Tears Can’t Heal All Pain

Sometimes bad things just happen to good people. Sometimes fate just has other plans for someone. In Bessie’s case, that was very much true.

Elizabeth “Bessie” Blount had been missing for a year and a half. She was remembered for her sardonic, but soft demeanor and skillful talent at playing the bass, since she had been apart of the band for the musical Six. All of the cast knew her, which is why her disappearance hit them so hard.

By now, mostly everyone has moved on.

The funeral was an open casket with just photos and one of her basses inside. It was hard to look at, painful even. The idea that she was still alive, since her body was never found, came about, but it has been dropped for awhile.

Bessie became a mere memory in the back of the cast’s mind.

It’s November, now. Fall was coming into full bloom. It was Anne’s idea to go to the park on their day off, and everyone obliged, knowing that the trip would be a good chance to stretch their wings. Joan branched off from them to venture further into the forest, since she preferred the silence rather than the ruckus the cousins and Maggie were making. She spread her dappled white snowy owl wings and breathed out a sigh of bliss. This always felt amazing. It was like rolling around in molten gold.

Rustling snapped her out of her trance. Deer jumped out of the underbrush and rushed right past Joan, causing her to jump away and fall on her back. Her wings thrust outwards in surprise and she laughed a little before realizing the odd behavior of the animals. Deer normally didn’t run towards a person.

They ran away.

Joan pushed herself up and brushed herself off, ruffling out her feathers to rid them of any dirt. She was still pondering why the deer were acting so weirdly when she heard it.

The squeaking.

Curious and concerned, she tiptoed forward and peeked through the brush. There, only a few feet away, was a doe lying in a pool of its own blood. Its stomach was ripped open, but it was still alive, like whatever had killed it wasn’t interested in eating at the moment. The sight made Joan’s veins turn icy in fear.

What did this?

When she found out, she wished she had just ran off with the rest of the herd.

Growling came to the left. A tall, bulky creature emerged from its hiding spot in the trees, perching on a branch with long, curved talons. It had molted grey skin and bug-like eyes. Multiple rows of teeth poked out of its maw, dripping with some kind of creamy fluid. The barb at the end of its tail was just as menacing as its seven-inch claws. When it noticed Joan, it exhales a low hissing breath.

WingEaters. A avian’s natural enemy. From the name, these monsters eat a person’s wings to gain some of their own. They were ruthless, bloodthirsty predators that stop at nothing to feed.

Joan flung her wings open but it was too late; the monster was upon her. There’s a terrible pain- everything goes black when she hits that tree.

Joan wakes up on the ground.

No. Wait. Waking up implied she was in a bed, at home, safe.

Joan came to.

She’s lying face-down on the ground, mouth full of dirt. There’s a metallic tang on her tongue- she’s frothing red at the lips.

Joan lifts her head up and coughs out gritty clots of scarlet. She sees the WingEater hunched over a few feet away, distracted by something. This was her only chance to get away so she crawls. She crawls until she could finally force herself to stand up and run.

She staggered back towards the park. Someone screams. Multiple people scream. Jane is covering her mouth in shock- but why? Anne is shielding Katherine’s eyes, Parr has backed herself up into Aragon’s arms, Maggie looks like she’s about to faint...

Joan’s knees are wobbling and her vision keeps blurring with a blizzard of white. She can’t focus on anything. She attempted to speak, to ask what was wrong, but only blood floods out. Deliriously, she dabs her fingertips against her lips and stare in bewilderment when they came back red, like she was just now noticing her body violently ejecting its own fluids. Out of the corner of her eye she notices Anna, maybe Maria, sprint somewhere- where was she going?

Joan couldn’t follow, couldn’t ask what was going on. Her legs give out. She drops into a pool of her own blood.

It wasn’t the deer that WingEater was eating.

———

The Flightless. That’s what people who have lost their ability to fly are called. That’s what Joan is now sorted into.

The doctors spent six hours trying to stabilize Joan. Eventually, they got the bleeding to stop- it was a lot of blood for one body- and stitched up the gash, but nothing could bring back the wing that was ripped off.

Joan would never fly again.

When she woke up, she cried. Joan shivered and sobbed and had bad panic attacks. The anguish was blinding- the pain was worse. Even with the antibiotics, she was overwhelmed by white hot agony that seared up through her back, ripping her apart from the inside out.

Her world was crashing down.

She hadn’t realized the damage at first. She was in a severe state of shock when she came hobbling into the park, clothing drenched in her own blood. People who had witnessed it said she looked extremely dazed and completely out-of-it, unaware of the gore she was soaked in, unaware that her back was spitting like a spigot. She just kept asking herself why. Why her? Why did this have to happen to her? What did she ever do?

When she was released from the hospital, Joan went home and lied in her bed for six Joan. For six days she suffered. She didn’t eat, barely drank anything. Maria or Maggie had to basically force just about everything down her throat.

Her wingmates...

Joan doesn’t know what she would have done without them. Probably would have dehydrated herself. Their care was nice, even on that one horrid night.

Maria wasn’t too sure what woke her up exactly. A gut feeling, perhaps? All she knew is that something made her get out of bed and walk into the hallway. Light was seeping in from the bathroom. Inside, Joan was on her hands and knees, panting heavily, clutching fistfuls of the shaggy shower carpet. Her shirt was discarded in the sink, revealing her milky-yellow, sweat-soaked flesh and the ugly scar on her back. She didn’t look to be comfortable in the slightest, as her muscles were contracting violently and her bra strap appeared to be digging into taut her skin. Not that she had the energy to wrestle with the clasp right now, though.

“Joan?” Maria called out, standing in the doorway.

She saw the fledgling’s entire body tense up. Joan is trying not to move but she’s trembling too badly.

“Honey?” Maria tried again, “You okay? What’s wrong?”

She wasn’t okay. Of course she wasn’t okay- what kind of question was that?

Maria slowly walked over and knelt down, setting a hand on the small of the owl’s back. She could feel her shivering, along with her spasming muscles underneath her damp skin. The touch caused Joan to jump a little, but she didn’t scamper away. Maria thinks she doesn’t have the energy to.

“How long have you been like this?” Maria asked. She’s making an effort not to look in the toilet, as she’s sure her bandmate has already exhausted herself by emptying her stomach into it.

“I....ah...hours?” Joan meekly replied with slurred words. Her voice was weak and hoarse.

Hours? Guilt pools in the back of Maria’s throat.

Joan lifts her head and shudders. A painful spasm ripped through her remaining wing and her response to it was by slamming her forehead into the toilet seat. Maria’s heart clenched a little when she realized she was probably trying to knock herself out.

...Did it really hurt that much?

“Sweetheart, don’t do that,” The drummer chided softly, slipping her hand down to lift Joan’s head up. The answer she got was an incoherent mumble that morphed into a tight whimper.

“M-Mari-”

“It’s alright. Just get it out of your system. I’m going to go wake up-”

Joan grabbed Maria by the wrist, holding on with a death grip. She didn’t look at her, too humiliated to make eye contact, but still refused to be alone like this. Thank God the woman understood so she didn’t have to pathetically mewl it out loud.

“Okay. I’m staying. I won’t go anywhere.”

Joan wanted to thank her, she really did, but bile rose up in her throat and she gathered enough energy to push herself up to avoid vomiting all over herself.

Maria holds her hair out of the way, rubbing her hand gently across the top of her back. Her fingers trail down and pushed up the clasp of Joan’s bra to look at the gash it was pressing into.

“Ho, Jesus, sweetie, this- I can see why you’re in here.”

No wonder Joan decided to take off her shirt. The edges looked raw from the material constantly rubbing against it, practically glowing neon pink. Dried blood and pus crusted over the stitches, which were straining to simply hold the wound together. Her back had become a labyrinth of purple and yellow- the pain she must have been in was unfathomable.

“Shouldn’t this be wrapped up? Did the doctor not bandage it? I swear to god I’m going to shove a broomstick so far up his-”

Joan’s small whimper halted Maria and she shut her mouth.

“No, he- I- ” She coughed and then wheezed.

“Don’t speak.” Maria shushed her gently, “We’ll worry about that later. For now- I’m going to try and clean this, okay, honey? It might be a little more comfortable.”

Joan doesn’t have the energy to resist. Simply being a foot away from her wingmate right now was disagreeable, so she was just happy to be around someone, even in these circumstances.

She finally looked up when Maria grabbed some things from the cabinets. There was deep shame in her eyes. She immediately pressed against the drummer when she knelt down again.

“Here, try lying down, okay? Just get comfortable.”

Joan obliged hesitantly and lays down with her burning forehead against Maria’s lap. She folds her wing around her bare arms, trying to get warmer.

“This is going to sting a little.”

Joan wasn’t expecting antiseptic. Her spine arched and she howled at the burning sensation.

Pressing down harder, Maria uses her other hand to brush back the fledgling’s bangs, hoping to help soothe her. When she lifts the towel, its covered in a thin film that’s the color of rust. Joan whimpers into her folded thighs, curling up like an injured cat.

Suddenly, manic footsteps stomp loudly down the hallway and the bathroom door is nearly thrown off its hinges. Maggie stands there in her pajamas, feathers ruffled, holding a lamp she must have yanked out of the wall socket. It got the tiniest laugh out of Joan, which unfortunately turned to a cough.

“I heard a scream.” Maggie said, lowering her weapon.

“People do that,” Maria chuckled lightly, “I’m just helping Joan wash off her back. The alcohol stung a little.”

The guitarist nodded.

“Do you need any help?”

“Can you get a glass of water and the antibiotics from downstairs?”

“Yeah, of course.” Maggie hurried back down the hallway with a flap of her Egyptian goose wings.

Maria looked back down at her wingmate- her little sister- and slowly embraced her. In the midst of all the mayhem and pain, the two of them share a quiet moment.

———

Joan recovered, but she didn’t get better. Not psychologically. That’s why her new psychiatrist prescribed her antidepressants. She didn’t think they worked.

Still, she eventually forced herself to get up. Even when it felt like someone had just ripped out her spine and proceeded to beat her into a pulp with it, she hauled her body off to work.

Without her other wing, though, her balance was completely thrown off. She stumbled around like a giraffe with broken legs, unable to stay upright. Not to mention all the stares she got.

The one-winged fledgling was a freak.

Her flock did their best to ward off gawkers, but they couldn’t always be there. Not when cockerels plucked out her feathers when she was at stage door or out near fans. Not when hens made snide remarks when they thought she couldn’t hear them. Not when other birds posted on social media about the flightless keyboardist in Six.

The anger and despair from it all simmered inside of Joan.

After school one day, Joan avoided the other ladies in waiting and the queens. She felt delirious and achy and just wanted to be alone.

Guided by the evening light, Joan stumbled upon a shack tucked in a circle of dense trees. She hadn’t even realized she had wandered into the forest, like she was just asking to have her other wing torn off. From inside of the abandoned building, she heard the rattle of metal and stupidly decided to check it out.

A WingEater. It wasn’t the one who had attacked her, this one was much smaller. Its skin was iridescent green and black, like the color of a blowfly. Big bright blue bug eyes blinked, pointy horns gleamed, big ears twitched, antenna felt around in the air. Unlike the other beast, this one is dressed in some kind of flesh-colored smock. It looks leathery, with smears of red and brown staining the material. Protective metal plates clasped around the limbs and stomach, linking together at the back. It almost looked like armor of sorts.

The icing on the cake, however, were the chains locked around the wrists.

Joan stared for a long time and then laughed harshly.

“Look at this. Trapped. On the ground. Like me.”

She walked up to it, grabbing a sharp rock for a weapon. The WingEater reels back into the corner.

“Your kind ruined my life.” The girl growled lowly. She raised her arm and the rock came down on the chains. “Go do the same thing to someone else. I don’t want to be the only one like this.”

She bashed the rusty chains, yelling and snarling as tears poured down her face. Eventually, they broke apart. Joan stumbled backwards, breathing heavily. The carnivorous monster stared up at her in bewilderment.

“Go!” Joan cried. “Go fuck up another person’s life! It’s all you creatures know how to do!”

The WingEater skitters by and jumped into the air. In the light of the sun’s descent, the feathers of a black-throated grey warbler shined beautifully in the background of twilight.

