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pongpalace · 6 years

Note

oooh how about “Is it too early to have a breakdown this week?”“It’s Monday.”“That doesn’t answer my question.” Maybe erm...Zimbits orrrrr NurseyRans, or Camilla/George? Any ship you want, really

ooooh, im always in a Camilla/George mood also on ao3)

George isn’t ashamed to admit it, but she’s cried over her job before.

The first time was when she got the Assistant GM position and became one of the first woman with such a high level management position in the NHL. Those were happy tears and came after years of fighting tooth and nail to get recognized for her hard work. Those tears happened in a bathroom stall of the rink she’d been at when she got the news, and also got her kleenex handed under the stall when the woman next to her heard and worried. Those tears make her smile now when she looks back on them, not least because she still has coffee with Tai when they’re in the same city.

She’s cried over trades, over wins, over loses, over shitty interns and shittier men who think they can do her job better (they can’t). She’s cried in the bathroom nearest her office, the ones down by the ice and locker rooms, and she’s cried in the car on her way home. George is an emotional person and managing a hockey team takes a lot out of her and her way of dealing with the emotions is crying.

Today’s tears are angry; borne from frustration with the job, on top of a day where everything that could’ve gone wrong has; a textbook case of the Mondays.

First, George came into work without coffee because she got distracted last night before she set the coffee maker and then Camilla distracted her again this morning, so George had to rush through her morning routine which left no time to wait for the coffee to percolate. Her regular Starbucks’ parking lot was under construction so she drove around it twice looking for the entrance to the before giving up and giving into the arena coffee that’s never very good, no matter who makes it.

She got to her office to find that something happened to her computer over the weekend, causing most of the files saved to her hard drive to corrupt. This wouldn’t normally have been such a big deal—she backs everything up onto an external hard drive daily—except last Friday’s hadn’t saved properly, so she lost all the progress she made on the quarterly players reports that are needed for tomorrow’s front office meeting. She had to work through her lunch to redo everything she did on Friday, forgoing the player development analysis that she was actually looking forward to working on. It was such a stupid, ridiculous, busy morning that she had to eat a cold, premade sandwich from the canteen during a business call with the league’s other assistant GM’s about new concussion protocols, a call that was basically a giant waste of time that could’ve been spent on one of the other many things on her to-do list because the league still doesn’t take concussions seriously enough.

The biggest catalyst for the tears happened after the business call though, at an afternoon scouting meeting. It took twice as long as it should’ve because one of the newer scouts hadn’t listened when George said she was looking for a two-way, fast blueliner to balance out Tater’s hard shot and his tendency to pinch up as a fourth forward, and instead brought in yet another big D-man who’d need to spend at least a season in the AHL developing his game before he’d be quick enough for the show, but “at least he used his body and had a good shot.” The scout argued with George about the poor kid’s chances in the NHL in front of the entire scouting team, management, and half of the coaching staff until other George, the Falcs’s GM, snapped at him and the meeting finished as quickly as possible. George has spent most of her NHL career sweating and bleeding to make the men in this stupid league take her seriously, and she’s been mostly successfully what with ten years as an Assistant GM under her belt. It’d been a while since someone had questioned her scouting decisions though, so the meeting knocked her back on her heels, and off balance in a way she hasn’t been in a long time.

George feels justified in kicking off her shoes the moment the door to her office closes behind her and she’s alone. They might scuff the wall a little bit, but it’s nothing that a purposefully placed plant can’t hide. George locks the door and leans back against it just as the tears spill over; a culmination of an absolutely shitty day, coming out in quiet tears and an unfortunate runny nose.

The Falconers have been a great organization to work with, and other George and the owners have made it clear that they have George’s back since she started with the organization, even before the team started playing into the postseason more often than not. It’s when new people are hired on into roles that technically make George their boss that she’s reminded what a boy’s club the NHL can be. It’s exhausting when her every move is questioned by people who don’t know half as much as they think they do, especially because George has the degree and the experience that makes her really good at her job, but no one seems to count her playing on while managing a Div-I hockey team through college, and winning an Olympic gold because it’s women’s hockey.

There’s kleenex on George’s desk, the extra soft ones for moments like this, so when she’s done crying, she crosses the room to pull one from the box. She dabs it under her eyes, making a face when it ends up black from the mascara that was advertised as waterproof. She grabs a clean kleenex to scrub all over her face, hoping to rub away the salty tear tracks that have dried on her cheeks.

The clock on the wall only reads 2 o’clock, and George still isn’t done with the player reports so she settles into her chair to finish them after unlocking the door in case someone needs her. She hopes the glare that she left the scouting meeting wearing will discourage that though.

George is left alone until 4, but then is called into an emergency managers meeting when news breaks that one of the players they’d been ready to trade draft picks for broke his ankle. It’s a long debate about whether or not it’s worth going through with the trade and rehabbing him in Providence or trying to find someone else to play on Jack’s wing without putting them over the salary cap so it’s after 8 o’clock by the time George leaves the office and then there’s traffic from an earlier pile up accident on the way home so George doesn’t actually get home until 9 o’clock.

