#letting a dead fish sit in a tank is a death sentence for that tank usually. but we had enough bridtle worms to eat it

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Baghdad gone wrong - Request

Request: @green-spotlight I was wondering if you could do a Sherlock x wife! reader one? Where, instead of Mary jumping in front of Sherlock, Reader does, but she survives

Word count: No idea, but it’s long.

Warnings: (Y/N) gets shot.

A/N: HI! Long time no see. I know I always say I’ll come back and then I disappear but it’s just because I need a job and I have to look for it and bla bla bla. Anyway, here it is. This one is fresh, it’s the first fics I’ve written in months (the past ones were kept in my drafts) so I hope you like it and I hope I’m not too rusty for this.

Enjoy!

The London aquarium was quite a flabbergasting experience to anyone who visited. The big tanks filled with different fish, the blue illumination, and the distinctive smell of chlorine made it a rather peaceful place to meditate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Aquarium will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit. Thank you.” The voice from the tannoy announced.

Sherlock ignored it and kept going onward along the blue-lit corridors, through the glass tunnels, up until an area with benches for people to sit. There, a lonely woman sat tranquilly. 

“Your office said I’d find you here,” he said. 

“This was always my favourite spot for agents to meet,” the woman replied. “We’re like them; ghostly, living in the shadows.”

She finally looked at him. 

“Predatory,” Sherlock granted.   

“Well, it depends which side you’re on.” She turned away to look into the shark thank again. “Also, we have to keep moving or we die.”

“Nice location for the final act. Couldn’t have chosen it better myself. But then I never could resist a touch of the dramatic.” Sherlock cocked his eyebrow, rejoicing in his own skin.

“I just come here to look at the fish,” the secretary said.

How dull she was, how boring. Sherlock was starting to get sick just by the mere existence of that woman. It was obvious to him what was going on, and yet there was no one else to show it off to. Where were his companions? He had texted them not longer than five minutes ago the exact location and they weren’t there just yet. 

“I knew this would happen one day,” the secretary continued. She stood up and took a few steps closer to the tank. “It’s like that old story,” she said. She turned to face him.

She was small, just small. She was not a beautiful woman and evidently never had been, she was poorly-dressed, and her whole body expressed how small she was and felt.

It was no wonder to Sherlock why she had done it. She was a nobody, always had been and always would be. She worked for a powerful, beautiful woman who was a constant reminder of how insignificant she was. Of course, she had done it.

“I am a very busy man. Would you mind cutting to the chase?” Sherlock insisted. A rush inside of him needed the whole thing to end quickly.

“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“With good reason,” Sherlock said precisely. “Unlike you,” he thought.

“There was once a merchant in fa famous market in Baghdad…” The woman started.

Sherlock closed his eyes and lowered his head. It was that bloody story again. What was it with people liking it? Perhaps it was the fact that nobody wants to be entirely responsible for their acts and decide to call them upon fate, or just that dumb believing of superior power. In any case, Sherlock was sick of it.

“I really have never liked this story” he sentenced.

“I’m just like the merchant in the story. I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I’ve always been looking over my shoulder; always expecting to see the grim figure of…”

“Death.” A third voice completed. 

(Y/N).

The rush inside Sherlock increased its intensity. She wasn’t supposed to be there, John and Mary were but not her. 

She entered the room and stopped a couple of feet away from Sherlock’s side.

“Hello, love,” Sherlock greeted without looking at her.

“Hey,” she greeted back.

“John?” 

“On his way,” (Y/N) replied.

“Mary?” 

“On her way.” Sherlock shrugged and attempted no to look scattered. She was not supposed to be there. “Who am I looking at?”

“Let me introduce Amo.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes widely. She knew all about that time, Mary had told her just before escaping to try and fix things. 

“I can’t say I’m impressed,” (Y/N) said. Sherlock chuckled at the thought of how obvious it was, feeling good that his partner had caught it too. “So you were Amo? You were that voice on the phone?”

“Using AGRA as her private assassination unit,” Sherlock completed.

“Why did you betray them?” (Y/N) grunted. She could be too emotional sometimes. “Do you know what you caused? The people you hurt? Do you know how that ended? WHY DID YOU BETRAY THEM?”

“Why does anyone do anything?” The secretary asked, knowing well what she had done. She didn’t seem to regret a single thing.

(Y/N) was fuming, Sherlock could hear her breathing and was getting ready to stop her in case she tried to punch the secretary. 

“Let me guess,” he said in an attempt to control the room. “Selling secrets?”

“Well, it would be churlish to refuse,” the secretary admitted and Sherlock couldn’t blame her. “Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I’d had it.” She looked towards (Y/N) before returning her gaze to Sherlock. “Then she was taken hostage in that coup,” she laughed. “I couldn’t believe my luck! That bought me a little time.”

“But then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in,” Sherlock stated. He finally had an audience to show off with.

“Very handy,” the woman replied in a bitter tone. “They were always such reliable killers.”

“What you didn’t know, (Y/N), was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers,” Sherlock explained to (Y/N). “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think Mary knows that either.”

The secretary sat back down and rested her handbag on her lap. 

“Lady Smallwood gave the order, but I sent another one to the terrorists with a nice little clue about her code name should anyone have an enquiring mind.” She was proud of her doings. “Seemed to do the trick!”

“And you thought your troubles were over.” (Y/N) was furious.

“I was tired; tired of the mess of it all,” she sighed. “I just wanted some peace, some clarity.”

(Y/N) was about to go on and punch the light out of her, but Sherlock stopped her before she had even given two steps forward.

“The hostages were killed, AGRA too…” She looked across to (Y/N), “or so I thought. My secret was safe. But apparently not. Just a little peace. That’s all your friend wanted too, wasn’t it? A family, home. Really, I understand.”

(Y/N) glanced across to Sherlock, but his gaze was fixed on the secretary who lifted her handbag as if in preparation to stand, and rests one hand on the open top of it.

“So just let me get out of here, right? Let me just walk away. I’ll vanish. I’ll go forever. What d’you say?”

“After what you did?!” (Y/N) roared furiously. She once again started walking towards the woman.

“(Y/N), no!” Sherlock yelled. That’s why he didn’t take her to her cases.

In a fluid moment, the secretary stood up, pulling a pistol from her handbag and aiming it at (Y/N), who stopped and backed away. 

(Y/N) considered her options for a second before obliging. “Okay.” She moved back to stand at the other side of Sherlock.

The secretary stopped pointing with her pistol and looked at it as if it was a toy. 

“I was never a field agent. I always thought I’d be rather good.” 

(Y/N) scoffed. She was upset and she knew they were wasting their time by trying to reason with her. She never understood why Sherlock insisted on talking to the criminals first.

“Well, you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well,” Sherlock complimented and (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“Thanks.”

“For a secretary.” 

(Y/N) and the secretary looked at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” The woman frowned.

“Can’t have been easy all those years, sitting in the back, keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room,” he blurted out.

“I didn’t do this out of jealousy!” She defended herself.

“No?” Sherlock smirked. “Same old drudge, day in day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street.”

The secretary gaped.

“They’ve taken up the pavement outside the Post Office there. The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive.”

The woman looked down to her dusty shoes. She looked like a rag, no wonder why he thought she was jealous.

“Yes, your little flat.”

“How do you know?”

Sherlock was ready for a quickfire session to kill time and show off to the woman he married. He cocked his head and smirked as if he had already won.

“Well, on your salary it would have to be modest and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn’t you? And what are you? Widowed or divorced?” He focused in on a plain gold band on the index finger of her left hand. “Wedding ring’s at least thirty years old and you’ve moved it to another finger. That means you’re sentimentally attached to it but you’re not still married. I favour widowed, given the number of cats you shared your life with.”

(Y/N) watched the woman closely. She knew that look, that void of fear, that confidence. The woman wasn’t shaking, nor she was feeling vulnerable. No, she was starting to burn in anger. She was a crazy woman who thought she was better than anyone else, of course, she would burn if anyone told her she was anything less than that.

She hadn’t done it out of jealousy, she had done it because she could. 

“Sherlock…” (Y/N) warned.

“Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan,” Sherlock continued. “A divorcee’s more likely to look for a new partner; a widow to fill the void left by her dead husband.”

“Sherlock, don’t,” (Y/N) insisted with a louder tone.

But instead of listening, Sherlock rose his voice ad he got fully into his stride. “Pets do that, or so I’m told, and there’s clearly no-one new in your life, otherwise you wouldn’t be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. That probably accounts for the drinking problem too: the slight tremor in your hand… The red wine stain ghosting your top lip. So yes. I say jealousy was your motive after all - to prove how good you are...”

The secretary turned to gaze at the entrance as Mycroft walked in.

“... To make up for the inadequacies of your little life.”

The secretary was still looking at the entrance. Inspector Lestrade came in followed by three uniformed police officers.

“Well, Mrs Norbury. I must admit this is unexpected,” Mycroft said, hiding away his true feelings.

“Vivian Norbury, who outsmarted them all,” Sherlock slurred, dripping in sarcasm. “All except Sherlock Holmes.”

He took a step forward, holding out his left hand. (Y/N) and the police officers behind her also stepped forward.

“There’s no way out,” he whispered.

“So it would seem,” Mrs Norbury smiled. “You’ve seen right through me, Mr Holmes.”

“It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Maybe I can still surprise you.”

Swiftly, she brought up the gun and aimed it at Sherlock. Everyone got defensive instantly. 

“C’mon,” Lestrade pointed at her, “be sensible.”

Sherlock held his hands out to the side. Mrs Norbury shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so.”

She fired. The bullet headed towards Sherlock who stood there unmoving. (Y/N), who had no doubt anticipated that this was going to happen, hurled herself sideways in front of him and the bullet impacted her lower chest. Blood sprayed outward and immediately there was a large bloodstain on her shirt. Crying out, she fell to the floor against a nearby bench.

“Surprise,” Mrs Norbury said, filled with spite.

(Y/N) rolled over to slump against the back of the bench, gasping in pain. As two of the police officers hurried over to Mrs Norbury to disarm her, Sherlock stared at (Y/N) in shock, then dropped to his knees to press his gloved hand against the wound. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and whimpered. 

“Everything’s fine. It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “Get an ambulance!” He commanded, looking round to Mycroft.

“You are such a cock,” (Y/N) whimpered.

“I know,” Sherlock smiled sadly. “But now, dare I say it, it’s not about me.”

“What do I do now, detective?”

Sherlock started checking her frantically just as John ran in. Without asking any questions, he checked her too and laid her down on the floor. 

“It’s all right,” Sherlock kept saying, “it’s all right.”

“You can do better than that,” (Y/N) groaned and John kept track of her vitals.

“Like what?”

“Like what about you shut up next time?” Sherlock chuckled and nodded.

“Noted,” he said. “Anything else?”

“If I don’t die…” She started and Sherlock interrupted her.

“Which you won’t.”

“IF I DON’T DIE,” she insisted, “I want you to be more loving towards me.”

“What?” Sherlock frowned and John laughed. “No.”

“Oh, oh, I think I’m losing her,” John joked, “(Y/N), stay with us!”

“Okay, fine,” Sherlock agreed. “But only when we’re alone.”

“That’s not how it works,” John coughed. 

“It is how it works!” Sherlock cried.

“It’s not!” Mary laughed and kneeled down next to (Y/N), helping John to keep her stable while the ambulance arrived.

“You two are too nosey,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Loving, you must be loving at all times or I’m going to die,” (Y/N) repeated. She was falling unconscious, so John and Mary urged Sherlock to keep her awake for just a couple of minutes now.

“Okay, what else?” Sherlock asked, “What else, (Y/N)?”

“Breakfast… in bed…” She mumbled.

“I already do that!”

“For me… breakfast in bed… for me,” (Y/N) insisted.

“You are such a cock” John mocked Sherlock.

“Yes, I’ve been told that twice in the last minute.”

Mary laughed and so the paramedics got there.

-

When (Y/N) woke up, she was surrounded by people. Mrs Hudson, Molly, John, Mary, and obviously Sherlock.

“We’re so glad you’re awake.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Look at you!”

All of them, talking to her nonstop. She only nodded and smiled, not knowing who to reply to first.

Her room was filled with flowers and balloons, and the dim light of midday snuck through the window, making it warm and cosy. She didn’t feel a thing because she was doped, but she faintly knew (by what she could catch hearing at least) that she had gone to surgery. 

“I’m glad you’re awake and fine,” Sherlock said after everyone shut up.

“That’s all?” She complained.

John hit Sherlock slightly. The detective rolled his eyes and pulled out little cardboard cards from his pocket. He cleared his throat and started reading in a painfully monotone voice.

“My love, I am delighted for your recovery and I can’t wait for you to come back home to me. I’ve missed having you in my arms, smelling your hair in the morning, and just looking at your… bright, beautiful eyes every day. You are my soulmate, and the thought of losing you was so painful I knew right then and there that I… Nevermind that part, it’s bullshit,” he skipped three cards while everyone else either rolled their eyes or chuckled at him. “You are the love of my life… My best friends… Kiss, kiss, kiss… Er… The message is clear I think.”

“That’s all?” (Y/N) asked again.

Yes, she had technically forced him to date her, and then to marry her, and she had kind of manipulated him to promise her to be more loving, so she couldn’t really complain if he didn’t get it right the first twenty times, but she was the one laying on a hospital bed because he couldn’t get his head out of his own arse!

Sherlock exhaled heavily and looked around. Curious and impatient eyes were all over him, making feel terribly uncomfortable.

“The thought of losing you is unbearable, I was very anxious during your surgery and have been like that up until now that you’ve woken up,” he admitted.

“He also spent the night right here,” Mrs Hudson added. (Y/N) then noticed an unused blanket by the visitor’s sofa.

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock groaned and gave (Y/N) a cheeky look. “I’m not good with words, but do know that I’d be damned if you, my wife, died.”

“How romantic!” (Y/N) smirked sarcastically. Sherlock eyed her, knowing she was just messing with him.

“I love you, I truly do.”

“And I love you,” (Y/N) said.

Sherlock then walked closer to her and kissed her softly on the lips. “Don’t ever follow me on a case, please.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Then don’t jump in front of me if I get shot.”

“Better you stop being a massive cock, ey?” 

“I can’t promise that.” Sherlock smiled.

-

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[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter IX

Lost in Translation

Read the full story on Ao3 HERE

You stood there, sweating half to death, as the priest droned on and on about “Mawage and Twoo Wuv” (he had a very noticeable lisp). You were stuffed into a corset that was much too tight, much too revealing, and your arms were itching from the taffeta. It was awkward and tedious, and you'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Fredrick stood in front of you, oblivious to your discomfort, beaming brightly, and for this reason alone you hadn't just picked up your floofy skirt and walked out.