[strategemme]

I THINK WITH MY HEART AND I MOVE WITH MY HEAD

EMMELINE VANCE: Character Task No. 1

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves. I don't trust society to protect us, I have no intention of placing my fate in the hands of men whose only qualification is that they managed to con a block of people to vote for them. They used to say that if Man was meant to fly, he’d have wings. But he did fly. He discovered he had to. There are things that have to be done and you do them and you never talk about them. You don't try to justify them. They can't be justified. You just do them. Then you forget it. Due to personal reasons, I will be performing vigilante justice. 

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Emmeline L. Vance; there isn’t a soul (presently) alive that knows what the “L” stands for. NICKNAMES: Em; other abbreviations of her name are generally acceptable as long as you don’t try to call her Emmie.  AGE: 22 BIRTHDAY: August 27, 1957 GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: She/Her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Florence Vance neé Chevalier ( 50 ) { born in France, moved to England after marrying Devon } // muggle  FATHER: Col. Devon Vance ( 57 ) { recently retired from the British Army } // muggle  SIBLINGS: Anthony Vance ( 28 ) { named after a dear friend of Devon’s that was killed during the Second World War } // muggle 

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Demet Özdemir BUILD: Average height, athletic HAIR: Long, worn in waves on nights requiring effort and otherwise tossed into a bun   HAIR COLOR: Brunette EYE COLOR: Brown SKIN COLOR: Tan DOMINANT HAND: Right { she’s pitiful when it comes to her left hand }  ANOMALIES: (1) Scar across her left palm from making a blood-pact as a ten year old; it’s so faded now that you can only catch a gleam of silver in the bright sun. (2) Various small burns across her hands and forearms from healing poultices gone askew. SCENT: Vanilla and cedar wood; she’s worn the same perfume since her Hogwarts  ACCENT: Standard English  ALLERGIES: Cats  DISORDERS: Insomnia; she’s always attributed it to a general pace of “too much to do and too little time,” but there are nights when all she wants to do is collapse into her bed yet finds herself condemned to staring at the ceiling; many people make the mistake of believing that she doesn’t need sleep to operate, but her history of errors speaks otherwise.  FASHION: She spends far more time in lime green robes than she cares for, and thus compensates with a wardrobe full of neutral colors. She still feels more comfortable in muggle attire than wizarding robes, and thus is seen frequently in various combinations of jeans, blouses, and boots.  NERVOUS TICS: After years of having her tics evaluated and erased, Emmeline has largely eradicated any tells of nervousness. Old habits die hard, however, and with the stress of the war mounting, she’s falling back into drumming her index and middle finger on any solid surface capable of absorbing her anxiety. As she’s assumed a leadership position, she’s also taken up the habit of pacing while waiting for her teams of tier three operatives to return.  QUIRKS: (1) With the current travel restrictions, Emmeline has fallen back into driving. She learned during one of her summers away from Hogwarts, and her trusty Vauxhall Viva has carried her across Britain and back several times over. (2) When approach Diagon Alley for pleasure, Emmeline prefers to enter through the Leaky Cauldron. There’s something symbolic about crossing from Muggle to Wizarding London. (3) If Emmeline starts something, she has to finish. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, she cannot abandon a task already underway. It is one of the reasons she spends so long planning: planning necessitates time and distance while action must be immediate. 

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Puddlemere, England { London has always been home, and her work at St. Mungo’s frequently brings her into the city. But as war rears its head, Emmeline has opted for more strategic ground. The community of Puddlemere is welcoming to muggleborns, and her proximity to other Order members offers safety that could never be found in city streets. } BORN: London, England  RAISED: Too many places to count, though Emmeline isn’t partial to declaring military barracks as her hometown. Jokingly, she’ll say that Hogwarts was the most permanent home she had while growing up. More seriously, she’ll consider herself a Londoner.  PETS: A tawny owl named Machiavelli, though she considers him more of a useful friend than a pet.  CAREER: Healer { additionally, a vigilante; she offers free... how shall we say.. r e t r i b u t i o n to muggleborn and half-blood families that need a little extra muscle, be it of the offensive or defensive sort. } EXPERIENCE: In the medical field, Emmeline has specialized in accident and emergency, though it seems every Witch or Wizard only deems medical care necessary in such cases. Outside St. Mungo’s, she has frequented several underground dueling clubs to keep her skills sharp.  EMPLOYER: St. Mungo’s POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix  BELIEFS: The the Wizarding community is in desperate need of some muggle influence (preventative medicine, to start, but automobiles, microwaves, and telephones would be a wonderful addition). The motivation of purebloods to eradicate such influence only keeps the community from advancing and reaching full potential, and the mounting war is representative of the collision between the old world and the new. (That said, she’s strongly of the belief that no one should have to die while seeking out inclusivity.)  MISDEMEANORS: Nothing that has found its way onto her record.  FELONIES: Being a muggleborn is starting to damn well feel like one.  DRUGS: Never. As much as Emmeline has a tendency to lock herself within her mind, she has yet to seek out drugs as a key.  SMOKES: Unfortunately. She knows she shouldn’t, but nicotine is often the only thing capable of taking the edge off and stimulating her focus at the same time. It’s a necessary evil, and her pocket is rarely without a pack  ALCOHOL: A taste for scotch runs in the family, and it’s often one of the most expensive items on her list of expenses for the month. She refuses to touch it while in the process of acting, but it plays a large role in her planning stages.  DIET: Emmeline never managed to find the time to take up cooking, and as such, she depends on local takeout.  LANGUAGES: English, French  PHOBIAS: Deep water { she adores swimming, but will never go so deep that her toes can’t graze the bottom } ; failure { a common fear, but many years passed where she refused to speak up in class because her fear of being wrong was greater than her confidence in being right; now those days have passed and she’s perhaps too passionately outspoken, but if she isn’t complete convinced of something, the words will never pass her lips } ; death { she’s grazed the reaper more times than she can count, either in her own life or accompanying the paths of others. still, she can’t imagine what it would be like to see her own funeral. she acts with certainty and confidence, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t fear what is on the other side of that bright green flash. } HOBBIES: Reading, board games or cards, camping, pick-up games of very, very, very amateur Quidditch  TRAITS: I never dreamed about success; I worked for it.  { + }: Hardworking, clever, frequently compassionate (but...) { - }: Occasionally apathetic, subconsciously manipulative, righteous 

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Diagon Alley; it is the place where she first felt that her magic was a blessing rather than a curse, and it continues to instill that childlike hope in her whenever she visits. It’s one of the few bright places remaining.  SPORTS TEAM: Puddlemere United, naturally. She’s only recently moved to Puddlemere, but she has a long history of training Mediwitches and Mediwizards during Puddlemere’s practices and matches, and as such has brushed shoulders with the team just enough to be emotionally invested in their success.  GAME: Chess (of either the muggle or wizarding variety)  MUSIC: She knows the correct answer to this is anything orchestral, yet Goodbye Yellowbrick Road is the most frequently-played record in her flat.  MOVIES: The Godfather, Patton, Saturday Night Fever FOOD: Her mother’s Beef Wellington. She’s yet to find its rival.  BEVERAGE: Scotch, Earl Grey COLOR: Light green (but certainly not lime, damn those robes) 

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Ravenclaw  WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 11.25in, sturdy, redwood, dragon heartstring AMORTENTIA: Leather, incense, cotton  PATRONUS: Hawk  BOGGART: The visage of the first patient that died due to her negligence. It isn’t an exact replica from her memories, but one that is in the process of decomposing. It’s propped up in a bed like the ones populating St. Mungo’s. 

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral good  MBTI: ENTJ MBTI ROLE: Analyst ENNEAGRAM: Type 8  ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Achiever  TEMPERAMENT: Choleric WESTERN ZODIAC: Virgo  CHINESE ZODIAC: Rooster PRIMAL SIGN: Corgi TAROT CARD: The Chariot TV TROPES: Lady of War, Female Empowerment Song, Historical In-Joke, Showing Up Chauvinists  SONGS: Tongues -- Joywave // History Has Its Eyes on You -- Christopher Jackson // Come With Me Now -- KONGOS // Vindicated -- Dashboard Confessional // Baba O’Riley -- The Who // Vienna -- Billy Joel // Machine -- MisterWives // Kill Your Heroes -- AWOLNATION // Sabotage -- Beastie Boys 

𝖎 𝖉 𝖊 𝖔 𝖑 𝖔 𝖌 𝖎 𝖊 𝖘

Muggle influence will do more good for the wizarding world than it ever will harm

Encourages second chances but condemns those that require a third 

People should expect to get out of the world what they put in (no more, no less) 

Violence should be a last resort, but damn if it isn’t a definitive one

Those that are neutral in a time of oppression have chosen the side of the oppressor 

Sugar has no right to be in coffee or tea 

History repeats itself; if you can’t find a parallel within the pages of history books, the situation simply hasn’t developed thoroughly enough yet 

Cheap scotch is worse than sewer water 

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Changing (11)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, X-MEN, DEADPOOL

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

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -  Sequel to Name Calling After merging with your bloodthirsty alternate personality things start getting a little dicey. You’ve got two decades worth of anger to sort through, a feral mutation to figure out how to live with, a biological father who you hate trying to teach you control and if your wedding planner suggests teal for the bridesmaids again you might just eat her liver.

Luckily you have Bucky Barnes by your side, helping you figure things out. What Bucky doesn’t know is that you have found an outlet for the uncontrollable rage, one that absolutely nobody can know about. If your friends and family knew that you were out slaughtering people in the dead of night while they slept, they might be a little annoyed. Wade Wilson is happy to keep your secret though, so long as you keep bribing him with Mexican food. 

For as long as you could remember, all you had wanted was to be good. Now you’re seeing the temptation in the darkness.

Chapter Eleven - The Stags 

While you were living it up in Vegas, the Stag Party was enjoying a sophisticated steak dinner at a private restaurant in Brooklyn.

It was a good thing Tony was paying, because between Thor, Steve, Bucky and Parker, at least two full cows had been eaten.

“Alright, attention please. All eyes on me.” Tony announced.

Loki, Thor, Steve, Bruce, Vision, Peter, Clint and Bucky obliged the eccentric billionaire.

“I just wanted to be the centre of attention for a moment because the next few days are going to be all about my child.” Tony joked.

“It is a privilege of any parent to be outshone by their offspring.” Thor said sagely.

“Speech!” Peter called.

“Groom, you wanna take this?” Tony asked.

Bucky looked around at the expectant faces and took a deep breath.

“Seventy years ago I would chase down any skirt in the hopes of finding ‘the one’. It never occurred to me that she was waiting for me at the other end of a long and difficult journey. There are things about the journey I would change if I could.” He said, glancing at Tony.

“But she once told me that all the pain she went through, she wouldn’t change because it might mean she didn’t end up on the path that led her to me. I would take away every bit of her pain if I could but I wouldn’t change mine and risk loosing her.” He finished.

“You truly do love her.” Loki said with no small amount of wonderment.

“More than anything.” Bucky agreed.

Loki fixed his expression into one of boredom.

“Well congratulations Brother Barnes, I’m sure you and your love shall be very happy.” Loki toasted.

“And may they be blessed with many strong healthy children!” Thor added.

Tony choked on his scotch and spat it out across the table.

“NO! Absolutely not! My baby is not having a baby!” He spluttered.

“I believe it is her choice as it is her womb, regardless of well wishes or her fathers instructions.” Loki sniped.

“I’m with Mr Loki.” Peter agreed.

“Well it’s not as if they don’t get enough practice in.” Clint sniggered.

“No they don’t!” Tony shrieked.

“Stark, what do you think they’re doing that they keep needing to replace the bedframe?” Clint asked.

“She’s jumping up and down on the bed, she’s whimsical like that.” Tony insisted.

“She’s jumping on something.” Steve interjected and after a moment of shock that it was the Captain who had said it, everyone except Tony and Bucky started laughing.

Bucky looked deeply uncomfortable and Tony looked like he was torn between being sick and leaping across the table to throttle Bucky.

“Barnes, a word?” Tony said, standing up and throwing his napkin down on the table.

Bucky wordlessly got up and followed Stark outside. Tony put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky like he was searching the stars for the right words to say.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t you who killed them. Hydra would have found another way. It’s taken me a long time to fully come to terms with that. So I’m going to say this once, only once and know that I mean it. I forgive you.” Tony said.

