#my lung fucking died in this audio

[tokillamockingbird427]

More ideas for the VL's in Logan's AAC tablet

He saves the fucked up recordings, so there's one where Hesh goes "Treat" and then gets barked at by Riley for not immediately handing one over in there.

So is one where Elias choked on spit and hacked a lung out trying to say... Something they can't even remember now because a majority of the audio is "HAAAGH, HUUUCK, EEEEEUGH, jesus, ACK ACK ACK." and every time Logan plays it they lose their shit laughing while Elias (Hiding giggles) insists it's not funny and he almost died what did he do to deserve this how can his own babies be so cruel to him--

"Sorry" is one of the rare voice lines recorded by Logan, but so is "Bitch" so... Yeah. Take that as you will.

Majority of the swear words are Hesh's doing. He wanted to be sure Logan was able to curse someone out. He even has a "Custom curse mix" button in there where it's like a solid minute of (Passionate) uninterrupted swearing and insults.

There are many sound effects. Including the Wilhelm scream! Including R2D2 screaming! Including General Grievous going "Another fine addition to my collection."! Including "Motherfucker!" said by Samuel L Jackson! There are more. (Like the famous "Fart Gallery" buttons because Logan has the humor of a 9th grade boy.)

When Logan and Hesh join the Ghosts Logan does extend the offer for them to add voice lines once he gets comfortable with them. Most of them just add them saying their names, but there's one with Keegan in there getting caught going "I love you." very softly to Logan. (Walruss never dies!!!)

The tablet isn't recording 24/7 but Logan is really good at determining when a "Keeper" line is about to be said. He has a second "Custom curse mix" from Merrick because of that. (He stubbed his toe.)

The audio for the tablet can be "plugged in" to whatever coms the boys are using so Logan's not left forced to play the audio lines into his radio, which might mess with the sound quality.

Logan has a piano in there and will play for fun. Not always good! But he plays it. (He has like... The notes saved. Yk?)

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forced Love V

John Wick x Reader

Summary: Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with is boss' daughter.

Chapter Summary: John finishes what his brother-in-law started

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N, canon level violence (if it's in the movie it's here), medical stuff

Word Count: 3.7K

Masterlist

When John finally woke, he was tied up in some sort of abandoned building. Although, the scaffolding and lights indicated that maybe it was just under construction. Directly in front of him was an empty chair but flanking that was his wife, bound to another chair with tape covering he mouth. She let out a soft cry that sounded like his name upon seeing him wake. She was breathing heavily and her voice was raw. The tear tracks that stained her face did nothing to assure him that Viggo hadn’t hurt his own daughter.

“Well John,” Viggo’s voice cut through her soft sobs as he came into view. “They sure as fuck broke the mold with you,” he said, sitting down. Two guards followed him, but stopped next to Y/N’s chair. And John could see the two guards on either side of him through his peripheral vision. Viggo laughed as he continued. “You always had a certain… audacity about you, you know. I thought it’d make you a good husband to my daughter and I feared she had softened you too much when you asked to retire. But I can say you’re still very much the John Wick of old.”

“Am I?” he pressed daringly.

Viggo leaned forward as he spoke. “People don’t change. You know that. Times, they do.” He sighed before going to the thing burning in his chest. “Do you know what was in that vault? Artwork, cash, not without it’s worth. But the leverage I had over this city. Evidence, blackmail, audio, photos,” he listed. “It was fucking priceless!” he cursed, standing up in rage. “Priceless!”

“Yeah, I kind of enjoyed that,” John said softly.

Viggo let out a scathing laugh. “Yeah, I know you did.” His laugh became humorous as he got closer to John, sending a punch to his face.

Y/N let out a muffled scream in protest.

Viggo turned his scathing tongue on her now. “Shut up you brat!” he screamed. “I never should have paired you two up. You used to be so obedient, always so eager to please me. But then you two got married,” he said in disgust. “And you corrupted each other.” He turned back to John. “And then you got out by lying to yourself. Telling yourself that the past held no sway over the future. But in the end, a lot of us are rewarded for our misdeeds, which is why I’m going to take your wife.” John lunged at Viggo but his restraints and the guards held fast. “Because you decided to… unleash yourself upon me. I gifted her to you, I have every right to take her back. Fuck, I should’ve taken her back when you asked for retirement but I let you keep her. As a gesture. But then you decided to take it upon yourself to meddle in family matters.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air and echo in John’s brain. “This life follows you. It clings to you, infecting everyone close to you. We are cursed, you and I.”

“On that, we agree,” John said, cursing himself for falling in love.

Viggo sat back, shock written on his face. “Finally, common ground,” he chuckled.

“I have my grievances with you,” John began, “but my real focus is your son. Step aside and give him to me.”

“John Wick,” Viggo mused in disbelief. “Baba Yaga,” he mocked the name he was once so proud to threaten with. He stood up, signaling to his men to get ready to leave. “It was just a spat between siblings.”

“Your son tried to kill my wife!” he yelled. “When we got married you made me promise to protect her. I am because you failed! You led her unstable brother to believe that you would choose her over him and then she almost died for your mistake! And then you protected your son over her. I was just doing what you fucking asked. People keep asking if I’m back. And up until now I haven’t really had an answer. But now? Yeah, I’m thinking I’m back! So you can either hand over your son,” Viggo muttered an order in Russian before turning to leave, “…or you can die screaming alongside him!” John screamed as he stood. The guards grabbed him once again, back into his chair as he watched his wife being carried out behind her traitor father. He continued struggling as they wrapped a bag around his face, trying to suffocate him.

Just as the black started to close in on his vision, he heard the sound of a bullet whizzing. The man to his right went down, blood spattering onto the bag covering his face. The other guard immediately let go, drawing his weapon to find the threat. Marcus. But John didn’t have time to consider his old friend. He wasted no time pulling out of the chair, hands still bound and bag still on his head, body slamming the other man to the ground with so much rage, he managed to make him drop his gun. Baba Yaga pulled his zip-tied hands to the front of his body, tearing off the bag before running at the scrambling mercenary with a yell. Using his bound hands, he got the gun away from him. They began to struggle, John just needed to get his bound arms around the man’s neck. But he had the same idea and two autonomous hands allowing him to pin John to the ground easier, strangling him as he struggled to break from the man’s grasp. He managed to turn his head enough so the man’s thumb was in his mouth, biting down hard. It made the guard loose focus enough that John was able to regain the advantage. He got his zip-tied hands around the mans throat, pulling with all his might until he choked the guard out and was then able to snap his neck. Without even taking a second to catch his breath, John was using a knife from another guard to cut the zip-ties. Pocketing the knife, he ran towards the exit, hoping to catch Viggo before he left. He’d be damned if he let his wife be taken from him right under his nose like that.

On the way out, he spotted a high caliber rifle that was like shooting a mini bazooka. Grabbing it, he burst out the door just in time to see the SUV taking off. Seeing as his gunfire wouldn’t do much good from the rear, he found a route through the alleys that would let him cut them off. He ran through alleyways until he finally reached the main street. He stood in the middle of the street, taking aim at the speeding car. The fact that he couldn’t see his wife in the car gave him a little bit of peace as bullets pelted the SUV, making the driver swerve into a parked car, halting the vehicle.

John immediately had the gun pointed at Viggo. “Cool it, cool it, cool it,” he begged, his hands raised.

“Where is she?” he demanded, shooting a warning shot to the side.

“She’s in the car!” Viggo answered quickly. He reached back, only to open the door. The door flung open on account of the tilted vehicle and the fact that a person had been flung into it. Viggo’s daughter was spilled out onto the ground in a less than graceful manner on account of her bound arms and legs.

“Where’s Iosef?” John demanded next, seeing no bleeding from his wife.

“I have your word that if I tell you where he is, you’ll let me walk away?” he bargained.

“Pull the contract,” John demanded.

“Done,” Viggo agreed, seeing as he had no allies around him. “He’s kept in a safe house in Brooklyn,” Viggo answered. “434 Wallace Place. They know you’re coming.”

“Of course,” John stated, finally lowering his gun. “But it won’t matter.” He rounded Viggo, not caring where he ran off to.

He kneeled down next to his wife, pulling out the knife to cut her own zip-ties before carefully pulling off the tape on her mouth. She let out a hollow sob as she reached up to grab him, arms wrapped around his neck. He wrapped his free arm around her torso, pulling her into him and burring his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder. They savored the moment as long as they could until John had to let go. He couldn’t let Viggo warn Iosef and give him the opportunity to move. “Hey,” he began softly. “I’m gonna need you to take a cab to the Continental. Don’t talk to anyone, just head up to the room and wait for me there. I have to go deal with your brother. Then we can go home,” he promised her.

She nodded in understanding, too shaken up to really form word. He helped her stand, pressing some money into her hand for the cab. Before he could take off, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. As she moved to break it, he followed, letting the kiss linger for another moment. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” he said before taking off towards Brooklyn.

~

Once again, Y/N found herself pacing the hotel room she had come to loathe. Although she had to commend the cleaners. You would never be able to tell that two high trained assassins had just had a fight in here the night prior. It was only when her husband opened the door that she really breathed for the first time since the attack. It was finally over. They could finally go home and put this behind them so they could continue to live the lives they had built for themselves.

John said nothing, just pulled his wife into his chest and held her tight. “It’s over,” he promised her.

“I love you so much,” she professed in response, pressing soft kisses to the side of his face. He sighed in content, having missed soft moments like this ever since their world had shattered.

“I love you too. C’mon, lets go home.”

They had never packed their bags so quickly, eager to get out of the city. Once they reached the lobby, they went to the front desk to check out. “Thank you,” John said, as he slid the key across the desk.

“Our pleasure, sir,” Charon thanked, placing a set of keys on the desk. John stared at them quizzically. “A parting gift. From management,” he explained. “Compensation for last night’s unfortunate… incident.”

John thanked the man as he took the keys. The pair stepped outside, finding a brand new Dodge Charger sitting out front. John gave the slightest smile upon seeing the new car. He turned to his wife, seeing a small smile creep onto her face as well. They stepped down towards the car, John opening the passenger door for her before rounding the car to the driver’s side. He got in, taking in the car before putting it in drive. Before taking off though, he snaked his hand over to the passenger side, grasping his wife’s hand. “We just have one stop to make before we go home.”

The pair stood looking over the water, right next to the Manhattan bridge. “So what are we waiting for?”

“That would be me,” Marcus’ voice answered her. “Hi Y/N, I don’t think we’ve formally met,” the man smiled, extending her hand. She took it, shaking it as she sent a glance to her husband. *Who was this man? “*I’m the one whose been saving your husband’s ass.”

“I appreciate it,” John chuckled.

“Of course,” Marcus dismissed. “You look terrible,” he remarked, earning a laugh from Y/N.

John sent a teasing glance to his wife. “No, I look retired,” he corrected.

“Retired? You really believe that?” John didn’t answer. “You made a new life. You’ll find your way back to it. It’s time to go home,” he said, slightly ominously. “It was nice to finally meet you,” he bid, looking at his friend’s wife.

“Likewise,” she returned as he walked away. She turned back towards the river, the same as her husband. “You ready?” she asked, extending her hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking it.

~

They were enjoying a peaceful drive home in the new car when John got a call. With a quick check to caller ID, he found Marcus’ name. “This is John,” he answered.

The way John immediately stiffened as Viggo’s voice came over the phone didn’t escape his wife’s notice. She had no idea what was said, but based on her husband’s body language, she could guess who was on the other end. “I appreciate you granting my son a swift death.”

“It was more than he deserved,” John replied, remembering how Iosef had tried to just beat a woman to death.

“And yet you granted him mercy. Unlike what I’m going to do to Marcus. He betrayed me.”

John immediately threw down the phone, spinning the car around so fast it almost went into a tailspin. “John what the fuck!”

“Viggo has Marcus,” he explained, pressing the car to it’s top speed as he raced back into the city. “He couldn’t kill me and he couldn’t kill you. So he’s killing Marcus.”

Her heart sunk, “Oh god,” she whispered. She knew her father did terrible things but she hadn’t really considered them when she wasn’t on the receiving end. John continued speeding through the city as she came to terms with how complicit she had been with others suffering.

When they finally pulled up to her father’s brownstone, John was immediately climbing out of the car. “Stay here,” he said gruffly. She didn’t say anything as she watched her husband go in to grieve the closest thing he had to a best friend. After a few moments John was running back to the car. Before she could assume the worst, he was hopping in and taking off. “Your father is fleeing New York,” he explained. “He practically left you to die and now he’s killed Marcus. He’s not leaving,” he swore.

Not a word was said as they raced towards the only property that Viggo owned that housed a helipad. An old loading dock that had been long forgotten. As they closed in on the two SUVs driving in the same direction, John pressed the car further. “Hold on!” he warned as he started side swiping the SUV until it fell down into one of the pits that used to be used to load shipping containers.

John didn’t even celebrate his victory or stop to consider that Viggo may have been in that car. He just kept driving, going after the remaining SUV. There was no shot he’d let Viggo have any chance of getting away. He kept knocking into the side of the SUV until he pulled back enough to send it into a tailspin, straight into a bollard. The SUV stopped suddenly but John was able to brake before backing up. “Get down!” he yelled, forcing his wife’s head down as he saw Viggo’s men get out of the SUV with guns.

They shot at the Charger, shattering the back windshield but that didn’t dissuade The Boogeyman in the slightest. He continued backing up until he hit the gunman who went rolling over the car. As he went, John shot up into the ceiling, sending bullets into the man as he rolled off the car. John then shot three more men out of the window, in the process leaning over to his wife’s seat to recline it all the way back. “Lay down flat,” he told her. Given that he was the world’s deadliest assassin, she didn’t question his judgement in that moment.

As Avi fell out of the car and went running, John chased after him, cutting him off. They exchanged a few bullets before John slammed the passenger side of the car into him. It hit him with so much force he broke the window, eliciting a scared shout from the woman laying in the passenger seat, but he quickly slumped to the ground. But before John could finish him off, an incredible force came from his side.

Viggo drove his SUV straight into the Charger, not caring about his daughter or right hand man. He continued driving, gas pedal pressed to the ground as he pushed the car towards the pit. Realizing what was happening, Y/N spoke up. “Out the back windshield! Out the back windshield!” she cried as she crawled backwards. Fortunately John knew what she meant because he also released his seat, crawling out with her and hitting the ground before the car went over the edge.

“Are you okay?” he asked his wife as the rain poured down on them.

“Yeah,” she choked out, the fall knocking the wind out of her. “He’s over there,” she coughed, spying her father heading towards the helicopter. “Go. I’m fine.” She too wanted revenge for all the bullshit he put her husband through.

John took off running towards his father-in-law as she stayed to catch her breath. Climbing into the mostly intact SUV, she clambered around for a gun. She searched frustratedly. There was no way there weren’t at least twenty hidden weapons in a mob boss’ car. She rejoiced as she found one taped under the passenger seat, climbing out of the car just in time to see both John and her father take a seat. Both of them exhausted and heavily injured. She could see them talking but she didn’t give a fuck whatever deal they were making. Her father had only done one good thing for her and that was arrange her marriage to John. And he still tried to use that gift against her until he couldn’t and he decided to kill him. So she took aim, steadying herself before pulling the trigger. Headshot. And this time, she didn’t feel bad about it.

“John!” she called, running over to him. She was terrified he’d succumb to his wounds right there. She stopped running for a brief moment when he stood, so relieved to see him up. She continued sprinting towards him, meeting him gently. She didn’t want to hurt him more but he grasped her wrist, pulling her into him. “You’re okay,” she assured him. “We’re gonna be okay. C’mon,” she said, throwing his arm around his shoulder in order to help him back to the car. Based on the amount of weight he placed on her, he really needed it. She helped him into the passenger side of the beat up SUV. Fortunately the passenger side door was still intact. “We’re going to the hospital,” she told him, getting into the driver’s seat.

“No,” he immediately protested.

“John! You’re hurt.”

“There’s a veterinary hospital just a few blocks south. No one is there at night. We can use their medical supplies.”

“John…” she protested reluctantly, terrified for her husband but heading south anyways.

“I used to go there if I got injured before I retired. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about,” he tried to reassure.

“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly.

She followed John’s directions until they reached what looked like an abandoned building. The only indication that it was even somewhat in use was the sound of all the dogs barking. John broke through the back door’s window, reaching down to open the door, letting himself in. They went in and Y/N was immediately pushing John to lean against the stainless steel table in the middle of the room. “What do you need?” she asked, going to the medical supplies.

“Gauze, suture kit or staple gun, and something to clean the wound,” he answered, already crouching in from of a pitbull’s cage.

She grabbed everything he needed, going over to him. “Lean back,” she directed him. She kneeled on the ground next to him as she worked as fast as possible. “I still think you should go to the hospital,” she said disapprovingly.

“I’d been through worse before I met you,” he confessed.

“I don’t know how it gets worse than this,” she said, stitching up every major wound she found.

“This dog is gonna be euthanized,” he said, reading the file on the dogs cage. His wife paused only long enough to look at the dog. He pawed at the cage upon meeting her gaze, his big eyes immediately melting her heart.

“We can take him with us when we’re done. But you have to promise me you’ll let me call the doctor to check you out as soon as we’re home.”

“I will,” he swore.

“Was this all an elaborate scheme to make me let you get a dog?” she pressed, only mildly jokingly.

“That was part of it,” John returned the joke.

A small smile crept onto her face as she paused her work once again to look at her husband. “I love you. So much. Please don’t do anything dangerous ever again.”

“I’ll try,” he smiled. “I love you too. I can’t move so you’re gonna have to come here.” She giggled slightly, scooching over to him. Once she got close enough, John grabbed her shirt, bringing her down to meet his lips as he gave her a sweet kiss. Just like on their wedding day except now they weren’t strangers. They had been through more together than they had thought a couple could go through. “I love you,” he repeated, only parting their lips enough to say that.

Masterlist

[chiarrara]

More music!!!!

Since we mentioned Gojos music taste i think he would absolutely love this song. Alternatively, Gojo being stupidly into Geto

Listen before we start I know the lyrics have some undertones of unreciprocated love but it’s also very sweet. Idk I just like to imagine this as stsg right before they confessed to each other. (Side note: Geto would love The Police)(another side note: he’d also love Sting)

1. Gojo would love Kate Bush 2. Gojo would also love Take On Me by A-Ha 3. This is satosugu in a way that makes me wanna cry

90’s itafushi! When I mentioned goth Gumi teaching Yuji how to dance, I meant the sort of strange but very simple and elegant sort of gothic dancing. Like smooth hand movements and shit. This song is perfect for that and perfect for them.

