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freefallingup13 · 3 years

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Toni AU; The Organization pt. 4

Okay so apparently this is Chapter 2, and it doesn’t make sense for me to split it up, so this one will be long!

TW: Gun violence, Death by gun (unnamed, NPC-like characters), Witnessing a panic attack (twice in this piece), Gunshot wound, Death Threats

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

Part 5 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Besides the small hiccup regarding Derek's relationship status, the plan that his father set up was a success. Toni and Derek began hand-to-hand combat training and learned military tactics. They spent hours learning how to use every gun, blade, and explosive that passed through their compound. Toni was especially attentive to the lessons about espionage. Derek was interested in it, but he didn't take it very seriously.

As for Derek and Toni's relationship, they carried on as normally as they could. Toni was a little curt for a while, but after a couple of weeks they went into a regular rhythm. Wake up. Breakfast. Lessons. Lunch. Work. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. It was hard to avoid each other in their small apartment, and not talking to each other didn't work when they had to collaborate with each other on projects for class. Derek wasn't too sure about what she thought of him. He'd been absolutely terrible about the entire thing, after all. But she was soon back to her normal self. 'Master Derek' this, and 'Master Derek' that. Usually, it bothered the hell out of him, but he found it a welcome greeting after the complete silence she'd given him for days.

She honestly didn't mean to be so quiet. She apologized profusely for being so rude every time he brought it up. Derek could never figure out why she was silent, of course. That would be unprofessional of her, and it would worry him. Honestly, though, she didn't really know herself. Those few days after the dinner were a numb blur, every single thought in her head uncertain. It was always a mix of half-sentences and words jumbled in her head, never a finished sentence, never a complete thought. She couldn't remember a single bit of it, only that overall she felt nothing at all.

It was about a year later that they were out and about on one of Derek's day trips. Today they were driving and hiking through a nature park in Washington. It had an ulterior purpose, considering Derek's father. They were to take notes on the local fauna and determine whether they were knowledgeable enough about foraging to both survive and not poison themselves.

The trip also became an exercise in parkour.

"Here, here! Stay down!" Derek told her as he slid under a fallen log, propped on top of some giant tree roots. "Get down!"

"Obviously!" Toni seethed as she dove in headfirst, intending to provide cover from the other side. Slipping her backpack off of one arm, she unzipped the side pocket and pulled out a pistol. As she pulled out two magazines and put them in her left jacket pocket, she glanced at Derek, who was fumbling to do the same. She dug her heel into his side, and he turned to protest when a bullet shot into the bark above his head, making him yelp and scurry backwards. "Derek, focus! We're dead unless you do!"

"Alright, alright! Jesus,." His grip tightened on the pistol in his hand. Nobody should die today. He found himself thinking. It's just not fair.

He kept a watchful eye and kept ready to fire. He couldn't see anybody in all these ferns. This was nothing like target practice or their paintball sessions. It was literally impossible to see from this angle.

A tug on his pant leg drew his attention. "Turn around. There's a clear path to my left. We'll have to run, they've gotta be closing in."

Toni shielded her eyes from the bits of bark shattering above her face. She was having just as much trouble as Derek seeing anything but plants, but whoever these assailants were, they were clumsy. They'd moved the plant leaves with their guns as they swept the area to find where they were, and she saw black sleeves peeking out from the trees. They were set like a dotted line in front of her, but there was a gap that was very big, big enough for them to run through. If they stayed here, they'd get pinned, right? Who knows what these people were trying to do, or who they were. it definitely seemed like they were trying to kill them.

She kept her eyes on the assailants as Derek clumsily turned himself around to face the same direction. "I'll go first. You need to be right behind me, okay? If I go first, it'll draw their fire." She ordered as she cast a glance at him. His eyes were wide and darting around more than hers were. His pale skin was beginning to get a thin sheen of sweat. His lips were parted and panting. Too agitated. Too panicked. She nudged his arm, and his head jerked towards her. "Derek, calm down. We're fine. We just have to get out of here. You're okay. You gotta focus."

It wasn't working. He was panicking more. his breath was getting faster, and his head jerked away at the sound of more gunfire. He wasn't listening to her anymore.

"Derek? Derek!?" She reached out to put a hand on his back. "Derek, listen to me, come on, we have to g-"

He put his head down against the ground and screamed. It was too late. He was having a panic attack.

The gunfire was ruthless now. They were hidden under the log, but now that he was screaming, they knew exactly where he was. All of the bullets were landing in the wood above his head.

Something snapped in Toni. She'd protected him before, but nothing like this. Never like this.

She wrenched the pistol out of his hands and turned him onto his side, pulling him further under the fallen tree. He curled up into a ball on his side, still screaming, hands clawing into his skull. Toni stayed bent over him, stroking his head softly and whispering to him as she grabbed the magazines out of his pocket and shoved them into her own.

Assess. Over one shoulder, behind them. She couldn't see anybody there. Maybe they were unevenly trained? Over the other shoulder, in front of them. Still as clumsy, still giving away their position.

This was too obvious. They were being directed that way. But what choice did they have?

There was a pause in gunfire. Two of the five, the ones on the left that had left the gap. She could see their arms. reaching to their sides. They were reloading.

Act.

Pushing off with her knee, she scrambled out of the hiding place and ran for the plants, tumbling in. The assailants started shooting at her, reacting to the movement. She crawled closer and closer, then took aim.

First gunman down.

She took a sharp breath and froze. Her hand started to shake. Memories of blood and bullets crept into the back of her mind, threatening to overtake her.

Don't remember them. Don't get compromised now. Finish it.

'finish him off’

Her fists clenched, and her face contorted monstrously. Not now. She knew what was most important about that memory, and he was right there under a tree, about to get shot unless she did something now.

She stood up and took the gunman's place behind the tree. They were arranged in a half circle, and they had apparently arranged themselves so they could see each other. The other gunman that was reloading had finished, and was shouting as he aimed his rifle at her.

Second gunman down. She took his place again, stumbling backwards as a bullet hit the tree trunk beside her face. Stepped a bit too far. Don't be clumsy now. She raised her arms.

Once. Miss. Twice.

Third gunman down. She scrambled to the next tree, falling into the ferns. She saw the next one jump in surprise, then they both quickly pointed their guns at each other.

Fourth gunman down.

The fifth gunman backed up, stumbling backwards into the foliage. She was parallel to the tree trunk now. Derek's screaming was beginning to quiet down. I'll give him honey later. For his throat.

"Derek, come on." She dragged him by his shoulders out into the open and onto his feet. "It's clear. Let's go. Come on."

He was sobbing now as she pulled him behind her. When he stumbled, she pushed him in front of her. The forest sounded so quiet now with only half the guns as before. She was able to lay a bit of covering fire as the assailants moved towards them, disturbing the foliage. She got one or two of them. The fewer, the better. Derek was shambling. His head must have been a mess, honestly. He wasn't ready for anything like this. All the training in the world wouldn't help him right now.

They reached a road. Toni stood behind him, gun at the ready and aimed for the trees behind them. The guns behind them had stopped. Judging by the cars passing on the road, either they didn't want to hit any civilians, or they didn't want anybody to know of their presence. Probably both.

"H-Hey, Do you think we could go in there?"

She spared a few seconds to glance. Across the road was a gas station. It wasn't getting any traffic at the moment. It would be a public enough place for them to lay low while she called for an extraction.

With a nod, she gestured for him to go first. She stayed for a few moments, her grip on the gun tightening as she scanned for any enemies. For all their sloppiness, they seemed to have disappeared. Tucking her gun into the back of her belt, she jogged after Derek, who was waiting on the other side of the road. He was staring at the ground, shifting on his feet, only looking up when he heard her approach. "Master, are you crazy? Never mind, come on, we've got to go inside.” She grabbed his arm and guided him in.

The door rang a tinny bell as they walked inside, Derek first and Toni soon after. A girl at the counter looked up, her head in her hands, then sighed and sat up. “Welcome to Johnny's Fuel. Anything I can help you with today?”

Toni shook her head at her with a tight smile, walking Derek out of sight of the cashier before turning him to face her. “Derek, are you alright?”

He was looking at the ground again. She tapped his shoulder a bit to make sure he wasn't unresponsive. “Derek?”

Derek jumped, stepping back a bit. His hands were held up in defense, but once he saw Toni's face, he started to understand what was happening. “T.... Toni...” His voice caught in his throat, and he shook his head. “I... I-I can't do this anymore, Toni... god...”

No. Was he going to rebel again?... It was the same thing he said before, isn't it? But, no... the way he was saying it... this was different. This was new. She'd never seen him like this before.

With a sigh, she cradled his face in her hands tenderly. “Derek...”

Something's moved. There's more than one cashier? Was her first thought. The bathroom door had opened, and heavy boots thudded against the floor. It could have been anyone. It was anyone.

All she saw was the face of a man in rage and a gun.

“Derek!” In one quick movement, she went from embracing Derek to shoving him to the side, throwing herself behind her master.

One shot. A shriek. Her shoulder suddenly became warm – she knew she wouldn't be able to use her arm anymore.

It didn't matter – she had to get Derek out of the way. There were objects crashing to the floor, and Derek was screaming her name as she shoved him into an aisle with her bad shoulder. The pain hadn't kicked in yet, and she was too on edge to care even if it had.

The both of them collapsed to the floor, and Toni scrambled for the gun in the small of her back. No time, there wasn't enough time-

“Get up, Alvar!” The man bellowed as he cocked his gun, storming towards their aisle. “You destroyed my family, and I'll make sure you never do it again!”

“Derek, get my gun, I can't get it,” Toni ordered firmly as she slipped her backpack off her shoulders.

“What the hell – Toni, what the hell-”

“Get it!”

“Alvar! Come out!”

“Get it!”

“I-I'm trying! You have to get up!”

With a cry, she rolled onto her right arm and grabbed wildly at her back. Her hand collided with Derek's clawing madly for a grip. He was getting closer.

“I've got it! He-”

There was no time. She snatched it out of his hand, whipping it out in front of her just as the man came around the corner. Both of her hands clenched into fists as she pulled the trigger. When he didn't fall down, she pulled the trigger even more until the gun clicked empty several times.

The gun stayed in the air for a few moments before falling to the floor, and Toni's chest heaved as she rolled onto her back.

“Toni, you got shot... Oh my god...”She felt a pressure on her shoulder, and Derek pulled her to sit up against him. Her gaze drifted to the pressure, and she saw that her green jacket now had a dark growing stain underneath his hand. Toni's entire body tensed in his grasp, and she looked up at him with fearful eyes and a strangled cry.

Derek was completely dumbfounded. Everything had happened so fast – the gunmen had appeared out of nowhere, an attempted assasination. He stared in front of them at the body on the floor. Who was that man? What did Derek do?

Suddenly, a new pair of feet appeared. Again? He looked up and saw another gun pointed at his face. It was a teenager behind this one, hair red as fire and jade green eyes. This kid couldn't be any older than Derek and Toni. “Who are you and what the hell just happened?” The stranger demanded, shoving the gun at them for emphasis.

Toni's head shot up at the new voice, and at the sight of the gun, she gasped, jerking her arm up to shoot again. The stranger shouted and took a step back, his grip tightening on the gun in his own hand. “It's empty!” Derek shouted, holding his hand out at the stranger. “I-It's empty! It's okay! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!”

The stranger growled as his eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Derek pulled Toni as close to him as he could, pulling the gun from her hand. She stared at her hand in confusion as it was torn away from her, and Derek set it down on a shelf. “See? It's fine. Don't shoot, please. Please.”