Bucky didn’t know what to say and his eyes started to sting as the weight of Tony’s words settled over him.

“Stark... I can’t change what I did but you have to know that I am in control now and I swear, I will never hurt her.”

“I know. I’m not going to threaten you, I don’t need to. I know you love her.” Tony said.

There was a moment of silence between them before Tony clapped his hands together.

“Well, that’s over. Let’s never do this heart to heart thing ever again ok?”

“Agreed.”

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

“A strip club? Really?”Tony asked, amused.

“Don’t blame me for this one. It was Sam, he insisted.”Steve defended himself.

“So you’re the man who’s marrying our favourite little Kitten?” One of the dancers said, eyeing Bucky.

“Your favourite kitten? As in my daughter? You know my daughter.” Tony checked.

“Oh yeah, Deathwave’s a regular. She’s a great tipper.”

“She’s a what now?” Clint asked, beyond amused.

Bucky shrugged at Steve when his friend turned to him with a scandalised expression.

“Pal, I’m long past being shocked by my future wife’s behaviour.” He told the blonde.

Steve turned helplessly to Tony who also shrugged.

“She’s a Stark.”He said as if it explained everything.

“So Sam sent us to a stripclub that the bride frequents?” Clint laughed, holding his ribs as he realized how devious the Falcon had been.

“Uh, why is Parker here?” Steve asked.

“Strip Club’s are 18+ and he’s 18, he just can’t drink.” Tony answered, sounding very lawyer like.

“Gentlemen, let us begin the festivities in earnest.” Thor boomed, coming over with six large pitchers of beer.

“Brother, did you not think to get drinks for our friends?” Loki asked.

Thor had the grace to look sheepish and everyone was to amused to see Bucky clap Loki on the shoulder in pride for calling them his friends.

“You know, if I can find love after everything, you might just have a chance.” Bucky said with a smirk.

Loki rolled his eyes and pulled a flask from his pocket and passed it to Bucky.

“Do not make me regret befriending you Barnes.”

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

“Let me tell you something, if you told me I’d be getting drunk with Loki to celebrate my child marrying Barnes....” Tony slurred and seemed to forget he was supposed to finish the sentence as he trailed off and his jaw dropped.

Peter and Loki turned around to see what he was looking at and saw Steve Rogers, Captain America sat at a booth on the other side of the club, laughing uproariously, a woman tucked under each arm.

“I’ve had to much to drink. I’m hallucinating.” Tony whispered.

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

“Go Parker!” Clint yelled.

“Someone’s is filming this right?” Clint checked.

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

“Buck.” Steve yelled, throwing his arm around his friends shoulders.

“Stevie.” Buck greeted, laughing at Steve’s inebriated state.

“I’m proud of you Buck. You found her, your girl and you went for it. You didn’t wait, you just went for it. I’m so proud of you.” Steve said, heartfelt despite the drunkeness.

“I didn't have a choice Steve, I really didn't. I need her.” Bucky admitted, not entirely sober himself.

“She’s a good girl and you better treat her right Punk.” Steve warned.

“Are you threatening me?” Bucky huffed in amusement.

“What? No, I’m warning you pal. She’ll obliterate you of you hurt her. That girl has a temper.” Steve chuckled.

Bucky laughed uproariously at the sheer honesty in the statement.

“I think Peggy would have loved her.” Steve said a little sadly.

“They would have been friends. Terrifying for the two of us though.” Bucky agreed and the two chuckled in bittersweet amusement.

“Hey, can you turn that up please?” Steve asked, pointing at the TV screen.

They all gradually turned to look at the screen.

“I’m live here in Las Vegas where The Avenger, Deathwave was celebrating her Hen Party until a few short moments ago when she entered into a deadly battle with Deadpool.” The reporter said and the camera focused on two figures on a rooftop behind her.

Bucky grasped the edge of the bar tightly as he watched Deadpool impale you with two Katanas. You headbutted the merc and pulled the blades out of your body and threw them aside.

Black veins rippled up your arms but before you could blast Deadpool he pulled out two guns and fired at you repeatedly. Your body jerked violently and you stumbled backwards, teetering precariously close to the edge of the roof.

The bar splintered under Bucky’s hand as he was forced to watch helplessly as you fell over the edge and plummeted towards the ground.

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

This chapter was an absolute bitch to get out, I struggled with the worst case of writers' block I have ever had with it. Eventually, I realized it wasn't going to get any better and I needed to move on. For those wanting more heartfelt stuff, the reason there isn't more is because it's all in the actual wedding chapters (part of what made this so difficult). I'm somewhat pleased with what I eventually wrote and I hope you are as well.

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first @thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala @the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears  @the–real-wombat @buckitybarnes @fairislesheets @angieptt  @meganjonezzzz @dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty @memanda17  @krystallynx @theonelittleone  @piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard @dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews @likes-to-smell-books @drdorkus @life-wanderer @metalarmlover  @animegirlgeeky @jsmith509 @chipilerendi @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @ericasabe  @gravedollie666 @madlykpopfan @l0kisbitch @mywinterwolf @sassysweetstories @life-wanderer @jessieray98 @littledeadrottinghood @myfandomlife-blog @spnrvt @dahkness  @sexyvixen7 @dilaila95  @liveonce-sodoitright  @uuuuuuuuggggghhh @mywinterwolf @myfandomlife-blog  @pinkisokay @thosesexytexasboys

[ill-skillsgard]

Phoenix Rising, Part 1 - Valter Skarsgård

Title: Phoenix Rising

Description: The struggle for domination is paved with deceit and destructive lust as two enemies battle it out for control night after night.

Warning: 18+ swearing/mentions of rape/violence/femdom/DDLG leanings

A/N: This is the first and only series I’ve written with Valter in it so far. One day I will finish it. This is for all the babies riding that V train with me who miss this story. Enjoy!

I was down to my last round of bullets. The gun in my hand was a pistol and ill-suited for long distance shots. With my back up against a stone wall, I breathed in deeply and weighed my options; I could either stay there and have him come hunting for me or I could peek out from my cover to try to get a glimpse of exactly where he was located. Both options posed significant causes for a quickened heartbeat. On one hand, I could wait it out and test his patience which could buy me some time to think of a better plan, or on the other, I could risk having a bullet put in my head while I tried to put one in his. Whatever decision I made I had to make it quickly. I couldn't be sure what kind of guns he had left. For all I knew, he could have had himself a precision sniper rifle with a magnifying scope pointed right at the corner I wanted to steal a glimpse out from. If that were the case I knew that half my skull would get blown off if I risked it. But if he was left with slim pickings as I was, perhaps his accuracy wasn't all too good either. Then it became a game of luck. I knew I was just as good a marksman as him but I wasn't sure if I would be quick enough. I felt my heart start to thump loudly in my chest as I readied my gun in my hand. "Come on, bitch. Where are you, huh? Don't be scared. I'm just going to blow your head off!" I listened to him yell. His voice had an accent in it that I couldn't quite place. I gritted my teeth. Everything I wanted to say to him involved different ways that I would mutilate his genitals if I were to ever get ahold of him. If I wasn't so nervous I would have replied with how badly I wanted to shove the edge of a knife in his dickhole and give it a twist. I was better than that though, or at least I liked to tell myself. No, I would have to keep my cool until the right moment. The moment that would realize my death or be one of the most important kills of my career. "Come out, girlie. I want to see you!" He yelled and made kissing noises at me as though he were trying to beckon a pussycat from it's hiding place. "Fuck you!" I finally fired back. "Maybe I'll fuck your dead corpse." I turned my body around so that my chest was almost to the wall. Raising the gun, taking aim and preparing myself to dart out from the corner, I drew in a deep breath through my nose as a practice run. On the exhale of the next breath was when I would make my move. I couldn't hide from him forever. Once I let my lungs deflate fully for the second time, I stepped out from behind cover and saw him peeking over the mangled hood of a wrecked car. Perfect. I unloaded three shots and the recoil almost made me shut my eyes but I didn't and I held my aim as steady as possible as I dove out from behind the stone wall. I rolled low after firing and heard him yell at me. Then everything went red.

YOU WIN.

"Ha! Fuck you bitch boy! Shot you right in your fucking face!" I yelled at the TV screen. "Fuck you. Noob. Stupid bitch, you sound like you're twelve." "I still fucking raped your throat, you little bitch. Fuck! You!" I jumped up and down on my couch and laughed, the controller still in hand as the load screen to the online lobby came up, effectively cutting off our communication. I had finally won a match against Vscars. The victory was so sweet and I knew it was going to look really good after the new ranking loaded. The guy's voice kept ringing in my ears and it sounded so sweet. He was always very high up in the leaderboard fighting for the third place spot with a couple of other players that spent nearly all their time playing every day. I didn't have the time to devote to it but I had steadily worked my way up from the bottom of the leaderboard to a respectable place at about fifteenth. The more I played through the more I was determined to get myself higher up on the board. I managed to get pretty good at the gameplay and started rising higher. Then, once I broke the top ten, I started to hear the voices of the Agents of Carnage Elite. It was just a bunch of guys that sat around and played all day and night and nothing but narcissistic and sexist things to say the entire time. I liked to keep my mic off while playing but I always listened to my opponents. Their misogynistic conversations became fodder for my fiery need to vanquish them. They were all so stupid and immature-sounding and I longed to destroy them. Vscars was well-known for being nearly impossible to beat. There were three players always at the very top of the leaderboard and it was him and two other guys with just as shitty attitudes. Over the jobless days and nights, I focused on getting better and better until I was pitted against Vscars. The first few games we played he had killed me easily. I almost stood no chance against him. But he was a predictable player and I quickly caught wind of his strategy. He knew the boards well and obviously knew where all the best hiding spots were and in turn, the best hiding spots to observe said hiding spots. He would stoop down and just wait for somebody to unknowingly set up shop at one of the prime lookout locations and always found himself the sniper rifle. He would just sit there and wait, looking through the scope until he knew where you were. Then he would just shoot once when you lined up with his sight and that was it. His silly little strategy couldn't work all the time and I had finally cornered him on the board. I could still hear his stupid voice echoing in my head even as I took off my headset and logged off for the night. It was earlier than usual for me but I knew I needed to get a good night's sleep if I was going to wake up early enough to do my hair and my make up instead of one or the other. The next day I had a job interview at a store that I had been going to my whole life. It was a little shop in the corner of a plaza that specialized in buying and selling video games. It wasn't a big chain gaming store though and that was the charm of it. It was a family-owned and operated business that specialized in retro gaming. I had been trying to get a job there for the better half of my teen years and had finally landed an interview at the age of twenty-two. By that point, I still wasn't convinced that wanting a job at a video game store was for teenagers. It was more than just that. It was a store packed wall-to-wall with vintage gaming memorabilia, collectible toys, fan merchandise, and newer generation games too. Naturally, I was excited about the interview and just hoped that didn't try to challenge my knowledge of old school video games. Still feeling confident from my epic victory in Agents of Carnage from the night before, I wondered if I could bring that up as a selling point of my resume. Laughing, I dismissed the thought. The idea of sitting in front of a potential employer trying to explain to them that I had beaten one of the best players on the world leaderboard of a video game seemed silly. Yet once I was seated in front of the interviewer, I remarked that he seemed like somebody who might actually be impressed by trivial gaming prowess. Either that, or he would have a snarky remark about how it was probably just a chance shot and that the maneuver I had pulled off was nothing but luck. He had thick horn-rimmed glasses on and the speckles of scarring from a years-long battle with acne sprayed over his gaunt cheeks. He definitely fit the typical gaming nerd description. "So what would make you say you are qualified to work in this store?" He asked, trying to sound intimidating but failing in anyone's eyes but his own. Well... " I started. "I play a lot of retro games. I have an almost ninety percent completed NES collection. I like games a lot. I feel like I would be a good addition to the team because... Well, I know a lot about old-school gaming." "What about new-school gaming? Are you up on your knowledge of new releases because that's what we find people are most interested in this day and age. Not much need for people who only play classic Nintendo." I squirmed in the padded chair uncomfortably at first but then straightened my spine and asserted, "oh, I am very knowledgeable about new games. I play everything Bethesda releases and right now I'm in the top ten on several leaderboards on some popular games." "Really? Like what?" "Um... Agents of Carnage?" "You're in the top of the leaderboard on Agents of Carnage? What's your gamer tag?" "PhoenixRising. Last time I checked I was sixth." "Hm," he mused with a lame shrug. "Guess I should try that game out. You're the third person today to mention it." "It's pretty good," I said meekly. "Well, I can see here that you have other retail experience but we have a very tailored approach to selling. You will find that it's not so much like a regular store with customers coming in knowing what they want. You will have to work hard to sell things and it definitely makes a difference whether you do or not." "So, does that mean you want to hire me?" The interviewer's magnified eyes dropped down from my face to my chest and then quickly shot back up. "Uh, I guess so. I have to hire two people by noon and," he paused to look at his watch. "It's almost noon so... Sure. You can come in on Monday for orientation and the beginning of your training." "Awesome! Um, should I wear anything specific?" "Black pants and black shoes. You'll be given a t-shirt later." "Cool! Can't wait. Thanks!" I enthused, standing up and thrusting my hand out for him to take. "Uh, wait, what's your name again?" He asked as he shifted through the papers that comprised my resume. "Phoenix. I just go by Nix though. For obvious reasons." "Yeah... Like the bird." "Yeah," I snorted. "Like the bird." After the positive conclusion of my interview, I left the back room that I had been shown to with palpable confidence. That was until I noticed somebody sitting in the chair that I had sat in before my interview started. He looked like he was there for an interview as well with a grey collared shirt and black jeans. He had this pout on him that made it look like maybe he wasn't exactly happy to be there but as I walked through I saw the corner of his lips tug. He ran his fingers through the blonde hair framing his face and it all fell back down pointlessly. I couldn't help but smirk too as I passed by him. When I got home I felt like the only way to celebrate getting the job that I wanted was by sitting on the couch, turning on my TV and putting on my headset. When I logged in, all of my recently played games popped up including a notification in my inbox. I cocked my head subconsciously as it was a rare occasion I got messages from other players.

