#the coffin heist is one of the best things that's ever happened to him

[dolphin1812]

It’s so sad to have exactly how much Cosette suffered reiterated here. Knowing that her clothes didn’t even become threadbare underscores how little time passed before she had to experience this kind of stress again; her childhood remains tumultuous, even now that she has Valjean to care for her. And it hurts to hear that she lost Catherine in all of this. The convent is against possessions in general, so she would have been separated from her as part of a broad policy, but there’s a big difference between nuns voluntarily giving up their material possessions and a child who’s only ever had one doll being made to do the same. I guess knowing that the convent would have taken Catherine away makes it slightly less sad that she lost her in their flight (since she would have lost her anyways), but it’s still devastating. The fact that she hints at her despair over this loss to Valjean highlights the depth of her trust in him, though. She’s too used to silence to say anything to most people, but she feels so safe around him that she can begin to express this, even if only indirectly.

Still, the convent is a good place for her right now. She smiles! And she even laughs! It offers her security and love (from Valjean), and that’s what she needs most to recover from those years of abuse.

For Valjean, the convent is much more mixed. He’s happy, too, but Hugo very blatantly compares the convent to a prison (and the same thoughts are running through Valjean’s head here). In some respects, the convent is definitely better. This sums it up well:

“On the one hand, miasms; on the other, an ineffable perfume. On the one hand, a moral pest, guarded from sight, penned up under the range of cannon, and literally devouring its plague-stricken victims; on the other, the chaste flame of all souls on the same hearth. There, darkness; here, the shadow; but a shadow filled with gleams of light, and of gleams full of radiance.”

The convent has a “hearth,” like a home, while the prison is diseased, metaphorically and literally. However, it’s still a place of darkness, even if that darkness is a shadow, and the bits of sky that Valjean sees are limited.

The way he thinks about these two structures also underscores his punishment-centric mindset. Since the galleys (theoretically - we know this isn’t true because his punishment followed him) delivered punishment in the form of imprisonment and labor in return for the expiation of “sins” (crimes), he applies the same logic to the convent, only to find that the nuns suffer to redeem everyone, not themselves. On the one hand, their focus on all people allows him to think of humanity as a whole, which can be good in broadening his perspective. Hugo speculates that he may have become prideful without this, and it’s true that Valjean is bad at thinking of other people; Fauchelevent himself pointed this out. That being said, he doesn’t think of others as a form of connection because of the convent. He only thinks of them in the abstract, encouraging him to continue in his pattern of helping others and forgetting them. He does have another social tie with Fauchelevent now, but the convent doesn’t seem to be addressing the actual issues with his mindset: an obsession with punishment and difficulties in forming real relationships.

[vermont-writes-fanfic]

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing Chapter Two (Alucard x Reader)

Request: No

Warnings: Mentions of violence (it's Hellsing, what do you expect?), vampires, blood, cursing, weaponry, Alucard being an asshole, mentions of coffin/caskets, guns slight mention of non-conseual intercourse

Y/n

I stare at my ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as I try to concentrate on resuming my sleep. Why can’t I? Those words my father spoke to me earlier about him and mum keep repeating like some broken player in my head. It’s nearly maddening hearing him describe how she was so brutal and violent over and over and over again. With a groan I roll out of my bed and slip on some knee length socks before venturing out of my room. It’s always kept cold in the manor and it’s often the reason why many of the staff get sick. I quietly pad from my room to the far end of the hall down the stairs. It feels almost too easy. I reach out and twist the cold smooth handle of the door and twist the knob, only for it to stop about mid-way. Locked… I knew it was too easy, and as far as I know only three people have access to the basement: Alucard, my father, and Sir Integra, oh and Seras so that makes four. Who would the key be easiest to snag from?

“Looks like the little lamb has escaped her pen in favour of wandering around,” a deep voice I know all too well says from behind me.

I’d be a liar of I said he didn’t scare me, so I suppose I’m a liar because I will never admit such a thing.

“How many times must I insist you don’t fucking call me that?” I ask with a huff turning around and glaring up at him. “And I thought you were dead, dead people don’t grow so why are you so tall?”

At that he chuckles and I huff, not everything I say is so bloody funny that he as to laugh all the time. It makes me feel as if I missing out on some important joke. I move from under his form and as I do so I snag the key from his pocket, it may not be a good trait to have but I learned to pick pockets around the mansion, I do it in favour of causing a little chaos in my boring life here. I particularly like to take things from Sir Integra and have Alucard go on a little hunt for them, he still hasn’t found that pocket watch I took last year, its my proudest little heist I’ve done yet.

“Alucard, I’ve a question.” 

“Hm?” “How is it,” I start as I walk back over to the door and unlock it, “that you are centuries old and dno’t know when something has been stolen from you?”

I just hear a slight shuffle before a gloved hand comes into view and I drop the key on it.  

“Clever little lamb, do be carfuling stealing a vampires things. You might find that one is cursed,”

I shrug and ignore his words, he just loves to be all mysterious. I guess the books are right when they say vampires are like shadows and like to try and confuse people. I didn’t wake up late in the night to come and talk to him., I don’t believe I ever would. I open the door and shiver slightly as a gust of cold air rushes past me, I’m surprised that the door doesnt creak when I open it. Well should I really be, my father is diligent in his work as a butler around the place. The first step past the door frame makes me shiver and suddenly I wish I was wearing more than a night gown and some knee socks, the stone is cold and rough even through the socks. The first few steps make me realise maybe its best to do this in the daylight, but I reason that Alucard is more likely to be down here in the daylight hours. The deeper I descend down the dark stair way the smoother the stone becomes, the colder the air becomes, the more the hairs on my neck stand up. My hand runs along the wall, rough stone bricks guiding my down the case of stairs until I reach the bottom. There is something about this place the scream familiarity but that very well may be the call of sleep too. I walk down the corridor until I feel the urge to turn, and I do so. This happens for what seems like ages until a door finally shows some sort of light, in the room it seems to be some sort of secret entrance to the side of the estate…no this is an opening. There is an intricate system of halls, like a labyrinth, many ways stemming from this one faintly lit place. It’s so odd. I step on something wet that makes me stop and look down, but I don’t need to look to know what I stepped in. The metallic smell of rusted pennied had hit me long before I entered the room, but looking down at my white socks it is rather clear that it is blood I stepped in. It must be so moist down here that it never got the chance to evaporate. There is no way that this is recent, there is no body and it is sticky.

“Walter had quite the time down here with your mother, I know he’s told you tales of their time here.” His voice irritates me for some reason and I feel as if he shouldn’t be down here.

“Did he tell you that this is where she spent her last moments?”

“Your lying. Your filthy mouth tells nothing but lies, she wouldn’t die down here in this forgetten place.” I say defiantly. I refuse to believe that this is where she died, father always told me that she had died fighting for hellsing, not to one of her little playthings.

“Oh am I? Well if nothing I say is the truth then it won’t hurt to finish-” I cut him off, eyes searching for him in the dark, the bastard! “Don’t you dare finish talking you walking leech! You have no right to lie about such an awful thing! Its not your place even if you are telling the truth!”

“Your mother died down here to a particularly fiesty vampire youngling, not even to a true child of the night. He violated her, tore apart her clothes while his partner made Walter watch, they took her and when she couldn’t take any more they bit her. Poor Walter couldn’t handle it, he tore apart every single ghoul and vampire he could get his hands on after wards. Starting with your mother.”

I feel him appear by me and my first reaction is to hit at him and I do. I hit and punch and kick at him screaming curse and anything else my mind can come up with to scream at him.  

“That wasn’t your place! How could you! You liar! That’s all a lie! She wouldn’t-he wouldnt let that happen! He wouldn’t…how could he let that happen?” My screams and cries are reduced to silent juttering motions of my body, breathing labored as the cold from the basment seeps into my bones, my vision begins to fade slowly as I finally feel tired enough to fall asleep. I don’t want to fall asleep in this liars arms so i push my self away, stumbling to the ground. My vision catches a glimpse of a stone slab, it reads: In loving memory of Y/M/N ‘Black Widow’ L/n; Hellsings second most valubed asset and number one mother.

I really hope that you're enjoying this for anyone who is reading it! Always feel free to hand me some criticism and request something. My box is open!

[cherienymphe]

Joke’s On You (Joker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, knife play, blood play, murder, violence, 

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers​}

summary: you’re a part time thief who keeps getting in the Joker’s way. What starts out as rivals quickly turns into something hot and heavy, and before you know it, you’re J’s girl. Whether you want to be or not {based off of this headcanon}

~

The first time you ever come face to face with the Joker, the clown king himself, is during one of the first night’s you first started to execute your grand idea. You went through a klepto phase when you were a kid, but you never expected you’d return to it, and definitely not on a bigger scale like this.

It wasn’t like you were homeless or right on the poverty line. You had money, quite a bit in fact. One of the perks of being a stripper in the most popular club in Gotham, but there came a certain thrill from stealing from the rich in this city. Sure, you took their money on the stage, did everything you could to make them empty their pockets, but taking their money right out from under their nose was different.

You’re not sure when you came up with the bright idea, but you knew that if you wanted to keep this up and stay out of prison, you had to get smart about this. That was where the Joker came in. That clown ran this city, and you knew that with him around, no one would dare to even notice you. If you made your hits the same time as him, you could get in and out to no one’s knowledge.

It was a solid plan.

Until it wasn’t.

You almost ruin his plans to send a bank up into flames, and your eyes briefly meet his cold green ones before you’re taking off. You half expected to hear the sound of gunshots, even expected to get hurt or worse, but you can hear him telling his thugs to stand down. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by your presence, no real threat, and you’re unsure if you should be offended or not.

You had never seen the man himself up close before, and you’re shocked to realize that he’s taller than you imagined. More intimidating than you imagined. Despite the fact that he barely paid you any mind, you can’t help feeling like he’s going to break into your apartment and slit your throat. You’re a petty thief, nothing like the big criminals in this city, and your run in with him spooks you. It takes a long time for you to fall asleep that night.

You quickly put it behind you though and tell yourself that you just have to be more careful from here on out. It soon becomes obvious that that’s easier said than done. You hadn’t meant to get in his way when he was taking the mayor hostage. It was an honest mistake when you almost kept him from breaking some other danger to society out of Arkham, but the nail in your coffin finally comes when you do prevent him from robbing a bank truck.

You barely ducked in time as a bullet came flying past your head. You’re shaken up, but you manage to force yourself to get the hell out of there before the cops showed up and before the Joker took another shot. You should have known that he was going to be expecting you. The Joker was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

You walk right into a trap, and you’re in the bank vault, hands full of money when you feel a sharp tug on your hair. You swallow down a yelp as you’re yanked back into a bare chest, and your eyes widen when a hand curls around your throat. You may not be the best villain in the world, but you’re one that can defend yourself, and the walls of the vault shake as you fight back.

He’s stronger than he looks, but you’re stronger than you look, and you both realize this when he has a gun pressed to your forehead while you have a knife at his throat. Your heart is hammering inside of your chest because not only are you once again face to face with the Joker himself, but he’s seconds away from killing you. You feel like you’re about to throw up, and he’s clearly amused.

He tilts his head at you, red lips parting to reveal a shiny grin, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he presses the barrel of the gun even further into your skin. His purple coat hangs off of him, pale chest heaving and that’s how you know that despite his grin, he’s irritated. Maybe even mad.

“…and what do they call you?”

His voice is deep, and that takes you by surprise. A lot of things about the infamous criminal are taking you by surprise.

“What does it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway, right?”

He hums, stepping closer with a sneer.

“I haven’t quite figured that one out yet…maybe I will when you tell me your name…”

“Well, I haven’t quite figured out what I want to be called,” you honestly told him.

No one but him and his goons knew about you, so you had never counted on anyone else knowing about you either. The thought of an alias never crossed your mind.

“Trying to steal my shine or something? You want to be the big dog around here?”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, and if he had eyebrows, you were sure he’d be raising one at you right now with the look he gave you.

He narrowed his eyes, and in one movement, he ripped your mask from your eyes, making them widen. He looked down his nose at you, taking in your all black attire before finally resting his eyes on your face.

“…or don’t tell me…you’re one of those girlies who thinks she can run around with me?”

You frowned at him, and he continued.

“I take it you’re a big fan.”

His tone was mocking, and you had the urge to spit in his face, but you knew that would surely put a bullet in your head, so you simply rolled your eyes.

“Hardly. With you around, no one will even look my way. Your taste for the dramatics allows me to stay below the radar,” you told him.

He hummed at that, tilting his head from side to side as he weighed your explanation in his mind.

“That’s smart, and I gotta hand it to ya, I didn’t think you were smart.”

Your frown deepened at his backhanded compliment, but it was quickly wiped from your face when he tightened his hold on his gun, and your eyes widened.

“Smart, but not smart enough to stay out of my way-.”

He was interrupted as the building shook, and you both turned as gunshots reached your ears. While he was distracted, you slipped out of his grip, ducking in time to miss a bullet before turning the corner. A recognizable shadow passed over the walls, and you ducked into a nearby hallway just as the winged vigilante himself met the Joker as he stepped into the hall.

The air hitting your face reminded you that your mask was gone, and you quietly made your way to the back exit as the sound of fighting and gunshots grew fainter. You released a sigh of relief when you made it outside, and although you didn’t have anything to show for your excursion, at least you had your life.

A thin layer of sweat clings to your skin as you step down off of the stage, feet aching in your heels. A coworker of yours winks at you as she takes your place on the stage, and you wish her luck. Customers were being a bit stingy today, and considering your last heist granted you with nothing, your lack of cashflow today had you more annoyed than usual.

Sure, it was a Tuesday afternoon, but it was still the hottest club in Gotham. Customers of all types of backgrounds frequented the place, and although the old money crowd practically lived here, you had a love hate relationship with their kind. They tended to be the stingiest with their money despite having more than you could ever dream of.

“What time are you off?”

You turned to another girl who worked at the place, Mandy, and threw her a grim look.

“12.”

She grimaced, blue eyes filled with pity as she shook her head.

“Sheesh. Well, that’s what happens when you’re the best dancer in this place,” she said with a shrug. “Your demand is high.”

“High demand and low pay. What a treat,” you sarcastically replied.

She chuckled, but she quickly swallowed it down, eyes glancing past you. The club was already loud, but there seemed to be an uptake in noise, and you turned to find the cause. You froze where you stood, eyes wide and lips parting at the group of people who just stepped into the place.

All of the men varied in size and shape, all dressed in black as they made their way inside like they owned the place. You supposed that in a way they did. Anyone following the footsteps of the Joker probably felt like he could get away with anything. The man in question led the bunch, strutting past patrons with a dark look in his eye, green hair contrasting against his dark red shirt.

You quickly turned back around, squeezing your eyes shut as Mandy let out a low whistle.

“I haven’t seen him step foot in here in forever,” she commented.

You looked to her with a confused frown.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve only been here for what, half a year? The Joker used to come in here all the time. They’d get a bit rowdy but what is that when he’s the highest paying customer?”

She shrugged, reaching for a tray of drinks, completely unaware of your internal dilemma. It was almost time to get back on stage.

“Have fun,” she purred, walking past you.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you stewed over what you should do. Sure, you were a thief in your spare time, but you couldn’t lose this job. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t walk out of here, so you straightened your shoulders and made your way back to your stage.

You kept an eye out for pale skin and green hair, and you were thankful to find him far on the other side of the room. He and his crew were occupied by another dancer, Mandy serving them drinks. You were thankful and carefully stepped onto the stage.

As usual, you attracted a nice sized crowd, and you made sure to keep your face turned away as you moved around the pole. You were pleased to find that this crowd was more generous with their money, but your satisfaction was short lived when your turned to find your boss gesturing for you to come off the stage. You were confused but did so anyway. He nervously scratched his dark beard as you approached, and you had a sinking feeling in your gut for some reason.

“What is it?”

He grumbled and jerked his head towards the other side of the building, and you hesitantly looked over his shoulder. The Joker’s goons were having a good time tossing money at the dancer on stage, a few of them clearly drunk. The green-haired man, however, wasn’t partaking in the festivities. His unreadable gaze was focused on you, and your heart sank when he didn’t break the stare. You were forced to when your boss spoke.

“He wants a private session with you,” the older man mumbled, and you’d be dumb to miss the fear and concern in his voice.

You internally cursed.

