Chapter Two

Agony is a Room

(i’ve bled in there)

IVAN VANKO strikes a deal with The Assets mother — Aida Liu, one of Hydra’s deadliest assassins, said to have gone toe to toe with Lady Shiva — three months before she gets pregnant with her. Though, at the time she hadn’t gone by The Asset, only by the name her mother had picked for her.

Honora Liu is not made for love, nor is she made for kindness. From the moment Honora Liu is ripped into being alive she has known life is pain, and life is horror and she has known that she has been made to make it that way from the bottom of her tar-black heart.

Three months before Honora Liu is born, Ivan Vanko and Aida Liu make a deal to create the perfect weapon. To unite Hydra and the Red Room and lead them against whoever stood against them.

It was, as you imagine, quite the responsibility.

•☽○☾•

THE RED ROOM is a cluster of buildings in the woods, isolated from the greater populace. The KGB leaders that come to survey the objects they pour their money into don’t blink at the girls' bruise-kissed knuckles or how some of their shirts are drenched in blood after they get out of training.

Their eyes roam the room, taking in a distinguished training room that girls like Honora — girls destined to be the incendiary soldiers, burning and searing into those in their way — spend every minute of their day in. Honora is the youngest there at the ripe age of four. She’s there because she’s Honora Liu and two months ago she clutched an army knife in chubby hands and kills her roommate because when she tries to spare her roommate, her roommate tries to slice her throat open.

•☽○☾•

Honora is five when she kills again. It’s the first time she kills a person, except that it isn’t. It’s maybe the tenth, twentieth, hundredth time she kills someone. Everyday when she walks into the too cold training room, she leaves with the blood of her sestras on her hands. She kicks their teeth in, breaks their legs, breaks their arms, breaks their face. She kills her sestras, the same girls that teach her how to braid her hair and pull on her pointe shoes, but it's not the same as killing a person. Because her sestras are not really her sestras, they are each only weapons in the Red Room’s arsenal and disposing of a weapon is so much easier than disposing of an innocent.

The man tied to chair in front of five year old Honora Liu has been trembling in his seat since she walked in, shaking and Honora can barely hear the muffled words coming from behind the thick straw bag otop his head, but Honora has disposed of enough weapons to recognize what asking for mercy sounds like.

“He betrayed the Motherland, Honora” and that's her fathers, Ivans voice, whispering sweetly into her ear. She closes her eyes - only for a second and never longer, because it’s rare for her father to be soft with her. From the moment she is brought into this world, kicking and screaming, she has only ever known the anger only a father possesses. Sharp and bruising, her fathers anger follows Honora like a tattoo seared into an already broken mentality.

When she opens them, the trigger is pulled and she thinks that time has slowed only so she can see the result and then she’s placing a thinly made porcelain mask, keeping everything hidden, but breakable if you apply too much pressure.

•☽○☾•

IN THE RED ROOM, there was never any time to actually feel things. It was a statement that Honora knew, breathed and lived by. It’s the cold harsh truth and while Honora is a spy, she's never been a liar.

But the truth can’t explain to her why Honora can’t breathe. Or why she has to curl her hands into fists to stop them from shaking, dig her nails into her palm so hard they leave blood pouring from the cuts. Or why killing someone has this much of an effect on her.

Honora doesn’t know how to push her emotions down, not yet at least. Hasn’t figured out how to separate her morality from her actions. Hasn’t figured out that she was damned from the beginning. But it’s fine because she may not be good at compartmentalization yet, but she is good at acting like she is.

She can’t stop the tears from welling at night or the crescent shaped scars that have formed on her palms but she can keep her eyes blank, face still, and pound into her opponent’s body until her trainers have to physically drag her off of the poor, dead girl.

She learns, eventually. How to push her emotions down. How to disappear within herself when they send her on more missions. (Learns how useful the skill is when they start her seduction training when she’s eight). And by the time she’s nine, she’s lying on that metal table, getting her choice removed from her body, getting it chopped, chopped away until her lip is bleeding from how hard she bites it and everything is numb, not because of anesthetic (no anesthetic for weapons) because Honora can’t feel anything because she won’t let herself feel anything.

TAGLIST:

@jayjayspixiepop , @nightlychaotic

George has an impossible time. 

It was bad enough before, but now that he knows, now that he has what he wants-- it’s harder to deny himself. 

The bonus is they’ve always been prone to being overtly affectionate, the team itself, so no one really bats an eyelash. As George slides closer, close enough, to grab onto José’s curls like he had the night before. 