Lucky shot. Let's see you do that again I instantly deleted the message from my inbox because I usually wasn't one to engage with other players but the fact that he had reached out to me to call me out made me grind my teeth behind closed lips. I sat there on the couch with my controller in my hand wondering if I should even entertain him by sending him something back. After all, he was one of the best players on our server and I was just some girl who wanted to prove that she could beat any guy. Now he wanted to initiate a war and I wasn't sure if I could replicate my win from the night before. After a while to think about it I chose to simply ignore him and started playing something else for a little while. Once I grew bored of the game it was close to dinner time and I had to sign off to meet up with a friend anyway. I saved, logged out of my game and saw that there was another notification in my inbox. My chest tightened. "What the fuck?"  I whispered to myself as I opened my inbox.

pussy. I was just about ready to whip my controller at the TV but I stopped myself. There was something about his persistence that got me thinking about replying to him. I didn't want to just blatantly insult him but I didn't want him to think he could just go around sending vulgar messages to people just because he got beat. 

This pussy beat you. Sorry. Get over it. Instead of turning off the console as I had initially planned, I logged onto Agents of Carnage and saw that he was there too. It didn't take long for me to sit in the lobby before I got a challenge notification.

Vscars wants to challenge you! Accept? Deny? I automatically denied the challenge because I knew it would show up as a notification for him right away and it would either drive him crazy or help him take the hint that I had no desire to play with him again. I didn't log in at all, simply waited for another message from him. Instead, I got a friend request.

Vscars has added you as a friend. Accept? Deny? Scoffing to myself, I scrolled over to hit deny but instead chose to accept. "Oh, fuck," I whispered. It was too late at that point. I had accepted his friend request and that meant he could look through all of my achievements and see exactly what kind of gamer I was. That would mean he could see that I had hundred-percent completed a lot of girly RPG games and that meant I would have to prepare myself for more derogatory statements about being female.

Come on, pussycat. Let's play? Biting my lip, I decided to finally write back to him.

I'm busy. Go play with your little friends on AoC. There was almost no time in between my reply and his. I couldn't believe he was so determined to challenge me again.

But I want 2 play with U pussycat. Was this weird foreign guy getting off on my degradation toward him? It was hard to tell if he was engaging me or mocking me. But before I could go any further my cell phone started ringing and I could see it was my friend calling, probably to ask me what time I would be ready for dinner. I answered the call as I signed off completely, turned the TV off and scrambled to my room to change out of my interview clothes.

[filmaficionerdo]

Best Films of 2018

Best Films of 2018

2018 was not the year for prestige pictures by a long shot.  Film this year was at its best when it came to superhero movies, and as much as I prefer those over most any other entertainment, that shouldn’t be the case, and that’s not what got me into film in the first place.  As happy as I am to see my favorite comic book characters come to life, I got into film because of daring, bold, and outspoken artists who didn’t need a franchise to speak their minds.  Too many mid-range films went to Netflix or other streaming services and they’re mostly of poor quality with a few exceptions.  I miss the days when film studios took risks, but now they only look for the largest IP with the largest net-profits.  It’s sad.  I love Marvel movies more than anyone I know but they shouldn’t be the only reason I look forward to going to the theater.  But this year also sparked a personal change for me because I moved away from the movie mecca of Hollywood to mid-Michigan, where there aren’t any arthouse theaters nearby during peak awards season so I missed more films than I would’ve liked (even though it’s been the most emotionally rewarding experience I’ve ever had) so I hope that helps explain why this list is so late.  I’ve been catching up on independent films via online rentals as soon as I can and still have many left unseen.  So maybe I missed something during 2018, but I can’t help but be letdown by the lack of inspiration I look to when I try to experience the medium I’m most passionate about.  With that being said, I was still able to conjure a list of my favorite 25 films of the year.  So, here goes:

25. Halloween

This was way better than I would’ve expected, especially coming from the guys who brought us Your Highness.  Director David Gordon Green and writer Danny (Eastbound & Down) McBride delivered the first worthy Halloween sequel that’s ever existed.  Their updated and timely subversion elevated this homage-y sequel while adding more fun than this franchise has ever seen.  John Carpenter’s contribution and the opening credits sequence hit hard with me.

24. Ready Player One

Haters be damned, I really enjoyed this movie.  Of course, I never read the book so that discredits me somewhat but what I got was a rousing Spielbergian experience that we haven’t witnessed since Minority Report.  If you hate this movie, but you loved Hook, there’s something fundamentally wrong with what you think a Spielberg movie is supposed to be about.  Ready Player One was a toybox of fun ideas and intellectual properties sewn together for a generation hung up on video games and nostalgia.  It’s definitely not his best but I love seeing a veteran director who still has the ability to dust off his old toys and make pretend.  The Shining sequence was an absolute standout of appreciation and love for another director’s craft.  

23. Sorry to Bother You

Boots Riley’s debut was strong and weird as hell.  This felt like Spike Lee meets David Cronenberg.  It’s funny, nuanced, and insightful.  Riley’s new voice was energetic and angry in the best way.  I saw this later in the year than I wanted to, but I have a feeling that repeat viewings will enhance this films relevance and my appreciation.

22. You Were Never Really Here 

Lynne Ramsay is one of the best and most unpredictable working directors today.  I always look forward to her work, but this semi-Taxi Driver remake was remarkably accessible for her and more powerful than it had any right to be.  If you haven’t seen it, seek it out.  It’s a crisp 88 minutes long and it’s riveting as well as heartbreaking.  There was a uniqueness to the short runtime, violence, and poignant urgency that she handled with deftness.  Joauquin Phoenix was remarkable, brute, and subtle all at once.

21. Ant-Man & The Wasp

Go ahead and agree that this wasn’t the strongest Marvel output in a while, but just like the previous Ant-Man, it’s a palette cleanser from a previous Avengers film.  Ant-Man & The Wasp is maybe the most child friendly film they’ve ever released and it was still enjoyable as hell.  It’s not important.  It’s simple fun.  And I love that Marvel still knows how to craft something that doesn’t want or need to reach for the fences.  Sometimes an inside the field hit is just what we need.  Ant-Man & The Wasp is a damn good bunt.

20. The Incredibles 2

Now that I hang out with a toddler on the reg, watching this movie never gets boring.  I’d know, because she’s watched it with me five times.  Incredibles 2 was long overdue and it’s maybe not quite so worthy of such a long wait considering the original was my favorite film of 2004, but its sequel was still full of exceptional animation.  That sequence with Jack Jack and the raccoon still fills me with joy.

19. A Star is Born

Bradley Cooper’s directorial debut was surprisingly strong.  Filming everything in close-ups was an intimate and innovative way to express a rising star’s personal journey to stardom.  Even though we can all agree that the first half of the film is vastly superior to the tear-turkey-jerky second half, it’s still an important film and a worthy update of a timeless classic.  The music, performances, cinematography, and sound are all exceptional.   

18. BlacKkKlansman

Spike Lee felt reborn with BlacKkKlansman.  Do The Right Thing will always be one of the all time greatest films; no question.  BlacKkKlansman might be his best since.  John David Washington just established himself as a commanding lead, and Adam Driver further cemented himself as a phenomenal actor.  The poetic-ness combined with the satirical edginess made this one significantly heartbreaking watch while being entertaining and iconic all at the same time.

17. The Death of Stalin

I saw The Death of Stalin early in 2018 and it never left me.  Writer/Director Armando Iannucci is a certifiable genius and the controversial nature of a film like this was one of the most refreshing voices of the year.  This is one of the darkest political satires I’ve ever seen but it’s so goddamn funny.  Laughing at something so atrocious and maddening is one of the only ways we, as a society, can heal from dark times in history.  I fully believe it takes the power away from the people who committed such heinous crimes.  It takes time and a brilliant voice, but it holds a mirror to the ridiculousness we’re currently subjected to, and hopefully with time, we can make fun of our situation too.

16. Leave No Trace

Debra Granik finally followed up her outstanding Winter’s Bone debut and she did not suffer from the sophomore slump that so many other filmmakers have.  Leave No Trace is the saddest love letter to veterans that I’ve ever seen even though it’s beautiful and full of hope.  Granik definitely should’ve gotten a Best Director nomination this year for her delicate and heartfelt look at a father struggling with PTSD while living with his daughter in the woods, away from society.  Ben Foster and Thomasin McKenzie are stunning.  This film stayed with me for weeks after I watched it.  It’s a small but hugely important film.

15. Annihilation

Alex Garland previously made his directorial debut with Ex Machina after an incredible script writing filmography.  He’s established himself as one of the smartest and most important voices in science fiction cinema after Annihilation.  This is a heady sci fi film that scared the shit out of me.  I felt uneasy the second the group of women walked into The Shimmer.  Garland adapted the book it’s based on after only reading the book once, but he created something so frighteningly ethereal that it’ll be talked about for years.  The score for this was off the charts good.  Going from an acoustic instrumental to something electronic was what struck me the most as a stroke of genius.

14. Shoplifters

For a film I saw so recently, very few films this year have had such an emotional impact on me.  Shoplifters is a small “family” film from Korean director Hirokazu Kore-eda, but it packs a punch that I wasn’t expecting.  All I knew was that critics loved it and it was up for a Best Foreign Language Oscar.  It’s a powerhouse of social status and what it means to be a family that defies language and cultural relevance.  

13. First Man

First Man hit me hard on a personal level.  I’d sort of written off Damien Chazelle as a director after La La Land underwhelmed me so much, but this film reinvigorated my appreciation in him because the filmmaking here was profoundly beautiful.  The acting is impeccable.  The cinematography was breathtaking.  Seeing this in IMAX (as my last film in LA) was a jaw-dropping cry-fest.  I left the theater shook.  I doubt this film will shake as many as it did me, especially if you missed it in IMAX, but this was the theater experience of the year.  At least recognize that Justin Hurwitz’s musical score was the most overlooked snub at this years Academy Awards.

