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agustdakasuga · 4 years

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A Place Called Home | Chapter 15

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Poly!AU?, Soulmate AU, romance, fluff, humour

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: vet!reader, Arcticfox!Seokjin, Panther!Yoongi, Goldenretriever!Hoseok, Wolf!Namjoon, Calicocat!Jimin, Tiger!Taehyung, Rabbit!Jungkook

Summary: Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

Now that you’re at home, you have been spending every waking moment with the boys. It’s not easy hiding your presents from curious hybrids. You look forward to spending your first Christmas as a family.

“Flip it!” Jin laughed and you held the handle of the frying pan with both hands, your tongue sticking out from the corner of your mouth as you focused. Tossing it, you watched the pancake lift off and land back in on the uncooked side.

“Yeah!” You and Jin hi fived each other.

“Kitten, just what the hell are you and hyung doing at 9 am that has you cheering like Korea won the World Cup?” Yoongi stood at the doorway with arms crossed and raised eyebrows. You smiled sheepishly, the excitement making you forget about how loud you were being.

“Making pancakes! I finally flipped one on my own!” You showed him proudly like a child showing her drawing to a parent.

“Wow, kitten. You’re amazing.” Yoongi gave you an amused smile and wrapped your arms around your waist, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Is everything okay?” Taehyung came down, yawning.

“Yes, baby. Sorry for waking you up.” You giggled. Taehyung shook his head and came over, stealing you from Yoongi. He yawned against and pressed his cheek against the top of your head.

“I smell pancakes!” Hoseok dashed down.

“Good morning Hoseok!” You greeted as Jin poured more batter onto your frying pan. Hoseok waved and came over to observed the stack of chocolate chip pancakes you and Jin made. Yoongi yawned as he stood over the coffee machine to fix a brew for everyone.

“Shall I cut some fruit?” Hoseok offered.

“Yes, please.” You nodded and he walked over. Taehyung still clung onto your back like a koala. You were even convinced his fell asleep for a moment.

“Good morning...” Jimin entered, rubbing his eyes, his hair all messed up. Letting Jin take over, you peeled Taehyung’s grip off of you and walked over to Jimin.

“Morning, Chim.” You ran your fingers through his slightly tangled hair. He tiredly, wrapped his arms around you, letting out a tired whine.

“Are you making pancakes?” He asked. You nodded you head and he looked over to see Hoseok cutting fruit. Taking a small paring knife, he wordlessly began to help slice the bananas, strawberries and kiwi. Two hybrids were missing. Seeing that Taehyung was helping Jin, you washed your hands and went upstairs.

“Joonie?” You knocked and entered. Namjoon was sitting on his bed, having just woke up seconds before you entered.

“You’re awake.” You smiled. Namjoon nodded.

“You have flour in your hair, my love.” Namjoon cracked a smile as his arms circled around your waist and he pulled you towards him. He pressed his face into your stomach, inhaling your scent.

“The others didn’t even tell me I had flour in my hair.” You pouted and tried to get it off with your fingers.

“Don’t worry, you’re still beautiful.” Namjoon teased. You threw your head back in laughter, slapping his shoulder lightly. Since he was awake, you went to wake Jungkook. The bunny was still sounded asleep, bundled up in a thick hoodie and pants.

“Bunbun, time for breakfast.” You whispered. He stirred a little but didn’t make any other movements.

Kookie, bunbun.” You called a little louder. A few seconds later, he let out a whine and stretched his arms and legs.

“(y/n)?” He croaked in his morning voice, peeking one eye open.

“Good morning.” You laughed. Holding his hand, you pulled him into a sitting position. He frowned slightly and looked around, as if unaware of where he currently was. You combed his messy hair back and kissed his forehead. He hugged you, falling back on the bed. You let out a squeak in shock while Jungkook was slowly falling back asleep.

“Hey! I’m not your pillow. And wake up or your hyungs are going to eat all the pancakes.” You hit his chest.

“You can make me more if they do.” Jungkook mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Nu uh. Don’t get your hopes up.” You rolled your eyes. Holding his hand, he let you drag him to his shared bathroom with Hoseok. You put tooth paste on his toothbrush for him, letting him brush his teeth.

“Aigo.” You wet a face towel and wiped his face. He let out another yawn, blinking his eyes with a blank stare.

"Finally.” Taehyung groaned.

“Morning, hyungs.” Jungkook grumbled out. The two of you took your respective seats and you all started eating. You sipped your coffee and cut into your pancakes. Taking the bowl of strawberries, you scooped generous portions for Jimin and Jin, who you know love strawberries.

“Thank you.” Jimin smiled. You patted his head.

“How’s rehearsal going?” You asked Yoongi. You knew it was different practicing at home compared to the school. The school had a grand piano while you had a regular piano at home.

“It’s been good. I’m looking forward to it.” Yoongi nodded his head.

“Can we all go watch hyung perform?” Hoseok asked excitedly, his tail wagging for emphasis.

“Yes. I’ve ordered 7 tickets.” Yoongi informed.

“I’m going to have a bath to get the flour out of my hair.” You announced and went upstairs. As you picked out your clothes from the drawer, you heard the door open. Arms wrapped around your waist.

“Jinnie?” You smiled and turned around to face him. He smiled softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, snowflake.” He whispered.

“I love you too.” You replied. He hugged you and you squeezed his waist. You were so grateful for Jin. He was so patient and helpful with caring for the others, especially the younger ones. Turning your head to him, Jin pulled you closer to give you a loving kiss. He left you to let you have your shower. You soaked in your tub with a nice lavender bath bomb.

Before you could fall asleep, you rinsed yourself off and got up. You wore one of Yoongi’s hoodies and slipped on some fuzzy socks,

“Shall we get more heating lamps?” You asked as you saw Jimin and Taehyung cuddling on the futon, fast asleep under the comforting warmth of the lamps. Yoongi shrugged.

“Yeah. Jungkook and Hoseok may need to use it as it gets colder.” Yoongi said and you nodded.

“I’ll order it, kitten.” He took his phone out.

“Thank you. I love winters as much as the next guy but it makes me feel so lazy and tired.” You yawned, stretching your arms. Yoongi chuckled, still typing on his phone. His tail came to rest on your thigh.

“Kitty.” You stifled a laugh as your stroked the soft fur, remembering the little girl at the beach, Hyejin. Yoongi stopped and shot you a nasty glare. You returned an innocent smile but snickered to yourself. Yoongi dropped his phone and tackled you onto the couch, tickling your sides.

“Stop!” You laughed.

“Not so tough now, huh? Apologise!”

“Never!!” You squealed, laughing out loud. He scrunched his nose and just continued tickling you.

“Who’s the kitty?” He asked again, the gummy smile on his face only growing bigger. You were so adorable when you tried to be rebellious and tough around him.

“You! Min Yoongi!” You giggled.

“Wrong answer~”

“Okay! I surrender! White flag!” You shouted out random surrendering words. Yoongi stopped as you panted. He hovered over you and you met his eyes, even with his fringe covering them. You laughed, reaching up to cup his cheek. Slowly, he leaned down to press his lips against yours. When he pulled away, he laid down on top of you.

“Did you lose weight again? You feel lighter.” You asked as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“No...” He mumbled, placing his face on the side of your neck. When you found Yoongi, he was underweight and you learnt that it was hard for him to put on weight despite eating more. So him losing weight concerned you.

“Relax, kitten. I’m just not putting my full weight on you. I don’t want you to be squished.” He chuckled when he heard your accelerated heart rate.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“(y/n)?” The two of you turned to see Taehyung and Jimin awake. You hit Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Look what you did.” You blamed.

“You were the one shouting.” He pushed it back at you. You glared at him, sticking your tongue out at him. Taehyung wanted to come over to cuddle but Yoongi let out a low, warning growl. Taehyung whined but backed away with respect for the older.

“Possessive much?” You snorted.

“Hey, I’m allowed to be possessive over my woman. I mated you for a reason.” He scoffed. Your cheeks turned red at his bluntness.

“Now I wanna have a nap so hush.” He cooed in a teasing matter. You shook your head, he was seriously going to nap on top of you, in the living room where the others can see you.

With Yoongi’s steady breathing and warm breath against your skin, you were also soon lulled into dreamland.

“Let them sleep.” Namjoon told the younger ones and draped a blanket over you and Yoongi. You and Yoongi just tightened your grip on one another.

Before you knew it, Christmas rolled around. The days leading up to today were definitely chaotic. You had to make sure the boys didn’t try to sneak into your room to get a peek at their presents. And as a family activity, all 8 of you bought a big Christmas tree and decorated it together.

“Merry Christmas!” Your bedroom door opened and your 7 hybrids spilled in. You whined, hiding under the covers.

“Come on, kitten. You told me I cannot be a grouch on Christmas so you can’t be one too.” Yoongi grabbed your hands in his and gently tugged you into a sitting position.

“But it’s too early.” You whined.

The 7 boys all sent you soft smiles, loving how precious you were. Jimin and Taehyung tackled you back into the bed with hugs.

“Alright, alright.” You chuckled and finally opened your eyes to face them. You took your time to scan all of them, taking it all in. The fact that all of them were here with you.

“Merry Christmas, boys.” You greeted with a smile. You gave all of them hugs but no kisses since you had yet to brush your teeth. All of them, except Taehyung and Jimin, left the room to let you wash up. You wore your Christmas jumper and brushed your hair. Finally, Taehyung stepped closer to you with a smug smile.

“What?” You stopped and faced him. He shrugged, eyes going up. You followed and looked up, seeing the mistletoe he held over you.

“Now, where did you learn this?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yoongi hyung said it grants us unlimited kisses for the day.” Jimin spoke from his seat on the bed. Shaking your head, you looked back at Taehyung, who tapped his lips.

“You’re learning too much from Yoongi.” You rolled your eyes but tip toed to give him a peck anyway.

“My turn!” Jimin grinned. Taehyung did the honours of holding the green over your heads. You pinched Jimin’s cheek lightly and kissed it. When you pulled away, he gave you a kiss on your cheek as well.

“Yah! Stop hogging her and let her come out!” Jungkook shouted from outside the door. Chuckling, you held their hands and went out with them. You couldn’t say you were surprised when you saw the boys with their own mistletoe leaves in their hands.

“This is your fault.” You glared at him.

“One at a time.” You sighed. The boys obediently got into a line and waited for your hugs and kisses.

After that, you enjoyed a nice breakfast together, with egg nog that you made. You made an alcohol version and alcohol-free version for those that didn’t want to drink so early in the day.

“Hoseok, you’re glowing.” You cupped his warm, red cheeks. He giggled. The rest of the day was spent together, the 8 of you spent some time outside and then watched a movie together. It was a shame that snowfall was late this year.

“Are we going to open presents now?!” Jungkook asked excitedly. You nodded and went upstairs to get all the gifts down.

“That’s a lot.” Jimin said in awe as you arranged everything. You laughed and patted his head. This was your first Christmas with Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung so you wanted it to be as memorable for them as possible.

“Let’s see who we have here. Chim.” You took the bag and gave it to him. He opened it and his eyes widened.

“I know you like your sweaters.” You smiled.

“They’re so soft.” He gasped as he felt the soft material under his fingertips. After thinking about what Jimin would like for his present, you decided to get him some high end sweaters.

“They fit perfectly.” He slipped one over his head, snuggling into the warmth of them. You melted at how adorable he was and he hugged you gratefully.

“Hoseok.” You took the next bag.

“No way!” Hoseok has been eyeing the new limited edition off-white sneakers. They were so difficult to get but thankfully, the store you called had one last pair in the colour and size he wanted.

“How did you get this?!” He was so excited, his tail showed it.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.” You giggled. He squeezed you as the big smile on his face never faltered.

“Joonie. I really hope I got it right.” You joked as you gave him his. He unwrapped it and saw that it was a limited edition figurine. Namjoon was starting to get into collecting his favourite figurines and you wanted to get him a special one.

“This is the exact one. I have been looking for it online but it’s been sold out everywhere. ” He looked at the box.

“Thank God then.” You let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, my love. I love it.” He gave you a peck, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Me next!” Jungkook complained.

“Alright, alright. Here’s your, bun bun. Be careful.” You slid the wrapped box over to him. Jungkook clapped his hands happily and began to shred through the wrapping. It was the latest gaming console. Jungkook really loved his games so you thought it was a fitting present for him. Jungkook shouted happily and jumped into your arms.

“Oof! I take the reaction as you liking it.” You wrapped your arms around him as you steadied yourself.

“I do! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” He chanted.

“We’ll go to the store to pick out more games soon.” You ruffled his hair and he nodded his head, giving you a bunny smile.

“Jinnie, you’re next. Be careful.” You cautioned as you handed the present to him. From the size of it, Jin already knew what it was. There are only a few things that are shaped like that.

“I promise I’ll go fishing with you next time and you can try it..” You said as he unwrapped the new fishing pole.

“You always complain that it’s boring.” Jin snorted.

“I promise I’ll only complain for 5 minutes.” You promised. Jin shook his head with a smile and wrapped an arm around your waist. He puckered his lips and you shyly leaned in to give him a kiss. Seeing your red cheeks made him laugh and squeeze your waist.

“My baby is next.” You passed the paper bag to him. Taehyung tore the paper open and his eyes widened as he went quiet.

“Is this really for me?” He whispered in disbelief.

“Of course, silly.” Taehyung felt tears well up in his eyes. He had expressed an interest in photography so you bought him a Leica camera, which has been on his wishlist.

“I love it.” He wiped his tears.

“Aww, don’t cry, baby.” You cooed and reached out to wipe his tears for him. He put the camera down and wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into your shoulder. Seeing Taehyung cry almost made you cry as well but you held yourself together. Yoongi still had yet to get his gift and you weren’t going to ruin the moment for him.

“Last but definitely not least. Yoongo Boongo.” You called. Yoongi rolled his eyes at his hated nickname.

“There’s a reason I blocked this half of the living room.” You had blocked it off with folded screens, telling the boys it was a surprise and they couldn’t go see what it was. Thankfully, they listened to you and didn’t peek.

“Close your eyes and follow me.” You held your hand out to him. He closed his eyes and let you lead him. The boys helped you remove the folding screens.

“Wow.” The other 6 gasped when they saw it.

“What? What?” Yoongi was curious as he stood there with his eyes still closed. Bringing him closer, you placed his hand on the material.

“What-” He opened his eyes and froze.

“Surprise.” You said. Yoongi just stared at what was in front of him, thinking that this could be a dream and when he woke up, it wouldn’t be here. He looked up at you and you just gave him a crooked smile. From his long silence and lack of reaction, you grew worried about what he was thinking. Did he not like it? Did you get the wrong present?

“Kitten...” Was all he said.

“Is this the wrong one? I-I’m not really an expert on these things so I just gave the model number to guy and he got it for me-” He cut off your rambling by pulling you to his chest.

“It’s perfect, kitten. I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.” He let out a deep breath.

“You’re welcome, Yoongs. Merry Christmas.” You said, muffled against the material of his hoodie. You knew one of Yoongi’s dreams was to have his own grand piano. So you felt that this Christmas the perfect timing to get him a white grand piano. You had the space for it and he deserves it.

“I love you.” Yoongi whispered.

“I love you too.” You looked up at him. Cupping his cheek, he brought his head down to give you a kiss.

“Wait, there’s still one more present.” You moved away and went back to the couch area. Digging through the bags, you took the envelopes out.

“Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook.” You handed them out according to the names you scribbled on top. The three received them and opened them. They read the papers quietly. The other 4 hybrids curiously looked over their shoulders to see what it was. Even they were shocked.

“If you’d allow, I would like to adopt the 3 of you.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. The 3 hybrids were speechless as all of them started crying. You pulled them into a big hug.

“All of you are already family so might as well make it official.” Your voice cracked as you wiped your tears, stroking Jimin’s head.

“We are getting adopted.” Hoseok smiled through the tears. Jungkook was crying so hard he couldn’t even speak. He knew you would never let him feel abandoned again. All your hybrids pulled you into a big group hug.

“I love you all so much.” You told them. As they all continued to embrace you and each other, your eyes moved to the window and you gasped.

White flurries slowly drifted down from the sky. It was the first snow, falling on Christmas day.

“It’s the first snow!” You grabbed Yoongi’s hand and pulled him to the backdoor. The others just followed you, wearing their shoes. Namjoon, Taehyung and Jimin have never seen snow before. You wore your own boots and dashed out, feeling the snow fall on your skin.

“Kitten! You need a jacket!” Yoongi shouted. You giggled and you jumped around.

“It’s the first snow!” You continued to cheer.

“Got you!” Namjoon held your waist and spun you around. You laughed as you placed your hands on his shoulder. Everyone had run running around and playing in the snow.

“Why is the first snow so special?” Jimin asked.

“There’s a belief that if you experience the first snow with someone you love, you’ll stay together for a long time.” You held his hand with a soft smile. Jimin smiled at your words, he wanted to stay with you forever, and hugged you as the snow continued to fall. Jungkook removed the snow from your hair.

“May I?” You pointed to his long ears. He nodded, leaning down so you could help him brush off the snow.