Just to hear the way that José laughs. Just to see the smile on his face. Just to feel him again and remind himself that this is real. George moves closer as José gives him a narrow-eyed look without heat, his eyes still sparking, crinkling at the corners, all fake anger at the invasion of space. 

George thinks about wrapping his arm around José’s shoulder, test what he could get away with, and thinks about later-- when he’ll be able to press his face against the soft curls and wrap his arms around him. 

But for now, it’s just teasing between friends, laughing in the dugout as the game goes on. 

Also available on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652419

He never knew how hard it would hit him.

In a glimpse, the shade of bluebells filled each and every thought and memory that came to his mind. A simple conclusion came to the boy by a daily detail: an expression. The fierce protectiveness adorning Ladybug’s features reminded him of a kind, confident and just as brave girl. Who was mostly known as his best friend: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

In that moment, Chat didn’t waver. He didn’t pretend it was too good to be true or that he was seeing things. For in that instant, the black leather cladded Adrien Agreste subconsciously understood that he had chosen not to see. He had chosen to blatantly ignore the same worry present in a gentle hand on his shoulder along with a tiny frown, from both his Princess and his Lady, every time his façade shone through his smile. She was the only person that noticed every. Single. Time.

Sometimes it annoyed him, because he was so easily read by her. Both in and out of the suit. Marinette could always tell when he wasn’t feeling well, when  his insecurities were getting the best of him, when the loneliness crept from the corners of his mind, dragging him down. Ladybug would always sit with him to talk, and convinced him to do so when he was pretending to feel fine. She was tough and had the attitude of “let´s get the job done” in front of other people, but she’d never, not even once, let him feel like he couldn’t count on her.  It felt as though she always payed attention to the details, only one step ahead on the road of making him feel better, and getting him back on his feet.

Good thing was that he didn’t give it too much thought. Acting mostly on Chat’s instincts, he lurched forward to stop the – instants later, and now blank stared – girl from falling to the ground. Her knees gave out, buckling underneath her. Catching Mari’s limp form just in time, he settled on the floor, cradling his Lady’s body to his. He tried to be rational but all he could think of was Please don’t let it be too bad. Let it be only a small bump, I can’t lose her too.

“Kitty?” came a hoarse, close to soundless whisper. Trying to be strong, he looked at her, putting up his façade, building up his walls. Ironically, he was doing it to keep her safe. He wasn’t prepared to hear what she would say next.

“Don’t you dare putting up that façade in front of me Adrien.”

The boy froze, too scared to move. Looking at his friend with wide eyes, he asked her.

“How did you know?”

It came out as a faint whisper. Her now half-lidded bluebell eyes glowed with tears as she stared at him intently, and smiled. Booping his nose, she giggled at him fondly.

“I’d recognize my Kitty’s eyes anywhere.”

The lump on his throat made him unable to reply at the moment. The nickname. Even before he became Chat Noir, Marinette had always called him Kitty, ever since their childhood. She would say that Adrien’s eyes resembled little kitten’s, and so she always addressed him by the fond nickname. He would have never figured out she knew about his hero identity, because Mari called him that since they were kids. Ironically, it suited his superhero persona.

Picturing all the things they had been through, his eyes teared up. There, right in front of him, was his reckless, brave and amazing best friend and partner. If it weren’t for the fact that she was hurt and bruised, he could have leapt in joy. They had grown up together, going through all the awkwardness of their teenage and college days, and always filing their moments together with puns (Adrien’s contribution), eye rolling (mostly Marinette) and tons of laughter, movies, homework, arguments, tears, hugs and fun.

His world had fallen apart once, but she was always there. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing his best friend, after all the losses he had faced. Perfect family, never knew. For as long as he could remember before the painful loss of his parents, Marinette and her family had been his safe haven. When he was with Mari and Ladybug he found the happiness that long ago, once filled his days with laughter and smiles of a family of his own. He couldn’t let it all be lost, couldn’t allow it to be just a fading memory of the most joyful days of his childhood and youth.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me before Mari? At school, on patrol…do…did…” Did you wait till now so you could say it’s over? Can we still be friends? Do you actually like being with me? The poor boy’s mind only tormented and pushed him to bring forward his darkest insecurities and fears. That’s why he hated being an open book. At the same time it allowed him to be understood by Mari, it made him vulnerable. It made him feel afraid of abandonment and solitude.  Deep down, a quiet, small voice fought and struggled to make itself heard on his head. He decided to focus on it instead of drowning in the upcoming and dark corners of his mind.. Of  course she cares. She has always been there for you. Mari and Ladybug have been your shoulder to cry on, partner in all times, your pun hating ( but secretly loving) Lady. Your caring, but fierce (and extremely clumsy) Princess and best friend . She hasn’t given you any reason to doubt her friendship and care for you. She’s been there ever since you were kids. She never left.