The house smells like pizza and the candles that Camilla insist smell like the beach, but actually smell like clean laundry. It’s a weird mix, but comforting and a reminder that George has more outside of taking care of the hockey team, though she still feels like she could sleep for days and still not be ready to face to face the rest of the week.

She finds Camilla in the master bathroom, her laptop balanced precariously on the toilet seat and blasting some spotify playlist while she showers. George lowers the volume, her way of telling Camilla that she’s home, and shucks her dress pants and underwear in one go, kicking them off while she fights with the buttons on her blouse. She’s already got the shower door open when she unhooks her bra and throws it over her shoulder. She doesn’t see where it lands.

“You’re home late,” Camilla says, turning to rinse out her hair. George nods and waits until she’s finished to trade spots with her, getting her own hair wet, but mostly just trying to see if the hot water relieves some of the tension of the day. She rolls out her neck and tries to get the water on the knot that seems to have been steadily growing since this morning. Camilla finishes running the conditioner through her own hair before she steps into George’s space for a kiss, hooking her arms around George’s neck and pressing in exactly where the knot is.

“Is it too early to have a breakdown this week?” George asks when they break apart. Camilla raises an eyebrow, reaching to squirt shampoo into her hands. George lets her turn her so she can massage the shampoo into George’s hair, scritching along her hairline. Her eyes fall shut.

“It’s Monday,” Camilla replies. She taps George’s side so George leans back and rinses out her hair. Camilla gets more conditioner into her hands and runs that through George’s hair.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” George says.

“Aw babe.” Camilla’s eyes are big and concerned. “It’s a little early to have a breakdown, but I’ll support whatever you want to do.”

She drags George in for a hug and George tucks her nose into her neck, willing herself not to cry again. She won’t have to explain her day Camilla; she’s been in sports for as much as her life as George has so she gets it, gets having to fight to have her voice heard over the shouts of men who think their voices are the only ones worth listening to. She’s been so loud as a sports journalist, covering women’s sports and bringing attention to how amazing these women athletes are, with little to no reference to their male counterparts because women’s sports can, and should, stand alone. George loves her so much.

They stand pressed together, swaying slightly to the beat of whatever song is playing, until the water starts to go cold, and Camilla reaches around George to adjust the knobs.

“There’s leftover pizza,” Camilla says. She slides past George so she can rinse out the conditioner in her hair before George does the same. “You wanna eat that before your scheduled breakdown, G?”

“Don’t make fun, we were having a moment.”

“Can we finish the moment in bed? My fingers are starting to get pruney.”

George huffs out a laugh; shutting off the water and letting Camilla bully her out of the shower and into a warm towel. She pulls on the team USA sweatpants she’s been using as pjs recently and a soft t-shirt that mysterious made its way from Camilla’s side of the closet into hers. Camilla’s fingers are gentle as they comb through her hair, and George tries to be just as gentle while she braids Camilla’s hair.

They climb into bed, under separate blankets because they both learned a long time ago that they’re no good at sharing when they sleep, but they find their way to the center of the bed to cuddle.

“D’you want pizza though? You must be hungry,” Camilla says, tucking herself under George’s arm. Her shampoo smells like home and her the weight of her body on George is comforting in a way that little else is.

“I just want you,” George replies, though she really hasn’t eaten more than a couple power bars and one of Jack’s gross protein shakes since her late lunch. She’s comfortable right now and unwilling to move if it means having to stop touching Camilla.

Camilla twists and stretches so she’s right in George’s face, propping herself up on her elbows. “You have me, you giant cheeseball.” She’s slow to lean down for a kiss so George surges up and mashes their lips together, swallowing down the amused sound that Camilla makes. The kiss manages to be light and teasing until Camilla nips at George’s bottom lip so she licks past the seam of Camilla’s lips, hands coming up to frame Camilla’s face. George runs her thumb a long Camilla’s jaw and wants to flip them to deepen the kiss even further but then her stomach growls and Camilla pulls back with a wry grin.

“Okay, pizza would be nice then too,” George admits. Camilla presses another kiss to her lips and then to her cheek as she kicks off her covers.

“I love you and I’m sorry you had a shitty day,” Camilla says seriously once she’s standing. George’s heart swells with a fondness that’ll never get old.

“Love you too,” she says, and follows Camilla back down to the kitchen.

They eat the leftover pizza at the sink, trading tomato-y kisses between bites, and this time George sets the coffee machine before Camilla distracts her more so tomorrow is probably going to be better than today.

(It is.)

#omgcp #georgia martin #camilla collins #georgia x camilla #femslash #angryspace-ravenclaw #checkplease #this got outta control though i meant to do like 500 words and then i got on a rant #also completely unbeta'd so here's to all the typos i'll find when i wake up #i either beat or tied my record for fast prompt filled #so that's good i guess

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windlion · 3 years

Text

I’m going to blame this on the Discord - but some of it, some of it’s just Author Three’s own doing. Mind the knives.