“This is really Christmas.” Jin wrapped his arms around you.

~~~

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horrorslashergirl · 3 years

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Slasher OC: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Full Name: Decebal Avram Chirilă

Nickname(s): Dacia, Dece, The Impaler, Vladislav, Tiger, Lynx, Dracula, Casanova

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Nationality: Romanian

Place of Birth: Bucharest, Romania

Current Location: Travels from country to country

Occupation: Former Romanian Soldier; Now Hitman

Languages: Romanian, English, German, French, Italian, Hungarian, Russian, Turkish

Appearance:

Height: 6'8

Weight: 240lbs

Body Type: Middle Bulky and Atheltic

Skin Color: Warm Beige

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Short on the sides and longer on top, wavy

Eye Color: Pale Grey, almost white, giving the impression he is blind

Face Claim: Stephen James

Clothing: He opts for comfortable clothing mostly because of his job as a hitman and because he is always on the run. He mostly goes with black T-shirts or shirts, a khaki army coat with many pockets, along with camo army pants again with many pockets and black combat boots. He has a long black scarf with the colors of the Romanian flag trimmed along that belonged to his father.

Other features: He has many scars on his broad back and down his arms; his back's scars are covered by tattoos of an eagle and a grim reaper with two swords in an X shape. His has full sleeve tattoos down his arms, picturing all kind of nature scenarios from his country, mountains and wild animals and AK-47's on each forearm. His neck, chest and legs are also covered by tattoos along with his hands. This guy is all inked up. He also has a silver earing on his right ear. He also wears an eyepatch that is covering his scarred eye that he got from a fight with his brother Alexander, the scar mimiking the ones Alexander has, coming from his eyebrow down his eye and over his cheek.

Weapons: Twin Swords, Twin Guns, and throwing knives.

Power/Skills:

Murderous expertise

Brute strength

Skilled usage of weaponry

Skill in hand-to-hand combat

Knifesmanship

Swordsmanship

Multilingual

Cunning Nature

Charisma

Driving expertise

Ruthlessness

Fearlessness

Manipulation

Marksmanship

Master tactician and strategist

Stealth mastery

Symbols: Here is the link to Decebal's symbols

History/Bio:

Decebal was named after a Romanian king by his parents, father Apostol Chirilă, and his mother, Maria Stratulat of Moldovic heritage. They were a poor family that lived in Bucharest during the communist times, a hard period for them. Decebal's father, Apostol was one of the rebels that were against this form of a system of social organization in which all property is owned by the community and each person contributes and receives according to their ability and needs.

Because of this Apostol and Maria, along with their three years old son, Decebal, were dragged into the communistic jails where they were tortured in all kinds of ways from whipping to starvation to being chained into coldness.

Decebal tried to protect his parents even though he was a small child and the army warden that took care of the horrific jails was surprised by the child's braveness and he took him away from his parents, not before forcing him to watch how his parents were killed brutally.

During the rest of his childhood and teenage years, Decebal spent most of his life in the dark underground jail, training with the soldiers, doing hard work. Despite that, the warden thought Decebal about all kinds of languages, cultures, and history.

'Just because you're a stray dog that doesn't mean you cannot learn to bark and bite.'

In his late teenage years as he grew into an adult man, he got more to the light outside, following the warden wherever he went and did was his so-called 'father' figure did; smoke, drink and got laid with all the ladies.

The warden's words during a drunken late-night:

'You know boy, you will do something big, much bigger than you can imagine. I saw how all these sluts looked at you... You make them fall into your arms like they are desperate whores.'

'Use everything you got; charms, brains, muscles. In this world, there are the ones that walk every inch of the ground as they own it and the ones that follow, all chained. Tell me, boy... Which one you are?'

One of the greatest abilities that Decebal earned during years in the darkness was that he got so used to it that now as an adult, he sees perfectly into the darkness, just like cats do.

Some people called Decebal 'Lynx'; the moniker originates from the fact that Lynx has exceptional night vision, remarkable hearing, and incredible instincts. The spiritual lesson Lynx carries to you is a reminder to partake of quiet observance, remembering there’s more to the world than what’s accessible through the physical eyes and ears alone.

After communism fell down in Romania, Decebal still maintained the attitude he grew up around; being sadistic, cold, and cruel. People weren't too fond of his attitude; his habits including fighting and torturing people that opposed him, getting laid with other men's wives, strolling down the streets like he owned everything.

He disappeared from Romania when there was a reward on his head to be finally executed. The Romanian army was hot on his trail, turning against him, but he simply vanished.

He strolls from country to country, not having a definitive home and working as a rogue hitman to earn money and to survive.

After a brutal fight between him and his twin little brother, Alexander; the two brothers which resulted in both of them almost dead, they get on an agreement of peace between them, with the help of their third part, their little sister Nadia.

Family: His little brother Alexander Chirilă and his little sister Nadia Nikolina Chirilă

His favorite killing style:

He prefers a kill that will put on a good show, he will shot his victims in both their knees, then he will dismember them with his sharp twin swords.

Personality:

Decebal has two paths of personality; the civilian one and the hitman one, that sometimes cross path depending on the situation at hand. In hi day to day life, he is a charming, handsome man, confident and sure of himself, but also having a modesty edge, just to draw people in closer, because he loves the attention, having a God-like complex.

Despite his childhood, he is a very educated man that speaks many languages, sometimes taking people by surprise, he can even put on fake accents. He also has vast knowledge about other countries history, mostly because that's what his 'father-figure' talked a lot about.

He is a flirt, he simply adores to make women swon by his charming looks and mysterious persona wherever he goes, people always wondering from where he comes. He knows how to sweet-talk people, being extremly manipulative. His looks; big and strong, in his eyes a flaming white glow.

You will rarely see Decebal without his charming smile or dark smirk that makes the ladies sigh and faint. He always puts on a winning attitude, knowing for creating many divorces along his travelings.

Here goes his saying: 'If the female raised her tail, who I am to deny.'

He has a romantic side, after all he does speaks the romance languages, but it's highly influenced his his Casanova attitude.

He is blunt; this man will tell if you're damn gorgeous or if you're down-right ugly or stupid. He has no problem putting his opinions straight on the table.

His favorite drink: Țuică- is a traditional Romanian spirit that contains ~ 24–65% alcohol by volume (usually 40–55%), prepared only from plums.

His favorite food: Sarma is a dish of vine, cabbage, monk's rhubarb, kale or chard leaves rolled around a filling of grains, like bulgur or rice, minced meat, or both. It is found in the cuisines of the former Ottoman Empire from the Middle East to Southeastern Europe.

His scent: Decebal's scent could be described as a 'game of seduction' with an "exciting rush" of citrus and cool spice top notes. Pungent bergamot "bites" with freshness, revived by cardamom and lavender. Caviar gives a provocative and erotic touch “like a trickle of sweat on a man’s chiseled body.” Masculine and rough notes of tobacco and orris root facilitate the heat of the composition. He has that scent that could be described as smoky confidence irresistible to women.

Other Characteristics:

He is a very good dancer, especially traditional ones and he also knows singing. Attending important parties with his 'father-figure' he learned from the women how to dance and sing. The women basically made him such a charismatic man.

He is a heavy drinker and holds his alcohol like it's water; his moldovic genes showing off.

He is more of a night person that a day one, mostly because of his very good nocturnal sight.

He is pretty much an Outlaw.

His accent sounds like italian, latin, but with a little bit of russian or another slavic accent. (That's how a Austrian woman described his accent one night)

He is a master at Poker. Another way he earns a lot of money is through poker and plus, he is a master cheater. FUN FACT HERE: He won a man's wife through poker for one night.

He is a sword swallower, bonus he has no gag reflex.

He also loves to smoke from his pipe.

============================================

There lived a certain man in Romania long ago

He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow

Most people look at him with terror and with fear

But to Bucharest chicks he was such a lovely dear

He could preach the Bible like a preacher

Full of ecstasy and fire

But he also was the kind of teacher

Women would desire

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the ROMANIAN queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

He ruled the Romanian land and never mind the Tsar

But the kazachok he danced really wunderbar

In all affairs of state he was the man to please

But he was real great when he had a girl to squeeze

For the queen he was no wheeler dealer

Though she'd heard the things he'd done

She believed he was a holy healer

Who would heal her son

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

There was a cat that really was gone

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

It was a shame how he carried on

(This is an interpretation of the song ‘Rasputin’ by Boney M, mostly because the song inspired me into creating him)

For power became known to more and more people

The demands to do something about this outrageous

Man became louder and louder

"This man's just got to go!" declared his enemies

But the ladies begged "Don't you try to do it, please"

No doubt this Decebal had lots of hidden charms

Though he was a brute they just fell into his arms

Then one night some men of higher standing

Set a trap, they're not to blame

"Come to visit us" they kept demanding

And he really came

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They put some poison into his țuică

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

He drank it all and said "I feel fine"

DE DE DECEBAL

Lover of the Romanian queen

They didn't quit, they wanted his head

DE DE DECEBAL

Romania's greatest love machine

[Spoken:] Oh, those Romanians...

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But when his drinking and lusting and his hunger

#Decebal Avram Chirila #Slasher OC #Romanian OC #Original characters #Hitman #Outlaw

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taeken-my-heart · 4 years

Text

Read Between the Lines

Summary: Solving cases was what you’d signed up to do, but solving them with your academy crush turned partner was not on the agenda.

Pairing: Yoongix Reader

Genre: Detective!Yoongi x Detective!Reader. Angst, fluff, bickering, romance, illusions to smut but nothing graphic.

Rating:PG15

Word Count: 18043

Warnings: TW:Death mention TW:Crime mention TW:Prostitution mention TW:Attempted Murder mention TW:Drug Addiction Mention. Nothing is described in great detail, but Yoongi and YN are detectives and this is typical of their line of work so there will be mention and talk of cases to do with these topics. I did research but I’m sure I still got details wrong, haha. This is all just for entertainment purposes.

YN is ethnically Greek but I’ve made an effort to not describe anything about her so she can still be reader insert. I thought about naming her, but decided it might be fun just to read as a reader insert instead.

You were craving Greek food, something with a lot of Kalamata olives. And feta; lots of feta. Maybe you were just craving salt. Your stomach grumbled as you stepped from the squad car, adjusting your belt and locking the door.

The interior of Mykonos diner was a bit grungy; run down with age and frequent foot traffic, mostly yours and your partners. Blue and white mimicking the streets of Santorini and heavy with 50 years’ worth of grime, but it was your favorite spot to go. It was family owned, after all.

Scanning the heads of the patrons, you spot Yoongi’s mop of dark hair in the corner booth, his neck stretched long as he craned over his paper work; oblivious to your entry. You made your way towards him, rounding the other side of the booth and sliding into the seat opposite him. He spares you a glance and a grunt as a greeting before returning to whatever he’s writing.

You scrunch your nose at the top of his head before glancing over at the kitchen where your aunt is working, back bent with years of effort. “You want your usual, anipsiá?” She calls and you smile, nodding.

“Thank you, theía!” Your gaze returns back to the restaurant. It wasn’t lunch yet so there weren’t very many people, but there was an old couple sitting in the center of the room at the old rickety table you’d run into when you were five while playing a heated game of tag with your cousins. They didn’t seem to mind the wobbly leg as they linked fingers across the table over Moussaka and some Dolmadakia.

Yoongi huffed in frustration, bringing your eyes back to him as he straightened in his seat, hand running down his face. He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes from late nights and too much caffeine. His eyes drooped from exhaustion as he turned his gaze to yours, scratching at the light stubble on his chin.

“I just can’t figure it out.” He grumbled, reaching for his mug; presumably coffee, taking a long sip and smacking his lips together in satisfaction.

“Take a break,” you reprimanded. “You need a clear head before you can go back to it.” Yoongi looked like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself, lips pursed. “Have you ordered?”

He shook his head, nodding down at his mug, “Just this. I was waiting for you.”

“How chivalrous.” You smirked and he chuckled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself; I was distracted.” He flagged down your uncle to order keftedes with a side of fries.

“And two waters please, theíos. Light on the ice.” Yoongi gave you a look after your uncle had left and you shrugged.

“You don’t run on coffee, Yoongi, you need water too.”

“Coffee is made from water.” He grumbled.

“Ok, surly, so where are you on the house renovations?” You asked, slipping further into your seat and adjusting your holster; it was digging into your gut.

“It’s gonna be a while yet, but the walls are up now.” He shrugged.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?” You asked, “You’re gonna spend all your money on that hotel and I’ve got that extra bedroom. For free, Yoongi.”

“It’s cute that you want to spend all your time with me.” He smirked at you over the rim of his mug and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m thinking of your bank account.” You chuckled.

The bell at the door rang as another patron entered and you watched as she took the booth closest to the door before diverting your attention back to Yoongi. “Why can’t we find anything, Y/N?” He sulked and you sighed.

“It’s a cold case, Yoongi. It went cold for a reason. Don’t be so hard on yourself, we’re doing the best we can. We just need to look at it from a new angle.”

“They’ve been waiting for 10 years for answers, don’t you think they deserve our effort?” He grumbled and you frowned.

“Of course, but obsessing over it is clearly not helping. Take a step back and a deep breath. We’ll figure it out.”

“Every new lead always dries up or ends up being nothing. How can you stay so positive?”

“I’m as frustrated as you are, but we’ve worked on harder cases than this. We’ve got this.”

“Here you go. Do you want some portokalada, anipsiá?” Your uncle asked, sliding your plates onto the table and turning his gaze to you.

“No thank you, water is fine for me today.”

“When are you going to bring a man around to meet us? Your mama and theía want to know.”

You sighed, slumping further in your seat, “I bring a man around here all the time.” You grin, motioning at Yoongi who looked at you darkly and your uncle laughed.

“Yoongi doesn’t count. Unless he’s going to give you babies, he’s not important. No offence meant.” Your uncle said, inclining his head towards Yoongi who nodded.

“None taken.” Yoongi replied, taking a bite of one of his fries.

As if Yoongi needed to hear your uncle talk about the possibility of impregnating you. Mortification was a constant friend of yours in the presence of your family. “OK, thank you. We’ll talk about this later during family dinner.”

Your uncle chuckled, sauntering back to the kitchen and you glanced over at Yoongi, teeth gritting in discomfort. He was too concentrated on his food to notice your frown so you sighed, grabbing a fork and taking a bite of your own food.

“You don’t have to make it weird.” Yoongi said suddenly, and you looked up at him. He was still staring down at his food, forking it into his mouth as though he hadn’t spoken.

“My uncle made it weird, not me.” You replied nonchalantly and he shrugged.

“Semantics.”

You chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you love the idea of making me an honest woman.”

“It’s not the worst thing I could imagine.” He smirked. “Right up there with taming a bear; could be exciting.”

You laughed, kicking at his ankle under the table. “You’re an ass.”

After you’d both finished your lunch, you said goodbye to your family, walking out the door, Yoongi trailing behind you and walking to the passenger seat of your car. He radioed in a 10-8 as you started the car, pulling from the parking space and turning the car in the direction of the station.

“We’ve got a 10-35 at 387 W Simons St. Nearest officer, please respond.” Your radio crackled to life and Yoongi reached for his own, pressing the button on the side to talk.

“This is 96, we’re just a couple blocks away.”

“10-4, 96. Be advised this is a 10-33.”

“Copy that.”

You flipped on your lights and siren, driving in the direction of the address as it was listed back to you, stomach flipping uncomfortably.

“96, please be advised the suspect is not yet in custody.”

“10-4.” Yoongi replied.

Pulling into the apartment complex, you parked and stepped from the car, glancing up at the building in front of you. It was in a row of other apartment blocks, similar in color and worn with age. You followed Yoongi up the stairs to apartment C3, stepping into the living room through the open door. There were already a few officers and the forensics team strewn about the room, taking pictures or searching for evidence and you took a preemptive glance around the room for any information you’d need to remember.

“What’s the situation?” Yoongi asked, turning to one of the other officers, a older man from your unit who was taller and stockier than your partner.

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Woman in her early 20’s, beaten and left to die. Her mother found her when she was bringing the woman’s daughter back home from breakfast. She’s been transferred to the hospital in critical condition. Her mother is in the little girl’s bedroom with her currently. We suspect it was the child’s father and are searching for him.”

“Is there a reason for suspecting the father?” You asked as Yoongi surveyed the room, watching one of the officers search through drawers.

“There have been reports of domestic abuse in the past and he left a few threatening messages on her phone the last few days. The captain wants the two of you to man this case so you’d better do your interviews and take a look around while you’re here.”

You nodded before walking back to where Officer Tony pointed and knocking on the door to the furthest right, the white paint chipping in the corners. An officer opened from the inside and you stepped through, looking down at a woman, no older than 55 holding a little girl in her lap whose eyes were wide and blood shot as you stepped forward.

“Hello,” you smiled gently, going to kneel down in front of the both of them. “My name is Officer Y/N, I’m here to help your family.”

The woman looked down at you, her own smile strained and you could see her efforts not to cry in front of her grandchild.

“I know you’ve already given a statement, but I will be personally working on this case and I want to hear from you what you saw so I can do my absolute best.”

“Well,” the woman started, voice shaky, “I took my granddaughter last night while my daughter was at work. She’s a single mother and works two jobs, one of which is at a bar that’s opened late so I kept her overnight and took her out for breakfast this morning. I called around 11 when I hadn’t heard from her, but she didn’t answer her phone so we drove over to check on her and found her in the living room.”

You nodded, reaching to touch her hand and she released a shuddery breath. “I told Cora to go wait in her bedroom as soon as I saw her laying there. She was badly beaten, but I could see she was still breathing. I called 911 right away and waited with her until the paramedics got here.”

“Has anything strange happened over the last few days? Anything in the last 24 hours?”

The woman shook her head, a few grey hairs slipping from the elastic of her hair tie. “Nothing that would have caused me alarm. She got into a fight with her ex a few days ago, but that’s not unusual so it didn’t raise any red flags.”

“Was anything out of place when you entered the apartment?” You asked, switching your gaze between the woman and the child, the latter of whom was still staring distantly at the wall.

“Nothing that I noticed, but honestly I didn’t look the way I should have. I was too consumed with sheltering Cora and trying to make sure my daughter was OK.”

“Thank you so much for your cooperation.” You breathed, “I will do everything I can to help your family.”

“Thank you, detective.”

You returned to the living room; shoulders heavy in thought. There wasn’t a lot that seemed to be out of place, an overturned coffee table with what appeared to be coffee stained into the carpet from a dropped ceramic mug. There was some blood, but thankfully not a lot and you grimaced.

Yoongi was across the room talking with one of the other officers from your precinct and you scanned the room for anything that could have been missed in the initial search of the room. The apartment was a little older and run down, much like the complex, but it was clear that it was loved and well lived in. Toys were scattered in a corner of the room, a Roomba lodged by the small entertainment center.

The main living space was small, with mismatched drapery and furniture that looked like it had been loved by more than a few owners, but it had its charms and you smiled despite yourself. You really hoped the doctors were good so they could get this young mom back home soon. You’d work yourself to the bone if need be, as long as the person responsible was behind bars, that’s all that was driving you right now.

When evening came, you made your way drowsily to your car, heading out onto the road and into the evening traffic. You’d worked a 16-hour work day today and would likely have another tomorrow, you needed to eat and take a long bubble bath before making your way into bed for an early night.

Typically, you were more interested in showers. A bath took too long and the thought of sitting in your own dirty water was unappealing to you, but seeing as you didn’t have a masseuse at your disposal, this was as good as it would get. You’d just rinse off the dirt and grime of the day before actually running the bath water.

Once you’d returned home, locking your door behind you, you deposited your keys and bag by the door, twisting your neck in circles and making your way to your bedroom, removing your gun from its holster and setting it on your bedside table.

You decided on a bath first. The idea of ordering takeout and watching one episode of something mind numbing before bed was sublimely appealing so you stripped down, dropping everything into your hamper and made your way to turn on the shower.

After rinsing off, you grabbed a bath bomb from the bowl sitting on the back of your toilet and stopped the tub tight, allowing the hot water to fill a little before dropping the ball into the water and sliding your aching limbs in, watching what was essentially strawberry shortcake scented baking soda fizz into the water.

You’d worked as a police detective for 4 years now and you’d often heard that eventually you’d master the ability to switch off your mind at the end of a shift, but the skill still proved elusive as you soaked your aching bones, thinking about that sweet little girl who’s mommy wouldn’t be returning home to her tonight.

Honestly, the cases involving children were the worst part of your job. Your line of work was filled with misery and crappy outcomes more often than not, and in a high paced, high stress profession where a split second of indecision could cost a life, sometimes you wondered if it would only do harm to allow yourself to get so invested. Feelings were a tricky thing and you often allowed yours to run you; like a fool. Your mother often told you, you were too soft. Greek women were meant to be strong and passionate, and while you were definitely passionate, your mother had a hard time seeing that softness and strength could be one in the same.

You sighed, sticking a toe out of the water and playing with the handle above the spout. Tomorrow night you were expected over at your parent’s house for family dinner and you already felt exhausted from it. Your family meant well, but they always asked you when you’d be bringing a man home and honestly, aside from Yoongi, you really didn’t have time to meet a man.

A 16-hour work day was not out of the ordinary in your profession and in fact, more often than not, that was the norm. You’d gone on an odd blind date or two, mostly set up by your mother, a couple of weak introductions to a friend of a friend, but nothing had ever really amounted to anything.

Either you were too busy, they were, or there was just no spark. Granted, sometimes a spark built up over time, but unfortunately you had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue that sort of thing. Not right now, at least. You were still young. Besides, any free time you did have was spent in the isles of the grocery store. Life was so exciting.

After drying off and pulling on a pair of fuzzy pajamas, you walked back into the living room, sitting down in the plush seating of your far too expensive (but well worth it) couch and pulling up some takeout on your phone, flipping through your options before ordering something you knew would get to you quickly and taste decent.

Dropping your phone beside you, you flipped on the TV, pulling up some Hulu and scanning the different shows you could watch. You were feeling a bit depressed after today so you wanted to find something lighthearted.

A knock on your door startled you and you frowned. There was no way the food was here that quickly. They’d promised fast delivery, but 5 minutes was virtually impossible. Standing sluggishly, you made your way towards the door, peaking through the peep hole and chuckling.

You unlocked the door and pulled it open with a quick tug. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi looked about as tired as you felt, suitcase beside him, hand resting on the handle bar as he surveyed you. “I was just in the area…” he remarked sarcastically and you chuckled. “The sprinklers in the hotel went off so they refunded me but now I need a place to stay. Your offer still standing?”

“Of course.” You nodded, standing back as he trudged passed you, shoes squelching with water. “Did you manage to save any of your belongings from the sprinklers?”

You led him to the door across from yours, pushing it open and flicking on the light. You watched as he sighed, walking over to the bed and kicking off his shoes. He sat down on the edge of the bed, lifting one foot to peel an unfortunately soggy sock from where it clung.

“I managed to save most of it, thankfully. My stuff was packed in my suitcase,” he rapped his knuckles along the hard shell of his case to showcase, “it was just me that got soaked.”

“Did you need to take a shower to warm up?” You asked, watching as he stood up and pulled the mildly damp sweater over his head

“That would be great,” he nodded, glancing over at you.

“OK, well, you know where all the stuff is. I just ordered take out and you’re lucky I ordered with my eyes and not my brain; there will be plenty to share.” You grinned and he chuckled under his breath.

“Cool, I’ll meet you in the living room in 20, then.”

By the time the food had arrived, Yoongi was freshly showered and dressed in his pajamas, all dark to match the scowl on his face. “I smell like a gardening center.” He gripped, coming to sit beside you and taking the box of Chinese takeout you handed him.

“I like floral scents, Yoongi. Sue me.”

“Thanks again for letting me stay. I can pay you, if you need.” He said around a mouthful of orange chicken.

You scoffed, pushing a piece a broccoli around with your chopsticks, “You already know what I’m going to say. I told you, you could stay as long as you need, free of charge. It’s really not a big deal, Min. We work at the same place anyway so less greenhouse emissions or whatever.”

“You’re wanting to carpool?” He asked, glancing at you and you shrugged. “It makes sense, don’t you think? Partners at work, staying in the same place. We can save on gas money.”

Yoongi took a sip of his drink, staring off at the TV in thought. “I take the subway to work, actually. I’ll pay for gas, though. That can be my way of paying you.”

You chuckled, taking a bite of a dumpling. “I won’t argue with you on that one.”

You grabbed the remote, stirring the TV back to life. “I was gonna watch an episode and then hit the sack. You’re welcome to stay up after and watch whatever you want, just keep the volume low.”

Yoongi nodded, shoveling fried rice into his mouth and you started the TV show, kicking your feet up on the coffee table and snuggling deeper into your couch, blanket spread across your legs to keep you cozy.

You were actually kind of glad the sprinklers had rained Yoongi out of his hotel room. Not that you would wish material damage on the business or soggy clothes on your partner, but it was nice to have the company of your friend in a place that was normally quiet and a little lonely.

After you’d finished your food, you cleaned up the leftovers, sticking them in the fridge and throwing away the trash. Yoongi was still lounging in front of the television, eyes zoned out on bright colors and munching on a dumpling.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed.” You called and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Thanks again, Y/N. I’m gonna watch a little bit more but I’ll make sure the volume is low.”

You nodded, heading for your bedroom before turning at the door. “By the way, I generally leave the house around 7:30 to try and avoid some traffic. If you want a ride, you’ll need to be ready to go by then.”

“Cool.” He said, digging around in a box of vegetables with his chop sticks. “See you in the morning.”

After brushing your teeth and climbing into bed, you switched off your bedside lamp, pulling the blankets up to your nose. Knowing Yoongi was just beyond the door left you with a fluttering in your stomach and you sighed.

You’d known Yoongi for years now. A rookie in the police academy the same time as you. You hadn’t known him well at the time, but you’d spoken to him enough to have a school girl crush on him that still had yet to fully fade. When you’d graduated from the academy and gone to work as a police officer, the two of you had worked in different parts of the city and you hadn’t seen him for years until you’d been promoted to detective and moved to a new precinct where you and Yoongi were assigned as partners.

In a large agency with over 100 detectives, the chances of being partnered with your academy crush were slim. At first, you’d been terrified and thought about talking to the chief about being assigned a new partner; you weren’t sure you could stay on task if his face was always around distracting you. You knew the likelihood of being switched was almost zero, though. Besides, at first, he was an absolute asshole so that crush mostly faded over time until you finally got to know him better.

He’d become a little hardened by the nature of your work, been working as a beat cop longer than he cared to admit until finally working his way up the food chain to where he was now. The problem with Yoongi was that he cared too much, wanted to help so badly that when he couldn’t, when night after night he’d come across the bodies of the victim’s he couldn’t help, talked to the women he couldn’t protect, well…it took its toll.

It’s not like he’d ever been a sunny optimist, his disposition in general was a little quiet and reserved, but he’d certainly been more willing to hope for positive outcomes back then. You knew he still loved his work, still believed people were worth fighting for, but the world was ugly and he’d seen too much of it to remain innocent. It had taken a while to scratch past that surface of cynicism to find the gentle hearted man you remembered from the academy.

Once you’d found him, he’d melted like butter in your hands, opening up and not only reigniting that young woman’s crush, but becoming one of your dearest friends. You couldn’t imagine being with anyone else in this line of work; you needed his attention to detail and his ability to push through hard things. He’d become worn with the grief, but it had only pushed him to work harder, do better, even if it had taken some of his idealism away.

****

The buzzer to the coffee pot was loud, hissing with life and you ran from your room, fastening one earring to your ear as you ripped the pot out and glanced towards the room where Yoongi was sleeping. You assumed he was up by now, though you couldn’t be sure. You hadn’t heard the shower turn on after you, but you had been listening to music so perhaps you’d missed it.

Grabbing a mug from a shelf above the sink, you placed it on the counter and began to pour yourself a cup. Today was going to be a long day, calling people in to get some interviews and maybe compile more evidence. The mother of your beating victim had indicated that it may have been the boyfriend and the recordings you’d taken from the victims answering machine seemed like a good confirmation that was true, but you were a big believer in innocent until proven guilty and you needed more evidence than hearsay.

“How many spoons of sugar have you put in there?” Yoongi gagged from behind you and you jumped, turning to look at him over your shoulder.

“What?”

He pointed to your mug, your hand gripping a spoonful of sugar over the top and you blinked. “Oh…um, I don’t know, actually. I wasn’t paying attention.” You lifted your cup to your mouth to sip, lips puckering briefly. “Oh, apparently a lot. Oh well. Did you want cream?”

You stepped in front of the fridge, pulling out a small carton of creamer and walking back to your own cup, pouring liberally before holding it out to him.

He shook his head, grabbing another mug and pouring until the coffee had nearly met the rim. “You know I like my coffee black.”

“Yeah, but what I don’t know is why.”

He shrugged, taking a large gulp of his drink and sighing happily. “Because it’s delicious.”

“Agree to disagree.” You nodded, walking towards the toaster and grabbing some bread. “Did you want something to eat? I normally grab something more substantial on the way in, but I’m hungry right now and need something to tide me over.”

“Sure, I’ll take a piece of toast.” You grabbed two slices, dropping them into the toaster and pushing the lever down.

“Butter? Jam?”

“Just butter.” He hummed over the top of his cup, taking a seat at the table and you nodded, bringing the crock over to the kitchen table for him. “Thanks again for letting me stay. I really feel guilty about not paying you, though. What if-”

“Yoongi, if you even try to slip me a few coins I’ll chop your hands off. Seriously, no payment necessary. I’m happy to help. Besides, we already agreed on gas.”

“I could have you arrested for threatening an officer.” He smirked, leaning back in his chair and you grinned over your shoulder.

“Oo, handcuffs, don’t threaten me with pleasure.” You wiggled your eyebrows and he huffed with laughter.

“Raunchy. Never knew you were into that sort of thing.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You agreed, slipping the newly toasted bread onto a plate and sliding it to the center of the table next to the butter. “Bon appetite.” You grinned, slathering your own toast with butter and taking a bite, Yoongi’s widened eyes making you grin.

***

The office was slow when you got there, Yoongi trailing behind you still munching on the breakfast burrito you’d stopped for on the way. He hummed happily; steak burrito shoved hallway into his mouth. “Dith you know dees hal fren friz in dem?” He mumbled around his mouthful, sitting down at this desk and you grimaced over at him.

“Finish your mouthful first, you animal. I didn’t understand a thing you said to me.”

He chewed quickly, swallowing and turning his burrito to face you. “Did you know these have French fries in them?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “it’s their signature thing.” You took another bite of your own burrito, more civilized than Yoongi, and leaned over to turn on your computer.

“We need to get some people in here today.” You said, setting your food down on your desk. “I was thinking we should get in family members, friends, that neighbor who claimed they saw the ex-boyfriend outside her house and then him too, if we can.”

Yoongi nodded, clicking against his keyboard animatedly, “the report says the victim has two brothers, let’s start with them.”

“You wanna call them and I’ll try getting ahold of some of her friends?” “Sure.”

You pulled your notes from yesterday, scanning through the phone numbers you’d been given and holding the pad up for Yoongi to type in the one of the brother’s numbers before you looked back over it and punched in the number of one of the friends.

The morning was spent calling around and setting up interviews. So far, the only one with something relatively interesting to say was the neighbor. The family members and friends’ statements were aided by conjecture but they hadn’t been there so they didn’t have much of substance to give.