“If anywon has any Owbjections to this union of man an wife, speak now, ow fowevew hold youw peace” The priest spoke out, and a moment of silence passed over the crowd.

In the distance, the sound of what seemed like barking dogs got louder, and louder..but they sounded odd.

arf! Arf! ARF! ARF!

And then the heavy oak church doors burst open, revealing two massive sea lions, their entrance causing the congregation to scatter. Seagulls followed, squawking noisily. It was complete chaos.

In the centre of the storm, being pulled by the two sea lions, was a wagon with a large fish aquarium. It looked as if Cinderella's fairy godmother had drunk a little too much gin and tonic when granting her wish.

There, seated up to his waist in sloshing water, was Vergil, as handsome as ever, lounging back as if he was King of the Ocean, and looking very dapper with his blue bow-tie that matched his scales. On his wrists were matching cuffs, which on any other man, would look like a knock off Chippendale's dancer, but just added to his good looks.

The pinnipeds made their way to the steps leading up to the altar and stopped. Vergil, calmly and with great conviction spoke loud enough for the priest and the wedding party to hear.

“I object”

“Now listen here,” Fredrick's father, red with fury attempted to say something, but Vergil shot him a glare that could have cut diamonds. The man turned pale, and stepped back, hiding behind his wife. (she was wearing a garish fox stole over a white dress)

Vergil's glare vanished when he saw your face, “Please, my love.... will you choose me instead?”

You needed no other persuasion, as you launched yourself at the man, for a passionate kiss. Vaguely, you could hear your mother shriek “THE DRESS!” but you couldn't care less as you leapt into the tank with him, and with a sound that reminded you of a dolphin click, Vergil commanded the lumbering beasts to turn around and pull the wagon out of the church, leaving the congregation flummoxed at what just happened.

You, on the other hand, were the happiest woman alive......

*****

You awoke, your eyes wide in the early morning darkness.  You could still feel the pressure/pain of the corset squeezing your ribs, despite the fact you were wearing dry, loose fluffy pj’s.  The sickening sweet smell of lilacs still lingered in your nose. It had been so realistic...but it had all been a dream.

So, why did you feel so disappointed?   That the wedding was still going ahead as planned? Or…

You looked over to the surface of the water, almost as smooth as glass, reflecting the dawn sky, purples, pinks and oranges giving the water the appearance of being made of flame.  And at the edge of the inferno, his head resting in crossed arms on the platform, was Vergil, softly dozing. He must have been asleep for some time, as his hair was dry and swept back, aside from a few unruly strands that fell over his face in defiance.  His face looked calm, almost peaceful, and you idly wondered if that was how he truly was in the wild. The more you admired this side of him, the more you…

Oh

Oh no…

You loved him.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, threatening to pull you down into an endless vortex of emotions, both good and bad.

With Fredrick, you felt like you were separated emotionally by a pane of thick glass that could never be shattered.  He’d listen to your problems, but everything was just a credit card swipe, or a written check away from being solved in his mind.  He respected you as a person, but as a partner? Never.

Contrast this to Vergil, who while most of the time, was literally separated from you by a pane of glass, had gotten closer to you than anyone ever had.  You’d laughed with him, discussed human and merfolk culture, tried foods, and built up a closer bond with him, closer than only a few other people including Fredrick .  And now, you were growing feelings for him.

Which led to the turmoil.  You knew there were several roadblocks to your feelings.  First was the fact that you were human, and he was a merman.  Despite the fairy tails, something like him turning into a human was an impossibility (and the fact there was no way in hell Vergil would ever want to).

And you were certain that he would never reciprocate your feelings.  He might be cordial, even friendly with you, but the fact was: he was your prisoner.  Anything he would feel would be tainted by the fact that he could never escape, despite him denying your requests to free him every morning.  (You still didn’t know why he said no, but you remember Doctor Griffon had something called a ‘leash’, did it have anything to do with that?)

This wasn’t right.  You shouldn’t feel this way.  You were practically a married woman, only a month and a half to go.  Fredrick would be home soon, and the final preparations were already in progress.  You couldn’t hurt your fiance like this, you couldn’t hurt yourself, and you certainly couldn’t hurt Vergil.

So, you made up your mind, you needed to set him free.  But if he kept saying no…. Well, you’d find a way to convince him, or find a way to get him home.  That way, he’d be happy and free.

Even if it broke your heart….

A slight splash took you out of your morose thoughts to see the still sleepy, yet piercing grey eyes watching you curiously.  His head was cocked to the side, and for a brief moment you panicked, terrified that mind reading was another merfolk ability.  But you needn't have worried, as he gave you a small smile.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, and you faked a smile, masking everything you felt at the moment.

“Never better” It wasn’t a lie.   Even after the emotional rollercoaster you had been on yesterday, and the most awkward dream (you were pretty sure merfolk couldn’t command sea life), you felt more refreshed than you had in months.  You looked up at the skylight, still flooding the room with burnished bronze.

“I don’t usually wake up at the crack of dawn, it feels weird,” you stretched and yawned.  You got up to make some breakfast, (bacon did sound delish right now), but his hand gripped your forearm, causing you to freeze.  Oh god, merely his touch, which once had been easily brushed off, now had the ability to stop you dead in your tracks.

“I... “ he asked, attempting to put words into a sentence, “I haven’t seen the Dawnfather rise in a very long time, not since my capture,”  your chest caved in at that realization. He’d spent most likely a year or more trapped indoors, and the fact that he hadn’t gone insane was a miracle in itself.  A lightbulb went off in your head. Perhaps, even if he declined your offer of freedom, there might be a way.

“Hey Vergil,” you asked hesitatingly, unsure if he'd get offended, “I have an idea…. I, uh… how averse you are to be being carried?”

******

A few minutes later, you and him were sitting on your back patio, with him wrapped in a wet towel.  Surprisingly, despite his size he wasn’t too heavy to lift, and other than him being a bit slippery, you’d managed to carry him as if he was a fishy bride out of the house, and into the fresh air.  All nervousness you had about him being insulted at being carried around like a prized tuna vanished as he let the first rays of sun hit his face. His eyes closed, his breathing stopped to nearly nothing, and for a moment, you’d thought he’d fallen asleep, but then… he smiled. It was soft, gentle, and absolutely genuine.

“It has been far too long,” he murmured.  To himself, or you, you had no idea. It just made you feel so happy to see him look so content.  You let him sit in the late dawn light in silence for a few minutes, just soaking in the natural light and air, fearing that reminding him of your presence would shatter the moment of calm.  While he’d smiled at you before, this was unlike anything he’d done before. Was he like this in real life, out of captivity? Or was it just the reaction to being outside his little prison for once?  

“I… I can bring you out more often, now that the weather is much better,” you stammered, “Or if you’d like I could just let you go back home…” the sentence hung in the air, lingering for a moment, before being blown away.

“While I appreciate the offer, I must still decline,” his smile did not abate as he looked at you, but there was something different about it, some sort of sadness?  What was he hiding?

A robin chirped and landed a few metres away from the patio, pecking at the dewy soil, before breaking out into a song, as it’s mate came down to join it.  Vergil watched in fascination as the two of them hopped and sang to each other, in a cute ritual of courtship.  

“Do all birds do this?” he queried, “we do not see them very often on the open ocean, they’re usually either feeding or en route to a new location.  Their cries are not as musical, or perhaps they do not sing while on the wing.”

“Not all, some use their plumage to attract their mate, some do dances, some sing, and some do all three” you explained, watching as the birds flew off in tandem, before disappearing into the branches of a nearby spruce tree.  You closed your eyes, enjoying the first rays of sun, and listened to the distant chirping and song. For once, there was no wedding preparation, no business deals, just you, nature….and your feelings for the man beside you. You attempted to shove those intrusive thoughts back into the deep recesses of your mind, including the latter.  ESPECIALLY the latter.

A beautiful melodious sound seeped into your ears, one that confused you.  No bird that you knew of had that crystal clear tenor song. Perhaps you were just imagining it?  You slowly opened your eyes, worried that it would be carried away like a dream upon waking. In the clear sunlight you saw what it was coming from, and you were entranced.  Not a bird, nor the wind, nor a tune coming from your cell phone.

It was Vergil. Singing.

Isil shem’ore

Isil lin’ore

Mira pharar, mira ofar, mira kanar,

D’rashana karif’ore

Isil dilshonin sa oplalim

Sa kintal o sa polim

Sa racarto shipal o sa whelik

Nekalin parand’ore fa pishim

Ah, mira sifa, mira sifa

Winik fa pishim lin’more.

His eyes remained closed as he finished the haunting melody, leaving everything else seeming muted and drab in comparison.  You let the silence linger for a few moments, hoping against hope that perhaps he would go into another verse. And also because you had to take a minute to keep the tears from flowing.  You didn’t want to give him the wrong opinion of why you were crying.

“That was…. beautiful,” you slowly spoke, just above a whisper, as you quickly wiped your eyes.  Vergil smiled at you, just like he had when he had taken his first breath of fresh air, and you felt yourself heat up, and you hoped it was because of the intensifying sunbeams.  “That was Old Mer, right? Do you mind giving me a rough translation of it?”

He cocked his head and averted his eyes, and for a brief moment you thought you had overstepped your bounds.  “It’s… an ode to the rising of the Dawnfather, a celebratory song.” “You know,” you joked, “we have legends of the alluring sound of merfolk, whose entrancing songs would lure ships to their doom.  I guess there’s a kernel of truth in that.”

“Well, we never wished to draw attention to ourselves” he explained, “but when you humans are spending multiple cycles alone on your ships, I suppose any source of singing could be considered captivating”

You laughed of the mental image of some poor godforsaken sailors being lured in by a bunch of mermen singing the equivalent of a raunchy ballad. “Well, it’s absolutely gorgeous, would you mind singing it again?  I mean,” catching yourself, “if it isn’t against your customs or anything.”

He chuckled, and closed his eyes, and with that, began singing again, just as beautiful as before.  The only thing that worried you was that he was turning a bit red. You hoped that his stay indoors for such a long time wouldn’t cause him to sunburn.

******

So, for the next few weeks, you’d added a new habit to your morning routine.  You’d wake up earlier every morning, wrap him up in a wet towel and carry him to the back patio to soak up the sunshine.  Occasionally, you’d cook up some breakfast to bring out to him, sometimes you’d just sit out and enjoy the mid spring air.  And every so often, he’d start singing. Sometimes that song, sometimes others, but they were all beautiful. You really liked those times.  You tried to bottle those feelings you had for him, but you couldn’t help it, his smile and singing would reel you back into admiring him.

But not today.  You awoke to a deafening bang, and as you sluggishly panicked for a few moments, thinking an accident happened, before a flash of light from outside made you realize there was no issue, it was merely a thunderstorm.

You padded out, cheap instant coffee in a mug (despite your father’s insistence that you could afford better, your fellow college students had introduced you to your addiction) to the platform to see Vergil already primed and ready to go outside.  There was electricity in the air, and not from the storm.

“Sorry, looks like the weather’s not great for our usual get together.” you apologized, but his eyes seemed different, eager.

“I don’t mind storms, in fact, I enjoy them very much” he replied, “If you are not against the idea, I would like to experience it first hand.”

So, you sat there, soaked to the skin within a few minutes as the rain poured down.  You didn’t mind, especially when you saw the look on his face as the rain and wind hit him.  With the sun, he had seemed the very picture of contentment. But with the storm, he looked practically ecstatic.  There would be no singing today, especially with the howling of the wind and the roaring of the thunder drowning out everything, but you were willing to put your selfish desires away to watch him truly enjoy himself.

“It’s nice to have someone to enjoy the storm with,” you spoke, “my mother was always terrified of the things, father was always too busy, and my friends thought I was crazy to go outside during times like this.”

“I have always enjoyed storms, the sharp divide between the calm of the ocean, and the chaos when one breaks through the surface”  he responded, a nostalgic smile on his face, “my brother and I would enjoy these times as finlings, seeing who could stay above the surface the longest before being swamped by waves.”

“Your brother?”  you stiffened at the revelation.  In all the months you’d known Vergil, he’d never divulged anything about his family.  You’d never asked, letting him have as much privacy as you could give him, but you’d always wondered.  If there were family members, perhaps you could contact them, to find a way to free him safely.

“Yes,” his smile faded, “had you told me that I would miss his annoying presence, I would have said you had been playing with the pufferfish for far too long.  But now…”

“You had a falling out?” you probed gently.

“I suppose that would be putting it lightly,” he grimly explained, “you would have liked him, he was much more friendly with humanity than I ever was, even after….”

“Vergil, you don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t feel comfortable,” you slowly told him, even though you were dying to know about this mysterious family member.

“No,” he replied firmly, his eyes going as hard as the driving rain, “you deserve to know this, after all this time,” and despite being soaked to the bone, and beginning to feel a chill, you focused intently on him.

“I resided with my brother, and my mother and father, most of the time to the north, where there were once innumerable fish.  A few seasons ago,” he paused, refusing to face you, “a ship with one of those infernal nets that scoured the bottom of the ocean passed through, and despite my parents best efforts to evade it, they both got caught up in it.” he took another deep breath, and you held yours. “By the time my brother and I were able to cut through the ropes, it was too late, both were suffocated by the mass of fish that crushed them.” His hand went out and began to draw on the sole dry part of the wood, sheltered by the awning.  “The ship had an unusual design on its hull, instead of the figure of the merfolk in better times, it was three marks…” he drew them out with his wet finger, three circles, one for each corner of a triangle, a jagged line connecting them. Your heart sank. The official logo of Mundus Inc.   “I was furious, I would have sworn to wipe out every damn ship off the surface of the ocean at that very moment.  But,” he pulled up his fins, hugging them close, “I knew that was impossible, so I decided to destroy every ship that carried that cursed mark.  My brother, Dante, soft hearted as he always was, told me that going on a rampage ‘wouldn’t bring mom and dad back’ as he said, but my anger clouded my judgement, so when he attempted to stop me, we fought.  It was a vicious battle, but in the end, I was victorious.”

“You didn’t...” you asked, horrified.

“No, I did not kill him, I’d already lost my parents, I was not going to destroy my last blood relation. We merely went our separate ways.  Although,” he sighed as the wind and rain began to wind down, “perhaps it would have been better had I lost to him, captivity can be rather humiliating,” he turned to you, his smile returning, “at least it hasn’t been as bad as I had feared.  I met you, after all.”

You flushed at his compliment, and you hoped he didn’t notice.  His disdain for your father, and humanity in general now made perfect sense.  Guilt by association flooded you. The fact he even tolerated you was more than you deserved for what the company you were about to take over had done.  And now to add insult to injury, he was being kept prisoner by the killer of his parents. How he had restrained himself from strangling you these past few months was nothing short of amazing.  The leash….. Perhaps that was the key to it all.  