The OTHER way that Liu Sang has a brother:

Liu Sang was not an only child. He'd known that since he was four years old, and his stepmother had returned from the doctor beaming. Later they'd been even happier to report a boy, and Liu Sang had adjusted to the idea of being an older brother. He would have a didi. He had been nearly as excited as the parents when his brother was born.

It took a few years for him to understand what was really going on. Things that had been his were repurposed. Space that had been his was taken. Time and attention came grudgingly, as if stolen straight from the mouth of his younger brother. His didi was just as confused as he was, and Liu Sang hoped he never had the same horrible realization: he'd not gained a little brother; he'd been systematically replaced.

Liu Sang wasn't an only child, and he wasn't a wanted one, either. He'd known that well before the back of the truck and the tears that wouldn't stop until he'd run dry. When he tracked down his father years later, he wasn't expecting a warm welcome home. He'd been disposed of, rendered obsolete, sold on as secondhand goods, and garbage never went back to where it had been thrown out from.

He didn't give a warning. He just waited for an opportunity to catch his father alone. When his stepmother and her siblings left for some social event, he let himself in. The lock wasn't exactly a challenge any more. He walked through the downstairs, deliberately making noise as he went.

The layout of the house had changed; over there was where the living room used to be. There, the side window that he escaped out of into the narrow alley between the houses. It had been updated: windows bigger, brighter, the decoration now modern and bland. It reeked of middle class keeping-up-with-the-neighbors. He didn't know if it was better or worse that nothing lined up with his memories. Not a single sign of smoke damage remained.

It didn't take long for the man to come out from his office, heartbeat raising. Liu Sang kept his distance while he waited, lingering by the single cabinet of art on display. He appraised the art out of habit: only one piece looked like a good quality reproduction, and several others were just offensively tacky. Worthless.

Liu Fu took in the presence of an intruder, long hair and hoodie, and barked, "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"

Liu Sang put the vase down and turned. He'd seen the pictures, he knew what Liu Fu looked like now. It shouldn't have been a shock. What hit him harder was that the voice was the same. He could still hear the father he remembered underneath the years. Liu Sang's breath caught, and he forced himself to stay calm, tracing the edge of the dusty shelf with slightly shaky fingers.

"Do you remember? I used to live here." Liu Sang flicked his hand to indicate the modern open layout, "Before you remodelled."

Liu Fu was taken aback, already fast heart rate rising. "A-Sang?"

Liu Sang tipped his head in as much of a bow as he was willing to make. "Hello, father."

Liu Fu's heart skipped again, then he gestured hard towards the back of the house. Away from the windows, and where his wife or son may come home. Liu Sang could have told him if anyone was coming, but the kitchen suited him fine anyways. He didn't have as many memories tied to there. (Tied. Ha.)

Liu Fu took down a cup and poured himself tea, movements sharp and purposeful. He made no move to offer anything to Liu Sang. He sat down at the head of the table, one hand curled knuckle-white around the porcelain, even though the steam meant it must be close to burning hot. Liu Sang waited for him to collect himself, to speak, morbidly curious. What did he have to say for himself, after all this time?

What he started with should have been predictable. Liu Fu stared at him grimly, "If you think that you can show up here to blackmail me. . ."

Liu Sang cut him off, sharp, "I don't want your money."

That made Liu Fu's heart skip in a way that was familiar to him now. Fear. Liu Sang held the eyes of the man who could have been his father and went on, "I want to know about my mother."

Automatically, Liu Fu waved dismissively, "I don't know anything."

"You know more than I do." Liu Sang prompted, "Her name?"

"Wang Ming."

Liu Sang pulled out his notebook and pen, shoved it across the table. "Write it. Where from?"

Liu Fu complied, flipping the notebook shut and pushing it back with his fingertips like it was distasteful. "I don't know, somewhere west. She travelled a lot--part of the job. She was a sales representative. She liked Xuancheng. Said that her hometown was tiny and too old-fashioned for her, and Beijing was too noisy and big."

Comparing Beijing to the rest of China, that didn't really narrow it down much. Liu Fu could see his frustration, and barked a laugh, "I told you. It was almost twenty years ago. I don't remember a lot of details."

Liu Sang wanted to reply, it was seventeen, but if his father couldn't remember how old he was, then that wasn't going to make much of an impression anyways. "What about physical records? Paperwork, photos, anything?"

Liu Fu rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. "Nothing. She didn't leave anything behind."

"Liar."

Liu Fu scoffed, "There's nothing left now."

Not lying. Damn. If there had been any clues they were likely thrown away years ago. Like he had been. (Or burned, a corner of his mind whispered, also like him.) That made too much sense. Liu Sang tried to prompt again, "What else? Nothing about her stood out?"

"I don't remember anything else."

Almost relieved, Liu Sang pounced, "Lying."

Liu Fu snorted derisively, "And how would you know, anyways?"

