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tempestuous-lush · 10 months

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Crimson & Clover || SoA

Bonus Chapter - Shiv

warnings: fighting in the beginning (thrown dishes), unprotected sex, angry sex, a bit of orgasm denial, oral (female receiving), fingering, creampie, and believe it or not some fluff.

summary: This is a bonus chapter to introduce a character I plan to use in future chapters for plot. Shiv. Shiv is Chibs' woman. She believes he might be getting bored with her, and therefore seeing someone else. It's been eating at her for a bit. Chibs gets home and makes an ill timed joke not knowing her insecurities.

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You were zoned out as you looked out the kitchen window, mind busy turning over all of the worries and insecurities you had. It had all started with your thoughts that maybe you weren’t enough. You weren’t his wife. Couldn’t be. After all, she had given him a daughter, even though he never was able to see her. Raise her. You took another sip of your coffee, closing your eyes as you accepted the comforts of a fresh cup.

That had to be it, why he wasn’t around anymore.

At the end of the day, he missed them. It would make sense, explain his lack of ties from before the two of you were together. Perhaps when he looked at you, he wished you were her.

You hadn’t heard Chibs come in through the back door. Chibs stood at the kitchen island, watching you drink your coffee as you sat there on your stool looking out the window. You’d been doing this more and more lately. All of this zoning out…you were much younger than him, perhaps you found someone who could provide more, everything you deserved, a real life.

He took a long, appreciative look at your legs. That soft supple skin and the muscular but soft curves of them leading him up, the hem of your sweater hiding what he loved almost as much as he loved your ferocity. He hadn’t been spending so much time here anymore with you, helping Jax where he could and the club overall. Especially considering everything seemingly brewing between Jax and Clay.

Fucking hell though, he missed you.

He smiled softly before commenting, “No’ thinking o’ running away with someone else, staring out tha’ window now, are ya’, mo cridhe?”

Your eyes narrowed and fingers gripped the mug a bit too tightly, breaths growing shallower.

How dare he.

He was the one that was gone at all hours, doing god knows what. Or who. For that matter. You hated yourself for it but your mind instantly went to the one girl that hung out at the club, hanging on to every word Chibs would say.

Was that who he was occupying his time with? Before you could register anything else you snapped and threw your mug at him, the words spilling out of your mouth at the same time, “Fuck you, you fucking cunt.”

Your chest was heaving with the sudden anger you felt. There was a flash of remorse when you saw the mug hit its target, a bit of blood blooming over his eye. Just a flash, and then it was gone, replaced by something else entirely when you saw the way he was looking at you. Your voice wavered slightly as you asked, “How fucking dare you, Chibs?”

What he said flashed through your mind again and the anger resurged as you found yourself throwing a plate from the dish drainer at him. He dodged that one, seeing it coming this time. It crashed against the wall behind him. You found another cup and threw it, yelling, “Fucking Scottish BASTARD.”

“Fucking hell Shiv!”

He dodged another throw, and another, slowly making his way to you until you ran out of ammunition. One hand was on either side of you as he leaned on the counter, boxing you in. Angry tears threatened to spill from you and the first thing he thinks to say with that smirk, “All tha’ does is leave me wanting to fuck ya’ more, mo cridhe. Tame tha’ fiesty little cunt of yours the only way tha’ I know how.”

As if to drive his point, he pulled your hips to his and grinded his full and heavy cock up against you…managing to give you the slightest pleasure even though he was fully clothed and you were halfway dressed in your sweater and a pair of underwear. You faltered for a second before you realized he completely side stepped your anger. As he leaned in to kiss you, your hand collided hard with his face as you slapped him.

Chibs wasn’t sure what had you so angry with him, but fucking hell, if a part of him didn’t find it a fucking turn on. The hell is wrong with me?

You moved to slap him again, this time though he caught hold of your wrist before you could make contact. A smirk appeared on his face as if to say not this time. So you slapped him with the other hand instead. Chibs grabbed hold of that one as well, pinning them both to the counter right behind you on either side. At this point, he was inches from your face, both of you breathing heavily.

His dark eyes steadily stared into yours…searching for a yes, goading slightly, “There’s tha’ fiesty woman tha’ I love.”

At that, he let go of one of your wrists and you slapped him one last time time before his hand grabbed a rough hold of your loose hair and pulled back so hard you nearly winced, but just hard enough that instead he earned one of those throaty moans from you that he loved so much.

Then, his lips collided with yours and you welcomed him by immediately opening your mouth to his, his tongue tasting you before you pulled back and bit his lower lip as you did, earning a near growl from him. And that’s when he used his leverage in the hold on your hair to turn you quickly and a bit rough, the counter biting into your stomach as you landed.

Hand still in your hair, he used his other to lift the hem of your sweater to expose that ass of yours to him. Chibs let out a low whistle at the sight of it clad in those pretty little dark red underwear he loved so much. His free hands held your mid back down as he pulled on your hair again and leaned over you just to moan in your ear at the feel of his still clothed cock against your ass, “I missed the sight of tha’ almost as much as the rest of ya’, mo cridhe. Tell me how much ya’ missed it” - he pushed his hips into you and you moaned - “missed me.”

Your breathing was erratic as you were held there, his cock digging into your ass as he pressed it further, and you refused to lament, “Fuck you.”

“Now tha’....tha’ was not the answer tha’ I wanted, Shiv.”

Chibs backed off and let go of your hair, the hand on your back dropping to hold you with his arm instead so that you couldn’t get up. His other hand ran up and down your thigh and you willed yourself not to budge.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

His hand came to rest on the side of those red underwear he loved so much and tutting, he grabbed a handful and pulled hard. They ripped away from you and you felt the cold air conditioned air hitting your ass as he pulled the fabric away. You felt the surge of your arousal and you pressed your legs together, something Chibs noticed. He grabbed hold of your hair again and lifted the other from your back so that you were standing up, your back to his front. Chibs smiled, “Ya’ forget, Shiv, I know you. In every way tha’ counts. So I know when yer angry. Even though ya’ do a fine job of lettin’ everyone know tha’. And I know when yer wanting me inside of ya. But I so love it when ya’ make me work for it.”

A pull of your hair and your neck was exposed to him, his lips falling on it and kissing those soft spots you loved before he sucked hard to a point of near pain, then licking, then repeating. All the while his other hand ran along your hip before going to your front, fingers ghosting along your skin inches from where you suddenly burned for him.

A strangled moan left you and it turned into a near whine as his hand instead traveled further north until his calloused, rough fingertips found the softness of your breasts and he praised, “Still tha’ most perfect pair of tits I’ve ever seen, Shiv.”

He went back to ravaging your neck with his mouth, intent on leaving bruises in his wake to remind you of this…that he was there while his palm kneaded into those perfect tits, playing with your nipples. He kept going like this until you were moaning his name. Then, his hand traveled lower once more, “Tell me ya’ missed it Shiv, missed my cock…missed me.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Telling me tha’ ya’ aren’t getting wet for me?”

He wasn’t going to win, “No.”

His hand ventured further down as he slowly sank his middle middle finger into you, lazily pumping in and out, “Feel plenty wet for me, mo cridhe.”

You could feel his finger, rocking in and out of you at a leisurely pace, giving just enough friction to get you going but not enough to get you there. His hand let go of your hair and found its way to your throat, keeping a firm grasp as he continued his teasing.

There was nothing but time today it seemed as he continued his game, your sweet little sounds growing more frustrated, desperate, needy. When he pulled his finger out of you, you whined at the loss. Chibs chuckled at that.

He let you go and you turned around to look at him which was a mistake. Those dark eyes were on you, frenzied. The blood had run down the side of his face before it slowed. He unzipped his pants and took out his cock, looking as angry as you had just then no doubt. Spitting in his left hand he began pumping it all the while licking your juices from the finger he'd plunged deep inside of you.

Chibs let out a guttural moan as the taste of you hit his tongue. You watched as precum seeped from the head of his cock, joining his spit as he continued stroking himself before he stopped and let go. Both of his hands by his side, all of his clothes still on and his cock ready for you.

You could feel the slick of your arousal and fucking hell you didn’t want to let him win, but you were wavering. His eyes never left you and he spoke up again, “I missed ya’. Fucking christ Shiv, I dreamt about the taste of ya’. Still, didn’t compare to reality. Fucking delicious. And my cock? Well, tha’ ya can see for yourself mo cridhe.”

A shaky breath in, and you responded with a sultry voice, “Why don’t you show me, Chibs? Show me how much you missed just the taste of me.”

Just like that, you caved.

Walking towards him, he huffed before responding, “Alright then, tha’ I can do.”

Without any warning, he lifted and turned you so that you were sitting on the kitchen island and he asked roughly as he pulled your chair over, “Why don’t ya’ lay down for me, Shiv? Open those pretty legs.”

As he sat down in front of you, a patient man awaiting dinner, you stifled a laugh bubbling inside of you and simply complied. Your legs fell open and he muttered, “Christ, look at the mess tha’ you’ve already made for me. Nearly weeping with need aren’t ya’?”

Then, without any other warning, he threw one of your legs over his shoulders and began devouring you like you were his last meal. Your back arched immediately at the sensation and his hand caressed your thigh as he quickly brought you to life, tongue working your clit with utmost precision. As he did, he slipped off his vest and threw it onto the island near you. Unzipping his jacket next, it hit the ground and the button up shirt followed. Then, his hands grabbed at your hips and pinned them down on the cold counter to keep you from moving too much as he sucked on your swollen clit.

Every muscle in your body tensed as you cried out a strangled chain or curses before he continued lapping up your juices, delving into your folds and teasing you with the very tip of his tongue in feather light touches. As you opened your mouth to protest, he sucked hard again and you cried out once more at the contact. Until he cycled back to those teasing touches and his tongue buried inside you. That was when you realized and protested pathetically, “Chi- baby, pl-please don’t t-tease me.”

As if in answer he sucked hard once, twice, three times, slipping two of his fingers deep inside you.

He paused briefly to spit in his free hand to continue stroking himself as he kept working to eat you out, his groans of appreciation driving you further with lust. Suddenly angry at the words he spoke, he imagined you giving yourself to someone else like this and grew a bit heated.

Letting up, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you back to your feet.

Grabbing your hair, he led you to the nearest wall and lifted your leg to sink deep inside of you. You were so wet from him that he could have cum inside of you right then and there. But no. He needed you to cum on his cock. Tell you that you were his. Only his. He put your leg over his shoulder, following up by putting the other over his shoulder as well, your back against the wall helping to hold you up while opening yourself to him even further. He thrust to test the waters out and you gasped at how full you were. Desperate to feel more, your nails dug into his back in desperation of needing him closer. A hiss of pain escaped Chibs, his pleasure following immediately after as he thrust into you again and held it there commenting, “There is my greedy little Shiv.”

He continued thrusting into you, slow and steady and leaving you feeling full but not satisfied. The mother fucker was still teasing you. You opened your mouth to protest and as you did he picked up his pace, the sound of skin on skin and your cries of “right there Chibs…fuck me right there” filled the room. Oh you were so close. But, what you typically loved about Chibs was playing against you. He knew your body, and could feel you on the precipice. He slowed down and pulled out of you.

Letting your legs down he placed them on the ground and knelt before you, a man at worship as he then put a leg over his shoulder to place a kiss above your pussy shining with your arousal before licking up what he could. Your hands instinctively found his hair, gripping hard into the roots as you held on for dear life. He was not teasing you now. He wasn’t taking it slow. No, he had one goal in mind. And you were fast approaching it. Your body tensed and you were cumming on his face.

Chibs wasn’t satisfied with that though. It wasn’t enough. So, just as you tensed up and he could feel you cumming, he slipped two of his fingers inside of you. He began hitting the softness of your g spot with them, sucking on your clit and you were suddenly warm in your sweater, too warm, sweat slicking your skin. You were crying out incoherently, Chibs’ name falling from your tongue like a fucking prayer. How badly he wanted to bend you over and fuck you endlessly with how you sounded, but not until he got what he was chasing from you. Your fingers in his scalp pulled harder, eliciting a growling, guttural moan. He didn’t know how much he liked a bit of pain before you. And suddenly, you snapped.

Your hand pulled his head away just in time, your cum squirting all over the lower half of his face as he pumped it out of you with those fingers until he nearly had to catch you after you were done.

Suddenly, you were on the floor with him, among the scattered fragments of glass, beneath him. Your legs wrapped around Chibs and pulled him towards you as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your back came up from the ground to help greet such a feeling of fullness. His eyes looked into yours as he started thrusting, one of his hands caressing your cheek as the other braced his weight. Everything about this was so tender, so different from everything else that transpired. You felt tears threatening to spill as a small sob escaped you and he shushed you, “What’s wrong, mo cridhe?”

“I missed you” - a gasp interrupted your confession as he thrust into a sensitive spot - “so much.”

“As have I.”

The two of you fell into rhythm, your hips coming up to meet him as he thrust, his forehead resting against your neck. Everything was quiet except for the sounds of pleasure the two of you made until finally his hips grew erratic and he grunted, cumming deep inside of you and holding himself there as if to keep his warmth inside you.

It was only then that you asked, “What does mo cridhe mean?”

“It, uh…” He pulled out and lay beside you on his back, feeling sheepish. You weren’t letting him escape though. Instead, you swung your legs over and straddled him, “Tell me, Chibs.”

“My heart, lass. It means my heart.”

You were thinking of your insecurities and what he just said, and it made you start laughing just a little. However, the laughter grew until you were doubled over on him. His arms wrapped around you and he questioned slightly, “Didn’t mean for it to be so funny, Shiv.”

“No” - you coughed to try and cease your laughter before slowly coming down - “I, um, thought you were maybe seeing someone else. Partaking in the club’s girls even. I just thought I wasn’t enough.”

You could feel him stirring beneath you even as he said the words, “Not enough, Shiv?”

A smile appeared on his face, and he playfully thrust into you before using his body weight to get you on your back again, “And just how many times do I have to drive home” - he thrust his now ready cock back inside of you - “the point?”

You gasped as he thrust again, “You’re not just enough. You’re everything tha’ I could want.”

The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, “I love you.”

He smiled once more, lifting your calf to bite into it playfully to elicit a yelp from you before you laughed again, till he silenced you with another thrust, “And I love ya', mo cridhe. Don’t ever forget that.”

tags: @ambassadortotrilliusprime

#chibs x reader #chibs x you #chibs telford #chibs imagine #soa chibs #chibs telford smut #chibs smut #chibs x shiv

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madsworld15 · 1 month

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Why Queer as Folk (2000) Was Seemingly Forgotten

An analysis by a professional TV Critic

Let me start off by saying the initial run of Queer as Folk and its current resurgence can be represented by this mantra by Brian Kinney: There are two kinds of straight people. The ones who hate you to your back and the ones who hate you to your face.

The initial run of QAF coincides with the first half of the statement: hate behind your back.

So, recently I started thinking about how in the early 2000s, Queer as Folk seemed to be on a trajectory of going down in TV history. Then, seemingly just as quickly, people stopped talking about it. So much so that by the time I finished watching it in 2009, I only got a few good months of chatter on social media platforms (Twitter mostly) with other fans before it just stopped being talked about in a wide-reaching manner.

I will even admit that I stopped thinking about the show not long after that and wasn't reminded of its full impact on my psyche until late last year when it was back on easy-access streaming due to Showtime's merge with Paramount+.

But why is it that this show is only just now starting to pick up speed again? (I'm talking fan cams on TikTok, memes, etc.)

I have some theories about all of this, so buckle in.

To really get a grasp of what Queer as Folk was working against when it aired on Showtime -- a paid subscription channel back before the days of an overabundance of streaming services, you have to look at the climate we were living in. Also, how inaccessible a paid TV channel was for most people.

So, in the early 2000s, life in the United States, and probably the world, but I'm not fully educated enough to comment on that, wasn't the greatest for those in the LGBT+ community. It would be years before the President of the United States would pass legislation that Gay Marriage be legal nationwide.

Employers were able to fire people for being gay, and the employees couldn't fight it. Gay parents had very little in terms of rights to their own children; in fact, some couldn't even adopt the kids they wanted to because there were no laws against discrimination.

All of these things are depicted left and right throughout Queer as Folk, with Ted getting fired from his job, Michael being extremely closeted at his job, and Melanie not being afforded rights to Gus because of adoption regulations during that time.

So, for our community to receive a show that was by us for us, we were overjoyed. There was something so resolutely refreshing about the unapologetic manner in which these characters were allowed to present themselves and live their lives. And while the show gets dinged today for its lack of racial diversity, we were glad to see queer people represented in a variety of ways -- we got to see the Emmett's and Justin's of the world being friends with the Ted's and Michael's and Brian's.

Not only that, these characters got to love who they wanted, however, they wanted, and whenever they wanted. Characters like Michael and Emmett could go from wanting to freely fuck whoever to finding that special person and settling down. We got to see Ted find the right guy at the wrong time over and over and over again until it was finally the right guy at the right time.

But most of all, we got to see a character like Brian, who, in the hands of a straight person, might've actually gone "soft" and "domestic" just by being with Justin. Instead, we got to see him never change his opinion about what he wanted, but still finding love in his own way.

However, not long after the show ended (like around 2008), the climate in the United States started to shift more towards open acceptance of the queer community. So, people stopped needing an escape from the hardships of real life because things seemed to be on an upward trend toward love and equality. Therefore, Queer as Folk sort of fell off the radar of viewers because we didn't want more of the gritty, complicated, messy queer stories. We wanted our stories to be happy and lighthearted.

(Keep in mind I am speaking in terms of general viewers. There are always exceptions to the rule)

Then, in 2016, Donald Trump was elected President of the United States, and suddenly, it was totally okay for people to openly mock us and hate us.

This is where the resurgence of QAF falls into the second half of Brian's mantra: hate us to our face.

Around 2016/2017, people started talking about this show again. And the love and fervor for it has only increased exponentially over the last few years, especially with the onset of COVID-19 and the merging of Showtime/Paramount+. Both events made the public more aware and able to access the show.

Now more than ever, we need something that isn't afraid to show queer people as we are, not as the media and those outside our community paint us. We need to feel like there is a media format that understands what we are like when we are with our closest friends. We say things that, in today's world, would probably get us canceled, and we judge those around us and have very biased opinions about certain people.

Brian Kinney's unapologetic "I am who I am and fuck anyone who tries to change me" attitude is the exact level of strength and courage we wished more people right now had. His biased, but not illogical, opinion of non-queers needs to be loud. It needs to be shouted from the rooftops because we now live in a world where we are hated just for existing as we are.

Even our rights that had been given to us just a decade ago are being stripped away from us once more. So, the fight for love and equality continues, and the hope that Queer as Folk gives us is important now more than ever.

So, people are seeking this story out and are begging others in the world to watch it and understand that we have always been here. We've always been these flawed but loving characters. We deserve to be heard.

In 2022, Peacock tried its best to create a redo of the series but failed miserably. But why? If we are desperately looking for queer media that is gritty, unapologetic, and real, then why didn't we latch onto this latest iteration?

The answer is simple. This new version was great at creating a more diverse image of the characters created for the Showtime series but failed to understand that recreating things almost note for note with entirely new characters isn't what we want.

It would've been better if the show stuck to broad-stroke themes and made these characters and their experiences their own. Queer today is different than queer in the early 2000s, just like queer in the 2000s was different than queer in the 1980s. Trying to put queer 2000s stories into a queer 2020s world isn't going to work.

We need to embrace this resurgence of Queer as Folk (2000) and give it the love and attention it should've always had. Perhaps finally giving its rightful due in the eyes of the history of queer media. Does it have its issues as the world changes? Absolutely, but we also can't sit here and deny the insane level of impact this show had on the queer media we now know and love.

