#michael scofield one shot

[kyleoreillylover]

Hell is Easier with You

Michael Scofield x Fem!Black!Reader

Summary: You get hurt while exploring in the vents, and Michael has to take hurt you in order to take care of you. But you realize going through hell is easier with him by your side.

a/n: writing for other things than the wwe now, but lemme know if you also wanna be tagged in those!!

warnings: burn, injury, etc.

The plan was in motion. Every minute, every breath in this cell felt like it was ticking down the clock to Lincoln's execution. It was getting tighter, the pressure, the weight on your shoulders. You and Michael were locked in your cell, side by side. Silent, focused, but there was always that unspoken connection between you both—a bond that ran deeper than the walls around you.

He trusted you, and you trusted him. That’s why when he couldn’t check out the vents himself, you stepped up. There wasn’t time for hesitation, not with Lincoln's life on the line. But you didn’t expect the guards to be in the vents tonight.

Moving silently through the dim light of the prison, you crawled through the tight, suffocating space. It was hot, sweltering, but you had no choice but to push through. You were almost out when you heard the low mutter of voices—guards. You froze, heart pounding, palms sweaty, as they came closer.

Shit.

Your mind raced, body tensing, as you leaned too far into the hot metal pipes lining the vent, trying to avoid being seen. Pain shot through your body as the heat scorched your side.

The smell of burning fabric and flesh hit you instantly, but you bit your lip hard, refusing to scream, refusing to make a sound. Every instinct was telling you to cry out, but you swallowed it down, jaw clenched, eyes watering as you leaned away from the searing metal.

You couldn’t be discovered. Not here. Not now. Not when everything was so close to falling apart. So you gritted your teeth, forced yourself to crawl back, every movement agony, and made your way back to the hole that led into the cell.

When you slipped back into the small space you shared with Michael, the pain was excruciating, but you tried to steady your breath. You couldn’t fall apart now. You didn’t want to worry him—not when he already carried so much.

But as soon as Michael returned, one look at you and he knew something was wrong. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning your face with that familiar intensity, always so aware, always so protective.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice low but firm. His gaze dropped to the side of your shirt, and he noticed the fabric stuck to your skin, the charred mark spreading across your side.

You flinched under his scrutiny, trying to brush it off. "It's fine. I just—it's nothing, Michael."

But it wasn’t nothing, and he knew it.

“Let me see,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He gently lifted the side of your shirt, wincing when he saw the burn beneath it. His fingers hovered over the edge of the fabric, the torn and melted fabric clinging to your skin.

You tried to pull back, knowing what came next. "Michael, I’m fine—"

“You’re not fine,” he cut you off, his voice still low, but now laced with that familiar edge of concern. He was already moving, grabbing the sheet from the bunk and hanging it up across the cell for privacy. There was no one he trusted, no one allowed to see you like this except him.

“Michael, please—don’t," you whispered, the panic rising in your voice as you realized what he had to do. The pain was overwhelming now, the thought of peeling the fabric from your burned skin enough to make you feel lightheaded. "Just leave it. I’ll handle it."

But Michael knelt down in front of you, calm and steady. “I have to, okay? I need to get this off before it gets worse." He reached for you, pulling you gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around you with a quiet strength. "I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.”

Tears blurred your vision, the burn throbbing with every heartbeat, but you couldn’t fight him on this. He was right. The fabric had to come off, no matter how much it hurt. And God, it was going to hurt.

He shifted you slightly, making sure your chest was pressed firmly against his, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you in place. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, though your body tensed in anticipation, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst from your chest. Michael’s hand moved to your side, fingers brushing against the edge of the burn. You jerked, the pain sharp, and he tightened his grip on you.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. “I know it hurts, but I need you to hold still. Lean into me. I’m right here.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, every muscle in your body trembling as he slowly, carefully began to peel the fabric away from your skin. The pain was unbearable, a burning, searing agony that had you digging your nails into his arm, desperate for some kind of anchor.

A scream bubbled up in your throat, but you couldn’t let it out—not here, not with the guards so close. So you bit down on Michael’s shirt instead, muffling the sound as much as you could, tears streaming down your face.

“It’s okay,” Michael murmured, his voice a steady hum in your ear as he worked. “You’re doing great. Just a little more, I’m almost done. Stay with me.”

You were breathing hard now, your vision swimming as the pain made your head feel light.

"Stay with me," Michael repeated quickly, sensing the shift. He tipped your chin up gently, making you meet his gaze. "Don’t faint on me. Look at me, baby. Look at my eyes."

Your chest heaved as you fought to stay conscious, your gaze locking onto his. You focused on the cool, steady blue of his eyes, the way they always seemed to hold the weight of the world but still found room for you.

"I’m right here," Michael whispered, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Just stay with me. You love my eyes, remember?"

Despite the pain, you gave a shaky laugh, but it ended in a choked sob as Michael gave the shirt one final rip, peeling it free from your burns.

You cried out, thrashing as the sharp agony ripped through you as you collapsed onto Michael even more than you already were. Michael caught you immediately, pulling you  further into his lap and wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he dared.

"It’s over," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It’s done. I’ve got you."

You clung to him, your body trembling from the aftermath of pain and exhaustion. Michael’s hand stroked up and down your back, his touch as light as possible, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

"You did so good," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so proud of you."

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, letting his steady heartbeat calm the frantic rhythm of your own. His arms felt like the safest place in the world, and for a moment, you let yourself forget the sting of the burns, the suffocating walls of the prison, and everything else except the feel of Michael holding you.

"You need to go to the infirmary," Michael said softly, though you could tell he didn’t want to let you go.

You groaned, not wanting to face the questions that would come with the injuries. "What are we even gonna say?"

Michael gave you a small, reassuring smile, though his eyes betrayed his worry. "Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it." 

His fingers brushed lightly over your hair, and he kissed the top of your head, lingering for a moment. "For now, just stay with me."

You shifted slightly, still aching but comforted by the way Michael held you so protectively. He rested his chin on your head, his arms never loosening their hold on you.

"You're safe," he whispered. "As long as I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you."

And in that moment, despite the pain, you knew he meant it.

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 3 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 5.4k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

The yard was buzzing with its usual noise – groups of men huddled together, eyes darting around as deals were made, favours exchanged, and alliances strengthened or broken. Y/N had learned to blend in, moving through the space with calculated ease. But today felt different, something was different. There was a heaviness in the air, an edge that made her skin prickle with unease.

            She was walking to the normal corner where she would meet Michael when she noticed the eyes on her. Abruzzi’s men – three of them – watching her every move. She’d felt their glares before, but this time was different. This time, they were not just curious. They were planning.

            Michael and Y/N made eye contact, but she quickly tucked into a narrow corridor, hoping to avoid them, but her instincts were too late. As soon as she stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind her. The sound echoed ominously in the confined space.

            “Going somewhere, sweetheart?” One of the men, a tall, muscular brute with a scar running down his cheek, sneered as he blocked her path. Two more stepped in behind him, closing off any escape. They were Abruzzi’s most loyal thugs, each with the dead eyes of men who had seen – and done – terrible things.

            “Where I go is none of your business,” Y/N shot back, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened. She had been through worse, and she was not about to let these men see her sweat.

            “Oh, but it is our business,” Scarface said, stepping closer, his breath hot on her face. “We heard the news. New York mob. Murderer…assassin…Sebastian’s wife.” The name rolled off his tongue with disdain like it was poison. “We don’t take kindly to rats from rival families.”

            Y/N clenched her fists, her mind racing. She had to stay calm. These men would not hesitate to kill her if Abruzzi gave the order, but maybe she could turn this around. “You’ve got it wrong,” she said, her voice measured. “I’m not here for Sebastian. In fact, I want nothing to do with him.”

            Y/N’s words hung in the air, but the men didn’t look convinced. Scarface exchanged a glance with the thug to his right, a shorter, stockier man with tattoos crawling up his neck like vines. Their eyes darkened with something far worse than scepticism – bloodlust.

            “Nothing to do with him?” the tattooed one mocked. “You think we’re stupid? We know exactly who you are. And we know where your loyalties lie.”

            Y/N took a step back, her mind racing for a way out. She had dealt with thugs like them before, but being trapped in a narrow corridor, outnumbered, was a different game. She could fight but against three? The odds were grim.

            “Let’s rough her up a little,” Scarface said and without warning, his massive hand wrapped around her throat, slamming her back against the cold concrete wall. Y/N gasped, her hands flying up to claw at his grip as the other two closed in.

            A shank was at her throat before he slipped it down her shoulder, drawing blood as it slid down her arm going deeper and deeper.

            “How tough are you really, Mrs. Sebastian Marino?” he hissed, grip tightening and the knife going deeper.

            She could feel the blood dripping down her arm, the pain that shot through her body and she bit down on her lip.

            Panic flared in her chest as the walls seemed to close in around her. She thrashed against him, her nails digging into his arm, but his grip was iron. The room started to blur at the edges.

            “Let’s teach you a little lesson about politics here.”

            “Let her go!” a deep voice came. She glanced up from looking down at her arm to see an older male with longer hair. “She’s with Scofield. Which means she’s with me.”

            Scarface looked at the man that came in and instantly she noticed the change of demeanour and he became nervous. “Sir, she is with the Marino mob,” Scarface tried.

            Another man came up from behind Abruzzi and she instantly recognised who it was. Michael, her safe haven and the only person she trusts.

            “Let her go,” Michael said.

            Scarface’s grip faltered, and for a brief second, Y/N sucked in a shallow breath before she quickly moved, knocking the man out with a hard punch to his face. Scarface let go of her, cradling his face as he backed away.

            Y/N instantly placed her hand over the deep gash in her arm, walking away from the man that hit the floor with an obvious broken nose. She stepped over him and walked over to Michael.

            “If you have a problem with this, then take it up with me,” Abruzzi said as the tattooed man backed away from Y/N as she walked over to Michael.

            The tension in the air was thick, and Y/N could feel the shift. The men were uncertain now, their bravado cracking as the reality of what this meant sank in. They were not sure how deep Michael’s connection with Abruzzi ran, but they knew enough to be wary.

            The tattooed man spat down on the ground in front of Y/N and she quickly turned and rose a brow. “I can easily destroy your nose too if you would like. I am stronger than I look.”

            He took a step back before Michael opened his arms for her to come to him. Instantly his hand found her lower back as held her gash with her arm.

            Michael pulled her to a secluded area in the yard where his finger tilted her chin up to see the bruises forming on her neck.

            “Are you ok?” he asked, his voice low, soothing.

            Y/N nodded, though her breath was still ragged. “I’ve had worse.”

            “Doesn’t mean you should,” he replied, examining her before taking her bloody hand off her arm. His touch was delicate while his other hand steadied her. For a moment, their eyes meant, and she saw something in his gaze that made her feel sage in a way she had not in a long time. “You should go to the infirmary.”

            She looked at him almost as if she was unimpressed. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a cut,” she said as he ripped a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around her arm.

            “You need to be careful,” Michael said as his eyes darkened with an unreadable emotion. “Abruzzi’s men don’t trust easily, and they’re always looking for a reason.”

            “Michael,” she said with a sigh.

            “Y/N, you need to drop this mobster, tough act because you aren’t fooling me. You’re going to get hurt, truly.”

            “Last time I checked, I was minding my damn own business. I haven’t crossed anyone-“

            “You’re snarky, witty, and quick with words.”

            “What do you want me to do, Michael? I am a woman in a men’s prison. I was part of a very deadly mob and now I obviously have enemies.”

            Michael sighed. “I want you to go to the infirmary,” he said. “You have quite a lot of bruising and that gash needs tending too. Stitches.”

            “I don’t need your protection, Michael,” she said as he dropped his hands. His lack of touch now made her feel something. She liked his touch. She liked how he cared for her. However, she would never admit it.

            “I know,” he whispered, taking a step back, giving her space, but his gaze remained locked on hers. “But you have it. You’re a friend. I take care of my friends.”

            For a moment, neither of them said anything. The noise from the yard had faded into the background, leaving only the echoes of what had just happened between them. Y/N felt the bruises forming, the ache in her body a reminder of how close she had come to something far worse. But standing here with Michael, she felt something else – strength.

            “I don’t trust a lot of people,” she admitted after a beat, her voice quieter now. “But I trust you.”

            Michael’s expression softened just a touch, and he gave her a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “You can.”

            And she smiled. “I guess I go to the infirmary now.”

            He nodded watching as she walked off.

-

Y/N winced as she pressed a makeshift cloth from Michael against the gash on her arm, each throb a painful reminder of her run-in with Abruzzi’s men. The corridor leading to the prison infirmary was cold and silent, the usual buzz of the yard far behind her. She was not new to the pain – her life had made sure of that – but this cut was deep, too deep to leave unattended. Her bruised neck only added to the growing list of injuries.

            She pushed open the door to the infirmary and stepped inside. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit her immediately, a sharp contrast to the grime and seat of the prison. A man stood by one of the metal tables, his back turned to her as he scribbled something on a clipboard.

            “Are you the doctor?” she asked, voice hoarse as her throat still was raw from the attack.

            “Yes,” he said as he turned around. “Dr. Remington,” he introduced. However, as the man turned, and for a moment, she forgot about the pain. He was tall, well-built with sharp features softened by a warm smile. His dark hair was slicked back, a few stray strands falling across his forehead. His eyes were a piercing blue swept over her, assessing her injuries with the ease of someone who had seen it all but had not lost his compassion.

            “Y/N, right?” Dr. Remington asked, his voice smooth and steady. He motioned to the chair beside the able. Come, sit down. Let’s take a look at that.”

            She eased herself into the chair, her arm aching as she removed the cloth, revealing the deep gash. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage, and she saw his eyes narrow slightly at the sight.

            “This isn’t pretty,” he murmured, grabbing gloves and disinfectant. “What happened?”

            “Let’s just say Abruzzi’s men don’t take kindly to outsiders.” Her tone was casual, but the weight of the encounter still hung over her. She winced as he gently cleaned the wound, his touch careful but firm.

            “Well, you’re in one piece, so I’d say you got off lucky,” he replied, glancing at her bruised neck. “Those look nasty. Let me get something for the swelling once I’m done with the arm.”

            “Can we not do any opioids or painkillers,” she suggested.

            Dr. Remington glanced up. “You’ll be in a lot of pain.”

            “I just don’t do well with heavy painkillers,” she mumbled. “Just something light.”

            He nodded.

            Y/N’s gaze followed as he worked. His hands were quick and sure, stitching her gash with precision. She had been stitched up plenty of times before, but this time it felt different – calmer, safer.

            “So,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice conversational, “how’s prison life treating you so far? I imagine being a woman in here is…an experience.”

            Y/N couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “That’s one way to put it. It’s hard enough being here, but being a woman in a men’s prison? You have to keep your guard up constantly. Everyone’s always watching.”

            Dr. Remington nodded; his expression sympathetic but professional. “I’m sure it’s overwhelming. And lonely.”

            She hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve made…a friend, I guess. But it’s hard to trust anyone in here.”

            “I imagine it would be.” He finished stitching the gash and began wrapping it in gauze. “But you’ll find your way. Stick with people you can trust – if that’s possible here – keep your head down. People will always try to test you, especially because of your situation.”

            Y/N glanced at him. “You mean because I’m a woman.”

            Dr. Remington paused, his hands stilling for a second before he met her gaze. “Yes. Unfortunately, your gender makes you a target. But you’ve survived this long. That tells me you’re stronger than most.”

            His words sank in, and for the first time in a while, Y/N felt a flicker of something like hope. Maybe she could survive this place, maybe even come out stronger. She didn’t need saving; she just needed to hold on.

            As Dr. Remington moved to treat her neck, applying a cold compress to the bruises, he continued talking. “Listen, I’ve worked here long enough to know the ins and outs of his place. If you ever need someone to talk to, or just a place to feel safe, the infirmary’s always open. No questions asked.”

            She gave him a slight smile, grateful for the kindness. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

            He returned the smile, his eyes softening. “Now, there’s one thing we need to talk about. It’s not my favourite part of the job, but I think you deserve to know.”

            Y/N’s brows furrowed, her heart sinking. “What is it?”

            Dr. Remington took a deep breath, settling down the cold compress and facing her fully. “The state has ruled, due to your…circumstances as a woman in a male prison, they’re placing you on mandatory birth control.”

            Y/N’s widened, shock and anger swirling in her chest. “What? They can do that…” then it hit her. “They want to precaution in case I get raped,” she mumbled more to herself.

            “They can,” he said gently, his voice low and careful. “Or if you have an affair with an inmate. I’m not required to inform you, but I felt it was only right that you know. I don’t agree with how they’re handling it, but it’s policy. I’m sorry.”

            She started at him, the reality of it settling like a weight in her stomach. It wasn’t just the violation, though that was bad enough – it was the fact that they still saw her as something to control, something to manage.

            “They don’t want prison babies,” she whispered. “Fair enough.”

            Dr. Remington watched her carefully, his expression full of understanding. “I wanted to tell you because…well, I care, and you seem like a good person. You’re not just another inmate to me, Y/N. I’ve seen too many people get lost in this place. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

            For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then she nodded, her throat tight. “Thanks for telling me. And for…everything.”

            He smiled, standing and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Anytime. You take care of yourself. And remember what I said – this place does not define you.”

            Y/N met his gaze and for the first time in a long time, she felt like someone actually saw her – not the crimes, not the labels. Just her.

            “Now rest up,” he said and walked away.

-

Moments of silence happened and then like a storm out of nowhere, the riot occurred. One moment, everything was its usual chaos, the next, it was a full-on anarchy. Y/N was resting in the infirmary, letting Dr. Remington’s treatment take hold, when the screams started echoing down the halls. Her muscles tensed, her heart beating faster as she heard the unmistakable sound of doors clamming and men shouting in a frenzy.

            She stood up, but the infirmary doors were already bolted shut. Dr. Remington had rushed off to check on another inmate earlier, leaving her alone. As the pounding footsteps neared, Y/N felt a rush of panic swell inside her. She looked around for anything to protect herself with, spotting a heavy metal tray on the counter. It was not much, but it would have to do.

            Suddenly, the doors busted open, and two inmates stormed in, their eyes wild with fury. The larger of the two noticed Y/N immediately, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Well, look what we have here,” he sneered, his voice full of menace. “A little lost lamb in the middle of a riot.”