You didn’t blame them, but it was frustrating. So much hearsay and not enough evidence. Your heart told you it was the ex-boyfriend, but without reasonable evidence, gut instinct was worthless. You could only hope that his interview would be more interesting than all the others.

At 11am he walked through the doors, gazing around the room and you motioned to Yoongi before standing and moving towards him. “Mr. Grant, I’m assuming?”

He nodded and you motioned for him to follow you. Yoongi brought up the rear, closing the door to the interrogation room. Mr. Grant was tall, intimidatingly so, with his hair shaved close and tattoos peaking from every gap of clothing. He looked like he’d never taken a day off from the gym and you grimaced at the thought of what a fist like that could do to your victim’s face.

“Did you want anything to drink? Coffee? Water?” Yoongi asked, hand still holding the door handle.

“I’m good.” Mr. Grant replied, adjusting his jeans before taking a seat.

“Thank you for coming in to talk today,” You began, flipping open the file with your victim’s paperwork. You pulled a picture from the file, sliding it across the table. “Can you tell me how you know this woman?”

Mr. Grant looked down at the picture, pulling a face you couldn’t quite decipher but keeping his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. “Ex-girlfriend.” He said with a shrug, “we’ve got a kid together.”

“Cora?” You questioned and he nodded. He didn’t seem surprised by the picture; cold and callous in his appraisal of her beaten face in vivid color. “When is the last time you saw Cora?”

He sighed, running a hand over the top of his head, fingers fidgeting, before sliding back in his pocket. “Few days ago. I’ve been busy but I usually have her on the weekends.”

“You’re not concerned at all that the mother of your child looks like that?” Yoongi questioned, pointing down at the picture in front of him. Mr. Grant glanced down at it again, shrugging.

“We’re not close.” He remarked and you frowned.

“Don’t you wanna know if she’s dead or alive?” You asked and he sighed again, like this was all a giant waste of his time.

“I figure she’s dead, since I’m in here.” He replied, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s not.” You replied and watched as his eyebrow quirked. “She’s in a medically induced coma. Massive bleeding to the brain, a broken pelvis and femur, and a perforated lung. Do you know how someone would get like that?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me.” He drawled, rolling his head to the side.

“A fist, presumably.” Yoongi replied. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt her?”

“I don’t know her life, man.” Mr. Grant rolled his eyes, “she comes from a white bread, blue collar family. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Yoongi sighed, grabbing the chair from beside you and twisting it to sit, chest against the back as he surveyed Mr. Grant from across the top. “We found some threatening voicemail’s left on her phone, all from you. You must understand why we’re a little suspicious.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when your ex girl tries to take your kid away from you. I haven’t done anything that would warrant her getting full custody.”

“Aside from putting a fist through her face, of course.” Yoongi remarked and Mr. Grant smirked.

“Where’s your proof, man?” He crooned.

“We’ve got the tapes and now your admission of a child custody battle, which is already not great for you. Now all we need is that smoking gun.”

“Yeah, well good luck. I was at a movie with a chick and then she was at my house until an hour ago getting her back blown out. Ticket stub to prove it.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket, removing a receipt and throwing it on the table.

“You don’t even know when all of this happened.” You said, pulling on a glove to pick up the stub and sticking it inside a bag for evidence.

“I’m guessing in the last twelve hours,” He remarked, finger pointing down at the picture of your victim, “Since she looks like this and I appear to be your prime suspect. I doubt you’d wait too long to call me in.”

“We’re gonna need the name of the woman you were with.” Yoongi hummed, twisting his thumbs around one another.

“Don’t know her name.” He shrugged, “Sara something.”

You frowned, closing the manila envelope with a flick of your wrist. “We’ll be in contact, Mr. Grant. Don’t go too far. Have a nice day.”

He smirked, standing and waiting at the door for Yoongi to open it for him. He then waltzed from the room and out of the precinct with the confidence of a man who’d just gotten away with murder. You hoped that wasn’t the case.

You stood by the door of the interrogation room, watching as he disappeared before groaning and walking back to your desk, flopping in your seat.

“Talk to me.�� Yoongi said, following your lead.

“Honestly, I’m just really frustrated.”

“Lay it on me.” Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair, legs propped open wide and you were distracted for a moment.

“I-I just-” You tore your gaze away from him, squeezing your eyes shut and pushing your fingers into your temple. “I’m frustrated that so far, we’re no closer to catching our bad guy. I don’t know, my gut just says it’s the ex, but no one can prosecute on a gut feeling. I can’t believe he has an alibi.”

Yoongi nodded before leaning forward and smacking your knee to get your attention. “Y/N, this is day 2. Don’t get so discouraged. We’ll go around the neighborhood, see if we can get access to camera footage in the area and just look for anything interesting.”

“But what if we don’t find anything? What if this guy gets off, Yoongi?”

Yoongi frowned, leaning back in his chair once more, one pant leg hiked up enough to reveal the navy blue of his sock and his fingers twitching against his kneecap. “We’ll get him, Y/N. Whoever the guy is, we’ll get him.”

“I want that little girl to have her mom back.” You sighed, dragging your chair back to your desk by the heels of your shoes.

“She will.” Yoongi said, dragging his chair right next to yours and you turned to look at him, his face far closer than you were used to. “If you stress over this, you’re gonna make a mistake. Take a break, Y/N, go get a coffee or something.”

You nodded, mute, before standing up and making your way to the break room, fingers twitching nervously in the pockets of your slacks. Yoongi had never been an overly affectionate partner. He showed he cared in different ways, but if he were a love language, it was definitely not physical touch.

The coffee was already brewed as you made your way into the grey and aging break room. The seafoam green florescent box light above flickering on one side and you grabbed a mug from the cupboard, pouring yourself a cup and searching the fridge for an unexpired creamer.

After you’d found one that seemed the least questionable, you sat down at the table, coffee steaming from the mug and up into your face as you bent over it, fingers scratching into your scalp. You weren’t good with setbacks; they stressed you out. It was probably very strange from the outside that you’d chosen a field that was filled to the brim with disappointments, but ever since you were a little girl, getting the bad guy was always your thing.

It started small with Johnny Walcot on your street. He’d taken your little cousin’s chalk and tried to run away with it. You’d chased him half a block before you’d tackled him to the ground and given him a nice shiner to remember you by. Your methods had changed since then.

In high school you’d joined clubs, volunteered to be hall monitor, and even ran for student body president. You were a bit of a goodie toe shoes, but whatever, it made for a really good job application when you’d applied to the academy when you were 21.

You sighed, dropping your hands onto the table and allowing the smoky aroma of roasted coffee beans to ease your shoulders into a slump. Yoongi was right, you just needed to pound pavement and see what you could dig up. You were no quitter and you’d go down fighting if necessary.

Taking a long sip of your drink, you leaned back in your chair, face tilting up to the ceiling and you closed your eyes. Maybe you needed to start practicing yoga, your cousin was always going on and on about how relaxed it made her feel. You could really do with some relaxation right about now.

The door to the break room opened with a squeak and Yoongi waltzed in, eyeing the pot of coffee on the counter. “Did you make a new batch?”

“No,” you shook your head, “but it’s still fresh.”

He nodded, making his way over with his own personal coffee cup and emptying the pot into his mug before joining you at the table. “I was thinking,” he paused to sip at his drink, humming softly, “there’s that credit union on the corner right by our vic’s apartment, we should go see if they caught anything on their security camera. There’s a few other places nearby as well that we could check in on; one of them is bound to have cameras.”

“Don’t even know what I’m looking for now that the ex has an alibi.” You muttered, rubbing your thumb down the handle of your mug.

“Clues.” Yoongi teased and you smiled up at him, “Come on, we’ve got this, it’s only day two. We’ll head out after this and see what we can find.”

Early spring in the city meant allergies. For Yoongi, that is. He sneezed before whining childishly, pulling a tissue from his pocket and blowing his nose. “Hay fever is the worst.” He griped, throwing the tissue in the nearest garbage can and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he followed you along the sidewalk.

“Tell me how you really feel.” You hummed and he glowered.

“I don’t remember asking for your sass.” He said and you smiled, shrugging.

“You didn’t not ask for it either.” You pushed open the door to the credit union, holding it open for Yoongi to follow you through. You were being greeted before Yoongi could retort and a lady in a cream tweed suit and clipboard in hand came to stand in front of you.

“How can I help you today?” She smiled, lips painted an alarming shade of red. Yoongi held up his badge quickly before clipping it back to his belt. “We’re doing some investigating on a case in this area and we’re wondering if the security camera’s outside work or if they’re more for scare tactics.”

“They do work.” The women confirmed, dark eyebrows folding in the center. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it, though. You’d need to speak to our branch president for more information.”

“Is the branch president here today?” You asked and the woman turned to you, lips pursed and head nodding.

“He is. If you’ll just wait here a moment, I’ll go grab him.” She turned on her heel, clicking along the marble floor and into the adjacent hallway before disappearing around a corner.

“This place is fancy.” You remarked, gaze shifting around the room. Floor to ceiling windows against the front of the building, white marble flooring, and Mozart wafting softly from somewhere unseen. It likely made for a very pleasant banking experience.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a new bank recently; hate all my banks fees. They are blood suckers with their overdraft fees.” Yoongi remarked, his gaze steady on the hallway where the woman had disappeared.

“This is too rich for your blood.” You sighed and Yoongi turned to glare at you.

“What are you insinuating?”

“Take a wild guess.” You teased. Just then, the clicking of heels returned and the two of you turned to find the woman at the opening to the hallway, waving you over.

“If you’ll just follow me.”

Heavy oak doors lined the walls leading to what you could only assume were offices. You followed around the corner before she stood before one door, pausing to knock.

“Sir.” She greeted, ushering the two of you towards her bosses’ desk before leaving back to the lobby. A cherry wood desk greeted you, home to a middle aged, mildly rotund man. His hair was mousy brown, pushed out of his face and his nose held up the wire framed glasses he was sporting.

“Good afternoon.” He smiled, standing and coming to shake your hands, “I’m Dean Clark. Nancy tells me you’re inquiring after security footage?”

“Yes, actually, we’re covering a case in the area and we’re hoping to find some more information through security footage.” Yoongi said, taking the seat the branch president had gestured to.

Mr. Clark sat behind his desk, clicking the mouse of his computer and nodding his head as he searched through files. “What time frame are you wanting to search through?”

“Yesterday morning seems to be around when things started, but if we could see the footage all the way through Friday morning, that would be helpful.”

Mr. Clark nodded, busying himself in his search and you took a moment to look around the room. It was as classy as the lobby, though darker in color. Exactly what you would imagine for a CEO or president of a company. A ticking clock on the wall distracted you for a moment and you watched the minute hand tick down.

“Ah, here we go. OK, I’m just going to save it really quick. Is there anything else I can do for you officers while you’re here?”

“That’s all we need for now,” Yoongi confirmed, “but we’ll be in contact if there’s anything else at a later date.”

Mr. Clark handed over the CD he’d saved the file on and you slipped it into your bag, thanking him before the three of you stood and he directed you back down the correct side of the hallway.

You spent the next two hours visiting nearby establishments, getting any security footage you could before making your way back to the office to review the files. You were a little damp from walking around in the sun for so long. With dreams of the personal fan you had sitting on your desk, you made your way inside, Yoongi following behind.

“Officer Y/N.”

You turned to the voice calling you, Officer Gordon nodding over at the waiting room. “There’s a neighbor of your victim here; a Ms. Jiang. Says she’s got some information for you.”

“Thank you, Jacob.” You said, patting his arm before grabbing the files from your desk and making your way towards the waiting room.

“I’ll be in room 3.” Yoongi called over to you and you nodded.

“Ms. Jiang?” You asked and a small woman, looking around late 60’s and a head full of straight white hair, stood slowly with a wave. “Thank you so much for coming in. I hope you weren’t waiting terribly long, we weren’t aware you were coming today.”

“Oh no,” she waved you away, following slowly along with you as she gripped at her cane, “I’ve only been here about 5 minutes and the other officers were so nice. Got me a nice cup of tea while I waited.”

“I’m so glad they took care of you.” You smiled, “we’re just over here in this room.”

Ms. Jiang made her way into the room, acknowledging Yoongi with a quick nod before taking the proffered seat.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Yoongi asked and her eyes crinkled with her smile.

“No thank you, dear. I had a tea while I was waiting.”

After closing the door, you sat quickly in your seat, placing your file on the table in front of you and leaning forward. “Ms. Jiang, we were told that you came with some information for us?”

“Well yes. I know that poor girl next door got beaten, she’s in the hospital I heard. I feel so sorry for her. She’s a very good girl, works really hard to take care of her daughter. It’s not an easy job being a single mom. I was a single mom to two when my husband died; it’s a real challenge.”

“Did you see something on that day?” Yoongi asked gently and she nodded, lips rubbing together.

“Yes, I believe I did. That morning I had to go put my trash outside by the dumpster. My kids don’t live very close anymore, you see, and ever since my husband died I’ve had to do it all by myself. While I was out with the garbage I saw that dreadful man again.”

“Which man?” You asked and she frowned.

“That man that she used to date. I don’t know his name, never cared to hear it, but he comes by sometimes to pick up that little girl for a few days. It was very early in the morning, the sun hadn’t even come up yet. I’m an early riser, see, so I was out getting a start on my daily chores. I’d know him anywhere, though. His tattoos are hard to miss since he’s got so many of them.

“Well, at first I didn’t think much of it because, as I said, he comes by sometimes to see that little girl. I thought it was a little odd that he was there so early in the morning, but it wasn’t my business to interfere unless something was wrong. Well, I went back to my apartment for a little while before I realized I’d forgotten to take the recycling out.

“So, I was taking my recycling out when I heard a door open and close and I looked and saw him again. He was shoving something in the pocket of his jeans, like a tiny little bat, and then walking quickly down the stairs. I thought that was really strange; why would he come so early in the morning to pick up a tiny little thing like that? He didn’t even have the little girl with him.”

“Did you see anything else?” You asked, heart racing in your chest. You knew it; you just knew it. Somehow, he was lying and you were going to prove it.

“Unfortunately not. I wanted to knock on the door to see if that young woman was OK, but I didn’t want to seem like a busy body spying on other people’s lives. I know she works strange hours to make ends meet, so I just thought she must have been awake for work or something. Now I feel real sorry for not checking.”

“It’s not your fault.” Yoongi insisted, “no one could have known what happened.”

“Ma’am, would you be willing to write and sign a statement about what you witnessed?” You questioned.

Ms. Jiang nodded, wringing her hands together. “Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help that poor girl.”

After Ms. Jiang had left, both you and Yoongi made your way back to your desks. You still had multiple days’ worth of security footage to go through from multiple businesses and a ticking clock.

“That was unexpected.” Yoongi commented as he took a seat at his desk.

“It was.” You agreed, nodding. “It’s strange that she saw him when he supposedly has an alibi.” Your fingers twitched against the keys of your keyboard in thought. “We need to find that woman Sara, if she even exists.”

“Let’s get started on the security footage first. Later today, we should also go by the theater he mentioned and see if we can get their security feed; get a good look at the woman he was with.”

“I’m hungry, too, so maybe we could get something to eat on the way.”

After lunch and a mind numbing few hours of watching security footage which, so far, had not divulged anything interesting, you were feeling burnt out and frustrated. Again. Yoongi’s phone rang at his desk and you yawned, scrolling through to the next time stamp.

“Hey,” Yoongi called, leaning across the arm of his chair excitedly and you swiveled your head to the side to look at him. “The lab just called and said they’ve got something new on our cold case.”

“Good. I need a break from this for a minute anyway.”

Later, after returning home for the evening and Yoongi promptly changing into sweats and a t-shirt, you went to your room to change and get ready for dinner at your parents. You were hungry and apprehensive. It wasn’t a stretch to wonder if your mother and aunts would ask more questions about your love life and you were already dreading the conversation.

“Going out?” Yoongi asked from his burrito blanket on the couch.

“Yeah,” You hummed, searching your purse for your keys, “family dinner tonight. You ok with fending for yourself?”

Yoongi scoffed, flipping channels on the TV. “I think I can handle it.”

“Well, I’ve got some takeout menus stashed in the drawer by my fridge, if you wanted to order something. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The drive was quiet as you made your way towards the outskirts of the city. After you’d left home, you’d left an empty nest for your parents. With you and your siblings out of the house, they’d decided to move out of the city and downsize.

You didn’t blame them. They were getting older and climbing all those stairs in their old brownstone was taking its toll on their knees. They needed something on one level that wouldn’t break the bank. After finding a spot on the street, you locked the doors, making your way towards their house. It was still an apartment but with one level and street access. The smaller space made for very interesting family dinners.

The evening was peaceful, still light enough outside to make for a nice stroll and you listened as the crickets chirped excitedly. The days were starting to really warm up, but the evenings were still cool and required a light jacket. Families sat in their homes at their tables or around the TV eating and watching movies and for a moment you let yourself envy them.

Your family often asked you when you were getting married and though you brushed them off with a roll of your eyes, you too wanted to find the family they so badly wanted for you. There had to be two willing participants to play and so far, there was just one.

“Y/N!” Your mother called happily as she opened the door just as you’d raised your hand to knock. “I saw you from the window. Come in, come in!”

The apartment was alive with noise, nieces and nephews running and playing, your uncle and your dad arguing about how to properly season a steak, and your aunt fussing over the pregnant belly of your older sister.

“Ah, the baby has arrived!” Your father called, turning from your uncle who looked like he was two seconds away from blowing a fuse. “Let’s eat!”

“You kept us waiting!” Your sister fussed, linking her arm through yours and you smiled.

“I’m sorry Palma, I know this one was probably making your life difficult, huh?” You said, rubbing your hand across her belly and she sighed.

“You know, after four kids, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m practically foaming at the mouth by the time dinner is ready.”

The dining table had, had the extension put in and still, another long table was needed in the living room. No table was ever big enough for your family to sit at comfortably. With two sets of aunts and uncles, a few cousins, your three siblings and their families along with your parents and yourself, it always made for a very tight squeeze. You couldn’t even imagine trying to fit all the extended family still living far away. It wouldn’t be possible.

Your mom always insisted on having everyone over, though. She said that after having four kids she’d forgotten how to make smaller meals so it was necessary to come and help her eat it all. You certainly weren’t complaining about your mother’s home cooked meals. They were what kept you going through hard weeks when cases weren’t panning out.

You watched as Palma and her husband wrangled their children into their seats before coming to join you back at the table. Your brothers sat further down the table with their wives and if they hadn’t nodded at you as you’d come in, you wouldn’t have even been sure they’d seen you.

“You found a man yet, anipsiá?” Your aunt asked, filling her plate with moussaka and choriatiki. She popped a kalamata olive in her mouth, humming as she chewed.

“Not since two days ago, theía.” You smiled. She chuckled, swatting at you from across the table.

“I worry about you, Y/N.” She sighed, “I don’t want you to be like me, no marriage until 35 and only one baby. Oh, it was such a hard time for me to let down my family like that. The oldest daughter with no family.” Her eyebrows creased in the center as she thought about it before shoving a bite of moussaka so large you thought she might choke.

“Thirty-five isn’t old, though, theía. Besides, you still had Ambrose and he’s great!”

She nodded, solemn. “He is great, but you know I would have liked to give him some brothers and sisters. Thirty-five is advanced maternal age, anipsiá. Don’t put yourself in that situation.”

You sighed, cutting off the corner of your pastitsio and stabbing it moodily with your fork. “I have to find a man I like first, you know that.”

“What about that Yoongi boy?” She asked and you choked around your mouthful, Palma, slapping her hand against your back.

“Yoongi?” you gasped after you’d swallowed your food. “My partner?”

“Sure!” She nodded, taking another large bite and chewing loudly, “He would give you very pretty babies. He’s already your friend, too. You’re halfway there!”

You huffed with laughter, shaking your head. “Have you been drinking too much Retsina? You’re talking crazy.”

“Well why not?” Palma asked, “you told me you had a crush on him in the academy, what’s different now?”

“We’re partners!” You insisted, “that would be weird and inappropriate in the workplace.”

Palma shrugged, “you’re both consenting adults, I don’t see what the issue is.”

“Ok, let’s say for arguments sake that we dated and then broke up. What then?” You dipped some pita bread in the tzatziki sauce before taking a bite and watching your sister with eyebrows raised.

“So, what you’re telling me is you wouldn’t be mature enough to still work together after doing the diddly do?” She grinned and you whined, dipping your bread again.

“Don’t call it that, you make it sound so gross.”

“I’m just saying,” she chuckled, feeding a bite of cheese to the two-year-old hanging from her arm, “It’s not a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal. Now, if you genuinely weren’t interested in him then that would be one thing, but so far I haven’t heard you denying your crush.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because there’s nothing to deny.” You huff, pushing some food across your plate with your fork. “But a relationship needs to be mutual and so far, it seems like he’s not really in the same mind set as me.”

“You never know until you try!” Your aunt insisted, waving her pita bread at you and you smiled, nodding.

“You should bring Yoongi to dinner next time. Don’t give me that look, I don’t mean for that. I just think it would be fun. I’ve never actually met your partner.” Palma shooed her son away and he slumped back to the kids table, a clump of feta cheese squeezed in his fist.

“I’ll ask him, I guess.” You shrugged.

***

By the time you’d made your way back into the apartment, it was late. You’d stayed and had a glass of wine and some dessert while playing games before bidding your farewells. The apartment was dark but you could see the light under Yoongi’s door, signaling his presence and you moved drowsily towards your own room, flicking on the lights and closing your door.

After brushing your teeth and stripping down to your underwear, you crawled under your duvet, shivering at the airconditioned sheets before melting into your mattress. You were so tired, eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

Your phone ringing from the pocket of your jeans startled you and you reached over the side of your bed, digging around in the pile of clothes you hadn’t bothered to put in the hamper. Pulling your phone to your ear you answered with a groggy hello.

“Officer Y/N? It’s Laura from down at the precinct. I’m sorry to be calling so late.”

“No, it’s fine,” you murmured, leaning on one elbow, “what’s going on?”

“We’ve got the ex-boyfriend of your beating victim here. He was arrested at a bar, drunk and disorderly, mumbling about how “she had it coming.” We’re gonna keep him in a holding cell overnight and I thought you might want to know.”

“Yes, actually. Thank you so much! Yoongi and I will be there tomorrow morning to see what’s going on.”

After hanging up and dropping your phone on the other side of your bed you stared up at the ceiling, mind racing. She had it coming. It was chilling how callous some people could be. You weren’t sure if he meant your victim, but your gut said yes. Your gut wouldn’t cut it, though. You needed proof…and you were gonna find it.

Yoongi was already awake when you entered the kitchen the next morning. Dressed in dark slacks and a white button up, he was looking more handsome than was reasonable and he looked over at you, nodding over the rim of his cup.

“I made coffee.” He motioned to his side and you thanked him, pushing the hem of your shirt into your pants. “Did you get the phone call last night?”

“From Laura?” At his nod you hummed, “yeah, I did. We can stop over there first thing. I want to talk to him about what he meant by she had it coming.”

“I’ve got an inkling.” Yoongi mumbled into his mug and you sighed.

“Me too, but no one can prosecute on an inkling.”

Yoongi slumped around the kitchen, opening cupboards and peering at the contents inside. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but you could understand the feeling of frustration in lack of answers.

“How was your family?” He asked, muffled by the door to one of your cupboards.

“They were good. Loud, as usual.” He turned to look at you, smiling and closing the cupboard. “Actually, they told me to invite you to dinner next weekend. Would you be up for it?”

“Free Greek food? I’m absolutely on board. I’m in need of a really good food coma these days.”

“Well you’ll definitely get your wish with my mom’s cooking.” You chuckled, filling your travel mug with coffee and fixing it to your preferences. “Let’s go. We can grab something to eat on the way there.”

Mr. Grant was awake in his holding cell when you arrived and you were escorted to one of the interrogation rooms while someone went to go grab him. Breakfast sat heavy in your stomach as you waited and Yoongi picked at his nails, lounging next to you.

“Stop picking, your finger nails are already really short as it is.” You murmured, looking over at him and he looked up at you with a smirk.

“I didn’t realize you made it a regular practice to stare at my fingers, Y/N.”

You scoffed, flipping open the file of your beating victim and turning to gaze down at the information collected so far. The door opening caught your attention and you watched as Mr. Grant was escorted to the seat opposite the two of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked once the door had been closed behind the retreating officer.

“Mr. Grant, do you remember anything from last night?” You asked, watching his eyebrow tick up.

“Not a whole lot, to be honest. I was pretty drunk.” He grinned and you drummed your fingers against the desk in front of you.

“So we’ve heard. So then you don’t remember saying, “She had it coming?”” Mr. Grants jaw clamped shut, mouth tightening into a thin line. “Care to enlighten us? Who’s she Mr. Grant?”

His gaze traveled to the wall behind you, eyes glazing over. “Clearly you didn’t mean to let that little tidbit slip,” Yoongi pressed, watching as Mr. Grant’s jaw tensed. “So what, you get in a fight? She’s threatening to take your kid away from you and you just snap, right? Figure she can’t take Cora away if she’s dead.”

He wouldn’t budge. “A neighbor saw you outside her apartment,” you coerced. “On the morning she was found beaten. Saw you there really early in the morning and with a tiny little bat. What were you doing there, Mr. Grant?”

“It’s not what you think!” He insisted suddenly and your eyebrows rose in interest. “I was just there to give her that bat for Cora because I’d gotten it engraved. I knew she was getting off work at that time so I wanted to drop it off before she went to sleep. We got in a fight, though, so I left and forgot to leave the bat there.”

“You got a tiny kids baseball bat engraved?” Yoongi asked, frowning.

“Yeah, Cora and I like to play baseball, it’s our thing. I thought it might be a nice gift.”

“You said you got in a fight with her.” You pressed and his gaze switched quickly to yours, “What about?”

You could see him shutting down before he’d even shook his head. “Nah, I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer present. I know how these things go.”

“Very well. An attorney will be appointed to you or you can choose your own representation. We’ll have one of the other officers come take care of that for you and we’ll be in contact.”

You stood, Yoongi following behind you as you made your way out of the station and towards your car. He groaned, rubbing at his eyes as you started the engine and backed away from the curb. “Now what?” He mused, eyes staring empty at the roof of your car as you made your way back towards your office.

“I don’t know.” You admit, thumbs rubbing circles into the steering wheel, “we just keep looking. We’ll watch the rest of the security footage and forensics took swabs of everything. We’ll find something.”

“What does any of that matter?” Yoongi scoffed, “he admitted he was there but without any actual proof that he hit her then we’ve got nothing. We’re gonna find traces of him in her apartment, he goes there to see his daughter. If we see him on the footage, big deal, he said he was there. You know? We need real, hard evidence that he beat her.”

“We’ll get it.” You insisted and Yoongi sighed, running his fingers along the door handle.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “but we will. We need to get a warrant to search his place; try and find that bat. We’ve got enough probable cause to go to a judge. I just don’t buy his story. He showed up at his ex-girlfriend’s house at 5 am to drop off a tiny bat he got engraved for his daughter? Bull. Why wouldn’t he drop it off when she was there? Wouldn’t he want to see her face when she gets it…if it’s really that important to them?”

“When we get back to the office we need to compile all the evidence we can find and call the judge. I wanna get this guy.”

Thanks to Ms. Jiang’s information, pinpointing when Mr. Grant would have walked by certain stores was easier and both Yoongi and you were able to find him on multiple security cameras on the morning of your victims beating. With that, Ms. Jeong’s statements, and the other affidavits of the victim’s family members, and Mr. Grant’s own admission that he was in fact there that morning, you were able to secure a warrant for his apartment.

Mr. Grant seemed surprised to see you when you arrived, a few officers flanked behind you. “I don’t remember inviting you to my house for dinner.” He replied sarcastically and you smiled, holding the warrant up.

“We have a warrant. These officers would be happy to explain the details of it to you while you wait outside with them.”

“What are you even searching for?” He complained, stepping outside while both Yoongi and you walked into his apartment, “I told you I didn’t do anything.”

“Then you should have nothing to worry about.” You replied.

Mr. Grant’s apartment was a little older, a little run down from neglect. The living room was standard fair; a small TV in the corner on top of a table that had seen better days and flanked on one side were curtains, yellowing with age.

Both Yoongi and you split up, a couple other officers helping to fill in the gaps as you searched for anything you could find that would give you answers you needed; specifically the little bat Ms. Jiang had mentioned.

Mr. Grant’s apartment was dirty and you wondered absentmindedly if any man would actually bring a date here to this mess or if this was a byproduct of two days. In moments like these, you were glad to be wearing gloves. Not one single ounce of you wanted to touch anything in this place with any less protection.

You could hear Yoongi calling you from the bedroom so you made your way out of the bathroom and towards the back of the apartment where Yoongi stood, a tiny wooden bat hanging from his gloved fingers.

“Think this is it?” He asked as you walked closer, looking it over.

“Probably. Bag it and we’ll see if it’s got anything to say.”

After searching through every nook and cranny of the apartment, you all returned to the office to have the bat analyzed by forensics. The victim was still in the hospital in a coma and this was more frustrating than anything else. A little girl was out there without her mom and you weren’t even sure if she’d ever get her back.

It made you want to pull your hair out.

Both Yoongi and you spent the next few days following up with leads on your cold case and coming up empty handed every time. It was frustrating to feel like you were doing everything you could to succeed and there was always a wall in the way.

The case had gone cold years ago, almost 11 years now, and the family had been waiting with no answers. Leads had basically all dried up by the time the case made it onto your desks and you’d been backtracking in an effort to find anything the original officers had missed.

Initially it had seemed like an open and shut case, kid was 18, a legal adult. She probably ran away. Her parents were uptight and had a lot of rules. The more the officers dug, though, the more grey the evidence became. Things left behind that didn’t make sense for her to leave, like her money, all her clothes, and her brand new puppy.

Testimonials from friends and relatives about what a happy and secure young woman she was…it just didn’t add up. Why would someone like that run away? Typically, runaways were troubled and facing a lot of trauma. She just didn’t fit the box.

She would be 29 now; if she was still alive. It seemed unlikely after all this time, but you wanted to at least give her family some closure. You couldn’t even imagine if your sister or either of your brothers had gone missing when you were growing up. Your family was a massive piece of you; you would be empty without them.

The weekend was time off for you and you spent most of Sunday lounging in bed. You could heard Yoongi puttering around in the kitchen or living room before he’d disappear back into his room to mess around on his laptop.

It was comforting to have him around, even if you were both doing your own things. Having him with you just felt as if there was something you’d been missing all along and it had finally been identified and returned to its place. You liked to think you had control over your little school girl crush from back at the academy, but honestly it had built over the years and morphed into something much closer to a word you didn’t even want to think about yourself. It was too terrifying.

A knock at your door startled you from your thoughts and you called out for Yoongi to come in. He stepped through the door, still in a pair of blue flannel pajama bottoms and an old white t-shirt. Even now he looked handsome. The door stayed open beside him as he tucked his hands into the pockets against his thighs, surveying you as you lounged in bed looking over at him.

“Nice double chin.” He smirked and you scoffed, chucking a decorative pillow at him.

“Did you come here for something important or just to annoy me?” You complained.

He chuckled, leaning against the door jam and folding his arms across his chest. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“I haven’t left this bed once and it’s been a blissful 6 hours. There was one moment where there was almost a tragedy and I nearly wet my pants, but thankfully the feeling passed.”

Yoongi frowned, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Aren’t we going to your families place for dinner tonight?”

“What of it? I’ll be up with enough time to shower and look presentable, I promise. Besides, the less I eat now, the more I can eat there.”

“That’s fair,” he conceded, “but I’d rather you not pee your bed; I’d never be able to look at you the same.”

“How do you look at me now?” You teased, eyebrows wiggling and you made sure to accentuate the double chin that looking over at him created.