We wouldn't have casually queer shows like Schitt's Creek, Heartstopper, and Our Flag Means Death if Queer as Folk hadn't broken down our walls and made us realize that we can demand stories for queer people by queer people.

#queer as folk #brian kinney #justin taylor #emmett honeycutt #ted schmidt #michael novotny #TV retrospective #TV history #queer history #looking at QAF from the lens of social queer climates then and now #opinions of a professional TV critic

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gracerings · 2 years

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now for the things s4 actually did wrong:

1. keeping everyone separated until the last minute ended up not working out for me

2. the sidelining of 3 og characters (mike, will and jonathan) while new characters like jason got a ton of screen time that didn’t even end up amounting to anything significant is something I can’t really justify

3. the utter drag that was the russia plot. I liked hopper this season much more than the last but was this really the plot he came back to life for? he and joyce both deserved better than that

4. and as for my last point, joyce basically abandoning her kids was kinda out of character

5. eddie’s death was kinda pointless, yes, but mainly what annoys me is that they CLEARLY only introduced him and killed him so they didn’t have to kill steve, because that was 100% how steve’s death would’ve gone if they’d had the balls to kill steve (to be clear, I didn’t want steve to die but at least they should’ve come up with a different death for eddie, it felt like he was literally just a placeholder for steve)

6. lucas and erica being beat up by two older white boys was.. not great

7. the resurgence of the stancy/jancy love triangle.. please SPARE US. it felt like character regression for both steve and nancy, also it was cringe and boring sorry. like they really didn’t know what to do with steve this season? they mainly paired dustin with eddie, so all that was left for steve to do was pine over nancy… again

8. that ‘two days later’ transition at the end was clunky af. some of the editing in general this season and especially in vol.2 was a bit off. it feels like they really ran out of time trying to edit the finale

10. will’s storyline could have been handled better, I will agree with that. I still have faith that s5 will deliver in that sense and I disagree with a lot of takes going around, because I think there’s still a lot of good in his storyline, it felt very realistic and emotional, but considering they’ve been sidelining him for two seasons at this point, they could’ve at least given him a bit more of a resolution in the end (though I do think they’re saving the catharsis for s5)

11. honestly we needed more interactions between el and the byers, because their family dynamic is probably the most compelling in the show at this point, but we didn’t get to see much of it. once again hoping for s5

#stranger things #stranger things spoilers #the mileven and byler love triangle of sorts was also not my favorite mainly because of what it did to this fandom #will byers #el hopper #joyce byers #jonathan byers #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #jim hopper #steve harrington #eddie munson

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feelgoodghoul · 1 year

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- Nighttime confessionals || Terzo x AMAB!Reader -

@cowgremlin

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Word count: 2,796

Character Count: 15,257 ----------------------------------------------------

You are my moon, mi amore.

You had never been close to the elusive man. Every past attempt to get more than a passing conversation had not gone as planned, and you had all but given up hope. Terzo, or otherwise affectionately known as Papa III, had always interested you in more ways than one. He was humorous on stage, as you had seen in some of his recent performances, and he always made you chuckle. Not to mention he was good-looking. Alas, you were never able to get more than a few words in to him.

But now, as he stood there in the doorway of your quarters, disheveled from restless sleep and a certain look in his eye, you begin to think you may have a chance to get very up close and personal tonight.

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It was well into the night when you heard the knock on your door. Dragged from your dream, which you already couldn't remember, you let out a noise to alert the person on the other side that you were coming. A strangled groan escapes your throat as you stretch out your sleep-stiff body, shuffling to the door as you lazily pull on a robe. You never wore much, for the old satanic church was kept hot for some odd reason, so the robe was the modest choice while still saving yourself from the warmth.

You were more than surprised to find Terzo at the door, his hair a mess and his eyes dark with some myriad of different thoughts or feelings. "Ah- Papa, what wakes you at such an hour?" You ask, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "It's- lord below, what time is it?" You paw for your phone, which of course wasn't on you.

"It's almost one in the morning, prestante, I checked." His voice brings you back to attention. You never did understand everything he said, especially when he spoke in his mother tongue. Even if it was just little phrases or words, you could never figure out the meaning, though it always made you blush. Of course, he said these things to everyone, but it just sparked little butterflies inside you every time it was directed specifically to you. "May I come in, fratello?" Okay, that meant brother, you knew that one. All followers were called brother, sister, sibling, and so on so forth. You must have gotten lost in thought, since Terzo waved his hand in front of your face to bring you back once again.

You feel your ears grow hot with embarrassment as you nod, stepping aside to let the man in. This is one of the only times you have seen him without his paint, and you had to say, it was almost exactly what you imagined. Dear Satan, if only you could see this when you were more awake.

As the door shuts, you turn to face him. "So, what can I do for you, Papa? You never did answer my first question as to why you were awake." You're shocked to see that when you finally focus on the man, he is already removing his undershirt, which usually went under his uniform, but he had decided to sleep in.

"There is quite a lot you can do for me, fratello. I've noticed how I catch your eye, how your gaze lingers," his voice was a mere coo, soft and silky as he glanced over his shoulder in your direction. "I've had enough of playing coy. You should know that I find you quite the looker. I want you." He stated simply, the three ending words sticking in your mind and making your heart thump in your chest.

"At this hour? Papa- I'm awfully flattered." It was all you could muster. Your desire for Terzo was resurging, you could feel it deep in the pit of your stomach, rising into a hot need. "I just-" You were cut short as a warm finger pressed over your lips. Soon, his thumb dragged over your lower lip as his pointer held your chin.

"Hush now. We have time to talk later, caro." He gave you a devilish grin that sent a shiver straight to your groin. You heard yourself utter a 'yes Papa' before you hungrily captured his lips in a heated kiss. The raven-haired man let out a groan, his grip on your chin loosening for a moment as he tried to regain control of things. Something about Papa you had noticed was that he exuded dominating energy. Hell, it practically oozed off of him while he was on stage. But now? Now he was at your submission, giving up hope of domination and just sinking into the heat of the kiss. The air around you was filled with soft groans and sighs as you snaked your hands around the man, coming to rest one against the small of Terzo's back as the other found its home on his sharp hip.

It didn't take long before you both found yourself in bed, a tangle of legs and sheets as Terzo squirmed under you, his voice reduced to almost desperate mewls as you ground against him. Your mouth sloppily trailed kisses all along his neck, down to his collar, and to his chest, which was peppered with thin black hair. You had just found a rhythm when you released a startled groan from your throat. Terzo had slid his hand down your front to your crotch, where his palm ground itself into your hardened arousal. "Satanas- fuck, Papa.." You stuttered out, your eyes shut tight as you eagerly pressed your hips forward. "Very good, caro.." He praised beneath you, his voice sending a feeling of calm through your body, but with that came a sudden primal urge to just devour the man as he grinned under your body.

"Undress for me." You practically demanded this, which made the pale man's eyes widen slightly. He chuckled out, staring up at you with such a lustful gaze that it could make anyone melt.

"You wish is my command, fratello." Papa cooed, unzipping his pants with deliberate slowness as to mentally and almost physically torture you. Thinking about it, him sleeping in his dress pants was odd. Then again, he seemed as though he had planned this all out. He wanted to fuck with your mind, make you hunger for his body. Terzo's plan was definitely working, because you were starving, craving him.

The light that seeped in through the curtains illuminated Papa's body, showing off every subtle curve and dip in the skin. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. "You are my moon, mi amore." He murmured after a moment, watching your gaze with gentle eyes.

"Then you are my stars." You return, removing the man's pants after he had gotten distracted. You give a tug to his boxers, allowing the man's erection to be freed from its constraints. A groan escapes Terzo's lips, his eyes fluttering slightly as he lifted his hips to aid you in undressing him. "I've always imagined you like this... Now that I have you, it's surreal." You sigh out, your eyes raking over his moonlit body.

"You've fantasized about me, si?" A chuckle forms deep in his chest. "My my, you are a dirty boy." His hand begins to roam, stroking himself at the base of his arousal. "I can't say I haven't thought about you, either. Your beautiful body always hides under those clothes of yours. I can't help but be curious..." Terzo tilted his head, his eyes half-lidded and his gaze sweet as you palm yourself over your undergarments. "Expose yourself to me, fratello, show your need to your Papa." You didn't even hesitate anymore. You removed yourself from your boxers, watching Terzo's eyes light up with surprise and sudden, hot desperation. "My lord, caro, would you look at what you've been hiding from your Papa." He cooed, his voice adopting a slight quiver as you thumb close to your head, the tip glistening with forming precum.

You feel a grin pull at your lips as you lean to grab lubricant from your bedside table. "Well, you've been hiding your entire being from me... I'd say we're even now, Papa." You tease, pouring some of the slick liquid onto your fingers. "Now, tell me just how you like it." You smile as you circle a slicked-up digit at Terzo's tight entrance. A shivering moan leaves the man, and you feel him press down against you.

"Just- get to it already... I need to feel those skillful fingers..." He pleaded. In the past, when you had done more work with your hands that involved several things like papers or sorting, you had noticed how Papa would observe you. Indeed, you did have a way with your hands, but didn't believe he had noticed.

You slip your finger inside the man as he let out a sweet sigh. "Demanding much?" You tease yet again, your cock twitching at the sound of the man's voice. It doesn't take long for Terzo to silently beg for your second digit, his eyes wide as shockwaves of pleasure ripple up his spine. You listen to his pleading eyes as you almost force the second finger inside, eliciting a gasp and whimper from Terzo. "There... Happy?" You coo. "You're being a good boy for me, Papa."

"Call me Terzo, please- enough with formalities..."

"If I'm going to call you Terzo, then you better sing my praises, beautiful." You grin, stroking up your length as you search for the man's spot. During your search, you make sure to stretch him out in preparation for your cock. Hearing his desperate moans fueled your urges, his back arching and his thighs trying to shut around his erection to get any type of friction that wasn't from his hands.

"I will- oh caro- dear Satan-" Another moan cut him off, his hips bucking up as your fingers finally met his spot. He could feel himself already coming undone, the heat in his stomach pooling til he felt he was going to burst. "Mhh... Please, more, I beg of you. I've always dreamed of this," he confessed, "I've spent so many nights touching myself over you, your very image ruins me."

Hearing this made your fingers speed up, rubbing relentlessly against the bundle of nerves in his walls as Terzo let out a string of desperate, high-pitched moans. "Then why did you ignore me all this time, Terzo? Your beauty is enchanting, it was so hard to stay away."

Terzo seemed to debate a response in his head, his thoughts cut off by your skillful and long fingers. "I- fuck- I was afraid to get close, in fear of never being able to let go."

Oh, it was on now.

The air was hot and heavy as it surrounded you both, almost suffocatingly so. You swiftly removed your fingers, pulling a whine from the writhing man below you. "Nows the time for all the closeness in the world, I'm not going to lose you now..." In a hushed tone, you caress Terzo's cheek with a gentle touch. Watching how he leaned into you, his eyes catching yours and delivering a lustful gaze, you know the time has finally come to make this man yours.

"I will treat you well, I promise." You assure him, taking the time to spread lubricant along your length and ensure you're thoroughly coated in the slick substance before dragging Papa close. The raven-haired man watched with an anxious stare, itching to just feel you already. As the head of your cock pressed to his entrance, a shivering moan was drawn from Terzo's lips. He suddenly tugged you close with a leg, wrapping it tight around your waist to bring you in to the hilt. A moan escapes you both, his a slightly higher octave than your own. Terzo leans his head back to stare up at the ceiling, clutching your hair in his hands as he feels just how well you fill him. Every inch of his inside is absolutely stuffed, and it's obvious just how much he loves it from the look on his face.

You felt the man adjust around you as you slowly started your even tempo. Starting off slow gave Terzo the chance to relax and ease into the feeling. Watching his face twist and contort at the waves of pleasure put a smile on your face, your gaze soft as you once again began your search for his spot. Terzo's sweet moans grew louder in your ear, filling the silence that encased the rest of the room. You take the chance to bite gently on his neck, like an animal taking hold of its prey to claim for itself. This action drew yet another moan from the man below you, the tone alone urging you on.

As you suddenly bucked your hips into his spot, you drive on at a harder pace, sending shockwaves through Terzo's already quivering body. "Oh, caro- you fuck like you've had practice..." Papa groaned, his warm hand wrapping around his member as his back formed a nice arch.

"Maybe I have, but no one I could bed compares to you, Terz'..."

"They better not- I want to be the only one from now on..." He trailed off for a moment before looking into your eyes, a hint of anxiety hidden behind their mesmerizing complexity. "Please, fratello. Grant me that wish... It is all I desire."

Your hardened expression softened at his words, his pleas. After a slow inhale, you lean down to give him a gentle kiss, catching his lips and locking together with him. "I promise you, you'll be my one and only from this night onward..." That seemed to make him happy, a smile tugging at his lips. "Now let me make love to you, my star..." You cooed, rubbing his jaw as your other hand gave his hip a light squeeze

"Please do..." Was all Terzo could muster, his mouth hanging open as you rubbed against the tight bundle of nerves once again. The speed of your hips slowed once again, but you stuck to the rougher thrusts. A low groan bursts past your lips as Terzo's walls tightened around you, practically begging for your seed. With every thrust, Papa could feel his climax slowly rising, the muscles in his stomach taught and rippling as his body jolted with each passing wall of delight. Lord, if there was a heaven, it had to be this, bathing in what little moon was peeking through the window while the two of you showed some of the purest forms of love possible in the given situation.

"Keep it up, caro... I'm so close already..." Terzo panted out, his voice soft and dripping with sweetness. "I never want this to end..."

"It's okay... Cum for me, beautiful, let your being come unraveled under me." You whisper against his skin as you press loving kisses to Papa's chest. Dragging your warm tongue across his skin, you taste the salt of his sweat, sharp against your taste buds. It was delicious, you could practically eat the man whole. You bit down on his chest, pulling a keen from his throat as he stroked himself to completion. Warm strings of cum shot onto his stomach, dripping from the head of his cock as he let out overstimulated whimpers.

His noises drove you mad. You gently pulled him closer, catching him in another kiss as you pushed in as deep as possible, burying yourself inside the man's heat as you released. A groan finds its way into the kiss, muffled by your joined mouths.

As Terzo pulled away, a blissful smile took place of his orgasmic expression. "I've never felt anything better, caro... You do more than please me. I would give anything to be eternally yours."

"Then stay a while, be with me tonight... Having you here is something I've craved for a long time..." You too made your confession, having it be one of the many made during your time with the man.

"I believe that can be arranged." He whispered, relaxing for you to pull out.

After a short time spent on clean up, the two of you clambered back into bed and fell against each other, dragging the other into a bundle of warmth and security. The smell of sex was strong, but a welcomed scent. It was intoxicating, filling your nose as you nuzzled it against Terzo's hair.

"Terzo?" You ask after silence had just taken hold of the air.

"Yes, caro?"

A pause, almost searching for the words.

"I love you."

Not skipping a beat, Terzo plants a kiss on your collarbone. "I love you too, mi amore."

#ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #ghost bc fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #papa emeritus #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #terzo is a bottom #bottom terzo #we all need a little more bottom terzo #amab reader #terzo fanfic #terzo x amab reader #sweet sex #confession

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itsclydebitches · 2 years

Note

You think a show with the subject of Unity WOULD’VE made James redeemable. This show used to do this, during the Fall in V3 is when we really saw how close everyone was. Heck, Qrow saving Ironwood and assuring him he knows he would never do this was the moment we learned that, for all their differences, they ARE friends who care about each other. What happened to this? What happened to the hope and unity in times of a darkness? V7-8 makes me feel so dirty with the lack of compassion.

I think what frustrates me about Ironwood isn’t that the story had an antagonist/villain go too far to be redeemed within the story itself. After all, a story with a cast this side doesn’t need (and, arguably, shouldn’t have) every single character become #good if you’re looking for some kind of “realism.” The execution of the arcs aside, having someone who is too scared to do the right thing (Raven), or dies as a result of their unwillingness to back down (Adam) isn’t bad writing and doesn’t automatically undermine the message of unity. After all, we see the characters attempting such unity, or at least peace through distance—Ruby asking Raven to come over to their side, Yang telling Adam to just leave them alone—and those offers were rejected. At that point, there’s only so much the heroes can do. The ball is now in the antagonist's court.

So putting aside how badly Ironwood’s fall was written overall (which, obviously, contributes to the frustration) I think RWBY’s mistake stems largely from the heroes not making those offers, nor putting in the expected effort for an ally (in RWBYJNOR's case) and a friend (in Qrow and Winter's). I’ve seen a resurgence in the fandom of a “The heroes aren’t responsible for Ironwood” take and yeah, sure, technically speaking no one is responsible for anyone else, especially not when it’s a bunch of teenagers in regards to the world leader. However, if we’re thinking about this in terms of what the heroes preach and what messages the story wants to convey, then it is a problem that none of them work to unify with Ironwood. Many fans will claim they did do that work, but as discussed elsewhere, everything came with the “Do as we say” caveat. Ruby was only willing to unify provided they do things her way, which is no more unity than Ironwood demanding that she “unify” by doing exactly what he wants. It’s just obedience in either direction, but the difference is that Ironwood spent all of Volume 7 working towards actual unity in the form of offering information, support, and compromise whereas the group maintained their lie, demanded perfection without offering solutions, and went on to betray him. Then we hit Volume 8 where that mistake occurs: characters either ignore, or attack Ironwood/what he represents without trying to strive for that unity prior to giving up on him. Off the top of my head:

Qrow randomly drops his initial desire to talk to Ironwood to instead attack Clover with Tyrian, then plans a revenge killing on Ironwood.

Team RWBY chooses to fight the Ace Ops despite being given the call to approach this problem in a more peaceful way, even if it’s not ideal.

Penny is torn about this division between Ruby’s group and Ironwood's, but instead of allowing her to work through that—which could potentially lead to reunification—Ruby makes it clear that there are sides and Penny needs to stay on the correct one. (Seen mostly notably in Ruby taking Penny’s call and giving a very biased speech before entering Atlas HQ).

Winter and the Ace Ops both see Ironwood shoot a man… but no one cares? No one is going to try and talk to him about that? Make sure it doesn’t happen again? Even just leave if he’s officially gone off the deep end? By having them all stay by his side but without commenting on the murder (even in a “Holy shit is he gonna kill us? I’m too scared to try and escape” way), we’re left with the implication that they’re just… fine with that. No need to try and steer off the road Ironwood is heading down. This is whatever. We’ve got five otherwise active characters passively allowing this to happen because the story didn’t want Ironwood to change, but it also wasn’t capable of writing that fall persuasively.

Going off of that, many others have pointed to Winter’s brief talk with Ironwood before JNOR+E arrive to take him out. She explicitly says that she doesn’t think she can talk him out of this, despite the fact that no one has tried.

Ruby announces to the entire world that Ironwood is no longer trustworthy. This happens early in the Volume, before the bomb threat, when Ruby doesn’t know about the councilman, or Ironwood shooting Oscar, or anything else he's done while separated from her. All she knows is that he wanted to evacuate who he could and that, to Ruby’s mind, is worthy of world-wide condemnation. Regardless of whether we think Remnant would trust the word of an unknown, too young huntress, the fact remains that Ruby expects them to trust her. She expects them to believe her and act accordingly: all of Remnant should refrain from trusting Ironwood. Not only is this a strong indication that the writing never even considered giving Ironwood a redemption, but in-world our main characters—the one who is preaching unity—has rejected it completely despite having incredibly little reason to. At this point in time, from Ruby’s perspective, the worst thing Ironwood has done is try to save half his Kingdom rather than letting it all be destroyed, yet according to her, this is unforgivable.