You shivered, partially out of the thought of how he must have hated you, and partially at how chilly you felt, now that the storm was over.

“Are you cold, Sifa? ” his voice intruded into your despondent thoughts.  You looked up, to see him watching you in what seemed to be concern.

“A little…” you admitted, before the thought of what he said, “Sifa? What does that mean?”

Vergil was taken aback, as if he didn’t realize he spoke the word, before cautiously answering, “It’s an old mer term… it means, ‘human’.  Not in a derogatory term though,” he clarified as you picked him up to bring him back into the warmth of your home, “more of a nickname. You do not mind…?”

“I like it!  It sounds so beautiful!” you exclaimed.  Vergil’s reaction seemed to be one of relief, which was odd.

You came back, dressed in dry clothes, and with some time to think.  Perhaps, there was a way to get Vergil to the freedom that he so desperately craved.

Toweling your hair as Vergil scarfed down a plateful of sardines, you ventured, “Vergil, do you think your brother would want to know how you’re doing?”  

He froze, brows furrowed as he thought hard about it.  “He is fairly easy going, slow to anger, and quick to forgive,” he chuckled mirthlessly “a bit too quickly in my opinion.”

He seemed amenable to the idea of reconciling with his brother, so maybe… “If there was a way to contact him, to let him know you’re still okay, how would I be able to give him the message?”

There was an agonizing period of silence, before Vergil slowly reached for the amulet that was around his neck.  To your astonishment, he took it off and handed it to you, like it was the most precious thing to him.  

“This was a gift from our parents, I was given one, and Dante the other.  It was a way for us, being twins to ‘sense’ each other’s presence. Taking this to the ocean should alert him to me, and if he is amenable to a reconciliation, he will come.”  He looked at you, his gaze hard and fixed. “This information is not to be revealed to anyone aside from him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Vergil, I’m honoured that you trust me enough with this”  and he softened, smiling at you, “I swear to you,” you firmly proclaimed “I’ll keep this secret safe.”

*****

It was the third day you had taken out your personal sailboat out into the bay. The fates could not have aligned better.  The weather was perfect for sailing, the last of the wedding preparations had been completed, and your father was still out on business, leaving you with days of free time.  And due to it being mid week, any nosy pleasurecraft were nowhere to be seen.  

Well, it would have been perfect, if the guest of honour had shown up.  Three days you’d been sailing, looking like Captain Ahab searching for your Moby Dick, except he hadn’t appeared.  You’d spend all morning, docking around noon for a quick lunch and a phone call to Fredrick (He was planning to come home with your father, but business would keep him in Japan until the very last moment, much to your dismay), before heading back out, sailing far enough from the shore to give you some privacy, but close enough to the shallows so that it was safe for your small vessel.

Each day ended the same, with you coming home, looking at Vergil despondantly, shaking your head and handing back the amulet for him to keep for the night.   Your failure seemed to affect him as well, and you could have sworn his tail was losing its newly regained lustre. But he would always seem to be hopeful when he handed it back to you the next morning.

So, this afternoon was no different as you fingered the precious gem around your neck.  It felt wrong to wear it like that, but he had assured you that he didn’t mind, and besides, it would be less likely to get lost.

The only difference was that instead of eating a sandwich, or a smoothie, you had treated yourself, and bought yourself a pizza.  So you sailed around the cove, humming the tune that Vergil had sung for you, attempting to take your mind off the fact that you’d seen neither fin nor gill of his brother.  Part of you worried that perhaps this Dante wasn’t as forgiving as Vergil had said he was, or worse, he’d been captured as well....

PHUNK!

You lurched forward, nearly face first into the wheel, as the boat lurched to a stop.  You picked yourself up, attempting to figure out what went wrong. You hadn’t hit anything, as the sudden stop didn’t feel like something blocking the boat, more like something pulling it.  You quickly checked your anchor, assuming that perhaps in your worry, you were unaware that you had set the anchor by accident. But nope, the metal contraption still lay on the stern deck, the chain only mildly disturbed from the sudden stop.

Perhaps kelp?  You closed the box of pizza, before grabbing your jackknife to cut whatever obstruction was holding your boat back.  Heading to the stern, you crouched down to see what the hell was going on. You’d passed this area before, and never had any issues, and yup, even in this shallow water, you couldn’t see much vegetation, let alone anything that could snag your boat.  Taking a deep breath, you plunged your head into the water to get a better look.

Of all the things you were expecting, a pair of eyes, white hair, and brilliant red scales wasn’t what that.  You stared shocked for a few seconds, a few dumbfounded bubbles blurping out of your mouth, before the man’s (who aside from fin colour, looked like a carbon copy of Vergil) hands reached out, and with a vise like grip on your shoulders, yanked you clear off the deck.

You panicked at the sudden submergment and began flailing wildly, but his hands never loosened.

All you could hear, over the stream of terrified bubbles that contained your screams, was a voice echoing through your skull.

Where the Hell is my brother?

[dzmoot]

It’s been several months since Igginsworth’s departure back to Ippicus and although the Tuuns miss him dearly, they aren’t about to let it spoil the celebration of their favorite holiday, All Hallows’ Eve. It will be a Halloween like no other as the Tuuns can finally trick or treat for actual candy instead of the horrid moonrock cookies they get every year, and they can hardly wait to attend Mitchell Manhee’s Midnight Monster Mash. But they very well might have something more spooktacular in store for them, something that will make their flesh crawl and their blood pressures soar to galactic heights! 

Halloween on Namasis was just like the Halloweens of Earth. Tuuns dressed as something they weren’t and went all over the entirety of Inkwell Village, expecting passer outers to throw niblets of sugar into their pales or crudely knitted bags. For our gallant Resisters, who probably loved Halloween more than any other entity in our known realm, they started prepping for it weeks in advance. While they went out to collect goodies on that cool night (which believe it or not had a tendency to be the coldest Namasis has ever been), they placed a festively dressed scary straw man in front of their home to hand out the treats to the trick or treaters. Siobhan came up with a clever name for him, Hay Leno. 

Hampire was responsible for conjuring up the costumes he and his comrades would wear. This year, his attire of choice was a cowboy outfit, although he was out of a horse to ride on. Kruonch, who had been reading Hampire’s book on dry bones decided to go as a skeleton. To the shock of Siobhan and the others, he even shaved his beard so it wouldn’t droop under his mask. Everyone was so shocked and horrified by his clean shaven look that he was forced to wear the mask several days in advance. Siobhan dressed as a traditional wicked witch, although the potion she had to drink to temporarily change her skin green and her hair red tasted like bad fish tank water. As for Zappy, he didn’t even need Hampire to make him a costume, for he had one already in his possession. You see, Zappy was a part time crime fighter called “Zap Man” and his imposing costume was enough to invoke the spookish delight ideal for Halloween. They were all ready for the big night and they would be accompanied on their Halloween rounds by two of Namasis’ most foolish ghoulish fellows, Mitchell Manhees and Joachim Jerboa. 

Well into the evening, the Tuuns conjured enough goodies to open their own candy store. Siobhan was anxious to get home, dump it all out and eat every morsel. 

Diabetesville, here I come! 

Kruonch told his daughter that she would gradually eat some of her candy every evening after dinner until it was gone as Zappy pointed in the direction of a nearby house on a hill. 

Look guys, it’s the Hitchcock Hillhouse! Legend has it that our alternate universe counterparts from Razlaobo dwell in that house! 

Everyone let out an array of emotions, from gasps to grumbles to giggles. Kruonch assured Zappy it was just a bunch of hocus pocus. 

Oh Zap Man, everybody knows it’s a pot of hooey! Our mirror dimensions selves are dead! The Confectoons defeated them 5 years ago! 

Mitchell muttered something through his mask, but just like everything he said, it was all jumbled and hard to understand. Joachim rolled his eyes and interjected. 

I don’t think so you schmucks! Mitch and I have heard demented noises up there for years. Something’s gotta be lurking in that place! 

A great fangy smile came over Hampire’s face. 

Let’s go in! 

Mitchell started squabbling heavily through his mask as everyone stood around him trying to make out his sentences! Once again, Kruonch protested.

Now I’m telling you varmints, there are no Darkies up there in that house! You’re all high on lunar smarties! 

Siobhan tugged on the sleeve of her father’s costume. 

What’s the matter daddy, are you chicken nuggies? 

Kruonch tripped over his tongue collecting words. 

Well, I, I’m no nuggy honey, I’m just, well, I don’t...

Hampire used an unlocking spell to open the gateway and they all made their way up the stone walkway. With a small tap, Zappy rang the doorbell and within seconds, a strange reptilian gentleman arrived accompanied by a see through spectral dog. His voice sounded like Kermit the Frog with strep throat.

You rang? 

Mitchell stepped forward and started introducing everyone, but as the gentleman turned his head in confusion at the muffled words, he was swiftly pushed aside as Zappy stepped forward. 

I’m Zap Man! These are my companions, Buffalo Bacon Belly, Margaret Hamilton, Mr. Baggaboanz, Mouserabbit and the unintelligible hockey guy. 

The lizard man gave a sinister smile. 

I am Lizardton Longleggs the 5th. This is my dog, Zilch. Why do you bother us at our humble home this evening? 

Before Zappy could continue, Kruonch pushed him out of the way. 

Sorry to bother you Mr. Lizzyton

Lizardton interrupted and his face expanded to that of a t-rex.

IT’S LIZARDTON LONGLEGGS YOU STRAWBERRY SKINNED BAFFOON! 

And just like that, Kruonch felt as if he shrunk to the same height as Siobhan. 

I’m so terribly sorry. You see, it’s Halloween and we were treat or tricking and my friends insisted we come up here to see these Darkies that I know aren’t really here but we still came up here anyway and now I’m waiting for you to tell them that they are indeed not here so we can leave this dreadful place and they can realize what a ginormous waste of time this whole thing was...

Lizardton interrupted again. He was sinisterly staring directly at everyone besides Kruonch.

Let me get this straight. You believe the Darkies are living in this house?

Zappy, Siobhan, Hampire, Mitchell and Joachim all shook their heads up and down. And the dapper Lizardton slowly found his lips trembling and his chest filling up with giggle fluid. Then he let it out, a laugh as loud and as potent as that of a clown killer whale. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

After a moment or two, Lizardton composed himself and went back to his stoney face. 

You fools! You all thought the Darkies were still here?! 

Kruonch started laughing himself as he looked down at his friends. 

I told you foolies! The Darkies are dead! Now let’s get movin...

But Lizardton continued. 

Of course they’re dead, you pink Pinocchio nosed ping pong for brains! But they’re not here. They went to a Halloween party across town. And look, here they come now!  

Kruonch looked over his shoulder as everyone turned around shortly therefore. 

Look, it’s the Resisters! After all this time! We’ve been DYING to meet you! We hope you’ve been DYING to meet us! 

From inside the house, the corpse of the evil Igginsworth started cackling maniacally. Zappy quickly drew a zapperang from his belt and Mitchell manned his machete and knife glove to strike. But before he could slash, the masked coward sprung into the air and Hampire’s evil doppleganger eradicated him with a slap of his hand. He crumbled away to ash before everyone’s eyes and Zappy was soon after slashed to salami by his evil clone’s cybernetic arm claws. With Zappy and Mitchell dead, an enraged Hampire began hurling spell after spell after spell at the evil ones. 

You who have killed my friends shall see soon your horrible ends! Avada Kedav... 

And just like that, Hampire's head was bitten off by the sentient head on the evil Kruonch’s nose. Only Joachim, Siobhan and Kruonch remained. Joachim tried jumping on every Darky and beating the snot out of them, but the evil Siobhan gassed him to death with her deadly night shade, garlic smelling bad breath. Kruonch put Siobhan on his back as they started to run towards their home. Kruonch looked behind him to see, to his relief that the Darkies were gone. As he made his way into the house and locked the door, he noticed that Siobhan was gone! As he looked around in a frenzy, his nose protruded from his skull mask and to his horror, the decapitated head of Siobhan, equipped with a candle embedded in it’s mouth was hurled at Kruonch as he saw that all the Darkies combined to make a super scarific, ultra terrifying hairy hare vampire Darky from hell! Before Kruonch knew it, he....

woke up from his horrible nightmare. Still clad in his skeleton costume, he looked over to see Siobhan and the others rummaging through their candy collections. Siobhan jumped onto her father’s exasperated lap. 

And you tell me not to eat all my candy in one sitting. You ate so many malt balls, it’s funny your brain didn’t burst. 

Kruonch began rubbing his head. 

My brain didn’t explode, but I did have one rascal of a nightmare! 

Nearby, Mitchell, in his chef attire was preparing the special stew for his Midnight Monster Mash. 

Dubber, dubber, turr and trurber. Herper, berg me der perper! 

Hampire approached with a shaker of lunar pepper for taste as he shook his head in disgust. 

A Halloween nightmare. How original! 

As he walked away, he began scratching the metal clamps around his neck. 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 

[stories-mostly]

Stark's Bug

Tony Stark x Son!reader

=Masterlist=

Finally! This took me so long to write like what the hell. Anyway enjoy :)

Words: 2044

Warnings: None

Chapter 18

"Can I help?" You looked over your dads shoulder as he opened the first case and dug through it.

"Don't you have homework? Do that first and then we'll see."

Begrudgingly you sauntered off and got your school stuff. It's not like it's that important anyway, at least how you saw it.

You sat down in your room and solved some easy math, wrote a few sentences about an animal that you liked (Mr. Krabs) and you were done.

You took the papers and wandered towards the lab to show your dad your work.

"What're you doing?"

You almost jumped out of your skin when Phil's voice suddenly sounded beside you.

You totally forgot that he was even there.

"I'm going to show dad my homework so I can help him!"

You held out the papers for him to see. Phil took them gently and looked over them with interest.

"This is all correct. Did you write about the Spongebob character?"

You chuckled and took your homework back.

"No! Mr. Krabs is my crayfish! Do you wanna see him? He's an old boy!" You lead the man to one of the lounge rooms off to the side where Krabs' big tank was housed. The tank had a lot of plants so it was sometimes hard to see him. You looked through the little plants and saw him in one of his big hides, only his head sticking out.

"Look there, that's Mr Krabs. He's already two years old! Crayfish don't live very long in tanks, but when they get treated nicely they can live for up to 8 years! That's older than I am!"

"Really? What do they eat?"

"Everything! That's why he doesn't have any fish friends, he'd just eat them."

"I don't think they eat everything."

"He does."

Phil chuckled but didn't argue further. You talked a little longer until you remembered what you wanted to do before and scarpered off towards the lab.

"Dad I'm done!" You shouted as you pushed the door open. Your dad was sitting in his comfortable chair reading through the books of his dad.