12. Suspiria

This was another film I’d sorely missed in theaters, but when I finally got a chance to witness it I was blown away.  Luca Guadaninio’s follow-up to my favorite film of last year, Call Me By Your Name, was a worthy successor.  This was less a horror film, and more of an art-house homage to Dario Argento’s original 70s classic.  It’s still a haunting film, but in a beautifully macabre way.  Thom Yorke’s score is absolutely outstanding, as well as the subversively drab look, completely deviating from the originals color saturated visual palette.  It’s a film that has to be watched more than once.  Even though it’s 2.5 hours long, I was completely transfixed the entire time.  It’ll depend on your mood or taste, but if you enjoy artistic, visual, and auditory enhanced horror, Suspiria is among the best. 

11. Mandy

Throw up the horns.  Mandy is here.  Pasmos Cosmatos cerebral horror film is full of the best revenge porn I’ve ever seen.  Nicolas Cage is unhinged (as he should be) in his best performance in ages.  He’s the Cage we’ve been dreaming of since the 90s.  The first half of this film belongs to Andrea Riseborough and underrated character actor Linus Roache, but the second half is all Rage Cage in full gory glory.  Mandy is a film unlike anything you’ve ever seen, but yet somehow it’s still completely accessible.  The title cards for each chapter are something straight out of a Heavy Metal comic book, and the hauntingly beautiful score by the late-genius Jóhann Jóhannsson is simply gorgeous.  Mandy is a film meant to be laughed at and with.  It’s a fever-dream of ideas that work brilliantly as a whole.  It’s a hard one to recommend but if you know, you know.  

10. Eighth Grade

Bo Burnham just burst onto the directorial scene with this film about the awkwardness of being a thirteen year old girl.  Not something you’d expect from a male standup comedian in times like these, especially when it’s handled so delicately and with so much heart, but it feels so important to young kids who’ve been thrown into subjectivity amongst their peers within the digital age.  Eighth Grade can, at times, make you so uncomfortable, and at other times it’ll completely tear your heart out and make you want to hug your dad.  I know, because I saw it in the theater with my dad.  He was like, you’re still the eighth grade girl you’ve always been.  Thanks, dad.  

9. Aquaman

I know there isn’t a ton of hate for this film, but there isn’t a ton of high praise for it either.  Aquaman was exactly the film James Wan set out to make.  It’s one of the most comic book-y films since Age of Ultron except it’s dumb as hell, and for that, I absolutely LOVED it.  This was a throwback comic book film ripped from the pages that was corny as hell and never took itself too seriously.  Aquaman is a damn hard character to adapt so it’s unbelievable that he got this big of a budget that included over-the-top actors like Willem Dafoe and Dolph Lundgren.  Patrick Wilson chews the scenery as Ocean Master and I don’t give a damn what people think of Black Manta; he’s completely awesome.  You could’ve easily cut this film down, but I was happy to live in its oceanic cheesball world for hours.  Aquaman was the comic book movie of the year that was as ridiculous as it was awesome.  I laughed so hard at how stupid it could be, but I couldn’t help but be entertained by how insane it was.

8. Mission: Impossible Fallout

I don’t know how these films keep getting better, but they do.  This was THE action film of 2018.  As much as I love Fast & Furious 5-7, Mission: Impossible 4-6 has been the best run of a long running action franchise ever.  Fallout brought one of the best villains yet in a story that barely makes sense, but I couldn’t care less.  This film was big in that edge-of-your-seat way that rarely comes along.  Thrilling doesn’t begin to describe it.  The IMAX presentation was fantastic.  I live for movies like this.  It harkens back to 80s and 90s action films but presents itself for a whole new era of practical effects extravaganza.  It’s the best action film since Mad Max: Fury Road.

7. Black Panther

There are a lot of people questioning this film’s entry as a Best Picture Nominee, but it absolutely deserves all of the recognition it’s getting.  Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther is both culturally and politically significant as it is cinematically.  This film is a culmination of what Marvel has been growing to.  The Marvel Cinematic Universe isn’t simply about story progression, it’s about cultural progression.  These films represent societal beacons of the times we live in through decades old comic book prisms.  The lore and spirit of the comics are still present, as well as relevant, and the socio-political themes have been injected into them effortlessly.  

A character like Black Panther can be a leader of change within his own cinematic universe.  Marvel’s created something that transcends blockbuster cinema.  Black Panther is now an icon of cultural appreciation that can inspire real change in the real world.  He’s an optimistic embodiment of what we should strive to achieve as a society.  We should share with the world our hope for change.  Comic Book’s have never been so relevant.  Black Panther has never been so important.

6. Roma

Director Alfonso Cuarón’s intimate portrayal of life as a housemaid was one of the most vibrantly affecting films I’ve ever seen.  Every single shot wasn’t just a landscape; it was a mural.  I’ve never seen direction take this angle and provide so much while saying so little.  Some people might’ve felt emotionally disconnected from his style but Cuarón’s masterful direction captivated me like very few films this year had.  There are multiple layers to his visual representation that effect more of what’s seen than what’s said.  It’s not an easy watch and perhaps that’s part of why it was released by Netflix.  Unfortunately, I had to watch this at home instead of in theaters, but I still felt the impact of the themes and presentation.  It’s one of the few Best Picture nominees that truly belong in the category that’ll stand the test of time.  

5. Paddington 2

This was one of the earliest releases of 2018 and it never escaped my mind throughout the year.  Paddington 2 advances upon the original’s tone to encapsulate something that is pure joy.  Paul King directed the bejeezus out of this movie.  I felt like I was watching Wes Anderson meets Harry Potter.  I saw Paddington 2 in theaters with just one mother and daughter couple and it never felt weird.  The only thing that’s weird is that more people haven’t seen this film.  I had a smile from ear to ear the entire time.  This movie is magic.  Like the Harry Potter films, all of the best British actors are present, and Hugh Grand and Brendon Gleeson give their best performances in years, if not ever.  Hugh Grant should’ve been nominated for Best Supporting Actor.  If you haven’t seen this hidden gem yet, do your soul a favor and seek it out immediately.

4. The Favourite

Yorgos Lanthimos is on a roll.  This nutty Greek director began his career with the insane film, Dogtooth, and hasn’t let up since.  But he’s also learned and built from his previous work.  What started as something of a cultish followed career has expanded into prestigious and innovative filmmaking.  I’d nearly missed this film in theaters until I drove across the state to see this with my parents in Ann Arbor, and although it might be one of the worst movies to see with your parental units, we all could agree that this was a uniquely hilarious and thought-provoking experience.  At first, I wasn’t sure what to think because I was too busy trying to avoid talking to my mom and dad about Emma Stone jerking somebody off, but The Favourite stayed with me for weeks and I loved dissecting all of its themes and nuances.  The Favourite is both entertaining and timely.  It’s another one of the films this year that absolutely belong with (and should’ve won) the Best Picture nominations.

3. Widows

Steve McQueen’s Widows was vastly underseen and underrated.  Here’s a director who usually only does vague, cerebral drama, but working with Gillian Flynn as a screenwriter adapting Lynda LaPlante’s 1983 novel about wives finishing the heist their husbands failed to complete before their untimely deaths, is about as pulpy and as timely as you can get.  There are a lot of stories woven into Widows epic crime saga and some critics have faulted the film’s narrative for it, but look at Heat; one of the most prolific crime sagas of all time, which has more subplots than you could imagine, yet it’s still widely regarded as one of the best films ever made.  Widows is the best film of its kind since Heat in 1995.  It still carries the acting heavyweights and still compelled me more than nearly any other film in 2018.

2. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Into the Spider-Verse is one of the few films in 2018 that has the power to influence cinema for the future.  Not only is it extraordinarily entertaining, but it’s also innovative in terms of style and theme.  No other film in 2018 was this inventive and groundbreaking.  I was definitely excited to see this as a lifelong Spider-Man fan, but based on Sony’s mishandling of the character for years, it had me extremely cautious.  Thanks to Phil Lord and Chris Miller’s impeccable screenplay, I got more than the Spider-Man I’ve always wanted to see.  This is a Spider-Man for a new generation.  He’s not my Spider-Man, he never was.  This film is for everyone, and I mean EVERYONE.  The cell-shaded animation and soundtrack elevated this film into bonafide classic territory.  I couldn’t even comprehend it after I first saw it, because I wasn’t ready for something so new.  Months after I watched this film, I could not stop thinking about it.  Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is so nerdy for the fans and so accessible to the newcomers.  It feels like I’m living in an alternate universe where good movies in 2018 DO exist.

1. Avengers: Infinity War

The *Snap* heard ‘round the World...

Marvel has a good history of taking formulas from other genres and using them as a framing device for their superhero films; political thrillers, space operas, video games, heist films are all borrowed ideas that helped them keep the superhero genre from feeling stale. Avengers: Infinity War is Marvel’s fantasy epic. This is the Lord of the Rings of the MCU. The result is legendary. The Russo Bros. looked at their massive roster of heroes, who audiences have come to deeply care for over ten years, and came up with a way to tell one cohesive world-ending story centered around one villain; the mad titan, Thanos. They looked at Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones, and they saw how well those were balanced, and they applied it to a superhero film. It’s unbelievably well executed. The big reason Infinity War works so cosmically well is Josh Brolin’s portrayal of Thanos. We couldn’t get behind another world-ending event in these movies unless we believed and understood the villain that was behind it all.  Brolin gave Thanos both menace and pathos.  From the moment the movie starts, the stakes feel real. None of the characters are safe because we believe Thanos is capable of anything from the very beginning.  There aren’t many epics where we spend this much time with the villain.  Thankfully, Marvel knows we already care about the heroes, so after building up a ten year rapport between audiences and protagonists it was finally time to focus on the Big Cheese who’s behind all the conflict. This movie is so comic book/fantasy it’s ridiculous.  I loved every second of it and could not wipe the smile off my face nor the tears from my eyes.  I felt like my ten year old self, alone and engrossed in the most epic comic book I’ve ever read.  I was shaken when I left the theater. I turned around and watched it again just 30 minutes after my first viewing, and I couldn’t believe how captivated I was the second time, third time, forth viewing, fifth, sixth, and so on...  Nothing could’ve prepared me for this film and I’m so thankful it exists.

[creative-type]

Monster of the Salt Rock Hills III

First

Previous

AO3

AN: Expect a longer wait for the next chapter. I’m burning through my buffer pretty quickly, but this one is my favorite and I wanted to hit the meat and potatoes portion of the story before taking a bit of a break. As always, feedback is appreciated

Summary:  The day after stopping a drath summoning gone horribly wrong, Orrig and his team are summoned to the Salt Rock Hills to find and eliminate a monster that has been ravaging the countryside. But things quickly go awry and it soon becomes apparent that nothing about this case is as it seems. Thistle must learn to work together with her new coworkers and overcome her own insecurities to find the truth of the monster of the Salt Rock Hills before it’s too late. Set immediately after Chapter 6: The Knowing Ones

Chapter Three: A Mage Named Mum (and Other Unfortunate Events)

It was rare to meet someone who after making their opinions known did not feel the need to belabor them, but Lyra seemed to be the exception. Thistle was terrified that the elf would bring unwanted attention to her “shyness”, but she made no mention of it at breakfast. Thistle’s heart almost stopped when she noticed Lyra pull Orrig aside for a private word, but their conversation was brief and nothing came of it.

Nevertheless, the silence as they traveled was not as comfortable as it had been the day before. There was an air of cool formality between archer and mage that Thistle did not know how to overcome. It was frustrating to see what little progress she made vanish, always going two steps back for every step forward, but what else did she expect? Lyra was confident and outspoken, with no uncertainty of where she stood in the world. Thistle was none of those things, and never would be.

It did no good to dwell on her own shortcomings no matter how true they were, so Thistle focused instead on the job at hand. The post offered little insight into what they were going up against. Winged horses were notoriously difficult to catch in the wild, and there were only a few domesticated breeds in the known world. There were precious few things that could keep up with, let along kill, a fully grown winged horse.

From what little reading she’d done on the subject, Thistle knew that - like most magical beings - winged horses were smarter than their mundane counterparts, although they lacked the true sapience found in dragons, phoenixes, or unicorns. Herds were small, usually consisting of a stallion, three to four mares, and their offspring. Their feathers, hair, and blood held magical properties that were occasionally used in potions and the crafting of magical items.

Anything capable of killing a winged horse would almost certainly have to be capable of flight itself. Not many predators would take their chances against a horse’s hooves and teeth, not to mention be able to take on a team of trained mercenaries hired to hunt it down.