His words seemed to set off a switch in Toni, and she whimpered, turning to bury her face in Derek's shirt. She clutched at him and pushed at the ground with her legs. All he could do was hold her tightly as he gulped and stared at the person in front of him. “Please... Look, she's scared... she didn't mean it, honest... she's scared...”

“Ryan? Is everyone alright?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder, but her arms weren't raised. No gun. Still, as he turned his head around, something about her voice prompted him to turn back to see her better. She paused at this, but returned his gaze in confusion.

Platinum blonde hair, almost white. Her cheeks sloped smoothly into the softest lips he'd ever seen. And her eyes! Blue eyes, baby blue on the inside becoming cobalt on the rim. It felt like he was staring into a galaxy, beauty and bewilderment creeping into his heart and taking a firm hold.

“Hey! I'm talking to you!”

Derek's attention was snapped back to the red-haired boy. “What the hell happened?”

“There's – okay, there's people trying to kill us, okay? I don't know why, something's going wrong, we were just out here for a trip in the park, and people started shooting at us –“ His eyes flicked to the gun, and he shook his head desperately. “Please, for the love of god, can you just put the gun down?”

“Give me any reason why I should,” the stranger – Ryan – scoffed. “You two just walked in and murdered somebody!”

Toni screamed at the stranger's voice, curling up into Derek. “He's gonna kill us, he's gonna kill us, Derek... Derek...” She was starting to sob into his chest, clutching him close.

“Stop! Come on, look at her! She's scared, we have no idea what's going on!” Derek shouted. “That guy tried to kill us first, he shot her! We were just trying to protect ourselves!”

“He shot her?” The girl's voice behind him again drew another glance from him. Well worth it, in his opinion. “Where did he shoot her?”

“Her shoulder. I-It's bleeding,” Derek said quickly, adjusting himself to sit Toni up so the girl could see. “I need to get her help.

”Please, please help. She's scared. We don't know what's going on, she's scared,” Derek pleaded, turning back to Ryan, who had lowered his gun a little out of uncertainty. “Please. Nobody else has to die today. Please.”

They all sat like that for a while in silence, Derek’s heart pounding in his ears. He thought he would go deaf, but the girl scoffed and walked towards them. “Ryan, put that thing away. They need help, stop it.”

Ryan looked at her in confusion, but lowered his gun. “Cora, this is dangerous...”

Cora. Her name was Cora. Derek found himself whispering it under his breath as Cora approached them. It was soft, and beautiful. Just like her.

“Who cares? The gun is empty. They're scared. Just stop,” Cora told Ryan as she kneeled down next to the pair. “Is she okay? Does she need bandages?”

“No, we've got some. We've got bags... Our bags...” He reached out for the one that Toni dropped in her panic, and Cora reached for the same one. Their fingers touched, and Derek gasped a little from the sudden rush of dopamine in his system. It felt like somebody had stroked his skull and spine in soft fabric or water. It was a wonderful sensation.

... Awh, hell...

“Oh! I'm sorry!” Cora drew her hand back. “I-I didn't mean to startle you.”

Derek shook his head and blinked. “No, you're... You're fine.” He mumbled as he grabbed the bag, opening it. He rummaged around inside for the first aid kit, but his fingers came into contact with something a lot heavier. When he pulled it out, he was staring at the burner phone that his father always sent with them on trips. “Oh, thank god...” He sighed in relief as he flipped it open, starting to dial a number. Then he realized what he was doing, and looked up at Ryan and Cora. “You guys... You guys need to go. Now.”

“What? You better not be pulling anything funny, call the cops with that thing.” Ryan warned, pointing the gun at the phone as he kneeled in front of them. “She needs an ambulance.”

“No, you don't understand, that's not what this is for,” Derek said as he pulled the first aid kit from the bag and snapped it open. It was a little difficult with Toni grabbing at his arms, trying to hide beneath them, but he was able to get the gauze and pads. “This is for calling back-up. It's protocol for them to kill all witnesses. You guys need to leave before I call, and that means you need to leave now.”

“Back-up?” Cora glanced at Ryan with concern in her eyes, and Ryan's grip tightened on the gun as he spoke. “Excuse me?”

“Ryan for the love of god, put that stupid gun away!” she said, pushing the gun so that it pointed at the shelf. Ryan looked at her incredulously, and Cora looked apologetically at Derek. “I'm so sorry, we got robbed last month, and ever since then, Ryan's been carrying around this stupid water gun, it's not real.”

“What- Cora!”

“Shut up! They're fine, they need help!”

“Hey...” Derek put a hand on Cora's arm, and she looked at him. Her eyes held concern, confusion. “Look, you have to go. The cops might come, but you can't tell them about us. Our back up is going to take the body and make it look like an armed robbery. I-I don't know what to tell the cops – tell them you guys were on break, or blew off the rest of the shift. But nobody can know that you guys were here when this happened, or you're going to die. They'll kill you.”

The two gas station workers looked at each other, obviously disturbed by the notion. Ryan opened his mouth to ask a question, but Cora shushed him. “I... I think it's better we don't ask.” She noted, looking at Derek again. “This sounds bad.”

Ryan looked frustrated, but nodded. “I'll get the car.” He said before walking out stiffly. The jingle of the bell made Derek relax a bit, and he focused on flipping Toni onto her back. “It's okay... It's okay... Shhh....”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Asked Cora, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I wish I could have stopped this from happening...”

Derek shook his head. “It... It comes with the business, I guess...” He mumbled as he unrolled the gauze. He didn't think anything of the note until he looked up at Cora and saw the sadness in her expression. “I- D-Don't worry about it. Look...”

He put a hand on hers and looked her in the eyes. “Please. The best thing you can do now is go home and stay safe. Don't tell anybody about me and Toni. I…” He shook his head. “No more people should die today. Nobody should have. I don't want anybody else to get hurt. Please go home.”

They stared at each other for a while, and Derek lost himself for those few moments. Neither of them seemed to know what to do, but no words felt like they needed to be said.

“Derek...”

His attention was called away from Cora as Toni put her hand on his elbow, pulling his arm down to drape over her. “Derek...”

“Car's ready.” Ryan had come back in, and stared down at the three of them. Toni, who seemed to have calmed down from her panic, turned away from his gaze and pulled Derek's arm to cover her. She felt vulnerable, just lying with her head on Derek's lap like this.

Derek and Cora's hands shot back to their own laps, and Derek gestured with his head as he picked up the gauze again. “Go. You gotta go. I gotta make this call. Go.”

Cora nodded and stood up, and Derek heard their whispers as he dialed the phone.

“Do you think we can trust him?”

“Do you really want to die?”

“Ugh... fine...”

He laughed a bit to himself, then cleared his throat as he put the phone to his ear. As the dial tone rang, he thought to himself, hoping the consequences wouldn't be too severe when they returned to the compound. Toni's breathing was steady beneath him as he took her jacket off and started to bandage the wound.

Everything felt so lonely all of a sudden. It was peaceful, but without Cora here, it all felt lacking. He had the feeling it would stay that way for a while.

“Second, what's your status? Everything alright?”

Derek shook his head, securing the wrap on Toni's shoulder. “No. We've been attacked. Third is injured. We require immediate extraction. We're at a gas station on the highway called Johnny's Fuel...”

#Toni AU #The Organization AU #emotional whump #gun whump #whump #unrequited love #unfinished series

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ellebabywrites · 5 years

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Judas Kiss 4 - Mark Lee

Type : Series // Angst // Fluff // Future Smut // Gang!au

Warnings : Violence // Character Deaths // Cussing

Summary : There’s only one rule. You protect your own. None of you had chosen this life, but sticking together was the only way to survive it. When one of you dies and things start going wrong, the boy that saved you once on a whim, might be the only one who can keep you together.

Author Note : Finally an update, thank you for being so patient !! I’m posting this on my birthday and I worked super hard on it so please give this chapter some love and let me know what you think !! (Flashbacks are in italic!!)

Walt’s. A local diner just on the other side of the tunnels, open from 7-11 every single day for the last 50 years. Also the only place King would willingly drink something other than coffee, and even then, only to appease his friends’ worried stares. Yes ‘friend’, perhaps the only true friend King had. He had known Peter Walt since they were teenagers; King followed in his father's footsteps and Walt followed in his - in running the diner. Despite their differences as time went on, they never lost contact, never gave up on each other. Walt was always there to give King a fresh pot of coffee after every rough night and King had always protected the diner from gang activities. King spent most of his days at Walt’s. Having just returned to N.City from a long vacation, he was taking a moment to readjust to the harsh realities of life here; no matter how long he’d been involved in the gang world, he could never fully get used to it.

King was sitting at his usual table, in the back corner by the window, facing the front street. He was sipping on his second cup of black coffee while reading the newspaper and occasionally people-watching.

“That stuff will kill you y'know,” a deep voice came from beside him. He didn’t bother looking up, already knowing whom it belonged to.

“No faster than a bullet would,” he replies indifferently, taking another long sip as if to make a show of it.

“Jesus King, do you have to be so morbid this early in the morning?” The man sat down opposite him, topping up the now empty coffee cup despite his previous warning. His thin figure leaning back on the burnt seats, folding his arms and giving King a cold stare in mock-anger.

“Sorry Walt,” King says, flashing a smirk and putting down the paper so he could talk with his old friend, “how’ve you been?”

While Walt proceeds to fill King in on all the news he’d missed in his time away; his wife’s new craft project redecorating the living room; his nephew’s College acceptance etc etc - King’s attention drifts to the people outside the window. Walt doesn’t mind; he’s known King a long time, aware that despite his seeming uninterest, the ticks of his eyebrows and slight lift of his lips let Walt know he’s listening.

Across the street, sitting on a bench huddled together, were two kids. The taller boy takes a foil-wrapped sandwich out of his coat pocket and hands it over to the younger girl; encouraging her to eat and smiling warmly, but they didn’t look very warm. The winter was fast approaching and there was no way the two could possibly be okay in just those thin coats, King thought. Noticing King’s sudden lack of attention, Walt follows his gaze out the window. Spotting the two kids, he calls over one of his waiters and tells him to take them out two hot chocolates.

“Those poor kids,” Walt starts, shaking his head sadly and watching as his worker made his way over to the two of them, “They’re homeless, I try and give them a drink or some food y’know, whenever I see them; it just doesn’t seem enough.”

King looks back at Walt, his eyes showing slight worry, but keeping his composure. “It’s not safe for young kids like that on the street,” He says, more to himself; looking back through the window. The two kids were sitting closely, sipping on the warm drinks they’d just been given; the taller boy stopping to help the girl roll up her sleeves.

---

“This is the gym.”

It’s the first official day of Mark’s training; you brought him down to the gym on the lower level of the firehouse, ready to show him around.

Down in the pit, there was an old busted up boxing ring, ropes frayed and mat wearing thin.

“That’s the ring, Ty works with us in there,” you explain, walking him around the edges of the gym showing off all the different sections with pride, “he teaches us all these crazy military fighting moves he picked up in Iraq, it will absolutely kill you at first but once you get the hang of it, you’ll feel totally badass!” Mark likes it when you’re excited like this. Your eyes light up and lips stretch into a beautiful smile, one you try to contain by pulling them between your teeth, but fail. It’s obvious how much you love this place, these people. It makes him want to work hard enough to make you proud too.

There’s a row of windows along one of the walls that looks into a room adjacent.

“That’s the ‘shooting range’, it’s kind of small but there’s never more than three of us in there at once,” you explain, opening the side door to show him inside.