"Great! Show it!"

You handed over your homework and your dad let his eyes wander over it.

"Looks like it's all okay. Grab yourself a notebook and get to reading." He praised and pointed to the open case.

You did as told and sat down on your dads lap to read the smelly old book.

There were some really cool drawings in there, and some math you hadn't seen before. When you showed your dad he said it wasn't anything important. So you read and you read and you got bored. As seven year olds do when a task isn't fun anymore.

You put a piece of paper in the notebook and walked back over to the case.

You dug through it til you found something that looked interesting.

A little model airplane. Your dad said you could play with it so you did. Making loud noises and basically setting up a racetrack in the air.

Meanwhile your dad was back to digging through the case. Another handbook for the trash.

He only peaked your interest again when he put up what looked to you like a camera and put in one of those really long tape rolls you had only seen in TV.

"What're you doing?"

"Setting this up so we can watch what's on these films." He said as he put up some speakers.

"But it says it right here on the case," You said and grabbed the round casing, "these are outtakes! From a commercial? For Stark Expo!"

"Yes yes but we don't know what's said on them until we watch."

You shrugged in agreement and made yourself comfortable in your dads chair.

"Hey! Shoo. That's my seat." He chuckled and made a shooing motion with his hand.

You shook your head and crossed your arms in a teasing manner.

"Well, I guess I'm gonna have to sit on you now." He shrugged and turned around.

"Nooooooo." You said and pushed him away with your hands and feet laughing. You got off the chair and let your dad sit down just to plop yourself on his lap. Leaning into his chest as the clips started playing.

The man on the screen talked on about stark expo until he messed up, swore, and another clip started. He looked very weird in your opinion, not at all like your dad. So that was your grandpa. A person who swears a lot and has a really weird beard.

You settled further into your dads chest as you continued to be fixated on the screen. You had never taken a good look at the old pictures your dad kept. It hadn't interested you at all.

You knew he was dead so there was something entirely weird about seeing him so alive on screen talking about things that still exist today. While he doesn't. And while you knew what death was you couldn't yet grasp the concept of it entirely.

With these sort of existential questions you fell asleep snuggled against your dads chest facing the screen. It took Tony quite a while to notice you being asleep. Too concentrated on the books and screen to see you half snoring with your mouth squashed open and drooling out of the corner of your mouth.

Carefully he picked you up and brought you to bed without waking you at all.

After having delivered you to the bed he went straight back into the lab. Still continuing to search for.... well something.

Phil was on school bus duty as he put it. He was driving this really big black car with tinted windows. Your dad told him the name of your school and said goodbye to you.

A few minutes into the mostly silent car ride Phil started talking.

"So. How do you like school so far? You're in second grade, right?"

"It's okay. I like playing with my friends a lot. But the classes are boring. I already know all of the stuff they talk about."

"Really? Maybe you're a little too smart for second grade then? What are your grades like?"

"Good I think. But my dad says that grades don't actually show how smart someone is."

"That's true. But they're still important."

"For what? I'm only 7."

Phil fell silent. That was true. And so he quickly changed the topic until you were dropped off onto school grounds.

School, as always, was pretty boring. At least the classes were. Your friends and you had played hide and seek on break and in the second break you sat around and talked while eating your food. Mostly about videogames. Jason, who had sort of taken up the leader position really liked that topic. And so you stayed on it.

Your homeroom teacher gave you a note to give to your dad and with that the schoolday ended and you got into Phil's car again.

"How was school today?" He asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Like normal. Mrs. Foster gave me a note for dad."

"Really? What about?"

"I don't know." You shrugged not having read it at

You and Phil guessed what the teacher could've written on the letter all the way until you were home.

Walking into the house you immediately knew something was up as there was a big hole in the floor reaching through to the lab.

You walked down not knowing what to expect, leaving your bag near the hole and Phil to follow in a normal pace.

There definitely was something going on. As there were giant tubes taking up most of the space in the lab.

"What's this?" You asked excited at the thought of a new project.

"Welcome back. This will help us finish what your grandfather started." Tony said ominously but completed his statement soon after. "We're going to create a new element"

You were dumbfounded, you could do that? Just go out there and create a new element? The hell? You knew that people could discover new elements but create them? That's so cool.

Today was a day you decided that your dad was most definitely the coolest person on earth.

"That's so cool! You're the coolest, daddy!" you said and gave him a hug.

Just then Phil entered the lab.

"Can you hand me the spirit level?"

"Yeah!" you said, happily trotting over to the pile of tools laying next to and even under a box. The spirit level was right on top so you didn't have to pull or wedge it out of that mess. Handing your dad the spirit level he placed it on top of the tubes and sighed. Its uneven.

Just then Phil pulled out what looked like a Captain America shield prototype and asked what it was doing here.

"That is exactly what I need." Your dad took the shield and Phil lifted the coil so he could wedge the shield under it.

"Perfectly level. What do you want?"

Just then Phil told the news of his reassignment and your face fell. You liked Phil. Despite not knowing him all that well he was fun to be around. So when he turned to say goodbye to you you hugged him.

"Can you tell me what you were doing when we see each other again?" You asked jutting out your lower lip and drawing your eyebrows together.

"Sure thing sport. I'll send you a postcard." He smiled and with that you let go and let him leave with a wave.

The new element was created not long after Phil had left. It was a great spectacle to watch. The laser had left its mark on the wall and the element shone brightly as it was created.

Your dad took it for testing to the computer and plugged it in.

"This'll take a while do you have any idea what we could do while we wait?" he asked turning to you.

You had just the thing.

After several hours of intense playing with your dolls and action figures your father had to go to New York. Stark Expo and all of that. You would have really loved to go but he said no.

So you had your own little concert in the living room. Singing along loudly to all the songs Jarvis played for you. Pretending you were on a big stage being the best singer to ever live on your world tour.

"LET'S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS! TO DEFEAT thE hunnns"

"This ain't a sCeENe it's a GOD. DAMN. ARMS-RACE"

and so on.

After your throat started to feel a bit sore you stopped and started doing whatever came to mind.

You had recently gotten a bow and technically you're not allowed to shoot it inside the house but who is going to catch you? Jarvis never told on you before and everyone who could be is in New York.

You placed some plastic bottles on a table which stood at the opposite side of the room and shot at them.

First without the force but you got frustrated when you didn't hit anything so you got help in aiming by your little powers and then just shot the arrows without the bow.

All was fun until the doorbell rung. Your stomach dropped. Everyone was in New York. So who was at the door..?

"Who's there Jarvis?" you basically whispered.

"It's a pizza delivery, Mr. Stark had told me to order you some food as he won't be back until late. There is money on the kitchen counter."

"Oh, okay!" you said and ran into the kitchen relieved that it wasn't a bad guy coming for you. You were pretty much out of breath when you reached the door, money in hand.

"Hello! Is this my pizza?" you asked right after having opened the door.

"Uh, yeah a Pepperoni one right?" The man looked a bit taken aback, obviously not having expected a child to Open the door in the kind of house you're in.

"Yes! Thank you!" you took the carton out of his hands after giving him the money.

"You can keep all of it. Have a nice day!" you said and basically slammed the door shut in his face.

You had just given him a hundred dollars for a maybe 15$ pizza. You probably made that guys day and didn't know it.

You ate the pizza and watched a Disney movie before Jarvis told you to go brush your teeth and go to bed. You ignored him and took a bath too. Spending most of your time playing in the water rather than actually cleaning yourself.

You fell asleep around 11 pm on your father's bed. And woke up the next day right next to him. And Pepper on your other side. Huh.

Tags: @shannonr2003 @art-estrange @tater-thotties @tonystanktheirondad @gaylemonshark @emilaa2001 @kindahadeschild @actualcringetm

Have a fantastic day ;)

[nayutai]

5 | Bulletproof

⤖ Pairing: OT7 x OC

⤖ Genre: light angst

⤖ Summary: Laila fights back against the powers that be

⤖ Warnings: implied and descriptive violence (it’s just a sparring match), foul language, mentions of death and deception, light sexual content

⤖ Word Count: 2.405

⤖ A/N: Things are starting to happen!

Laila’s hands curl into tight fists in her lap when Yoongi brings up several pictures of their new target. She has to force herself not to focus on the rage threatening to overcome her senses so she can focus on the words coming out of Yoongi’s mouth. In his research, Yoongi was able to discover that Cobra had blown the underground scene quite suddenly. It had been hard to track down people with any useful information about the events surrounding her disappearance but a former general that had refused to work under Minseok had only been too happy to talk. It was really all he could do considering that Minseok had tried unsuccessfully to get rid of the Cobra loyalist. He’d been confined to a wheelchair for the past two decades after a bullet had left him a quadriplegic.

His name is Jisoo and he had quite a lot to say. According to his intel, Cobra had simply told Minseok not to run her empire into the ground, wishing him luck before walking out the door for the last time. Jisoo had been floored. Her resignation had come seemingly out of nowhere. It was when she’d lovingly touched her belly after he’d followed her out into the hallway that he realized why she was getting out. Cobra had considered him one of her most trusted confidants and had told him long ago that were she to ever become a mother she’d leave and never come back. She didn’t want to raise a kid in this life.

Tears rise in Laila’s eyes for the second time as a single picture of her mother appears across several of Yoongi’s monitors. It’s grainy but a daughter knows. She looks like she’s on a job. Gun in hand. It’s the only known picture of Cobra in action.

Namjoon wordlessly slides a box of tissues in Laila’s direction. She doesn’t protest when Jungkook softly rubs her knee a few times before retracting his hand. Yoongi senses that she’s the type who doesn’t like to dwell on sad emotions so he keeps talking to give her something else to focus on.

“According to Jisoo, your mom and uncle had been estranged for quite some time before she left. He remembered that Minseok had tried several times to find your uncle but the 90s was a rough time for people like us and he had bigger fish to fry.” Yoongi produces several news articles detailing the violence and chaos that had plagued the city back then. A few of them feature pictures of burning warehouses and even the aftermath of what looks like a deadly shootout at the docks.

“So what you’re saying is that my uncle sold my mom out to this Minseok guy? Is that what I’m hearing” If she knew what hole her uncle ended up at the bottom of, Laila would gladly spit on his makeshift grave. Her mother had extended an olive branch to him and he’d set it on fire.  

“Essentially.” Yoongi answers casually.

“I’m glad he’s dead but I hate that I’m not the reason.” Laila’s fists clench and unclench as she tries to stay focused.

Her mind drifts back to all the Friday afternoons her mom had spent at the small café near their house. The memory almost feels foreign like she’s watching a movie about someone else’s life. She’d always asked why she chose to sit in some hippie dippy café every week but her mother had always been tight lipped about her reasons just like she was on why she insisted on having a daughter trained in three different martial arts and advanced weaponry. Laila had known that wasn’t normal but saying no to her was a surefire way to get cursed out in one of the three languages her mother had been fluent in.

Laila feels a twinge of pain at how happy her mom had been the day she died. She’d said that that day was special. That whatever she’d been waiting on at that café was finally going to come to fruition. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd had an important exam that day, Laila's parents would've pulled her out of school early to go with them.

“Well, I think that’s enough debriefing for today. Yoongi will get you copies of everything for you to obsess over later. I need a nap.” Seokjin sighs at the satisfying crack of his bones when he stretches over the back of the chair he’s perched on.

“Unfortunately for you though, Hobi here  is our logistics man so-” He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence as Hoseok and Laila immediately start voicing their distaste at the implication of what Seokjin was about to say. The leader shuts them both down with a bellowed command. Hoseok falls silent but Laila is having none of it.  

“Oh, stuff it, you bastard. Your little groupies here might be scared of you but I’m not and I’m not working with him.” The room goes eerily silent as Seokjin and Laila stare each other down. No one present has ever seen anyone directly challenge their boss this way and live to tell about it.

“Watch your tone, Song.” Seokjin practically growls through his teeth, rising to his full height to stare down at the insolent woman across from him. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being disrespected in front of his people.

“Watch your back, Kim.” Not one to let a man try to intimidate her, Laila stands toe to toe with Seokjin. Jimin shifts subtly at the blatant threat she’s just spat at his older brother. His movement doesn’t go unnoticed in the slightest. “Move again and that’s your ass, Park.” Her eyes don’t stray from Seokjin’s face once and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit impressed.

“How about we all call it a day and try this again tomorrow when we’re calmer?” Namjoon, ever the level headed negotiator, steps between Laila and Seokjin. His eyes flit quickly between the two of them looking for any signs of rationality and understanding.

“Fine but I’m still not working that closely with someone who tried to have me killed. I’ll go after Minseok myself before I do that.”

“Go ahead. You’ll only get yourself killed and then I’ll finally get what I paid for.” Laila catches everyone off guard when she pivots on her heel to slam her fist into Hoseok’s face faster than anyone can make a move to stop her. The force of the hit sends him flying off of the stool he’d been perched on.

The room erupts as Jungkook pushes Laila into a corner, using his body to shield her from Hoseok who has rebounded from the punch to continue what she started. Jimin, Taehyung, And Namjoon are just barely holding him back while Laila adds fuel to the fire by flipping him off and sticking her tongue out at him teasingly. Yoongi grabs a beer from the mini fridge under his work table and watches the whole scene unfold in amazement. He hasn’t been this entertained in a while.  

“You might want to get some ice for that eye, Hoseokie. It looks like it’s swelling.” Laila coos as Hoseok is finally wrestled out of the room. Jungkook’s shoulders tense up a little more when she pats her hands against a rib cage. “Alright big guy I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you can move now.”

“Oh, yeah sorry.” Jungkook shuffles to the right to let her out of the corner.

“I don’t appreciate you fucking Hoseok’s eye up like that.” Jin doesn’t give Laila even half a chance to interrupt him which she has her mouth open to do. “Working with Hoseok is unavoidable because he’s the best strategist we have. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to be around each other right now though so we’ll start with battle training instead. I’m not about to send you into a war zone without knowing what you’re capable of.”

“Yes, sir.” Laila gives Jin a mock salute and a cocky smile. “Can I go now or do you want to scold me some more, headmaster?”

“Please get out of my sight.” Jin maintains his exasperated façade but hearing Laila speak to him so formally - even in such an obviously mocking manner - makes his blood rapidly flow south. “Jimin will contact you about your training.”

***

Two days of radio silence go by before Laila hears anything from Jimin. She meets him at the location of his choosing per the singular text message she’d received. It’s a rundown looking building in the warehouse district that looks like it should’ve been condemned a long time ago but Laila has long since learned that looks can be deceiving.

