#store weapons and hide in their civilian buildings!!!

[zionistbeyonce]

[skzdarlings]

the heist team | the threesome series ; skz ; minho/reader/changbin

masterlist.

threesome series part 2/4.

pairing: lee minho/reader/seo changbin content info: sexual content. threesome. friends2lovers. very cheesy criminal heist shenanigans (very "we're in" style hacking and some laser grids lol). "fake" kissing, getting sexy as a distraction, giving sex directions, sexual tension that gets resolved. pussy eating, dick sucking, coming inside. purple haired minho bc meow <3

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The camper van was the best idea you ever had.  It is much easier to enact dastardly schemes while inconspicuously hiding in plain sight. 

On the outside, the van looks like any civilian camper, but the inside is a veritable den of high-tech con-artistry.   It has a place for Minho to hang the get-ups for his grifting gambits, a compartment for Changbin to store his weapons and down-time dumbbells, and it has the sexiest, sleekest, most mouth-watering computer apparatus that has ever existed.  You love it more than anything in this world. 

Every job, you sit in the midst of your beloved computer screens, directing the operation while your boys do the ground work.  Despite knowing of your undying love for this system, your best friends and partners-in-crime are presently trying to separate you from your baby.

“Is she calling the computer her baby again?”  Minho asks from where he is getting dressed behind a curtain. 

“Yes,” Changbin says.  He is sitting in your computer chair with his arms distractingly crossed, his biceps bulging in his tight black shirt.  He is wearing a lot of lycra, having formerly anticipated he would be doing physical work tonight.

That all changed when you realized the nature of tonight’s job. 

You only ever target the obscenely rich, the kind of wealth that is obtained through its own nature of theft and villainy.  Tonight’s targets are a bunch of pompous elites celebrating themselves.  Upstairs is a gala kicking off a week-long set of dinners, auctions, and celebrations.   Downstairs is millions of dollars worth of art and antiquities, set to go up for auction the following day.  

It looked like a typical job, the kind where Minho could sweet-talk some fools while Changbin punched some security guards and you hacked the vault from the van.  The security system around the haul turned out to be far more advanced.  Operating with a form of artificial intelligence, it essentially learns as it goes, meaning hacking it from the outside is incredibly difficult as it will understand and respond to invasion.  It will be easier to outsmart from the inside, where you can reach your hand into its virtual heart and pluck its digital ventricles one by one. 

The boys do not have that kind of computer knowledge.  So now Changbin is in your chair, Minho is doing his make-up, and you are waving around an emergency cocktail dress. 

“Who’s gonna watch my baby if I’m in there!”  

“Yah! Rude woman!  You remember who helped you build this thing?” Changbin pats one of the computer towers to make his point.  “I can do the basic work in here, but I can’t do your complicated nerd things.” 

“I’m not a nerd!”  You definitely are.  You stare at the cocktail dress morosely.  “You’re forgetting something super important. That I am a total weirdo and I panic whenever someone looks at me! There’s a reason I don’t do the people side of things!  That’s what you guys are good at!”

“Technically I just hit them,” Changbin says. 

“You are plenty charming when you want to be and you know it,” you say. 

Changbin folds his hands behind his head, flexing all his muscles while grinning. 

“How charming?” he teases, cocky.  “Describe it to me.” 

“Shut up.”  You hit him with the cocktail dress to hide the fact he got you genuinely flustered.  “I can’t go in there.  People will know I don’t belong the second I walk in the room.  We won’t even get close enough to the computer bank for me to disarm it because they’ll get one look at me and throw me out the window.” 

“That won’t happen,” Minho says.   His changing area is behind you and you hear the metallic slide of the curtain opening.  “Because you won’t be going in there alone.”  

You don’t even have to turn around to know Minho looks devastatingly gorgeous; it is written all over Changbin’s shocked face.  His arms lower from behind his head and his cocksure expression shifts, his lips parting as he stares past you.  

Despite having the benefit of bracing yourself, you are still struck dumb when you turn and look at Minho.  It was always in the plan that Minho would serve as a distraction at the gala.  To stand out accordingly, he dyed his hair with temporary dye this morning.  The vibrant purple was more amusing than sexy when his hair was messy, but now it is neatly styled back, slick and off his handsome face.  He is dressed all in white, his asymmetrical suit partially slit at the side to show some skin.  There is an extra sparkle from his jewelry, plus the lightest dab of glitter in the sharper contours of his face.  He is practically glowing. 

He knows he looks good.  His mouth quirks in a little smirk at your expressions.  You and Changbin are both gawping at him, and it goes on long enough that his eyebrows lift and his smirk puckers with a surprised laugh. 

“What? Really?” he asks, still laughing at you. 

Changbin does an unexpected sign of the cross.  You hit him with the cocktail dress again. 

“Fine,” you say, mostly to have an excuse to duck behind the curtain because you think you might explode from lust and embarrassment and anxiety all at once.  “At least no one will be looking at me.” 

You step behind the curtain and snap it closed, leaving the boys to their banter. 

You like dressing up so this part is no problem.  The problem with parties is other people.  You wholeheartedly admit you are better with zeroes and ones than human beings.   

You try to focus on the fun elements of tonight: the dress, the glamour, and beating a high-tech security system at its own game.  It will be so fun to have a real challenge for once.  You know you can beat it but it will definitely push you more than your usual digital adversaries.

Also, you get to look at Minho looking like that.  Your view of the boys is usually through security cameras, nestled in your van surrounded by your operating system, so the proximity will be a treat. 

You open the curtain, scowling.  You do not enjoy socializing so you seldom have occasion to dress up, so you anticipate the boys will lovingly berate you.  But when you step forward, Changbin looks at you with the same dumbfounded expression he had for Minho.  Minho is sitting on the bench, knees apart and arm slung across the backrest.  His expression gets very serious when he looks at you.  He shimmies his hips, his knees parting further. 

“Turn around,” he says.  

The van feels so tense and quiet that you obey, more confused than anything else. 

Changbin’s gaze drops to your ass immediately, his jaw visibly clenching.  Minho tips his head like he is studying something. 

“Thank you,” Minho says. 

You face them again, hot in the face.  You cross your arms angrily. 

“What was the point of that?” you demand.

Minho lifts a single eyebrow.  “I wanted to see your ass,” he says, like it should be obvious.  “It’s a good one.  You should be proud.” 

You throw your sweatpants at his stupid smirk.  He catches it smoothly. 

“Can we just go already?”  You punctuate this with a stomp of your foot then storm out of your precious van. 

It is very strange being on this side of the operation.  You always have Minho and Changbin nattering in your earpiece, but usually you are sitting at your desk wearing proper headphones.  It is strange wandering around with a tiny bud in your ear, listening to Changbin report from your usual seat. 

You already have control of the hotel security cameras as they work on a separate operating system to the storeroom AI.  You replaced the live feed with a looping reel of empty rooms so the security team inside will not see you moving around.  It also gives Changbin a bird’s eye view of the gala and the rest of the hotel.  You feel anxious at not seeing it for yourself, but you are placated when Changbin whistles and teases, “You two are the best looking there.  You would be second best looking if I was there, so you’re lucky I’m not.” 

You and Minho both smile, your expressions fond.  

Minho gets you in the door with little more than a wink at the doorman.  You stay quiet, hiding your nerves as best you can.  Minho is a competent con-man and Changbin is plenty reliable so you try to focus on your own tasks.  First you need to get to the ground floor network base so you can get the AI to chase your red herring.  Once you are in, the AI will start responding, but with your virus acting as a decoy source within the building, you should be able to buy yourselves time to move onto the next phase of breaking down the system. 

“There’s a lot of muscle at this party,” Changbin says seriously, no doubt taking stock of all the burly security guards.  It is only natural Changbin would be as twitchy as you, also out of his element for the night.  “I don’t like not being there with you,” he says.  

“Easy,” Minho says in a calm voice.  You think it is directed at both you and Changbin.  He puts a hand on your lower back and gives you a knowing look.  “You’re doing fine,” he says.

You feel like terror is written all over your face.  It doesn’t help that Minho draws eyes the second you step into the hotel ballroom, men and women looking at him with the usual desire he draws.  They are equally curious to look at you, their eyes on where his hand rests intimately low on your spine. 

“I’m gonna hurl,” you say.

“Not a bad idea,” he says.  He smiles with so much effortless charm that no one would suspect he is whispering criminal tips.  “The best con,” he says, his lips brushing your ear, “is one that is close to the truth.”  You shiver as his fingertips brush up your spine.  He rests his hand on your nape.  “Look sick,” he says.  “We’ll say we’re looking for a restroom if someone asks.” 

You follow his lead, weaving your way through the party.  Looking sick is the easiest instruction to follow because you feel genuinely ill, your anxiety a toxic twist in your gut.  

Only when you are wandering the empty hotel corridor do you feel at ease.  You feel even more at ease when you find the ground floor network hub.  Your first obstacle is a regular alarm code, twelve digits in length.  It is obviously too long to guess so you physically unscrew the alarm box and start some manual fiddling.  There is no way to fully disarm it without also setting it off, but that’s where your own AI gadget comes into play.  You plug in your cypher scrambler and let it do its thing.  It flickers through numbers, seeking the correct pattern, learning from its errors.  You designed it yourself and though it is always accurate, it takes a while to pull the numbers.  You and Minho are forced to hover in the hallway while it gradually reveals each piece of the code. 

You are up to number seven out of twelve when Changbin inhales sharply. 

“There’s a waiter walking in your direction,” he says.  “It looks like he’s taking a shortcut to somewhere else, but you have less than two minutes until he’s on you.”

 “What!”  You start to panic immediately.  “My decipher machine could take longer than that, what do we—”

“Relax, relax!”  Changbin says at the same time Minho steps behind you and grasps your shoulders.  He makes little shushing noises while massaging you, not that it does much to help. 

“We’re good,” Minho says.  “It’s just a waiter, not security.” 

“I’m gonna get us killed,” you say. 

“By a waiter?”  Minho asks.  He gives your shoulders another squeeze.  “Is he going to beat us with a baguette?  Hey, hey, relax.”

You are a vibrating bundle of nerves.  Minho is not usually the type to dive into a hug but he turns you around and pulls you into his arms.  You wrap your arms around his middle and hug him back, hiding your face in his neck. 

“Yeah, that will work,” Changbin says. 

“Huh?” you say, lifting your head. 

Minho is staring into a security camera as if having a mute exchange with Changbin.  He nods in agreement, though you still don’t understand. 

“What will work?” you ask. 

“Distraction,” Minho says.  You just look at him with confusion. 

“Baby,” Changbin says in a soft tone, “listen to my voice.”

The sudden gentleness of his voice makes you shiver.  Your fingers are shaking when Minho takes your hand and rests it over his heart.  You look up into his dark eyes as he smiles at you with familiar fondness.  You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, shushing you gently.  His eyes drift to the side in anticipation of an intruder. 

“Baby,” Changbin says, his honeyed tone softening your nerves, “Minho is going to kiss you.  Just do what I say, okay?” 

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening.

“You trust us?”  Changbin asks. 

You nod, answering Changbin, gazing at Minho. 

It’s the truth.  You might be scared but you have been scared before and your boys always come through.  Even when the rest of the world left you behind, when you turned to crime to keep yourself alive, Minho and Changbin were there.  They have never let you down.  You trust them with anything and everything. 

Minho slips his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him.  You have been close before, sharing the van, sharing hotel rooms, but this feels different.  He looks at you with intent, his handsome face so close, a strand of dark purple hair curled over his forehead.  Your hand finds that patch of bare skin when you touch his side.  He is familiar and foreign at once, your Minho, and also a character, one who clasps his hand behind your back and ducks down to gently kiss your lips. 

“Take a breath, baby,” Changbin says with a little chuckle.  “You look like you’re going to pass out.” 

“Mmf,” is the noise you make, affirming that observation.   It makes Minho laugh, a breath against your lips. 

“Waiter is thirty seconds away.  You just want to look like a dumb, horny couple that wandered away from the party,” Changbin says.  “Listen to me, I’ll tell you what do.”

You nod, sucking in a breath when Minho kisses you again.  This time his mouth is a little more insistent, his lips coaxing yours open. 

“Close your eyes, baby,” Changbin says.  “Let your shoulders drop.  Minho has you, it’s okay.” 

You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were.  You listen to Changbin, letting yourself go lax.  Minho holds you, as promised, his arms sturdy around your waist as he kisses you deeply. 

“Let Minho move you,” Changbin says. “He’s going to lean you against the wall to hide the device, okay?  Put your hands on his shoulders.  Higher, baby, go around his neck.  Just like that.  Let him lead you.” 

Minho walks you backwards, carefully pressing you against the wall, hiding the dangling cypher scrambler with your bodies. 

“We wanna give our intruder a little jump scare, okay?”  Changbin says.  “Minho.”  

That is all the direction he gives Minho, trusting the adept con-man to know exactly what to do.  Minho does, his hands sliding down to your hips to pull them flush against his.  It arches your back.  Your hands are hooked behind his neck and you squeak, your fingers instinctively sinking into his hair. 

“God,” Changbin says.  The sudden dark colour to his voice sends a spark of heat shooting through you.  It clearly surprises Minho too, his lips parting with a caught breath.  “You both look hot.  Fuck.” 

Changbin takes a steadying breath.  You and Minho look at each other.  You get to see his smirk for a split second, then his mouth is on yours and it is no longer gentle and questioning.  It is a demand, hot and wanting, your lips opening with his guidance, your heart skipping beats when he licks in your mouth. 

“Do it back,” Changbin says.  “You want him to fuck you, baby.  Make him believe it.”

You think the him is question is the waiter.  Isn’t it?  You don’t even know where the waiter is anymore, if he’s around the corner or watching.  In the haziness of your kiss, it hardly seems to matter.  You kiss Minho back with the same urgency, pulling him closer, whimpering when he bites your bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” is the gentle whisper that Minho can’t fight.  His brow is crinkled, his eyes closed.  He kisses you again, his hands jumping up to gather yours.  He laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the wall on either side of your head. 

“Wrap your leg around his waist,” Changbin says.  “Like that, that’s it, you’re okay.” 

You lift one leg, shaky and unsure.  Minho catches you under the knee and pulls it more certainly around him.  He holds you there, his other hand grasping your throat very gently as he kisses and kisses and kisses you.  Your hands are still splayed open by your head, thoughtlessly awaiting direction.  Your fingers curl into your palm and you moan for real when Minho presses against you. 

Minho is a good actor, but the hard shape in his pants is very real.  When he grinds against you, so open and soft with your leg around his waist, it draws all those guttural sounds right out of you.  Minho makes one back, swivelling his hips in a maddening grind against you.  It is all too easy to imagine him fucking you like this, the effortless back-and-forth of his hips, your sweet sighs as he takes you, imagining Changbin there, his breath also stuttering. 

You do not forget he is watching all this, especially when he lets another low laugh and asks, “She feel good?”

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation, breathing the word against your lips. 

“Hold his face, baby,” Changbin says.  “Kiss him like you mean it.  Ask him to fuck you with it.”

You know what he means by that: to kiss Minho with fervency and heat.  You do obey, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, but the fuzziness of desire mixed with Changbin’s words makes your brain go screwy with want.  Not only does your kiss convey that desire, but words rush past your mouth, crashing into Minho’s lips in a breathless flurry.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” you say, your voice pitching up into a little whine as you rock against him.  “Want you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you say, thinking of both of them at the same.   You kiss Minho’s surprised, open mouth, your eyes closed, your voice loud in this hazy space as you say, “I’ve been thinking about it all night.  Need it so bad.  Please.  Want you inside me.  Want my mouth on you.  Come in me.  Come on me.  Take me, please.  I’m so hot and wet, it’ll feel so good, don’t you want to feel how wet I am?  Don’t you want to fuck me too?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Changbin says, followed by a rush of even more inventive curses.

Minho settles on another simple, surprised, “Fuck.” 

Then someone is clearing their throat.  Minho jumps, his hands clamping tighter around you, protective. 

“Oh, right, this clown,” Changbin says.  “I hate that he’s too far away too punch.” 

You giggle in spite of yourself, which is good because you think you might simultaneously die of embarrassment.  You drop your leg and Minho lets you go, pulling himself together faster than you. 

You let him do his thing, sliding a hand through his hair and smirking at the waiter as he saunters over.  He makes his little speech, something-something-something a moment alone with the missus, something-something sorry-sorry-sorry.   He walks the waiter back around the corner, giving you a knowing glance over his shoulder. 

Thank god your cypher scrambler has its act together, even if you are a mess.  It takes you longer to right yourself than it does for the scrambler to finish its job.  Your hands are shaking as you break into the hub, but muscle memory takes over when you have your mini-laptop open. 

Minho joins you a minute later.  Your entire body lights up like a firework when he steps close to you.  Nothing in his expression conveys anything more than professionalism – his queries are about the job and the job alone – but there is an ache between your thighs that won’t subside.  You know he feels the same way as you can see he is still hard despite how much he glares at the wall.  He adjusts his pants several times while standing in that closet of a hub with you.  You keep glancing at each other, your gazes heady, speaking volumes more than your polite conversation.   

When you leave and he puts his hand on your lower back, you shiver.  You think you might double over from the persistent thumping of your easily-distracted pussy. 

Changbin lets out a long sigh and a nervous giggle.  “Good work, team,” he says. 

You have worked enough jobs that you manage to set aside your personal feelings for the time being.  It is easy to lose yourself in your work, especially when you really have to fight the security system.  

You get inside the storeroom.  You know it is filled with more traps and alarms so you sit down beside the door and type away on your laptop.  You nearly break a sweat with the intensity of your work. 

“She’s hot when she’s doing her thing,” Changbin suddenly says. 

You lift your head and catch Minho’s eye.  He smiles at you.  “I agree,” he says. 

Your heart starts skipping beats again.  You look down at your laptop, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze. 

“Don’t distract me,” you say, making both of them laugh a little.  You glare at Minho but there is no real animosity behind it. 

At least they both acquiesce, going silent while you work.  You manage to disarm most of the storeroom.  The best you can do for the remainder of traps is trigger their subsequent lighting rigs so you can see them all.  A labyrinth of blue light brightens the dark entry room, revealing each laser trigger that blocks your path to the locked compartments. 

You look up at Minho whose calculating gaze is already tracing each intricate beam. 

“Got it?”  Changbin asks.

Minho starts unbuttoning his suit.  “Always,” he says, smirking. 

Minho flips the blazer down his arms, revealing just a tight white crop top beneath it.  His jacket, shoes, and jewelry form a pile beside you.   Minho does a few quick stretches before confidently approaching the laser grid. 

Before his criminal life, Minho was a dancer, and a good one.   He draws the same graceful lines with his body now, making each manoeuvre look easy even though you know it is incredibly difficult. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” Changbin says.

