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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Dance of the Spheres Chapter 4: Venusian Vogue

Chapters: 4/?

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, forced marriage

Characters: Loki(Marvel),

Additional Tags: Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:

Images of broken light Which dance before me like a million eyes They call me on and on across the universe. Across the Universe-The Beatles

“I am Loki.”

“I asked for a bride.”

The declarations smashed into you like fists and took your breath with them.

There was a ring on your finger. Silvery, plain, simple. Why hadn't you noticed it before?

This was clearly Loki. Sunken eyes, and onyx hair, and refined bones. Exactly like the pictures. Why hadn't you noticed?

Too many things all at once. Too much. A fearful whine escaped your teeth, as you tugged on the ring. It didn't budge.

“You're supposed to be dead.” You whispered.

His face fell the instant you spoke.

“You know. I sometimes think that myself. Yet somehow I remain. Take it as a reassurance: you will not lose me to battle, or accident. I will never leave you. I suppose that is something that new brides must worry about, especially human ones. You may put that fear to rest.”

“That's not what I'm-” You clamped your mouth shut. You were in a bad position, worse than you'd ever been, maybe. You were completely alone here; you could contact no one for help. You weren't even sure where exactly 'here' was-no one knew where Asgard was located.

You were trapped in a room with a madman. A prince among his own people, who had proven himself capable of the mass murder of humans like you. Yet claiming you were his bride.

No one would come to your aid.

Did anyone even know you were missing?

You glanced at the ring once more. Its twin rested proudly on his own left hand. What choice did you have?

You had to play along. At least until you found some way out of this. Stay on the madman's good side, as much as that was possible.

“Why me?” You asked, fighting down your panic. Just gather information for now. “I'm literally nobody.”

“I don't understand either.” He sat down on the bed, just a little closer to you than arms length. “This was supposed to be a chance at reconciliation. I willingly gave myself up in a symbolic act of unity. Sacrificed my own freedom.”

You side-eyed him hard. Gave up his freedom? In what capacity? He wasn't the one kidnapped and married without any knowledge or choice!

“This isn't an uncommon arrangement.” He continued. “Your species has done this since time immemorial. From kings all the way down to commoners, uniting families, uniting fortunes, uniting entire lands. Surely your...leader...understood what was to be gained. Yes, I did a terrible thing to your people, but this should have forged a new alliance. A promise that not only would I not do such a thing again, but that my formidable prowess would be for your people, rather than against them. Was this not enough? This should have opened the way for trade, for treaties...And you! Why do such a thing to you? One of his own people?”

“Oh, I'm not his.” You said. “I voted against him. I march in protests against his shitty policies. I oppose him in any way I can. I'd say 'maybe that's why', but it really can't be. I'm nowhere near important or influential enough for the government to pay any attention to me. They're too busy trying to kill me through austerity. Or through the cops.”

Loki's face darkened. “I should find that officer and flay him. Make you a bodice of his skin.”

He'd been reaching for your shoulder, but you flinched away.

“Okay see? That right there? That's why people might not want to ally with you.” You pointed out.

“He shouldn't have hurt you.”

“That's true. That doesn't mean you can use my pain as an excuse to rampage on Earth!”

“I shan't!” He protested. “Never again, I promise you that.”

But how good was the promise of government? Politician or hereditary ruler, it was all the same. How good was the word of a murderer? How many promises had he already broken?

“How do you feel?” He asked. “You seem...lively. Whatever you were drugged with, is it having a lasting effect?”

“I'm a little disoriented, but I'm awake.” You said. “The food and water helped.”

“Yes. About that. Ah. Would you like to see your rooms? I've been anticipating your arrival-well, someone's arrival-for some months now, and I've had chambers created that befit your new station.”

The big unknown outside. Beyond this room was nothing but uncertainty. But you would be the first human being to see this new Asgard. You told yourself it was a perk.

“Um...” You mumbled. “My clothes...” You weren't going out there in a flimsy hospital gown, that was for sure.

“Being cleaned and mended.” Loki informed you. “I have a simple gown that I believe should fit you. Here.” Wit a sweeping gesture, he produced a voluminous, forest green garment out of seemingly nowhere.

You scooted away. “How did you do that?” You demanded.

“Magic, of course.” He said. “You...don't know about the magic...?”

You shook your head and took the robe from him. It felt real enough, smooth and soft, with fur trim and pin tucks. This was simple?

“What do you know about me, my dear?” He asked.

“Not much. Just what...turn around!” Sheepishly, he turned his back so you could change. “Just what was on the news. And the approximately three million conspiracy websites that popped up afterwards. You might be shocked by how many people think you were an inside job.”

“A what?”

“That's not even counting all the cults. You and Thor really got the radicalization machine cranking them out. White supremacists, nationalists, doomsday cults...thanks a lot. Not as if we didn't have enough problems cleaning up the mess you left behind.”

“That...was not my intention. Were you...?”

“I was not part of any cults. I was also not part of the celebration of your death, either.”

The news broadcast had interrupted every television, lit up every phone. A tired and battle-worn Thor, looking not one inch the hero the world knew him to be, as he towered over the reporter. He gave only a short statement: His brother Loki was dead, perished in honorable battle, in an effort to protect the galaxy from an ancient enemy.

People had trusted him. They'd seen the destruction that enemy had caused, in their quest to destroy everything. The odd teleportation anomalies in England that had dominated youtube for a long time. The leaves in your bathroom, the foreign plants in the park. Exotic, even alien creatures being spotted.

People threw parties at the news of Loki's demise. You'd gone out, gotten yourself exactly one drink, and then stayed home for the weekend. It didn't seem right, not after seeing Thor so hollowed out. You didn't really get on with celebrating the death of your enemies anyway, only the success of your causes.

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“But yeah, all I really know is that you attacked us out of the blue, and brought an army with you. You caused billions in damages and cost hundreds of lives. Thousands more lost everything. The economic blow is still with us, and led to some of the problems I've been marching against. And then you died. Except not, obviously. Was Thor lying to us?”

“No. He truly believed me dead. I did too, until I woke up. So you know nothing of me. I feared that might be the case. I am no warlord, not truly. I am the foremost sorcerer of Asgard. My magic has many applications, one of which is that I am rarely found without what I need.”

“So magic is real?” Why not? Aliens were real. Gods were apparently real.

“Yes, very. When times were...better, I used to tutor younger students. I might go back to doing that, once we are more established. Once we are safe.”

Safe? From what? Was whatever it was that had destroyed Asgard still out there? Thor had said otherwise, before the radio silence, but he had also thought that Loki was dead, and he was wrong about that, so...

“May I look now, dear?”

“Oh...yeah. I'm dressed.” The gown did fit, though mostly because it was a shapeless, oversized thing that was closed around you with ties. Still, it was luxurious, and made you feel like you were actually pretty-as long as no one looked at you too closely. Was this what a princess wore? You shouldn't allow yourself to get too used to it. As soon as you found a way out, you were out.

“Delightful. Even such a simple gown enhances your beauty. Will you come with me, dear? Let me show you our grand achievements.”

You didn't really want to be exposed to the people of Asgard, but this room was no safer than anywhere else right now. Loki hovered, and you stood, and managed a few wobbly steps before you overbalanced. He caught you instantly.

“Don't worry.” He murmured. “I'm here.”

As if that wasn't the problem in the first place.

“So, while you were carrying me off...I mean, when you, uh, received me, did you notice a cane lying around?” You asked. “I had one. Did the guys who brought me give it to you?”

“I'm afraid not.” He said apologetically. “They seemed strangely eager to quit the area.”

“Yeah, well. They had just committed a felony.” You griped. “They probably had orders to disappear. And they probably didn't want to hang around and witness what a warlord was gonna do to me.”

He winced. “I promise you, that's not what I really am.”

“Sorry.”

He held out his arm for you. “I don't have your cane, but I can support you. We will have another cane made for you. There should have been an Artificer and an apprentice Healer in here at some point, to measure you for a new prosthetic.”

“Uh, there were. I, uh, kinda told them to piss off.”

“Ah. I suppose I cannot blame you, now that I know of your situation. But they are here at your service, as is all of Asgard.”

He helped you limp along, somehow maintaining his dignified stride, even as you wobbled along like a penguin. The hallways were as bland and labyrinthine as a human hospital, if somewhat more softly lit. Again the light source was obscured behind thin panes of cloudy crystal, which diffused the light, giving everything a comforting, if slightly mysterious atmosphere, which the general emptiness of the area only enhanced.

There were few people here, but for some reason, you had been placed in a room far within the hospital complex. Maybe they wanted to hide you away, so that no one knew you were here until they were ready to introduce you to Asgard. Or until they were certain you were going to survive. It might cause a scandal if the prince's bride just up and died upon arrival.

Or perhaps it was to protect you. There were plenty of reasons why a human bride might not be accepted by the Asgardian populace; everything from nationalism, to someone wanting to make a bid for that crown themselves.

There were still no windows to be seen, and everything was made of stone, just like in the hospital room. Out here, in the halls and waiting rooms, the desks, chairs, and tables all seemed to be joined to the walls and floor, as if the whole place had been carved from a single, solid piece, like the rock-cut architecture of the fabled city of Petra. Here again were the creamy grays and oranges lining the walls, though a smooth black also made an appearance.

Eventually, you came to what must have been a foyer, with a high ceiling, complex stone mosaics, and huge, gorgeously carved double doors, but still no windows.

“We will be going outside now.” Loki said. “This facility is within the palace complex, and is not far from your special chambers, but we will have to cross a few halls and courtyards. There are plenty of places to sit, so if you need a rest, simply say so.”

He opened the doors for you, and you stepped out into a world of stone.

Everything was stone, stone or metal. Before you was a wide open courtyard, clearly unfinished, but spacious. At regular intervals were stone towers supporting open pillared hallways in a multiple storied, vaguely Roman courtyard style. The towers shot up, and up, and up...you climbed them with your gaze, following them to the heights to which they had to buttress each other with thin struts of stone, higher still, where they joined with an impossibly high ceiling.

There was a roof over the courtyard, so tall that your couldn't fathom how it had been built. Beyond the courtyards stacked walkways-six full stories-you could see the tips of other towers, lined with lights, merging with this high rise ceiling. Was the entire palace built under this massive shelter?

Clearly the sun did not reach into the palace. To offset this, the crystal-paned, inset lights were everywhere, creating complex patterns that mimicked the intricate knotted carvings that chased up the towers and pillars. The corbels glared down at you, fierce masks of bearded men, wolves, dragons and birds, lights in their eyes.

Combined, it was not as bright as sunlight, but not dim either. The softness of the glow made shadows diffuse, made the stone look soft and fake, and even shimmery in places, like the set pieces in eighties fantasy movies. If not for the pain in your bruises, you'd have thought the dreamy atmosphere was just that, and that you were about to wake up from this absurd dream any moment now.

But the pain was there, and denied that simple, hopeful wish. And Loki was there, gently urging you forward like he was a real gentleman, instead of a heinous war criminal. There were a few other people out here as well; walking the courtyards pillared halls, resting on stone benches, carving hollows into the ground.

There was no soil here. All stone. As you crossed the courtyard, you noticed black, and gray, and cloudy crystal inlaid into the ground in a shape reminiscent of a compass rose, decorated with silvery wire knotwork in bird and serpent shapes.

There were troughs and niches being carved into the ground that looked to you like they were meant to be flower beds...eventually. You had seen no dirt here yet, no grass or growing things at all. Maybe once you finally got outside. But for now, it felt as if you had left a building, only to exit into another building, that was in turn, within another building.

It was a bit suffocating.

Loki led you across several courtyards, each with a different pattern inlaid into their bare floor, and through vaulted hallways that still contained no windows. Many of these hallways intersected in large, circular domes, and few of them had any distinctive markings. Soon you were completely lost. With any luck, you would be able to get your hands on some paper, and create a map-otherwise, any escape attempts would be doomed from the word go.

But maybe that was the point.

Your staggering steps echoed down a particularly tall and wide hallway, almost completely devoid of people. You were almost at the end of your physical capabilities, and while there were places to sit, you felt like you must be close to your destination. You really wanted to be in a room whose dimensions you could be certain of. A space you could comprehend.

Loki brought you to a stop in front of a pair of carved wooden doors. As the first piece of architecture you had seen here that was something other than stone, you found them more beautiful than anything you'd seen all day. They were something almost normal, almost like something you would have at home. If you were insanely rich, or your dad was a carpenter or something. They were a warm terra-cotta color, carved with a dizzying array of knotwork, framed with blackened, riveted iron. The handles were iron serpents.

“We imported some things from your homeland. This redwood lumber is one such thing. From what I hear, these trees are emblematic of your country.”

“Er...” How to politely say, 'not really, even though most people who live there do know what a redwood is'. They weren't very important to anyone who didn't live near where they grew. They weren't what you would call 'quintessentially American'. There wasn't anything you could really call that. The place was just too damn big.

“We couldn't bring too much, not yet anyway.” He continued. “It is expensive, unfortunately, and we only have one ship. It can only carry so much, and it takes about three days to transport. Things are moving slowly, but our construction projects are moving along speedily. There's little else to do right now, save build.”

He opened the doors for you, and led you into a fairy tale.

#danceofthespheres #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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leverage-ot3 · 4 years

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notable moments from The 12 Step Job

leverage 1.10

Hardison (brings up map on monitors): That look like a pattern to you?

Parker: It's like Billy from "The Family Circus," If Billy was a drunken sex fiend.

eliot straight up looked at her like ?????

- - - - -

Nate: Actually, it does. He's an addict, under stress. So he's not gonna be doing a lot of exploring. He's gonna stay well within his comfort zone. He's still in LA. Oh, yeah. All right, we're gonna do this old-school. Ah, Parker, you break into his condo, see what you can find. Sophie and I will hit the retail spots. You guys go to his favorite haunts. But don't spook him, just follow him. Let him lead us to the money.

Hardison: All right?

Eliot (to Hardison): Strip Joint.