When Yang has a long talk with Raven and makes no headway in changing her mind, I buy that there’s nothing left for Yang to do except walk away. When Adam has stalked Blake for weeks, attacked her twice, dismembered Yang, was given numerous chances to back down, and was still going in for the kill, I buy that there’s nothing left for them to do except act in self-defense, resulting in his death. In contrast, I personally don’t buy Oscar putting that amount of trust in Hazel with no indication that this would amount to anything except a major loss for the good side, but the story insists that this was the right thing to do. It’s worth reaching out to people, even if they’re one of Salem’s lackeys and are currently torturing you! Similarly, I don’t buy the heroes accepting Emerald with the speed they did, but again, the story insists that this was the right thing to do. It’s worth reaching out to people, even if they’re one of Salem’s/Cinder’s lackeys, destroyed your school, helped murder your friend, and tried to kill that friend again just an hour ago! The message is that the chance of success doesn't matter, it's always correct to try and get people to do the right thing. The execution of all this is incredibly messy, but usually RWBY gives us something in regard to why redemption hasn’t happened despite those offers. Either it does happen (logic be damned) thereby justifying the effort in the first place, or the antagonist refused to take it, letting the hero off the hook. They tried and that's all we can ask of them.

The exceptions to this are Ozpin and Ironwood. Ozpin was granted forgiveness, but it was never offered. He had to come begging for it after circumstances ensured he couldn’t keep his distance anymore. However, Ironwood is (apparently) operating under a semblance that ensures he focuses 100% on whatever task he has set, presumably making it impossible (or at least very, very hard) to snap out of that and go asking for his own redemption. Iffy canon aside, there are a dozen more reasons why it’s unreasonable to expect Ironwood to orchestrate a moment like Ozpin’s—from him actually believing he’s right to just not being forced to interact with the group—which means that redemption could only come if someone offered it. After Oscar's attempt that, in retrospect, was pretty lackluster and maintained those caveats, one did. No one was inclined to help, or push back, or work to save a man they supposedly cared about. It would indeed take work! It would not be easy, nor without risk, but isn’t that supposed to be the message of RWBY? Trust love and fight for unity? The characters are, apparently, willing to put in that effort and accept that risk for the likes of Hazel and Emerald… just not Ironwood. Ironwood is the outlier who, despite being surrounded by people of varying relationships—from subordinates to friends—and despite these people having varying responses to his actions—from horror to full support—none of them, when it was clear he needed help, was inclined to offer that. And sure, that’s a story. There’s nothing wrong with that story, but it’s certainly not the kind of story RWBY claims to want to tell.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

You’ve Got a Friend in Me

Summary: You deserve to be my brother.

Author’s Note: I won’t go on a rant here many of you have already done so and much more eloquently than I can, Han Seo deserved to live and I think it would have been so much more original and refreshing if they didn’t kill the victimized character who was finally getting a second lease on life with his new family. If any of you read BMTL you know that I have a weak spot for abused characters and when they are treated this way I can’t stand for it. So join me here in this alternate reality where puppy does not die and instead he gets the love and rebirth that he deserves.

Everything is white hot pain, and he wonders if this is what death feels like and if so why must this suffering follow him even into death? When will he finally be free from agony if not now? There are a flurry of sounds surrounding him but nothing decipherable until he hears, “Clear!” a voice shouts in the distance but he doesn’t know who that is, where exactly would someone like him go after death? Surely he hasn’t atoned enough for his sin of compliance to be granted a passage to pearly gates or a gracious omnipresent presence, there is only one place for someone like him. Hell.

It doesn’t scare him, not with the life that he has lived. His hell started a long time ago, with a father that couldn’t be bothered with him no matter how many bruises and cuts littered his prepubescent body. Those very marks put there by the one person he desperately wanted to please, his hyung. That has been hell, a long enduring and never-ending hell and almost demonically poetic that was the cause of his very demise. The bullet through his ribs was nothing compared to every day of his life, up until he met Vincenzo and saw what living was supposed to be like. He had never truly lived before and the very moment he had started that had been snatched from his bloody hands.

Fuck it all. He was ready to go.

But regardless of his acceptance the pain sears on and he can see the ghastly face of Vincenzo peering down at him, eyes red rimmed and those words that he had longed to hear since he was born into his world and realized that there was someone whom he was supposed to call brother.

You deserve to be my brother.

“We’re losing him! Let’s do it again, clear!”

Electricity floods his body and its nothing like anything he has ever felt before and he can feel his consciousness fading away, his thoughts drifting away until there is nothing left behind, just silence and regrets.

Beep...Beep....Beep....Beep....

The constant sound jars him from his slumber and once again pain resurges in his body winding him before he can even bring himself to peel his heavy eyelids open, that battle almost enough to defeat him but he can feel a presence beside him and an unexplainable desperation forces him to see who it is. It feels like his very life depends on it.

Little by little, he starts to peer his eyes open feeling the strain as he tenses and squirms under the pressure and finally they are open and his vision swirls unfocused and dizzy, staring at a painfully white ceiling and one single yellow tinted light. His brain supplies his location, the hospital. And then it takes a longer moment to realize the implications of his whereabouts, but after a moment’s pause he gasps feeling the dryness of his tongue and the cracks on his lips. Everything hurts, every fiber of his being is in insufferable agony but he almost weeps because that only means he’s alive. Somehow he had survived.

With the minor strength he has he turns his head towards the figure next to him and his breath comes out in a shocked huff when he sees the dark figure in the chair, they had said their final goodbyes already and he had accepted that the only true brother that he’d had was taken from him, punishment for being born in this family. Yet, Vincenzo sits there sleeping looking pained even in his slumber a grimace across his face and his brows furrowed in distress. immediately he thinks about Ms. Hong, the blood staining her shirt and her body crumpling to the ground as she took a bullet for the man she loved. If Vincenzo was here with him looking like that did that mean she was...?

No. It couldn’t be. His brother had already taken away Vincenzo’s mother he couldn’t have stolen the woman he loved too. That was simply too cruel a fate for the man. But why else would the man be here? This thought drives him to move, only able to move his hand but it’s enough to knock the consigliere from his peace less rest, he wakes as if he was not sleeping in the first place eyes immediately blinking open and hyper focused. He vaguely wonders if that is a survival skill of all members of the Mafia?

They stare wordlessly at each other and before he can say a word Vincenzo is reaching across the small space and embracing him, his arms are ever gentle as they pull him in and his head is stuffed into the other man’s neck. He lays frozen unprepared for the sudden show of affection and still not used to hands on his body without the purpose of harming him but then his brain swirls to life and he pushes past the pain to reach up and clutch at the smooth material of Vincenzo’s suit jacket. At the first press of his fingers the other man grips him tighter, almost crushing him into his chest and it hurts, puts too much pressure on his wound but he won’t say anything doesn’t dare. This is the first time someone has hurt him because they cared about him. He wants to hold on to this precious moment forever.

“I’m so happy you’re okay. You lost so much blood and I really thought--”

“How’s Miss Hong? She is....Is that why you’re here? Please don’t tell me he really did it...Did he really kill her?”

He starts shaking at the notion, tears pooling in his eyes imagining the woman’s dead cold body.

It should have been me instead.

As carefully he held him Vincenzo releases him, those large gentle hands warm and soothing on his trembling shoulders.

“She’s fine. She’s in the room next to you. It’s all thanks to you, I can never thank you enough.”

Relief washes over him like a wave, he’s too weak to do anything but fall back into the plush bed beneath him.

She was okay. Thank goodness.

“What are you doing here? You should be with her. Go now, I’m not as important.” He means every word, he has never been anyone’s priority, no that’s for others he is nothing more than a nuisance and a punching bag.

“What are you saying? Do you remember what I said to you before you fainted?

He does. How could he forget? But that was merely something said in the heat of the moment. Or so he had thought but that thought was enough for him to welcome the hands of death.

“I see you remember. You are important to me. You’re my brother Han Seo-ah.”

He can’t fight the smile that tentatively crawls across his face, “You meant it? it wasn’t just because I was dying?” He asks sheepishly and he squeaks in pain when a finger flicks his across the nose, looking up affronted but giddy with the possibilities.

“I wouldn’t lie to someone on their death bed, I have principles you know.” Vincenzo huffs at him, striding across the room to pour a glass of water and he watches the liquid earnestly. When the older man pushes the tempting beverage in his direction he desperately wants to grab it but he finds that he can’t his body refusing to move.

“Can you help me drink it?” He watches the older man stare back at him, an eyebrow raised as he looks at him and peers back helplessly, “Please Hyung,” and surprisingly enough that’s all it takes for the Vincenzo to carefully cup his head and tilt the glass on his mouth, allowing the glorious nectar to soothe his parched throat. A dribble leaks out of the side of his mouth and he’s further floored when the other man wipes it away with a napkin, guiding him back against his pillows.

He tries to school his face into something less pathethic and pitiful but he knows that he’s not doing a great job, he can’t help it there has never been anyone like this for him. Never anyone who cared about him as Han Seo, not a pawn or someone to use or abuse, it’d enough to make everything he has gone through worth while.

He can’t contain his joy watching his brother tug up his sheet and tell him to get some rest, he’s never fallen asleep so easily and without a care in the world. He has nothing to fear, now that he has Vincenzo.

He gets more visitors.

People from the plaza that used to look at him with distrustful eyes, now they bring him food and one time when he needs to use the bathroom the lady from the pawnshop singlehandedly lifts him and carries him to the toilet, his cheeks hurt from blushing and he makes everyone in the room promise to never mention it again.

They mention it at least four times a visit.

Sometimes even re-enacting it for the people who weren’t there on the day.

Ms. Hong laughs the loudly, ignoring Vincenzo’s helicoptering and warnings of her opening her wound, none of it stops her and he watches with soft eyes as the woman easily rests her head on his shoulder when she starts to feel lightheaded.

They are so sickening obvious sometimes.

He gets used to the company so days later when he finds himself alone, his insecurities rear their ugly heads. Telling him that they’ve forgotten him and they were only being kind because of Vincenzo and Ms. Hong, they didn’t really care about him or like him and those thoughts muffle his awareness preventing him from hearing the door slide open or the almost unperceivable footsteps that follow.

“You look better than I expected.”

He freezes at the voice, staring at his fingers because he’s not yet ready to face her.

He tried not to notice that she never came with the others, but that was futile and the hole in his chest stretched wider and wider each time they would show up and her glowing figure was missing.

“Did you hurt your mouth?”

He smarts at the comment, hurt by her seemingly dismissive attitude to him laying in a hospital bed.

“Like you care. You never visited before.”

Instantly he regrets the comment, she owes him nothing. They are nothing after all, barely even acquaintances. This crush is unrequited and he has no right taking out his frustrations on her, he was being too greedy.

He opens his mouth to apologize.

“I....... don’t like hospitals. They feel too much like the end.”

He stills at her chilling words, mouth slightly gaped.

Was she worried about him? Enough so that seeing him in a hospital bed was too jarring?

That couldn’t be it.

Could it?

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. I always asked about you.”

A frown is etched into her pretty face and he can’t stand it so much that he blurts out, “ The pawn shop lady carried me to the bathroom once! I have never been so embarrassed, why is she so strong?!”

She stares at him blankly before a beatific smile dances across her pale pink lips, and he hears her laughter for the first time.

It is melodic, like keys ringing on a piano and the sound is captivating enough to fill his entire room and he wishes he could bottle it up and listen to it whenever he wanted to.

She stays.

Longer than he expected and he tries not to smile too large but it’s hard when she’s shooting him that contagious smile. They watch game shows on a laptop that she pulls out of thin air and he laughs nervously as she explains how she once hacked and ruined the life of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer when she was a waitress at a bar.

She’s scary, like most people at the plaza but he’s dangerously attracted to her like a fly to a light.

He doesn’t recall falling asleep but he mumbles contentedly when he feels her tuck the blanket tighter around his body, soft deft fingers running across his fringe before he succumbs to the pull of unconsciousness.

“Good night puppy.”

He doesn’t mean to overhear, wasn’t trying to eavesdrop at all but he saw the light on in Miss Hong’s room and immediately the worst came to mind.

Han Seok is here to finish the job.

So he races to the door, ready to defend her by any means even if that means putting his life at risk, again. His hand is on the door knob twisting and silently he pushes the door open, stepping in before realizing there is no danger.

At least not to them, he can’t say the same for the victims of his brother.

Vincenzo looks tired, achingly so.

He feels a pang in his own chest watching the sunken face of the other man as he watches Miss Hong, her eyelashes fluttering wildly in her sleep. He makes to exit the room but the low rumble of Vincenzo’s voice halts him in his track, he has never heard the other man sound so forlorn.

“This is all my fault. You would have been safe if you never met me.”

He blinks, taken back at the heartbreaking confession.

Did Vincenzo truly believe that? That they would have been safer without him? It’s the biggest lie he’s ever heard and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from responding to the fallacy.

“You deserve better than me. I am a scum and you....you’re different Cha-young ah.”

He has never heard the older man call her that before.

“I should just disappear out of your life, that’s the best gift I could give to you. Leaving you alone and letting you live your life.”

No. He wants to scream listening to this and he realizes that these words remind him of someone, someone who has had all these thoughts before.

I am useless. Nobody wants me. It would be better if I disappeared.

Vincenzo sounds like all of his darkest thoughts, said aloud. He has to grip the door to stop himself from running over to the man and pulling him into a tight hug. He can feel his pain all the way across the room.

“That would be best for you. But I can’t,” his voice cracks, “Every time I think about leaving you, it hurts. It hurts Cha-young. I want to stay with you. I want to be the one who makes you smile,” He watches his brother gently pick up her limp hand, sandwiching it between both of his. It’s such a tender moment, he should leave.

“Everyone I loves dies, that’s my fate. My punishment. I had accepted that...before you and Han Seo and my...mom. Now I’m greedy and I don’t want to lose anyone. I don’t want to lose you, please...stay with me.” Vincenzo crumples at the side of the bed, his ungelled hair blocking his eyes now as he lays his head on Ms. Hong’s hand pleading with her and finally he pulls the door open and steps back into the hallway, he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he slips back into his bed.

When the knock sounds at his door, he calls out with no idea of who could be visiting him, a certain pretty pianist flashes in his mind but he pushes that desire to the back of his mind.

He sits up at the sight of Ms. Hong shakily entering his room, Vincenzo’s disapproving face flashing in his mind.

“Ms. Hong you shouldn’t be moving around, hyung would be upset if he saw you.”

She stares at him with wide eyes and he stares back placidly before realizing what he just said. He slaps a hand over his mouth, remorseful and ashamed. He has never called Vincenzo that in front of anyone else, too embarrassed to see the question on their face and terrified that the other man would deny him in front of others. Maybe Vincenzo wanted to keep this as a secret? Why would he want a needy idiot like him following him around and embarrassing him? His cheeks burn and he brings his gaze to the floor.

“Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking stop. He calls you his brother too, you are brothers now. Don’t doubt that Vincenzo always keeps his word.”

He feels naked beneath her stare, shocked at how easily she can see through him. Was he really that obvious?

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He gulps nervously, watching at the older women wobbles across the room before gracelessly falling into the chair beside his bed, he reaches out to help her smiling back when she grins at him, he tries not to blush when she pats his cheek in gratitude, the movement all too motherly.

“What did I do wrong?” He replies, and there is deafening silence before she answers, “You poor thing. Life must have been so hard before, you must have struggled so much.”

He is completely and utterly unprepared for the words and he cannot stop the tears that well up and collapse at her genuine concern.

“It's okay. You have us now and we’ll never let him hurt you again.”

He cries, harder than he ever has before. Longer than he has ever allowed himself to cry, he cries for his youth, for his innocence, for the young Han Seo who just wanted to be loved. His body shakes from the tremors of his sorrow, liquid pain streaming down his face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it. You did well, you did so well. I am so proud of you.”

When she runs a tentative hand across his brow, he chokes on his tears sinking deeper into the bed.

“I wanted you to know that you are my family too. You saved us both and I can never thank you enough, I would be honored if you considered me a sister too.”

He lays in disbelief, unable to fathom how he has gained a brother and a sister in such a short expanse of time. There are no words, he nods quickly. Letting his tears continue to fall.

She lets him cry, a serene smile on her face as he shakes apart in front of her. Softly whispering, “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.” Over and over again, tattooing it into his skin.

Words he has never heard before.

Words he has longed for all his life.

Time ticks by and before he knows it, it is nearing midnight. They had simply sat together in solace for hours.

“You should go get some rest,” he states quietly and for once she doesn’t argue nodding in agreement before squeezing his hand and standing up, only a little wobbly this time.

“You too. Sleep well Han Seo-ah.” He nods, watching her retreating form as she nears the door and impulsively he calls out, “Noona!” and it feels strange on his tongue, even newer than hyung but his heart warms at the brilliant smile she sends his way, turning back at his outcry, “Hmm?” she replies tilting her head curiously at him.

“You know don’t you?”

She stares, head tilting further and he knows she knows exactly what he means.

“You weren’t sleeping. You heard everything.”

She doesn’t bother looking surprised, he’s grateful for the lack of charades.

“You know how he feels. You feel the same. Why won’t you confront him?”

She stares at the ceiling before locking eyes with him again, “He’s been hurt before, he had a brother once before you know. He tried to kill him.”

He didn’t know. it’s too familiar. It's the last thing he wished they had in common.

“He doesn’t let people in because it’s too scary when they leave. You two aren’t so different, he just does a better job of hiding it.”

He has no comment, there are so many different layers to Vincenzo and he doubts he will never truly understand the enigmatic man.

“So this is enough for you? You don’t want more?”

He thinks of Miri and all the baggage that he’s carrying, he has no right to place that on her. It’s better if he stops this thing before it starts right? He has no idea what he can give to another person, is he even capable of love?

“Yes. This is enough. He is enough, every moment with him is enough.”

The wind stutters from his lungs, this is the second time he has heard a confession meant for another.

“What about me? Do you think I can be enough for someone too? Could I someday find someone who cares for me like you care for hyung?” He doesn’t know what has come over him but he waits anxiously for her response, every atom of his body shivering in anticipation.

“Silly boy,” his heart drops, “You already have someone like that. She comes to see you everyday even though she’s terrified of hospitals.”

“Wha--what?” He stutters out feeling all the blood race to his face, she only smiles broadly in reply mimicking fingers dancing across a piano before sauntering out of his room with a loud chuckle.

This isn’t over yet. Han Seok is still at large and more people could get hurt but he has never felt safer in his life. He has a family now, one that he fought for with more passion that he thought he had and he has no plans of letting that go, for anyone.

#vincenzo #jang han seo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #fix it #this is now my canon #I rebuke everything else #Miseo the crack ship I accidentally jumped on #this is where I live now #not edited yet so just ignore any typos for now

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (13)

word count; 14,463

summary; in the aftermath of an unusual rescue, some big revelations come to pass.

notes; y’all are gonna hate me but love me.

warnings; descriptive gore, gun use, reference to death, violence, gang activity, reference to drug use, reference to arson, reference to house fires, main character injury.

It was a known fact that it took three whole seconds in the morning before you could process where you were, and remember anything other than your own name.

That first second was spent in a quickly disseminated state of serenity. Your head wasn’t yet hurting, and you eased back into consciousness with a slow start, the darkness surrounding you oddly reminiscent, but the chilling cold and the damp was less so.

The second was when panic rushed through your system. Your throat felt blocked as you came back to consciousness, the pain in your head came crashing back over you like a crushing tidal wave, the blood rushing on your head as coughs racked your body, trying to take a deeper breath, and panic filled you.