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip and watching Minho move.  “Gotta agree.” 

Minho slips over and under each laser, twisting and bending and sliding with ease.  He pops up on the other side with a graceful twirl, throwing you a wink over his shoulder before flipping a switch on the control panel.  It powers down the censors so you can scurry across the room to join him. 

The compartment door unlocks with your final hacked access code, the door swinging open to reveal your loot.  Changbin gives a successful holler into your earpiece, making you and Minho duck with his volume. 

“I’ll bring the car around, baby,” Changbin says while you two roll your eyes but smile. 

You pack your fold out bags with your selections.  One key to success is never being overly greedy.  You walk away with a substantial victory nonetheless.    

You hurry out of the storeroom with your prize haul.  Minho gets dressed again, though he doesn’t button up his jacket.  He takes a second to catch his breath while you restore each alarm so nothing appears out of place.   When you are ready to go, he takes your hand, smiling.  You run hand-in-hand back down the corridor, making a few sharp turns until you find a staff exit.  There is a small drop so Minho jumps down first then holds out his arms for you.  Though you could make the jump easily, you still let yourself fall into his arms.  

He holds you close as he puts you on your feet.  You are riding the high of adrenaline and success, your heart soaring, which might be why you so easily surrender to desire.   You kiss him, sudden and brief but tantalizing.  He blinks back at you with surprise, his face scrunching with that astonished little laugh of his.   

You smile at him.  A line of sweat dots his hairline and you reach up, smoothing some messy strands of purple hair.  The gentle caress changes the whole shape of his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing harder.  You feel yourself change too, your heart pounding against his chest when he pulls you close. 

You got greedy with that kiss and greediness has consequences.  You are so distracted with each other that you don’t notice the security guards coming at you from the opposite direction. 

“Hey!” one shouts.  “What are you doing out here?” 

You and Minho look over, then at each other.  There is no time for conversation.  You grab each other’s hands and start running, your bags of stolen goods bouncing on your shoulders. 

“Hey!” the security guard shouts again.  You can hear their heavy footsteps thundering after you, fast despite their muscle and bulk. 

You turn the corner onto a backstreet just in time for the camper van to swing into view.  The door slides open and Changbin jumps out.  You pass each other, dropping hands so Changbin can dart between you.  

Panting, you and Minho watch as Changbin effortlessly takes down the guards. 

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” you say, giggling.

Minho laughs, nodding.  “I agree,” he says. 

Minho takes the steering wheel so you can apologize to your baby for abandoning her.  Changbin jumps back in the van and the three of you drive away with another successful haul. 

Later, back at the penthouse, Minho takes the longest shower in an effort to scrub the purple out of his hair.  You are in your bedroom when he finally emerges.  You can hear him and Changbin talking in the living room.  By the sounds of it, the purple is still threaded in his dark brown hair, likely to last a few more days.  You smile to yourself, listening to their playful back-and-forth as Changbin teases him and Minho snarkily retaliates. 

It is tradition after a successful job to have a few drinks and relax.  Contacting your fence and taking care of business can wait until tomorrow. 

You can hear the usual music playing through the speakers, can hear the clink of bottles and glasses, can hear Changbin and Minho laughing and talking. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror.  Though you seldom have occasion to wear pretty luxuries, you have enough money at your disposal to treat yourself.   You have been changing in and out of different lingerie sets since you got home.  You think this one might be just right: a silky black set worn under a lacy black dress that falls to your thighs.  It is suggestive but arguably casual.  You could just be wearing it as pyjamas, right?  Sure.  Sure.  Totally normal pyjamas for a totally normal night.

The best con is one that is close to the truth, Minho had said.  Then he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you begged him to fuck you with Changbin’s help.  Even you, who is terrible at reading and understanding people, know what truth was in that charade. 

You take a deep breath and march to your bedroom door with determination.  You throw it open so hard that it smashes into the wall, startling the boys in the other room.  You ignore the crash and scurry into sight, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello,” you say.

There is a moment of prolonged silence then Changbin says, “Hi.”

You look up.  They are both staring at you, both wide-eyed, both in sweatpants and t-shirts with their hair undone and fluffy.  They look very casual and very surprised.  Minho is clutching a beer bottle and Changbin is holding a bowl of popcorn.  Both of them are frozen.

You smile a very awkward smile.

“Hello,” you say again.  “I am… I am… dressed.  For bed.  My bed.  For being in my bed, like this, as I am dressed right now.  I am going to that bed, now, like this.  You can… join me.  If you want.  If you don’t want, then, okay.  Hello.  And.  Goodbye.  Bye.” 

You run back to your bedroom and slam the door closed. 

Other than the soft music still swirling in the air, the penthouse is quiet.  You cannot hear the boys, not a comment, not a sound, not a breath.

Then you hear the popcorn bowl hit the ground and a bottle smash.  They shove and yell at each other as they stumble on the way to your bedroom.  You are standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands folded in front of you, waiting as they crash into your bedroom door and curse at each other. 

Changbin then very casually opens the door and they calmly walk inside. 

“Hello,” you say. 

“Hi,” Changbin replies. 

You wish thoughts could be hacked like a computer.  You cannot think of what to say or do next.  You just stare at them and they stare back, although their gazes are considerably less nervous.  Their stares are thirsty, drinking you in, looking from top to bottom and back again. 

“Turn around,” Minho says, his gaze low. 

You meet Changbin’s eye before obliging, slowly turning.

“Okay,” Minho says after a long moment, giving your heart plenty of time to go crazy in your chest.  “Thank you.” 

You turn back around, just as embarrassed as earlier but not angry at all.  You cross your arms over your chest, flicking your gaze between them. 

Minho reaches out and lightly punches Changbin on the arm.  Changbin looks at him and Minho gives him a look, one you cannot decipher.  You continue to stare at them. 

Changbin nods at Minho then looks at you.  He holds out his hand. 

“Breathe, baby,” he says.  “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh but nod, taking his hand.  He wastes no time pulling you close, guiding your hand to his heart as Minho did earlier.  He holds your hand there and waits until you make eye contact so he can wink at you. 

“I know I am the best looking man you have ever seen in your life,” he says, making you laugh again, “but I’m me.  You trust us?”

You look at him then at Minho.  His dark hair is still tinted purple, his bare face open and soft as he meets your eye.  You smile and look back at Changbin, nodding. 

“Always,” you say. 

“Good,” Changbin says. 

He cups your face and you lean towards him, anticipating a kiss, but he gently turns your face aside.  You don’t even have time to be confused before Minho is kissing you.  He swiftly draws all those sweet sounds out of you, pulling you towards him.  Changbin steps behind you, holding your hips and kissing his way up your neck to your ear. 

“Baby,” Changbin says while Minho slows his kiss to something gentle but heated, his tongue swiping at yours.  “Listen to my voice, okay?” 

You nod, light-headed but eager. 

“Good,” Changbin says.  “Come sit in my lap.  Over here.” 

Changbin is strong enough to haul you around.  You barely have to move, letting yourself go soft in his arms.  He sits on the edge of the bed and puts you in his lap, spreading your legs over his thighs.   You stare up at Minho, out of breath, your thighs twitching to close for pressure.  Changbin slides a hand down, stroking your inner thigh and making you jump, his other hand tugging down your dress and immediately going for your breast. 

Minho sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a breath before stepping up to you. 

“Still want your mouth on him, baby?”  Changbin asks, reminding you of all the things you whispered in that heated moment.  

You nod, whimpering when Changbin slides his hands into your panties and touches you directly.  He circles and circles the most sensitive cluster of nerves, grunting and pressing his lips to your neck. 

“She’s so fucking wet,” Changbin says.  He slips his hand out of your panties and abruptly grabs Minho by the hand, tugging him closer.   Minho brings that hand to his mouth, licking your wetness off Changbin’s fingertips.  “Touch him baby,” Changbin says.  “You see how hard he is for you?”

You can see.  You can feel Changbin too, hard under you.  Their sweatpants do little to disguise it. 

You do not hesitate obeying, tugging on the waistband of Minho’s sweats.  Everything feels so dreamy and good, surrounded by touch.  It all seems to happen quickly; suddenly Changbin’s hand is in your panties, Minho’s dick is in your mouth, and Minho’s hands are tugging the straps of your dress down.   This ends with you drooling messily all over the end of his dick, sucking on the head and murmuring nonsense while Changbin makes you come on his fingers.  Then Minho kneels in front of you both, your legs end up over his shoulders, and you find yourself hurtling towards another orgasm on his mouth. 

You dress ends up somewhere, the panties too.  The bra is barely on, the straps hanging down your arms.  Changbin finally kisses you when you are on your back in the middle of the bed.  He lays between your open legs, his fingers filling you up as you continue to gush all over his hand.  You grab him, squeezing his biceps as he effortlessly moves that strong hand between your legs.  Minho climbs up too, his shirt somewhere across the room.  He grabs your hands and pulls them over your head, pinning them into the pillows before ducking down to kiss you.   You come for a third time before either of them even fucks you. 

Then they do.  Minho first, with you under him, listening to every direction Changbin murmurs in your ear.  You lift your legs around his waist when Changbin says, then touch yourself when Changbin asks, and shudder when Minho comes inside you like you earlier begged. 

Then Minho is behind you, holding you, touching you, protective and familiar while Changbin fucks you.  Changbin has a surprisingly filthy mouth, continuing to tell you how good you feel and how good you look.  Minho is quiet but fully entranced by you, his hands constantly wandering.  He slides one hand down and rubs you off while Changbin fucks you.  Then he leans over your shoulder and kisses Changbin on the mouth, making Changbin finish too.  

The music is still playing in the next room.   The three of you lay there in various states of undress, you in the middle, sweaty and messy, the boys panting and gently stroking your arms and thighs. 

“I love you guys,” you say.  It is incredibly cliché to make a love confession after several mind-blowing orgasms, but you don’t care.   You don’t need to play games or tell lies or be good at socializing, not with your boys.   You can just be your nerdy self, confessing your feelings even while drifting into sleep. 

You smile when you feel Minho kissing your cheek, Changbin giggling on your other side. 

“It will have to be big,” Changbin says.  “The biggest.”

“Hmm?” you ask, looking at him strangely. 

“The diamond we steal to put on your finger,” Changbin says, holding up your hand and circling your ring finger.  You laugh and try to pull your hand back but Minho catches it, nodding in accord. 

“I agree,” Minho says.  He kisses your temple.  “I know how criminals work,” he adds.  “You’re not getting stolen away from us.” 

He and Changbin exchange an affectionate glance over you, nodding at each other, then they are each kissing a side of your face as you squirm and laugh.  You swipe at Minho’s purple hair and kiss Changbin’s cheek, then nestle into their arms as they wrap around you, protective as always. 

[5eraphim]

Just saw ur lovely request are open once again,but I want to see some headcanons between zed and maynard when you- a former mercenary that left the war- comes back to check on the team- only to be terrified and creeped out by the surroundings.

And upon exploring inside- you find yourself to get lost upon the building..and when you saw a resemblance of your old teammate; engineer you couldn't help but be relieved..in a hurry you went over to him- and began to ramble and talk to him in worry..however you noticed something was off by the way he acts..he doesn't seem to know you..he seems surprised.. and when you call him dell- he even chuckles as if he finds it funny..

He offers you to go somewhere else- saying it's not safe- being lost and naive- you follow- making him actually lead you deeper inside.

You used to work here- why did this place suddenly became complex for you to wander around?

But then suddenly an another engineer appears and you panicked, raising your only weapon up towards them, but the engineer beside you stops you- taking the gun away from you.

You became confused- telling him there's an enemy right in front of you and he just laughs. You hear the supposed enemy engineer ask who you are- calling the engineer you first met- maynard and you became more confused and panicked as you realizes that this guy wasn't the same engineer you worked with.. and well.. this rambling could go even further with them trapping you inside the conagher slaughter house.

I 100% forgot you wanted this "headcanons" style, and drafted the entire oneshot before I Realized. I hope that's alright with you! Thank you so much for the request, I really hope you enjoy.

Title: Where He Once Stood

Characters: Maynard and Zed (Emesis Blue)

Rating: M (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: Reader is gender neutral, x reader, implied forced intimacy, power imbalance, deceptive abduction, slight amnesia, yandere

Word Count: 3.7k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." (Jeremiah 8:20)

"Even blood washes out, or you can fill your mouth with things that hide the taste." Sophie MacKintosh, Excerpt from "Cursed Bread"

You thought you knew your way around this place; you'd been around these parts plenty of times before. Sure, some years had passed, but that didn't explain how utterly lost you felt wandering Dustbowl. You ditched the war ages ago to find your own way in life, and you were content with that. It wasn't until recently that you decided you wanted to catch up with your closest friend from your time serving, Dell. 

As a Sniper, you didn't interact much with the Engineer, but it wasn't your time on the battlefield you remembered fondly. It was his warmth and kindness at the end of the day, how excited you would get meeting up with him and the rest of the team for breakfast every day, despite knowing the grim work in store for you later in the day, and all the other moments of levity during such a dark time in your life. He was a good man, much too good to be stuck fighting the war.

The flashlight's beam did little to cut through the intense darkness overhead, and you could tell rain was due any minute now. You expected navigation would be tricky, but this was absolutely futile. The longer you wandered, the more your brain fog intensified, making you feel like a small child lost in the dark looking for their mother, jumping at shadows and fearing the sound of wind whipping overhead was the voices of ghosts.

Mindlessly, you fiddled with the strap securing your rifle to your body. Passing by a reflective window, you did a double take, catching your reflection. Looking down, you realized you were in your old Sniper's uniform. You could've sworn you came here dressed in civilian clothes when you departed, but frustratingly, you couldn't remember for sure.

In the distance, thunder rumbled, the storm was closing in, and you needed to find your way to proper shelter. Feeling a light rain against your face, you picked up the pace, trying to find any signs of life nearby, and to your immense relief, after rounding what felt like the hundredth nondescript dark corner, you spotted a light on, and could just make out the blurry details of Dell's old workshop. Running closer, you smiled, seeing the silhouette of someone inside tinkering away. It just had to be Dell!

As you sped closer and got a better look at the workshop, annoyed slightly by the fogged glass obscuring your vision keeping you from seeing inside, but you were too excited to see him again to care much.

Knocking on the door, you yelled, "Dell, open up!"

Watching a silhouette draw closer to the door, you were confused as he stalled for a moment, "Dell, will you let me in! It's freezing out here!"

The door creaked open, and Dell stood stiffly, without hesitating; you wrapped both arms around him, hugging as close as you could, almost sobbing with happiness after finally finding a familiar face around here.

"It's good to see you again! I missed you so much!"

Awkwardly, he patted your back and returned the hug before pulling away, staring at you with an almost blank look. "Sniper?"

Forcing a smile, you tried to ignore how uneasy he was acting, "C'mon Dell, it's me- we fought together for years. Don't tell me you've forgotten already?"

With an odd look on his face, he nodded, a strange smile spread across his face, "Course I remember ya, that's right- it's me, your ol' buddy Dell. It's been a while since I saw your face- whatcha doin' 'round here?"

He was acting weird, but it had been so long since he'd seen you face to face, and you didn't want to say anything. As he let you inside, you couldn't ignore the mess around the workshop. Dell could get buried in his work more than anyone you knew, but he was never so sloppy before. Beer cans littered tables, cigarettes piled over in ashtrays, and countless grease stains streaked across the tables and walls. You had to force yourself to keep from recoiling at the smell of stale air and debris. Seeing your old comrade out of uniform was odd, even if he still dawned the hard hat and goggles. Did he get taller after the war? You wondered but didn't want to ask out loud.

He noticed your staring, even if you were too meek to say anything definitive. With a hearty laugh, he pulled you into a crushing bear hug, "Good to see ya again, partner. It's been awful quiet 'round these parts lately."

You wanted to pull up a chair and catch up, but you couldn't forget the nightmarish terrain you crossed to get here. Pushing away from the hug, biting your lower lip nervously, you spoke, "Dell, I think something's up. We gotta get out of here."

Dell didn't seem to notice how bleak things were outside his shop. "This ol' place? I've been living under this roof since day one… It ain't been that long since you ditched the war." He gave you a cheeky smile, "Don't tell me you've already forgotten this place."

He was right. Objectively, you were fighting in the war just a few years ago, and there was no reason for you to have already forgotten so much. It didn't make any sense. Too insecure about the bizarre amnesia and brain fog to confess to either, you didn't respond, watching Dell cautiously nodding. Dell sighed, "I'm a might busy now, but I can walk with you for a while; I reckon I can take one night off. Help ya outta here an' all."

Stepping away a bit, you expected Dell to lead you back outside, but to your surprise, he drew further into the workshop, bringing you to the door attaching the shop to the rest of the warehouse. He opened the door, holding it open for you as you paced onward. It didn't make sense to you that this could be the way out, but Dell was your friend, and you trusted him. And it wasn't like you had any better ideas.

The two of you shuffled forward in a slightly awkward silence, you couldn't ignore how different everything looked from how you remembered it. How could everything have fallen into disrepair so fast? Windows were shattered, and walls were fractured by massive cracks, it was like the place had been abandoned for at least a decade. Things were run down, broken, and you tried not to consider the possibility you'd somehow stumbled onto enemy territory. You reasoned it was only a matter of time before you saw something you remembered, and if it were the enemy base, surely you'd have gotten yourself shot by now.

Dell broke the silence, "You came all this way to see me. You still talkin' with the others? Any idea how they're holdin' up?"

He sounded so disinterested; it was hard to imagine someone like him hadn't kept up with the others back home, if there was one person to be "a friend to all", it was Dell."I'm not so sure, actually. It's been getting quieter and quieter on their end… I just- I uh, really wanted to come and see you before you went silent too…"

Dell looked over his shoulder to smile at you, but this was an expression you'd never seen from him before. "Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing." Something was seriously off with him, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

You were so unsettled you didn't know how to respond, keeping your head down and hands mindlessly fumbling with your gun strap, trying to hold onto the hope this would all be over soon.

"To get outta here, we're gonna cross someone who don't take kindly to trespassers. But hold my hand, and I promise I'll getcha through." He extended his un-gloved hand for you to take, a kind gesture, but not one you were too thrilled to accept.

Raising an eyebrow, you responded, "If it's just one guy, I think I can defend myself just fine." As you spoke, you tapped the tip of the rifle strapped to your back with your fingernail. 

Dell looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh, "Buddy, don't wanna do that, trust me. Ya ain't gonna win a quick draw against him." Once again, he extended his hand palm-up for you to take, which you reluctantly accepted. To your slight relief, Dell's hands were at least as warm as you remembered. It wasn't much, but you found it comforting.