I think this one is a given but especially the “That season when I cried right in front of your eyes, sttay with me, saying our favourite words, holding on to our little moment (Ooh), I'll never forget how warm it felt” what if I died right now huh

I have typed out replies to this post two times now and tumblr has destroyed both of them. I am a shell of my former self. Here we go again:

(1980s SatoSugu AU + 1990s Megumi AU Playlists)

1. You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) - Dead or Alive

totally agree. i think every time this came on the radio Gojo would blast it and dance so hard the car shakes lol. plus i think he would sing along and tease/flirt with geto like leaning over and singing it to him, which would make Geto smile :)

2. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police

love Geto being into the Police, absolutely integrating this, added a few Police songs (do you think Sting was Geto's sexual awakening lol)

Yeah it's got unrequited undertones but it's also so positive I could definitely see this song being a confession song that turns into a love song for them after

ahhhhhhh Akari visuals 😭 rain and umbrellas being visual motifs for them

i think geto just feels this way sometimes lol. he's a little troubled. Also added:

this one came out in '83 so I feel like gojo would hear it on the radio and really like it, which would make geto super happy :)

yeeeeee foreshadowing 😬

3. Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) - Kate Bush

I don't know Kate Bush that well so I'll take your word for it! also if i think about this song in a stsg context for too long i will become very sad 🥲

BONUS: Take On Me - a-ha

abso-fucking-lutely. another blasting and dancing and flirting song except geto is also singing along and play flirting. you just can't listen to this song and not sing along at the top of your lungs in the most dramatic way possible. especially in a car

4. Lets Go To Bed - The Cure

I hadn't heard this one before!! I was mostly joking with that gif before lol. more like:

i get you, i can totally see it.

i love me a mutual pining slowburn lmaoo

5. Mayonaka no Door / Stay With Me - Miki Matsubara

ouch ouch ouch ouch (really beautiful song tysm 😢)

BONUS:

i decided gojo loves Supertramp (I love Supertramp) like he doesn't actually own too many records, but he owns Breakfast in America. So, here you go :)

it's the satosugu fix-it song of my dreams 🥲

--

If this doesn't post again, you're getting screenshots I'm so sorry.

BONUS BONUS: I drove home (after the FIRST TIME this didn't post) and listened to Pink Floyd since we already determined Geto has TWO pink floyd tapes in his glove compartment, and

god this one is really fucking me up

🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

--

posting w/out the playlists attached in case too many audio links is the problem will edit again if i can

too many audio links is the problem. check the first two tags if you want them lol

[taelonsamada]

I posted 4,359 times in 2022

That's 3,858 more posts than 2021!

3,282 posts created (75%)

1,077 posts reblogged (25%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dollscircus

@zozo-01

@fallseidol

@ejunkiet

@sealriously-sealrious

I tagged 1,147 of my posts in 2022

#redacted asmr - 348 posts

#redacted darlin - 253 posts

#redacted sam - 216 posts

#dollscircus - 153 posts

#my writing - 127 posts

#redacted david - 124 posts

#redacted asher - 113 posts

#redacted milo - 83 posts

#myart - 79 posts

#fallseidol - 73 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#there are people who i suspect i know will lose their mind over certain fics and literally hold my breath waiting to see what they say

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

WAIT WHAT?!

9 VIDEOS!?

IT’S EVEN BETTER THAN I WAS EXPECTING!!

👀

Geordi?? ASHER?! SAM?!? MAYBE? PLEASE?!

182 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

#4

So I’ve downed almost a litre of water after that, and I’m having FEELINGS about Sam’s newest audio!!! Putting it under a cut cause spoilers, nsfw talk and cause I’m gonna ramble

First off, the fact that Darlin was sitting waiting on his porch for him was so fucking cute but also heartbreaking at the same time. That they wanted to talk to him badly enough to sit and wait on his porch for an hour, but didn’t want to bother him by letting him know. That they would just wait there for as long as it took.

And then hearing him mutter while he dug around and gave them a key was just… 😭

This also explains why Sam didn’t get an Aftershock. He stuffed it all down. There wasn’t anything to show from him because he wasn’t ready to show it yet. Also, fuck yes, reclaiming his love of driving, not letting Alexis take that from him.

I cried so many times listening to him recount what he went through. Especially the part about David. But listening to him lament and spiral, grinding on how he could have done this, how this could have happened if he’d still been that… the PAIN in his voice, his struggles not to burst into tears on the spot. I knew I was going to need to hydrate for this video, but I didn’t think I’d need to from crying so hard.

Also, how dare you, Sam Collins, claim you’re not a poet, after giving the single most beautiful confession I’ve ever heard. I know this wasn’t technically his confession video, that he already did, but he dropped The L Word this time around, and in such a beautiful, devastatingly sweet way… just… FUCK…

But oh man, when I heard that man say he was ready, all the air left my lungs, I just… 🥵

I nearly died when he stopped and assured Darlin about their body ❤️ to have something the fandom largely headcanoned be made official was SUCH a giddy moment for me X3 and he did such a wonderful job of it too ♥️ and that he stopped IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DEED to give us ANOTHER heartbreakingly sweet confession about how important Darlin is to him, and how much this meant??

But tHE SPICY LEVEL OF THIS??? HOLY SHIT????

MR SAM COLLINS, THAT WAS QUITE A BIT OF GROWLING AND SNARLING YOU DID, SIR.

Yet even with how… INTENSE he got, he still constantly asked and sought out those enthusiastic YES’s every time, and this is why we love him 😊

BUT BY THE FATES SIR, SOME OF THE LINES YOU WERE DROPPING???

“Pitch those hips of yours up a bit” 👀💦

“You wanna ride your cowb - Oh, you little - Get over here.” 😈

“I oughta whoop your ass for that one you menace��� But I suppose there’s better things to be doin’ with that work of art you got back here.” SIR!!

“You fittin’ to bounce on this cock?” 🥵

“You gonna be good for me? Cause I plan to be very good to you” @////@

But then he wanted to just stay there and hold them after and I just… I just… 😭 ❤️ ✨

I just… I gotta go… drink some more water… and lay down for a bit… and cry

244 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

#3

So… hey @sealriously-sealrious … I just wanna talk… about how I’ve barely been up an hour and I’m already dehydrated… cause of the SPICY LEVEL OF HUXLEY CONTENT YOU KEEP DISHING OUT ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? Seriously guys, go read their latest Huxley fic… be sure to bring a glass of water though, it’s most definitely STEAMY… Couldn’t resist a quick doodle of some of the imagery that stuck with me most ❤️‍🔥

258 notes - Posted March 29, 2022

#2

No words, just Tattooed Huxley

274 notes - Posted March 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Okay, so I may have fibbed a bit about this not being ready for a while… I just had so much fun, I couldn’t help it! Too bad Davey’s not having as much fun ^^;; go read about the trouble Darlin’ puts him through here in @dominimoonbeam ‘s wonderful story

Yes, I will put the Redacted boys in jeans as much as I can. I still stubbornly hold to the fact that a pair of well fitted jeans are sexy as hell 😈

And yes, Angel totally got him that necklace as a joke, but he stubbornly wears it every day ♥️

Okay, now to get to work on those commissions LOL

416 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[heavensmockery]

As the world caves in

[________... I might just not get up..._______________]

▫️▫️▫️Where you go.... I go. ▫️▫️▫️

Was it too late? That's what I wondered in this moment I laid there. The pain was like a strange force that squeezed my lungs empty. I couldn't breathe. It hurt. Too much. I wanted to scream in pain but all there was were fast shaky breaths. It was painfully silent.

"How's the god doing now?. If you think anyone will find you you are wrong. They don't care about you. They never. Did."

I wouldn't have cared if I died alone. In these moments I thought about my family. My love. My friend. My children.I was thinking about them especially. Especially my friend. I prayed he would not have to witness it. It would have torn him apart

I just know it.

The last Christmas was a beautiful one. It was the first one as a big family. That's what we were. The cabin fire was crackling softly. The lights were dimmed. Everyone was wearing their best Christmas attire (the ugly Christmas sweaters and fluffy socks. I gazed over to you. You sat there in the chair. A little feline criminal trying to steal your yarn. For twenty minutes you let him. Then you threatened to knit him a jail. It was peace. Our peace. The home we've sworn to protect. All bad stayed outside. We had eachother. I was glad to see you were doing a bit better despite everything.

You deserve nothing but peace.

An odd situation to have this peaceful memory. But a comforting one. A temporary distraction from this lack of air that made it hard to stay awake.

I felt sleepy.. Then I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. And a hand around mine.

"Finn.. It's me.. You'll be okay.. You hear me?, don't you dare dying.. Okay?"

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

"Next to creating a life, the finest thing a man can do is save one."

A quote I remembered randomly. Probably heard it at museum visits.

________________________________

||||||||||||||||||AUDIO.FILE.MP3||||||||||||||||||||||

"Oh god.. FINN... Finn can you hear me? Finn..... What did you do?!"

[SILENCE]

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO FINN?..SOMEONE GET HELP!"

[inaudible noises]

"Sure he did.. (scoff).. SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!..Someone HELP!..

"Let him go.. He's fine. Why are you here. It's dangerous"

"Shut the fuck up. You've done enough damage "

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The world went silent around. There was so much warmth and care. The world tuned out as you helped me. Tried to soothe the pain. Made sure I kept breathing. Made sure I stayed awake.

Even as I sat wrapped in a blanket on the passenger seat. That hand was still around mine sometimes . It felt grounding. Comforting. I tried to focus on the street. We were talking but I can't recall what it was about.

Or was it just you softly telling me softly to just keep breathing? That I'll be fine? Despite you being close to cry?

"I.. Need to tell you something.."

"What is it.."

'... First of all you're driving like a maniac and Secondly.......... "

"..."

"Hey.. Stay awake okay? Just keep talking to me"

"I...."

"Finn.. Wake up..

-.-- --- ..- / .-- . .-. . / - .... . .-. . .-.-.- / -.-- --- ..- / .--- ..- ... - / .-- . .-. . .-.-.- / .. / -.. --- -. .----. - / . ...- . -. / -.- -. --- .-- / .-- .... -.-- / .- -. -.. / .... --- .-- .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. / .-- .- ... / --. .-.. .- -.. / -.-- --- ..- / .-- . .-. . .-.-.- / -- --- .-. . / - .... .- -. / --. .-.. .- -.. .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / -.. . ... .--. .. - . / - .... .. ... / - .-. .- --. .. -.-. / ... .. - ..- .- - .. --- -. .-.-.- .-.-.- / .. / ..-. . .-.. - / .- - / .--. . .- -.-. . .-.-.- / .. - / .-- .- ... / -.-- --- ..- / - .... .- - / -... .-. --- ..- --. .... - / -- . / .--. . .- -.-. . .-.-.-

..................................... |......... I... -

The day we reunited was a weird one. I was there in the grass. Facing you. Thought I was hallucinating.. But I wasn't. I felt broken in these moments. Taunted. I felt something dark creep up on me. And it was that I wouldn't have cared in this moment that I died. You walked to me. And hugged me. As if you wanted to apologize for the world breaking me.

"you were incredibly brave for walking close. We appreciate your efforts"

I wanted to die.

The lights were blinding in the hospital. I still wondered how you carried me with such ease to the hospital. Laid me on the bed and called for help. My hand once again in yours.

The doctors came to take care of me.

"Hello?.. [REDACTED]"

"Yeah what's up?"

"Something happend.. Something.. Terrible"

"what happend.. You sound like you cried it's... 11:56pm. Nightmare?.."

"No.. He's hurt"

"[REDACTED?] "

"... Yes"

"... You're joking right?.. Please say you're joking how bad is it.."

"The doctors are losing hope.."

"... Fuck.."

Ever felt like you're floating in space? I felt like my last tie to earth was more to snap. Not ten experienced doctors could have saved me. I heard defeated and saddened sighs

Not even ten minutes after another familiar voice reached my ears. So worried.. And so heartbroken. My heart ached for you.

"Where is he..."

"In the examination room.."

"I need to see him please.. Please let me in.."

"[REDACTED]"

"Is he even alive? Please...I have to see him..I love him!.."

Someone came out and the room fell silent. I felt heart breaks. And a saddened crying. I tried to reach out.. But my ability to reach was no longer there. I tried to whisper a quote I whispered to myself after my friend passed away

_________________________

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal"

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

A faint noise reached my ears.. A constant high pitched one...

A signal

The departure from earth. The mortal plane. I was finally drowning in the void. It was strangely peaceful. But my heart broke along with you all.

[------------------------------------------------]

My dearest

I love you so dearly. And I'm so sorry that it all came that way. I tried to protect you all from this man's wrath. I tried everything..and whatever happens to me is to protect you. It was all so no danger should ever come near you. I know. Not appropriate to quote the Bible and unusual from me... But "No danger shall come near your dwelling". (91:10, you know?).. My beloved. I love you so much...take care of the children. Please.. Don't cry for me.. Goodbye.

The darkness was long. Then a voice.

"Hey... It's not your time yet. Can you hear me?"

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

coming out of my grave and ive been doing just fine

Words: 2605 (AO3)

Summary:

Statement of Todoroki Touya, regarding the healing properties of dirt. Original Statement given 12 October, 2XXX. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

For Whumptober 2023 Day 25, Prompt #2: Buried Alive

The tape recorder is clicked on.

Statement of Todoroki Touya, regarding the healing properties of dirt. Original Statement given 12 October, 2XXX. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.

I'm assuming that you've never been dead before.

Maybe that's a stupid assumption, maybe you've been dead a dozen times, I don't know your life and I really don't care about it, either. Point is, for the sake of argument, let's pretend that you don't know what being dead is like.

It might be different, depending on how you died, but for me it felt like I was choking. Drowning, maybe.

Fire takes up oxygen, see. It's one of the first things you learn about fires, fire safety, all that shit. It's one of the first things I was taught about my quirk- don't overuse it, or else it'll take up all your air. He was right, of course, he always is, because of course I overused it and of course that's how I fucking bit it. Drowned to death on dry land.

The fire didn't help, either. It burned down my throat and up my lungs, made it so I couldn't breathe even if there was anything to breathe. I was dead in the water the minute I lost control of my goddamned quirk, even if I somehow managed to get somewhere there wasn't any smoke and there wasn't any flame.

I was choking for a long time after that. I remember trying desperately to breathe, long after the world went dark and silent and I was sure that I was dead already. I remember something being shoved down my throat, I remember trying to breathe around it- even though air was being shoved directly into my lungs, it wasn't right. It wasn't... it wasn't anything, it wasn't keeping me alive, I was already dead. Air would not and could not save me, and yet I kept gasping for it, kept choking and drowning and desperately clawing for just a taste of oxygen, just for a split second, as though winning that one quest in futility would finally allow me to survive.

It didn't. I never did get that last gasp of air, not before everything finally went still.

When I woke up, I found that all my fear, all my wild and pathetic desperation was... for nothing. I was living just fine without any air at all. I just couldn't see, or do anything, and for a moment I was content with that. I was happy with that, with the idea of a rest. I hadn't had that in a very long time.

I grew bored and restless, as any teenager would. Eventually, I decided at last that it was, in fact, necessary to crawl out of the place that kept me safe and whole, that allowed me to finally catch a moment's peace. I was grateful to it, don't get me wrong, I loved the dirt as I would my own flesh and blood, because it nursed me back to life, it handed me respite like it was easy for it to do. Still, I felt that I still had something left to do, so I had to crawl my way out.

When I was able to open my eyes, I found that I had been entombed in a shallow grave, in a place that I had never seen or been to before. Around me were similarly makeshift burial plots, all of the right size to be hosting teenagers my own age or younger children. Their graves were all unmoving, and I knew that they were dead, dead in a way that I could not yet be. I had a purpose, I knew that the moment I saw them, because there had to be a reason that I, of all people, was chosen to rise again. The Earth must have chosen me.

The Earth is healing. It allows for rest, when it is sorely needed.

These children did not need rest.

I knew what I was, then. I didn't have much memory of my past back then, when I first awoke, but I knew what I was meant to do. I knew that life was breathed back into me for the simple purpose of vengeance. It's what I was made for, it's what I was born for, born from the flesh and from the grave alike for that one, single, shining purpose. I was made to exact revenge on those who hurt the defenseless, the children, those who beat them down into the Earth, where they lie sleeping peacefully when they should still be running and screaming and alive, living in the way that I could no longer, because even though I can walk and talk I am not the same as I was before. I will never be the same as I was before. I am, and will always be, missing some part of me that is essential to the human kind of life.

The Earth has filled in that gap for me, but I can still feel the hole that death has left in me. I can feel the seams, the ridges in my soul where I stop and the Earth begins. I will never be the same as I once was. I will never be alive like I once was.

I had to find whoever it was that buried me. I had to find him, because he was the same man who buried the others, who forced the Earth to give rise to me so I could stop it all from happening.

It wasn't difficult to do. I don't think he anticipated anybody getting out of their graves, not after we were buried. Maybe we weren't meant to be there for long, maybe he wasn't meant to be where he was for long. Maybe he moved around often, I don't know. I still don't know how long I was dead, only that it couldn't have been too long, because my siblings all look exactly the same as I remember them- but we're not there yet. When I found the man who buried me, I still had no idea who I was, still had no idea that I even had siblings.

The man was a Doctor. That's all anybody called him, "Doctor," said with the same kind of reverence that you'd give to someone holy. He wasn't holy, though, he wasn't sacred, he was not of the Earth. He was not of any kind of god.

There was some kind of tiredness about him, one that could not be seen just by looking at him. He had been avoiding his rest for a long time, longer than anybody should. Humans are only meant to go on for so long before they grow tired, before they need to be returned to the dirt from where they rose, and that Doctor had been running for far too long. It would have been unnatural, were it not a product of a pure and desperate need to keep going, the same kind that I had once seen in myself, the need to improve, to impress, the need to be better and do better for those who are better than you.

Looking into his face was like looking into my own eyes. Looking at the man who towered over him was akin to looking at my own father, a man who I did not even remember until that very moment.

The Doctor spotted me at the same time I laid eyes on him. I knew it was him, I knew he was the one who killed the others in my graveyard, but I don't know if he recognized me at first. He looked confused for a moment, hesitated in whatever he was saying to the towering man, which caused him to turn and look at me too. I knew I wasn't much of a sight, fourteen years old and practically a twig still, no growth spurt in sight, more faint scar tissue than skin. I had a tremble about me, I'd had it for years, and I'm sure I looked even more pathetic in the stained hospital-issue clothes that were just as caked in mud as the rest of me.

"Oh? And who is this young man, Doctor?" The towering man asked, amusement clear in his voice. He was making a mockery of me, not that it was hard to do. Not that I was visibly anything more than a mockery of myself. I would have been angry at that, once; but the part of me that would have risen to the bait was replaced with the calming Earth, and I did not react.