There’s a shelf next to a bench, loaded with weapons; rifles, handguns and knives.

“This is Rikky’s I’m guessing?” Mark asks with a chuckle, pointing at the broken skateboard lying by one of the shooting stalls. You giggle along with him and jump on top of the split wood.

“Yup, he always breaks them so he uses the pieces as steps now,” you jump down and stand next to Mark opposite, facing the target sheets on the far end of the room, “Rikky will show you how everything works when you’re in here with him. He may act like an idiot, but he’s the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

“What about you? Mark asks, shifting a little bit closer, “What do you do?” He wasn’t exactly sure what answer he was expecting, considering how he had met you, it honestly could have been anything.

“I am the resident thief,” you say; proudly smiling up at him, “I pick locks and get us in and out of… difficult, places.”

“Ahh so that night at Bangtan’s you were stealing something, no wonder they were mad,” Mark teases, nudging your shoulder playfully and laughing at the way your lips automatically fall out of the smile and into a pout. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! So what exactly will you be teaching me?”

“Nothing now,” you grumbled, turning your face away from him. Mark teased you like Johnny teased you. He knew how to play with you without pushing it too far; it made you feel comfortable, like you’d found a piece of the puzzle that was missing from your heart.

“Nooo, Y/N I’m sorry, please teach me,” he whines, tugging on your arm to get you to face him again.

“I suppose I could show you a trick or two,” you sigh, ready to continue the teasing, but a sound coming from the pit interrupts you both.

“I swear to God Rikky, I’m not in the mood!”

“C’mon big guy, scared you can’t take it? C’mon, hit m… ouch!”

You and Mark look out to see Rikky following Ty around the gym, wearing boxing gloves too big for him and throwing punches into thin air. It was comical watching the two of them; Ty, a 6ft marine, whining and pushing away this tiny string bean of a man full of energy, relentlessly pining for his attention. You both look at each other for a split second before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Y/N!!” Ty called out, getting tired of dealing with Rikky and wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible, “Let’s go on a store a run! NOW!” you giggle again at his impatience.

“Time to save Ty,” you joke, poking Mark in the side when you move away, “I guess you’ll be with Rikky today, do you want anything from the store?”

In the background you can hear Rikky’s incessant chanting, ‘one two punch, one two punch, c’mon Ty just once, I’ve gotten so much better,’ followed by Ty calling out for you again, a heightened sense of urgency to his voice.

“No thanks, I’m think I’m good,” Mark says, feeling a little nervous about being here without you.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” you wave goodbye, jumping onto Ty’s back when you reach him in the pit.

“Hey! Don’t forget my hot chocolate this time! It’s cold and you know my stomach is too delicate for that nasty coffee!!” Rikky yells behind you, making Mark laugh quietly, but of course that was his intention. Johnny made him feel at home a lot quicker by making him laugh, so he figured it would do the same thing for Mark.

“Yeah yeah, we got it!” Ty shouts back, halfway out the door already before Rikky can yell any more about his dietary requirements.

---

“Okay Mark let’s shoot some stuff!” Rikky came barrelling into the shooting range, a big smile on his face that in all honesty made Mark a little bit nervous. He’d never even touched a gun before, never thought he’d have to; now he had one of the best shooters around, according to you, showing him the ropes. Rikky grabbed a 9mm pistol off the shelf, checked the magazine and handed it over to Mark. “This is a pretty standard one to start you off with, it’s already loaded so just pull back the slider, aim at the target and,” Rikky moved Mark by the shoulders to stand in front of the target area and patted him on the back in encouragement, “squeeze the trigger.”

Swallowing dryly, Mark raises his arms up and takes aim. It’s a lot heavier than he imagined a gun would be; he almost doesn’t want to look as he pulls the trigger and hears a loud bang that definitely doesn’t sound right. Rikky’s hysterical laughter behind him is a pretty solid tell that he missed the target though.

“Jesus Mark, you might want to try keeping your eyes open next time!” Rikky is hunched over dramatically, still laughing his head off at Mark’s terrible first shot when he turns around.

“That was my first time, let me try again, I can do this,” Mark tried to pump himself up, when Rikky only laughs harder Mark decides he agrees with you - Rikky is a bit of an asshole. After a few more failed attempts and just a few half-decent ones, Rikky steps up to show him how it’s done; and that’s when Mark decides he also agrees that Rikky is one of the best.

“How the hell did you get so good at this!?” Mark asked, in complete shock at how Rikky hits every single shot dead centre. His mouth is gaped open and eyes wide, while Rikky just smirks, loving feeling like he was the best. It had been a while since anyone had had that kind of reaction to his talent.

“I used to run with a real bad crew,” he starts to explain, unloading the gun and putting it back on the shelf, “the kind of people I was with, if you didn’t learn quickly, you were dead .” His whole demeanour shifts slightly, no longer the joking ball of energy Mark had seen before, but now turning serious, almost sad, recalling the memories of his old crew. “It wasn’t like here with us. No one had your back, it was everyone for themselves. No one would come to save your ass if you were in trouble, no one cared. It was…. Dark.” Rikky handed Mark a bottle of water from his gym bag and sat down on one of the benches, Mark following him.

“Honestly, if I hadn’t gotten out when I did, I would be dead right now,”

It was total chaos. People rushing, shouting, shooting in every direction. Johnny grabs you by the arm and quickly pulls you behind a pillar just before a wave of bullets came darting passed your heads.

“KING !!!” Johnny shouts out over all the noise, “KING C’MON !!!”

All of a sudden everything stopped. An unsettling silence followed by the sound of bodies dropping to the ground.

“Okay kids it’s clear,” Lifting your head hesitantly, you see King standing among a pile of now deceased members of ‘The Pythons’, “Johnny, go take a look around back, see if we missed any hostages. Y/N, help me load these bags back into the van.” King ordered you both, grabbing one of the bags filled with cash and supplies, carrying it right out the front door.

“How did he do that?” you wondered out loud.

“C’mon Y/N, you know Kings’ bulletproof,” Johnny sends you a teasing smile before walking away to clear the back rooms. Back when you had first met King, you had been adamant he was some kind of iron man, the way he always managed to survive a shootout. Hence - bulletproof.

A month or so ago King had received a tip about a new crew from out of town, ‘The Pythons’, who were causing trouble. Kidnapping; arson; robbery - they were trying to move in on N.City and they were not being nice about it. It took three weeks to plan the take down; locating their current base; identifying the members and executing the whole thing. You’d rescued roughly 6 teenage girls from one of the storage rooms before it all kicked off. They were bloody and bruised, clothes torn and dirtied; you didn’t even want to think about what kind of things The Pythons made them do. You’re not ashamed to say that you all took great pleasure in putting them down.

Johnny circled round to the back rooms, using the barrel of his gun to push open doors enough to look inside. The door to the last room in the hall was slightly ajar; Johnny raises his gun and takes slow steps forward, ready for a sudden attack. But when he pushes open the door, what he sees is a man cowering in the corner; hands covered in blood and entire body shaking. Johnny recognises him from their surveillance photos, he was new, just a kid not much younger than himself.

“Hey, hey you’re Rikky right?” Johnny asks, crouching down in front of the trembling boy, “I’m Johnny. It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you.” Rikky’s eyes were heavy and his breathing rapid, “no no no, buddy stay with me, it’s okay we’re getting you out of here! KING A LITTLE HELP!!”

“King carried me out in his arms. Y/N held me in her lap the entire ride back to base. Hell, Johnny wouldn’t stop telling me how it was all going to be okay and how I was safe now - even while I was drifting in and out of consciousness.”

Mark sits in awe listening to Rikky tell his story, he couldn’t imagine the strong, charismatic man in front of him being so broken and vulnerable. Maybe there really was more to the team then met the eye.

“What was Johnny like?” Mark asks carefully, noticing how Rikky’s eyes had started to glass over; but at the mention of Johnny, his whole face lights up.

“Oh man, Johnny...” he suddenly leans back smiling, wiping his eyes and letting out a small chuckle. “Johnny was my brother. Hands down one of the greatest people I have ever met, or ever will meet in my entire life. He dragged me out of that dark place kicking and screaming and put me back together with nothing but a bottle of mountain dew and FIFA,” Mark watches how Rikky’s face softens at the memories, “he..he taught me a lot. Johnny..Johnny was special,” after a beat of silence Rikky starts laughing again, “couldn’t shoot for shit though, still…better than you for a first try.” He nudges Mark’s leg teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hey! I’ll get better,” Mark promises, not being able to hide his shy smile behind a pout. Rikky reaches out to ruffle his hair before standing up again,

“I know you will, I’ll help you.”

---

There’s old Jazz playing, one of Ty’s vinyl's. King is busy chopping onions while you and Ty unload the groceries when Mark and Rikky walk in.

“Hey you two,” Ty calls out, handing you cups of ramen to put away, “How’d training go?”

You can’t ignore the way your heart skips a few beats when you see Mark walking in; he looks good; he’s smiling and joking with Rikky about something and there’s a small piece inside your chest that just clicks back into place.

“It was interesting,” Rikky answers, playfully shoving Mark towards you, where he instinctively starts helping unload the groceries. It’s cute, you think.

“Scratch that, it was absolutely terrible,” Rikky laughs, sending you a wink when you scowl at his teasing.

“Don’t worry Mark, you’ll get the hang of it in time,” King gives him an encouraging smile that makes Mark feel a more settled. He was still a little nervous around King, but I guess growing up hearing all the stories and legends would do that to you.

“Thank you, S-sir”

You all stifle a giggle, still not used to Mark’s over-politeness, but it was funny seeing him get so flustered over it.

“You don’t have to call me Sir Mark -” King starts,

“Yeah, Grandpa’ is fine,” but Rikky interrupts, earning a slap on the back of the head from King and a laugh from Ty when he dramatically falls to the ground.

“King, is fine Mark, Just call me King.”

You, Rikky and Mark all sit at the island, watching King and Ty cook; Rikky continuing to fill everyone in on their day of training, not leaving out how Mark may have made some new holes in the wall with his first few tries. “Yeah we’re definitely going to need a lot more training with Bangtan on our asses.”

“What exactly is all of this over?” Mark asks, eyes flickering to you next to him, “I mean, there are just so many different rumours.” That makes you smirk slightly. You’ve all heard the rumours, none of them true of course, but it made you feel like you were in some kind of reality show. If your talk with Mark on the way to the base was any indication, you could only imagine what kind of stories were running through his head now.

“You shouldn’t always believe the rumours Mark,” you tease, knowing full well that less than a week ago he was convinced King was some hell-sent demon dropping bodies left and right - when now he was making him spaghetti wearing the baby pink apron Johnny had gotten him for Christmas. While you and Mark lose focus, sending each other teasing looks and nudges, King get’s Rikky to help stir the sauce so he can prepare the spaghetti.

“We’re on good terms with most of N.City,” Ty explains, gaining the both of your attention once again, “Bangtan wanted to try and take one of our clubs-”

“They failed miserably obviously; King’s name’s too strong for them to take down,” Rikky adds, not really paying attention to his assigned kitchen duties and earning another nudge from King.

“They burned down one of our warehouses in retaliation,” you say, watching how intently Mark is listening to everyone.

“...a lot of our allies then cut ties with them, so now,” King finishes explaining, starting to plate up the food, “they’re looking for revenge.

A small silence falls over the room as Mark takes in everything; it’s a lot more straightforward than he’d expected, but nothing has been like how he’d thought it would here.