You were thankful Dell didn't try to rush. Matching your feeble pace and walking close enough beside, you could almost feel his hip pressed against your own. "Is it Spy? Is he still around?" 

Dell snickered, "Nope."

You continued walking by his side for a while without saying anything. Listening to the sound of your own footsteps against the creaking floor, trying to ignore the other noises of the house. The rain pattering against the windows, which rattled in the wind. Even creepier, you couldn't ignore the unidentifiable sounds from below the floorboards, sounding almost like someone moaning in pain. You could've sworn you could hear whispers coming from behind the dark corners, but you knew there was no way anyone else was around. Inner reason told you it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you couldn't help but whip your head toward the voices to catch someone there, but no one ever was.

If Dell could hear the moans of pain or the hushed voices, he didn't say anything. As you walked, he ran his thumb in soft, slow circles against the back of your hand to try and comfort you. He hummed a little under his breath as though trying to minimize the creepiness of the place.

When you were about to ask how much longer until you found a way out, Dell stopped at another door. Remarkably sturdy looking and well-maintained compared to the shabbiness of the rest of the house. Given how heavy and industrial it appeared, it hardly resembled a door, looking more like the entrance to a bank vault. "This is it. He's right in 'ere. Don't let him scare ya. He's all bark and no bite… Sort of."

You were too tense to ask precisely what he meant by that, giving him a single nod in response, pressing your lips together into a hard line, tightening your grip against his hand. Stealing your resolve with a deep breath, you had no idea what lay in wait behind the door, but you were ready to tackle it head-on if it meant getting out. Pulling a tarnished silver key from his top pocket, Dell unlatched the door, stealing a quick glance your way before pushing the heavy door open. 

You weren't ready to see what was behind that door, let alone confront him. The sight of another Engineer covered in fresh blood, chunks of carnage clinging to his overalls, and cleaning his tools, which were just as drenched in gore as he was, made you lock up with fear. The smell of carnage and motor oil almost made you wretch, and it took all your strength to keep from covering your eyes or screaming. 

Two Engineers at the same base was confusing enough, but seeing one of them drenched in blood off the battlefield made you even more horrified. They both looked so much like Dell, but you knew with a sinking realization neither of these men were the Engie you knew and cared for. The other Engineer looked up at his twin, only then noticing he wasn't alone. "Who the hell is that?"

He shot up from his seat, ready to dart in your direction. Instinctively, you drew your weapon and were prepared to aim at the other Engineer. Your hands shook badly, and you knew you'd miss him if you tried to fire, even at such a close range. 

Before you could even raise the crosshairs to your eye, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder, pulling you protectively closer to his body, effortlessly yanking you from your weak stance, speaking in a louder but not quite aggressive voice. "Hey, easy there- don't do anything stupid now. We're just here to talk."

You weren't sure if he was talking to you or the other Engineer, but thankfully, he stopped where he was, keeping one hand planted on the gun attached to his belt. "Don't do anything stupid? Maynard! What the hell are you doin' bringin' someone up here!?"

Confusion slowly began to dwarf your fear. Keeping a tight hold on your gun, you lowered it a little more, whispering under your breath, glancing at the man beside you out of the corner of your eye, "Maynard?"

Despite the hostile situation, he grinned and winked, "Charmed to make your acquaintance, partner."

The other Engineer was far less amused. "Maynard, answer me! You got a hell of a lotta explainin' to do, brother!" It was too dark to see his face, as though you could even really see him under the hard hat and glasses, but his voice was more than enough to make you go stunned and silent.

All rational was gone. You could only think about getting out of this awful place. You tried to turn on your heel and break from Maynard's grip, but he was even stronger than he looked, keeping you effortlessly pinned in place.

A pair of bulky arms hugged you from behind, wrapping around your belly, pulling you securely against a chest broader than you remembered Dell's being. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you were forced to fully realize how close the stranger was and how far away from safety you were. 

Sure, you were scared before, but Dell was your best friend, and you'd follow him anywhere, but this wasn't Dell, and now you were in the clutches of something much more nefarious than you had expected.

Leaning close to whisper in your ear, you heard the stranger speak, "You weren't runnin' away on me now, were you? You wouldn't leave me all alone in here, would ya, darlin'? And here I thought we were getting along so well." His hug from behind tightened noticeably as he hissed that last part into your ear, crushing the air from your lungs. Your eyes widened, watching the other Engineer stalking closer. He looked so much like Dell, but you knew this wasn't him, the similarities making him all the more terrifying. The other Engineer didn't once take his hand from his gun, but at least he wasn't yelling anymore. "The hell are you doing here? Just who the hell-"

Maynard raised one hand to silence the other Engineer, who complied through grit teeth, and you could only imagine the enraged look on his face under his goggles. 

"Relax, Zed, this one is harmless-"

Zed fumed, "Don't tell me to relax, you lazy bastard! You bring a surprise visitor this deep into the house with a gun pointed at my head! And you want me to relax!?"

You paled, listening to Zed confirm what you'd feared all along. You weren't being led the way out. You were following blindly even deeper into enemy territory, brought all the way into his den without even trying to fight back. You couldn't even call it your old base anymore. Where you stood now was his turf. Any pathetic, fleeting hope of escaping this bizarre place vanished the instant the words left Zed's mouth. Tears of hopelessness stung your eyes, threatening to spill as you heard Maynard's deep, unsettling laughter rumbling behind you. Too scared to move much on your own, you managed to buck forward suddenly, wriggling free as his arm detached from around you, forcing you to support yourself with shaking knees, holding your rifle to your chest with white knuckles, breathing rapidly. 

Maynard took a half-step away and smiled reassuringly before extending a hand your way. In a faux-soothing voice, though with a note of condescension, as though he were speaking to a small child, "You heard the man. Hand it over." 

The mere sight of Zed standing close by, staring you down with complete vitriol, made you hesitate. Your situation was hopeless; anyone could see that trying to hold onto your gun would likely give you more trouble than anything else, but still, you were too scared out of your mind to think clearly. 

Seconds passed like hours as Maynard stared at you with that creepy smile, "Don'tcha want this all over with? Just hand me the gun, buddy. That's all ya gotta do." You looked back between Zed and Maynard like a hunted animal.

"C'mon now, Don't make me take it from you," Maynard warned, sounding a little too excited to enforce his own threat. Swallowing the lump in your throat, with unsteady hands, you complied, turning over your only means of defense to the stranger. Your sniper rifle was more than a gun. It was an extension of yourself, and handing it away felt like a severe betrayal.

Without a second thought, the Texan smiled, accepting your weapon into his own hands, holding the thing carefully in his hands, and seeming to admire the firearm before smashing it into the cement wall beside him. The sound of metal against cement rang out like a gunshot, making you yelp, watching your precious gun get smashed to pieces. 

Maynard took a few more good swings against the wall before dropping the battered rifle to the ground, giving it a steel-toed stomp for good measure, beaming at the sound of metal breaking apart and shattering beneath his foot. 

Maynard looked at Zed with an almost chipper smile, "See, gun's gone now. I told ya that one's harness, didn't I?" Unable to look away, you stared down at your poor gun, not even flinching as Maynard slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest.

Zed appeared unphased by the brutal display, nodding at the sight of the broken weapon, at last moving his hand from his holster, crossing his arms over his chest. "I see. But I wanna know why you brought a hostage all the way up here. I know we got more than enough room in the bunkers-"

Maynard interrupted, squeezing you a little tighter, "Not a hostage. A guest, this one's an old friend of Dell's." Turning his head to face you, uncomfortably close, Maynard asked, "Dell ever mentioned he had brothers to ya before?"

You winced hearing his name. You didn't want to upset your captors more than they were, but you honestly had no idea what was happening, so you shook your head.

Maynard sighed, "Looks like our baby brother didn't spend much time missin' the folks back home. Typical youngest sibling', he thinks just cuz he's the golden child, he can leave the rest of us behind."

You were almost too scared to ask; you just had to know. "Dell is still alive… Isn't he?"

Maynard frowned, "Well, he ain't come our way in a long time. But I know he's out there. He'll be back soon… An' I know you'll be good an' help welcome him home, won'tcha?" While he spoke, his fingers began to drum over your shoulder, playing with the fabric of your shirt between his fingertips. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Zed watching you like a hawk, not moving from his position several paces away, likely still ready to blow your head off at a moment's notice.

Trying your hardest not to let him see how his touch made you shudder, you mumbled, "How long? How much longer till he's back?"

Maynard sighed, shrugging, "Well, tough to say for sure. We've been waitin' on a visit for ages now, but ya never know with him."

Your face fell, and your head dropped forward, not wanting to give Maynard the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Ruffling the top of your head with his gloved hand, he muttered, "Hey now, don't cry, it won't be so bad. We'll keep you nice and safe. I always did like a little company around here."

Maynard looked past you to talk to Zed, "Just give us a few. I'll get 'em settled in and be back to work."

Zed huffed but didn't say anything to stop his brother, allowing him to walk past where he stood to the hallways connecting personal quarters to the den. As he passed the threshold out of the den, Maynard laughed a little to himself, "Yeah, sorry 'bout him. He's always a lil' cranky 'round strangers."

If that was Zed being cranky, you didn't want to know what he looked like when he was really pissed. It wasn't long until Maynard stopped at another doorway at the end of the hall, which creaked harshly when pushed open. 

So this was where he was leading you all along, his bedroom. Somewhere so deep in the heart of the house, you didn't have a prayer of finding your own way out. You let Maynard lead you to his bed. He sat you down on the blanket, drinking in the scared look on your face with great satisfaction. 

"I gotta take care of a few more things, but I want ya to stay here; keep the bed nice and warm for me. I'll be back before ya know it."

You didn't say anything, too disgusted to even look him in the eye, but you could hear him chuckling at your adorable stubbornness, "What's the matter, partner? Got nothing to say?"

Still refusing to look at him, you mumbled. "You were never going to take me home. You lied to me."

Using his human hand, Maynard brushed the side of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, curling his other hand beneath your chin to tilt your head up to look at him.

"I promised to get you outta the workshop. I never promised to take ya home. But hey, it's gonna be ok, darlin', Don'tcha see? You are home now."

Biting your lower lip to keep from sobbing, you could feel your face trembling to keep the tears in, "This can't be real. This has gotta be a dream…"

Maynard leaned down to kiss your head, muttering, "Ya really think this is all some dream, huh? That's cute. Go on and hold onto that hope while ya can. Ya ain't gonna have much hope left after I've had my way with ya."

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

This article by Egyptian journalist Hany Ghoraba will humiliate the craven and gullible Westerners who have misrepresented and fabricated the situation in Lebanon, or thrown their lot in with Hezbollah.

Some important quotes:

1- Proof that Hezbollah did nothing but turn Lebanon into a vassal state of Iran:

Even before the death of Nasrallah, the Shia population showed disdain towards Hezbollah and its leader for hijacking their lives and having being forced to obey its Iranian-affiliated command or face dire consequences or death.

2- Proof that Hezbollah has no justification for attacking Israel from Lebanon:

"We expressed our opinion on this war after it broke out, and we said that it was not beneficial for Gaza and would harm Lebanon and put it in danger. As for saying that the Israeli threats were a clear justification for entering the war, this is an incorrect statement because these threats existed before October 7, 2023, so why didn't Hezbollah declare war because of them?" said Al-Amin.

3- Proof that Hezbollah, just like Hamas in Gaza, is the reason why Lebanese people go hungry during the war that Hezbollah started:

"Our building is destroyed, orders were issued that we can't go back and bring our clothes, okay just give some clothes and furniture. They tell us, that's your problem work it out! We don't have money to eat, they respond that this is a decision from the security and anyone who goes back home will be shot at. They want to take decisions on our homes on our behalf" said one desperate Lebanese citizen from Beirut's southern district–which is Hezbollah's stronghold–in a viral video online on Oct 17.

Note that this is the same behaviour from Hamas terrorists in Gaza. They too have threatened to shoot Palestinians dead if they attempt to evacuate; they too are the major reason why Palestinians face food insecurity and hunger.

4- The most devastating thus far-- proof that Hezbollah is using civilian homes to store munitions:

"They should remove their munition storage from underneath our homes, all day they are going up and down from them (munition storage) till everything was over" added the citizen. "Let them remove their storages from underneath the building which they are keeping inside."

We've been saying this over and over and over and over. And we've been ignored and/or dismissed over and over and over and over. Everyone else was lying; we were telling the truth.

Once again, this is the exact same behaviour from Hamas in Gaza.

5- Proof that Iran's so-called "Axis of Resistance" is nothing more than a tool to use the Lebanese as cannon fodder:

Murad is a disgruntled Shia Muslim analyst who believes that the Lebanese Shia is sent to be slaughtered like sheep in favor of the Iranian regime Mullahs.

"This Iranian expansion is calling for fighting till the last Shia Muslim in Lebanon, who is this Iranian to ask the Lebanese from the Speaker of the House Berri that we would fight for him in the war till the last Shia person. The Iranian is not welcomed to give us orders from above and below so we would fight for him and he is sitting on the negotiation table" said Murad in a short video posted for Lebanese network Al Mashad on his Facebook page on Oct 7th.

6- Proof that Hezbollah terrorists hide among civilians:

General Tabet Tabet, has been exposing Hezbollah secret operations for years. A report from October 17th said "What Hezbollah leaders, media and politicians used to say that if you (Israel) attack us we will attack you and march on Galilee and Jerusalem, but the fact today is that when you (Israel) hits us, we run away. And yesterday, we had Mohamed Raad (a Hezbollah-affliated MP) and Wafiq Safa (Hezbollah's Coordination and Liaison Officer) shamelessly hide among civilians in Beirut."

"You have Hezbollah storing its weapons and munitions inside civilian homes," said the report.

Once again, we have been vindicated. We've said this over and over. The proof is staring everyone in the face in Lebanon, just as it is in Gaza.

Note yet another independent confirmation that Hezbollah stores weapons and munitions in civilian homes.

If this information, collected from Lebanese people and Lebanese organisations, is publicly available, why did UNIFIL, which spent over a decade in Lebanon, fail to alert the world to Hezbollah's operations? How is it that Hezbollah managed to exert a stranglehold on Lebanon, even stealing weapons belonging to the Lebanese government, and UNIFIL never said a word? How is it that Hezbollah was not only able to hide weapons and munitions in civilian homes, but also blackmail Lebanese civilians over when and where they can enter or leave their homes, and UNIFIL was completely silent?

Either UNIFIL is a grotesquely incompetent UN agency that wouldn't be fit to remove a spider from a bathtub-- in which case, UNIFIL should be fired.

Or, UNIFIL is complicit in allowing Hezbollah to rule over Lebanon, and deliberately turned a blind eye to the terrorist group's operations-- in which case, UNIFIL should be fired.

[eretzyisrael]

"How Hamas Is Really Fighting in Gaza: Tunnels, Traps and Ambushes" writes the New York Times, in the first full article in any newspaper that reveals how Hamas is using schools, homes, hospitals and civilians, while its military fight in civilian garb, what is really happening in the Gaza War between Hamas and Israel....

They hide under residential neighborhoods, storing their weapons in miles of tunnels and in houses, mosques, sofas — even a child’s bedroom — blurring the boundary between civilians and combatants.

They emerge from hiding in plainclothes, sometimes wearing sandals or tracksuits before firing on Israeli troops, attaching mines to their vehicles, or firing rockets from launchers in civilian areas.

They rig abandoned homes with explosives and tripwires, sometimes luring Israeli soldiers to enter the booby-trapped buildings by scattering signs of a Hamas presence.

Through eight months of fighting in Gaza, Hamas’s military wing — the Qassam Brigades — has fought as a decentralized and largely hidden force, in contrast to its Oct. 7 attack on Israel, which began with a coordinated large-scale maneuver in which thousands of uniformed commandos surged through border towns and killed roughly 1,200 people.

Instead of confronting the Israeli invasion that followed in frontal battles, most Hamas fighters have retreated from their bases and outposts, seeking to blunt Israel’s technological and numerical advantage by launching surprise attacks on small groups of soldiers.

From below ground, Hamas’s ghost army has appeared only fleetingly, emerging suddenly from a warren of tunnels — often armed with rocket-propelled grenades — to pick off soldiers and then returning swiftly to their subterranean fortress. Sometimes, they have hid among the few civilians who decided to remain in their neighborhoods despite Israeli orders to evacuate, or accompanied civilians as they returned to areas that the Israelis had captured and then abandoned.

Hamas’s decision to keep fighting has proved disastrous for the Palestinians of Gaza. With Hamas refusing to surrender, Israel has forged ahead with a military campaign that has killed nearly 2 percent of Gaza’s prewar population, according to Gazan authorities; displaced roughly 80 percent of its residents, according to the United Nations; and damaged a majority of Gaza’s buildings, according to the U.N.

By contrast, fewer than 350 Israeli soldiers have died in Gaza since the start of the invasion, according to military statistics — far fewer than Israeli officials had predicted in October.

Yet despite the carnage in Gaza, Hamas’s strategy has helped the group fulfill some of its own goals.

The war has tarnished Israel’s reputation in much of the world, prompting charges of genocide at the International Court of Justice, in The Hague. It has exacerbated long-running rifts in Israeli society, prompting disagreements among Israelis about whether and how Israel should defeat Hamas. And it has restored the question of Palestinian statehood to global discourse, leading several countries to recognize Palestine as a state.

Just as important for Hamas, its war doctrine has allowed it to survive.

Hamas’s leader in the territory, Yahya Sinwar, and most of his top military commanders are still alive. Israel says it has killed more than 14,000 of Hamas’s 25,000 fighters — an unverifiable and disputed number that, if true, suggests thousands remain active.

An analysis of battlefield videos released by Hamas and interviews with three Hamas members and scores of Israeli soldiers, most of whom spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly, suggests that Hamas’s strategy relies on:

Using hundreds of miles of tunnels, the scale of which surprised Israeli commanders, to move around Gaza without being seen by Israeli soldiers;

Using civilian homes and infrastructure — including medical facilities, U.N. offices and mosques — to conceal fighters, tunnel entrances, booby-traps and ammunition stores;

Ambushing Israeli soldiers with small groups of fighters dressed as civilians, as well as using civilians, including children, to act as lookouts;

Leaving secret signs outside homes, like a red sheet hanging from a window or graffiti, to signal to fellow fighters the nearby presence of mines, tunnel entrances or weapons caches inside;

Dragging out the war for as long as possible, even at the expense of more civilian death and destruction, in order to bog Israel down in an attritional battle that has amplified international criticism of Israel.