The third second made you roll onto your side, spluttering a little as pain throbbed behind your eyes and your head was spinning, making you feel like you were falling for just a second, before your nails were scraping at the material underneath you as you tried to sit up, everything along your body screaming out in agony and almost giving out with your weakness. It wasn’t soft cotton like your sheets, it was gritty like stone, tearing at your nails.

And then, you remembered.

You remembered exactly where you were, and what had happened, and why you were here. Well, that part was still a little fuzzy, you’d never really been given a reason. The pain in your body made sense, the dull throbbing in one eardrum more than the other and the shock of residual adrenaline left in your sore body that was beginning to make a resurgence in your fear, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The familiar burn of tears in your throat as a lump formed and the stinging of salt in your eyes as they threatened to fall, and then you found the strength to sit up, to blink and clear dust-filled eyes a little more, before wiping a hand over your face to get rid of it all. There wasn’t much light where you were, but there was a clear spot of musty-yellow lighting in the centre of the room, your body curled in the corner, dumped in uncomfortable positions that made your legs ache, and there was a figure you recognised leaning over the table.

Covered in blood, frantic, brown eyes fixed on you that glittered under the low light, you swallowed thickly.

“Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty. Think ya’ can come give me a hand over here?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece the puzzle together, but then there was a clicking that made you jump unnecessarily violently in fear, the memory of the last time you’d heard it flashing behind your eyes like a scene from a movie. Newt was panicked, but clearly trying to stay calm, his eyes widening just a fraction in a messaged for only you to hear, and despite the pain you felt, you forced yourself to your feet.

Your bag was weighing you down, medical supplies rattling, and you stumbled on feet that you could barely feel until your hands were braced on the edge of the table, and you could see what was going on a little better.

A gunshot victim, at least four bullet wounds, two packed with gauze that was rapidly soaking through as Newt had pressure on two others; swapping between them frantically if the pile of blood-sodden gauze on the floor was anything to go by. You assumed from the recognisable tattoo on the other half of this mans face too that he was a part of whatever gang this was, and clearly, an important member if they were willing to commit these kinds of crimes to save his life.

“You got more gauze, ‘cus I’m running out, and I could use your help getting him fixed up before we both end up looking like him.”

His words were low and whispered, and you gaped as you stared at the man. “This guy needs a hospital, and a team of professional medical surgeons. Like, Derek! Or, Dr Lahey! We aren’t trained for this!”

“Yeah, well, we’re all he's got.” Newt huffed, a spit of blood leaving the unnamed man’s body between Newt’s gloved fingers as he tried to shift his weight, a whispered curse from his lips as he tried to stop the flow again.

You nodded, swallowing thickly and squeezing your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to quell the pain bouncing around the inside of your skull. You assessment the scene, noting the Newt really hadn't been able to do much, and thankfully, if the change in the daylight outside was anything to go by then you had only been out for an hour or so, maybe a little longer, light still coming in between the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The man in the corner was slumped in his chair, gun sitting beside him on the table, and your heart was racing so fast that the headache you sported was only getting worse. Your voice felt raw and hoarse as you tried to speak on it, squeaking and cracking the first time you tried to speak in anything above a whisper.

“We’re gonna’ need some water over here, boiled if you can to stop an infection, but even just bottled water would do at this point.” The man sitting on the chair stopped his rocking, the groaning of the seat against the concrete pausing, and you jumped as the front two legs slammed back down onto the floor. He stared at you for a moment, analysing you, before giving in, wandering over to the door and undoing a heavy deadbolt to open it up, never turning his back to the two of you and keeping his gaze locked with yours before throwing a demand for bottled water over his shoulder.

There was scuffling, various sounds of movement on the other side and you assumed there would be multiple people, before the door was closing once again, and the grating sound of metal was making itself knowing again in such a piercing scream along the lock that you shivered, wincing at the chill it gave you, stomach twisting.

“All right, this is a fucking mess.”

“You don’t say, love.” Newt grunted, a soft laugh falling from him as you opened up your bag, hands shaking as you tore it roughly, the zip ricocheting along its tracks to expose the contents to you. A fresh pair of gloves, and two of the strongest painkillers you could find that you forced yourself to choke down dry, and then you were attempting to focus.

Your scissors came first, chopping around Newt’s hands as best you could to remove the sodden clothing that covered his body to expose blood-smeared and frayed skin, torn from bullet wounds and bruised from the bleeding under the skin. Pushing the fabric aside, Newt pressed down a piece of gauze that was turning redder from pink by the moment, no white left on it, and the colour of his skin was beginning to turn sickly pale.

Grabbing for your flashlight, you noticed it was gone, left nowhere on your bag and missing from your person, patting down every pocket, before your partner simply huffed. “I wanted to do a trauma exam, except my torch is on my keys, too, and they took those a while ago because they have things that could be used as a weapon on them.”

“What, like my star-shaped plushie keyring?”

“Apparently.” You rolled your eyes, reaching a hand up to the lamp overhead, and tapping your fingers against the metal, hissing at the heat building up along the cover of the lamp, but deciding it would have to do. It wasn’t ideal, and it wouldn't give results all that accurate, but if there wasn’t any functioning or reaction at all, then there was no point in doing this at all, because the bleeding in his torso wouldn’t be the bleeding that would kill him.

Grabbing onto the stem instead, you covered his eyes with one hand, adjusting the lamp to sit a little differently, holding it over his head. Moving your hand back quickly, you lifted his eyelid, his pupil sluggish in his movements, but there was definitely a reaction, and you let out a little breath of relief. One more thing you could deal with. Checking the other eye, just to be certain, you got much the same reaction, not a speed you were overall happy with, but certainly better than nothing. This guy really had seen the worst of it, there was swelling along his jaw, cut and battered, a blackish bruise forming above his cheekbone and burst blood vessels in the same eye, and that was just his face.

He was coated in blood, and you couldn't tell whether it was his or someone else’s, some dried and other patches still oozing, body marred with bruises and cuts, both old and fresh, most of which were unrelated to the gunshot wounds he had. A fist came banging on the door, just in time, water bottles being handed through when it was cracked open a fraction, and there was only six of them by your count, eyes flittering over the sealed packets of water that hadn't even been opened, and you’d have to stretch it to make it last.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than this guy, he has a bullet in his thigh.” The joke was to brush off his own pain, but for the past couple of minutes, he’d been shuffling his weight from one foot to another, and you glanced around, noting the box that was sitting only a few feet away. The unidentified man set to guard the two of you was coming over, the door sealed up tight once again and the packet of water in his hands.

“Can you put them down on the box? We could use the extra surface?”

He paused, glancing at it, considering the request, before agreeing. Silently, albeit, he accepted your request, dropping the bottles down onto it and kicking the crate across the floor to you, wooden container scraping over the stonework and bumping against your leg roughly, and you tried not to glare at him as your leg buckled.

A coppery taste filled your mouth as you licked over your bottom lip, wincing at the slight pain of the cut, swollen and sore, but not as much as the pain along your forehead, a cut you assumed you gained on the drive here. “So, first up, we need to try and stitch up those holes.”

“If I let go of these cuts, he’ll lose a lot of blood.”

“I know. We can work fast, but I need you to do the stitching, because I’m not sure I’m up to it right now.” You held your hands up, the uncontrollable trembling taking you over was far too violent to be able to do sutures, but you could definitely hold down pressure. Newt nodded, your hands closing over his, the squeeze of cold blood between your fingers from the gauze making you gag slightly, choking down that feeling of nausea.

His hands slipped out from underneath your own, and you pressed down the second they were gone, the man underneath you groaning under his breath as he constantly walked the border between conscious and unconscious. As you held down, Newt reached across his body, snatching up the first of the water bottles. Unscrewing the lid and placing it down, he left the cap beside it, before he was shuffling through his bag.

Pulling out the kit with needles and thread in, your emergency stitches kit that you’d ever actually to use in the field, and you were having flashbacks and pinpricks of pain along the tips of your fingers as you remembered practising the stitches in the academy, constantly poking your fingers with the metal thread.

The strongest antiseptic followed, dark brown liquid in a half-empty container sloshing against the sides, and it dripped across the edges, spilling a little in his haste, before he was diluting it in the first bottle. Lid back on, shaking it to mix, the once drinkable water turned a murky brown colour, and your eyes were stinging a little front he still open bottle letting strong fumes out into the air.

“I’m thinking chest, stomach, stomach, thigh.”

“Should probably elevate his legs if you wanna’ go thigh last, it’s pretty close to his femoral.” Newt nodded, glancing around, before realising there wasn’t much for the two of you to work with.

“Alright, chest, thigh, stomach?”

“I guess.” You mumbled, none of the odds being in either of your favours, and you watched as your partner pressed his fingers down against the pulse in the man’s neck, frowning at what he found and holding the position down for longer than what was good, the results silently given to you simply by the actions. “Do you need me to push the cut shut so you can stitch?”

“I do, but if you let go of those other ones, he’ll bleed out.”

You gnawed a little on your lower lip, fear and panic building once again, because every slip this man made closer to death, he was dragging both you and Newt with him. The words hadn't been specifically spoken, nothing was clear, but you could read between the lines, and if this man didn’t survive the day, then neither would you and Newt.

You didn’t know what had happened to him, you didn’t want to. Whatever kind of illegal activities, gang territory fight or simply men wreaking havoc upon one another had caused this, you wanted no more part of it than keeping him alive long enough to hope that you and your friend might get out of this situation. The hand under your heart thudded a little more violently as he surfaced back into total consciousness once again, a gasping breath followed by sputtering, fresh red bubbling in his spit as he tried to clear the blood that was pooling in his throat, before an agonising sound was leaving him.

“What the hell are you doing to him?”

You jumped at the loud voice, yelling from across the room and the gun clicked again, the sound a threat that made your entire body stiffen painfully, nails digging into the mains chest as your hands tried to ball themselves into fists.

“We’re trying to save his bloody life!” Newt yelled back, and you gasped, eyes widening a little, because if the two of you had already learned anything from talking back to these people it was the risk of a ruptured eardrum and a killer headache. Clearly, this wasn’t the same man who’d taken you hostage, the rasp in his voice a little different and this man simply grunted at the pair of you disdainfully, rolling his eyes and shuffling in his seat beside the door.

“Alright, what if we use the bags for weight? It’s not ideal, but if we work quickly, I can hold one shut while the bags put some pressure on the other two, and I can hold it shut.”

The blond before you flicked his eyes over everything, fiddling with the tools as he toyed with the tweezers he had retrieved, wiping them down as best he could with some tissue dipped in the antiseptic water. “This guy is so gonna’ fucking die.” He whispered, and you couldn't help the chuckle that left you, swaying on your feet a little as you did, the rush of a chemical other than adrenaline being overwhelming.

“Well, we’re all he’s got.” You repeated his words back to him, a cheeky flash of white teeth in a smile that was gone as fast as it came, before you were shaking your head and refocusing on the task at hand, chasing away anything else you might be feeling in the moment. Daring to free one hand from his thigh, you watched the rapid spurts of blood that came free, trickling over his trousers to the table below, before you were putting your bag down on top. You couldn't see much, whether or not it was even working, but it was the best chance the two of you had.

Newt copied your action, placing his bag down over the wounds on his stomach, much like you had done, giving the two of you the chance to focus on the wound on his chest.

Taking the disinfectant from his hand and pressing down a cotton pad over the end, you soaked the small white ball in the liquid, packing it into the wound as Newt tried to clear the area to see what he was doing, but really, it was only smearing the blood around further. You could clean him up and do a better job of it later, but the first thing you needed to do was get the blood flow under control and wash off the antiseptic once it was clean.

You pinched the hole shut, temporarily stopping the floor, beads of red pooling at the corners, and Newt spilt water over the tops of your fingers, the cold feeling making you shiver, because despite the freezing temperatures in whatever kind of warehouse you are trapped inside of, the layer of clammy sweat coating your skin was hiding you from the chill. Once you could see what you were doing, Newt sighed, taking the tweezers in one hand, and nodding his head.

“Push up around the edges to stop the bullet slipping, I should be able to get it pretty quick. I was good at this part.”

“You scare me a little, why the fuck were you a bullet removal prodigy?” He shrugged, winking a little and holding the metal tongs over the wound, before nodding his head once. Slipping your fingers out of the way, you pressed down around the edges, blood spurting up again but you pressed down, stopping the bullets from shifting as Newt pushed into the man's chest through the hole already made. There was a scarcely audible sound, one deaf to the untrained ear but like sirens to a paramedic, the cling of the tips of the needle against the tip of the bullet, and newt shifted his fingers a little.

Letting the metal open back up from where he’d squeezed them closed like a bullet, the edges of the hole stretched around the expanding metal, and an intense look of concentration took over Newt’s face, not even looking at the wound but staring at the wall behind you, looking right through it as he operated purely on instinct and the touch as he felt his way through it. He let out a victorious little noise, pulling back, and as he did, he brought out the shell of a bullet, one that looked to be homemade, though that didn’t exactly surprise you, and it let out a much louder clanging as he dropped it back down onto a metal tray beside the victim’s head.

You moved instantly, the second that it was pulled back you were pushing your thumb and forefinger back up against the edges of the cut to contain the bleeding. Holding it tightly, Newt picked up the next set of his equipment, an atraumatic needle, one of ten and you hoped he was as good as he boasted being because you only had ten between you both, and you’d need two per wound with the length of these wires to seal them up tight enough.

You watched, carefully, as Newt threaded the first of the holes through the wound, pulling it out of the other side with the tweezers, and beginning to tie a series of surgical knots to keep them closed. He gave it a test tug, the skin pulling as he did, but it didn’t rip or tear, neither the wire nor the flesh, a solid base with which he could work. Beginning to sow him up further, Newt moved in steady motions, each gap only two millimetres apart at the maximum, pulling them tightly enough to stop the blood flow and allow tissue repair to began, but not enough that it would tear at the inevitable strain it would undergo when it was done up.

As soon as she was halfway through, attaching a new thread to continue with, and the wound was getting closer to being shut, allowing you to move your fingers out of his way, a slight breath escaping you as your breathing hitched each time the needle or thread came too close to you, because the last thing you needed right now was to get an infection from someone else’s blood and a dingy warehouse, or to lose time on this man’s life by having to start disinfecting everything all over again.

As he sealed it up, he pulled all of the threads a little tighter, working his way along to make sure the thread was evenly distributed, before fastening up the thread. He pulled back, the both of you waiting with bated breath to see whether blood would come free or whether they would bust open once your fingers moved, and while they pulled tautly, they never broke or tore.

You flooded with relief, Newt letting out a mix between a chuckle and a sigh, relief overlaying it all, and you took just a second of reprieve to know that you were just one step closer to this all being over. Opening your mouth, you weren’t sure what was coming, words of gratitude and accomplishment sitting on your tongue, aimed at any kind of higher power that might be watching over the two of you right now, but your partner beat you to it.;

“Let’s check the bag wounds.”

You nodded your head, swallowing back whatever you were going to say, beginning to feel a little dizzy as your head spun, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, containing the way you were feeling. Lifting away the bag that was sitting over his thigh, you were both surprised and impressed that the bag method had held reasonably well. There was more blood than there would be if you’d held it yourself, but you could work with what you had, and as your eyes flicked to where Newt was checking his stomach, you found similar results. Your gut was twisting again, bile rising in your throat at the sight of the blood in various places, an unusual phenomenon as blood had never bothered you before, and you turned away, gagging as vomit threatened to make itself known, and you tried not to clap a blood-soaked hand over your mouth, the thought only sickening you further.

“Woah, you alright?” You gagged, dry heaving a few more times as you tried to keep back the vomit that was on the verge of making itself known, tears lining your eyes and heat flooding over your cheeks as everything within you threatened to let go, but you managed to keep a lid on it. “The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine. Just aftershock, I think. Hunger, too, maybe, been a long time since I had anything real to eat, I think my body is just all fucked up right now.” His eyes narrowed on you, but he nodded, accepting the answer because the two of you needed to focus on things that were more important.

Once you had suppressed your nausea, you were picking the scissors back up, Newt resetting and disinfecting the equipment once again as you cut away at a patch of the ruined jeans the man was wearing. The denim was stiff while wet, and you struggled to cut it, your fingers aching as the metal of the handles pressed into the edges of your fingers, and you released a breath as you were holding as it was finished. Wiping down the area and packing the hole with disinfectant to make sure it was clean.

The procedure between the two of you started up again, only a second later you were pinching the wound shut, waiting for Newt to extract the bullet before moving to knot the thread and begin to fasten the stitches. It felt like time was coming to a stop while also speeding along, your fingers moving to the pulse point on his neck to monitor how it was going, counting the beats you could feel and trying to remember how light it felt so each period check would reveal whether it grew stronger or weaker.

You felt like the clock was ticking by too fast, every time you glanced up to the musty glass barrier hanging over the door seemed like it was spinning by at double speed, the hand constantly moving in starling jumps around the clock, the shadows in the room growing more pronounced and sharp as the sun moved across the sky, the light becoming duller as the one hanging over you both seemed to become brighter, and you watched Newt work.

As a team, you stitched him up, making sure that each wound was sealed up tightly and that they wouldn't burst, the pair of you physically exhausted. You could see the ache in Newt’s leg, he’d given up on even trying to hide it a while ago, as the two of you had moved onto the third bullet hole, all of his weight sitting on his good leg as he balanced barely anything on the bad one. Four bullets were sitting in a row, lined up neatly beside his head, and you let out a sigh, scrubbing over his skin carefully to wipe up the traces of blood.

Once he’d been stable enough, you checked his vision again, his reaction times having increased by a fraction of a second, but it was enough to mark an improvement, and his pulse was picking up with both strength and speed. You could see the bruises and cuts along his skin more clearly once you’d wiped him down of excess blood, littered with marks that would fade, only the bullet holes to turn pinkish-purple with scar tissue eventually, to join all of the other battle wounds along his flesh. Various tattoos to match the symbols on his face were across his body, and you made sure to treat every single cut, not wanting to leave anything up to chance, your body screaming out in protest as your adrenaline died down, and exhaustion was crawling in.

You were overwhelmed, tears building in your eyes, and Newt mentioned nothing as a few fell free, because you were sure that at some point - perhaps before you’d surfaced back to consciousness all that time ago - that he would have done the same. The situation was terrifying and you were struggling to process it all, every thought you had was like a swirling hurricane, melded with every other thought and emotion you were feeling, leaving you hopeless to process your thoughts but just lay rampant to them.

Anxiety was spiking through your system, choking it down by focusing on the methodical cleaning of the man, but eventually, there was nothing left to do. Fresh gauze and bandages were stark in comparison to his sickly-coloured skin, wrapped neatly and tightly and finally staying crisp and clean as you had everything under control, and your legs were threatening to buckle. You packed away slowly, stepping back from the table, and removing your gloves to join the scattered piles of medical waste that covered the floor and the edges of the workspace.

Newt didn’t even bother to put things back properly, to look after the equipment, he simply dropped it all inside, doing the zip up enough to hold it shut, before it was dangling from his fingers by the straps, and you followed suit.

Noting the movements, the man in the chair stood, his movements slightly wobbly from how long he’d been sat down, and you realised how long must have passed. As he approached, he kicked one of the empty bottles aside, all six used to the last drop for cleaning and disinfecting, and he pulled the gun from his waistband, making sure his finger was over the trigger in case either you or Newt made an attempt to pull something.

Not that you had any chance, there was a pile of everything that could possibly be used as a weapon over on the table beside where he had been guarding.

“He’ll live?”

You raised your hands, folding them behind your head in a symbol of your cooperation as he turned to you, and you tried not to sway too much in your weakness, simply nodding your head to him, and swallowing thickly. “He’ll need to keep those wounds clean, you can take the stitches out in about a month, or longer, wait until they start to form flesh for a scar but take them out before the skin gets too puffy.”