Hardison: Mmm. (to Nate) You know, I'm - I'm gonna need change for $100... in singles.

Nate: I'm sorry. What? Y-you think I have 100 singles on me?

(Eliot and Hardison walk out)

they looked at each other giddily that the con was going to take them to a strip joint and immediately asked their dad nate for money

they’re children, your honor

- - - - -

Hardison: This dude, you see him trying to force his keys onto that girl?

Eliot: Yeah. It should be the other way around, huh?

(Hurley gets into the car and starts it)

Eliot: Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You don't know nothing about that.

Hardison: Really? I almost had it in me to wash this car. Almost.

Eliot: Ten bucks says you're washing the car.

Hardison: I know it ain’t

Eliot: I guaran- (he is cut off when a car pulls up behind Hurley as he’s backing up, and he hits it. Men get out of the car and run around to where Hurley is getting out of his car)

CHILDREN

also as soon as hardison spilled that slushie he was Dead™

(also when did they stop to get slushies ??? like did hardison beg eliot to stop at some place to get one ??? did eliot begrudgingly to it, complaining all the way but secretly not actually minding it that much ???)

- - - - -

eliot and hardison fighting goons in the parking lot ? two words: 🥰 crime boyfriends 🥰

- - - - -

Hardison: I got a gun. I got a gun.

Man: All right, man, hey, hey.

(the men back away. Hardison points the gun and shoots. The bullet goes into the engine of the men’s car, disabling it. Eliot pulls Hardison toward their car)

Eliot: Nice job blowing out the engine block.

Hardison: I was aiming for his leg.

(Eliot grabs the gun)

Eliot: Yeah give me the gun, Hardison

hardison can’t shoot for shit and it’s hilarious

- - - - -

Parker: Hi. My name is Rose. I'm a kleptomaniac. My parents are rich, but I shoplift anyway... (looks at notes on her wrist) because I hate myself.

HER NOTES ON HER WRIST LMFAO

- - - - -

making parker take the drugs without explaining the process or making her sign anything etc is unethical

- - - - -

Hardison: It-It's, uh, a computer bomb. I-I-I know computers. Computer bomb, um. We-we-we got to reboot the system. Yeah.

Eliot (stands up): You want me to kick it?

Hardison: God, I’m gonna die. No, just, look. (reaches under dash)

Eliot: Wh-wh-wh-whoa.

Hardison: J-just, no. Duck up under the hood and just tell me how it's attached to the electrical system. (pops hood)

I’ve seen meta for this scene where eliot actually obviously knows not to kick it, he’s just saying that to jumpstart hardison’s brain since he’s freaking the fuck out. and I believe that wholeheartedly.

- - - - -

Eliot: What's our margin for error here?

Hardison: About half a second.

Eliot: Run the bag of bricks by me again.

Hardison: You ready?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Are you ready?

(Eliot reaches under the hood with a shaking hand and grabs the wires)

Eliot: Yeah

ELIOT! COULD! HAVE! JUST! LEFT!

they were a newly formed team and if worst came to worst, he could have just gotten himself to safety and have that be it. except he would NEVER do that. he’d never leave any of his team behind (especially hardison). in this scene and the one before it his hands were SHAKING because he was so scared for hardison and that hardison wouldn’t make it. eliot is the retrieval specialist and he’s the one that is supposed to get everyone home safe. he needed hardison to be safe.

- - - - -

Receptionists: Can I help you?

Eliot: You sure can. Here to see a patient of yours, Mr. Tom Baker.

Receptionists: What's your relationship?

Eliot: Why?

Receptionists: Second Act has a strict policy. Only family members can see patients. We want to make sure outside influences don't hamper our clients' recoveries.

Eliot: I think that's an excellent policy. I'm Tom's brother. Hi. Mark.

(Eliot kisses the receptionists hand. She looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I'm-I'm with him.

Receptionists: So, you're a friend of…

Hardison: No, no, I am—

(Hardison puts his arm through Eliot’s. Eliot stiffens)

Hardison: I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know, but if you was, like, Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh, girl, it would be on, seriously. (rings the bell) Bring your ass. Bring your ass. (pulls Eliot away from the desk)

ot3 foreshadowing in season one- we love to see it

(also what a fucking nerd, hardison, tom baker? you live to base aliases off of doctor who)

- - - - -

Parker: I thought my foster parents just wanted me so they could get money from the state, but now I realize they didn't love each other. They just wanted someone to love them.

Hurley: Like they need you to fill in the gaps for their relationship.

Parker: Exactly. But when that didn't happen, they just withdrew

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: Which led me to steal.

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: It's all so clear to me now

I’m not sure how much of this was true from her origin story but I’m keeping it as meta just in case

- - - - -

Hardison: He's not all bad. He did give some of the money to people in need.

Eliot: You ever notice how all bad guys know at least one stripper?

Sophie (answering phone): Hello?

Hardison: And you know at least a hundred, so what does that say about you?

Eliot: Hey, I’m a bad guy

stfu eliot you know you’re not a bad guy anymore

- - - - -

parker walking around all happy

- - - - -

Parker: Okay, Parker, get into the air vent, out to the front gate.

Parker: No.

Nate: No?

Parker: No, I feel like I’m making real progress here.

Nate (puts his hands on her shoulders): Listen, I need you to focus, okay?

(Parker smiles and looks down at Nate’s arms)

Nate: What?

Parker: You don't usually touch me, or any of us, really. It's the hole in your heart, Tom. It doesn't allow you to get close to people.

Hurley: She's right

parker got so insightful in this episode. like it was because of the drugs but it gave an interesting look into her mind and into her past

- - - - -

Hurley: Dr. Tanner?

Sophie: Hurley, jump on. Let's go. Now!

(Sophie is pulled away, but another creeper comes out from beneath the car. Hurley gets out of the car. Eliot is pulling on the rope from behind another car. Hurley is pulled away to safety. Eliot covers Sophie)

Eliot: Keep your head down. Keep your head down.

eliot covered sophie with his body and we love to see eliot protecting his family with whatever he’s got

- - - - -

Eliot: Ooh.

Hurley: Steel-Belted radials.

(Eliot pulls a knife and cuts open the tire, revealing the inside full of money)

Eliot: Ohhh.

Hurley: What do you think?

(Eliot hands Hardison a handful of money)

Sophie: I think you might have a knack for this.

that was actually really smart ??? tagging this as something useful for a fic maybe ???

- - - - -

Nate: Just-just take the win. Take the win. (grabs an envelope from Hardison and hands it to Hurley) Here you go.

Hurley: What's this?

Nate: That's your new identity. It's a driver's license, a passport, birth certificate.

Hardison: Your library card, Netflix membership, Sam’s club. Oh, I got you three months free at 24-Hour fitness. Maybe work off some of those tacos.

Hurley: You guys didn't have to do all this.

Nate: Yeah, well, actually, uh, we did. Uh, Jack Hurley is dead. We killed him. So this is your chance to kind of start over.

Hurley: Wow. Hey, d-do you think Michelle will forgive me when she gets the payout from my life-insurance policy?

Nate: Yeah, why don't we just, uh, go with the win? (escorts him toward the door) We're giving you a second chance, so don't screw it up. If you do, I promise we'll know. (hands Hurley tickets) Train ticket.

Hurley: Don't worry about me.

Nate: Yeah.

Hurley: I'm playing it straight from now on. In fact, as soon as I get to, uh... (looks at ticket) Rosarito, I’m gonna find the nearest support group. I promise. Thanks for everything, Tom. (shakes hand)

when the team has someone “die”, they take CARE of them

- - - - -

Dr. Frank: You're sure this is for the best?

Sophie: Absolutely. Second Act isn't the right place for her.

(Parker smells marker. Sam comes and takes it away from her)

Sophie: No, she needs to be around people who better understand the issues she's struggling with. People more like her.

parker sniffing a marker and smiling snjdnssjsj

also SHE NEEDS HER FAMILY. HER FAMILY UNDERSTANDS HER.

- - - - -

(Parker walks out of the building, laughing)

Parker: Hi. (runs up to the group, who are waiting for her) Hey! I missed you guys!

(Parker throws her bag at Nate and jumps into Eliot’s arms)

Eliot: Oh! (to Sophie) When do the happy pills wear off?

Nate: Usually about 24 hours.

Parker (hugging Hardison): I missed you.

Hardison: That's too bad. I kind of like this Parker.

(Parker puts an arm around both Eliot and Hardison and they start walking away)

Nate: Uh, Eliot?

(Nate throws Parker’s bag, Eliot catches it)

OT3 OT3 OT3

also PLEASE give me a fic of them watching over her while she comes down from the meds just in case she needs anything. fuck, I might have to write this if no one else does.

- - - - -

eliot and hardison having a mini argument in the background getting parker in the car

#leverage 1.10 #leverage 1x10 #the 12 step job #the twelve step job #leverage season 1 #season 1 #notable moments #mine #im going to stop tagging these posts as meta because it clogs up the character meta and leverage meta tags #so just assume all the notable moments posts have meta in them #leverage

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quillingyousoftly · 4 years

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It Wasn’t Supposed to Be (Like This)

My entry for Rumrollins Week, day 1: Apology/Angst. Apology is only there if you squint.

Warning for suicidal behavior.

After the Uprising, Brock builds a haven for himself and Jack.

It’s hard work in his state to ensure they’re safe and comfortable, to make sure Jack has everything he requires and could ever want, and not to forget his own needs in the process. His body reminds him, though, its ache begging for rest and comfort. It exhausts him and makes him run out of patience sometimes, but they manage.

Before the Uprising, Jack talked a lot about their imagined future—imagined, because they never expected it to come. He talked about a house with a white picket fence, the romantic he is, and a rose garden. A fireplace, and a fur rug lying in front of it on the polished floor. It would smell of the roses, freshly chopped wood, and Brock’s cooking. Brock added a vegetable patch and a king-sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets to that fantasy.

Jack doesn’t talk anymore, and so he doesn’t say anything when Brock finds them a house with a white picket fence and a vegetable patch; he waits patiently in the driveway as Brock sneaks in to take care of its owners and doesn’t even twitch when Brock points out the fireplace and suggests buying that fur rug Jack had wanted. It’s frustrating, and he’s tired, so he parks Jack next to the nice leather couch and flops onto it to rest without uttering another word.

Later, he buys a rose and plants it in the garden, so Jack can have a small part of his dream come true. Just that light task has his burned body protesting, so he rests with Jack in the living room for a while, walking him through the plan for the day.

When he starts feeling better and peckish, he wheels Jack to the kitchen and cooks a simple meal for them. Watching Brock and the delicious smells starting to fill the air cause a smile to appear on Jack’s face for the first time since they found the house, and Brock smiles back in relief.

“That’s a good look on you,” he quips. “You should do that more often.”

The smile doesn’t quite fade away, and they eat their dinner in good enough moods Brock isn’t even salty about his meal having gone cold before he starts.

Then, he wheels Jack outside to show him the rose. The orange rays of the setting sun paint its white petals and Jack’s face that becomes somber at the sight.

“Do you like the color?” Brock asks conversely. “I thought it was nice.”

Jack doesn’t react at first, but nods eventually, the sad look on his face contradicting that gesture. Brock sighs and crouches down in front of him, resting his hands on his blanket-covered knees and looking up to meet his gaze.

“Look, I know it’s hard. I know. I can’t do half the things I used to either.”

Jack glares at him, and this Brock understands; he’s pointing out he can still walk, talk, and use his hands.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Jack’s angry glare shifts to resignation, and he nods. Brock smiles, a little forced, and kisses him on his way up.

Everything has changed after the Uprising and not in the way they expected. They were supposed to rule the world, not be on the run from the law with both their bodies barely working. Even Jack’s kisses changed; they’re more desperate, more passionate, and he never turns away from them, even if he’s mad, perhaps because he can’t initiate them as often as he wants anymore. There’s something heartbreaking in the raw emotion he pours into them and in how he strains his neck to chase Brock’s lips even after he moves away.

“Let’s bathe,” Brock says. “Then we’ll go to bed and kiss some more, m’kay?”

The promise makes a small smile appear on Jack’s face, and it brings Brock both relief and a heartache.

Out of all the ways Brock has had to learn to take care of Jack, bathing is by far the easiest and the most pleasant. The hardest part is to lift Jack off the wheelchair and place him in the full tub. Brock still remembers the first time he actually picked up Jack, scooped him up in his arms in a bridal carry not out of necessity but because he was feeling romantic; he was heavy even back then when his body was fully able. Now he grunts when he lifts him, even though Jack has lost a lot of his muscle mass as well. Brock still trains when he can, but there’s no hiding he isn’t as strong as he used to.

The bath is big enough to fit both of them, and so Brock strips and fits himself between Jack’s legs. His body sends him contradicting signals; where he isn’t burned, the water is pleasantly warm, the more sensitive places read it as scalding hot, and the most scorched spots where his nerve endings burned away don’t feel the temperature at all. He waits for his skin to get used to the water, then leans back with a sigh and his eyes closed, letting his muscles relax.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Jack staring at him, and his old friend self-consciousness settles low in his stomach as he remembers how ugly he is now. His skin, once olive, now is full of waxy, charred, blistered, and red patches, dead spots where it won't stop peeling away. His body, once perfectly chiseled, is now that of a wimp. Jack, although disabled, hasn’t suffered the same amount of injuries, and looks mostly the same if a little smaller. His face is sharper, thinner, but not burned, and it has gained no new scars. The rest of his body is also untouched by fire, the bruises he had gotten from the rubble crushing him had long faded away and all that remains is the spine injury that left him paralyzed. Brock isn’t even sure if the rubble also damaged his vocal cords somehow or if his mutism is a mental response to the trauma. It isn’t like he breathed in hot fumes and swallowed sizzling engine oil that turned Brock’s voice gravelly and made it hard to speak sometimes.