Liu Sang unclenched his jaw enough to respond, tilting his head in his father's direction. "Your heart rate increased." He narrowed his eyes, listening to that beat jump and skitter. "There's a flutter on the right atrial valve that becomes more pronounced under stress. You should take care to not overdo it."

Liu Fu's heart jumped again, then steadied as he seemed to reach some sort of decision. "You do have her eyes. She was a bitch when she was pissed."

Liu Sang didn't trust the look on his face as he relaxed, the way he went still and easy like the worst bullies did before delivering a blow they knew would hurt. When they wanted to watch it hit, watch you bleed. Liu Sang was already out of arm's reach, but he kept the table between them, hands clenching at his side preemptively.

Liu Fu spoke slowly, carefully. "I had good reason to think she cheated, though I didn't really put it together until after she was gone. She never let me go to the doctors appointments with her. Told me she wanted the child to be a surprise, however it was intended."

The way Liu Fu stared at him then, he made it clear that had he known what was coming, he wouldn't have chosen it. Dimly, Liu Sang remembered how attentive his father had been during his stepmother's pregnancy. How he had taken her to appointments. Ultrasounds. Been there for the birth. That was why.

Liu Fu's heart rate was still fast but damnably steady as he went on, "I thought then she was just being sensitive about how big she was getting. Now I think she damn well knew what she was doing."

Liu Sang could feel his own pulse in his palms with how hard he was clenching his fists. It made it difficult to track the steady rhythm of his father's, unwavering. "What do you mean?"

"I think you were the runt." Liu Fu rose to his feet, not breaking his gaze. "Wang Ming travelled light. She never wanted anything unnecessary, and never wanted second best."

Liu Sang couldn't speak.

Liu Fu took one, then another step closer, confident that he was delivering the finishing blow. "She took what she wanted, and she left me you." He sneered down at Liu Sang, hot breath against his face. "When you weren't even mine."

When Liu Fu shoved his shoulders, Liu Sang rocked unsteadily backwards. Too off balance to react more than to raise his hands in self-defense. Instead of hitting him, Liu Fu opened the back door behind him, and held it wide, his voice gone cold and heavy with the weight of finality. "Get out, and don't you dare come back."

This time, Liu Sang was expecting the rough shove that followed, and ducked out the door so that Liu Fu's hands only brushed air. Liu Sang pulled himself away, not daring to turn his back, and bit out without thinking, "Don't worry, you're dead to me."

He dropped his voice low, something vicious rising in him as a parting shot. "What should I burn for your grave?"

Liu Sang caught the way Liu Fu's eyes flicked desperately to the house around him. His own gorge rose at the sense-memory of heat-gasoline filling his nose-the way the crackling pervaded everything around him. Before it even hit skin. Something perverse made him ask, "Do you think it would take better this time?"

Liu Sang watched the man stumble back, that stressed heart fluttering hard. The slam of the door rang in his ears, and he almost couldn't hear his own bitter laughter as he left.

He didn't look back.

(When he found out the house burned not even weeks later, he laughed almost hysterically. It probably sounded unhinged, but if ever there was kharma waiting to be served, that was it. Who knew if someone helped it along. He didn't care.)

(Wang Can was told to clean up some loose ends that might start to fray. Wang Can was good. Thorough. Didn't leave anything to chance. And though the mission parameters were unusual, well, wasn't like it was hard. He wore the clothes he was given. He was deliberately sloppy and let the neighbors see when he came back for the evidence. He looked straight back at them as he blew the ash off the audio recorder. One might have fainted. He didn't know why, maybe it was the terrible taste in fashion. Whatever. Orders were orders.

The Wang clan knew what they were doing: directing the future.)

#sometimes I write #daomu biji #TLTR #Liu Sang #and bonus #Wang Can #twins!#TWINS #sometimes twins murder for each other and don't even know it #(that was ALL AUTHOR THREE'S FAULT thank you)#and I'm fighting the formatting so bear with me if it's ugly

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constelacionde-orion · 7 years

Text

It’s too late for us.

Prompt : Y/N is hired by Amanda Waller to make an easy job in order to get something she really wants back.

A/N : Okaaay, so… this is my first fanfic, and I want to make an apology ‘cause i’m not an english speaker or writer so any kind of mistake please forgive me and let me know. AAAANND I didn’t edit it so it may have some (ALOT) of mistakes. Again, sorry.

Pairing : Jason Todd x Reader

Y/N (your name), Y/L/N (your lastname) Y/SH/N -( your superheroe name)

Warnings: ,swearing, nightmares, torture, 💀(?)

Word Count: 2700 (Holy Shit)

Everything is black, the only thing you can listen is your heart beating and your desesperation to catch air. Your lungs are burning and you don’t know why, until, you hear that sick laugh that comes alive as a far away echo.

You look around but everything is still painted in black. You try to run, or even move but you can’t, something doesn’t let you go. Suddenly, there’s a blinding light and you shut your eyes close. There’s someone walking, hard steps that stops near you.