            Y/N’s grip tightened on the tray, her hands trembling slightly. “Stay back,” she warned, though her voice shook with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

            The second inmate laughed darkly. “What are you gonna do with that, sweetheart? Hit us? Go ahead, try it.”

            Y/N’s breath quickened as they advanced. She swung the tray with all her might, managing to strike one across the jaw. He stumbled back with a grunt, but it only seemed to anger them further. The other lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully, making her drop the tray with a loud clatter.

            “Not so tough now, are you?” he snarled, pinning her against the wall. His grip tightened around her throat and Y/N yelped in pain from the old bruises, but also, she struggled to breathe, her vision dimming.

            In that moment, she thought this might be it – her second close call in one day.

            But then, as if from nowhere, a loud thud echoed above her, followed by the clanging of metal. The next thing she knew, a familiar voice called out from the ceiling.

            “Y/N, get down!”

            Before she could fully comprehend, a figure dropped down from the vents. Michael.

            He moved with precision, taking out the first inmate with a swift blow to the back of the head. The second man turned to fight, but Michael was quicker, disarming him and sending him crashing to the floor. The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by Y/N’s laboured breathing.

            Michael grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the vent he had crawled through. “Come on, we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

            Y/N nodded, still in shock, and allowed him to help her up into the vent. Her body was shaking as they crawled through the narrow space, the sounds of the riot raging below them – shouts, crashes, and the chilling clang of metal on metal. It felt like they were climbing through a different world, one where the chaos below couldn’t quite reach them.

            They stopped for a moment, huddled in the confined space and Y/N realised just how close she had come to dying. Again. She pressed her back against the cold metal, her body trembling uncontrollably, and tried to steady her breath. But the panic was rising, fast, and unforgiving.

            Michael noticed and took her hand in his. He squeezed it before whispering, “Hey, you’re ok.” He shifted closer to her. His voice was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. “You’re ok. You’re safe now.”

            Y/N shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “I almost died. Twice today,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”

            Michael gently took her hand, his touch grounding her. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly. “You’ve survived this long, and you’ll keep surviving. We’ll get through his. Together.”

            She looked at him, her breathing still ragged, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel alone. Michael’s presence, his calm amidst the storm, made her feel like maybe – just maybe – she could make it.

            He seemed to sense her fear, the way her body was shaking despite her best efforts to stay composed. “Focus on me,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

            But the fear was not something she could shake that easily. The image of those men, the way they had looked at her, their hands around her throat – it was too much. Y/N was spiralling, and she knew it. Her breaths were coming too fast, her chest tightening.

            And then, before she could fully process what was happening, Michael leaned in, cupping her face gently in his hands. His lips brushed against hers, soft and careful. The kiss was warm, grounding and for a split second, it was like the world outside didn’t exist. It was just them, at that moment.

            She did not kiss back at first, too shocked then she allowed her lips to move with his. He pulled away and leaned so their foreheads were touching.

            “When you hold your breath, you forget what you’re thinking,” he told her. Her breaths were slowing down and the panic that had been clawing at her chest subsided just a little, replaced by the steady rhythm of Michael’s breathing.

            She looked at him, seeing his bright baby blue eyes as his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re ok,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible above the din of the riot below.

            However, she cupped his cheek again and pulled him in for another kiss. This time it was stronger, deeper and more emotional. She pulled him by his shirt and kissed him a little more before pulling away.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, glancing down. “I needed that.”

            She nodded to herself, her heart still racing but her mind beginning to settle. She didn’t know how long they had stayed in that vent, pressed together in the dark, but in that moment, she dealt with something she hadn’t felt in a while – safety, comfort and devotion.

            Eventually, Michael shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her arm. “We need to keep moving,” he said gently. “Can you do that?”

            Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I can.”

            Together, they crawled through the narrow vents, their bodies moving in sync. There was hooting and hollering from below as inmates rioted, but they focused on what was happening in front of them.

            A smaller inmate was lifted up through the vent to check where they were and Michael glanced at Y/N, putting his finger to his lips as a way to tell her be quiet. Then he kicked him down before pulling her along again.

            He opened the ceiling tunnel eventually and checked it out before going down. It was quite high, but he held his hand up to help her down. Y/N grabbed them, as he lowered her down with his hands on her waist and her hands were on his shoulders.

            “It ok, Y/N,” he whispered as they stared at one another.

            However, the moment was halted as inmates came in and began to gang up on Michael. He instantly tackled the first guy, but Y/N throat punched the other inmate, and he fell back, clasping his throat. Y/N glanced over to see Michael attacking the final guy before he grabbed her hand and ran down the hallway.

            They were in the middle of C-Block, their cells ahead of them when Michael got pulled. She glanced over to see a man, the same height but much bigger than Michael. They instantly hugged.

            Y/N watched before Michael looked over at her. “My brother, Lincoln,” he said and then glanced at his brother. “Y/N, a friend.”

            She looked over them and seeing their interaction as they talked, but she could not help but look over his bare arms which were covered in tattoos. However, as she looked harder, she could make something out with it.

            They made it to Michael’s cell where T-Bag was crouching over a CO with a picture in his hand, taunting him.

            “If you touch him, or her, I will kill you,” Michael said pushing T-Bag as a warning as we joined in.

            Y/N stayed in the corner, watching the interaction before taking the picture from T-Bag and looking at the CO. “Daughter?” she asked, and he simply nodded. “She’s pretty.” Then he handed him the picture back.

            T-Bag looked at her and saw Y/N looking at Michael.

            “Just let me go, I won’t say a word,” the CO spoke loudly, still cuffed to the bottom bunk. But then T-Bag looked over to Y/N who rose a brow.

            “What is he talking about?” she asked looking over at Michael, but he was gone.

            T-Bag laughed and smirked. “You’ve been protected by Michael since day one and he has to tell you…about our little plan?” He came closer to her and Y/N took a step back.

            She knew the plan. The escape, but why was he bringing someone like T-Bag?

            “Ahh, I guess not. Your little boyfriend has planned to escape, save his brother who is gonna die,” he told her and Y/N swallowed.

            Where was Michael?             “It doesn’t matter. Michael says don’t touch the CO, so don’t touch the CO,” she said, pushing T-Bag to the side.

            “What were your crimes anyways, princess?” he smirked. “What got you in here? A woman in a men’s prison, must have been really bad. Naughty, naughty girl,” he cooed coming closer.

            She knew what he did. The murders and rapes of innocent people and Michael chose him to escape with and he hadn’t even asked her. She knew about the plan, and she would never tell, but why was she not part of it?

            “I heard you were in the mob,” he taunted, hand coming up to brush her cheek. Y/N pulled away. “Married a gangster… Murdered men. Six you’ve been convicted of, but rumour there is more,” he continued.

            How did he know? People talk. Michael would never tell.

            T-Bag smelled her hair, coming up and towering over her before running his tongue down her face, throat and jawline.

            “Stop,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut but before anything else happens, a loud noise came. T-Bag was slammed by the Hispanic man, while Michael came to her instantly, taking his t-shirt and rubbing the spit from her jaw and cheek.

            “I can’t leave you for a moment,” he whispered more to himself than to her. “Are you ok?”

            She nodded then he turned to T-Bag and yelling, “Get out!” Lincoln came back to see Michael dotting over the woman in the corner. However, Y/N pushed Michael off of her and took her own sleeve and wiped her neck viciously.

            “Y/N, you’re gonna create a rash,” he whispered.

            “I don’t care. I want his touch off of me,” she responded. “I haven’t fucking showered in days out of fear and now I have this molester’s germs all over me.”

            Michael nodded and took her hand from her before lowering it. “Then you will shower soon. I will make sure you are ok,” he told her before going back to the CO.

            The CO was pushed out of the cell and Abruzzi threatened him while she stayed by Michael. He took her hand and squeezed, and she glanced up and seeing him mouth, “It’s going to be ok.”

            All she did was nod. However, as inmates went back to the cells, Y/N witnessed the CO get stabbed by T-Bag and instantly her face fell. Michael rushed past her and screamed but she could not hear.

            That man was just murdered. In front of her and all she could think about was, this wasn’t the first time.

-

The next morning, the prison felt different. The tension from the riot still lingered in the air, like an invisible weight pressing down on everyone. Y/N moved through the cafeteria line in a daze, barely registering the food she picked on her tray – scrambled eggs, a bruised apple and a stale piece of bread.

            She did not care about eating. She barely cared about anything at that moment. The fear from the night before clung to her like a second skin, and the bruises on her neck and the aching stitches in her arm were an constant reminder of how close she’d come to losing her life.

            She moved toward a corner of the cafeteria, where she usually sat alone, but as she passed by a table, a hand grabbed her wrist gently.

            “Hey,” Michael’s calm voice broke through the fog in her mind. “Come sit with us.”

            She looked up, meeting his gaze. For a second, she hesitated, but then Michael pulled her closer, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. Across from the table was the man he shared the cell with, but she never caught his name. He had a kind face and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Michael smiled as he introduced him.

            “This is Sucre,” he said, nodding toward his friend. “Sucre, this is Y/N.”

            Sucre gave her a warm, easy grin. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he said, nodding toward her tray. “Food here sucks, huh? They’ve been serving the same eggs since I got here.”

            Y/N managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat down, feeling Michael’s gaze on her. He had this way of seeing through people, as if he could sense the weight, they carried without them having to say a word. However, Michael squeezed her arm lightly, as a form of affection.

            The conversation between Michael and Sucre continued, but Y/N barely heard it. The hum of the cafeteria felt distant like it was happening in another world. She kept her gaze down, pushing the eggs around on her plate, unable to shake the images of the riot, the men in the infirmary and the chaos that had consumed her life.

            Michael noticed. However, he always noticed.

            “Y/N,” he said softly, leaning closer so only she could hear. “You’ve been quiet. What’s going on?”

            She didn’t look at him right away. She kept her eyes fixated on the food, her fingers gripping the edge of the tray. Then, in a low voice, she muttered, “I need to shower.”

            Y/N was about to get up, but Michael grabbed her by her arm and pulled her down. “I know you do, but that’s not why you’re quiet.”

            Sucre watched them talk and left them alone. Michael looked over to see the spare spot and then to the woman beside him. “Talk to me.”

            “Why are you escaping with someone like T-Bag?” she whispered then she glanced up to meet his eyes for the first time that morning. “He is a rapist, a murderer…he has done damage to the world, to people. He would do it again if he could.”

            Michael sighed, his expression softening. “I don’t want to,” he admitted quietly, his voice steady but laced with something deeper. “But in here, sometimes you don’t have a choice. I’m not doing this for T-Bag. I’m doing it for people who deserve a second chance. For people who can’t survive this place much longer.” His eyes searched hers, the weight of his words sinking in. “And I’m not just doing it for me.”

            Y/N looked away, the conflicting emotions swirling inside her making it hard to breathe. She didn’t know what to say. Part of her understood Michael’s reasoning – he had a plan, a purpose. But she wasn’t sure where she fit into that or if she wanted to.

            “Y/N, I want you to come with me,” he whispered.

            She looked at him and saw just how serious he was about this; however she shook her head. “I’d be killed by the mob if I don’t go back to them, Michael.”

            Michael was quiet for a long moment, his gaze softening as he watched her. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to make sure she heard every word.

            “Y/N, I get it. I know how it feels to lose hope, to think that getting out won’t change anything.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “But if you do come with me, us…I have a plan, and you won’t need to go back to the mob. No more blood on your hands. You’ll be out for good.”

            Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tightening at the thought. She hadn’t known anything else for so long – violence, power struggles, the constant weight of her family’s criminal empire hanging over her head. It was all she’d been part of since fifteen when she escaped her foster home. Could she really walk away from it?

            Michael leaned in even closer, his tone almost pleading now. “You don’t have to be the person they want you to be. You can choose something else. You can choose to be free.”

            The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she bit her lip, fighting back the emotions that threatened to surface. She had spent so long believing that freedom wasn’t meant for someone like her. That the life she’d live was all she deserved.

            But in that moment, Michael watched her with those steady, understanding eyes; she began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she could have something else.

            She didn’t respond right away, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she nodded – just a small, tentative nod, but it was enough for Michael. He gave her a soft, encouraging smile.

            “Now, let’s get you a shower.”

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars

[hayesarcher]

(DYLAN O'BRIEN, CISMALE, HE/HIM) Oh, is that HAYES ARCHER? I heard the TWENTY NINE year old is INTELLIGENT. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also HAUNTED. Makes sense seeing how they are a LEAD HACKER in the SYNDICATE gang.

pinterest. wanted connections

NAME: hayes archer

AGE: 30

DOB: march 1st

HOME: brooklyn, nyc

OCCUPATION: lead hacker of the syndicate

GENDER: cis man

SEXUALITY: heterosexual (ish)

FAMILY: daisy monroe (mother), christopher archer (father), primrose archer (sister), liam archer (cousin)

prominent features: covered in patchwork style tattoos some of which have meaning and some he just thought looked cool

- 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈

THEME SONG: who wants to live forever by queen

POSITIVE TRAITS: intelligent, strategic, determined, resourceful, adaptable

NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, selfish, closed-off, distant, detached

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral

MBTI: intj

DEADLY SIN: wrath

HEAVENLY VIRTUE: diligence

CHARACTER PARALLELS: michael scofield (prision break), raymond reddington (the blacklist), walter white (breaking bad), harvey spencer (suits), emily thorne (revenge), nolan ross (revenge)

- 𝙱𝙸𝙾

trigger warnings: spouse death

hayes archer was born and raised in new york city and had as much of a normal childhood as one could possibly have as a child genius. as a young boy hayes didn't care much for school or learning, he just wanted to have fun and play but his parents had other ideas. they encouraged the young boy to hone his intelligence, to constantly improve.

he was a teenager when he met the girl who would change his life forever. allie was beautiful, kind, everything he'd ever wanted and they were madly in love. even though he was young he proposed at the age of only eighteen but they knew they were soulmates, why wait? with them being so young it was a long engagement, something hayes would later come to regret.

to this day he doesn't know the reason she was shot. he arrived home from work at the age of 21 like any other day to find his fiancé bleeding out in their home. he tried everything he could possibly do, but it was too late. her blood on his hands would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

it was that day that hayes changed. it wasn't dramatic and drastic but there was a sudden dark cloud over him that wasn't there before. the man who once wanted to use his intelligence for something worthwhile was now much more interested in watching the world burn.

becoming part of the syndicate in his early twenties was a strategic move. he needed access, information and equipment to attempt to find out what had happened to allie and who had been to blame. he was planning to keep his head down, do the minimum amount to help and vanish as soon as he had answers.

instead, he was promoted only 3 years after first joining to become the lead hacker. the same demons still haunt hayes, the same dark cloud and the same nightmares of blood on his hands. he still has the constant need for revenge but his job, his unhealthy relationship with alcohol and cigarettes, and his lifestyle occupies him enough to keep him from falling completely off the deep end.... at least for now.

[afaimsarrowverse]

Meine „Prison Break“-Fics:

A/B/O-Verse:

The Things We Do For Love

A/B/O-AU, A/B/O-Dynamik, Seximus, Gefängnis, Erpressung, Nötigung, Gewalt , Character Death, PTSD, Polygamie, Machtmissbrauch, Vergewaltigung,, die Handlung spielt vor allem in den ersten drei Staffel, es gibt aber ein paar Spoiler für Season 4, während Season 5 wird als das seltsame Paralleuniversum, das es ist, ignoriert wird, Michael/Alex, Michael/Sara, Alex/Pam,  Linc/Veronica, Alex/Whistler/Michael, Kellerman/Sara, Kellerman/Caroline, Caroline/Terrence, Gretchen/Whistler. Michael glaubte niemals wirklich daran, dass er damit durchkommen würde. Von all den komplizierten Winkelzügen, die er sich ausgedacht hatte um seinen Bruder aus dem Gefängnis retten zu können, war das hier derjenige, in den er am wenigsten Vertrauen setzte. Ein Teil von ihm war zutiefst davon überzeugt, dass es früher oder später irgendjemanden auffallen würde, dass ihm früher oder später irgendjemand auf die Schliche kommen würde. Michael schleicht sich als Omega in ein Alpha-Hochsicherheitsgefängnis ein um seinen Bruder zu retten. und hat mit allem gerechnet, daber nicht mit dem FBI-Alpha-Spurhund Alex Mahone.

Von dysfunktionalen Familien und Fragen der Liebe

Fortsetzung von „The Things we do for Love“. Sammlung zugesammenhängender One-Shots, die während der 4. Staffel von „Prison Break“ spielen. Michael/Alex, Michael/Sara, Alex/Pam, Linc/Sofia, ein Hauch von Gretchen/Sara, Alex/Whistler/Michael, Gretchen/Whistler. „Ihr wart niemals nicht auf ihrem Radar, sie haben nur beschlossen euch kurzfristig in Ruhe zu lassen. Das könnte sich jederzeit ändern, und ihr würdet es nicht einmal kommen sehen“, behauptete Whistler. Michael hat sein Happy End gefunden, doch eine Bitte um Hilfe bringt ihn und sein Rudel zurück auf auf den Radar der Company.

Point of View

Companion Piece zu „The Things we do for Love“. Die Fic spielt während des Prologs bzw. des ersten Kapitel von „The Things We Do For Love“ funktioniert aber eigenständig. 5 Personen, die dachten zu wissen, dass Michael Scofield nicht das war, was er vorgab zu sein, und eine Person, die es wusste. Gen-Fic mit ein bisschen MiSa.

Die ganze Serie auf AO3:

Kompass-Verse:

Der vorbestimmte Weg

Kompass-Verse-AU, Gefängnis, Erpressung, Nötigung, Gewalt, Gen-Fic, mit ein wenig MiSa, Spuren von Michael/Alex und Kellerman/Sara, Nein, niemals, er konnte es nicht. Er würde alles opfern um Lincoln zu retten, doch was er nicht opfern konnte war der Wegweiser von drei anderen Menschen, die ihm genauso wichtig sein sollten wie Lincoln es war. Michael befreit seinen Bruder aus dem Gefängnis, nicht nur weil er auf seiner Haut steht, doch als er von einem Mann, der ebenfalls auf seiner Haut steht gejagt wird und die Ärztin, die ihm geholfen hat und auf seiner Haut steht, in Bedrängnis gerät, muss er entscheiden, wo seine Prioritäten liegen.