The Doctor squinted at me in confusion, before he finally murmured, half to himself and half aloud, "The Todoroki boy?"

The towering man's attitude changed in an instant. He clearly saw me as no more a threat than the average wall decoration, because he turned his back to me to hiss, "You told me the Todoroki boy was dead."

The Doctor's mustache began to tremble ever-so-slightly, like the whiskers of a terrified rat, and he replied in a strangely subdued voice, "He is dead, Sensei. I can show you the camera footage and the paperwork, I worked on him myself, an asset like that..." He trailed off, for a moment, before clearing his throat and continuing. "There will be hell to pay for whoever was involved with falsifying his death, I can assure you."

The towering man, Sensei, nodded. He glanced back at me again, and took a breath to speak. I interrupted him before he even began a sentence.

"You were right the first time, Doctor. I am dead." My voice was scratchy with disuse, but the hallway was so quiet that I was audible anyway. It nearly echoed, with how silent it was after that, neither the Doctor nor Sensei saying a word for a moment.

Then, strangely, Sensei began to laugh. Not a quiet thing, either, but a loud, booming laugh, like the clap of thunder in the middle of a storm, multiplied by the silence of everything else around him. He laughed like it was choking him, like he could hardly breathe around it, until finally it died in volume and allowed him to breathe again. Sensei seemed like he needed to rest, too; he had a similar kind of tiredness as the Doctor, but different; his was a kind that the Earth did not want to assuage. He had been running from the Earth's rest, and I am sure that he is running still; he twisted himself away from the grip of humanity, though, and so he was not and is not any of my concern.

"Who told you that?" Sensei asked me, back to that same amused, mocking tone. I did not rise to his bait. I did not get angry, because I don't have the energy for that. Not anymore.

"The grave did. I needed to rest." There was only truth in what I was saying, and I think that Sensei and the Doctor were slowly realizing that.

"Why aren't you still resting, then?" Sensei asked, more seriously now.

"The Earth needed me. I was born to deal the revenge that it cannot. Your Doctor needs to rest." The Doctor paled when he heard me, and Sensei glanced between him and me for a moment before he continued to speak.

"I'm assuming that he won't be walking around after. You seem... unique." Sensei observed, and I only nodded. The Doctor paled further, and Sensei had a grim expression on his face. He seemed to think, for a moment, before he turned to face the Doctor again.

"In the beginning of our agreement, I told you that there were certain things I could not protect you from. This is one of them. The consequence of your own failures is beyond me, even more the method by which it's come back to bite you. I am grateful for your services over these past two centuries, Doctor Ujiko Daruma. May your eternal rest be as peaceful as any other." Sensei turned back to me, and stepped to the side, almost as though he was presenting my victim to me.

"He's all yours, Todoroki Touya. May we never have reason to cross paths again." Sensei nodded to me, in the same kind of respectful nod that a man gives a colleague, and started walking down the hallway past me.

Ujiko's death was quick. His age made it easy, his unconscious need to rest overpowered him more thoroughly than I ever could.

When I dragged him to the shallow grave that had once been mine, the dirt had parted to accommodate. I threw him in without fanfare, and he was swallowed by the Earth as he was meant to be so long ago. While he was being taken, while I was doing the deed, my memories were coming back slowly, as though it was one at a time- when it was done, then and only then did I feel rage again.

The Doctor wasn't personal, not really. I mean, I was mad on behalf of those kids, but I never knew them. When I remembered who I was truly meant to exact revenge on, it was like I'd crawled my way out of another grave; there was some numbness that was gone, there was a fire stoked in me again, and I had only just realized that I'd missed it. I only knew I'd been numb when I felt sensation again.

My father was the man who made sure that I burned myself out. My father was the one who drowned me in expectation, in fear, in loneliness and in pain. He was the one who drove me into the Earth. He was the one who was doing the same to my mother, my brothers, and my sister.

He needs to rest, same as that Doctor. I need to put him in the ground myself.

I need to kill that bastard before he murders any more of my family. I have to protect them. The Earth loves them, because it loves me, so it will help him rest. I'm sure of it.

Statement ends.

- Well, this certainly was an interesting Statement. It's clear that Mr. Todoroki was taken by the Buried after his alleged death, when he immediately proceeded to murder a... questionably legal underground doctor? Everything on Ujiko Daruma, or Daruma Ujiko, is from three hundred years ago, but considering that there was quite a bit on how he was "tired" and "had been running from the Earth," I would not doubt it if I were told that this is the same man.

- This Statement was sent here from Tokyo about two years ago on request from a Researcher who has since left, so this was lost in the shuffle, to the point it was never even translated into English. Until now, that is, but I'd hardly call myself an "official" source... ugh. As for what's happened in the two years since this Statement was given, if we are assuming that Todoroki Touya was the eldest son of the Pro Hero Endeavor- and while that is quite the assumption, it's also- wait, never mind on my defense, I've just got it involuntarily confirmed by Beholding. Either way, this Statement-giver did, in fact, end up killing his father as he intended to do. He, along with his mother and siblings, were reported missing at the scene of the crime and have not been seen since.

- End recording.

The tape recorder is clicked off.

[trickstertheclown]

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (17)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6k warnings: arson, cannon level violence, gun violence, the moment you’ve been waiting for 🌹series masterlist 🌹

"I said I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky groaned, swatting away the hand of the paramedic as he tried to disinfect his shoulder. Blood was bubbling at the surface over ripped and frayed edges, dripping down his arm and onto his ribs. He held his shirt balled up in his hands, clenching at the fabric as the sting of alcohol burned against the open wound.

“You were shot, Buck. Let the man work,” Steve warned, glaring at him until Bucky dropped his resolve long enough for the paramedic to begin stitching the mess on his shoulder. It was surrounded by hardened tissue; muscle that had been carved and mutilated in his time overseas and the time between. He’d lost some of his nerve endings amongst the scarring, so the needle twisting through his skin wasn’t so bad.

“She did a good job. Clean hit. Looks like it went right through,” Sam said, eyeing the gunshot wound in Bucky’s shoulder. He pursed his lips, impressed. “Y/n know about the vest?”

“No.” Bucky sighed, breath heavy like stones in his lungs. “There wasn't time to tell her.”

The vest he wore under his shirt was not bulletproof. No, it was a stage prop, a gimmick from the set of a television studio that actors wore when they were shot on screen, one that released balloons of fake blood. It was what was currently drying on the concrete on the office floor just a few feet away.

It was supposed to be used after he was arrested, to make it look like James Karpov died on his way to the station in a dramatic shootout with at least a dozen witnesses, giving Bucky Barnes the opportunity to walk as a free man again. It was a part of a plan that had long been thrown to the wasteland and it forced him to improvise. So, when he stared down the end of your barrel, he knew setting it off was the only way to get you out of this, to keep Rumlow from suspecting you.

Bucky managed to snag the release at the time of your shot, making it look like you’d hit a critical artery. He fell to the ground and played dead.

"Shit,” Sam cursed, hands on his hips. “Does she know you’re alive?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed, clenching his jaw as the paramedic tugged on the rudimentary string keeping his skin together, “but she’s out there somewhere, alone with that fucking psychopath. I can't be wasting time on this. I need to be out there looking for her!”

“We’ve got dozens of our finest searching for them,” Steve said, trying to reassure him, but it was no use. “We’ll find her. You need to let us do our jobs.”

Bucky pushed himself from the back of the ambulance, shoving away the paramedic the moment he pressed on the bandage over the mess on his shoulder. He spotted his reflection in the side mirror of the ambulance, grunting at the stain of red against his cheek. He wiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt, trying to scrub it away, though it only seemed to make it worse. Dried blood crusted on his jawline.  

Bucky slipped his shirt back over his head, wincing at the sharp pain in his shoulder as he tugged it down to his waist. He brushed out the wrinkles, ignoring the heavy patch of red on the left side of the fabric before he retrieved his weapon from Sam.

“I’m going after her,” Bucky reported flatly, heading towards the door.

“Come on, man!” Sam chased after him. “Don’t be an idiot, okay? We’ll come up with a plan.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Buck,” Steve warned, though he was following close behind. A hand landed on Bucky’s good shoulder and he froze, tension hardening like a rock through his spine and Steve quickly pulled away.

“Look,” Bucky growled, hands clenched, “you can either come with me, or get the hell out of my way.”

“How about a third option where you come with me?” Natasha appeared at the edge of the doorway, holding a tablet in her hand. Pursed lips, raised eyebrow staring back at him and Bucky shook his head, pushing past her.

“I don’t have time for—”

“I found her.”

He froze dead in his tracks, head whipping back around. “You what? How?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Natasha said as she gestured for the team to follow to the van out back. She turned and started walking before caring to see Bucky’s acknowledgement. Steve and Sam exchanged a quick look as they quickly jogged behind.

She jumped into the passenger seat, instructing Sam to drive as Bucky and Steve piled in the back. Sam didn’t ask questions as the engine turned to a low purr and Natasha gave him the first set of instructions. Left out the back gate. Continue to the fork in the road, then right.

“Nat,” Bucky urged impatiently, hands squeezing at his knees as he tried to look over her shoulder to get a glimpse of the tablet, but she held it secure to her chest, like there was something she didn’t want him to see.

“I’ve already alerted the NYPD,” Natasha told Sam, “so they know not to pull us over. Don’t stop for the reds.”

Bucky squeezed his hands to fists, nails digging into his palms. His jaw was clenched, wired shut, and his breaths were hot like fire on every exhale. He tried to focus on the feel of his jeans, the faint smell of the corn syrup soaked into his shirt, the cool breeze of the window cracked next to him, but nothing eased the boulder forming in his chest, pushing down on his lungs and suffocating his heart.

“Nat,” Bucky gritted out again, voice strained in the effort, “where is she?”

Natasha sighed, eyes flickering back at Steve, who slowly nodded in response to her silent question. She tapped on the screen of the tablet, twisting around in her seat until she could see Bucky over the shoulder.

“You said Rumlow’s pet scientist removed all of the bugs from the house?” Natasha started. Bucky narrowed his eyes, remembering the pieces of the small listening devices broken on the floor of the factory. Natasha bit on her lip, slowly extending the tablet to Bucky. “Seems he missed one.”

The tablet was heavier than he expected and it dipped a little as she released it to his hands. His heart was pounding, like thunder, bursting at the seams and aching to push past his ribs, break open skin, and plummet straight to the floor.

Bucky stared down at the screen, the image in its reflection of a room he knew well; shelves upon shelves filled with books, assorted mugs left around the room still steeping tea from hours earlier, the soft light of the pale blue lamp by the couch, the series of awards and degrees hanging on the walls.

Bucky’s hands were shaking, gripping so tightly to the edges of the tablet he thought he might crack the glass, because what drew his attention wasn’t the familiarity of the room, the memories of the time he spent there loving you from afar, loving you up close.

He couldn’t see the pile of books on the end table that you’d gathered for him for him to read. He couldn’t see the solid black mug with golden marbled cracks you’d designated as his mug sitting upon the coffee table. He couldn’t see the aisles where he’d loved you, rushed and rough, laughing as he pressed your back to the shelves and your legs wrapped at his waist, the heated flush of your breaths as you clung to him, the sweet whimpers he drew from your lips.

No—instead, he fixated on the novels laying haphazardly on the floor, books you cherished face down, pages bending, where you’d once kept them meticulously organized along the shelves. The plants thrown from their pots on the windowsill, ones you talked so kindly to every time you watered them, wondering how they were still alive because you’d killed just above every other plant before them. The faint discoloration of cigar smoke filtering to the top of the room, clouding over wooden engravings at the tops of the bookcases, staining the room with a smell of a man you worked so hard to escape from.

Then, though his heart was in his throat, he let his eyes drift to you – you tied at the center of the room to a chair as Rumlow sat on the edge of a couch, your couch, dragging in smoke from a cigar. There were ashes on the cushions, smeared into the fabric where Bucky had laid with you on late evenings when he couldn’t stand to leave you alone in that home.

“I didn’t--” Bucky started, finding his voice dry, like sandpaper, and he cleared his throat. He gripped tighter to the tablet, knuckles turning white. “I didn’t think we were surveilling this room.”

“We weren’t,” Nat replied gently, sensing the tension in Bucky’s voice. “I had the transmission cut off since last year. It’s probably why they didn’t find it when they swept for bugs. There was no signal coming from it until I turned it on a few minutes ago. We lost audio though.”

Bucky nodded, feeling an ounce of relief, knowing that your sanctuary wasn’t completely tainted until now. This room, the only room in the house you truly felt safe in, was still yours. Or, it was, before your husband laid waste to it.

“This is a good thing, Buck,” Steve added slowly, setting a light hand on Bucky’s leg. “We know where she is. You can keep an eye on her until we get there.”

Bucky watched as Rumlow knelt down in front of you, gripping tight to your jaw as you struggled to recoil from his touch. He could see the tears reflecting on your cheeks, the tremble of your chest as you tried to find your breath, even from the angle of the camera high in the corner of the room.

He couldn’t stand to see you like this; afraid.

He was supposed to be on his way to you from the back door of the police station, clean of the theatrics and the corn syrup dye on his clothes, free of the name binding him to a vile organization, ready to start his life again as the man he always wanted you to know him to be. He was supposed to protect you from this, from Rumlow, from the life you’d been chained to for years.

But instead, you were bound to a chair in the middle of your safe haven, a witness as your husband tore it to pieces, like pieces of your heart breaking off with every novel tossed to the ground; alone, as Bucky let his promise you to go unanswered.

His promise to save you from this, to take you away, to give you back the life you’d lost.

He might not get that chance.

“I’m going to kill him.”

The words were heavy on his tongue but there was a relief in it, a certainty. It was a fate he’d been slated to from the start.

The car was silent; the only response the low purr of the engine.

***

“What’s her status?”

Bucky shook his head, unable to respond to Natasha’s question without finding bile in his mouth. It was like watching a horror movie, knowing that at any second everything could go up in flames. Rumlow was shouting at you, his arms waving about, and though they had no audio, Bucky could tell by the way you were avoiding your husband's eyes, that you were afraid.

But it was when Rumlow bent to pick up a large container, one with liquid that sloshed up over the top and spilled to the floor by your feet, that Bucky stopped breathing entirely.

“Bucky?”

He couldn’t hear Steve’s voice, not as he watched Rumlow spill the thick, dark colored liquid around the room, onto the couch, onto your shelves lined with books, onto the hardwood floors. You were shouting at him, struggling against the wires binding you to the chair, blood trickling down your wrists. You winced at the smell of it, pushing your nose to your shoulder the closer he got.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered out, hands shaking violently against the tablet. His heart was lodged up into his throat, threatening to choke him.

“What is it?” Sam called from up front. “What’s going on?”

“Sam,” Steve warned, eyes glued to the screen as Bucky veins filled with fire, with rage, and the heat of his breath was that of a dragon’s. “How far are we?”

“Five minutes, boss.”

Steve stole a glance back at Bucky, watching as he gripped painfully at the tablet, gritting his teeth as Rumlow stalked around you, dumping what looked to be gasoline to a room quite literally filled to the brim with novels that would go up in flames in a matter of seconds. Bucky was shaking, whether it was with rage or fear, Steve couldn’t tell.

Steve caught Natasha’s eye, a silent conversation between them before he leaned forward and put a hand on Sam’s seat.

“Floor it.”

***

Bucky jumped from the car before Sam could even pull it into park. He shoved his way out the door, the pavement still moving under his feet as he rolled along the driveway, back skidding into the rocky surface that only worsened the pain in his shoulder. He scrambled back to his feet, sprinting towards the mansion, when a thunderous explosion to his froze him dead in his tracks.

An arm came up instinctively to shield his eyes as an influx of bright light punctured through the night sky.

Glass shattered out into the grass and from the window of your library rose angry, orange flames into the night sky, dancing and crackling in the wind. A large gust of a breeze swept by and the flames seemed to scream, pulling down pieces of the wooden architecture of the outside walls with deafening snaps.

He could vaguely hear Steve shouting behind him, warning him to wait until the firefighters arrived, to stop putting himself at the front lines of a beast he couldn’t hope to tame. They were only a few minutes out. It was too dangerous to go inside himself. He wasn’t trained for this.

But none of that mattered to Bucky, not in that moment. All he knew was you were trapped inside, alone, in a burning room and he’d be damned if he stood on the sidelines and watched.  

Bucky sprinted to the front door, bounded over the cracks in the pavement and skipping the stairs leading to the door. The knob seared hot enough that it burned right through his palm and he hissed at the sting of it, staring down at pink and blistering skin in his grip.

He threw his shoulder to the door, shouting out in frustration when it refused to budge. His shoulder was aching, pulsing, from the impact. Again and again and still nothing. Black smoke spilled out from the library just a few windows down, taunting him as it tainted the night sky.

“Come on!” he screamed, voice hoarse as his eyes kept darting to the flames bursting from your sanctuary. He only had so much time before the heat was too much for your body, before the smoke infiltrated your lungs and you were burned by the consumption of fire to your most prized possessions.

“Stand back!”

Bucky turned abruptly at the voice to find Steve at his side, gun in hand as he fired three shots at the knob and slammed the sole of his boot to the vulnerable wood at the left of the door. The wood cracked, the hatch falling loose and it cracked open, pooling thick, grey smoke from the living room.

“I’m not letting you run into a burning building on your own, you jerk,” Steve grunted, shouldering the door until it swung open, slamming against the adjacent wall, and they were met with a wall of smoke. Steve pulled the edge of his shirt over his nose and nodded for Bucky to lead the way.

Bucky nodded at him, unable to find his own voice. He rushed into the living room, crook of his elbow pressed to his nose, coughing at the sudden gasp of smoke. It was still high amongst the ceilings, but in a short glance down the winding hall to your library, the smoke only became thicker, heavier, and it was so clouded he could hardly see the door.

“This way!” Bucky shouted, taking off towards the library.

It was a path he knew well, one he’d once walked slowly with a careful glance over his shoulder and one he’d raced to the moment he stepped foot in this home. He knew the dip in the floorboards at the edge of the foyer, the slight stain on the wood from where you’d dropped a mug filled to the brim with herbal tea, the paintings lining the walls that you’d slowly replaced over your years to the works and designs of local artists depicting mountain ranges and sunsets and gardens and all the places you’d rather be.

Small pieces of you were embedded in this home. It seemed they, too, were up in smoke.

Bucky slammed into the doors at the library, though they didn’t budge. He pressed his hands to the wood to find it scorching hot and he hissed, jumping away from it. Eyes trailed down to the knobs and he found the double doors shackled together with a thick, metal chain.