She’s not surprised to find a renovated interior. The air is tinged with the scent of sweat. Her eyes wander around the room taking in the various types of workout apparatus arranged around the spacious area. The room would appear to be empty but Laila can feel a set of eyes on her. She’s almost certain that it’s Jimin, but whoever it is has decided to stay hidden for a reason so she drops her bag on the floor next to the regulation-sized boxing ring that takes up a large portion of the room.

Jimin watches from the shadows of the second floor balcony as Laila hops into the ring. His breath hitches despite his best efforts to remain neutral when she sheds her tank top, revealing the crimson sports bra underneath. Even from so high up, the swell of her breasts is as clear as day. He can’t deny that he’s attracted to her on a physical level but business and pleasure never mix well. That doesn’t stop him from appreciating the view as he watches the shapely woman below him prime her muscles for the ringer he’s about to run her through.

“Jimin, come play with me.” Laila taunts from the boxing ring as she moves into the downward dog position. Jimin's boyishly good looks had always stood out to her the most when she was going through all of the surveillance pictures her uncle had of the various members plastered around his apartment. The oldest Busan member looked like a walking meal with his sleek but muscular physique and Laila always did love to play with her food.

The sound of light footsteps coming towards her shortly after her little stunt aren’t surprising in the slightest. Men are predictable creatures after all. He’s dressed simply in a white shirt, black jeans, and a pair of sneakers. Not exactly what she’d expect someone doing combat training to wear but he looks delectable.

Jimin makes a slow appraising circle around her, whistling appreciatively at the sight of her ass in her leggings. Laila rolls her eyes at his horn dog antics and that’s when he strikes. She’s admittedly caught off guard by him suddenly knocking her feet from beneath her but she recovers quickly.

“What the fuck!” She yells in a fit of rage. She wants to tie him to the rafters by the ends of his hair for that little trick.

“Minseok’s guys aren’t going to ask for permission to try to kill you so why should I? Always be ready.” Laila snorts sarcastically but readies herself nevertheless. Play time is over. Jimin may have gotten the drop on her this time but she won't let him do it again.

She twists, bringing her foot up towards Jimin’s pretty face. He neatly dodges and moves to counter while she’s off balance but instead he finds himself ducking the fist coming full speed at his face as she completes her turn. He notes the quickness with which she follows one move up with another. They dance around each other in an almost graceful fashion. Both of them doing their best to gain the upper hand. Laila smiles internally at the obvious frustration leaking through into Jimin's movements. It's clear to her that he didn't expect for her to be such a fierce opponent and she plans to make him pay dearly for that mistake. A jarring hit to her shoulder cements the idea in her brain as she does her best to shake away the pain of the blow. No more games.

Sweat drips down the back of Jimin's neck as he grunts in exertion. He's very comfortable in his own masculinity and his identity as a man but there's still a tiny part of him that doesn't relish the idea of being bested by a woman with a quarter of his muscle mass. What had started as a simple sparring match to gauge Laila's skill has become an all out war to come out on top. She leaves herself open for the kill and Jimin lunges; his tunnel vision not allowing him to see it for the trap that it is.

Laila uses his own momentum to take him down, straddling his waist and pinning his shoulders to the mat as she leans down until her mouth is level with his ear. "I've never taken a life, Jimin." She whispers. The tip of her tongue slowly drags along the shell of his ear. She takes a second to delight in the shiver that rolls through him before she continues. "Don't make me change that so soon."

Despite the threatening nature of her words, Laila can feel an unmistakable hardness beginning to press against her core. Her eyes drift over Jimin's face while his own are firmly trained on the swell of her breasts. She's never met a man that found death threats sexually enticing but she reckons that there's a first time for everything. Her hips grind against his crotch teasingly, resulting in drawn out groan that ignites sparks in Laila's blood. Time to get up. She makes to do just that but Jimin lives up to his reputation of being quick on his feet, his hands shooting up to grab at her waist as he moves as if to flip her over.

"No!" She pushes his shoulders back down and completely removes herself from him. "I don’t fuck losers." Jimin is stunned for all of three seconds before a devilish smile splits his face in two.

"I'll make you eat those words right before I eat you out."

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Take Two (part 8)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Part 9: here

.

“Hey!”

Predictably, Vivi is the one to speak first, enthusiasm winning out over hesitation and confusion.

“What are you doing down there?”

Arthur shifts awkwardly, folding his arms across his chest to subtlety cover up the heart. It’s not that he thinks that Vivi means him any harm, but he kind of doesn’t want her to see it. He isn’t sure if the hesitation originates from new ghostly instincts or if it’s his usual subconsciousness.

“Hey,” He greets stiffly, wondering what, exactly, Mystery wants him to say, “I’m resting and…just…looking out this window.” The sentence is stilted, but so far, he hasn’t electrocuted her, so that’s a plus.

A quick movement and Mystery drops back behind the seat and out of view, giving Vivi more space. Arthur throws him one last reproachful glare, before focusing his full attention onto his friend. She seems fine, slightly fatigued maybe, but he assumes she’s been dealing with the cave’s aftermath and her own Arthur’s hospitalisation, so a little fatigue is understandable. Compared to his own Vivi at around the same point in the timeline, she is practically glowing.

“Okay…” Vivi briefly considers his lame excuse for hiding, giving him a speculative expression, frowning like she’s working through one of her mysteries, “Well, when you’re finished, looking out the window that is, I’d love to ask you a few questions. I’ve never met a ghost before you see. Didn’t really know they existed until like three days ago, actually.”

She grows more animated as she speaks, adding, “Thanks for that by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” He mutters quickly.  It was the least he could do to.

Vivi nods, accepting the response, gesturing back over her shoulder, “So, I’ll just wait back here then.”

She ducks away, and he hears her whisper to Lewis, “I think we’re making him nervous.”

“Makes a bit of sense. If ghosts weren’t skittish, then everyone would know about them.”

It never ceases to amaze him how Vivi can just take things in stride, accepting a situation quickly and without fuss. ‘Oh, there is a strange ghost if my friend’s van and I just found out my dog is a mystical fox? No problem, would you mind if I asked a question?’ Arthur scowls out at the darkened hospital windows, hesitating to sit up. It’s not really Vivi he has a problem with. Vivi is not the one he’d inadvertently killed, forgotten was dead, and then been murdered by after two years of fruitless searching. But, apparently, Mystery is not letting him out this interaction anytime soon. Forward is the only direction available. Arthur would just have to trust the dog to intervene should he become dangerous and short-circuit or something because that’s what he feels like doing right now.

One last scowl directed at the hospital and Arthur sits up, glancing over the seat divider and across the mostly empty van. Vivi has settled herself in the doorway, allowing her feet to rest on the pavement outside. Arthur’s eyes slide right past her to land on Lewis. The other man is leaning on the open door, arms loosely folded, attention split between his hushed conversation with Vivi and keeping an eye on the front seat.

Arthur makes immediate eye contact. A pause. 

“Hey…Lewis,” He greets, because damn if he hasn’t waited two long years to say those words. Situations that involved falling to his death didn’t count.

“Hi?” Lewis responds cautiously, glancing to Vivi and Mystery for reassurance. The intense eye contact is probably making him uncomfortable. That makes two of them.  

“It’s good to see you’re okay…” Arthur ploughs on, ignoring his own unease, instead trying to convey how relieved he is. Nothing can ever beat the absolute satisfaction that comes from seeing them both, together and alive.  It is almost enough to drown out the that cold, numb sensation and lingering irrational fear.

Vivi watches quietly for a second, glancing between them. Her attention lands on his mechanical arm, apparently noticing it for the first time. Arthur can practically see her mind whirring.

She clears her throat, “So… Mr Ghost… I see you know Lewis. I think you know me as well?”

Arthur glances quickly over, before returning his attention to Lewis, “Ah…Yeah.”

An uncomfortable cough.

“Can you tell me why, maybe? Are you, like, Arthur’s long-lost twin?”

Arthur snorts, shifting his full attention onto Vivi, “No…”

“Clone?”

He can’t tell if she’s serious or fishing for answers. Cautiously, he moves into a more comfortable position but remains in the front seat, so there is a buffer between them.

“How would that work?” He asks, almost amused. Almost.

“I dunno…but you seem very similar to Arthur, and you did just save him and Lewis, soooo…” The sentence is left open, inviting him to finish. What follows is a weighty silence broken only by the occasional angry crack of static.  Honestly, if he had somewhere to run too and weren’t so sure that Mystery would stop him, he’d probably be booking it right out of this conversation. 

“What’s your opinion on time travel?” He questions, averting his gaze down.

Lewis responds this time. “That it’s impossible?”

“Yeah. You might want to rethink that opinion.”

Arthur doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to see their expressions when they put two and two together.

“Wait…hold on,” Vivi breaks, voice sharp, “So you’re…that would mean…but you’re…you’re a...”

Lewis finishes, his words careful, “a ghost. You’re a ghost?”

“Really. I hadn’t noticed.” Arthur quickly defaults to his tried and true question dogging tactic: sarcasm.  He doesn’t have to see to know that the unstated admission is making them both upset. Understandable, no one wants to hear that their best friend is dead, even alternate further versions of that friend. Arthur would know, he had first hand experience.

“I’m sorry.”

Of course, Lewis immediately apologises. That’s just the sort of guy human Lewis had been.  

“Yeah. Me too…” Arthur mutters, no longer focused on the two. There is that regret again, creeping up on him, a constant shadow over all his thoughts. Arthur is never going to get a chance to apologise to his Lewis or explain how everything was a huge misunderstanding. One last crack of static and that unnatural heaviness returns to his limbs. Finally, all the electricity fizzles out like a petrol tank hitting empty.  The seat, the van, and Vivi and Lewis fade into a  haze.

“Hey, are you okay!”

“What’s happening?”

/Our friend is returning to his anchor. He has burnt through most of his energy reserves so this is to be expected. All will be well, once rested./

Vivi’s next question is angry, muted, echoing from a distance, “Did you know he was Arthur?”

Whatever Mystery response with, he doesn’t hear, but he does register Vivi snapping, “You couldn’t have told us this information earlier!”

He falls into blissful silence.

.

Note: Yeah, that went about as well as one could expect. 

Also, RIP Tumblr line break function. Just realised that they got rid of it. Unless that’s only a thing on my computer. 

Part 9: here

[ilcaeryx]

Tenacity: Chapter 7 - Ghostwriter [Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader]

SUMMARY: Your husband is on sick-leave, but the world cannot seem to stop bringing the hero out of him.

TAGS: Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader, family, comfort

COMMENT: 4971 words... almost 5k. Bruh.

A lone TV broadcasted fresh news into the empty living room, the steady-voiced news anchor preaching to no one in particular.

"Now for the daily news," he announced, clasping his hands above the desk and leaning towards the camera. "Today around three in the afternoon a man in his early twenties committed mass murder at Hikage elderly care facility. Fifteen deaths have been confirmed together with twenty-three injured. The perpetrator is currently on the run."

Change of scenery: a short clip is shown. There's a cascade of powder and debris avalanching down the hill where the entire facility previously stood. Perhaps half the building is now remaining. Like a calzone pizza someone has taken a bite off, the interior is exposed and there are staff members of public service dipping in and out of vision. Cameraman pans down the hill to show the chaos outside, specifically zooming into the heroes Uravity and Cementoss dashing towards the incoming debris.

"The police and hero associations involved plead with the public to stay clear of public spaces and crowds. The perpetrator is highly unstable and dangerous. Do not attempt to parlay with him."

In the front seat, you were preaching to someone in particular. Your feet on the dashboard, eating your confidence through a bag of potato chips and complaining to the driver, who thankfully didn't need to focus because of this massive traffic rubberneck. At this point, though, you suspected he was merely indulging you. He was looking forward, eyelids drooping and back straight against the car seat. With this somewhat forlorn expression he focused on something above the car in front of you, you noticed as you followed his gaze.

"And you know what, Hitoshi? I'm not letting her win, so I'm not going to stop doing that," you cut your complaints short and offered him your bag, "though I will stop ranting. Thank you for coming to my talk."

Hitoshi accepted. He pulled down the sunscreen above his head but you enjoyed the summer sun straight up burning your skin. Admittedly, you didn't have much of a choice considering that you were wearing a comfortable tank top and shorts that covered little. Your husband was better off, wearing khakis and a T-shirt, yet his forearms and cheeks were already coloured a faint red.

"Do you want something to drink? Seems like we'll be here for a while." You patted the space below your seat, searching.

"Sure. I think there's been an accident up ahead."

He stretched his right hand towards the radio. A second faster, you fished up the water bottle and smacked it into his palm. You gave him a knowing look.

That's a no-no.

Being on sick-leave meant leaving your job behind, even if your job physically was in front of you. Much like other aspects of concurrent culture, being unaware basically meant being left behind but this time it was serious. He couldn't take much more. And nevertheless, without his staunch refusal to take a vacation, you're certain he would've had deep guilt about it.

Fucking hero culture.

"Right."

Fathers carrying their young children. Couples rushing, hands interlocked. Elderly people clutching their bags. All of them rushing past your car, moving towards where the rubberneck presumably started. There were shouts accompanying this early stage of chaos around you, uncoherent shrieks distress.

Fear struck you imminently, your body shrinking as the visceral sounds continued. You folded your legs beneath the dashboard and let the plastic bags down through the empty space between your seat and the door.

Your fingers felt clumsy and numb when you reached and clutched Hitoshi's hand, barely aware of the pressure he enforced on the steering wheel. The tip of his fingers and nails paled visibly.

All the noise outside made thinking hard, much less rational thinking. As such you looked at Hitoshi for support.

"Get out of the car." It was a monotone order, one without malice or aggressivity. There was no explanation, nor did you have a follow-up plan, yet you obeyed. Integrating it as your sole objective, you let go of his hand and opened the car door cautiously, peering out for incoming humans.

Behind you, the driver's door slammed shut. By the time you got out Hitoshi was already striding to your side, his eyes scanning behind you. His hand shot up to your waist, his palm warm and solid against you. Ever lightly, Hitoshi buffered you in the direction of the horde, silently begging you to listen to your instincts. You wanted to, but you also wanted him with you - and by his concentrated stare and squared shoulders, you knew you would never convince him to.

Momentarily, the two of you locked eyes and you thought you could control yourself enough to stay with him.

A strange warping sound hollowed whatever conviction existed out of you, leaving a void desiring safety.

The primal demand to survive was staggeringly powerful and you did not understand how Hitoshi could resist it.

"Y/N, head up the road to the heroes," he said, overexaggeratedly articulating his words. His bared canines and wild hair confused you; how could he look like a panther ready to kill its prey while sounding like an audio book storyteller? "I can't focus while you're here - I need you safe. Now go!"

He half-shouted that last part, imploring whatever self-preservation you had to keep you safe. So it did, because you ran all the way up to the temporary encampment for wounded civilians. You escaped from danger only to plunge into chaos.