[rurousha]

From Fox River to Central City, Ch 13/14

Chapter 13 - Going Home

1 – Team Flash & Legends, Mick-1 & Palmer 2 – Mayor Snart, clearly the most crooked here 4 – Cold-4, retired 11 – Killer Cold & Heatwave, bad guys 16 – Cold-16 & Sara-16, thieves 19 – Leonard-19 & Mick-19, smugglers 22 – Snart-22 & Rory-22, cyborg survivors 27 – Len-27 & Mickey-27, freedom fighters 29 – Michael-29, Lincoln, Veronica, & LJ, criminals but the good guys? 30 – Scofield-30, structural engineer 53 – Leo & Ray, 4-ever

Leo and Joe arrived too late. Leonard-19 was pretty banged up but alive. Cold-16 was pissed he missed the fight. Mayor Snart was not.

But it was when Ray returned with Rory-22 that had people rushing to comfort him.

“Mick, I am so sorry.”

Rory just snorted at them. Then he rubbed his hands together and formed a magical heat between them. “You squishies and your thermal sensitivities. Don’ know how you survive anything.”

Then he held his hands against the block of ice that held his partner. It steamed and quickly melted into a puddle. Snart-22 regained his footing and just looked evenly at everyone.

“You all didn’t think something like the cold would kill me, did you? No don’t –.”

Barry hugged him.

Michael and Lincoln stood shoulder to shoulder, happy to be alive.

~

The next morning, Cold-16 cracked his eyes open when he heard quiet arguing just outside the med bay. Well, relatively quiet, considering that one of the people was Mick.

“No.”

“Come on, Mick, this’ll be good for both of you.” That was Palmer for sure.

“You’ve been talking to Leo again,” Mick argued. “That’s good for none of me.”

“Just, just go.” Palmer tried to shove Mick-1 towards the doorway. Mick shoved back. Palmer slapped Mick’s chest in retaliation. Mick slapped back. A lot harder.

“Owwww, Mick.”

“You idiots know I can see you, right?” Cold-16 said. “Because you are only 10.3 feet away from me.”

“Really? Looks more like 8.8 to me,” Palmer said.

“I’m counting from my center of mass, Raymond, you pedantic nerd, not the end of the bed.”

“Oh, then yeah, 10.3.”

“Glad we agree for a change. Did you two want something?”

Palmer gave Mick a pointed look, and Mick finally slunk into the room. He took a seat next to Cold and glowered at Palmer until he left.

“So, uh, Haircut seems to think we should have a heart-to-heart,” Mick muttered.

“We don’t have hearts,” Cold immediately replied. It was an easy, familiar response, and it contrarily made him feel calmer to have Mick’s doppelganger so close to him.

“Yeah, that line don’t really work with Ray. Punching don’t really work with Ray.”

“If you’ve got something to say, Mick, then say it.”

“Just that your me… sounds like he died killin’ the Time Bastards.”

Cold nodded.

“Then it was probably for the best,” Mick said. “’Cause things weren’t ever going back to the way they were before. With us. Too much happened.”

“You mean how I pressed you into a mission that wasn’t ours, how we betrayed each other over and over, and you got tortured and brain washed into being the Time Masters’ puppet until only your hate for me could snap you out of it? That was the ‘too much’ that happened to you? Because that’s what happened over on Earth-16.”

“Yeah, ‘bout the same.”

“I know Mick. We weren’t coming back from that.”

“What I’m supposed to tell you is that… I always thought we’d go down in a blaze of fire or a rain of bullets. But then you died – died to save me – and I got a better life than I ever deserved out of it. So if your Mick died to save you, then maybe you could pull your head out of your ass and get that better life too.”

Cold barked a surprised laugh. “That’s what you came in here to say?”

Mick counted off with his fingers. “You died a hero… made me a better person… head out of your ass. Yeah, that’s it. Ray made me practice.”

“Ray again,” Cold-16 drawled. “Seems like you’ve got a new partner after all.”

“Only ever had one partner. But I got an alright crew.”

Cold quirked up a mocking smile. A little one. “Maybe I’ll have to give them another shot.”

“They got a lot better once Sara became captain.”

“Oh thank god. I hated Rip.”

“And on that ringing endorsement, gentlemen,” a new voice said, “it is time to get off your very fine posteriors! We got work to do.”

Both men turned to see not just Palmer but Sara Lance, the Black Raven, and Sara Lance, the White Canary in the doorway.

“We ready to go, Boss?” Mick asked and stood.

“No more vacations for you two,” Sara-1 agreed. “We’ve got a bunch of magic rocks, so we gotta kill a time demon.”

“Never mind,” Cold-16 said. “I’m never leaving Central again.”

~

Michael stood in the cortex, looking at the displays Dr. Snow had up on the computers on the walls. His knowledge of genome comparisons was only rudimentary, but the gist of what she was saying was obvious.

“They don’t match.”

“No,” Dr. Snow agreed.

“Not even 25 percent.” A 25 percent match would still make sense, was still possible given all of Michael’s suspicions.

“No.”

“I understand. Could you not bring this up with Lincoln?”

Dr. Snow chewed on her lower lip. “Honestly, I was debating whether to bring it up with either one of you. After all, proving fraternity isn’t why I took these samples, and it’s really not any of my business. But if you know, then it becomes less my staying out of it and more actively keeping a secret from Lincoln.”

“Which you’re not willing to do.”

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

“So if I don’t tell him, you will.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I understand. Will you leave all this up? I’ll do it now.”

“Of course.” She squeezed Michael’s shoulder briefly. “Good luck.”

She left, and Michael went to find Lincoln. Better to get this over with. He brought him back to the cortex and closed the door for a bit of privacy.

“What’d you want to show me? We’re missing breakfast, and you know the Micks will eat all the donuts if we don’t get there soon.”

“I wanted to show you something that Dr. Snow found. You know she took DNA samples from everyone.”

“Yeah. She wanted to see if we were genetically identical to our doppelgangers. So what?”

“So… we are. Except for evidence of degradation due to age and variation typical among different worlds, we’re all identical.”

“I guess that’s nice. What’s the point?”

“But, Lincoln, the other doppelgangers out there – Leonard and Mick – they’re not brothers. And genetically, biologically, we’re not either.”

Lincoln slowly sat down and stared at Michael, brow furrowed. “We’re not brothers.”

“Of course we are, Linc. Just, one of us is adopted.”

“Me, you mean. I remember Mom being pregnant with you, so I’m adopted. I guess… that makes sense. Mom was always kind of distant with me. We never clicked like you and she did. I thought we just didn’t have a lot in common. I guess I was right.”

“Lincoln, that’s not true.”

“And you knew this already, didn’t you? You’ve known for a while.”

Michael hesitated, which was the same as answering. “I… suspected. We just have some traits that… don’t match up.”

“Like our eyes.”

“What?”

“One of the other Snarts said, ‘With those eyes?’ Honestly, I wasn’t positive he wasn’t hitting on me. But, within a few minutes of meeting him, he knew we weren’t related.”

“Lincoln, this doesn’t have to mean anything.” Michael knelt down in front of Lincoln. “You are my brother. I love you. You are the only family that matters to me. I didn’t want you to ever think otherwise.”

“Michael… you are some kind of moron, you know that? Come here.”

Lincoln led Michael downstairs to what had been converted to the mess hall. They looked over the room from the vantage point of the stairs. Three pairs of Snarts and Rorys were there. Cold-16 and Mick-1 were huddled together, plotting what appeared to be a heist. Snart-22 threw a piece of bagel at his partner when Rory stole his donut. Len and Mickey-27 were getting into an argument that looked like it might turn violent soon.

“Look at them, Michael. None of them ever thought they were brothers, but they are. We are. It’s been the two of them – the two of us – across the multiverse. Which is crazy, by the way. All of this is crazy. Just so long as that’s said. But my point is, little brother, that the good doctor’s tests don’t change anything. Okay?”

Michael nodded and chose not to say anything. If he did, he was afraid it would end up horribly sentimental. But he did lean over to drop his forehead against Lincoln’s shoulder, more relieved than he could express.

The arguing Mickey finally took a swing at Len, who ducked under it to knee Mickey in the ribs. The two started tussling in earnest, and the other pairs yelled both encouragements and complaints.

“You think we should break that up?” Michael asked.

“I’m not getting in there,” Lincoln said. “Those guys are armed.”

“At least our arguments never involved fire or bullets.”

“See, we’re really not that bad.”

Then a napkin dispenser caught on fire. No one was sure which Rory was responsible.

~

Barry was tired but not like he had been for the last several days. It was that bone-deep weariness that came after a big fight and a full ten hours of sleep that told him everyone was alive and safe, and it was time to relax his muscles and his mind. It felt like he could happily just eat, sleep, and watch TV for three straight days.

But he still had work, and he wanted to check in on Cisco – the crazy one from Earth-11 – before going in.

Barry walked into the pipeline just in time to hear a shout. He found Caitlin locked in the pipeline cell with Cisco-11.

“I can’t see!” Cisco shouted. He threw a hairbrush at Caitlin, and she had to duck out of its way. “You can’t keep me in here, I can’t see!”

Barry ran over to the controls and opened the door. Caitlin rushed out, crying, and Barry ran in to keep Cisco from escaping. Cisco struggled and shouted “You’re not Barry” over and over.

Not wanting to hurt him, Barry released Cisco, who fled to the corner of his cell and curled up into a whimpering ball on the floor.

“I can’t see I can’t see I can’t see,” Cisco muttered.

At a loss, Barry backed out of the cell and closed the door behind him. He went over to Caitlin, who was sobbing quietly against the wall. Caitlin almost never cried, and the sight upset Barry more than he wanted to admit.

“Caitlin, what happened?” Barry asked.

“I was stupid,” she said. She rubbed at her eyes. “I came in to give him breakfast. He seemed fine, so I decided to help him clean up and brush his hair and he seemed completely fine with it. He just sat and ate and was fine but then he started shouting, and I don’t know what set him off.”

Caitlin wasn’t much of a crier or a hugger, but these were some pretty extreme circumstances. He gave her a light hug around her shoulders and let her finish her tears.

“I know. I know it’s hard to see him like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

~

Everyone filtered into the commissary for breakfast shortly after. The mood was considerably more amicable and upbeat than it had been just yesterday. Michael realized that this was the first time that everyone had been in a room together. There were three Micks, seven Leonards, two different Rays, Barry, Iris, Cisco, Caitlin, two Saras, Lincoln, Veronica, LJ, and Michael himself. Even Michael’s doppelganger from Earth-30 was there, talking quietly with Mickey-27.

It was loud enough and busy enough that Veronica had to lean over their table to them to say, “Linc, should we be worried that Cold-4 is over there teaching your son how to get out of handcuffs.”

“What?” Lincoln leaned to the side to see them. “Huh. I don’t know whether to break that up or join in the lesson.”

“Could be a useful skill,” Michael agreed.

Then Sara walked into the room. Not Sara Lance. It was Sara Tancredi. Michael felt his heart rate pick up, and he couldn’t help but stare. Her red hair was graying, and the lines around her mouth had deepened, but she still held herself up tall as she surveyed the room.

She was absolutely breathtaking.

She smiled when her husband – Cold-4 – stood to hug her, and she kissed him easy as anything.

The Flash from Earth-4 shuffled in behind her, looking apologetic at Cold-4.

“Sorry, Leonard,” he said. “She insisted.”

“Mikey, what’re you staring at?” Lincoln asked. Then he turned. “Holy hell, is that Dr. Tancredi?”

“Yeah.”

“Michael, go talk to her.”

“I don’t think so.”

Lincoln elbowed Michael in the ribs, Michael shoved his hands off, Lincoln shoved back, and somehow Michael ended up across the room, standing next to the sixty year old doppelganger of the woman he fell in love with just a few months ago.

“Well, hello handsome,” she said to him. “You look rather like the man I married. I wonder whatever happened to him?”

“He got old and bitter,” Cold-4 answered. “Don’t worry; I’m sure being married to you had nothing to do with that.”

Sara smacked her husband upside the head. Their easy teasing and happy smiles were completely foreign to Michael. The Sara he was used to carried a constant worry and sadness with her. It was probably for the best that he remind himself that this wasn’t his Sara and this wasn’t a future for him.

“Hello Sara. I’m Michael.” He held up his hand to shake hers.

She smacked his hand away, said, “Don’t be silly,” and wrapped him up in a hug. “It’s very good to meet you, Michael.”

Michael held her around the torso and silently told his Sara goodbye.

~

Barry got off work mid-afternoon and decided to check on Cisco-11 before his Cisco. He entered the pipeline entrance, expecting another outburst. Instead, he found Cisco-11 washing his hands in the sink over the toilet.

“Uh, hey Cisco.”

“Hey Barr.”

“You feeling better?”

“Better? Oh, did I freak out on you earlier?”

“Yeah. Pretty bad.”

“Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

“So, if I open this door, are you going to freak out again?”

Cisco shrugged and made a noise that roughly translated to ‘I don’t know’.

“Guess that’ll have to do.” Barry opened the door to Cisco’s cell and stepped in with him. After a bit of awkward shuffling, they both sat cross-legged on the floor.

“We need like a bench or something in these,” Cisco said.

“We really do,” Barry agreed.

“So, what’re you going to do with me?”

“We haven’t figured that out yet. It’s not like we can let you go. You could breach anywhere and start killing again.”

“To be fair, I never killed anyone. Cold did.”

“But you helped him. You encouraged him. I heard you, Cisco, telling him to kill Leonard. I’ve never heard you sound like that, Cisco. It scared me.”

Cisco shrugged again and refused to look at Barry. “Killer Cold’s dead. I think that’s enough for me.”

Barry buried his face in his hands. “What happened, Cisco?”

“You died.”

“Yeah, we figured that part out. The three of you were trying to kill Leonard Snart’s doppelgangers to protect all versions of me, which is insane and doesn’t make any sense, by the way, but we still don’t know why.”

Cisco looked at the floor. “It was his fault,” he said softly. He curled in on himself again, and his voice started to strain. “You died, and it was his fault. And my fault.”

“No, Cisco. I can’t claim to know what really happened to you, but I know you would do anything to help me.”

“I failed you, Barry. You died.”

“No, Cisco, please, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail me.”

“Yes, he did.”

Both Cisco and Barry looked up to find that they had gained an audience. Michael Scofield from Earth-30, the one that had barely said a word throughout this whole mess, came up and knelt beside the distraught Cisco.

“You did fail him. But killing these people won’t make up for it. Nothing you do can ever make up for it.”

Confused, Barry let Cisco lean towards Scofield.

“Then what do I do?”

Scofield shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know at all. But… if you’ll let me, I’ll help you find out.” He looked at Barry this time. “He can come with me. I’ll take care of him.”

~

Cisco of Earth-1 had spent most of the day in the speed lab avoiding his doppelganger and breaching people home. Thankfully, Flash-4 had come to get his supervillain and saved Cisco that extra headache.

“Alright gentleman and Rory, here’s your stop. Earth-22.” Cisco’s breach stabilized. “Please keep your arms to your sides as you disembark.”

“Thanks for the loot, geeks,” Rory said as he slung a backpack onto his shoulder. It was weighed heavily down. He hopped through the portal without a backwards glance.

“That backpack was full of Hostess treats, right?”

Snart-22 stepped up beside Cisco. “There were definitely baked goods in there, yes.”

“That was ominously open-ended.”

Snart smiled fondly, and Cisco realized that it was the first time he had seen anything other than a neutral scowl on his face.

“I don’t suppose I could get the specs to that cold gun?” Snart-22 asked. “I might get it worked into my arm.”

“One, no. Two, I designed that gun, and no one else can handle its intricacies, okay? Okay.”

Snart gave Cisco a meaningful smirk. “Well, then it’s a good thing I only trust my bio-mechanical engineering to the very best. I’m sure my guy could handle it.”

That sounded an awful lot like Cisco’s doppelganger was Snart’s engineer. Cisco gave his best attempt at a smirk back. It came across as mostly sweetly proud. “You think your guy could handle my tech?”

“I know he could.”

“He’s that smart?”

“He’s brilliant. Creative. Good looker, too. Great hair.”

“Well,” Cisco practically preened. “I might consider sending the plans over. Don’t suppose he’s anyone I’d know.”

“You might have heard of him.” Snart picked up his own bag and sauntered towards the portal. “Hartley Rathaway.”

“Oh you son of a - !”

~

Michael and Lincoln sat on the ledge in the speed lab. They said goodbye to Mayor Snart as he left for Earth-2 and watched Scofield-30 leave with Cisco-11. (There was no way that would turn out well.)

Barry and Sara-16 entered, hovering over Cold-16 as he entered the speed lab. Once Cisco opened the portal to Earth-16, everyone was surprised when someone immediately stepped through it to their side.

It was the Flash.

“Oh, uh, hi. Flash,” Barry stumbled.

“Flash,” Flash-16 said back, smirking in amusement. He didn’t look quite the same. He was more muscular than Barry and a little shorter. But he looked at Cold-16. “Snart.”

“Hey, kid. Come all this way just for me?”

“I did. Are we going to have to fight before I take you to Iron Heights?”

Cold-16 hissed in through his teeth as if thinking over the question. Then he nodded towards the sling. “Four cracked ribs and a broken clavicle. Not today, I think.”

Flash-16 cringed in sympathy. To Sara-16, he said, “Go ahead. The team’s waiting for you guys.”

Sara helped Cold-16 through the breach.

Barry smiled at Flash-16 and held out his hand. “Barry Allen.”

Flash-16 smiled and shook it. “Barry Allen.”

“Oh yeah? You look like my dad.”

“Really?”

“Well, like he did thirty or forty years ago.”

“That makes more sense.”

“So, you’re taking Cold to jail?”

“Yes. He has a lot of outstanding warrants. I don’t know what happened here, but it doesn’t change that.”

Barry nodded. “I understand. The Leonard from this Earth… there was a lot of bad in him. But there was a lot of good too. In the end, the good won out. It did for a lot of them here.”

Flash-16 looked down at his feet. “I thought that too, once, about Snart. I was thrilled when he went with the Legends a few years back. I thought maybe he was starting to believe in the good in him too. But when he came back…” Flash-16 shook his head. “He lashed out at a lot of people. He was worse than I’d ever seen him. Worse than he was before he was Captain Cold.”

Barry fidgeted a bit. “Maybe you could give him one more chance. He worked through some things here. I think he might surprise you after all.”

“I hope so. But it’ll have to wait. He’s got a lot of time to serve at Iron Heights.”