“They’ve been quiet for a while though,” Rikky turns off the sauce and brings it over to King, “They’re probably planning something.”

“There was nothing quiet about what they did to Johnny.”

Everyone looks at you. You’re staring down Rikky with such a harshness to your eyes that it makes Mark shiver. No one says anything for a moment, before King hands Ty a pair of plates and tells him to set the table.

“We’re going to have a nice, quiet, dinner to welcome Mark into the family - okay?” King’s voice is stern as he directs it at you; you clench your fists in anger that once again he’s pushing what happened to Johnny under the rug. You feel Mark’s warm hand gently tug onto yours, releasing you fists and pulling you towards the table where you all sit to eat.

It’s awkward to say the least, but not for long. Ty quickly bringing up a lighter conversation to try and dull the tension.

“Can you play FIFA Mark? We play a lot of FIFA here in our down time.”

When Mark shakes his head Rikky, who was sitting next to you, hits your shoulder making a joke that ‘I doubt you could be any worse than Y/N.”

“Actually….I remember Y/N absolutely destroying you the more than enough times Rikky,” King jests along with the group, raising his eyebrows and winking at Mark. Rikky’s incessant whining after that making everyone laugh again, nerves a little lesser.

---

Mark’s been training with you all at the base for the last couple of weeks; alternating between working with Rikky in the shooting range; Ty in the boxing ring and you teaching him other useful tricks. Today Mark was with Ty. The last few hours spent dripping in sweat and throwing punch after punch; quick footwork dodging Ty’s advances around the ring.

The gym was silent, bar from the sound of their heavy breathing and hands making contact. It was getting late but Mark kept going; he’d just started noticing improvements and didn’t want to stop.

The gym door opens with a slow squeak as you poke your head through, “Guys,” you call out, finally gaining their attention, “King’s out so we’re ordering pizza for dinner,”

Breathing heavily, Ty takes off his gloves and gives you a thumbs up, “Cool, We’ll wrap up.”

Shooting Mark a quick smile, you disappear again; leaving Mark staring at the door where you were stood. Ty picked up on Mark’s feelings for you pretty quickly, hell, it was obvious as anything even on the first day; he doesn’t miss the way Mark’s focus is still glued to the door even minutes after you’d gone and he’d started packing up.

“You like her,” he says plainly, as if it wasn’t this big secret Mark had been keeping for weeks.

“W-what, I mean, of course she’s great, she…” he looks adorable, cheeks flushed and stuttering over his words, damn he had it bad.

“No,” Ty interrupts, saving him from digging an even bigger hole, “you like like her.” Teasing Mark had become Ty and Rikky’s new favourite hobby, especially when it came to you. Even more so when you were there because of how it would rile you up too; it was all in love but still Ty worried. He cared deeply for you and didn’t want to see you hurt again.

Mark was just standing there, speechless, in front of Ty. Was he really that obvious?

“Look kid, I can see you care about her,” Seems he was, “but you need to be careful.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks. You were one of the strongest people he’d ever met so Ty’s warning confused him.

“You’ve heard about Johnny?” Mark nods, “Well, when he died Y/N took it really hard, she was the one who found him,”

Johnny had been gone for a while and you were already running late for the mission, “King I’m going to grab Johnny!” you yell out before running out the door, picking up the discarded umbrella Johnny had left behind, and heading out in the rain.

The tunnels to the city are empty, as they usually are, but something about tonight made you feel on edge. Something was wrong. You didn’t get paranoid; living on the streets had taught you plenty about walking around in the dark; so why were you feeling so off?

The city is just as bad. There’s an eerie silence that makes the hairs of your arms stand up; again, normal, but something was definitely wrong

You start running through the streets, taking a few twists and turns till you get to where the store is; and then you see him.

You weren’t crying. Not yet. Why was he lying in the street? Maybe he fell asleep? He was gaming pretty late last night, yeah, he just fell asleep in the middle of the road in the pouring rain like an idiot. Yeah.

You’re frozen. You don’t want to move any closer, if you stay right here then everything will be fine, then Johnny will just be asleep, everything will be okay. But the rain is getting heavier by the minute and he’s getting wet, why isn’t he waking up if he’s getting soaked?

With slow steps you move forward, vision blurring when you see the ground is stained a deep red. You shake and whimper at the sight. He’s on his back, staring blankly at the sky, letting the rain wash away the blood surrounding him.

You take out your phone and call King.

“K-king,”

“Y/N where are you guys, we missed the….”

“K-king.” You can’t bring yourself to say it, that would make it real. You don’t need to though, just hearing your voice King knows something’s wrong and says he’s coming.

When they get there, you’re sitting on the floor, cradling Johnny’s head in your lap, combing his hair with your fingers and begging for him to wake up.

King, Ty and Rikky stand there, frozen just as you were, watching the scene. It was heart-breaking.

“Y/N,” King’s voice is soft behind you, he reaches for your shoulder but you’re quick to pull away, not wanting to be dragged into reality just yet.

“No!” you yell, “Johnny’s not waking up,” Your trying to keep your voice steady but all that’s coming out are whimpers, “He’s getting wet King, he needs to wake up,”

“Y/N,” Ty repeats, coming to kneel beside you, trying to get you to look at him. Rikky stays back, still in shock, unsure of what to do or how to help. He can’t see Johnny like that.

“Y/N we need to go, it’s not safe here,” Ty reaches for you but you push him back harshly, you can’t just leave him there.

“I said No!”

Ty looks up to King, his own eyes glazing over as well. When King gives him a subtle nod, he wraps his arms around your waist and forcefully pulls you away. He’d hear your screams every day for the rest of his life. Feel the hits and punches you attack him with every day. Remember the look on your face, before he wrapped you around him like a koala and pressed your head into his neck, forever. He carries you passed Rikky, back towards the base, taking you as far as possible so you didn’t have to see anymore.

King reaches down to close Johnny’s eyes, placing a hand on his forehead gently and choking back his own sobs. Rikky finally makes his way over and mutters out an ‘oh god,’ he’d seen plenty of bodies before, many worse off than Johnny’s, but it’s different when it’s your own brother on the ground.

“Let’s get him out of here.” King says blankly, turning to his ‘boss’ persona, keeping his feelings hidden.

“She passed out on the way back here,” Ty explains, “She didn’t wake up for two days; refused to leave her room for another two after that, then when she was finally getting back to herself, she went to Bangtans’.” Ty keeps his head down. It’s hard for him to think about that day, but Mark needed to know, to understand. You weren’t as strong as you seemed.

“Jesus,” Mark whispered, hearing about Johnny’s death for the first time, “They were close then? She always mentions him but never really talks about him too much,”

Ty nods eagerly, “Oh yeah they were each other’s other half's,” he goes on to explain, “they met in a foster home when they were just kids, apparently the place was a real shit show, tons of abuse, so they ran away. Lived on the streets till King found them. They’ve only had each other their whole lives - when Y/N lost Johnny, it was like she lost a part of herself.”

Taking a deep breath, Ty gets up and grabs his stuff, throwing Mark a water bottle in the process. When he’s packing up his gym bag, Mark spots a photo of a girl next to Ty, “Is she on the team too?” he asks curiously, he hadn’t heard any other names being mentioned.

“No uh, that’s Beth,” Ty grabs the photo and hands it over for Mark to get a closer look, “my little sister.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice as he tells Mark about his sister, the reason he joined the team.

Walt’s is busy today. In the back corner at his usual table, King is waiting for Ty.

“Are you King?” Ty asks nervously, sitting at the table when he’s given a nod in confirmation and handing over a photo. “This is my sister Beth. I heard you could help me find her.”

King takes the photo in his hands and looks at the young girl, Beth, who couldn’t be much younger than you, he already knows he’s going to help but he needs to know more.

“What happened to her?”

With a nervous shuffle, Ty opens up his phone and shows King the messages between him and his sister, “I just got back from the Army and I get these messages, she says she’s coming to N.City with some new ‘friends’, and no ones seen or heard from her since.” King quietly listens, looking at the texts filled with emojis and kisses, swallowing hard when it reminds him of you. “She’s my little sister and she’s in trouble.”

“And why do you think I can help you? There are hundreds of people in the city and they’re not exactly the ‘friendly’ type,” Just as King starts to ask more questions, making Ty a little nervous, the door to the diner chimes open followed by a ‘Hey Uncle Walt!’

You and Johnny spot King at his table and immediately make a b-line to join him.

“Hey King, who’s this?” Johnny asks, shuffling next to Ty in the booth while you sit opposite next to King.

“I’m Ty,” he introduces himself, pocketing his phone feeling more nervous about this meeting than he had when he first walked in here.

“Ty needs our help finding his sister,” King explains, “She came to the city with friends a few weeks ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

“We can help!” Johnny buts in, giving Ty a warm smile, you eagerly doing the same, prodding King with your elbow to get him to speak.

“We’ll help you.”

“We looked for Beth for weeks but found nothing,” Mark almost regrets asking, seeing the look on Ty’s face, “That’s why I’m so protective over Y/N, I can’t lose another sister.”

“I won’t hurt her Ty,” Mark says, looking him in the eye, “I’ll protect her.”

“I know Mark.”

---

It must have been passed midnight when Mark woke up on the couch; training most days with Ty was exhausting him, but he could definitely see the changes it was making too. He forces himself to get up and make his way to his actual bed.

Dragging himself down the hall with heavy steps, Mark passes your room, noticing the door was open. Inside, you’re lying on your side tucked into Ty’s chest. His nose buried in your hair and arm hanging on your waist.

“Don’t worry about that,” Rikky’s voice came from behind him, noticing how Mark was just standing outside of your door looking flustered, “Y/N gets night terrors.” Rikky leans against the doorframe next to Mark, watching silently as you nuzzle further into Ty, searching for warmth.

“Johnny used to sleep in with her; since they went through stuff together on the streets, he could always calm her down. Since he died they’ve been getting worse, so Ty does it” he explains quietly.

Mark looks over at your sleeping figure again and notices the way you keep stirring, then he notices the way Ty holds you tighter each time you do and he can’t hide the slight jealousy that washes over him.

“She’s got it bad for you anyway dude,” Rikky teases, “she gets all googly eyed and mushy, it’s kind of gross,” he makes a disgusted face and they both laugh silently.

---

“Jesus Mark what did you do!?” you yell slightly, seeing Mark hunched over on the couch holding an ice pack to his face.

“I hit the practice dummy too hard and it hit me back,” he laughs at himself, it really was pitiful. Shaking your head your head you grab the first aid supplies and sit next to him, “at least it’s practice for when I really get punched.”

“Don’t make those jokes,” you can’t help but laugh a little with him though, how was he so clumsy? Since he’s been here he’s hurt himself half a dozen times already and that’s not including the training. “I’m sorry,” you whisper after the giggles have died down, taking the ice pack off of him and applying ointment to the bruise, “...for dragging you into this mess I mean, I’m sure this isn’t exactly what you wanted.” As much as you love having Mark around, you couldn’t help feeling incredibly guilty for bringing him into this life, no one chooses to be here, Mark’s only in danger because you were stupid enough to get caught at Bangtan’s, this was your fault.

“Hey,” he grabs your hand to make you stop and focus on him instead of his wounds, “I wasn’t going anywhere in N.City, I didn’t have anything, at least now I have you,” you both stared into each others eyes for a beat, cheeks slowly growing flushed ‘till you can’t help but let your eyes fall to his lips.

“...The team… I mean,” he covers nervously.

“Oh, yeah of course.”