“So, people really do crazy things for love, huh?” you heard the Joker said, he’s breath makes contact with your skin and you move your head aside, but he grabs your face and make you turn to look at him.

“LOOK AT ME WHEM I’M TALKIN’ TO YOU DARLIN’!” he screams at you.

You open your eyes and see how close he’s face is close to yours, you are not afraid, that doesn’t even crossed your mind, that’s why you spit in his face, and you smile, after that, he slaps you hard enought to spit again, but this time with blood.

“Anyway, as long as I want to play with you, I have places to go, you know, make people, laugh” he starts pacing around.

You try to look down at yourself, but you’re on a table all tied up, with syringes pointed straight to you with some kind of turquoise liquid inside, you are so space out thinkin about a way to escape and to beat the shit out of him that you didn’t hear all his rambling.

“And, let’s just think for a while, that I’m makin’ you a favor, you’ll see him again, don’t worry darlin’” He tells you while he grabs he’s coat, and slowly makes his way back to you.

“I have to say little girl, you do really have balls to come here, so sad, you’ll have to go”

That’s the last thing he tells you, after that you hear a machine starting up, you shake your body, you try everything, but thenm there’s alot of pain in your body, the syringes make contact with your skin and all that strange liquid is running thrue your veins. Your screams fill the empty basement, tears falls from your eyes, and before everything goes black there’s only one face you see, Jason Peter Todd, your friend, your first love.

You’re awake, once again in the middle of the night, you heart is beating fast and you have to think about calm things to relax your breathing. When you feel more calm you look at your phone in the nightstand ‘4:11’. You look at the ceiling when you feel the tears in your eyes.

Six fuckin’ years since he left and still, this is not the first time this happens, it’s not the first nightmare that recall you how you losed Jason or how you gained you lighting powers (something he actually didn’t plan). But truth be told, this kind of nightmares aren’t the worst , sometimes you dream about him, how he would look like, if you both will be together, that kind of dreams are the worst, the ones that feels like reality, that he is with you, because when you wake up in the morning, you are, alone.

You go back to sleep hoping to avoid the topic of Jason.

In the morning (10:00 am) you are back in your normal life, your boring job (you do need bills to afford college for the next semester), your boring mates, your boring coffee in your boring white cup, everything, sucks. But that’s the way it should be, or at least you think that way.

Since Jason, well, died, you avoid all the Batfam, every single one of them, you where so angry with Batman that you cut all possible connections. That’s why they don’t even know that you actually went for the Joker or that you have powers or even the fact that you make your own patrol in Gotham at nights. I mean, they don’t even know you change you name to Jenny Peters for crying out loud, in your little world you where still Y/N /Y/L/N, but no one should know that.

You’re boring life is over when you enter your apartment at 9:00 pm. You get ready for once more by Y/SH/N and patrol Gotham, it’s not surprise that some nights you see Batman with his bunches of kids, but you try not to make contact with them, even when you think you need help, that what’s actually happed this night.

“You really are a girl, you failed with your lightning shit” that fucking bastard said while approching you.

“Well, I guess your father’s condom failed too ” you said while lauching another lightning, this time a perfect head shot.

The guy fell to the floor just few inches away from you. You jumped his body, and went to other rooftop, not even seconds after your feets touched the ground and you felt something sting your neck.

“What the f-” you said while turning around.

Everything felt like a rollercoaster and dizzy, soon after, you fell to the floor too, the last thing you saw where shoes.

Once fucking again you where tied up, at least this time was a chair, and a room more, comfy in some ways. The walls painted in blue, a window, a lamp, speakers in every high corner and right in front of you a camera.

‘Great’ you think when you saw the red light flashing and also when you noticed that you weren’t wearing your helmet, so, you were exposed.

“So, this is kind of a Saw movie, you want to record my death or why the hell I’m here?” you said while your eyes scanned the place.

Nothing, no one.

“Well. In that case I think I can simply break free and stole this pretty video about well, me.” you said while trying to focus on your lightnings to escape but, what the shit, you couldn’t, not even a spark was coming out.

“Good to see you are doing okay Miss Y/L/N” said a female voice through the speakers.

“Awh, not you again” you said with annoyance while looking straight to the tiles.

“You do have a great memory to remember my voice lady” said that shitty voice again.

“They’re in the list of things that I should totally avoid” you said, now looking at the camera.

“Tell me Waller, why you don’t let me give you a light show, huh?” You smirk to the camera, of course she will tell you.

“You do not even give a shit that I already know your actual name?” She said now with annoyance in her voice.

“Well, nope. I know you either give a shit about it, ‘cause it’s useless today” you said trying to scratch your cheek with your shoulder.

“You’re in a cage that simply does not allow powers . Now, the may reason you are here Y/N it’s because I want to negotiate with you” She said, and you actually could here how she take a seat in a chair in other room.

“Oh, really?, about what?” you said looking at the ceiling.

Of course you can escape this shit, you may not have powers now, but you already have escaped many other cages before without them, you just have to be very careful this time.