“Meaning he’ll be out as soon as his clavicle heals.”

“Obviously.”

The two laughed at their own joke.

“Hey chuckleheads,” Cisco interrupted, “this breach isn’t keeping itself open, you know.”

“Sorry, Vibe,” Flash-16 said. Then he saluted at Barry. “Flash.”

Barry waved. “Flash.”

The Flash left, and Cisco closed the breach. Then Cisco cracked his knuckles. “Alright. Who’s next?”

“I guess that’s us,” Lincoln stepped up. Cautiously, he asked, “Where to then? Are you dropping us off at Fox River?”

Barry and Cisco smiled at each other.

“Actually,” Cisco said, “we’ve got something to show you.”

Confused, Lincoln and Michael followed them back to the cortex. Veronica and LJ were already there, talking to Caitlin Snow and Iris West, and they smiled at them as soon as they walked in. Veronica came over and hugged Lincoln.

“Hi, V. What’s… what’s goin’ on?”

“We’re going to be free, Lincoln.” She pulled back to smile at him again.

“What do you mean?”

Barry was the one that answered. “I overheard you say that you’ve got a setup in Panama? So that’s where we’re going to drop you off.”

Michael’s heart stuttered. That was it? They were going to let them go? No prison. No death row. No escape with too many sacrifices and too many compromises. Just Panama with a dive shop and 50 cent beers. Could it really be that easy?

It was Lincoln that voiced Michael’s thoughts. “What? Panama? You’re just going to open that breach to Panama, and we can just leave?”

“Of course not,” Iris said, and Michael froze. “We aren’t just going to leave you like that. Here.” She handed Michael a silver device that glowed blue. “This will open a small breach to here if you ever need us. It also acts as a communicator.” Then she held up a thumb drive. “Our friend Felicity wrote this computer virus for you. We’ve used it before. It erases a person’s digital history. Birth records, video footage, criminal history… Plug this into any computer with internet access, and the four of you will effectively cease to exist.”

Michael had to sit down. He rubbed a hand over his face.

Then Veronica said, “There is a catch, Lincoln. This will destroy any digital evidence that we could use to exonerate you. If we use this, we won’t ever be able to prove you’re innocent or that it was Terrence Steadman and the Vice President that did this to you.”

“But no one will be able to prove he was guilty,” Michael said. “All that will be left will be hard copies, which you said were destroyed, and people’s memories, which will fade as soon as we’re not breaking news anymore. We’ll be free.”

“So, the question is, do we want to go after answers and some justice of our own,” LJ said, “or do we want to be free.”

Lincoln stepped forward and took the thumb drive. “No question on my part. I want my family safe.” He hugged his son and ruffled his hair. “Panama. Beaches and surfboards and local girls. Think you can handle that?”

“And school,” Veronica added. “You’re going back to school.”

LJ nodded into his dad’s chest. “I can handle that. School and all.”

Michael stood and approached Barry. “Why would you do this for us?”

Barry’s smile turned a little sad. “My dad served 15 years in Iron Heights for a crime he didn’t commit. I’m not going to let that happen to anyone else.”

For once, Michael acted impulsively and enveloped Barry in a hug.

“Oh, we’re hugging,” Barry startled, but he quickly wrapped his arms around Michael and happily returned the hug.

“Why does Barry always get the credit?” Cisco complained. “I did most of the work, and I am so huggable. Speaking of, there’s one more thing.”

Everyone broke apart to give their attention to Cisco.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“New identities. I’m making you passports. You’re all from L.A. now, by the way. I just need your new names.”

Michael thought. He thought of Killer Cold and Heatwave looking out for each other when they were at their absolute worst. He thought of Cold and Sara desperately trying to grieve Mick. He thought of Len and Mickey settling their fight with their fists and Mayor Snart begging forgiveness from his sister. He thought of Mick becoming a hero with the Legends and Leo getting a happy ending with Ray. He thought of Captain Cold keeping an eye on his retired Rogues and their families while Sara – older and still so beautiful – kept an eye on him. He thought of Snart and Rory watching each others’ backs and Leonard and Mick smuggling refugee metas to safety.

He thought of his own family, safe and free at last.

“Leonard Snart.”

[slytherbun]

ruining - prison break: series

mfm pairing: michael scofield x reader and lincoln burrows x reader. brother pairing: michael scofield x lincoln burrows.

summary of series: eight years and five months is enough time to experience major life choices and decisions. it's also plenty to miss out on when getting caught and arrested. the biggest surprise of all though is when you're transported to a level-one maximum security prison strictly for males.

warning: this is somewhat a canon version of the story but not all of the storylines will feature or add up in this series. it will obviously not follow all of the prison break's original plots because of the way it has to be written to include reader.

another warning: there will be a slow burn between lincoln and reader due to the first season's events.

note: the brother's relationship will remain close and not be affected with their pursuance in reader.

another note: lincoln doesn't receive enough love so i wanted to make it a poly series. and i know the show is older and it won't get as many views but i hope this series will inspire you to watch the show on hulu! :)

season one

chapter zero: prologue

chapter one: coming soon.

and more chapters . . .

[leyton3tla]

how are michael and sara? do you think they had a second child?

Oh my goodness, after all that they have been through? Michael and Sara better be doing fabulous. I imagine them having left the US permanently, finally escaping their torturous past. They now live in a beautiful, romantic European city: Venice. They are only a few hours away from LJ who happens to live in Rome with his fiancée, Caterina, and their 5 year-old son, Thomas. Mike and Thomas are the absolute best friends in the world, and Michael makes sure to see his nephew as often as he can so their sons can spend time together. Lincoln who recently broke up with Sheba currently lives with Michael & Sara, and they are trying to convince him to make a permanent move. Sara is a practicing physician and part-owner of the hospital she works at thanks in large part to the money Michael received from the American government as compensation for all the wrongs committed against him and his family. After setting up a trust for Mike, Michael & Sara chose to launch 2 charitable organizations: one devoted to combat injustice in the US legal system and the other dedicated to provide resources to people with mental health issues worldwide. Michael's job is essentially managing those two charities from Italy. He is finally doing what he was always meant to: he is living a life in the service of others. Sara is well into the third trimester of her pregnancy with their second child, a daughter who they plan to name Lila in honor of Sara's mom. Mike is a very-well behaved, kind and honest pre-teen. He is a quite literally a genius at school. He has skipped 3 classes so far and is always exceeding the expectations of his teachers and proud parents. All in all, the couple could not be more fulfilled with where they're at in their lives. All the hardships were worth it for them to have what they do today. They regard their lives as precious. They appreciate every moment as though it were their last because they know it could be.

[blondie20000]

Fandoms: Prison Break, Supernatural

Title: Cell Mate

Gen

Crossover

Summary: Michael has a new cell mate.

Word Count: 4033

Complete

Available on Ao3

[opheliasbrokenmind]

Hey pal! I've got a request for you :) How about Mahone having a concussion and has to stay in hospital for weeks and company's not happy with this and force him into field again and he gets hurt again bc he can't concentrate and all :') I hope everyhting's alright with you

i just realised how much i’ve missed writing for him <3

‘Has anyone heard from Agent Mahone?’ Wheeler asked the office and you watched the people shaking their heads. It’s been three days since he disappeared and you found yourself at the FBI building, looking for him. ‘Do you know him?’ A woman with a sharp suit appeared in front of you and you frowned, ‘Yes, I do. I thought he could be here since he works late.’

‘And who are you supposed to be?’ She sounded harsh so you didn’t soften your face as you answered, ‘A close friend, and you are?’ You hoped the emphasis on the word would ring a bell and when she replied, you knew she got the message. ‘His colleague.’ You forced a smile and nodded, ‘Nice to meet you, Miss?’

‘Lang.’ She said and walked away, you stood alone and looked at the other man, ‘Thank you for asking people.’ The agent simply nodded and you left the building, thinking of a way to find him. Then your phone started to ring and you picked it immediately, ‘Alex?’

‘Good afternoon, Miss y/n.’ You looked at the screen and read his name again, then you frowned. ‘Who is this? Where’s Alex?’

‘Don’t panic, I’m calling from the Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Mr Mahone had an accident.’ You froze on the street and leaned to a wall, trying to stay calm but your heart was beating madly. ‘Is he alright?’ You managed to say and the woman on the other side sighed, ‘He will be. He was saying your name in his sleep so I thought I could call you.’

‘I’ll be there as soon as possible.’ You said and she ended the call. Your hands were shaking when you finally found a taxi and thanks to the traffic, you were there in twenty minutes. Time seemed to slow down though, every single minute pained you until you walked into the hospital.

‘Hello, can you tell me which room Alexander Mahone is staying?’ The secretary searched his name and turned to you, ‘Are you his wife, Pamela?’ The name pissed you off but you just shook your head, ‘They divorced. I’m his... friend.’ The girl smiled softly, ‘I see. We tried to reach her but she said she wasn’t living here anymore. His room number is 407.’

Once you found the room, a doctor was leaving but you ran after him. ‘Doctor, wait!’ The man turned to you and waited, ‘I’m here for Alex. Can you tell me what happened?’ He nodded, ‘All we know is he had a concussion but we’re not sure what caused it. It can be an accident or a fight, I’m not sure.’

‘What would you say?’ You asked and the man sighed, ‘Considering his line of work, I’d say a fight but that’s just a guess. Mr Mahone is a strong man so he will recover but it’s going to take time. We have to be sure he’s resting and your presence will be helpful.’ You listened carefully and asked once he was done, ‘Is there anything I can do now?’

‘Talk to him. He probably can’t answer but he’ll hear you. Let him know you’re here for him. If anything happens, ask for a nurse.’ Then he left and you stood at the corridor, trying to convince yourself that he’ll heal soon.

You opened the door and the scene in front of you hurt your whole body. The agent was lying unconscious on the bed, there was a bandage around his head and he looked so pale. Then there were cables on his body and machines beeping loudly. You forced yourself to close the door and walk to the armchair next to him before you let a tear fall down. 

It took you a few minutes to gather up, then you reached his hand and it felt cold compared to your warm one. ‘Hi, it’s me, y/n.’ You said and waited for a reaction but he didn’t move a finger so you continued. ‘I called you a few times but you didn’t answer. I thought you were on a mission or maybe you wanted to have some space, that you’d let me know soon. I went to the Bureau today and asked Agent Wheeler but he said nobody heard from you. Then a nurse called me from your phone, said you were saying my name.’

‘You scared me so much, Alex. I’m still afraid, the doctor said you’ll be fine but I just can’t help but fear... Don’t you ever leave me, okay?’ You sighed and played with his fingers, ‘Agent Lang asked me who I was and I told I’m your friend. Well, I think we are more than that, I mean you’re more than a friend to me but I wasn’t sure if you wanted people to know so I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.’

‘Oh, I always talk and now I can talk as much as I want but I hate it. I don’t want to talk, I want to hear you talking. I want to see your eyes, the blues filled with energy and watch them.’ Then you didn’t know what to say, it felt like nothing you could say would change the situation so you stayed silent. You watched his chest moving as he breathed and you focused on the fact that he was alive and you were by his side. Otherwise, you knew you wouldn’t hold your tears.

Doctors and nurses came and left, informing you everything looked fine. When it was almost three in the morning, you got up from the armchair and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, ‘Good night, Alex.’

You woke up at eight and went to grab a cup of coffee, ‘Maybe the smell of coffee can wake you up, huh?’ You smiled to yourself and sipped your drink, admiring him. ‘I realise how beautiful you are now, you know? I wish I could remember every detail of your face. I also feel stupid, because I should’ve told you this earlier. Now I’m not even sure if you can hear me but just know that... you mean a lot to me and I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to you.’

Your hand found his fingers once again and you pressed your lips on his hand, ‘I know things with Pam have been hard and I want to be by your side as long as I can.’ He squeezed your hand weakly and your eyes widened with shock, ‘Can you hear me? Wait, I’ll call the nurse.’

‘I swear, he squeezed my hand.’ You explained to the woman and held his hand again, ‘Alex, can you hear me?’ The nurse waited but nothing happened. ‘I don’t want to upset you but that was probably a reflex.’ She gave you a weak smile and left, you sighed and rested on the armchair.

‘I avoided to answer before but yes, I used to play the piano. I wanted to be a pianist but then... I broke my wrist and it still hurts if I push the limits. Then I decided to study Art History and you know I’ll teach at the university next semester.’

‘I like to admire those paintings and they remind me of you. I know you think you’re a bit old for me but... I don’t believe it’s about ages, what’s important is understanding the other person and I’m trying to understand you. Every time I tell you something, I feel like you care about it and I like this about you, so much.’

‘I like hearing your voice.’ He whispered suddenly and you grabbed his hand, intertwinning your fingers, ‘You are awake! Wait, let me call the doctor.’ You tried to get up but he stopped you, ‘y/n, I need to talk to you first.’

‘There are some people and they know what happened to Shales. What I did to him... They want me to catch the Fox River escapees and I’m here because I had a little argument with one of them.’ Your jaw dropped as you listened to him, ‘Are you serious? Do you want me to call the police or the Bureau?’

‘No, they can’t help and if they find out about Shales, they’d send me to prison without blinking an eye.’ He watched you carefully and you sighed, ‘We’ll talk about this later, okay? What matters now is your recovery and I’m going to take the doctor now.’

The same doctor checked him and said everything was normal, ‘You need to rest at least one week to heal, otherwise, it can leave permanent damage. How do you feel now?’ 

‘I don’t feel bad.’ He said and the doctor smiled to you, ‘You see, now you can worry less.’ Then he left the room and you felt your cheeks getting hotter as Alex watched you with a sincere smile on his face. ‘Before you ask, I heard pretty much all of it.’ You turned your head to avoid his gaze but his hand stopped you, cupping your cheek softly. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, ‘I meant every word.’

‘I know you did but I’m not sure if that’s the safest way now, y/n. These people are on my back and I have to give them what they want. I don’t want them to know about you, I can’t risk it.’ You moved away and frowned, ‘What are you trying to say?’

‘I need you to stay away from me until this is over.’ You didn’t know what to say for a moment, ‘What? No, Alex, I want to be with you.’

‘I want you, too, love. Just for a while and when it’s over, I won’t repeat my mistakes. We’ll have a life together, alright? I promise.’ A tear dropped on your cheek and you wiped it away, ‘Don’t do this, don’t push me away.’

Later that day, you went home to have a shower and bring him some clothes and when you were back the next morning, the secretary said he checked himself out and left. You tried to reach him but his phone number was invalid. You didn’t know the visit the Company paid to him and what would happen if he continued to stay in the hospital and do nothing.

Six days after that you woke up to the knocking on your door and you weren’t expecting to see him. You stepped back so he could come inside but you noticed how it pained him to move. ‘What happened?’ 

‘I almost had Scofield but then... he ran away and let’s say that didn’t make them happy.’ You watched him sitting on the sofa and taking off his suit jacket. ‘Are they going to attack you every time something goes wrong?’ You helped him to unbutton his shirt as he leaned back, ‘If it’s not me then it’ll be Pam or Cam.’

‘Alex...’ You tried to speak but the words left you, leaving you in pain. Then you noticed the purpleness on his chest and tears escaped from your eyes, crying as you stood on your knees with his shirt in your hands. He grabbed your arms and you saw the muscles on his arms tighten, ‘I will be okay. It was a mistake to come here but... I didn’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone.’

You pressed a kiss on his chest and stood up, ‘I’ll draw you a bath right now, is it okay?’ He whispered thank you and you turned back to give him a kiss on the lips, ‘Then we will have dinner and you’ll get a good sleep.’ Once his body was relaxed and his stomach was full, he let you tuck him in a blanket and you two cuddled until one of you fell asleep. That night, he realised even at the worst times, there was something beautiful and unique.

[asksythe]

(Danmei Review and Recommendation Post - No Spoiler) Because I’ve mostly seen xianxia and wuxia in danmei available internationally, so I want to point out some danmei novels that aren’t in that particular subgenre. This particular one belongs to the zombie, economic war subgenres.

[系统]末世巨贾 (lit. (System) Doomsday Giants - Post-apocalyptic world giants) by 荷风渟 (He Feng Ting) …. Also nicknamed “The Interplanar smuggler” story by me. 

Genres: Zombie, Post Apocalyptic World, Dual Worlds, wartime interplanar smuggler, superpower, level-up, system, build a nation, bonded animals. 

Shou: Tsundere, face of an angel, heart of an angry cat, second heir of wealthy business tycoon family, coward turned gang boss and doomsday smuggler, totally convinced he’s super straight until he’s railed seven ways to Sunday offscreen (feisty, tiny kitten who is convinced he is a tiger), thinks he’s not a hero, becomes a hero/villain anyway.  

Gong: Dutiful military man turned gangster second-in-command (big bad wolf masquerading as a dog. The wolf eats the cat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner), confident gay who is out to bend the twink who is convinced he is macho man, looks like an Asian version of Michael Scofield in Prison Break (yep. With the close shaved head and all)  

  Premise: 

 A system connects two different worlds.

 Wu Ye, the second son of a nouveau riche tycoon family in modern-day China, is a coward with no ambition in life other than living in leisure and waiting for a comfy death. After an incident during which he should have died, Wu Ye is dropped into a strange world where zombies roam the land. A thing calls System announces a contract in his head. Amazing! It’s just like in the stud novels he likes to read! But fuck that, he has to survive first. 

 But being a rich city boy who has never worked a day in his life, of course, Wu Ye has no chance against the hordes of zombies in this strange, brutal world. He really should have died in the first 5 minutes. But long story short, he is saved by a soldier, who takes a zombie bite in the arm in his place. 

 Wu Ye uses the one zombie vaccine shot from his beginner’s package on the soldier, thus saving his life. But that’s only the start of troubles. 

 I know what you think. But no, it’s not that kind of zombie story. Wu Ye is not here to be the protagonist of a stallion novel. He knows how useless he is in a zombie world. He also doesn’t want fame, riches, or women. He doesn’t want to save the world or be the hero. He just wants to go home and live his life as a human-shaped fermented fish. Wu Ye’s decision to save the strange soldier (Qin Wu Hua) is simply because he knows he can’t survive in this world. So he needs a bodyguard/muscle/lil’ brother to keep his ass out of zombie maws. Wu Ye also doesn’t just stay in the zombie world. The system is a point buy system. The more zombies and missions Wu Ye kills, the more points he is awarded. He can use these points to buy amazing things (and powers), but the most amazing is a ticket to his home dimension!! So Wu Ye, who has never worked an honest job in his life, works his butt off to buy his ticket home. 