Brock’s chest burns hot as he thinks how ugly the Uprising left him and how dependent on him it made Jack. Sometimes he wonders how many of Jack’s moods result from the frustration of not being able to move, and how many from the fact he’s now stuck with the boyfriend he can barely stand to look at. He can’t even afford to let Brock know he doesn’t want to be together anymore. Brock pretends he doesn’t suspect he would if he could, and they get by that way.

To turn his thoughts to something else, Brock reaches for the soap and lathers his hands to then gently rub Jack’s skin. His fingertips feel numb, but his palms were protected by his fingerless gloves and are just like they always were, one of the few mercies. Jack can’t feel his rough fingers, but Brock can feel the smoothness of the foam, the softness of his skin, the warmth of his body.

Jack watches him with an odd but not uncommon softness in his eyes as Brock washes him, the evidence of feelings still alight in his heart even if they’re for a memory and not the person Brock now is. Brock also remembers how they used to bathe together sometimes, and the things they did that were far from the innocent washing Brock’s doing now. He’s sure they both miss those times and the people they used to be back then, the love that was true and not a way to survive.

Later, Brock wheels Jack to the bedroom and sets him down on the bed, arranging him securely on his side.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, making sure the pillow is fluffy enough. “Sorry I couldn’t be bothered to look for fresh sheets. But hey, at least I didn’t kill them in their beds so we’re not sleeping in their blood.”

Jack gives him a look, and Brock sighs.

“I wish I could read your thoughts.”

It’s apparently a wrong thing to say, because Jack drops his gaze. Brock doesn’t have the energy to try and figure out how to fix this, so he just ignores it. He flops onto the mattress next to Jack and arranges them both into a half-embrace; Jack can’t hold him properly anymore, but it’s still nice to feel the weight of his arm across his waist. Brock nudges his nose with his own.

“Hey, stop moping. I thought you wanted to kiss.”

Jack’s eyes are closed already when he reaches for Brock’s lips. Brock knows he’s imagining he’s kissing his old, handsome boyfriend who has energy, stamina, and a working dick. Brock can’t blame him; all he can do is to kiss him back like he still is that boyfriend.

At least Jack’s dick isn’t any more working than Brock’s so neither of them becomes frustrated.

Brock doesn’t feel rested when he wakes up, and each day is full of work; at this point, he’s sure he’ll only be given a chance to rest after he dies.

Jack is awake already, his thoughtful gaze fixed on a spot above Brock’s head, his arm still thrown haphazardly across his body.

“Hello,” Brock says, his voice strained. He clears his throat, but it only makes it more sore and dry. “Slept well?”

Jack nods. Brock doesn’t dare ask him for how long he has been awake. How much time does he spend alone with his thoughts, unable to distract himself when Brock is resting or absent? No wonder he’s always so moody when those thoughts can’t be happy and optimistic.

Brock gets up to make coffee and breakfast; his skin is burning, so he forgoes clothes. After he feeds Jack and forces cold eggs down his throat, it’s time for Jack’s rehabilitation.

Brock doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s sure it’s necessary. He consulted the internet on what he could do to help Jack, learned exercises for him from YouTube. He wishes he could do more; Jack deserves professional care, but it’s impossible—the Avengers are still tracking them, for fuck’s sake. In his thoughts, Brock curses Hydra, curses himself for believing in their shady propaganda, finally for recruiting Jack into it. If it wasn’t for Brock, he wouldn’t be stuck here, maybe he wouldn’t have been in that room with the Council on that fateful day, maybe he would have the time to flee from the crumbling building…

They’re both tired after the rehabilitation, so they rest in each other’s embrace again, and Brock doesn’t even wince at the sting of Jack’s sweaty skin sticking to his burned.

He picks himself up when he gets bored, sets Jack down in his wheelchair, covers him with a blanket and wheels him outside, rambling about working in the garden.

“Remember how I said I’d give you a show on my hands and knees, covered in dirt?” Brock jokes, ignoring the pang in his chest saying no one would want to lay their eyes on him now, not to mention watch him. “Maybe some veggies are good for picking already, we could eat them for lunch.”

Brock expects Jack to glare at him for making him eat like a rabbit, but for once he doesn’t. He’s looking around the garden instead. It’s nothing much: a few shrubs, a lush green lawn, an apple tree, a small patch with cucumbers and carrots, and a glasshouse with tomato and pepper plants. In the center the rose is growing, the white of its petals blinding in the summer sun. Brock brings a watering can and helps Jack water his rose, then leaves him in the tree’s shadow. He returns inside for a moment to put on some clothes and a cap, and to turn on the radio so they can listen to it through the open backdoor.

He only manages to weed and water the vegetable patch before the damaged skin of his arms begins to burn in the sun. He wipes sweat off his brow and decides to call it a day. His legs have cramped up a little from crouching, and he approaches Jack in a slow, unsteady gait.

“Are you doing okay?”

Jack nods, watching him with visible worry.

“I’m fine,” Brock says, because the last thing he needs is Jack worrying about him. He has enough things to worry about. “A little fatigued, a little sore, you know how it is.”

Jack shakes his head in what Brock guesses is disapproval as he wheels him back inside.

“I’m okay, I promise, but I need to rest. Did you enjoy the show at least?”

Jack’s lips break in a smirk at that, and he looks Brock up and down appreciatively. Brock’s face still warms under his gaze like it could be more than a fucking joke with how disfigured he is.

“Hopefully, the TV will have something nicer to look at.”

Brock sets Jack’s wheelchair next to the couch and flops down onto it. He doesn’t miss his sad look when he switches on the TV.

“I know,” he says, “I’ll read you a book when I catch my breath.” Hopefully, his eyes will stop stinging by then. He changes channels until he sees a movie just starting, some action flick he has never heard of before. “You okay watching this?”

Jack nods; the movie can’t be any good, but that’s exactly what Brock needs, to look at some cheap, terrible effects and turn off his brain.

“Are you okay? Do you want to lie down, or have a drink?”

Jack considers his question for a moment, but then shakes his head.

They’re running out of anti-clotting shots.

Brock doesn’t tell Jack, but he can probably guess as much from how tight Brock’s face is when he’s giving him one and from the fact Brock hasn’t been on a medical supply run in a while.

The worry doesn’t let him fall asleep, so he quietly digs out his gun from the nightstand drawer and leaves Jack’s side. He sneaks out of the bedroom and into the hall where he left the gun cleaning kit, and he takes it with him to the living room.

He hopes he won’t be forced to use the gun when breaking into a pharmacy at night, but he hasn’t cleaned it in a while, and he has nothing better to do at this hour. The silence in the big house feels oppressive, so he turns on the TV on a low volume. He works thoroughly and yet he doesn’t completely run out of the nervous energy filling him when he’s done. He leaves the lights and the TV on and returns to the bedroom to put the gun away before having a glass of wine to help him fall asleep. He takes a look at Jack when he enters—it’s a force of habit to check if he’s alright. He’s lying on his side facing the door like Brock has arranged him, and his eyes are open, fixed on the gun in Brock’s hand. Taken aback, Brock stops in his tracks.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” He raises the gun in a way of explanation. Jack’s eyes track the movement. “I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d clean it. I’ll have ta go on a supply run tomorrow night.”

Jack finally meets his gaze, but Brock can’t decipher the meaning behind it. He shrugs.

“I’m sorry if it upset you. I’ll have a glass and join you.”

He takes a step towards his nightstand, but Jack’s eyes boring into him make him hesitate. Jack slowly looks away toward the gun still raised in Brock’s hand, then back to Brock, then back—

Brock’s blood runs cold when the realization of what Jack’s asking for dawns on him.

“No,” he says, his voice sharper than intended. “Never ask again.”

He reaches the nightstand in one stride and yanks the drawer open. He wants to throw the gun in, but years of training force him to lay it down gently. Then he closes the drawer, turns on his heel, and leaves the bedroom.

His hand shakes when pouring bourbon. It burns going down his throat, heats him up from the inside, like swallowing burning oil, but better.

He stands at the window, but all he sees is his own reflection. His anger slowly evaporates as he’s sipping on his bourbon, leaving him in fear’s cold clutches. His knuckles go white as he clenches the glass, dries it, and on a bit unsteady legs, he returns to the bedroom. He wraps himself in a soft blanket that doesn’t irritate his skin like the itchy sheets and lies down next to Jack. He wraps one arm around his waist and presses himself close. Having adjusted to the darkness, he sees Jack’s eyes are closed, but he hasn’t been gone long enough for him to fall back asleep after what just happened.

“I can’t lose you,” Brock whispers, pulling Jack’s hair back. “I just can’t.”

Jack keeps pretending to sleep.

Brock starts breathing a little easier once he has raided a pharmacy, even when Jack becomes more moody and generally uncommunicative after what happened that fateful night. Brock finds he doesn’t care as much anymore—perhaps it’s the result of taking more painkillers than he used to, now that he has a seemingly endless supply.

Days pass fast and suddenly, they’ve been living in the house for a month, and Brock realizes they have become too comfortable. It’s a small town, and their neighbors grow more and more suspicious of them, asking when the actual owners are coming back from their ‘vacation’. The house begins to stink so much from the bodies shut down in the basement, no amount of Febreze can cover it up anymore. The Avengers are probably getting closer to finding them. They need to move again.

They spend their last day in the garden, Jack in the shadow next to his rose, and Brock working on the vegetables. He will miss it; who knows where they end up living next. Perhaps somebody’s forgotten basement or a stuffy one-room apartment.

The sun is setting already, but the air is still humid when Brock decides to call it a day. He walks over to Jack, who’s looking at the rose.

“It looks ready for cutting,” Brock says conversationally, lightly touching the rose’s opened corolla. “Wanna cut it?”

Jack stays still for so long, Brock’s about to drop the topic and wheel him back inside, but then he nods. Brock retrieves pruning shears from the shed and cuts the rose, leaving its stem long.

“Here you are.” He cuts off the thorns and rests the rose against Jack’s chest. “We’ll put it in the vase inside. Maybe we’ll even take it with us?”

Saying it, he already knows they won’t. They need to travel lightly, and the rose isn’t essential to their survival. Still, it’s a nice thought he supposes Jack would like to entertain.

Jack leans down, and at first Brock thinks it’s to smell the rose, but then he catches its stem just below the calyx between his teeth and strains his neck towards Brock, looking up at him meaningfully.

“Oh, it’s for me?” Brock takes the rose back absentmindedly, distracted by a rare smile blooming on Jack’s face. “It was always supposed to be for me, wasn’t it?” he realizes. “The entire rose garden you wanted.”

Jack nods, and as Brock stares into his eyes that are full of affection, he suddenly understands Jack still loves him. All this time, it’s been him who can’t stand the way he looks, not Jack. Jack doesn’t mind. Brock sighs, the weight in his chest making it hard to breathe, and crouches down, resting his hands against Jack’s knees. Jack follows him with his gaze.

“Jackie.” Brock hesitates, the words he’s about to say almost impossible to force out of his mouth. But he needs to ask, because maybe Jack loves him, but he doesn’t love his life, and it’s unfair of Brock to force him to keep on living like this. His throat is tight when he finally manages to form the words. “Do you… wanna go to sleep?”

His eyes and throat burn, the pain spreads down his chest, and it’s like he’s drowning in scalding hot oil again. He blinks back tears as he watches Jack’s eyes widen as the meaning behind those words dawns on him. Brock’s heart stops as he waits for a response, his lungs ache from the lack of air, but Jack seems to be stupefied.

Then, slowly, he shakes his head.

The breath of relief Brock takes at that feels like a second life. He pulls himself onto his feet and presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“Good,” he breathes, his voice failing him again. “That’s good. Let’s pack up then.”

As he wheels Jack back inside, he feels much, much lighter.

#rumrollinsweek2020 #hydra husbands #brock rumlow #jack rollins #my writing

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doberbutts · 5 years

Text

Y’all. You know how I hate puppy raisers with a burning fiery passion, but yesterday’s events just set off a chain reaction of things that have to be spoken about.

So we (roommates and I) went to Ren Faire in NY yesterday and all in all, we had a great time. However, right from the start we experienced several problems that we definitely did not experience last year when we went.

Immediately after purchasing our tickets, we were pulled out of the crowd walking into the gate by a staff member who claimed service dog people had to come with him. Initially thinking we were being let in an alternate, disability-friendly entrance, we went with him. Nope- he directed us to a table where he explained that all service dog teams had to fill out a log/registry saying our names, the dogs’ names, our phone numbers, the dogs’ breeds, and our disability. At no point in time were we asked the two questions businesses are allowed to ask. Instead we were told that in order to gain access, we had to give them this personal information in the form of a log for every staff member to review.

This is not legal. We told the staffer that by the ADA itself, requiring someone to specifically give out that sort of information to gain access to a business is not legal when it is only applied to a disabled person with medical equipment, even if that equipment is a dog. We also told him we realized it was not his fault, and that he was just following orders, but we would not be filling out the form and as we had paid for the tickets, we would like to either speak to his boss to gain entry to the faire, or to simply be allowed in. He chose to call his boss- to his credit, he was very nice and it was clear he was just doing what he had been instructed to do.

His boss, however, came out already feeling combative. She told us they had to do the log book because they rotate staff every 30 minutes and there’s no way to verify that the dog is a service dog without the log book. That, even though each staff member had a radio on-hand, there was no way to simply radio that there was a service dog coming in and to leave them alone, it had to be done with the log book. Even though she later said that if a member of staff reported a dog in the grounds via radio, the person with the log book would just radio back saying it’s a service dog, somehow that can only happen if the log book is present.

She also stated that they have been doing things this way for the past 15 years she’d been there (that is not true, this did not happen last year) and that they do things this way at every single event and no one has had a problem. That she reads information packets several inches thick on ADA accommodations and that she’s on the phone with them 100 times a week. That it is simply my opinion that they are not legally allowed to do this, not that it is directly violating federal and state law. At some point she said that she’d been doing things this way for 15 years (again) and that she thought that trumped any experience I had, and at that point I did let my temper get the better of me and told her that I’ve been disabled for 27 so I would think I know what I’m talking about. I did not wake up at the crack of dawn and sit through a 3 hour car ride and purchase both tickets and parking to be told that I couldn’t go into a faire without violating my rights as a disabled individual to be able to partake with reasonable accommodation and not have my personal, sensitive information written in some log book somewhere as a registry.