“I need you to kill someone in order to have someone back to you” she said without hesitation.

“I’m not very convinced, you gotta be way more, specific” you said while raising an eyebrow to the camera.

“I see. You know this anti-hero, named Red Hood, a really pain in the ass nowadays, he kind of interfere with my own issues, so I need you to take him out of the game” She said and you felt she did not finish so you didn’t say anything.

“If you kill the Red Hood, I’ll give you Jason Peter Todd back” she said.

Your eyes were now full open, you even gasp you hear his name again, your full attention was on the camera, but then, you remembered.

“Even if the guy was trying to stole my own cookies, I would not do it, Jason is more than dead, I saw his grave, I saw him go down in the fucking coffin” you said trying to stay calm.

“What if a show you these…” she said now entering in the same room as you.

Amanda Waller was a very smart women. She showed you pictures, recordings, everything’s for you to understood that he was alive. She didn’t told you how, she said you will have to do it when both of you where together, in that moment it didn’t cross your mind something was missing in the plan.

After few hours later you accepted and returned home with all the files in your hands, the hour, the place, everything where you could find the Red Hood. Amanda Waller was very clear, one mistake and you are dead.

Also, she didn’t told you who was the man under the red hood.

Jason POV

How many times a man has to be kidnapped? he said to himself while looking at the blue room.

“I’m glad you’re awake Mr. Todd” a voice echoed through the speakers.

“What? How you know my name?!, get out and come here!” he said while trying to break the handcuffs.

“Woah, you are way more violent than her” she said with a bit of humor in her voice.

“Her? I don’t give a shit about with who you was talking before!, now come here and-” he shouted in the empty room,

“Oh, but you do give a shit about her, Jason” she said still with the sense of humor.

“Oh, really?, if so, tell me her name” he said with sarcasm.

“Y/N Y/L/N” she said.

Jason stayed in shock, his eyes looking at the camera in front of him, even his breath was caught in his throat.

“You see?, you do give a shit about her!” Amanda said while laughing a bit.

“What did you do to her?!” he shouted even louder this time.

“Easy there boy, I need you. And for the record, I didn’t do anything to your sweet Y/N, she’s safe and sound, well, that depends on you” Waller said once again while entering to the blue room.

“What do you mean?” he said with hate evident in his voice.

“You see, there’s this little pain in the ass called Y/SH/N, she kind of just act like a Robin Hood, but I don’t like when this kind of superheroes bring their noses close to my own business, so, I need you to, take her out of the game, in return, I gave you your sweet Y/N” Amanda said with a smirk in her lips.

“You always play dirty Waller, what’s the trick?” said Jason trying to focus on the real bet.

“Oh, yeah that. One mistake and I’ll kill you, okay?, and that means also, that you can’t ask for help, it’s between, you, Y/SH/N and me” she said while handing’ him the files about where to find you.

“Any questions Red?” she asked while turning away.

“Where you have Y/N?” he asked while looking at Waller’s back.

“She must be in her late College hours, i don’t know, she may be fine” she said going out of the room.

Jason arrived home, he read about your powers and study your attacks, but it never crossed his mind you were under that black helmet.

The day finally came. You where looking for this guy Red Hood in the rooftops. You start thinking that Amanda might be wrong about the date because you couldn’t find him anywhere. It was that moment when a bullet passed by your arm (you didn’t get any damage) that maked you think twice.

“You know, the point having a gun it’s that you actually hit something” you said while turning around to face the popular Red Hood.

“I’m not here to chat Y/SH/N” he said while pointing his gun straight in your helmet.

“Me either, I just thought you may want to be friendly before you died” you said while dodging’ the bullet.

That’s when eveything started. You both where fighting actually to death, kickin’, punching, screaming, dodging, jumping in the rooftops, running, everything. You both wanted so bad to kill each other in order to have the other back into their lifes.

There’s a point where you have to cath your breath, so you send a lightning straight to the left side of this helmet. That part broke into million of pieces and Red Hood fell. You catched your breath, and not even five seconds after you where pinned in a near wall by the Red Hood and a gun under your helmet.

“You do have terrible aim, that’s actually fine with me, I can kill you easily now ” The Red Hood told you while pressing his gun under your chin.

And that’s the exact moment when you see him. His blue eye shinning with the moon, the white strand of his hair that escapes from the hole you made in the helmet. The Red Hood is Jason Todd, your Jason.

“Jason” you said under your breath, still he listened to you.

“How you called me?!” He screams at you, but you didn’t even flinch.

“Jaybird” You said now, your eyes still scanning his blue eye in order to find some kind of recognizance.

“How you know that?!” the screams once more, the gun pressed even further, but you don’t move.

“Because I used to called you that when you came around in your Robin suit” you said with tears in your eyes.

You feel how the gun lowers and then you heard how it hits the ground. Jason take off your helmet and there you were. Crying with a sad smile in you face.