 One month after the day he is dropped into the zombie world, Wu Ye finally saves up enough to go home. But the home he comes back to is not the one he remembers. His family has gone bankrupt. His elder brother, who he thought he could trust, has turned traitor, took the family’s fortune, and ran. His sickly little brother is on his death bed waiting for a heart transplant that will never come. What little wealth his family still has is all used to maintain Wu Ye’s little brother’s life. 

 Faced with this, Wu Ye, who loves his family dearly, chooses to man up and become a criminal. There are cheap things in his world that are precious in the zombie world and vice versa. He will jump back and forth between the two worlds, make money off of them, and drag his family back from the brink of ruin. His first smuggled item: salt. His second: cigarettes. Somewhere along the line, to protect himself, his people, and his smuggling business, Wu Ye starts smuggling weapons too. Eventually, Wu Ye becomes a gang boss, and Qin Wu Hua his loyal second in command.      

Source: http://www.jjwxc.net/onebook.php?novelid=2070466#  

My thoughts: 

It’s a fun read. This story was on the silver nomination list the year it was published on JinJiang (the largest paid platform for amateur writers aimed toward the women’s market in China) and has been signed on by a hardcopy publisher. Til now, it’s only available in Mandarin, though.  

I like the character growth the shou, Wu Ye, goes through. At the start of the story, he really is a lazy, good-for-nothing rich boy. He’s not a bad person. He just doesn’t have ambitions and happens to be born into a rich family. But then disaster and betrayal come. So Wu Ye has to grow to protect the people he loves. It’s really satisfying watching Wu Ye go from a scaredy cat who has to depend on Qin Wu Hua to the leader who takes care of his underlings and plans out the moves for their budding gang/operation.  

The romance subplot of this story takes a back seat to Wu Ye’s journey from terrified interplanar refugee to global-scale zombie world warlord. The relationship between Wu Ye and Qin Wu Hua is sweet and has no true up and down. Because from the start, they were shoved into one life and death situation after another, so they learn to trust each other quickly. Qin Wu Hua is also a very straightforward person. When he realizes his feelings for Wu Ye, he immediately makes plans to inform and woo Wu Ye. He lives in a zombie world, after all. There really is no time for dawdling or playing games. At any moment, any of them might die. Wu Ye also doesn’t take too long to sort out his feelings, although he does complain in his head a lot about how he is totally straight, macho man. 

The story also explains the origin of System (unlike a lot of stories out there in which System is just… there, with no explanation given). The System in this story is an artificial symbiotic entity created by an interplanar empire to flash-train soldiers for their wars in the past. Once the wars ended, this Empire stopped manufacturing Systems and deemed them illegal to trade. But due to how useful they are, Systems remain a popular item in the interplanar black market. Wu Ye got his hand on a bugged System (in the form of a pearl he bought from a vintage fair) without realizing it. The System in this story has a personality (a used-car salesperson moonlighting as a loan shark) and a pretty funny dynamic with Wu Ye (who won’t be scammed but is constantly forced to make bad deals!). 

Also, the story is long. It’s over 200 chapters (close to 1 million words) long. That may be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on your preferences. 

[lokiskitten]

!! SEEKING FOR A RP PARTNER !!

Marvel, Star Wars...

~•~

[ Hello, I am currently in quest of finding a serious, open minded and invested roleplay partner who would be willing to entertain double rps depending on my mood ( I won’t necessarily ask you for a rp if I’m not feeling like handling two of them ). If interested, make sure to check the infos below and read one of my fics to get a peek of my writing style! ]

~•~

RULES :

No god moding. The plot is to be discussed and agreed on together. Communication is also key, so don’t ever hesitate to share your ideas/opinions.

Smut is allowed, and I tend to be comfortable with most topics so don’t hesitate to come up to me with any “taboo” subjects you’ve been afraid to ask for from anyone. Judgment isn’t a thing with me.

OCs are heavily welcome, but please remain rational. I’m extremely attached to realism, and tend to keep things and events logical whenever I write.

Please be literate. I expect one paragraph or more, especially as I tend to write a lot and give much efforts into my answers.

Now that you went through my rules, allow me to present the characters I would have muse for/once portrayed in my writer background or would be willing to give them a shot! :3

CHARACTERS ( classed under their actor ) :

Tom Hiddleston :

Loki Laufeyson | any version

Thomas Sharpe | Crimson Peak

James Conrad | Kong : skull island

Dr. Robert Laing | High Rise

Jonathan Pine | The night manager

Captain James Nicholls | War Horse

Tom Hiddleston himself | young and old

Benedict Cumberbatch :

Doctor Stephen Strange | mcu

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock

Benedict Cumberbatch himself

Cillian Murphy :

Thomas Shelby | Peaky Blinders

Jonathan Crane | Batman begins

Lenny Miller | Anna

Timekeeper Raymond Leon | Time Out

Sebastian Stan :

Bucky Barnes | mcu

Mickey | Monday

Lee Bodecker | the devil all the time

Sebastian Stan himself

Lance Tucker | the bronze

Steve Kemp | fresh

Michael Fassbender :

David8 | Prometheus/Covenant

Erik Lensherr | x-men franchise

Brandon Sullivan | shame

Adam Driver :

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren | Star Wars sequels

Flip Zimmerman | blackkklansman

Charlie Barber | marriage story

Jacques le Gris | the last duel

Additional characters :

Michael Gray | Peaky Blinders

Harry Osborn, both version | spider man, TASM

Andrew Garfield’s spider man | TASM

Henry Bowers | IT

Michael Langdon | AHS : apocalypse

Billy Hargrove | stranger things

King Louis XVI | the man in the iron mask

Jim Mason | the tribes of Palos Verdes

Alex Summers | X-men franchise

Mysterio | spider man : far from home

President Loki | Loki series

Anakin Skywalker | Star Wars prequels

Thandruil | the hobbit

Legolas | LOTR and the hobbit

Din Djarin | the mandalorian

Michael Scofield | prison break

Achilles | Troy

Norman Bates | psycho

Jaime Lannister | game of thrones

And probably more, so don’t hesitate to ask! ( mostly marvel, Star Wars, Games of Thrones, etc... )

Genres I like :

- romance

- drama

- action

- science fiction

- daily life issues ( if that makes sense lol )

- horror/thrillers

- medieval

[ Thank you so much for taking time to browse through these infos! Please don’t be afraid to message me, I promise I don’t bite. Take care :3 ]

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 2 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 3.1k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

From the conversation in the yard on the bleaches, Y/N learnt the logistics of the prison in terms of gangs and groups. She learnt Michael was under Abruzzi’s care and since she made an alliance with Michael, she would be under his care as well.

            Y/N knew of Abruzzi. He was a mobster in Chicago. She was part of the New York mob where Sebastian was in charge. However, she moved to Chicago this year on an assignment from Sebastian where it ended up making her go to Fox River. However, she knew when Abruzzi finds out she was not only part of Sebastian’s mob, but she was his wife…she knew there would be trouble. She could not tell Michael that.

            Additionally, when Michael was walking her back to her cell after yard time, they learnt she was next to his. Which made her feel just a little more special…like the universe was on her side.

            “Y/L/N, you have a visitor, lucky you,” a guard said.

            She was sitting on the bed, a book in hand she got from the library when she heard the announcement from the guard.

            “I don’t have family,” she said. “Therefore, I am not interested in seeing this person.”

            The guard chuckled. “You don’t call the shots, Y/L/N. Now, come.”

            Y/N sighed. “Who is it?”

            “That I cannot say,” the guard said.

            Y/N glanced down to the book in front of her…a random fiction novel she grabbed from the library before glancing up to the guard in front of her. Closing it, she walked to the bars where the alarm sounded, and it opened. Instantly, she was cuffed with her hands behind her back as the guards escorted her down the hall.

            She walked by Michael’s cell where he watched her being taken down the hall. Next to him was a Hispanic man, sitting on the bottom bunk with Michael next to them as they haltered their conversation.

            Michael’s brows furrowed and she gave him a curt nod in response.

            Inmates muttered words of harassment as they walked by. However, the guards continued to escort her. The guards pulled her, their boots echoing against the corridor. Eventually, she got to the door of the conjugal room which swung open with a loud creak. Y/N stepped inside, scanning the sparse room. One bed, one small table and two chairs. However, sitting in one of them, looking as calm and collected as ever is Sebastian.

            His tailored suit is immaculate, as if he did not belong in the grim outside word, much less in a prison. He looked like business, worthiness and importance and not like he runs one of the deadliest mobs to exist. His dark hair is slicked back, eyes sharp and calculating as they land of her. He stood when she entered, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

            “Doll,” he announced her nickname.

            “Don’t,” she said, voice pained.

            The sound of his voice, once so familiar, intimate and now sent spikes of bitterness through her.

            “Twenty minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” The guard uncuffed her.

            The door closes, leaving them alone.

            Y/N stood, refusing to sit. She stood staring at him with an icy gaze. The tension between them is thick, choking the air in the room. For a moment, neither of them speaks, silence buzzing with unsaid words.

            “Don’t pretend we are like we were six months ago.” Sebastian took a deep breath. He was about to open his mouth, but she beat him to it. “What the hell are you doing here, Sebastian?”

            He exhales as if he was expecting this. Slowly, Sebastian walked around the table, moving closer, but still keeping his distance.

            “I came to see you. I know it’s been…a long time.”

            Y/N’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, her eyes burning with fury. She took a step forward, her voice dangerously calm.

            “Long time? You mean since you had me locked up for the murder of your men? The same ones you ordered me to kill?”

            “At least it’s six and not the real count.”

            “You made me into a murderer. I was fifteen when I met you when you were in your late twenties. I ran drugs for you. I did favours for you. For you to groom me into being your pretty, but murderous wife who became known as Black Beauty and a deadly killer. I did everything. There was not an ounce of evidence, but you…you dropped my name and here we are.”

            “At least its twenty-five years and not life or the death penalty. I paid for a damn good lawyer-“

            “You’re getting me out of here.”

            “Y/N,” he tsked, “darling, doll. I can’t.”

            “You got me here.”

            “I didn’t have a choice. It was you, doll. However,” he smirked coming to her and dragging a finger down her face. “I am glad you kept everything a secret from the court, so I am safe, the mob is safe. You are a star. Taking one for the team.”

            Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound cold and hollow.

            “I know how this works, alright? Throw me under the bus, let me rot in here and now you show up? For what? To gloat? To remind me that you’re the reason I’m in his hellhole?” she barked.

            Sebastian took a step back, pinching his nose before looking at her. “Do you really think I wanted this?” he yelled back, voice loud. “I love you!”             “Love me? You betrayed me! Tomorrow, the courts can decide I get the death penalty.”

            “I played these cards right. You’re a smart girl. You will figure it out.”

            Y/N walked over to the chairs, pulled it out and sat down. “Why are you here? This is buttfuck nowhere in Illinois and you live in New York.”

            “I came to apologise,” he whispered. “Because I love you. I want a life with you. But, the mob comes first and-“

            “-I don’t want your apology, Sebastian. I want a divorce. You chose your empire, your men – over me. Your wife.”

            Sebastian’s expression flickers with something – regret, guilt. It’s there for just a moment before he buries it again beneath the mask he always wears.

            “No. No divorce. If we divorce, I can’t see you. I can’t care for you. There are men in this prison that can take care-“

            “I don’t need that. I made relationships where it is needed.”

            “Who?” he barked.

            “It does not matter.”

            “There are men I know in here.”

            “Do you really think they are going to listen to you…the minute these scums find out I was an assassin for the New York Mob, and I am married to the man that heads it…I am dead. That or I win.”

            He sighed. Sebastian’s jaw clenched at last words, his cool demeanour cracking for a brief moment. He stared at her as if assessing whether her defiance was a challenge or a cry for help.

            “I can protect you,” he said slowly, each word dripping with self-assurance, as though he was presenting a fact, not a possibility.

            Y/N laughed; a sound devoid of any real humour. “You’re still trying to control me, even from outside. But here’s the thing, Sebastian…” she said leaning close to him. “I don’t need your protection. Not anymore. This place…it’s brutal, but it’s honest. You? You’re the real danger.”

            Sebastian’s eyes flickered, the mask he wore momentarily faltering, his polished, calculated veneer giving way to something raw and unspoken. “You’ll die in here without me,” he said, his voice lowering to a whisper as if the weight of his words could anchor her back to him.

            Y/N stood, her chair scraping against the concrete floor as she squared her shoulders. She met his gaze head-on, unyielding.

            “I’ve already died, Sebastian,” she said quietly, her voice grim and resolute. “The moment you betrayed me, I became a ghost. This place? It’s just a grave. But here’s the difference between you and I – I’ll rise from it. You? You’ll rot in your own hell.”

            His smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Doll, you’re as dramatic as ever. But I know you better than anyone. You’ll come crawling back, just like always. You’re mine.”

            Y/N stepped closer; her chin lifted in defiance. “Not anymore,” she hissed. “You might own the mob, you might own the world – but you’ll never own me again.”

            Sebastian’s smile faded completely. He leaned forward, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.

            “We’ll see about that,” he whispered menacingly.

            As he turned and walked to the door, a guard swung it open and before stepping out, Sebastian paused, looking back over his shoulder at her.

            “Oh, and doll? This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

            The door clanged shut, leaving Y/N alone in the cold, empty room. Her hands balled into fists as she fought to steady her breathing, her heart pounding in her chest. She had survived Sebastian’s web before, and she would again.

            But as the heavy sounds of boots echoed down the hall, leading her back to her cell, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, it would take everything she had to stay ahead of him.

            Y/N passed Michael’s cell again where he stood to look at her and she nodded to him. Sitting down on her bed, she heard the alarm before the door closed. The bed was firm, and her book sat next to her, she went to grab it before her name was called out from beside.          

            “Y/N?” Michael said.

            “Yeah?”

            “You ok?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

            “I am,” she responded eventually. However, her tone was off slightly making Michael want to question more, but from what he knew about her…he knew to drop it.

-

Her first night was the loneliest she had ever had. The lights were dark, the bed was uncomfortable, and inmates whispered her name out loud throughout the night…especially T-Bag who mumbled and whined her name.

            The prison was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy, like the weight of the past pressing down on everyone confined within its walls. Most inmates had long drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic sounds of their snores and restless movements filling the darkness, but not Y/N.

            She laid on the cold cement floor of her cell, a thin blanket bunched beneath her back as she propped up a book in her hands. The dim lights that seeped in from the hallways barely illuminated the pages, but it was enough. Sleep had been elusive, like it always was in this place. The noise in her head was louder than the silence around her – memories of Sebastian, the betrayal, the trial, everything she had lost.

            Turning a page, she tried to focus on the words, letting the story pull her away from reality, even if only for a little while. But after hours of reading, her eyes burned, and her mind began to wander.

            A soft rustle caught her attention, barely audible through the concrete wall that separated her from the cell next door.

            “You can’t sleep either, huh?”

            The voice startled her. She knew that voice – Michael Scofield. His cell was right next to hers. They had exchanged a few glances and brief words since she had arrived, but nothing more. He kept to himself, which was fine by her as she did the same. Everyone had their secrets here, and she was not one to pry. But now, in the stillness of the night, his voice sounded almost…kind.

            Y/N hesitated before answering, her eyes fixed on the page in front of her. “No,” she said quietly. “Can’t sleep.”

            There was a pause. Then, the soft scrape of movement from his side, like he was getting closer to the wall between them. “What are you reading?”

            She glanced at the book’s cover, even though she already knew the answer. “Dostoevsky. Crime and Punishment.”

            Michael let out a quiet chuckle. “Fitting.”

            Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite herself. “Yeah. Seemed appropriate.”

            “Big reader?” he asked.

            She smiled softly. “If I didn’t choose the life I did, I would’ve been a writer. I love books,” she admitted.

            A comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated by the occasional distant clang of metal or the shifting of someone in a nearby cell. Y/N set the book down beside her, drawing her knees up to her chest as she leaned against the cold wall. She could feel the tension easing, just slightly, like the barrier between them was not as impenetrable as it had seemed before.

            “What was that? The life you chose?” he asked.

            “Crime,” she mumbled. “Wrong person at the wrong time.”

            Y/N exhaled slowly, her mind immediately flashing back to that fateful night – the blood, the chaos, the way it had all unravelled. The details were still sharp in her mind, like an unhealed wound.

            “What are you in for then?” Michael asked softly, his tone gentle but curious. It was not an accusation, just a question.

            “Six murders,” she replied, the words falling from her lips with practiced indifference, as if they did not belong to her. “Mob related. They said I was involved in a hit.”

            “Mob?”

            “New York. I married the wrong man who betrayed me. I got caught in the crossfire.”

            There was a pause, as though Michael was processing her words. She did not tell him she had not done it. Not because she was guilty, but because in here, it did not matter. In this place, guilt was irrelevant. It was all about survival. Admitting innocence made you look weak, and weak people did not last long.

            “They said you did it,” Michael repeated, picking up on the subtle way she had phrased it. “But you didn’t.”

            Y/N’s lips twitched. She had expected him to accept her answer as face value, but of course, Michael was not like the others. He saw things most people missed.

            “I didn’t,” she said quietly, the admission hanging in the air between them. “But it doesn’t matter. My loving husband made sure the evidence pointed on me. Got me locked up, and now I’m stuck in this hellhole while he’s out there living his life. He betrayed me.”

            Her voice cracked, just slightly, but she quickly masked it with a cough. She was not going to break. Not here. Not now. But it felt…strange, saying it out loud to someone who was not connected to that world. Someone who was not out to use her or punish her.

            Michael was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, there was a quiet understanding in his voice. “You didn’t deserve that.”

            “I’m not going to stay married for very long. My whole last fifteen years of my life have been intertwined with this mob, and I am done. I don’t want anything to do with him. Twenty-five years, it got me because of connections, and I wished I got the chair as I am a target in here as not only am I a woman, but a wife to a mobster who has wronged a lot of people. I’m going to die in here either by the hands of an inmate, a corrupt CO, my husband or if the judge changes their minds and I do get the chair.”

            Michael heard every word, and it was the first time she was honest. However, as he was about to respond she interrupted.

            “That was a lot, I’m sorry.”

            “You still don’t deserve this life,” he said.