He nodded his head before lifting the gun up a little higher, motioning to the bag you held, and you trembled, his finger flexing a little on the trigger. “Whatever we’re going to need to keep it clean. Get it out. Put it on the table here, and then walk over to the wall until your back is pressed to it.”

You lifted the bag slowly, the dragging of the zip over the metal was all that field the room, tense silence taking over before you were reaching inside, daring to take your eyes off of the man and quell your fear to be able to reach inside. Pulling out both the diluted and undiluted bottles, you hoped he didn’t notice the lack of canister spray you’d left at the scene, your mind suddenly becoming aware of the life you’d left hanging in the balance, and wondering whether he’d survived.

By now, the shift at the firehouse would have been over, and you did not doubt that a missing persons case would have been filed for you and Newt, the abandoned ambulance after over an hour of no check-in would lead them to know something had happened, but you didn’t know how long it would take to find you, or if they even could.

Placing the bottles, spare bandages and wraps, as well as some painkillers down on the table, you stepped back, fastening your bag up.

“He’ll be in a fair amount of pain for a while, they should last two weeks, he can’t take any more than two a day, or else he’ll OD.”

The man nodded, motioning backwards toward the shadowed walls, and you stepped back slowly, Newt following when his command was given, and his hands were held up into the air too, both of you proceeding with caution.

While one danger had dissipated, another was making itself known, the purpose of being brought here was over, you and Newt had served your purpose, and if the man asking for supplies and advice was anything to go on, it meant that either they planned to let you go or planned to kill you, because you clearly wouldn't be sticking around to follow through on a treatment plan.

Once your back hit the wall, you stilled, Newt coming to stand beside you. The door was unlocked, several more men coming in, and the four of them all lifted their comrade carefully, carrying him out, and the door slammed shut behind them, leaving you both in cold silence. This area of the room seemed even colder than that of your impromptu operating theatre had, the shadows creating a drop in temperature, but you were simply too tired to care anymore.

Your head was still throbbing, your eyes felt heavy each time you tried to hold them open, the adrenaline and fear in the situation had been all that had helped to even keep you awake, and you rolled your head from side to side, trying to ease the pain in your neck.

Newt followed beside you, your legs pulled up before you as his stretched out, your bags abandoned together between your bodies, and your head came to rest on his shoulder, a heavy sigh let out.

“I think you have a concussion.”

You chuckled, but it was dry and humourless, simply a sound made to fill the silence and bush him off, but he wasn’t accepting that answer. His hand closed over yours, lacing your fingers together comfortingly and squeezing tightly, and you did your best to squeeze him back just as firmly. “I don’t have a concussion, I just have a headache.”

“Yeah.” He hummed, and you thought for a second, you may actually have won an argument with him. “But you also have nausea, you passed out, you’re a little confused, you’re weak on your feet and you can barely stand up straight.”

“It’s a-”

“You say aftershock and I’ll slap you.” He teased, a genuine laugh leaving you this time, and your shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. “When we get out of here, w-”

“If.”

“When we get out of here,” His voice was a little firmer, commanding you to have as much faith as he did, “Will you please just get it checked out? Just to make me feel better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes behind closed lids, and groaning when he jostled his shoulder to wake you back up to the fullest alertness you could muster. “Fine! Fine, when we get out of here, I’ll get it checked out.”

Silence encased you both, darkness taking over, and the man who’d been tasked with guarding you both returned, taking his seat again and setting up to play on his phone from the second that he was comfortable, and you waited. He said nothing, not noticing the stare both you and Newt had fixed on him, your heart sinking as he remained quiet. The longer his lack of information dragged on, the more you felt doom beginning to sweep over.

The fact that he had nothing to say to you both screamed volumes into the void. There were no threats to keep your mouths shut, or looming promises of what would happen if you exposed the group’s location, or even any information on when you’d be leaving, and it seemed that they had no intention to let you go at all.

As you wiggled a little against the concrete, butt becoming numb from the stone underneath you, your legs stretched out to match your partners, and your eyes closed. You were fading away again, drifting towards sleep as it called out to you, the spinning of the room, the dizziness that was bordering on vertigo and the nausea with the headache, it all seemed to lessen as you slipped from consciousness.

Newt was talking to you, forcing you to stay just enough awake that you didn’t drift completely, but you weren’t processing what he was saying, the words just becoming background noise that disturbed you from being able to slumber, but you suspected that was the whole point. He wasn’t talking about anything important, he was telling you his mother’s recipes and the time he once went to buy new work shoes but almost walked out of the store while wearing an un-purchased pair because he was so tired from a double shift.

You missed the banging in the other rooms, you missed the actions taking place, barely roused by the sudden shaking your body felt, and you only snapped back to consciousness when you felt hands on your body. You kicked roughly, Newt barely avoiding the blow as all the pain you’d felt came flooding back over you in shockwaves, making you shudder violently at the surge of pain and nausea, before you were blinking at the dull lighting in the room.

“Stick with me, love. Tommy would kill me if we had to take you to the hospital after the final hurdle because I couldn’t keep you awake.”

“Oh, shut up.” Your words were slurred, and you shook your head, eyes squeezing closed at the throbbing taking place behind them. “You’d love that, I’m surprised you haven’t sacrificed me for a trip to the ER yet, anything to see Dr Derek in his lab coat, right?”

Pink flushed his cheeks, his eyes flickering over to the door, and he leaned in a little, hugging you tightly and shaking you enough to jolt energy through your body, a groan on your lips as he did. “Something is going on outside, and I never pass up a chance for an I-told-you-so!”

“A what?” You questioned, confusion still washing over you, but you never got a chance for an answer. The sound of a bullet pinging against metal was so sharp that it left another ringing in your ears as you cupped your hands over the sides of your head just a second too late. Newt did the same, falling away from shock with a grunt, and the man beside the door was in a little more agony at his close proximity to the sound.

You blinked blurry vision clear, watching smoke curl up from the lock, before the heavy metal door was falling open. It was a uniform you recognised, one of the police members you’d already seen much of over the last few cases, your brows raising a little as you watched them enter. You kept your hands over your ears, at least two more shots reverberating through the air and you felt them more than you heard them, body feeling the impact and breath feeling knocked from your lungs at the vibrations over the airwaves.

It was all like a dream, detached from reality as you were pulled to your feet by an officer, Newt’s hand dropping away from yours and you stumbled, feelings as though your movements weren’t your own. As you were guided through the halls, you tried to remember some of it, any of it, but everything you saw and heard seemed to be going in one ear and out the other.

Flashing blue lights outside with wailing sirens signalled the police cars, and several men around you were all being arrested, pinned down face first and snarling as they were cuffed, but you didn’t have enough energy to feel intimidated right now.

The fresh air was a shock, like plunging into water below the freezing point, and you took a sudden and gasping inhale, coming to a full stop, and everything out of focus suddenly went into overdrive. As you stepped out of the building the haze seemed to drop away, and you took another lungful of the air, panting breaths as you tried to fill your lungs with the source of oxygen, a panic attack building as you finally let everything cup back through, and gentle hands were guiding you to an ambulance.

You recognised the paramedics waiting inside, they were friendly as they greeted you by name and you recognised them from another case, perhaps the one on the bridge or at the chemical plant, you weren’t too sure, but it didn’t matter. An oxygen mask was placed over your face, fresh breaths of air racing through your lungs on a steady distribution that forced your breathing to even out, and you were grateful for it, not wanting to break down until you were curled up in your own bed tonight.

You winced at the flashlight that flickered over your eyes, stars in your eyes flashing for a second as you blinked to clear them, and while the paramedic around you shuffled within their own devices, you shifted yourself slightly on the stretcher, turning to stare out at the collections of cars instead, trying to see more than just the inside of the ambulance.

You searched for Newt, unable to find his blond hair for a good few minutes, before finally, you spotted him. Messy mop head in a far corner, beside a collection of cars that didn't belong to the public services, but instead to the members of the public services.

He was wrapped up tightly in his best friend's arms, Thomas patting his back comfortingly, as Minho all but bounced with excitement at his side. Brenda was leaning on her car, and Gally was standing beside them, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. They were all in casual clothing, clearly having changed since the end of their shift had rocked around so long ago, the night sky closing in overhead as the day was being chased away, and you took another deep breath through the mask, smiling again.

Just the sight of your team was reassuring, to know they’d found you, they’d come to collect you, to make sure you were okay, and your heart thumped steadily and surely in confirmation that you needed their comfort right now. They were talking, Newt using a lot of hand gestures and while you couldn't tell much about their features, you knew they’d all be flickering from amusement to confusion to horror. Newt was quite the storyteller, at any time, no matter the trauma.

They turned, Newt pointing over to the ambulance you were within, and you raised a hand to wave to your friend as you watched all of their attentions move to you, before the paramedic before you was summoning your attention once again. You turned to her, the call of your name snapping you to the moment, and as much as you didn't want to look away from them all, you knew you’d be reunited with them soon enough.

“Well, you definitely have a concussion.” She confirmed, and you pouted, taking a final deep breath from the oxygen mask, and then taking it off.

“Newt is going to live for the ‘I-told-you-so’.” You scowled, and she seemed to come into more focus within your memory now. You remembered her, she had been there at the chemical plant, she’d been new at the time, a trainee, fresh out of the academy and on one of her first cases, and you’d tried to comfort her about the card system, making sure to navigate as many red cards away from her as you could to make a hard day just a little easier.

She grinned, handing you a plastic cup with some tablets inside, and a bottle of water, with the lid already unscrewed. “I’ll spare you the medical analysis, I’m sure you know what to do.” You only nodded, taking both from her gratefully and tipping the pills onto your tongue, before following them with a gulp of water, and taking them down eagerly. “Two painkillers to keep the headaches and muscle soreness at bay, as well as the nausea.”

“As much as I’d love to chat, I’m going to have to rain-check. Am I good to go? I’m desperate to just get home.”

She chuckled, nodding, and you stood up, still feeling a little unsteady and lightheaded, but it was beginning to get easier. Giving her a final thanks, and climbing down from the van, you closed the doors up for her, banging on the back when they were sealed up, and she gave a thumbs up from inside of the window, before sorting everything out and preparing for their journey back.

Turning around, there was a body directly behind you, and you cursed loudly while jumping, eyes trailing up from a familiar chest to his face and raising a brow as warm honey-coloured eyes stared at you. “Fuck, Tommy, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on someone who’d been freshly rescued after an abduction? We tend to be jumpy.”

He grinned, shaking his head a little at your words, before your own smile was following. His hands came up, cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the warmth that his palms brought over the cold skin of your face, sagging a little at his touch. “I have a lot of questions, but the main one is; are you okay? I just need to know you’re alright, and everything else can wait.”

“I’m okay, Tommy, I promise. A little battered and bruised, but hey, what’s new?” He rolled his eyes softly, a yawn following on your lips as you covered it, not missing the fond look he held as he continued to stare, eyes sweeping over your features. You waited for a second longer, before nudging one of your feet forward to bump your toes against his, your brows raising a little. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just really fucking worried about you.” He whispered, eyes dropping down a little, fixing on your lips, and licked over his own. His hands fell further down, sitting over your jaw and he dragged a thumb across your lips a little, your mouth pouting instinctually as he did, and his lips flicked up at the edges, never taking his gaze from where his finger was resting. “Chasing after you is like being on a damn rollercoaster.”

“How’s that?” You mumbled, breath clouding in the cold air slightly but the words were whispered, and his lashes tickled against your cheek as he shifted to bump his nose against yours, dragging them together slowly, his lips pressing to his own finger on the other side.

“Exciting, addictive, a total rush, but a little scary right at the big drop.”

You brought a hand up, sitting over his cheek, his head tipping into your hand, and his thumb slipped away, leaving nothing between you to stop you from being able to taste the overly sweetened coffee on his breath that he drank whenever he got worried. “Don’t kiss me yet.”

“Why not? It’s me and you, and now I know you’re okay, and I just really want to.” He teased you, pushing in enough to trace his lips very gently against your own, sparks of electricity shooting along you at the fleeting brush that you could still feel but wasn’t enough to be a kiss, but already left you wanting more. “If you don’t give me a reason soon, I’m gonna’ kiss you breathless, and they’ll need to put you back on that oxygen mask.”

You let out a soft breath, an airy laugh, before finding the strength to pull back by a fraction. “I have a concussion.”

He snapped back, eyes wide and brows furrowing so tightly you thought he'd get permanent perry lines, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “You said you were fine! You little liar!”

“I am fine!” You took his hands, pulling them away from your face and weaving your fingers with his on both sides, before rocking up on your tiptoes, and pressing your lips to his lower cheek, hearing him whine a little at the near-miss kiss. “I’m just a little woozy, and tired, and shaken up.”

“You promise that’s all?”

“I swear.” You offered, and he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your own cheek in return as he respected your boundaries. “If you can set rules for our first kiss, then so can I. I want to be at my peak when we do, I don’t want anything to spoil it, I want to remember it perfectly, and not have such a killer headache, preferably.”

“I can live with that. We’ll wait. For now.” You nodded your head, foreheads resting together once again, and your eyes closed, simply soaking in how it felt to be surrounded by him, before a loud and exaggerated clearing of the throat was breaking you apart, and Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, a wicked smirk on her face as she stared at you both.

“Do we get any greetings, or do we not matter anymore? Because I was kinda’ worried about you too.”

You grinned, the woman who you were proud to call your best friend was holding her arms out for you, and you dropped Thomas’ hands, feeling him let you go and step back just as quickly now that everyone else had come over, and you wrapped her up in your arms as she squeezed you tightly, rocking you from side to side. Another pair of arms wrapped around you, and you grinned as the familiar smell of your partner’s aftershave overwhelmed your senses, the man clinging to you from the back as he wrapped his arms around the both of you.

Minho followed, a wicked grin on his face as he draped himself across Brenda’s back, squeezing all of you even tighter, and Thomas followed beside Newt, Gally and Fry coming next, until you couldn’t see out past the mass of bodies that had joined, feeling as though you were in the middle of a rugby scrummage and you could barely breathe, the laughter you were letting out doing nothing to help.

Eventually, Brenda was elbowing the men back, letting you slip free when they all backed away, and you missed all of their body heats, wrapping your arms a little tighter around yourself to keep warm All you had was the thin material of your uniform shirt, soaked in blood and clammy sweat, as well as various medicines and chemicals, with a vest underneath. It was doing little against the cold of the night closing in, twilight well past as stars started to make themselves known.

You shivered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, wondering how Newt wasn’t feeling the cold, but he was excitedly retelling the tale already of the surgery the two of you had been forced to perform, a story that would last him for ages, no doubt, but it was his way of processing the trauma; to turn it into something he was proud to remember instead of something he was scared to think about, something that made him feel bold instead of terrified, and you wanted to support that, so you kept your mouth shut.

Stepping back over to Thomas, his gaze left his best friend, flicking down to you, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and raising a brow when you tugged his arm out of his pocket. He let you, his arm limp in your hold as he let you guide him, a soft pink flushing his cheeks as you tucked yourself under his arm, your cheek moving to rest on his shoulder, your hands tucking into his pocket and one set of fingers weaving with the fingers of his that were still inside. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before turning to look up at him as his arm squeezed around you a little more tightly.

There was a grin on his face, one with a hidden meaning as he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain it. “You know, Newt is gonna’ give us shit for cuddling.” His fingers were moving over your back in slow patterns, large palm rubbing slowly and transferring warmth back to you where you were chilled to the bone.

“I don’t care. I’m fucking cold, and you’re nice and warm.” You moved, face pressing into him a little further, the rest of your words becoming muffled, and he chuckled.

“Well, in that case,” He simply rested his chin on the top of your head, freeing up his other arm to hold you more securely, and letting out a slow breath that became a slight yelp as you pressed cold hands under the edge of his hoodie to sit on warm skin, grinning cheekily at the scowl that formed as you did. “Is any of the story Newt is telling actually true?”

“Surprisingly, most of it.”

“Well, which p-” He was cut off, the gruff clearing of a throat making him fall silent, and you pulled back, slightly embarrassed as heat made itself known along your cheeks when you found the police officer to be looking for you, the rest of the squad falling silent too and all turning to look at you, following the officer’s gaze, and you untangled yourself from Thomas.

“Sorry to interrupt you all. I just need your statement, ma’am, it’ll only take a moment.”

“You haven’t given your statement yet?” Newt quizzed, clicking his tongue in a tutting fashion, and you stuck your tongue out a little bit at him.

“You still haven’t been checked out by a paramedic yet?” You mocked, his amused face falling as he mock-glared at you, Minho pinching his arm as he tried to insist he was perfectly fine, his friend telling him otherwise.

“I’ll meet you over by that car in a moment, it’ll only take a few minutes to get your statement.” You nodded, the policeman giving you a polite smile, before tapping his pen against the pad in his hand and wandering away to the vehicle.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Lips brushed against your ear, making you jump a little, and you turned back to face the man behind you, your lieutenant standing back up to his full height as you did, and raising his brows.

“No, I want you to take Newt over to an ambulance and force him to get a check-up. He’s more than happy to diagnose me, but he won’t do a self-diagnosis.” Thomas laughed, a hearty and full sound, and you assumed there were memories flashing behind his eyes of a childhood full of similar circumstances. “I’ll come and meet you over by the cars afterwards. I’m going to need a lift home, y’know..”

His hand came up, tucking away stray hairs behind your ear, and nodding his head. “I was already planning on that, don’t worry.” You smiled, head ducking a little, and you tensed up a little at the clenching in your gut again, fearing it was another bout of nausea rising, but instead, your stomach rumbled, loudly. There was a snicker, hidden in your hairline, and your lips pursed, a shy feeling growing within you once again. “I’ll take you to get some food, too.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, a finger hooking under your chin, pulling your face up, and there was a smirk there that only made you flush further. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you’re adorable? Because, you are.” You scowled, blush only growing stronger, and he smoothed a thumb over your cheek as did, glancing away over your shoulder for a second. “Go give your statement, I’ll wrestle Newt into an ambulance.”

“Mhm, ‘kay.” You twisted your head, nuzzling a little into his palm for a second, before pulling it away from your face and squeezing his hand. “I want McNuggets. McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“Whatever you want, angel.”

You raised a brow, hand smoothing down over his chest to sit just above his stomach, and his eyes dropped, following your hand, a slightly more vulnerable look on his face when he turned back to you; wide eyes, swallowing thickly. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

You tugged on the front of his clothing. “Can I wear your hoodie?”

He froze for a second, before a rush of a breath was leaving him like a punch, and he smiled, reaching behind his head with one hand and tugging it up, stripping the garment off and shucking it down his arm, the long-sleeved shirt underneath rising up a bit as he did, and you forced your eyes away from the happy trail revealed or the flex of his biceps, taking the warm garment from him. He held it out, soft green material looking warm and inviting, flooded with his body heat and the smell of him, your fingers twitching to take it.

Undoing the buttons on the front of your shirt, you cursed under your breath at the cold while taking it off, just a tank top left underneath, before taking the hoodie. It caught on your ponytail, Thomas helping you to adjust it over your head before taking the ruining uniform from you and draping it over his arm like a waiter’s towel, nodding his hair and lifting your hair free from the collar.

He leaned in, lips pressing to your forehead, a soft kiss given to you, before he was pushing you backwards. “Go. Go give your statement, the sooner it’s over, the sooner we get you those nuggets. I’ll meet you at the cars.” Tucking your hands into warm pockets, you wandered away, bumping your hip against Brenda’s as you did and she stumbled a little from where she’d been balancing mid-yawn, flipping you off as you laughed while walking away, and making your way over to the officer.