“The aim is to vanish, avoid direct confrontation, while launching tactical attacks against the occupation army. The emphasis is on patience,” said Salah al-Din al-Awawdeh, a Hamas member and former fighter in its military wing who is now an analyst based in Istanbul. Before Oct. 7, the Qassam Brigades operated as “an army with training bases and stockpiles,” Mr. al-Awawdeh said. “But during this war, they are behaving as guerrillas.”

At the start of the war, Hamas and its allies fired a barrage of rockets toward civilian areas of Israel, including roughly 3,000 on Oct. 7 itself, often using launchers hidden in densely populated civilian neighborhoods in Gaza. The Israeli Army captured and destroyed scores of launchers, including some it said it found near a mosque and a kindergarten, bringing the rocket fire to a near halt.

After Israeli ground troops invaded in late October, Hamas went further in transforming civilian areas of Gaza into military zones, setting traps in scores of neighborhoods and creating confusion about what a combatant looks like by dressing its fighters as civilians.

Israeli officials say that Hamas’s tactics explain why Israel has been forced to strike so much civilian infrastructure, kill so many Palestinians and detain so many civilians.

Mousa Abu Marzouk, a senior Hamas official based in Qatar, dismissed criticism of Hamas’s use of civilian attire and storage of weapons inside civilian homes, saying that it deflected attention away from Israeli wrongdoing.

“If there’s someone who takes a weapon from under a bed, is that a justification for killing 100,000 people?” Mr. Abu Marzouk said. “If someone takes a weapon from under a bed, is that a justification to kill an entire school and destroy a hospital?”

Other Hamas members acknowledge and defend the movement’s use of civilian clothes and civilian homes, saying the group had no alternative.

“Every insurgency in every war, from Vietnam to Afghanistan, saw people fighting from their homes,” said Mr. al-Awawdeh. “If I live in Zeitoun, for example, and the army comes — I will fight them there, from my home, or my neighbor’s, or from the mosque. I will fight them anywhere I am.”

Hamas militants wear civilian clothes in a legitimate attempt to avoid detection, Mr. al-Awawdeh said. “That’s natural for a resistance movement,” he added, “and there’s nothing unusual about it.”

How Hamas Reacted to the Invasion

Hamas’s response to Israel’s ground invasion on Oct. 27 became a model for its strategy since.

When Israeli tanks and infantry battalions surged into Gaza that Friday, they were met with little to no resistance for the first couple of miles, according to four soldiers who were among the first to cross the border.

Lior Soharin, an Israeli reserve sergeant major, helped overrun a Hamas outpost a few dozen yards from the border. There was no one inside, he recalled.

“We learned in retrospect that they were there — just underneath the ground,” Mr. Soharin said.

Having retreated into their labyrinth of tunnels, Hamas fighters had ceded thousands of acres of farmland to Israeli forces.

That was partly because the Israeli forces advanced along routes that Hamas had not lined with explosives and traps, according to a Hamas junior officer from northern Gaza who left the territory before Oct. 7 and remains in close touch with his subordinates. But it was also because the Qassam Brigades’ strategy was to ambush Israeli soldiers once they had advanced deep into the territory, instead of counterattacking immediately, according to the fighter.

Dozens of Hamas propaganda videos, posted by the group on its social media channels, show small groups of Gazan fighters — often clad in jeans, sweatpants, sandals and sneakers — emerging from tunnels to take potshots at nearby Israeli tanks and personnel carriers; rushing on foot toward tanks and attaching mines near the turrets; firing rocket-propelled grenades from residential buildings; and shooting at soldiers with sniper rifles.

Hamas had been preparing for this moment since at least 2021, when the group began scaling up production of explosives and anti-tank missiles, in preparation for a ground war, and stopped making so many long-range rockets, the Hamas officer said.

It also expanded a vast network of tunnels, creating entry points in houses across Gaza that would allow fighters to enter and exit without being seen from the air but made targets of civilian neighborhoods. The network was fitted with a landline telephone network that is difficult for Israel to monitor and that allows fighters to communicate even during outages to Gaza’s mobile phone networks, which are controlled by Israel, according to the Hamas officer, Mr. al-Awawdeh and Israeli officials.

By the start of the war, Hamas had enough explosives in its underground arsenals for an extended campaign — as well as enough canned vegetables, dates and drinking water to last for at least 10 months, the officer said.

The tunnel network grew so extensive that it ran underneath a major U.N. compound and the largest hospital in Gaza, as well as major roads, countless homes and government buildings. Nine months later, senior Israeli officials say that they have destroyed only a small fraction of the network, and that its existence has stymied Israel’s ability to destroy Hamas.

Hamas’s commandos had also been trained to remain alert and focused during shortages of food and water, the officer said. Before the war, fighters were sometimes ordered to spend days eating only a handful of dates and to sit for several hours without moving, even as instructors splashed water on their faces to distract them, the officer said.

As vast swaths of Gaza began to empty out in October, Hamas fighters began booby-trapping hundreds of houses that they expected the Israeli troops would seek to enter, the officer said. The mines were linked to tripwires, movement sensors and sound detectors that detonate the explosives once triggered, the officer said.

The terrain prepared, the fighters then descended into the tunnels — and waited for the Israelis to arrive.

How Hamas Sets a Trap

In the best-planned ambushes, Hamas squads have lulled Israeli forces into a false sense of security by allowing them to move freely for hours or even days in areas marked for attack.

Hamas fighters and Israeli soldiers say that Hamas tracks the Israelis’ locations using hidden cameras, drones and intelligence provided by civilian lookouts. Five Israeli soldiers said those lookouts include children, who stand on roofs and relay information to commanders below.

Hamas’s ambush squads typically stay hidden until an Israeli convoy has moved through an area for several minutes, or Israeli forces have grouped in a particular place for hours, creating the impression that Hamas has left the area, six Israeli soldiers and the Hamas officer said. After a period of calm, a squad emerges from a tunnel, often as a group of four.

Two fighters are tasked with fixing explosives to the sides of a vehicle or firing anti-tank missiles at it, according to the Hamas officer. A third carries a camera to film propaganda footage. A fourth typically stays at the tunnel entrance, preparing a booby-trap that can be activated as soon as the others return, to kill any Israelis who try to follow them underground.

A well-planned ambush aims to take out not only the initial Israeli force, but also the backup fighters and medics who come to rescue the injured, according to soldiers who experienced such ambushes and the Hamas officer.

One Israeli special forces member recalled how a group of Hamas fighters appeared to have positioned itself specifically so that Israeli backup forces would have to fire across stricken comrades in order to hit the ambushers.

Another described Hamas fighters waiting after members of an Israeli unit had been wounded by an exploding mine and then emerging to fire on the rescuing force. In a June 11 attack in Rafah, both Hamas and the Israeli military said that Qassam fighters fired mortars at an Israeli relief force that came to rescue soldiers who had been attacked earlier in the day.

Hamas showed off most of these approaches in an extensive eight-minute video released on its social media channels in early April.

The video appears to show fighters carrying out a multistage ambush that is said to take place in Khan Younis, in southern Gaza.

The video seems to show Hamas fighters, their faces blurred, sitting on patterned mats as they plan the attack. They use pen, paper and a digital tablet to draw simplistic maps detailing where they want to plant a set of roadside mines.

“We ask, O Lord, for the ambush to achieve its goals — let us kill your enemies, the Jews,” the narrator says.

Next, Hamas men — wearing civilian clothes — are seen laying those explosives in the rubble of a ruined neighborhood. Then, the video cuts to what appears to be the planned ambush: Filmed by hidden cameras, a group of Israeli soldiers pick their way through the rubble before being hit by gunfire. That attack seems to lure an Israeli relief squad to the scene, and the arrival of those rescuers appears to trigger the mines.

“This is a miniature sample of what their defeated army is suffering in the mire of Gaza,” the narrator concludes.

How Hamas Uses Homes

In addition to setting traps in houses, Hamas has also used residential buildings to conceal scores of small arms caches across the territory, according to more than a dozen Israeli soldiers who have found such stockpiles.

The soldiers said it became normal to find munitions hidden inside civilian homes and mosques, which is one of the reasons, they said, the army had destroyed so many such buildings.

Some soldiers said their units needlessly destroyed civilian property, or filmed themselves vandalizing it, creating the impression that the Israeli military often had little reason to be searching civilian homes. But others said there was usually a clear military purpose to picking through civilian belongings: One recalled finding guns behind a false wall in a child’s bedroom, while another said his unit found grenades in a woman’s clothes closet. International law requires combatants to avoid using “civilian objects,” which include homes, schools, hospitals and mosques, for military objectives.

Sometimes, Hamas fighters emerged from tunnels without weapons, passing as civilians until they reached a house where other fighters had hidden weapons and ammunition inside the lining of furniture, Israeli soldiers said.

To help its gunmen find these weapons caches, several Israeli soldiers said, Hamas has developed an elaborate system for marking houses that double as military storerooms, or contain tunnels or booby traps. Some buildings were marked with a particular symbol, some had red fabric hanging from windows, and others had plastic barrels or plastic bags outside — all of which told Hamas fighters something about what was concealed inside.

Some Israeli units were eventually supplied with printed guides to help them identify the meaning of each symbol or object, one soldier said.

When in doubt, soldiers entered houses by blowing a hole in their walls, in case the front doors were rigged with mines, according to a senior military officer, Maj. Gen. Itai Veruv, who escorted a reporter from The New York Times in central Gaza in January.

To draw Israelis toward a trap, Hamas gunmen sometimes scattered a building with visible signs of their presence, such as a Hamas flag. At other times, two Israeli soldiers said, Israeli troops were lured inside by a piece of Israeli clothing or identification card, which hinted that hostages might be held within.

One soldier said Hamas used chained dogs to entice soldiers toward a booby-trapped building, hoping that the soldiers would try to free the dogs.

Another soldier recalled spotting a dead Hamas fighter inside an apartment block and making his way toward the body. As he drew closer, he realized the corpse had been rigged with an explosive, he said. When his squad fired at the body, it blew up and set the building ablaze, he said.

Some soldiers said they found weapons in houses that they had searched earlier in the war. It suggested that at least some of the arms had been placed in houses after the start of Israel’s invasion.

Even in areas where Israel claims to have defeated Hamas, Israeli forces have often had to return, weeks or even months later, to continue the battle against fighters who had survived earlier phases of the war.

For Hamas, “it was always about avoiding losses for as long as possible so they can fight another day,” said Andreas Krieg, an expert on military strategy at King’s College London. “They’re nowhere near being defeated.”

[azsazz]

Alone (Part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You’ve been sent on a mission with Azriel and Cassian in the Winter Court. It should be quick and easy but it’s anything but as the Winter armies are out to get the three of you. Cassian is injured and Azriel orders you to go with him, forcing the two of you to maneuver through the soldier infested town to meet at the safe house.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence. Death, gore, blood, injuries, etc. Hypothermia. Mentions of bile.

Word Count: 5,484

[Part One]

________________________________________

ALONE

VILLAGE OF FROSTBEAK, WINTER COURT 

LATE DECEMBER

_____

You and Cassian have been trekking through the snow covered forest for Mother knows how long, switching between jogging and walking when he starts hissing as his leathers rub against his wound or when your breathing starts laboring.

The snow is nearly up to your knees, making it difficult to move fast. It’s melted into your trousers and you haven’t felt your feet for miles. Your jaw is well past aching, you’re pretty sure it’s welded shut from the cold.

You don’t even know if you’re headed in the right direction.

It’s been quiet otherwise. Cassian mutters answers to your questions about Azriel with grunts or groans through his own clenched jaw, shooting you a sharp glare as you keep checking on him over your shoulder.

“‘M fine,” he tries to reassure you, and you might believe him if not for the red soaking through his coat.

He hasn’t allowed you to pause even for a moment to help with his injury. Stubborn Illyrian. The enemy could be anywhere and there isn’t any time, the two of you need to get as far away as possible as fast as you can.

Finding Azriel along the way isn’t too bad of an idea either.

Your chest stings when you think of him. Your friend, who you’ve been secretly having relations with, telling you so easily to leave him in the midst of battle. He’s that stubborn? Thinking that he’s better off on his own, does he?

There’s a scream ahead, coming up on a village, and your heart clenches as you and Cassian hide against the side of a dirty building to catch your breath. You’d made it to the town without much trouble, but the Winter soldiers had beaten you here, littering the streets on their feral beasts, waiting for you and Cassian to come out and play. You can hear the calls of them as they work, orders to scout every building, forcing themselves into homes and stores, disarming anything and everything that gets in their way.

You try to catch a glimpse of Cassian’s wounded shoulder while his eyes are squeezed shut, head resting against the dirty brick of the building behind you. You’re on the wrong side of him, the arrowhead had struck his left shoulder. If you lean out too far you’d be spotted by an enemy soldier.

The snow’s still falling in sheets, the blood from his injury spreads across the fabric covering his chest and arm. Your mask is drenched, clinging to your skin and every breath feels hard, feels like you’re being waterboarded, but you’d rather have the cover than not. You’re not sure how much blood he may have lost by now, but the way he wobbles on his feet even with the support of the wall behind him, he needs care immediately.

The arrowhead being dipped in faebane is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because his wound isn’t stitching itself closed around the bolt embedded in him, a curse for exactly the same reason. Draining his powers, his siphons flickering dimly, trying to draw from the cache of magic that’s not there.

Opening your mouth to speak, your breath catches in your throat as Cassian raises a finger to his blueing lips, silently telling you to keep quiet. The sound of a blade hitting flesh echoes through the streets and the cries of a nearby civilian cease completely.

You share a look with Cassian but he’s just as confused as you are. Why are their own soldiers killing innocents in the streets? Why are their weapons coated in faebane? What is going on in the Winter Court?

It is so much worse than you all had predicted.

“We have to get to the safehouse. Do you know where it is?” you ask quietly, silently counting the amount of arrows you have left in your quiver.

Four.

Dread coils in your stomach when you receive no response, a tinge of desperation fills your following words, “Please tell me that Azriel told you where the rendezvous point is.”

“He did,” Cassian grunts, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. He’d thought it bearable, but with the cold, the injury, and not being able to heal, he’s feeling worse for wear. The streets are spinning when he opens his eyes so he focuses on something closer to him, you. But there are two of you. “It’s somewhere outside this village. A couple miles out. But we have to go through it, our chances are better where we can hear and see them. Won’t be able to in the forest.”

Cassian’s head lolls towards you. You watch him swallow harshly against the nausea and the agony of his injury, nodding to you once when he’s gathered his bearings, signaling that he’s ready to move.

He pushes from the wall, stumbling slightly before he catches himself against the bricks, shoving your help off lightly. His sword feels twice as heavy in his hand and his steps falter as he moves from the cover of the building out into the street. His head is spinning, doesn’t know which way is up or down, left or right. You curse as he collapses in the middle of the snowy drive.

“Fucking hell, Cassian,” you groan, shoving your arms below his armpits to heave him up to his feet, or at the very least drag him back to cover. He’s fallen into a pool of melted snow and what you pray is not blood. You swallow back the acid in your throat as you spot two bodies propped up against the wall nearby. The persistent snowfall has washed their blood into the open road and you can’t tell which is from the male in your arms or if it was already there.

He’s heavy and you curse Azriel again for sending the two of you off, knowing that Cassian is injured. He’d have no problem lifting him, could probably toss him over his shoulder and get the three of you to safety with ease.

Cassian’s eyes flutter open and you help him get his wits when he slurs out a confused, “What?”

You ignore the burn in your chest when he asks where Az is, seemingly forgetting that the shadowsinger is slinking somewhere in the Winter Court without the two of you. You hope Cassian will be okay enough to point out the safe house when he sees it.

You release a shaky breath as you release Cassian, ready to catch him should his legs give out. He’s looking a bit like a newborn deer but he’s standing upright and that’s a start.

“Here’s your sword,” you try and press it into his hands but his grip falters and you bite your lip harshly, terrified for your friend. You help him put it back in the scabbard at his back before pulling out his smaller knives, easier for him to carry. You count the knives you have left on yourself, the one in your boot and one on your hip. It will have to do.

You clutch your bow tightly.

“Thanks,” Cassian confirms with a nod. You watch closely as he takes a few deep breaths, blinking hard to straighten the spinning streets.

“Thought we lost you,” you say because bantering with him is the only thing that can ease you now.

He releases a gruff laugh, about to respond with something equally as witty when you both hear the approaching footsteps crunching through the snow. You share a look, immediately moving down the street on high alert. The soldiers could be anywhere, you know, keeping a sharp eye on the streets while praying that the warlord next to you doesn’t collapse again.

“They wish,” he answers eventually, voice shaky as he lets you take the lead in directions. You stalk down the street as quickly as you think he can go, eyes flicking up and down and around the corners of buildings with trained precision, weapons always at the ready.

You halt in your tracks at the sound of one of the commanders' voices creeping down your spine. Cassian nearly runs into you, a drop of sweat rolling down into the crease between his eyebrows as you listen intently, spouting orders to his soldiers.

You peek around the corner of the building, catching sight of a group of soldiers just down the street. You’ll have to go a different way. You nudge Cassian to get moving again.

“There’s a paddock,” Cassian suddenly remembers. You rack your brain for the building he’s speaking of, “Where they keep the bears. That’s where the rendezvous is near. Once we hit that we head straight on and should hit the safe house.”

You scramble backwards as a warrior on a bear clambers up the street. Following Cassian, you quickly retreat, turning down the next nearest alley.

“We’ll have to improvise to survive,” you grit, thinking of what Azriel would do if he were here, where he should be. A part of you thinks he’d enjoy all of this, being hunted down by compromised Winter warriors, and in the snow no less. A spymaster's dream. You just wished that he liked you as much as he likes his job, you think bitterly.

No, you’re not letting it go just yet.

“Line him up next to the others,” you hear a deep voice call above the biting winds.

“They’re on a killing spree,” you mutter in disbelief, ducking around another building. You catch sight of a group of soldiers clad in white, threatening someone over something that’s stifled by the roar of a bear.

The singing of a sword across flesh that follows is clear as day.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Cassian whispers and you nod as he motions you to follow. You have to bite your tongue to refrain from screaming out to him how stupid he’s being right now as he creeps behind an abandoned carriage in the middle of the cobblestone road, soldiers looming about as he works his way towards the open doors of the building across the street.

Apparently Cassian knows the way to the enclosure.

You curse him in your head, scanning the area to make sure that none of the soldiers are paying any attention as you follow as silently as possible.

Your clothes are sticking to your skin, heavy and sodden with melted snow. You’re freezing down to the bone and then some, fingers still in your gloves where they’re glued to your weapon, arms nearly shaking from the chill.

You wonder how Cassian is holding up with the wound in his shoulder.

You refrain from asking, trailing him into the building.

“Nothing,” Cassian grunts as he grabs the handle of the door to head inside. It doesn’t budge. You share a glance before breaking off, immediately searching for another way out. “Door’s locked.”