Perhaps there was more than one monster? Could a pack of beasts be roaming the Salt Rock Hills? Thistle worried her bottom lip, sharp teeth cutting into the tender flesh. The more she thought, the less she liked what they were up against.

The journey was uneventful, and they made it to their destination before noon. The carriages drove into a small town boxed in on two sides by the hills and guarded on a third by a small river. The Salt Rock Hills looked more like mountains to Thistle’s untrained eye, stretching thousands of feet high with peaks obscured by low-hanging clouds. The grey stone was swathed with stripes of green where trees and scrub brush were able to take root.

The Hills overshadowed a tiny settlement, which by Thistle’s estimate was less than one thousand strong. As they entered town she counted three houses that appeared to be abandoned on the high street alone, and several others that were in dire need of new thatch and a fresh coat of paint. They stopped abruptly in front of the town hall, a three story building made of pale red brick and were given a curt order to get out by the driver.

They’re staring at us, Thistle noted immediately as she stepped out of the carriage, cringing a little at the unwanted attention from the townspeople. She gave an unsure nod towards a barber who was standing in the doorway of his shop, razor still in hand. Or are they staring at me?

“Ugh, hicks,” Lyra said with disgust. “You’d think they’d never seen a woman wearing pants before.”

“Um…I don’t think…”

Thistle was cut off as she felt Orrig’s looming presence behind her. “Ve talk to mayor. He one paying, is boss.”

They were saved the trouble of looking. The words were scarcely out of Orrig’s mouth when the doors of the town hall burst open. A dignified man with a sour expression strode out into the street, trailed by a tall, lanky youth of about sixteen years of age.

“Are you the mercenaries?” the older man said, brown mustache twitching with disapproval as he gave them all an appraising glance.

“Yes. My name Orrig, dees my employees.”

“Orrig?” the man asked. “But I thought…well, never mind. I suppose it doesn’t much matter. My name is Everett Stone, mayor of the Salt Rock Hills. I’ve been expecting you.”

He stuck out his hand, and Orrig shook it. The mayor was the stiffest person Thistle had ever met, and he moved like he were carved out of a block of wood. Watery brown eyes scanned the street, taking note of each of the dozen people who were watching them.

“Let’s move inside, shall we? There’s no time to waste. Carson here was just telling me he’s found another one.”

“Another one?” Brent parroted. “How many horses has this thing killed?”

The mayor’s head swiveled, meeting Brent’s look of indignation with cold displeasure. A shiver ran down Thistle’s spine. She’d met dragons with friendlier dispositions.

“It’s impossible for us to search all of the Hills, good sir, but we’ve found three dead in the last fortnight, and five more within the last three months. The beast is escalating, and I fear that it will not content itself with horseflesh for much longer.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of monster it is?” Lyra asked. Mayor Stone paused at the doors of town hall, his back to the adventurers. For a moment Thistle thought she saw his shoulders slump. The hand that held the doorknob trembled.

He’s afraid, Thistle realized.  He’s afraid and trying to hide it.

“Why don’t you come inside,” the mayor said. “We can discuss matters in the privacy of my office.”

“I will need to verify your credentials before we get started.”

Orrig nodded and reached for his pack, while Lyra bit back a groan. Thistle shrank back as the mayor’s piercing gaze turned on the elf. “Is something the matter?”

Thistle wished that Lyra would just be quiet, but knew that wasn’t in her nature. Instead, Thistle turned her attention to the mayor’s simply decorated walls, pretending she were anywhere else but here.

“You’re the one who said there was no time to waste,” Lyra said bluntly. “If the living bean pole’s found another dead horse then we should be investigating it, not sitting here twiddling our thumbs.”

The mayor shook his head“I have to make sure you are who you say you are. It’s standard procedure.”

Carson shifted his feet. Lyra’s unflattering description fit him well, and now that they were closer Thistle could see a few tufts of dark fuzz on his upper lip trying valiantly to pass for a moustache. “The lady has a point, sir.” His voice seemed too quiet for such a big body. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “We can’t even show ‘em the rest ‘cause scavengers got to ‘em first.”

“It would help if we knew what we were fighting against,” Brent added.

“There are rules…”

“Vhy don’t you tell vhat you know,” Orrig interrupted. “Then ve decide vhat best.”

A flash of indignation flashed across the mayor’s face before he slid heavily into the chair behind his desk. “You might as well sit down,” he said irritably, gesturing to the seats on the other side of the room. There were only four, and Carson was forced to remain standing.

“As I said, this whole business started about four months ago,” Mayor Stone said. He pulled out a map and unrolled it, each movement made with automation-like rigidity. “We didn’t think much of it at first. Most folk haven’t had anything to do with the Hills since the mines closed. They’re prone to rockslides and…well, they’re dangerous. Carson is the only one stupid enough to climb them day after day.”

The boy grinned sheepishly, but didn’t argue.

“The winged horses are attracted to the underground springs found throughout the Hills, the nearest being here, where the last three killings have all occurred,” he said, pointing to the map. Thistle leaned closer and frowned. It was less than two miles away from town. “The springs bring minerals to the surface and create natural salt licks. The winged horses aren’t the only beasts that use them, but their ability to fly means that they can access certain ones more easily than even the most sure-footed goat.”

“I like t’ watch the horses,” Carson explained. “I was nearly scar’t t’ death when I saw the first one dead. Ain’t never seen anything able to catch a winged horse afore.”

“I was first notified of the deaths two months ago. One dead horse is an anomaly, two is a coincidence, but three signifies a pattern.” The lines in Mayor Stone’s face deepened. “I never personally investigated any of the killings, but the reports I received suggested an unusual amount of violence, even for a wild animal. A meeting was called, and the town voted to bring in someone to take care of the problem. A price point was agreed upon, and with the monies raised a mercenary by the name of Marco Rosso was hired.”

“Never heard of him,” Brent said.

“Nor will you. After several days of investigation and two more deaths it became apparent that the attacks occurred during the night. He and his team decided to watch the salt lick where most of the horses had been found,” he pointed to a spot higher up in the hills, near the entrance to the abandoned mine. “When the sun rose again he was dead.” The mayor looked up at Orrig. “The corpse of the beast wasn’t found, but all indications were that Rosso had dealt a mortal blow before succumbing to his wounds. For more than a month things were quiet, but now, in the last fourteen days…” His voice trailed off into nothingness.

Nothing more needed to be said. Orrig’s face took on a pensive look, eyes hidden under the shadow of his horns. “If attacks only at night, ve should go and see dead horse. Sooner is better. You no know vhat kind of monster doing killing, ya?”

“Not in the slightest,” the mayor said.

Orrig nodded decisively. “Then settled. Boy vill take employees to dead horse vhile I do papervork, see vhat they can find. I join vhen finished. Vill return to town before dark vit report. Is goot plan.”

The orc’s steady confidence seemed to sooth Mayor Stone’s frazzled nerves. “If you think that’s best. So long as everything is made official I have no objections. My people don’t have much money to give, and this is the second time we’re paying for the same job.”

This seemed to take Orrig aback, though Thistle didn’t think she would have noticed his surprise if she weren’t sitting right next to him. “Hmm. Ve vill finish job, or no pay. I give my vord.” He gave Lyra, Brent, and Thistle each a look in turn. “Go vit boy. No fighting. I vill follow soon.”

“Carson, if you would,” Mayor Stone said.

“Yessir.” He waited for the rest of the group to stand before leading Thistle, Brent, and Lyra out of town hall and into the street. “Give me a minute.”

Carson jogged over to the barber shop door and called to the man Thistle had seen earlier. “Hey Horace, tell my Pa that I’m gonna be late to work tonight. Gotta show the mercs th’ horses.”

The exchange took less than a minute, but Brent and Lyra were already growing impatient. As Carson led them out of town Thistle took it upon herself to ask, “You work?”

“My Pa owns the tavern up the street,” he said, jerking his thumb behind him. “He wants me t’ take it over someday, so I gotta go in and learn the ropes.”

Lyra’s ears perked at the mention of a tavern, and her expression was suddenly much more charitable. Brent rolled his eyes and said, “Do you know anything about what’s attacking these horses?”

“No more ‘n what the mayor said. I didn’t usually stumble over em fresh, you know? Thought they’d just died natural and some scavenger got to ‘em first.” He let out a heavy sigh. “You’ll see when we git there.”

“And you were always the one who found them?” Lyra asked.

“The ones up in the Hills, yeah. Got a buddy who found the first one by th’ spring. He didn’t want t’ admit it at first, ‘cause he’d gone out to go skinny dipping.” Carson stopped abruptly in the middle of the path.

“What is it?” Lyra demanded.

The boy brought a finger to his lips for quiet. “Look out yonder.”

Thistle followed Carson’s gaze and couldn’t stop a small gasp. About a quarter mile away where the valley met the base of the Hills was a mare standing over a young foal. Their dappled grey coat and wings were almost the same color of the surrounding countryside. The mare took a step forward as she grazed contentedly, and her wings shimmered with the movement as if they were made out of graphite.

“Y’all ain’t never seen a winged horse before, have ya?”

“They’re hideous,” Lyra said.

Brent nodded in agreement. The horses were smaller and more portly than most equines, with short, bristled manes that stood straight up. In fact, they looked more like winged donkeys than horses, though Thistle never would have said so aloud. Instead of being offended by Lyra’s statement, Carson only chuckled.

“Tha’s what most people say, but I love watchin’ them, ‘specially when they’re flyin’.”

He started down the path again, and Thistle had to hurry to match his long strides. They followed the stream for nearly two miles, and by the end of it Thistle was fighting a stitch in her side. The vegetation thinned the further down the path they went. At first it was hardly noticeable, but once they were nearer their destination it was easy to see where great swaths of dirt had been scraped away, revealing the stone that lay beneath. What trees managed to take hold had their roots exposed open air after years of erosion. The path the group walked was one of many coming from all directions. Some were wide enough for two men to walk abreast while others were narrow bands of packed earth, but all were packed flat from a thousand footsteps and led to the heart of the springs.

“It’s th’ lick,” Carson said without prompting. “Just ‘bout everything that lives in th’ Hills come down for the minerals th’ springs bring to the surface. They dig up the ground t’ get it.”

“There’s nothing here now,” Brent said under his breath. “Gives me the heeby-jeebies.”

Lyra chuckled. “You scared?”

Thistle found herself agreeing with Brent. The spring was silent save for the bubbling water and their own footsteps. She noticed for the first time that there were no birds chirping insects buzzing or any other noise that she’d long learned to associate with wild places.

“An’ here we are,” Carson said quietly. “Now if you ‘scuse me, I’m gonna step back for a bit afore I get sick.”

Thistle couldn’t blame him. Before she even saw it the stench almost made her gag. Tucked behind a large boulder, just out of sight from the main path, were the remains of a winged horse. Blood pooled under the carcass, bloated and rotting in the midday sun. Thistle noticed immediately that the poor beast’s wings had been torn off and were nowhere to be seen.

Lyra paused and took a deep, steadying breath. “Well, time to earn our money.”

Brent nodded, and Thistle had to force herself to take a closer look. The horse’s throat had been slashed all the way to the bone. Another deep laceration stretched from sternum to groin, like it had been attacked by the world’s largest dissection scalpel. Either wound would have been fatal, but here were more crisscrossed along its back and hindquarters, over a dozen in total. Some were shallow, hardly more than scratches against the horse’s tough hide. Others pierced through thick belts of muscle and bone.

“Doesn’t look like it put up too much of a struggle,” Lyra said thoughtfully. She walked a slow circle around the dead horse. “I’m not seeing any sign of an attacker.”

“Where’d the wings go?” Brent asked.

“They’re gone?” Carson called from where he was standing. He sounded surprised.

“Where they here earlier?”

“I…I dunno,” Carson said. “I didn’t get a good look. When I saw him lying there earlier I bolted.”

“Her,” Thistle corrected softly. “It’s a female.” She took a few tentative steps forward, careful to avoid the worst of the blood, and pulled back the horse’s lips. They were worn and yellow. “And old,” she added, pulling her hand away as quickly as she could.

“An old horse isn’t going to be able to fight back,” Brent said. “A lot of predators go after weak prey.”