“Oh God. What do we—”

“I’ve got it!” Steve shouted over the roar of the fire behind the door. He pushed Bucky aside and fired one shot to the lock. It released with a slight kick of his foot to the chains and they fell to the floor. Steve quickly holstered his weapon with a single look in Bucky’s direction, a nod, and he pushed open the doors.

They were met with a heat that singed at their skin, flames that pulled towards them in the flood of oxygen sweeping into the room.  

“Shit!” Steve cursed, shielding his face from the fires as he stumbled backwards, but Bucky was advancing forward, as if the heat wasn’t drying his lungs with every breath, as if the smoke wasn’t winding him, like he wasn’t about to walk through a wall of flames. “Bucky, wait!”

Bucky took a deep breath though his lungs filled with smoke and he sprinted inside. He could feel burning on his skin, the singe of the flames against his exposed forearms, but none of it compared to seeing you strapped to that chair at the center of the room. Your head was lulled to the side, cheek to your right shoulder, eyes closed, and your skin covered in dark soot, some patches of burn marks seared raw.

He rushed at you, skidding to his knees and trying to ignore the fact that his jeans were soaking in gasoline pooling under your feet that was sure to light up at any second.

“Y/n,” he called, voice too soft, as he gripped at the sides of your face. “Sweetheart, wake up. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t respond and Bucky could hardly feel a touch of your breath under your nose.

“Please, I need you to come back to me,” he begged, shaking you, harder than he meant to, but God, he’d never been so scared in his life. A muffled groan pulled from your lips, a slight twitch in your nose, and that was enough for him.

“That’s my girl.” He exhaled, laughing through the adrenaline and panic in his veins.

He pulled a scalpel from his pocket, one he’d stolen from the ambulance back at the factory, and quickly began working at the wires binding your wrists. He tried to ignore the raw and bleeding skin underneath.

There was a loud crackling above and Bucky glanced up to find a large fracture in the ceiling, spreading rapidly to the window. Small pieces of the paint chipped off and fell down around him like snowfall.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted behind him, warning him.

Bucky gathered you into his arms, hulling you to his chest. You were like a rag doll, limp, though you curled into him, nose finding the crook of his neck as if you were only sleeping, seeking out his scent, his warmth, even amongst the flames.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispered, a gentle kiss at your forehead as he stared down the wall of fire ahead of him. “Steve!”

“I know! I’m working on it!”

Steve was prying the door from the hinges, the metal already warped and easily manipulated by the heat of the flames. It detached suddenly and Steve stumbled under the weight of it before he slammed down ahead of Bucky, acting like a bridge to suffocate the fire in his path if only for a minute.

Bucky didn’t waste a second, no hesitations, and he sprinted to the hallway with you safe in his arms, leaving your library up in flames.

“Can we get the hell out of here now?” Steve grunted, panting, hands on his knees though he was smiling. He straightened his back, looking down at you and Bucky was certain he saw relief in his friend’s face, to find the slight movement in your chest with every breath, even if it was shallow and rasping.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded with a tired smile, “let’s—”

The words died on his tongue as he spotted a figure in the distance, waiting, watching. It paused, incredibly still, before it descended further into the shadows. Calling him. Beckoning him forth. A challenge he would not dare go unanswered.

“Take her,” Bucky ordered flatly, already pushing you to Steve’s arms before he had a chance to object. “Get her to the paramedics.”

“Buck, what are you—”

"There’s something I need to take care of.”

The flames were starting to follow them into the hallway and Bucky gently released you to Steve’s arms. He leaned closer to you, swept your hair away from your eyes and kissed your temple; eyes closed, lingering, because he needed to remember this. He pulled back to find Steve staring at him in disbelief, eyes flickering down to the end of the hallway.

“Don’t,” Steve said, though there was an aching there, a pleading.  

“Get her somewhere safe,” Bucky replied, putting a hand to Steve’s shoulder, a slight squeeze, an appreciation for a debt he will never repay. “Steve, please.”

“You won’t have long,” he warned, eyeing the unstable foundation around them. Your library was starting to cave in on itself, pieces of the ceiling falling into the flames, until the shelves collapsed, and hundreds of novels lent themselves to the fire. Steve pulled back, shielding you as the heat of it carried out into the hall.

“I know,” Bucky said slowly, guiding Steve down the hall to the front door. He kept his eyes trained on the man in the shadows. “I’ll see you soon, brother.”

Steve paused, his eyes catching on the man lying in wait. He clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and then nodded. “You better.”

Steve rushed out the front door, carrying you safely in his arms away from the flames, and Bucky stood still in the living room, staring down into the dark corner where Brock Rumlow emerged from. Bucky’s hands curled to fists as he stepped forward, watching while Rumlow poured himself a glass of scotch amongst the thick fog covering the ceiling.

“I thought you were dead,” Rumlow said, a bit annoyed, as he took a swig of the amber liquid.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged, hand gripping around a vase to his left, “you’re used to underestimating my girl, aren’t you?”

Rumlow chuckled, though it was dark, humorless. He threw back the rest of the scotch, smacking his lips loudly. Then, he sharply pulled a handgun from the back of his waistband and aimed it at Bucky, quickly releasing the safety as a maniacal grin slithered along his lips.

“Guess I’ll have to finish the job myself.”

Before he could fire, Bucky threw the vase across the room with the full force of his strength. The crash of it against the wall to Rumlow’s right distracted him enough to give Bucky the advantage to propel himself over the couch, using the ottoman as leverage, and tackle Rumlow to the ground.

The gun was thrown a few feet away and Rumlow let out a grunt as he slammed to the hardwoods. With Bucky’s full weight on top of him, he fought like a feral animal, kneeing and kicking and shoving hands to Bucky’s face. The heel of his palm slammed straight to Bucky’s chin, causing him to hit his head on the end table beside them. It served its purpose as Bucky fell off of Rumlow and slumped to the floors, dizzying him enough for Rumlow to crawl out from underneath.

Rumlow smirked as he reached out for the gun, his fingers touching the warm metal of the handle for only a second, vengeance in the palm of his hand—

Bucky scrambled forward, grabbed a tight hold of Rumlow’s jacket and yanked him back, sliding down along the floors as the gun slipped out of reach again. Bucky threw a punch to the left corner of Rumlow’s jaw and a splatter of blood spewed from his lips and coated the white wall beside them and dripped down over his chin.

Within his rage, a vicious kind of roar released from deep in Rumlow’s chest as he bared his teeth, blood seeping through his gums and spilling from the edges of his lips. He slowly climbed his way back to his feet, legs wobbling underneath him as he stood from the exhaustion.

“You won’t survive this, Agent Barnes,” he spat, pacing to the edge of the room where the thick cloud of black smoke began to sink down from the ceiling.

Over Rumlow’s shoulder, Bucky caught sight of flames creeping in from the hallway making their way to the living room. He tried to catch his breath but it was hard to find, shallow in his chest, and he was losing energy quicker than he shoulder. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped down his face, his neck, and he felt like his lungs were aflame. He hulled himself to his feet, feeling a little disoriented from the hit and the smoke in his lungs.

“You think you can just infiltrate the greatest underground empire this city’s ever known?!” Rumlow roared, diving forward and slammed a closed barreled fist to Bucky’s jawline. It nearly sent him spiraling to the floor as he clamped down on the inside of his cheek, blood pooling quickly in his mouth.

Rumlow’s lip twitched, a kind of chaos and recklessness lurking under his skin unfamiliar for a man who spent his life meticulously planning and strategizing, draped in Gucci and Armani.

“You think you stood a goddamn chance against Hydra, you fucking traitor?!”

A knee to Bucky’s stomach, then a fist to his nose, to his shoulder, until Bucky couldn’t shield himself anymore. The heat was singing on his skin, burning more than whatever Rumlow could dish out. 

Bucky risked a glimpse a few feet away as Rumlow prepared for the next hit and the flicker of metallic caught his eye. He froze.

But so did Rumlow.

Bucky lunged for the gun, scrambling over the floors, nails digging into the exposed wood and diving splinters into his skin. He grasped it just long enough to spin the chamber of the revolver before Rumlow came up behind him and kicked him hard in the ribs, forcing him to curl in on himself as he let the gun slip through his fingers.  

Rumlow bent down slowly and picked up the gun, admiring it in his hand as he backed away.

“You know, I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” Rumlow tsked, the spin of the chamber clear as Bucky forced himself to his feet. He was uneasy in his stance, blood dripping from his forehead, wet in his hair. Rumlow eyed him cautiously.

“It’s over, Rumlow,” Bucky warned. “You’re finished.”

“Finished?” he mocked, laughing, deep and boisterous over the roar of the flames behind them. “Wake up, asshole! You’re the one staring down the end of the gun. You’re not walking out of this house alive.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Bucky replied defiantly, certain as he took a slow, calculated step towards the end table, pacing around Rumlow as he followed in opposite tracks.

Rumlow scoffed. “I’ve got six rounds here that say otherwise.”

“Do you?”

Bucky released his hand as six golden bullets fell from his grasp, chiming against the hardwoods in deafening clicks before they settled and rolled under the couch. Rumlow stared down at them in disbelief, slowly turning to the gun in his hand and spinning open the chamber to find it empty.

In the pause of his distraction, Bucky slipped his hand under the end table, grasped the handle of the gun he’d stored there on his first day patrolling the mansion and ripped it from the duct tape securing it to the underside. He aimed it at Rumlow, stone cold in his features as sweat beaded down his temple.

But Rumlow started to laugh.

“You can’t beat me, Agent Barnes,” he sneered. “Hydra will always win.”

“Not once we put you away,” Bucky hissed, hands gripping the gun impossibly tight, until his knuckles were ghost white. Above him, cracks were opening in the ceiling, the foundation slowly giving way to the heat.

“You think that’s going to stop me?!” Rumlow bellowed, advancing forward and causing Bucky to take a step back. “You think that putting me in jail is going to do anything?! Hydra may be burned to ash but I still know who’s responsible.”

Bucky swallowed, a slight give beyond the hardened mask he wore, and Rumlow saw straight through it.

He chuckled, low and demonic. “Yeah, I know she was a part of this. That conniving little bitch!”

Bucky clenched his jaw, knowing the panic was evident on his face but he held his stance, watching Rumlow as he started to pace, grinning like he knew he’d won.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Barnes,” Rumlow smirked, folding his arms, “you’re going to hand over the gun and then, you’re going to let me go.”

The ceiling behind them gave way as wooden beams and scaffolding plummeted from above. Bucky turned back to Rumlow, holding the weapon steady.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I beg to disagree,” Rumlow shrugged, unbothered by the heat of the flames as they inched closer. “You’re going to let me walk out the back door, away from your buddies waiting to put me in cuffs and you’re going to do it happily –”

“Fuck off.”

“—otherwise, I’ll use every last resource I have to slaughter your girl.”

Bucky’s heart stopped, like the full force of a freight train to the sternum. Muscles to stone, blood to ice. His stomach twisted and warped on itself.

“That’s what you called her right? ‘Your girl?’” Rumlow rolled his eyes, laughing to himself. “Pathetic. You would have sacrificed everything for her, wouldn’t you? Its fucking weak! And for it to be her? Are you kidding me, Barnes? You risked it all for my fucking leftovers!?”

Rumlow was laughing – no, cackling – and maybe it was the smoke or the flames but there was something unhinged about it, manic, and the look in that man’s eye was chilling, like ice straight to his core.

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, voice low, cracking. Heat boiled in his veins that had little to do with the flames surrounding him.

“You took everything from me,” Rumlow growled, features shifting abruptly into something much darker. “I’m going to destroy you.”

Bucky shook his head, tightening his grip on the gun. “You won’t have the chance, asshole. Now start walking.”

Bucky gestured the barrel towards the door, but Rumlow didn’t budge. Instead, that small maniacal smirk returned to his lips, cracking through dried skin and leaving slivers of blood in his wake.

“You think some prison bars and an orange jumpsuit are going to stop me? You think I won’t be able to ruin your whole fucking existence with the snap of my fingers!? You think I won’t rip your girl straight from under you?!”

Stone in his throat, blood on his tongue, Bucky couldn’t control the pounding in his chest.

“You’re fooling yourself if you think I don’t have connections in the FBI! I’ll find her, even if you hide her in the smallest no-where-shit-town in the country!” Rumlow goaded, shouting above the flames, almost deranged as his pupils blew wide. “I’ll find her and I’ll send the worst kind of man to finish the job. She’ll be begging, crying, wondering how you could have let this happen to her when you could have just let me walk away! She’ll know when she takes her final breaths, when she’s choking on her own fucking blood, that it was your fault!”

Bucky’s breaths were uneven, rasped and wheezing from the smoke and heavy from the painful thumping of his heart. He gripped the gun tighter in his hold, until the crevices pinched his skin and the heat of the metal seared into his grasp.

“You won’t see it coming,” Rumlow sneered, shaking his head, baring his teeth. Vile. Evil. Unhinged. He stepped forward, challenging Bucky to pull the trigger. “You could have months, years together and just when you think she’s safe from me… just when you think this is all over… when you’ve let your guard down just long enough… you’ll come home to find her IN PIECES!”

BANG!

BANG! BANG!

BANG!

Rumlow stumbled backwards, the impact leaving him clutching to the bar cart for support. Slowly, he glanced down at his chest in disbelief, shaking hands reaching out and touching the blood as it pooled against his white pressed button up. It seeped along the pristine fabric, soaking deep stains of crimson as it spread.

His mouth was agape, trying to form words as his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground. Lips parting, breaths shallower with every inhale, and hazel eyes fell on stormy skies of dark blue until they glossed over, faded away, and soon, there was nothing left.

Bucky lowered the gun, staring down at the body of the man he gave more than a year of his life to put behind bars; a man with no extraordinary ability, but a malice wretched into his soul and darkness in his veins. He bled like any other man. He died like one, too.

Bucky felt cold, empty, but a boulder was lifted from his shoulders and he set the gun down on the desk beside him, leaving it behind to the flames.

The mansion was caving in around him as he turned to the front door. Flames erupting from the hallway to your library now taking root to the staircase, traveling along the back wall to the kitchen. It consumed the furniture, the paintings, the tapestries, the priceless artifacts Rumlow had illegally acquired to gather dust on his shelves.

It was all ablaze.

A section of the ceiling collapsed by the front door, blocking his path, and Bucky started to feeling the effect of the smoke taking hold. His breaths were far too short, like he was gasping for air at the surface of an ocean’s tide before it swept him under again. A piercing pulse ached through his head, leaving him dizzy, and he struggled to remain on his feet.

The second story was starting to cave in. He didn’t have much time left.

There was only one way out. Through the flames. To you.

Bucky pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and ran.

[0lshadyl0]

Indifferent, yandere Hawks x Reader

warnings: little NSFW, yandere themes, obsessive behavior, kidnapping, curse words 

word count:  1.433

You were really his kind of woman, with fine facial features but strong character and sharp eyes, beautiful and strong, a true beast difficult to tame, Hawks really fell in love when he met you, although it was not easy to start a conversation with you since you didn't seem to be in the least interested in knowing him or even greeting him just for being polite. yeah, you didn't usually speak to him or take a look at him, it didn't matter that he was the hero number two, to you, he didn't exist unless it was necessary, after all, you were a hero too and from time to time two had to do collaborations together. he remembered well his first meeting, when you had just arrived in Japan and coincidentally you two had to fight against a group of mercenaries who tried to assassinate an important businessman, to see you fight firmly against enemies with strength comparable to Nomu's was incredible, but what had hooked him at that moment were your eyes, oh those bright eyes, full of life and passion, he could watch them all eternity and never get tired of them  but unlike you that from the beginning you simply saw him as an unimportant person, and a very immature one, who later became an annoying person who seemed amused to be constantly calling your   attention, something you never pleased him because that lazy looking flying chicken wing definitely was not worth your time, not even your attention, Hawks could not stop seeing you, every day that passed, the heroine was more and more stuck in his mind, it was that much than he had begun to dream of you, at first they were kind dreams, where you dedicated soft looks at him and little smiles, the winged hero always wished to see one of your smiles

"It must be a beautiful sight" he mutters to himself as he watched her discuss something he had no idea because he stopped to paying attention just to admire you from afar, with Endeavor from the other side of the room, after all, nobody had ever seen you smile or have any kind of facial expression beyond a neutral face or a look of contempt, for that reason you entered the category of heroes who looked like villains, something that Hawks disagreed with since, for him, your image was angelic, not villainous 

the winged hero centered his gaze on your back  although little by little his curious eyes went down to see your hips and as a final goal your delicious  ass, oh man what he would give for having that ass in his hands, better yet, having his cock in the middle of those cheeks, stroking himself between them while you get wet, getting yourself very nice and ready to take his cock inside of you until he cums so much that all your insides get painted with his milk, making you his lover 

just imagining you naked, waiting  yearningly for him to claim you as his own, make the hero's member throb he also could feel a little of his precum staining his briefs, he was forced to pretend that he was scratching over his pants to accommodate his dick so no one saw his growing erection, 'shit, this is bad...' he thought, after all, as the days went by and the real you ignored him, those dreams began to take darker directions, because his desire was ceasing to be innocent like seeing you happy, to something more... lewd, now he wanted your body, to possess you and that you only see him, not with just a kind smile but with bright eyes full of passion, of love and desire for him, just as his own eyes looked at you since the first time his eyes met with the indifferent yours  Hawks must have been very lost thinking about everything that he will do to you in the bedroom or anywhere, the feathered hero was beginning to care very little where he would claim you as his, to not realize when you  stoped the conversation with the number one hero to half turn around and catch him as he basically eats you with his pervy eyes, you couldn't do more than sigh heavily while rolling your eyes thinking 'here we go again with this pervert'  because of course, it would not be the first time that you discover him watching your ass, in fact he never stopped looking at you as if you were a piece of meat and despite the fact that you wanted to show that you are more than him, being professional and ignoring his staring eyes at all your intimate areas all the fucking time, you couldn't help bothering yourself "Could you please not be a stupid dick and stop looking my ass?" you say without any expression on your face, you won't give him that satisfaction, but by your voice, the two men in the room knew that you're getting angry at the flying hero 

"Sorry Y/n but you're very beautiful, and in my defense is almost impossible not look at your behind" Hawks smiled lazily doing his best smiling idiot face, he had well known that if he acted like a stupid jerk you will ignore him like always and although he hated that when you do that, for this situation it was handy 

"You're an idiot, I am leaving" With a slight expression of frustration, you decided to leave the room despite Endeavor's call to continue discussing the details of the mission of the three to attack a base of villains 'do not worry I will handle it' was the last thing you say before leaving the place

Endeavor directs his eyes to the winged hero to argue with him about his inappropriate behavior towards the heroine but when he sees it, he does not see his quiet almost lazy expression of always, instead, he sees a look full of pain somewhat distressing  but above all he sees that look of intense desire that could almost scratch the obsessive and he most of all can recognize well that look since he once had it too, that kind of look never meant something good, Endeavor knew that he has to be careful with Hawks he was dangerous now  

..................................................................................................