Once she realized that we would not budge on this- and we offered to show her where exactly in the law it says they may not do this, which she declined- she told us that if all we wanted to do was argue that we were free to enter the park without filling in the log book but at the same time she fully expected us to be harassed by staffers regarding the dog. We asked why she couldn’t just radio in that there were two poodles and a doberman entering and she said that she might be dealing with a medical emergency and didn’t have time to radio us in (uh... but you’re sitting here talking to us... so clearly you’re not...). We went back to the gate to be let in, only to be stopped at the gate where she absolutely did not radio us in and we were told to turn around and go fill out the log book. We once again had to explain that not only was the log book not legal, but also that we just had a conversation about it and that we were told we were free to enter without. It may have slipped her mind to warn the people at the gate, but it feels a lot like she wanted that to happen so that we would not be able to enter without doing things her way. Unfortunately, once both the gate staff and the initial staffers we talked to realized we were not willing to budge on this, they also were not willing to give us their names.

We did eventually gain access to the faire and were left alone entirely after that. Though we saw staff around, there was no one that bothered us directly from the staff. However, while in the faire, we were bothered two separate times by an older woman with a completely unmarked lab puppy that was pulling her around to the point of pulling her over, marking on the stalls, and jumping on/nipping at passersby. When we exited the faire, my roommates spotted another dog going in, also completely unmarked. We went up to take a photo of the log book to report to the ADA, and discovered that the lab puppy is apparently from GUIDE DOGS FOR THE BLIND and the other dog was an emotional support animal. So that means a puppy raiser that SHOULD KNOW BETTER actively contributed to a system that discriminates against people with disabilities (oh hey it’s that thing I said before about not liking puppy raisers because they’re prone to doing that shit). It also means that the staff at the faire allowed in a dog that is not designated as a service dog by either ADA or state law, and yet harassed three teams with actual service dogs. How do we know this? The staff had absolutely no problem letting us take a picture of the log book, which means we now have the personal information of the people who did sign in, which is why this is not legal to do so in the first place.

At this point we will definitely be reporting this. It’s a shame because we had a lot of fun within the faire itself, but to be singled out and pulled out of the crowd to be told that we HAD to give them our personal information or else not gain entry, how it feels like the one staffer deliberately made our entry more difficult when we made it clear that it was not legal and we would not be doing that, how a puppy raiser actively participated in a system that makes things more difficult for actual disabled people, how the staff had a big to-do about how they know the ADA like the back of their hands but then turned around and allowed an ESA in without a second thought... At some point, someone needs to put their foot down and say when enough is enough. I’m very disappointed with how things were handled with that, which as I said is a shame, because the actual faire was very fun and it was a lovely experience overall. Just could have done with a lot less access issues.

#text post

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justliketherifle · 5 years

Text

Trouble Always Finds Me Chapter 2

On the plane, Jack sat with his chin in his hand, staring out the window. Mac sat across from him, looking him over.

“How you doin'?”

Jack shook his head. “I don't know, man. I really don’t know. This whole thing is crazy. I mean, I got a daughter. I've always had you and Riley, even Bozer, but this is my kid. She came from me. I never thought that would happen. And now I've missed so much. I've missed her whole life.”

“You haven't missed all of it, Jack. There's still time.”

“What if she wants nothing to do with me? What if she hates me?”

Mac smirked. “I don't think there's a whole lot of people capable of hating you.”

“Yeah but man, I put her in danger. She could get hurt because of me. I don't think I could live with myself.”

“Look, I think the biggest thing here is don't overthink it. You'll drive yourself crazy. Just breathe and wait until we get there. All right?”

“Yeah.” Jack exhaled. “Yeah, okay.”

The plane touched down at SeaTac and they disembarked, renting a black SUV and punching in the GPS for your apartment.

It was in a seedier side of town, a fact that Jack didn’t like one bit. They pulled up outside the building and parked.

“Schedule says she should be at work,” said Bozer, checking the clock. “It’s 4 now so she'll be gone until at least 11.”

“All right, let's go break into my kid's place,” Jack responded.

Mac got them inside easily with a credit card. Once in, they looked around. It was small, but cozy. Lamps on every table, small flat screen on the wall, and bookshelves everywhere filled with books. Her couch was a deep purple and her tiny kitchen stood off to the right. It looked a little like Jack's apartment, actually.

“All right, search for bugs or traces that Murdoc's already been here,” Mac instructed.

They spread out and began combing over the whole place. Moving magazines on the table, looking behind books and sifting through the cupboards.

“Anyone finding anything?” Mac asked.

A chorus of nos answered him. He sighed and stopped his search.

“Okay, so doesn't look like Murdoc's been here yet. At least we've got that on our side. Let's head to where she's working and keep an eye on her.”

They returned to the SUV and Riley looked up the address.

“1306 Eisenhower. She works with intellectually and physically disabled adults.”

Jack looked surprised. “She does?”

“It’s what it says here.”

Jack cracked a smile. “That’s my girl.”

The others exchanged looks and smiles.

Once they arrived, they parked as inconspicuously as possible and used binoculars to watch through the window. You and a man were sitting in easy chairs next to each other, talking and laughing.

“Riley, can you give us ears?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, hang on.” She tapped away on her keyboard. “Okay, got it.” A sweet voice filled the vehicle.

“All right, Mark, what sounds good for supper?”

“Chinese!” replied a childish voice.

“You just had that yesterday! How about we grill out? Want some burgers?”

“Yeah!” he said excitedly.

“Okay, buddy, I'll go tell the others.”

You left their view and went to three other rooms, where everyone agreed that burgers sounded good.

“I think I'll grill up some veggies too. How's that sound?”

“Good,” Mark replied.

You sat back down. “So what should we watch now?”

“I wanna go to my room and watch cowboys.”

“All right, bud, let's get your walker.”

After leading him back to his room, you returned to the living room. Grabbing a broom out of a closet, you began sweeping. You hummed to yourself, a happy little nonsense tune before grabbing a Swiffer Wetjet and mopping all the floors. Then you put the dishes from lunch away and sat back down, bringing up an action movie playing on cable.

You played on your phone for a while, laughing at Facebook posts from your few friends. You didn’t have a big group, but it was a good group. You suddenly turned and glanced out the bay window, as though you knew you were being watched.

The group ducked down to avoid being spotted. You got up and went to the window, giving them all their first good look at you.

“She’s so pretty. How’d I make such a pretty kid?”

“I don’t know, Jack, but she’s got your eyes,” Mac replied, clapping him on the shoulder.

You shook your head and smiled. You were just being paranoid. You returned to your spot in the recliner and went back to browsing your phone.

The group in the SUV became alarmed when they noticed a small red dot on the back of the chair.

“Go go go!” Jack exclaimed.

“Riley, you stay here and get ready to floor it!” Mac cried.

The three men bolted for the front door and threw it open.

“Get down!” they yelled.

You dropped to the floor just in time for the chair to explode behind you. You screamed, covering your head.

“Mark, Sharon, Brad, Alden! STAY IN YOUR ROOMS AND CALL 911!” you instructed, cowering in fear.

The older man came to you in a crouch and brought you to the door, which was now closed.

“What’s happening?!” you asked as the bullets continued coming through the shattered window.

“There’s a man after you, a really bad one. We’re here to get you out of here,” the dark-skinned man told you.

“Who the hell are you guys?”

“Bozer, blond one is Mac, and this is Jack. We need you to trust us.”

“I can’t leave my people!”

“They’ll be okay,” Mac told you. “Police and rescue are on the way. He doesn’t want them.”

“Why does he want me?” you questioned, ducking from the hail of bullets.

“We’ll explain later, is there a back door?”

You pointed toward the kitchen and the four of you took off at a sprint, throwing the door open and spilling out behind the house. A black SUV screeched to a halt and you all ran for it.

A pretty woman was in the driver’s seat. You got in the back between Jack and Mac and buckled your seatbelt as the car took off at a high rate of speed. You gasped for air, looking back at the wreckage of the house.

“Pardon my French, but what the fuck is going on?”

“Matty, is exfil ready?” the girl asked someone on her cellphone.

“Not yet, there’s a hotel on the other side of town. Get to it and stay in the room until I tell you,” the voice answered.

“Copy that,” the girl replied. She glanced back at you. “You okay?”

“No, strange girl I’ve never met, I am really not okay right now! If anything happens to those people, it’s on me! They’re my responsibility!”

“Listen, leaving was the safest option. He most likely left to follow us. We’re leading him away from your people. It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” Mac told you.

You looked into his blue eyes and your shoulders slumped.

“Yeah. Okay. I trust you.” You blew the hair out of your eyes and sighed. “So what’s your name?” you asked the girl.

“Riley. You’re (Y/N), right?”

“Unfortunately. This is not how I pictured my day going. I am so fired.”

“I think we need to worry more about making sure you survive this,” said Jack.

“Speaking of, is anyone going to explain to me why a psycho with a sniper rifle is trying to murder me?”

They all exchanged looks.

“We’ll tell you at the hotel, okay?” Jack said.

“Okay. Just…get me out of here.”

You drove for a while in silence, your heart pounding in your chest. You swiped your hair out of your face, closed your eyes and groaned. This was insane.

You reached the hotel and used the valet so you could get inside as soon as possible. You grabbed the room keys and headed to the third floor.

“Well, three’s my lucky number, so at least there’s that,” you said.

Jack looked at you and smiled. “It’s a good number. Your birthday?”

“My mom’s.”

Jack went quiet and the smile dropped from his face. “I’m sorry about her. We heard she passed. I knew her in high school. She was a heck of a lady.”

You smiled. “Yes she was.”

You all exited the elevator, the others flanking you for safety. You reached the room and got inside quickly, shutting and locking the door. You took a seat on one of the beds before flopping onto your back.

“What even is my life right now?” you moaned.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Mac said, sitting next to you. “You got us. We’re pretty good at what we do.”

You sat up. “And what exactly is it that you do?”

“We save people. Last week it was a group of Bolivians. Today it’s you.”

“And why do I need saving, Mac?”

He looked over at Jack, who was peeking out the window.

Jack turned to you and sighed, running a hand over his head. He sat down in the rolling desk chair and turned it to face you.

“Listen, darlin’, if it was up to me, none of this would be happening. So I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’m your father.”

The silence was deafening as everyone looked between the two of you.

“What? How-wait. YOU’RE prom night Jack?”

“Afraid so, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What the hell for?”

“I wasn’t there for you. And now you’re in this mess because of me.”

You stood up and started pacing. “Mom told me she never said a word about me to you because of your job. Which makes sense, seems like you make a lot of enemies. I can’t tell you how many times I begged her. I just wanted to know my dad. She wouldn’t even tell me what high school she went to, she was so scared I’d find you. She died six months ago and now you’re suddenly here. And some guy wants to kill me. I guess she was right.” You sat back down heavily next to Mac.

“Yeah, I guess she was. But don’t worry. After this, you never have to see me again.”

You looked at him. “Who said that’s what I want?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, none of this is your fault. You save people, hell, it’s what I used to do. Maybe in a different way. But I can’t blame you for being a hero. And I certainly can’t blame you for not knowing about me. That’s not on you. That was her choice. Now, I get to choose. And once all this is over, I just really want to get to know you.”

Jack smiled sweetly, tears in his eyes. “I would really like that too, baby girl.” He stood up and opened his arms.

You stood and ran into them, crushing him into a hug. You stayed that way for a while, swaying back and forth, trying not to cry. You pulled apart and smiled at one another, both brushing away tears.

“So what’s this about you saving people?” he asked.

“I was a volunteer EMT in high school. It was a really small town and they couldn’t afford to hire anyone. My friends and I all did it.”

“Well that is just amazing. You know how incredible you are?”

“You know, I think I know where I got it from.”

He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling.

Riley interrupted the moment. “Guys, we’ve got movement on the stairs. I think Murdoc found us.”

“Already?” Bozer asked, looking at the security camera feed on her laptop.

“Yup. He’s headed right for us.”

“All right, pack up, we’re out of here,” Jack ordered. “You stay with me, okay?”

You nodded. You didn’t plan on leaving his side.

The four of you hurried out the door and to the elevator, taking it back to the ground floor. You sprinted to the valet, grabbing the keys and running to the car. You all piled in and took off.

“Okay, now where do we go?” you asked.

“Well, it’s a long drive to LA. We’ll let Matty know we’re on our way and an exfil team can meet us between here and there,” Mac told you. You were once again squished in the back between him and your…dad. That would take some getting used to.

Jack grabbed your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. You nodded at him with a small smile. You had complete faith in him. And if he trusted his team, well then, so did you.

You drove a ways, heading out of the city, before ditching the SUV for an inconspicuous van and hitting the road once more. You stretched your arms, noticing on the dash clock that it was now almost 7. You wondered what your individuals were doing, if they were eating. If they were even okay. They must be worried sick about you.

They loved you to death, and you loved them right back. It was a different kind of relationship, being a caregiver for the elderly, and you sadly realized you’d probably never see them again. If only to keep them safe.

Jack nudged you with his elbow. “What you thinkin’ there, (Y/N)?”

“Just hoping my people are okay. I couldn’t forgive myself if they got hurt because of me.”

You seemed to be echoing Jack’s words from earlier, even if you didn’t know it. He smiled at that.

“I’m sure they’re all right. You need to worry about you right now.”

“I know. I just can’t help it. I love those guys. They’re very special to me. And I know I’ll probably never get to see them again. And that hurts.”

“We’ll find a way to let them know you’re safe, I promise,” Mac said from your right.

You looked at him. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave you a dazzling smile and your heart leaped into your throat.

You hadn’t noticed before how handsome he was. Sculpted jawline, gorgeous blue eyes. And he’d just saved your life. You were in awe.

Your dad cleared his throat uncomfortably and you looked down at your hands in your lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mac do the same. You smiled.