He tails you back through the front of the small house, scanning over the abandoned room with precision. Pots upon pots of plants line the walls, some sporting cherry red flowers that you might’ve once thought would look nice in a bouquet should you ever marry someday, others were filled with herbs and you even think you catch sight of what could possibly be mirthroot.

You find another door as you round the building, arrow taut against the string of your bow, ready for use.

“Look for supplies, things we can make tools with, should we need them,” Cassian speaks softly, eyeing your thinning quiver. You can’t help the soft snort that escapes your throat at his words.

Comforting.

“Cauldron,” Cassian breathes as you push through the door. The sight you’re met with makes you grimace and avert your eyes but the image is already painted in your memory. The walls are splattered with an array of blood, the blue-skinned fae male tied up on the floor is unmoving.

You swallow back the bile creeping up your throat as you scan the room, making sure all is clear as Cassian steals the bindings from the body.

The two of you don’t find much and you cringe as Cassian uses his knife to pry open the next locked door. It’s interesting, the Illyrian males you know have extensive knowledge of the irregular and it comes in handy during situations like these. But this isn’t a teaching moment, it’s survival.

Cassian pries the door frame off of the wall, passing it to you so you can place it down on the ground without noise. He shoves the tip of the blade between the door and the lock and it gives way against his heavy weight easily, swinging open on creaky hinges.

Through the threshold is a hallway. It’s bathed in dim faelights, causing the entirety of the peeling painted walls to look eerie. A shiver slides down your spine as you follow Cassian, avoiding making eye contact with any of the personal items strewn about.

“Think Az has made it to the rendezvous?” Cassian asks, and you let it wash away the intruding thoughts creeping to the forefront of your mind as you accompany your friend deeper into the house.

“Probably,” you respond sourly. The shadowsinger was either looking for intel, trying to figure out what exactly is happening in this court or he’s waiting at the safe house.

Who are you kidding, there’s no way he’s waiting around for the two of you to arrive. Not when there’s so much more to be found out. If you’re lucky, you’ll run into him on the way through the Winter army infested town, then the three of you can head to the safe house where you can really lay into him for leaving the two of you.

Right. Stay focused, stay on task, and you’ll make it back to Azriel.

It’s hard to ignore the occasional screams of townspeople, the laughter from the soldiers that follows. Menacing shouts and threats coming from the mouths of those who are searching to kill, the sting of blades ripping through the stormy streets.

You thought you’d get used to it, being in battle and around the havoc that comes with it, but even after centuries of doing this you know that you never will. Never want to.

The pair of you creep through the house as quietly as possible. Your snow soaked boots squelch against the floors, causing you to cringe. When you push through another doorway that leads into the kitchen, the voices become louder.

The back door has been busted in, the dim light from the moonlight shines through the gaping hole. You need to get out of the village before the sun rises or it will be even harder to go unnoticed. You pull Cassian into a crouch behind the table, shuffling your way to the edge to try and catch sight of what’s happening in the streets right outside of the home.

There’s a commander and a group of soldiers. They’re godsdamned everywhere. They stand ever so leisurely, hands off of their blades, thinking they’re alone. You watch as one of the warriors fingers at the hair of the male next to him, grimacing as he runs the pale white tendrils through his digits.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you like this,” he admits as the other soldier bats his hand away with a glare.

“Pay attention,” the second warrior growls and they both turn back to the scene before them.

There’s a female in the middle of the street, threatening the soldiers that the High Lord will kill them for this because she knows she’s going to die either way. You share a confused glance with Cassian at her words, but are drawn back to the scene as the commander replies in a taunting manner, right before he kicks her to the ground in amusement. The guard holding her immediately hauls her back to her knees.

He orders the soldier to take her to where the other hostages are being held and you tuck that information away for later use.

Neither you nor Cassian seem to understand their conversation and he points towards the staircase, a sign that tells you to start moving.

You hear another voice call out as you ascend the stairs.

“Alright, once the town is secure, we send word back to the troops up in the mountains and we make a move on the bigger cities. If they’re hiding the High Lord I want him killed on sight. And keep your head on the swivel for those Night Court swill. Take ‘em dead or alive…you know my preference.”

You swallow harshly as his words register. They hadn’t gotten to Kallias yet? What does that mean? If he’s not the one ordering the Winter troops to attack then who is?

“The fuck is going on here?” Cassian mutters as you reach the landing. If he’s referring to the conversation overheard outside or the body slumped against the wall you don’t know.

There’s an arrow jutting out of the fae’s chest and you grimance but tug the shaft out anyway. You need as many arrows as you can get. Each one counts.

“Good,” Cassian praises, shuffling further into the landing. You block out the rest of his sentence as you wipe the blood from the weapon onto your pants, grasping onto that one word, wishing it were Azriel kissing that comment into your skin instead of prowling somewhere throughout the Winter Court. Alone.

Hopefully soon enough.

“How’re you feeling?” Cassian asks but it should be you questioning. It snaps you from your thoughts about Azriel, focusing on searching the home for anything that can be used as a weapon.

“They’re killing nearly everything in their path,” you answer, stuffing the arrow into your quiver. You miss the first time due to your numb fingers but sit it in its home on the second try. “Why?”

“War crimes?” Cassian guesses. Then, “Makes me want to commit a few war crimes of my own.”

He tosses you a wry grin that looks more like a grimace. His shirt is stained red with blood and you hope that he’ll make it to the rendezvous before collapsing again, knowing that he’ll refuse your help should you offer once more.

“Tyranny. It won’t stand.”

“Something’s just not adding up,” you continue, “Why would they be capturing and killing their own people? Who’s giving them the green light if not for Kallias?”

You shudder at the thought of something happening to the High Lord. He and his wife are close with Rhysand and Feyre, good friends of yours as well, but for this to be going on in his court…something serious must have happened that the rest of Prythian haven’t been made aware of just yet.

“That’s what I’m hoping Az finds out,” Cassian responds, pushing into the next room. A loud crash nearly gives you a heart attack. You jump, flinching away from the noise, arrow raised, but you end up stumbling into Cassian’s injured arm.

“Motherfucking Cauldron,” he hisses and you apologize profusely, the faelight beaming to life in the corner of the room.

There’s a white fox in a cage, snarling and growling as it stares the both of you down.

Movement from downstairs draws your attention. You hear a soldier speak, “What’s going on up there?”

And another. “I’m going to go check it out.”

You share a look with Cassian, heart hammering loudly in your chest as you find somewhere to hide, ducking down behind the bed, weapons clasped firmly in your hands. He covers the faelight on the way, plunging the both of you in total darkness.

Through the darkness you hear, “It’s just the fox from the bedroom.”

You hold your breath as the other responds, “I don’t see anything. I’ll stick around just in case.”

Just your luck.

You can feel Cassian shifting from beside you and you follow, fingers brushing against his pant leg as he crawls towards the open door.

Glancing over your shoulder you see a faelight sweeping through the room you were just in and your heart pounds even harder in your chest, verging on pain, at the sight of how close the soldier is to finding the both of you.

You pray to the Mother he can’t hear the beating drum of your heart.

You make it without being followed before Cassian breaks the tense silence. 

“Did you see the caged fox?”

“Looked half rabid,” you comment, stifling a shudder as you think about the animal's wild eyes.  Cassian chuckles and you smile but the amusement turns to ash in your mouth as he continues.

“Probably some poor soul’s pet.”

You push that thought from your mind, wondering where its owner is or how long it’s been since the animal has been fed.

“What has two legs and bleeds?” he asks, and you’re wondering if it’s the blood loss that has him ricocheting back and forth from silly to serious.

“Don’t tell me,” you answer, leading the both of you out onto a small balcony.

Peering over the edge, you make sure that the street is clear before assessing the fall. It’s not a terribly high jump to the street below, but you both know that this is the only way to get out of the house undetected.

“Me,” Cassian answers as you swing a leg over the railing. It does nothing to help you prepare for the fall.

“I asked you not to tell me,” you grunt, watching as he shimmies down as far as he can before letting go and falling to the slippery street below.

You wince at his landing, large body sliding on the ice. His wings flare for balance but it does nothing to help and he falls on his back with a painful sounding thud.

You follow once he’s shuffled out of the way, covering the street. You can hear him struggling to take air into his lungs.

The rails are slick from the snow and the ground comes quicker than expected. You land hard on your feet, bones reverberating in your body. Your jaw clacks loudly and you hiss as you bite through your cheek.

Cassian sounds like the fox upstairs, wheezing in breaths that come out as hisses as he’d fallen on his injury. You work your way up the street, swallowing the pooling blood in your mouth so you don’t leave a trail. You grumble to yourself as he leads you to another set of stairs and it’s all you can do to hope they’re not icy.

You’re starting to think he doesn’t know the way to the bear infested death trap afterall. 

“Where are we?” You follow up on your thoughts, just to make sure. If Cassian doesn’t know where the hell to go you both may as well take your chances in the forest.

“Paddock is on the north side of the city,” he explains, moving stealthily up the steps.

“Is the safe house really that way or are you trying to steal a bear?” You ask because that is something your friend would do.

He smirks back at you, “As much as I would love to ride a bear into battle, this time I’m not joking.”

How reassuring.

There’s Winter Court soldiers yelling in the street again and it’s growing louder with every step you take. You’re getting closer, and you slow to a crawling pace, listening intently.

There’s more than the two of you can handle, shouting at another civilian. It isn’t hard to figure out who they’re ordering to cut down.

“They’re rounding up fae in higher positions,” Cassian murmurs, trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“But who’s ordering the soldiers?” you ask just as softly. Cassian doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know either.

You follow Cassian through the streets once they’ve cleared. It’s a hunting ground for the wariors. For now, it seems like you and Cassian are an embodiment of Azriel’s shadows, keeping silent and to the darkened corners of the buildings, headed in the direction of the large barn at the edge of town.

“A bottle,” Cassian whispers, snagging it off of a table as you roam through another house. He nods towards a lone soldier as he passes the glass over, smoking something.

“Good for a distraction,” you confirm, smirking.

He’s clad in a thick coat, fluffier than other warriors, which makes you think that he’s not a soldier but a commander of some sort. You throw the bottle as far as you can and it shatters in the distance, drawing the soldier’s attention further away from where you and Cassian are crouched behind a bench.

To your luck the commander follows, drawing his sword from his scabbard and abandoning his rolled cigarette, leaving the two of you to sneak into a nearby store.

There’s a few more items that can be used as makeshift weapons should you need; another bottle and a jagged piece of metal you can use to set a snare trap.

Cassian is more skilled, quickly setting the trigger just inside of the door while you keep watch, arrow notched and poised.

It’s effective. You hear the scream of a warrior as they step into your trap right as you’ve left the building. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest because had you taken only a second longer you’d have run right into them.

“Enemies here,” the male shouts up the street to the rest of his troop.

You and Cassian pick up pace.

And come across another fucking balcony.

Godsdamnit Cass, you curse, sliding over the railing first this time. The streets are flooded with water, but there’s no other way to go, a platoon of soldiers is making their way up the snowy streets and fast.

The water breaks your fall but steals your breath. Your jaw is wired shut from the cold and your body locks up as you’re pulled beneath the icy waters. 

Your senses kick in, trying to stand up but the ground beneath is slick. All while trying to right your grip on your weapons, you can hardly tell which way is up or down. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to shoot, you can’t feel your fingers let alone anything else. You don’t even know if you have any arrows left after plunging into the freezing water.

Cassian lands more gracefully than you, his wings flaring out to keep him steady as he splashes into the river behind you. The water only reaches his knees, the lucky bastard, but you’re completely drenched and with the icy temperatures and harsh winds you know you’ve fucked yourself.

You have minutes maybe, before hypothermia begins to set in.

“It’s blizzarding like crazy,” Cassian comments, snow stinging his eyes. He hauls you up by the strap of your quiver, setting you back on your feet with a concerned look. He grunts as it pulls at his shoulder, still steadily leaking with the arrowhead notched inside.

You’re coughing loudly, gasping for air, probably drawing the attention of Winter Court soldiers but you don’t care, you can’t even breathe, your mask soaked through with water.

Cassian’s quick to peel the fabric from your face, patting your back sincerely while ushering you blindly through the arctic river. You stifle your coughing as quickly as you can, trusting your friend to lead you in the correct direction while watching for warriors.

“N-no shit-t-t,” you stutter through clenched teeth. Your drenched hair sticks to your skin like a leech and now that you’ve lost your mask the harsh wind stings your rapidly numbing face. It’s hard to see.

“River’s good, it will cover our tracks.”

You lose grip on your arrow watching as it slips into the murky water below. You’re about to dive after it but Cassian stops you, shaking his head. “You’re out of arrows, not worth the one.”

You sigh, shoving the bow across your chest, searching beneath the cold water for the knives you have left. You can’t feel anything but the prickling pain of your frozen fingers as you force your hands around the hilts, pulling them free.

“Covers their tracks too,” you respond, sniffling. You’re positive your lips are already blueing. Surely you’re going to get sick if you survive the trek to the safe house. “Don’t know if I’ll make it.”

“You’ll make it,” Cassian states and his tone leaves no room to argue. “I can see the barn from here.”

You clamp your mouth shut as best you can, wading slowly behind him. Each step sends icy shockwaves of pain up your prickling legs, and each inch closer has you losing more and more feeling over your body.

A shadow moves in the corner of your eye and before you can call out to Cassian there’s already an arrow headed your way.

You duck, splashing loudly as you dodge the soaring arrow to the best of your abilities. It cracks off of the stone walls loudly, splintering into shards, releasing a coiling dust when it shatters. 

Faebane.

“Shit,” Cassian exhales, turning to you as you hear a splash. The Winter Court soldier has jumped into the freezing depths behind you and for a fleeting moment, as you share a look with your friend, you wonder if the Winter Court fae can withstand the icy waters like it’s a dip in the Summer Court’s refreshing ocean.

You don’t want to stick around and find out.

“Go on,” Cassian urges, giving you a gentle shove when you begin to protest, “I’ll take him down and catch up.”

He’s gone before you can muster a sentence through the haze of your frozen mind and the way your tongue fumbles around the words you’re trying to form, submerging himself in the murky water as he swims away from you and towards the enemy. The cold has settled deep into your bones, and now you’re feeling warmer somehow.

You’re royally fucked.

The soldier doesn’t even see Cassian coming. He emerges from the water behind the warrior who’s wading right after you, looming behind him like a tree. Azriel would be impressed with his silence.

There’s a grunt that echoes through the cavern and a splash of a body being thrown away. Cassian’s voice comes ringing down to you.

“(Y/N), let’s go.”

He catches up easily. The water weighs heavy on your gear and the current makes it difficult to keep your footing but somehow you manage.

Someone must’ve heard Cassian tousling with the other soldier because you hear a voice pointing you out, yelling to his comrades about the two intruders in the water. You both duck under the icy water as a shot is fired, swimming as fast as you can towards the warrior.

Your eyes sting as the freezing water flushes over them but you force yourself to keep moving, following the silhouettes in front of the moonlight leading you directly to the enemy.

Using the knife still clutched in your hand you creep up on the soldier, sticking it into her leg. The female yelps and you knock her off balance, she goes splashing into the water with you. One more quick jab to the female’s throat and she goes limp in your grasp.

When you come up for air you see Cassian release the body of an enemy he’s drowned himself.

“Let’s k-k-keep moving,” you tell him, taking the lead.

It’s a miracle when you spot the staircase, wading through the water faster with Cassian hot on your heels. Your jaw is aching, feels like it might shatter from how much your teeth are clattering together in the freezing temperatures. You wouldn’t be surprised if you have no teeth left after this.

Your mind is swirling somewhere in between crazy and rational. You’re thinking about the shadowsinger who abandoned you so easily again, swear you can even see him through your haze, the tendrils of night spilling from his shoulders, his cobalt blue siphons gleaming against the moon–

“Fuck,” Cassian hisses, catching you as you careen backwards, losing sense of your footing as your brain freezes over for a moment. He’s weak and he nearly topples over catching your weight. He curses because you’re in danger now, frozen and small in his arms, your skin a sickly pallor, and the weight of you had pulled at the injury in his shoulder again. “C’mon, (Y/N), stay with us now.”

Your vision is swimming as you’re passed over, a strong body tucking you to their chest. You whimper, try to raise your weapon to defend yourself from whoever is manhandling you and maneuver smoothly up the stairs, but your hands are empty, or maybe they’re just completely numb because you can’t feel your knives. Maybe you’ve dropped them.

“Shh, (Y/N). I’ve got you sweetheart.”

You’d know that voice anywhere. 

Azriel.

It’s about fucking time.

[sugolara]

𝙁𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡

ft. Shota Aizawa x daughter! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, Shota Aizawa and his eldest daughter must survive from the flesh eating monsters in hopes that Eri is still alive. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, cross-posted on ao3, wattpad, qoutev

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Their vehicle was parked right in front of the car. In case of any emergencies like the dead popping by or a bandit they could easily get in and drive off. They just prayed that nothing would happen and things would go smoothly. Despite coming here for the items they also came by for hopes of guns.

“Here's the car.” Shota said as he traveled to the drivers door and opened it. Seeing the key was still there felt relieving and upon looking at the back seat and seeing the same crates was also reliving.

He grabbed the key and headed to the trunk to open it. As he did so, Toshinori began to unload the boxes to the trunk of their vehicle with Hizashi helping as well. Nemuri stood next to Shota, glancing at the buildings around, “So where exactly do we go to find guns. I’m not familiar with this city.”

“We should just drive around until we find one.” Hizashi thought, but he let out a groan, “Or maybe not considering how low we are with gas. What if all the weapons are gone? It hasn’t even been a month, I'm sure there are plenty of weapons.”

“But who's to say people decided to not grab guns.” Nemuri added, leaning onto the vehicle, “The outbreak might had caught us off guard but that doesn't mean we shouldn’t find ways to protect ourselves.”

Tohsinori agreed with her. Had he not helped his students escape and helped civilians he would have headed to the nearest ammunition store, “So walking it is.”

Shota nodded, “We should hide the truck first. That way we don't go home empty handed.”

They all agreed and began to head to an alley where vines, bushes and an overgrown tree began to grow. Thankfully the truck wasn’t that bulky to where it would look odd and most definitely noticeable. The smaller truck snuggly fit inside the alley and with the help of broken store sign they placed it in front as an extra precaution.

“I’m surprised we haven’t ran into a dead.” Nemuri said, scanning her surroundings as they walked down the street.

“They must’ve left with the horde.” Toshinori added, “It's very quiet too. You can even hear the birds singing.”

“Yeah.” Hizashi suspiciously looked around, expecting something to jump out, “Too quiet.”