"where is she, Endeavor, please... tell me where is Y/n!" Hawks was the vivid image of anguish, his feathers were rampant and he looked disoriented, but he still had someone in his mind and she didn't look anywhere, he was desperate where are you? are you ok?  are you safe? did you survive the explosion? 

"I... I don't know, she was inside and..." the number one hero was lost of words

Endeavor also did not know the location of the heroine and the desperation of the hero number two, who usually always acted calm and rational in every risky situation, to act like it was the end of the world, at this crucial moment where the only missing person was you, this did not help the flaming hero at all; there was a miscalculation, nobody knew that the building was full of explosives and you who went back to that place because you heard a kid calling for help, just when you got in the building it exploded... and probably you died, he knew it and Hawks too, when he looked into his blue flaming eyes and saw them full of regret, he confirmed the hurtful truth that's why that he threw himself on the floor while he cried  all his lungs, after all the winged hero had lost the woman he loved 

or that was what he made them all believe

Hawks was always someone very capable of expressing himself, hiding his emotions and especially lying without anyone being aware or notice, so it was relatively easy to put an audio of a child crying  for help, knocking you out with his feathers and then abducting you and just for return quickly, of course when he made sure to keep you in a place where you could be safe and more importantly where you can't escape, then he just had to put a show, do a bit of drama and voila, everyone thought you were dead nobody will search for you or try to find your body and in a couple of months you will be forgotten by the media and the public, which it means that he can enjoy you for himself for all the rest of your life, whenever you liked or not 

[serpentinesarang]

Familiar

pairing: chan (bang chan) x gender-neutral reader

genre: no smut, married!au, emotionally heavy, lots of plot build-up/context description, slow burn, fluff at the end, second-person POV

word count: 2098

content warnings: themes of death, depression/grieving, lack of eating, swearing; this is a SERIOUS piece that may make you cry. please proceed with caution and take a mental breather after. 

summary: your husband chan died a year ago, and life hasn’t been the same until you meet a peculiar stray dog whom you decide to keep.

a/n: partly inspired by the netflix anime film “a whisker away.” hint hint: australian dingo...

korean key:

⦿ sasaengpaen (사생팬) = crazy spy-like super fans, sasaeng for short; pronounced “sah-seng”

⦿ annyeong (안녕) = multipurpose word that translates to hi/bye and no; in this story, it’s used in the hi/bye sense. pronounced “on-yawng”

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Preface

It happened a year ago. The crash. The sasaengs. The coma. The stroke. The doctors’ denial of life support. The funeral.

Your husband Chan had died tragically after a catastrophic car accident outside the JYPE building in Seoul when a group of sasaengs tried to take control of an already chaotic situation on the street. Chan had been rushed to the hospital, so bloodied and so internally fractured that he immediately fell comatose and incidentally suffered a stroke due to the bodily trauma. 

You’d begged with all your might for the doctors to put him on life support, but they refused, saying he’d be vegetative for the rest of your life. They even sent an insurance liason up to Chan’s ICU suite to speak with you about having to pay for his life support as long as you continued to live, and you were just so beaten down by all the hospital staff that you agreed to release his body to the funeral home his parents had flown in to coordinate with.

And you were destroyed. 

Your employer had given you three months’ bereavement, but you still couldn’t bear to go to work for four more months. You slept 12 hours on Chan’s side of the bed every night and only wore his clothes during those four months of intermittent crying. After you used up the remaining sick days and paid time off you’d accrued over the years, your manager finally terminated you for missing too much. The next two months were spent on the couch with no appetite and inconsistent sleep, the good memories of Chan continually flooding back to you at random times. 

This was when you’d decided it was time to get your shit together because the scale declared you 15 lbs [7 kg] lighter; the circles under your eyes scared you each time you dared to glance in a mirror; and your phone’s mailbox had filled to its limit with messages from anyone and everyone offering their condolences for your loss. So three months passed, and you were able to gain back most of your weight, sleep more consistently, and clean out your social media.

Those last three months were the cleansing your soul so desperately needed, and for the first time since the incident, you were starting to feel a level of normalcy again. You’d even pushed yourself to get back into the workforce, and thankfully, this new employer didn’t cause a scene about your 11-month gap in job history. 

The dominoes were falling back into place. Sadly, you’d felt compelled at one point to ghost the rest of Stray Kids because it was just too painful for you to act like you could handle yourself around them. Out of worry and compassion, they all individually sent you messages here and there, but you told yourself maybe in the future. After all, your life had disintegrated to less than dust, so you were your priority moving forward.

Now

Your phone’s alarm wakes you to another dreary November day. It’s a snippet of an audio message he’d left you long, long ago when he was away for a tour. “Good morning to you, [Mr./Mrs.] Bang, my beautiful angel. I’m thinking of you as always. Text me when you get this. Love you, honey.”

November 25th, to be exact: the one-year anniversary of Chan’s death.

You sigh, whispering to the ceiling, “I love you too, baby.”

You pick yourself up, go through all the usual motions, and head to work in the morning snow, trying to keep your mind as numb as you’ve been recently feeling. Perhaps you’ll do a little something once you return home, you resolve.

The workday passes; the snow continues blanketing the city; and nothing really good or bad has happened in the meantime.

You step off the elevator onto your floor of the apartment building. You’re freezing from the windchill, mindlessly deleting spam email on your phone while trudging in your heavy boots to your door.

Once you reach your unit, something at the edge of your eyesight causes you to freeze. You take in the sight before you: a large, tan and white dog lying on your welcome mat with its front paws extended toward you. Its deep brown eyes stare right into yours, and you feel all the air in your lungs disappear.

“A-annyeong,” you murmur softly, pocketing your phone. 

The dog blinks in response, not moving his gaze.

You crouch down in front of the dog slowly, trying not to spook it. “Are you lost, sweetie?”

The dog emits a barely audible whimper, and you can’t tell if it’s sad or relieved to have been found. It’s not wearing a collar, and its abundant fur looks clean, like an inside pet.

Feeling conflicted, you purse your lips. “You must be... I’ll tell you what: you be good and stay here for me, okay?”

The dog exhales sharply before closing its eyes.

Wow, well trained pupper, you think to yourself as you rise. You spend the next five minutes ringing the entire floor’s doorbells, even banging on the doors of the units that didn’t respond to the bell. Each and every neighbor of yours denies owning a dog that looks like a Shiba Inu, and they all claim to not know anyone else who might have one.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath after the last person closes their door.

Returning back to your unit, you find the dog hasn’t moved an inch, but it must recognize your presence because its eyes fly open, and its head shoots up toward you.

“I guess you’re mine for now,” you address it. You enter your passcode and push the door open, pointing expectantly with an approving facial expression for the dog to understand it’s okay to go in.

And it happily trots inside, sniffing around the entryway while you shuck off your boots, parka, and other winter layers. 

The dog seems to be waiting for you to finish because, once you turn toward it, it immediately turns around and saunters to the bedroom on the far end of the apartment. You keep up at its side and determine with a friendly visual inspection that this dog is a boy.

Approaching Chan’s old side of the mattress, he turns back to you and sits down in front of the nightstand, digging his eyes into yours once more.

Your brow furrows as you try to piece together what’s happening. “What? What’s up, sweetie?”

The dog replies with a heartwrenching whimper, angling his snout forward as if asking for you.

You pad closer and sit on the backs of your legs. “Will you let me touch you?” you ask him softly, raising a hand for him to sniff.

Oddly, he straight up disregards your hand and leans forward to lick your chin.

“Awww,” you gush at his sudden affection. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” You stroke the top of his tan head, and again, the poor thing whimpers while leaning into your touch.

You scratch at the bases of his ears before cupping his jowls in your hands. “You’re such a sweet boy, you know that?”

The dog blinks rapidly, pushing forward again to gently lick at your unsuspecting lips this time.

Giggling and stroking his front shoulder areas, you say, “Ohh, thank you, thank you. I haven’t been kissed in a year, so I appreciate that, sweet boy.”

A moment passes, but you have to do a double-take when you notice the thick stream of fluid cascading from his shiny eyes.

You gasp. “Oh nooo, are you crying?” With your thumbs, you carefully wipe away his tears. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I did enough of that for nine months straight, and I can’t have you making me sad too,” you confide with the animal, stroking his head again.

He responds by standing on all fours and pressing the top of his head to your own forehead, and you go breathless again.

He’s so human-like... so emotional... you think, raising your arms over his body and hugging him. You stay there for a solid minute before he finally pulls back and sits again.

You sigh quietly, evaluating his expression. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long day.” You nudge your chin up to the bed. “Wanna rest for a while?”

The dog ever so quietly barks with its snout closed, as if in acknowledgement, and he waits for you to move first. So you rise and position the pillows on Chan’s side against the wall for you to sit upright. You spread your legs in a butterfly position, and without you having to beckon or give permission, the dog hops to the corner of the bed and situates himself between your legs. You notice then that he’s eyeing something on the wall above the bed.

The professional landscape shot of Chan with his arms tightly curled around you under a peony-adorned gazebo near a lake, the day of your wedding. You were looking into each other’s eyes with the sincerest of smiles.

You turn to glance at the framed photo. “Yeah,” you sigh deeply, turning back to the dog. “That’s Channie, my husband.”

The dog picks up on your change of tone and scoots forward as close as he can get, resting his paws on your upper thighs and his snout on your stomach. His gleaming eyes practically compel you to go on.

Placing your hands on his soft back, you continue in a strained voice: “He was taken from me last year, on this day actually, November 25th. He was so badly hurt in the accident that he went into a coma and had a stroke a couple days later.”

You pause, and the dog whimpers on your stomach, his sad gaze making your throat constrict and your eyes water. 

How can a dog be so in tune with me...?

You push that question away with a sigh and bring a hand to rest on his head. “I never left the hospital. The nurses had to kick me out of his room when he passed. And I cried my eyes out for almost a year.” 

Your eyes drift off, glancing at the ceiling and the walls while remembering your grieving process. “So now I sleep on his side of the bed... I wear only his clothes at home... and I shower with the same things he always did. He’s always with me, even when I’m not wearing my ring.”

Tears have started falling onto your cheeks, and you look back down at the quiet dog to find him crying again as well, his glassy eyes still intently watching you.

An uncontrolled sob escapes your lips before you mash them together, trying to keep it together.

“I love him so much,” you throw your head back against the wall. “I love him so, so fucking much,” you whisper, the hot tears falling faster now.

You hear the dog whine rather loudly, so you focus on him again as he raises his head. “He was my person, and now I have no one,” you blubber, using your hands to angrily wipe away the tears.

The dog replies with a seemingly uncharacteristic growl, its eyes still very soft in contrast.

“Okay, okay, now I have you,” you concede, catching your breath. “I don’t know where your parents are, and I’ve been alone for too long.” You pause, almost unwilling to continue. “Will you stay with me, sweet boy?”

He barks out a high-pitched yelp, spastically moving his paws against you so they’re digging into your abdomen now.

Cheered up by the dog’s responsive expressions of emotion, you burst into a brief laugh and scratch the underside of his snout. “You remind me of him, you know. Soft hair, gorgeous brown eyes, super caring.”

Again, he whimpers, very quietly this time. You tenderly kiss his moist nose. “I’ll call you Chris... because only I was allowed to call him that.”

Chris responds by licking your lips again.

Your random gasp makes him jump a little. “Oh my gosh, I bet you’re hungry or thirsty!” You try shifting on the bed, but Chris’s weight holds you firmly. “Do you want food?”

Chris lowers his snout, resting it on your chest now. He doesn’t make any noises, but you can guess what he means by this.

“Okay, Chris, I gotcha. We’ll stay here and eat when you’re ready,” you promise as you smooth his pointed ears backward.

...

I found them... if only they knew it’s me... I’m Channie, and I’m still yours, honey. 

[meshkol]

3, 6, 15 for the unusual asks darling ( ´͈ ॢꇴ `͈ॢ)･*♡

 hello there! thank you for the ask(s) darling, and much love to you <3 also, apologies for the long-arse response to literally all of your questions haha

3. rant. just do it

WEAR. A. FUCKING. MASK. AND. LEARN. HOW. TO. PROPERLY. WASH. YOUR. HANDS. AND. STAY. IN. YOUR. FUCKING. HOMES. i am losing my mind over here. i am seeing people, including young people, die every fucking day. i am tired of seeing people, including young people, die every day. do you know what that’s doing to the medical community? by the time the second wave comes, half of our g-ddamn medical professionals are going to be gone, either on strike because of appalling working conditions due to the lack of federal government response, because we’ve been infected/died of COVID-19, or because we’ve put a fucking bullet in our brain. we are losing our minds with stress and grief and this is not sustainable, nor is it humane. wear your mask (WITH NO VALVE -- THAT IS DANGEROUS TO THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU!!!), learn how to properly wash your hands, and stay in your fucking homes, else you will die in a hospital room with no nurses or nurses to clean up your piss and shit and vomit, or shove a ventilator down your throat when your lungs fill with fluid and fail, or pump you full of drugs, or perform surgeries, or administer life-saving treatment as your organs fail and your brain dies. fucking fuck.

6. how many pairs of shoes do you have?

oh g-d LMFAO. i have my work shoes, i.e. my uniform boots, lab shoes, and hospital floor shoes, the latter two which have to be rotated regularly or replaced entirely. and then i’m a vain, pretentious, stereotypical frenchman (who semi-regularly goes high femme when i’m feeling genderfluid or a Dom wants to see me in feminine clothing) with a serious case of ocd, so i have to buy shoes to match each outfit for Reasons™ and i have a lot of clothes, which generally get thrown out en masse with seasonal changes because i don’t like keeping clothes longer than six months, so a lot of fuckin’ shoes...and that is vaguely hilarious as well because i work pretty much constantly (especially right now) so i don’t spend a lot of time out of scrubs, bio suits, or uniform. and then i have shoes for scenes as well, so there are a lot of high heels and thigh- and knee-high boots and slippers and a lot of other things that Doms like to see me in, in all sorts of colours and styles and blahblahblah.

look. i have a lot of shoes. i have a lot of shoes. i’m not going to embarrass myself and give you a number. feel free to throw spears.

15. what’s a question do you constantly get asked?

on tumblr and twitter, it’s almost always people asking for me to film/send pictures of me getting fucked. i almost never get other asks/questions except that here on tumblr, and my DMs on twitter are only this question. sigh. what can i say, i’m a cis male, openly into pricks, and vocal about being a submissive in the scene, and considering the fetishisation of gay men on this site and my open-door policy towards kink and sex, people tend to take my open-door policy about all things bdsm and/or gay sex as blanket permission to ask for nudes/porn. it’s pretty fucking gross. you all should stop asking me for nudes/porn because i’m not giving it to you, and start asking me other things. literally anything else. my DMs and inbox gets about fifty of requests for porn/nudes literally every single day. maybe...give me a break and break up the monotony a little, if you please.

overall online, specifically on discord, i constantly get asked about bdsm and/or gay sex, since i am gay, male, and have almost twenty years of experience in the bdsm community. i love these questions, in glaring contrast to the constant demands for porn/nudes -- i love talking about sex and bdsm, especially if it’s an educational experience for everyone (even me!), and while i’m not going to give anyone personal photos/videos/audio of me (except @crowleys--angel, but i’m fandom-married to that bitch and moki asked very nicely), i am always game to talking about both my experience and how authors can write gay sex more accurately/realistically. though, admittedly, recently most people ask me about COVID-19, as i’m an epidemiologist by civilian trade that’s worked ebola in africa as well as the current global pandemic. mostly it’s things akin to vaccine timelines, waves, and what people can do to protect themselves, especially if they’re planning on protesting. always game to answer any questions about that too -- i’ve seen hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of people dying, including my own co-workers, and there is a lot of misinformation out there.

irl?? that’s varied, and outside of the current pandemic, most of what i do i can’t talk about. sorry

ask me an unusual thing

[animeniacss]

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 33 - Coming to a Close

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy) 

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 4k words 

Chapter 33 - Coming to a Close

           “What the – What is she doing here?! This is highly inappropriate!” The lawyer shouted angrily. You gulped, feeling Chun-Hei lay a gentle hand on your shoulder. “There is absolutely no reason for her to be here.”

           “She wants to be. Don’t worry, I got permission. Besides, she wanted to come.” Myung-Dae said simply. Weong-Bin quickly stood up, walking straight in your direction. He expected you to cower in his approach, however, other than a deep and noticeable breath, you didn’t flinch. You stood tall, a stern expression on your face. The shaking in your hands had slowly begun to stop, and you were gripping the SD card. To say it threw Weong-Bin off was a total understatement, it absolutely shocked him.

           “What are you doing? Don’t be stupid.” He said. “You should be rest-.”

           “Don’t try it.” You said softly. “You have until the audio is over to think up a good reason why this is happening.” Without another reason, you walked towards Myung-Dae, who kindly pulled out a seat for you, and in return, you handed him the SD card for him to slip into a tiny portable laptop. Weong-Bin was motioned to his seat by Chun-Hei, who then joined her superior, who was typing away on the computer to pull up the audio files. Weong-Bin glanced at his lawyer, but the lawyer was just as silent and stoic as you had seemed to be. There was a moment of silence, other than the tapping of the laptop keys. Weong-Bin felt as though that noise would make his eardrums burst, it felt almost deafening to him. His heart was pounding as Myung-Dae’s fingers clicked one final button, and finally, Weong-Bin’s voice crackled into the room.

           “Just stay around. I’ll be in touch. Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t desperate. This guy has ruined my life for long enough…and I’m tired of it.”

           “Just promise me that you will kill. Jung. Hoseok. It’ll probably get your family a nice Christmas this year.” There was a moment of silence before Shin-Il responded with his promise to do so. Weong-Bin looked at you. Your eyes were glued to the computer screen. He could see how wet they were getting, and you had to chew on your lip to keep yourself collected. Weong-Bin groaned in annoyance, and Myung-Dae looked up.

           “What’s wrong? Don’t worry, my favorite part is coming up too, just wait.” He teased, hitting the fast forward button. “All this is specifics on where your family lived, where Hoseok worked, his hours, your daughter’s schools, and even your ex-wife’s work. I’m sure you remembered every anniversary too, didn’t you, smart boy?”

           “Not once.” You said softly, earning a glare from Weong-Bin that you had to cast your eyes even farther down onto the keyboard to completely avoid. Myung-Dae laughed, before finally hitting the play button again.      