He stood up straighter from where he’d been leaning against his car as you approached, offering you his hand and introducing himself politely, and you freed up a hand to shake, giving him your name for the record, before your hands were once again clenched with the oversized hoodie’s pockets.

It was a simple case, there wasn’t much to tell. In all honestly, you didn’t know much. You wouldn't be much help, you’d been unconscious for the first half of the journey and in the midst of your concussion symptoms the second time, and you’d never seen the man pull up. You did tell him what you could, about the unusual call, you and Newt splitting up to check the area, before finding the man under the bridge. You tried your best to patch him up, before the two of you had been taken at gunpoint, and you’d lost consciousness when you’d been put in the car.

You asked about the fate of the man under the bridge, your heart sinking a little at the answer you got. He hadn't made it, he’d tried to use the equipment you’d left him but had passed away before the hour mark had passed, and you gripped onto yourself tightly to contain how you felt. He attempted to comfort you about it, to tell you that it was the gang activity you and Newt had speculated it to be, and that the man who’d been stabbed was a criminal, but it did little to ease your suffering.

You were a big believer in second chances; if you didn’t you wouldn't be in the place you were now, with the family you’d found.

Once he had you sign off on the confidentiality forms and disclosures, your name signed next to Newt’s chicken scratch signature, you were free to go, more than ready to just go home. Everything ached, you were still sore and covered with pain, your muscles all tensed up and torn from the strain of the day, your hunger making you feel like you were being eaten from the inside out by your own stomach and the headache that came with it wasn’t a highlight of your day, and your bed was calling out for you.

As promised, the teams were over by the cars, music playing on the radio from within Brenda’s as the door was open, letting her lean against it, and Newt was sucking happily on one of the lollipops reserved for little children that some of the ambulances carried, his tongue turning purple from the false-grape flavour of it.

He saw you coming, a little bounce in his step as you approached, before he was coming to stand before you, a smacking sound making itself known as he pulled the sweet treat away from his mouth. “You okay? Did he tell you about the guy?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, and he frowned, shrugging a little, but holding his arms open.

“He was a bad guy, you can’t save everyone, but you tried, okay? You gave it your best.” His words were true and you knew they were, you didn’t want to wallow in self-pity, you’d done everything you could without losing your one life, in which he would have died too, and you were trying not to risk your own life as much these days. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, and he squeezed you a little tighter, clearly not accepting that answer, and waiting for me. “God, I hate this job sometimes, but I love it too. We save more lives than we lose, we change more lives for the good than bad, but every job has its bad sides.” It felt like you’d been having an awful lot of the bad side lately, but that only meant there was a lot of good to come to balance out the scales. “Have you texted Derek, yet, I bet he’s pretty worried.”

Newt let out a breathy sound at the mention of his crush, sagging in your arms a little before pulling back, and pale cheeks were flushed with warmth, the men avoiding your gaze and scratching at the back of his neck. “Not yet. Bren had my bag in the car, I got a lot of missed texts and a missed call, but I don’t really know what to say. It’s late, he finishes shift soon, I figure I’ll just wait until I get home.”

“Maybe you should go and see him.” You teased, poking at his shoulder, and your friend’s flush only deepened, shaking his head a little.

“I want to take a hot bath, and watch embarrassing rom-coms and eat an ungodly amount of food in a very unattractive way, and I don’t think me and Derek are quite at that stage. Yet.” He added the last word on, smirking as that cheeky attitude came flooding back, and you felt a presence coming to stand behind you. You knew who it was without having to turn, feeling it instinctively as a slight thrill raced through you, before a kiss was being pressed to the back of your head, an arm slipping around your waist, and a chin hooking over your shoulder.

Newt smirked, eyes moving over the pair of you slowly, and you ignored the look as he busied himself by moving to the backseat of Brenda’s car to retrieve your bag as well, and rifling through his own for his phone.

“Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” You relaxed a little further into his hold, his fingers toying with the stitching underneath the pocket of the jumper idly as you sagged into him, feeling the movement of the muscles in his chest as he shrugged.

“Whole teams here, and you’re kinda’ the centre of attention right now. You and Newt. I didn’t really wanna’ push my boundaries, but I’m kinda’ afraid that if I let you go again, you’re going to get into some more stupid shit and get me all riled up again, and I’m still all full of adrenaline form these last few hours worrying about you.”

You moved to the side a little, twisting your head to be able to look up at him, eyes scanning over his face as you analysed his words, nothing but honesty and vulnerability shown to you. “Hey, I didn’t get myself into this one, it just happened. For once, I have no blame! I was cooperative with the criminal, kept my mouth shut, for the most part, you would have been proud of me.” His lips twitched with a soft form of amusement at your joke. “Besides, they all know how I feel about you, anyway. I’m not exactly subtle about it, and neither are you. I don’t think whatever this is, is exactly a state secret.”

He beamed at that, you weren’t sure why, but his face lit up with pure joy, and he nodded his head sucking down to peck the tip of your nose with a sweet kiss, one that made you feel ticklish, your face screwing up slightly. Turning back to your friends, you watched Newt stare at his phone for a second, considering accepting a call as his finger hovered over the accept button, the vibrating device with Derek’s name flashing along the top going off after a second, and you frowned.

“You sure you don’t want company tonight, Newt?”

“Yeah, I don’t really think either of you should be alone. Especially not with your concussion.” She pointed at you, but her attention quickly moved back to Newt, and the lanky blond shrugged. “How about a girl’s night? You can join in, Newt, because you can talk guys, so you’re acceptable.”

“Wow, thanks, Bren.” His tone was sarcastic but his face lit up a little, and he chuckled. Brenda turned back to you, raising her brows.

“Girl’s night?”

“How about a girls day tomorrow?” She pouted, and you grinned. “You’re right, I really shouldn’t be alone for forty-eight hours with severe concussion symptoms, but I think I can monitor them myself by tomorrow night.”

“Exactly, tomorrow night! Who’s gonna’ look after you tonight, huh? Girls. Night.” She punctuated her words with emphasis, and you tried to hide your giggling at her confusion behind your hand as even Minho groaned, both Fry and Gally snickered. “What?”

“Brenda..” Minho sighed, nodding his head towards you, where Thomas was squeezing you a little tighter, pressing a series of kisses along your hairline, and she studied you both for a second, before scoffing.

“Really? You’re taking Thomas home instead of me? Boo, you whore.”

You gaped, not sure whether to be offended or amused, and Thomas made the decision for you, protesting in offence on both of your behalves as he questioned why he was deemed as a ‘bad’ choice. “He’s bigger. He gives good cuddles. He promised me McNuggets. He smells good. Those are compelling arguments.”

Thomas’ chest puffed out a little against you and the compliments. “Uh, I smell excellent, I give great cuddles, I’d buy you a share box of nuggets that you wouldn't have to share, and I could put on tall boots.” She raised her hands, her voice teasing now, and your head tipped to the side as you stared at your best friend. “But, fine, girl’s day tomorrow it is.”

“I’ll come to that!” Newt chirped, sticking his hand up, and you nodded your head, Brenda taking the opportunity to high-five him.

“If Newt gets to go, then I’m staying.” You huffed, Thomas squeezing you a little tighter, and you lowered a hand to rest over his, soothing as his intense affections were based on the need for his comfort as well as your own.

“Uh, no.” Brenda deadpanned, her bluntness making you laugh. “You’re one of the main topics we’re going to be talking about. Newt gets to come because he can talk boys, and he tells me about hot doctors.”

“So I can’t come?” Minho chipped in, pouting a little for effect as he stared at Brenda, and her words went silent, no arguments to offer as her eyes narrowed on him, a silent argument between two colleagues that only you knew to be between two lovers, and you chuckled to yourself. He knew he’d won that battle, a smirk taking up on his face, and she huffed.

“If Min gets to go, can I come then?” Gally took a more polite approach, and you nodded your head.

“Sure you can.”

“You’re gonna’ fit all these people into your living room? On your two-seater couch?” Thomas teased, a couple of smirks being thrown in his direction at his reference to knowing your apartment so intimately, and you hadn't even realised that you’d been so freely inviting people to your home until now. You felt a little winded by the realisation, by the idea that it would be so simple to accept someone into the place that was so private to you, the place you’d retreat to after a long day to get away from work, but now, work was your family, and you wanted to share it with them.

“Well, Tommy-boy here can drive himself and you over to my place instead?”

“Team day at Minho’s!” Newt cheered, throwing his hands up in the air, and you laughed, the sound fading into a yawn as you covered your mouth.

“Okay, but late afternoon, because I’m exhausted, and I want a lot of sleep.”

“Late afternoon.” Brenda teased, rolling her eyes. “Midday. You better be there.” She barely gave Newt the chance to get the bags from the backseat before she was slamming the door closed, Gally twirling his keys on his finger and Fry already leaning against the car, half-asleep as his head was popped up on his hand.

You took your bag from Newt, who was catching a ride with Gally, the member of the firehouse who lived the closest to him. Brenda’s car was leaving first, spinning dangerously on mud-tracks as she left, and you were impressed with how recklessly she dared to drive surrounded by cops, but that was probably playing it safe for her. The rest of the team slowly followed, Thomas’ arm still wrapped loosely around your waist as he guided you over to his car, fresh mud spattered up along the polished paintwork, and your bag was placed on the backseat.

He was holding open the passenger door for you when you were ready, and you sank into the seat, offering him just a smile in acknowledgement, before he was rounding the vehicle to get in too, car starting up smoothly, and his hand on the back of your seat as he reversed out of the spot.

Switching gears, he inched forward slowly, pulling up the track carefully, and glancing back in the mirrors, before both hands were sitting on the wheel, and he was flicking on the indicator for the highway.

“You still want to go to the drive-thru?”

You considered it for a second, watching the road as he pulled out, before giving in to your craving. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He hummed, a hand reaching down to find one of your own where it was sitting in your lap, linking his fingers together loosely with your own. The radio was playing softly, the cars were flying past you on the highway as you weaved between lanes, an area you didn’t recognise, and clearly, Thomas wasn’t all that familiar with it either because he didn’t talk much, instead, focusing on the signage along the road for a long time.

It was a longer journey than you’d expected it to be, almost thirty minutes passing before you were entering an area of town that you began to recognise, the very edges of your territory as far as you’d expanded so far, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter, letting him go every so often when he needed it to change gears or to drive, but his hand always seemed to find it’s way back to being pressed up delicately with your own.

Your mind slipped a little bit, wondering just how it was that you found yourself here.

It had been a long time since you’d allowed yourself to trust anyone, to really let anyone in, and now you found yourself surrounded. Your entire team had shown up to collect you tonight, all of them wanting to make sure you were okay; honest and true with nothing to gain from it themselves except for knowing that you were safe, and the man beside you had let himself dig in a little closer.

Instead of just holding your heart, he’d managed to let himself inside, residing there and making it his own with everything he did. The moment you’d laid your eyes on him, you’d hated him, hearing him already hate you felt like a bittersweet mouthful, making it easier not to get attached but hard as it always made you one step further from home. You’d spent so much of your life forcing people away while dreaming about one day finding your home that you’d never stopped to watch the time slipping away around you as the chances seemed to get further and further away, until Newt had forced you to.

You had your own history that made you the way you were, but you’d never stopped to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt that he did, too, and you’d taken out your anger on him when it was unwarranted. He’d clearly forgiven you for it and moved on, but you’d never really apologised.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

He frowned, the neutral expression he’d held switching to a frown as he began to slow the car down, navigating through the car park as a surprising number of cars still milled around, shopping at the mall in the stores with later hours into the night and various fast-food joints, the illuminated letter ‘M’ calling out to you, and Thomas joined the queue of cars.

“I never said sorry for the way I treated you. I had stuff going on, I had a lot of issues, but I didn’t stop to think that maybe you had stuff going on too, and I’m sorry.”

He seemed stuck for a second, like a deer caught in the headlights, before he sank into his seat a little bit. “That’s okay, I forgive you. You didn’t know I had stuff going on at the time, I shouldn't have been mad at you, either. I took it out on you, but really, I had issues with someone else.”

The name was on the tip of your tongue, but before you could speak your next words, the static of the intercom requesting your order made the both of you jump, and Thomas rolled down the window. It took a moment, deciding as quickly as you could and putting in an order for what it was that you were craving as your stomach rumbled again, that typical greasy smell of fast-food drifting through the open window.

You stayed quiet for the rest of the transaction, reaching out to turn the music up a little bit as you switched over to a classical station, finding the latest chart-toppers to be a little overwhelming in the moment, but late-hour classical piano and violin notes were much more comfortable. The bags were hot in your lap as Thomas handed them over clutching his McFluffy in your hand carefully and staring down longingly at the chunks of chocolate candy and caramel sauce through the lid, somewhat regretting your decision not to get one when he’d offered you one.

Parking up at the back, a little bit away from where everyone else was, and you unclipped your seatbelt, watching him do the same, before he was pushing his chair a little further back and getting comfortable. You handed him over his cheeseburger, and the fries that followed, stealing one from his portion and watching as he grinned, sitting them on his lap and unwrapping the burger, while you opened up a box of nuggets, offering one to him.

You sprinkled some salt over the box, shaking the nuggets after he’d taken one to mix the seasoning, but you couldn't eat one, couldn't focus, not when a certain question was still hanging on the tip of your tongue.

“What’s up? They make it wrong? It’s pretty hard to mess up chicken nuggets.” He teased, leaning over to inspect them and winking cheekily as he plucked another from the large box, popping it into his mouth and chewing happily, a sound made as if to confirm to you that they were okay, but the food wasn’t what was bothering you.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise you’ll answer honestly?” his brows furrowed, but he nodded, taking another large bite of his burger. You hesitated, picking at the edges of the bag, ripping the brown paper slowly, and you sighed. “That woman in the bar, that was Teresa, wasn’t it?”

He stiffened at the mention of her name, his face falling, and he was stiff as his head turned away from you to stare out of the dashboard, and your lips pursed, anxiety coursing through you at the time that it took him to reply. He chewed slowly, eventually swallowing his mouthful, and you took a cautious bite out of a chicken nugget as you waited. “Yes.”

You nodded, keeping it to yourself and looking through the bag for a packet of ketchup, opening up the small tub and dunking the savoury treat inside, swirling it around, and eating the other half. You licked salt from your lips as you finished, and turned back to look at him, where he was staring down at his food, a confused look on his features. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He took a breath, seeming to have an answer ready to go, as though he’d anticipated your words, before his jaw snapped shut, and he put his burger down, sighing a little and nibbling on his lower lip, before giving in. “I didn’t want you to know.” You raised your brows, not the answer you were expecting, and he turned to look at you, taking in your expression, and shrugging a little. “You said you wanted honesty.”

“But why?”

“Why didn’t I want you to know that was her?” You nodded, and he took a bite of his food, prolonging the suspense as he procrastinated on his answer. “I guess,” He spoke through his food, grimacing a little upon realising, and you couldn't help your smile, eating another one of your chicken nuggets. “Because you’re nothing like her, and what we have isn’t the same, and I didn’t want you to have to cross with her.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.” He didn’t pause this time, stiff once again as he gave you the truth without even considering lying, and you felt conflicted. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to reach out and comfort him, or comfort yourself and put your walls back up; in the end, the person best at comforting you was Thomas, and so you needed to be that for him. Reaching a hand out, you placed it on his arm, and he jumped at the contact, seeming shocked by it. He turned to look at you, eyes dropping to where your hand was sitting on his arm. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t have anything to be mad at you for, Tommy. I’m just sorry you got hurt.” You whispered, and he let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to sit on your cheek, his face dropping to bump his nose with your own, sharing a breath and nudging into you.

“Just so you know, this is one of those moments that I would kiss you, if we’d already had our first kiss.”

“I’ll remember that.” You grinned, bumping back against him, before pulling away, and eating a chicken nugget as he whined slightly at the loss of intimacy.

“She, uh, she was a paramedic. You reminded me of her, at first.” You turned, realising that in the interest of honesty, he was going to tell you it all; the information that other members of the team skirted around and answered vaguely, a mystery that had been locked up tight to keep you out of, all of them having gotten hurt in some way. “She had the same attitude you did, she didn’t really let people in; a lot of walls. We were.. something. She didn’t want to put a label on it, she wanted me behind closed doors but never wanted me near her in front of the rest of the team. She had boundaries, she wanted me to come over late but never wanted me to stay the night, she wanted to have dinner and drinks but never in public. It felt exciting, but wrong. But I couldn't stop.”

“Thomas, you don’t have to tell me this.” He sniffed a little, eating his fries quietly and shaking his head a little as he relived the memories.

“I want you to know.” You felt touched that he wanted to share one of his deepest pains with you, but it was scary, because it meant you had to do the same. “I should have seen the signs, she always wanted more, and she never wanted to settle down, kind of like you.” His words cut a little, stinging, despite knowing them to be true. “She said she was leaving one day, out of the blue, and I blamed myself for it. We got into an argument, she didn’t even tell me she was moving house until she asked me to sign her transfer papers. We yelled a lot, and I was upset, so I signed them and told her to just leave. She did.”

“Is, uh, is that the day that-”

“Newt got hurt? Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “She left, and I was upset, and about an hour later, we got a call. I’d been too busy pacing my office and seething over it that I didn’t call in for a substitute. Newt told me it was okay, he’d been comforting me. He went alone on that call, got stuck under material that had fallen on his leg. Minho found him and carried him out after he passed out.”

He crushed the empty cardboard carton in his hand, the sudden sound making you twitch at the shock, and he whispered an apology upon sensing the environment he’d created.

“Newt’s been my best friend since I was a kid, and because of my feelings, he got hurt. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, but there were just so many similarities, it was overwhelming. I didn't want you to meet her, because you're nothing like her.”

“I’m not? Kinda’ sounds like we’re the same.” You finished your food, packing the wrapped back into the bag, and facing him more confidently as you turned in your chair, and he chuckled.

“You’re nothing like her. She may have been what I loved once, but you’re something entirely different.” He picked up his ice-cream, peeling back the lid on it and poking at the contents with a smile on his face now as he mixed the toppings in. “You’re sweet, you get along with everyone and you want to be with us, I can tell, even if you were going to leave at first. You.. you want me, you don’t hide it. I like that. You’ve spared my best friend a lot of pain instead of causing it, and you make Brenda feel like a woman again when she’s surrounded by men, and you cook with Fry. You’re a real part of our family, I don’t think she ever was.”

Once he deemed it thoroughly mixed, he took a large spoonful of it, holding it up and poking it against your smile lightly.

“Take a bite, I know you want some. You can share mine.”

You did as told, accepting the ice-cream he was offering to you, and relishing in the sweet flavour. He took his own bite, and despite how happy you were, there was still a pang of lingering guilt as you kept back your secrets from him after he’d told you his. “You’re not the first firemen I’ve been involved with.”

“I figured as much.” You were a little surprised, pausing in your words as he looked at you like it was no big deal, and he shrugged, offering you another spoonful. “I mean, I figured you had to have some kind of history in a firehouse, with your transfer record, more switches than a lightbulb sees.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning at his joke a little. “Well, you were right. In my first house, I was straight out of the academy and young, and there was a fireman. He was charming, and very attractive, and he had this way that made my heart race.” You reached up, wiping a stray piece of ice-cream for the edge of Thomas’ lip. “Like you do.”

“I make your heart race?” He was smirking, liking knowing he had such an effect on you, and you redirected your attention to the dessert, turning the spoon he was bringing to his mouth and stealing the spoonful, the chill helping to calm your flushing features.