A few miles out, the exfil team met you on a deserted road surrounded by trees. It was starting to rain slightly.

“The heli’s this way,” one of the men in black tactical gear told you.

You followed the group to the helicopter nervously. You’d never been in one before.

You sat between Mac and your dad again, quickly buckling your seatbelt. It took off in a hurry, eager to get you out of there. There was some minor turbulence and you found yourself grabbing both Mac and Jack’s hands for comfort. You and Mac looked down at your intertwined hands and smiled at each other. Jack looked around you and sat back grumpily, not too sure about this latest development.

You squeezed his hand and he looked down at you. You both smiled.

“If it had to someone, I’d rather it be him,” he whispered in your ear.

You giggled and Mac looked at you questioningly. You shook your head. Now was so not the time.

You put on a pair of headphones so you could hear everyone. They were discussing what to do once they got back to someplace called the Phoenix Foundation. You couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen next.

#macgyver #macgyver fanfiction #macgyver fanfic #macgyver/reader #Trouble Always Finds Me

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therealcalicali · 6 years

Text

CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 3

Synopsis: Upon moving to a new city, the Reader crosses paths with Ivar, Hvitserk and the rest of the Lothbrok clan. Since her own life is already filled with internal demons from a strict upbringing, their introduction into her life only adds to the drama. As things progress, Reader discovers that there is more to her interactions with Ivar and Hvisterk than meets the eye.

Read the Prologue here: CLOSER TO ME: PROLOGUE

Read Chapter 1 here: CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 1

Read Chapter 2 here: CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 2

Read Chapter 4 here: CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 4

Read Chapter 5 here: CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 5

Read Chapter 6 here: CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 6

Read Chapter 7 here: CLOSER TO ME: CHAPTER 7

Read Chapter 8 here: CLOSER TO ME CHAPTER 8

_____________________

Chapter 2 Warnings: Angst and Foreplay

Word Count: 8000+

Setting: Modern Vikings

Genre: Romance/Drama

Pairing: Ivar x Reader x Hvitserk (Love Triangle)

Tagged: @irishhiggins @mblaqgi @i-care-bout-you-boo @peaches-seed @sajess98

The following day, which was Sunday, you went to pick up your car from Club 52 with the help of Folaki. Hvitserk had promised to drive you but called last minute saying plans had changed. He didn't go into detail and basically said something very important had come up and he had to take care of it ASAP. You were a bit disappointed but understood that things like that happened. Him being unable to make it actually worked out fine since Folaki had been eager to see you anyway. She had been texting you incessantly saying she had allot to tell you. Naturally when you called her for the ride, she jumped at the chance to to spend time with you.

After you got your vehicle, you parked it at your apartment and the two of you drove to a trendy nearby coffee shop. It seemed that Folaki had quite a good time after you had left the party because she wouldn’t stop grinning the entire ride. When the you arrived at the BEAN THERE, the two of you took the booth furthest in the back.

So..?” You said in an inquisitive way as you both sat down.

“So.....” Folaki said with a huge smile. “I slept with him.”

Her frankness almost made you choke on your water. You started laughing and kicked her under the table.

“What?” Folaki smirked with a fake innocent shrug. “You think we stayed up all night talking about the meaning of life?” She seemed to reminisce a bit about her escapade with Bjorn as she spoke. “Don’t get me wrong we talked about allot of things but the sexual tension was just too much. And let me just say, it was AMAZING!” She was practically hopping up and down in her seat as she spoke. “I don’t know what it is....but those Danish men...........” She pretended to fan herself. “they sure know how to please a woman. I had to beg him to stop cause I couldn’t take any more orgasms.”

“Okay!’ You said scrunching your brows. “I think you’ve wandered into the TMI zone.”

Folaki shrugged and looked at you with a teasing expression.

“It is what it is. She laughed and straightened up in her seat. “We’re going to the movies tonight.”

“Wow. You guys are in a whirlwind romance.”

“Life’s too short to waste time trying to play it safe all the time, you know. Just my little two cents Y/N. Anyway...” Folaki shot you a devious smirk. “What about you? What happened with Hvitserk?”

You shyly stirred your iced water and poked at the lemon wedge inside. Finally, you looked at your friend and told her that he had indeed come to see you.

“I knew it!” An excited Folaki said nearly screaming. “I knew he liked you more than he liked that bat-shit crazy blonde. So what happened?”

“Well, first of all, I was hanging out with Ivar, you know, his younger brother--”

“Ivar? A stunned Folaki said leaning closer. "Wait! The the dark, brooding one that was picking on you all night during the birthday party?” Folaki asked totally confused. “That Ivar?”

“Yeah. I know. I didn’t understand why he came to see me either. In fact, I still don’t but, it wasn’t bad actually.” You paused remembering how he had held your hand. “He was pretty okay to be around....at least when he wasn’t complaining about one thing or another.” You laughed.

Folaki raised an eyebrow raised with curiosity.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. That’s kinda odd don’t you think?” She asked in a singy-songy tone.

“Yeah. But maybe he wants to make amends. Like a restart.”

“Come on Y/N. Just think about it. Why would he want to be around you after the way he treated you?” Folaki thought for a moment and looked like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she just cocked her head at you. “Besides, if he wanted to apologize, he could have done that at Bjorn’s house.....I think there's more to it." She gave you a look to convey that you were being naive. "Anyway, your’re a better person than me because I wouldn’t have let him in.”

“I know but, I think I've developed a soft spot for him. I’m certain that he’s so moody because of his....you know...disability.” You said honestly. “I feel kind of bad for him, despite how he treated me before.”

Folaki shook her head and stated that you were one of the nicest people she knew before asking you to continue your story. After you ran down the entire night to her, she sat back in her seat and looked at you for a moment.

“Wait, let me get this straight. You guys were making out while Ivar was still there?” She shook her head. “Geez! Wasn’t that a bit awkward?”

“Not really.” You replied as you looked over the menu. “And it wasn’t like it was intentional.”You added. “Anyway, he was gone by the time Hvitserk and I returned to the living room. Hvitty said he probably had to pick up his girlfriend or something.”

“Hvitty?” Folaki echoed. “So we’re giving out nicknames now? When should I expect my invitation to the wedding?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes before explaining that ‘Hvitty’ was a nickname that close family called him. Surprisingly, he had asked you to feel free to call him that as well. As you two were speaking, Jason, you coworker and friend came and sat down. The three of you exchanged pleasantries as he took off his denim jacket.

“So, how was work yesterday?”

“Ugh! It was crazy packed. But Skrillex was performing though so I can’t complain.” He paused. “You guys ordered yet?”

“No, we were waiting for you.” You replied.

After you guys ordered your food, the drinks arrived. As you all were in the middle of a casual conversation, you remembered the promise Folaki had made.

“So tell me about the Lothbroks.”

“Oh yeah. I guess I did promise to fill you in.” Folaki said with a little bit of a sigh. “First, you have to promise that you won’t freak out.”

Initially, you laughed until you realized that she was dead serious. Even Jason looked at you with a serious expression as if he agreed with Folaki’s request. Their change in demeanor made you even more curious so naturally, you promised.

“I’m serious. You can’t get upset or--”

“Or go running to ask them about it.” Jason interrupted. “It’s not the world’s best kept secret but I doubt they would want you bringing up their family reputation. Especially if you’re going to be hanging around them.”

“I..I promise.” You said eagerly waiting to hear what they had to say.

Folaki looked at Jason and then back at you before she began.

“The truth is, the Lothbroks are wealthy, but they built their wealth by......they're--.”

“They’re one of the most powerful mafia clans around.” An excited Jason blurted. “They’re billionaires. He shook his head in disbelief as he sipped his coffee. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of them before though. I’m not here to judge. Just get me into the parties and stuff and I’ll be straight.”

You were absolutely floored. All along you thought your friends were going to say something like the Lothbroks embezzled money or masterminded a stock-market scam. Never in a million years would you have guessed that they were going to tell you that Hvitserk’s family was a criminal syndicate.

“Are you okay?” Folaki asked as the food arrived at the table.

“Yeah. I’m...I’m a little shocked to tell you the truth.”

“There’s no need to start acting different or anything.” She said as she bit a french fry. “After all, they’re the same people they were before we said anything.”

“Exactly.” Jason said in agreement.

“Yeah.” You managed to say wearily.

_______________________________________

Back at home, you threw your purse on the counter in the kitchen and sat down on the couch to sort your thoughts. As you got comfortable, you received a call from Hvitserk. After what you had been told by your friends, you hesitated. You finally decided to pick up after the third ring though. A relieved Hvitserk immediately stated that he was glad that he got a hold of you instead of having to leave a message. He then informed you that he was at the airport waiting to board a private jet for an unexpected business trip.

“I’m so sorry. I know we had plans to meet up tomorrow before you went to work in the evening. But I’ll bring you back something cool.”

“Where are you going??” You asked as you tried to sound as normal as possible.

You were still thinking about the fact that his family was basically mafia. Criminals to be exact. Since you had intended to read more about them online prior to him calling, it was awkward as hell.

“I’m headed to Dubai to take care of some development deals for my Father’s company. I should be back in less than a week if things go as expected.” As he was speaking, the other line of his phone lit up.

It was Margrethe but he ignored her call, sending it straight to voicemail. You and Hvitserk chatted for roughly twenty minutes about random things like your favorite movies as he waited for the Pilot to inform him of departure time.

“Alight, min dagdrømmer (Danish: My daydreamer), I guess they’re ready for me. I’ll call you as soon as I get a chance, okay?”

“Okay. But can I ask you something before you go?”

“Sure.”

“What is it that you’re calling me?”

“Min dagdrømmer? Hvitserk chuckled. It just means My Daydreamer. Why? Do you mind having a nickname?”

“No, I don’t mind. I was just curious about what you were saying.” You laughed.

“What so funny Y/N?” An amused Hvitserk asked.

“You’re actually on the nose with that nickname. I’ve been called a daydreamer all my life.”

“Well, that’s not a bad thing you know.” He said with sincerity. “Anyway, I gotta run.”

“Okay Hvitty. Have safe flight.” You said as the two of you ended the call.

Despite now being aware of his families activities, you still liked Hvitserk a great deal. Perhaps they weren’t as bad as you were thinking. After all, the Kennedys were a crime family before getting into politics. Barely five minutes after you got off the line with Hvitserk, you received a text from a private number.

When you were done conversing with Ivar, you were still even more confused as to why he suddenly seemed to like interacting with you.

“It’s like dealing with two different people. One minute he’s nice, the next he’s an ass” You laughed to yourself.

________________________________

A very exhausted Hvitserk boarded the private jet and removed his stylish Burberry trench coat He made himself comfortable in the main seating area as the crew prepared for takeoff.

Turning on the television, he glanced at his phone and noticed that Margrethe had called him seven times during his call with you. Exhaling deeply, he sent her a text that he was headed to Dubai and that he would call her when he got a chance.

Immediately, he received a text back from a very livid Margrethe asking why he couldn’t call her once it was safe to do so in the plane. Rolling his eyes, Hvitserk replied that he was very tired and not in the mood to talk. He threw his phone to the side and pressed a button to recline the luxurious leather seat. He could hear his phone vibrate signaling that Margrethe was sending more texts but he ignored it. Instead, he grabbed his business cell and called Sigurd.

“Hey. I just got off the phone with Lagertha. You boarded yet?” Sigurd asked as soon as he picked up.

“Yeah.” Hvitserk said as a stewardess placed a glass of champagne in front of him as well as a platter of fresh fruit. “I don’t see why one of you couldn’t go. I’m always globetrotting. I still feel like I jut got back from South Africa yesterday.”

“I know but you’re the only one that has no specific project at the moment. And Ivar’s doctors forbid him to fly until he’s fully healed and done with physical therapy. I would have gone in your place but....well, you know.” Sigurd with sincerity.

“I know. You and Alfred have tons to do at the label. Well, at least this gives me a break from Margrethe.” Hvisterk chuckled.

“You should really resolve that Hvitty.” Sigurd said with firmness. “You talk to me about Y/N but it seems like you’re still entangled with Margrethe.”

“I like Y/N allot but, things are just........complicated.”

“Not really! If you’re done with Margrethe, just be done with her!” Sigurd advised as Hvitserk sighed knowing very well his little brother was right.

“Hey, before I let you go, do me a favor.” A tired Hvitserk said as he stretched. “Watch over Y/N for me. You know just in case she needs anything or something like that.”

“No problem. I’ll assign someone to be your eyes.” Sigurd said with a hint of disgust. “Later.”

“Later.”

_______________________

“So, are you going to help me or not?” Margrethe’s cousin Frida asked her dark haired male friend as he took a seat on her couch.

He shrugged as she got up and opened up the balcony window. Asking him to follow her outdoors, they two of them went to her backyard so she could get a smoke while they continued the conversation.

“Just cut straight to the chase Frida. Who’s the job for and who’s it on? The very serious Gils asked as he took a cigarette from the pack of Marlboro Reds she offered him.

As Frida lit her cigarette and handed him the lighter, she nodded.

She knew that Gils liked to do clean jobs only. He didn’t like complications and he liked to know that whomever he hit, wasn’t protected or connected. Meaning, they weren’t in a family or clan that could hand out serious retribution. He was a professional and that’s what Frida loved about him. The fact that they had once dated gave her an advantage as she tried to convince him to help her fulfill Margrethe’s wish.

“I get your apprehension but you don’t have to worry. It’s my cousin Margrethe so you don’t have to worry about about it being as a set-up.” Puffing her cigarette and letting out the smoke slowly, Frida continued. “The girl is a random with no connections. So that means we don’t have to worry about retaliation if we’re ever found out.........” She paused. “Not like that would ever happen.”

Gils looked at Frida for a little while as he smoked the cigarette down. As the smoke rose into the night sky, he finally looked at Frida and nodded, agreeing to do the contract. Very happy to have his expertise on board, Frida gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks doll. I knew you’d come through for me.”