“How exactly did you get involved with this stuff?” Mark asks, trying to talk about something, anything, that would stop his ears from burning.

“There’s this diner in the city called ‘Walt’s’, when Johnny and I were on the streets, the owner would give us free drinks and stuff; then King noticed us and started getting us meals each day…”

“Johnny I don’t want to,” you were pulling on his arm, desperately trying to drag him the opposite direction, “that’s KING, the scary guy from the stories, it’s not safe Johnny!”

He agreed with you, but it had been days since you’d last had proper food and it would be a while yet before you could again.

“It will be okay,” he turns to you and kneels down to your level, holding your hands, “We need food Y/N, he’s Walt’s friend so he can’t be that scary right?” Johnny could always calm you down, it was like his super power, no matter the situation he would always make you feel safe and protected. “Besides, I’ll be with you the entire time, I’ll keep you safe.” Maybe he was just your superhero.

After a few meals with King, you both opened up to him exponentially. Like Johnny had promised, he stayed by your side and you both soon realised King wasn’t even half as scary as what people thought - at least not to you. Truthfully, King had started to see you both as his children; eating dinner together almost every day for years, it became harder and harder for him to watch you walk back into the streets afterwards. For some reason he felt the strong need to protect you both. Maybe he saw the innocence that still lingered somewhere beneath all the trauma and shattered glass. That’s when he decided he was going to take you in.

“...He took us in, gave us beds; clothes; food. He got Johnny the Xbox and taught us how to cook. He’s basically our father,” you smile. King really had done so much for you, sometimes you forget.

“Do you miss Johnny?” ‘Stupid question Mark of course she does’ he thinks as soon as he says it.

You look at him again and nod once, you never really talk about Johnny as him with anyone. Sure you’ve mentioned him in stories, much like the others had, but talking just about Johnny was hard, because it’s just a reminder of how you don’t have him anymore.

“So much,” you decide you won’t cry in front of Mark, he makes you feel safe, “he is my favourite person. He was the ‘rock’ of the team, everyone could go to him with any problem, anything at all, and he’d make it better. He brought us all together.”

This Christmas sucked. You all failed a mission two days before, leaving you all pretty beaten up; King was busy with meetings all day, the fridge was empty and none of you could stand long enough to get anything. Everyone was in a mood; hungry; tired and just over it.

“Right!” Johnny suddenly announces, hobbling up from the couches you were all sprawled across, “FIFA tournament, now! Rikky and Y/N vs Me and Ty, Winners get to choose the movie for movie night for the whole of January!”

Despite the initial reluctance, you all agreed and after a few rounds, it made things better. Suddenly the four of you were full of energy, hyping each other up and having to remember not to jump too quick on your bruised legs when you scored. Laughter, cheers and shouting soon filled the dull room.

“What’s with all the noise?!” King shouts, smiling when he walks in to see all of you huddled together around the tv, “I bought Ramen!” he shouts again, finally gaining your attention.

“...we ate ramen and played games all night that year; Johnny turned one of the worst Christmases in to the best, just by using his stupid football game as a way to make us watch 27 dresses every week for a month,”

Mark puts a hand on yours and rubs circles over your knuckles as you talk, still sitting impossibly close, he could feel you pouring your heart out to him and he was going to catch every piece of it.

“Can I speak to Mark for a moment please Y/N,” King had appeared behind you both and was giving you the look that told you to leave. You give Mark a sad smile before going, missing the warmth of his touch the second it’s gone.

“How are you doing Mark?” King asks, taking your place on the couch, though not sitting nearly as close as you were. “You’ve improved a lot, I’m proud of you.”

There was something to the way King had said it that made Mark feel good, he was proud of himself too, he was truly happy here.

“Thank you King Sir,” King smiles softly at the boy who still can’t seem to stop calling him ’Sir’, but he’d given up trying to correct him, he was starting to get used to it.

“Now Mark, I think you know by now that Y/N is like my daughter, she’s very precious to me,” it felt like he was about to get ‘the talk’ so Mark swallows dryly and nods along in agreement, “Y/N cares deeply for you, that makes you important to me too. I hope you know that whatever happens, you are apart of this family, you will always have a home here, that is a promise.”

Mark felt like he could cry. King was looking at him with such sincerity, opening his arms and welcoming him into his home, into his life - he’d never felt so at home before and it was overwhelming. To be wanted somewhere, to be apart of something.

“T-thank you, I-I, just thank you for everything,” Mark says, holding back the tears and smiling at the man who was giving him a fresh start in life, a life with meaning.

“If you’re thankful, how about helping me make tonight's dinner son, I’ll teach you how to make my famous Risotto,” King stands and gestures for Mark to follow, leaning in and whispering teasingly, “it’s Y/N’s favourite.”

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amillionsmiles · 7 years

Text

want your bad romance (Keith/Shiro)

Summary: Lance takes Keith to the spin class he’s teaching. Keith falls mildly in love with one of the regulars. There are casualties. A/N: I took my first spin class yesterday and it basically went exactly like this except I didn’t wipe out quite so dramatically and I didn’t find love

[Read and review over on Ao3] or continue under the cut.

“No, no, no,” Lance says, grabbing Keith’s water bottle out of his hands before he can set it down to claim his space. “Newbies sit up front.”

“Lance.” Keith swipes at it, then decides it isn’t worth his energy and crosses his arms instead. “Don’t make this more unbearable than it already is.”

After weeks—weeks of incessant begging and cajoling—he’s finally agreed to attend one of the spin classes Lance teaches at the local fitness studio. Already, Keith has his doubts. There’s a cultish air to the whole thing; Lance had to type in a code and lead him down a flight of stairs to get to the training room, for one, and in the dim lighting the rows of stationary bikes look like sentries. Maybe they’re guarding the secret to a healthier, happier life, per Euphoria’s tagline. Who knows.

“Look, that way I can help you in case something goes wrong, okay?” Lance defends.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “We’re going to be sitting. On stationary bikes. For 45 minutes.”

“It’s harder than you’re making it sound! And keep your newbie wristband on!”

“I don’t understand why I have to wear this! You already know I’m a newbie.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you,” says Lance. “So you can identify the other newbies and bond with them. Also, it glows in the dark.”

Keith pulls at the rubber wristband, which, sure enough, glows a faint blue. “It’s stupid,” he mutters.

Lance brings his palms together and down in a slight chopping motion. “Okay, first rule of spin class? Positive attitude. Now, I’m going to go change into my costume, and you’re going to find a seat.”

“Costume?” Keith asks, but Lance has already zipped away.

Resigned, Keith trudges his way toward the front, where he picks one of the bikes on the left. Other people have begun to trickle in. The difference between the newcomers and the regulars is clear, not just from their wristbands; the newcomers loiter by the cubbies while the regulars make a beeline for the bikes, adjusting seat heights with practiced precision.

A short girl with a blonde ponytail and gray athletic t-shirt materializes by Keith’s side.

“Do you need help being clipped in?”

“What?”

“Do you need help being clipped in,” she repeats.

Keith conducts a rapid scan of the room. There aren’t harnesses of any sort.

“I…don’t know what that is.”

“Your shoes,” the girl explains patiently, to her credit. “Here, go ahead and sit on your bike.”

There’s not much to argue here. He’s out of his element enough as it is; the only thing to do is oblige. So Keith gets into place, following her directions—twist all the way right, that’ll adjust your resistance; okay, now put your left foot here and stand up—

A clicking noise, and Keith’s left foot locks firmly in place, held by the spikes on the soles of the special shoes he had to change into. His right foot follows suit.

He has a brief moment of foreboding, like the sense of finality you get when the rollercoaster lapbar settles across your hips. There’s no getting off this ride anymore, not until the bitter end.

And it’s then—right when both of Keith’s feet are stuck fast to the pedals—that The Man enters.

A cosmic chime sounds. Keith forgets how to breathe.

The Man is six-foot-something of muscle, with a shoulder-to-waist ratio that should have its own annals in history, right next to the Golden Ratio or pi. A white lock of hair dangles artfully over his forehead, stark against the rest of his black undercut. He surveys the room, running a thumb along his jaw in thought, and maybe Keith would have done better in high school geometry if they’d studied things that actually made sense, like the planes of The Man’s face.

The Man stretches his arms above his head and the fabric across his chest stretches, too.

The Man starts walking.

The Man picks a bike.

The bike.

The bike right next to Keith.

“First time?” he asks, smiling as he bends to adjust the bike seat.

Keith blinks, then glances at the bracelet glowing around his wrist. Words, Keith. Use your words.

“Yeah.”

The Man nods. Finished with his adjustments, he grips the black metal handlebars and swings up onto his seat. It’s a power move, made with powerful thighs. Strong enough to—

Keith swallows. “I’m Keith.”

“Shiro,” The Man says, extending a hand. It’s a bit awkward to twist his torso and lean over to take it, especially with both his feet rooted in place, but Keith manages. Shiro’s palm slides against his. He has calluses near the top—maybe from lifting? Immediately after their hands break contact, Keith tries to wipe his against his shorts as subtly as possible. Damnit, he really should have worn his gloves today.

He’s already breaking a sweat and they haven’t even started exercising.

This is pathetic.

“You picked a good class for your first time,” Shiro says, bike wheels whirring as he gets started on some sort of pre-workout workout. “Lance is one of my favorite trainers; he really knows how to keep the energy going.”

Fucking Lance. How the hell had he neglected to mention someone like Shiro existed? Not to mention attended his classes weekly?

“Uh, yeah. Lance is—Lance is a really close friend of mine, actually. He’s great.”

Of course, this is the exact moment Lance waltzes back into the room, wearing devil horns, angel wings, and a red cape. And compression shorts.

Keith wants to shove all his earlier words back into his mouth.

“Allllll right everyone, I hope you’re clipped in and ready to rumble!” Lance calls in his announcer-voice, the same one he uses to obnoxiously narrate their Mario Kart games. “This is our Halloween session, and you all know what that means: things are about to get freaky.”

Lance punctuates this statement by flicking his cape behind him, arranging himself on the bike that’s front and center and straightening his headset. He fiddles with the iPad on the table beside him. On cue, the room darkens further, red mood lighting running along the ceiling, Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” starting up. Overlaying it, Lance’s cheerful count: “Now keep the beat with your feet! 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4—”

This is worse than the one time Keith took acid.

Beside him, Shiro says something, but it’s lost to the noise as Lance increases the music’s volume.

“What?” Keith strains.

“Enjoy the ride!” Shiro repeats, louder.

And winks.

“Elbows out! Now in! Now out!” chants Lance.

Keith gulps and puts his head down, pedaling faster.

They’re halfway through Ke$ha’s “Cannibal” and Keith wants to die.

It’s like being in a club—same stench of sweat, same amount of strange bodies all moving to the beat. The lights fade from red to pink to purple to blue, pulsing along with the music, and Keith is nowhere near drunk enough to be doing this. The sole redeeming factor is that, since he is sober, he can fully appreciate the sight of Shiro’s Adam’s apple bobbing every time they take a water break.

That, and the glistening sheen of perspiration across Shiro’s forehead, wiped away by the snow-soft towels provided to each of them. In the darkness, the motion looks almost erotic.

If this were a club, Keith would down a shot and muster the courage to ask Shiro: do you want to get out of here? But since they’re not in a club, he can only assume that the way to Shiro’s heart is through sheer athletic prowess. Balls to the wall, pedal to the metal. So for every count Lance makes, Keith works his legs twice as fast, hunched over the handlebars with single-minded purpose.