            She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head even though he could not see it. “Michael, I don’t know what you did, but you don’t deserve to be here either. You have kind eyes and that’s something special.”

            Michael shifted again, and she could almost picture him sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall just like she was. “I robbed a bank,” he said, surprising her with the sudden admission.

            “What did you need the money for?” she asked.

            He chuckled. “I don’t. I had a great job before this. I was a structural engineer.”

            Her brows furrowed. “Then why did you rob a bank?” she whispered.

            “To get in here. My brother, Lincoln…he’s on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. I’m going to break him out.”

            Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his honesty. A bank robbery to get into prison? And a prison break plan on top of that? Most people in here did not share their schemes, not this openly. But something about Michael – his calmness, his methodical nature – made her believe he was not just telling stories. He actually meant it.

            “You’re serious,” she said, more a statement than a question.

            “I am,” he replied simply.

            Y/N leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling of her cell. “Sounds like one hell of a plan.”

            “I’m working on it,” he said with a soft chuckle, the warmth in his voice making her smile despite herself. “Could be worse, right?”

            “Could be worse,” she echoed, her smile lingering. It felt good talking to him like this – honestly, without the usual games and lies that came with being connected to the mob.

            For a long moment, neither of them spoke, just the quiet rhythm of their breathing and the distant hum of the prison. But it was not an awkward silence. It was…comfortable.

            “What would write about?” he asked. “You said you would be a writer.”

            She smiled. “It’s cliché, but I would write love. Love is incredibly powerful emotion, and you would do anything for that person. Love makes us do a lot of things we shouldn’t do, Michael.”

            He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s true.”

            “Any form of love whether it’s romance, familial, friendship. It’s a toxic drug.”

            “And your husband?” he asked.

            “I loved him, but he betrayed me. I asked for a divorce today,” she told him.

            Michael nodded. “He was your visitor?”

            “Unfortunately, he was. He wanted to apologise. I told him to go to hell,” she said with a chuckle. “He didn’t like that.”

            “Y/N,” he whispered name after moments.

            “Michael?”

            “It’s nice to have a friend,” he whispered, and she smiled as well.

            “Likewise.”

            “You’re not alone, Y/N. Remember that.”

            Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words settle over her like a blanket, comforting in a way she had not felt in a long time. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like she might have found someone she could trust.

            Even in the darkest of places, a little light could still break through.

-

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars

[lobstereo]

on december 27th, less than a full 48 hours after christmas, a targeted murder spree ripped through the denver and lakewood areas at the hands of a white supremacist. the denver tattoo community is grieving mentors and friends, children are grieving parents, and families are facing the unthinkable tragedy of burying loved ones instead of making new years plans with them. and none of this was random.

the attack began at the long-standing tattoo shop Sol Tribe on 1st and Broadway in Denver. the owner, Alicia Cardenas, was one of his first victims.

Alicia was born and raised here and was a central figure in our tattoo, mural, and indigenous communities. she owned her first shop at 19, helped to pioneer hygiene in the tattoo and piercing industry throughout the past 20 years, and opened the doors for so many in our city. i only met her in passing a handful of time, i think we may have spoken twice, and just from that i can say the warmth and strength she radiated was palpable. she was truly the matriarch of the denver tattoo community, and she turned the process of tattooing into a ritual, transmogrifying pain into power. she leaves behind her father and a 12 year old daughter. as her father said, she was like nobody you'd ever meet.

the second victim of Sol Tribe is Alyssa Gunn-Maldonado. She was a beloved yoga teacher in Denver who introduced many to their practice, and the loving wife of Jimmy, a long time artist at the shop that grew his career alongside Alicia's. Jimmy is currently hospitalized with multiple gun shot wounds. He is expected to recover, but he will have to recover without his wife, or his friend. Jimmy and Alyssa have a 12 year old son. these were good, good people who opened their arms to many and never hesitated to offer help.

after this, the killer murdered 67 year old Michael Swinyard in his own apartment, following a plan that he detailed in a book that he PUBLISHED in 2018. the same book named many of the targets in the attack. the killer owned a shop that went under in 2017, and knew most everyone involved.

he then targeted another shop owner, Justin Costilow, in his own home as well. Justin has been recovering from a near fatal motorcycle accident that has kept him from working, despite needing to support his shop, girlfriend, and newborn daughter. LUCKILY, the three managed to escape and find safety at World Tattoo on 6th, but Justin's leg was severely affected and his recovery has been set back. in addition, the killer set fire to both his car and van full of tattoo supplies, valued at $50k, that Jeremy was intending on selling to make rent and support his family. the killer previously left Jeremy threatening flyers and information about his book, where Jeremy was one of those named.

the killer then drove to Lucky 13 Tattoo on Colfax and Kipling in Lakewood. i once worked in a store RIGHT behind this shop, that's how close to home this all is. the killer walked in, murdered Danny Scofield aka Dano Blair, and left in the span of 10 seconds. Dano was also a friend and mentor to many, and a father of three children. his ex wife described him as a family man who loved everyone regardless of their story or origin. his shopmates have lost "an awesome human being, a great father, son, and brother."

the killer then fled to the belmar shopping district, where he shot a young hotel clerk, Sarah Steck. he did not know her, but had a previous vendetta against the Hyatt where she worked. tragically, she died from her injuries the following morning. she's been described as a beautiful, kind, and loving person who would go out of her way to help people. she had an infectious laugh and loved kittens, art, and music.

the killer was FINALLY neutralized after he shot a police officer in belmar, in the street corner where i fucking went to cosmetology school. police reported the initial shooting on broadway, and then encrypted their scanners, and provided NO updates to the situation until after he had died. and it was just to say an officer had been shot. no notification of additional shootings, no warning of tattoo shops being targeted; everyone in the scene had to rely on each other to learn information and notify families. the police also gave conflicting initial statements: the killer had "been on their radar" in the past and they had looked into him at least twice; but also, he had no criminal or arrest record, so the police never had reason to suspect him.

this is purely my own speculation, but considering Denver is quite literally built on a foundation of white surpremacy, i would not be surprised if he had friends on the inside who enabled him.

because of this man, children will be entering the new year without parents who should be here. parents will be entering the new year having to grapple with outliving their children who should be here. lovers are walking forward without their partners who should be here. the outpouring of support, care, remembrance and celebration of these lives show how important and beloved they were.

finally, because there's no fucking protocol on your boss being killed by a white supremacist in your own fucking shop, sol tribe will be closed for the foreseeable future while the matter is settled. all 12 artists have had to cancel all upcoming appointments and will be out of work in the wake of this. someone i consider a mentor got his start in denver at this shop, because of alicia. i cherish my ink from this shop, have fond memories of my friend champing through her rib tattoo here; i encountered alicia for the first time when she poked well-meaning fun at how the ribs are a bitch. ice cream next door at sweet action. drinks at sputnik down the road, shows at hi-dive, late nights sobering up at piehole back next to sol tribe. broadway is our local haunt, and we're all doing what we can to support our community; we are all one tribe.

[writingmorsels]

Prompt: Eagles and Angels

After Alex's disappearance, you couldn't continue to work at your current police department in Chicago, so you ask to be transferred to another city dept. You wound up in Los Angeles. You try to forget Mahone with all the strength you have left as you go through your days off and on the field. One day you're invited to a charity party for some colleagues who have departed early and while you're there, you see something you would've never expected.

You checked your uniform one last time before entering the building.

A sea of black caps and golden trims moved around tables and chairs, making small talk and offering their condolences. Men and women coming from any angle of California, at least two from each department peppering the state.

Most of the officers were standing in small groups, holding glasses of sparkling wine snatched from the buffet table. You, on the other hand, approached the front of the crowd slipping through your colleagues and stopped in front of the photos put on display, a black ribbon in the top-right corner.

Five good men and two women, now dead in the name of serving and protecting.

You watched intently, feeling your throat closing when a little, evil thought slithered into your mind.

"His photo would never end up there."

One hand raised quickly to brush at your eyes, the tears threatening to make themselves known once again.

Alex disappeared for months now and no one had any idea where he went… the one that knew didn’t want to tell you even a smidgen of information on his last mission.

You asked and pleaded with Sullins for at least a week. You even cornered Wheeler and threatened violence on him and his small virility, but with no avail. You even tried to enter his now locked office, but once you managed to sneak your way in, you discovered it had been cleaned up of everything.

You swore to god you would search for him, but without a starter point, it all seemed useless.

You changed departments, you changed home and friends, but that didn't change the bleeding heart still in your chest.

Slowly, you grabbed your phone and opened it, watching the little photo you took of Alex: it was during one of your dinners together, where he finally drank a little and loosened up. His face had been rosy all evening and he laughed at every little thing.

The photo you snapped in secret was of him smiling, his head turned to one side, almost bashful. His true self, hidden underneath the cold façade he wore while working.

Your thumb caressed the glass of the screen, using that virtual picture to send a prayer for him like all those people did for the mourned.

The concept hit you like concrete in your gut. Alex was dead and you would never see him again.

Forgotten by his colleagues, hidden away like a stain.

The hope you buried deep into your soul finally gave its last breath and you closed the phone with a soft clack, the sound a metaphor of nailing that coffin shut.

"This was the worst idea…" you thought to yourself, your feet quickly turning around towards the exit of the hall, but as you passed by some officer talking to a lady, you heard a voice you recognized.

That tone had been etched into your brain for how many times you and Alex poured on the video he made, searching for clues, mistakes or just studying the guy.

Your eyes, shining with held-back tears, shot up towards the origin of the sound and there he was.

Michael Scofield, donning a uniform like he owned the place.

Shock and anger filled you, as you saw his hand reach underneath a table and grab something small and black.

He looked around briefly, and when Scofield saw your eyes glued on him, he stopped for a second.

Your glossy eyes betrayed the hatred you felt for him and the escapee surely noticed, because his body tensed while fast-walking towards a little hallway, hidden away from the rest of the party members.

Anger turned into rage as you walked right behind him, slithering among your other colleagues to reach his disappearing shoulders. A whirlwind of thoughts twirled in your mind, feeling the same hunting dog that was Mahone.

Why was he there? What was that little thing he grabbed? How brazen did he have to be to show his face there, wearing a police uniform?? What has he done to Alex??

After all he did, the lives he ruined...after he took Alex away from you.

You moved into the empty corridor and saw Scofield turning a sharp right into a little side-garden, probably searching for an escape route.

That was your chance, away from anyone, to finally grab revenge and make it yours.

As soon as both of you were around the corner of the hallway, you ran up to him and grabbed his forearm, slamming his chest against a wall on your left. “Where is he?!” you hissed into his ear, your elbow digging into his spine. “Where is Mahone??”

Scofield turned his head and looked at you with his cold gaze, but you could almost see a hint of surprise, a panic wash on his face before he could get a hold of himself. "I know he was after you. I swear to God–!"

Scofield immediately reacted, fighting your hold; what he lacked in training he had with height difference and desperation.

A punch managed to hit your cheekbone and your cap flew off your head, but you didn’t stop.

There were far too many questions to pry the answers from his mouth.

Like a snake attacking its prey you launched on him again. Your foot rose to hit his knee straight on, a move Alex taught you to make anyone buckle, but Scofield dodged that, his clear eyes passing from you to a form behind your shoulder.

Suddenly a big forearm wrapped around your throat and you were lifted a few inches off the ground by the tall figure that was Burrows.

You should've thought about that, the brothers rarely acted alone… you were too fixated on that forbidden knowledge to remember. "Lincoln let's go, I have the device..!" Scofield heaved, massaging his jaw you hit in your fury.

Meanwhile, Burrows was crushing your windpipe, but you didn't stop fighting: months of sadness, frustrations and pure heartache were pouring into your limbs like a river.

Your legs kicked and your back arched, hands trying to find a place to grab onto the escapee. When your fingers clawed at the fold of Burrows' elbow, you used his own body like a stabilizer and curled your legs up before pushing them down again with all the strength you had, trying to unbalance the burly man.

Burrows folded forward just enough for your feet to land on the floor again and immediately you pushed him back and against the wall, trying to distract him just enough to free yourself.

Just a little more, just a little harder before you would pass out from the lack of oxygen.

With a strangled growl you tried again, this time you drove your heel into the top of his foot and finally you felt his hold soften enough for you to free yourself. You turned and grabbed his still hunched shoulders, shoving your knee directly into his guts, again and again.

For a moment it seemed to slow him down, hearing him grunt in pain as you tried to down him, but all stopped all of a sudden.

"What are you two doing there?? We need to go!" you heard a hushed tone from the hallway and your body froze for a second, your reddened eyes shifting towards the voice you heard.

Alex…?

Burrows, seeing you distracted, sucker-punched the lights out of you, making you lose your footing.

The shock of the hit made you see black and stars, the taste of blood filling your mouth.

The punch probably managed to break one tooth, too.

You wanted to reply in kind to Burrows' hits, but again he grabbed you, twisting your arms behind your back and pushing your chest against the wall like you did with his brother.

No kick or wriggle could free you now, tired and still out of this world for the previous direct.

"Lincoln there's no time for this, they're all going out–" Mahone appeared from the corridor with a light jog and your barely focusing eyes met him for the first time in months.

Alex was as beautiful as you remembered, if only a little thinner, a little rougher around the edges. His eyes held a haunting light in the very back, but the bewildered look on his face made your heart squeeze.

Under that matter-of-factly behaviour, he seemed sad. Oh so sad, especially now that his lips mouthed your name in pure confusion.

While he stopped at archway, you started to fight more Burrows’ hold, feeling his hand search something on you. “I need to cuff her or she’ll blow our coverー” "Let her go," Mahone commanded hastily when he found his voice again, starting to approach you and Burrows “What…?” "Lincoln! Let her go!" He added more forcefully, almost panicked.

The moment Burrows' hands disappeared from your body, you shoved him away, only one thing mattering for you in that instant.

You closed the couple of feet between you and Alex with a leap and wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulders, exhaling a desperate sob into his neck.

At the same time, Alex moved his hands to hug you back into a warm, solid hold.

The dam almost broke when you felt his warm palm against the nape. "Alex…! Oh...m-my God, Alex…!" You heaved with desperate relief, clawing at the dark uniform he was wearing. At that sound, his whole frame crumbled and his embrace tightened, quivering. “Y/n...I’m so sorry love, Iー” "Where did you go??” you spoke again with a dense tone full of worry. Your hands detached from his shoulders only to cup his face, so you could see directly in those glass-like eyes you always loved the most. “ I thought you were dead…! No one told me where you were…! Sullins, Wheeler, even Felicia didn’t give me a fucking clue!" Your voice, at first sad, started to mount in emotions, remembering the time you literally begged Lang to tell you Mahone’s last known location.

Alex watched you with his face distorting into a mix of happiness and guilt, his own hands cradling your nape with sad sweetness. “It’s...Y/n, it’s complicated...” he whispered, feeling Michael and Lincoln’s eyes on his back, now that the brothers reunited. “Just...come with me? Please? We…” he turned his head slightly, as if asking permission to take you with him to Michael, who was now watching him intently. Lincoln seemed weary of you, while he massaged his offended abs. “It’s dangerous to be heー”

Your lips crashed on his in a desperate kiss when Alex shifted his gaze back to you, losing your breath in the effusion almost completely.

Both brothers raised their brows as they watched a vaguely shy Mahone blink into the sweet attack, before slowly replying, softening your frantic gesture into something warmer, tender.

Alex’s breath became cold on your skin and his fingers gently brushed away a few tears from your cheeks.

The kiss would’ve lasted longer, but Michael’s voice came up between them like a crowbar. “We have to go.”

Your attention rounded suddenly towards Scofield, watching him in anger. “Go where??” you growled, turning to Alex for a brief moment as if searching for an answer, only to return your eyes on Michael’s cold ones. “He’s not going anywhere, Scofield, do you hear me?? What do you have to make him obey like a good lil’ doggie?? Did you blackmail him?? Threatened his son??” At each barked question you took a step forward, towards the brothers. “I swear if you lay a finger on that boy you’ll beg to be killed!”

At the same time Mahone grabbed your arm to stop you and Lincoln put himself between his brother and your irate gaze. “Aw as if you would scare me, big guy!” you yanked at Alex’s hand, flexing the shoulders backwards while your chest puffed out. Your hands itched for some confrontation, the dark imagery in your mind giving fuel to your rage. “C’mon I’ll finish the job with you and then make your spindly lil’ brother spit out that brilliant brain of his!-” “Y/N! Stop it, immediately!” Alex’s voice came serious and sharp behind you, the tone you heard so many times from your Chief in Command.

You stopped fighting Mahone’s hold and your lips fell silent, but you still watched the brothers as if you could kill them with your eyes. “Y/n I’ll explain everything.” Alex then pulled you back and held you around the shoulders in fear you would jump the brothers again. “But Michael is right, we have to go-” “yeah, but leave the pipsqueak behind, would you?” Lincoln harrumphed, you and him exchanging lethal gazes.

“Is she trustworthy?” the younger brother asked instead and you squinted at him, clawing at Mahone’s dark shirt in a protective (and rather possessive) stance.

Alex sighed and nodded. “Yes. I can vouch for her...It’s been...a terrible month for everyone,” he quickly said to Scofield and the man seemed to understand.

He then turned to his brother and jerked his head towards the hallway, a silent sign that Burrows barely noticed.

Exiting the building became almost too easy and when the four of you reached a black, big car, you looked up to Alex. His face was serious and his eyes were wandering around on high alert.

His whole body was in full tension near yours, as you walked elbow to elbow, and for a moment replayed his words in your mind. “It’s too dangerous.”

Why was it dangerous? He was with the Bureau, a valued agent, one of the best! All those policemen would be honored to be in his presence…!

“Get on…” he whispered to you as he opened the car door, watching around with his jaw tensing.

The journey through the city was one of the heaviest you ever witnessed: the brothers were on the front seats, MeatHead driving and WonderBoy looking out of the windows, scanning the sidewalks.

You and Mahone took the back seats and you felt the silence push on you two, while Alex had one hand fisted on his leg and the other rested between your shoulder blades.

The stylish part of the city slowly morphed into factories and rusted iron, eaten away by the salt of the sea.

You saw some warehouses on your way to the group’s destination and finally Burrows parked haphazardly in front of a seemingly abandoned building. “We’ll stay out here for a second,” Alex called out to the brothers and while Lincoln didn’t even turn, Michael gave the federal a nod, watching you with calculating eyes, before disappearing inside that particular warehouse.