Gaze averting from her, he hung his head low.

“I wanted you to get to that conclusion on your own. And I didn’t want to mess up our friendship.” She admitted quite sheepishly.

He just couldn’t bring himself to look at her, feeling guilty for doubting her never wavering care for the bond they shared.

Raising her hand with some difficulty to caress his cheek, it was her turn to avert her gaze. It was a lot to take in, and she was waiting on his reaction. So they both were met with surprise when he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“Silly Bugaboo. You couldn’t possibly ruin our friendship by letting me know you’re my best friend. But it’s ok, I get it. I probably would have done the same, but wouldn’t have handled it quite as smoothly as you did, Mari…clumsiness and all.”

“Hey!” She frowned at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, wait, wait! Is that why you wouldn’t laugh at my puns on patrol? ‘Cause you didn’t want to give yourself away?” Tilting his eyebrows he looked at her with a teasing look.

Her expression turned flat, before a smirk adorned her beautiful face.

“Nope, just because they are really bad Chaton. I had to be fierce about them, who know? Perhaps you would stop!”

“You wound me Mari.”

“Who am I kidding? You know I love your puns. They are ridiculous, but I give you credit for the creativity.”

“It still hurts though.” Adrien just couldn’t drop the teasing, so he pouted at his Lady.

Marinette couldn’t help but start laughing. She was almost out of breath, until the pain, soreness and tiredness caught up with her all at once, Leaving her slightly huffing for air, trying to contain the still erupting giggles that escaped. The pain from her bruises and muscle fatigue put an end to it though.

“I think I don’t want to walk Adrien.” Leaving the pout behind, the cat grinned at her. Shining his pearly whites at her.

“Are you asking for a ride home Mari?!!” Shaking her head slightly, Marinette mumbled to herself.

“I’m so going to regret this... Yup, I’m asking for a ride home Chat.”

“Does that mean we can have a sleepover?” The hope on his tone made it impossible for Marinette to say no to.

“Of course we can have a sleepover Kitty.”

pairing: justin verlander/kate upton, justin verlander/miguel cabrera

summary: Justin Verlander is on top of the world.

16. things you said with no space between us

 James hates when José sits with him on the plane. He wishes it was like before, when there was still some animosity, and it was all fine for James to studiously ignore him without anyone raising his brows.

They have a day off tomorrow, before a homestand, so someone’s opened alcohol on the plane home, and he can smell the alcohol coming off of José-- though judging from the wet splotch on his white shirt, he’s sure it’s more from that than José’s actual alcohol consumption.

“Nick spilled his drink on me,” José says. James rolls his eyes and lets a mask of indifference slide over his features, looking towards the darkness outside the window.

“I don’t care,” James says and he doesn’t-- not really. But José has had a bit to drink, James saw the flush a little high on his cheeks before he’d looked away. José grabs on to his bicep.

“I wanted to come talk to you,” José says. He leans in close, until his mouth is almost against his ear. James’s pulse starts racing. James tries to shake him off, with a little jerking motion of his arm. But José clings on like a koala.

“I can’t--” José starts, breath against James’s ear, causing little goosebumps to spring up all over James’s skin. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

James stills.

“It’s gotta be you,” José continues. “I need it to be you-- please.”

James feels heat creep up on the back of his neck and he’s sure his face is turning red.

“We can’t here,” James says, his voice a low, embarrassed kind of rumble.

“No, you can, no one looking -- just one, please. I gotta know. It’s gotta be you. I can’t keep pretending-- James, please.” James isn’t sure why it’s so important that José is begging; probably because he’s drunk.

James takes a quick look around and José isn’t wrong, so James leans in and slips his hand to the back of José’s neck and presses their mouths together. It’s brief, mostly just a brush of lips, and José’s part underneath James’s, but he doesn’t push it further.

“Are you happy?” James asked and José looks dazed, but whatever reply he’s about to make gets interrupted by Nick coming over, talking in excited, slurring Spanish, so fast that James can’t get a read on any of it, and José is gone almost as soon as he had appeared.

He puts a pillow against the window and tries to get to sleep.

When the plane touches down and he’s in an Uber, on the way home, he gets a text-- we finish that later :*.

James sighs and stares, thinking of a response. He thinks of José’s mouth and how he hadn’t tasted like alcohol.

I did the true definition of a love triangle and I think you’re probably going to hate me. :|