His vigor does not go unnoticed. Shiro glances over appreciatively. From his vantage point, Lance looks surprised at Keith’s sudden fervor—and then he glances at the man cycling next to Keith. Understanding dawns over his face, sly and almost feral.

“Great job, everyone! Keep it up, just like that!” As Lance speaks, he twists to the side, pulling something from the table. A plastic Cupid’s bow and a foam arrow, which he nocks at Keith mockingly.

Keith glares. It says: I’m in the middle of something important and if you fuck it up with your bullshit, our friendship ends here.

Lance’s grin widens.

There are acts of poetic justice. And then there are punishments that can only be wrought by the divine.

Lance fires his shitty foam arrow and Keith whiplashes out of the way—in order to, what, not catch feelings for the Adonis cycling next to him? Too late for that. In the process, his left foot jerks free of its clippings, but the pedals keep going, too much momentum, and Keith topples forward, still attached by his right foot. All of this as Tove Lo’s voice climbs higher and higher, belting: keep playing my heartstrings faster and faster, you can be just what I want, my true disaster.

His face slams against the handlebars, the immediate gush of blood from his nose warm and messy, and then everything goes black.

Small mercies.

“Keith? Keith? Oh thank god, he’s alive.”

Keith wakes up flat on his back, wooden slats of the bench pressing against his shoulder blades. They’re in the seating area where he’d changed shoes earlier; someone has done him the small kindness of sticking one of the orange ornamental pillows under his head.

Standing over him, Lance holds a crinkled piece of paper.

Keith squints. “Is that—is that my waiver form?”

“I just had to make sure we weren’t going to be held liable!” Lance explains. He points to Keith’s signature. “You signed this so you can’t sue.”

“I can think of other ways to settle,” Keith growls.

A hand on his arm stops him.

“Easy there, Keith, drink some water.”

Keith looks at the hand. Follows it to its wrist, then from wrist to arm, then arm all the way up to shoulder—

Shiro sits beside him on the bench, holding out a bottle. Gingerly, Keith takes it, suddenly self-conscious of the way he drinks, plus the deliciously wicked bruise probably already forming across his nose.

He puts the bottle down, wiping at the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How long was I out for?” he croaks.

Shiro checks his watch. “Three minutes, tops.” He settles his palm against Keith’s forehead, swooping close to stare into Keith’s eyes, and if that spiel about your pupils dilating from desire is true then Keith’s pretty sure he has two black holes in his face right now.

“Hm,” Shiro says. The single sound travels the whole length of Keith’s spine. “You don’t look concussed. It might have been dehydration.”

“Yeah, Keith never hydrates enough,” says Lance, like it’s Keith’s fault this whole thing happened. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the others now and do damage control, but thanks for carrying him up here, Shiro. I’m serious about owing you a free session.”

“No problem.” Shiro dips his head in acknowledgement.

Meanwhile, Keith’s brain is short-circuiting at the implications of carried. Over the shoulder? Bridal style? How close had his face been to that chest?

He kind of wants to pass out again.

Lance leaves him to nurse these thoughts. Surprisingly, Shiro doesn’t go with him, opting instead to stay beside Keith. Running his fingers through his hair, he leans back against the wall and chuckles.

“What is it?” asks Keith.

“Tough break, for your first time,” says Shiro, smiling crookedly and nodding toward Keith’s presumably messed-up face. “Guess you’d be hard-pressed to come back here again, huh?”

There are special corners of hell reserved for people like Keith.

And right now, that corner looks a lot like an appointment booked for Revolutions: 5:30-6:15, every Friday.

“I—” Keith clears his throat, but his voice still comes out hoarse. A parched man dying of thirst. “I think it’s worth another shot.“

#vld #voltron #sheith #vld keith #shiro #keith #otp: good to have you back #my writing #fanfiction #ff: voltron

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legendofthematriarch · 4 years

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Prologue

A vampire gentleman of some repute in his own corner of the world was napping comfortably in his puffy chair. Where in this world was he? Indeterminate as far as he was concerned, likely somewhere in Europe considering the accents he was surrounded by. He had one of his own but it had been a couple centuries since his homeland was relevant to his own interests. Where in time was he? Also irrelevant, his style was gathered from the local evening markets. There were some pretty frills and puffy sleeves which he found more comfortable than he originally expected. Last he checked it was somewhere in the 1800's but once more, he stopped bothering to keep track. He was of the old blood, one of several dozen bloodlines that dates back a thousand years, perhaps even two. His face contorted into that of a bat when the call of the blood demanded him to feed himself, or perhaps at times when he just felt like it. The world suited him just fine, and some decades ago he had essentially retired to a special cliffside estate.

A marvel of an estate it was, built inside a mountain that was originally commissioned to have the recent invention that was steam powered locomotives, later to be dubbed as trains, to fly through the mountain in a winding path. This idea was shot down and shelved, but the local vampire hierarchy still scammed the officials out of the funding needed to make such a plan happen and replaced it with their own; a Grand, multilayered hotel of a thing. The eventual structure was borrowed from their fellow vampiric neighbors in Mexico. Now, this particular vampire in question was hired on to deal with the money involved in such a coup, and was just given a room and office as he managed to filter their crimes through the ages, though in this case he had only been employed for a couple of decades. They kept him comfortable due to his importance, as he was dubbed ‘the money man’. As time went on, it became an absolute nexus of vampire kind. A bastion of trade, pleasure, and influence. It would go on to house hundreds within its walls, and the hallways became busier than a festival in New York. Something was wrong, he managed to notice. One of his pets, sheepish and terrified, stammered out an emphasis while pointing at the man’s face. Confused, he reached up and noticed that his glamour spell had faded (he was reaching up in the years, and had to resort to magic to keep his visage applicably young). This was odd, he thought, considering that glamour spells require very little effort and can even maintain beyond sleep. There was also a spot of tinnitus in his ears, something he hadn’t experienced since his turning. Also very odd. He stepped up from his nab and located a nearby mirror. Worthless to him, as his old blood did not allow for a reflection but they still had their uses; that of communication. Indeed, like the fairy tales that even his age are familiar with… mirrors were used as a form of long range contact. He hadn’t bothered learning the art of telepathy, only for a short range across-the-household type of way. He felt the faux-silver lining of the mirror and found that his call went… unanswered. Well, that was irregular. He felt his heart sink, if not beat just a touch, as he heard a frantic shuffling of steps all around him and heightened vocals. It hit him then; The estate had just been mass dispelled. They were under attack.

The sounds and feelings of the attack were like nothing he had heard or felt before. A loud booming, not unlike cannonfire but precise. The foundations shook, and he started hearing the vocals become further frantic yelling. He told his pet to flee and inform others, and she did as he commanded, running off into parts unknown or rather, irrelevant, for this retelling. He ran into the hallways and immediately, the wooden fixtures in the hallways exploded and splintered around behind him. The shards of which, large enough to have impaled and ashed a few of his neighbors. The sight alone shocked him, the mere suddenness of such an explosion. The frantic vocals of the estate had now become outright screaming, and he only took a few steps before the foundations crumbled beneath him, his movement became entirely out of his control and he fell through the floor and landed one floor below, where he managed to regain his composure fairly quickly and delve deeper into the halls. He had recalled the test of naval artillery when it was first being introduced to the French military, but the sounds he was hearing were far too rapid for his understanding. Try as he did, he could not find any proper cannonballs lodged into the walls. The holes were also far too narrow, though certainly large in their own right.

He yelled out commands and orders, and most of them were related to getting into the undercroft so that all may flee into the relative safety of the inner mountain. He found one of the higher nobles, having retreated to the residential areas to give like minded orders. She recognized this gentleman and quickly approached him. “Do you know what is happening?” “No, no, I was just…” He tried to reply but before they had a chance to blink, a sharp and deafening sound shot through the hall around them. Some form of projectile had just entered her throat, only allowing her a shocked cough before she immediately burned into ash, followed by another explosion that sent her ashed corpse straight into him. It was if some green magic had entered her neck and engulfed her jawline before fading entirely. Madness, he thought, what manner of weapon could kill a vampire so damned quickly? Some kind of chemical, he thought, entered her veins but did not have nearly enough time to act as a poison. She was just shot and then… gone. Her ash had entered his nostrils and lungs at this point, causing some coughing. He tried to regain his composure but the shock of the situation begins setting in while one, overbearing directive enters his mind: Survive.

He fled, through the hallways and towards the stairs. The very floor he stood upon buckled and cracked at various points, causing him to have had to jump across a small gap. He went down a single flight of stairs, and the entire woodworks were crackling. The red and black themed rugs were slipping through said breaks, and he had a moment to look up as others came behind him. The stairs cracked too severely and some fell, but the force of the stairs snapped by and impaled another woman, ashing her immediately. The cries of her followers were seen and heard as they jumped down after this gentleman, and he gave the universal signal to continue onward. He did as well, fleeing through the gothic hallways and trying to make his way towards one of the main lobbies or lounges, the nexus in which the various wings were connected.

He had made it, following the sounds of terrified shrieks but another realization came upon him as a hallway that flanked the direct outside was breached. It was roughly noontime, a point of horror when the cornered roof above them exploded open, leaving the shine of sunlight to unleash its wrath upon several vampiric civilians, killing several instantly in a painful display of fire and seared flesh. Sunlight can be survival for some bloodlines, but some succumb to it within seconds and he was surrounded by very old blood, where the sun holds incredible sway over their lives. He continued on.

He found another hallway to traverse (there were many, after all!) but his advance was blocked by another explosion, trapping dozens. After witnessing another bout of ashing, he found himself in a position of proper investigation. The sunlight was not beaming at the immediate angle that would do him harm, and this allowed him to peer outside to find out what was attacking. He could barely comprehend what he was seeing. A type of ship that was flying on its own, no sails, and had the silver sheen of pure metal. It had mounted guns beneath instead of atop, which he recognized and were horrifically put to use as they let loose upon the crackled hallway where many vampires were trapped by the sheen of sunlight. Most died, but not before he had the abysmal memory of watching limbs fly off from being shot from some kind of enlarged bullet which he had never seen the likes of before. His reflexes and senses allowed him to see the shape of it, but they were still far faster than the rifles he had seen before.

Horror, madness, murder, was all he could think of. So many of this estate were simple civilians, working for the higher nobles to keep the vampiric hierarchy running. Through the likes of himself and his superiors, they were simply operating to keep the peace with the outside world and to make sure no harm could be done to either side. It was all he could think about, but what could have enticed such a brutal attack. He knew of some of the darker elements that his superiors would get up to, but even then if evidence was mounted then surely justice would have been served? This is nothing but a slaughter, he thought.

He hadn’t the time to dwell on what manner of sorcery or technology that was assaulting them, but that particular route was no longer viable. As he turned back, once again the foundation buckled and cracked, and he was forced once again one floor below. He quickly saw a shattered log fire upon him, and he narrowly avoided the same fate he saw so many others befall. Everything shook at all times, but he was in the position to face the lobby he was seeking, which had access to more points of escape. He ran on through, finally getting what would be at ground level. At least, as ground level as the cliffside allowed, but near one of the several main entrances that at least held the stables and horses. He found a small family, some of which he recognized. There were several, not all related but adopted each other through time and bond. An old blooded vampire matriarch, her face contorted into batlike features not for thirst, but for battle. However, there was no fighting, there was only fear. All their hopes for an escape were quickly annihilated as some of the roofing collapsed in just the way to force sunlight near the front. They could go back, but everything was collapsing around them. They were trapped, and he approached the huddled few to help protect them and give time to think of plans.