“Not the way you think I do.” He frowned, upper lip turning up at you. You hated that your heart dropped at that, but you wouldn’t let him see; wouldn’t let him know. If he thought of you as just a friend and his partner, you were happy to fill that role. As long as you could be beside him in some way.

“You don’t like my double chin?” You huffed childishly and he smiled, rolling his eyes at you.

“Get up and shower, woman. Come watch a show with me.”

He left the door way, leaving the door wide open in what you deemed a power move and you groaned, loud enough for him to hear, before dragging yourself from your bed and to the bathroom.

By the time you were both ready to go and making your way down to your car you were practically foaming at the mouth at the thought of food. You were so hungry you’d eat your own left foot if that’s what it took. Yoongi was silent most of the drive, and though this wasn’t exactly strange for him, it did make you wonder what was on his mind.

The crickets were already when you’d arrived and you closed the car door softly, clicking the lock into place. You moved slowly to where Yoongi stood beside the car, staring up at the sky, dusk settling on the horizon.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly.

His gaze lowered to yours, smiling soft and shaking his head. “Nothing really.” His eyes focused in on the spring dress you’d chosen to wear; black and yellow with blooming sunflowers. “You look really pretty, by the way. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you in something like this before.”

He reached out to twist the fabric of your dress softly between his fingers and you heated at the praise; suddenly self-conscious. “Thank you, Yoongi. That’s very kind of you.”

He looked as awkward as you felt so you resumed your walk towards your parent’s home. It was quiet outside, but windows were open, the smell of a hundred dinners wafting out into the evening; a tantalizing temptation from every door.

Yoongi waited with you as you stood outside your parent’s door. If he was nervous to be here, you couldn’t tell, but you were certainly nervous enough for the both of you. Growing up, you’d never brought a guy around, you couldn’t have even if you’d wanted to.

You were the baby in your family with a gap of 6 years between you and your brother Andreas. A surprise, your parents liked to call you. Andreas and Gael in particular liked to baby you. When you were in high school they would stand outside your school waiting for you at the end of each day, flanking you on either side so that no boys would come near you.

They were tall and buff and it was no shocker that no one wanted to be anywhere close enough to date you. It had made you cry tears of frustration on more occasion than one, but your brothers always said that they knew how guys minds worked and there was no way they were trusting them their baby sister.

Now you were an adult and they were both married with children, they had better things to do than to stand outside your place of work and swat away all prospective suitors. In fact, these days your family seemed more concerned that you hadn’t found a man than the other way around.

The door flung open, your aunt beaming wide and throwing her arms around you with wild enthusiasm. “You must be Yoongi!” She smiled, pulling him into the hug and you could feel him go rigid against your back. This was certainly not what he was expecting.

“Oh, we have been waiting so long for this day! Everyone, Y/N brought a man to dinner!” She called loudly into the house and your family cheered.

You wanted to die. “Theía! I told you, Yoongi is my partner at work.”

“No reason he can’t be more.” She smiled, eyebrows wiggling suggestively as she closed the door behind the two of you and dragged you further into the house. “Has anyone ever told you that you would make incredibly beautiful babies, Yoongi?” She asked and you wanted to melt straight into the floor.

Yoongi was clearly a masochist because he smirked at you before turning his gaze back to your aunt. “Actually, I haven’t heard that before, but I agree. I’ve got really great genes to pass on.”

“Stop feeding the troll, Yoongi.” You griped and your aunt swatted at you.

“Don’t be rude, I’m only asking for you. I’m thinking about you, hmm?” She scolded and you sighed, running your hand across her shoulder to pull her into your side.

“Let me worry about it, OK?”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Yoongi drawled and he had a looked that spelled trouble. You suddenly hated his guts. “I think your aunt is right, we’d make really beautiful babies together.”

“See!” Your aunt cried happily and you could see Palma smiling into her cup from behind her. Gael was giving you an obnoxiously enthusiastic thumbs up from over by the table and your mom looked like she actually thought she would be getting another grand baby soon.

“I’ll actually kill you, Yoongi.” You grit and he laughed, pinching at your cheek.

“Yoongi, nice to see you again.” Your uncle greeted, coming to shake his hand. “Let’s sit and eat, we can continue this baby talk later. Y/N looks like she’ll die soon if we don’t.”

“Thank you, theíos.” You squeezed his shoulder gently, making your way into the dining room and sitting down, Yoongi right beside you.

Palma was giving you a look that you could read all too well and you pointedly ignored her. She could bombard you later through text if she wanted to ask about your partner. You were already mortified enough as it was.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Yoongi mumbled, eyeing the spread of food and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Wait until you try it. My mom and her sisters learned how to cook from their mom and she was amazing! I remember when she would come to see us, she’d make the most incredible food; real comfort food. Creamy and warm, I’m salivating just thinking about it.”

You watched Yoongi eagerly load up his plate, chatting amiably with your brother who sat across from him and you filled your own plate with all your favorites, practically inhaling everything as soon as if hit your plate. You hummed happily, dancing a little in your seat as you ate and Yoongi glanced at you with a smile.

“Happy?”

“Oh yeah.” You nodded, stuffing feta and cucumber into your mouth and chewing happily.

“So, Y/N,” your mom called from the end of the table and you nodded your attention. “Have you and Yoongi ever thought about dating?”

Globs of feta lodged in your lungs as you inhaled sharp and you spluttered into your napkin, coughing and wheezing as Yoongi patted your back, handing you a glass of water. “What?” you gasped, eyes watering as you looked at your mother.

“The two of you? Have you ever thought about getting together?”

“Mom!” You complained loudly as the table chorused her opinion, “he’s my partner and my friend!”

“Fine line between friendship and love, Y/N.” Your father supplied, sending a kiss to your mother at the opposite side of the table from him. “You know your mother and I met in school as friends. What could be better than making a family with a friend?”

“Please can we stop talking about this?” You cried.

“They mean well,” your sister smiled and you looked at her, frowning.

“You’re not allowed to be on their side, Palma. You know how this feels. He’s sitting right here.” You grunted, pointing your thumb at Yoongi who was currently shoving a fist sized amount of food into his mouth.

He looked over at you, eyebrows wiggling and you grimaced. “Chew your food, you animal.”

“Lovers quarrel!” Gail hooted and you were pretty sure you could see the light at this point because you were positive you were about to die.

“You always complain you’re too busy, you never have time to meet anyone,” your mom whined, “but you’re with Yoongi all the time, there’s no better opportunity.”

“Relationships are not about convenience, mom.” You sighed.

“No, but they should be built on friendship and mutual respect and you’ve already got that.” Your father insisted.

“We could be magical together.” Yoongi crooned and you rolled your eyes at him.

“You’re giving them hope.”

“I’ve got nothing but hope.” He insisted with a grin.

“What’s the harm in giving it a try?” Your mother asked, waving her arms enthusiastically. “Yoongi seems OK with it.”

“OK, let’s say we start dating and it doesn’t work out. We still have to work together every day in a lot of life or death cases and we don’t need that extra tension.”

“So you’re saying there’s already tension?” Gael grinned and you scowled.

“Drop the subject everyone. Talk about something else, seriously. This is really weird and inappropriate. Talking to me about my love life is one thing, but not like this. This is not OK.” You scolded.

“Fine, fine, fine.” Your mother accepted, sufficiently cowed for now and the topic moved on to something new. You could barely concentrate on conversation at this point. You were angry, embarrassed, and afraid to even look at your friend.

He’d taken everything in his stride, but Yoongi was the type to use comedy when he was uncomfortable…you couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking.

By the time dinner was over you were mentally exhausted from trying to avoid all embarrassing conversations. To Yoongi’s credit, he didn’t seem phased at all. You were grateful he was so levelheaded.

“Want a glass of wine?” He asked as you made your way back into your apartment, dropping your purse by the door.

“Yes please.” You mumbled, following him to the kitchen.

“I don’t actually know where you keep your wine glasses.” He said, pulling a bottle of red from on top of the fridge.

You moved quickly to the other side of the kitchen, pulling some glasses down from the cabinet and he took them from you, moving towards the table to pour you both a glass.

“Cheers.” He said, clinking his glass against yours before taking a sip. You were halfway through your glass before you had enough liquid courage to say anything to him.

“I am so sorry about my family.” You mumbled, staring down into your glass. “They’re so embarrassing.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything for a moment and you wanted to shrink into yourself the longer he stayed silent. What must he think of you? They were practically auctioning you and your empty womb off to him; he must think you’re so desperate. Yoongi sighed and you looked up at him as he shrugged, “it’s not a big deal, Y/N.”

“It is!” You insisted, “it’s one thing for them to do this to me privately, I’ve dealt with it for years…but to drag you into it without really getting your say. It’s like a verbal hostage situation. You didn’t sign up for that. I’m sorry if you felt uncomfortable.”

“I did feel uncomfortable,” he admitted, swirling the last of his wine around his glass, “but not for the reasons you think.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, clutching your glass to your chest like a barrier.

“I just never realized the idea of being with me was so repulsive to you.” He sighed, “It’s not like I wouldn’t be interested, but what I want doesn’t really change things. You need two yeses or it’s always a no.”

You paused, face twisting in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“I’m just saying. Your dad is right, love and relationships should be built off of friendship and we’ve already got that part. I wouldn’t be opposed to trying and seeing where things go, but you’ve always made it fairly clear that you don’t think the same way. It’s not a big deal, life moves on.”

You laughed; breathless. “You think I’d turn you down?”

“Obviously.” He said, jaw ticking as it clenched.

“That’s ridiculous.” You scoffed, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Really?” He asked, eyebrow rising into the hair draped over his forehead, messy from the brush of his fingers. “So if I kissed you, you wouldn’t freak out?”

He was challenging you; you could see it in his eyes and that smirk quirking the corner of his lips. Like he didn’t believe you actually meant what you said. He linked his finger into the neck of your dress, pulling you dangerously close to him, nose bumping yours gently before stopping.

The room was stuffy with energy, a little too warm for your liking but it was too early in the season to turn on the air conditioning. Yoongi’s dark eyes peered curiously into yours, a silent question as he tilted his head to the side.

“This is an interesting game of chicken.” You breathed.

“It’s not a game to me.” He mumbled, eyes darting across your features, noses dangerously close to bumping again.

“I dare you.” You whispered.

He smiled, nose scrunching before closing the distance and all you could taste was him. His mouth was warm against yours, soft in its perusal of the shape of your lips; careful in its inquiries. You thread trembling fingers through the tufts of raven hair at the back of his head, breathing him in.

He tasted like cheap wine and he pulled you from your chair and into his lap, kisses deepening with his breath. This was better than you could have dreamed up; your fingertips alight with the rough of his sweater as you moved from his shoulders and down his arms.

Your fingers dragged across his abdomen and up to his chest and he shivered. “Sensitive.” You mused against his pout and he sent you a glare before pulling you back into him by the back of your head.

Your hand smoothed carefully down the center of his back as you clung to him and he whined, pulling you even closer and your eyebrow quirked in curiosity at what stirred between the two of you.

You pulled back slightly, sending a look down before glancing back at him and biting your lip. “Interesting.”

“It’s more than interesting and I can prove it…if you want.” He breathed, watching your reaction carefully.

“I love an adventure.” You grinned and he stood with your legs wrapped around him, making his way towards your bedroom.

“You mentioned handcuffs last week, right?” He asked, pausing in your doorway. Your eyebrow jumped and he smirked, nosing at the skin just below your ear. “I might need them.” He whispered, pushing through to your bedroom and kicking the door closed behind him.

The shrill screech of your alarm woke you suddenly and you flailed, arm reaching towards your bedside table to turn it off.

“Why does your alarm sound like an axe murderer?” Yoongi groaned from beside you, rubbing a hand down his face and you jumped. He was bare chested and the blanket around his waist left little to the imagination. Not that you needed imagination anymore.

Like a tidal wave, all memories from last night came rushing back in. You were mortified. Yoongi was now uncomfortably familiar with everything about you; every nook and cranny of your body, like it was his secret to keep. The sounds and faces you make now his intimate companions. You felt like you were being engulfed in flames of shame.

“We’re gonna be late for work.” You murmured, pulling your sheet to shield your body and standing up, racing to the bathroom.

Once locked in the bathroom you dropped the sheet, surveying yourself in the mirror and you groaned softly. At least it wasn’t too warm yet; wearing a turtleneck wouldn’t be completely unreasonable. You quickly stepped into the shower, taking your time lathering the soap as you wondered if Yoongi had left your room yet.

You weren’t lying when you said you were going to be late for work. You had three different types of alarms to wake you up before work and the shrill screech of the alarm that woke you this morning was the last resort alarm.

You rushed through your morning routine before peeking back into your bedroom to make sure the coast was clear. You grabbed a pair of black slacks and a white turtle neck, dressing quickly and pulling on some shoes, before grabbing your bag and making your way out into the kitchen.

“I’ll be in the car!” You called, not bothering to wait for a reply as you rushed from the apartment and to the elevator. You weren’t sure what to say to Yoongi now; you felt like you’d been such an idiot last night. You weren’t drunk by any means, you’d really only had one glass, but alcohol always loosened you up to the point of bad decision making and now you had to live with the consequences.

Having an intimate knowledge of someone left a lot of vulnerability and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking of you now. Did he think you were easy, were you only a conquest? Could you still be friends? Would you still work well together? You felt sick, pressing the garage level button and feeling yourself sink with the elevator.

You waited in the car, anxiety curling your fingers tight around the steering wheel. Why didn’t you think of the morning after last night? You were awkward at the best of times and today was going to be a royal nightmare.

You watched as Yoongi left the elevator, moving towards where you were parked and distracted by the fastening of his watch. He too was dressed in dark slacks and had donned a white sweater and you blanched at the thought of looking like you were wearing couples clothes.

He pulled open the door, sliding in beside you and slipping on his seatbelt before returning to the fastening of his watch. You left the garage in silence, shoulders high and tight. You weren’t sure what to say, should you even bring it up at all? Maybe it was just better to pretend that it never even happened.

By the time you’d parked and made your way up into the office, you felt like you were about to lose it. People had to be kidding themselves if they thought sleeping with a friend wouldn’t change the relationship. It changed everything.

Yoongi sat down at his desk, turning on his computer and checking voicemails. You slipped your bag from your shoulder, sliding carefully into your seat and staring at the black of your computer screen. What if you’d ruined everything? What if you couldn’t work together anymore? You sighed, closing your eyes as you felt a headache coming on before bending over to switch on your own computer.

“Hey,” Yoongi called and you looked over at him. He had his phone perched between his ear and shoulder and was looking directly at you. “Forensics has got something for us. Let’s go check it out.”

You nodded as he hung up, standing and walking with him towards the elevator. Silence prevailed on the ride up but you tried not to let it bother you; tried to ignore the obvious tension. Yoongi seemed calm and that helped ease your shoulders a little. Maybe it wasn’t as serious as you thought it was. That’s what you’d tell yourself for now, anyway.

You swiped your badge at the door, where Diana was waiting for the two of you, smile ready. “Morning.” She greeted, motioning for you to follow her to her desk. “Here’s the paperwork you’re gonna need.”

“What did you find?” Yoongi asked, flipping the envelope open and you peered over his shoulder into the file.

“Hair and skin from your victim embedded in the bat. Looks like you got your guy.”

You grinned at Yoongi, his own excitement palpable as he snapped the folder closed. “Let’s go get him.”

Mr. Grant groaned as he opened the door to his apartment, rolling his eyes. “Here to search me again?”

“Not quite.” Yoongi said, “Turn around, please.”

Mr. Grant huffed a laugh, turning around and sliding his hands behind his back. You stepped forward, placing the hand cuffs around his wrists. “Timothy Grant you are under arrest for assault and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time.”

“I want a lawyer.” Mr. Grant scoffed, “you’ve got nothing on me. I didn’t even do anything.”

“We’ll see about that.” You smiled, leading him towards the squad car. After the other officers had taken him for booking, both Yoongi and you made your way back to the office, high off adrenaline.

“The vic is still in a coma,” Yoongi remarked as he drove, “but the doctors said they’re seeing positive signs of improvement.”

“Good.” You murmured, stepping from the car. “That family has been through hell.”

The air conditioning of the office was a welcome relief. It was definitely too hot to be wearing a turtleneck, but there was no way you could wear anything else. Especially not around the man who’d wreaked so much havoc on the skin of your neck and clavicle. Even the thought of it was mortifying.

You tugged at the neck of your sweater, fanning yourself with one hand. “Why are you even wearing that?” He asked, looking over at you and you glared at him.

“I think you know why.”

He looked smug.

You turned to your computer, sifting through messages you’d gotten since yesterday. The very last one caught your eye; with a timestamp of 2:45am blinking in red. The subject read “In reference to your cold case” and you clicked on it instantly.

“Yoongi, look at this!” You said, waving him over. He slid his chair over by yours, leaning forward to read your email.

“A new witness?” He murmured and you nodded excitedly.

“It says she’s been living out of the country for years and just got back in town. We need to call her.” You grabbed the phone from its cradle, dialing the number left in the email and Yoongi lounged beside you as you waited. “Hello, is this Ms. Russo? Hi, my name is Detective Y/N, I just read your email. Do you happen to have any time to come in today? Yes, an hour would be fine. Ok, great, see you then!”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows at you, lounged all the way back in his chair. “She coming in?”

“In an hour.” You nodded. “This might be the thing that breaks the case.”

“Let’s not get our hopes up too high, though. Healthy expectations, right?” He said, sliding his chair back to his desk and you nodded with a pout.

“Yeah, I know.”

Ms. Russo arrived an hour later; a young woman in her mid-twenties with long dark hair, curling at the ends and deep, dark brown eyes searching the room as she clutched the purse on her shoulder. You greeted her, inviting her to sit with you in the interrogation room, Yoongi already sat waiting with the cold case file.

“Thank you so much for coming in. We were so excited to hear you had information for us, this case has been so daunting.” You said as Ms. Russo sat across from you, setting her purse beside the leg of her chair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. My family moved away when I was young and I didn’t really have the means of coming back until now. At the time it didn’t seem like I knew anything important, but I don’t think that’s so true.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, fastening her fingers together and looking over at her.

“How did you and Ms. Loft know each other?” Yoongi inquired, flipping open the case file.

“We were best friends.” Ms. Russo said, “She was a couple years older than me, but we lived on the same street almost our entire lives so we grew up really close.”

“In your email you said you had something for us?” You asked and she nodded, reaching into her bag and pulling out an envelope.

“I received this letter about a month ago, just before I moved back here. It’s from her.” You paused, staring down at the letter and you could see her eyes filling with the emotions of years of unanswered questions. “Emily was not the type to run away. I know her; she would never do that. Her parents were strict, but she didn’t resent them for that. Her younger brother died in an accident when we were all kids. It changed them. She would have never done anything to cause more pain, you need to know that.”

She wiped at her cheeks as tears fell, her breath shuddering before she continued. “The day that Emily went missing is the day my family moved. We were taking a taxi to the airport and I saw her out the window, a few blocks from where we lived. She was talking to some guy, but I didn’t recognize him. The conversation seemed tense, but they were across the street from where our taxi was so I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to call out to her to say goodbye, but she didn’t hear me. Just before we drove around the corner, I saw him grab her arm and start pulling her, but then I didn’t see anything else. I was so naïve at the time, but I just figured he was a friend and they were having a fight. I should have insisted we go get her. I didn’t know.”

She passed the letter across the table and with gloved fingers, you picked it up, opening carefully. “This is not your fault.” You insisted, looking over at her, her eyes bloodshot already.

“She’s been forced into prostitution,” She remarked softly, pointing at the letter in your hands, “she’s been waiting for the day they trusted her enough to give her a little privacy and she managed to send that letter. It went to my old house, but somehow it got rerouted to my parent’s place. I don’t know how, it was like a miracle. She gives a lot of details about her circumstances, but she also gives some really good information on where she’s located. Please find her.”

“Do you remember what the man looked like? The one who grabbed her?” You asked and she frowned, staring down at the table.

“It’s been almost 11 years, certain details are foggy, but I remember enough to give you a general description.”

“Would you be willing to do that for our sketch artist and write a statement of everything you saw?”

“Of course.”

While Ms. Russo worked with the sketch artist you sat with Yoongi, reading over the letter. All this time, people just assumed she’d run away. She could have been saved from this. You wanted to cry from the frustration; too many people had written her off, just assumed she was a troubled young woman.

You couldn’t even imagine what her life had been like, the sorrow her parents would feel when they found out. To lose two of their three children was already more than they could bare, you were not looking forward to sharing these new details.

You hoped that at least they would feel hope that she could still be recovered. Best case scenario, she could be found and go into recovery with years’ worth of therapy. She was likely addicted to drugs and would need a lot of help.

Sometimes you still wondered why you’d chosen this career path; the depravity of humanity made you feel so angry and empty.

Knowing you can make a difference in people’s lives, though…saving people from situations they can’t get out of themselves. That’s what drove you to keep going. “What are you thinking about?” Yoongi asked softly and you glanced over at him, perched beside you along the side of your desk.

“Emily.” You sighed, folding the letter and sliding it back into its evidence bag. “I wish things could have been better for her. Different.”

He nodded, watching as Ms. Russo directed the artist to tweak something in his drawing. “Life isn’t fair, Y/N.” He sighed, “The only thing we can do is make the moments we have worthwhile.”

You nodded, humming an affirmative as you stared back down at the envelope. “Yeah.”

Later that evening, after Ms. Russo had left and evidence had been sent off to the lab, you stretched, lethargic, in your chair as Yoongi stood from his own, groaning and rubbing at the small of his back.

“I was thinking,” he yawned, “what if I order delivery tonight? We can celebrate with the rest of the wine from yesterday and just relax, enjoy our success.”

“That sounds really nice, actually.” You smiled, standing from your own desk and slinging your bag across your shoulder. It was unreasonably heavy at this time of night, but the idea of warm food you didn’t have to cook called you outside to your car.

The evening was warm and you tugged at the neck of your sweater, a little sweaty after a long day but too tired to mind. The sun had set by now and the world felt still as you made your way towards the car, unlocking the doors and throwing your bag in the back seat.

The wind rushing was your soundtrack as you drove with the windows down. Yoongi had reclined his head, arm out the window and he looked the picture of calm. You wondered if he’d fallen asleep; wondered what his thoughts were about last night, if it was still on his mind like it was yours.

It was easy to brush those thoughts away with the distraction of work, but now in the silence of your car all your questions returned, loud and obnoxious, bouncing around in your brain. He was calm, silent, and aside from asking about your sweater earlier, hadn’t made any mention of anything to do with what happened. You couldn’t help but wonder if you just needed to take a page from his book and relax.

Once you’d made it back to your apartment, you pulled out all the delivery menus for him and told him to get whatever. You needed another rinse off after a long day anyway so you would trust that he knew what to order.

Your bedroom was just as you’d left it; a reminder of the evening you’d spent in Yoongi’s arms. Your clothes from last night were still spattered around the room and you picked them up slowly, dumping them in your hamper. His shirt from yesterday was still draped across the chair by the window and you picked it up, staring at it absentmindedly.

You wondered if you could return it to him without it being weird. You sighed again, dropping it back onto the chair before heading to the shower to rinse off. By the time you were out and dressed in your pajamas, the food had just arrived and your stomach growled eagerly as Yoongi tossed you a pair of chopsticks.

“Chinese takeout?’ You questioned, sitting in the love seat while he dominated the middle of your couch.

“I was craving egg rolls.” He hummed.

You dug in eagerly, groaning happily as you chewed. Yoongi looked up at you with a smile before allowing his eyes to trace the skin of your neck that you’d left bare. You were suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware of just how much of your neck was marked by his mouth.

You hadn’t thought of it when you were dressing, only the doorbell as the food arrived and the growling of your stomach. You shifted awkwardly, taking a big bite of a dumpling and Yoongi looked down at his food, chuckling.

“You don’t have to make it weird, you know?” He commented and you glanced up at him, eyebrows rising. “Don’t stress about it, we can label things or we can just be casual, whatever. I don’t regret last night, though.”

“You don’t?” You whispered and he shook his head, spooning a mouthful of fried rice as distraction.

“Do you?” He queried, looking up at you.

“No. I just didn’t know how you felt about it.” You admitted, pushing some of the food around your plate. You could feel his eyes on you, but you weren’t brave enough to meet them yet. “I don’t regret it, though.”

“Good. Then so far, we’re on the same page.” The two of you allowed silence to lapse for a few moments as you ate, quiet but content. “I started thinking about what your mom said.”

“Huh?”

“Last night, what she said about friendship and love and what not. Felt weird to be talking about that last night in reference to us because it was like all my secrets were suddenly out. I figured that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to say something. If it was really just me feeling this way then at least I’d know where I stood.”

“It’s not just you.” You whispered, smiling shy as you grabbed some chow mein noodles to drop on your plate.

“Come here.” He mumbled, reaching out for you, pulling you into his side, thighs touching and his fingers danced across your waist, tugging you close. “Whatever you want this to be, let’s do that. I’m happy as long as you are.”

Your hip burned where he touched and you picked up a water chestnut, popping it into your mouth and chewing idly. “I’ve always been one for knowing where I stand in a relationship.”

“Like dating?” He asked and you nodded softly. “Then tie me down, baby.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, “you do realize this means my family is going to really start asking when you’re gonna put a baby in me, right?”

Yoongi grinned wolfishly, running the tip of his nose down yours, leaning in for a kiss that took the air right out of your lungs. “We’re gonna need a little more practice before that,” he teased, fingers dancing at the back of your scalp, “gotta make sure I really know how to shoot the shot.”

You laughed, scandalized. “Practice makes perfect.” You agreed, leaning in to kiss him again and he returned the affection eagerly.

“First, I’ve gotta finish these egg rolls though. They’re incredible; definitely pin this take out place to the fridge.”

You laughed, watching him bite into another egg roll, moaning as he chewed. He looked over at you and down at your nearly forgotten plate. “You’d better eat up, baby, you’re gonna need your energy.” He smirked.

“You talk a big game.” You grinned, filling your plate with more food.

“Only because I know I can back it up.”

“I look forward to it.” You winked.

****

I hope you enjoyed and I look forward to hearing from you! <3

#yoongi scenario #yoongi fluff #btsbookclub

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lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr · 4 years

Text

Betrayal

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

Genre: Fantasy, Pirate AU, magic, time travel, romance

Warnings: guns, OC gets shot, mentions of blood

Rating: General

Word Count: 2.5K

Synopsis: Jungkook and Aoi attempt to make peace with Akira but things don’t go quite how they’d planned

Masterlist

Jungkook trailed behind Aoi as they maneuvered their way through the undergrowth. His hand grasped tightly around the hilt of Aoi’s sword which she’d given to him only moments before. The air that day was stiff and hard to breath. It was uncomfortable, just as was the ground beneath his feet. He did not much care for being on land. On the water he was ruler of the seas. Sailors saw his ship’s flag in the distance and they would adjust course simply to avoid an altercation. On land he felt weak, exposed. The worst being the knowledge that he was helpless. No matter how this interaction played out, Jungkook would be rendered helpless without an ounce of magic.

Aoi walked with a steady stride, her head held high despite what she was willingly walking into. Jungkook wasn’t sure how she managed the strength to go through with it. Had their roles been reversed, Jungkook would have been on the seas, sailing as far from the problem as he could.

As they neared the clearing, Aoi released a slow, trembling breath revealing the nerves she’d kept hidden. Jungkook thought about grabbing her hand and running back for the shoreline but he knew better. It had been her decision and he would do as he promised. No matter what happened today, Jungkook would remain by her side.

Akira was there, awaiting them. Dark hair, which was usually kept neatly combed, blew about in the wind, adding to the illusion of madness. Aoi stepped forward bravely, greeting her father with a curt nod.

“You came.”

Aoi pulled her lips into a tight smile. “Did you believe I would not?”

“You must be either very brave, or very stupid.” Akira spat.

Jungkook bit his lip to keep the words from spilling off his tongue. His eyes fell down to the gun, tucked neatly in the man’s belt. He was meant to come unarmed. Jungkook cursed himself for leaving his own pistol back on the ship.

“I am neither.” Aoi’s voice carried no evidence of the fear she truly felt. “I have come simply to speak with my father.”

“So speak.”

Aoi hesitated a moment, lightly tracing her own fingers as she summoned the courage to say what she needed. “I know you do not approve of me or my choices, but I beg you to please find it in your heart to forgive me. For Mother’s sake, let us make amends.”

“Your mother is no longer among the living. I do not care what her feelings may have been. The truth still stands - you have chosen a life of crime and I can not simply excuse that.”

“So you would rather lose your family than see a pirate go free?” Aoi’s voice wavered only a moment. “I have done nothing besides care for the wellbeing of the men on the ship.”

“Those men do not deserve to be treated with such kindness. They are thieves and killers. They are dogs which must be cut down. The one who stands behind you now is the worst of them all. Or perhaps you have forgotten the tales I once told you. Was it not you who once told me it would be by your own hand this scoundrel would be brought to justice?”

“I was young and naive. I allowed your words to persuade me because I wanted to believe they were true. These men, they are my family. When you would have me given away to some heathen, they offered a place among them where I could live in peace. A place I would not have to worry every waking moment over whether I would be handed off to the next suitor who came along. These men have done nothing wrong and I am proud to call myself one of their own.”

Akira raised the pistol, his gaze firmly trained upon Aoi.

Jungkook fidgeted nervously, fighting the urge to step in front of her.

“You will not shoot.” Aoi held her head high, her words dripping with a confidence Jungkook was convinced she was faking. Her hand flexed at her side, searching for the security of her sword which hung limply in Jungkook’s grasp. She’d chosen this path, despite the consequences. Jungkook wasn’t sure he would have been strong enough to do the same.

“Do not test me, Child. You will do as you are told.” The old man’s words grated against Jungkook’s nerves. The way he spoke down on Aoi as if she were a lesser person. The only thing keeping him from striking the Commodore down was the promise he’d made to Aoi before they’d arrived.

“I am not a child. Do not pretend I am so naive. You hold no power over me.”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched as he gripped the hilt of her sword. He did not like the look in this man’s eyes. They were cold, hardened by years of hatred.

“You will come with me or suffer the consequences. There is no place for piracy in this land. Even if it is my own daughter.” Akira spat.

“I truly am sorry.” Aoi kept her head held high but Jungkook could hear the strain in her voice. “I can not return with you. My fate leads me down a different path.” Turning to Jungkook, she silently requested her sword back.

Jungkook obliged with a soft, encouraging smile. She was strong, he knew that better than anyone. Walking away now would mean creating a tear in her family which would not be so easily mended. He knew her heart ached at the very thought but her mind had been made up. She’d chosen a new family with Jungkook and the crew, who were waiting back at the docks to welcome her home with open arms.

A silence far louder than he had ever experienced before settled between them and Akira. Jungkook patiently waited for Aoi to make the first move. He would not leave until she was ready.

Waiting only a moment for a response which would never come, Aoi took the first step that would divide her from her family forever. Jungkook took her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. They were going to be alright. She had a family waiting for her who would love and care for her in a way her real family never did.

The shot of the pistol shattered the suffocating silence. Aoi cried out as she pitched forward. Jungkook’s arms shot out to catch her and she desperately grasped at his shirt. Terror shone through her dark eyes as each breath seemed to become more ragged than the last.

“What have you done?” Jungkook screamed, his own breathing as harsh as Aoi’s.

“I warned against her actions. There shall be no room for pirates in this land.” Despite his words, Akira’s eyes remained on Aoi’s body, as if somewhere deep beneath all the hate, he found himself struggling to accept his own actions.