“You’re kidding…”

“…’fraid not. He was very clear in his…request,” he responded.

You both knew that it wasn’t a request. The Joker never requested anything, and you briefly closed your eyes, positive that this was going to be your last night on earth. Your boss placed his hand on your shoulder, gaze sympathetic…and pitying.

“Just do what he says, alright?”

He wasn’t just telling you that to make more money, but to keep you from becoming the clown’s next victim. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that your fate was already sealed. With a nod, you strutted past him and made your way to the other side of the room. The Joker’s expression didn’t change as you approached him, and you nervously swallowed. His cold green eyes seemed to follow the gesture, and you took a deep breath.

“Someone request a private room?”

Again, he said nothing, simply tilting his head to the side as his trailed his eyes over your scantily clad form. Some of his posse was still enamored with the dancer before them, but the rest had turned to not so discreetly eye you. They all looked away when the green-haired man stood, and your eyes fell to the sliver of skin that peeked through the top of his shirt, unable to hold his gaze.

“Right this way…”

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you could feel his presence behind you as you led the way to the back where the private rooms were located. The walk was quiet, thick with tension, and you wondered if it was too late for you to start saying your prayers.

You went in first, blinking at the red glow of the room that came from the neon lights. You were shaking, stomach churning as the door clicked shut behind him. You turned to tell him to get it over with when his hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to swallow your words. You let out a pained squeak, eyes watering, but his lips swallowed any other noise you threatened to make.

Your eyes were wide as he roughly kissed you, shock coursing through you while his mouth moved against yours. You stumbled back in your heels, but he quickly followed, teeth nipping at you so violently that you tasted blood. You wanted to tell him that this wasn’t that kind of club. This was not in your job description and was not allowed, but you remembered your boss’ words and wondered if he knew that this was what the man wanted?

Even still, you couldn’t go through with this, but his tattooed hands were ripping at your attire before you had the chance to voice what you wanted to say. Your lips were finally free to tell him off, but the only thing that came out was a yelp when his teeth sank into your shoulder. The pain you felt was quickly overshadowed by the pleasure that warmed your stomach when his fingers brushed over you.

You pushed against his chest, but his other hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around so that your back was pressed to his chest. It happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to ponder what was happening until he was already inside of you. One hand was tangled in your hair, face pressed into the seat of the sofa as broken moans escaped your trembling lips.

His free hand was pressed into the skin between your shoulder blades, holding you down while his hips snapped into you over and over again. He was far from gentle, but every harsh stroke only seemed to stroke that fire inside of you. Your lashes were fluttering as he thrust into you, eyes rolling while you tried to make sense of everything.

You could feel his nails pressing into your back as he pinned you down, and your own scraped against the fabric of the couch while choked moans climbed out of your throat. This was far from how you expected your day to go. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that this man was trying to kill you. You fluttered around his unrelenting cock and tried to remember why that was a bad thing.

He let out what sounded like a growl above you, the fabric of his pants pressing into your skin as he ground against you, and his hand in your hair moved to the back of your neck just as the tightening in your stomach snapped. You came around him with an embarrassing scream, going limp beneath him as he fucked you through your climax, diving headfirst into his own.

You collapsed the minute he let you go, vision blurry and throat sore as you heard him zip his pants. You were still shaking, and he was already gathering himself together like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just fucked you delirious. You moved to stand, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but you collapsed back onto the couch.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you heard a low chuckle in his throat. Either way, you didn’t get to ask him because the sound of the door slamming shut reached your ears seconds later.

The next time you ran into that stupid clown, you took great satisfaction in striking him square in the face. You didn’t care that he was surrounded by his band of hired muscle nor that you were currently standing in the middle of a jewelry store, alarm blaring in your ears almost painfully.

He gestured for the men around him to continue looting the place, seeing as they had paused to take in the scene. You knew they would have killed you without hesitation had he told them to. You glared at him as he grinned at you, bat perched on his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta stop running into each other like this,” he lowly said.

“That was for the last time we ‘ran into each other’,” you sneered. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to-.”

“Consider it my way of letting you get off easy.”

He chuckled at his play on words, but you weren’t amused in the slightest.

“Get off easy? Are you even crazier than everyone thinks?”

His grin was gone in a flash, and he stepped towards you, tapping his bat against his shoulder as he leaned in. His lips were parted as his eyes bore into your own, and you forced yourself to stand your ground as the scent of him invaded your nose.

“If you recall,” he slowly began. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

You swallowed, jaw clenching as he tapped his finger against your nose.

“The plan was to put a bullet in that pretty little mouth of yours. Does that…ring any bells?”

You pressed your lips together, glancing away as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Fucking you brought me more satisfaction than killing you ever could,” he deeply said.

You felt heat rise to your face, and he tilted his head, lips brushing against your own as he spoke.

“So…I suggest you keep me satisfied…”

His coat flew behind him as he spun away, stomping towards one of his men to bark orders at them. Anger and humiliation coursed through you as you stomped outside, and you narrowed your eyes as the sound of police sirens drew nearer. With a sneer, you grabbed the knife in your holster before slashing the tires on his van.

That kept you satisfied throughout the rest of the night, but you paid for it dearly the next day at the club. This time, he hadn’t even waited until you were in the room. His hand had curled around the back of your neck as soon as you got to the door, forcing you inside as soon as he opened it.

You had stumbled in your heels, falling to your knees, and he was there before you could even rise. His hand was on your neck the entire time he slammed into you, the carpet scraping against your back. You could hardly breathe, let alone moan as he had his way with you, and you knew that he was genuinely angry this time, and you wondered how he managed to escape the police.

He was punishing you for your little stunt, but God did you love it. Your hands fisted into his bright red button down as he slid into your soaked walls, trying to pull him closer. You heard him hum every time you clenched around his throbbing member, the sound of your arousal reaching your ears. You should have been embarrassed at how wet you were, but the Joker seemed to enjoy it just fine, and besides. You saw no reason to pretend.

Like the last time, he was righting himself as soon as he was done while you lay on the floor, still trying to catch your breath. You let out a soft chuckle as he slammed the door behind him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t even able to talk in the morning.

This little game between the two of you became something of a regular occurrence. You’d make your hits when and where he did his to avoid exposure, and sometimes things would go wrong on his end. Some mishaps were genuine accidents, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the way he’d take out his frustration on you.

He fucked you like an animal, and you loved it because sometimes you couldn’t even form words afterwards. And best of all, he wasn’t trying to kill you anymore…just your vagina.

One day, he didn’t leave as soon as he was done. He stood over you, watching as you fought to control your breathing. When you realized that he wasn’t making any moves to leave, you peeled your eyes open to look up at him from your place on the couch.

“…what?”

You nervously sat up as he dug into his pocket, eyes widening when he pulled out the shiniest bracelet you’d ever seen. He dangled it in front of your face, a low hum escaping him as you admired it.

“Saw this shiny little number in the display. It had my little thief written all over it…”

He jerked it away when you reached for it, so you reached higher, gasping when he closed his free hand around your wrist. You watched as he snapped the expensive piece of jewelry around your arm, and you brushed your fingers over it the minute he let you go.

You were forced to pull your eyes away from it though when he harshly gripped your chin, pulling your head up so that you were looking at him. His green eyes bore into your own, face unreadable as he pressed his red lips together.

“You like it, doll face?”

You couldn’t hold back your grin, and you nodded.

“I love it,” you told him, unaware of the implications behind the gesture.

You started showing up to work with all kinds of new things. A new pair of earrings, a necklace that wasn’t that before, even some new heels that didn’t hurt your feet as much. You figured it was just a perk of fucking the king of Gotham, of keeping him satisfied.

You didn’t know that it went beyond mere satisfaction and thankful gestures.

It was a late night, or early morning depending on how you looked at it. The club was almost at its peak, the early hours of the morning being your busiest. You hadn’t seen J in a few days, but it wasn’t unusual. The man was basically running an empire.

You were servicing a client, a regular who could never stick to one dancer. He had a habit of hopping between the ladies at the club, and it looked like this week, he’d chosen you. The loud music filled your ears as you slid your hands over his shoulder, thighs brushing his as you danced on him. The bass from the music made your body vibrate, and your eyes fell closed as you fisted one of your hands into your hair, chest pushed forwards.

The man had already given you a handsome sum of money, and you knew that if you put on your best show, there was plenty more where that came from. The loud music prevented you from hearing the rise in voices as a new patron entered the club. It also prevented you from taking note of the worried chatter that had only just started to emerge, but it didn’t drown out the sound of a gunshot that you flinching.

However, you didn’t open your eyes because of the gunshot. You opened your eyes at the feel of droplets landing all over your face, hair, and clothes. You faintly registered the sound of screams surrounding you as people fled from the club, tripping over one another. You stumbled back, frozen in place as you stood up straight, hands raised in front of you as you stared at your dead customer in shock.

He was dead.

That much was more than clear, but you were having a hard time wrapping your head around it. Heavy footsteps slowly made their way over to you, and you hesitantly looked over, terrified eyes connecting with familiar green ones. His eyes were wild and crazed, green hair pushed back away from his face, gun swinging back and forth on his finger. He looked good in his all white suit, not a spot of blood on him.

You wished you could say the same.

“Are you insane?” you screamed, legs trembling.

“Well, that’s what they tell me.”

You frowned at him as he threw his head back and cackled, and you shook your head, fighting to clear it.

“Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

He abruptly stopped laughing, slowly lowering his head to gaze at you. His lips parted into a mocking grin.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I leave town on business for a few days, and I come back to find my girl practically screwing some punk for the whole club to see,” he slowly said, voice low and threatening.

Your anger kicked you into gear, and you stomped towards him, a frown on your face.

“I am not your girl, and even if I was…this is my job! You know this is my job-!”

Your words were cut off, and you winced as he tightened his hold on your neck. Your feet were barely grazing the floor as he walked forwards, forcing you back. You dug your fingers into his arm, hitting at him with your free hand, but he acted as if you weren’t even fighting back.

“Those nice earrings you’re wearing says you’re my girl…”

Your stomach churned as you began to realize the serious meaning behind his gifts.

“…that pretty little bracelet on your arm says you’re my girl…”

You looked around in fear, realizing that the club was completely empty save for you, the Joker, and his thugs. You kicked at him as he forced your back onto the stage, his firm body pressing down on yours. His hold was still tight, and you felt tears spring forth as you fought to breathe.

“…and I say you’re my girl. Understand?”

You gave a shaky nod, but it wasn’t enough for him. He lifted you by the neck before slamming you back down, making you wince, and a slow grin spread along his face, revealing his shiny teeth.

“I’ve got a whole lotta toys, sweetheart. I earned those toys. I took those toys. Those toys are mine…”

You watched as he pointed his gun at the dead man still slumped in the chair.

“…and I don’t like people touching my toys.”

You didn’t get a chance to ponder on this turn of events before his lips were harshly pressing against yours. He slammed the gun down next to your head, hands pulling at your attire, and the tears finally spilled over as you fought against him. You weren’t alone, and this was a new level of humiliation that you weren’t okay with.

A man was dead. In fact, you were still covered in his blood, and the Joker’s men were just behind him, intently listening to everything, no doubt. His grip was harsh as he took hold of your wrists, slamming them down beside you. He let one go to grab his gun, pressing it into your lips as you shook.

“You gonna be a good girl? Or do I have to use this again?”

His voice was calm despite the violent implications behind his words, and you shakily shook your head.

He was rougher with you than he had ever been before. Biting you, choking you, and holding you far too tight. Part of you felt like it was done on purpose, not only so you’d get the idea, but so that the rest of his crew would get that you were his too. You cried as he pressed your cheek down onto the stage floor, hips snapping against your backside while harsh grunts left his lips.

You couldn’t handle staring at the Joker’s latest victim while he forced himself into you, so you squeezed your eyes shut. His other hand dug into your hip so harshly, you knew it was going to leave a bruise. As the minutes drew on, it seemed like his ministrations were becoming rougher, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the sound of your sobs were egging him on.

His grip on your hair when he came had more tears springing to your eyes, and you flinched when his lips brushed your ear.

“Clean yourself up…”

Having only been half on the stage, you collapsed to the floor when he let you go. Your hair and makeup were a mess, and you miserably stared up at him through tear-filled eyes as he tucked his shirt back into his pants, swiftly pulling on his white suit jacket.

“…the cops will be here soon, and you gotta pull yourself together. Huh, doll face?”

He forced your head back as he gripped your chin, and you reluctantly nodded. He roughly dragged his thumb over your lips, smearing what was left of your lipstick before taking his leave, leaving you alone with one dead body, and one bruised one.

You shuffled upstairs, arms aching and eyes tight as you made your way to your apartment. It had been weeks since you’d been back to the club. Your boss, someone you were ever grateful for, told you to come back when you were ready. After all, you’d had someone’s brains blown out right in front of you…on you.

You were fortunate that no one stuck around to see J’s possessive display of ownership, so no one knew what his impromptu murder was really about. Everyone speculated that the customer had crossed the Joker in some way, a business deal gone wrong, but only you knew the truth. Only you knew that the man’s only crime had been paying for your time.

You took a break from stealing from the wealthy too. Not only did you lack the energy, but you couldn’t chance running into the Joker. Had you known what all of those gifts had meant, you never would have accepted them. You didn’t want to be the Joker’s. The last girl who got seriously tangled up with him had ended up almost crazier than he was.

Granted, you heard Harley Quinn was doing better these days, but God. Look how long it took her to get there? The thought of telling him to his face that it was over was a scary one, so you settled for just hiding away in your apartment. He was the Joker, a man who had a lot on his plate, and like he’d said, you were a toy to him. There were plenty of toys out there, and he could easily find another.

You dropped the groceries to the floor as soon as you made it inside, and you groaned as you straightened. Your shoes clicked along the floor as you made your way through your dark apartment. You turned on the kitchen light so that it would be on when you returned, and you made your way through your living room, looking forward to getting out of these clothes.

However, when you turned on the light in the living room, you were startled by the sight of a familiar green-haired villain standing in the corner like some statue. You barely swallowed down the scream that bubbled in your throat, and your eyes were wide as you took him in.

He was wearing a tux, a nice one with a white bowtie and a matching boutonniere. His hair was slicked back, and you weren’t sure where he came from, but you wanted him to go right back.

“I was enjoying a night out on the town…taunting Batsy as I like to do…”

He walked away from the wall as he slowly begun, cold eyes roaming over your apartment.

“…when I realized that I hadn’t seen my little thief for days. Weeks even.”

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to make his way around the living room, running his gloved hands over your furniture. You didn’t realize that he was gradually closing the circle, nearing you.

“You haven’t been at work. You haven’t been in my face while you ruin my plans. You’re not hiding from me…are ya, doll face?”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down your fear as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I’m not hiding from you. We’re just through,” you told him.

He froze, glancing over his shoulder at you before continuing to look around.

“Did you hear me? You and I are done. Take your jewelry back, take everything you gave me and leave,” you continued.

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, and you stomped towards him.

“I’m serious, J! Do I need to call the police?”

That made him turn, and he wagged his finger at you like you were a misbehaving child.

“Careful,” he purred. “…because I personally know a certain thief they’d love to be informed about.”

You frowned, swallowing before pushing past him.

“I don’t care. At least in jail, I’ll be away from you-.”

You were cut off by your own scream, reaching for his hand as he pulled on your hair, forcing you away from the phone. He pulled you against him, and your eyes widened when he pressed a knife against your cheek, a hair’s width away from your lips.

“You have no agency in this arrangement.”

He threw you to the floor, and you scrambled away from him, nails scraping along the wood as he pulled you back. He cut your clothes away with ease, the torn shreds falling to the floor to leave you bear before him. The knife that grazed along your skin kept you from screaming as he undressed, but you did wince when he pressed it into your thigh, like a warning of what could come.

He took you behind the couch first, holding your thighs so tightly that the skin burned when he finally let go. Your table was next, but unfortunately, it didn’t withstand his rough treatment. The wall shook as he fucked you against it, every thrust rattling the pictures you had hung up to make this place a tad cozier.

Broken glass and broken pieces of wood littered the floor by the time he forced you into your bedroom. His knife remained in between his fingers the whole time he fucked you against your sheets. Your scalp burned from his harsh hold, and your throat hurt every time you swallowed, and you just knew that you’d wake up with finger shaped bruises in the morning. His deep voice was a constant in your ear, calling you ‘his little thief’, tsking at you like you were a confused child, telling you how much he was going to straighten you out.