Shota agreed with them. Considering how populated the dead were it would be suspicious if one wasn’t around, but they were lucky to not see one. All they had in hand was a rifle and their knives.

“Hey, check it out.” Hizashi quickened his pace and stood in front of a sign. The sign was big and showed the stores surrounding them. A subway was a few blocks away from them, but no one dared to enter through there for now. Who knows what might be there and the last thing they needed was to get trapped.

“A map.” Toshinori muttered as he tried to find where they currently stood, “This must be an outside mall.”

Nemuri, who stood next to Shota, pointed at the sign. Next to them was another street and just in that street was an ammunition store, “We’re closer than we thought. Who knew a mall held a store like that?”

“Good.” Shota quickly replied as he eyed the area. A magazine just across the street had its sheets flying as the wind blew by, “If the stores closed they would use gates so no one would steal.”

“That's the issue.” Toshinori placed his hand on his chin, thinking of a solution, “If it is closed we’d need something to open it and I doubt there would be wire or a chain cutter around. Stores like that tend to be very protected.”

“Or,” Hizashi glanced at the map again, “maybe they didn’t have the time to close and it's still open, and if it is the problem we would have is if there's people inside.”

“True.” Shota wanted to let out a groan of how complicated the situation was, “We’ll walk by and if it close we’ll figure out a way to open it. It might take us longer, but at least we’d have weapons.”

Taking the rifle off her shoulders, Nemuri handed it to Toshinori with a smile, “You’re a good shot. If there happens to be people and we're in trouble you can easily take them.”

Killing someone living was never on Toshinori's bucket list, but if it meant saving his fellow friends then that's exactly what he’d do. The blood would be on his hands and he’d rather take it than have someone else live with the kill, “Don’t forget we still have that other store to go to, so let's not take too much time. Are we good to go?”

With a nod they began to approach the store. As they did so, back in the apartment complex and in the laundry room where light was most provided Hitoshi used the sharp scissors and carefully cut out certain images in the magazine while F/n glued the other images down on the cardboard.

Surrounding them were magazines, glue, scissors, glitter, pencils, markers, sticky notes and a bottle of green paint. They, or rather F/n, begged the children who were using the markers and glitter. It was rather embarrassing as Hitoshi watched. She even bowed down to them, her knees and face on the floor while the kids giggled at her before they handed her a few markers and the glitter.

“That is a very ugly drawing.” Hitoshi said as he eyed the drawing that she made, “It doesn’t even look like her.”

F/n scoffed as she focused on the facial details, “It's the thought that matters. Besides, once I add the wings she’ll look like an angel. I mean, she already does…”

She muttered the last part, but Hitoshi heard as he flipped through a magazine and ripped out a page, “Right, but why did you make her big. She almost looks like that one statue in America.”

“Duh, because she’s the center of attention.” F/n leaned forward and squinted to draw the eyelashes, “We’ll be like her minions holding swords and a shield. She is the lady of goddess.”

“I think you’re taking this too seriously.” Hitoshi said, cutting away.

“You’re right.” F/n shrugged and sat back, “But as long as it distracts her from what she’s going through then that's all that matters. She’s in pain and who knows how long she has.”

The male next to her stopped his movements. True but yet sad to think that Itsuka would most likely die tonight. She’ll be lucky enough to even see tomorrow, “You think Yagi might come early? They're still scavenging so they might bring medicine.”

“I don’t know.” F/n eyed her drawing. Itsuka clearly stood out and despite it being a drawing, F/n was proud to have her drawn well, “I want to say yes, but they don’t plan on stopping until they find something decent.”

“That's not really reassuring.” Hitoshi mumbled, looking as she continued to draw away. A hue of blush decorated his cheeks when she shifted and the sun hit her face. It made her eye color shine and she honestly looked like a goddess.

He mentally groaned as he looked the other way, fighting the idea as he concentrated back to cutting, “So, uh, what are going to do with the glitter?”

“Such a goddess deserves a shiny dress.” F/n quietly chuckling at herself for saying that, “You done with the last piece? I think we have a lot of pictures.”

Hitoshi nodded as he handed her the last image. It was a bouquet of flowers and she glued it down to the side where it circled the drawing she did. She sat back, grabbing the glitter and poured it on Itsuka's dress. She proudly admired her work, “A masterpiece.”

He wiped the few speck of glitter that got on the end of his jeans, “You got it everywhere.”

He then looked at the now poster. It was mostly stamped with random pictures; flowers, mountains, airplanes, smiles, eyes, landscapes, animals, and rainbows. Lastly, their names that were in different shapes circled the poorly drawn drawing.

“For someone who doesn't draw, it's not bad.” Hitoshi raises a brow in amazement, “Not bad, F/n.”

“Thank you, thank you…” She bowed and bowed as if someone were throwing flowers at her.

The male rolled his eyes as he stood up, dusting any dirt that got on his jeans, “Let's shake it before we give it to her. We don’t glitter to stick to her room.”

Nodding, F/n stood up. She grabbed one end while Hitoshi grabbed the other and shook it lightly. Thanks to the sun it had made the glitter shine before it fell to the floor where the shade rested.

With a smile on F/n’s lips and a boredom on Hitoshi’s face they began to head to Itsuka’s home. They entered and approached her room and upon seeing her reading a book with a sweaty face they raised their lips to a smile.

“Presenting!” F/n said as she stood to the side and made a jazz hands at the poster that held Hitoshi, “A gift from yours truly!”

The wounded girl laughed as she set her book down, “You guys did all this?”

“She did, I mostly watched.” Hitoshi said as he walked towards her so she could get a better view, “We added all the places we wanted to visit or at least the ones that look nice.”

“What's with me being an angel and you guys being knights?” She chuckled as she pointed at it. She felt warm. To know that someone cared enough to do this for her made her feel sad. If they had to go out of their way to this then they know about her wound torturing her.

“We’re your sidekicks!” F/n sat down near her feet, “I'm an awesome drawer, right?”

“Awesome?” Hitoshi playfully scoffed as he began to turn the board around, “What about these that you messed up on?”

“C’mon man. Don’t show her those.” F/n grumbled as she eyed the ones she previously drew, “Those are a disaster.”

Itsuka laughed when she saw it, “Wh-what did you do? It doesn't even look accurate.”

“Right.” A smile was brought to his lips, “It looks so bad.”

“Alright. Okay I get.” F/n grumbled, though she smiled as she watched Itsuka continued to laugh and Hitoshi followed along.

The happy moment was then destroyed as Itsuka sucked her breath, her hands clenching her side and began moaning in pain. Her eyelids were covered in tears, “Ow!”

Hitoshi quickly dropped the board as he went to her with F/n coming in next. She watched as Hitoshi laid her down to her side and checked her wound, both of their eyes widened as it looked distinguishable.

“It hurts..!” Ituska cried, clutching on her sheets, “It h-hurts so much!”

Hitoshi shoved F/n as he began to grab the rubbing alcohol, “Go get the lady from 4B!”

She quickly rushed out of the room and down the stairs almost tripping in the process. Hearing the lady's voice in the manager's room she headed there and upon seeing her husband as well she yelled at them, “Itsuka needs you!”

The next second they were all in her room. F/n and Hitoshi stood by the side, watching as the lady and her husband began to clean her and the cries of Itsuka grew. What F/n and Hitoshi didn’t know was the shared look that the lady and her husband shared as they noticed Itsuka’s wound had gone completely black.

“Why aren’t the-” Before hitoshi could finish his sentence, Itsuka cries stop and she begins to seize.

“Is she okay!?” F/n yelled but she wasn’t answered as the husband shoved them outside. “You can’t be in here. We need space.”

The door was then slammed and they stared at it. Itsuka’s room number was the only thing they could look at. They stood there in quiet, their breaths increasing as time passed by and before they knew it the door creaked open.

A sorrowful look was shared. Tears stained the corner of F/n’s eyes as she glanced down to the husband's hand, a knife in his grasp, “What did you do…?”

The woman placed a hand to her heart, her hands covered in blood from trying to address the wound, “I’m sorry, kids…she..”

Hitoshi couldn’t bear to hear it and instead entered his home that was next to Itsuka's. She tried to go after him but then she realized what became of her friend, “What do we do..”

The husband lets out a sigh, “We burn her.”

“What!?” She yelled but before she could say anything else the humans stopped her. “We understand that she should have a popper burial, but there isn’t any room. The main area is of concrete and only a small portion is dirt. People don't deserve to get burned, but in this case... What is done is done. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” She said quietly and listened as they entered the home again. Her eyes rolled to Hitoshi’s door and she cautiously entered it. She looked around to look for where he might be and she finally found him sitting on his bed furiously wiping his eyes.

“...I thought…I was quick enough to get her help…to get her here. Maybe instead of looking for a place where we could hide I should have looked for medicine…but I never did.” He said as he sniffled, “It didn’t look bad so I thought I had more time.”

She sat next to him, “You can’t blame yourself, Hitoshi. Sometimes…things happen and you can’t control it. No matter how hard you try.”

“But I did have control.” he quietly said, “I could’ve taken her to a hospital or a clinic, but instead I chose for us to hide so we can see another day. Do you know how selfish that sounds?”

She hugged her knees, her heart aching at his paned voice, “Didn’t you protect her? Weren’t you the one who brought her here? You kept her safe and you did so to the very end.”

He didn’t say anything. He continued to stare down at his jeans, inspecting every stitch as he let the quietness burst his eardrums. That was until F/n spoke again, “Can I ask…what happened to your parents?”

His eyes slightly widened. He doesn't know what happened to them. If they're even alive or just another corpse walking aimlessly to an unknown destination. He realized he stayed too quiet as he could hear the girl mumble out an apology.

But he shrugged, his brows furrowed sadly, “I don’t really know. I never had the chance to go home because the streets were chaotic. I don’t even know if they're alive or…dead.”

Her hands were playing with his blankets, “If you could, would you go and find them?”

He nodded. From the corner of his eyes he could see her hands, “If I hadn't found Itsuka I would have. I’m not saying she was in the way, I just prioritized her because I didn’t want her to die on me. She was a friend of a friend, so I knew her really well. But if it did—if I ever got the chance I would have searched for them. Even if they died it would have given me some closure.”

She let her eyes roll to him, “...That’s so sad.”

His eyes squinted as he could feel them burn. His nose twitched as he sniffled once again, but he slightly jumped when she held his hand and spoke again, “I’m sure they would have done the same. They might be looking for you and you might never know. Maybe, one day you will run into them and you’ll get the closure you want…or at least I hope so.”

A small smile spread to his lips and his cheeks welcome a blush, “..Thank you.”

She smiled, squeezing his hand.

The sun has gone down and stars are twinkling at her. She boredly played with the gun she found earlier, waiting for her father to arrive. By now, Hitoshi has fallen asleep in her home. She didn’t want him to be alone.

Hearing a car coming by, she looked at the gate and quickly rushed to it. Seeing Toshinori and Nemuri exit she smiled, “Hey!”

“Oh, F/n.” Nemuri shook her head as the gates screeched open, “Shouldn’t you be asleep and most importantly inside the complex and not in the open?”

She nervously chuckled, “Maybe…”

She then rushed back to her spot as the truck drove in, the gates closing behind, “Anything good?”

Toshinroi ruffled her hair with a smile, “A lot. We’ll unpack tomorrow so we can get a good night's sleep.”

His eyes were preoccupied when he noticed the lady from 4B come outside and waved at him to come forward, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Nemuri responded as she left with Hizashi following after, “Goodnight, F/n!”

She waved at them and then turned around to see Shota let out a sigh and gave her a look, “I know, F/n you should be asleep. But dad, todays been pretty hectic. Anyways, Hitoshi’s sleeping inside. I didn’t want him alone.”

He raised a brow, but seeing her brows and lips quiver he placed his hands on her shoulders, “What's wrong? What is it? What happened?”

She took in a shaky breath, sniffling as she tried her best to not cry, “I-I…Itsuka…didn't make it.”

His eyes fell as he pulled her in a hug. He already had a feeling she wouldn’t make it and to hear that one of his students, his smart student, died was heartbreaking.

“Hit-Hitoshi thinks that it's his fa-fault.” She sobbed and sniffled. Her tears stained his sleeves, but he wasn’t worried about that.

He understood Hitoshi’s feelings. He felt the same when his friend, Oboro died years ago. It was an accident, but Shota felt like he could have prevented it, “He couldn’t have done anything. None of us could.”

She sniffled and wiped her tears with his sleeves, “Dad…how long ‘til we get Eri?”

He hugged her tightly, the wind blowing both of their hairs as it howled. His eyes looked to where the truck was parked. The back was filled with food and successfully they found their weapons, “Soon, F/n. Soon.”

[hauntsect]

TELL US MORE ABOUT THE SANITORIUM!! What does the building look like? Does it resemble a hospital or is it one of those hiding in plain sight kind of buildings? What goes on in there?? 👀

LOVELY, YOU READ MY MIND CAUSE THE OTHER DAY, while making dinner, I kid you not I was trying to design like a floor plan of the Sanatorium cause it wouldn't leave my brain. But like I know nothing about floor plans so I ended up with a mess. AND THEN I WAS WRITING A DESCRIPTION but I got distracted lmao!

THE GIST OF IT IS, that it almost looks like both a giant hospital and like a giant school of sorts? From the outside it's this one ginormous building, both vertically and horizontally. Nothing attractive of it, though. It looks fairly new and well-kept, but not too much that it attracts attention. Funny enough, it doesn't need to because it's hidden by trees all over it. I'm thinking it's a hospital of sorts hidden away in an artificial island, but I'm unsure of that because I need the employees to be able to travel to and from easily. It doesn't accept visitors, families are incentiviced to prevent them from wanting to check up on the patients. They say the patients are highly dangerous and best kept out of reach of regular civilians, too, to keep others from checking.

AND OH MY GOSH so much fucked up shit goes on over there! It's that one trope of like places that use either abandoned people or ill people for extreme experimentation and government funded procedures. It can range from biological weapon making to virus creations and all that jazz. The patients in there are said to be "special" and they need to pass some tests in order to be admitted. All patients have peculiar characteristics that make them perfect candidates for the experiments conducted in there. Their info is stored right at the Sanatorium but it never goes public.

And they do have a well where they throw their failed patients/experiments, but that's supposedly a secret Hyles somehow discovered.

[helltopian-torturescape]

A *lot* of people need to learn what a genocide is and how it's different from a war. For example, a state where Palestinians are *in Congress* (knesset) are not committing genocide. No-one is ejecting Arab Israeli citizens. Palestine is ruled by a government that has openly declared war against Israeli, and has committed *hundreds* of acts of war against them. Do you think it was just a coincidence that the "genocide" started after a Hamas-led terrorist attack that targeted only civilians? It's a war, dipshits, not a genocide. Israel doesn't want to wipe out Palestinians (even though Palestine's charter calls for the complete obliteration of Israel), they want them to stop fucking attacking them like they have been for 70 years.

Has constant war with Arab states led to discrimination in Israel against Arab people? Shockingly, yes. That's bad, but that's not genocide.

Is Israel being indiscriminate and careless with civilians when fighting an enemy who traditionally hides inside civilian buildings? Yes. And that's not good! They're causing massive harm to many civilians who don't want to be involved in this war! But the 200 Israeli civilians who are being held hostage by Hamas also didn't want to be involved! War is Hell. War is bad. But civilian casualties when fighting a defensive war is *not* the same as genocide!

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2014/07/31/why-hamas-stores-its-weapons-inside-hospitals-mosques-and-schools/ (At least some of these claims were validated by UN impartial observers).

[infiniteglitterfall]

It is completely unhinged that none of you can tell the difference between terrorists demanding civilians serve as cannon fodder to protect their assets, and a government agency having its HQ in a civilian area instead of, I guess, a military base?!

Fun Fact for all of you who never watched the X-Files: Quantico, the CIA headquarters, is right in the middle of Washington DC. You are not SUPPOSED to have to build government agencies in remote or military areas, because nobody's supposed to be attacking from them.

What Hamas and Hezbollah do is the equivalent of the military setting up a rocket launch site in your driveway and telling you to stay put.

What Nasrallah did was the equivalent of the head of the military holding a bunch of remotes with buttons for all the driveway rocket launchers, and just strolling around the city poking the buttons.

For at least a year and a half.

Until 10% of the country next door was on fire and depopulated.

While running massive international human trafficking rings along with literal slavery.

It's also incredibly obvious that you don't know what the fuck it means for Hamas to use "human shields."

Hamas uses civilian homes, mosques, schools, hospitals, and entire neighborhoods as

combat compounds

shelters where Hamas senior operations can hide

places to store weapons

surveillance posts (including extensive surveillance of Palestinians)

rocket launch sites

and builds massive tunnels right underneath them for both escape and attack. Literally undermining the entire infrastructure of Gaza.

If this seems hard to believe, you must not know that Hamas staged a violent coup in 2007, throwing the Palestinian government out of Gaza, and has ruled it as a dictatorship ever since.

It has had 17 years to weaponize the entire Gaza Strip.

If that still seems like "hasbara," maybe try giving enough of a shit about Palestinians to actually listen to their experiences in Gaza.

And one more thing that's worth knowing: Hamas leaders truly double down on all this, by regularly calling for Palestinian civilians to die while they themselves chill in penthouses in Qatar.

Fathi Hammad, Hamas leader, 2008: [The enemies of Allah] do not know that the Palestinian people has developed its [methods] of death and death-seeking. For the Palestinian people, death has become an industry, at which women excel, and so do all the people living on this land. The elderly excel at this, and so do the mujahideen and the children.

This is why they have formed human shields of the women, the children, the elderly, and the mujahideen, in order to challenge the Zionist bombing machine. It is as if they were saying to the Zionist enemy: "We desire death like you desire life."

and my own personal favorite:

literal vampire talk omfg

It really is wild to see, after a year of the international community not only defending Israel's mass slaughter of innocents, but essentially condemning the victims as human shields, to see this kind of concern now.

There have been multiple incidents of more than a hundred civilians killed at a time by Israel to POSSIBLY get at Hamas or Hezbollah and each time, the White House and State department defended or shrugged them off. Meanwhile, this is Tel Aviv:

[fungicidecarhorn64ad]

Me and my army of green

It was in September when I perused around the Warhammer shop surround by boxes and boxes of plastic sprew sheets.

There’s something so welcoming about the store there’s few places I enjoy just existing in and it was one of them; it wasn’t too big but big enough to not feel crowded when the tide of fans and curious civilians poured in from the streets, but it was small enough that you can easily find what you wanted.