           “I need you not to just kill Hoseok. I thought about it for the past few days. I can’t handle not being the one in their lives, and I won’t watch while someone else is. I need you to just kill them all.”

           “Turn it off.” The lawyer said. Myung-Dae quickly obliged, and Chun-Hei gently reached out to offer you a tissue. You took it, using it to dab your teary-eyes. “Where’s the punk Shin-Il that my client identified in these calls?”

           “Arrested.” Myung-Dae said. “In fact, what he told us was a huge help too. The records are just the sprinkles on this delicious sundae I like to call ‘payback’, Mr. Cho.” Myung-Dae looked at the glaring Weong-Bin.

           “Don’t be cute.” The lawyer hissed. Myung-Dae shrugged. However, the lawyer knew a punk in trouble with arson testifying against Weong-Bin was one thing, but these audio clips were legally obtained, and therefore, extremely beneficial in putting Weong-Bin away not only for the assaults but attempted murder and conspiracy. That’s a long sentence for this guy. “…What if we make a deal?”

           “A DEAL?!” Weong-Bin snapped. “Are you fucking nuts? No way.”

           “Listen to your lawyer, kid. If we get the prosecutor in here and make a deal then we can get you in jail for a much shorter time than honestly, you deserve. You may get found innocent for the assault, that’s one thing. But once these audio clips and Shin-Il’s testimony, along with Officer Song, yet another individual whose life you’ve manipulated for your selfish gains, you’ll be found guilty before the judge even leans back in his chair to take a breath. Then, you’ll never get out. Be smart.” Weong-Bin looked at you, finally seeing you staring right back at him.

           “Honey…” He said gently, sitting back down. His cuffed wrists reached out to you, hoping you would take them. You didn’t move. “This has to be a setup. There’s no way I would ever hurt you and the girls, you know that…” You hummed, reaching out and taking Weong-Bin’s hands into your own. He smiled a bit.

“Can we talk alone?” you asked, looking at Myung-Dae. He glanced at the lawyer, who looked at Weong-Bin. Weong-Bin looked over.

“Officer Oh has to stay.” The lawyer said, motioning to the cop in charge of Weong-Bin. You nodded, your eyes focusing on the hands that you had gently placed inside Weong-Bin’s as you heard Chun-Hei, Myung-Dae, and the lawyer exit the cell, assuring you they would be nearby in case anything occurred. Once they were gone, you took a shaky breath, and Weong-Bin was unsure what to say as well. Silently, your fingers enclosed around his, allowing your nails to dig deep into his flesh. He winced a bit, and when he tried to pull back his hands, your grip prevented him from doing so. “Ow. Let go.” He huffed.

           “No,” you said softly. “Please tell me what put you in this position. How could you…even think about burning your daughters alive?” Weong-Bin blinked. “The two girls you claim are your whole world…You were willing to end their lives because of what? Your jealousy?” Weong-Bin was silent again. You looked up at him, eyes pooling with tears. “TELL ME!” You snapped.

           “Don’t yell at me.” He hissed, glaring at him.

           “Why? You’ll find someone else to try and kill me if I do? I’m…not scared of your threats anymore.” You said shakily.

           “It’s a setup! You know I love you and those girls more than anything!” He said angrily. “I just don’t want to lose you to someone else.”    

           “We’ve been divorced for like two years, Weong-Bin. Stop living in your fantasy world, please! I don’t want to live there with you, it’s an awful, torturous place where only you make the rules. I can’t handle this anymore.” You looked down at his hands again, seeing that your nails were leaving signs of red markings. “Please…if you have any respect for me at all, you’ll come clean and tell me why…just why?” You choked out. You wanted to cover your mouth, but you didn’t want to pull your hands away from his fists. You were enjoying the slight control that this simple act filled you with, but at the same time, you were mortified he would lash out the second he was free.

           “I already said I couldn’t bear to watch you and the girls with someone else.” He said simply. “You’re my family, not anybody else’s. I made the three of you into what you are today, nobody else knows you like I do.” You groaned.

           “You’re a monster….” You sniffled. “An absolute monster.” You looked at him, releasing your tight grip on his hands, but not moving your hands entirely. “You tried to kill the people you claim to love so much.”

           “You guys were going to leave me for good. What was I supposed to do?”

           “Serve your assault sentence and come out a better man for your children! I’d at least have some respect for you if you did that. I never would’ve expected this from you…I couldn’t believe it at first.” You glanced up at him. “You’ve ruined so many lives with your selfishness, do you know that?”

           “Oh, have I?” He scoffed. “Whose?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his response.

           “Officer Song is at risk of losing his job because of you, Shin-Il is imprisoned and may never see his child again because you manipulated him with money, Min Ja’s anxiety has only heightened after the fire, Hoseok’s lungs were almost as black as a chain smokers, your ex-girlfriend Sooyeon had to listen to you talk endlessly about your disgusting obsession with control over us, and your lawyer has to put up with you, which is torture enough.” Weong-Bin’s lips turned into a deep frown, and you shivered. “I’m sick and tired of dealing with you.” Slowly pulling your hands back, you stood up. “I advise you to take the deal being offered to you.”

           “I’m not doing that. I don’t lose.” Weong-Bin hissed, hopping out of his seat. Officer Oh approached, prepared to hold Weong-Bin down if necessary. You stepped back. “You’re so stupid. If you guys had died, you would’ve been so safe and happy together until I got there. I would have been at peace until I saw you again…what am I supposed to do not knowing what you’re doing?” You blinked, staring at the face of Weong-Bin. It made you think back to the small smiles he could give you as you passed on the college campus, the face of the handsome, yet the slightly mysterious and aggressive man that all the girls swooned over. Yet, for some reason, he had chosen you, over all the girls on campus that would’ve killed for a glance. You felt so lucky that Weong-Bin was there to help you get over not only the break-up with Hoseok but the time after losing your child. The face of that beautifully mysterious individual was now replaced with dark, emotionless eyes. Eyes that only feasted on control and selfish intent. If Weong-Bin ever was a good person, which you now began to fully doubt, that person was the only person that died within the fires he tried to cause. It was if you were staring at a stranger for the first time, their life story a total mystery to you.

           “…Oh my God, you’ve cracked.” You said softly. “This must have been what you’ve always been like.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He hissed.

“I used to tell myself sometimes that something happened that caused you to be so different from when we first met. Was it the difficulty we faced having more kids? Was it the divorce? Was it before that? Did I do something to make you this way, was I not a good enough wife or mother to our children? Those thoughts ran through my head all the time, every time I was hit and demeaned. But nothing changed. You’ve always been this way; you were just good at covering it up until you had me in your grip.” Nodding your head, you sighed. “I was going to say for you to try and find that Cho Weong-Bin that I had fallen in love with back in college while you rot in prison, but…that Weong-Bin never existed, so any form of soul searching or praying will be in vain. It’s a shame…” Scooping up your bag, you sighed. “Don’t expect me to bring the girls here to visit either.”

“You can’t do that; those are my kids.” He choked out. You didn’t respond. “Hey-.”

“I told them I’ll never judge them if they chose to love you because you’re still their father. But until they’re old enough to make those choices themselves, I won’t let them in this building. But by the time they are that age, they’ll never want to see you again just like I don’t.” With that, you slowly began to walk away. Weong-Bin called your name a few times, but as you approached the exit of the cell, you didn’t respond.

           “ANSWER ME!” He snapped. “You can’t…you can’t end on that.” You stopped in your tracks, turning to look at him.

           “You’re right. There’s one more thing…” you said softly. Slowly, you walked towards him. Lifting a hand, you quickly punched Weong-Bin in the stomach. He grunted, doubling over a bit. Without hesitation, you took his arm and yanked him up onto his feet.

           “What the fuck was that for?!” He shouted. “I’ll sue you for harassment!”

           “That was for me, and for Yoo Hyun, who now has to grow up parentless because of her father’s stupid decisions that can be traced right back to your selfishness.” You huffed. “But don’t worry, I know where to hit that won’t show any marks. I’ve had enough experience that I’ve learned all the good spots.” Weong-Bin scoffed as he watched you exit the cell, only for Myung-Dae and the lawyer to return.

           “She just punched me!” Weong-Bin snapped. “I want her charged for assault! Officer Oh saw it-.” When he looked to the officer for back up, Mr. Oh shrugged, simply shaking his head. “What?!”

           “Alright enough horsing around. Our prosecutor is here. Ready to make a deal?” Myung-Dae asked, sitting back down.

           The moment you were out of earshot of Weong-Bin, you collapsed right onto the ground. Chun-Hei knelt beside you.

           “Are you alright, Miss. Cho?!” She gasped. You nodded, gulping a bit. “You did wonderfully, I’m sure. Weong-Bin will finally be put in jail and away from you for good…” You nodded, finally taking the moment to let all the tears you tried your best to hold in while in the cell escape your eyes and onto the floor. Chun-Hie silently watched as you sobbed hysterically, your body shaking and make-up smearing. She rubbed your back, looking towards the cell where Weong-Bin was finally sealing his fate.

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

           Finally, the day arrived. Weong-Bin’s trial was coming to an end, and everyone had gathered to watch him plead guilty in the promise of a lesser sentence. Lesser was a tame term, he was expected to be in jail for 40 years instead of over 60, allowing him to get out of jail at age 67, depending on his behavior. Shin-Il’s testimony as well as the audio recordings and camera evidence were not needed due to Weong-Bin’s plea. Shin-Il’s trial would be within the next few weeks, and follow a similar pattern at Weong-Bin’s, as he also planned to confess to what Weong-Bin told him to do in exchange for some money. You planned to attend that as well. But for now, you sat stiff as a board in the courtroom. Since Weong-Bin was pleading guilty, the judge found no need for there to be multiple people-watching in the room. However, you were given permission and found yourself sitting in the front row, giving you a perfect view of Weong-Bin as he stood responsible for his crimes. Myung-Dae had joined you as well, as support, but that was it.

           “Does the defense agrees to all terms that come with their plea of guilty?” The judge asked curiously. Weong-Bin glanced at his lawyer, who nodded. Despite the absolute agony he must have been feeling, Weong-Bin nodded. “Excellent. Then, after reviewing all evidence regarding both the assault charges as well as the attempted murder and conspiracy charges, I final Cho Weong-Bin guilty on all charges and sentenced to a maximum of 45 years in prison, allowing him a chance to receive bail in the year 2065. That is all.” The judge slammed the gavel down onto the table. Weong-Bin immediately looked at you, and you could hear a slight commotion from the people you had waiting for you outside. You stared directly at Weong-Bin he was guided out by two cops. All of the memories you two had shared, good or bad, where exiting right out the door along with Weong-Bin. He was not putting up any sort of fight anymore, he was just watching you until the door closed behind him and ended his view.

Myung-Dae put a hand on your shoulder as Weong-Bin was led out, and you glanced over.

           “You did a great job.” He said gently. You smiled a bit. “You okay?”

           “I think so…” you said softly, your hands fiddling together in your lap. “It…doesn’t feel real at all…to think, he’s really in prison.”

           “He deserves it, the jerk.” Myung-Dae hummed, standing up. “Shall we go?” You glanced up, watching as the judge, the lawyer, and the other cops exited.

           “…Can I just sit here for a moment?” You asked. Myung-Dae nodded, smiling.

           “Sure, I’ll go outside and tell your family.” Myung-Dae offered you a gentle pat on your head before exiting the room, leaving you alone in the empty courtroom. You let the silence take its time to envelope you, and you closed your eyes, resting your face in your hands as your elbows balanced in your lap.

           It was all finally over.

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

Weong-Bin was led out of the courtroom and down towards the car that was waiting outside to transport him back to jail. This meant that he had to pass through the hallways of people, which he honestly dreaded. He watched as all of your friends and family entered his view, talking to Myung-Dae. They were all grinning, and it pissed him off immensely. As he got closer, they looked over to him, the first one to move from their spot was Yoongi. Fuck.

           “I hope this finally taught you a lesson.” Yoongi hissed angrily. Namjoon fixed his glasses.

           “No need to engage with the idiot, Hyung.” He said simply. “Don’t stoop to his level.”

           “Well I can!” Taehyung huffed, pointing at Weong-Bin, who forced himself to stop in his tracks and turn to the young man when he heard his deep voice. “I hope you enjoy your new home you piece of garbage! I knew this would happen one day and I’m so glad I’m alive to witness it!”

           “TAEHYUNG!” Jimin held his shoulders as his friend continued shouting insults. “I know you’re happy, we all are-.” When he said that, he looked right at Weong-Bin, who scoffed. “But don’t make a scene. You’re upsetting your parents.” He glanced at your mother and step-father, who was watching this along with the prosecutor.

           “Why not?!” Jungkook asked. “All that humiliation to Noona and he can’t get any in return!?” He pouted.

“Jungkook understands!” Taehyung shouted, the duo giving each other an extremely strong high-five. The cops tried to lead Weong-Bin off, but he refused to move.

           “I want to hear what these idiots have to say.” He said. “It’s the last time I’ll ever see them, I hoped we could part with some KIND parting words.”

           “Parting words? Are you a madman!?” Jin huffed. “You think you’re so funny, I can’t wait to see how smug you are behind bars for a few more years, you know?”

           “Seriously! Don’t act so pompous, asshat. And if we ever find out you’re bothering Hoseok or any of his family again-.” Yoongi smirked when he saw Weong-Bin grimace at the comment. “You’ll be getting a visit from me, understand?”

           “Okay, let’s go.” Weong-Bin scoffed, finally deciding to go along with the cops. As he headed towards the elevator, he continued to hear Taehyung toss out childish and stupid insults that he simply shrugged off with slight amusement. However, just as the cops were to guide him down a separate staircase to e sure privacy, the elevator doors beside them opened. Hoseok, who had been out of the ER for a few days, stepped out, and Weong-Bin stopped in his tracks again, mostly out of shock. Hoseok had a bottle of water in his hand, capping it as he came face to face with Weong-Bin.

           “…Jung Hoseok.” Weong-Bin said simply. Hoseok blinked.

           “Cho Weong-Bin…” he said. “That jumpsuit looks good on you. Better than any suit I’ve seen you in.” Weong-Bin scoffed. “I knew this would happen. I’m so happy, you have no idea.”

           “…I hate you.” Weong-Bin scoffed. Hoseok smiled, but Weong-Bin found no joy in that smile whatsoever.

           “The feeling is mutual. That’s why you weren’t going to be invited to the wedding regardless.” He smirked.

           “Wed- WHAT?!” He snapped, finally being pushed forward by the guards. Hoseok waved him off as Weong-Bin was led off.

           “Bye, byeeee~.” He cooed, Once he was gone, Hoseok let out a soft sigh. “Idiot.” He hummed, turning back to the crowd of friends. Just as he did, he saw you walk out of the courtroom. Hoseok stood in place as he watched Jungkook be the first one to spring into your arms.

           “NOONA! I’m so proud of you!” he said happily. You quickly hugged him back, grinning at the 22-year-old. “That jackass won’t bother you ever again so long as we can help it, okay?”

           “Don’t curse.” Seokjin said, Jungkook blinked.

           “Hyung, I’m legally allowed to drink, cursing is nothing.” He said, nudging his older friend playfully in the stomach, as he grunted in slight pain. You smiled a bit. Suddenly, you were embraced by another hug, this time, a collective one of Taehyung and your parents.

           “You were amazing. Congratulations.” Your mother said gently. You nodded, resting your head on her shoulders. Almost immediately, Jimin pushed everyone together.

           “Group hug, group hug, group hug!” He chanted, and everyone did just that. You laughed a bit as the courtroom hall was filled with chanting young men who were circling you in a huge hug.

           “You’re making a scene.” The prosecutor said, crossing her arms. The group hug finally broke up, and everyone looked around to see the confused looks of passing by individuals that had witnessed…well…whatever was going on here. You smoothed out your dress and hair, unable to control the giggles at the boy’s utter stupidity. However, before you knew it, those giggles were turning into whimpers and choked out sobs. Eyes fell onto you as you quickly wiped your eyes, sniffling as you felt yourself beginning to cry again.

           “I-I can’t believe I’m still crying…” you sniffled, wiping your eyes. “I shouldn’t have any more tears by this point.” Jungkook wasted no time pulling you into another hug, which you quickly returned to the boy. “Heh. I’m honored you’re giving me so many hugs.”

           “It’s only for you, Noona.” The normally girl-fearing boy mumbled shyly.” I wouldn’t do this normally…” you smiled a bit. As you continued to hug Jungkook, you heard footsteps approach. When you looked up, you saw Hoseok walking over, water bottle in his hand. He passed it over to you and smiled.

           “I figured you might need this.” He said simply. You smiled, taking the bottle into your hands. “You did amazing…I told you it would be a walk in the park.”

           “I know.” You said softly. “How are the girls?”

           “I just called Yuna. They’re waiting for us to come home.” You nodded, smiling a bit. “Oh, Uhm…” Hoseok shifted a bit. “On an unrelated topic, completely unrelated, do you want to go on a picnic Friday?” You blinked.

           “A picnic?” you asked.

           “I need fresh air in my lungs.” He grinned. “All I’ve been inhaling other than smoke is Lysol spray and plastic tubes.” You giggled a bit.

           “Okay…” you said simply. “Can we…get something to eat now, though? I’m starving….” Hoseok laughed a bit.

           “Chicken?” Jimin asked, peeking around Taehyung’s shoulder because trying to go over would be a failed attempt.

           “CHICKEN?! Yes, chicken.” Taehyung said. “My treat. We can go get the girls and Yuna and just go eat until we’re full or until I’m broke, whichever comes first.”

           “You’ll be way broke if you put Seokjin-Hyung at the table.” Jungkook said simply, only to receive a playful shove by his Hyung. You smiled, and the group of you finally left the courtroom together, to go get some well-deserved food in your stomachs. The entire walk, you gripped tightly onto Hoseok’s hand. He had no problem with this, of course, as he held you close to him and offered you kisses on your hand every single chance that he got. Walking to get chicken with every single person who had done nothing but provides support and love when you needed it most was the best way you felt this entire experience could end.

           Now, there was only one thing you had left to do before you could finally declare this story a happy one.

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[the-blind-assassin-12]

Jigsaw // Black : Part Two

I Promise

A/N: Time’s up. Frank’s here. It’s all about to end. Will Billy be able to finish it on his terms and keep his promise to you? 

Warning: gun violence, weapons, major character death

Word Count: 3,770

“You’re almost done, Billy.” He leaned back in his chair in the communications tent, eyes closed, just listening. The cushioned headset he wore drowned out most of the background noise, letting him focus more clearly on you. If he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that the muffled voices of the men right outside were just your neighbors, arguing again. He could pretend that he was sitting across from you in your living room instead of across oceans and continents.“Less than three months now, then you’ll be-” He swallowed, squeezing his eyelids shut at the way your voice betrayed you, hitching before your muttered ‘fuck’. You took a breath to steady yourself but he could hear the tears behind it. Fuck, he repeated to himself. “Then you’ll be back home, Billy.” 