Beyond the matriarch, there were two younger men, three women, and two vampiric children, neither could have been older than eight or ten. One of them was fully turned, but the scent of the bloodline was unfamiliar, and the older of them might have been stuck in that youth’s body for some time. They barely spoke at all, as a loud humming engulfed the collapsed nexus. A type of fan perhaps, but far too loud, and the dust of wind and ashes washed over the group as they heard footsteps approach the wreckage of the entrance. Deep, heavy footsteps entered the front door, or what could be considered the remains of a front door. Through the ash that seemed to have been permanently affixed to the air surrounding them all, a pair of glowing red eyes was seen through the veil. They seemed to smoke on their own, a magic he did not recognize without proper study. As the creature approached, he once more could not recognize the technology they wielded. It was a man. Massive, something to the tune of eight feet or so and the broadness to match, that of an incredible warrior. His armor looked like plate or steel, but was layered oddly. It also clicked has he stepped, as well as some lights throughout that were sharp, small, and precise. It was once again like nothing he had ever seen. His eyes drifted towards the massive hammer he wielded in a single hand, easily half of his own height. A special, runed hammerhead that was crackling with some red-orange energy that matched the man’s own eyes. His grin, filled with wickedness and untoward thoughts. His teeth were unnatural as well, pointed in their own way but not like a vampire’s. More of a demonic nature, but he couldn’t tell. All the gentleman could ask was, “What are you…?” The voice of the being was deep, guttural, and coordinated. His words were carefully chosen, if strangely playful, and seemed to originate straight from his deepest bowels, “I am the result of thousands of years of your kinds baaaaad decisions..” Then, he lifted his hammer to bring it down and… there was nothing at all.

#Creative Writing #SciFi #Fantasy #LGBT

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abujaihs-blog · 5 years

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Are Cities’ Housing Policies Making a Difference?

Many Cities Advance Inadequate “Middle Ground” Strategies As the urban affordability crisis increases homelessness and prices out the working and middle-class, cities are responding in various ways. But to paraphrase the Los Angeles Times (“L.A. Spent $619 million on homelessness last year. Has it made a difference,” May 11), are cities making a difference in preserving and increasing housing for the non-rich? Let me put the question another way. When Joe Biden said he would pursue a “middle ground” on climate change, Democrats justifiably went ballistic. We need emergency measures to battle climate change, not half-baked compromises. Yet the infill housing policies of the nation’s most progressive big cities reflect “middle ground” compromises that progressives attack Biden for supporting. Cities backing more housing are allowing luxury homeowners to exclude new apartments from their neighborhoods, the type of inadequate “middle ground” solution that got Biden in trouble. It’s undisputed that long car commutes caused by exclusionary zoning worsen climate change. Yet too many cities are still failing to act. Here’s my take on whether key cities are making a difference. I write about many of these cities in Generation Priced Out: Who Gets to Live in the New Urban America. Cities Making A Clear Difference Austin Last week’s unanimous City Council passage of Councilmember Gregorio Casar’s “Affordability Unlocked” Bonus Program opens all neighborhoods to buildings of six units or more that are 50% affordable. The $250 million affordable housing bond voters passed last November will be used to fund the affordable units. Nobody would have predicted one year ago that Austin would pass such a sweeping density bonus/affordable housing measure. The November 2018 elections set Austin on a more pro-housing course, but it took a brilliant policy plan by Casar and the hard work of Austin’s dedicated housing activists for this election win to be translated into new housing policies. Minneapolis Minneapolis’ ending of single-family home zoning last December created a political earthquake. It also set a new standard for other cities. As with Austin, Minneapolis still suffers from affordability issues. The city desperately needs rent control and just cause eviction laws to protect tenants. But the city’s breakthrough on exclusionary zoning has made it easier for other cities to follow. Denver Denver continues to aggressively build more housing, including more affordable units. On March 21, the Urban Land Conservancy (ULC) broke ground for the Walnut Street Lofts, 66 units of permanently affordable housing in the historically African-American Five Points neighborhood. ULC acquired the site in 2011 when the neighborhood was still blighted; it has since become gentrified and has lost nearly a quarter of its black population. I highlight this project as an example of the “land banking” strategy that other cities should emulate. Nonprofits acquire strategic sites without waiting for available construction funding — and before land prices in the area skyrocket (ULC’s Walnut Street site has gone up 600%). I recently urged Richmond, California housing activists to pursue this goal, which also helped preserve the low-income character of my home base in San Francisco’s Tenderloin neighborhood. Colorado state law prevents Denver from enacting rent control and just cause eviction laws. A bill to overturn this preemption was introduced this year.

San Diego No American city has seen a greater recent shift to pro- housing policies than San Diego. And its being driven by a pro-housing Republican mayor and a growing YIMBY movement. Seattle In March, Seattle finally passed its comprehensive Housing Affordability and Livability Agenda (HALA) plan. I have a chapter on the city’s housing crisis and HALA in my book. Many housing progressives are deeply disappointed that only 6 percent of the city’s single-family neighborhoods (which cover about 65 percent of Seattle) are impacted by the new zoning. As my book describes, the city’s political establishment mistakenly caved into the fuss created by the Seattle Times and homeowner groups to limit the city’s housing needs (another example of wrongly deferring to the “middle ground”). But HALA opened the way for major new housing development which has already shown to have slowed rising rents and home prices. HALA also included a Mandatory Housing Affordability density bonus plan. It grants developers increased height and density in exchange for affordable units with rent control and eviction protections (which state law otherwise bars). The MHA does upzoning the right way, and is a model for other cities. Cities Making Some Difference Berkeley The November 2018 elections set Berkeley on a more pro-housing course. While city commissions remain controlled by housing opponents, student activism has boosted support for housing at City Council meetings. Berkeley is moving toward adopting “missing middle” housing and also building housing on its North Berkeley BART parking lot, though the city opposed Assemblymember David Chiu’s AB 2923 last year that made construction possible. In book talks to Berkeley boomers I have found many support increased density. Most consider themselves environmentalists and increasingly recognize that you can’t fight climate change without building infill housing. Cambridge, MA Cambridge housing activists have been trying to pass a citywide Affordable Housing Overlay. The overlay allows four-story buildings in most residential neighborhoods and seven-story buildings along commercial corridors that already allow for some additional height. Unfortunately, Massachusetts state law requires a 2/3 vote for local zoning changes that increase housing. Majority Council support for the Overlay is not enough, and advocates are still working to secure the 2/3 vote. Massachusetts has a Housing Choice bill to restore majority rule to housing, as the current supermajority requirement is a major contributor to the state building nowhere near as many units as it did in the 1980’s. Los Angeles I have a long chapter on Los Angeles in Generation Priced Out which examines the causes of the city’s affordability crisis and offers solutions. A lot is going on in the city around housing which itself is a good sign. Los Angeles’s population has grown by 1 million since 1970. Yet the city went decades not building anywhere near enough housing or shelters for low-income, working and middle-class residents. The city was left with such an extreme crisis that progress is hard to identify. Those housed or sheltered with the $619 million spent on homeless services in 2018 likely fee the city is making a difference. Those still on the street may feel differently. Similarly, no matter how much affordable housing and market rate projects get built, those forced to live over an hour drive from their job are unlikely to feel that city policies are making a difference. The LA City Council still allows powerful homeowner groups too much power over housing policies. As long as powerful homeowner and real estate interests call the shots, Los Angeles is unlikely to take the stronger measures necessary to make a major visible difference. Portland In March, Portland’s Residential Infill Project, which would re-legalize fourplexes citywide, passed the city’s Planning and Sustainability Commission on a 5-4 vote. The City Council will not vote until the summer—a delay inconsistent with Portland’s extreme affordability crisis. Portland’s fourplex plan goes beyond Minneapolis’ triplexes and would expand affordability. But as with Seattle’s lengthy HALA process, if politicians really saw the housing crisis as an emergency they would pass necessary changes on a much faster timetable. New York City On the Haven Green affordable senior housing project that I write about in my book (aka Elizabeth Street Garden), it appears that Councilmember Margaret Chin and Habitat for Humanity NYC have politically overcome the wealthy and powerful Greenwich Village interests opposed to the project. It’s not over until its over but this combination of a courageous local politician, savvy housing group and local housing activists has won the political fight. Overall, New York City as a whole talks housing affordability but routinely falls short. Critical for many NYC tenants is the outcome of state legislation to expand and strengthen the city’s rent control laws (See the Housing Justice for All campaign which is among the groups holding a sit-in today in the State Legislature chambers in Albany) Oakland Oakland is enjoying an unprecedented housing boom. I do not put it in the top category solely because when thousands of units were approved the city lacked an inclusionary housing law mandating affordable units. The city will regret this. San Francisco San Francisco suffered a steep drop in new housing construction from 2017-2018, as rising construction costs and the city’s glacial housing approval process took a toll. Although Mayor London Breed is arguably the nation’s most pro-housing big city mayor, the Board of Supervisors regularly uses its power to stop projects.

Breed is backing charter amendments that will expedite affordable and teacher housing, and is openly critical of all the hoops and hurdles the city foists upon builders. But San Francisco remains a city where affordable apartments are banned on most buildable land, and where “progressives” align with luxury homeowners to prevent new apartments. The Big Picture Last week, California Governor Gavin Newsom followed his May Revise budget talk by saying about housing, “If people are not willing to do what I think is right and address the issue that defines more than any other issue … the reason our poverty rates are so high … address the dream, to address the middle class crisis, we have to address this issue. Otherwise we’re fooling ourselves and I don’t want to be part of that charade for the next eight years.” We need to stop fooling ourselves about housing. That means replacing “we can’t build our way out of the housing crisis” (which nobody I know believes we can) with “we must build enough housing to meet population and jobs growth.” The middle ground is the wrong place to be on housing and climate change, and cities must immediately start doing more on both. By Randy Shaw Read the full article

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ciathyzareposts · 5 years

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Darklands: Iron Men

The leader of Hamburg outlines the crimes of robber knight Eberhard Gerle.

Someone should make a comprehensive study of the criminal archetypes that have come and gone–made obsolete by sociology or technology. The itinerant snake-oil salesman; the train robber; the yo-ho-ho kind of pirate. The Nigerian Prince must be on his way out–too many people have heard of him. We have plenty of robbers, but no more highwaymen. In America, the classic pickpocket is essentially dead except in a few isolated cities, and the stereotypical car thief is hearing the bells toll.

In medieval literature, perhaps no extinct criminal archetype stands out more starkly than that of the raubritter, or “robber knight.” The term’s meaning changed slightly over the centuries, sometimes describing a landowner who abused his power to exact tolls, sometimes describing actual banditry, sometimes (as in the description above) both. But what the term always denotes is a rich person who uses his wealth to purchase armor and castle walls and thus the ability to act with impunity, until he stirs up enough trouble that other rich people with castles and armor decide to deal with him. This is an odd idea–the use of wealth to commit principally physical crimes. Imagine if instead of just ruining the country economically and spiritually, the Waltons and Kochs decided to build “Iron Man” suits and physical fortifications, then go on rampages through villages, knowing that local law enforcement officers would be powerless to stop them. There’s a story in that somewhere.

My party achieves victory over one of the villains.