“You know you do.” You swallowed the treat, licking the sugary taste from your lips. “He had a previous injury, and a drug problem. I was young and naïve, and he wanted the ambulance stock for the pain so he could avoid surgery. When the truth came out, I took the fall and lost my job, while he got off with a reprimand and being put on probation. I had to move to a whole new state to escape it and find a new firehouse. When someone tried to get close to me there, I panicked and thought they would use me again. I moved, and I moved, and I moved. Whenever someone got close, I panicked. I got confused. I wanted family, and I was so set on finding that perfect family that I never stopped to let anyone in, until I came to ‘21, and encountered a moody lieutenant.”

Thomas grinned, cold lips pressing to your cheek as he ducked down, and you squirmed at the slightly sticky feeling of melted ice-cream, the cardboard cup empty as it had been shared between you both.

“My real family, there’s not much to say about them. I don’t have much, my mother hasn’t spoken to me in a while, she sends a birthday card every year, and that's about all there is for me. Until I found all of you.”

“It was just me and my mom when I was a kid, and there was a house fire. She’s never been quite right since, I grew up looking after her, and Newt was the kid across the road who brought me trays of food his mom made for us, and who brought me the homework sheets when I had to leave school early. He’s my family, too. This whole squad is.”

You felt like a weight had been lifted off of your chest from the confessions, from finally trusting someone enough to tell them your story, feeling the burn of tears in the back of your throat, but you were too tired to cry, having no tears left to give. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Can we go home now?” He nodded, starting the car back up, and you leaned over the centre console a little to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him turn to press a kiss to the top of your head. “When we get there, I want to go to bed, and I want you to stay the night, and then I want to spend the whole day with you tomorrow, in front of our family, without hiding anything.”

He took a second to reply, letting out an unsteady laugh, before starting up the car and nodding for you as you pulled back. “I would fucking love that.”

#thomas #the maze runner #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #smoke and fire #SAF #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper.

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.

#replies tag #darkman #sam raimi #the shadow #pulp heroes #universal monsters

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1ddotdhq · 3 years

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🍃Wed 18 Nov ‘20💌

The duality of Harry! Today we got snapback and jumper casual Harry promoting Choose Love- a store where you can buy supplies for refugees- but Don't Worry Darling (which filming looks to be starting back up today or tomorrow) he also appears in his Gucci episode today ready to piss off more conservatives with the Looks he's serving! He's wearing a pink and white tucked in jersey, short ripped jean shorts (not quite booty shorts, but definitely not in adherence to any high school dress code), tall socks and loafers (and how much do you think they paid him to not wear his vans?). In the still that Gucci released early today he's got one hip cocked sassily, his hand on the other, and a phone to his ear. He looks like the gay uncle you wish you had posing as an 80s romcom heroine, like seriously straight people on Mars' gaydar is going off, I'm at an actual loss as to how they could have made this picture scream any louder! But never mind the still, let’s talk about the movie! Thus far Gucci Fest has been an exploration of the constructs of gender and sexuality and the expressions of such - how the existence of some people (“monsters”, as the TV pundit says proudly in the first episode) is inherently political, and also beautiful in its dissidence. They've gone for an artsy, surrealist vibe, it's very atomspheric. I have also personally appreciated the language diversity - the first one was in Spanish, and the second one in Italian, and today’s in Italian and English. Today’s episode opens with a crowd of unmasked people crammed in a public place (post office) followed by a shot of the lead character Silvia writing “we breathe the same air”, a bit disconcerting in these times. Anyway, they see a whole cast of characters there, including the advertised 'elegant gentleman', who is chatting with Harry on the phone! He asks Harry (who appears as Harry Styles™) about art, and how one celebrates the joyful differences of humanity within it, and Harry, standing outside in a garden replying on a flip phone with the sun flaring into the camera replies, “I think when it comes to making art, it's about...finding the thing you've always wanted to see, or you've always wanted to listen to, that like has never been made. It's always like an uncomfortable moment, I think, when you find the thing. You know, you don't know if you love it or hate it, because you don't know what it is yet, but i think that's the most exciting place to work in, and that's true for all the fields you mentioned. I think you draw on things you've, you know, kind of experienced in the past because it's your only reference point.” This sounds like something we’ve heard from him (and Louis!) before, but this time it’s DIFFERENT because it’s ARTSY.

Oh, and also! The Crown’s Emma Corrin, who you may remember being introduced oh so casually as Harry's PLATONIC friend (not a weird thing to spell out in headlines at all, nooo) right around the time she got cast in that role, mentioned last night that Harry had dog sat for her dog Spencer one night, but that halfway through dinner she received a text from an alarmed Harry-- “He won't stop farting. Is this normal?" and that was the end of that potentially beautiful platonic relationship (Harry/Spencer that is). Funny how the resurgence of their names together in the media comes right as Harry’s Vogue cover drops and Emma’s tenure as Princess Diana starts - nope, definitely no promo going on there! Jimmy Fallon, who was interviewing her, thought the whole thing was very funny and cosplayed Harry in his Howard Stern outfit - the bright Cobalt Blue sweater, deep green pants, and pearl necklace, and even included the Louis Blue balloon that made it to the cover of Vogue. Bluegreeners, the lot of them!

Liam’s 3rd collaborative Hugo Collection is out today! Liam answered some questions about the it on their instagram stories: he loves the “disheveled” look that Hugo went with for this capsule, he’s loved to learn about sustainability in fashion, his favorite piece is the blue track suit, his favorite collection (so far!) has been #2, or #1? (someone responsible for making this video to promote capsule *#3* is crying but don't worry, he loves “all of them!” They’re “my little design babies”), and his favorite Hugo outfit was a custom red suit. The new designs, as Liam mentions, are more casual than ones that we’ve seen in the past, consisting of a lot of athleisure in au natural shades of taupe and such. If you want to see more of Liam taking about his fashion collection, tune in to Hugo’s YouTube channel this sunday at 6:30 GMT, where Liam and “special guests” will be online for the premiere of “The Style Eye”. What is that? No clue, but let’s all find out together, shall we? And, Liam is also going to be a part of Global’s Make Noise Celebrity Giftmas, donating a personalized video from him. It seems like the winner will be picked in a raffle, and you donate to enter! The proceeds will be going into a COVID relief fund, so it’s all for a good cause, as it always is with Liam!

And Niall's gone public about being in LA: he was papped yesterday wearing blue Nike shorts, a white T shirt with some flower blossoms over the heart and cartoon naked people on the back, and a Modest Golf mask (Harry’s not the only one who does promo in his pap walks!). Modest Management published a piece praising his RAH show, saying “the first words he said to us when he came off stage on Saturday were 'let’s do that again!'. So, possibly.” We look forward to more, especially if it means we get to hear some of the new songs he's working on right now!

#harry styles #liam payne #niall horan #and no one else did anything today haha #but it was a busy one nonetheless #anyways!#song of the day!#Like Real People Do by Hozier #also in case anyone is curious yes the YouTube chat was a mess prior to the premier and i thouroughly enjoy it

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a-pretty-nerd · 4 years

Text

Rebellion

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter! Reader

Prologue

Premis:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

word count: 1405

A/N: Welcome to the dumpster fire!

Don't froget, I have a patreon now! So go support me there to get some nice and spicy, exclusive content, AND I'll only be accepting direct requests from Patrons now. Patrons will also be able to vote on what projects I focus on next. So please check me out there! I love you guys, and I hope you enjoy the prologue. I'm so excited for this one! 💕

Chapter 1

This was your mother's idea.

It was your mother's idea and your father played along. So shortly after graduation, you caught a plane to Japan to spend the summer with your father. After his early retirement, he had a lot more free time and your mother intended to exploit that.

You've been to Japan a handful of times to visit, but you spent the majority of your life with your mom in America. You've never been excited to go to Japan. The trips were usually filled with an unspoken sense of obligation and tension. Your father was always distant, even when you came to visit. He was always busy and even when he wasn't, there was a rift between the two of you. He just wasn't around enough to really be a father to you.

But you hoped that this time things would be better. Maybe now that it was just you and him, you could patch things up. Get to know AllMight a little better. That’s how you knew him. Not as your father, not even as Toshinori Yagi, but as AllMight.

The pressure in your ears began to subside and eventually pop as the plane landed. Soon you shuffled onto the ramp and into the bustling airport. You looked up at the signs for directions. Good thing a lot is in English, your Japanese is getting sloppy. What was that character again??

Eventually, you found him. You almost missed him. When you were a kid, he always put on a big show. He always had a driver pick you and your mom up from the airport to take you back to his luxury apartment, which he rarely used. But no, this time he was here in the flesh and what was even weirder was how he looked.

You had seen the fight on the news. The resurgence of All for One had gone viral and everyone knew. You would have taken the time to be more concerned about AllMight, if it wasn't for your mid-terms that week. Now he stood there, a shadow of the man he once was. Maybe things would be different this time.

"Hey! Over here!" He called out as he stretched a scrawny arm out and waved.

"Hey!" You called back with a smile. You let go of your luggage to greet him with a hug.

"I'm so glad you made it. How was the flight?" He spoke softly. You had heard the change over the phone, but in person, it was worse.

"Long."

"Heh, I bet. You hungry? Let's grab lunch." He took your luggage and began rolling it behind him as you walked. When you finally sat down for lunch, he suddenly perked up. "I almost forgot! I got you something, for graduation." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside sat a black and gold pin in the shape of a graduation cap. For a second you didn't know what to say. Clearly, it was expensive. But you didn't know what the hell to do with it. Put it on your jacket? You would have much rather preferred the money it cost than the little shiny thing in front of you.

"It's beautiful. Thank you." You smiled in an attempt to appear grateful. You took the pin out and stuck it to the lapel of your denim jacket.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there on the big day. It’s just that UA has had me pretty busy since security got tighter."

"Don't worry about it. I get it. How are things at the UA?" You asked. Anything to get him to talk, anything but silence. He went on and before you knew it lunch was over and you made your way back to his apartment.

"When did you move?" You asked as you kicked your shoes off at the door. The place was nice but much smaller. Nothing like the flashy penthouse from when you were a kid. It was quaint and homey. He even had a few house plants sitting around.

"Oh, a while back. The guest bed's over here." He showed you to your room which sat cold and alone in the dark. "You must be tired. I'll let you get settled before dinner."

"Hey, uh...is there a gym nearby by any chance?" You asked before he shut the door.

"Uh yeah, there's one in the building downstairs. You work out?" He asked awkwardly. You shrugged.

"I like to in my spare time. Its good to stay active."

"Yeah it is...it is...Well, I'll leave you to it." He said before closing the bedroom door. Damn, he was awkward. It’s like even as an adult he didn't know what to do with you. You were starting to regret coming here after all. But apart of you was determined to give the old man one last chance to be a father.

One. Last. Chance.

You couldn't sleep that night. Jet lag was getting to you, and despite being incredibly exhausted, you didn't sleep a wink. You decided to make yourself a cup of coffee, only to find he didn't keep any in the house. That’s right, he always preferred tea. So when he shuffled into the living room at 5 am and found you watching tv, wide awake, he offered to take you out for a cup before work.

"You have work today?" You asked as you watched him shuffle back to his room.

"I know, I'm sorry. Hey, why don't you come with me! I'm sure they'd let you follow your old man around for a day! What'd'ya say? It'll be fun." There he goes, talking to you like your a little kid. You'd think after graduating college he'd at least stop that.

"Didn't you say security is tight now? You said students were even living in dorms now last we spoke on the phone. You sure they'd let me in to just...observe all day." AllMight paused.

"Sure! You're my daughter after all." The idea embarrassed you just a little bit, but it sounded better than sitting around his apartment all day. You agreed.

You regretted it almost as soon as you got there. Most people, even his coworkers, had no idea you even existed. He never talked about you and every shocked face reminded you that. You fought the day with a horribly forced smile on your face. You stayed in the teacher's office when he taught classes. You sat there, reading on your phone for hours on end.

"You just graduated, right?" A deep voice asked from behind a computer. You looked up and turned to look over at Mr. Aizawa who sat at his desk. Looking outrageously bored and just as tired as you.

"Sorry?"

"What was your major?" He asked, looking back at the computer screen and going back to work.

"Forensic psychology and law."

"You wanna be a hero, like your old man?" He droned on.

"God, no. Hero work isn't for me."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do with your degree?" He seemed amused by your distaste for hero work. As far as you were concerned, heros were just cops with superpowers. And where you came from, that had its own set of issues.

"I have a job lined up with an office as a junior detective in New York."

"You want to be a detective?" He raised a brow and looked up at you.

"Something like that. I just want to actually help people."

"You don't think heros help people?"

"Not where I'm from." The conversation fizzled out from there. Occasionally teachers would leave and come back, starting small talk and then excusing themselves again. They were all nice enough, though, you tended to favor Aizawa's company. He often worked as a detective in many cases to catch criminals. So you could talk true crime with him easily. He also brought you a cup of coffee.

Soon the day came to an end and you walked with AllMight back to his car. Unfortunately, you weren't alone. Across the street, a pair of binoculars peered at you through a bush.

"Going home already, AllMight-I'm tired!"

"Wait, who's that girl?"

"Girl? Where? In the car!?"

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader smut #mha x reader #mha #bnha

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 3 years

Text

A Fitting Finale: Bringing Ian Full-Circle

Is everyone sick of my essays yet? Excellent. Here’s another anyway!

I’ve been trying to put my finger on what it is about Ian’s story in s11 that I love so much. It’s clear that he’s struggling on a number of levels, and he’s certainly spent the first third of the season under so much stress that it’s impacted his moods and marriage. In 11x04, we began to see hints of the tension breaking, and it made me realize that there’s a common trend in Ian’s behavior throughout the series coming to a head in his final act. It’s part of what has him so passionately advocating for Mickey to get a legal job, communicating their need to hammer out the specifics of what their marriage means, and upset at his own employment status.

From start to finish, Ian has been driven by two important motivators: love and fear.

Ian’s deep sense of love and compassion for others is well documented. We know that he will do anything for his family. I’ve mentioned before that Ian is at his best when he’s with them and his worst when he’s not. They’re his support system, and he’s a key part of theirs. They look after each other and rely on one another when the chips are down. They’re all grown up now, Liam being the exception, but those bonds are strong. They’ve matured and branched out to include Mickey, Tami, Franny, and Freddie. Ian’s heart belongs to his family, and he’s given as much of himself as he can to the people he’s been with over the years in whatever capacity they’ve needed him to.

Ian has also always been a fearful character, though not in the manner we typically visualize. He’s strong and motivated, ambitious and sensible, clever and insightful. When he decides that he wants something, he goes for it, from a South Side thug hovering in his orbit to pursuing the highest military accolades despite his small beginnings. Over and over again, we’ve seen him leap into serious and often strange situations in order to achieve his ends or something for the people he cares about. This man stole a water heater from a dead person’s house with his brother and tried to help his best friend hide a body. Certainly, he doesn’t fit the traditional stereotype. He’s not a coward.

But Ian is terrified—of everything:

· Not amounting to anything

· Not being worthy of love

· Being the center of attention

· Fading into the background and being forgotten

· Not being able to help other people or those he loves

· Not having a path

· Not being in control of himself

· Not being enough

He’s never said it. He’s never discussed these issues, except perhaps not having control. That isn’t who he is. That’s never been his way. Maybe we should add fear of communicating too, or fear of being seen as weak.

In s1, Ian makes a lot of brave choices. He comes out to three people, two of them family members, knowing how that is viewed in their neighborhood. When Mickey is after him, Ian takes the battle to his doorstep. He turns his back on an arguably easier life in a nice, middle-class neighborhood and a home with a father who would provide for him to live in the constant struggle to which he has grown accustomed. On the surface, he’s one put together kid. But then there’s Kash. There’s this man who preys on him, a middle child so responsible (and so male) that no one thinks he’d fall into any sort of trap—and Ian is desperate to keep him. He fights Lip over it and so painfully tries to make him understand his perspective, that he’s spending money he should probably be using for things he needs to buy Kash music and baseball tickets, to make him like what Ian does so that they can build their so-called relationship. That Kash is married with kids is unimportant to him; that he’s exploiting Ian’s fear of loneliness and not finding love outside his siblings, unthinkable. We know it. Lip sees it, powerless as he feels to do anything about it. Ian can’t. To date, he never will. He’s blinded by a culture that doesn’t believe such things can happen to males, and until Mickey comes along as a viable outlet for his affections and source of the ones he needs, he’s too afraid to be cautious.

Throughout s2 and s3, Ian makes difficult decisions. They’re not always smart, but it takes great strength to commit to the choices he makes: allowing Monica into his life, voicing even an ounce of his feelings to Mickey, pursuing West Point, and running away. All of them, however, are driven by love and fear alike. He’s vulnerable and needs his mother, the one who slaps Frank for shoving him and listens when he feels alone. She assuages his fears by telling him what he needs to hear: that he can do and be anything. We know there’s a danger in that, especially when she takes him to enlist when he’s nowhere near old enough, but it’s still validating for him. It feeds that need for attention but not too much attention, for understanding but not coddling, for love that originates from someone who isn’t his siblings. We see similar trends emerge: fear of losing Mickey on multiple occasions, fear that he’ll forever be in Lip’s shadow when he receives a letter of recommendation instead of Ian, and fear of never having Mickey’s full affections spiraling into fear of facing his own emotions in the aftermath of the wedding. We’ve seen that Ian runs from what he can’t process. He runs from what he can’t handle. He runs when he’s scared, especially of himself.

It continues repeatedly throughout the series. In s4, Ian is afraid of going backwards and once again losing his position in Mickey’s life. In s5, he’s afraid of being a burden on everyone around him, changing them, and losing control of his own mind. In s6, he’s afraid that this is it: his path and his goals have come to nothing, and he’s doomed to fall into the shadows where no one will ever see or love him. In s7, that fear of himself re-emerges when a patient is hurt on his watch and he has to come to terms with the fact that being better doesn’t mean he’s “cured.” In s8, he’s afraid of the void where Monica and Mickey used to be, and it sends him spiraling into a deeper one he doesn’t fear until it’s too late. In s9, he fears a lack of guidance, an indecisiveness born of having been able to rely on his hallucinations to tell him what to do. His path is gone, and he has no options. And that’s terrifying. Then Mickey is there, and he can put some of his fears to rest until they resurge with the idea of marriage in s10. All of a sudden, he’s back where he was in s5, fearing himself but also what he’ll do to someone he loves.

In s11, we’re seeing an Ian far more like he was in earlier seasons: rigidly devoted to having a plan, knowing what’s coming next, and ticking off certain boxes on the list of things you’re “supposed to do” as a married adult male. He’s spent a lot of this season seeking value in his employment and position in their marriage, and the stress has been dragging him down—quickly.

And it’s no wonder: he has every reason to be scared right now.

The thing about prison is that it is what’s known as a total institution. It is removed from society and, as such, operates under its own social beliefs, values, and norms. Like the military, another total institution, prison involves an initial period of sloughing off roles and identities from the greater society and subsequently being resocialized into a new role set. Upon release, a person undergoes the same process in reverse, and there’s an adjustment period to reintegrate into normal society. We can see that process begin when Ian gets in the car with Lip and shudders a bit, unsettled at the prospect of being outside these walls for the first time in months—going home far earlier than anticipated. For many people, it’s a difficult transformation, especially once they realize the full extent of how your life changes as an ex-convict in the U.S.