When you clenched around him for a final time, your legs were thrown over his shoulder while your hands were pinned above your head by one of his. His free hand had fun cutting little nicks into your skin, greedily licking up the blood as tears continued to dampen your cheeks. He continued to push himself into you even after he came, and when he finally pulled out, your legs fell to the bed, chest heaving with shallow sobs.

“Now, wasn’t that a whole lotta fun?”

You glared at him as he sat up, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his fair skin, and your eyes traced the ink that decorated him. His green hair was in disarray, a smug grin on his lips as he pushed the strange colored locks away from his face. You could hardly even move, and you feared that attempting to would hurt worse.

You watched as he leaned over to his discarded pants, pulling out some sparkly piece of jewelry that you couldn’t care less about. You swallowed as he held it up, nearing you.

“…and here I was out shopping for something to compliment those new earrings, and you’re talking about leaving me. That’s a bit rude, but I’m willing to look past it.”

More tears spill over as he slides it around your neck, and it feels more like a noose than a necklace.

“You look like a work of art,” he says, lips brushing your cheek. “…all pretty and marked up by yours truly.”

His hair tickles your face, and he slowly leans away, dragging his fingers over your lips. You wince when he roughly grabs your jaw, pressing his fingers into a tender spot that you know is already forming a bruise.

“Now, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so don’t do anything stupid.”

He tightened his grip at the end of his sentence, and you flinched. He grinned at you as he lightly patted his other hand against your cheek, grin widening when you recoiled.

“Let’s not do anything like that again, alright, sweetheart?” he purrs. “I’d hate to have to really hurt ya.”

~

tags: @harryspet @sherrybaby14 @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox  @opheliadawnwalker3 @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @readermia @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @buckybarnesplumwhore @quaksonhehe @nerdygirl8203��@mandiiblanche @cocoamoonmalfoy​

[tryingmybestpls]

As The World Caves In

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve deals with the loss of his wife after the Snap.

Rating: R?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Grief, depression, feelings of loneliness, death, graphic depiction of a death

A/N: hi yes I wanted to get this out before TFATWS got out. I have never liked the ending Steve got in Endgame, so I wanted to write a new one for him!

Steve would like to say that he lost his wife like everyone else did that day.

He would love to say that she turned into ash like the rest of his teammates. He would love to say that they had some tear-filled goodbye before she turned into nothing. He would love to have that hope that might be able to come back.

But he can't.

Because she actually died that day in Wakanda. Right before his eyes.

It had happened after Thanos had tossed Steve aside. Y/N had charged at the Titan, angry at the purple being for hurting her husband. He caught her in mid-air, his golden gauntlet shimmering in the sunlight as it wrapped tightly around her throat. Steve had scrambled to stand up, his eyes on her.

Y/N coughed and sputtered, her face turning colors as she kicked, her fingers trying to pry the large gold covered fingers off of her throat. And while it felt like hours for Steve, it had only been seconds. Seconds. Seconds he had held her in their air, seconds she had suffered as the Titan cut off her oxygen. Thanos had smirked before tightening his grip, a sickening crack filling the air. Steve couldn't breathe as her body was tossed towards him. It seemed to move in slow motion, bouncing when it hit the ground.

When her body finally came to a stop in front of him, her head lolling to the side as the cloud of dust settled. Steve still had hope somehow. He prayed to the Lord above as he looked at her, hoping that she was somehow still alive. Blood vessels had burst in her eyes and blood trickled out of her mouth. There was a darkening bruise on her throat, her neck was bent at an unnatural angle. Steve had been unable to move, unable to breathe. Within an instant, she was gone. His wife, the love of his life, ripped away from him in mere seconds.

And then his friends and teammates turned into ash all around him.

The worst moment of his life was when he watched his wife die right in front of him. The second worst is having to tell her brother that she was dead.

After Tony had come down the ramp of the ship, Steve had ran over to help him down that last view steps and over to Pepper. Stark told Steve that Peter was gone and in that moment of silence that followed, Tony's eyes scanned the small group of survivors for his adopted sister. Tears sprung up in the man's eyes as he looked back at Steve. The Captain's throat constricts with emotion, tears brimming in his eyes as he just nods, unable to get the words out. Pepper ran up in that moment, wrapping her arms around Tony just as tears rolled down his face.

Y/N is the only one they actually bury. Her funeral is a quiet affair, with only the remaining members of their team and Pepper in attendance. The couple had never talked about what might happen or what they would want if either of them died. Tony tells him that she would want to be buried next to their parents, so she is. He makes sure his baby sister has the best coffin money can buy, the best headstone-everything. Her funeral is the last time Steve and Tony talk to each other.

Steve gets an apartment she would have loved. It's right around the corner from the restaurant where they had their first date and a few streets away from the cemetery. There was those big windows that Y/N had always expressed fondness over. The apartment also had built in shelves that lined one wall of the living room area, which had been another selling point for him. One day Steve hoped that he would be able to fill them with her many books and tchotchkes, but now they stood empty, the shelves gathering dust. Her collection of novelty mugs weren't in the cabinets, no they were still wrapped up in newspapers within one of the many boxes. He had planned on unpacking all of the things that had once filled their shared room at the compound, but the boxes stay in the second bedroom, all piled up in the middle of the room. He couldn't find it in himself to go through all of her old things, didn't want to be bombarded with emotions and memories.

That first year is the hardest. Learning to live without her tears him to shreds. Steve hardly sleeps, hardly eats. He spends a lot of his time alone, dwelling over what he could've done differently. Natasha tries to reach out to him, but Steve distances himself. He tells himself that he needs to do this alone, needs to try to get through it by himself. Y/N always feels like she's just out of his grasp and he prays and begs to have her back with him. His prayers go unanswered.

Natasha appears outside his door on the one year anniversary of Thanos's snap and Y/N's death, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and Asgardian mead in the other. They sit together in the kitchen and drink as vigils and memorials take place around the world. For the first time, Steve talks about how much he misses his wife. The two heroes talk all night about each person they missed, both of them wondering aloud how were they supposed to live without them.

By the end of the second year, Steve is getting used to living without her. He hates it. He hates how much that ache in his chest has lessened. He hates that he can see a picture of her without a lump forming in his throat. Steve is able to talk about her more and starts a grief support group. Sure he sometimes wakes up and hopes she's there, but that's getting less and less frequent. Steve's afraid that his memories of her are going to slip away from him, terrified of forgetting her.

So he starts to draw her. He's desperate to hold onto every memory of her, so he fills up page after page, sketchbook after sketchbook of nothing but Y/N. The drawings aren't perfect, but he is able to cement those memories in his mind. Steve wants to make sure that he can remember her face without having to study a picture. So when he remembers something about her, he puts it onto a piece of paper. Y/N on their wedding day. Y/N when they were on the run and she fell asleep in the Quinn Jet. Y/N brushing her teeth early in the morning, her silhouette lit up by the almost golden bathroom light. Y/N the first day they met.

Natasha sees them once when she stops by to see him. One of the sketchbooks is left open on the table and she sneaks a peek when Steve goes to the other room to get a sweater. There on the page in incredible detail is a sketch of her best friend with tears in her eyes, her mouth open in shock. She doesn't know that this is the face she made when she learned that Bucky had killed her parents and Steve knew. Natasha looks away, her cheeks burning. She feels like she saw something too personal, too raw, and she shuts the journal before Steve returns.

When the third, fourth, and then fifth year rolls around- well Y/N has been gone longer than they were together as a couple. Steve has gotten used to her being gone. He's able to walk past the room holding all of the boxes without stalling. It gets easier to talk about her, easier to share stories about her to his group. He still misses her, it's just easier for him to live now. His wedding band never leaves his ring finger, needing to have a part of her with him always. Steve still loves her and he doesn't think he can ever love someone as much as he loves his wife.

And then Scott Lang reappears.

Steve wants to reverse what Thanos did, wants to bring back his friends even if that means he cannot bring back his wife. That ache in is chest returns as they put together their heist plan. Steve feels like there's a ghost following him around while he's back at the compound. His shoulders feel heavy again and he tries to put on a brave face as the people around him get hopeful. He tries to be happy, knowing that he will be getting his friends back and fixing what had happened, but he can't help but be upset.

-

Steve gets to see her when they go back.

It's after he knocks out the younger version of himself. Steve is standing over himself, breathing hard, and holding Loki's scepter tightly in his hands.

"That is America's Ass." He comments, looking behind him before back down to the unconscious man. He needs to meet back up with the others so that they can-

"It definitely is." A familiar voice calls out from in front of him. Steve stills, his breath catching in his throat before he slowly lifts his head. There she is, standing before him with a smirk on her face. Y/N is dressed in her navy blue suit, her hair messy from the battle she just went through. Her face is dirty, her lip split and there is a long cut across her cheekbone. His mouth goes dry and he's suddenly tongue tied, like he was when they first met.

Steve remembers how nervous and awkward he was when they were first introduced to each other. Y/N gave him a million dollar smile and just like that, he knew he was a goner. Steve had stumbled over saying his name, which had then made her laugh-God, that laugh. That laugh had made him warm all over, made butterflies swarm around in his stomach. And in the past five years, those butterflies had been dormant and now, now they're wide awake.

"You're not my Steve." Y/N announces as she walks towards him, studying him. Steve's heart is beating fast and he wants to reach out and hold her close, wanting to tell her how much he loves her. My Steve. God, he misses her. He misses everything about her.

"How can you tell?" He asks, a tiny smile appearing on his face. Y/N chuckles, taking seeing two Steve's surprisingly well. But then again, she had just got done fighting aliens and a literal god so he supposes that things have been weirder.

"My Steve won't even look me in the eye. He blushes when I look at him. When I look at you...you just look so sad. That's how I know you're not Loki." She answers, stopping in front of him. Steve studies her face, taking in every little detail because he knows that this is the last time he'll see her.

"I-I'm that easy to read, huh?" Steve retorts and she laughs again, nodding. God, he misses that sound. He misses her so fucking much that it makes his chest ache. Y/N's smile falters as she looks at him, watching as his smile drops.

"I'm not going to pretend what is exactly going on here, okay? Obviously you are going through something and it's pretty clear you are on a some type of mission." She tells him, motioning to the scepter in his hands. Steve looks down to his hand before looking at her. He knows that she should be calling for back up because by the way people keep speaking through her comm Y/N must know that things are going south.

"I'll bring it back, I promise." Steve replies and the smile returns to her face. Y/N glances down to the unconscious man on the floor before looking at him.

"I know you will. I never saw you, new Steve. And don't worry, I'll make sure you don't choke on your tongue." She teases, gesturing to the passed out version of himself. Steve's smile returns to his face as she continues, "But I do expect some sort of explanation when you come back."

"Of course. I'll be back before you even know I was gone." Steve says, wanting to say so many other things that he knows that he just can't tell her. He opens his mouth again when her comm once again crackles to life. Y/N's eyes widen and she gestures for him to leave. Steve's mouth snaps shut and he nods, quickly walking away.

Tony would later tell Steve when they're in 1970 that he started crying when he saw his little sister.

-

When his teammates return on the battlefield, she isn't among them. He knows she won't be coming through a portal, but some part of him still holds out hope for some reason. Yet, there is no sadness inside of him on that battlefield. No, rage has pushed all of that sadness aside, filling him up completely.

When he fought against Thanos and his army, he did so with every ounce of strength in his body. Steve wanted to avenge the death of Y/N, wanted to kill Thanos for what he did to her. Steve has never felt so angry in his entire life. He wanted to be the one who ended the Titan's life. He ignored the large gash in his arm and tore through aliens.

And in the end, it's Tony who takes out Thanos. He is the one who avenges his baby sister's death, but the price he pays his high. And Steve has to watch another Stark die.

He feels so guilty that he is alive and both of the Stark siblings are gone, both of them buried side by side, right next to their parents.

There is just so much death in his life, so much damn loss. And he's tired. Steve is exhausted. He hoped that bringing back his friends and the half of the universe that had disappeared because of the Snap would make him feel better, but it hadn't. No, instead that hurt has returned with full force. His chest feels like its about to cave in on itself, like his ribs piercing his lungs and heart-God, everything seems unbearable. All he wants is for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

And then, he is reminded that he has to return the stones.

And while every single part of the journey is noteworthy, he saves returning the scepter for last.

Y/N is sitting beside the unconscious version of himself when he returns. She turns his head to look at him, a smile on her face. For a moment, he considers staying here with her, reliving every single moment of their life and their relationship as it happens.

But he knows that he can't.

It wouldn't be right for him to stay here with her, knowing everything that he knows. Steve has had his time with her, time that he will treasure for the rest of is life. He knows that if he returns back to his timeline, there will be a lot of hurting that he will have to go through. Steve knows that it would be so much easier to stay here with Y/N, but he won't let himself do it.

So Steve explains to Y/N why he needed the scepter, leaving out her death and the death of her brother. After he finishes, she stays quiet for a moment, processing all of this new information. He just waits and sits there.

"Don't tell me what happens, please. I want the cards to fall where they may. I-I want to be surprised." Y/N tells him suddenly, glancing at the unconscious man before looking at Steve. The Captain understands exactly what she means. She must know somehow that she ends up with him, something on his face his showing his hand. Y/N had always told him that he had a shitty poker face. A smile stretches across his face, nodding. His wedding ring-hidden under his gloves-feels so much heavier, like its weighing his arm down.

A pit of dread opens up in Steve's stomach as his time draws to an end. He thanks and apologizes to Y/N as he hands over the scepter. She just smiles, telling him not to worry about it as she puts it back into its case. He must look as upset as he feels because before he leaves, Y/N wraps her arms around him. It surprises Steve, but he quickly wraps his arms back around her. Steve holds her tightly, letting his eyes shut. He knows that this will be the last time he'll ever hold her and he just savors it, wishing that it could last forever. Wishing that he could stay here forever.

But everything has to come to an end.

When he says goodbye, he knows that Y/N doesn't understand that this is him saying goodbye to her for the last time. Steve finally gets to tell her goodbye and even though he isn't able to tell Y/N how much he loves her, it's okay. It's okay because he will be able to tell her how much he loves her one day, even if that day isn't today. They'll be reunited again. He just needs to wait.

She tells him goodbye and he takes one final look at her before he returns back to his timeline, back into a world where she's gone.

That night, he returns to his empty apartment, the silence almost deafening. That hole in his chest has reopened and he is in so much pain that everything just feels numb.

He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, washing the day's events off of him hoping that this would also wash away the numbness, trying to pretend like nothing of importance had happened hours earlier. When he crawls into the same bed he has been sleeping in for the past five years-a bed she has never touched-he realizes how empty it is without her. He can't feel her here like he can at the Compund-No, here she doesn't follow behind him. No, this is a place she has never been so she can't be here. The apartment is suddenly too big for him-everything is too big for him. It's too big and too empty and too fucking quiet-

It's like the string that was holding him together the past five years has finally snapped and he just starts crying. The Captain's body shakes with sobs as he lays in that empty room. Steve had thought he had processed her death and grieved already, but he hadn't. Until this very moment, it had never fully set in that Y/N was dead. It was never fully real that she was gone. He knew that she was, but some part of him was still holding out hope that somehow she was going to come back. If Bucky could come back, surely she could have as well. But Y/N isn't Bucky and so she never came back.

It took until today for him to fully realize that she was gone. Y/N was gone and there was nothing he can do about it. There was no stones to gather, no traveling through dimensions for him to do. Steve had to live the rest of his life without the love of his life, in a time where he'll never belong in. That small flicker of hope that had been silently living inside of him had been snuffed out, leaving an empty dark space inside of him, leaving him cold and empty.

The only hope that remained is that they would be reunited one day in death, but until then Steve would be forced to carry around his pain where ever he went.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 19 - Holy Ground

Masterlist; Chapter 18

Summary: In the days before the mission in Tallinn, you and Neil have a few conversations to clear the air of doubts. Only, the mission itself proves to be a disruption...

Warnings: Swearing; mild violence.

Author’s Notes: Here we go, my favourite mission (and favourite Neil outfit too). This is only part one of the Tallinn action because so much happens... as you’ll see. I’m sorry. I really am. Hope you enjoy and please leave me feedback if you feel like it!