“Y/N” he said now under his breath

You just nod with your head and launch yourself to him, giving him a tight hug. his arms goes to your waist and his head gets lost between your shoulder and neck. You feel how his tears explode in your jacket, and you know you may look like a mess, but in that moment you don’t care, you’re once again in the arms of the man you have always loved, you close your eyes and breathe his essence, he’s is alive, he is with you again.

But as Amanda Waller said, one mistake it’s no acceptable. So when you opened your eyes, you see, a red dot in Jason’s back, you scan the place and there is, a sniper waiting to push the trigger. So you know, you can’t lose Jason again you will not bury him once again, you will not see how his body it’s caged in a coffin once more. You pushed Jason aside and you point your hand to the location of the sniper and shoot a lightning. The moment the lightning goes out of your hand, it’s the moment when it makes a sound like an actuall thunder, you see how the sniper’s body fell to the ground and in the same moment you feel something in your stomach, painful, it stings, and your body feel numb. You fell once again to the ground on your knees, something warm is making your way through your throat, and you know, you are not stupid you know, you’ll die.

And then you feel something warm in your cold skin, you try to find the source with your eyes, but everything seams to go in slow motion, you just hear everything far away. But there you see, once again before everything goes black, the face of your friend, of your first love, Jason Peter Todd, this time he is calling your name, he carries you down the rooftop, begging you to stay, and the only thing you manage to say is “I Love you”, you see how he is crying, but you smile, because you are in the arms of the man you always have loved.

Well, hell, let me know what you think.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfic #red hood x reader #angst #dc universe #batman universe #fist one #dear lord this happens when i actually do have dreams with jason #jason todd #jason peter todd #the red hood

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trevorbailey61 · 7 years

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Sparks

O2 Institute, Birmingham

Sunday 24th September 2017

Friday morning - throughout the rest of the week, the topic of conversation was open. True, during the season, Monday would gain structure as we reflected on the football from the previous weekend, analysing how what seemed like a home banker against Queens Park Rangers had gone so horribly wrong. From the beginning of May, however, Monday would be like any other day, open to the ebbs and flows of the big wide world outside the small one in which we lived. Friday was different, winter, summer there was only ever one topic of conversation and that was Top of the Pops. It seems incredible now to think that a 30 minute programme of either promotional films or artists miming to their records could be so influential but for its prime time slot on a Thursday evening, the whole family would sit around the telly and absorb what was generally youth culture. With the only criteria for an appearance being to have sold a lot of records, there was the occasional act that our parents would appreciate, Englebert Humperdinck, Lena Martell, the Band of the Royal Dragoon Scots Guards, but mostly it was ours and we were indulged this weekly fix so that we could sound knowledgeable the following morning. The late nights desperately trying coax something listenable from Radio Luxembourg may have given us the music but TOTP added the visuals and our discussions were as much about what we had seen as heard.

For the artists, TOTP was a huge break; massively increasing their potential audience such that a successful appearance would lead to a surge in sales that drove the record further up the charts. The pressure was on, in just two or three minutes they had to make a big enough impact to be the subject of those Friday morning discussions. Many were young, very young in some cases and in the days before they were all stage school graduates, knew little about how to project themselves through a lens. Performing directly to the camera made you look desperate, trying to ignore it made it look as if you didn’t care and soon lost those potential sales. The ones remembered now are those who managed to get it right but the repeats of full shows shown on BBC4 show how many didn’t, excruciatingly bad performances that meant the chance had been lost and the audience would remain selective.

Occasionally, an act so out there would appear that it was difficult to quite believe what you were seeing. “Did you watch Top of the Pops?” we would excitedly ask each other the following morning as we sought confirmation that we had actually seen what we thought we had. These would often draw the most negative comments from our parents which, of course, made them all the more appealing to us. The appearance of Sparks on the show was one of those transformative experiences; once you had entered their world there was no way of leaving it. The singer, full on gender blurring glam rock with a thick main of black curly hair and a gold scarf tied loosely round his neck, was a whirl of hyperactivity even within the tight constraints of the stage. Peering through the camera rather than at it, his penetrating gaze drew you into the weird falsetto of his voice. Even his flamboyant charisma, however, was upstaged by the figure sitting alongside him. His fingers moved over the keys as his eyes darted from one side to the other, seemingly in continuous disapproval of the exuberance at his side. The most provocative part, however, was the small moustache that rested on his upper lip, the thing that, apparently led John Lennon to phone up Ringo Star to exclaim, “It’s Hitler with Marc Bolan”. The parts had been rehearsed and developed for years but now they had also had a killer song. Even though the impression made by “This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us” has lasted for over forty years, it remains a song that is remarkably difficult to sing along to. The rollercoaster changes in pitch, awkward tonal variations and verses stuffed with words make it difficult to grasp, however many times you hear it. Despite the number of times I have listened to it, I still get little further than “Zoo time is she and you time” before my stuttering karaoke ends.