“Anything for you Frida, you know that. But before I regret saying yes, how much is it paying?” He added as he took a drag.

“Five grand each.”

“That’s too low Frida. Bump it to Ten. I know it’s your cousin and all but shit like this costs money. If it were anyone else, I’d charge double that.”

“Fine. I’ll going to see her tomorrow so I’ll let her know.”

“Nah, text her now.”

Nodding, Frida grabbed her cell and sent a text message to Margrethe letting her know ‘Make it 10 each.’ The message was vague enough for Margrethe to understand and not incriminating if anyone else saw it.

Passing a beer to Gils, Frida clinked their bottles together.

“To a good job and a good payday.

“You said it, now let’s go eat something sweetie, I’m starved.”

______________________________

Somewhere around 9:45 pm while you were doing your laundry, you received a call from Alfred. Very glad that he had returned your text, you immediately picked up. After all, the two of you had a ‘date’ coming up. You thanked him for returning your text as soon as you answered.

“I’m sorry for contacting you so late. I would have text you earlier but the time got away from me.” You truthfully said.

“I totally understand. We all get tied up with life now and then.. How has your day been?”

“It’s been fine. And yourself?”

“It’s been good. Not really over yet thought. I’m still at work but that’s part of the territory.”

“If you don’t mind me being nosy, what do you do Alfred?”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m the VP of LMG Records.”

Your ears perked up big time. LMG Records was one of the biggest music labels next to Sony, Universal and Warner. It was an upstart company that rose very quickly to become one of the ‘Big 4′. You were impressed with Alfred’s achievement because you knew to be in such an important position meant he was very intelligent.

“That’s amazing. So do you like it......by that I mean, do you get to have fun sometimes? Like release parties and things like that?”

“I have access but I typically don’t attend.”

“Oh my God, why not?” You asked totally surprised by his ability to be nonchalant about celebrity filled parties. “Is it because of your schedule?”

“No, they make sure we have time to attend those events but I’ve just never had good reason to go.” He paused. “Perhaps next time something comes up, I’ll take you. You seem to be the adventurous type.”

You laughed and thanked him but insisted that he give you a chance to earn the right to attend such parties.

“You’re already taking me to meet my idol and that’s like beyond my wildest dreams. Let me at least buy you a coffee or something before I feel like a selfish creep.” You giggled which made Alfred smile despite you being totally unaware. “Maybe after a few scones, we can call it even and I can accept more invitations.”

“Okay. We’ll go to a French cafe I know afterwards.” He went silent a moment and came back onto the line. “I really hate to cut our conversation short but I need to wrap up some paperwork. If it’s alright, I’ll call you tomorrow evening.”

“That’s cool. But I start work at eight.”

“I was planning to call you later than that.”

“Well, I do take a break around 1:00 am. But that’ll be super late for you won’t it?”

“No. I’ll be awake. I stay at the office extremely late on Mondays. I’ll call you.”

“Great. Have a great night Alfred.”

“You too.”

_____________________________

When Alfred hung up, his brother Aethelred walked in with his briefcase and coat in hand. He looked around his brother’s office and noticed he had not shut down his computer. From the looks of it, his half-brother was intending to stay late yet again.

“You know, I overheard you talking to that girl. Y/N wasn’t it?”

“Yes?

“Well, I think it is a good thing. She seems sweet and perhaps might rub off on you if we’re lucky.” Alfred titled his head and looked at his brother with a confused expression.He folded his hands on his desk and sat up very straight.

“Rub off on me? Meaning what exactly?”

“Perhaps she can get you to enjoy life a little. You can’t go from work-to-home and home-to-work all the time. It’s ridiculous.”

“Brother, I find solace in work. I enjoy it. Perhaps you better spend more time concerning yourself with the grand opening of the Mercia Casino. Our Fathers and Ragnar are counting on you to make it a massive success.”

“It will be.”

“You’re quite relaxed for a man with a 3.9 billion dollar project in his hands.” Alfred smiled as he leaned back in his executive seat.

“I have everything in order. Besides, with all the investors being friends and family, I’ve taken extra care, overseeing every detail.” A very confident Aethelred said as he shot his brother a proud expression. “Anyway, I’m headed home. Thanks again for letting me and my team use the premises.”

“No problem. It’s all yours until your executive offices are finished.”

“Goodnight.......and don’t stay too long.” Aethelred yelled as he exited Alfred's’ office towards the elevators.

Alfred stood up from his desk and stretched as he went over to the massive windows that overlooked the city. As he enjoyed the the site of the dancing lights that twinkled in the darkness, he ran his hand through his long hair. He stood there a while as he pondered what Aethelred had said.

______________________________

Boom! Boom! Boom! Came the pounding on your door. Sitting up in bed, you looked at the time on your alarm clock.

“What the hell? It’s after midnight. Who’s insane enough to come to someone's house at this hour?” You said to yourself then as you slowly went to the living room and then the front door.

When you looked through the peephole who expected to see Folaki or Jason but instead were met with the site of Ivar. He had his hair down and was wearing an expensive tailor-made dark grey suit. You opened the door and and yawned as he walked past you into the apartment.

He sat on the couch without saying anything and put his crutch down before removing the blazer and throwing it on your love-seat. You waited for him to say something, anything to explain why he was at your house at such an ungodly hour but he didn’t. Instead, Ivar grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

“Ivar!”

“Y/N!” He mimicked your tone and cadence.

You groggily walked over to where he was on the couch to try to take the remote from him but he spotted you from the corner of his eye. As soon as you reached for the remote, Ivar grabbed your wrist. He then tossed the remote aside and used his two hands to bring you across his lap.

“Ivar, I don’t want to sit in your lap”

“Of course you do.” He said as if it was a definite fact. “I want you to watch this show with me. It’s really good.”

Despite all your struggling , you were still seated in his lap with his arms firmly wrapped around your waist.

“Ivar!” You shouted in frustration.

“Why do you love screaming my name so much Y/N?” He smirked alluringly as you sighed loudly with irritation.

“First of all, it’s too late for me to watch television. Secondly, I want to sleep.”

“Okay. Then..... go to sleep.” Ivar said nonchalantly with his hands still around you.

“I swear--.”

“You shouldn’t swear!” He chuckled as he interrupted you.”Listen mus (Danish: mouse), you need to calm down. I wanted to see you so I came over. What’s wrong with that?”

“I’m.....you........ugh!!!” You were so exasperated you couldn't even find the words to express what you wanted to say.

Ivar shrugged and gave you a very mischievous grin as you turned to look at the TV.

“Look at me.” He said softly when realized you were trying to ignore him.

Still annoyed, you looked at him. Making sure to let him know that you had an attitude, you folded your arms and furrowed your brow. However, Ivar totally no sold it and acted oblivious to all your pouting.

“What is it?” You said with a frown which, for some reason, made him smile.

Since you were sitting in his lap, you were looking downwards at Ivar. Despite being very angry with him, it dawned on you in that moment just how extremely gorgeous he looked. The white dress shirt, blue tie and grey slacks all screamed runway model. Being very perceptive, Ivar noticed that you were taking-in his appearance. He intentionally stared into Y/N eye so intensely that you had no choice but to look away.

“What’s the matter?” He asked knowing full well what he was doing.

“Ivar! For the love of God, let me go to bed.” You shouted.

Finally, it seemed like you got through to him. He released his hold of you which finally allowed you to stand. Immediately you left the living room towards your bedroom. If he wanted to watch television, it was fine with you, but you wanted to get some rest.

_______________________________

As you got comfortable in you Queen size bed, you slipped off your pajama bottoms because the weather was sweltering. If Ivar wasn’t there, you would have loved to sleep in just your panties.

Not even five minutes into settling in comfortably and trying to drift off, you felt the mattress sink a little. You turned over and there getting comfortable next to you was Ivar wearing only his black boxer briefs.

“What are you doing?” You asked as you sat up in the bed. “And where are your clothes?”

“It’s too hot for clothes”

“So?”

“So, I want to be comfortable.” He smiled as he laid his head on a pillow. “Just like you.”

Ivar looked you up and down and chuckled. You quickly remembered that you had taken off your pajama bottoms for that very reason.

“You know what?...........” You looked at a smug Ivar who gave you a wink. It made you lose your train of thought so you gave up. “I swear, you’re worse than my little sister.”

“You have a sister?”

You wanted to ignore him, you really did. He was annoying you beyond anything you had experienced outside of your sibling but you couldn’t. Ivar had a way of sounding innocent and nice at times. Since he seemed really interested in what you had said, you decided to respond.

“Yeah. Emma. She’s nine. My parents call her ‘the unexpected little miracle’.” You smiled as you thought about how much you missed seeing her everyday.

“Do you have other siblings or just her?” He asked while swooping his long dark hair to one side.

The motion caused his biceps and shoulder muscles to flex. It was quite distracting as one could imagine. You tried your best not to stare at his very toned upper body and six pack but it wasn’t working. You decided it was best for you to lay back down so you didn’t have to see him.

“I have one more. My nineteen year old brother Ryan is away at Princeton.” You sighed because you recollected how much your parents bragged about his achievement to make you feel unaccomplished.

It was still so very hard for you to accept how differently they treated you ever since you changed majors from Laboratory Science to Fine Arts. Not that you didn’t expect them to be dissapointed but you didn’t expect them to be, well, so harsh.

“What’s wrong, mus?” Ivar asked as he stroked your cheek very gently.

He was practically hovering over you as he propped himself with his elbow.Since he was looking down at you, his hair fell forward veiling his face and tickling your cheeks. You hadn’t realized that you had zoned out thinking about all your family problems and the evidence of it was written all over your face. You did look quite sad. Ivar could tell something was wrong as he looked into Y/C eyes with suspicion.

“I asked you a question.” He reaffirmed trying to goad you into talking.

“It’s....it’s not important.” You said as you tried to pull a sheet over your lower half.

The last thing you wanted was for Ivar to see your panties should your pajama top ride up. You turned on your side facing away from him and attempted to drift off to sleep but he turned you over again.

“Will you stop it already?”

“But I haven’t done anything.” He said innocently as he pulled you closer.

He laid his arm over your waist and snuggled his face into the crook of your neck. The intoxicating scent of his skin mingled with his woody and spicy cologne was almost too much to take. Add to that, the warmth of his muscular body against yours, it was all surely a recipe for disaster.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” You said as you tried to move away from him.

As crazy as it was, you had actually started thinking Ivar was fun to be around. Was he irritating, mean and demanding? Yes! But he was also funny when he wanted to be and had the ability to make you smile. However, this, was not good. Laying in bed with him was not cool.

Despite telling yourself all this, you didn’t stop Ivar as he began to trace his fingers lightly against your skin. He stopped abruptly and you sensed he was looking at you to gauge your reaction before proceeding. Laying his head closer to your neck, he began to slowly pull the pajama top upwards making the fabric glide against your skin, tickling you slightly. When he had finally exposed your panties and stomach, he moved his hand higher towards your chest all while still looking at you.

Since your eyes had been closed, you opened them only to find yourself looking directly into Ivar’s intense blue eyes that were now full of lust. He wet his pouty lips with his tongue as you stared at each other causing you to gasp slightly.

“This must be the sexual tension Folaki was talking about.” You thought.

Knowing you had to make a decision quickly before things got out of hand, you opened your mouth to speak but Ivar took that opportunity to do what he’d been dying to do since he laid eyes on you. His lips came crashing onto yours softly as he kissed you hungrily. He caught you so off guard that you left out a soft whimper which aroused him further as he drove his tongue into your mouth. You could hear Ivar’s breathing become erratic as kissed you deeper. Your own heart raced uncontrollably as you felt his free hand run up your body eventually cupping your breast. The sensation of Ivar’s hand on your breasts sent waves of arousal throughout your body. When he felt you giving in to his touch, Ivar gently pulled your pajama buttons open.

In one swift move, he pushed your bra downward exposing your bare breast as he continued kissing you. Slowly, Ivar ran the palm of his hand against your nipple sending, what felt like electricity, to your core. It was all too much for your senses. You tried to push him off but he leaned over you further pressing you into the pillow in a helpless position.

Your mind was racing with many thoughts but despite wanting to stop, you were definitely enjoying it. Ivar nibbled, bit and tongued your mouth and neck in ways you had not experienced. Hvitserk was amazing but Ivar was like a man possessed. It was as if he wanted to possess your body. The kissing seemed to be his way of giving you a preview of the kind of lover he was, should you give in.

Ivar pulled you closer and then moved his hand to your neck, gently gripping it dominantly. Brushing his nose against yours, he looked at you a moment before placing a peck on your lips. He then brushed his lips against yours tenderly and smiled.

“You’re a great kisser Y/N.” He said in a seductive tone before giving you another peck.

He ran his fingers against the small of your back causing you to to wrigle a little at the sensation.

“You surprise me.” He smiled as he placed another kiss on your forehead. “I thought you’d be very stiff and frigid. You seemed like the type.”

You started getting annoyed but he smiled innocently at you and brought his lips to yours for another heart-stopping kiss. You knew in the back of your mind that this was just so wrong but it felt................so incredible.

After breaking the kiss, Ivar pulled you closer and yawned. Apparently, he was just as tired as you were. He softly kissed your cheek as he snuggled you into his arms. It didn’t take long for a very tired Ivar to drift off to sleep, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You laid awake a while longer tracing you fingers along his fingers that rested on your bare stomach. Then it hit you. The massive pangs of guilt came all at once. This was Hvitserk’s little brother you just made out with!!! If you really wanted to try to build something with him, you couldn’t let yourself be weak with Ivar again.

You had no excuses to give. Ivar was a hot guy and you made-out with him despite knowing full well that if Hvitserk found out, things would end before they even began. As you closed your eyes and drifted to sleep, you resolved to keep Ivar at a distance from now on.

_________________________________

“Son of a bitch!” Ingrid said as she called Ivar for the eight time. Fed up, she threw her cell phone and pouted on the couch.