“So you would shoot your own daughter?”

Blinking slowly, he raised his gaze to rest on Jungkook. The man’s eyes hardened, cut off from emotion once more. Without a word, he spun on his heels, tucking the gun back into his belt. Holding his chin high, he spoke over his shoulder, “She is no daughter of mine. I suggest you leave, Pirate. Or suffer the same fate.”Akira strode away then, never once looking back.

Jungkook lifted Aoi’s body with shaking arms. She’d always been so strong but in that moment, she felt so fragile - as if one wrong move might shatter her entirely. His feet stumbled down the overgrown path back the way they’d come. The old trading routes, long forgotten by the rest of the world, became the place marked by her last stand.

Silent tears cascaded down Aoi’s cheeks as she clung to Jungkook. Her fingers desperately gripped his shirt as if bringing him closer might somehow fix everything. “I do not wish to die.”

“Rest assured, my love. You will not die today.” Jungkook cursed his own lack of magic. Aoi was dying in his arms and there was nothing he could do to help.

“Jungkook!”

“Kook, where are you?”

The sound of his friend’s voices had Jungkook stumbling to a halt. Through gasps of air he called back, “Here- I’m here.”

Jimin pushed through the dense undergrowth, stumbling onto the path looking more than a bit disheveled. Sharp breaths left his lungs and his eyes were wide in fear. Yoongi wasn’t far behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin stumbled over his words, “I know you told us to wait by the ship but then we heard the gunshot and I knew Hoseok still had your gun which meant it couldn’t be you doing the shooting and-“ his eyes landed on the captain and the girl in his arms, “oh kraken.”

Yoongi stepped forward, taking in the sight for himself. “What happened?”

“Akira shot her.”

Yoongi cursed, turning toward the clearing. “I bet he just walked away as if nothing happened too. Someone really needs to go beat some feeling back into that man.”

“Why didn’t he shoot you?” Jimin asked, “no offense, but it doesn’t make sense.”

Jungkook’s face fell as he looked down and noticed Aoi had fallen into unconsciousness. “I wish he had.”

“Don’t start talking like that,” Yoongi scolded, “let’s get her down to the ship. Jimin and Jin fix her up. They’ve treated gun wounds before.”

Jimin shook his head. “Look at her. I doubt she’ll make it to the ship.”

“Then do something now,” Jungkook pleaded, “please, Jimin. Don’t let her die.”

Before Jimin had a chance to respond, Yoongi drew his sword. Turning in a slow, tight circle, he carefully searched the surrounding trees. “Show yourself.”

Jimin’s hand came to rest on the pistol at his side, “Yoongi?”

“Someone’s here. I’m sure of it.”

“You are a keen one, aren’t you?” An elderly woman, seemingly melting from the shadows, stepped out onto the path. “It is no wonder you have found a place among the famous pirate’s crew.”

Jungkook’s arms tightened around Aoi. The woman’s eyes drifted to him as if she could sense the tiny movements. An impish grin stretched her thin white lips.

“I mean you no harm. Gentlemen, do lower your weapons.”

Jimin’s fingers drummed against his belt, eager to draw his pistol. “Who are you?”

“I am but an old beggar who has wandered upon your presence.” Her eyes shone dark - black as night but far more dangerous.

“What is it you wish?” Yoongi took a deliberate step forward, placing himself between the woman and Jungkook.

The woman peered around Yoongi. Her mop of grey hair, which had been precariously tied up on top her head, fell down into her face. “The young lady does seem to be a bit ill. Might I ask what ails her?”

Jimin stood straight, stretching his spine to appear taller as he crossed his arms over his chest, “You may not.”

She turned to Jimin in annoyance, “Perhaps I could help. I am a sorceress. Healing is one of my specialties.”

Throughout his years, Jungkook had come to know of a powerful sorceress. One who was skilled in every known type of magic as well as a few which had never been heard of. Could this be that same sorceress?

Yoongi immediately shot her down with a firm shake of his head but Jungkook stepped around him. “You are the sorceress Rawena?”

“I have been called this along with many other names.”

“Is what they say about you true?”

“My abilities are far greater than you could ever hope to imagine.”

“You would be willing to heal her?”

The woman regarded Aoi, “A wound of this degree will not heal easily. It will require a price.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi warned.

Jungkook brushed him off. Perhaps he could strike a deal with the witch. If it meant returning Aoi to him, he would do anything. “I am willing to pay any price.”

Rawena clapped twice. “Excellent, then we are in agreement. Please, lay the girl down before me.”

Jungkook did as he was told but remained by her side. He was desperate for this woman’s help but that did not mean he trusted her.

Running her hands slowly across Aoi’s body, Rawena clicked her tongue in disappointment. “The girl’s life has all but left her body. If you wish to save her now, elaborate measures must be taken.”

“I don’t like this,” Yoongi said.

Jimin tapped on the handle of his gun, chewing his lower lip, “Maybe Yoongi is right. Let’s just get her back to the ship. Jin can heal her.”

Rawena laughed, “She will not survive long enough to see the ship again. Even if she were, how do you plan to heal a wound this great without a single magic wielder among your lot? I can save her, but it will require a price.”

“Name it,” Jungkook said before the others could interrupt, “I will do whatever it takes. Just please, save her.”

Thin lips stretched into a grin, revealing the crooked set of teeth behind them. “Then we have a deal. I will send the girl to a place where she will no longer suffer. A time set in a future none of you will ever see. It is there she shall be healed. When she is ready, she shall be returned to her own world.”

“And what is it you wish me to do?”

“There is a man who walks among your people yet he does not belong to this world. His gift allows him to move between the spaces of time and he has used this gift in a way that should never have been allowed. I want him stopped.”

“What is the name of this man you send me after?”

“Akira Tanaka.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, “Jungkook, isn’t that the man you and Aoi went to meet just now? The same man that-“ his words trailed off as Jungkook nodded solemnly.

“I had a feeling that man wasn’t who he said he was. I doubt he’s even Aoi’s true father.” Yoongi grumbled.

“That man is no father to anyone,” Rawena scoffed, “he is not even from this world. I do not know who this girl is, but that is a question for another time. For now, we must send her on her way.”

“Wait,” Jungkook reached over, latching onto Rawena’s wrist, “how will she return?”

“That is not of my concern.”

“I will not allow you to send her without assurance she will be safely returned.”

“Perhaps you should be there to ensure her return.”

“Captain?” Jimin’s voice was cautious as he stepped forward.

Rawena narrowed her eyes as she spoke a warning, “Choose carefully, young pirate. In this world or the next, our deal still stands. Akira shall follow you wherever you may find yourself. It is your duty to put a stop to him or the girl will find herself beyond anyone’s help for survival.”

“Jimin,” Jungkook’s eyes never left the sorceress, “you’re in charge until I return. Do not let my ship sink or I’ll skin you myself.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi’s tone held caution, a silent warning which Jungkook brushed off.

“Do what you must,” Jungkook held his head high, “I will return with her and together we shall put an end to Akira.”

Rawena’s grin returned, “Then I wish you both a safe journey.”

#In Another Life - AU #bangtanarmynet #bangtanfairygarden #bangtanscenery #jungkook au #jungkook angst #jungkook fantasy au #jungkook fanfic #bts #bts au fanfic #bts au #bts fanfic #jungkook #jimin #yoongi

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carsontheleft · 4 years

Text

Hot Mess

Summary: Hot Space is a hot mess and John does not want to not talk to Roger anymore. Things get more emotional than any of them bargained for.

Pairing: JohnxRoger (platonic), RogerxDominique (mentioned), JohnxVeronica (mentioned)

Comment: Hey, look, I’m still alive! I started this a while ago and then I spontaneously finished it yesterday and THEN I thought about posting it immediately and then I DIDN’T and now it’s John’s birthday it just fits quite nicely. Happy Birthday, John! Have fun with this, y’all.

John has to forcibly hold himself back from slamming the coffee pot back into its place. No coffee would only worsen the already disastrous day. Week. Month, almost. For the first time, Munich doesn’t seem to be their lucky place.

But maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s because John finally lets himself push for things he wants, that he likes and doesn’t let himself give in just because Brian is pushing for his way.

Brian. The mere thought of the guitarist turns John’s stomach into knots and pushes up his blood pressure. How can a single person be so fucking obnoxious, bull-headed, old-fashioned-

Okay, stop.

John takes a deep breath of stale basement air and decides he needs to breathe real, fresh, cold air without a huge grey, looming building pressing down on him.

Arriving on ground level, he takes one of the back doors leading to a narrow alleyway to escape. The air here smells a bit sweetly of the rotting food in trash cans, but it’s cold and sharp and already saturated with bluish smoke of cigarettes.

Roger is crouching beside John’s feet, leaning against the grey stone, with a pack of Marlboro Reds at his feet. It’s half empty and it’s not even noon.

“It’s not really the right weather for being outside without a jacket, is it?”

It isn’t. November in Munich doesn’t provide conditions to do anything outside. Where Montreux may have gotten the last golden sunrays of the year or the winter’s first snow, Munich is just grey, dreary and dark.

“I don’t see you wearing one”, Roger squints upwards at John having forgotten his sunglasses downstairs.

“Fair enough.”

Neither of them talks when John lights his cigarette.

Normally, that would be unusual. There has hardly ever been a time where John and Roger didn’t talk to each other, may it be because of an argument or because they didn’t have anything to talk about.

But not-talking is the safer choice of interaction nowadays. Not-talking doesn’t pose such a high risk for arguments.

But they’re friends and John wants to talk to Roger, he wants to explain his ideas and visions just like he’s always done it, but he’s not sure Roger would listen. And he just doesn’t understand why, doesn’t get why Roger and Brian are so afraid of some change, when that’s what’s Queen been about all along, a band not succumbing to trends and expectations, a band that always knew to surprise.

“John, I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

John nearly drops his cigarette when Roger’s voice rips him out of his thoughts.

He’s looking at him, and John is suddenly hit by how young Roger appears with his tousled blonde hair and wide blue eyes, that, admittedly, are blood-shot, but that doesn’t take the child-like innocence out of them.

Despite that, John scoffs.

“It’s hardly me who’s at fault here.”

Roger visibly flinches at that, recoils and turns his eyes back to the dirty pavement in front of him.

John’s worked hard to build up the defenses he’s calling his own now, so thick and impenetrable that not even Brian with his jabs and sniping remarks can get through them.

But now Roger’s ripped through them, just like that.

“Rog…”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’ve made your point”, his voice is a little husky, only barely betraying his hurt, “I’m going back inside, see you there.”

And it’s actually this eerie calm, which is so unlike Roger, that John wakes from the stupor he’s worked himself into and makes him realize they really should stop fighting and get to talking instead.

Roger’s quiet for the remainder of day, too. And John’s not the only one who notices, Freddie asks if Rog is alright and earns himself a grumbled “Just want to get out of this shithole”; Brian only grants him an irritated look when Roger doesn’t jump to his defense. Mack, Crystal and the other roadies opt for not saying anything at all, they know better but to get into arguments that cannot be stopped anyway.

It’s when Roger practically flees from the studio after they collectively decide they won’t get much more done and doesn’t stay back to joke around with the others that John decides he has to do something immediately.

He gets some beer, the German stuff isn’t really his taste, but Roger seems to have taken a liking to it, grabs two pizzas from the Italian place Mack did recommend and walks over to Roger’s apartment.

It takes the drummer some time to answer his door, two rounds of insistent knocking and a raised hand to start a third one, only then there’s some shuffling, the clicking of locks and Roger opens the door a fraction.

“Why’re you here?”, his blond hair is sticking up in every direction and he’s wearing a dark fluffy bathrobe. There is a flush to Roger’s cheeks that tells John he either pulled his friend from a bath or was just lucky to catch him coming out of the shower.

“To talk. Not to fight”, John holds up the pizza boxes with the beer stacked on top, “Please, Rog.”

Roger stares at him for a moment and for once John absolutely can’t read the usually so emotional face. Then he heaves out a sigh and opens the door to let John in.

The place is cluttered in a typical Roger-fashion. An overflowing ashtray, papers with what could be lyrics or shopping lists, a part of a drumstick for some reason and a colorful array of take out packaging. John winces, maybe he should’ve brought stuff to cook a fresh meal instead of gifting Roger yet another pre-made supper.

“How’s Dom?”

“She’s good. Took Felix and went to visit her parents, escaping the rain and stuff. You know how she hates it”, he does his best to declutter the couch table, mindlessly stacking pieces of paper on top of each other without looking at them or at John, for that matter.

“How are Ronnie and the kids?”

“They’re good, Ron wants to come down next week, but we’ll have to see if it works with Robert and the school. I miss them.”

Now Roger looks at him, but it’s not the look of disdain and almost disgust he wore when John presented them the lyrics of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and he threw a fit over ‘I’m happy at home’. This one is one of understanding and compassion.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s have a taste of that beer you brought, yeah?”

They mostly eat in silence, only interrupted by the quiet murmuring of the TV and one of them occasionally commenting on the food or the beer. When John’s done with his food Roger is intently watching the 10 pm news. He’s not sure the drummer understands much of it, but John is willing to indulge him a while longer. It’s not like he’s looking forward to this heart-to-heart, but he knows it’s necessary and they’ll feel better once they’re done. John only wishes he could fast forward everything in between now and then.

“We need to talk about this”, John starts eventually when the pretty blonde woman on the TV is done with telling them that the next days will be just as dreary as today.

“And what exactly does ‘this’ entail?”

Roger is already in full on confrontation mood, and John has to force himself to stay calm. It’s Roger, he tells himself, no matter that it was actually him who put up the white flag this morning, he still doesn’t like to be cornered.

“Us not working like we used to. The constant fighting and discussions and nothing coming out of it. You constantly siding with Brian without listening to a word I say!”

Oh shit, he really could’ve worded that better.

“Me not listening? I AM listening, other than Brian and you! I’m listening to both your opinions and then I decide!”

“And it’s always in favor of Brian!”

“Well, if we share an opinion, then yes!”

“But why? Why are you so intent on keeping everything as it is?”, they’ve gotten louder and John really, really doesn’t want this to evolve into another shouting match, but he might not be strong enough to reign himself in.

But, much to John’s surprise, Roger sighs and slumps back against the couch rubbing his eyes.

“Because it works! We’re doing this how long now? 10 years? People know us, they expect our product to meet a certain standard, an expectation.”

“Our- our product? A certain standard? Roger, what are you talking about? Isn’t our music about how we feel? What we think? It’s not supposed to be some commercial bullshit”, John is seriously flabbergasted. Not in a million years he would have thought Roger would start to view their work as a ‘job’ only consisting of deadlines and expectations and goal fulfilment.

He scoots over to the other end of the couch where Roger is sitting and bumps their knees together.

“What brought this on, Rog? What’s going on?”

“It’s just…”, the drummer shrugs, rubs his eyes again and then starts to knead the shoulder muscles that John knows are always a bit tense, always a bit sore.

“We’ve been doing this 10 years, John, ten years! How many bands have made it farther than that? Who says it won’t just all fall apart next month? We can’t just start making different music now!”

“We’ve been always aware of that possibility. There was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, but now we’ve got number one hits in America! We’re an established name!”

It feels a bit weird to take on the motivational part, the part of convincing the others that they have actually made it. Usually, it’s Roger who does that.

“Yeah, but…”, Roger blows out a breath, “Don’t you feel like- like you were 27 just yesterday, snorting all the coke in New Orleans without a care in the world and now, now there’s a child and- and a-“

“A woman you might as well just marry”, John tightly presses his lips together to not let the laughter escape. So, that’s what all this is about, Roger just realized he’s actually a grown-up now and he doesn’t feel too comfortable about it.

“It’s not that!”, Roger argues, “What difference does a bloody certificate make?! I have a family now; I have to provide!”

John sucks in his cheeks to keep himself from grinning. He gets it, he does, Roger’s worries are understandable, and he doesn’t want to ridicule his friend, but from John’s position his worries are a bit ridiculous, when they’re in far better position now than when John first became a father.

“Dom has a job, too, you know?”, John teases, fully intending to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect.

“That’s- Stop making fun of me!”, Roger jumps up from the sofa and hovers over John, fists clenching at his side as if he has to keep them from either punching something or someone or from thrashing his apartment.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that’s the only thing I’m good for! The dumb blonde, that crazy drummer guy, let’s make fun of him, he deserves it! He’s no good for anything anyway, can’t manage to write a good song, and we don’t even need him for drumming anymore!”

Oh. Oh.

So that’s where all this moodiness is coming from.

Roger rarely shares his feeling so honestly, usually none of them does if there are not copious amounts of alcohol and or other substances involved, but Roger especially likes to keep everything bottled up, until it implodes. And that leaves either a destroyed room or drumkit, or Roger in front of a toilet puking his guts out and avoiding just about everyone for a few days after until he’s okay with himself again.

So, to say the least, this emotional outbreak with feelings actually being articulated is uncharted territory for John. And for Roger too, who’s staring at John like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Rog-“

“Forget it!”

He stalks away, fluffy bathrobe and naked feet, and slams his bedroom door shut.

John sighs and settles back into the sofa. He came to talk and he’ll get his talk, even if he has to stay the night. With Roger, that might just be the case.

Well. At least the apartment has a second bathroom.

John wakes a couple of hours later, around 3 am. It’s a weird feeling, usually they’d still be out and drinking, but it’s probably not the worst thing to get a whole 8 hours of sleep at what is actually night.

A sharp gust of icy cold air wafts through the room and John finds that it was that what woke him in the first place with the flimsy throw he used as a blanket not providing adequate cover.

The apartment is mostly dark save for the lights of the city streaming in through the window and John can see through the door gap into the hall and that Roger’s bedroom door is open again.

He finds him in the kitchen, standing in front of the open window smoking.

“You’re still here”, he notes when John steps up beside him.

“I wanted a talk, an honest conversation. I won’t leave until I get one.”

“Took a note out of Freddie’s book then, huh?”

“Freddie?”, John scoffs, “Try your own.”

Roger turns to him, mouth open and already gesturing with the softly glowing cigarette. “I’m not-“

“Ridge Farm?”

That takes his drive. He turns back to the view, deeply inhaling the burning smoke. John takes one out of Roger’s packet. He doesn’t really like the brand, but it’s better than nothing.

“You taped my drums, John”, Roger eventually says.

“Are you still mad about this? I’m sorry and I promise not to touch the kit again without you knowing.”

“It’s not that- well, that too, but-“, Roger takes a deep breath, steeling himself, “You tape my drums and there’s nothing I can do that a drum machine isn’t able to. Hell, I’m not even the best drummer without them taped, my technique is weird, if you can even call it that, there are guys who are a lot better than me and understand this disco thing you’re prattling on about.”

“It’s not like Brian-“

“He’s trying, okay? He’s trying to get into that kind of music, he’s not sprinkling guitar solos all over the songs like you’d do it with coke on a hooker because he wants to annoy you! Well, not primarily anyway, but he’s trying to make his contribution to what you’re doing! He wants to have part in this and I, I just don’t see it, I’m sorry.”

Roger flips the butt of his smoke out of the window and rubs his eyes.

“But we can’t just stop! We can’t just stop at The Game and that’s it! We need something new, start fresh like we’ve done it with each album.”

John finishes his cigarette as well but makes a show of putting it out in the ashtray.

“I know that, Deaks, I do! I really don’t want to become the guy that needs to be dragged off stage because the people got tired of him playing the same things over and over and over again! But I just can’t do this disco thing.”

John understands this. You can’t force yourself to produce music you just don’t feel. This is like Fred and his love for opera and musical theater, something John will never get the hang of, no matter how often he’ll take Ronnie to the ballet. And while Roger does like a more electric style of music, he’s not really known for setting the dancefloor on fire. Maybe the women on it but not the dancefloor itself.

“I know you and Freddie don’t need me to realize your vision, this album but I- I can’t lose Queen, John, I can’t. It’s everything.”

Roger’s almost too quiet for John to understand resting against the kitchen counter in the dark, half of his face illuminated by Munich’s night life in a loose shirt and a pair of boxers.

And John thinks, this is it. This is what all this is about.

Because John started to play with those guys he now calls his brothers as a hobby, as a distraction and creative outlet opposite his studies. He had never envisioned to become a famous musician; this never had been a goal for him. So he had sat back and let Freddie, Brian and Roger work on the music, on the band, had let them work on their dream.

And then he had turned 30 and for the first time John had thought that this might be what he’d do the rest of his life. And he decided to give it his everything all, to make a monument for himself, to really give his very best.

And for Roger it had always been like that. There never had been a second option, a plan B, go big or go home. John’s pretty sure even if they hadn’t made it, Roger still would still be a musician. If not in Genesis then in some local band or a studio musician, but he never, ever would have gone to work in some lab or, even worse, in a dentist’s office.

“What are you talking about? You won’t lose Queen! Never! We’d lose all our female fans if we kicked you out!”

“Great to hear that that’d be the greatest loss”, Roger grumbles and turns away but John catches his wrist.

“You won’t lose us. We need you. Who’d be there to back up Fred when his voice is shot? Who’d argue with Brian just to draw him out of his funks? And heaven knows, not Brian nor me can keep up with Freddie.”

“Like I can these days.”

And there’s the other worry hanging in the air around them, Freddie leaving them behind more often than not, being more elusive than he’s ever been. But that’s a worry for another night, right now this is about the two of them, the Sonic fucking Volcano.

“Come on”, John tugs on Roger’s wrist, “Get over here.”

“Deaks, no, I don’t-“

John tugs a little harder and then Roger’s body is pressed flush against his.

“Like you ever say no to a good hug.”

“I hate you”, the drummer mumbles against John’s shoulder and heaves out a mighty sigh relaxing into the embrace.

“I’m sure you do.”

They rest like that for a few minutes, which is not really a thing they’d normally do, but they’re both tired and miss their partners. It’s okay.

“Y’know”, Roger says as he detangles himself, “I’m not sure Queen would lose all its lady fans if I left. Not with you looking like some kind of… Greek God.”

He wrinkles his nose and pokes John into his right pec.

“It’s called exercise, Rog, you could try it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t exercise daily on those bloody drums. Also, Dom likes it. She calls me soft and cuddly.”

He sticks out his chest.

“Wow, look at that, Roger Taylor is proud of being called soft, what a turn of events!”

“Well, at least I don’t look like handlebar with an exploded mop on top.”

“Handlebar? I seem to recall you calling me a Greek god not 30 seconds ago!”

“Yeah, and I regret it already. Just wait until I throw you out of the band!”

#dealor #roger taylor #john deacon #queen #fic #hot space #hurt/comfort #banter

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aquariusrunes · 5 years

Text

The Superfriends AU (part 9)

The flashes were blinding and the large lights heated the room like a sauna. His palms were moist with sweat as he reached up and pulled at his collar. Colin had not been this nervous this morning. And Damian of course, said he had nothing to be nervous about when he had started to feel anxious. But he did. He’d obviously been too tired to properly panic when Violet dropped off the outfit he was currently wearing, this morning.

It had started when he unzipped the black garment bag. The intricate details embroidered on the expensive fabric immediately caught his eye and sent up the most alarming red flags. He’d never worn anything so expensive. Not even the suits Mr. Wayne had gotten tailored to his form for the handful of galas Damian had taken him to, cost as much as his current outfit.

The next anxiety laced arrow to hit him was when Damian had pointed out that Colin and Edna had yet to hold a real conversation. Their interactions with one another had completely ceased after his boyfriend’s introductions were finished.

And then there was Edna’s ability to influence Damian. She was one of the few members of his family he let himself be pushed around by. He willingly did her bidding as well as valued her opinion. And Colin had thought making sure Marinette had a good opinion of him was important, only to find out that Edna’s had more weight.

Now he stood sandwiched between the small woman who essentially invented fashion and one of the richest men in the world. Bruce had pated Colin on the shoulder when he first walked up to the two, a silent reassurance to the obviously panicked boy. The intimidating man now stood straight, shoulders squared with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were not on his son, who was currently up on a platform surrounded by fake trees, instead his dark eyes had a strange shadow cast over them, reminding Colin of the man’s alter ego. He was carefully surveying the room, analyzing everyone who fell under his intense gaze.

On Colin’s right stood his boyfriend’s great aunt, her stance near identical to her nephew's. Her eyes were trained on Damian, unlike the boy’s father whose gaze was roaming the room. However, her glare was no less intimidating or fear inducing. Though, Colin couldn’t exactly blame the woman for her current enraged expression.

His eyes went back to his boyfriend, Damian was dressed in a top that resembled a toga, the one strap tank consisting of billowy semi-sheer fabric, tucked into slim dark grey pants, that Edna had whispered to him were a cigarette style. He also wore a well fitted silver blazer, the material of which was lighter than the pants. His face covered in metallic silver and soft brown makeup, he was too far to really see the details the makeup artist had done, but he could see an intricately drawn crescent moon done in silver eyeliner on Damian’s right cheek, as well as the matte midnight blue lipstick.

His hair had been wetted and dried a number of times before it was curled to Edna’s satisfaction. Now every time there was a pause in the camera’s flashes, a tall blonde woman would step up onto the platform and use a spray bottle to dampen Damian’s hair and then restyle it. Every time she tried to touch him though, he would aggressively react both physically and verbally. Colin had picked up on a few older female oriented insults, his boyfriend had a knack for talking like he just time traveled from Victorian London. The darker skinned boy eventually resorted to batting the bottle out of the woman’s grip as well as slapping her hands away.

Beyond the problems he was having with the stylist, Damian was also getting difficult with the photographer. Not necessarily on purpose, but Edna was still less than pleased.

Damian was a very handsome boy, not exactly what one would consider classically handsome, but his features were undeniably attractive. His naturally neutral expression was extremely attractive, and gave off an air of aloofness and mystery that most girls their age found irresistible. But very few people were aware of just how stunning the boy’s smile could be. Not the fake polite one he showed interviewers or those he couldn't be bothered with but had to interact with often enough to the point that forced him to be courteous. His real smile was absolutely breathtaking.

The photographer had been trying to get that breathtaking expression for about ten minutes. Colin could see how the man was grating on his boyfriend's nerves. Edna and the photographer were becoming increasingly frustrated as well, which was totally understandable in the redhead's mind. But he was sure that if either of them snapped at Damian the boy would storm out in a frustrated huff.

Poor Angel, he really was trying. He just had difficulty relaxing to the point where his natural smile could be displayed. He carried far too much tension around for sixteen year old, even with all his extracurriculars.

Colin watched the blonde woman fight against Damian once again, his bangs had fallen into his eyes and she needed to correct them. His boyfriend’s palm raised, slapping the purple spray bottle out of her hand, it bounced off the platform and rolled towards Colin, Edna, and Mr. Wayne.

It caused Bruce to let a low chuckle break from his lips, which took Colin far too much by surprise. He’d actually forgotten that his boyfriend’s father had been standing there. The wealthy man looked down at his Aunt’s unamused expression. “I did warn you about working with him.”

“Yes.” She grumbled. “Forgive me for having faith that a sixteen year old could stand not to act like a child for thirty minutes or so.” Her arms crossed tightly over her body. “Honestly, why are your boys always so difficult?”

“They aren’t difficult,” Bruce defended. “Just...different.”

Edna rolled her eyes at the man.

“Different, sure.” She huffed. “Luckily, I planned for Damian’s ‘differentness’ and have a solution at the ready.”

Bruce cocked his eyebrow, giving his aunt a questioning look. She smiled up at him before her gaze lowered to Colin, the boy’s face coated in just as much confusion as Bruce’s. “Colin dahling.” The woman walked forwards several steps, leaning down and picking up the purple bottle. “Come here please.” She motioned at him with a curl of her fingers and he was quick to follow her, doing as told like a little soldier.

“Yes ms-” He stopped himself. “Edna.” He finally said.

She smiled, patting his hand. “Colin could you be a dear and go help Damian with his hair?” The ginger tilted his head, looking back at the blonde woman as she stomped off the platform. Another series of flashes fired, as Damian positioned himself in whatever way the photographer told him to.

“His hair?” Colin asked. “I think it looks fine.” Truthfully he did. He wished Damian would wear it curly more often, but knew how unprofessional his boyfriend felt when he did.

“Could you just go push his bangs back and use the spray bottle to help his hair curl a little more. Please dahling, it would be a big help.” Edna held the bottle out to Colin.

“Um…” Colin looked back at Damian as another flash went off. “I guess?” He questioned. “Right now?”

His hands slowly took the purple bottle. “No no, in just a moment, when I walk over to look at the shots we have so far.”

“Yes ma’am.” Colin turned from the woman, facing Damian’s platform. His perplexed look melting away and being replaced with a smile as he saw Damian push his own bangs back, only for them to fall back into his eyes without the assistance of his ever precious hair gel.

He only had to wait a moment before Edna patted him on the shoulder before swaggering over to the photographer. Colin was quick to hop up onto the platform and over to his boyfriend, who looked less than pleased. His face was set in a scowl and his arms were tightly crossed. The closer Colin got though the more of the makeup he could make out. Damian’s eyes were traced in metallic off white eyeliner, the shade only varying slightly from the moon drawn on his cheek, and a range of soft browns were used for his eyeshadow. The color pellet suited him extremely well.

“You know,” He began, getting Damian’s attention. “You’re making this way more difficult than it has to be.”

Damian didn’t respond, he just rolled his eyes, directing his gaze elsewhere.

“It’d all go a lot quicker if you cooperated. It’d also be less painful too.” Once Colin was properly in front of his boyfriend he took note of the glitter highlighting his cheekbones, as well as a chain earrings that had been hooked onto his right ear, and a thick silver choker that resembled something out of the greek myths themselves around Damian’s neck.

Damian gave Colin a rather dry unamused look. “If that woman would stop touching me, everyone would be in less pain.”

“Dames,” Colin breathed. “She’s a stylist, it’s literally her job to touch you.” He rested his free hand on his hip. “She is getting paid to come up here and make sure that you continually look perfect throughout this shoot.”

The boy only huffed turning his head away once again.

“Your aunt is getting a little frustrated with you as well.” Colin’s gaze drifted across the room towards the woman. She was sitting in front of a computer with the tall balding photographer, neither seemed happy with the shots they had so far. Edna’s eyes slowly traveled up, locking onto Colin’s. It nearly gave him a heart attack.

He turned his attention back to his boyfriend. “I’m gonna spray you with this,” He held up the bottle. “And mess with your hair.” Damian’s eyebrow quirked up. “If you slap my hand, I will punch you in the face.”

Damian’s shoulders visibly tensed when the mist fell over him, but he relaxed once Colin moved to brush his bangs back. While a little less tense, the boy still stood incredibly still, almost like a statue. Colin’s hands moved quickly, doing his best to mimic how the first hair stylist had shaped Damian’s hair before the shoot had started. It didn’t look perfect but it looked better than it did when his bangs were hanging in his face. In fact, once Colin was done it started looking more messy, resembling the boy’s rare bedhead after a sleepless night. But it looked good, at least in Colin’s opinion.

He couldn’t stop his laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He snickered, running his fingers through Damian’s curls, repositioning them. “You should really consider wearing it curly more often.” He whispered.

“Absolutely not.” Damian was quick to refuse, but couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from quirking up. “Why are you up here anyway?” He asked.

Colin smirked as he continued his work. “Board of me already babe?”

Damian rolled his eyes, gaze dropped to the ground as he willed his blush to fade. He wasn’t great with nicknames, not when Colin used them. Shortenings of his name was fine, but it always got to him when more traditional pet names were used by his boyfriend. “No.” He muttered. “Just curious, after all Edna was rather clear about you and Jon not interfering while I work.”

“Your aunt asked me to come fix your hair.” Colin shrugged. “Probably because she knew you wouldn’t be near as cranky with me.”

“I am not being cranky.” The boy bit back, earning an unamused look from his freckled boyfriend.

“Dames.”

“I don’t like people touching me Colin, she knew this when she asked me to be her model.” Colin rolled his eyes, hands moving out of his boyfriend’s hair.

“Yeah, but you're also very mature for your age and should be able to suck it up for thirty minutes or so.” Colin crossed his arms. “Seriously Dames, this isn’t like a crowd of Wayne Ward Fangirls trying to grope you on the street. That woman is trying to do her job and by you being cranky, it’s making everything run very inefficient.”

“Are you implying I’m a bad model?”

“Course not.” The redhead sighed. “I’m implying that you’re acting like a child and it’s not cute.” He gave a small smile. “But other than your attitude, you’re doing a very good job.” Colin leaned forward and peck Damian’s cheek, the one not coated in eyeliner. “Just smile a little more.”

Colin turned, hopping off the platform, and turning back to watch once he was far enough to not be in the shot. He flashed the mixed race boy a blinding smile once he was out of the way and gave him a thumbs up. Damian returned the gesture with a soft smile, not noticing the flashes of the camera as he watched his boyfriend who, after a few minutes, started to make utterly ridiculous faces.

Edna and Bruce watched from their previous spot. Positions the same, backs straight, shoulders square, hands clasped behind them. Edna’s face cracked into a self satisfied smirk. Bruce’s eyes watching the scene before him critically.