Song mentioned is: ‘Holy Ground’ by Within Temptation (I’ll share it in a post later but basically listen to it after reading and you’ll know why I’m obsessed)

Edit is courtesy of my amazing friend @sh3tani​ once again (ilysm and thanks for everything 💕)

The upcoming days were busy. You have been assigned the task of getting hold of some of the vehicles and artillery TP wanted for the heist in Tallinn. It was difficult, not only because it is actually rather hard to acquire a fire truck with no records left from the transaction, but also because you barely had any clue what you were actually doing. And so, most of the time, you were sat at the dining table in the flat, calling various shady people Neil gave you contacts to. Sometimes, a tea would appear in front of you, courtesy of the other team members thoroughly apologizing for how they handled the ‘alley situation’.

It seemed like your late-night walk and the cold treatment you gave everyone (including Neil) for the next 24 hours afterward worked. The jokes have ended, and contrition took their place, usually in the form of extreme helpfulness, random acts of kindness, and, in Neil’s case, a break from teasing. At least for a short while.

The only development you were not so sure of was the fact that the whole team decided to label your relationship. Not just any label but dating, verging on a couple. And that was rather terrifying. It struck you especially the night before when you have minded your own business in the kitchen. Watching over the pasta boiling on the stove, you listened to the plans made by Ives. He was trying to settle on the best way to track Neil during the heist when he suddenly turned to you with a question:

“Has your boyfriend told you what kind of car they are going for in the end?” the neutral tone made you skim over the term at first.

But then your brain caught up. What?! You almost toppled over the whole pot of pasta onto the floor when trying to drain it. Fuck. Ives was staring at you quizzically, as though confused about your current state.

“I… Who?” you stammered out the question, knowing it will only make everything worse.

“Neil” Ives grinned, “Unless you’ve gone for an open relationship and there’s another boyfriend involved”

“Christ, please stop” sighing, you tried to calm down just enough to function “I believe he’s going for a BMW, don’t know what series but something fast enough just in case there was a chase” triumphantly, you poured the sauce over the noodles.

“I’ll need to give him a call about it” Ives smacked his tongue thoughtfully.

“Feel free” using the opportunity, you grabbed the cutlery and escaped into your room.

Boyfriend? Now that was something to cause anxiety. Because despite everything that happened, all the things you have told Neil and got in return, you had no clue what you were supposed to be. Not really. Yes, sometimes you let yourself entertain the idea that maybe you were together, maybe he was your lover. But… was he? Could he ever be that?

With those thoughts occupying your mind, you only managed to last until afternoon the next day before giving in. After failing to contact a car dealer for the fifth time and realising that you have completely messed up the route plan due to forgetting about important details, you closed the laptop. It was hard to think when all your brain did was give reasons for why Neil would never actually want to be with you. To summarise: you were not enough, naïve, hopeless, and dumb enough to think that someone this incredible could think about you seriously. Stifling the sudden desire to breakdown and give up on everything, you dialed his number. He picked up almost instantly.

“Yes, my love?” your heart clenched at the nickname.

“Hi… um… Do you have a moment?” you cringed at the awkwardness.

“For you? Always”

Maybe, on another day, that would have made you smile. But that was not that kind of a day.

“Neil, I’m serious,” sighing, you rested your head on the cold wall behind your bed.

“What’s wrong?” his tone switched from playful to concerned.

Okay… now there’s no turning back.

“I’ve just been thinking...” you started, debating on the best way to breach the topic.

“Oh no”

Damn him. You cracked a small smile, knowing that was the intention. You could almost picture him at this moment, sat in some absolutely strange position in the armchair, nothing but long legs and ruffled hair. You did have it pretty bad.

“Shut up” you took a deep breath and blurted out “It’s probably stupid, and feel free to ignore this but... what even are we?”

There it is. Your whole existence hanged on his reply. But, of course, Neil needed more clarification than that…

“How do you mean?” his careful tone made your heart rate elevate.

The result was a string of sentences you shot out with the speed of a machine gun.

“Because everyone here assumes we’re dating. And Ives called you my boyfriend last night, and I don’t... I don’t know if that’s what’s going on and-”

“Okay, calm down,” he interrupted your rant “Take a deep breath” he waited until he could hear you exhale to continue “What do you want this to be? Because we’re the only people who have a say about it” the diplomatic tone made you frown.

But then maybe he just wanted to get your point of view before saying anything substantial… Trouble was you had no clue. Picking on a loose thread on your sweater, you sighed:

“I don’t know” maybe this was the right time to give him another piece of mind?  “I always hated labels because when you name something, it becomes real” you admitted, letting yourself slide down onto the pillows.

Nothing could hurt you there. Apart from potential rejection from the likely love of your life. Basically, fml, as the kids say.

“What about good things?” his question caught you off guard.

“Well, yeah, but�� once there’s a couple, then there can be a break-up” the insecurity had an answer for that too.

Your cheeks heated up upon saying the word. Because even that felt like a step too far. Like maybe you were clingy. Obnoxious. Someone he could want to get rid of as quickly as possible. Before you decided to back out of the conversation, he replied:

“That’s a rather bleak way of looking at things” it was still that thoughtful tone.

A burden then.

“I know” you groaned, frustrated with yourself.

But the next thing he said was rather surprising…

“I’ll need to work on making you more optimistic. Not because I don’t like you the way you are, but because I want you to realise how wrong you are sometimes” the conviction and practical implications of the statement made you speechless.

The future tense. The admission that he did like you, with your countless issues and overbearing anxiety. It couldn’t be, could it? Neil took your stunned silence as permission to say more:

“From my side, let me say that dating doesn’t quite cut it because it implies not being sure... And…” despite yourself, your ears perked up, wanting to know what he meant.

“Yeah?” you prodded, trying to toe that precarious line between curiosity and fear of rejection.

“I’m not really in the trial stages anymore. Don’t think I’ve ever been” he clearly wanted to tell you more but was holding back.

Maybe it was for the better. Before you could think about a response to that, Neil added:

“Basically, we don’t have to use any labels. We’re just us” the simplicity of that statement broke through your resolve, making tears well up “Me and you. We know best what that implies and no one else matters” quietly, you sobbed, and he laughed before choosing to put that final nail in the metaphorical coffin “You’re my love, and that’s the only nickname I need” Neil sounded happy, as though despite your worries, he wanted to say that “I can be your idiot, as long as I’m yours” the punchline came with an audible smug smile.

Oh my god. You laughed, with tears still silently falling down your cheeks and heart hammering in your chest. He was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Suddenly asking that crucial question was not that scary. Because maybe today was the day when would tell you, without alcohol or worries prompting the confession. Taking the plunge, you spoke:

“Neil, do you-”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted you with an answer.

“I haven’t even asked the question” you frowned, unsure whether that kind of an answer was better than a confession.

Because, yes, he already said it once (almost twice), but both those have been anything but thoughtful. And your ever doubting brain was quick to use that fact against you.

“But I know the answer” he sounded certain.

Perhaps too certain.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to tell you over the phone” Neil sighed heavily on the other end “Listen, I have to go… but call me or text if you need to talk” he hesitated before adding, “No matter what I want you to remember what I said that night in London”

Oh… It was the first time any of you brought it up. You just assumed it was one of the things that just slipped out in an unguarded moment. You wanted it to be true, but then that was too risky. But maybe not…?

“I heard you” you whispered despite being alone in the room.

“I know” you could picture the soft smile he sometimes gave you “Goodbye, my love. Good luck with work” at the reminder of the piles of papers still waiting, you groaned, causing him to laugh.

“Will be needed since what you’ve assigned me is close to impossible” the change of the topic was dearly welcomed.

Grabbing the laptop again, you opened it up and felt all the motivation dissolve upon the sight of the route waiting to be planned. Coffee will be needed. And maybe whiskey too.

“I believe in you,” Neil broke your brooding with a comment, “And it’s not really me who assigned it” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot” unable to stop the grin on your face, you ended the call.

So maybe it was worth calling… Even if only to learn that he was in fact yours. And that he did not mind your insecurity or moments of anxiety. Maybe all this had some more potential than heartbreak and tragedy? Ignoring all the thoughts, you focused on the workload. After all, someone had to get all those bloody vehicles on time for the boys to play with.

*** The closer it got to the day, you could feel the tensions rising within the team. Partially it was your own fault and the fact that you were nervous. The plan was vague enough. What you and Ives’ squad knew was that TP intended to take over the plutonium 241 on the move, specifically on the highway leading out of the city. For some reason, he needed a fire truck and a firefighter suit for that. You had no clue why, but you blamed it on the boyish dreams of being a firefighter. Sure they all had those.

Neil was simply the designated driver and mission coordinator, and you hoped that meant he would stay out of harm. As much as that was possible for an idiot like him. You were not allowed to meet to stop TP from getting suspicious, and so all you could do was rely on texts and daily phone calls to keep you from going insane. The downside of the situation was that you could not slap Neil when he said questionable things. Examples being referring to the heist car as sexy (“And what if I told that it’s not the BMW that’s sexy?” “I’d be flattered”) and calling you his girlfriend on the call with Ives. That second incident resulted in the squad leader acting all smug because he apparently ‘figured it all out’. He did not, but who were you to prove him wrong.

And so, you perfected the plan, finished all the assigned tasks, and waited on instructions concerning the day of the mission. When they came, the message was simple – sit on your assess and wait, just in case the Cavalry was needed. You did not specifically like that ‘waiting’ part. Especially since Ives began insisting that you do not actually join them in the field. In his mind, the safest place for you was the flat. Not being a part of the squad and not having enough experience were the main factors acting against you. And you hated the fact that he was right. That is until the evening before the mission when an unexpected text from TP came. You were busy trying to understand the rules of a strange competition show on the television when your phone buzzed. Expecting something nonsensical from Neil, you picked it up instantly. Only to get shocked by the number on display. The message was straightforward:

“Join the squad in the field in Tallinn. You must be there”

Right… When you were asking the universe for help, you did not expect that. But it was better than nothing.

Without a further ado, you got up and wandered over to Ives, who was sat with Wheeler and Michael at the table. Upon your approach, the Brit looked up:

“Don’t tell me you’ve got some last-minute changes from Neil” his blue eyes were hazed with concern.

“No, I’ve got something better” you passed him the phone and waited for a response.

The widened stare and arched eyebrow was the initial reaction.

“He wouldn’t have sent if it wasn’t important” you added, hoping to win the case.

“I don’t get it” Ives sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair.

He glanced at Michael, who nodded and left the room. You just assumed that the discussion was not meant for any ordinary squad member.

“Apologies for my language, but you’re not a bloody soldier, and it might get rough out there” Ives spoke up again after a beat “And I don’t want to fucking worry about your safety amidst all the other mess” he met your gaze warily.

It was a little embarrassing to be considered a burden. You flinched internally before trying another approach.

“I know, but Neil might need me” as soon as you said the words, Ives scowled.

Of course, that just sounded like a lovesick teenager fighting for a hopeless case. And you hated that. But his very next words triggered the remains of resolve.

“Frankly, darling-”

You broke into a laugh, knowing the quotation well.

“I swear, if you quote Gone with the Wind right now, I’ll do something stupid” as a warning, you grabbed hold of the knife lying on the table, making Wheeler snicker quietly “Please, let me go out there. I can track his GPS signal or something. And well, you know that I’ve got a good aim. It might count for something” pleading was not your forte either but at the end of the speech, Ives’ gaze softened.

Maybe? He sighed once again before leaning his forehead on the folded forearms on the table.

“If you get hurt, he’ll kill me” he muttered gloomily.

“You’re exaggerating” you bit back a dry chuckle.

“No, he’s not” your head snapped up at the sound of Wheeler’s voice “But I’ve got to back you here if TP sent that text, then it’s probably important” she looked at you with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grinned back, grateful for the support.

With the days spent among men almost exclusively, Wheeler’s company meant a lot. Soon she became the only person you were willing to discuss your worries with. Because she was not keen on cracking dumb jokes about your relationship and asked questions that did not only concern Neil. And that was a welcomed change.

“You really need to be careful though, because Neil cares about you. Which probably makes you the most important person on this squad” her voice broke through your thoughts.

You knew she meant well, but the statement still made your cheeks heat up. Because did he really care?

“Don’t. You’re making me all flustered” deciding you’ve had enough of the awkwardness you got up to fix a tea.

“Well, I’m only speaking the truth here” turning back to the table, you saw Wheeler shrug “The physics boy took his fancy upon you, and that’s no funny business” she grinned at your perplexed expression.

Briefly, you glanced at Ives, who seemed to have given up on fighting with you and instead was listening in to the conversation with a neutral facial expression. The kettle boiling was your cue to respond:

“Great” semi-aggressively, you threw the tea bag into the mug poured the water “Did he though?” you asked, not even looking at them or expecting an answer.

“Yep,” Wheeler stood up and gave you a quick reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“I’ve never seen him like this before” Ives added once you turned to face him again.

That tea could not brew any longer…

“Not even with…” you hesitated before adding quietly, “Alex?”

“Not quite,” the man gave you an enigmatic smile, only increasing your frustration “You’ve convinced me though. You’re coming with us. Just please, for the sake of my sanity, be careful out there” you resisted the urge to jump up in relief “Because I’d rather not deal with an angry Neil. He’s a pain in the ass enough” Ives added darkly before getting up and joining you by the kitchen counter.

Smiling, you finished the tea.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best” playfully, you nudged his shoulder with yours “You can always blame me though” picking up the mug, you turned towards the corridor.

“As though he’d care” Ives muttered at your back.

The sudden surge of confidence was surprising yet also inspiring:

“I’d make him care. There are some things even he can’t say no to”

The last thing you heard upon closing the door to the bedroom was Ives choking on water.

*** The Tallinn mission for you began with an early morning phone call from Neil. You got as far as getting out of bed after having been staring at the ceiling anxiously for the past three hours when the phone rang.

“Morning,” you muttered, stifling a yawn.

Espresso was certainly needed. Maybe two, before you would have to head out.

“Hey,” the soft tone felt like a mild punch “I’m glad you’re up already” Neil’s sleepy voice made you wish you could wake up together again.

There was always that slightly husky tinge to it, the way he lazily pronounced some words just because it was early still. So different from the enthusiastic overenunciation when he was preaching another messed up plan of his. Or the cheeky inflections he tended to use with you during banter. It was terrifyingly easy to get to know him that well because of how open he was with you.

“I couldn’t sleep. But it’s okay I’ll manage” you admitted, distracting yourself from the sudden thoughts “I didn’t tell you last night, but I got another text from TP… he wants me to join the squad today”

From the moment you have shut the bedroom door the previous night, you have debated calling Neil about it. But then he initiated another rather amusing texting exchange focusing on his fashion choices, and you felt bad disrupting the peace. It could wait. Not anymore. You held your breath until Neil responded with a simple question:

“Why?” he was careful, and you could not blame him for it.

You perched on the windowsill and looked out at the quiet cityscape. The streets were strangely empty for a weekday morning. Sighing, you answered in the best way possible:

“I don’t know, but Ives said yes after some coaxing, so I might see you out there” smiling despite yourself, you waited for his response.

Since recently you had to rely on phone calls, it became increasingly easy to determine his mood based on the tone of the reply. Or on the various nonverbal noises he sometimes made. Now there was a quiet hum proceeding the sentence. A surprise, mild confusion, and worry. Brilliant.

“As much as I’m happy we might meet… and that you can see me in that sexy car,” you rolled your eyes awaiting the point “Please, be careful. I need you safe”

It was not disappointing. You knew he did not intend it that way, and yet the anxiety fuelled brain was onto it instantly. I need you… safe. Unable to stop the comment, you muttered:

“Just safe, then”

“What?” any hope that he might have missed it dissolved with that single question.

Could he for once not listen to what you say? You know, like men tended to do. But then Neil was by no means an ordinary man.

“Nothing. Don’t mind me” the attempt at saving your dignity failed too.

“I thought it goes without saying that I do need you. And that I want you”

Oh god. At once, you wanted to smash your head into the wall and to kiss the bastard for being the way he was. Adding to that sentence, the mental image of his sheepish smile was enough to make your heart speed up. When the silence stretched, becoming awkward, you whispered a reply.

“It’s good to hear it sometimes” the coldness of the window glass cooled off your blazed cheeks, “Especially when I don’t actually believe it” he knew that by now, undoubtedly.

Here the nonverbal cue was a half-choked sigh. Annoyance. Frustration.