One time I was there and I noticed a set of Orcs, they weren’t regular Orcs no, no they were space orcs and spelt with a k! The box was that of a patrol of Ork warriors draped with animal hides some riding on the back of weird orange pig like monsters, it was so cool I thought so logically I didn’t get it and got a box of what are called “Boyz”, they were dressed in black and wielded weapons like chainsaw swords , flimsy looking axes and guns held together by duck tape, they all looked like they’d break or malfunction in combat but damn, that’s cool. They’re charming, obviously older then any model than the models in the other box, they were also cheaper so that’s the other reason I got them as well as a nice paint called Ork flesh it was a nice dark green perfect for the flesh of my newly acquired soldiers. The rest of that day was fairly stressful but none of that mattered when I got home and began to play god.

It was a dark stormy night as I toiled away in my laboratory, which was just the living room wide open to remove the nauseas smell that the plastic glue created. I was birthing life as I melded the plastic parts together, soldiers being birthed by my hand, they were like Frankenstein’s monsters the post, post modern Prometheus!

Granted I don’t think Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley imagined her creations, creation would be ten British football fan inspired green dudes.

They weren’t hard to make you could throw out the instructions and only struggle on some weapons. The first member of the band was obviously the leader, Nobz is what they’re called armed with bladed claw weapons and with a pole that towers over the battlefield; the pole I chose was one decorated with a crudely forged skull melded to a cartoony bone with a bullet dangling of the end, it was cool, it was intimidating in almost a whimsical way. I armed with his over sized pistol(?) and blessed him with a head; he now wore a helmet with two long horns on the side and his right eye covered by a mechanical monocle. I finished him off with two shoulder pads and a name, Mastermind the intelligent leader of the Boyz one who sacrificed his ability to remember in the aim of knowledge of the universe, but he doesn’t know if he did that yet.

Every good leader needs a second in command, but a great leader has two second in commands cause more the merrier. The instructions and box recommend only making one Ork wielding one of the two heavy weapons that came with the kit a rickety rocket launcher and a giant machine gun. The rocket launcher guy was easy, the weapon was posed over his head as if he’s celebrating the defeat of the foe, but he was snarling as if to intimidate any foes that survived his blast and that he was ready to shoot another at any point.

The machine gunner on the other hand was quite the nuisance. Building him was fine, but bonding the empty shells from the gun was, everytime I tried to glue it but everytime it fell off it was agonising and painful. He pointed his gun at the sky prepared to shoot down anything flying from birds, to jet packed warriors, to entire flying machinery.

It was then time for the regular Boyz. The most basic one was armed with merely a sword and gun, he felt almost like Rambo; a warrior who’d slice through foliage and mow down opponents before returning to the bushes and trees.

Next up is the Ork I named “Saw tooth”. He wore a bear trap like mouth guard paired with the horns on the helmet he felt more like a murderer then soldier; he was armed with an axe, a proper sharp looking axe and a chain sword a mighty weapon a sword that’s blade was that of a chainsaw. Granted I doubt the effectiveness, but these orks don’t need concepts like that.

I had a bit of an accident when making one of the boyz, his arm was way to low on his body. I showed it to other people and they say they can’t notice; but I can and I must solve the problem. I grabbed two shoulder armour pieces and glued them into onto the horrible empty space that was eradicated with the now intentional looking armour.

The rest while special to me have less to write about. There’s the guy with a skull on his gun to assist in aiming, the landmine setter who comedically has a landmine strapped to his back, the grenade thrower who’s armed stretched out as if he was signalling for a bus, gunman armed with two rifles wielding them both with one handand the duel axed warrior that had crosshairs on them to make sure he hit his target cause effectiveness is king to the orks.

The next step after there creation requires a trip to the tiled wasteland where organic life cannot be seen for miles, besides the three beasts that reside in the area; this cursed land is also known as the backyard. Using the power of white tack I stuck the orks on the marker and began the process. Using a grey spray on primer I covered the minis with a layer of grey, they were now ready to be painted.

Painting miniatures is surprisingly fun, it’s easy to notice improvements over time and the feeling of victory when you paint something really well cannot be matched. I first painted the orks with black clothing, bronze weapons and their iconic green skin. They looked good but I could make them better with the tip of my paint brush I changed the colours of the clothes to be a striking bright red; later on I painted the black trousers brown instead and tuned up the paint with shade paint that enhanced the details and look of the metal. Then I finished by slathering a bright neon green paint on the weapons as if some kind of mystical energy source powered the weapons.

They were complete my beautiful army of green Boyz.

[aqurette]

How Hamas Is Fighting in Gaza

From the New York Times: The reporters interviewed Hamas fighters, Israeli soldiers and military analysts and assessed dozens of videos published by Hamas’s military wing. They hide under residential neighborhoods, storing their weapons in miles of tunnels and in houses, mosques, sofas—even a child’s bedroom—blurring the boundary between civilians and combatants. They emerge from hiding in plainclothes, sometimes wearing sandals or tracksuits before firing on Israeli troops, attaching mines to their vehicles, or firing rockets from launchers in civilian areas. They rig abandoned homes with explosives and tripwires, sometimes luring Israeli soldiers to enter the booby-trapped buildings by scattering signs of a Hamas presence. http://aqurette.blog/T9YcqR

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Seized

An addition to Approval. Do not read this until reading that first. 

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader // Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary: What happens when Talia Al Ghul learns that someone has stolen the affections of her past lover and her son?

Word Count: 3,000 [One Shot]

“Delinquents have been detained. I can hear the sirens,” Damian stated calmly in his comms.

“Good work, Robin. You know where to meet me. You have a minute,” Bruce responded as he whipped the bat mobile through Crime Alley to grab his son.

Just as Damian opened the door and hopped in, an alarm went off within the vehicle.

“The Manor,” Damian thought aloud as he read the screens with his father.

Bruce ignored his comment and was calling Alfred immediately.

“Master Wayne,” the butler instantly picked up. “I followed protocol, but they were already gone when I arrived.”

“Y/N…” Bruce immediately asked.

“They took her,” Alfred told him, distress clear in his tone.

Damian’s head whipped to his father to watch his reaction.

But Bruce’s jaw only tightened and he sped the batmobile even faster.

Returning faster to Wayne Manor than ever before, Bruce jumped out of the batmobile and up the secret entrance to get to the main house.

Damian was hot on his heels. He’d already sent an encrypted message to his brothers, informing them of the situation. It was only a matter of time before they were at the manor as well. Though Damian suspected Jason would not come, instead already starting to scour the streets of Gotham for Y/N and her captors.

Alfred was already waiting for them. “Master Wayne, I am so sorry.”

Bruce ignored him and walked to the master bedroom. Y/N would’ve been sleeping when the attack occurred. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been awake, she had no training in self defense. She was merely an innocent civilian.

“Father,” Damian muttered quietly.

Bruce turned around to find his son ripping a shuriken out of the door frame.

They shared a look, both recognizing the particular shape and color.

“The League…” Damian muttered quietly, saying what they both were thinking.

——————

Y/N was barely awake.

They clearly had drugged her with something to make her more compliant. Everything was foggy and muffled.

Yet they still tied her hands and ankles together, as if her brain could even manage to get her body to move.

But Y/N could feel the effects of the drugs losing their strength, yet keeping their hold on her.

She squinted as she looked around. The air felt different. It was colder and dryer, making Y/N believe that she was no longer in Gotham. Little did she know, she wasn’t even in the country any longer.

“I do not know what he sees in you,” a woman hummed from somewhere in the room.

Y/N blinked as he listened, but her eyes could not adjust to the low lighting and she didn’t even have the strength to turn her head.

“You are weak. Ripped from your own bed without so much as a fight.”

Then she heard the grunts and clashing of metal.

The woman smiled. “Right as expected, my son.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed at ‘my son.’ Then she finally lifted her head and took in her surroundings. There were swords and other weapons stored everywhere, and there was armor hung from the walls.

“Talia?” She whispered.

The woman chuckled. “Weak, but not utterly foolish.”

Then the door of the room was thrown open.

Y/N looked to see Damian in his Robin uniform.

“My son, finally returned," Talia greeted with a smirk.

“Mother.” Then his gaze flickered to Y/N. Very subtly, he was scanning her body to access any possible injuries.

His gaze turned back to his mother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You have forgotten where you come from, Damian. You are not just the heir to the Wayne family. Before anything else, you are my son and the heir to Ra's al Ghul’s throne.”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Damian said with a gesture to Y/N.

“She has everything to do with this,” Talia snapped. “She has made you weak.”

Damian said nothing.

“She has taken you both from me,” Talia growled.

“Father does not love you,” he growled.

“A small lapse in judgment on his part, but not something that cannot be remedied. Our love gave us you, and I fully believe he will return to me.”

“His heart belongs to someone else. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can give up your fantasy.” Then he hesitated to say the next part. “I never plan on returning to The League of Shadows. I wish to stay with father.”

Talia’s amusement vanished at her sons words.

The next second, she unsheathed her sword. “Perhaps I should just kill her and remind you of your place, my son.”

With that, Damian rushed forward and intercepted Talia’s attack with his own sword.

“Do not touch her,” Damian growled.

Their swords continued to clash as the mother and son fought each other. The fight raged on for what felt like forever. Too evenly matched, but also both too terrible at hiding that neither actually wanted to kill the other.

In the distance, Y/N could hear even more fighting. She could only assume it was Bruce fighting his way to her and his son.

Talia and Damian’s swords locked again, both of their stances shaking from the hold.

“Do you really think you and your father stand a chance against the entire League? Why do you think we lured you all the way here? You are outnumbered.” Talia hissed.

“You think us foolish enough to come alone?” Damian smirked right before there was a boom that shook the entire compound.

Talia’s focus slipped half a second, allowing Damian a window to go on the offense.

He flipped his mother’s sword out of her grip and held his own to her throat.

“Yield,” he growled down to her.

“You truly choose her over your own mother?” The hurt in her eyes was clear.

“You abandoned me, used me as a tool to disrupt father’s life. She taught me that there is more to life than killing and destroying. She loves me and care for me, even when I gave her no reason to do so.”

“And it will be the death of you,” Talia warned.

He glared at her. “Yield!”

But he knew she would never. So he whipped out a dart and blew it to her neck – a sedative.  It knocked her out within seconds.

Waiting until he was sure it had worked, Damian sheathed his sword once again and ran to Y/N’s side.

With a knife, he cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

“D-Damian,” her voice was still slurred from the drugs and she was weak. How long had she been here without food or water? “I don’t think I can walk."

Damian helped her to her feet. “Y/N, please try,” he begged as he wrapped her around around his shoulders. He was still just a boy, one that was shorter than her. But he wouldn’t give up that easily.

There was another explosion.

“What’s-What’s happening?” Y/N asked as she dragged her feet and held on tightly.

“That would be Todd, most likely taking his job of distracting to an unnecessary level.”

“You all came?” She asked in shock.

“Of course,” Damian scoffed.

Suddenly an object came flying at them and Y/N cried out in pain.

“No!” Damian bellowed as he looked up to see that another League member was attempting to stop their escape. And with it, they had thrown a shuriken that had landed in Y/N’s side.

She dropped to the ground.

Damian screamed as he unsheathed his sword once again and charged the assassin. It wouldn’t take him long. He knew that every minute spent fighting was a minute Y/N was bleeding out and edging closer to death.

He didn’t hold back like he had with his mother and quickly disarmed the enemy. Then thrusting his sword into a nonfatal area of his body, enough to neutralize him. 

Damian rushed back to Y/N’s side, where a pool of blood was forming from her wound.

He knew it was useless, but he still tried to lift Y/N into his arms to carry her. He cried out in both panic and frustration.

The building had now caught aflame due to Jason’s explosions. Damian would need to call for backup, hoping one of his older brothers could help.

Then a shadow was cast over him.

Damian tensed, believing it to be another attack.

But he looked up to find his father standing before them.

However, Bruce’s gaze was on his unconscious girlfriend.

With the arrival of his father, Damian’s cold and calculating disposition melted.

“She’s hurt,” his voice trembled and tears formed in his eyes. “Help her.”

Damian rarely cried. He cried less than grown men. He was raised that way. It didn’t help that his father was not a great example of healthy emotional expression.

But Bruce knew what his sons tears were for: Damian was frustrated, he felt weak, and he thought he had failed his mission. But most of all, Bruce knew his son was crying for fear of Y/N’s death. Because the boy had grown to love her.

As if there were a world when Bruce wouldn’t give his own life to save Y/N.

Bruce bent down and carefully brought Y/N into his arms.

Damian heard her mutter his father’s name, though still delirious from both the drugs he’s sure his mother pumped into her and the blood loss.

“Red Robin, get the jet to my coordinates immediately,” Bruce instructed through his comms.

Damian wondered how his father could be so calm when the woman he loved was bleeding out in his arms. This wasn’t bat business, this was personal. But Bruce spoke like it was just another night of patrol.

A few minuets later, Damian and Bruce had fought their way through the flames and burning compound.

Tim lowered the platform of the jet.

Damian made sure his father and Y/N got on before he followed. He turned and gave one last look at the burning compound that would no longer exist come morning. He did not fear for his mother’s life. He knew someone from the League would come for her – if she didn’t save herself first.

When he boarded the jet, his father already had Y/N on the surgical table that elevated from the jet floor.

Bruce had taken off his cowl, allowing Damian and his brothers to study his expressions.

Damian had been wrong about his father handling the situation like any other mission. For now he could see the terror and worry in his father’s eyes, despite him trying to control his emotions.

Damian looked to Jason, who still had his Red Hood helmet on.

“My grandfather?” He asked his brother.

“Escaped,” Jason muttered.  

Damian stepped forward to help Bruce with Y/N’s injuries.

“She’ll be OK,” he muttered to his father.

All of them had high-level medical training to know.

Thankfully the assassin’s aim was not great and didn’t land in lethal place on Y/N’s body. But she still lost a lot of blood and would need many stitches.

All the brother’s shared a look when Bruce ignored the statement. 

———

Y/N woke up to someone gripping her hand. She recognized from the smell and the feel of the bedding that she was in Bruce’s bed at the manor.

She winced as she opened her eyes to find Bruce was the one holding her hand as he sat in a chair only inches away from the side of the bed.

“Hi,” she whispered to him with a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said back with a smirk.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

Then Y/N looked past Bruce to realize there was someone else in the room.

Damian passed out on the velvet chaise that was pushed against the windows.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Bruce told her. “Dick had to convince him just to take a shower for 5 minutes when we first got back.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the revelation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice as he said it made Y/N’s gaze snap back to him. Had it shook? Or was she imagining it?

Y/N squeezed his hand that was still wrapped around hers. 

“I know,” she told him with a sympathetic look.

He hid it well, but Y/N knew Bruce. And she knew that her being kidnapped from his own home probably drove him mad with guilt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already designed an entirely new security system to prevent something like that ever happening again.

Bruce took in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He wanted to say that he always feared her being with him would put her in danger like this. 

He wanted to say that maybe she should stay away from him. 

He wanted to say that him and the kids didn’t deserve her. 

He wanted to say that the only reason this happened is because Talia hated that she loved her son better than she ever did.

But Bruce had never been good at saying how he actually felt – or even acknowledging he had any feelings at all.

So Y/N brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Bruce, I know,” she said once again.

“I won’t let it happen again. I promise you,” he told her evenly.

“Bruce, I knew what I signed up for when you told me you were Batman. If I wasn’t willing to face the reality of it, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“No one would’ve blamed you if you hadn’t.”

There was a knock at the door and then it opened a second later.

Damian jumped awake at the sound. But then he quickly brought his attention to Y/N. “You’re awake.”

But everyone’s attention was on Dick, who was standing at the open doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted Y/N, surprised to see that she was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired. But I’ll be alright.”

He seemed to relax from her answer.

Then he winced when he looked at Bruce. “They put the signal up.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

He was about to open his mouth to ask them to handle it, not wanting to leave Y/N alone now that she had woken up.

“Go, Bruce. I’ll be OK.” Y/N told him, reading his mind.

“I think it’s the Joker,” Dick added with a serious frown.

“Bruce, go.” Y/N repeated.

And he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, deciding he didn’t care if his two sons were witnesses to the intimacy.

Then Bruce kissed her forward. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Alfred will be here if you need anything. Do not hesitate to call.”

Y/N nodded.

Bruce stood up and acknowledged Damian and Dick. “Let’s go.”

Once they were ways down the hall, Bruce heard Damian stop.

“Father?”

Bruce and Dick both turned to face Damian.

“I wish to stay with Y/N.”

Bruce and Dick shared a look, and then Dick decided to give the two a moment alone and muttered something about waiting in the cave.

Bruce walked back to his youngest son.

Damian’s gaze was glued on the floor. “Mother truly would’ve killed her?”

Bruce sighed. “Most likely, yes.” He saw no point in lying to his son.

“Because she knows that you and I love her?”

“Yes.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. But Bruce knew he had more to say.

“I used to think I had to earn it.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mother’s love. I had to earn it. Win in combat. Successfully execute a target. Outsmart a puzzle or challenge.” Damian looked up at his father with a broken expression. “Her love always came with a price.”

Bruce kneeled down to his son.

The boy shook his head. “But Y/N made me realize that I don’t have to earn anyone’s love. I don’t have to prove that I’m worthy of it.” He bit his lip. “She’s not my father or my brother. She didn’t have to love me. But she does…even when I did nothing to earn it.”

“Everyone is deserving of love, Damian.” Bruce gripped his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for not teaching you that myself.”

Damian nodded. “So, may I please stay with her tonight? I don’t want her to be alone.” But then he quickly corrected himself. “Unless of course, you require my assistance, father.”

Bruce smirked at him. “I think we will manage, Damian.” Then he squeezed his shoulder. “Look after her for me, alright?”

Damian relaxed and quickly nodded his head. “Of course, father.”

When Bruce returned hours later, Damian was cuddled next to Y/N in the bed. But clearly laying in a position to be mindful of her injuries. Both were fast asleep. The bright television was the only thing lighting the room, as it played a Pixar movie.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“I got him,” Dick whispered to him before stepping into the room and carefully lifting the boy in his arms, clearing the space in the bed for Bruce to join Y/N.

Bruce moved about the room as he changed into cotton shorts and went without a shirt.

Y/N woke slightly as he joined her in bed.

“Everything OK?” She whispered sleepily.

“Everything’s fine. Did Damian keep you company?”

Y/N smiled and shifted her body so she was cuddle into him. “Yes…my little protector.”

Bruce smiled at that. “Don’t let him hear the ‘little’ part…”

She chuckled. “Good call.” 

And then she was fast asleep once again.

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

Please, please, please let me know what you think! 

[shetterry]

Hey there dumb dumb\I hate jews and try to lie so so bad.