“Whatever it was, I bet they had claws,” Lyra said. “It looks like it’s been butchered.”

Thistle was examining the wounds on the horse’s back. As Lyra said, they were deep and clean. Almost too clean. Surely there should have been more blood coming from them? She was about ready to voice he observation to the others when a dark shadow passed overhead.

“What the…?” Brent’s curse was cut short as he looked up. His jaw dropped with an almost audible thud.

The dark shadow swooped over them again, closer this time, and Thistle grabbed her hood as a stiff breeze threatened to blow it off. She heard Brent draw his sword, and then the harsh cadence of Orcish.

Lyra whistled softly. “Now there’s a #^$&!@ winged horse.”

Thistle raised her head and gasped. Not fifteen feet away a large stallion stood, pawing impatiently at the ground. Its mane and coat were a dull red, and its wings glittered like copper in the sun. On its back sat a scrawny orc, who almost seemed too small to be seated on such a huge creature.

“Who the &*!! are you?” Brent demanded.

The orc slid off the horse’s back and landed nimbly on the ground. He was only a few inches taller than Thistle and extremely thin for his race, though his skin was the dark green of a pureblood. He addressed Brent in the same irate tone, again in Orcish.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Brent said. “You’re going too fast. I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Brent speaks Orcish?” Thistle whispered to Lyra.

“A little,” she answered. She didn’t take her eyes off this new intruder, her bow ready in hand. “Hey Bean Pole, do you have any idea who this chump is?”

Thistle had almost forgotten Carson entirely. A quick glance told her that he was just as befuddled as the rest of them. “No, ma’am. Ain’t got no orcs ‘round these parts.”

The orc let out a frustrated growl that made him look strangely petulant. Thistle guessed he was younger than Brent. “You no belong here,” he said, enunciating each word carefully to compensate for his heavy accent. “Not your job.”

“Like &*!! it’s not!” Brent snapped. “I don’t know who you are, but we’ve been hired by the city to find out what’s killing these horses.”

The stallion tossed his head, his ears pinned back flat. Thistle didn’t know if the smell of blood was bothering it or Brent’s tone, but she wasn’t about to take any risks. “Maybe we should—“

She was cut off by a resounding crack and a blinding flash of light. Thistle’s skin tingled with the outpouring of magical energy. The winged horse let out a shrill whinny and reared up on its hind legs. The young orc ducked around hooves the size of dinner plates to grab the beast’s reigns, and when the dust cleared there was an elf and a human standing in the clearing.

“What the ever-loving %&#* is going on?” Lyra demanded, her bow raised. “Identify yourselves!”

“Watch your tone, girl,” the elf said. He was an attractive man, tall and broad-shouldered with hair the color of corn silk, but a sneer twisted his handsome features into something hateful and mean. He wore leather armor with a house crest stamped over the chest and metal bracers on each wrist. Twin knives hung from his belt, not yet drawn from their sheaths. “You address Rhys Taliesen of the mercenary guild. Now lower your weapons before I report you for interfering with my hunt.”

“Your hunt?” Lyra said incredulously even as she lowered her bow. “Orrig was hired for this job. We’re his subcontractors.”

Carson stepped forward, his hands raised in goodwill. “Er, the lady’s right. Their boss is with the mayor now figurin’ out paperwork.”

“And who might you be?” Rhys asked, turning piercing green eyes on Carson. “The local color?”

“For your information, he’s our guide and consultant for this case,” Lyra said. “So you can go suck an egg.”

The third member of their party laughed silently behind a hand. He was the most unassuming of them all, a human of average height and build. He had a round, pleasant face that wore an expression child-like innocence – an expression that was magnified a hundredfold by the widest, bluest eyes Thistle had ever seen.

He was also the one to cast the difficult, energy-intensive Teleportation spell. The air was so thick with residual magic that Thistle could almost taste it, with the mage at its center.

Rhys shot him an ugly glare, before forcing a look of nonchalance. “I should have known better than to expect civilized conversation with an ouvrière.”

The significance of the word was lost on Thistle, but clearly it struck a nerve. The color left Lyra’s face, and she stiffened as if she’d been slapped. Tense seconds passed, and Thistle waited for her to shout or storm off or to let the temper get the better of her. But for the first time since they’d met Lyra was speechless.

“As I was saying,” Rhys continued, his lips curling into a victorious smirk, “this is our hunt. There was an administrative error, and the request was sent to your leader instead of to me. My team works out of Crossroads, and if we had made it two days ago as we ought this would not have happened.”

The elf gestured vaguely to the mutilated horse before turning his attention to Carson. “I apologize for my tone,” he said, bowing slightly, “but correcting this error has been most vexing. I would be much obliged for your cooperation going forward.”

Carson looked from Rhys to Lyra and back again. “Uh…”

“Hold on!” Brent interrupted. He stepped in front of Lyra, as if shielding her. “You can’t just waltz out here and tell us what to do. We answer to Orrig, so why don’t you get off your high horse and wait for him to get here.”

While he spoke, Thistle inched closer to Lyra. She wanted to say something to comfort her, but she didn’t know what to say that would help.

“Poor choice of metaphor, half-breed” Rhys said. Sharp eyes assessed Brent from head to toe, his gaze lingering on his scuffed, well-worn armor. “I’ll say it once more to get it through your thick skull: You have no right to be here. Mum, the requisition please.”

Lyra was trembling, but it wasn’t with fear. Her face was contorted in barely-suppressed fury that somehow went beyond her normal outbursts of temper. Every muscle was coiled tight, like a panther waiting to strike, and she had a white-knuckled grip on her bow. A cold sweat broke on Thistle’s forehead when she realized that Brent wasn’t protecting Lyra from Rhys, but Rhys from Lyra.

She didn’t know what would happen if Lyra attacked a sanctioned member of the mercenary guild, and she got the feeling that she didn’t want to find out.

With a snap of the fingers, the mage Conjured a piece of paper that Rhys snatched out of thin air. Even at a distance Thistle could make out the guild’s insignia stamped at the bottom of the page. “Now if you would please exit the premises, my team has quite a bit of work to do before dusk.”

“Lemme see that,” Brent said, stomping over to Rhys’s group.

The air crackled with power. Thistle’s head snapped up in alarm. “Brent, wait!”

It was too late. Rhys crossed his arms in front of him as Brent approached. Runes etched in the bottom of his bracers glowed red. There was another thunderous crack, and Brent was thrown backward, nearly landing in the dead horse’s blood.

The noise spooked the crimson horse, and the young orc was once again preoccupied with keeping his stallion under control. He shouted something in Orcish that was ignored. The mage only looked amused. He stood unaffected by the force field, his hands in his pockets.

Lyra let out a string of curses so foul that Thistle was embarrassed for her. She threw her bow aside and coiled to leap at Rhys, pushing Thistle away when she tried to stop her. Thistle stumbled into Carson and nearly fell over while Brent rubbed his forehead.

“That was ^$&*@#& uncalled for!” Lyra shouted. “He wasn’t going to attack you, you *&@#*(@ but you better believe I &$^#@+& will!”

“Lyra, stop!” Thistle said desperately. She disentangled herself from Carson and planted herself in front of the enraged elf. Her heart pounded in her chest when Lyra glared at her murderously, and she wanted to melt into a puddle under the sheer intensity of her rage. It seemed like a tossup whether Lyra would bull through Thistle and attack Rhys or not, but if there was even the tiniest chance of getting her to stand down then Thistle owed it to her to try.

“Fighting isn’t going to solve anything,” Thistle said, her voice trembling only a little. “I-I know he’s a jerk, but we are on a job. Orrig told us not to fight, and I know he meant you and Brent but I think this fits under the same general principle. He’ll met us out here once he gets things figured out with the mayor. We’ll sort through everything then.”

Thistle knew she was rambling, but Lyra didn’t move so she must have been doing something right. She made herself to look Lyra in the eye. There was anger there, yes, but Thistle thought she saw hurt as well. There was something familiar in that. Lowering her voice so only Lyra could hear, she said, “Don’t let him win.”

“I would listen to the girl,” Rhys said, a dangerous note of warning in his voice. His arms were still crossed, and a pale red force field formed a protective bubble around his body. Even if she wanted to, there was no way for Lyra to land a hit.

Lyra ground her teeth even as the fight left her body. “Fine. But I &$^#@#&+ swear that I see his punk @** when I’m off the clock…”

Finally assured that Lyra wasn’t going to do anything foolish, Thistle ignored the profanity filled, anatomically impossible tirade that followed and rushed over to Brent. He was still rubbing his head, and she could already see a bump forming just below his hairline. A tremendous amount of energy had to be stored in those bracers to throw someone of Brent’s size like that. The spell was similar to the one she had used against the Greater Drath, with an added explosive component that added offense with defense.

That was a lot of spellwork for steel to hold. More likely than not there was a gemstone in the bracers to store the extra energy until it needed to be released. Even if it was only a semi-precious stone the cost of crafting alone would have been at least thirty gold. If Rhys had that much money to waste on magical bracers then there was a good chance that his daggers were enchanted as well.

“Are you okay?” Thistle asked quietly.

“Yeah, but what the &#!! is wrong with that guy?! I just wanted to look at his papers!”

“What is the meaning of this?!”

Thistle felt her blood curdle in her veins while Brent scrambled to his feet. Approaching them was Orrig, and he was as angry as Thistle had seen. But he wasn’t the one who spoke. That honor went to the one walking beside him, a human woman that Thistle guessed was in her mid-thirties, with grey streaking her black hair and a sharp, almost haggard look to her features. She walked with a pronounced limp, and leaned heavily on a dark wooden cane with each step.

Rhys lowered his arms, and the force field flickered out of existence. “I am trying to investigate what is killing the winged horses of the Salt Rock Hills. I take it you’re Orrig?” he asked, ignoring the woman entirely. “Remove your employees immediately and I won’t report you to the guild for interfering with a sanctioned hunt. Or better yet, fire them. I could find better in a gutter.”

Orrig’s expression never changed, but it was as if the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Either Rhys didn’t notice or he didn’t care. He lifted his head haughtily. “And I think an apology is in order. Your mutt as good as attacked me, and the elf would have had the hooded one not voiced sense.”

Though she wasn’t the one being insulted, Thistle couldn’t help but wince. Brent bristled indignantly, and if not for Orrig’s holding her back Thistle thought Lyra would have launched herself at Rhys, regardless of consequence. The seconds stretched out painfully as Orrig gauged the situation. Finally he nodded.

“I agree.” Orrig turned to the woman with the cane. “I very sorry. Vill leave immediately. Ve not here to stir up problem.”

“No offence taken,” the woman said faintly. Her gaze was fixated on the dead horse, and she had gone very white.

“Hmm. Brent, Lyra, Thistle, ve go now.”

There was another pause when no one seemed quite sure what they were supposed to do next. Rhys’s mage was the first to realize that the elf was not going to get his apology, and his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. A pink blush dusted across Rhys’s cheekbones, and his fists clenched. It was through gritted teeth that he said to the woman, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction. My name is Rhys Taliesen, licensed mercenary. These are my subcontractors, Mum and Rizaek.”

“What the ^$&# kind of name is Mum?” Lyra muttered sullenly.

She didn’t mutter quietly enough. Orrig shot her a sharp, disapproving look, and Thistle was sure only the presence of outsiders stayed his tongue. Worse yet, a smug, supercilious smile spread across Rhys’s face.

“I personally think it’s perfectly fitting for a mute, not that it’s any of your business.” He turned again to the woman who had arrived with Orrig. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I am the one who was hired to hunt the beast that’s been terrorizing your countryside.”

Through the exchange the woman’s lips had pursed into an almost invisible line, and her slate-grey eyes were as hard and cold as ice. Thistle could sense a power in her, much fainter than what radiated from Mum, and was certain that she was also a mage. “It’s not my countryside. My name is Isla Clark, and I worked under Marco Russo. I’m here to help you find the monster that killed him.”