Without back-up and without gear, Hitoshi left you alone to face the rampanging villain, alone.

That's when you knew you would have to try harder or the hero world would consume all of your husband.

"That's a nasty Quirk you've got there," Hitoshi spat out, wiping blood off his cheek. He involuntarily winced when the back of his hand came into contact with the gushing wound, tingling pain following. A warm trail brushed down his chin and neck, soaking into the hem of his T-shirt. It wasn't too deep a wound, all things considered.

Overall, it wasn't just the combination of a disturbed villain and high-powered Quirk - the situation itself was beyond fucked up; two heroes had their limbs removed (for lack of a better word) and several civilians were strewn about, pinned down between cars or otherwise immobilized. He couldn't accurately discern the dead from the living, not with the swirling smoke billowing around the cars. Had this occurred back in the day, this would have been filed as a terrorist attack by the League of Villains.

"If you're not going to talk then at least look at me, dickhead," he said, switching his weight to the front of his feet.

And so the villain did.

The hero encampment was an absolute mess. When you first arrived you had attempted to help out, but your offer was declined. You passed by several heroes, quietly greeting those you recognized. Some gave you an encouraging smile, others barely registered you as a living being. Rapidly you had settled into sitting by some teenage girls, absorbing the atmosphere until your soul started to hurt.

At one point the endless cries droning on in the background merged from dozen different voices… to five… to losing complete meaning. Passively observing the frantic movements of humans around you, everything was rather meaningless. Whenever an ambulance arrived to retrieve a patient, they left behind a shaken and upset family to listen to the fading sirens. The worst was that as heroes removed cars from the highway for availability reasons and as the wounded were sent away, the suffering never dipped below a certain threshold. More and more people amassed, grieving and aiding each other in an intimate organic hivemind of humanity. Misery truly loved company.

This is how it remained for hours.

You had a vague idea of what was going on. Snippets of comments were travelling throughout camp. As apathetic as you felt, there was nothing else to do but listen to the speculation and information with those around. Eventually, word spread that the villain had been subdued.

Until you heard from a hero acquaintance that Hitoshi was alive and well, no tidbit eased your fear. When you heard 'Hitoshi' in the same sentence as alive, dizziness overwhelmed you. Once you knew he would return, you retired to a less populated corner and passed out.

Maybe a few minutes or an hour later, you came to with a powerful headache crowning your skull. It made your vision float uncomfortably when you sat up at too fast, so you leaned towards a crate. You were completely out of breath despite having done nothing rigorous.

Even later after you had awakened, Hitoshi found you. Your husband looked incredibly roughed up; his vacation clothes had left him defenseless, his knees and face skinned and cut. As he approached he walked unevenly, avoiding straining his left leg with his weight.

If you stood up, you knew you were going to faint. Thus you stayed down and he joined you with a pained groan, though he did seem pleased to see you. In his own way, of course. The alert expression he had donned that noon was worn out, resetting to its normal resting bitch face. His untamed hair was partly flat against his skin, sticky with sweat, and partly roughed around like bed-hair. He repeatedly pushed his hair away from his face but it returned all the same, tangling in front of his eyes. He was so tired…

"Are you hurting?" you asked, pointing at the white bandage on his cheek.

Hitoshi laid down on the grass beside you, bracing himself on his elbows. Until he reached out for you, you didn't make a move at him. Something finally clicked in you as you nestled against his side, letting him guide you against him. It almost felt wrong, holding your usually touch-averse husband in this suffocated place where so many were without their loved ones.

"The medics patched me up well enough. Getting away with these kind of injuries against someone like that is a reward in itself - some people weren't as lucky. And you listened to me, for once. I expected you to talk back when I told you to run."

You glanced up at him, squinting in the sunlight.

"Well," you started and blinked dumbly, not sure of how to phrase your rebuttal. Right now you had poor recollection of these last few hours, though you could remember being unable to control yourself. "I thought that just this once, you probably knew what you were doing. Also, why are you insinuating I never listen to you?"

You heard him shake his head lightly.

"It's less not listening and more reckless behaviour, to be perfectly honest."

Again, his words swam inside your head without giving you a clear and definite feeling or thought. You curled your leg over his while trying to ignore the clamor around you.

"I want to answer 'Wait until I get used to this and I'll talk back all the time', but I don't want to go through this again, Hitoshi."

He inclined his head to look at you, frowning softly. While he did seem to want to answer, he dejectedly caressed your shoulder with his thumb. Through the thick fog inside your head, you reasoned that he too wished for this to never happen again. Wouldn't that be amazing? An alternative lifestyle, or rather the one that the majority of the population lived by, where you didn't fear that your spouse would die on the job or accidentally reveal where their loved ones live to villains.

This, along with the exhaustion and hunger, made it hard to convey what you were thinking, so you just sighed. "I want to go home."

"I'll get someone to pick us up, but there's something I need to tell you."

Upon returning home, the puffiness of your eyes had abated and the pulsing ache behind your head matched the one in your chest. As soon as the car stopped, you released yourself from the belt and thanked the driver with a gravelly voice. You hurried into your apartment, keys shaking in your hand. With Hitoshi right behind you, you entered your home to soft mumbling from the living room.

Both of you froze, until you recognized a voice actor's famous drawl.

"We left the TV on," Hitoshi said quietly, gently pushing you aside and striding into the living room with squared shoulders. You followed him inside when you heard him hum discontently, flipping through the channels. The TV flashed and it conveniently showed the news detailing today's attack. As much as you didn't want to know about it and for Hitoshi to further stress himself up, the rule about no news could not be enforced when family members were involved. It seemed like no matter how much you wanted to shield him from the world, life would find a way to screw specifically with the two of you.

"I can't believe he's done this," you said, feeling your soul evaporate from your body as the camera crew showed the remnants of the elder care facility from a distance. It seemed that all the inhabitants and staff had been evacuated. You wondered if they were still waiting for transport into the city hospitals by the hero encampment where you had stayed. Your car was still left on the road together with those of many others. An overview of the road flicked up, cars pushed to the sidelines for transportation.

"He doesn't exactly fit the usual profile," Hitoshi said.

You shouldn't indulge him, you really shouldn't…

"The usual profile being..?"

"A person in a vulnerable position. Money, work, problems with people… People don't turn into villains for no reason, I think. There's got to be something more guiding them, just like there is for those of us on the lawful side of society."

"Ah. I guess that is true."

It wasn't unthinkable that your brother had been influenced into committing a crime; he was a successful businessman with a throng of acquaintances, a few loyal friends and some noteworthy enemies. Much like Hitoshi, he regarded his vocational duties with serious respect, more than you would tolerate considering that all he made was money for his bosses. Someone out for his position could've done something to him, with the consequences being these.

Your baby brother in this position… You felt sick to your stomach. Was it because of the destruction? Because he never showed signs of weakness or whatever the fuck made him do this? Or did he perhaps just never reveal that part of himself to you?

That couldn't be true though. You two were so close.

"Can we go see him?" you asked, uncertain of how police protocol worked. On the way home, you had listened to the local radio comment about the attack and there seemed to be a high death count. That would probably affect whether or not you could see your brother.

Hitoshi stared blindly into the TV and said, "Will you face him even after everything he's done?"

It equally dumbfounded and conflicted you, it really did. 'Eighteen deaths' said the updated sign beneath the news anchor, increasing the death toll by three since this afternoon. On one hand, he was your brother - of course you'd back him up. That's what your initial instincts said. On the other hand, this visceral, unknown side scared you. The middle ground was curious, morbidly so.

"I saw your brother do some heroes in," Hitoshi said, his lips barely moving. "He ripped their arms and legs into oblivion. If he hadn't been confused after seeing me, I would have ended up like that too."

Slowly, you crept up to Hitoshi and attached yourself to his arm, feeling his muscle tense up. He had all the reason to be stressed. You wouldn't let him go in any case, not after today. You probably lost your brother after this ordeal and you refused to lose your husband, too. With your body chilled, as if submerged in ice cold water, you said, "I want to. I want to believe this wasn't his doing. It doesn't seem likely, though… If he is stuck behind bars I don't want to live without knowing why."

"Right. You talk to him, get to know his motives and hope that the people surrounding you have the tact to not ask you about it."

"Whatever I do, I will lose, then."

Since the villain's identity wasn't broadcasted the rest of your family and friends remained ignorant, aside from your brother's family and your parents. Your sister-in-law was inconsolable, you heard from your mother when you spoke on the phone. On the verge of tears around your parents, somewhat controlled around her children. Because your brother had young children she was keeping it together, but only barely. The entire family was camped out at your parents' place and the only reason you didn't go was because Hitoshi had been credited for suppressing the villain.

While your sister-in-law supposedly didn't mind, you and Hitoshi agreed that it'd be a bad idea to show up. All you could do was hope that your nephews weren't told, as they adored Hitoshi and vice versa.

During the night, you were unable to sleep. Hitoshi stayed holed up in your bedroom attempting to sleep while you straight up didn't bother trying. Before he left you by the kitchen table with a glass of juice and your laptop you promised him you wouldn't keep reading the news or comments on social media. With a quick kiss he bid you goodnight.

Throughout your misery there was a tiny speck of appreciation for him caring about your mental well-being. You could keep yourself off the internet and play games or whatever tickled your fancy at 2:20AM, but you couldn't stop ruminating.

At this point, you felt like a conspiracy theorist and you were convinced that Hitoshi would deadpan you for this idea.

Honestly, you thought and finished your second cup of coffee, as long as it gets me through this I don't mind going a bit batshit.

Your head was massively pulsating and it felt like you were going crazy with everything. Everything was going to hell and nothing made sense.

How long would this go on?

At precisely 4:13AM you stumbled into your shared bedroom.

Boy, did you have a revelation for your husband.

You crawled over your side of the bed to him, who laid sleeping on his side. He awoke before you could touch him with your shaky hands, looking awfully alert and aware for someone with permanent dark bags under his eyes. Hitoshi blinked against the hall lights until he focused on you, frowning.

"I don't think my brother did this out of his own volition," you said as steadily as you could, because you 100% needed him on your side right now.

He stared blankly at you, lips spread slightly. Turning around beneath the covers, he rotated until he could face you properly.

"You know my brother. He wouldn't do this out of his own volition, Hitoshi. Why would someone with a good career and family go on a killing spree? This has to be a mistake."

Heavy subject to breach his sleep with, you understood. Gripping the sheets, you begged him with your eyes to hear you out.

"So you think he's been coerced into this?" he said after some contemplation.

"Yes! Why would he do this otherwise?"

He didn't answer for a while and you started feeling defensive, so you evaded his gaze.

"Not everyone's motives are understandable," he finally said, using his forearm to keep his hair away from his face. "Everyone does whatever they want, regardless of the people around them or whatever they were born with. All I know is that he didn't have to kill humans."

That sounded very different from what he preached earlier to you. If people did what they want and the circumstances were irrelevant, why was the profile he spoke about so important? Fucking meaningless, all of it. You let air escape through your teeth, more like the determined hiss from a rattlesnake than a sigh. All you could try was to convince your silvertongue husband to believe you.

"Hitoshi..!"

You looked at him and got taken aback by his expression, one of profound sadness.

"Baby, I need you to listen to me," his voice like liquid. "There's nothing we can do right now. We just have to wait for justice to work things out."

"You need to hear me out."

"Right. I'll do that later. Now, lay down and get some shuteye."

Too tired to decipher whether he used his Quirk on you or not, you blacked out doused in disappointment.

Turns out your proposition wasn't positively received by Hitoshi. He seemed pensive about your words but you could tell that he didn't place much weight on them. Indeed, he disagreed strongly that your brother had been forced or otherwise influenced into this. When pressed for reasons, he continued that people could be blackmailed into financial shenanigans to cover them up, but downright murder was out of the question. That would obviously raise hell and was the opposite of being clandestine. His sources were his own experiences.

The one thing he had no clear answer to was whether his brainwashing could overwrite instructions from other similar Quirks. Seeing him doubt and scratch his head over it gave you some relief. This was your sole consolation.

It wasn't like you forced Hitoshi back to his workplace, but he was adamant on following this up. At least that was a place safer than anywhere else, considering how many pro heroes and side kicks that were in the vicinity. You could just hope that they wouldn't rope him into doing work. If they did, you'd personally show up at the office and leave with your husband and someone's bloody nuts.

While he was away you visited your family, gathered your thoughts and returned home with some of your mom's homecooked food. Everyone was in agreement; something strange was going on with your brother.

When thinking about it, you thought that he must've been pretty damn out of it to not recognize Hitoshi. Hitoshi didn't recognize him because of his get-up, but your brother should have recognized him. Why would he answer out of anger instead of being shocked or confused? Like Hitoshi had said before, if your brother had reacted out of instinct instead of having gotten confused, Hitoshi would've limped away with a missing limb or worse. As much as it terrified you that those people died because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, you were secretly relieved that he arrived at the right time. However, the rest of the world didn't see it like that.

The news were always droning in the background while you were at home, because if your husband was at work you would also allow yourself to stay up to date with the news. They claimed that the villain most likely could've been neutralized had the heroes reacted faster or some other idiotic attack. You hated the worship that surrounded the heroes because it placed an insurmountable amount of pressure on a relatively small amount of people. The consequences? Overwork, survivor's guilt, high burnout and suicide rates, among many.

Hitoshi had updated you in a dry tone after his prolonged visit to his office. Word spread like hellfire when it came to mass murder and this was no different. With your heart rippling with fear, you listened to him explain that your brother had not been the only villain and that the heroes were currently tracking down the last two. There aren't words to describe the relief that shone through your body, the mere presence of hope aggressively raising your solemn mood. It could still mean that your brother had collaborated, yet you felt that you were right in assuming he was coerced. Your newfound hope fuelled you and you couldn't wait until you could tell your parents.

After your talk you gloomily realized that you shouldn't have let Hitoshi go in the first place, because his co-worker called him back into the office, saying that the cops were there. Was him being away really worth the information? Perhaps he had been right in saying that knowing everything about the case wasn't worth it.

Shinsou Hitoshi was accustomed to people gossiping about him. For some reason, people were very interested in his Quirk, the dark bags under his eyes and his ties to UA. When he returned to his office for the second time that day, his people had a newfound fixation with the fact that his brother-in-law had committed a severe crime. Indeed, he hung out behind a corner and overheard his assistants talk about it. His coffee tasted badly, regardless of how much milk he put in it.

"You're the last person I would expect to be here," His manager's voice rang out behind him. Hitoshi actually jumped, almost spilling his cup. His assistants ceased talking. "Yet it cannot be helped. Did you hear from..?"

"Yes," he said in a monotone voice and peeked across his shoulder, pokerface on. "I heard that the police came here to talk?"