 The last time he’d been able to talk to you, it had been a video call. The screen froze and the audio lagged at certain points, but getting to see you- the way your eyebrows would jump and your eyes would grow round before your smile overtook your face, or the way you’d look down and shake your head before you broke into a laugh-  getting to see you was more than worth the technical frustrations. But this time, a video call wasn’t an option. His unit had recently moved to a new location, and things weren’t entirely set up yet. He dragged a bruised hand down over his dirty face, palm curving around the overgrown beard covering his chin and jaw. Despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to have you right there in front of him, to take you in his arms and feel you warm and real against him, he was glad that the network wasn’t set up yet, glad that you couldn’t see how drained and ragged he knew that he looked; he was glad that he couldn’t see how broken you sounded. The past few weeks had been tough on both of you. He was glad he didn’t have to see it on you.   

 “Yeah,” he forced the exhaustion down, like he’d been trained to do, replacing it with a stability that he didn’t feel. “Yeah, that’s right.” 

 “Like you promised,” you breathed, giving in to the tears. 

 Fuck that goddamn promise. On nights like this, when he could feel the odds tilting against him, he hated the fact that he’d given you hope where he had no business to do so. “Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, like I promised.” I’m tryin’ like Hell. 

 A door opened and someone called his name. “Time’s up Russo.” 

 “RUSSO!” The harsh scrape and cold metallic clang of the warehouse door accompanied the wild roar of his name. Pupils dilating and attention snapping back to the present, he inhaled through his nose and silently rose to his feet, back to the wall. Why did I...why that… “RUSSO! Where are you?” Frank bellowed as the door slammed shut again. But Billy knew he’d be there, knew he was coming. What he didn’t understand was why he’d recalled that conversation. He’d talked to you a handful of times between that night and the night he’d sent the email that had ended things. So why… Why was his battered brain replaying that scene? Why now? “Bill! Goddamnit, Bill, I know you’re here. Where are you?” Time’s up.

 Frank’s booming voice echoed in the steel and concrete space, his boots crunching over broken glass from the fallen panes. Billy inched his way around the corner, the brick wall to his back as he slunk in the shadows until he could peer over the edge of the broken window into the room below. He cocked his head to the side as, unseen, he watched Frank stride into view. In the past Frank had been beside him when he’d taken the high ground on an enemy. This was a different angle, one that made his stomach lurch. Shit. Suddenly, eyes trained on his former friend, he realized why that particular memory had come to him. Goddamnit it, Frankie. 

 “Russo, I feel like you’re someone I can depend on,” Rawlins spoke casually, even when the topic was anything but. Billy couldn’t stand the man, but he knew that he had endless resources at his fingertips, knew that he was the kind of man that could make things happen. “Am I right, soldier?” 

 Billy regarded the cocky little bastard, weighing his response. What’s in it for me? “Yessir,” he answered, thinking only about self preservation, thinking only about how to fulfill that damn promise to you. 

 “And Castle?” The man shifted his weight, beady little eyes on Billy. “Is he someone I can depend on? Or is he going to be a problem?” 

 “I trust Frank with my life, sir.” Billy answered without hesitation. 

 Rawlins smiled, taking a step towards Billy, shaking one finger. “That’s nice, soldier.” The way he said the word, employing all of the superiority that his rank allowed, made Billy cringe. “But that’s not the question I asked you.” 

 “No, sir,” Billy dished the emphasis right back. “Frank won’t be a problem.” We gotta get outta this, Frankie. You gotta trust me, brother. 

 “Alright then, Russo, you’re dismissed. Go take your turn in the comms tent. I’m sure you’ve got someone to call back home.” 

 It was still weeks before the fateful night that Billy tore Frank away from Rawlins’ twitching, bloody form. But it was the first night Billy knew that shit was going south, and that his only chance of coming out of it on top was to convince Frank follow his lead. We do what he says and we walk away from this. We go home, start that security team...He thought of you as he followed his feet to the communications tent. After a string of rough missions and a stretch of sleepless nights, all he wanted was to hear your voice. Frank goes home to his family. I go home to her. 

 That’s why… 

 That’s why he was standing where he was, scarred and carved out and hollow. That’s why Frank was downstairs, blinded by rage and fueled by vengeance. Damnit, Frank, why couldn’t you see it? 

 Billy watched as Frank turned, slowly pacing and scanning the dark room. With another bellow of Billy’s name, he finished his circle, facing Billy’s direction. Stark white against the jet black vest, the skull that haunted him for months seared through his memory, burning every single page as it flipped back to the night on the carousel. The night l lost her. He flinched away from the razor sharp memory of that last kiss as he begged you to leave the park, get far away from him. The night he took her from me. The razor zipped back through his brain to show him your lifeless body, the eerie blue lights reflecting off skin that was already growing cold as the ponies carried him away from you. He took everything from me. He watched Frank’s shoulders hunch and tense up as the man prepared to shout again. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, his blood pulsing behind his eyes. Time’s up. 

 “Right here, Frankie boy,” he sneered, stepping away from the wall. He had Madani’s gun pointed right at Frank’s head, and in less than half a second Frank had returned the favor, spinning on a dime to find Billy and line up a shot. Some things never change. “I’m right here.” 

 “You alone, Russo? Huh? Anyone else here?” Half of Frank’s face was obscured by his gun and his outstretched arms, but Billy recognized the flame in that man’s eyes. It was the same fire that burned in his own. 

 “Yeah,” Billy spat from behind his own weapon. “Yeah I’m alone. You made sure’a that, didn’t you, Frank?” You lost your family so you took mine away.

 “Ah, c’mon, cut the shit, Bill, you can’t put this on me. You know you can��t.” He was slowly advancing towards the staircase, Billy moving along upper level as Frank moved below, like magnets pushing and pulling against one another.  

 Billy’s lungs heaved under his ribs, massive intakes of breath that made him fight dizziness. Can’t put it on you, Frank? Anger ripped through every cell in his body leaving his bones vibrating.  “YOU. SHOT. HER!” His voice tore and frayed into threads as he squeezed the trigger of his gun. It was a poorly timed and badly aimed shot and he knew it. It was an emotional reaction and he cursed himself for it as the bang reverberated in the warehouse. Fuck! He told himself he wouldn’t waste the few bullets he had, and he’d blown one within the first minute. Frank had dodged the shot, reading Billy’s telegraph and rolling closer to the staircase. “Don’t, DON’T, tell me it’s not on you, YOU KILLED HER!” He kept his gun raised but refrained from shooting again until he knew he had his shot. Until he gets up here. Right up close.

 Frank groaned, as though he was tired of the topic. “And why were we there that night, huh?” He slowly made his way up the rickety stairs. “Why did I kill her? Why is my family dead?” Billy’s nostrils flared as he tried to get his breathing back under control, gun still pointed at Frank as he backed further into the lofted area. “That doctor,” Fuck that doctor. “Madani,” Billy seethed as he tightened his grip on her gun. “Lotta bodies, Bill. Lotta Blood on your hands.”

  Lotta blood on both our hands, Frankie, or did you forget that? “Yeah,” Billy scoffed. “Yeah. Just got one more to add.” Then I’m done. 

 Frank was only one step away from the top when he locked eyes with Billy and pulled the trigger, a gravelly yell coming from him as he did. Just like Frank had done, Billy was able to throw himself sideways and out of range, ducking behind one of the overturned file cabinets that he’d moved to take cover. Frank let two more shots rip, the bullets lodging in the thick metal, denting it with deadly force. Billy waited for the ringing to subside, until he could hear Frank’s footsteps again, before he moved. The bandage he’d wrapped around his arm after leaving Madani’s apartment had torn off as he landed behind the cabinet, cool air hitting the wound as warm blood seeped into his shirtsleeve. “You’re not gonna kill me, Bill! I’m not the one who dies!”  

 “You’re not gonna die today. Dyin’s easy.”

 The garbled music of the carousel played like a soundtrack as Frank’s words echoed in his memory. “You had your chance to kill me. Now it’s my turn.” He slid along the cabinet as Frank circled around, firing two more shots into the space where Billy was just seconds ago. Getting the drop on him, Billy stood and quickly spun behind another shelving unit. “I’m a hard man to kill, Frank.” Especially now. I got nothin’ to lose. He aimed through a busted shelf as Frank gaped around the room looking for him. He fired at the exact moment that Frank moved, the bullet only grazing the man’s shoulder and giving away Billy’s location. Damnit. 

 With a grunt, Frank turned in Billy’s direction. “You’re right, Russo. You are a hard man to kill. I shoulda finished things that night, I shoulda,” he reached into his pocket and Billy’s eyes went wide. Oh, shit. “Not makin’ that mistake again, Bill.” He pulled the pin from the small metal orb in his hand, cocking his arm back. 

 From the shape of the grenade, Billy could tell it was just a flashbang, a non-lethal blast that was used for distraction or to flush an enemy out. The combustion alone wouldn’t usually be enough to kill anyone, but whether or not Frank was aware of it, the warehouse was full of old aerosol paint cans, and they, as they caught fire and exploded, could certainly be deadly. “No! Don’t!” He shouted as Frank released the grenade, but he was too late, the cannister tumbling towards him through the air as he dove as far as he could. 

 The flash ignited instantly, a brilliant burst of light followed by a loud crack as Billy flew through the air. Just as he knew would happen, the blast sparked a flame that spread in a matter of milliseconds to the pile of spent spray cans that had fallen from the shelf. Frank was blown backwards as Billy landed, cans exploding to send twisted bits of hot metal and plastic through the room. Searing heat and a deep, burning pain told Billy that he was still alive, and he blinked and coughed, scooting back against a damaged door frame. Finish it. Gotta...gotta finish it. He blinked again and again, trying to clear the brightness, your face flashing behind his eyelids every time. “Billy,” you reached for him like you had in his mind the night in the park. Hang on, he begged you. I’m comin’. A groan from the other side of the room and a shuffling sound told him that Frank had survived the blast, too. Just gotta finish this. Almost done.      

  Deafening bangs tore through the air as several more paint cans exploded, flames flaring as they burst, brilliant orange and raging red. Billy crouched with his back to one of the door frame as the cans turned to shrapnel and flew in all directions. As the shock of the explosion subsided, he found the source of that burning pain. He looked down at his right thigh, black jeans torn, blood and mangled skin visible through the tear. Shit. He knew he had to stop the bleeding, knew he didn’t have long if he couldn’t. He had eyes on Frank and saw that he was hit, too, clutching his left bicep near the crook of his elbow, and knew he had a minute to recover while Frank did the same. Hands shaking, he pressed his palms around the pointed piece of aluminum protruding from his leg. Wincing, Billy determined that it was too deep to simply pull out. He recalled the crash course in IED wound care that he’d taken years ago. If the shrapnel hits the femoral artery, apply pressure and call for a Med-Evac immediately. He removed his hands from the wound and blood spurted out around the edges of the jagged metal, hot and thick as it soaked his pant leg. He slowed his breathing as the rapid blood loss threatened dizziness, and focused on tearing the bottom hem of his shirt. It took more strength than he thought, but he tore the material and wrapped it tightly around the wound, surrounding the piece of metal to make sure it didn’t move. 

His heart drummed loudly in his ears, like it was warning him that it was beating out it’s final rhythm. Not yet. Not...not until I finish this… He squeezed his eyes shut to try to focus, opening them again as he heard more movement from Frank. He’d secured his own wound, picked his gun back up, and Billy could see him staggering to his feet. Time to move. He tested out his injured leg, putting weight on it slowly until he was standing, too. Another shot caught him off guard as Frank took advantage of the fact that he’d found his feet first, ripping into his side, right next to the long, puffy scar that Frank had left him with the last time they’d done this dance. A burst of air left his lungs as he fell back into the wall and fired his own shot, the last bullet in the chamber finding its mark and tearing into Frank’s collarbone, right above the vest he wore. Both men slid back down, clutching their new wounds as blood spilled over their fingers. That drum beat in Billy’s chest changed tempo to tell him time was short. His breathing came shallow and rapid quick as color faded from his vision, everything turning a drab gray or a thick, heavy black. He choked as dark, hot blood dribbled from his lips and exhaustion filled every muscle, slowing his movements. Almost done. 

 “How’d we get here, Bill?” Frank groaned the question, and Billy could tell that he was in rough shape, too. “How’d...this...goddamnit, Russo, how’d we get here?”

 “Could…” he coughed, spit and blood spraying from his mouth. “Could ask you the same...question, Frank. You…you did this. You…” He felt his voice break as the weight of everything he’d lost pressed down on the shell of his body. You. Him. The Castles. Everything. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, burning from the smoke and from the way he felt you reaching out to him. “Remember the fires, Frankie? ‘Member… remember how they smelled? Rubber’n oil and…” he wrinkled his nose, the acrid memory filling his nostrils. “Shit like that… it’s burned in there, Frank.” He pressed the ball of his hand into his eye, palm and fingers curving around his brow. “And now she’s…” He winced, coughing and squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could. “Now she’s there, Frank, she’s there,” with the fires, and the bombs, and, and the nightmares, and it’s not right.”

 “You put her there, Bill...It’s your fault she’s there.” He choked the words out, absolute conviction filling what was left of his voice. 

 “No.” Billy clutched the top of his head with one hand as he shook it to clear Frank’s accusation. No. No, it’s not. “No, no! No, Frank, you did! You killed her like you killed your family.” He shouted across the vast space, voice cracking and breaking, throat raw from the hot, smoke-filled air. 

 “Bullshit!” Frank lobbed his response around the corner like another grenade, the absolute hatred in that one word raining more rubble down around the remains of what they once had. “They loved you, Bill. They- and you…” He paused, a breath leaving his lungs in the form of an anguished grunt. “My kids, my wife! They loved you like you were one of us, Bill.” I know they did, that’s why I… He doesn’t see it, he still doesn’t see... He pounded the cinderblock wall behind him with the side of his closed fist in frustration as Frank continued. “And you betrayed them. You killed my family and-” No. 

 “I tried to save your family, Frank!” Billy cut him off, spit flying from his lips as he screamed, fist slamming the wall twice more to open up small cuts on the meat of his hand.He didn’t feel it, numb to everything except the acidic sting of Frank’s inability to see. He took a shuddering breath, fighting harder and harder to fight the slow, creeping cold that was starting to shut him down. Why can’t he… “I tried to warn you. I tried to...but you didn’t...you didn’t listen, Frank, you never...listened! That transfer? You should have… god damnit, Frank, why didn’t you take that fucking transfer?” She’d be alive. Your family would be alive, we’d all be… The room spun, vision taking longer and longer to come back after each blink, coming through darker and darker. He’s not gonna...I can’t make him see. I can’t. He shoved his hand in his pocket, fingers wrapping around the blade handle, knuckles brushing over the photo. Gotta finish it. 

 Frank continued his protests as Billy harnessed as much strength as he could, refusing to fail as he forced himself to his feet. He saw you in that blue dress that you wore in his conjured vision from the ball. Another can burst somewhere to his left as he took a step. You stretched your arms out wide in front of Alice and her bronze companions, thick blue scarf wrapped around your neck. A shattered pane of glass fell from the window that looked out over the bottom floor, and there you were, next to him on that carousel, begging him to hold on. Another step. Another flash. “X Marks the spot, Billy” He pulled the knife from his pocket. “Like you promised.” Frank let the last of his bullets fly, grazing Billy’s shoulder. “I love you, Billy”.  He kept moving, kept coming, kept going, and Frank couldn’t get out of his path. 

 His knee hit the ground, his whole weight behind the drop, letting gravity help him as he caught the back of Frank’s skull with his free hand, driving his knife through his throat until his knuckles touched flesh and his forehead fell against Frank’s. “Dyin’s easy.” He heard the words again and watched how true they were as the man he once called brother spasmed and fell silent, his blood coating Billy’s fingers, his weight heavy in his arms. It’s over, Frank. It’s done. Billy set his body down, a new level of emptiness scraping at his battered heart. It’s done. I’m done. He closed his eyes as the fires swept through the building, but you were there, and you were calling him, and he couldn’t let go until he found you. Opening his eyes, he gasped and gulped for air as his fingers relaxed their grip on the blood soaked blade that he held, diving into his pocket to find the bent, glossy print instead. A sob fell from his lips as his eyes landed on your face and he whispered your name. 

 He kept his eyes on the photo until they burned from the smoke, until they blurred and filled with tears. He wiped them roughly away with his sleeve before squinting back at the image for another few seconds.  “I want a picture of us. Here.” Your voice filled his ears, replacing the roar of the flames and the pop of the bursting cans, taking him out of the warehouse and back to the park. “I… you’re leaving, Billy. In a few days and…”  He slid his thumb up over to cover his own face, as he’d done the first time he’d been handed the photo. “And I want a picture, before you go.”  But this time when he slid it back down, a smear of blood kept his likeness covered, leaving only you, smiling up at the faceless man. “Okay?” 

 “Okay.” He looked over at Frank, at the flames and the broken glass and he knew this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. “Okay,” he moaned weakly, tears falling and lungs heaving as he dragged himself to his feet again. “Okay, I’m comin’...I promise.”

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices  @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

[taelonsamada]

So I’ve downed almost a litre of water after that, and I’m having FEELINGS about Sam’s newest audio!!! Putting it under a cut cause spoilers, nsfw talk and cause I’m gonna ramble

First off, the fact that Darlin was sitting waiting on his porch for him was so fucking cute but also heartbreaking at the same time. That they wanted to talk to him badly enough to sit and wait on his porch for an hour, but didn’t want to bother him by letting him know. That they would just wait there for as long as it took.

And then hearing him mutter while he dug around and gave them a key was just… 😭

This also explains why Sam didn’t get an Aftershock. He stuffed it all down. There wasn’t anything to show from him because he wasn’t ready to show it yet. Also, fuck yes, reclaiming his love of driving, not letting Alexis take that from him.

I cried so many times listening to him recount what he went through. Especially the part about David. But listening to him lament and spiral, grinding on how he could have done this, how this could have happened if he’d still been that… the PAIN in his voice, his struggles not to burst into tears on the spot. I knew I was going to need to hydrate for this video, but I didn’t think I’d need to from crying so hard.