[kenzieam]

Lost Girl - Chapter 2 (Eric and Fox)

Rating: M (swearing, violence, smut, blah blah)

Genre: Drama/Angst

****Trigger Warnings - mention of torture, abuse****

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85  @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt  @treeleaf  @beltz2016  @girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @girlslovestorys  @lacy-love @fuckthatfeeling  @sparklemichele @vitaevandal  @micolegg @frecklefaceb @jaihardy  @bookgirlthings @queenara4  @bluelassbird @mom2reesie @pathybo @letmagichappen @shaunarcanine @equalstrashflavoredtrash @itschibi @elaacreditava @lilu46 @tonyt1995 @jojogoo65 @littlesouthernrebel @sterek-foreverandever

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A huge thank you to my beta and Jai-sister @iammarylastar ! Quelle equipe!

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What happens if Fox disappears, and is returned to Eric two years later, but is not the same woman he loves???

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This chapter is a little wordy and technical, but I wanted to establish the challenges Eric and Fox are facing, thanks for reading my lovelies!

Eric paced restlessly in the conference room, too on edge to even try to relax or sit down. His nerves were raw and painful, the scab he’d managed to build over the great gaping hole in his heart had been ripped away and he felt weak from the fresh blood loss, sticky with the arterial spray.

It was mid-morning and Eric was waiting, none too patiently, for the Erudite doctor’s report. Max sat nearby, and had given up telling Eric to relax hours ago, when the water bottle Eric had been drinking from had exploded against the wall near Max’s head. Neither of the remaining prisoners matched the description of Dawson, but Max had received word that one of the bodies back at the bunker did and he had just returned from informing Dawson’s new widow to find that Eric’s stalking had remained unchanged, if anything, it had become more frenetic. Deciding he liked his head attached to his shoulders, he had said nothing and sat again, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his head back against the wall. Eric’s ceaseless pacing providing a constant, if morbid white noise.

The door opened and Max opened his eyes to see the head Erudite doctor, flanked by two more white-jacketed staff enter the room. Eric stopped, eyes blazing and watched them with a predator’s gaze until they sat at one side of the table. Only then did Eric move to the other side and stiffly sit, back straight, hands gripping the arm rests.

The doctor waited until Max was seated before clearing his throat and beginning his report.

“We have positively identified the subject as the missing Dauntless woman, Fox Phoenix LaRue.” He paused and Eric scoffed, his voice hard.

“And? We already fucking knew that!”

“Eric.” Max snapped. The doctor cleared his throat nervously and continued, eyeing Eric uneasily.

“She is extremely malnourished, as evidenced by her gaunt appearance. I have ordered a massive multivitamin/mineral infusion to combat and treat the deterioration her body has already experienced, as well as started her on a nutritionally complete meal regime. Based off of previous medical records, the patient has a vast amount of new scarring and healed injuries; including some broken bones that fortunately were set correctly and have healed properly. Visual inspection revealed suspicious scarring on the patient’s lower abdomen, which we recognized as striae, more commonly known as stretch marks. This led us to an internal examination and the realization that she has given birth recently, I’d say within the last two months. Based on the varying ages and appearance of the striae, I estimated she has carried a baby to full term and given birth once before as well.”

“She has children?” Max asked, glancing at Eric, who stared blankly.

“She refuses to answer, so as of right now, we don‘t know if either offspring have survived.”

Max swallowed hard. “What else?”

“She remembers nothing beyond the past two years. The presence of scarring on the back of the subject’s scalp suggests a brain injury. We believe she is suffering from severe Post-Traumatic Retrograde Amnesia. However, I believe she has also, to a certain extent, been forcibly indoctrinated, or brainwashed. There may also be a degree of Stockholm Syndrome at play as well. Psychology is not my field, I have asked a colleague to evaluate her for a more complete mental diagnosis.”

“Amnesia? Stockholm Syndrome? Brainwashing?! What the hell does all that mean?” Eric demanded, his heart beginning to pound with dread.

The doctor focused on him. “You were the patient’s….?”

“Fiancé.” Eric spat.

“Fiancé, yes. Well, pending my colleague’s evaluation, it means that the Fox LaRue that you knew is no longer the Fox LaRue behind that door. There is a chance, and again I will have to consult with my colleague, that massive doses of healing serum may help reverse some of this, coupled with practical therapies and time.”

“Fox might come back?” Max asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Perhaps, I can make no guarantees right now. My colleague needs to thoroughly examine her first.”

“When will your colleague arrive?” Max asked.

“I expect him momentarily.”

“I want to see her.” Eric growled.

The doctor shook his head. “I want my colleague to evaluate her first.”

“No fucking way-”

“Your presence, especially agitated like it is now, will not help her. I want a clean assessment from my colleague.”

“Eric, he’s right. We need to wait.” Max said lowly, tensing to react if Eric exploded.

Eric exhaled sharply, clenching and unclenching his fists. The doctor sat farther back with a wary gaze and Max could feel the warring energies in Eric right now, battling each other for control. Finally, Eric nodded.

“As soon as he’s done, I’m going to her.”

“Acceptable, provided you do not upset her. If you agitate her, I will have you removed.” The doctor warned and Eric nodded tightly.

Pushing away, he spun the chair he sat in around, turning his back to the doctor and effectively ending the conversation. Max glanced at him then rose to walk around the table, speaking lowly with the doctors as they left the room.

Nagging thoughts gnawed at Eric’s mind and sanity. Did Fox have living children somewhere? If so, did she have a mate, a partner? If she remembers nothing about Dauntless, has she started a whole new life? Eric knew for a fact that he would not survive this intact if the answer to the last two questions was yes. The last two years had been utter misery, pure hell; and Eric’s soul had withered to the point that he questioned it’s continued existence. Fox’s reappearance, alive and functioning was balm to his agonized heart, he could feel it reawakening, absorbing Fox’s presence like water to parched ground. But Eric had been so damaged by Fox’s absence that he knew with certainty he would not survive losing her again, at least not with his sanity, heart or soul intact. His body might continue on, a bitter shell, but little more.

He ached to touch her again, curl her into his arms and bury his head in her hair, inhaling her scent, green apples and grass, sunny skies and gentle rain. Fox’s body comforted Eric like nothing else, her presence and natural fragrance the things he had come to depend on after a hard day of leadership. When it had become clear that Fox wasn’t returning, Eric had tried to escape into alcohol, but becoming blackout drunk almost nightly hadn’t taken away his pain and he’d stopped trying after sobering up one morning and discovering that he’d accidentally broken his favourite picture of Fox the night before in a slobbering haze.

Eric was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Max calling him until the older man reached the chair and spun it back around. Eric started, blinking away the memories and the tears they’d brought and levelled a glare at him.

“The psychologist has finished his evaluation. He’d like to meet with us.”

Eric nodded tiredly. He didn’t give a flying fuck right now, he just wanted Fox. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, rubbing hard.

Max nodded at someone in the doorway and Eric lifted his head to see the doctor from before walk in, a tall older man beside him. The older man’s face was lined with other people’s troubles, his brow sporting a permanent worry line.

Again, Max took the seat beside Eric and the doctors sat across the table.

The doctor spoke first. “Gentlemen, this is my colleague, Dr. Young. He has spoken with the patient-”

“She has a name,” Eric snarled, tired of this ‘patient’ business. “It’s Fox.”

“Excuse me,” the doctor’s cheeks darkened slightly. “Dr. Young has spoken with Fox and is ready to present his findings.”

Dr. Young began to speak immediately. “Fox’s case is unique. She does indeed suffer from Post-Traumatic Retrograde Amnesia, to a severe degree; she remembers nothing beyond the past two years. I am concerned however, there is usually some degree of regained memory by now and Fox still remembers nothing. This may be a deliberate, if subconscious act on Fox’s part, a survival mechanism is you will, but I tend to favour another theory. Amnesiacs need stimulation to spur their memories, submersion in their past environments to trigger the brain to re-establish the connections between recall and stored memories that have been damaged. Fox has been isolated from her home and past life, confined in a new and harsh environment. Her memories remain locked but I am curious to see what returning to her home faction will trigger.

Based on specific analytical questions, I can also say with certainty that Fox has been forcibly indoctrinated, or brainwashed. The blank slate that was her amnesiac mind has been rewritten to favour a factionless view of life and authority. She immediately shows hatred towards Dauntless, blames them for cruelly treating the factionless, raiding their stores and the like, but by asking carefully worded questions I can see the traces of her previous morals and viewpoints. She would not cling to these if she had willingly adopted the beliefs of the factionless. Therefore, I can say with confidence she has been forcibly indoctrinated and continues to fight it, which is nothing but encouraging.”

“What about Stockholm Syndrome?” Max asked quietly.

Eric sat up straighter, waiting. What he knew of the phenomenon was that the victim falls in love with their captor; had this happened to Fox? Was this person the father of her children, an obstacle in Eric’s way?

The doctor shook his head as he began to speak. “No, I see no real evidence of Stockholm syndrome, she has been indoctrinated and remembers no other life to contradict that. It is as if she was born factionless, has never been part of Dauntless.“

“Is it reversible?” Eric’s voice was low, his hands white-knuckled on the chair arms. His face had grown paler and paler as the doctor had continued speaking, his hope growing fainter with each word.

“I believe it’s possible, with time and certain therapies, as well as infusions of healing serum.”

“What types of therapy?” Eric’s stomach clenched, he did not want Fox to be doped up on medications.

“Practical therapy, cognitive, occupational. Basically just immersion back into her regular life, once it’s determined she would not be a threat to others. I strongly recommend she stay here in Dauntless, there is no need for her to be transferred to our psychiatric centre at Erudite.”

“You mean returning to her shared apartment with Eric, going back to her job?” Max was leaning forwards, listening intently. Fox had been like a daughter to him, and his private agony at her absence had been deep.

“Not right away, perhaps a shared accommodation with a female friend; tasks and chores to be done rather than the immediate responsibility of her previous occupation. Too much all at once would be overwhelming, she needs gradual reintegration into her previous life.”

Max sat back, glanced over at Eric and raised his brow to the younger man. Eric leaned back as well, crossed his arms over his chest.

“I want to see her now.” Eric said flatly.

The doctor sighed then nodded. Standing he said, “I’ll take you there.” He looked over at Max. “When I return we can discuss the specifics of Fox’s treatments.” He looked back up at Eric as he started to walk away. “Max can fill you in when you return.”

Eric was hardly listening, his full attention focused on Fox, so close to him now. He reluctantly tuned back in when it became obvious the doctor wasn’t going to stop talking.

“Fox is restrained right now. Currently she is confined to a bed, with the IV therapies I ordered being infused in numerous lines. She has been bathed and cleaned, all her current wounds and injuries treated. She has been relatively uncommunicative so far, beyond answering our questions. Two guards will remain outside the room, for as much her protection as yours. I will not tolerate you agitating her. Do not attempt to continue your previous relationship, she does not remember you. Answer her questions, feel free to ask your own simple ones, but do not force her in any way. Do not touch her, do not assume she will tolerate any form of intimacy from you.”

“I’m not going to try and fuck her!” Eric growled angrily, partially enraged that the doctor would think him low enough to try and partially because every fibre in his body screamed to touch her, reassure himself that she was alive and real. He just wanted to hold her hand for Christ’s sake, maybe stroke her cheek. To hear this doctor talk, anything Eric did would set Fox off, he’d need to sit on his hands.

The doctor stopped in front of a closed door, an armed guard stood on either side. He nodded tightly to Eric, then reached forwards and turned the knob, pushed the door open.

Eric stepped through the door, barely hearing it close behind him. His whole being was focussed on the woman in front of him.

Fox looked up and met his gaze. Eric recognized fear amidst the rage and hate in her eyes, but she didn’t look away or cower. She was almost unrecognizably gaunt, her cheekbones sharp blades in her face, her collarbones fully visible. The treatment gown she wore absolutely dwarfed her scrawny frame. Her skin was pale with ill health, marked with fresh wounds and freshly healed scars. Her wrists were wrapped in thick, padded leather restraints, with enough slack she could sit up or lay down at her leisure, but short enough that she wouldn’t be able to grab at Eric. The head of the bed was raised, Fox almost sitting upright. She watched him carefully as he approached, her expression remained guarded, almost belligerent.

Slowly, partly not to startle Fox and partly because he was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, Eric sat in the empty chair near her bedside. He inhaled unsteadily, licked his lips.

“Fox…. hi baby,” he offered tentatively.

“I am not ‘Fox’,” she snapped back, no trace of the woman he loved in her raspy voice and Eric felt his tenuous hope flare and die.