“You should. I don’t go around telling everyone that” Neil’s confident voice was trying to pull you back “And I certainly don’t have moments as we do with anyone else” at the implication, you felt flustered again.

Because there did not an hour go by without you thinking about what happened. The pull between you was startling at times. The absolute desire you felt. The way Neil knew exactly how to make you remember every second of every moment. With the memories flooding your brain, you could only utter a single question:

“Why me?”

It was curiosity. Because apart from that evening months ago when you first tried to make sense of your budding relationship, he never said why he cared about you. And you would never dare ask. But now, with everything that happened, it was worth trying. And Neil was willing to deliver:

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because you’re the bravest, kindest, most beautiful person I know” you could only keep on listening with your mouth agape “You fascinate me, and I want to discover all that you’re willing to give me” he finished in a reverent whisper.

That was not what you expected to hear. Not now. Not ever. Speechless, you wondered whether maybe this time it was not a mistake to give your heart away. It was too late. He had everything but your body; that was just a matter of time.

“Neil, I…” this was all you could manage, afraid you would give away another confession.

“Well, you’ve asked,” he chuckled lightly and then asked, “Are you okay?” you could picture that crease between furrowed eyebrows.

“I suppose-” a loud knock on your door interrupted the sentence; it was time, “I think I should probably join them for the final briefing…” hesitantly, you jumped off the sill.

Only two of you could be interrupted during such an important conversation.

“Go, I won’t keep you. Believe me, though, when I say that I want nothing but to be with you. In every way possible” your breath hitched at the connotation behind the sentiment.

Jesus, this man…

“That’s rather mutual,” like a secret you passed it to him on a sigh “But only when you’re not an ass” that was a much-needed distraction for you both.

There was work to be done, after all. You could hear the commotion in the apartment rise in volume and strength.

“I’ll do my best then. Good luck, darling” you grinned at the nickname he was determined to use.

Darling, you could do with. It was better than the ‘love’ that always made you feel like you were just another one among many.

“Don’t do anything stupid I still owe you a few slaps… and a payback” you added the necessary suggestive tone to the last word.

The rest was up to him to figure out. Which he did, if the pleased laughed was anything to go by.

“I’m very much looking forward to all of those” you missed that smirk.

“You should. Bye, my idiot,” you debated saving his number as that in your phone.

Maybe it was the way forwards.

“My love,” laughing, you ended the call when he uttered the words just for the sake of it.

But then that was Neil’s essence – doing things just because. Or to get a reaction from you. And you would not have it any other way.

*** Only when sitting in that bloody SUV, you learned the true meaning of waiting. And how much you hated to do that. There was nothing to do apart from sweating in the protective gear and avoiding the awkward small talk others were susceptible to. The squad has cramped into two non-descript vehicles, and you being the so-called precious cargo, ended up in the same car with Ives who have sworn to protect you. Only, for the first half-hour, there was nothing to protect you from. Apart from anxiety, boredom, and frustration.

Your role was rather simple – follow Neil’s signal on the map to know where you might be needed should he call for backup. As much as you did enjoy the possibility of tracking his movements somehow, you did not appreciate the cheeky smile Ives had on his face when he gave you the job. Or the comment combined with it: “Well, he’s your boyfriend, it’s only fair you keep him on the metaphorical leash here”. That is how the small blinking dot on the map of Tallinn became your sole focus for the past hour. Just before everything kicked off, Neil radioed you with a simple message: The mission is about to start. Wait for further instructions.

Ever since your morning phone call and the revelations that came out, you only exchanged a few texts concerning the practicalities of the action. Despite the nerves, you did hope to see him in near future. Even if just to check whether what he said was true. Looking for a distraction from the sudden thoughts, you glanced at the screen again. They were near, on the main junction of the highway, heading towards the port. Your SUVs were parked underneath a small overpass, five minutes away in the current traffic conditions. Which proved to be convenient, as it turned out.

“Is he still following the set route?” Ives’s question brought you to the present moment.

“Yeah, they’re-” you glanced to double-check the exact location when you realised that something has changed.

The dot was not moving. It was still blinking, but clearly, they have stopped at a crossing. Traffic lights? Your brain somehow knew that it could not be that simple. You opened your mouth to voice the thoughts when the comm came alive on the dashboard with static crackling:

“We need back up here. ASAP”

“Roger that” Ives tossed you the radio “Ask him about the details”

Without waiting for more information, Michael fired up the SUV engine as Ives contacted the second vehicle.

“Neil” you spoke into the receiver “What happened?” you flinched at the louder noise from the radio.

Gunshots?

“We’ve been ambushed by Sator’s people. TP’s status unknown”

Bloody brilliant. Swallowing down the rising worries, you asked another question:

“How many people?” another gunshot pierced the silence.

“Not sure. They’ve gotten clean up orders” a strained breath from Neil told you how bad the situation was.

“Okay. We’ll be there soon” you glanced at the road ahead.

Still, 2 mins to go. Anxiety was threatening to overpower you at any moment. But now was not the time.

“Hurry up” Neil closed the channel with a final dose of static.

Fuck… Forcing a deeper breath, you could only watch as you got closer to him. The sheer thought of something happening to Neil was unimaginable. That was enough to trigger panic. So you pushed the idea to the back of your head, focusing on the distance disappearing.

There was no mistaking the fact that you have been led to the right place. Crashed cars, asphalt littered with glass shards and broken parts, gunshots piercing the air. The destination looked like a car pile-up from an action sequence. Frantically looking through the windows, you tried to spot that blonde head. To no avail. The SUV came to a sharp halt as the squad members began jumping out of the vehicle. Once everyone else disembarked, you moved to follow them, only to be stopped by Ives:

“You’re staying here. I can’t have you out in the shoot-out” his blue gaze was stern, hand blocking exit out of the car.

The idea that you were so close to Neil and could not see him was enough to make you angry.

“I can handle myself. And he’s-” you spit out the words in the face of the squad leader while trying to push him away.

“I said no. The conversation’s over” with a final glare, he stepped away and scanned the horizon for immediate danger “If someone approaches the car, you know what to do,” he threw as a parting remark and disarmed the rifle.

Fucking hell! Groaning in frustration, you kicked one of the seats. He was so close. You glanced at the device in your hand. He could not be further than behind the first line of crashed cars. Biting on your lip harshly, you quickly went over the options. One was to obey Ives and stay inside the bloody SUV like a well-behaved child everyone apparently took you for. No one seemed to care about the vehicles you parked on the outskirts of the action. Flinching at the further salve from the heavy artillery, you knew that the squad had joined the fray. You could be safe here… but… Taking a deep breath you knew there was no possibility you could stay away from the action. Not when Neil was there, potentially in danger. It was not possible to give up on someone that important just because you were told to. Christ…

Glancing through the windows again, you could see Sator’s people attempting to clear the place. The squad evidently attempted to push at them from one side, hoping to get a clean sweep that way. Then, just as you were about to go back to the internal crisis overwhelming your thoughts, you did a double-take. Surely not? You would recognize that hair colour everywhere. There he was attempting what was looking like a skirting manoeuvre to circle the mercenaries with the Cavalry on the opposite side. Only that left him completely uncovered, in the direct line of fire. Bloody idiot. The instinct to jump out and run to him kicked in. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you would disobey the orders. And leave the car unguarded. All the hesitation disappeared once the comm in the car crackled with static:

“Emergency assistance needed. ASAP” the tension in his voice made your pulse quicken.

The lack of response from the team made all the blood drain from your face. You could see him trying to hide behind some overturned car. The henchmen were near enough to get him with no problem.

That thought was all the convincing you needed. Swearing, you quickly pocketed the tracking device, adjusted your protective gear, and grabbed the gun. You have been offered a rifle (just in case), but you preferred the classic. At least it was something right?

In two leaps, you have covered the distance. With the team trying to get through the attack line on the other side, it was just you and Neil. You shot a round in the direction of the approaching merc, missing the target yet earning attention from the main object of your focus. His eyes met yours across the plane. You could see shock, worry, and something else there. Suddenly a salve whizzed past you. The bullets cutting through the air all around, shooting past your head and piercing the car behind. A strangled yell from Neil was a surprising reaction, yet you did not blink twice. He was all you could see. With a final surge through the field, you reached him. The pure fury and anguish in his eyes took you aback. Have you missed something? But there was no time to ask questions.

“Go, I’ll cover you” you whispered, looking at the approaching group of mercs.

Neil took an additional moment to stare at you as though he could not quite believe you were there. But then he jumped up, aiming the gun at the man closest to you. The same that undoubtedly attempted to take you out seconds prior. When the mercenary fell with a bullet in the head, you stared in shock. There was no time to recover as Neil pushed through, barely looking behind at you. It was surprisingly easy to tune out the emotions, taking out anyone who could threaten him or halt your advances. You worked well together, movements in sync enough to stun the opponents on a few occasions. For a second, you wondered whether it was only bound to get better the closer you get to each other. That was certainly an interesting idea… In no time you have met with the line of the squad, watching on as Ives dealt with the last man standing. You have won. The adrenaline started to leave your body, resulting in tremors and shaking hands. Clutching the gun to prevent it from cluttering to the ground, you met the exasperated gaze of the squad leader. Your only response was a shrug. You did not regret the decision, seeing as you have evidently helped them in the field.

“Neil? Do you know where TP is?” Ives took his attention off you and looked at the blonde man.

You followed his gaze, for the first time actually looking at Neil since you spotted him across the plane. At the moment, you were struck by what a sight he was. Navy shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the forearms covered with veins. The same tie he had on during your walk. Your pulse quickened. The vest drawing attention to the ratio between his broad shoulders and narrow hips, accentuated with a belt. Brown loose-cut trousers and scrapped leather shoes adding a classy touch. You were aware that you were staring yet unable to look away. Not knowing whether to blame it on the adrenaline rush, you wanted nothing but to touch him. Take off those driving gloves that piqued your interest at the first sight. Or have them be wrapped around your throat with just enough pressure. Get rid of the tie again. And…

“Think Sator took him” Neil’s response broke through your increasingly hazy thoughts.

Shaking off the images that started appearing, you looked up at his face again. The ruffled hair and flushed cheeks were not helpful. Fuck’s sake. It had to be stress. Because what else?

“Their place in the port?” Ives asked, his tone nothing but strict business.

“That’s my bet” Neil shrugged, looking around with something dark in his eyes.

He was tense, like a feral animal that could lash out any moment. You were not wrong. The cold blue gaze settled on you almost remorsefully, but before you could open your mouth, he snapped:

“What the fuck were you thinking?” the hostile edge to his voice was new.

You flinched as though you have been hit. The lack of physical impact did not matter. Your heart stammered. He need not explain what it was about. Please no.

“You needed a cover. They weren’t responding, so I did the obvious” you shrugged, feeling the anger grow “And I could ask you the same question” spitting the sentence into his face, you took a step closer.

You have never seen him that furious. Not even in Oslo after your little fuck-up. The sight was both terrifying and alluring. The dark blue eyes blazed with fury. Jaw clenched. Slight pink tint on the cheeks. And yet, still, you had no idea why he reacted like this.

“I knew what I was doing. That’s the difference” the coldness of his voice threw you off.

So it was real. He did mean it. You tried to save him, and here he was, pissed off at you. Making you almost regret it. Almost, because the love was there too. Not giving away no matter what.

“That’s bullshit” it felt good to admit, “You were reckless, as always, and expecting me to-” your rant got interrupted by a strangled yell.

Nothing prepared you for the revelation then. Or the sudden anguish on his face.

“You were almost shot!” Neil’s eyes glistened as though he was close to tears.

Suddenly it made sense. The rain of bullets you were hit with just before getting to him. The way he reacted. But you made it. Nothing happened. So why was he acting like that?

“Almost” ignoring the growing pain in your chest, you pointed out the obvious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ives and the rest of the squad observing you. You would rather not have an audience, but then Neil seemed determined to drive his point forward. His face scrunched into a pained scowl.

“Fucking hell,” turning away from your gaze, his back tensed even more “You can’t do shit like that just because I’m involved” the defensive tone took you aback.

What? It was getting worse. You could feel the confidence leaving your body as you struggled for a response. You would never think Neil would do something like that. Not after everything you have told him. Figuring out the only way you that could work, you took your own line of attack.

“Who says I did it only because it was you?” the implication hurt because it was partially correct “Quite an ego you’ve got there” his back was still turned to you.

That angered you even more. Crossing the distance, you placed your hand on his shoulder, making him turn to you. He flinched upon the contact as though your touch burned him. Oh my god. The tears welled up in your eyes. It could not be real. But the emotionless look in the eyes you thought you knew was very much real. It was as though before you realised Neil has built up a wall, guarding himself against you. And there was nothing you could do to get through. You got shocked by the cruel smirk that split his face.

“I can see the way you look at me. As though you wanted to-” you interrupted him sharply.

“Neil”

It was too much. Perhaps because it was true. But he was not done. Persistent to keep going.

“Admit it. It’s because you said some things, and now you can’t bear the thought of losing the object of your affection” the careless tone and the words pierced your heart with gut-wrenching pain “Well, you see, sometimes feelings need to be put aside” he added, almost casually.

Fuck. You gasped, unable to keep a straight face. He might as well see what he has done. Some things. So this is how much your confession meant to him. Good to know. You wanted to slap him, but you felt like that could turn back on you. So instead, you made sure to straighten your back, putting on the familiar mask of neutrality. You have done this before. Probably should have expected it. Only why did it hurt ten times more?

“Can we leave the bloody lovers quarrel till later?” Ives’s voice pierced through the tension.

But you were not ready. Raising your hand in a stopping motion, you turned back to Neil. His face was terrifyingly indifferent. Maybe it was all an act. Or maybe it was just that easy for him to get over whatever you thought you had. A lie. Gathering the smithereens of confidence, you forced a levelled tone:

“Says you. As though you’re acting out of reason right now” you gave him your best impression of the sneer visible on his face.

You could crumble at any moment now. Only the pounding in your ears and the wounded pride were keeping you upwards. But Neil wanted to destroy everything.

“More than you” he glanced at the team waiting impatiently “I really thought you’d know better than this” the punchline was more than you could take.

No. Please no. Your knees buckled, and you swayed. But then you caught the flash of concern in his eyes. Just for a split of a second. So it was not all cold and hatred? You heard Ives huff out a string of curses. There was no time for this. Whatever it even was. Honesty it was then.

“Better than to give away my heart to someone like you? Evidently not” you met his eyes for the final time before walking away in the direction of the SUVs.

The shock you saw in Neil’s face was enough to fuel the survival instincts. With the heart broken or not, the mission was still on. And the rest was silence.

[beelsnack]

Stress Reliever - Commission for beelzmunchkin

My first-ever commission!! Thanks for letting me post it, @beelzmunchkin!!

-----

“So, whaddaya think? It’s genius, isn’t it?”

It took every fiber of Melody’s being not to bust out laughing. “As fun as an art heist sounds, Mammon, I don’t think it’s your best-laid plan.”

The demon pouted down at her, crossing his arms. “You’re just sayin’ that because you’re scared you couldn’t pull it off.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Melody shrugged, twirling her pen between her fingers. She should have known “studying” with Mammon would take a turn for the silly. “I think I’m the perfect heist size. I can fit into small spaces.”

“So you’ll help me out?!”

“Absolutely not.”

-----

It wasn’t very often that Asmodeus let anyone see him out of sorts. Melody would have felt kind of honored if it hadn’t involved him basically kicking her door open.

“Mel, darling, you have to help me!” He wasn’t quite crying, but he was misty-eyed enough for the tiniest bit of mascara to run down his cheeks, so whatever had happened was serious. She knew how much he had spent on that mascara. It was not the type you could afford to cry in. Melody stuck her worksheet into her textbook and scrambled over to where Asmo was swooning dramatically against the doorframe.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You’re not gonna believe this!” Asmo sighed. “I got my days mixed up, and somehow managed to double book a date!”

She winced. “How did you manage that one?”

“I don’t know!” Asmo wailed. “I’m usually much more on top of these things! I even have a planner!” he reached into the back pocket of his skinny jeans and pulled out a small booklet with a pink floral pattern on the cover.

“Ooh, that’s so cute!”

“Isn’t it?” Asmo held it up for her to admire. “There’s a whole set! Oh, but we have more important things to do! Help me pick who to go out with tonight!”