She was spending the night at Margrethe’s since Bjorn and Ubbe refused to let her stay at their home if Ivar wasn’t around. Not that she didn’t have her own apartment to go home to but, she preferred being around luxurious things, and dating Ivar afforded her that quite well.

“Where the fuck is he? He promised to pick me up after the event.” The blonde said as she shifted on the couch.”I don’t understand why Rangar and Lagertha hate me so much. This wouldn’t have happened if they had allowed me to attend.”

Taking a drag of her marijuana vape pen, she shot an angry look at a now chuckling Margrethe.

“What’s so funny? Last time I checked, you don’t get to go to their family events anymore either.”

Margrethe shrugged and propped her head up as she laid on the floor near the television.

“I’m just laughing at how you’re stressing over Ivar. You’re totally overreacting. He’s a cripple! You act like he’s not grateful that someone like you actually decided to date him.” She laughed. “He probably got drunk and crashed at someone's house.

“You’re probably right.” Ingrid said thoughtfully as she calmed herself. “What about Hvitserk, did he call you from the plane?”

“Nope.”

“Why? You can make calls once it reaches a certain altitude. Everyone knows that.” A nosey Ingrid pushed.

“I know. He’s been acting a little weird since...” Margrethe made a disgusted face. “Since he got caught kissing that....that...that bitch!”

Ingrid twisted her lips in a show of understanding. She then asked if Hvitserk had said anything about the incident since that night.

“He just keeps telling me that he likes her but he doesn’t know her that well yet so...”

“So he doesn’t know if he’s going to take you back or start dating Y/N?”

Margrethe sighed and laid back down. She ran her hands through her hair and let out a scream of frustration. Ingrid looked at her like she was crazy but kept her comments to herself.

“I’m going to see how things play out. After what happened, any decent girl would leave him alone. If she doesn't stay away from him, I already have an ace up my sleeve.” A very confident Margrethe said as she rolled onto her side and looked at Ingrid.

“And what’s that?”

“Let’s just say that if she keeps messing with Hvitty, she’ll regret the day she met him.”

_______________________

On Monday morning, you woke up a little after noon and discovered that Ivar was not there. Not just in the bed, but in the apartment. You had no idea when he had left, but you were sort of glad he was gone. The guilt of making out with him was eating you up and the last thing you wanted to do was to face him. As you took a brisk shower, your thoughts kept going back to all the heavy petting and kissing.

You were reliving it all despite not wanting to. You mind was doing it’s own things and it was getting on your nerves. After putting on a pair of denim shorts and a white t-shirt, you brushed your hair into a ponytail and applied some eyeliner and mascara because it was just too hot to do anything else.

Your first thought was to go to the grocery store, buy a few things for the week and then lounge around till it was time for work. Looking at your phone you were surprised to see that Hvitserk had sent you a text. He stated that he was still on the plane which made you laugh.

“Wow. It must take forever to get to Dubai.” You thought.

You immediately text him back and asked how much longer he had to go. To your surprise, he called you not even two minutes after you sent the message.

“Hey, miss me?” Hvitserk asked sounding a bit tired.

“Of course.” You replied as you laughed at how tired he sounded. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Yes. I’m actually still in bed--”

“Bed?” You asked a bit confused but then you remembered he was on a private jet and some of them were posher than most homes.

“So, you have to work today?” He asked.

You put your car keys down and sat at the dining table as you continued conversing with Hvitserk. He was tired but definitely in the mood to chat because the two of you had talked for almost an hour when suddenly, you heard a knock. After asking him to hold on, you walked to the door and looked to see who it was. It was Ivar. He had a bag in his hand that you assumed was from a restaurant. So, despite not wanting to let him in, you did.

Before Ivar could speak, you put your finger to your lips, to instruct him to be quiet. Instantly, his smile became a frightening scowl.

To help him out, you took the restaurant bag from him as he entered the apartment. Taking a seat on the couch, Ivar frowned at you as he placed his crutch against the coffee table.

It was obvious that he had went home for a shower and change of clothes but what you didn’t understand was why he wanted to be around you again. You thought that he would have felt as guilty as you did about what had happened between you two. But obviously, he didn’t.

“Everything okay?” A curious Hvitserk asked since you had been quiet for a little while.

“Uh, yeah. It’s...”

As you tried to answer, you kept getting distracted by Ivar. He kept asking who you were talking to in a very low whisper. When you kept ignoring his question, he cocked his head and glared at you.

“Who are you talking to?” Ivar’s voiced boomed.

You were mortified because he had been so intentionally loud, there was no way that Hvitserk had not heard him.

“Ivar’s there?”

“He...just got here.” You said to Hvitserk as you frowned at Ivar. “He was the one at the door when I told you to hold on.”

Despite you looking upset, Ivar shrugged and turned on the television. He was determined to not allow you to ignore him. The fact that Hvitserk was on the line with you, didn’t phase him one bit. If you were mad, he felt you should have been mad at yourself for not answering his question. And for not being truthful with Hvitserk about his presence in the first place

You conversed with Hvitserk a while longer until he abruptly asked you to put Ivar on the phone. Taking the phone over to him, you rolled your eyes and told Ivar that his brother wanted to speak to him. He took your cellphone from you but as you walked away, Ivar grabbed you onto his lap. The two of you struggled a moment until you realized that if you kept going, you would make too much noise. The last thing you wanted was for Hvitserk to wonder what was happening. Giving in, you sat on his lap as he began speaking with Hvitserk.

‘Hey.”

“How was your appointment?��

“Not you too.” Ivar scoffed. “You’re beginning to act like Ubbe.”

“I don’t see why you get so mad when all we’re trying to do is be supportive.” Hvitserk countered a bit annoyed that Ivar always got an attitude whenever they tried to show concern for his health. “It’s what families do.”

“That’s all good and well but I don’t like to be coddled.” Ivar said before looking directly at you. “So, how’s Margrethe?” He asked his stunned brother.

If you and Hvitserk could have seen each other’s reactions, it would have been priceless. Both of you cringed at the mention of her name. Which, of course, was exactly what Ivar had intended. You knew that Margrethe was still an open issue. Since Hvitserk had not provided clear answers about his status with her, you felt a sting of jealously upon hearing her name. As for Hvitserk, he felt the the awkwardness as well. She was a topic he had hoped to avoid for at least a little while longer. Obviously, he was very angry that Ivar had brought Margrethe up in your presence.

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shalebridge-cradle · 6 years

Note

Would you ever write a Chansaw prompt where Chandler gets jealous of people hitting on Veronica?

...Well, Chandler gets jealous of people talking to Veronica. Got that bit, at least.

Heather was used to being angry.

There were a lot of different moods under that banner - spiteful, vindictive, annoyed, exasperated - and each emotion had their own set of sources. Not usually a reason to worry.

It’s just that, lately, there’s been a lot of frustration. The problem? Veronica Sawyer. Again, not unheard of - her own personal forger has a bad habit of speaking her mind when she’s not supposed to (which is all the time), or tries to talk to people she has absolutely no business speaking to.

That’s part of the problem, actually. Veronica speaking to people. Or laughing with them. Smiling, admiring them. Heather has to convince herself it means nothing, and that doesn’t work one bit.

She lashes out. She glares, she makes implied threats, she ‘accidentally’ spills food down their fronts. She knows it’s petty, but it works. They stop talking to Veronica, and Veronica gets closer to Heather. It all works out.

They’ll have to learn the world isn’t fair soon enough. Why shouldn’t Heather be the one to teach them?

“You’re beautiful.”

Courtney beams up at the speaker, somehow proud of her dumb-as-a-sack-of-bricks answer. Her boyfriend, Keith, who could listen to himself talk for hours but can’t pay attention to someone else for more than five fucking seconds, rolls his eyes and shakes his head, smiling, like his response wasn’t even more idiotic. Invest? During the apocalypse?

And Veronica… fucking Veronica. She must know what Heather is going through. She says it with a smirk, her eyes lock with Heather’s for just a second - as if to taunt her - and she walks away, a final insult.

And Heather does follow. She’s the biggest loser, the biggest idiot of them all.

“If you’re going to openly be a bitch…”

“It’s just… why can’t we talk to different kinds of people?”

Heather grimaces. “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Theresa? If I did, I probably wouldn’t mind talking to the geek squad.”

At the thought, her eyes flicker over to them, and one obligingly makes her point for her by shooting milk through his nose.

“Doesn’t it bother you that everyone at this school thinks you’re a piranha?” Veronica grumbles.

“Like a give a shit.”

And Heather doesn’t. Not because they flock to her regardless of what they claim to think, but because it scares the worst of the worst, the dogged geeks and the powerless little Betty Finns of Westerburg away.

There’s a new boy.

Jason Dean, Heather McNamara reveals. They have history class together. Not that Heather cares about that. She cares more that he’s here, and she does not like the way Veronica looks at him.

He’s something new, insurgent, exciting. He pulls a gun on Kurt and Ram, shoots them with blanks (Heather doesn’t know whether she wanted them to be real bullets or not), and Veronica laughs about it later when everyone gets sent home.

“I thought you’d given up on high school guys.”

Veronica smiles, almost wistfully. “Never say never.”

Oh, fuck no.

Poor Heather Duke. If Heather’s honest (and she often is, with herself and no-one else), she didn’t mean to knock the green ball. Heather didn’t even see where she was aiming, really.

All she could see, all she could feel, was this red fog building inside her head.

Heather thought he was gone.

They’re on their way to a Remington party, and they stopped by the Snack Shack to pick up some Twizzlers for Veronica and Corn Nuts for Heather. Veronica spends way too long inside, and when she finally comes out, Heather sees why.

She thought… well, stupid thing to think, really. Veronica was constantly probing McNamara for new info from the one fucking class she had with the dude, it’s more than a fleeting thing. And…

God, look at them. Heather could see them together, easy.

She honks the horn again. With one last smile, one last batting of her eyelashes, Veronica wrenches her gaze away. She’s clearly in a sulk when she flops into the passenger seat and Heather tears out of the disabled parking spot and onto the road.

She shouldn’t have let him… let her… he shouldn’t be here, be so close to her, and yeah, Heather’s never gonna come out and say it (or, y’know, come out at all), but there’s something about the way -

“Heather.”

- People aren’t all puppets, as much as she wants them to be, and Heather can’t always get what she wants (that’s real life, after all), but since Veronica came to her with a skill and an offer, and yeah she wanted status and protection but -

“Heather, stop.”

- She’s the one person who cared that there was anything under the mask, or she used to be, Heather’s sure Veronica’s not the same person anymore and Heather can’t blame her for that, maybe V and Trenchcoat Kid should be the new Bonnie and Clyde and Heather will just watch until the red fog blinds her completely -

“Heather!”

Veronica pulls hard on the wheel, and there’s a split second where Heather can’t remember where she is before she slams on the brake. Her beloved Ford stops just before it hits the traffic lights, and the offending pedestrian looks over their shoulder at the near-wreck.

She should be angry. Hell, she should be fucking pissed. Veronica almost put a dent in her shiny red car, almost caused them both to die. She could have saved a life at the cost of two, including her own, and Veronica’s looking at her like…

Like…

“We’re going back to your place,” says Veronica, “fuck the party. I’m driving.”

It’s almost like she’s worried. But that can’t be right. Heather’s ruined things before they began.

She wordlessly obeys, the all-important Remington party banished to some far-flung corner of her brain. Veronica takes the wheel for good this time, but pauses before she changes gears. After a moment’s thought, she places a hand on Heather’s thigh, just for a second. That simple touch, that offhand gesture of affection, feels like electricity coursing through Chandler’s body. She has to know. She has to know what that does to Heather, but Veronica drives off like nothing happened. The ride is silent, but something hangs in the air.

For once in what seems like forever, Heather dares to hope that all her rage wasn’t for nothing.

#Anonymous #the cradle will write #i don't know what a twizzler is but that IS what she's eating in that scene right

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cecilspeaks · 6 years

Text

127 - A Matter of Blood, Part 1

Sleep like there’s nobody watching. Welcome to Night Vale.

Mayor Dana Cardinal, now in her fourth year on the job, has gotten comfortable with the responsibilities and powers of the position. She issued a statement in casual conversation with your intrepid host just yesterday, while we happened to be next to each other in line at the Missing Frog Salad Bar. Saying she believes she could bring about some lasting positive change with her position. As such, she will be instituting a number of programs to radically expand the power and oversight of the Mayor, putting her directly in charge of the agents of the Vague yet Menacing Government agency, who spy on her every moment, as well as the Sheriff’s Secret Police, who regulate our every waking breath. She said by taking on full control of all areas, she will be able to make sure everything is run more justly, more humanely, and with less imprisoning dissidents for life in the abandoned mine shaft outside of town.

But, she said, this change will be difficult for a lot of people, and so she asked me not to… tell anyone just yet. Oops. So this has been Cecil’s Fiction Corner, in which I write fan fiction about real people in town. None of that was true. Onto actual news now.

Astronomers and astrologists alike were excited to announce we will soon experience a rare cosmological event. The Blood Matter from space! Once every 500 years, our region experiences blood matter from space, and experts believe this might be the largest such event in recorded Night Vale history. Although specifying that with any certainty is tricky, the experts say. The problem is that most of recorded Night Vale history has been covered over with a sloppy black ink scribble and the note: “Sorry, top secret. Love, the government”, scrawled on every page. Sometimes those same government employees will arrive at important events while they’re still happening, and start shoving wadded-up socks into people’s mouths while shouting: “Lalalala I can’t hear you!” in order to get a jump on censoring history.

Anyway, for those space heads and star geeks who are excited by the upcoming blood matter from space, it appears the best viewing will be from literally anywhere in the region. It’s gonna come down hard on us, and there’s no hiding from it. Carlos and I will be holding our own viewing party here at the station, and it’s open to the public. Please bring one potluck item, one bundle of dried herbs to mollify Station Management, and of course, galoshes. You’re going to need galoshes. Can’t wait!

And now a segment I like to call Cecil Gershwin Palmer’s Theater of the Mind.