His manager tightened his tie and gave him a tired look. "They're waiting for you."

"I won't keep them waiting further, then." Without further ado, he set off towards his office room, walking briskly past his assistants. If someone could spontaneously explode, they probably would've done it by now.

Hitoshi felt guilty for his manager. Sato would be working overtime to highlight his subjugation of the villain and quench whatever rumors were spreading. Unfortunately the rest of his team participated in that... A little support from his team wouldn't be bad. The public was ruthless in their criticism and he wanted nothing more than go back to his wife. His sick-leave was cut short by your personal tragedy that extended into becoming his personal win and tragedy. Usually when he successfully dealt with villains, he and his team would be thinking about ways to capitalize on it. This time around he would want it buried ASAP, both for his sake and yours.

Although it wouldn't stop after this little talk with the police, he started to seriously consider sick-leave a positive thing. He could certainly use a break from this madness.

"So the police came to question you?" You sat cross-legged on the sofa, spine hunched over and eyes set in shadows. It wasn't the 'seductive kind of deeply-set eyes' he allegedly had but 'I'm tired of everything eyes'. The way your body language had shot from lethargic to alarmed after he announced that he had news made him clench his fists in hopelessness. It was something he had encountered before when dealing with civilians in denial about the deaths of their friends or relatives. Or rather, it was a human quality. Damn if he hadn't thought about his brother-in-law being forced into this by someone with a Quirk like his.

"Yes," he said, leaning back onto his armchair. "It was pretty standard. They asked questions about what happened, his Quirk and how he acted. I'll skip the details…"

He trailed off, staring off into nothingness as he structured his thoughts quickly. "I kept thinking about what you said before… about my Quirk overwriting other Quirks. I told them I thought that your brother seemed off and not entirely there, just like it is with Brainwashing."

"So it's not impossible?"

That was a hard question he didn't have a factual answer to. If Brainwashing could be undone by hurting the subject, other suggestion-like Quirks could have other conditions for release. The two other villains had, much like the League of Villains members in the past, unregistered Quirks and it'd take a few days to completely figure them out. Until then, this would only be speculation.

"Probably not," he said reluctantly.

Your face relaxed, your shadows becoming less intensive somehow. Hitoshi was content yet uneasy. This was the closest he'd ever come to letting another person influence his observations. Courts experienced problems with witnesses showing bias or remembering things wrong, which could prove important for either incarceration or for the villain to regain their freedom. It surprised him how you could influence him to that extent. No one was immune, but still…

He regarded you seriously, clasping a hand behind his neck. While he was happy that you were relieved by the small chance for your brother to have been coerced, he understood the feeling of wanting to prove everyone wrong and wished you hadn't influenced his thinking.

But that was also why he liked you. Someone who could show him other ways to think. Who didn't like to be put in their place ever so often?

"I don't know how it'll turn out with your brother. I don't want to promise you anything," he said.

You wiggled your head loosely to the sides and hummed. Not quite content, then.

Hitoshi used his upper body strength to lift himself off the armchair and struggled over to you, left leg flaring up in pain. It disappeared once he sat down beside you and you let out an unwilling laugh when he laid down across your lap, his head leaning against your thigh. Your hands combed through his unruly hair and he groaned when you liberated his tangled ends.

This girl…

When it came to you, he simply didn’t know when to stop.

How far would the two of you get with your words and his voice?

If you liked this, give it a reblog or like! I’ll be releasing more soon.

Link to Masterlist

[kindofchaoticgood]

Til the Storm Comes, and the World is Quiet

Chapter One: I am a Problem, that Doesn't Want to Be Solved

(Warnings for gun violence and police brutality)

On the same day that Dizzy Tremaine gets an invitation to Auradon personally delivered to her, five guards show up at Ursula’s Fish and Chip Shoppe and announce that they are here for Uma, daughter of Ursula.

It is lunch hour at the Shoppe, and the patrons are sitting stock-still at their tables, the normal din dead silent. Their eyes are fixed on the guards and the handguns that they sport, holstered unobtrusively at their sides. No one dares to speak.

Even Uma’s crew, normally willing to start a fight with anyone, is quiet. Harry Hook is as tense as a bowstring, and the only reason that he hasn’t spoken up yet is because Claudine Frollo has a death grip on his arm. Her normally russet complexion is significantly paler than usual, and Gonzo stands behind her with narrowed eyes at the guards. Desiree and Jonas, Uma’s cousins, are the only ones who keep their full attention on Uma.

Uma is standing in the middle of the room, in the middle of taking an order from a Stabbington cousin before the guards came in. She isn’t really in the mood to deal with this today. Her mother was being even more of a bitch than usual this morning and decided to throw all of her clothes out into the ocean. Everything she is wearing is borrowed; a black tank top from Marya Rasputin, a teal wrap skirt from Desiree, and boots from Sierra that are a size too small, but goddamn it, she is not going barefoot. Her eyeliner is carved with a sharp precision around her eyes; a silent warning for no one to fuck with her today, and half of her hair is up in a top knot.

In short, she doesn’t have the patience to deal with this bullshit.

So when the lead guard says that they are here to take her away, Uma just rolls her eyes. “Cool, can I get back to work now?”

A low murmur passes through the crowd as Uma pulls a pencil out from behind her ear and turns to the Stabbington cousin, ignoring the guards. “Was that dry or wet rot that you wanted?”

“Listen,” one of the guards, a clean-shaven fellow with a youthful face that belies his salt-and-pepper hair, steps forward and addresses Uma. “We have orders from the King to bring you to Auradon—”

“Was I talking to you?” Uma snaps at him, and then turns back to the Stabbington. “So about that rot—”

The guard reaches out and takes her arm. “Just come with us and there’ll be no problem—”

Uma stares at him and then lets out a scoff. “Seriously?” Her lips curl up into a sneer, and Harry lets out a low growl from behind her. Claudine’s grip on his arm tightens and Gonzo grabs the collar of Harry’s jacket before he does something stupid, like he always does.

“Get your hands off of me,”

The guard stands firm, though he looks like he’s starting to regret ever coming to the Isle. “We have orders from the King—”

“Get your fucking hands off her man, don’t make her say it twice,” Gil warns, coming up beside Uma and glaring at the soldier with a venom that’s so unlike him that the entire crew stares at him in disbelief.

“Stand down,” one of the other guards calls out, walking up next to the one holding Uma’s arm. “There’s no need for violence if you just come with us peacefully.”

She gives him a look of contempt and sneers, shaking her head. “That’s what they all say, but we both know that isn’t true, don’t we?”

The guard not holding her arm flushes, and in that moment, Uma can practically taste the tension in the room building up, and the stares from everyone around her feel as though they are burning into her flesh.

Something is building, and she isn’t sure what’s going to break it.

“I’ve had enough of your words, sea witch,” the guard says sternly, giving her arm a little pull.

That would do it.

Uma looks down at his hand on her arm and gives him her famous glare, the one that makes grown men quake in their boots and always remember to pay and tip well. “I did tell you,” she says in a soft and deadly voice, “to get your hands off of me.”

Then Uma drives the heel of her free hand into the guard’s face, breaking his nose and wrenching her arm away in one smooth motion.

All hell breaks loose.

Gil punches another guard in the face that tries to grab Uma, Harry manages to free himself from Claudine and Gonzo and is now holding a sword to the throat of the guard whose nose was now broken, and Big Murph is trying to herd the younger members and siblings of the crew to the side. But six-year-old Morwenna Mim manages to get in a few solid jabs with her shiv before Bonnie drags her away, and is still struggling to get back into the fray. Ashe gets a guard in a headlock while Sierra kicks him in the chest, and Marya backs one against a wall with her knife. All of this happens while the diners of the Chip Shoppe abandon their meals and create a stampede in order to escape.

In all the chaos, everyone manages to miss one of the guards brandish a syringe and plunge it into Uma’s neck. Uma’s eyes flutter, and then she goes limp.

At that moment, Claudine can feel her heart stop beating, and one of Uma’s little cousins lets out a whimper. Ashe freezes, and Gil looks like he’s about to throw up.

“UMA!” Harry roars. He lunges to grab her, but the guard scoops her up before he reaches her.

“What did you do to her, you bastards?” Jonas shouts, vaulting over a table and standing next to Harry. His sword is pointed threateningly at the guard holding his cousin, and he is seething.

“If you killed her, I swear to all the fucking gods, I’ll burn you alive—” Harry snarls, pressing his hook against the throat of the guard hard enough to restrict breathing.

But since the crew has gotten distracted, they forget to keep an eye on the guards, and that gives two of them the liberty to get up and stagger over to join their companion in the front.

“Stand down,” one of them snaps out, a black eye blooming brilliantly on his pale skin.

“Like fuck I will,” Jonas sneers, his arm never wavering.

The two guards pull out their guns and point them at Harry and Jonas, causing Ashe to shriek and the kids standing off to the side to start whimpering in earnest. “Stand down, now!”

“They’re just kids!” Sierra shouts, her voice cracking.

“Just put down the guns—” Marya tries to reason.

“What is it about ‘stand down’ that you people don’t understand?” One of the guards demands, frustrated. He unclicks the safety and re-aims the gun at Jonas. “Stand down, and I’m not saying it again!”

Watching this, Bonnie feels physically sick. Jonas’s sisters are standing in the corner, they shouldn’t be seeing this. They shouldn’t have to see their brother at gunpoint and their cousin taken down by some dicks with orders. Desiree is standing right there, she doesn’t deserve to see her twin brother and her cousin be victims. Fuck, am I about to see my boyfriend get shot?

Harry is stone-faced, but he removes his hook from the guard’s throat after casting a glance at Jonas. Ashe and Sierra immediately grab his arms before he can grab any other weapons or try to strangle all of the guards by himself.

Jonas is shaking and his voice is unsteady as he says, “Okay, I’m putting down my sword now.” He drops his sword carefully on the floor and makes it a point to kick it away from himself. “Can I please just check her pulse to make sure she’s still breathing?”

The guard considers this and then jerks his head forward. Jonas approaches cautiously, careful to keep his hands in the guard's eyesight at all times, and presses two fingers against Uma’s throat.

For a moment, the only sounds in the shoppe are of harsh breathing.

Then Jonas retracts his hand. “She’s alive,” he says quietly.

Harry slumps in relief, Gonzo starts breathing again, and Claudine lets out a shuddering sigh.

“If she had just cooperated with us, none of this would have needed to happen,” the guard says sternly as Desiree begins to sob.

“Come on men,” he hoists Uma over his shoulder and walks out of the Chip Shoppe. The other four guards silently walk out of the restaurant, glaring at the crew as they file out.

The door closes with a bang! behind them, and then Jonas sinks to the floor, putting his head in his hands. Bonnie runs over to him, and wraps her arms around him, pulling his head to her chest. Jonas and Desiree’s little sisters are crying, and Sierra walks over to try and comfort them, wrapping her arms around the youngest while Claudine tries to comfort the others.

Harry starts to walk towards the door, but Desiree calls out after him, her voice still thick. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“To get our Captain back,” He picks up his jacket from the ground and puts it on.

“Dude, that’s a suicide mission,” Gil points out, grabbing his shoulder.

Harry jerks his shoulder away. “Fine by me.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake – listen to me, you self-centered bastard,” Desiree snaps, walking up in front of Harry. “You are of no use to us dead, okay? We need you right now.”

“Get out of my way,” Harry replies darkly.

“No.” Desiree’s eyes are full of tears, but her voice is strong and full of contempt. “Do you think that you’re the only one who cares about her?” Her voice shakes a little on the next sentence. “I love her too, you know.”

At the mention of that forbidden emotion, Harry’s shoulders come up defensively, but he says nothing.

“They have Uma,” Desiree says quietly as Marya comes up next to her and wraps her arms around her. “We can’t do anything to them as long as they have her.”

Harry gives her a look of hopeless rage. “Then what do we do?” he demands, and he sounds so much like a lost little boy that Desiree can feel her heart twisting.

“We wait,” she says, feeling the words settle in the air like weights. “And hope that they give her back.”

[paranaturalsecretsanta-blog]

To Find a Star to Build an Isaac

Hey, @lilypupart! I was your secret santa this year! I hear you and I share a common love of Isaac O'Connor, so I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed working on it! Merry Christmas, and a happy new year! <3

by @iamwhelmed

The day after Thanksgiving was one of the worst days of the year, not only because his parents had demanding (too demanding) jobs and he would almost always be left alone in a large, spacious home– but because it was up to him to put up every Christmas decoration the O’Connor family owned. Now, after seventh grade, Isaac’s powers had given him a bit of leeway with the lights he’d drape over the rims of his roof and the tall tree that stood towering over his driveway, but the actual Christmas tree, the most important spectacle, was still just as difficult as it always had been years previous. Should he try to launch his way up to the top to place the golden star at the tip of the tree with his handy-dandy wind powers, he’d likely launch himself through the ceiling, into the master bedroom above. So, every year, he had to lug the ladder in from the garage, which in and of itself was a feat considering his preteen height and its home atop the large blue cabinets that greeted the family Ferrari when they pulled in. He had to stack empty moving boxes to reach the first step of the ladder, because a hole in the roof of the garage was just as bad as a hole in the living room ceiling.

After that, he’d get to lugging the boxes upon boxes of ornaments down from the attic, where his mother was very stubborn about putting them (“because they might get crushed in the garage”). So, he’d jump up and pull the attic ladder down, climb up, then he’d have to find the right boxes among cobwebs and boxes of old toys he’d outgrown (he’d more than once placed his foot over one of his old roller-skates, and more than once he’d promptly slipped back down the ladder and down the staircase adjacent– the attic was dark). Once he’d located all 5…teen… boxes of ornaments, he’d have to measure out just the right amount of wind to set them delicately upon the lower ground, which still, he guessed, was easier than awkwardly climbing down the ladder with an arm full of fragile orbs.

And then, after all of that was done, and he had the ladder from the garage, and he’d somehow managed to carry all fifteen boxes of ornaments down his staircase without tumbling to his death, he’d be ready to decorate. He’d take every sentimental, hand-me-down ornament and place them along the tree, then he’d be sure to put up the reds and keep them separated from the golds and the blues, and he’d have to be sure to disperse them evenly around all sides of the tree, top-to-bottom. Then, he’d find the time to piece together popcorn on silver lines of string, then drape them over every branch strategically so the lines fell in a swirl from the lowest branch to the highest. And then, he’d fish the star out of whatever box he’d stuck it in the year before, climb the ladder for the final time that late November, and place it on the top of the tree, like a box gifted to the perfectly boxed gift. Afterwards, he could step back and admire his work, enjoy the beauty granted by the twinkling lights adorning the O’Connor Christmas tree; this usually meant grabbing a manga volume, a mug of green tea (with honey and lemon), and plopping down on the couch to watch the sunset, the room growing dark and the tree growing bright.