-----

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt-bzzt-bz - 

Melody knew who all of those messages were from before she even picked her D.D.D up from the desk. She honestly considered just ignoring them. The exam date was creeping closer and closer and each moment she spent not reviewing the material felt like another nail in the hopefully-proverbial coffin. But she also knew that leaving Levi on delivered was almost as bad as leaving him on read, and the mere thought of being the cause of his self-loathing made her want to cry. So, with a tired sigh, she flicked open her texts.

SOS

Melody, I need your help!

There’s a raid going on tonight! And the prize is some seriously OP armor!

You get 200 bonus dmg if you get the whole set!

There’s no way I’ll win if I have to play on a team with low-level noobs, so come on!

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It had been a hot minute since Levi and her had had a good old-fashioned game session. But the test anxiety was real this time around.

I’m sorry, Levi, I can’t. I need to study.

Guilt ran through her as she hit send, even though she knew she didn’t do anything wrong. With a groan, she let her head flop into her hands. This was even more stressful than studying.

Knock-knock-knock.

Of course.

It seemed like everyone needed her today. Even though she could feel the emotional exhaustion settle deep in her bones, she pushed herself up from her desk chair and stomped over to the door.

“What?”

Her voice came out way more irritated than she intended, and she could see the shock run over Beel’s face as he stood in the door. Damn it, because she didn’t already feel awful enough.

“Aw, man, I’m sorry Beel,” she frowned, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“I wouldn’t call that shouting,” he shrugged. “You’ve been to family dinners.”

“True.”

“You seem grouchy,” Beel looked down at her with concern clear in his eyes. “Did you remember to eat?”

It was such a Beel response that she couldn’t help but snort-laugh. “Yes, I remembered to eat.”

“Are you sure? I think I still have a sandwich in my bag, we could split it.”

“I appreciate it,” she shook her head, smiling fondly up at him as she crossed her arms. “But I’m not grouchy because I’m hungry.”

“Then why are you grouchy?”

“I’m just...tired,” Melody shrugged. “Apparently it’s ‘Have Mel Solve All Of Your Problems’ day.”

Beel hummed, nodding. “Yeah, my brothers can get like that sometimes.”

“Not that I mind!” Melody grinned. “I’m glad everyone trusts me enough to come to me for help. But, it’s just, all of this, plus I’m really nervous about the exams, and I don’t even want to think about the punishment Lucifer will dish out if I bomb my classes, and - “

“You’re stressed.”

Leave it to Beel to sum up her entire emotional state in two words.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“I can fix that.” he took a step further into her room. When she allowed him fully in, he dropped his gym bag on the floor next to her backpack, rolling his shoulder.

 Before she could ask how he planned to help her de-stress, her entire POV shifted. One minute, she was standing solidly on the floor, and the next, she was being scooped into Beel’s arms.

...Correction. Beel’s arm. He was carrying her in one arm while he cleared off the miscellaneous junk off of her bed. She immediately decided not to think too hard about that, or else she was going to put herself under a very different type of stress.

Beel settled himself down on the bed, still cradling her against his chest. Her head was resting right over his heart, and almost immediately she felt his body heat envelope her like a blanket. Wow, she really was tired. When did that happen?

“Are you comfy?” she could feel his words rumble through his chest. “If you’re stressed, you should take a break and relax.”

“Not like you gave me much choice.” she laughed, already feeling significantly better.

“Oh. I should have asked. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Melody sighed. “You make a good pillow.”

[sorcererinthestars]

Underground [FAHC]

Happy (belated) birthday to the lovely @shadeofazmeinya​ - sorry life got wild and this is a few days late, but I hope you enjoy! Edited somewhat, wanted to get this out before I thought too much about it and didn’t post at all.

Based loosely on Leverage “The Grave Danger Job”.

Very long folks, just as an FYI. TW: CLAUSTROPHOBIA. If this bothers you, please do NOT read this fic. 

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453204 - if you read on there, though, please give this a reblog anyways! :)  WC:  7,232

-- The last thing Gavin remembered was hands grabbing him, pulling him backwards. He had clawed at the hands, ripping at them, trying to get them off of him, but nothing worked.

He had yelled, he thought - screamed out and hoped that the com would pick up his cry.But something was jammed into his mouth, cutting off the words before they could really form, choking him and blinding him in his terror to get away. 

The cloth was covered in something thick and cloying in its heaviness.He tries not to breathe, tries not to open his mouth, but there’s only so much he can do to stop himself from screaming out. When something jams into his side and he’s hauled off his chair in the Mobile Command Center, dragged from his console and across the metal floor of the van, he starts to get dizzy. When something sharp pinches his skin, he gasps out a muffled whimper, and that’s all that was needed for the gas to flood up into his nose, his sinuses, and to carry the drug into his brain.

Dizzy, sluggish, and slow - ten seconds after he takes a stifled, gasping breath, the world goes black. Never in that time did he get a good look at his attackers.

-

Ryan knows something is wrong the moment he hears muffled sounds filter through his com, but the immediate situation around him stops him from grunting to check in on Gavin. The world is filtered down to the smallest level as the heist blooms around them - the heist they had planned for months, had spent countless untold hours preparing for ... he couldn’t, wouldn’t, think of anything else.

He gestures menacingly towards the three men he was holding hostage, growling threats at them while looking over his shoulder at the others. Even if he had the ability to check on Gavin, watching the hostages wasn’t really a job he could turn away from.

Geoff’s growl behind the mask indicates they need to hurry. No shit. He’s tense, Ryan can tell from the shortness of his breath through the com and the way he paces back and forth, even if he can’t see Geoff’s face through the masks they wear. 

When a muffled sound comes through the coms that’s unmistakably Gavin, Geoff turns, grunting. “Goldie?” he snaps. “What’s the matter?” No answer, but that conversation is drowned out by Michael and Jeremy chattering at one another, oblivious of the problem and moving their drills into the door. Then all he can hear - all anyone can hear - is the whirring grind of the drills as they break the lock on the vault.

Ryan’s attention is pulled away from Gavin as well as one hostage tries to take advantage of the confusion and lunge towards the counter and the panic button. One bullet is all it takes to end his life, the body skittering backwards. The other two hostages scream, scooching backwards and sobbing, suitably cowed. “There’s some movement by Gavin’s command center,” Jack filters in from her position in the second story window of the building across the street, eye at the sniper to take out the guards in front and playing reconnaissance in the meantime. “Some cars... could be normal, but...” “Keep an eye on it,” Geoff orders, focusing instead on the main doors, but before they could follow that train of thought, Jack’s screaming. “Cops! Police are coming, a whole force of them! You’ve got about three minutes, boys - work fast!” All thoughts of Gavin and his safety leave their heads as they sprint into action. As soon as Jeremy drops his drill and yelps, “We’re In!,” they’re all piling into the vault, shoving as much money as they can carry into their duffel bags. 

As Ryan reminds himself, this was a thousand-and-one chance. They weren’t going to get another opportunity to rob this bank, not again, not anytime soon. They had spent nearly a full fuckin’ year planning this heist, sourcing info, getting supplies...

“Get out of there!” Jack’s screaming in their ears less than a minute later. They must have at least two million in their bags, all of them fetching and carrying. 

Above, Geoff unloads a round into the ceiling and is yelling something at the hostages. It’s noise, frantic activity - what they’re known for, what they thrive on, but the feeling is somehow muted. They act like robots, gathering, running, but the spark is gone.

All Ryan can think about - all he thinks they can all think about - is Gavin’s squeak. And how he’s been silent ever since. Why was he silent? What happened?? But they can’t worry about it, just have to get out....Gavin will just have to hold on. 

-

They race out of the bank, towards where Jack was screaming over in their best car. The sound of sirens was near deafening now. Gavin was supposed to abandon the Mobile Command Center if the cops got called, the plan was he was supposed to meet them here if possible to scatter in faster cars than that shit-mobile Command Center. “Goldie!” Geoff snaps into the com. “Goldie! Reply, where the fuck are you?!” Nothing. The feeling of fear grows in Ryan’s bones, but he can’t interrupt Geoff, not right now - the coms needed to stay clear in case Gavin could reply to them. Instead, Jack just shoves them into the back of her car. “Come on! We can go to him, but we can’t fucking stay here - they’re swarming!” Like bees in a kicked hive, the police surround the area, red and blue lights flashing a technicolor dance across the wet pavement. Ryan doesn’t hesitate, jumping into the back and shoving the Lads in with him. Geoff hesitates a few more critical seconds before swinging into the car too.

Jack’s driving is top-notch and they manage to slip out a hole in the police’s defenses, going from zero to one-hundred as they race through the darkened streets of the city. For now, it seems the Mobile Command Center is unnoticed by the cops, but it certainly wouldn’t stay that way. Not any time soon, not with the LSPD so eager to make an arrest and with them chasing their vehicle. No one’s hurt - thank god, the heist had gone off otherwise without a hitch - and so Geoff immediately starts yelling for Gavin to reply again. Nothing. Whatever happened to him, his com is off or disabled or otherwise he’s unable to reply. 

“What if he’s hurt?” Michael snarls, breaking through the otherwise silence. The coms were top of the line, they’d filter out unnecessary noise. If Gavin’s attackers were talking in the background, moving the body... no one would hear. Ryan feels like he’s going to be sick. The piles of the cash on the ground is a poor price to pay for Gavin. He would throw them all out the window just to know that Gavin was okay.“I saw them move something out of the back,” Jack says from the drivers’ seat. Her voice is grim. “My attention was yanked away when the cops started coming, but there was some sort of action in the back of the van.” “Fuck,” Geoff hisses. No one mentions that it was because of him they didn’t leave at the first sign of danger. Gavin would have wanted them to finish the heist, Ryan just had to keep reminding himself of that. But it rang hollow and the sour taste in his mouth was a silent contradiction.

It’s not long before they arrive, Jack skidding to a halt near the Command Center. Right now they’re momentarily out of the view of the cops, but it likely wouldn’t stay that way for long. Michael hardly waits for the car to stop before he’s jumping out and racing towards the Command Center. 

Geoff’s the second one out, his guilt making himself run faster than he ever had before. Jeremy follows and Jack’s almost got the car moving again as Ryan leaps out.

“I’ll watch,” Jack says quickly as soon as the door is closed, speeding out to patrol around them, keeping an eye out for those telltale flashing lights.

-

Gavin awakens in the dark. It’s impossible to tell how long he’s been asleep. Honestly, he’s not sure if he’s even awake at first. It’s cold and he can’t...breathe right. And it’s fucking pitch ass black, darker than anything he’s ever felt. Not so much dark as a void - as if the dark is looking at him back, evaluating him. Taking him in. Terrified, he gropes out to feel. His hands... he can only somewhat move his arms. Not bound, but just small - wherever he is, it’s tight. His claustrophobia starts kicking in and he breathes quicker. He’s not normally scared of small spaces, but it’s so close, so hard to breathe...

Something’s on his chest. Feeling around, he grabs it. It’s a very old flip phone, a relic at this point. He flips it open as best he can and takes a bit of a deeper breath of relief as its screen illuminates, lighting up the area around him in a faint blue.... 

and then very nearly drops it as terror consumes him and he slams the phone shut, breathing roughly in the very small space above his head, forcing himself to try to calm down. He knows what the fuck this is. Where the fuck he is.

It’s a coffin.

He’s in a fucking coffin, and if the weight and general feeling around him is anything to go by when he tries to shove his hands up against the lid, he’s underground.

Six feet under and still alive.

-

It’s obvious the Mobile Command Center has been raided from the first moment they’re over there. The doors in the back are wide open, forced entry through the locks. No one was watching the back-up cam or tending to the security of the Command Center during the heist - it was just a good base for Gavin to be close in case they needed him but he could still hack.

It was so dumb, so idiotically dumb. Ryan jumps as Geoff shouts a swear and slams his fist into the side of the metal van, furious. It’s Michael who jumps in to keep him from doing it again.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quickly. “If anything, it’s all of our fuckin’ faults, we all thought the Command Center was a good idea...” “Now’s not the time,” Ryan snaps. “Let’s figure out where he is, then we can exchange guilt and blame all fuckin’ night, okay?” Geoff growls, straightening. “Search it. We have like thirty seconds, see if you can get anything. We need to know where they took him. Any lead is a good one.” They scatter, but the sound of sirens in the background have all their teeth on edge. 

“You gotta go soon, boys,” Jack says, watching them as they get closer and closer, gauging until the last second before they have to fucking take off.

“Fuck,” Geoff hisses again, even more terrified, but forces himself to continue to go through the papers on the desk, the trail that led to the door. There are muddy footprints indicating more than one guy was here. This was a planned effort, not a quick isolated attempt.... They had a mole.

“Geoff!” Jeremy’s voice cuts through the thickening silence pressing down on all of them. He looks up from where he was looking at Gavin’s console, moving the mouse and waking the computer up. The note there is obvious, written on word and saved on the desktop. Simple, ominous.

Money on the pier in half an hour or he dies. Time is running out for him... better hurry.

There’s no signature, not even a stereotypical initial. Just a simple demand and a time limit on Gavin’s life. If they didn’t find him in half an hour, their loved one would be dead.

Before Geoff could worry about it further, his phone rings. The caller is unknown, but in this situation he knows better than to screen his calls. He accepts the call and is just about to answer it when Jack is demanding at them to move.

Ryan grabs Geoff’s arm, but before they leap out they hear the sound of the door to the cab of the Command Center slam shut. Michael kicks the door in from the other side and is one millisecond from putting a bullet into the red hair of the woman he loves before she slams his hand sideways. “Just me,” Jack snarls. “Hold on.” She floors the MCC and it flies from its parked position. The cops - right now - don’t know where they are and they may have a few moments more safety from this clean vehicle. But they can’t drive inconspicuously for too long in this hunking piece of metal, so they were down to mere minutes of anonymity. 

Geoff, meanwhile, falls into a seat with the others as Jack takes off. He forces his emotions into the back of his mind to make room for Ramsey, answering the phone. “Who is this?” he snaps. The line crackles for a moment before a small tinny voice comes through. “Geoff?” He almost staggers and falls off the chair, the relief sweeping over him. “Gavin! Oh god, Gavin, where are you?” 

He doesn’t care if he’s being listened to, if he’s telling the whole world how much he cares about his boys - all he cares about is Gavin’s voice on the other end of that stupid telephone.

“Gavin?” Jeremy asks breathlessly, stumbling over against the movement of the car to listen in, almost snatching the phone out of Geoff’s hands before the other man smacks him away. Ryan hovers, staring at them. Hoping, heart in his throat. Waiting to know who he has to kill.

He’s never wanted blood more than this moment.

“Geoff...” Gavin’s voice was very, very small. “I’m....” It crackles out a bit, but Geoff catches the last few words. “Coffin... u-underground. I’m .... I’m stuck and...”

There’s the muffled sound of a sob and Geoff’s heart goes very, very cold.

“Shit,” he swears, throwing a fist quickly but aborting it before it crashes into the side of the computer console or Jeremy hovering over his left shoulder. Jeremy leaps back, not hearing what was said but waiting, terrified. “Gavin, I need you to focus on me, okay? Do you know where you are?”

He flicks the phone on speaker and holds it in his lap. The others inch closer, listening with baited breath.Gavin’s voice crackles through the phone as Jack speeds through the streets, Michael helping her navigate towards the pier. If that’s where they needed to go - it was as best of a lead as any. 

“I’m - fuck, Geoff...” Gavin whimpers pathetically for a moment, making Ryan nearly dive for the phone in blackened fury. “I’m underground, I’m in a coffin, I’ve got like - what - half a fuckin’ hour of air, they buried me alive...!”

“Jesus,” Jeremy says, paling, but Ryan bullies his way over to Geoff and snatches the phone out of his hand. He knows this, he’s seen this shit during his time as a mercenary for hire. He forces his emotions way, way back. No time for them now, they were down to mere minutes and had to focus.

“Gavin. Gavin, can you hear me?” There’s a crackle for a moment and Ryan fears the call disconnected before Gavin’s voice comes through, small and very tight. He’s breathing quick, panicked. Terrified beyond belief. “Ryan?”

“Gavin, you have to focus on staying calm,” Ryan orders, refusing to let any of his fear show on his voice. He was strict and firm, hating having to act so distant with his terrified lover but knowing he had to. “You’re likely buried in one of the graveyards around here, right? You couldn’t have traveled for too long - do you know about what point we were in the heist when you were snatched?” “I heard him cry out when you had first taken the guys hostage,” Jeremy says quietly, playing with the handle of his gun to keep his hands busy. 