Only you and Alex remained on the quay, the man taking a deep breath before stretching his fingers towards you, softly touching your forearm. “Come…” he breathed, his previous hard voice now barely a wisp.

Mahone walked up to the cement barriers that functioned as guardrails along the edge of the port, the only thing protecting people from falling into the sea water. He turned and sat down on top of one of the Jersey bumps, completely deflated. “Alex...what happened…?” you prompted him, inching closer to him.

You didn’t have your fire inside anymore, anger now fizzled into worried sadness. You never saw him like that, completely defeated. A shadow barely holding onto its physical form. “It’s a long story,” he spoke without looking into your eyes. Instead, he moved one hand and slowly reached for one of yours, gently weaving them together. “I will understand if you will want to...keep your distance, after, but please listen… I really need someone to listen…”

And you did.

You didn’t speak while his voice started to pour out into a long, convoluted string. You absorbed everything, from the starting hunt, to Panama, through Sona and then out.

Your chest tightened as he recounted how Sona was, the killings and brutality, the blood shed and the constant fear of end up shanked. Instinctively you brought his hand to your chest as you heard his defeat against his personal demons, in the shape of white dust and a needle.

You listened about the Company, who and why were they against the brothers, the conspiracy behind Burrows’ death sentence and the courage his brother had to free him. All those words lit up a bunch of lightbulbs in your head, especially when Mahone explained that he worked for the Company twice already, doing double-crossing the second time he did. How they threatened whoever he loved. His son, Pam. You. “That’s why…” you whispered. “That's why you refused to even sleep...If I knew back then I could-” “you didn’t have to know. It was best that way...I couldn’t risk losing you too…” Alex sighed while you lowered your intertwined hands down, completely shocked and still processing all the infodump he just did.

But there was something he didn’t speak about and you could feel it, a thorn prickling in the background. Bleeding one droplet at the time. “There’s something you’re not telling me…” you muttered, inching closer to him. “Alex…Who…? Felicia? Pam?” you asked, seeing his empty eyes fixating on a far, non-existing point on the cement.

The lack of replies didn’t give you enough to work with, but you noticed something, a sorrow dug deep in him that no normal death would create.

If there was something Alex truly cared about was...

Oh no…

“...Cam?” you whispered, as the realization hit you.

You saw his kid from time to time and when your relationship deepened, you even brought the boy to school using your police car, earning you the ‘Police Mom’ title.

He knew about you and his dad, of course, and even Pam seemed satisfied that Alex found someone else to be happy with.

“Three...four days ago…” came the reply. He tried to remain collected, but you could hear the lump in his throat tighten.

You left his hand only to raise your arms and approach him, enveloping his head and his shoulders into a firm embrace. Your palm caressed his nape and you could feel his entire body collapse against you, as if the last trace of self-control disappeared the moment you hugged him.

His hands clawed at your back when he searched for your body like a castaway in the middle of a maelstrom, squeezing you tightly against himself while his face drowned in your presence.

He trembled without a sound, but you knew he was crying.

You rode with him the waves of agony, keeping steady against the hot tears you felt dampening your dark uniform. “Oh God I’m so sorry darling..” you whispered in his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I’m here now...I’m here and I’m not leaving...ok? I’ll never leave…” your hands caressed the back of his neck, his shoulder and what could you reach of his back, trying to smooth away the sadness he was so firmly enveloped into.

The embrace lasted minutes, where Mahone slowly relaxed more and more into it, until he finally took a deep breath and started to lean away, looking up to you.

His eyes were red and still wet, the icy blue of his eyes still amazingly beautiful even in sorrow. “We’ll get to the end of it, together...ok?” you whispered, holding a smile on your face, hoping to rub some of that optimism onto him. He only nodded, his throat bobbing with a swallow before he would stretch his neck and search for a kiss. You couldn’t deprive a desperate man some love, so you gladfully leaned down and met his lips with your own, a slow and soft press that asked for peace, even for an instant.

Was like that, a statue devoted to love and hardship, that you two were caught by an oblivious Sucre, just arrived from his part of the retrieval mission.

He slinked away with a shameful ‘sorry!’ after he realized who was there on the quay and while you furrowed your eyebrows, Mahone only sighed a little laugh, hiding himself again in your chest. “Thank you...for being here...for...being,” he muttered with a sweet, shy tone.

You hugged him some more, your time now to feel a lump in your throat.

[jazzviewswithcjshearn]

Lage Lund: Terrible Animals (Criss Cross Jazz, 2019)

Lage Lund: guitar and effects; Sullivan Fortner: piano; Larry Grenadier: bass; Tyshawn Sorey: drums.

Guitarist Lage Lund has been one of the most identifiable voices on the New York jazz scene for many years. Originally hailing from Norway, he has been one of the most important guitarists in the post Scofield, McLaughlin, Frisell generation. That generation, which has included guitarists such as Kurt Rosenwinkel, Rez Abbasi, Matthew Stevens, Jakob Bro and Ben Monder to name but a few, have been stretching the boundaries of jazz guitar and contributing to the micro innovations in vocabulary.  For Terrible Animals his fifth Criss Cross release, the guitarist has assembled a stunning new quartet with pianist Sullivan Fortner, bassist Larry Grenadier and jack of all trades, multi instrumentalist and drummer Tyshawn Sorey (who sticks to the latter instrument here).

Lund's quartet originally included Sorey and Fortner, with Matt Brewer in the bass chair with the group playing much of the repertoire in New York and elsewhere.  He felt the group had such cohesion, that they could go anywhere musically and wrote the music specifically with them in  mind.  Indeed, the simpatico with Fortner, Grenadier (in place of Brewer) and Sorey is impressive.  The ten Lund originals on Terrible Animals are melodic, quirky, filled with dry, ironic humor. turbulent, and teeming with unpredictable twists  and turns.  Everything sounds positively huge—thanks to Lund's analog triggered guitar synth overdubbing.  The group interplay on such tricky material is a marvel to behold.  Lund's “Suppressions” a wry reference to John Coltrane's “Impressions” starts with a moody out of tempo introduction with a warm synth pad wash transforming into a melody that uses an intriguing set of intervals.  Grenadier and Sorey participate in a thrilling give and take, the bassist's notes plodding, with Sorey's cymbal work resembling something of a half time feel, they are in a virtual tug of war during Lund's ebullient solo.  The whole time, Grenadier threatens to go into a full blown 4/4 swing feel, until suddenly mid way through the guitar solo, the dam bursts and the bassist and drummer vault into full blown swing; it is completely unexpected on first listen and on subsequent listens one can hear the brilliance of Lage's structures.  

“Hard Eights” inspired by the guitarist's trip to a casino has a main hook line that is filled with humor, conjuring a cowboy on a horse yet the horse is a bit drunk.  There is a pronounced Frisellian aspect to the section gorgeously framed by the familiar looping strings of a Mellotron.  The guitarist flies into a wonderfully lyrical solo entry, and Sorey is right there with him opening explosive torrents of sound.  Fortner's solo is gorgeously fluid. Sorey bursts at the seams on “Aquanauts” playing a solo after the first melody pass, an interesting touch, with the guitarist's expressive outro solo over 5/4.  The guitarist again uses 5/4 in “Brasilia”, with Fortner going for the jugular.  “Haitian Ballad” features feathery brushes from Sorey, beautifully introspective Fortner and Lund's distorted outro solo is supported by the emotional rush of swelling synth pads in the background.   “Ray Ray”'s R&B groove  starts with J Dilla-ish flammed rim shots from Sorey there is a rhythmic quarter note underpinning through the piece.  Lund's solo is flanked by absolutely burning commentary from Sorey, the waltz time feel from the drummer is accented by rolling triplets on snare and napalm blasts from cymbals.  He boils over on his solo over the vamp heightened in intensity from slowly rising choir pad like synth.  “Take It Eas” borrows a page out of Michael Brecker's “Syzygy” in the sense that, Lund transcribed Grenadier's improvised bass solo, and turns it into something composed by doubling it where guitar and bass are nearly imperceptible.

“Terrible People” is a brief ominous cinematic slab, with doubled acoustic and electric guitar enhanced by eerie effects.  The title is  derived from the Kurt Vonnegut literary work of which the album shares it's title.

Sound

As mentioned earlier, the sound of Terrible Animals is massive.  The album, excellently recorded by Michael Marciano at Systems Two in Brooklyn has a dry close miked sound stage, with guitar taking center channel, at times to sometimes surprising effect.  For example, towards the close of “Haitian Ballad” the listener is greeted with distorted, ring modulated guitar, with delay veering off into the left channel.  Piano also shares the center with correct imaging vis a vis left hand and right hand in their proper channels respectfully.  Drums are incredibly powerful and detailed. Certainly over thirty years the general area of synth like effects, guitar synthesis and MIDI pickups like Roland's GK system have improved tremendously.  Gone are the days where they are not horrible messes like the ARP Avatar, or poorly tracking glitch filled Synclavier guitar controllers of the past.  The latter are especially famous as Pat Metheny, John McLaughlin and Al DiMeola all had one, the famous LED lit Synclavier panels affixed to a Roland G303 guitar (or in Metheny's case) built into the Roland controller itself. Guitar synthesis in the present is firmly rooted in the post modern age with many effects achieved via just laptop and Lage's overdubs are positioned in the back of the sound stage, sometimes across the left and right channels.

Closing Thoughts

Terrible Animals is one of the best albums of 2019.  The quartet of Lund, Fortner (who for ten years was in the late Roy Hargrove's quintet) Grenadier and Sorey leave no places unguarded.  There is nothing safe in this music, it is filled with death defying risk taking and it pays off through passionate solos and intuitive ensemble interplay. Sometimes, such complex music comes off as contrived but not here—with Lund's unique compositional world and incredibly strong guitar voice, everything is completely organic.  It is also refreshing to hear a label such as Criss Cross record such progressive music from shining stars of the contemporary New York scene like Alex Sipiagin, Matt Brewer, Lund and David Binney.  When the label made itself known in the early 80's, it was strongly invested in recording hard bop and standard repertoire from long time veterans and younger players alike with many proclaiming the Dutch label the Blue Note of the 80's.  It's quite nice to hear something as uncompromising as the guitarist's music on the label, and the retro designed cover dating back to early 80's albums is a nice touch. Lage Lund's journey will continue to blaze bright paths far into the future.

Music Rating: 9.5/10

Sound Rating: 9/10

[rurousha]

From Fox River to Central City, Ch 12/14

Chapter 12 - Facing Cold

1 – Team Flash & Legends, Mick-1 & Palmer 2 – Mayor Snart, clearly the most crooked here 4 – Cold-4, retired 11 – Killer Cold & Heatwave, bad guys 16 – Cold-16 & Sara-16, thieves 19 – Leonard-19 & Mick-19, smugglers 22 – Snart-22 & Rory-22, cyborg survivors 27 – Len-27 & Mickey-27, freedom fighters 29 – Michael-29, Lincoln, Veronica, & LJ, criminals but the good guys? 30 – Scofield-30, structural engineer 53 – Leo & Ray, 4-ever

He knew it was a trap. It could only be a trap. Three warehouses going up in flames nearly simultaneously and dangerously close to an apartment building had to be the work of Heatwave.

He knew it was a trap. What could Barry do but go anyway?

Barry spun his arms in an effort to suffocate the flames near an interior office while the two workers inside waited for their chance to bolt.

“Cisco," Barry called into his comms. “This fire is everywhere. I don’t think I can get it out quickly. Not alone.”

Then a shot of blue streaked past Barry and froze the burning beams next to him.

“Cold?”

~

Heatwave stood beside Cisco as the kid genius tapped violently at the computer. His eyes were manic but focused. Cisco was usually spaced out and disoriented, but he was lucid right now in a way Mick had only seen a few times, when they were steps away from killing another doppelganger. Snart’s doppelganger.

Killing Snart.

“You sure you can actually do what you’re trying to do from here?” Mick asked. “This office don’t look used much.”

“Don’t you know Rory? Computers are magic.” Cisco clicked one more series of keys and smiled. “And I’m a frickin’ wizard.” Then his hand shot out and opened a breach a few feet away. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

Mick went.

~

Mayor Snart leaned against the railing of the stairway landing above the cafeteria. He looked down at Cold-4, Michael, and Lincoln, the only ones left in here after lunch. Cold-4 and Michael were trying to discuss the science behind the cold gun, but they were agitated. Lincoln was trying to eat cold pancakes to calm himself down, but it didn’t look like he was having much luck.

Then he saw movement outside the room, on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cafeteria. It was Killer Cold. He was walking across the concrete, headed straight for them.

Mayor Snart pointed from his vantage point over the cafeteria and shouted, “Cold!”

Cold-4, Michael, and Lincoln tracked his finger to Killer Cold outside. A breach opened, and Heatwave stepped out next to him.

“Get upstairs!” Cold-4 shouted at Michael and Lincoln, gesturing them up towards Mayor Snart.

“Facility-wide lockdown engaged,” a passive, computer voice alerted over the PA system.

Mayor Snart immediately bolted for the door on his left that led into the main halls of STAR Labs. He darted into the hall just before the door automatically slammed closed and locked.

“Shit,” Lincoln shouted. He and Michael were barely even to the base of the stairs.

“He’s got us cut off from each other,” Michael said.

Cold-4 looked back to Killer Cold and Heatwave as they approached one of the windows. It was just the three of them down here, and he was the only one armed.

Killer Cold stepped up to the window and pressed his cool hand against the glass. Frost immediately started to form fractals across it.

“Definitely shit,” Cold-4 said.

Killer Cold fired.

~

“Why won’t this door open?!” Mick-1 shouted. He was trying to force open the doors of the cortex to get to the hallway.

“Sorry, Mick, we’re trying,” Palmer said. He and Cisco were frantically typing on the computers, trying to get the lockdown lifted.

“Whoever initiated the lockdown blocked all my override codes,” Cisco explained. “Which means it was probably me. Other me.”

“Can’t you use your fancy black hole powers to get us out of here?” Mick growled at Cisco.

“Yes, but everyone else would still be trapped and isolated. Caitlin’s with the 16s in the med bay, and I don’t even know where everyone else is. At least here we have a decent chance of finding out where Killer Cold is going to attack.”

“Uh,” Palmer pointed at a blinking computer. “I think we just did.”

Cisco looked over Palmer’s shoulder. “The cafeteria.”

~

Cold-4 ducked and rolled away from dual ice and fire rays. He fired back at Heatwave, who spun behind some rubble to avoid another collision between his heat gun and a cold gun.

Fortunately, Cold-4 had managed to pull the fight outside. This meant that Michael and Lincoln, who were young, unarmed, and wholly unprepared for a supervillain fight, could move away from the shooting.

“Get out of here!” Cold-4 shouted at them and jerked his head towards the industrial district near STAR Labs. There were docks, shipping containers, alleys, and any number of buildings for them to hide in.

“But –“ Michael, the do-gooder, started to object, but his more sensible brother grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards the relative safety of the other buildings.

At least they were two fewer things to worry about.

Killer Cold shot at Cold-4, who ducked further behind the cover of a large tree in the grassy area outside the Labs. The blast grazed his side, but the thermal threading in his vest took the brunt of it.

Unfortunately, being outside meant that Killer Cold and Heatwave had the space to split up and approach Cold-4 from both sides. He could see Killer Cold in the reflection off a nearby car window and Heatwave along the walls of STAR Labs. That wasn’t good. If he died here, Sara was never going to let him hear the end of it.

Then there was the high whine of a cold gun and the metallic shrieking of twisting metal. Cold-4 looked up in time to see a frozen part of one of the metal spires atop STAR Labs break off and crash to the ground. Heatwave had to run to avoid being crushed.

“I get you, Mick?!” Leonard-19 shouted down. He had been on the roof of the Labs enjoying a couple beers and a quiet minute when the lockdown happened. Now he couldn’t get down, and the ground was well out of range of his cold gun. He had to improvise by freezing and knocking down bits of the roof. Luckily, there were many expendable bits to choose from.

“Not quite, Snart,” Heatwave shouted back up.

“Mick, go after the kid!” Killer Cold shouted at Heatwave. “I’ll handle these two.”

Heatwave shrugged vaguely in the direction of Cold-4 and took off for the industrial district.

~

“There!” Michael shouted and pointed at a side entrance to an industrial complex that had a gated fence.

“Right.” Lincoln ran for it with Michael right behind him. “We’ll lock it behind us.” Lincoln glanced back briefly to make sure Michael had the gate then ran ahead to make sure it was clear. He heard the chain slide around the post and, with a drop in his stomach, the padlock click shut.

He already knew what he was going to see.

Lincoln turned. Michael was on the wrong side of the fence, making sure the padlock was locked tight.

“No.” Lincoln ran back to the fence, but it was too late. Michael kept his head down, too ashamed to look Lincoln in the eye. “No no no no, Michael. Michael, don’t do this.”

“It’s done, Lincoln.” Michael finally looked up at his brother. Lincoln clutched at the chain link between them, separating them once again. “Get out of here. Heatwave will chase me.”

Michael reached his fingers through the chain link to grip Lincoln’s as best he could. It broke Lincoln’s heart to be in this position again, on the wrong side of a locked gate from a loved one and a death sentence between them.

“I love you, Lincoln,” Michael said. “Keep Veronica and LJ safe.”

Then Michael yanked his hands away from the fence and ran further into the industrial park.

“Michael!” Lincoln shouted after him. “Michael!”

Seconds later, Heatwave caught up to Lincoln, drawn by his shouting. He looked at Lincoln locked on the other side of the gate and shouldered his heat gun.

“Yer brother do that to ya?” Heatwave asked, gesturing toward the padlock.

Lincoln just glowered.

Heatwave nodded. “That’s a good kid. You did right by him.”

Lincoln growled, “If you touch him, I’ll kill you.”

Heatwave shrugged and headed out after Michael.

“You hear me?” Lincoln shouted after his doppelganger and banged on the gate. “I’ll kill you!”

~

Leonard-19 kicked frozen rubble off the roof in Killer Cold’s general direction, but Killer Cold easily rolled out of the way. It at least bought Cold-4 enough time to reposition to a more defensible spot in the parking lot.

Annoyed, Killer Cold shot a massive blast of blue plasma up at the roof, and he had much better range than Leonard-19’s cold gun. The blast struck the edge of the roof and froze into huge spikes of ice. The force of it threw Leonard-19 back and knocked the wind out of him. He raggedly huffed in some air and wobbled to his feet. The ice had formed a jagged wall taller than him.