And then, this year, for whatever reason, he couldn’t find the flipping star.

“But I don’t understand!” Isaac tossed tinsel over his shoulder from one box, then scooched to his left and dug through another. “Where could it have possibly gone? We never put it anywhere else! It has to be in one of these boxes– what the flip!”

He sat there for a good, eh, twelve, maybe thirty minutes scrounging through box after box after box, only to come up empty-handed each and every time. Isaac sat back on his knees, hands reaching up to grab at either side of his head, jaw unlatched.

“No. No no no. This can’t be happening. How did I–? What did I–?” He twisted around to face the staircase. “I must have left a box up there! That’s it! There’s no way I–!”

He raced up the stairs, faster than he was sure he’d ever willed his legs to move before, then climbed up the ladder to the attic fast enough he could have been climbing the wall of a trench. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he was off and grabbing at whatever, tossing Mom’s wedding dress aside, Dad’s old bowling shirt down below, and even the smaller, older glass tank of his pet fish Sasuke; everything that could have been in his way had been moved out of his way thrice times over, and by the time he’d given up, the attic was an unorganized, disastrous mess, and he was pretty sure that tank had shattered at the bottom of the ladder– he’d have to be careful getting down.

Isaac fell to his knees in the dead center of the room, hands folded in his lap, eyes wide as he stared down at… nothing.

“I don’t understand. It should be here. That star is– it’s– it’s the most important part! How could I have lost it? Mom and Dad are gonna kill me!”

He could see it then, their distasteful faces as they walked through the front door to see their Christmas tree woefully incomplete. He could hear himself begging for mercy, feel the leather of his mother’s skirt in his hands as he tugged and pleaded for forgiveness. He could hear Dad huff, and see Mom stick her nose in the air.

“You had one job, Isaac, one!”

“What a disgraceful child we’ve had, dear.”

“Indubitably.”

He screamed, tossing his head back and clenching his fists.

Max cocked an eyebrow when he half-carried himself into the corner store, and even seemed to think for a moment before saying anything– but of course, he still had to say something. It was Max.

“Out black friday shopping?”

Isaac slumped over to the small decorations aisle towards the beginning of the end of the small store, mirroring Max’s raised eyebrow. “No. Why?”

“You look…” Max eyed him up and down, the snorted into his hand. “You just look… different is all.”

Isaac glanced down at himself, finding with mild contempt that one of his pant legs, which was meant to be sitting at his ankle, was instead sitting just below his knee in a bunch, and his jacket sleeve had fallen midway down his arm, and he might’ve been covered in red and blue and gold glitter, if Max could see it from a foot away.

“…Shut up.”

The corner store decoration aisle was about as expansive as one might expect, filled from one end to the other with tins for cookies, stocking stuffers, huge (gigantic) squares of peppermint bark, and wrapping paper, accompanied by a handful of stick-on ribbons. Isaac sighed. It was worth a try.

Max came round the corner, for some reason carrying his scooter, because that wasn’t weird to have on-hand or anything. “What are you looking for?”

Isaac slowly twisted to him, then mimed the shaped of a Christmas tree, pointing to the top of the imaginary shape he’d conjured. Max squinted at him, and he hissed through his teeth. “…star topper.”

“A star? Like, to put on a tree?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear, Max.”

“Wow, geez, somebody’s snippy.” He shrugged, then gestured to the front sliding doors with his thumb. “We don’t have any here, but I think there’s a collection of them down the street at–” Isaac had already run by him by then, leaving nothing but a gust of wind (and a small cloud of glitter, which Max stuck his tongue out at and waved off) in his wake. “Would ya let me finish my flipping sentence? Geez!”

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew black friday was a huge deal, and that adults went nutso bonkers over it every frigging year, but he always figured it extended to half-off widescreen televisions and clothes and collectable figurines– never, in a hundred-million years, did he think it would extend to tree toppers of all things.

Isaac stared blankly, pale-faced, up at the rows and rows all along the aisle that were completely devoid of any and all tree toppers. He blinked, then tilted his head, and tried to speak, but the words just weren’t there.

An employee put to stocking passed him by, cart full of things he needed to be stacking on shelves. He was a gangly teen, with widely-rimmed glasses and an elf hat, which he clearly detested wearing, sitting snugly to the corner of his head. He looked from his cart to Isaac, then to the empty shelves, and whistled. Isaac didn’t respond, just stood there, staring. The employee set another box of “Mister and Misses Clause” salt and pepper shakers on the shelf before taking the cart by its handle and moving forward. “Man, dude, people are nuts.”

Isaac nodded wordlessly.

  Five store, three small Christmas Decoration stands, and two gas stations later, Isaac was more than dumbfounded– he was completely, utterly, entirely aghast. Why in the world did everyone in Mayview just– just up and decide they all wanted to spend money on tree toppers? Where did such an inane urge come from? Why would they waste their black friday savings on that when there were bath bombs to be purchased? Mattresses to get warranties on? New cell-phones to purchase and be proud of before inevitably growing tired of it and yearning for the newer model?

No matter what way he looked at it, it made no sense. He’d never known Mayview to go so crazy over stars– lights? Yes. Fake deer for the lawn? Yes. The actual trees to put the stars on? Yes– but never, never had he ever seen the entire city of Mayview go haywire over the flipping star that goes on the tree, the final part, the thing most people have without a doubt.

So he got to thinking. Had it been stolen by some Christmas-star-loving poltergeist? A ghost longing for its favorite holiday? Maybe the entire town wanted stars because they’d all somehow simultaneously decided that their older toppers were boring and old?

Isaac exhaled into his freezing, mittenless hands; he’d forgotten to grab some on his frantic rush out the door. It didn’t really matter why all of Mayview suddenly decided they desperately needed new stars, what mattered is that he was walking home empty-handed, and his parents would no doubt attempt to legally disown him. Christmas had always been his thing, the one thing he could do to impress them, to really wow them and knock them off their feet every year without fail. He’d grow more creative with the lights and reef and light-up Santa each November, and they always seemed to love it more and more and… as much as he did.

And this year, he’d disappoint them.

As it was, he’d felt the entire dispersal of lights in the front yard leading up to their home had been less than ideal, and placing the Santa at the front gate had to be the least good place to put him, in hindsight (he imagined the gate opening and the car rolling in, only for them to unintentionally flatten and pop Santa on their way up the driveway, Santa’s limp, balloon-like body bending further and further back until eventually the smallest bit of spwee would signal the tear of a hole where air could escape). But the tree– the tree had always been where he shined. Somehow he’d manage to make the tree increasingly awe-inspiring with every year that passed. And now? Now, even the tree would be a let-down, and he’d be a disgrace to the O’Connor name.

“Oh, Isaac! You’re home! Want to help your darling mother set the star on the tree?”

He skidded to a halt, nearly forgetting to close the front door behind him. His mom smiled from her place by the ladder leading right up to the tree, blonde curls bouncing as she hopped around in one of his dad’s nightshirts and a pair of fuzzy socks. But what was perhaps the craziest thing about the situation, the closest he’d ever gotten to a Christmas miracle in his thirteen years of life, was the brand-new, white-as-snow star in her hand, every bit as shiny (shinier, even) as the one he’d lost. “Wh– bu– where did you get that star?”

She giggle and waved him over, taking one of his frozen hands in hers and scolding him for a moment about the cold of his skin. She placed the star in his hand and grinned. “Darling, you know how I love those home decor magazines, don’t you? Well, they said that gold stars were out season. White stars are in!”

Isaac blinked, then shook his head in complete confusion. “Wait, hold on, you threw out the old star?”

“It was older than you are, champ.” His dad entered the living room from the archway of their kitchen, careful not to bump into the ladder that took up a quarter of the doorway. He seemed equally as relaxed as his mother, dressed in khakis and an ugly Christmas sweater he was sure his grandmother had knitted for him– complete with light-up reindeer nose. He took a sip of what smelled, from where Isaac stood, like hot cocoa and glanced at Isaac over the rim. “It was time for a change, anyway. That thing was starting to rust over.”

Isaac pointed in the direction of their front door. “Bu-but where’d you get that? I’ve been all over town! I– I couldn’t find tree toppers anywhere!”

His mom laughed through her nose, moving out of the way so he could climb the ladder. He took the invitation and raised one hand to climb, careful not to drop the brand new star on the ground on his way up. “They start selling Christmas decorations in early November, Isaac. You think I’d wait until black friday to buy a tree topper? Please! I’m not a heathen!”

When he reached the top of the ladder, he took a deep breath. A quick glance down, and he saw his mother and father staring back at him, his mother with hands folded under her chin, his father still staring up at him over the rim of his gingerbread man mug. With a smile, he placed the snow white star atop the tree, then pulled back down the ladder to admire his handiwork. His mother set a hand on one of his shoulders, and his father came to set a hand on his other.

The entire room seemed to open up more, and Isaac had to squint, dare he risk being blinded by the twinkling lights of the tree, or the mesmerizing glare of the star.

His father squeezed his shoulder, and his mother giggled to herself. “You’ve outdone yourself this year, dear.” She used her other hand to reach down and pinch his cheek, and had he been in a worse mood, he might have battered her away– but he didn’t. His father pulled away, then padded in his socks over to the archway into the kitchen, gesturing for them to follow.

“I made more than enough hot chocolate for all of us. Don’t make me drink it all myself. I will do it.”

Mom carried on ahead of him, positively giddy in her step, and Isaac was relieved to find his heart was skipping right along with her.

[stuffandthingstwd]

Good Samaritan - Daryl Dixon

Reader is on the edge of death fending off walkers by her lonesome but a certain archer comes to her rescue. for sherlocks-timetraveling-assbutt

You never bled this much in your entire life, you managed to pull off a stupid stunt by accidentally shooting yourself in the stomach with your handgun. Running from a group of walkers you had your finger on the trigger which was a stupid thing to do, you knew it was but you were on edge because it was only you fending for yourself. Fear ran through your veins and as you were running away, you tripped over a tree root that was uprooted and sticking out of the ground a decent amount. As you fell, you landed on top of the pistol which shot off right into your abdomen. Not only did you cry out loudly in pain but the sound of the gunshot also rang out and it only drew the walkers towards your direction. You struggled to climb to your feet but the bullet was still lodged into your stomach, it was the most painful thing you had ever experienced. Finally when you raised yourself up to your feet you tied your jacket that you were wearing around your midriff tightly to help stop the blood from pouring out quickly. Running was just as painful as trying to stand up and you fell down several times but knew if you did not get moving, you’d certainly meet your end by the decaying teeth of the dead sinking into your body. 

“Why me?” you leaned up against a small tree, your head feeling light and woozy as the blood was steadily oozing out, your jacket not helping much. Your hands were sweaty and your body was clammy and cold. Starting off on your track once more but knowing that you weren’t going to get far because this gunshot wound was going to result at your bitter end. Stumbling out into a small opening in the dense woods where you were going to meet your family that passed before you, your hands trembled as you grabbed your knife from your side and held it at ready. With your knife and gun at ready, the groans from the undead echoed through the small clearing as they stumbled closer to where you were standing. You felt like fish in a shark tank, with the 10 walkers that were beginning to swarm around you; you could maybe kill one or two of them before you were overwhelmed. With several shots you dispatched of 3 walkers and stumbled back as the blood loss was really taking it’s toll on your body. “Help!” you screamed out in a last resort, hoping maybe someone was listening. “Help please for the love of God! Someone help!” you cried out once more.

Hallucinations started to kick in as your body was fighting to stay alive. Your mother appeared before you, her arms were open out to you and she was calling for you to come to her. “It’s okay Y/N, you don’t have to fight anymore. It’s okay...” just as you reached out to fall into your mother’s arms, an unknown man’s face was hovering above yours. “Hey girl.” the man snapped his fingers in your face. A great deal of pressure was pushing down onto your abdomen and the pain was too much to bear. “Dammit to hell!” you screamed out as the man was digging something into your bullet wound, pulling out the bullet. “You sure did a number on yerself. Lucky I found ya’.” you were crying and your moans of pain echoed. “Shhh, keep it down.” the man rolled you to your side, pressing some gauze down on your wound, taping it down. “Thanks.” you pulled yourself up into a sitting position. “I got a settlement not too far from here. You need medical attention.” he reached a hand out to you but you pushed it away. “I can fend for myself. Don’t need to bother you.” you tried to stand but only fell back onto your butt. 

“Yer gonna die from infection if you don’t get that treated.” he picked up a crossbow from the ground and pointed an arrow at your wound. “No, it’s okay. You need to keep your people healthy, I’m just some stranger.” you got up onto your feet finally and attempted to walk away but it was more like, limp away. “You’ll die out here girl. Stop bein’ so -- stupid!” he yelled grabbing onto your arm tightly. “I ain’t gonna let you die out here. I couldn’t do that.” you struggled against Daryl’s force which the sheer pain caused you to vomit to the side of where the two of you were standing. “See, you won’t make it. We got walls. We got medicine. We got people. You’ll be safe an’ by the look of it, you’ve been out here by yerself fer awhile.” you finally admitted your defeat and realized that he was right, you would die several hours from now most likely. “..Okay.” you gave in, Daryl pulled you close to him and draped your arm around his shoulders, supporting your weight on him. “How many people you kill?” you were taken back for a moment, you were a second from death and now he was asking you a question like this? “Haven’t asked it in a while. How many people you kill?” he asked again. “I uh -- uh..” you stuttered for a second. “I don’t know, five maybe. Maybe 7. I’ve met some ... some messed up people out here.” you closed your eyes at the thought, this wasn’t something you’d ever think of doing before the end of the world. 

“Okay. I understand that.. How many walkers you kill?” this was slightly frustrating you but these questions started to make sense because in this world, you never knew who you were meeting. “I don’t even know anymore. Too many to remember.” the man nodded his head. “Why?” you sighed. “Because, you gotta do what you gotta do. I did what I needed to survive, the dead tried killing me and so did the living.” the two of you continued to this unknown destination that this man who saved you was taking you. “How do I know you’re taking me somewhere safe? You could just be leading me to slaughter, maybe end up eating me. Who knows?” you joked slightly, trying to make light of this situation but it was a possibility. “Funny. I’m Daryl by the way. I’m takin’ you to Alexandria.” well this place had a name which made it’s authenticity a little more helpful. “Well Daryl, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. Just hope this place is leg--” before you could finish your snarky sentence, you looked up from your feet and was in awe at the metal wall that stood before you. “Damn, you were right.” you chuckled slightly. “Welcome to Alexandria. Let’s get you fixed up.” Daryl chuckled slightly as the gate opened up and the two of you stepped into safety.