“Y-yeah,” Gavin says quietly. “I guess?”

“No ground to bury a fucking casket in the city,” Geoff grunts. “Not enough dirt. Has to be a graveyard or outside the city.”

“And he’s gotta be close enough to drive to quickly because they just grabbed him about fifteen minutes ago, tops,” Jeremy adds. “Get Michael and fill Jack in,” Geoff orders Jeremy. He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to leave Gavin on the phone, but it wasn’t a suggestion from Geoff. He disappears into the cab, leaving Ryan and Geoff alone in the back.

“What are you calling from, babe?” Ryan asks softly to Gavin as that interaction happens. Michael comes back out with Jeremy, looking furious, but Geoff points for them both to sit down at the computers. “Look for graveyards within a ten minute drive of the bank,” he orders.

“Cell phone,” Gavin squeaks. “Rye... it’s - I’m scared...” Michael stiffens at his voice. “Don’t worry, boi, we’ll get you!” he shouts, not caring if Geoff got angry. “We’re coming for you!”

-

Inside the casket, it was so dark except for the slight light given off by the phone. Gavin clings to it, looking upwards where he was separated from the light and the air by a few feet of dirt. His breath hitches. It’s becoming harder to breathe. “It’s ... I can’t breathe right...” Ryan’s voice filters back through the phone and Gavin clings to it like a lifeline, the crackled, garbled voice that is his only connection so he doesn’t die alone down here. “Stop talking unless I tell you,” Ryan orders and Gavin forces himself to stop quietly crying. “Gavin, you have to focus. Stay with me, okay? Stay on the line.” He whimpers slightly, confirming, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat and trying to stay calm. Breathing quickly in panic used more of his air. He knew that much. He had to try to slow his breathing.

-

Back in the Mobile Command Center, Jack expertly still weaving them away from the cops, Jeremy looks like he was going to be sick. The fact that he was severely claustrophobic is common knowledge. 

“There’s two graveyards within a ten minute drive of here,” Michael snaps after a moment, “and we have NO fucking way of knowing which one the asses took him to.”

“Or if he’s even fucking in a graveyard,” Jeremy mutters. Their time is ticking down, a few minutes having dripped away in their panic.

“Do you have any idea where they took you?” Ryan asks Gavin a bit sharper than he means to, but all that comes back is a small whine. “N-no, they knocked me out, c-chloroform...”

“Don’t yell at him,” Geoff scolds. “Gavin. We’re going to find you, babe. Do you think Matt could track that phone? I need that big brain of yours.” “Don’t - don’t have time,” Gavin whispers, feeling like he’s sealing his own death warrant. He leans back, letting out a tired sigh. “Not - not enough air to wait.”

“He probably has about twenty-five minutes before he completely runs out of air and starts to suffocate,” Ryan says plainly, not finding any need to beat around the bush. When they all look at him, he shrugs. “I’m a mercenary.”

“They left a ransom note,” Geoff says with a strained voice. “We could just give them the money.”

“Even if we did, I doubt they could get to him on time, not unless they had a man right there waiting to dig him up,” Michael says with a frown.

“What if we split up?” Jack calls from the front cab, listening in through the coms. “I’m already heading towards the pier. We have five goddamn people - I’ll go to the pier in case they have a man there and I’ll wait a bit. The rest of you hot wire cars and go to the graveyards. If we don’t hear anything in say - fifteen minutes, I’ll trade the money and fingers crossed the dickweeds have some sort of last minute man there to dig Gavin up.”

“It’s probably a trap!” Jeremy protests. “They want us to show up at the pier to kill us too.”

“Guys...” Gavin whimpers from the other end of the phone, cutting into their discussion turned argument. “Please hurry....”

“Gavin,” Ryan says firmly into the phone, interrupting the others. “We love you. We’re not going to abandon you, I promise. Now hush, you’re wasting air.”

“I know,” he says breathlessly, looking into the dark. “But it’s so....”

“Shh,” Ryan says again. He looks around at the others, who have fallen silent, but before he can speak Geoff speaks up, standing and regaining his feeling of authority as a plan falls into his mind. That’s why they all come to him - he’s the man with the plan.

“Jack’s right,” he says firmly. “One of us will go to the pier. We have body armor and guns, not to mention this thing is armor plated. They’ll wait and if they don’t hear from you in fifteen, they’ll fucking make the trade. In the meantime, two us will go to one of the graveyards and two of us will go to the other.”

“Two problems,” Michael snaps. “How will we know what graveyard Gavin’s in?” “Easy.” Geoff’s smirking now - that smile that shows shit is about to hit the fan. It’s a very Ramsey expression and it puts them all on edge. “Gavin, baby... can you hear what’s going on around you?”

In the coffin, Gavin strains to do what he’s told. It goes silent for a few moments as the boys wait to let him answer. Faintly, as if like music from three rooms away, he can hear the sound of the street. Cars and such. It’s muffled, but its obvious the dirt isn’t fully packed down. Sound can filter. “Yeah,” he says quickly. “I can, why...?”

“Perfect.” Geoff cuts him off before he can waste any more air and Gavin frowns but stares limply into the dark, holding the phone like a lifeline. It’s flashing low battery, of course. He just prays that it won’t die on him.

Die before he dies. Suffocates. He’s heard it’s a shit way to go. Hasn’t seen it himself, but knows enough about death to know it sucks.

“Two of us will steal police cars,” Geoff says with his wicked grin. “And we’ll drive, sirens wailing, towards the graveyards. If Gavin can hear the sirens getting louder as we enter the graveyard, we’ll know one of us is close to him. He should be able to lead us by sound close to the grave and if the ground is still that unpacked, we’ll be able to dig up the freshly dug one.”

It’s silent for a while as they process that plan before Jack slams on the brakes and nearly sends them all to the ground. “Get out,” she snaps. “I’ll go to the pier.” “Alone?” Michael snaps, “that could be suicide...”

“I won’t engage with them unless we don’t have any other options, but we don’t have time to argue!” Jack snaps furiously. “Get out, every second we waste is a second closer to losing Gavin. Roadblock up ahead anyways - I was going to skid around, but the cars are there for you to take!”

Ryan had almost forgotten they had just finished a heist and the cops wanted them dead. As if they had heard their plan, they were confronted by cops, three cars waiting for them and blocking their exit out of the city and onto the pier. 

“Brace yourselves!” Jack snarls, running through the blockade with as much power as this huge ramming van can muster. It crashes through the police cars, sending them skittering to both sides. Ryan falls over from where he was standing, the force of impact not damaging their car too much but too much for Ryan to take. He slams against the wall, breath nearly taken out of him, but was almost immediately hauled to his feet again by Michael. 

“Out!” he snaps, dragging Ryan towards the back and out of the van, his AK-47 already puttering in his hands as he fights the cops.

“Gavin?” Geoff says frantically into his phone as he snatches it from the ground. In his prison, Gavin is trying to yell over the sound of the noise, but he can’t. And every breath to yell for them is harder and harder to catch. “I’ll call you back!” Geoff snaps - and the line goes dead.

-

The sound of fury and guns and fighting and sirens suddenly disappears. Gavin is left, staring at the wood ceiling of his coffin, completely and utterly alone.

He knows they weren’t abandoning him on purpose. He had heard the plan and it was a good one, so far as frantically half-baked rescue plans go. But the terror of fighting, the sounds of sirens and screaming, still fill his ears in the silent misery of his prison.

What if they died in this fight?

What if no one came?

He’d never know. He’d die here in this box, waiting for them to save him, but they never would. Arrested, dead, it didn’t matter... they wouldn’t rescue him and he knew his attackers had effectively left him here to die. No one would unbury him. His body would rot in this wooden box until it decomposed and became one with the soil.

He never wanted to be buried, anyways. Dead or alive.

The terror was too much and for a moment he let himself sob, racking tears coursing down his cheeks, pooling down below him before he forces himself by the skin of his teeth to pull himself back together.

He had limited air. The boys were coming - they had to. They’d get a cop car like they said and they would come for him, dig him up. Save his life. Even if Jack had to make the swap of cash for his life, that was okay - they had tons of money. Someone would save him.They had to. He just had to believe that.

So he closes his eyes, forces his breathing to slow into calm, meditation breaths, and waited.

Waited for the phone to ring again.

Waited for his boys to save his life.

-

Somewhere in the flashes of time they were in the fight, Michael had gotten shot. He doesn’t remember when, or how. Something had blacked out in him and the fighting had turned almost ... mechanical. He had heard someone mention beserker rage, probably from some dumb Viking television show he watched with Jeremy. When your thoughts just stop, you don’t feel pain, you don’t get tired, you just ... kill.

Maybe that’s what happened to him.When he awakens, blood dripping down his side from a graze on his ribs, having gotten right in the crack of his heavy armor, he’s driving a car. Ryan is next to him, navigating with almost the same blank precision.

They were going to the graveyard. They had stolen a cop car and were headed their way.

He coughs a bit, shaking his head, and Ryan looks up. There’s blood smeared on his face - or maybe that was a drop of his facepaint - but he smiles faintly.

“You were a fuckin’ animal out there,” Ryan says dryly. “Dragged you into the car and you took the wheel and followed my instructions. How much of Michael was I dealing with?”

“Not fuckin’ much,” he mutters. “But I’m here now. Kinda... lost myself for a minute.”

“It’s been a hell of a night,” Ryan retorts. “We’re almost there, flick your sirens on.” He does as orders, the sirens shrieking into the silent night. He makes them as loud as they can go, not caring about waking up an entire city block. “Geoff and Jeremy went off towards the other graveyard,” Ryan explains. “He texted me Gav’s number.”

“What if he’s already dead?” Michael cuts over Ryan’s explanation, hands gripping the wheel and white-knuckled. “What if ..” “We can’t worry about that,” Ryan says with a shake of his head. “Just focus on driving - one step at a time.”

Michael tries not to notice how Ryan’s hands are shaking. How he clutches them in his lap to stop the tremble. How one of his fingers is bleeding and his fingernail is ripped partially off. How did that happen? He doesn’t even ask. 

The night in his memory is patchwork and technicolor, fear grabbing his throat and stealing his voice and his breath. Strangling him from the inside if he thinks too hard about it. So he doesn’t, just doing what Ryan says.

He trusts Ryan more than he trusts his own eyes in that moment.

When Ryan’s hand folds over his own on the steering column, he squeezes it. If this night ends in the way his darkest nightmares say... well, at least he has this moment of comfort.

-

A text pops in to the phone on his chest about eight agonizing minutes after he was rudely hung up on. Gavin is knocked out of a doze, hands fumbling as he forces the phone to work. Things are ... sluggish. His mind is going slower - he supposes that’s the lack of oxygen.

There are phone numbers on the screen. It’s separated into two texts. Distantly, as if from a far-away dream, he remembers that’s what old phones used to do. 160 characters. Odd....

But he still has enough recollection left to be startled by the sound of...something on the outside of his coffin. It’s only been what... twenty minutes since he’s been put in here? The world is fracturing on the edges and it’s so, so dark. But in the darkness and the lack of his sight, he’s had to focus on his ears. And he hears it. Like music, far on the edges of perception, but it’s getting louder. A shriek that grates in an almost musical way on the edges of his subconscious.

He floats in and out, listening to it. He was supposed to do something when he heard that noise. He knows Geoff was going to be really upset with him if he doesn’t do whatever it is, but he can’t really... bring himself to care?

The world was drifting and he was drifting away with it. Breathing was really hard now, so he just sort of ... stopped trying so hard to do it. Why was breathing important again? He couldn’t really remember.

The sound was getting aggravating now. But he knew it was important in the part of his mind that wasn’t going foggy. Something was screaming at him to reach out, to tell...

And then his phone rang sharply, banishing the other sound with a furious shrieking ring, a bell that grated against every one of his senses and knocked him out of the almost silent death he was sinking into.

He was dying. 

And he almost accepted it. That thought ripped through his mind as he scrabbled to open the phone, jamming his cold fingers on the speaker button. The terror and desire for life that shocked him into action caused adrenaline to pulse through every inch of his body.

Suffocation wasn’t harsh, not at first. The lack of oxygen had put him into a sleepy state and he was fading...

He had almost let himself die.

“I hear it,” he gasps into the phone. It was so, so hard to form words. Even harder to understand the voices chattering at him, but he forces himself to focus.

In a last ditch effort, he shoves his finger into his mouth and bites until the pain lances up his arm and he tastes blood, copper and iron and bright, in his mouth. He can almost taste the sensation of brightness as the blood and the pain wakes him up again, shocking him back into reality.

He clings to it for a moment, blood on his lips cherry red, before he can steady himself enough to understand what was being said, lack of oxygen pushed back as he forces himself to stay awake.

“I hear you...,” he repeats. Ryan is speaking. Pretty Ryan, lovely Ryan, so insistent. So stern. Such pretty lips when he makes words, he wonders fluidly what those pretty baby blues look like now when he’s so scared for him...

Focus. Another bite, another lance of pain, another moment of lucidity in a dark hole, in a dark abyss. “Come... closer,” he whispers as the horrible sound gets harder to hear. “C-closer.”

-

“Gavin!” Ryan shrieks again into the phone, bending over it as he yells at the other. Michael has the other boys on the line, just telling them that they were here, that Gavin was here, that they were doing their best and they all had to join them at this fuckin’ graveyard as soon as they can because Gavin... Gavin wasn’t doing well.

They were down to their last minute, that was obvious. If they hesitated too much more...

Then Gavin’s voice - the faintest whisper - drifts through the phone. Closer. They were going the wrong direction. Michael hauls the wheel and they literally streak across the graveyard, running over headstones and knocking over funerary urns as they streak in the direction Gavin brought them.

-

Loud.

It was so loud. The sound was keeping him from sleep. He just wanted to sleep? Why wouldn’t they just shut up and let him sleep?

If he closes his eyes and dreams, he can see the warmth of his own bed. Geoff would hold him there, pet his hair, tell him he’s done well. The others would be there to give him kisses. Jack would gently tilt his head up and give him that warm soft kiss she was so famous for. He felt safe with her.

Why wouldn’t that sound turn off so he could go with her? She wanted to take him somewhere. His body was so cold and hurt so much. Why couldn’t he just go with her?

He coughs once and it shocks him awake as his body spasms. It’s so hard to cough and when he wipes his face, there’s pain as his fingers touch his cold lips, hot and bright as it spasms through him. Why does his finger hurt?

Oh. He had bitten it, didn’t he? It seems so long ago.

And then he’s coughing again and someone is shouting at him or near him and the grating sound is so fever-bright and it hurts his ears and he just whines.

“Loud...”

-

“There!” Ryan’s almost throwing himself out of the cop car as soon as he hears it. Gavin’s whisper of loud and the sight of a fresh mound of dirt means only one thing. That’s where he is.

He’s about to launch himself out of the car when a bullet smashes against the door handle. It’s only sheer dumb luck it doesn’t go through the window and into his brain. Cop cars. Why the fuck don’t they have bulletproof glass?

“There’s a guy...!” Michael shrieks two seconds too late. He picks up speed, gritting his teeth as he barrels towards the gunner. Two bullets get lodged in the windsheld and it splinters, but he doesn’t care.

“Go!” he yells at Ryan as he slams into the man at full fucking speed.

The windsheld is filled with body and then red.The gunner isn’t a problem anymore. Michael supposed vacantly that the man wasn’t expecting them to be so desperate as to just ... run him the fuck over. Although, maybe he thought it was a real cop.

Really, it didn’t matter what he had thought. Michael leans over the steering wheel, blood streaming from his forehead where he had struck the window on impact. He groans, but he’s alive, and just shoves Ryan out of the passenger side when the man hesitates for a half second to look at him. “Go!” he repeats breathlessly.

So Ryan’s going.He leaps out of the car, ignoring the mangled corpse stuck in the grill and Michael’s dazed form. The other probably had a concussion but was otherwise fine - thank god, so much thank god, he had someone up there to thank if they came through tonight - racing towards the mound of dirt.

“Gavin!” he yells into the phone, now cracked in his hand from where it was hit in impact. His hurt finger was pulsing in pain but he ignored it. What was a lost fingernail when his Gavin was dying?