“Dammit,” he whispered. He ran around it to the next clear patch of roof ledge, but the angle was bad. He could barely make out movement in the direction of Killer Cold and Cold-4. He was out of the fight.

~

On the ground in front of the Labs, Cold-4’s position was growing desperate. They had once again seriously underestimated the scale of Killer Cold’s power. The car in front of him froze, hard and brittle, and then shattered. Now completely exposed, Cold-4 shot Killer Cold directly in the chest with his cold gun.

Once the beam stopped, Killer Cold looked down at his chest. He was completely unharmed, only frost left across his shirt to show Cold-4’s work.

“Yeah, I suppose it was too much to ask for that to work,” Cold-4 griped at his murderous doppelganger.

“It really was,” Killer Cold agreed. He raised his right arm and pointed at Cold-4.

Then bullets and what could only be shots from a ray gun rained down on Killer Cold from his left. Ice immediately formed across his shoulders to form a type of shield from the bullets, but one of the rays hit his left arm just above the elbow. He shouted in pain and clamped his right hand over the burn. It hissed into steam.

Killer Cold looked left and found Snart-22 pointing his dual pistols at him from across the parking lot. Rory-22 stood next to him holding a paper grocery bag in one hand and a highly processed, sugar-packed Danish in the other. They had not been in the Labs at all but grocery shopping when Killer Cold attacked. The word ‘shopping’ being used loosely.

Rory munched his treat, and Snart shot both guns at Killer Cold again. Killer Cold, now prepared, formed an ice shield and deflected both shots.

Cold-4 decided he was useless here and took the opportunity to run after Michael and Lincoln. They needed his help much more than the cyborgs of Earth-22. Killer Cold paid him no mind.

Snart-22 was not Captain Cold. He wasn’t Citizen Cold. He was not, in fact, a Cold of any kind. He was just Leonard Snart, a violent, dangerous survivor of the hellhole that was Earth-22. He had his wits, his guns, and his friend, and that had always been enough.

Rory-22, however, was Heatwave. He carried no guns but instead had a tiny, red rock wired into his chest, just over his sternum.

“Are you going to burn something now?” Snart-22 asked flatly.

“I think I will,” Rory-22 answered. He (tragically) dropped both bag and Danish and stretched his scarred arms out to crack his knuckles.

Then his tapped the red stone on his bare chest. It glowed. Then his bones beneath his skin glowed as if lit up with an internal fire.

“What the…?” Killer Cold muttered.

He didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Rory shot a fireball at him with his bare hands. The force of it exploded Killer Cold’s shield of ice and sent him sprawling back onto the asphalt. Snart-22 tried to shoot Killer Cold while he was down, but Killer Cold quickly rolled out of the way and on to his feet. He shot tiny spears of ice from his finger tips at Snart, who dodged out of the way into the grassy park nearby.

Flames surrounded Rory. They grew in every direction and formed into a humanoid shape around Rory, making him seem far larger than he was. The liquid in some of the tubes of Rory’s cybernetics bubbled, and the asphalt melted at his feet.

Snart-22 got his footing and fired again at Killer Cold, but he waved his right hand and formed a wall of ice around him on that side. Then Killer Cold shot raw blue cold energy at Rory. Rory fired back, and the two energy blasts struck. Instead of exploding on each other, the fire overwhelmed the cold and pushed it back towards Killer Cold in a burst of hot steam.

Rory-22 pressed his advantage and marched forward, beam of fire ahead of him, footprints of black slag behind him. Killer Cold braced his feet and tried to hold the stream of cold, but the cold core in his arm was no match for the power of the Zambesi fire totem in Rory’s chest. He slid against the ground at his feet until his back hit the wall of STAR Labs behind him.

The wall of ice protecting Killer Cold from Snart-22’s guns was rapidly steaming and melting beside him. Snart-22 pointed his pistol at the wall in anticipation for a clear shot.

“Almost got him, Mick,” Snart-22 yelled at his partner. “Keep it up!”

Then there was an undignified “whoop”, and Rory fell through a breach that opened under his feet.

“Mick?” Snart-22 startled. He scanned around to find him and instead found Cisco standing on the other end of the grassy landscaping. It wasn’t Cisco of Earth-1. This Cisco was a mess of knotted hair and rumpled clothes. It was Vibe of Earth-11.

Vibe pointed up, and Snart followed his gesture. He looked up just in time to see Rory fall out of a closing breach hundreds of feet in the air. The wind and speed of his fall quickly extinguished the flames around him.

“Mick!” Snart-22 shouted.

He had little time to check on his partner, though. Abruptly free from flames and steam, Killer Cold shot ice after him, and Snart-22 had to run to stay clear.

“You got him?” Killer Cold yelled to Vibe.

“Oh yeah,” Vibe responded.

In the air, Rory-22 tried to twist around and get his hands beneath him. He shot fire from his hands in an effort to control his fall, but it took several tries to get himself steady. Then he was able to get his feet pointed down and shoot fire from them too. Finally, he started to slow down.

Vibe shook his head and opened another breach underneath Rory, who couldn’t help but fall in. Vibe dropped him from further up, this time at an angle so that Rory had to correct his trajectory again. Vibe opened breach after breach, faster and faster, to catch and drop Rory, always higher and at a sharper angle, spinning and disorienting him.

The human body can naturally withstand between four and six times the force of gravity before passing out. Rory was more resilient than most. He lasted until nearly seven. But then his fire went out, and he dropped like a stone.

The car park and grassy courtyard between the Labs and the offices nearby were a mess of bullet holes and ice patches. Snart saw his friend fall, and shouted, “Mick. Mick, wake up!”

His momentary distraction was his undoing, though. Killer Cold shot him straight in the chest. Ice bloomed over him and froze him in a giant block of ice, gaze still directed upward.

“One down,” Killer Cold gloated.

Suddenly, a bright gold light torpedoed through the air. It was Ray on a direct course for Rory’s falling form. He grabbed Rory around the waist, but he was going much too fast, and Rory was much too heavy. Unable to dodge around, Ray flew straight into a new breach and came out into the side of a skyscraper across town. The two launched through a wall of steel and glass, and the people inside screamed in surprise. The pair tumbled, unconscious, to a stop inside.

~

On the street level, Leo and Joe were stuck a few blocks away from STAR Labs. Crowds of people were screaming and fleeing the buildings near the fighting, blocking the street. Leo and Joe gave up on driving and exited the car, but they were still trying to go the opposite direction of the scared crowd.

“Excuse us, please, here we go,” Leo tried to push his way passed the running pedestrians.

“Police!” Joe shouted. “Everyone out of the way!”

That did little to calm the group and nothing to make them move.

So Leo shot his gun at a nearby streetlight. It froze, and the light shattered.

“Everyone, get the hell out of the way!”

They did.

~

In the cortex, Cisco gave a triumphant shout. “Yes! Lockdown lifted.” He immediately hit a button on his computer to activate the Lab-wide PA system.

“Anyone still in the building, get to the pipeline,” Cisco shouted into the PA’s microphone. “It’s safer there.”

Then he turned to Mick-1 and Ray Palmer. “Ray, man the comms. Heatwave, get to Caitlin in the med bay. She might need some help.”

“But – ,” Palmer started to object.

“You heard ‘im, Haircut.” Surprisingly, Mick quickly did as he was told and ran down the hall towards the med bay.

Palmer sat in Cisco’s vacated chair and put in an earpiece. Cisco grabbed his gauntlets and visor and breached outside.

~

At Cisco’s announcement, Sara-16 tore the med bay door open, just in case it tried to lock them in again. She pulled out her sticks and looked around the hallway. “We’re clear, let’s go.”

Caitlin tried to help Cold-16 out of bed but was pushed away.

“My legs work fine, Snow,” Cold-16 objected. His left arm was in a sling, and there were bandages wrapped around his torso. He grabbed his cold gun and followed after Sara.

~

Outside, Killer Cold and Vibe-11 were out of immediate targets. Heatwave was chasing after Michael and Lincoln around some nearby warehouses, and Cold-4 had gone after them. Rory-22 and The Ray were unconscious somewhere downtown. Barry was busy, Leonard-19 was trapped on the roof, and Snart-22 was a block of ice.

“Inside then,” Killer Cold said.

“Not yet,” Vibe held up a hand.

A breach opened, and Cisco-1 hopped out.

“Just you, Cisco?” Killer Cold asked.

“Yeah, I was really hoping there were others already out here.” Cisco-1 looked at the destruction around him and Snart frozen like a giant popsicle. He hoped that didn’t shatter during their fight. He waved at Vibe-11. “Hey evil me.”

“The stars are ringing, singing, screaming, and I hear them all.”

“Not this again.”

“Somebody has to go polish the stars, and I am not afraid of what I am.”

“Right… so you’ve gone for the full-on crazy pants option, then. That’s – that’s great.”

Suddenly, Cisco-1 had to duck and roll away from a stream of cold.

“I missed on purpose, Cisco,” Killer Cold said. “It would be best if you survived this, but I will go through you if I have to. Are you really willing to die alone here for those killers and monsters in there?”

Cisco shifted his weight, ready to dodge or breach if he needed to.

“Yeah, I really wish I was an even slightly worse person so I could say no, but here I am.”

“He’s not alone,” Vibe-11 said flatly.

In a flash of yellow lightning, Barry ran to his friend’s side.

“You heard him, Killer Cold,” Barry said. “He’s not alone.”

Killer Cold raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’ll admit I expected the fire to take you at least a few more minutes. How’d you get here so fast?”

“I had backup.”

~

Mickey-27 shot at the blaze moving towards him and the people he was evacuating.

“Come on, this way, let’s move it!” Mickey-27 yelled as he herded them towards an exit.

Len-27 held a frozen door open for the civilians while keeping an eye on the nearest flames. One of the evacuees lost his footing and took a second to fix his shoe. “No, please, take your time. It’s only a fire. No pressure.”

~

Cold-4 found Lincoln apparently lost in the maze of industrial buildings and factories.

“Cold!” Lincoln shouted at him. “You have to help me find Michael. He left me behind, and now Heatwave’s after him.”

“Okay, this way,” Cold-4 said.

He led Lincoln back the way he came. They reemerged near STAR Labs, but the fight had moved away from them and towards a small park near the river.

“This isn’t where Michael is, Cold. We have to go help him.”

“Lincoln, listen to me. Michael is smart; he’ll find a way to ditch Mick and get back here.”

“You don’t get it at all, do you? That is my baby brother trapped in there with a psycho killer.”

“And do you know where he is, Lincoln? Because I don’t. But we have friends down there right now that need our help. So come on.”

~

Michael knew what he needed to do. He just needed a couple minutes to do it. The warehouse he was in was large, more of an entire complex or network of buildings. The HVAC system was exposed along the ceiling and walls. It was gas heated. He could work with that.

First, he found a more enclosed corner of the building.

“Where ya hidin’ young, fake Snart?” Heatwave shouted from somewhere else in the complex. The echoes made it impossible to guess how far away he was.

Second, Michael used a crowbar lying around to break open a gas pipe. There was no way Heatwave wouldn’t hear that.

“Just hold tight, and this’ll be over a lot faster.”

Third, he increased the pressure of the gas until it exited the broken pipe with a soft hiss. Then he waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Heatwave turned a corner and leveled his gun at Michael.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mick. You smell that? That’s propane. It’s filling the room, and if you fire that gun - .”

Heatwave fired his gun.

The explosion threw Michael back into a wall, knocking the wind out of him. But the gas in the air cleared quickly.

Heatwave strode through the few remaining flames.

“I’m an arsonist, idiot. You really think I can’t tell the difference between propane and natural gas? Plus it takes more’n a couple minutes to fill a room this size.”

Michael gasped air back into his lungs. “It was worth a shot.”

Heatwave stepped right up to him. He pulled his goggles down around his neck.

“Smart ass kid with your smart ass mouth. Always getting into trouble.”

Michael did get into trouble a lot. He usually didn’t mean to. He stole food a few times as a kid when his foster parents rationed snacks. He smoked a grand total of one time outside the school weight room with that idiot Terry Jace just so he could feel like a normal teenager. He lied about where he’d been when he snuck out to see Lincoln. But mostly he lied to Lincoln. About the snacks and the cigarettes and the sneaking out. Lincoln never bought it, called him a smart ass, and gave him a black eye to remind him not to do it again.

In that moment, Heatwave seemed so much like his brother that it broke his heart.

“But usually I had you to get me out of it.”

Heatwave steeled his jaw and tightened his grip on his gun.

And in that moment, Michael looked so much like Snart – 14 years old and bleeding on the concrete floor in juvie – that it broke his heart that he had long ago learned to ignore.

~

With Barry keeping Killer Cold busy, Cisco-1 tried to fight against his murderous doppelganger. But it wasn’t a fair fight by any means. Vibe-11 seemed to be so much stronger than Cisco. It wasn’t even like Cisco’s first fight with Gypsy. His vibrational blasts were constantly interrupted or overwhelmed by those of Vibe-11. Vibe always seemed to know exactly where Cisco was going to breach to before he even got there. It was almost like he could - .

“See the future?” Vibe finished Cisco’s thought. Cisco had taken another blast to the chest and was knocked on his back. His mad look-alike loomed over him. “I can see everything, you know. You can too. But you don’t. You’re too scared to try. Too scared of yourself, your power, and what parts of yourself you might lose if you ever actually tried.”

Vibe blasted Cisco with both hands, and Cisco was thrown across the ground.

“But you won’t be able to protect him with half-measures. You won’t be able to protect anyone.” Vibe stalked closer to Cisco. “So I have to do it for you.”

Cisco stormed to his feet and shot a vibrational blast at his doppelganger, but Vibe opened a breach right in front of him and sucked it up.

Not far away, Barry ran out of the way of another one of Killer Cold’s bursts of ice. He ran up the side of STAR Labs and just cleared the roof when he spotted Leonard-19 holding his hand out. Barry grabbed it and pulled Leonard close to him to run back down with him.

But the trip back down didn’t go according to plan. Vibe’s breach opened up beside him, and Cisco’s redirected blast hit him in the side. Barry and Leonard-19 fell the four remaining stories and hit the ground.

“Barry!” Cisco shouted.

“He’ll be fine.” Vibe-11 kept himself between Cisco and his friend. “But Cold won’t.” To Killer Cold, he shouted. “Kill him, Cold. That one’s even worse than the others. He loves Barry. You know that will get him killed so much faster than hate. Kill him!”

Killer Cold advanced on the fallen two.

“Leonard,” Barry groaned. He looked at Killer Cold. Leonard-19 had thankfully fallen on top of him, and Barry tried to roll the semi-conscious man off of him, to put himself between Killer Cold and Leonard-19. Leonard did his best to shift off Barry and let him up.

Barry painfully got to his feet. “Leonard,” he pleaded, “you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to protect me, and you don’t need to kill them. Please, just stop this.”

“No Barry,” Vibe spoke for them both. “The multiverse is better off without Leonard Snart. You are better off without Leonard Snart.”

He nodded to Killer Cold and steadied one hand at Barry while keeping the other on Cisco. Killer Cold leveled his hand at Leonard-19, still on the ground behind Barry. The circuits and blood vessels in his arm glowed blue in preparation to fire as soon as Vibe cleared Barry out of the way.

“I’m sorry Barry.”

But then Heatwave’s heavy hand landed on Killer Cold’s left shoulder.

“Mick?” Killer Cold asked.

“It’s taken care of, Snart.”

“Then go for one of the others inside.”

“Nah, kid. I never should have let it get this far.”

Heatwave stepped up right behind Killer Cold and wrapped his left arm around his partner’s shoulders.

Cold’s eyes widened. “Mick?”

“I’m sorry kid.” Heatwave pressed the muzzle of his gun up against the back of his friend’s ribs and fired.

The resulting blast from the absolute heat hitting Killer Cold’s freezing body knocked everyone off their feet, and the ice and glass from nearby buildings shattered. Cold was thrown forward, and he rolled several times before he finally stopped dozens of feet from where he started. Heatwave was sprawled on his back.

Lincoln was one of the first to recover. “Michael? Michael!” Heatwave had said that he got the kid. But Michael couldn’t, he couldn’t leave him.

“Lincoln!” Michael shouted and ran from around the side of the building. Lincoln heaved a sigh of relief but was surprised when Michael ran not to him but to Heatwave.

Michael skidded on the rubble around Heatwave when he tried to kneel down beside him. “Mick? Mick!” Heatwave’s gun had shattered in his hand, shredding his right arm, and pieces of the gun were embedded in his torso. Michael scrambled to feel for a pulse. There was nothing.

Michael inhaled a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down. He took Mick’s head in shaking hands and used his thumbs to close his eyes. “Thank you Mick,” he whispered. “Thank you for getting me out of trouble one more time.”

Lincoln stumbled to a stop beside his brother and dropped to his knees to grab him into a hug.

A short ways away, Vibe was sobbing and clutching at Killer Cold’s frozen arm. “No no no, you have to get up. You have to fix it. Cold!”

Barry sped Caitlin to Vibe’s side. She knelt beside her friend’s distraught doppelganger and looked Killer Cold over. He was still breathing, but she didn’t need to be a doctor to realize that he wouldn’t for long. There was a blackened hole torn through his side. The fire had cauterized it, so there was very little blood. But the blast had torn away part of his torso. A few of his ribs were exposed. Even now, the ice from Cold’s right arm was spreading down in an attempt to stabilize the massive wound. It wouldn’t work.

Caitlin rubbed Vibe’s back in an attempt to calm him down. Then she looked at Barry and shook her head.

Barry knelt on Killer Cold’s opposite side. “Hey Leonard,” he said softly.

Cold slowly turned his head to look at Barry. It took him a few seconds to focus on him. “Hey Scarlet.”

“You, uh, you really went all out this time, didn’t you?” Barry tried to chuckle at the mess around him. It didn’t work.

“I just wanted to keep you safe,” Cold said weakly.

“I know. I know you did.” Barry set his hand on Cold’s forearm, at a loss for words.

Cold knew, though. He raised his hand up and cupped Barry’s cheek. Somehow, it was still warm against Barry’s skin. “There was never any version of me that was not in love with every version of you.”

Barry sobbed. “I miss you, Leonard.”

The ice crept across his body, up his neck and face, until it finally stopped at his left shoulder. His hand dropped.

Leonard Snart was dead.