Robber knights form the near-exclusive stable of “bad guys” in Arthurian and other medieval heroic literature, granted with the occasional supernatural twist. The various Green Knights, Black Knights, Red Knights, Sir Bruce Sans Pity, and their lot are all essentially robber knights. Perlesvaus even has a character of of that name (he is defeated by the Coward Knight, who then becomes the Bold Knight). You can’t read an Arthurian story from the 12th to 15th centuries in which the hero does not, at some point, come to a bridge or ford guarded by a mysterious armored figure who refuses to let anyone cross until they pay a usurious toll. The hero naturally thrashes the villain making this demand, but what’s notable is that only someone who can afford the same types of armor, weapon, and steed even has a chance. It’s what T. H. White was getting at when he had Merlyn say:

What is all this chivalry, anyway? It simply means being rich enough to have a castle and a suit of armour, and then, when you have them, you make the Saxon people do what you like. The only risk you run is of getting a few bruises if you happen to come across another knight. Look at that tilt you saw between Pellinore and Grummore, when you were small. It is this armour that does it. All the barons can slice the poor people about as much as they want, and it is a day’s work to hurt each other, and the result is that the country is devastated. Might is Right, that’s the motto.

It makes sense, then, that robber knights make up a major villain class in Darklands, essentially occupying the role of pirates in Pirates! They have randomly-generated names and castles, but wherever the game situates them, they’re such a menace to the surrounding area that multiple political and economic leaders will pay you to get rid of them. And just like Pirates!, you can get multiple rewards for defeating the same villain.

The game adds a dose of realism not found in the typical RPG, however, when it comes to the aforementioned use of armor. I haven’t worked out all the math yet–I’ll leave that for a later entry–but it feels like the protective value of armor increases exponentially rather than in the somewhat linear manner used by Dungeons and Dragons-style games. Leather hardly does anything at all, and plate practically makes a man a walking fortress. There are associated encumbrance and agility penalties, but they’re still worth it.

A secondary application brings up your quest log. I think this is the first RPG that keeps track of quests for you.

As I began this session, I had received a quest from several people to kill the robber knight Anton Seibt, but an initial foray into Seibt’s territory suggested I was far from the necessary abilities to do that. Thus, I settled into Lübeck for a period of grinding and character development. My quest log showed that I had about a year to kill Seibt and get back to Flensburg before the quest expired.

I visited the alchemists’ and tinkers’ guilds and got permission to train, and I spent some days in residence at the inn, some characters working odd jobs, some training. At night, I occasionally ventured into back alleys, fought thieves, and sold their equipment the next day. My character slowly developed skills in edged weapons. Once I figured out that in the markets, you can scroll past the initial four options displayed for sale, I bought everyone shields and missile weapons. (To fund all of this, I sold most of the potions my alchemist started with.)

A guild master agrees to teach “Artifice” to my characters.

Occasionally, I left the city and wandered around outside (I tended to favor healing in camp outside, as it’s free). I escorted a few pilgrims, donated to some poor people, and fought an odd wolf or giant spider. (The thieves in town were better opponents because they leave you things to sell.) I wandered up the road to Schleswig to see if I could get the Seibt quest from even more people, but they wouldn’t see me. When I wanted to get back into Lübeck, I sneaked in or charmed the guards to let me in, hoping to increase one of those two skills. One of the things I like about this game is that skills sometimes increase even when you fail at using them.

Various options when returning to a city. It costs nothing (as far as I can tell) to try hiding or charming the guards, and has a chance of raising important skills besides.

For a long time, I was stubborn about Ladislaus, my mentally-damaged cleric. His virtue was so low that it would take years of faking good deeds before a single saint would answer a prayer, and he hadn’t managed to develop much healing skill in only 10 years of monastery service. A couple of points of increases during training didn’t translate to faster healing of my characters; they were still only capable of restoring 1 point of strength a day. Finally, I got fed up, had Ladislaus “retire” (he took one-fifth of my wealth!), and rolled up a more experienced and devout Catholic. Lambert spent four terms as a novice monk, monk, friar, and abbot before joining the party, excelling in virtue, religion, and healing. When my characters rest with him in the party, they restore 2 points of strength per day–which, believe me, makes a big difference. He also starts with knowledge of three saints and an actual chance that they’ll respond to prayers. I just had to build up his skill with a weapon for a while.

Having sent Ladislaus into retirement, I create a new holy figure with more experience.

The grinding period was hard. Health regenerates so slowly that you spend more days resting than adventuring. You can’t afford to do it all at comfortable inns, so you have to go outside, but there you run the risk of bandits, wild animals, or just being run off the local lord’s land. Paying for training is also expensive and doesn’t guarantee your skill will actually go up each session. There seem to be a lot of skills you can’t train–at least, I haven’t found trainers yet. Everyone wants a piece of your hard-earned money. You have to pay to enter cities (if other mechanisms fail). You have to pay if you get caught on the streets at night. You have to pay if you’re caught camping on someone else’s land. Except for common thieves, new parties die against practically everyone and everything.

But, slowly, things started to get better, particularly when I made enough money to buy some better armor for everyone. Until then, Maximian–who started with brigantine armor–hardly ever took any damage in combat while everyone else got slaughtered.

Improving my situation at an armor shop.

I’ll make a few complaints about combat while I’m thinking about it, reserving greater analysis for a future entry in which I have more experience. 1992 was the first year in general for “real time combat with pause,” and we’ve seen it in both Darklands and Legend. It would, of course, become more famous in the Infinity Engine titles of the late 1990s. Darklands is superior to Legend in that it allows you to issue orders while paused. Right now, there’s not much I can do but attack.

I am having a few problems. First, I want Maximian to bear the brunt of most combats, but no matter how far in the lead I put him, enemies just happily walk around him to engage the weaker characters. Second, the characters don’t do what I tell them to do when it comes to attacking particular enemies. They remain stubbornly engaged with whoever is closest to them even if I repeatedly tell them to go attack someone else. In short, I find it hard to prioritize particular enemies and protect my weaker characters.

The weaker characters hang back while Maximian goes to engage the enemy. I know half of them will just walk around him and attack the other characters anyway.

The game is also a bit annoying in its adherence to realism with missile weapons and line-of-sight. I have my third and fourth characters equipped with missile weapons, but they hardly ever have a clear shot at an enemy because the lead characters are in the way. The process of picking up missiles from the battlefield, redistributing them, and re-equipping them is also a bit annoying. Finally, I don’t like the way that the treasures found post-combat are so relentlessly predictable. It would be nice to occasionally meet a back-alley thief whose father had willed him a decent-quality long sword. Instead, thieves always carry falchions or clubs and always have leather armor for the vitals and cloth (which doesn’t sell for anything) for the non-vitals. Other enemies seem similarly predictable.

We sneak through the robber knight’s castle. At least we’re not the only ones betraying the Guest Right.

Back to the story. After about half a year passed, I was at the point where I could defeat several bandit parties per night and didn’t even have to rest for a week afterwards. I decided to try my luck against Anton Seibt again. “Try my luck” is the operative phrase because for whatever reason, everything I tried succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. Acting friendly to his men prevented me from having to fight any engagements during my approach to his castle. When I got to the castle, I knocked on the door and he invited me in for the evening. Later, I chose to have my party go to bed, but then get up and sneak to Seibt’s room, and again it worked. The result is that when I finally confronted him in his room, we fought a four-on-one combat instead of one that involved his warriors. It was almost too easy.

My party gangs up on Seibt in his chambers at night.

When he died, I looted plate armor from his corpse and gave it to Maximian, passing the brigantine and chain down the line. It uses almost all my encumbrance, and I couldn’t therefore wield the two-handed sword I also recovered from the robber knight. I gave that to Lambert, but using it tires him out quite fast, and I suspect it’s better to keep Lambert equipped with a one-handed weapon.

With plate armor for his vitals and chain armor for his limbs, Maximian is just shy of a full load.

Now the fun part. I returned to Lübeck and got rewards from both the obserte and the Fugger representative. I continued up the road to Flensburg, where I’d started, and got even more money from the Fugger, but for some reason the erbvogt (mayor) had nothing to say to me even though the little quest application insists I had the same quest from him.

Claiming a reward for killing Anton Seibt.

In any event, the three rewards loaded me up with more money than I’d even dreamed about before–the equivalent of about 18,000 pfenniges when I’d struggled to top 2,000 before. I bought horses for everyone and splurged on some alchemical ingredients, although none of the shops in Denmark seem to sell the specific ingredients that Viridia needs for the spells that she knows.

Both my purse and local fame grow.

The only other quest I had was to get the “Tarnhelm” from a pagan altar southwest of Magdeburg. I decided to head in that direction because it would put me closer to the center of the empire, with more easy access to other locations. On the way, I stopped at several cities, and in the course of meeting with various representatives, got the same quest from several of them to destroy the robber knight Eberhard Gerle, who was hanging out east of Paderborn. I also picked up some minor “fetch quests.”

Wolves are unhappy with my acquisition of the Tarnhelm.

The Tarnhelm quest wasn’t difficult. I simply wandered in the area of Magdeburg until I received a notice that I found a pagan altar. After picking up the helm, I had to deal with a pack of wolves, and which point the game indicated that the unholiness of the area had been lifted. I’m not keen to walk all the way back up to Flensburg just to return the helm. I can tell that I’ll be wishing for a fast travel option before the game is through.

At one point, I stumbled upon the house of some kind of seer. She warned me of secret covens of witches growing in power but said that my party was too inexperienced to deal with them. She advised me to “go forth and train, seek experience, adventure, and fame,” and then return. The problem is, I forgot to note where the house was. Is that going to be an issue?

Miscellaneous notes:

I keep encountering alchemists on the road. They travel with guards and demand all your alchemical ingredients when you encounter them. If you refuse, you find yourself in combat with their guards, who I have thusfar been unable to defeat without a death. They’re very annoying.

The terrain changes color and texture to denote the changes in seasons. Right now, as 1400 turns to 1401, snow covers the ground. At one point, the game forced me to stop and hole up for a few days to wait out a blizzard.

Note the frozen landscape in January. There’s a castle to the east of my party, but I can barely make it out.

My colorblindness, or some other factor, makes it difficult for me to see many of the features in the environment. For instance, note the castle to the east of my party in the shot below. I had to really “where’s Waldo” the screen to find it.

For one of the miscellaneous quests, picked up in Braunschweig, the Fugger representative wants me to help prove that his family is of royal lineage by retrieving a crown from an old tomb. I feel like one of the Pirates! editions had a similar quest, where a random governor wanted help proving that he had royal blood.

A common MicroProse theme.

Both times I defeated the robber knights, the game brought up a message indicating that the party was going to loot the castles’ treasuries. In both cases, nothing got added to my wealth. I guess maybe they weren’t very good robber knights.

Horses are treated weird. They show up in inventory, and I guess you have to assume they’re being “used,” but you never see them. I hope they’re speeding up my travel.

I bought a “superb” horse for my knight, but just regular pack horses for everyone else.

I finished this session by finding Eberhard Gerle’s castle just east of Paderborn. Surprisingly, the exact same strategy I used at Anton Seibt’s worked here, and Gerle was soon dead. I have no fewer than five people prepared to reward me for the deed, and I also have to figure out if I’m going to try to equip any of my other characters with his looted plate or sell it. Either way, it feels like my money problems are almost over, quite early in the game. Perhaps alchemical ingredients will sap most of it.

For the next sessions, I really need to get a grip on alchemy, praying, combat, and equipment–starting with re-reading the relevant sections of the manual. (Some of my commenters have offered a lot on these issues, but I’ve mostly stopped reading comments on previous entries because it seemed like they were getting spoilerish.) I’ll practice with those as I continue to build my fame across the empire.

Time so far: 14 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/darklands-iron-men/

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