Ian doesn’t really get to adjust. From s8 to the start of s11, he undergoes a whirlwind of emotion and change. He literally loses touch with reality, starts a cult, commits a felony, is on the run from law enforcement, allows himself to be captured with one final display, goes to jail, remains unmedicated until he’s bailed out, panics at what his movement became, feels alone in the house as everyone deals with their own business and leaves him to his own devices, seeks guidance from above only to realize it wasn’t what he thought it was, can’t find answers, has warring factions telling him how to plead in court, ostensibly takes a plea deal that requires some amount of time behind bars, goes to prison, finds the love of his life there waiting for him, has to let his sister go, is released without Mickey, gets repeatedly screwed over by a corrupt PO, gets engaged, breaks up (sort of), gets engaged again, sees his wedding venue burned down, gets married, and hurtles straight into a pandemic. That’s… That’s a lot. Being a newlywed in a pandemic is a lot without all the rest of it, but this is what Ian is dealing with going into s11, and he hasn’t had the benefit of a stable readjustment and reintegration period.

He’s drowning.

He’s scared.

He has every reason to be. Marriage is scary, especially if you are so young and so in love with the person you’re marrying. Employment is scary, especially for them, because it could mean the difference between paying the utilities and running out of water. Change in general is scary, especially when it hasn’t done you any favors before.

Add all that to what Ian’s behavior has indicated that he’s been afraid of since the start, and you have a recipe for disaster.

To a great extent, that’s what I think his arc is all about this season: learning how to live again. It’s about not being so afraid of himself that he desperately grasps for any stereotypical structure for married life that he can. It’s about regaining the confidence that has always left him clawing his way to the top instead of letting life beat him down. It’s about finding the happy medium where he and Mickey aren’t doing anything illegal but aren’t stuck in a valueless spiral, scrambling and struggling to pay the bills like when they were kids.

It’s about learning not to be so afraid anymore, and I think that’s a beautiful goodbye for a beautiful character.

#shameless #shameless meta #shameless spoilers #ian gallagher #uh oh #guess what time it is #you bet #it's ian gallagher loving hours #please do not add hate for the writers or JW to my post

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 4 years

Text

I've been seeing a resurgence of the EDITH discourse, so I guess I'm throwing in my two cents that no one asked for

I really don't think the whole thing 'ruined' Tony's character development.

Tony's Entire Thing was his desire to save everyone. Ultron was intended to be a 'suit of armor around the world'. That's...not inherently a bad thing. It's a logical thing, when you consider everything that's happened in the mcu. And the main argument is that after Ultron and Sokovia he should've given up...and I think he did!

Tony originally wanted to armor the world because he knew the Avengers wouldn't be able to handle everything. He was paranoid about it. But after everything with Ultron, the team managed to take the threat out and they were still together, save Banner and Thor. So I think through his guilt Tony was able to come to the conclusion that maybe the Avengers would be enough.

And then Civil War happens.

So the teams gone, and while they clearly didn't stop helping people while they were in hiding, it was on a much smaller scale. Anything else would've gotten them caught. Tony was the only person left to handle high level threats. And we can assume he kept up with that- Steve called him Earth's Best Defender for a reason.

But Tony has also always known that Iron Man would end up killing him one day. So I really don't think it's that out of left field for him to start planning a way to help people after he's gone? And the thing is...Ultron was supposed to be different than his other AI's. That's why Bruce and him gave up on the project before they had the idea to advance him with an infinity stone. But Edith....isn't different from Jarvis and Friday and Karen at all. She's exactly the same as them- she's amazingly advanced, but she can't make decisions by herself, she needs a person to work with.

Now we also know after Civil War, when Tony was likely making his backup plan, he was getting closer to Peter and watching Peter grow into a better hero. Tony always knew Iron Man would kill him, but he also thought of Peter like a son, and you always think you have more time with your family than you end up getting. He probably thought, he's still in the prime of his life, he can handle defending the world for a bit, by the time he croaks Peter's gonna be an adult, an official Avenger, and completely ready to handle a leadership role. We know he made Edith before the snap because he gave them to Fury to pass on to Peter- he probably didn't want something like that in his will in case that got leaked, because having everyone know there's a defense system and who exactly is in charge of it could get messy. Beck and his team only found out Peter inherited Edith because some woman was illegally combing through files. Tony was trying to protect Peter's identity while also insuring that he'd definitely get Edith.

And then....the snap happened. Fury died to, and it's likely he had the glasses on him when he died (not exactly the kind of thing you leave laying around). And...Tony quit. Literally everything he ways tried to prevent happening happened. He likely didn't think anything worse than the snap could happen, so he gave up on trying to protect the planet. And he didn't entirely realize he had to die until Strange let him know on the battlefield. He's out of retirement for less than a week before tbe finale battle, and was working nonstop the whole time...it's not like he had a chance to change his plans for after his death.

My point is, I think Tony making Edith was definitely in character, not inherently a bad plan, and he certainly never expected Peter to be put in charge of the program while he was still a teenager. He thought he had more time to help Peter grow- if Peter had been mentoring under Tony for 7 years instead of the two that they got, he would've been less doubtful about Tony's faith in him. Hell, he probably even would have been made aware of Edith and prepared to accept the responsibility. And he'd probably understand how the program works and know how to use it properly. I don't think it was a mistake to make it...honestly the only mistake I'd put on Tony in this situation is not taking enough actions to ensure angry ex-employees didn't try to get revenge.

anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk

#marvel #tony stark #iron man #spiderman #sm ffh #molly mumbles

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jeongyunhoed · 4 years

Text

Past-Present-Future

What do you do

When everything you’ve done

Comes back to haunt you?

Group: ATEEZ

Superpowers AU!

Mutants, assassins, confronting the past! a little dive into the concept of romantic soulmates!

with OCs

Genres: Fantasy, Supernatural, Adventure, Angst, Implied smut, Fluff, Gen

Flashback-heavy

Featuring mentions of: Park Jihoon (solo), Chanyeol, Dean, Zelo

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, violence, character deaths

She has lived with guilt. Slowly remembering details of her checkered past when interned at a sanitarium years ago. The sudden reemerging of a person she remembered dying and the resurgence of a powerful crime syndicate will have her trying to walk the line between the person she has become and the person she was once destined to be.

A/N: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this at all, but I guess it’s worth a try to increase my works on this platform again. The masterlist for this will be up shortly once I figure out/try and make a good graphic. Keyword: TRY (as I suck at photo editing)

Chapter 1.

“As of today, the seven of you will become a unit, a covert unit. To put it simply, if I want someone killed, you will do it for me, if I want people killed, you will do it for me, if I want information, you will retrieve it for me, all in all, if I want something, you will get it for me, I am good they are bad,” A woman, whose face was obscured in the dark, told the seven people - six men and one woman, all of whom had vacant expressions and were staring into space.

They were lined up in a padded room, a secret room in the sanitarium that doubled as a training room from the shelves upon shelves of sharp weapons on display at the very end of the room. She knew they could hear her, they just couldn’t speak.

“Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho, and,” A man said this time, his face also obscured in the dark, reciting each of their names before rounding on the sole woman in the lineup of people wearing sanitarium uniforms. “Lee Mirae,” the man was smirking in the dark. “The future of our program, you will lead this unit, your progress from all the training these past few years has been exceptional, near-perfect, I would like to think.”

Mirae said nothing. “Quite an impressive one you are, Lee Mirae,” The woman spoke again. “It’s almost as if you were born for this kind of job. Changseok, what do you think? She is the most successful one we’ve trained under the program, right?”

“Quite right, honey. Lee Mirae, you are the most successful experiment in this program of ours. It’s not hard to see why, you were born with the mutant gene,” The man seemed to stare at her. “Your own parents didn’t realize your true potential when they interned you in here, but consider this as a way to lead you to what you are destined to be. The most-feared mercenary the world has ever known. The mere sight of you will bring even the most powerful people to their knees, begging you to spare their lives.”

Mirae still said nothing. Like the others, she could hear them, she just couldn’t speak. “You will be pulled out whenever we have a mission for you. This will entail traveling to faraway parts of the world. While you’re all built to be killing machines, I don’t think any of you are invulnerable to harm. But don’t worry, after every mission, upon returning, you will all be subject to electroshock therapy. Just enough to make you forget what you’ve done, where you went, and whom you might have killed,” The woman spoke again.

They could hear her. They just couldn’t speak. “You are all ready for your first mission. It’s in Busan. You will be briefed on the way. It’s time to open Pandora’s Box.”

The seven of them twitched in their places. As the man known as Changseok began to repeat the last two words, the seven of them continued twitching, tilting their heads as if hearing something that hurt their ears. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, forks scratching ceramic plates. When Changseok stopped, all of them stood still, a blank look in their eyes as if in a trance. “Remember, regardless of the weapon you pick, you are the true weapon.”

Seoul. 9:00 p.m. Present day.

Five years have passed since the Seoul attack that changed everything. Almost everyone that was part of trying to stop it was gone, either dead or missing. Lee Mirae stared at the rain tapping on the windows of her apartment. It was now four years since the Utopian cult, the encounter that gave her a rude awakening, the encounter that made everything seem like a lie, the encounter where she lost her adoptive brother Jihoon. There was a memorial in place for the lives lost during those times, placed on the site where the Center for Paranormal Research once stood.

This was no longer the place she once knew. Even the brightest colors from the lights by the river seemed to have a grey, almost black tinge to it all. For some reason, the place she called home was no longer as bright as she knew it to be. It was a lot darker, and it wasn’t only because of the constant dark clouds hanging over the city, but it was also because the crime rate was still at its highest. Gangs were rampant all over. Law enforcement couldn’t be trusted. It wasn’t hard for Mirae to realize how much things weren’t so bright and cheerful since the Seoul attack. It was never bright and cheerful. She just wasn’t paying much attention.

Mirae was a mutant, and had the ability to manipulate energy. She turned the smallest things into extremely explosive projectiles, and she often did it with a deck of cards. Being an omega-level mutant, the fullest extent of her powers allowed her to turn into an energy being, aside from a healing factor that made her almost immortal, and it also slowed down her aging process. She was a fighter, gifted with many forms of combat, and she was often told by her adoptive brother that no one could beat her in any way, but she knew that wasn’t true nor was it going to be true. She often used a steel bo staff made for her by Junhong, one of the surviving tech guys from the attack, who also took it upon himself to make changes to some of her things, including her car and the windows of both her apartment and the record store she owned and operated.

Her powers didn’t stop there. From the two big events that shook the city came her ability to trap souls into objects, usually her cards. This also resulted in a white streak in her hair that she never bothered covering up, not even when she tried to dye her hair.

She heard the door open and turned around. It was her half-brother, Choi San, coming back from getting take-out at the nearest restaurant. San was a mutant like her, and was also gifted with the ability to manipulate energy, only he channeled it through his harpoon. His healing abilities were just as strong as hers, granting him near-immortality. San was also skilled in combat, and when they reunited, he was working as a mercenary for hire. He still was one. Like her, he also had a streak in his hair, a purple one that seemed to cover up the white that formed upon using his powers to their fullest extent.

Mercenary. The mere word made her shake her head. That wasn’t her. If it was, then it was the old her. She was no longer under the control of her Utopian cult. The trigger was gone, taken out of her head. She knew this well. She was the one who drove the sword into the leaders of that cult, her own adoptive parents.

“I’ve come back bearing meat, I figured we could grill some over the stove for dinner tonight” He said, holding up a black plastic bag. San tilted his head. “You had another dream, didn’t you?” He figured.

“Yeah,” Mirae let out an exasperated sigh. She had trouble sleeping, knowing that her dreams would present her flashes of memories from her time at the sanitarium. Only this time, the memories she would have would lead her to wake up in tears as those memories were of Jihoon. Jihoon, whom she promised to protect with her whole life when he got out, whom she practically raised, and whom she ultimately failed to save.

“What was it this time?” San asked, already bringing out a griddle pan to pan-fry the meat instead.

“The first mission I had, or at least that’s what it sounded like, the usual stuff,” She replied, setting the table while he cooked the meat.

San’s expression turned into that of concern as he glanced at her. It made him wonder how he could somehow help her get out of this, out of her inability to sleep. “I could get you sleeping pills if you need it,” He said carefully.

“Thanks, but no thanks. Whether or not I take them, I still have those dreams,” Mirae shook her head, helping him out with cooking this time.

“Hasn’t Junhong… tried to come up with something to help you? What about your friends? Chanyeol? Hyuk? Have they thought of helping you?” San’s tone was becoming increasingly concerned.

“How can they? Hyuk’s not that powerful a telepath, what can Chanyeol do, burn my head? Ino… well, he’s too caught up in trying to manage his own powers to even try and help out other people,” Mirae answered. “Even if they tried, when the trigger was taken out of me, the psychic block in my head grew stronger, they can’t read my mind even if I wanted them to.”

San frowned. He hated that he couldn’t do anything to help her either. “I hear you crying in the middle of the night sometimes,” he said, partly wondering if it was the right time to point it out. “At first I thought you were crying because you missed Jihoon, but over time I realized it was something else,” He quickly turned the meat over in time before one side burned.

“I will always miss him. But every time I go to sleep I’m always haunted by what happened to me before,” Mirae muttered. “I’ll be fine, San. Really, I’ll be fine, I can cope with it,” She assured him. “Maybe some sparring will help clear my head. Want to spar with me later?”

“Will you let me win this time?” San teased, in an effort to lighten the mood.

“I can’t promise you that,” Mirae teased back.

“I thought you said you were training yourself?” Mirae asked later on in the training room down the hall from their apartment later that night. She managed to put San down on the mat in less than a minute during their first try.

“I was!” San argued, sounding frustrated as he got back up on his feet. “You’re just that good!” He pointed out, charging towards his sister, who easily blocked every strike he made while he did the same yet with a few maneuvers later, he was back down on the mat.

“That’s not true, you’re probably just not training enough,” Mirae pointed out, helping him back up.

“Hey! I really was!” San got back up. “Maybe we should just go through the obstacle course kind of training instead,” He said. Although he was frustrated at how he never seemed to be able to one-up Mirae, he couldn’t stay frustrated for long. He wanted to help her clear her head and he was determined to make it happen, even if it was at his own expense.

“Deal. I would never fight you anyway, unless you need to because I might be hypnotized or something,” She assured him, flipping one of the switches to start the courses in front of them. Several dummies were already positioned at the end along with spiked gauntlets that were rotating.

When Mirae flung a few cards towards the dummies in front of her, it signaled San to attack as well, his harpoon gun piercing through the dummy head and as the arrow pulled back, the head was nearly ripped off. The two of them rolled over to either side of the room, picking up the nearest weapon they could get their hands on: Mirae, her staff and San with a pair of nunchaku.

They attacked the spiked gauntlets at the same time with their weapons, kicks, and punches. Their attacks seemed incredibly effortless and precise. San smiled to himself at how they attacked at the same time, and he could tell Mirae was smiling as well, some blood staining the backs of their shoes from kicking a little too hard and breaking the spikes off. When they reached the end of the course, they looked at the nearly broken down obstacles, satisfied with what they did. Mirae handed him a pair of shurikens and the two of them kicked each one towards the dummies that fell out from the ceiling. While San’s hit the dummies on the legs, Mirae’s hit them squarely on the chest and on the head.

They hit high fives. “Close enough, but we did great!” San enveloped her in a hug with one arm. “One day, I’ll hit those dummies just as good as you did” He said, eyeing the shurikens on the legs of the dummies hanging from the ceiling. “I’ve always wondered why you don’t have guns in here.”

“These weapons existed long before there were guns,” Mirae pointed out, retracting her staff. “And they’re a lot cooler to use,” She winked, making San chuckle.

“Okay then, let’s call it a night, I’ve got a game to play and we’ll clean all of this up tomorrow, don’t clean it up, let’s do it tomorrow” San pushed her towards the doors before she could object.

Mirae allowed herself to be led, still feeling the rush from their training session. As she set foot outside the room and into the hallway, she froze as she saw a tall man dressed in black from head to toe, wearing a mask and a fedora. She could tell he was looking right at her before he fled. The way he was dressed seemed familiar to her yet she didn’t know how, it felt a little too familiar as if she wore something like that before. He himself also gave off that familiar feeling.

The man fled before she tried to follow, but as Mirae ran and tried to catch up by the elevator, he was already gone. San caught up to her. “What is it?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing, a stray cat got up here” She muttered. “Let’s go back inside.”

San frowned. “We could’ve taken that cat inside, gave it food, it was probably hungry” He said as they turned back to their apartment. “We could’ve even taken it in for good, like a pet” He eyed her.

Mirae shook her head again as they entered their home, taking their stained shoes off, revealing the bloodied socks they were both now sporting. She was still thinking about the man in black. Why was he so familiar to her? “You can shower first, I’ll go in after you” She said, heading to her bedroom.

“Really? Okay then, I’ll let you know when I’m done” San raised a brow, sensing that something was on her mind. Not wanting to ask further, he went straight to the bathroom.

“Remember our promise, okay?” Yunho choked, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth as Mirae tried to hold him. They were in the middle of a desert-like place, somewhere far away. “Remember it-I’ll look for you-I’ll find my way to you when either of us get out, okay?” He sputtered, looking up at her, eyes becoming glazed over.

The strong wind hit their faces but Mirae didn’t care. Hot tears were streaming down her eyes as she held him, trying her hardest to stop the bleeding coming from his side but failing. “Mirae! Get back here! Leave him!” Hongjoong was yelling as they were on their way back into the military plane, trying to get away from the larger group of what looked like soldiers that worked for their target.

“He’s a lost cause, you can’t save him, Mirae,” Seonghwa tried to pull her up but Mirae refused to budge. “You’re our leader, we’re not leaving without you” He added.

“Go with them-go with them” Yunho sputtered. “I love you, Lee Mirae. I love you. Remember that” and his eyes closed, his form collapsing under her.

More tears fell down the sides of her face as she held his lifeless body close. The pain she felt was slowly being replaced with rage, and as she saw the oncoming soldiers running towards them, about to fire their weapons, her eyes glowed red making all of them combust, exploding in front of her including the weapons they were carrying.

Seonghwa and the others stared at the scene in shock. Tears were still flowing down the sides of her face as the glow in her eyes faded. He was gone. Yunho was gone.

Mirae’s eyes shot open in the middle of the night and she sat up. An overwhelming sadness came over her and before she realized it, tears were already flowing down her face. Her hands were shaking as she sobbed into them, She had forgotten his name, but he must have been someone important to her. Whoever he was, his death felt like a heavy blow, like her heart was being broken over and over.

She had been dreaming about him a lot more lately. Mirae got out of bed and stepped out of her room, sneaking past the sofa bed that San was sleeping on and going to the kitchen. She still felt that overwhelming sadness as she took a drink of water, trying to wipe her eyes from the tears that managed to escape even as she felt like she had already cried her eyes out for the past few minutes.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how her time at the sanitarium was more than just a blur, more than Jihoon, more than the electroshock therapy sessions she often had to go under. Mirae figured she fell in love while interned, with the guy she was dreaming about, the guy whose face she was being made to remember.

“Mirae,” San was already sitting up, looking at her with one eye open. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Go back to sleep, I’m fine,” Mirae assured him quietly.

“It’s getting harder for me to see you like this, I can’t just go back to sleep,” San got up and made his way towards his sister. “What was it this time?”

Mirae didn’t know how she could tell him. “Someone who isn’t Jihoon, dying in front of me, I killed a lot of people in return. I can’t remember his name, but I’m remembering his face more and more.”

“Must be important to you, whoever they are” San said.

“He must be. Otherwise I wouldn’t have killed all of those people in front of us.”

San rubbed her back and wrapped an arm around her. “Like what you told me, sis. You’ll be okay. This is what’s helping you heal.”

“I hope so, San,” She looked up at him, feeling the overwhelming sadness and heartbreak again. “I hope so.”

San stayed up with her to keep her company for a little while more until she urged him to go back to sleep. Neither of them were aware that the man, dressed in black from head to toe with a mask and a fedora hat, was looking up at them from outside the building.

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