I am stating facts about people being slaughtered, and genocide being commited, yet you are determined to support a terror organization which beheads babies and pregnant woman. The horrors were stated again and again even by hamas not first rejecting it saying instead that the gazans that followed them into israel did the horrors and not them(which makes the 'civilian' targets justified btw and not illegal by international law) making them retract that and starting to LIE about the massacer THEY DID and Posted PROUDLY on social media.

Also 6000 bombs and only 3000 casualties is pretty clearly, not genocide lmao

1st read the definition of genocide

Second it means that Israel needs 2 air bombs(which can collapse entire buildings which a single one) to kill 1 person in gaza

In which we can both agree on, kinda indicates what are Israel's actual target(shocker: NOT CIVILIANS)

Tons of bombs =/= genocide

going from house to house gunning children&babies&women&burning them IS

Thats what the nazis did before inventing killing camps.

And the state of Israel isn't the bad guy you are being lied to. that it is through terrorist propaganda("has been the case for 75 years" -> easily disproven by google, Israel got control of the gaza strip only at 1967 + gazans lived happily till the first intifada which was initated by hamas, causing deaths on all sides, up untill 2005 in which israel left the strip and gazans suffer from dictatorship and wars ever since)

So cut with the crap about whereabouts when you are doing it with:

TheY ARe BoMBing One oF ThE MoSt PouPuLAted PlaCes In ThE WoRLD

What other choice they have??? Tell me, how should they attack Hamas? Do you know where they store weapons and where they are hiding? They have no bases like countries have, cause they are a terror organization which hide within civilians, so, how do you attack terrorists without civilians casualties?

If you know you must be the smartest war leader in the world because NO NATION EVER DID THAT.

And Israel does give them a heads up btw, just like Israel telling for A WEEK to leave north gaza yet hamas threatens them NOT TO LEAVE. The poor Palestinians are stuck between a gun and a axe of a terrorist and a bombing from a local superpower.

They are forced to choose their prefered way of death, in a war they didn't choose, can't escape(cause Egypt wont allow them to leave, cause they are afraid terror will start in their territory) and you sympathize with that, and support that, and don't criticize it, and then you DARE, say I have no decency? I have no knowledge? When Have you last time being in israel or in gaza? Or in the west Bank?

You support civilians casualties on ALL SIDES, I support peace and the hard required steps for it.

And for peace, there cannot be terror organization in Israel or in the Palestiniane territories. (Seems logical doesn't it?)

It's pretty clear why Israel is attacking them(what would you do if someone beheads your baby cousin? Kills your kitten? Say sorry about them being evil evil responsible for all the wars in world and shut up? Do nothing? John wick killed dozens for a dead dog and we cheered him on)

If hamas didn't want populated areas to be attacked

MABYE THEY SHOULDNT HAVE ATTACKED ISRAEL

or

Imma do you one better

HAVE MILITARY BASES,

EVACUATE THE INNOCENT PEOPLE OUT OF A WAR ZONE LIKE EVERY COUNTRY DOES.

All the deaths in gaza ARE HAMAS FAULT.

THEY CAN EVACUATE THE PEOPLE TO SAFE AREAS.

The sole reason that Israel is being blamed and people being harsh on it is antisemitesm

How would you explain hamas doing much worse thing then russia

And Russia getting no support rallies?

How would you explain al-quida, isis, taliban(which in getting rid of also required bombing civilians and killing children because that's what terror organizations DO, hide behind civilians)

Got 0 global support.

Also hospital bombing already said that hamas lied about it by multiple sources(There is even an audio of two hamas operatives saying it was a failed launch made by the jihad, which was launched from a cemetery btw)

So yeah, israel has proved countless of times that they bomb only military targets,

When did the Palestinians prove they don't target innocent jews? Oh wait they never did, Because THATS WHAT THEY DO FOR THE LAST 75 YEARS. Even longer if you consider pogroms made in Jerusalem against jews by Arabs as such.

The Palestiniane crisis is completely their fault(elected hamas & support them)

I mean if they wanted a state they could have already have one since 1948 and in the last chance made one in gaza in 2005

But they chose to kill jews instead

And they keep chossing it

And now they excusing it by making jews somehow 'colonizers' (jews have been on the land even before Islam existed, have deep history with the land, which is quiet different from going to a random land and enslaving the people there. also bought it from said Arabs who, at the time, were more than happy to 'scam' the jews on dry desert lands)

Also baby boo, siegeing is allowed in war(done by ukraine against russia as well), there is no law against it(and if you would use your brain and Google it, you would know)

And again

What did hamas expect, killing 1400, MOSTLRY CIVILIANS (mind you, they could have targeted all the military bases and have 0 civlians casualties) and Israel not cutting off their FREE water and electricity supply (Israel supplies the gaza strip because they used to be in their territory, and Egypt refused to replace them)

Sounds logical to me

But idk

Maybe I am a jew who just doesn't know how to get slaughtered right and think people like that don't deserve to get free water and electricity from the people they wanted to burn and succeeded in some cases.

Also if you are In support of genocide against jews, and the suffering of Palestinians

What about the kidnaps made by hamas? The Palestinians political rivals hamas kills? It also breaks international law, why don't they free the 200 civilians? Why gazans don't cry for hamas to stop and surrender themselves to stop the fighting and save gaza?

Also hamas fired a rocket and hit a hospital in israel, yet you don't seem to care much about that war crime

Stop propoganding and start googling

You are either really ignorant or nazi/hamas supporter trying to find excuses to not look like the horrible genocide, rape baby burning and beheading supporter you are.

I will also give you another googling challenge,

Find me a freedom fighter group which freed their nation by burning babies

Cause I guarantee

You won't find any :)

Something to consider when people call this a "conflict" or "war". Semantics matter.

This is a genocide

[eretzyisrael]

by Dov Fischer

Warning: This is much harsher than the last Dov Fischer piece we ran. Compared to the Hamas massacre however, it is just words.

Let us be clear: If the Government of Israel were trying to murder civilians wantonly, just to inflict terror and to horrify them into submission, I would condemn that. No Jew can accept or refrain from criticizing organized institutional efforts to harm civilians wantonly. If Israel were deliberately bombing residential structures just to leave a population homeless and bombing hospitals just to inflict suffering on the ill, I would be outspoken in these pages criticizing them. But that is not the Israel I know, nor the Jewish people I know. We have our ethic, and the Arab Muslims have theirs. We have our religious guidelines and theological authorities, and they have theirs. Israel will not target civilians knowingly. They destroy known military targets: rocket launchers, land mines, IEDs (improvised explosive devices), military drones, RPGs (rocket-propelled grenades) and their launchers, anti-tank missiles, and other military battlefield materiel — and the people storing and launching them. If such terrorists are operating from specific residential buildings — say, running a rocket factory or storing attack drones in an 8th-floor apartment — then Israel may well bomb the entire building. But they won’t bomb the building next door. They attack with whatever precision is humanly possible. And if the day comes that they make a mistake, they will apologize, perhaps even compensate. That is what America does. By now, we all know that Hamas men and their weapons hide in and behind women, children, residential apartment buildings, hospitals, mosques, schools, and ambulances. When any or all of these are identified positively for their military threat, Israel will destroy them. And if the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) cannot avoid killing civilians alongside, then Dresden entails collateral casualties, and Israel now must Dresden Gaza. (READ MORE: Arab Muslim Foreigners and Illegals Stoke Campus Anti-Semitism) Importantly, Israel has had to fight five previous Gaza wars started by Hamas these past 16 years. Each time, Israel stopped its winning responses, forced by international pressure to cease fire. Each time, Hamas used the ceasefire to re-arm, build more tunnels, and militarize more of the population. They now have 40,000 terrorists in 300 miles of those tunnels. This time, upon having experienced the terror attacks of Shabbat Shmini Atzeret on October 7, Israel has learned the price of stopping halfway through a war. In Israel, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu now is political “toast” because he adopted his advisors’ recommendations (known in Israel now as “The Concept”) that Hamas could be controlled with measured responsive wars, and then hoping that new money pouring in would persuade them to stop attacking. But that Concept simply left behind the weeds to grow back and fight an even more destructive next war. This time Israel must uproot even the weeds. Netanyahu will be replaced politically soon after. When the Washington Post and others present their empathy for the “poor innocent Gaza civilians,” I don’t care. They are poor only because Hamas has used the billions of dollars they have received from Qatar and European — and American — taxpayers to build an underground tunnel system as expansive as the New York City subway system instead of allocating the money to the public by building a beautiful country. Believe it or not, with all that money that has poured in — more than $8 billion — they have not even built a water or electricity infrastructure in their 16 years.

[oddeyevibes]

Ch1 - Going to Sh*t

Summary: Raccoon City has been your home since you were young and now it's a violent wasteland filled with flesh-eating monsters. The only salvation came in the form of the RCPD station but even that couldn't stand for too long. Now with your loyal Elvira by your side and the help of a rookie cop named Leon Kennedy, your chance of survival might be looking a bit better.

Words: 2134

A/N: Ok, so I know the canon route is Claire A/Leon B but I’ve switched the two since it didn’t really matter anyway. I also had a very tough time figuring out which breed of dog to go with (they were all so cute) and settled with a Husky because those overgrown babies are adorable. This is essentially a black reader since my initial plan was for a Black OC originally. Others can insert themselves obviously but I’m just saying that when writing this, I had black girls in mind but many things will still be ambiguous.

September 1998

How did everything end up like this? To shit so fast? One day, Raccoon City was normal. Sure, it was still the city with so much crime it needed an elite police unit like S.T.A.R.S but it was normal in its own right. This was your hometown and you wouldn’t change it for anything.

The next day, the city was overrun with monsters. Not just any monsters. People. Neighbors. Store owners. Everyday folks who you would pass to and back from work were now eating each other.

In hindsight, this should’ve been foreshadowed more by many. In the weeks leading up to the catastrophe, there were varied reports of cannibal incidents happening outside the city. Of course, the S.T.A.R.S unit was deployed, as you heard from a friend within the RCPD.

You don’t know what transpired but after hearing that everything seemed to go downhill from there. Suddenly, people were going missing, the tap water was reported to be contaminated, bottled water sales went up, even more violence was breaking out in the city. Not just normal crime though either but cannibalism. The same cannibalism that had been reported from the Arklay Mountains.

You were somewhat thankful you didn’t have family living here. While you were raised here, your adopted mother was always on the road due to her work. Who knows if she even knows about what’s happening. There was a chance considering she worked for Umbrella, the corporation that was practically the lifeblood of the city.

The only ones you had to worry about were you and your dog, Elvira. A Husky your mother brought home one day, she said she had a feeling the two of you would get along and she was never more right in her life…other than that time she said you’d never regret being enrolled in that botany class.

Now the two of you were among the survivors hiding out in the Raccoon City Police Department. One of the station’s last-ditch efforts into keeping the survivors in one place until someone on the outside rescued them. Chief Irons is the one that mandated it.

And each survivor came in like lambs to the fucking slaughter. Irons set everyone up. From civilians to his men. Some poor bastard witnessed him shooting an officer before running off and warning the rest of you, scattering all of you. If Irons was the only threat, more of you might’ve made it but the creatures on the outside were breaking in at all points and the police found themselves scattered even more trying to plug the leaks of creatures.

You, on the other hand, found yourself nearing Irons’ office after coming back into the building from the rooftop area. You weren’t planning on confronting him or anything but maybe locking him out of his little haven. At least, that was the plan before you came upon something messed up. Irons on top of some poor girl, who you recognized as Katheryn Warren--an old schoolmate and the Mayor’s daughter.

He had a weapon in his hand, ready to stab her as she was trying her best to push him off of her. Without hesitation, you signaled for Elvira to attack, to which she did. Charging forward and leaping to sink her teeth into the back of Irons’ thigh, eliciting a loud pained yell. His grip on the knife loosened and it fell on the desk beside Katheryn, allowing her to grab it and stab him in the shoulder, pushing him away and hightailing it out of the room with Elvira right behind her.

She stopped once she got to you. “Thank you!”

You nodded but quickly shooed her in the opposite direction towards the direction of the art room. “Run! Evie go with her!” Elvira gave you a worried look. “I’ll be fine. Go!”

The two ran off while you waited for Irons to gain his bearings and waited by the exit to the rooftop, wanting to get his attention and prevent him from chasing the others. Sure enough, the burly man stumbled out of the room, one hand clutching his stabbed shoulder, blood already seeping through his shirt.

“You little bitch!” He growled.

You spotted the pistol in his other hand. He made his attempt to fire and you quickly ran from the door frame, the bullet hitting a piece of the railing outside instead. From there on he gave chase.

(cue DBD chase music lol)

You were generally surprised with how much he was keeping on your trail. Eventually, he did manage to get a shot off on you, piercing your leg as you were jumping for cover. To pour salt in the wound, you had fallen on a section of unstable flooring, falling through the floor and landing on the floor below with a piece of debris that had nestled itself within the flesh of your leg...the same one that was shot…what luck.

You had only hoped that Kathryn and Elvira made it to safety.

By the time Leon had entered the station, it was very clear that the entire place had not been safe from the terror of the monsters outside. He had only come across a few survivors. One was Marvin Branaugh, who was constantly looking worse for wear every time they met up. The other being a blonde woman named Kathryn hiding out in one of the rooms by herself. Another being a mysterious FBI agent who seemed to know exactly how this whole mess started.

He watched her leave, leaving him with the corpse of the Great Dane turned monster that attempted to chew his face off. He looked over to the corpse, still in disbelief at what he’s witnessed.

‘Just what the hell was happening?’ Was the main thought running through his head.

While any other time, the sound would go unnoticed by him. In this situation, the soft pitter-patter of feet caught his attention. The blonde readied his weapon, worried it was another transformed dog. He was greeted by the sight of something much more innocent. A brown and white husky wagging its tail looking up at him.

By all means, it didn’t look as threatening as the other dog.

Leon lowered his gun slightly. “Good boy.”

The dog titled his head to the side, letting out a confused noise.

“Good...girl?”

The Husky straightened her head and began wagging her tail, letting Leon know that he had been right. He smiled, kneeling before her as she approached him, He wasted no time in scratching under her chin and enjoying the positive reception he was receiving from her.

“What are you doing all by yourself, girl?” He asked, moving his hand towards her orange collar with a dangling silver piece shaped like a bone with the name ‘Elvira’ engraved on it along with a phone number. “Doubt anyone’s gonna pick up though.”

Evie hopped back and started barking. Leon glanced behind him, making sure it wasn’t another monster.

“What’s wrong girl?”

The husky ran towards the door she came from. Stopping to look back at Leon and letting out a single bark, indicating that she wanted the rookie to follow her. Leon followed her lead. He trailed behind her until coming upon a hallway.

It has definitely seen better days. Today several sections were burnt, walls were riddled with bullet holes and blood, several corpses--eaten and uneaten--littered the area, not to mention the discarded firearms and the most eye-catching of the chaos: a section of a caved-in ceiling...and a woman--you--caught underneath.

Elvira barked and ran over to the human. It was clear to Leon that this is what the dog wanted to show him: a civilian in need. Leon wasted no time and followed behind Evie. You were still alive, as showcased by your heavy breathing.

Hearing the bark from your loyal girl, you sighed. “Evie, I told you to just find a way outta here. Don’t worry about--” You looked over to her and caught sight of a cop following behind her. “Oh…”

The blonde kneeled beside you. “Are you ok, ma’am?”

You let out a chuckle. “Well...aside from the piece of wood and the bullet wound in my leg and uh...falling through a floor...I think I’m ok.”

Leon nodded, indulging in your sarcasm. “Nice to see you’re still in good spirits at least.”

You shrugged. “I try.” You were kinda beating yourself up at the moment. ‘Girl, you could be paralyzed and you’re sitting here trying your terrible attempt at flirting?’ You thought. ‘That has only ever worked on Becca.’

Leon looked over the mess on top of you before looking back at you. Something was reassuring about the look he gave you. “I’m gonna try to get this off of you. You think you can crawl out from under there?”

“I dunno but I can try.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Elvira stood by, wagging her tail, watching Leon begin to help her owner. Leon looked back at her.

“Evie right?” She barked. “I need you to keep watch, ok? Make sure no monsters sneak up on us.” Elvira quickly turned around, standing tall as she kept a sharp eye out for any zombies.

Meanwhile, Leon holstered his gun to make use of both hands, grabbing onto the giant piece of wood and bracing himself before he slowly lifted it off you, allowing you to slide out from underneath the rubble, the pain of the wood piece still stuck in your leg still very much present.

Once Leon was sure you were completely out of harm’s way, he dropped the wood, immediately refocusing on you and taking notice of the state of your leg.

“You’re not gonna like this...but I have to take that out of you.”

“I mean fair enough but don’t you think that’s gonna cause a little too much bleeding? I-I don’t wanna bleed out.”

“You’ll be fine, I promise. I’m not gonna let you bleed out.”

“Maybe I could just limp it for a little bit until you find something to numb the pa--”

“Look at me.” It was stern but it was soft and had your full attention. “I’m not going to let you bleed...out.”

Just as he let out the last of his declaration, Leon snatches the piece of wood out of your leg before throwing his hand over your mouth to muffle your impending squeaks of pain. Once he was sure you weren’t going to scream, he removed his hand and quickly began patching your leg wound.

“So what happened to you?” He asked.

“Chief Irons.”

He looked up at you in disbelief. “What? The Chief did this to you?”

You nodded. “Turns out the moment everything went to shit, so did he. He just started...killing people. First was some other cop. One of the other survivors told the rest of us and...we all just scattered trying to get out before he came in shooting.”

“What about the other cops, they couldn’t possibly let that happen.”

“The few that were left were all scattered around the station trying to keep all the monsters at bay. The zombies just kept coming and then...it was even more terrifying things running around and I just knew I had to get me and Evie outta here. Then we came across Irons trying to kill the Mayor’s daughter and I couldn’t just leave her there, right? So...we separated and Irons came after me...shot me in the leg as I was jumping and I crashed through the floor and...here I am.”

You felt the snugness of the bandages as Leon finished. “Jeez.” That was all he responded with.

“Yeah, Raccoon City got fucked fast.”

Leon stood up and held a hand out to help lift you. As you stood, Evie ran over to you, wagging her tail in excitement as she jumped up on you with her tongue dangling out. You smiled, rubbing her face.

“I guess I should thank you for not listening to me, eh girl?” She barked. You looked over to Leon. “Thanks, by the way. I was kind of expecting a zombie or one of those weird flesh thingies to come and eat me.”

“It’s my job. We should stick together from now on though. Think you can walk?”

You looked down at your leg as you moved it a bit. “I think I should be able to.”

“Weapon?”

You shook your head, taking out what appeared to be an inhaler and taking a dose. Being invigorated with a new will to keep going. One that had left when you found yourself crushed.

“I’m sure we’ll find something for you to use. It’s a police station after all.”