“So that’s why Colin’s here.” He finally said.

“Fail safes are important dahling.��

“What would you have done if Damian hadn’t brought him along?”

“Please,” Edna looked up at her nephew. “Who do you think gave him the idea to invite the boy?”

…

Marinette watched her cousin and his boyfriend retreat down the hallway, Colin’s arms wound around one of Damian’s. The boy had mentioned in the elevator that he needed to go feed Titus and would be down in the cafeteria once he was finished. Colin quickly volunteered to go with him. Marinette assumed it was because of how moody Damian had gotten towards the end of the photoshoot. She could practically see the negative energy radiating off the boy. Jon and Chloé, who had also been in the elevator went straight to the Mode cafeteria. Marinette and Adrien had gotten off on the floor with all of their rooms like Colin and Damian. Marinette making the excuse that she needed to call her mom and Adrien saying he forgot something in his room.

Once she saw her cousin’s form round the corner of the hall she turned back around to look and see if Adrien had gone into his room yet or not. The door with a large number seven on it was firmly close, the blonde nowhere in sight. She turned back to her own door, took in a large breath to steal her nerves, then turned the knob and walked into the suite.

The room was large with a queen sized bed against a wall of floor to ceiling windows, the sheer black curtains were drawn currently. There was a fireplace in her room on the opposite wall, the one that her door was on. It was an electrical insert and so didn’t require a chimney. There was a flat screen tv above it and two red chairs in front of it. A silver rack was against the mainly empty wall, holding her mass of black garment bags. The west wall was mainly taken up by a large dresser vanity combo, which her accessory trunk was currently in front of.

Her room had been mostly left undisturbed since she first arrived, save for the bed, which she had messily made that morning. Mostly everything in the room was well organized, especially her garments and accessories to make things a little less stressful for her during the hectic week.

The large white comforter of her bed was wrinkled and had been pulled towards the center of the mattress, creating something that resembled a nest. In front of the mass of blankets, propped up on a couple of pillows was her tablet. Her nerves were on fire, but she still managed a smile when the head of her kawami popped up from behind the piece of technology. The small creature was quick to pause whatever video she had been watching, most likely a telenovela she had found on one of the streaming services Marinette’s family subscribed too. The girl had discovered relatively soon after becoming the wielder of the ladybug miraculous that the creature had a bit of an addiction to the television genre.

“Marinette!” Tikki beamed, flying up to her holder. “How is the photoshoot going?”

“Well…” Her smile tightened. “Well.” She reiterated. “I think it’s going well. Aunt E is unbelievably specific.” Marinette’s hands clutched the fabric of her sweatpants before releasing it, she repeated this process a few times. “She made some intern repaint a handful of leaves on a fake tree because it wasn't mossy enough. She also made a girl cry this morning, sooo we’ve been off to an interesting start.”

“Did you have to take your earrings off?” The tiny god asked, eyes large, searching her wielder’s face. She didn’t sound angry, necessarily, but Marinette knew she would be if she lied.

The bluenette bit down on her lower lip, gaze fluttering down to the floor. “Yes.” She said, voice laced with a heavy sigh. “But only for thirty minutes or so.”

“Marinette...” The kawami sighed.

“Edna was insistent I wear her earrings!” The girl quickly defended. “I tried Tikki, I really did but she was so-so...insistent.”

The small god stared at her obviously anxious choice. “That was very dangerous Marinette.” Her voice was still very gentle in nature.

“I know.” Marinette kept her eyes on her feet. “And I’m sorry, really sorry.”

Tikki was quiet for a long moment before letting out a large breath, flying a little closer to the girl. “You’ll have to have them off again for the rest of the shoot, won’t you?”

“Again, I am so sorry.”

“Marinette, having the earrings off is very dangerous.” Tikki reiterated. “Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Of course I do.” Marinette scrunched her hands into her sweatpants again. “But I did think up a plan!” She added quickly. “Since I have to take them off again, I’m going to hide them here in my room. That way you can watch over them and they aren’t floating around in a room full of strangers.”

Tikki floated back down onto the bed. “I suppose that would be the best option. Do you know where you’ll hi-” A very solid knock came from her door, just two taps, but Marinette already knew who would be behind it. She walked to the door, then turned about to tell Tikki she wouldn’t need to hide, but the god had already vanished.

She opened the door, revealing one Adrien Agreste, a sheepish smile on his face. “Is yours half as mad as mine?” He asked as Marinette stepped aside, letting him into the room before shutting the door behind him.

“I’d say more disappointed, but I haven’t told her everything yet.”

Adrien winced at her words. “I can come back later once you have.” He offered, to which Marinette gave him a look.

“Definitely not.”

“Damn.”

“What happened to pretending it didn’t happen?” Suddenly Tikki was floating in the middle of the room again. “Acting like you didn’t know?! Not discussing it directly!?” The Kawami huffed. “Marinette there are only so many loopholes we can go through before you blatantly just break the rules!”

“I’m sorry!” Marinette whined. “But I didn’t know what to do!” She took several steps forward. “Edna made me take off my earrings and I had to give them to someone! I couldn’t just set them down somewhere and risk them getting stolen or falling on the floor or something! And yes, Edna offered to hold them or suggested I let Uncle Bruce do it but, full disclosure I don’t know if I trust either of them with a miraculous. Like Uncle Bruce is very curious and I just couldn’t risk it!” Both Adrien and Tikki were becoming mildly concerned with how red the girl was getting, her speech increasing in speed with every shade her face deepened in color. “And Edna well I just don’t think I could ever in good conscience hand the earrings over to her! I mean yes she knows but she doesn’t understand. And in the moment, I mean you have to agree that under those circumstances Adrien was the best option since we weren’t taking photos together. But we’ll have to after lunch so I told him I had a plan and so I’m going to hide our mirac-”

“PIGTAILS!” Marinette physically jumped back, colliding with the dresser. A small black cat like creature floating before her. “Take a breath girl.” He said. “Seriously, you’re going to pass out.” The creature turned his head towards Tikki. “Does she do this a lot?”

“It’s not a common occurrence, but it isn’t necessarily uncommon.” The red god replied.

“Good grief.” The black creature mumbled. “Look Pigtails, we aren’t mad. Under the circumstances, you did the best you could. Sometimes unpredictable stuff like this happens. I’m honestly surprised the kid’s pops hasn’t made him take the ring off during a photoshoot yet.”

“Marinette,” Adrien finally spoke. “You remember Plagg, right?”

The girl’s eyes were still wide, her heart rate still slowing form the shock that had just pulsed through her body. “Y-yeah. I remember him.”

“The two of you being aware of one another’s identities and interacting with each others miraculouses as civilians, it complicates things and if the past is anything to go by, makes things exceedingly more difficult. It’s why we find it better to keep personal things a secret. But I’m sure the guardian's already talked you through all of this stuff.”

Marinette nodded her head, taking a step forward.

“But,” Plagg let a breath out. “This is where we are now. And what’s most important is that the miraculouses are safe while the two of you can’t wear them. So, where’s this genius hiding spot of yours?”

“I-I’ll get it.” She mumbled, quickly darting across the room to where her portable sewing kit was.

Adrien and Tikki both kept their eyes locked on Plagg.

“That was surprisingly very insightful Plagg.” Tikki said, flying up to her partner.

“I can be smart!” He retorted. “I understand the importance of our miraculouses! I don’t just think about Cheese.”

“You just mainly think about it.” Adrien responded, pulling the tin of camembert out of his pocket and setting it down on the dresser.

“Well yeah.”

“Okay.” The three’s attention was directed towards Marinette as she sat down on the end of her bed, setting her now open sewing kit in her lap. Held tightly in her hands was a handmade Chat Noir doll.

“What is that?” Plagg asked.

“This,” Marinette held it up. “Is what I’m going to hide the miraculouses in.” She smiled, grabbing the small scissors out of her portable kit she flipped the doll on it’s side, looking for the seam before moving to cut it open.

“I-” Adrien’s head tilted. “I’m so confus-is that the doll Manon stole when she got akumatized?”

Marinette looked up at him, the doll’s side already open. “Yeah.” She blinked before digger her fingers into the doll to pull out some of the stuffing. “I didn’t really know what to do with them afterwards. I couldn’t just throw them away, so I put them all in a trunk. I let her play with them whenever I babysit. Well, Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t live in the trunk. They’re usually either on my desk or the shelf above my bed.”

Plagg had flown over and was now hovering above Marinette’s shoulder, Tikki sitting on her other one. “You’re going to put them inside of it?” The small black creature asked.

“Yup.”

“I have never seen either of those dolls in your room.” Adrien said, sitting down on the arm of one of the red chairs.

“That’s because I hide them when you come over.” She glanced up at him. “Last thing I needed was a nosy kitty teasing me about my dolls.”

“I am not nosy.”

“Adrien whenever Chat Noir is in my room about seventy-five percent of what he does is rummaged through my things.” She shot him a pointed look.

“I’m curious.”

“Your nosy.” The girl set the doll down in her lap on top of her sewing kit, she then reached up and carefully pulled out her earrings. She let out a sigh, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders as she slipped the jewelry inside the doll.

She then looked up at Adrien expectantly.

He stared at her for a long moment with blank eyes, blinking rapidly before finally asking. “Why’d you bring the Chat doll with you?”

Marinette’s cheeks tinted pink as she looked back down at the doll, she put some of the stuffing back in, that way the two miraculouses would be seperated. “I have my reasons.” She whispered.

“Sometimes when she’s trying to think things out she’ll talk to it.” Tikki supplied from Marinette’s shoulder. “The whole identity thing has been on her mind a lot lately so she’s been talking to him quite a bit.”

Marinette’s face grew more red as Plagg laughed. “That’s hilarious!” The creature cackled. “This one just confesses his undying love to the poster he has on the backside of his closet door.”

“Okay!” Adrien stood quickly, slipping his ring off his finger and placing it in Marinette’s waiting palm. “Let’s just hurry up and go get lunch.” He turned away from her quickly, trying to hide his own blush behind his hand.

Marinette silently slipped it into the doll, then replaced the rest of the stuffing. She was quick to thread a needle with some black thread then set to work repairing the doll.

Both Kawami’s watched the girl closely. “This is actually a pretty sound idea pigtails.” Plagg muttered. “Unless of course someone obsessed with dolls get akumatized. But Hawkmoth should be out of range so, we should be fine.”

Marinette hummed in agreement as she finished her stitch. “Good as new.” She whispered, twisting to set the doll in the middle of the small nest Tikki had made.

“Should we be worried that there aren’t any heroes in Paris right now?” The god of creation asked, unknowingly inciting panic in her chosen.

“Oh my god.” Marinette’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t have a lot of time before I left,” Adrien turned. “But I was able to get a message to Master Fu with Plagg’s help. So he knows we’re both gone.” Adrien stuck his hands into his pockets.

“If there’s trouble, then he’ll probably just call on one of the random holders you’ve been using every now and again.” Plagg added. “But I doubt Hawkmoth will try anything, and if he did, he'd probably call the akuma back once you two didn’t show.”

“That’s true.” Tikki whispered. “Not much use terrorizing Paris when the objects your after aren’t even there. Still though, now that you two are aware of one another’s identities, I implore you to avoid being out of the city at the same time in the future. Just in case.”

“Well it’s not like I planned on leaving.” Adrien said. “I found out like barely an hour before I boarded the plane to come here.”

“Just a tip for the future.” Tikki added.

“Are we watching Yo soy Betty, la fea?” The three looked back at the nest where Plagg had obviously made himself comfortable. “I love that show!” He looked up at Tikki excitedly. “Where are we right now?” He asked.

The Kawami sighed. “He’s staying here then?” She asked, looking between the two humans.

“We figured you’d both want to stay close to your miraculouses.” Marinette explained.

“And we also thought that since you two hadn't seen one another in awhile, you’d want to hang out and catch up.” He smiled sheepishly. “Do you mind?”

Tikki let out a small huff and rolled her eyes at the excited kitten rolling around in her nest. “I suppose not.” She slowly flew down and situated herself next to him. “But no cheese in my nest.”

“Ahh! Tikki! That’s not fair!”

…

It was so strange. Chloé Bourgeois, one of the most difficult and least liked people on the planet, a self given title, had only made two friends throughout her entire life. The first was Adrien, the two had known one another practically since they were in the womb. Literally. Emilie was pregnant on her wedding day, not that anyone save for maybe four people alive knew that, and Chloé was conceived after the reception. They’d always been pushed together, the girl’s mother lobbying hard for a relationship to bloom between the two. But Adrien was her oldest and dearest friend.

Sabrina was her second friend. She’d met her when she was ten. Chloé had made a girl at the park cry. The way Sabrina stared at her, eyes wide, drinking in the scene and raw emotions of anger and sadness radiating off the other two was one of the creepiest things Chloé has ever seen. So of course, she had yelled at Sabrina, she didn’t like the way she was being ogled at. The next day Sabrina had transferred into Chloé’s class. The ginger latched onto her, becoming a constant companion. Until Chloé tried to be better, then Sabrina moved on to Lila.

Yet, in under twenty-four hours Jon Kent had proclaimed himself her new best friend. She’d opened up to him more than anyone else she’d ever known, even her therapist of three years didn’t know as much about Chloé as this random boy from Kansas now did. And everytime she said something bad about herself he would correct her. Everytime she said something bad about someone else, he forced her to list three things she liked about them. She’d never known anyone like him. The strange spell he had over her was so confusing. She honestly had no idea how they had gotten here in such a short period of time. But she didn’t hate it.

She sat across from him at one of the circular tables in the Mode cafeteria, now dressed in her sweats with her hair up in a clip. The metallic makeup still decorating her face. Her lipstick stained the rim of the white mug she sipped her coffee from as she watched the boy across from her animatedly rant.

“Seriously though!” Jon banged his fist against the table, making both of their trays of food shake. He had been ranting about flannel the whole time they’d been in line. At this point, Chloé didn’t think anything was going to get him to stop.

“Plenty of high end designers resent the material, it’s got a stench of the midwest and middle class reeking off of it.” She sat her cup down. “My mother finds it personally offensive. She’d probably disown me if she ever saw me in it.”

Jon stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and blank before he finally spoke. “I’m going to buy you so much flanel, what’s your favourite colors?”

“Gold, yellow, baby blue, and duke blue.” She crossed her arms. “Please God, don’t buy me anything. Especially flanel.”

“I’m gonna get you a yellow and blue one.” Chloé let out a large groan as the Kansan beamed at her.

“Hey Chlo.” She looked up, making eye contact with one Adrien Agreste. His smile radiating that pure sunshine he was famous for. “Hi Jon.”

“Hey Adrien.” Jon smiled back, sticking a spoonful of chocolate pudding in his mouth.

“Mind if we join you?” Chloé’s eyes immediately flicked behind the blonde where Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood, partially hidden behind the tall model, tray in her hand.

“Course not!” Jon chimed after a thick swallow. “Got a big table because I figured all six of us would want to sit together.” Adrien walked around the table to sit between Chloé and Jon, while Marinette sat between the two on the other side.

Chloé quickly noted the lack of earrings on her person. It was strange seeing her without them, she honestly couldn’t remember the last time she saw the girl’s naked lobes. Her eyes then darted to Adrien’s hand, now resting on the table. No ring.

They must have stashed the jewelry away somewhere safe before coming down. She was more than a little relieved that an anxiety inducing scene like the one this morning would not be repeated. She swore her heart rate quickened every time she saw the two slip their miraculouses into one another’s hands. But the idea of two of the most powerful things on earth being left unguarded somewhere in the Mode building was somewhat unsettling as well. She’d just have to trust in the two’s intuition she supposed. Not much else she could do anyway.

“So, what were the two of you chatting about?” Adrien asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the table as the four began to eat their meals.

“Oh.” Jon perked up. “I was just talking about how I was gonna buy Chloé a whole bunch of flannels.” He smiled at her cheekily. “Then we can wear them around and match so everyone knows we’re best friends.”

“Definitely not.” Chloé snapped quickly as Adrien began to laugh.

“I think I would honestly give you one of my kidneys if you got this girl into flannel.” The blonde continued to laugh as he began cutting into what looked like chicken.

“It’s not the worst material in the world.” Marinette said, voice somewhat quiet. “It’s just hard to work with when your designing for people willing to pay millions.”

“Exactly what I said!” Chloé shouted.

“You said it smelled like the midwest and middle class.” Jon corrected.

“Yeah,” Chloé crosses her arms. “It’s the smell that makes it difficult to sell to millionaires.”

“I don’t even want to think of what my father would do if he saw me in flannel.” Adrien added before taking a bite of his food.

“Geez, what is with y’all’s parents?” Jon asked. “My dad wouldn’t have the slightest problem with me wearing flannel.”

“Does your dad regularly wear flannel though Jon?” Chloé asked.

“Well yeah,” the boy stirred his spoon around what remained in his small bowl of pudding. “But my mom kind of hates the fabric. But she doesn’t get mad at me when I wear it!”

“Ah, but you see young one,” Marinette interjected. “Your parents care about you.”

“My father cares!”

“That you look good.” Chloé snorted. “Seriously Adri, it’s okay that your dad doesn’t love you. In fact, I think I’ve been doing much better since I accepted the fact that my mother can’t stand me.” The table went silent, Chloé preoccupied with her coffee didn’t noticed until she had set her cup back down. “What?” She asked, looking around at the concerned faces surrounding her.

“Chlo…” Adrien reached out for her hand.

“She cares Chloé.” Marinette whispered. “On some level, all parents care about their kids.”

“She’s right.” Jon added. “She may not show it but your mother loves you Chloé.”

The blonde rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from Adrien’s. “It’s really not that big of a deal anymore. I’ve accepted it and I’ve moved on.” She turned her face away from the group.

“Chloé-” Marinette was interrupted by a tray being slammed down on the table. They all looked up to see Damian who was pulling a chair up and sitting down between Marinette and Jon.

“I hate this.” He said, monotone voice laced with rage.

Colin quietly pulled up a seat, opting to sit between Adrien and Chloé. “Blood pressure dear.” The redhead mentioned, picking up a white mug that fizzed like a soft drink and taking a long sip from it.

“Hate what?” Marinette asked.

“This.” Damian’s eyes squinted, hands extending. “Did Enda tell you what she did?” He asked.

Marinette turned forward, fork poking at the pasta on her tray. “I think we’ve already established that Aunt E shared very little of what was happening during this trip with me.”

“Alexander Galbaki has these fraternal twins in his family.” Damian began to explain, fist clenched around his fork. “I forget their names, it’s like russian or german though. But their our age, a girl and a boy who are never seen not with one another.”

“I’m betting on a twincest situation.” Colin piped up, setting his cup down.

“Does that happen in real life?” Jon asked. “I thought it was just a fanfiction thing?”

Colin shook his head. “We looked up their instagram while Titus ate, they are like all over each other, it’s seriously nauseating.”

“What do these creeps have to do with Edna?” Chloé asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on her fist.

“Edna decided to have Marinette and I be her models for this after she found out that Galbaki is releasing a collection the same night as her runway!” Damian threw his hands out in front of him, his face clearly expressing that they should all be understanding his frustration.

“And the twins are headlining it?” Adrien finally asked.

“YES!” he screamed.

“Oh.” Marinette nodded. “She wants us to compete with them.” She nodded a little faster. “That makes sense.” She twirled some pasta on to her fork. “Why is this pissing you off?”

“She could have told us!” he stabbed his fork into his salad. “Seriously! If I had known I had a target on this trip I would have researched in advance.” He grumbled as he shoved his fork into his mouth.

“Vanya and Demitri.” Colin sounded, Damian’s phone in his hand. “See it’s gross,” He showed the phone to Chloé, the screen displaying two very pale teenagers with platinum blonde hair. The girl was in a very skimpy white bikini her long hair straightened and reaching her butt, black headband holding back her bangs and a pair of high end sunglasses covering her eyes. She was seated on the lap of another very pale teenager in a pair of black swim trunks. His almost white hair swept back, sunglasses covering his eyes as well. One of his hands was weaved around the girl’s waist, the other resting on her thigh.

“Okay ew.” Chloé mumbled as Colin shifted to show Adrien the picture.

“I mean,” The blonde scratched at his head. “Yeah, that doesn’t look great but it’s just one picture-”

“They are all over each other in pretty much every post.” Colin interjected. “It’s gross.”

“So stop looking at it.” Marinette stated matter-of-factly. “No one is making you insta stalk them.”

“We need to do research!” Damian growled. “I need to be ready to take them down at a moments notice.”

“Dames is just pissy because Demitri is taller than him.” Colin said with a roll of his eyes.

“He is a freakishly tall human being!”

Colin leaned over to Chloé. “He used to be like way short when he was little, even though he’s shot up like a weed he’s still got short man syndrome.” He whispered, the girl quickly covered her mouth to stifle her giggle.

“Speaking of insta stalking.” Chloé said through her breathy laugh. “Have we gotten any more updates on the drama back home?” She asked, question pointed towards Adrien. “Last I heard Lila was telling everyone she was Damian’s secret girlfriend?”

“Has she upgraded form unrequited love to secret girlfriend?” Marinette asked, eyebrow cocked as she leaned forward on her elbow.

“Something like that.” Adrien breathed tiredly. “According to Nino the girls have been asking none stop questions and the story just keep growing.”

“Growing how?” Colin asked, eyes narrowing.

“Well, for one she’s been referring to him exclusively as Dami-Bear.”

“Wow.” Damian stabbed at his salad again. “I hate that.” he shoved it into his mouth.

“And she also told a very long and dramatized story about the two of you in Grease last summer.” Adrien glanced to Colin and then Damian before his eyes landed on his tray of food. “Nino didn’t repeat verbatim, but it apparently wasn’t really family friendly.”

“Oh I’m gonna break her nose.” Chloé jumped when Colin’s fork snapped in half.

“Blood pressure darling.” Damian quipped, receiving only the dirtiest of looks from his boyfriend.

“It could be worse.” Jon held up his hand, like he was trying to calm Colin from across the table. “She could be posting this stuff online or something, at least it’s contained to their class, right?”

“I don't know.” Marinette hummed. “She’s got a lot of followers in school, not just our class.” She looked down at her food, brows knitted together. “Dames, you have international coverage, right?”

“That might just be the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me.”

The bluenette rolled her eyes. “Can I texted some friends from your phone?” She asked dryly. Damian only shrugged, gesturing across the table to Colin who still had the smartphone. The boy was quick to pass it over.

UNKNOWN: You arent gonna believe this

New Contact: ???

New Contact: who?

UNKNOWN: Its Marinette.

UNKNOWN: dont freak out

UNKNOWN: but Im textng from Damian Wayne’s Phone

Marinette held out the phone, leaning close to Damian and smiled wide. The boy looked up at his phone, camera app open and focusing on him and his cousin. His face remained expressionless but he held up a simple peace sign as she snapped the photo. Marinette then quickly sent it off to the number she was texting.

UNKNOWN: proof

New Contact: GIRL?!?!?!

New Contact: WTF!?!!?

_______________________________________________________________________

(part 1) (part 2) (part 2.5) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) - Here (part 10)

Photoshoot Part 2! I don’t know why I thought I could fit this all into one part. Like seriously, what was I thinking? I also miss calculated how long these three sections would be, the next Incredibles Cameo will be in the next part for sure. Writing has been kind of hard this week but my mind has been racing with ideas. So buckle up y’all cause there are now some big plot twists that have wormed their way into my mind and have been embedded in this fic. I’ll be curious to see if anyone can see them coming ;) Thank you all so much for the comments! They always make me smile and get me motivated to write more! As always if you have any questions about the story or AU feel free to ask, I love getting them and will happily answer any question you got! And if you want to be tagged let me know!

Can y’all guess who Mari is texting?

@graduatedmelon @northernbluetongue @violatiger8 @bamagirl513 @vixen-uchiha @beaversuenightly @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @todaylillypads @laurakinneylance @vgirl-10123 @wellcrud-blog-blog @silvergold-swirl @crazylittlemunchkin @an-ahez @queencommonsense @ladybug-182 @meganemily231 @driftingmoonlitpetals @kand-roo @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @theatreandcomicfreak @paradoxal-occurance @miraculousl4dybug @thanks-captain-obvious @sassydepression @multishipper1needshalp @wegan97 @surprisebishhhhhhhhh @redscarlet95 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @synnesstra @fandomkitty8 @tired-yeetling @saluteswifties @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dast218 @naclychilli @royalchaoticfangirl @panda3506 @nataladriana9 @shreky-boi @my-name-is-michell @dawnwave16

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madsmikkelsenschesthair · 5 years

Text

Blood of the Dragon ch.6

A/N: woo sorry I’ve been gone for so long

Warnings: angst

Saying goodbye to the family who raised you, women turned into mothers, men turned into fathers and their sons being raised alongside you turned to best friends or in one case, a brother was as painful as it was. Freyja held back her tears as she bid farewell to her family, Athelstan anointed her forehead with a waxy smelling oil, praying “The Lord’s Prayer” and made the sign of his God’s cross on her chest. Then he kissed her cheek. The women were the hardest of all to say goodbye to; Kraka did all the crying for her hugging her and smothering her with kisses, Siggy and Helga didn’t want to let her go. Lagertha didn’t cry but it was clear she was hurting very much. The boys were very difficult to stop hugging and promising to write to one another.

Her new family looked on with sympathetic gazes. While Freyja said goodbye to Ivar, Lagertha locked eyes with Cersei’s cold ones, she could feel tensions rise between the two and Lagertha couldn’t comprehend why. All she knew was that she wasn’t so sure about putting Freyja’s life in this woman’s hands. To annoy Lagertha even more, Cersei wrapped her arms around Freyja’s shoulders pulling her away from Ivar’s embrace. Lagertha pushed past Aslaug and clamped her hand on top of Cersei’s shoulder turning her around. Knights pulled out their swords but Lagertha showed no fear only anger.

“If any harm comes to this child,” she said in a low voice for only Cersei to hear, “you will answer to me”.

The shock wore off Cersei’s face, a sly smile slowly creeping across her pretty face and her eyes went cold again, “Earl Lagertha there’s nothing to fear. I will love this child as if she were my own”.

Cersei turned around and walked with Freyja to where Rhaegar stood, his warm arm embraced her leading her to the boat where Uncle Jaime and her stepbrother were waiting for her. Uncle Jaime helped her and her pup on to the boat and scooted over so Freyja could sit.

“Don’t worry little dove,” Uncle Jaime said with a sad smile, “you’ll love Kingslanding, You’ll see”

A painful lump formed in her throat and only gave him a tiny smile. ‘Easy for you to say.’ she thought bitterly, ‘you’re not leaving your entire family behind’.

Freyja squinted up at the sky. It was perfectly clear and a seagull squawked somewhere. The weather did not reflect how she was feeling on the inside. Freyja had no other choice than to leave, what else could she do? There was no point in arguing especially when her King Father was the most powerful person in the world. Or so they said. To Freyja, he was a stranger who sat on an Iron throne with a notorious family name.

Her father sat next to her and draped his cape over her shoulders, his warmth surprisingly comfortable yet so strange. Fenrir jumped on to her lap and she began to stroke his fur. At least she would bring something from her old home into her new one. They rowed away from the docks the shadows of the big ships looming over them like a predatory bird. A few men lowered the ladder, unfamiliar faces appeared studying Freyja. Stepmother climbed first, then Rhaegar held out his hand for her to take. “Come little one,” he said “you mustn't be afraid” Freyja gulped and with one hand on the ladder and the other holding on to her pup, she climbed praying to the gods she wouldn’t fall.

The ship was very different than the ones she was accustomed to. It didn’t have any seats where one could sit but it was huge! The sails were bigger than a house flapping in the wind, a red creature with three heads was sewn on to the black flag. She put her wolf down and walked to the deck watching her old home with pain in her heart. From where she stood, Freyja could see Ivar and Sigurd bickering over something. She giggled. The little spark of happiness suddenly went away when she realized this would be the last time she would see this view.

No.

“I will return” Freyja whispered, “I will come back and I won’t leave without my family”. Then with a splinter sticking up from one of the boards, Freyja pricked her finger and let a few drops fall into the open water.

The room they gave her was as beautiful as the ship and as big as the Great Hall with a four-poster bed made of strong dark wood. Instead of furs, they had the same sheets the English used and the duvet was made of soft cotton with black thread and golden dragons sewed to it. The pillows fluffed and a red trunk with the same three-headed creature on the lid was at the foot of her bed ready for use. There was a fireplace warming the room already and candelabras gave light. A desk with paper, ink, and quills was in the corner of her room, a grand wardrobe, a few new furs were sitting on a chair and a bookshelf. Her things were already brought here and sat on a table where she was supposed to have her meals. No matter how grand her room, Freyja couldn’t help but shiver at the emptiness of it. They had left her there alone with Aerion and for the first time since their arrival, Freyja flopped on to her bed and wept her heart out. She sobbed into her pillow so no one could hear, Fenrir jumped on to her bed and snuggled against her. Her only comfort.

Fingers that were as soft as silk brushed against her forehead. Freyja was too worn out from crying to fully wake up or move.

“Forgive me,” a soft voice said. It was her King Father. “I’m sorry you hate us. I’m sorry I am not the perfect father. I heard you crying earlier and I wanted to come in to hold you but...” he grew quiet thinking of the right words to say. “I was afraid you will tell me to go away. All I ever want is for you to be happy” Now she was fully awake but didn’t dare open her eyes, she wanted to hear everything her King Father had to say. “I just want you to know that I love you very much. You are the only child I will ever have and I want to give you what I never had; the love of a father” Freyja’s stomach flipped and her heart bloomed. “You are my little dragon. My little princess. My own heaven on Earth.” This man was her real father and she knew he meant every word he said, a love she didn’t know was there warmed her. Freyja knew it was going to take some time but she will grow accustomed to her new life and maybe even enjoy it as much as she did back in Kattegat. Who knew? Maybe being the daughter of a King wouldn’t be so bad. The door creaked open and followed by the clanking of metal and the door closing again.

“Leave her be, Your Grace. She needs her rest”, Uncle Jaime said stopping by the foot of her bed.

“I don’t want her to hate me,” said her father ignoring what Uncle had said to him, “I want her to love this new life”

“You do realize it will take time? She’s a child, Rhaegar. She still needs to get used to the idea that she’s a princess”

Rhaegar was silent for a moment. Freyja laid there listening to the sounds of their breathing.

“What’s this?” Freyja heard the ruffling of cloth and suddenly her King Father’s hand gripped her own.

“Where did she get that?” His voice quivered and his nails dug into her palms.

Freyja frowned. “Isn’t this yours Your Grace? I thought you said it disappeared during the war”

“Yes, I wonder how she managed to get it in her possession. This was brought back all the way from Valyria!”

It took a moment to wonder what they were talking about then her eyes snapped open and she shot up straight from her bed startling both men and Fenrir.

Uncle Jaime was holding the same dagger Ivar had given her.

If it was originally her father’s then how did get inside Kattegat? Was it an accident?

No. They tried to kill her but who?

Freyja locked eyes with Rhaegar, his face growing whiter than a ghost’s.

“Y/n” he began to say but Freyja backed away from his grasp, his pretty violet eyes filled with hurt.

“Why did Ivar have it? Why was it in Kattegat?” Freyja wanted to sound brave and demanding like she was taught.

“I don’t know, little dove but someone wanted to hurt you,” Her father said slowly as if he were talking to a scared doe, he held his hands up showing her he meant no harm. Freyja searched her nightstand for a weapon but found none.

“Freyja” Uncle Jaime inched closer to her, “We mean it. We don’t know how it got to Kattegat but I can assure you none of us sent it”

Her eyes went from him to her King Father both of their faces sincere and comforting. ‘Odin, Frigg give me a sign they mean their words. Give me a sign I should trust these strangers’.

The ship rocked to the side causing for the painting of the sea on the wall to fall, breaking the frame. Out of the corner, Freyja noticed a face peering from behind the painting. She bent to push it out of the way and underneath it was another painting but of a beautiful woman. She had dark wavy hair, grey eyes, and porcelain skin. The woman wore a beautiful blue wool dress with fur at the trim, in her hands she held a Winter rose beside her was a white direwolf. The woman’s hand on the wolf’s head while its paw rested on top of her knee.

Those eyes! That woman was her mother and the wolf was...

Fenrir went to Rhaegar and licked his hand then howled the song of Winter. The song of the Moon.

Her pup was the son of her mother’s wolf and a ghost-like hand brushed her cheek and Freyja knew it was her mother. Telling her everything would be alright. To trust her father.

Freyja then threw her arms around her dear King Father.

@lettersofwrittencollective @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @faeeiiry @mellxander1993 @blonddnamedhandz @wanderlust-imagines @-thatgirloverthere-

#game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones writing #game of thrones and vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings imagine #vikings #hvitserk x reader #ivar x reader #sigurd x reader

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erikismybitch · 5 years

Text

Waiting In Vain : Chapter 16

Bad Day.

Months had passed by. And the duo’s relationship had only went up from the beginning. Marley was surprised that she was not tired of Erik, there was never even a point where she wanted to be away from him. Of course they both had to live their separate lives , but being together was euphoric . Marley had never felt quite like this before , even with other man that she loved . This felt different.

Yes, she knew that it was love .

That’s what she told him, and even though he hadn’t said it back yet , she felt content . Marley couldnt hold how she felt about him in . She had to let him know she loved him one night , while there were laying on her couch . “We good , Marley” was all he said . He just held her tight until she fell sleep in his arms.