His Gavin, his beautiful sunny Gavin, the man with the smile that could make his heart hurt, the man who had words that made him want to melt, the man that was his sun, his moon, his everything...

All of their everythings....

He throws the phone to his side. If he doesn’t manage this, than they wouldn’t need it anymore anyways. Falling to his knees and ignoring the way this rips his remaining fingernails to shreds, he digs like a dog in the unpacked soil, shoveling it out of the way with two frantic hands.

He’s sobbing, he thinks. There’s something in his eyes that makes it hard to see. He doesn’t stop to brush it away.

Theres’ the distant sounds of shouting. Of another cop car. Maybe they will help before they arrest him? He never would beg a cop for help, but now he’d get down on his knees and plead if it meant Gavin would be alive. He’d debase himself if it only meant the other would survive.

But it wasn’t the cops. It was Geoff and Jeremy. Jeremy runs to where Michael was struggling out of the mangled cop car where they had run into the man and a stone casket, the front crumpled with the impact. Geoff falls to his knees in the dirt with Ryan and they wordlessly dig.They’re uncovering the front of the coffin when Jack arrives.They don’t stop. 

Jack had stopped at the graveyard station at the front and received a shovel. She was always the smartest of them. With the combined effort of all five of them, they exhume the coffin and open the lid.

For a moment, they fear Gavin’s dead. His eyes are closed. His lips are blue.

But its Jack who sees the rise and fall of his chest. Shallow. But there. It’s her who drags him out of the coffin that was almost his final resting spot. Its Jack who drags his body to the surface with the other’s help, and it’s Jack whose sweet lips get him to cough back his breath.

-

Gavin only remembers the sweet, sweet taste of oxygen. When he can be aware of anything at all, he realizes there’s a mask on his face. When they had stocked the Mobile Command Center with first aid kits and oxygen, the Lads had complained it was overkill.

But Jack had insisted. You never know.

And you never really did.

His brain was foggy at first, but at every frantic gasp of the life-bringing gas, things cleared. And then he was coughing, convulsing, dragging breath after breath down his lungs as he remembered he needed to breathe, knew how low on oxygen he was, how it felt to die.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead.

When Gavin opens his eyes - six minutes after he had fallen into the unconscious state that lingers before death - he finds every single one of his lovers above him.

They’re muddy. Filthy. Bloody. Tear-stained and scared and broken shells of the men (and women) who had sauntered off to the heist not three hours earlier, suave and confident and on top of the world.

But as he breathes in the sweet taste of life and starts to cry breathless tears of relief and they all pull him into frantic hugs, he can believe with whatever faculties he currently has that they’re all alive.

They’re going to be okay. He wasn’t dead.

He was going to be okay.

-

Its Ryan who notices first that Gavin’s awake. After they had pulled what felt like Gavin’s lifeless corpse from the coffin, Jeremy had started to sob. It was Jack who had the oxygen - and the shovel and the intelligence - to bring him fully back to them.

CPR was enough to get him breathing again, but it was the damn oxygen tank that saved his life.

He lunges towards Gavin and it’s Ryan’s squawk that brings the rest of them out of their silent vigil. It had been such a long night. Jeremy had fallen asleep against Michael, who was not allowed to sleep. Jack had immediately diagnosed him with a concussion after tending to Gavin. The bump and cut on his head where he had slammed into the man with the gun was livid.

But it would heal. They would all heal.

It didn’t seem true until Gavin’s eyes opened and Ryan hauled him forward. The man doesn’t even seem fully with them, still distant and dizzy, but Ryan just clings to him.

“Don’t do that!” he says roughly, pressing his forehead against Gavin’s, looking him into the eyes and watching him focus on his own. “Don’t - don’t you ever.... Don’t you ever do that again!”

Gavin makes a small whimper and Ryan quickly releases him, the other falling back a bit before giving a small, gentle little grin. “Sorry,” he breathes, coughing again. “W-will try not to.” His grin turns a bit crooked and he chuckles breathlessly.

Just like that, it’s like a weight is lifted.

Gavin may be seriously hurt. He may have panic nightmares and dreams about being buried alive and need an oxygen tank for a few weeks. He may have damage to his lungs and some lingering brain issues for a few months.

But he could joke. He could laugh.

They all gather around him, pulling him into soft kisses and softer touches. Geoff is last, bending over to steal the gentlest kiss. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. There’s a weight in there that means so much more than what he said.

Gavin just gently squeezes his hand. “Not your fault, Geoffrey,” he whispers with a small smile. “Besides -” he says and coughs a bit, “it’s your plan that bloody saved my life. Good call on those sirens.”

Geoff smiles a bit and kisses Gavin again. “Now shut up, Free, before I make you,” he retorts clumsily, hiding his pink cheeks from Gavin’s compliment. He’s not used to having the other boys praise him. He’s the leader, he’s supposed to do right. But it’s a load off his mind knowing Gavin doesn’t blame him.

He’ll just blame himself.

They may be wanted by a thousand cops. They may have made an enemy of a powerful, stealth group that kidnapped one of their own and almost killed him in a sadistic death trap. They may be wounded and hurt and traumatized.

But that was for tomorrow.

Right now, they will hold each other as the sun slowly drifts above the horizon, in a dark graveyard in the back of a mobile command unit not made for the kind of driving they used it for.

Battered? Broken? Scared? Sure.

But always the fuckin’ unbreakable, unkillable, immortal fucking Fake AH Crew.     

[keeyasnowtail]

It was time for me to fulfill my part of the bargain. Now that my brother was dead all that was left was to get Mauldered into the priory and let her research the staff. I am not sure her only motivation was to bring Herashi back to life, but she kept her word until now and the priory vaults are heavily warded so the dangers were minimal. I sent her a note to meet me at the Durmand Priory on the day I had arranged. I introduced her as an expert scholar in bloodstone magic who wanted to include the staff into a thesis of hers on White Mantle artifacts. The priory agreed on this so we invited her. Not sure I have ever done this, forged someone else's references. But since Mauldered was with me nobody really asked or looked to closely. Not sure she would fit in here. The priory is not the best place for the impatient. And we had to spend what felt like forever waiting for another magister to finish her class since she had the current key to the vaults. I guess we could've just sneaked in like I did most of the time, but I really didn't want to overdo it this time.

Meeting with the vault door guard, our "chef" who again had an argument with his sous chef about bloodstone dust and food... no, I didn't even want to hear about it. Needless to say, I usually never touch the priory food. Bloodstone crazed cook can only spell disaster.

Finally in the special collections. It's been some time sincce I last was there. I thought a moment about a quick visit to see Ely, but Mauldered was quite impatient with this so we hurried up to open the lower vault. 

And we reached our destination. Fortunately I still remembered where put the staff and it was not yet quarterly cleanup where Gixx's crew usually randomized the location of all boxes when they try to "improve" the inventory and "sort" everything in a more "logical" way. After that, nobody finds anything anymore for a few weeks. 

So, we got the box, unlocked the wards and there it was. The cursed artifact that caused so much trouble was directly in front of us. I think almost everyone in the room could hear it whispering in their minds already. But... instead of talking about experiments or research ideas, Mauldered grabbed the staff and tried to exchange it for Herashi's life. I guess I saw some of this coming from the beginning and somehow knew that she would try to steal it. Except, there was nowhere to go. The wards on the vault's entrance would prevent any of the objects stored to pass by so, what was her plan?

Obviously she came prepared. After it was clear I wouldn't allow her to leave with it she handed me an enchanted gem into which she somehow managed to transfer Herashi's soul from the staff. I was quite surprised that she kept this part of the bargain and actually helped him. After that though, everyone in the room was hit with a gravity well and we could only watch how the portal she suddenly opened closed again in front of our eyes. Something that shouldn't even work. Portalling through the ward should be completely impossible. Yet there she was, waving goodbye before doing exactly that. All of this spelled trouble. The staff was gone, I brought the thief into the priory and Taijju's assistant seemed to think I stole it and gave it to Mauldered. I decided to postpone the decision of which of those three things would get me into the worst trouble for now. At least I could cross one of them off the bucket list when we met Taijju on the way out of the priory.

It took some convincing until he believed that I had nothing to do with the heist. But I couldn't really argue about the implications this might have now that the staff was out in the world again. We would need to track her down and return it to the vaults. Preferably before Gixx noticed that it was gone. Though I could always blame his "absolutely foolproof" wards. For now we couldn't do anything about the staff so it was decided to bring Herashi back at least, now that we had his soul and all the things we needed. So we, uh, made our way to the settlement where his grave was and... I guess it was a strange sight. Far after midnight a group of adventurers arrived to dig up a grave. It probably wasn't helping much that our lookout at the graveyard entrance was a hooded asura that tried to look unsuspicious. After what felt like hours of digging we finally had his coffin. As quickly as possible I used the soul gem and amazingly it really worked! I almost didn't believe it, but he was back to life!

I guess a bath was strongly recommended... and maybe some bloodstone dust, but before we could talk much... the next trouble arrived. A group of not-exactly-amused charr made their appearance on the graveyard asking us what was going on. I mean... it looked kind of awkward. A charr with a shovel, piles of dirt, an opened coffin and a human smelling like someone escaped from a necromancer's crypt... yeah, we looked totally innocent. After some time of talking with them and trying to make the scene look "natural", I just decided to go with the truth and shifted the conversation towards the Staff of Matthias. Turned out they were a group of mercenaries from the same "employer" as Esiyrn earlier. And they offered their help, for a price, if we needed some extra swords. I guess that was putting it mildly. For all I knew we might need a small army, but this was a start. After I told what happened and Herashi learned about what transpired while he was... I mean... dead... kind of, he immediately offered his help in finding her. But then he was in no condition to go on this suicide mission now. And besides that, we still needed to find out where Mauldered went. I hope I can get some of the priory to help me without raising any more suspicion. Ely will probably help me create a cover story while the staff is... shall we say "unavailable for further research". Now that I think about it, the best course of action is probably a "clean up" of the vaults. After that, nobody will be that much surprised that they can't find the staff! Which gives us a couple of weeks to find it again. One day I will be fired I think.

[megalodont]

Why VLD makes it hard for Lance stans to like Keith sometimes (and how it taints s3 for me a bit)

I love my floofy red son to death, but sometimes I get salty and judgemental with his perfect portrayal by the (wonderful, just not flawless) creators, and I have some Feelings about black paladin Keith. So I thought I’d write a little meta and maybe some of you Lance stans can relate ^_^

Meta under the cut

I love Voltron to death, and don’t get me wrong my moody fire son is very close to my heart. But as an unashamed Lance stan I often find myself frustrated with the show’s treatment of Lance (a common issue the fandom runs into) and the particular way the show mishandles his treatment makes it very easy to get frustrated with Keith himself. All of these things could be fine on their own, but collectively they have left me with a bad taste in my mouth and are genuinely impeding my enjoyment of some parts of season 3.

The short version is that the show consistently portrays Keith as more worthy of the audience’s respect than Lance, and rubs salt in the wound at every opportunity. After 2 seasons of this treatment--of watching Lance be implied to be lesser--I cannot find it in myself to enjoy the lion swap: putting Keith at the head, in the Black Lion, and Lance at his right hand in the Red? That isn’t partners, space ranger or otherwise. That is a subordinate and his commanding officer. And maybe that would be okay if they show treated them like equals anyway, but it doesn’t.

Let me show you some facts:

Keith is presented as cool and mysterious: He motorcycles onto the scene with the audience knowing nothing about him other than the fact that he once made an impression about Lance and he somehow knows the Takashi Shirogane.

Lance is a comedic character from Frame One: There’s nothing wrong with comedic characters, and they can have huge potential, but compared with the pilot’s handling of Keith’s character it end’s up reading as a lack of respect for Lance--as it erodes the viewer’s respect for him.

Keith is repeatedly said and shown to be talented and admirable: This a big one to tackle but I’ll mention just a few examples. Keith’s introduction is him pulling off a heist against a military base on his own (the others basically just tagged along). He is the best pilot at the garrison, the only one who can handle Red, gets a cool weapon and lots of badass shots of him using it. He trains all the time, pilots though and asteroid field, fights gladiators. I could go on and on, honestly it’s really more the little things with this, like him hitting Lance with that squishy asteroid despite Lance being the “sharpshooter”. Think of how many scenes you’ve scenes of Keith fucking killing it in battle vs Lance. And, yes, Lance’s bayard is less dynamic to animate, but half of Keith’s fight scenes are hand to hand. 

Lance is repeatedly shown to be bad a things: Sure, he gets his moments, as do they all, but he is at heart a comedic character and it shows. We know, logically, that he must be a good fighter, but he doesn’t get a lot of scenes showing it (the same can be said of Hunk but that’s a meta for another day). What we DO get plenty of is Lance making silly faces, getting told off by Shiro or Allura, his friends rolling their eyes at him, him crashing the simulator or tripping Voltron or zapping himself on the wall over and over. And sure for that last one you could argue it wasn’t his fault, as you can with many, but the end result is the same: Lance looking foolish onscreen.    

Keith’s always portrayed according to what our society considers “cool”: He leans up against stuff with his arms crossed in like, EVERY FRAME. He’s serious and doesn’t have a goofy comedic underpinning like most of the others. Beyond responding to being riled up by Lance, that is, which isn’t particularly goofy. His comedy potential comes from smirks and making Lance look bad. Even his fatal flaw is cool: he’s too brave (i mean, i know it’s impulsivity in actuality, but it reads as “too willing to jump into battle like a badass” so the effect is the same).

Lance is 90% comedic relief and Keith is 90% protagonist: This is a hard concept to articulate but it’s something i’ve always been struck by, even during the pilot episode where Lance was ostensibly the protagonist. Maybe protag isn’t the best word, but I can’t help but think that Keith is treated a bit more like a main character than the others. He’s the one that kids (especially amab kids) want to be. Wow that’s a big generalisation, but do you see what I’m getting at? He tames the hardest lion, has a sword, is the fastest, wears red. Lance, on the other hand, might be fun to laugh at but not so good for strapping on your cape and pretending to be. And that’s not a coincidence, that’s a result of they are portrayed. The viewer is encouraged to laugh at Lance (and often with Keith).

There’s a significant screen time disparity: It’s hard not to get a little salty went my boy is pushed to the side so often. This isn’t news to anyone, but it’s another nail in Keith’s coffin: how am I supposed to root for him with that little voice in my head being like “wow another Keith scene, huh?”

Shiro, an undeniably perfect character, has a bias: After a while I find myself yelling along with Lance “Yeah! Fuck Keith! He is a hothead!”

Keith is going to be the Black Paladin for no reason: After 2 seasons of special treatment Keith is now getting the most special treatment of all--a chance to Form The Head. He hasn’t shown any natural aptitude to the job--in fact, I think he’d make a pretty bad leader. As would any of them! They’re all just kids! But even if he fucks it up he’ll still have been Shiro’s Choice, Black’s Choice. Special. And if he actually becomes a good leader, learns and grows from this? That’s even worse. Because any of those bright little kids could have potentially blossomed in that role given the chance. But they weren’t given the chance. And that, ultimately, reflects the attitude of the whole show.

So after all this, when Keith is given a higher position, officially above Lance, it really grates on me. If the show treated them as equals I’d be totally fine with Black Paladin Keith. But as it is it feels like dumping mud on Lance’s head while he’s down, the final straw. And sure, Lance is going to get more screen time and character development this season and that’s great. But in the wake of the above, it feels like “okay, now that the important characters are sorted we can spend some time on the side characters.” It almost feels more insulting than if they’d left things as they were. Sure, Lance comes into his own. But that just means his best? Not as good as Keith’s best. He blossoms, sure, but his ceiling is ‘Keith’s underling’.

At this point in my opinion only Lance becoming Black Paladin or something of  magnitude would get him on equal footing with Keith (in the eyes of the show) and since the reverse is what’s happening... I wonder if they’ll ever be equals.

I look forward to seeing Lance’s arcs. Maybe (HOPEFULLY) I’m wrong and he and his presentation will develop enough that he truly reads as Keith’s equal.

But until then I’m going to grit my teeth as much through Keith’s highs as I have through Lance’s lows. Which isn’t what I wanted at all.

Anyway, there’s my two cents, ultimately meaningless but fun to explore! Please be respectful, I’m a true fan and I’d hate to have such a wonderful thing in my life tainted by my anxiety over discourse :/ ^_^ Now back to your regularly scheduled Season 3 Hype!!!!!!!!!