Russell Mael has no such problems. He will celebrate his 69th during this tour but he retains both the energy and the voice of his younger self. As he sings “I ain’t going to leave”, he raises his right arm in a gesture of defiance; the skin may hang a little more loosely from his frame, the lines on his face are harder to conceal but towards the end of a set in which he has worked harder than many less than half his age, he still has enough left for this intoxicating anthem to youthful swagger. One of the many remarkable things is that unlike many of his peers, his hold on those dense, complex and idiosyncratic lyrics is so secure he manages the whole set without the need of a single prompt. We last saw the Mael brothers about five years ago on the “Two Hands, One Mouth” tour where Ron’s keyboards provided the only accompaniment to his brother’s vocals. This time they have arrived with a five piece backing band so that they can recreate the glam rock stomp of their early years. They fizz through the strange vocal variations of “Propaganda” before unleashing a fearsome “At Home, At Work, At Play”, louder and with an intensity that it has rarely seen before. Shimmering strings and a steady disco beat gave a wondrous setting for the regret of “When Do I Get to Sing My Way” and for artists so seeped in irony, “Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth”, makes its point clearly and directly, its relevance now sadly greater than when it was recorded. The irony returns for “Dick Around”, a compellingly arranged and dramatic overture to indolence and the disco thrill of “The Number 1 Song in Heaven” is as infectious as ever, also providing the opportunity for Ron to step out from behind his keyboards, roll up his sleeves and indulge in his one moment of what I suppose we now ought to call grandad dancing. After throwing everything at “This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us”, they take things down a little for “Hospitality on Parade” and the first encore “Johnny Delusional”, a product of their recent collaboration with Franz Ferdinand. The wild glam rock nostalgia returns, however, for “Amateur Hour”, a final moment of clever infectious pop where the thrill is as great as ever.

The point of the “Two Hands, One Mouth” tour was to reflect on their long career; it began with an overture that consisted of their signature melodies and the only new song included formed the title for the enterprise. This time, however, there is a new album, their 23rd, and with arch, witty lyrics, stomping beats and Russell’s still haunting falsetto, “Hippopotamus” is one of their best. The songs have already made their mark; despite its recent release, they are already familiar and are greeted by the audience with the same wild enthusiasm as the hits from all those years ago. Starting with “What the Hell is it This Time”, the urgent synthesised strings take us immediately into the mind of God, not the omnipotent and vengeful God of the Bible but one who in old age can no longer disguise his irritation at the petty things people bother him with; “My girl has left; My dog has left; I’ve cracked up my car” and “His plate is filled with famine and with clean wholesome air; If Arsenal wins; He really don’t care” which is rapidly becoming one of my favourite lines in any song. Russell’s energetic performance may be his way of arresting his own drift towards becoming an elderly pop statesman but age forms the theme that unites many of the songs on “Hippopotamus”. Even the apparently random word association of the title track, the first song as far as I know to mention “Titus Andronicus”, can be seen as a reflection on the confusion and declining short term memory of age; “How did it get there? How did it get there? How did it get there? I don't know”. “Missionary Position” covers how the thrill of making love is lost through routine and familiarity whilst the playful “I Wish You Were Fun” takes this further to explore how even those things we once liked about another person can be lost over the years. With “Édith Piaf (Said It Better Than Me)” they return to the same theme as “When Do I Get to Sing My Way” but whilst then the singer could still aspire to become the torch singer, now he knows that he will never achieve that level of emotional clarity; “Live fast and die young, live fast and die young, live fast and die young; Too late for that, too late for that”. The most haunting song, however, is the one that at first seems the most throwaway. Introducing the song, Russell sets the scene by starting a story that he is unable to finish as he can’t remember what he was saying. For once, the band are left in the shadows at the back of the stage and Russel’s tender vocal is accompanied only by Ron’s piano. The effect is to focus the attention onto the words, an insightful account into the onset of dementia, a gradual withdraw of the person from the world around the. It emphasises that their unorthodox and at times just plain weird approach to songwriting always had a serious intent.

The last time we saw Sparks was at the same venue and arriving just after the doors had opened, there were few others around so that we were able to find a place close to the stage. This time was different; walking through Digbeth at about 6:30 we could see that a lengthy queue had already formed, the interest and excitement palpable as we took our places. Whilst there are a few younger people around us, the majority of the audience are of an age and a recent appearance on Newsnight together with the release of a new album has both helped to remind people that they still exist and also that they still make fascinating music. A repeated “Home; My Baby’s Taking Me Home”’ forms one of the songs heard towards the end of the set but whilst it is stretching things to view this as some sort of homecoming, the time they spent in the UK in the early 70s did help to shape their music and introduce them to an audience that understood it. Early on, Russell mentions that Birmingham was the home of Muff Winwood, the producer who helped to create the sound that was so startling on that ToTP appearance all those years ago. If this was to help him engage with the audience, however, he didn’t really need to, they were there from the moment they walked on stage leaving the brothers both surprised and moved by the warmth of the reaction. There is really no one else quite like them, a masterclass that shows that they remain as intriguing and relevant as ever.

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