Erik showed her how much he cared for her every day. Flowers because it was Wednesday , foot massages when she was tired . Food whenever she was hungry and he even helped her find a new job . Marley was no longer faced with irritable complaints from consumers over the net . And no more slaving for the drunk men down at the bar with Becky.

Marley was now a proud employee at Steinway. Steinway was a global company . A trusted billion dollar business who created technology that controled security systems for some of the worlds most prestigious places . Mass museums, federal reserve, and most of all, protected government agencies .

Marley had a degree , but her major in Liberal arts she knew, would not get her in the door. Erik made her apply anyway .

“They might not even know they need you, always go for the job you think you won’t get” He encouraged her one night , while eating those famous tacos and watching Game of Thrones.

One resume, an exceptional cover letter written by Erik, and two interviews later...Marley was hired to assist the head of public relations. Her duty was only to serve the person who protected the brand of the company . Marley had been there for a while now, and was making a good amount of money.

It was her birthday on this day. She never made a big deal about it . Marley hadn’t had a party since her mom died . So to her , it was just another day . Most people in her life didn’t know when it was, just the few who were close to her . Becky knew and called her early in the morning with a long drawn out version of the birthday song . In the past , Tiana and her aunt didn’t even acknowledge her birthday. Trey would always buy her something expensive, but nothing memorable or noteworthy.

Erik knew that it was her birthday. Of course he was away for work, or whatever he did . Erik admitted... or hinted that his job wasn’t exactly what he told her before . She didn’t press him, but at times she questioned if what he did was legal . The gun was still in his dresser . “It’s not necessarily illegal” he’d toy with her mind whenever she asked him . She was no stranger to crime, seeing as Trey was the poster child for that . But he wasn’t as secretive as Erik . Nor was he as well paid .

Marley hadn’t talked to him all day . After numerous attempts at calling him, she figured he was busy . Until it came to the end of her work day . Her stress level was through the roof , constantly staring at her cellphone. Hoping that the next notification would be from Erik. That’s all she wanted . No party, no gifts , just Him.

Marley had received a birthday card signed by most of the employees . She knew it probably was company policy, but she was thankful . Marley had been there a little under two months , so most people didn’t know her well . To who she assumed was the head of the employee committee, walked by and wished her happy birthday . Marley had just finished typing the notes from the meetings her boss had. It was almost five , and she was off at four thirty .

The days leading up to her birthday were always filled with anxiety . She knew she would cry , she cried on her birthday every year . From loneliness, feeling like she was aging and yet so far behind in life . Most of all, she cried because it was another year without her mom. All day she had been fighting back her tears with fake thoughts of being happy . It was working, for now but she knew that eventually she would break . Becky begged Marley to come to the bar around seven that night . Before the sports crowd packed the bar . Becky wanted to give her gift before her work shift . Marley figured she’d eat fatty bar food and take a few shot alone. Or with some of her old co-workers. Ones who actually knew her and would be semi-genuine .

Since she was leaving later than usual, she was in a rush . The Steinway building was half an hour from her apartment . With traffic she would get home around six, that didn’t give her much time to get ready . Marley logged out of her work computer , gathered her belongings and rushed the halls to the elevator. She dashed through lobby to get to her car . Her phone buzzed in her hand , excitedly she glanced at it , praying that it was Erik . Marley didn’t even see the burly white guy walking towards her . She ran right into him and almost fell to the ground . He seemed to be in a rush much like her . All Marley could see was the back of his red slick hair and the flag of the Netherlands on his arm. Marley knew that because her old college roommate was from the Netherlands and had a flag on her side of the wall .

“Excuse you, fucking jackass!” Marley shouted . The rude guy was already outside of the building. Being the only black women in the lobby, everyone’s eyes were drawn to her already . Even more now since she shouted. She wanted badly to yell at them too for not addressing the man who almost knocked her down .

But , it was her birthday. She had some place to be.

She made it to her car , but she was still boiling with anger . Especially after she gave calling Erik one more shot . He didn’t pick up. “Fuck it!” She screamed , then punched her steering wheel . It honked abruptly, scaring an old woman who was walking by. A groan escaped her lips and she rested her head on the seat . She took a breath, the lump in her throat wanted for her to cry badly . Her lip trembled . Marley missed her mom right now , more than ever . She would make it better . Probably go fight the man who knocked her baby down. Marley laughed at the thought of it . Of those people thought Marley’s outburst was bad , they probably couldn’t have handled her moms .

Marley got herself home, late but it was nothing she could do about it now . She got ready to go to the bar , nothing special but she was cute enough. Her phone buzzed when she walked out of the door . It was nothing but a message from Team Snapchat , probably wishing her happy birthday . She giggled a little because that happened every year . Marley didnt bother to call Erik again, him not answering would only make her more upset.

She made it to the bar . A few cars were parked in the lot. The lights werent on. The windows were tinted but there was a small window space at the top of the building where light would shine through . Which wasn’t odd . Marley had worked shifts when the bar opened late . It was a family owned business and sometimes they were unprofessional and opened when they wanted to . Customers still came though . Marley would even get paid under the table some weeks , so they could avoid tax issues and healthcare costs .

She yanked on the door. It wouldnt budge , it was locked . She knocked on the door hard and announced that it was her.

“I’m coming!”

Becky’s voice rang through the closed door . Marley could hear the tampering of the lock . Becky opened the door wide , exposing the few co-workers who were waiting for Marley to come inside.

“Surprise!” They all shouted at the same time. She couldn’t believe it. A party, for her? She was important enough for them to go out of their way and do this. Becky walked towards her , holding a small chocolate cake with lit candles .

“Chocolate, my favorite, thanks guys!” Marley Jared chocolate cake, but she wouldnt tell them that . Everyone looked so pleased .

“Please don’t cry” Becky playfully rolled her eyes at her friend . Who seemed to be getting emotional

“It’s just-“ Marley began to speak, but got choked up . Her voice shook . She didn’t want to cry in front of everybody, so she quickly sucked it up with a deep breath. Becky couldnt help but laugh . She took her into her arms and hugged her . “I just hate my birthday, that’s all”

Not being able to cry was killing her . She looked around at everyone , overwhelmed at everything . Surrounded by people, she still felt alone . Nobody who loved her was there . Yes , these people cared but not in the way Marley needed .

“Do you want us to stop this ?” One of the other co-workers asked . He could tell by the look on her face that something was off. Marley shook her head quickly

“No, I’m thankful for everything” Marley put forth effort to place a smile on her face.

Marley took the time to hug everyone and thank them individually. They all started off with a shot of dark and they sang the birthday song to her . Which was always awkward. Then Becky did her renditioned version of the birthday song , where she twerked across the bar to brighten the mood .

Marley made a wish in her head, something she thought was so silly . When she was a teen she always wished that her mom would magically come back from the dead . Now that she was older , she knew it was impossible . But she still made that same wish . Then she wondered , if she could do two . There were no actually birthday rules because all of it is fake... right? She thought about something that would make her happy . Erik. He was real . And she wished that he would remain that way . Marley blew out the candles and they cheered .

“I’m sorry he’s not here” it was as if Becky could read her mind “And I had no way to tell him , I figured he would be with you” Marley ignored her. She gave Marley a small gift box , with a bow on top . It was from her . She opened it right away .

“No you didn’t” she said quietly. It was a pair of AirPods . She had just told Becky that she wanted a pair but didn’t want to spend the money on them. The fact that she was such an attentive friend really meant a lot to Marley . She could not stop hugging her .

“Tonight is not about him, it’s your birthday” Becky didn’t want the absence of Erik to ruin her special day.

“What if he’s dead?” Now Marley was being dramatic . Becky raised her eyebrows, she figured Erik couldn’t make it because of work stuff . Not anything this serious . “I haven’t heard from him all day”

“Doubt that” Becky casually handed Marley an envelope with a card inside . She figured it was a card from the bar staff.

“But still, this is not like him” she managed to rip it open while holding eye contact .

“He’ll call “

Marley pulled the card out if it’s envelope. Shockingly it was from Trey . She looked at Becky who was purposely avoiding eye contact . A few twenty dollar bills slipped from the inside before she caught them in her hand. They had not spoken since that last week of her living in the hotel . And when she found out about his child , she was completely done . “Trey came by before you got here, he wanted to catch you but I told him it wasn’t a good idea” Becky aligned a few shot glasses on the bar and filled them with Tequila . That always got Marley drunk , and her plan was to get her friend wasted .

Happy birthday beautiful

I miss you , call me.

He had hand written those simple words in the card. Along with some passage about how important the birthday person was. Marley skimmed through it, then slipped the twenties in her purse and put the card in the trash .

“No thank you” Marley spoke just how she would if Trey was actually standing there .

It took Becky pouring six shots to get Marley to finally stop checking her phone . And then seven shots to make her start talking about Erik. He always left the toilet seat up and in the middle of the night she would fall in. No matter how many times she told him not to, he would always forget . He always thought he was right , and could never admit that he had gotten something wrong . Marley was not the type of person who yearned for the last word . And it didn’t kill her if she didn’t get her point across. Not even knowing that it was what made them a match . He snored loudly when he slept, so if Marley didn’t fall first ... there would be no sleep . Then when he woke up , he never ate breakfast. Which freaked Marley out because she couldn’t function without breakfast each morning . Marley started to drag on about how much he worked out and perfected over his body . But at the same token, he’d scarf down a whole family sized meal of carbs . She was about to rant about his messy home but Becky stopped her . Even Becky couldn’t help but think about how Marley felt when she talked about her husband .

Becky had listened for long enough , the bar was now open to the public and she had to work . “Sounds to me like you guys have no real problems” she slapped the bar counter twice , Marleys head flew back .

“What!” She slurred, then swayed to the sound of Sicko Mode playing from the bars speakers . Drunk was exactly what she was now.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff , Erik is all you have... besides me of course”

Marley pondered on that statement for a while . She seemed to get lost into the view of her feet for a long time . The floor was spinning, she held on to the bar stool so she wouldn’t fall . She blinked a few times to try and sober up , it didn’t work well enough. Then , she got back to thinking about what Becky said . How Erik was all she had . Marley looked up to ask her what she meant by it, but Becky had walked away . Marley figured she had been out of it for a while . She was uncomfortably drunk , and really needed to go home .

Everyone was back working , and she didn’t have the strength or good balance to say thank you to everyone again . Maybe she’d send out a mass text in the morning, or maybe she wouldn’t. Marley just needed to leave. She snuck out of the bar . Becky would have stopped her from leaving if she saw her . Refusing to allow her to drive home drunk. Marley just knew that if she drove really slow, she’d make it .

So she sat in her car , took a deep breath and started the ignition . Thanking god that she lived close enough . Even though she knew god was not happy about what she was doing . Marley pulled out of her parking space slowly and made her way on to the street . She was doing great at pretending to be sober . Until she couldn’t , swerving in other lanes and unnecessarily pumping her breaks with caution. Tonight would have been a great night for the police to pull her over and actually do their job. They were probably harassing innocent people Marley thought, Insted of handling true crimes ... like the one Marley was committing in this moment .

She made it home safely , by nothing but pure luck . Her car was crooked , and slightly crossing the line of her neighbors spot . Marley would deal with it in the morning. Her apartment light was on. Since she was intoxicated , she didn’t see this as cautionary. Struggling with getting the key in the door, she managed to let herself in . It wasn’t until after she closed the door and began walking towards her room , that she seen Erik sitting on her couch . He stood up , holding a bouquet of flowers . Marley stepped back with her mouth wide open.

“Happy birthday baby” he smiled and walked towards her . She wanted to speak . She wanted to yell at him for not being there all day . She wanted to ask him how he had gotten inside of her apartment. But as soon as she felt his strong arms wrap around her ... she finally let out the cry that she had been holding in all day . Marley’s tears seeped into the arm of his shirt . He let her cry . “You had a bad day?” He asked her calmly. He felt Marleys head nod . The hand that was flower free rubbed against her back . He was trying his best to calm her down.

“I hate my birthday” her voice cracked , tugging on Erik’s soft side .

“I got you , and I’m gonna take care of you”

He pushed away from her , allowing the space between them . He kissed her forehead twice , then took a chance on her lips . “Wanna talk about it?”

Marley drew away from him and walked to the kitchen for a paper towel . She released with a deep sigh and giggled shortly.

“Nah” she wiped hers tear stained face then tossed it in the trash . Erik told her that he lost his phone this morning , and couldn’t find time to get another one today .

“How did you get in here?” They settled down on the couch. Close enough for Marley’s left thigh to wrap around his lap . She faced him .

“I’m from the projects . Breaking in to shit is like a right of passage” he admitted, nonchalantly he massaged her thigh.

“You broke in my house” she stated what was obvious, there was no reason for her to be upset . She knew Erik to be a man that did whatever he wanted to do.

“Ain’t nothing I can’t get into” he observed her for a second , she rested her head against the couch . Her eyes fidgety and unable to focus on one thing . “You drove home drunk like this ?” He asked , seemingly worried about her .

“I see you do it all the time” her fingers toyed with his dreads . He was so cute to her when he got serious. He was cute to her when he did anything honestly.

“Yeah but you ain’t me”

“The hypocrisy!” She shouted in dramatic form.

“So you using big the words tonight”

“Hypocrisy is not a big word, you’re just from the projects” Marley braced herself for his rebuttal, she knew he would have a comeback to match her witt.

“Don’t forget who helped you write that letter to get you that job. A nigga from the projects”

“You right , daddy” she gave in, even though they were only joking .

“I know I’m fucking right”

Marley rubbed her thumbs against his cheeks and moved in closer to him . “Just a minute ago , I was crying my eyes out” she mumbled , so close to his lips that he could feel her words . She kissed him , sweet and soft . “Make sure I never cry on my birthday again”

“That’s a lot of pressure” Erik told her .

“Can you handle it?” She toyed with him but Marley was being completely serious.

“I can handle you”

Erik yawned , and like clockwork Marley yawned too . It was contagious. Somehow his position changed to him laying completely on his back . Marley beside him still, one leg wrapped around his waist . They liked it that way . No matter where they were , they always came back here . Erik thought Marley had eventually fallen asleep, on account of her hard breathing . Until she spoke again.

“All you got me was flowers?” She thought back to when she first cake in. Marley eyed the beautiful bouquet on her coffee table . He busted out laughing , so hard that Marley had to laugh too .

“I was waiting for that question”

“So answer it then”

“I got you shoes”

“Where they at?” She pouted like a bratty child . Erik kissed his teeth .

“Where the birthday sex at?” He asked , as if she owed him and it was his birthday.

“I’m too tired , how about birthday morning sex?”

“I’ll give you your shoes after that” he rubbed her butt gently , in hopes to turn her on . It just made her more comfortable with the idea of sleep .

“I’m not a prostitute” she yawned again .

“You’re my prostitute”

“You know I am” she boasted proudly .

“The best one I got” he yawned too .

“The thickest one too”

“You such a bad bitch”

“Good night Erik , I love you”

#im still here #sorry this wasnt a good comeback #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger fanfic #erik killmonger imagine

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robin-blogs · 4 years

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-07.03.2020- Propaganda Art - Wednesday VL Lecture

Throughout the beginning of the lecture we were shown a Titus oats broad sights pamphlet. When these where originally made people couldn’t read, so there had to be a lot of information at once so people could still get the information they needed when viewing them.

Throughout this time people also began creating stereotypes and solidifying them over time in society so the more people are told about it the more they start to believe it. There was a wide range of propaganda for Nazi Soldiers and based around war.

I was then shown a video of a Nazi soldier singing. My First impression was that I wasn’t fully aware of what it was or what was happening until it panned down to his Nazi armband while the soldier was singing. More people start to sing with him, it was then made clear that the Nazi soldier was either converting them to sing with him as a Nazi or that a wide range of these people were already Nazis. If you disagree with what the soldiers stood for then it puts into question if you want a good future for white children. They made it difficult and hard to disagree with the soldiers from the claims and arguments they made against white children if you were to disagree. It is also reflective of society today such as people being anti-Muslim and Labour parties being accused of anti-Semitism. As a result this makes you question everything you have been told and taught.

In 1899, John Heartfield was abandoned in the forest by his parents with his siblings as they couldn’t pay to look after them. After growing up to be used to this, it made him feel attached to the outside and feeling as if he lives outside of society as a result of his childhood. All of his artworks certainly aren’t subtle. One of his more well-known pieces is an artwork called “The Last War of Rich” in which dead soldiers from the war are being disregarded and stood over by a pack of Hyenas which as the title suggests are representative of the rich.

There was also a wide range of British propaganda throughout the first and Second World War. One example of a piece involved a mother sitting with her son while a ghostly image of Hitler stood over her shoulder – almost like the devil. The poster then states at the bottom “don’t do it mother – leave the children where they are.

No matter where the Propaganda was situated and based in, if it was about war they would be especially negative. A wide range, if not all propaganda – no matter if it’s for war or not – would be hugely negative and controversial as it’s an effective way of putting a view on society.

Throughout the cold war there was a wide range of M.A.D // mutually assured destruction throughout a range of countries. Such as America and Korea both having a wide range of large nuclear atomic bombs. So if one side set off a bomb, the other side would know before it arrived so both sides would end up with a bomb coming towards them and as a result this would end up creating mutually assured destruction.

A wide range of places during the war would additionally create stereotypes of Americans that still hold up to this day. The stereotype would go that all Americans would wear large American style shirts with the flag splayed across it. They would always have cameras around their necks, would be uneducated, overweight and ignorant while owning a wide range of guns. These stereotypes were created by the makers of dark art in the Soviet Union to undermine Americans during the war. It is clear to see how effective these stereotypes where as they are still effective now.

Along with these American stereotypes, there was also a range of Soviet propaganda presented in the new Soviet Union by artists such as El Lissitsky and Alexander Rodchanko. Some examples of these pieces include an image of Alexander who is calling out the Russian word for books – the impact is immediate from this piece while it is known that Alexander didn’t give consent for the use of this image of her within this piece which only adds to the controversy.

The last piece that was shown within the lecture was a Homage to the Odessa steps which evoked an emotional response. People were celebrating on the steps while soldiers come over and began to shoot people and cause trauma and panic. The camera then pans onto a child who was shot and trampled on. I then decided to screenshot a captivating piece from the video where the woman with the child walks up to the soldiers with the boy and proceeds to get shot herself. This homage to the event shows and reveals very vivid imagery such as bodies being trampled and the children’s hand being stepped on and crushed by people panicking. Even after hearing it multiple times it can still make your stomach turn.

Overall, I found this lecture to be incredibly informative and helped me gain a greater understanding of how propagandas art effected a range of different countries who were going through war at the time and how some of the techniques used then are still effective now such as American stereotypes.

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plaidstiel-wormstache · 5 years

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Murder Mystery

This is based on a request from @whispersandwhiskerburn - sorry it’s taken eons. Hope it’s what past you was after.

Characters: Greg Lestrade, Reader, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Sergeant Donovan, multiple OC’s. Word Count: 3700ish Warnings: graphic depiction of crime scene, angst, fluff, DIALOGUE Rating: 15+ Summary: After YN makes a grim discovery she turns to her dear friend Greg Lestrade. But when the police think one thing and she insists another, there’s only one person for the job of finding a killer... AN: This has been a while in the making, and is mostly UnBeta’d. It’s heavy in dialogue (it’s my diving back into the fray piece, dialogue is what happens after a while of not writing). Thanks to @wi-deangirl77 for reading over and helping me sort out how I wanted to end this.

Inspector Lestrade’s phone rang, his head lolled to the side, shifting from resting in both hands to one as he answered the phone. “Lestrade.” “I’m sorry to call this late but-“ “YN?” He questioned, sitting up straighter, checking the door of his office was closed before he turned his back to it, “What’s wrong? What happened?” “It’s Tabby, she’s…” “YNN?” “Oh god, Greg, I didn’t know who else to call- she’s dead, I didn’t- I’ve just-” “Hey, YN? Listen- listen to me,” Lestrade was already at his office door, ripping it open and snapping his fingers at Sergeant Donovan who was nearby. “I’m sending uniforms, they’ll be there in ten,” Donovan pushed a piece of paper at Lestrade, gesturing to write down the address. “What do I do?” YN sobbed on the end of the line, Lestrade hardly heard her as he rushed out a brief description to Donovan. “Don’t touch anything, alright?” Lestrade made his way out of the building, pulling his arm through his coat, following the way Donovan had taken off. “Yeah, I- her blood- Greg, her blood’s everywhere.” “YN, you just gotta wait, love. Just hold on, I’ll be there-” “I didn’t know who to call,” “YN, listen to me, I’ll be there real soon, wait outside, okay?” Lestrade pushed the door to the front of the building, waiting on the pavement as a car revved around the corner. “I’m so sorry, Greg, she just… I don’t know what happened.” “I know love, I’ll be there soon.” Lestrade hung up as he climbed into Donovan’s car, “Step on it!”

The crime scene was brutal to take in, Lestrade couldn’t imagine finding one of his closest friends like that. Blood spattered across the wall, their body pale and lifeless, lips blue, eyes frozen, hair matted to the ground with blood, the dark pool around them… He sat next to YN on the back of the ambulance, listening as she rattled off all the information she could think of. A policewoman stood with them, jotting down notes. “Uh, Inspector, can I have a word?” Sergeant Donovan asked Lestrade, stepping away from them, waiting for his boss to join him. “What is it? Have you found something?” Lestrade asked, turning his back to YN in an attempt to keep any information from her. “Suicide, inspector.” Donovan said. “You sure?” He asked, glancing back at YN who was bundled in one of those silver, foil-like blankets. “She shot herself, sir. There was no sign of a break in, no struggle, nothing missing so far,” “Thanks,” Lestrade sighed, he scratched the back of his head and headed back towards YN who was now having her fingerprints taken. “YN,” Lestrade began, but didn’t know how to go on. “They’re saying it was suicide.” YN stated more than asked. “We’re not ruling anything-” “Don’t give me that bullshit, Greg.” YN’s shock had seemingly turned into anger and the fight had kicked in. “She shot herself YN, I know that’s hard for you to believe but all the evidence so far, points to-” “Tabby didn’t kill herself! She was seeing a new guy, she just got a raise. She wouldn’t.” Lestrade stared at YN for a while, he believed her, trusted her. “She didn’t, she just-” YN took a deep breath and looked towards Tabitha’s house.

YN stared at the slowly dripping tap, her eyes glazed over and unblinking, her knuckles white from her grip on the sink. The kettle boiled and whistled in the background. “YN?” Greg called as he turned the kettle off, gaining her attention. “Sorry, I was…” YN swallowed thickly and reanimated, turning to face him. “I’ll make you a cuppa tea,” He said, watching as YN moved out of the way, slowly making her way towards the lounge. “You sure you don’t want me to stay - or I could - you could come to- I just don’t think you should be alone.” Lestrade stumbled over his words, shaking his head at his foolish slip up. “I don’t think I’ll sleep much, I’d rather not make you stay up too.” YN said, her voice detached, unfeeling. Greg dipped the tea bag once more and then plopped it in the sink, taking the steaming mug to her. “It’s not a bother, after what you’ve just-” Greg watched her take the tea and set it aside, “You shouldn’t have to be alone.” He muttered, pushing his hands into his pockets before deciding against it and crouching in front of her, a hand on her knee. “YN, I believe you. Tabby didn’t - I believe you and I will do all I can to look into it.” He gave her a half smile when she took his hand and squeezed it, her bloodshot eyes meeting his, full of hope.

“Just trust me,” Lestrade said, leading the way down Baker Street. It was five days after the initial discovery of Tabitha, police had been investigating possible leads at Lestrade’s request, but each day seemed to lead them closer to ruling suicide.

“But you said they’ve already started packing away-” “YN,” Lestrade stopped suddenly, outside a black door, grabbing her shoulders, “Do you trust me?” “Of course I do,” She said sternly, trying to look at the building, place her surroundings. “Good, just ignore the crap, and trust me.” He said, taking the three steps to the door and buzzing the bell. “Why, what’s-” YN followed him up, standing a step behind. An older woman answered the door. “Oh Inspector, what’s happened now?” She asked. “Eh, hi Mrs Hudson, is Sherlock in?” A loud crash came from over their heads followed by a man yelling out in surprise, “I take that as a yes.” Lestrade said, stepping in when Mrs Hudson stood to the side. “Oh hello,” Mrs Hudson said, noticing YN, “Are you one of Lestrade’s sergeant’s or detectives or,” She waved her hand in the air as if trying to conjure the word. “Just a friend,” YN explained. “Well, go on upstairs, at your own risk.” She warned flippantly, already walking back into her downstairs area.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade was already calling out as he opened a door on the landing. “Greg, tell Sherlock he’s barking mad?” A man greeted. “Yeah, right,” Lestrade said, unsure, stepping aside as I joined him in the doorway, “I’ve got a case for you.” “Lovely to meet you, friend of Graham,” Sherlock greeted, shaking YN’s hand. “Greg?” YN said, letting her hand be dropped, looking to her friend for an explanation. “YN YLN this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” Lestrade introduced, waving his hand between everyone in the room. He handed a manila folder he’d been carrying, over to Sherlock who snatched it away like a child. “Sorry about- nice to meet you.” John introduced, arm outstretched and apologetic look on his face. “Yeah thanks,” YN shook his hand then shook her head, “Sorry, who- what are we…?” She let her words fade, looking to Lestrade. “Sherlock’s a sort of private detective, sheds light on a few of our cases, I thought he could help.” Lestrade offered. “What happened?” John asked, looking from the file in Sherlock’s hand back to the two guests. “My friend Tabitha was murdered, but the police,” A pointed look was shot at Lestrade, “are saying it’s suicide.” “There’s no evidence to say otherwise.” Lestrade said a little defensively. “I’m sorry to ask, but…” John took a deep breath, his forehead crinkled, empathy evident in the way he spoke, “What makes you so sure it wasn’t suicide?” “She’d just started dating someone, she’d got a promotion, she’d even started talking about a holiday, set dates, trying to figure out the perfect place.” “Have you checked the boyfriend?” John asked Lestrade. “He’s in Barcelona.” Sherlock answered before either YN or Lestrade could answer. “How do you-” Lestrade began to ask, cut off by a dramatic eyeroll and loud sigh. “The postcard, the kisses,” Sherlock said, handing the folder back to Lestrade, tapping the photo of the front of the house with his index finger. “But that could be-” “Not her mother, no mother has handwriting that bad, and what father sends postcards? Let alone with kisses?” Sherlock said exasperatedly. “Do you believe me?” YN asked, interjecting another question before Lestrade could ask it. “I agree she was murdered.” Sherlock said, grabbing the tea cup from the desk nearby and draining it before heading out the door. “Where are you-” John questioned, picking up his jacket from the armchair. “The case is afoot John!” Sherlock called out, already heading down the stairs.

After a morning at the police station; Sherlock demanding to see the evidence collected, the photos taken, the notes made, and John following him around, apologising and chastising, the quartet headed for the street, looking for a cab. YN had been swept up into Sherlock’s flamboyance and confidence in finding a killer. Lestrade however was immune by now and was wary of his friend getting her hopes up. As Sherlock hailed a taxi, telling them to get another, Lestrade caught YN’s hand. “I can’t follow him around all morning.” He explained. YN glanced back at the station, then to Greg. “I understand, you’ve got other cases to solve. Thanks for … this.” She said, glancing back at John, who was trying to flag another taxi while swearing under his breath about his partner. “Be careful, YNN, I don’t want to see you hurt again. Sherlock’s often right, but sometimes the outcome’s not what you expected.” Greg said, concentrating on making sure she heard him. “But if he finds her murderer, if we can find who did this to Tabby…” YN took her hand back from Greg, turning away from him when John called out. “Just look after yourself.” Lestrade tried again, watching as she climbed into the taxi and disappeared with John Watson.

Tabitha’s terraced house was bland in amongst identical others, the purple curtains the only distinguishing feature from the outside - them and the police tape. “Tell me what you remember.” Sherlock said, ducking under the police tape, heading for the front door. “And don’t skip any detail.” He demanded.

YN was frozen on the footpath, the reality of it finally sinking in; this wasn’t a murder mystery, this was her best friend. “YN? You okay?” John asked quietly, drawing her out of her reverie. She blinked rapidly and took a sharp breath in. “Yeah. Sorry, yeah.” She said, nodding as if to convince herself before meeting his concerned gaze. “Do you want to take a minute? We don’t have to do this right now.” “What are you- yes we do! We’re here. It’s just a waste of time if we-” Sherlock marched up the path, back towards them. “Sherlock!” John cut him off with a stern glare. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” YN muttered. She took a step forward, determined to help as much as possible. “I got here at six forty-seven on Thursday night, two weeks ago-” “Specific time, how do you know?” Sherlock interrogated. “I looked at my phone as I let myself through the gate, I hadn’t heard back from her since the Monday. I was kinda worried ‘cause-” “So it was dark, you got to here, checked your phone, walked up to the door and…?” Sherlock interrupted undeterred, pacing out the walk to the door. “Umm, well, I knocked on the door, then noticed the light wasn’t on in the front room, and I have a spare key so I let myself in but when I opened the…- she was… Tabby was ly- was- was lying there…” YN felt her throat close up, her cheeks getting hot, her vision blurry. “What about the entryway? What was around the doorstep?” “Just give her a minute, Sherlock.” John snipped before turning his attention back to her, “Take a deep breath, breathe with me,” He cooed, nodding when she began to get it back under control, “That’s it, there you go,” “The entryway?” Sherlock prodded, looking up from where he’d crouched to study a stain on the concrete near the house. “I- um- well there was letters and pamphlets and the postcard,” YN explained, unwilling to get any closer than where she was standing, instead pointing at where things were. “You said you hadn’t heard from her since Monday?” Sherlock asked, pulling a pin from his coat pocket and picking at the lock. “There’s a key under the planter-” YN cut herself off as Sherlock pushed the door open and took a step inside. “You can’t go in there.” YN insisted. “Can. Am.” Sherlock said childishly. The interrogation style questions had continued into the late afternoon as John and YN followed Sherlock to the back of the house, watching him look at minute details of the house. But they’d called it a night when Sherlock fell silent, pinching the bridge of his nose, telling them to shutup when they weren’t talking.

An infuriating week later John called YN and Lestrade to Baker Street, saying Sherlock thought he’d solved the crime.

“What is this John, where is he?” Lestrade demanded after five minutes of waiting in the upstairs apartment, standing opposite John in silence. “I dunno, he said he’d be here,” John shrugged, unable to offer more. “If he’s just gonna jerk us around, I’m leaving.” YN said, pulling her coat back on as she made her way towards the door. “Wait, YNN, he’s unconventional but he’s… John, he’ll be here right?” Lestrade tried. “He said he would, I don’t-” John began. “So clever!” Sherlock said, bursting into the room, shedding his coat and scarf, tossing them onto John’s armchair. “What have you found?” Lestrade demanded, not shocked by Sherlock’s dramatic entrance. “I don’t even think he has anything.” YN said, fired up, “He’s waited for all of us to be here, storms in with an aside comment to leave us guessing… Why do you- Greg, you’re better than this!” YN let out. “Oh so clever, so so clever!” Sherlock muttered. “What is?” John asked. “She is!” Sherlock pointed an accusatory finger at YN, “Don’t you see John, she did all this.” “Excuse me, what?” YN asked, affronted at the accusation in his tone. “She did?” John said warily. “YN?” Lestrade asked, looking to her for answers. “Convenient she just happens to be at the centre of it all, the dead woman, the lack of evidence, come on,” “Greg, you don’t believe this, right?” YN asked, grabbing at her friends arm, making him face her. “Course I don’t, I’ve known you as long as I can remember,” He assured. “Now Sherlock, maybe-” John tried. “Who better to get away with murder than the woman Inspector Lestrade is infatuated with? Hmm?” Sherlock rushed out, waving a finger between Lestrade and YN. “Infatuated?” John questioned, looking between the two. “What!?” YN said, looking absolutely stunned.