Also, how dare you, Sam Collins, claim you’re not a poet, after giving the single most beautiful confession I’ve ever heard. I know this wasn’t technically his confession video, that he already did, but he dropped The L Word this time around, and in such a beautiful, devastatingly sweet way… just… FUCK…

But oh man, when I heard that man say he was ready, all the air left my lungs, I just… 🥵

I nearly died when he stopped and assured Darlin about their body ❤️ to have something the fandom largely headcanoned be made official was SUCH a giddy moment for me X3 and he did such a wonderful job of it too ♥️ and that he stopped IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DEED to give us ANOTHER heartbreakingly sweet confession about how important Darlin is to him, and how much this meant??

But tHE SPICY LEVEL OF THIS??? HOLY SHIT????

MR SAM COLLINS, THAT WAS QUITE A BIT OF GROWLING AND SNARLING YOU DID, SIR.

Yet even with how… INTENSE he got, he still constantly asked and sought out those enthusiastic YES’s every time, and this is why we love him 😊

BUT BY THE FATES SIR, SOME OF THE LINES YOU WERE DROPPING???

“Pitch those hips of yours up a bit” 👀💦

“You wanna ride your cowb - Oh, you little - Get over here.” 😈

“I oughta whoop your ass for that one you menace… But I suppose there’s better things to be doin’ with that work of art you got back here.” SIR!!

“You fittin’ to bounce on this cock?” 🥵

“You gonna be good for me? Cause I plan to be very good to you” @////@

But then he wanted to just stay there and hold them after and I just… I just… 😭 ❤️ ✨

I just… I gotta go… drink some more water… and lay down for a bit… and cry

[achtung-attitude]

Knowles turns to take another pass at her enemy, but is shocked to see her sitting cross-legged, nonchalantly. “Ok, that’s enough. We’re done…” T’onga says, matter of factly. “Fight’s over. You lose.”

“Over?” Knowles exclaims, “Ain’t nothing over! I can go all day! I got right on my side, and all you got is a useless Stand ability and a concussion!”

“Yeah, that’s true. You went and messed me up pretty bad. But listen…” T’onga says, slowly getting to her feet, using the wall for support, “I’ve been in the world a little bit longer than you, so here’s a little before I go. Brother Dust told you about Sun Tzu, right?

“Ancient Chinese military genius, wrote the Art of War. You know the primary tactic in that book is deception. Out-thinking your enemy. Out-planning, out-flanking, attacking where they’re weakest. Never ever should you let your enemy know what you’re thinking. But you… You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Bet you deliver that same speech to every target you get sent after. Hehahaha…”

“You’re not making any sense!”

“To be fair, it wasn’t a bad speech, but save it for the blog, moron,” T’onga continues, with a grin on her face as if she is telling a terrible joke. “You went ahead and told me everything, huh? All your plans: Kill Dust, overthrow the gang, take over LA. You were stupid to let someone like me know what you’re thinking.”

Beads of sweat appear on Knowles' forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you, you lose. Even if you kill me here, you lose. As soon as Dust sees my message, you’re done for.”

“Message?!”

“Yeah, the one I sent to Dust before the fight even started. I sent him a little text with an audio attachment. It was the recording I made on my phone of your speech when we first made up, about wanting to kill him on your own terms. Wish I could’ve got that bit just now about SMOOTH CRIMINAL’s destiny too, but oh well. Should still be enough. He’s occupied with the Joestar princess right about now, but once he’s done, all he needs to do is check his messages. And then that’s you fucked, Sister.”

“You… You’re lying! You didn’t make no recording!! I had my eye on you the whole time!!” Knowles yells sharply. 

“Didn’t I? You sure?” T’onga says, beginning to narrate her actions, first taking her cellphone out of her pocket, facing the screen away from Knowles “Are you absolutely sure I didn’t switch on my phone, turn on the recorder, and send my little message? Are you sure you weren’t too high on your self-righteous ranting to notice?”

Knowles doesn’t respond, but simply stares, her breath suddenly heavy. The woman with a fish hook scar stands upright and spreads her arms magnanimously. “You can go ahead and murder me now. I’m satisfied to know I won’t be waiting long to see you in Hell.”

Veins pop in the dreadlocked woman’s forehead and she charges towards her enemy with an explosion of exhaust. “You BITCH!!” she shrieks, reaching out an open palm for her chest. “I’LL FIRE YOU INTO FUCKING SPACE, YOU YELLOW SLUT!!!” 

She strikes her palm against T’onga’s solar plexus, just beneath her breasts. The engine materializes on her jumpsuit, and Knowles allows herself a small triumphant grin. This fades when she sees T’onga’s smirk.

The older woman presents her cellphone and turns it around to reveal the shattered screen, rendering it utterly useless. “Just kidding~!” she says in a candy-sweet voice.

“Wha-?!” the dreadlocked woman says. She goes to pull away, but T’onga grabs hold of her and keeps her in place with surprising strength. The engine revs and finally roars, and both women fly into the air. The fumes from the exhaust fly into Knowles’ face, causing her to splutter and tear up.

“The power to empower, huh?!” T’onga shouts over the screeching wind. “That’s a pretty generous description for making things fly in one direction!” Already, they are almost 10 meters off the ground. With a mad smile, the older woman releases her enemy and allows her to fall with a terrified expression. She delivers one final kick to her nose, which agitates the Knowles’ already broken nose into a shattered bloody mess.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Relieved of the extra weight, T’onga flies off even faster, directly towards the office building she spied before. 

“So much for Sun Tzu, but damn it felt good to see that look on her face. This next part, though… this won’t be any fun...” 

Careful not to throw off her balance, she turns her head to look behind her. Her target is a wide window into one of the building’s rooms. “If I screw the timing or trajectory even a little, I’m a dead woman. This engine… it should cut out, right about… NOW!!”

True to her prediction, the engine dies and disappears. Her inertia still carries her some distance through the air. She tucks her body into a ball, and in her own way, she prays...

A shatter of glass and T'onga is through the window, tumbling into the room. She lands on a table in the center of the room, where a number of people in business attire sit in for a meeting. The suits gasp as the woman in purple bursts in on their conference. At the zenith of her roll, she destroys the projector displaying a PowerPoint and nearly collides with the young woman delivering the presentation. The woman ducks, however, and T’onga instead collides with the opposing wall.

“Ouughh…”

“Annie, are you ok?” one of the businessmen cries out. 

The young woman responds, “Y-yeah, I’m fine…!”

“Uhh, fuck… ” T’onga groans, clambering to her feet. Ignoring the protesting business people, she limps towards the broken window.  “ Now… let’s see if she’s feeling considerate today and let the fall kill her…” she mutters, peeking out, searching for Knowles’ broken body lying on the pavement.

Instead, she sees her enemy alive and well, balanced on a huge flying slab of concrete, torn up from the sidewalk by the force of SMOOTH CRIMINAL’s engine. In Knowles’ eyes is a pure intent to kill and destroy. 

“Oh, fuck you, just die already!!!” T’onga yells, frustrated.

Knowles jumps off the rock she rode on, but the slab keeps going and strikes the wall above the broken window, smashing it and bursting into the conference room. T’onga dives out of the way to avoid being crushed, and the suits flee, trying to warn people. 

The dreadlocked woman, having caught on to the edge of the windowsill, clambers inside, touching the shard of broken glass as she does so. The jagged shards fly in T’onga’s direction. Some of the suits get hit by the shards on their way out, and T’onga avoids all but one of them, taking it in the shoulder. “Fffuck!!”

As the last businessman scurries out of the conference room, T’onga follows him out, and slams the door behind her with her.

She lays her hand flat on the door and shouts, “HOUSE OF PAI- …Wait, the window’s broken! It won’t-!”

In this moment of hesitation, bits of the drywall start flying out indiscriminately, creating holes in the wall. T’onga begins to run away from the barrage, but then the door flies off its hinges and catches her in the side. Her broken ribs fracture even more, and her lungs seize up, driving her to her knees, gasping. 

“I’ll kill you…” says a voice above her.

She looks up and sees Knowles rolling out of the room to loom over her. 

“I’ll kill you,” she repeats, her tone completely flat. No emotion, not even anger anymore. No hatred or humanity, only the desire to destroy. T’onga fights to catch her breath, but each inhale sends waves of pain to course through her that sap all the strength from her legs. There is nowhere she can run.

“I’ll kill you…”

END of CHAPTER 40

[haikyuu-scenarios-box]

Haikyuu!! Detroit: Become Human AU, Part 1

A/N: I outlined the character roles and provided some background info in this post, which I highly recommend you read first.

Word count: 1,798

UNDER THE CUT

______________

August 15th, 2038.  08:29:05 PM

As Oikawa passed a coin back and forth from one hand to another, the bright blue LED on his right temple flickered. The panel in the elevator flashed the number 70, a loud ding accompanying it. Straightening his tie, Oikawa exited the elevator once its doors slid open. 

An SAT officer eyed him through his helmet as he walked down the hallway, the water in a large fish aquarium reflecting off the blue accents of his uniform. When woman with a trail of tears along her cheeks grabbed his shoulders, the clacks of his polished black shoes against the marble ceased.

‘Please,’ she begged, overwhelmed with distress, ‘please, you have to save my little girl - wait...’ she paused. Slowly lowering her hands, her eyes drifted to the text on Oikawa’s jacket:

RK800 #313 248 317 - 51

‘... you’re sending an android?’ the woman backed away in shock, filled with fury and anxiety.

‘Alright, ma’am, we need to go,’ the SAT officer escorting her out stated. 

‘You can’t... you can’t do that!’ she exclaimed with anguish, ‘Why aren’t you sending a real person?!’ she screamed while being dragged towards the elevator.

Oikawa’s stoic expression remained unwavering as he continued towards the crime scene. He was unaffected by the woman’s continuous yelling, ‘Don’t let thing near her! Keep that thing away from by daughter!’ since Oikawa was, like every other android, created to be incapable of experiencing emotion.

‘Captain Tsukishima?’ Oikawa walked towards the SAT leader, ‘My name is Oikawa. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.’ 

Tsukishima turned around to face him for a mere second. He then dismissively turned back to the computer screen, ‘It’s firing at everything that moves,’ he said, ‘it already shot down two of my men. We can easily get it, but they’re on the edge of the balcony.’

‘If it falls,’ Tsukishima faced Oikawa, ‘she falls.’

 ‘Do you know its name?’ Oikawa questioned in an automated fashion. 

‘I haven’t got a clue,’ Tsukishima responded with animosity, ‘Does it matter?’

‘I need information to determine the best approach. Do you know if it’s been behaving strangely before this?’ 

‘Listen,’ Tsukishima snapped, standing close to Oikawa, ‘saving that kid is all that matters. So either you deal with this fucking android right now,’ he glared, ‘or I’ll take care of it.’

↓ 48% probability of success, Oikawa’s system calculated. He proceeded to head towards the master bedroom, immediately noticing an empty gun case. His eyes analysed the compartments, identifying the missing gun as an MS853 Black Hawk with 0.355 ammunition. Oikawa reconstructed the scene, vividly simulating the deviant android’s silhouette grabbing the case.

↑ 51% probability of success

Once Oikawa deduced that he must understand what caused the android’s deviancy, he entered the hostage’s bedroom. He scanned the room quickly -  magenta wallpaper covering the walls, butterfly stickers on the cupboard and a tablet on the desk. Oikawa swiped the tablet to the left, unlocking it.

‘This is Makoto, the coolest android in the world! Say hi, Makoto!’ the hostage excitedly said to the camera. ‘Hello!’ the deviant responded amiably with a wave.

‘You’re my bestie,’ the little girl exclaimed, ‘we’ll always be together!’

Deviant’s name: Makoto. ↑ 56% probability of success

Picking up a large pair of noise-cancelling headphones on the desk, Oikawa placed it against his ears, loud music blaring out from the pads. 

Child didn’t hear gunshots. ↑ 59% probability of success

Moving back into the living room, the corpse of the hostage’s father was splayed against the wooden legs of a shattered glass coffee table. Oikawa looked at the two gunshot wounds, his analytical system concluding that he died from a lung haemorrhage caused by 0.355 calibre bullets. 

Reconstructing the crime scene, Oikawa pictured the father’s body seated on the couch. The man would have stood up and turned upon hearing the cocking of a gun. At that point, the deviant would have shot him, sending his body to fly back onto the table.

Father was holding something. ↑ 61% probability of success

Oikawa picked up a nearby tablet that was buried beneath shards of glass, its screen coated with a splatter of clotted blood. ‘Your order for a AP700 android has been registered,’ a robotic voice emitted from the audio, ‘CyberLife thanks you for your purchase.’

Deviant was going to be replaced. ↑ 70% probability of success

As Oikawa approached the balcony, he spotted a deceased SAT officer, his analytics confirming that it was one of Tsukishima’s men. When Oikawa noticed the small puddle of fresh blue blood located in front of the body, he swiftly swiped his index and middle finger in it. Upon placing the blood sample against his tongue, he identified the deviant’s android model. 

Deviant was wounded Model PL600 - Serial #369 911 047 ↑ 81% probability of success.

CyberLife gave those models a friendly, non-intimidating appearance - dark brown hair framing their face with a dirty-blonde tuft in the middle, a lean muscular frame, welcoming brown irises and a height of 160 cm. 

Oikawa passed by the two SAT officers positioned on either side of the entry to the balcony. As soon as he entered outside, the deviant android immediately pulled the trigger. It grazed Oikawa’s bicep, blue blood splashing against the window. The LED on his right temple briefly flickered red before returning to its usual bright blue - it was advantageous that androids were immune to nociceptive stimuli.

‘Stay back!’ the deviant yelled, its gun aimed at Oikawa. ‘Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!’ it threatened, holding the hostage tightly around its other arm.

‘No!’ she screamed, kicking her legs, ‘Please! I’m begging you!’ 

Mission: save the hostage at all costs

Oikawa evaluated the scene. A handful SAT officers congregated at the rooftop of the building beside the balcony, prepared to shoot the deviant. 

‘Hi Makoto,’ Oikawa yelled, ‘My name is Oikawa.’

‘How...’ the deviant’s red LED flashed uncontrollably, it instability intense, ‘... how do you know my name?!’

‘I know a lot of things about you,’ Oikawa slowly placed one foot in front of the other, ‘I’ve come to get you out of this.’ A helicopter fixated a spotlight over the deviant as it flew in, its rotor blowing wind strong enough to flip the patio chairs and outdoor umbrellas.

↓ 68% probability of success, Oikawa’s system alerted. 

‘I know you’re angry, Makoto,’ he continued to cautiously approach the android, ‘but you need to trust me and let me help you.’

‘I don’t want your help!’ the android screamed, pointing the barrel of the gun at the hostage. ‘Nobody can help me!’ it shakily declared, its LED toning down to a yellow. ‘All I want is for all this to stop... I...’ the android trailed off, ‘... I just want all this to stop!’ it yelled, squinting while it stared at the spotlight. 

‘Are you armed?’ it asked anxiously. Its forehead was wrinkled in confusion and fury, the strands of its hair tangling into clumps as the helicopter whirred above the balcony.

‘Yes,’ Oikawa answered as a matter-of-factly, ‘I have a gun.’

‘Drop it! No sudden moves or I’ll shoot!’

Oikawa reached into his back pocket and held the pistol away from his body, ‘There,’ his fingers let go of the grip, ‘no more guns.’

↑ 76% probability of success.

The black fabric of Oikawa’s jacket was no longer ironed neatly, the wind piercing into his ears. His white shirt was dishevelled, causing his tie to loosen around the collar. ‘They were going to replace you and you became upset,’ Oikawa continued to slowly walk towards the android, ‘that’s what happened, right?’

‘I thought I was part of the family,’ it responded, lowering the gun, ‘I thought I mattered.’

↑ 87% probability of success.

‘But I was just their toy,’ it aimed the gun at the hostage’s head once again. It clenched its teeth angrily, the air passing between its teeth emitting a whistle, ‘something to throw away when you’re done with it.’

‘I know you and Chihiro are very close,’ Oikawa said, reducing the space between them. ‘You think she betrayed you but she’s done nothing wrong.’

↑ 96% probability of success.

‘She lied to me! I thought she loved me,’ it explained with glazed eyes and a blue LED. ‘But I was wrong,’ it took a deep inhale, pushing the pistol even further into the hostage’s temple, ‘she’s just like all the other humans.’

‘Makoto, no,’ the girl cried out, thrashing.

‘Listen, it’s not your fault,’ Oikawa decided to create a facade of sympathy, ‘these emotions you’re feeling are just errors in your software.’

‘No, it’s not my fault,’ the android quivered with desolation, ‘I never wanted this... I loved them, you know,’ it said with a trembling voice. ‘But I was nothing to them, just a slave to be ordered around.’

The android loudly cried out in frustration and agony, ‘I can’t stand that noise anymore!’ it looked at the helicopter. ‘Tell them to get out of here!’ 

Oikawa raised his hand, gesturing the helicopter to leave. ‘There,’ Oikawa said as it flew away, ‘I did what you wanted.’

↑ 99% probability of success.

‘You have to trust me, Makoto,’ Oikawa continued to approach the android, ‘let the hostage go and I promise you everything will be fine.’

‘Tell everyone to leave!’ it ordered, ‘and... and I want a car,’ it shakily said, ‘when I’m outside the city, I’ll let her go.’

‘That’s impossible Makoto,’  Oikawa stopped, finally close enough to the android and hostage. ‘Let the girl go and I promise you won’t be hurt.’

‘I don’t want to die,’ its condition began to stabilise.

‘You’re not going to die,’ Oikawa raised his hands in its direction, ‘we’re just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you, you have my word,’ he reassured in a calm manner.

↑ 100% probability of success.

‘Okay...’ the android nodded at Oikawa determinedly, ‘I trust you,’ it declared, releasing its grip on the hostage. As soon as the girl’s feet made contact with the ground, she quickly crawled away from the android. 

Oikawa proceeded slowly nod once; a signal prompting the sniper on the opposing to pull the trigger.

Thick blue blood violently splashed out of the android’s waist, shredded wires and obliterated biocomponents emerging at a high velocity. Another shot was fired at the android’s shoulder, sending large chunks of metal into the pool. The final bullet pierced its skull and exited from the angle of its jaw, its LED returning to red in response. 

The sight caused the girl to scream at an intensity that almost broke her vocal chords.

The android collapsed on its knees, its body fully drenched in blue. Large pieces of its synthetic skin had been ripped away, revealing the metal underneath.

Mission completed

‘You lied to me, Oikawa,’ it muttered in disbelief and sorrow, the tears along its waterline spilling instantly. Although Oikawa merely looked at it apathetically, the breeze blowing against him was suddenly icy.

↑ Software instability

‘You lied to me...’ it repeated, its voice turning robotic with each word as it shut down. 

SAT officers immediately rushed onto the balcony, the girl’s nostrils blocked with every sob. Oikawa headed back inside, Tsukishima eyeing him sceptically.