Lestrade had thrown his hands in the air and walked toward the door, making it out before returning, shaking a finger at the detective. “You’ve gone too far Sherlock.” “If I did it, why didn’t I collect the newspaper or the post on her floor, why didn’t I collect the milk, make it look like she’d been there?!” YN yelled back, furious he had turned his back and started rubbing his temples as if she was a headache he could massage away. “Greg, this is absurd!” “Wait- wait- wait.” Sherlock muttered. “Sherlock, don’t you think-” John tried to calm the tension of the room, but was ignored. “Wait for what? More abuse? This is ridiculous.” YN then turned on Greg, “I can’t believe you brought me to... to be called a murderer. If your police can’t do their jobs and this … I’ll figure it out, I’ll find her-.” “Shut up!” Sherlock blurted, spinning to face her, silencing the room. “What about the milk?” “What about it?” YN questioned, now fed up. “The milk! You said why didn’t you bring it in? Was it still out? Like it had just been delivered?” Sherlock interrogated, flapping a hand as the other frantically searched through paperwork for a photo. Once found he grabbed the spy glass and held it over the photo.

“What is it Sherlock?” John asked, going to look over his shoulder. “Greg?” YN tried to push her friend to an explanation. “I don’t-” He said, looking to Sherlock and back. “Did she know the person who delivered newspapers?” “What?” YN asked, completely taken aback by the random question. “The newspaper delivery man? She knew him, yes?” “Yes! Toby! She went on a date with him, said he came on too strong. Broke it off- this happened months ago- What does Toby have to-?” “Of course!” Sherlock erupted, thrusting a photo into Lestrade’s chest as he passed, heading for the stairs. “Sherlock?” John called, following him out. “What’s happening Greg?” YN turned to her friend, looking down at the photo he was now studying. “The blasted newspaper,” Greg muttered, looking up to her he held out the photo, “He’s figured it out,” and when she took it he followed the two men down the stairs. “Wait, Greg, what did he see?” She called out, running to the top of the stairs after him. “Stay here, I’ll call you in a bit!” He instructed, disappearing out the door.

The photo had been taken the next morning, nothing had been touched except Tabby’s body. The blood was still pooled in the entry to the house, letters still stuck to the ground where they’d landed after being pushed through the slot. The milk was just visible behind the planter box near the door, hidden but definitely there. Something was missing … the newspaper. There was no newspaper. But what did that mean?

The office was quiet, save a few inspectors. With the overhead lights off and just desk lamps shining a spotlight on keyboards, the long space was dark and eery. The three glass offices along the wall reflected the empty room back at her, except the one in the corner; A desk lamp was on and a man was hunched over his desk, pen to paper, his head held up by his other hand. YN pointed to Lestrade’s office as one of the inspectors looked up, the woman glanced toward the office and nodded, returning to her work.

YN knocked at the door, opening it before he could reply. “Hey, you busy?” She asked, holding up the bag of takeaway. “Oh god, YN! I’m so sorry,” He said, clapping a hand to his head the moment he saw her, half standing before falling back into his chair when she shook her head at him. “Don’t worry about it, I heard. You were focused on putting that- putting him away.” YN explained away, placing the bag down on his desk and retrieving a box of noodles for herself. “Well, we got him alright, just finishing up the paperwork now.” He nodded at the papers on his desk as he helped himself to the other container. YN took a seat on the couch along the glass wall, tucking her feet up under her, folding the box lid back and twirling her fork in the noodles. Lestrade was already sitting back in his chair, mouth full. “I knew Tabby was-” YN twirled her fork in the noodles again, “I knew it, but I just didn’t know how.” She looked up to see Lestrade studying her, eyebrows furrowed, “How did he figure it out?” Greg hummed around the last of his mouthful, nodding as he swallowed. “Simple when you think about it really, after… well the letters were still getting delivered, the milk was on the stoop, there were messages on her phone from friends and family, but there was no newspaper. She either canceled it or that Toby knew she wasn’t going to be reading it anymore.” He said, pointing his fork at her for emphasis before digging back into the takeaway.

YN thought on it as she pushed a soft bit of broccoli around her container, amazed that Sherlock had pieced a murder together just from a missing newspaper. If it hadn’t been for Lestrade’s trust and… she could’ve been chasing the idea of murder until she died.

“YNN, you okay?” Lestrade asked after a few minutes of eating in silence, he put down his almost empty container and joined her on the couch, sitting close, a comforting hand on her knee. “Hmm? Yeah, I was just thinking,” YN explained. “Toby’s going away for a long time, we found evidence of planned- well, it’s enough to put him away for quite some time.” Greg reassured quietly. “Thanks for believing me, Greg, it would’ve been so easy to just say it was suicide.” “Didn’t doubt you for a minute.” He said confidently, a soft smile on his face. A moment seemed to linger between them, questions unanswered, feelings unspoken. He stood up, returning to his food, perching himself on the side of his desk.

YN smiled as she looked back down at her food, she could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Infatuated?” She muttered, peeking up at him from under her lashes. She laughed as Greg choked on his mouthful, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sherlock says things he-” “Uhuh,” YN teased, nodding along, unable to shift the sly grin on her face, she knew her friend well enough to know he was a terrible liar.

“Nah, you know what,” Greg puffed out his chest and stood tall, “I do like you. There, I said it. I like you YN, and I ain’t afraid to say it!” It sounded like a pep talk. “I like you too,” She muttered, biting her lip looking down at her food. “What?” Greg’s demeanor faltered, his shoulders slumping, resting back against the desk, protecting himself from what could potentially be a harsh joke. YN licked her lips and looked up at Greg with a renewed sense of confidence. “I like you too.” She said louder this time. “Oh yeah?” He said, raising an eyebrow at her, eyes burning with anticipation and longing as he watched every little move she made. “Yeah,” she said decidedly. He smiled, looking back down at the last bit of his takeaway. “Dinner tomorrow?” “Sure,” she said, an unwavering smile set on her lips as she cast her eyes down to her food. Greg’s face lit up as he bit down around the fork, happy with himself.

Stay calm and reblog!

tagging a few people: @babypieandwhiskey @mandilion76 @sdavid09 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock----imagines @percywinchester27 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @manawhaat @bakerstreetintellect @fandoms-are-the-best-escape @reigningqueenofwords

#original content #Sherlock Holmes #Greg Lestrade #John Watson #BBC Sherlock #Greg Lestrade x Reader #lestrade x reader #sherlock fanfic #benedict cumberbatch

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antifaintl · 5 years

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2017: A (Partial) Timeline Of Bigoted Violence

In 2018, we began trying to monitor news reports concerning significantly-violent hate crimes. Here is a chronological list of the 100+ violent hate crimes we documented in 2017 (the dates link to the news source of each incident): January 2017: Over 40 Jewish centers in the U.S. receive bomb threats. January 1, 2017: 19-year-old Nathan Richardson encounters 67-year-old jogger Wenqing Xu and beats him to death in an unprovoked, random attack. After committing the murder, Richardson texted his friends that he “fucked sum chink up. Bodied him. I think pure crime scene – his head’s gone,”

January 5, 2017: Neo-nazis bomb a refugee centre in Gothenburg, Sweden, seriously injuring an immigration officer working there. January 20, 2017: A right-wing extremist shoots a protestor at a Milo Yiannopoulos event at the University of Washington.

January 25, 2017: An arsonist destroys the only mosque in Victoria, Texas. January 25, 2017: Neo-nazis in Gothenburg, Sweden plant a bomb at a refugee centre. It fails to detonate.

January 28, 2017: a First Nations woman walking with her sister is struck by a trailer hitch hurled from a passing vehicle. After struggling in hospital for several months, she succumbs to her injuries. January 29, 2017: Alexandre Bissonnette walks into a mosque in Canada during evening prayers and opens fire, shooting 17 people and killing six of them.

January/February 2017: four men used Grindr to target gay men for assaults and robberies. Pretending to also be gay, they would arrange to come to their victims’ homes, where they would hold their victims at gunpoint while they beat them, bound them, verbally abused them with with homophobic slurs, and stole property and vehicles. February 2, 2017: 27-year-old active white supremacist William Christopher Gibbs arrives in a Georgia hospital claiming to have accidentally poisoned himself with ricin. The extremely deadly illegal compound, most popular with terrorist groups, has been used in attempts to assassinate U.S. elected officials in the past. Gibbs’ hands and his vehicle tested positive for the presence of ricin. Gibbs was later charged with possession of ricin. February 16, 2017: Inspired by Dylann Roof’s mass shooting of black church-goers, 28-year-old neo-nazi and convicted felon Benjamin McDowell goes online seeking someone to furnish him with firearms so he can commit his own mass murder. Authorities, who had been monitoring McDowell after he threatened a synagogue, arrest McDowell after he buys a pistol from an undercover FBI agent. In 2018 McDowell pled guilty and received a ten-year prison sentence.

February 19, 2017: less than a month after a white supremacist shot seventeen people in a mosque, killing six of them, 35-year-old Florida resident Gerald Sloane Wallace calls several mosques, leaving threats to come and shoot their members.

February 21, 2017: a 24-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Chicago, IL.

February 22, 2017: Adam Purinton tells two men from India to “get out of my country” then shoots both plus a bystander, killing one.

February 26, 2017: a transgender woman is shot and killed in New Orleans, LA. February 28, 2017: a mosque in Toronto is set on fire by arsonists.

March 1, 2017: a transgender woman is stabbed to death in New Orleans, LA.

March 3, 2017: A Sikh man is shot and injured in front of his Seattle house by a white man wearing a mask, who yells at him to “go back to your country!”

March 7, 2017: After repeatedly harrassing his Hmong neighbours, 81-year-old Wisconsin man Henry Kaminiski steps out of his home and fires a pistol at neighbor Mai Houa Moua as she worked in her garden. Kaminski then fired twice more at Moua from inside his home, then fired at a deputy responding to the resulting 911 call. During his arrest, Kaminiski made several racist remarks concerning the Hmong and his belief they were “taking over.” Police also found child pornography on Kaminski’s computer.

March 12, 2017: a mosque in Ypsilanti, MI. is set on fire by arsonists. March 20, 2017: James Jackson arrives in Manhattan with a sword and stabs the first black man he sees to death. He later tells authorities he “intended to kill as many black men as he could.”

March 22, 2017: a 38-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Baltimore, MD.

March 23, 2017: Two Liverpool sisters chase a Muslim man down the street, calling him a “fucking Paki” and demanding that he go back to his country, before knocking him to the ground, kicking him in the head, and biting him in the leg so hard that he was left with permanent scarring. March 24, 2017: Yelling “I hate Muslims!” a man in Minneapolis stabbed a Somali man in an attempt to kill him. March 26, 2017: A racist mob attacks a 15-year-old Polish boy in Gloucestershire and, when a local Asian shopkeeper tries to intervene, attack him as well with crowbars and baseball bats, then attempt to run him over with a car.

March 26, 2017: Seven or more members of the Jewish Defence League assault a 54-year-old Palestinian-American college professor. The authorities lay hate crime charges against the assailants. March 31, 2017: A 17-year-old Iranian/Kurdish boy is nearly beaten to death by a mob of eight people in Croydon after he revealed to them that he was a refugee.

April, 1, 2017: Members of an extremist Hindu nationalist group physically assault people in Alwar, India who had purchased cows. One of the victims - a 55-year-old Muslim farmer - died of his injuries two days later.

April 4, 2017: a 27-year-old man breaks into the home of 65-year-old Orthodox Jewish woman Sarah Halimi, beating her to death while calling her “Satan,” and then throwing her body out of a third-floor window. April 6, 2017: A Charlotte store is set on fire by an arsonist who leaves a warning message for the shop owner that he “did not want any refugee business owners and that they would torture the owner if they did not leave and go back to where they came from,” according to police. It was signed “White America.”

April 7, 2017: 24-year-old Scottish resident Connor Ward is arrested on terrorism charges after police accuse him of preparing a bombing campaign against mosques and Muslim centres in Scotland. Police are forced to evacuate his neighbourhood when a search of his home uncovers explosives, bomb-making materials, a cache of illegal weapons, as well as neo-nazi flags and other materials. A year later, Ward is convicted on all charges and sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole for six years. April 11, 2017: A 55-year-old Palestinian-American college instructor is hospitalized after being brutally assaulted while attending a Washington, D.C. protest against Israeli apartheid by a group of five Jewish Defence League members. 32-year-old Canadian Jewish Defence League member Yosef Steynovitz and 23-year-old Canadian “Proud Boy” Brandon David William Vaughan are charged with assault with significant bodily injury while armed, among other charges.

April 21, 2017: a 28-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Miami, FL.

April 30, 2017: A white man storms a pool party in San Diego and shoots four black women, two black men, and one Latino man while allowing white attendees to leave. One victim dies while the other six sustain critical injuries.

May 5, 2017: A man walking his dog on South Beach in Miami is confronted by two men who call him a “fucking faggot,” then attack him, beating him unconscious. At one point in the attack, one of the attackers shouts “all faggots need to die and we’re going to make sure they do!” May 14, 2017: Vandals spray-paint hate graffiti on the home of a black family in upstate New York before attempting to set the house on fire while the family slept. Although the family escaped unscathed, their garage burnt to the ground and their house suffered some damage. May 14, 2017: 24-year-old lesbian Lerato Moloi is found raped, beaten, and stoned to death, her body dumped in a field and burned beyond recognition. Two men are arrested. May 17, 2017: A homophobic mob break into the home of a gay couple and shoot and stab both men to death. May 17, 2017: a 34-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Fresno, CA. May 20, 2017: University of Maryland student and member of the “alt-Reich” facebook group Sean Urbanski walks up to 22-year-old Richard Collins III, who is black and who Urbanski does not know, and stabs him to death in an unprovoked attack. Urbanski is later charged with a hate crime.

May 20, 2017: A man begins screaming homophobic slurs at a lesbian couple riding the subway before attacking them both, beating one woman unconscious.

May 24, 2017: A barrage of doxxing, rape threats, and death threats received by trans comic book artist Sophie Labelle forces her to cancel an appearance and event at a Halifax book store, which also received bomb threats and threats of attacking the event. Labelle is forced into hiding.

May 25, 2017: A black woman riding the train home is subjected to extreme verbal harassment by Jeremy Christian, who admits to being a neo-nazi and tell her he will kill her. As she leaves the train, Christian hits her with a bottle, cutting her eye open. When police arrive, they refuse to arrest Christian. The next day Christian would stab three people, killing two of them. May 26, 2017: Three men intervene on a MAX train in Portland when they witness another man verbally abusing two Muslim women with an Islamophobic tirade. The Islamophobe responds by pulling out a knife and stabs the three interveners, killing two of them.

May 26, 2017: Two Muslim butchers are beaten by members of an extremist HIndu nationalist group in Malegaon, India after being accused of trading in beef.

May 27, 2017: A white man drives his pickup truck through a campsite, targeting the Native Americans camping there while yelling racial slurs at them. He intentionally drives over two Native American men, killing one and injuring the other.

May 27, 2017: A 34-year-old Anthony Hammond lets loose with a flurry of racial slurs directed at a black man in a parking lot, then pulls out a machete and stabs the man before barricading himself in his apartment for several hours, until finally surrendering to police.

May 28, 2017: Two teenagers attack a Jewish couple and their five daughters at a beach.

June 3, 2017: 38-year-old white supremacist Phillip Wade racially abuses a 57-year-old black man on an Oakley, CA. bus, then pulls a knife and stabs the man to death while the man is walking away from the confrontation. The victim is the third racialized person Wade has stabbed in the past six years and the second person he’s murdered.

June 6, 2017: A 15-year-old black boy cutting through a park on his way to see his girlfriend is hit from behind and beaten unconscious by a group of men yelling “Nigger!” and “Go back to Africa!” at him as they punched and kicked him.

June 7, 2017: a 23-year-old white man in a Chicago Starbucks spits at a black man, telling him his children are “disposable vermin” and calling a second black man a slave, then punches a black passerby, knocking him unconscious. He’s charged with a hate crime three months later.

June 10, 2017: A mob screaming transphobic insults attacks three trangender women, stabbing one and sending two to the hospital.

June 18, 2017: two men armed with baseball bats attack a group of Muslim teenagers, kidnapping a 17-year-old girl, who they beat to death, dumping her body in a pond.

June 1, 2017: A Princeton professor and racialized woman is forced to cancel a three-city lecture tour to promote her book about the Black Lives Matter movement after receiving over 50 death threats. June 19, 2017: Shouting “I’m going to kill all Muslims!” 47-year-old Darren Osborne drives a courier van through a crowd of Muslims leaving a Finsbury mosque, killing one person and injuring ten others.

June 21, 2017: an Islamophobe approaches a Muslim man and woman sitting in a car stopped at a traffic light and knocks on the window. When the driver rolls down the window, the Islamophobe sprays the driver and passenger with acid, severely burning both.

June 22, 2017: Three Muslim teenaged brothers on a train out of Delhi, India are attacked by other passengers who accuse them of not being Indian nationalists, abuse them with Islamphobic slurs, and then assault them, stabbing 17-year-old Hafiz Junaid Khan to death and injuring both of his brothers. June 23, 2017: After assaulting his wife, a drunken Britain First supporter and neo-nazi Marek Zakrocki drives off in his work van after declaring he would “kill a Muslim” “for Britain.” Shortly thereafter, he tries to run down restaurant owner Kamal Ahmed outside of his establishment. Failing to kill Mr. Ahmed, Zakorcki does drive his van into the restaurant, shattering its windows. June 24, 2017: 20-year-old neo-nazi Ethan Stables is arrested near the New Empire public house in Cumbria. Having learned that the pub was hosting an LGBT event, Evans - who was known to refer to LGBT people as “degenerates” and to deny the Holocaust - had purchased a machete and researched bomb-making - told acquaintances he was planning to murder attendees and was arrested during his final reconnaissance of the pub. Stables is convicted of terrorism early in 2018.

June 27, 2017: A huge mob attacks a dairy farmer and his family in Jharkhand, India after a dead cow was rumoured to be found outside of their house. The mob tries to burn down the family’s home with them inside and beat the entire family so badly that they all require hospitalization. The father of the family is in a coma for eight days and spends two months in the hospital recovering from head injuries and various broken bones.

June 29, 2017: A 40-year-old butcher is pulled out of his car by an angry mob in Jharkhand, India and beaten to death upon suspicion that he was transporting beef.

July 2017: A 39-year-old passenger in a Lyft car begins insulting the driver’s race and religion before pulling the driver’s hair, punching him, and choking him. July 2, 2017: a 28-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Lynchburg, VA.

July 9, 2017: Britain First leader Paul Golding viciously attacks someone he befriended and had attended a “self-defence” training with earlier in the day in what the sentencing judge described as “a really nasty and vicious assault.”

July 14, 2017: Lane Davis, a 33-year-old “alt-right” racist activist and former unpaid intern for Milo Yiannopoulos, starts a fight with his own parents. After accusing both of being “leftists,” Davis grabs a kitchen knife and stabs his father to death.

July 16, 2017: A man attempts to pull the hijab off of a Muslim woman waiting for the tube in London, then hits her when she resists. He then pins her friend to the wall and spits in her face before leaving. July 16, 2017: Arsonists set a mosque in Manchester ablaze. July 18, 2017: A NASA researcher of South Asian descent has her car windshield shattered by a rock thrown through it by an assailant screaming “go back to your country!” She’s injured in the attack. July 19, 2017: Two men exit a car and attack a racialized pedestrian with their fists and an iron bar.

August 2017: a gay man has his jaw broken by a man shouting homophobic slurs and a group of people outside of a fast food outlet. August 2017: After enduring eight different racist attacks, including having the front window of their home smashed in and their car set on fire, a Pakistani family is forced to flee their Dublin home of the past ten years.

August 2, 2017: Two men chase down and beat up a 29-year-old transgender women while yelling transphobic insults at her.

August 2, 2017: Five white men attack a black couple at a KFC drive-through, using racial slurs as they assaulted them and pointing a gun at them. August 5, 2017: A mosque in Bloomington, Minnesota is firebombed, narrowly missing killing & injuring dozens of members there for morning prayers. Police arrest three white Three Percent militia members who admit to the attack, stating that they wanted to “scare Muslims out of the country.”

August 6, 2017: someone lights the car of the president of a Québec City mosque on fire. His mosque is the same one where Alexandre Bissonnette had shot 17 worshippers in January. August 8, 2017: A well-known Chicago neo-nazi starts an altercation at a concert, then pulls out a smuggled knife and stabs a man and a woman at the show. August 12, 2017: A white supremacist in Charlottesville, VA. drives his car at high speed directly into a crowd of anti-racist protestors, killing one woman and seriously injuring 19 other people.

August 12, 2017: A self-identifed member of the white supremacist “three percenter” movement is arrested by the FBI after unsuccessfuly trying to blow up a bank in Oklahoma City with a car bombed modeled after the one used by Timothy McVeigh.

August 14, 2017: A man boards a train in New York when he notices another man glaring at him. Feeling uncomfortable, he moves to another car only to be followed by the glaring man, who kicks him in the face while screaming “death to all faggots!” before exiting the train and getting away.

August 20, 2017: A racialized man standing outside his own home is attacked by a motorist who, without any provocation, jumped out of his car and ran at him, shouting racial slurs, before physically assaulting him. The victim is seriously injured in the attack.

August 20, 2017: While waiting in line at a food truck, a 22-year-old man is subjected to homophobic abuse and demands that he “go back to your country!” before 24-year-old Gregory Brzoza beat him unconscious. The victim loses several teeth and has a broken jaw. August 23, 2017: A 37-year-old man and a 47-year-old man start a fight with a black high school student on a city bus, yelling racial epithets at him as they beat him.

August 26, 2017: Four white men attack a black couple at a recreation center in Rustenberg, South Africa, yelling racial slurs at them as they beat them. One of the accused was evading charges for a racially-motivated attack against three petrol pump attendants in 2014 when he was arrested for this assault.

August 27, 2017: yelling “ this should clean away the AIDS!” a 56-year-old man throws boiling hot water over a 21-year-old gay man before hitting him about 16 times with a metal bar.

August 28, 2017: Several white teenagers begin shouting racial epithets at a 8-year-old black boy playing in an adjacent yard before wrapping a rope around his neck and hanging him. The boy survives but has to be airlifted to medical care for the injuries he sustains.

September 2017: an extremist Islamphobe group claims responsibility for a series of hammer attacks by masked men on hijab-wearing women and racialized people in Burgundy, France that left three people injured.

September 3, 2017: Ally Steinfeld, a transgender teenager, is beaten, stabbed repeatedly, tortured, and mutilated before being murdered by a gang of assailants. Police arrest three people, with more arrests forthcoming. September 7, 2017: A swastika-adorned neo-nazi assaults a Filipino-Turkish man in a Fullerton, CA. parking lot while yelling racial slurs at him.

September 12 and 14, 2017: 23-year-old white supremacist Kenneth Gleason drove through Baton Rouge, shooting black men he passed in his vehicle before jumping out and shooting his victims again at close range. Bruce Cofield and Donald Smart are murdered. A speech made by Adolf Hitler is among items recovered by police from the racist murderer’s home. September 14, 2017: A 40-year-old man begins spitting and repeatedly punching a 37-year-old Orthodox Jewish woman on the subway in New York. When her 57-year-old mother tries to intervene, the man punches her, pulls her hair, and spits on her as well, yelling “dirty Muslims” as he escapes from the train car. September 15, 2017: A black Cornell University student returns to his residence to find five members of a white fraternity shoving and harassing his roommates. When he asks them to leave, they attack and beat him while shouting racial slurs. Two months later, one of the attackers is charged with a hate crime. September 15, 2017: A 29-year-old white supremacist covered in racist tattoos repeatedly enters a hookah lounge in Lake Forest, CA., threatening to kill the Iranian staff and patrons. September 18, 2017: two men jump out of a taxi to racially abuse a teenage boy walking with his friends. One of the men pulls out a knife and threatens to stab the teenager.

September 20, 2017: A man is charged with a hate crime after attempting to murder a Muslim woman and 12-year-old girl by deliberately driving his car into them in two separate incidents on the same day. The woman is severely injured, with broken limbs, extensive cuts and other injuries requiring skin grafts. September 24, 2017: A 58-year-old surgeon on his way to his mosque is confronted by two men who begin shouting Islamophobic insults at him and then stab him in the neck.

September 27, 2017: Police arrest six members of neo-nazi terrorist group National Action for plotting to murder a Labour MP.

October 2017: a gay teenager and her two friends are harassed and then beaten by a mob of 20-30 high school aged boys. October 2017: Two teenaged sisters - both hijab-wearing Muslims are approached by 32-year-old Christopher Beckham as they get off of their school bus. Beckham yells “Allah Akbar” and “go back to your country!” at them. When their father comes to their aid, Beckham produces a knife and tries to stab him and punch him, all while yelling Islamophobic slurs at the family.

October 6, 2017: A stranger starts an argument with a Syrian refugee outside the refugee’s home, making disparaging remarks about Muslims and refugees and then attempting to break into the home when the refugee flees inside for safety. A few hours later, a mysterious fire is started in the refugee’s family’s backyard. The fire quickly engulfs the home, completely destroying it. Although the Syrian refugee family are able to flee, they lose everything but the clothing they were wearing when they fled. October 8, 2017: A 66-year-old black man is held at gunpoint in his own garage while two white assailants shout racist epithets and beat him. The two leave only to return minutes later to shoot up the victim’s home.

October 17, 2017: 64-year-old Gerard Medvec is arrested after telling police of his plans to firebomb the home of his neighbours, who he erroneously believes are Muslim.

October 18, 2017: Three neo-nazis pull up to a Gainesville bus stop after the aborted Richard Spencer appearance at a local campus and proceed to taunt people waiting for the bus with pro-Hitler and racist verbal abuse. After someone throws something at the car, one of the neo-nazis gets out, points a handgun at the crowd, yells “I’m going to fucking kill you!” and fires at the crowd, happily missing. All three are charged with attempted homicide; one is charged with being a convicted felon in possession of a weapon. October 18, 2017: A white couple in a pickup trucks begin shouting racial slurs at a black woman in another car as well as black pedestrians. At one point, the man claims that he “we kill niggers!” Moments later, he reverses the truck at high speed, ramming the black woman’s car and totaling it before speeding away.

October 21, 2017: Two men board a train in London where they verbally abuse a gay teenager before strangling him and punching and pushing his female friend to the ground. October 22, 2017: 26-year-old white supremacist and card-carrying National Socialist Movement member Taylor Michael Wilson attempts to derail an Amtrak train and is arrested on terrorism charges after the train crew tackles him and holds him until the police arrive.

October 22, 2017: A 60-year-old black man standing outside his neice’s home is attacked by two white men who yell racial slurs at him as they beat and stab him multiple times, puncturing his lung and lacerating his kidney.

October 22, 2017: After a string of attacks by vandals, an interracial couple and their young son are forced to leave Belfast when their car is firebombed and completely destroyed in a racist attack.

October 28, 2017: Hours after a “white lives matter” rally 50 miles away, 20 white supremacists enter a Tennessee restaurant and immediately begin arguing with an interracial couple eating dinner. When the white woman in the couple argues back, one of the men in the white supremacist group punches her in the face, splitting open her forehead.

October 29, 2017: A 26-year-old lesbian is confronting in a Jack-in-the-Box restaurant by a mob of at least five people, who begin taunting her and her girlfriend and homophobic slurs before assaulting her. The attack leaves her with broken teeth and a permanent injury to her left eye. November 1, 2017: 47-year-old Scott Ostrem, best known by his neighbors for his frequent racist tirades, shoots two Latino men and a Latina woman to death in an unprovoked mass shooting in a Colorado Wal-Mart.

November 1, 2017: an immigrant family’s restaurant is completely gutted in an arson attack a few weeks after the restaurant was hit by vandals. The arsonist spray-painted the words “GO BACK” on the restaurant before burning it down. November 2, 2017: a 52-year-old man murders his 14-year-old son after a lengthy, loud, and heated argument about the son being gay.

November 6, 2017: A black woman driving out of a parking lot is accosted by a man on the street. When she exits her vehicle to find out why he’s trying to get her attention, he calls her “a black bitch” and punches her repeatedly in the face, dropping her to the ground and breaking her nose. November 6, 2017: Two adult women in a London KFC begin throwing food at a 15-year-old girl eating in the restaurant with her friends. As she stood up to turn around and face her attackers, they throw a hot drink in her face, pull her to the ground by her hair, and begin kicking and punching her while yelling anti-Asian racial slurs at her. The two women break the girl’s arm before fleeing.

November 7, 2017: A mob of youths kick down the door of a racialized family and later that night attack another racialized family’s home with a barrage of bricks. November 11, 2017: A group of men confront a man walking home and ask him if he’s gay. When he confirms that he is, they beat him to the ground.

November 12, 2017: A Liverpool-area home is firebombed at 4AM while the Syrian refugee family of two parents and three toddlers slept. No one is injured, but the family is forced to find a new home because of the extensive damage. November 13, 2017: A white man on public transit in San Francisco repeatedly tells a fellow passenger that he hates him, calls him a “Chinese nigger,” and punches him several times.

December 1, 2017: FBI arrest Bernandino Bolatete for possession of an unregistered silencer after several weeks of investigation during which Bolatete described in great detail his plans to commit a mass shooting at the Islamic Center of Northeast Florida.

December 2, 2017: A 41-year-old man enters a Jewish seniors’ residence where he hits an 84-year-old Jewish man with a fire extinguisher while yelling anti-semitic slurs, threatening to kill him before robbing him.

December 3, 2017: after an altercation in a parking lot, 38-year-old Jeffrey Peters follows an African American driver home. Once at the man’s home, Peters pulls out a loaded handgun, yells racial epithets, and threatens to shoot him.

December 3, 2017: A gay man standing outside a London nightclub is attacked by two men yelling homophobic slurs, injuring him so severely that he requires reconstructive surgery afterwards. December 3, 2017: A gay married couple & their friend are drinking in a Provincetown, MA. bar when 49-year-old Scott Rego walks up to the group, smashing one of them in the head with a beer bottle, then kicking him on the floor and assaulting the two other men while yelling homophobic slurs at them. A civil complaint is filed against Rego four months later for attacking the victims because of their sexual orientation.

December 4, 2017: An 18-year-old Muslim woman on a train is approached by a man that tells her he is going to kill her and all Muslims before he begins slapping her and trying to force her head to his crotch. At the time, the man was awaiting trial after assaulting a 10-year-old Filipina girl on a train seven months previously.

December 6, 2017: A 50-year-old Muslim man Rajasthan, India is lured to a remote location by 37-year-old Islamophobe Shambulal Regar. While Regar’s 14-year-old Regar nephew filmed, Regar severely beat his victim, then poured kerosene on him and burnt him to death. Regar had previously posted videos condemning romantic relationships between Muslim men and Hindu women. December 7, 2017: A Colombian immigrant is hospitalized after stepping between his 13-year-old son and a baseball-bat wielding attacker. The victim, his son, his wife, and a family friend were walking across a parking lot while shopping when a man jumped out of a white BMW with the baseball bat, screaming about how the frightened family were “ISIS” and “terrorists” before swinging at the 13-year-old boy and repeatedly striking the father with it instead. December 7, 2017: A 48-year-old Muslim man is hacked and burned to death in a murder recorded by the perpetrator and posted on YouTube as a warning to Muslim men against marrying HIndu women.

December 9, 2017: After retired veteran Kevyn Fowler moves to a predominantly white Jacksonville, AR suburb, his dog is poisoned and his truck and trailer are stolen. Then on December 9th, someone sets Fowler’s garage on fire after spray-painting “MOVE NIGGER.” Fowler is African-American.

December 12, 2017: 21-year-old white supremacist William “Bill” Edward Atchison walks into a high school in New Mexico and shoots two Latino students, killing them, before turning the gun on himself. It’s later revealed that Atchison was heavily-involved in the “alt-right” and was known to police.

December 16, 2017: On his way to practice, Manchester City winger Raheem Sterling is subjected to racist insults by an unidentified man who goes on to kick Sterling. December 17, 2018: A 52-year-old neo-nazi who had previously been convicted of murdering a man who had called Adolf Hitler a criminal detonates a nail bomb on the platform of an S-bahn train station in Hamburg, Germany, injuring one commuter.

December 22, 2017: After convincing their daughter to break up with her 17-year-old neo-nazi boyfriend, Scott Fricker and Buckley Kuhn-Fricker are shot to death in their home by the neo-nazi. December 22, 2017: A 45-year-old man leaving a gay club in Ohio is immediately assaulted by an assailant who fractures his skull, breaks his nose, and leaves him with a black eye and concussion after screaming homophobic slurs at him and stealing his phone. December 25, 2018: A 31-year-old trans woman is attacked from behind by a 40-year-old man in a Brooklyn homeless shelter, who hits her with a chair while yelling transphobic slurs at her. December 27, 2017: A 51-year-old Muslim woman in a Brooklyn Panera Bread is accosted by a mob of teenagers, who call her a terrorist, spit on her, and then begin punching her. December 31, 2017: Responding to a noise complaint, police in Colorado encounter a man who, after barricading himself into his apartment, engages them in a firefight, killing one sheriff’s deputy and wounding four others. 37-year-old Matthew Riehl was a self-described “libertarian” who frequently shared Islamophobic and alt-right posts on social media. 2017 = twenty-one shootings, fifteen arsons, sixteen stabbings, seventeen mob beatings, over 41 bomb threats, one bombing, three thwarted/failed bombings, one thwarted train derailment, a foiled political assassination, an acid attack, a hanging, and several other miscellaneous assaults by bigots, Islamophobes, nazis and racists which took the lives of forty-nine people and seriously injured eighty-four others in the countries we looked at (Canada, France, Honduras, India, Ireland, Malta, South Africa, Sweden, the UK, and the US). And those are just the ones that we found media reports for. Here’s hoping in 2018 we’re all more effective at undermining bigoted extremism and the horrific violence that comes with it.

#antifa international #fascism #terrorist #terrorism #homophobia #transphobia #violence #antifa #antifascist #antifascism #antiracist #antiracism #extreme right

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