Please, with your mind’s eye, travel into a theater. You are in a theater. You print your tickets at home, annoyed that for unfathomable reasons, this theater doesn’t do will call. Then you forget the tickets you printed out, so you have to argue with the guy in the box office for a bit before it turns out, they can in fact print your tickets there, they just don’t want to. That sorted, you enter the lobby. It smells like wet velvet. The paint is peeling a bit, but you can see that once this theater was really something. It’s still something, you suppose, just a very different kind of something.

You don’t have to pee, but you think you probably should just in case. The bathroom is tiny and it has a long line, so you decide not to pee. Except of course now that you thought about it, you do have to pee. You sit in your seat and hope the first act isn’t too long, and mentally trace out the route you’ll speed-walk the moment the lights come up for intermission, so you’ll be one of the first at the bathroom.

Finally, some ten minutes after the show was supposed to start, the curtain opens.

That’s it for this installment of Cecil Gershwin Palmer’s Theater of the Mind. Next time, we’ll get into the actual show, so look forward to that.

Controversy has arisen about Dana’s plans to radically expand her mayoral power, which were leaked to the public through – some unknown channel. No really, it could have been anyone who told. The City Council was the loudest voice of protest. Their lungs are huge, and they can make their voice deafening. “The machinery of Night Vale government is delicate,” the City Council screamed loud enough that it woke even Larry Leroy out on the edge of town, who was asleep because it was 4 AM. “This policy shift can only upset the checks and balances inherent in our system. For instance, we the City Council check and balance everything and ultimately make all the decisions. That’s how civic government is supposed to work.” And then they keened for several hours and we all gave up and got out of bed, because none of us were getting any more sleep that night.

Joining the dissent, Tamika Flynn - local armed teen militia leader and the sole member of the City Council who is not a single-bodied, multi-voiced, inhuman entity - expressed concern about government overreach. She said: “If the government ever tries to overreach me, I’ll grab that arm they’re reaching with and do a series of self defense maneuvers to disable the overreaching government. Sorry,” she continued, “that metaphor kind of got away from me. What I’m saying is, while Dana is a good person and a friend of mine, expanding government power on the assumption that the government will always be run by well meaning people is a dangerous gamble.” Dana herself did not alleviate these concerns, as many people reported her acting strangely in public throughout town. She burst into many local businesses, demanding to know if they knew where she was. They would tell her she was in their store and she would get angry and storm out. She was also spotted standing across from City Hall, monitoring the front doors with binoculars.

Perhaps this is part of a social program we just don’t understand yet. Or perhaps she is annoyed at a big-mouthed friend of hers who is very, very sorry. More on this story as I’m it’s going to develop.

And now, traffic. A businesswoman sits in an airplane, mid-flight, staring out the window. She pretends she is doing this because she is bored. She is actually doing this because she is nervous. The plane is shaking and she is looking out the window to see what is causing this, but of course she cannot see what is causing this. Instead, what she sees is a miracle, unimagined in thousands of years in human science and theology. What she sees is the top side of the clouds. Here is the place that her species, since the start of it, have projected worlds onto. Have looked up at and told stories, some based on what was observed, some based on what was felt, but all based on never being able to see the top side of the clouds.

And oh, there were those in the mountains who could see the top side of low-lying clouds, but that’s not the same at all, is it? Nothing like going to the top layer of clouds and breaking through until there is only space above and clouds below. And here she is, nervously sipping a Sprite and looking out the window and worrying about what will happen when she lands. Which is that she’ll lose her job. Although she doesn’t know that yet, because she’s still in the air, looking down at the top side of the clouds. This has been traffic.

And now a word from our sponsors. Pay no attention to the vase in your backyard. All human beings die. This is unrelated to the vase in your backyard. You don’t remember purchasing that vase. Certainly it does not seem like your style. It wouldn’t go with any of your things, and that is not a color you buy glasswork in. You are, just in this moment, realizing you have opinions about the color of glasswork, and this is causing you to reassess in some small way your sense of self. But pay no attention to that vase in your backyard. We all get slower, get sick, and then we pass on. This is unrelated to the vase in your backyard. The vase in your backyard did not cause this. It is an inornate vase, not of any recognizable era or culture. Perhaps you should plant climbing vines or thick shrubs around the vase, so that eventually, you won’t have to see it anymore. It will be covered over with greenery, as you will some day be covered over with greenery. Everything will eventually be covered over with greenery, until the greenery goes too. But pay no attention to the vase in your backyard. All human beings die. This is unrelated to the vase. This message was brought to you.

Worries continue to rise about the Mayor’s controversial initiatives. The Sheriff was especially put out by the planned shifting of the Secret Police to the perview of the Mayor’s office. “Over my dead body,” said the Sheriff. “And I was told by a psychic once that I would never die, and we all know that lying is illegal, and so my dead body will never exist for anything to be over. The point is it’s not happening.”

There are, however, those who are in favor of the plan. Like green market owner Tristan Cortez who said, “We all know, as citizens of Night Vale, that our government is a difficult beast. Doing just about any activity requires tons of forms and waiting in lines and puts us at risk of being devoured by the beings that run City Hall. As a tax payer, I welcome a shakeup in our government. Plus, I’ve been in the Sheriff’s Secret Prison since my daughter and I got caught committing robbery and fraud this fall, so really any change seems good to me.” Well, this is a complex issue and – oh my god. Oh no. What is, what…? Um, listeners, I’ve just been handed a report. It-it seems that a secret parking enforcement officer struck up a conversation with Dana, as she sat across from City Hall, watching it through binoculars. Dana had stared at the officer without replying, and when the officer took a step towards her in order to give her a friendly pat on the arm, she – she, she killed him. I don’t understand, but I am being asked to tell you that our Mayor and my friend, Dana Cardinal, is wanted for murder.

Let me… let’s just go to the weather.

[Weather: “J'Accuse” by Mucca Pazza. http://www.muccapazza.com]

This story, already concerning, has gotten both more confusing and more frightening. I’ve received a recorded statement from our Mayor, Dana Cardinal, and it’s… well, you should listen for yourself.

Dana: Once there came a sandstorm. This was years ago. So much of what we’ve lived through now was put into motion for us long before. But by the time the consequences come, we’ve set aside the inciting incident as agent history.

Once there came a sandstorm, and with it came our doubles. When my double came, she attacked me. Or I attacked her. I don’t remember who acted first. We struggled. It was a brutal fight that could have ended badly for either of us. But the result was that I murdered my double with a stapler. It was as slow and gruesome as you imagine. Or I think I murdered my double. It’s possible I am my double, and I murdered my original self. If we both had the same memories leading up to that moment, how would I know which of us I was? I am Dana, or I am her double. I will live forever with that doubt. I believe in what I am trying to do with my position as Mayor. Why else would I have been given a job so onerous in its responsibility, if I wasn’t meant to use that responsibility for the greater good?

So that is what I am trying to do, Night Vale. I am trying to work for the greater good. But I know not everyone is with me.

I have felt followed for the last few days. Threatened. I thought the groups who are opposed to my vision for Night Vale were trying to physically stop me. This has, as you know, happened before. And now these false murder charges. I have been framed, obviously. I mean, I know that I just admitted to killing someone years ago, but trust me that I didn’t do this one. It’s a setup to throw even more obstacles in the way of making the role of Mayor one which actually does good for this town. Or that is what I thought. I no longer know what to think. Because right now, I am staring at myself. There is another me. She is in my living room. Her hair is shorter than mine. Her face is hard and furious. And her hands – they are covered in blood. But she is me. I have come for myself.

I’m going to run now. I’m going to hide. But this isn’t over. I will make Night Vale a better place, if it kills me. Or if I kill me. I will keep in touch. If you see me, don’t approach. It is me but not me, and I don’t know what I am capable of. Stay safe.

Cecil: Well. I certainly do remember the day of the sandstorm, and the day of the doubles. It was actually a pretty traumatic time, if I’m honest. So I appreciate what Dana is going through, but – murder is a serious charge. Especially at a time when such controversial changes are going on over at the Mayor’s office. For their part, the Sheriff has said that Dana Cardinal is wanted for murder, and they don’t care which Dana they get. “Any Dana,” the Sheriff said waving their hand breezily. “If we see a Dana, we will arrest her, and Bob’s your uncle, into jail she goes.” When questioned whether this had anything to do with Mayor Cardinald’s current effort to take over the Sheriff’s Secret Police, the Sheriff huffed a bit and said things like, “Well I never,” and then hung up without answering the question.

What does it mean if the doubles are back? And what is going on with Dana Cardinal? None of those questions answered now, because stay tuned next for Bubblegum Hour, the hour devoted for reviewing the chewing sounds of popular varieties of bubblegum, hosted by today’s celebrity chewer, Mr. Tom Hanks.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Hey, what’s your sign? Mine’s a stop sign. I stole it from an intersection, and I hold it up every time someone tries to talk to me.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 127 #a matter of blood #a matter of blood part 1

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ficdirectory · 6 years

Text

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 28

(To listen, click here) - 16:18

Levi’s doing his best not to hyperly scan for Carla. So far, she hasn’t shown up. But he has seen people who look like her from a distance. It’s enough to set his heart racing.

He’s planning to take his break at 11:30. It’s just about then when he spots Dominique and Francesca behind one of his regulars - an elderly lady he loves - but who always wants quarters or dollars (depending) back for her smaller change. It’s tedious. But it makes her day, so Levi tries to be efficient. Getting Betty what she needs and keeping the line moving.

Finally, the line is moving. He gives Betty her change. Checks out the grumpy guy behind Betty who’s bought out the snack cake aisle. Then, Dominique and Francesca. He waves. Smiles. But they’re both tense. Dominique has sent Francesca ahead of her in line.

“What’s up?” Levi asks quietly.

“A store guy was following us…” Francesca warns. “Dominique said I should go in front of her in case he’s still back there.”

Levi casually glances. “Nope. No store guy.”

“We didn’t break any rules,” Francesca insists as Dominique puts their bread, cereal and plastic container of donuts on the belt.

“I know,” Levi says, sympathetic. “Listen, I’m about to take my break. Wanna meet outside? Maybe at the car?”

Dominique nods stiffly. It’s not lost on Levi that she hasn’t said a word. Just silently pays for the groceries. She’s handing the money over when he catches sight of the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. The date 4/26/11. Almost ten years ago exactly. He wonders what the significance is.

“We’ll meet you,” she says in a voice that’s eerily calm. Her face is a practiced mask. She smiles. If he didn’t know her, he’d totally buy it. “We’ll be out front.”

“Okay.”

Dominique’s not oblivious. In fact, she’s the opposite. She is painfully observant. It’s why she noticed Levi noticing her tattoo, signifying her own baby’s approximated due date. She’d had to wait until she was eighteen to get it - seven years after the fact. But it was a small way to remember Taylor.

She swallows back the lump that’s risen to her throat.

“That guy called me your daughter…” Francesca points out, ogling the donuts in the bag.

Dominique blows out a breath. “I know,” she says, forcing a smile.

“Did it hurt your feelings? To have him say it?” Francesca wonders.

“Mm-mm,” Dominique denies.

“Then, why are you crying?” Francesca asks quietly.

Stunned, Dominique reaches up and touches her own face. Feels her own tears there. “It’s nothing,” she denies, smiling hard.

“Do you feel sad he said you had a kid like me?” Francesca asks bluntly.

“No, babe. I don’t. It’s not you, I promise. It’s...I’m gonna tell you something that’s private. Okay? I had a baby once. While it was still inside me, it died. So, when he said daughter, I thought of her.”

“What’s her name?” Francesca asks.

“I like to keep that to myself.” Dominique insists, wiping her eyes.

She looks out at the parking lot, not forgetting to keep an eye out for Pearl’s mom. Dominique sits still on the bench. Francesca leans against her.

“I won’t ask her name anymore,” Francesca reassures. “And I won’t share what you said with anybody. I promise. Not even Jesus or Mariana.”

“Thank you,” Dominique says, kissing her head. “To be clear, though, I’d be lucky if my daughter had grown up to be anything like you.”

“Really? You don’t think I’m not good enough because of CP?” Francesca asks.

“I think CP is part of what makes you good enough,” Dominique insists, kissing Francesca’s head.

“I really want a sloth,” Francesca sighs. “Even a toy one or something.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it’s slow like me,” Francesca says, matter-of-fact.

“Hmm. Well, I will keep my eye out.”

By the time Levi’s outside Dominique’s tears are dry. They walk across the parking lot to his car.

“I’m so sorry that guy followed you…” Levi apologizes. “I tried to look into it, but I’m basically a peon, so…”

Francesca snickers. “That sounds like a bad word…”

“It means, I don’t have much power,” Levi explains. “It’s Spanish.”

“How are you doing?” Dominique asks.

“Well...I thought I saw my trauma once, from far away, but it wasn’t…” he shares. Levi squints. “Are you okay?” he asks Dominique. “Your eyes are red… Were you crying?”

“What if I was?” Dominique challenges.

“That’d be okay. I’d wanna know if there was something I could do to help…” Levi ventures.

There’s silence until Francesca crinkles the SuperOne bag. Levi looks in the rearview mirror. Sees her stealthily sneaking a powdered sugar donut hole into her mouth.

He smiles. “Can I have one?”

“Yeah, give Levi some. It’s his lunch break,” Dominique says.

He accepts the plastic container and opens it. Takes out a few. Eats them.

“Does anybody want a piece of bread? Francesca offers. “Or some Frosted Mini Wheats?”

Dominique laughs. “You are too much. Levi, Francesca wants a sloth. Did you know that?”

“I did not know that,” Levi answers. It hasn’t escaped him that Dominique has dodged his question about helping...unless this is her answer. Carrying on. Not getting stuck in whatever happened. He checks the clock on the dashboard. “Listen, I gotta go back to work for another hour and fifteen. He tosses the keys to Dominique. “If you wanna drive around.”

“No, we’re staying…” Dominique insists.

“But the peon hates us…” Francesca points out.

“Hey!” Levi laughs.

“I meant the mean guy is the peon. Because it sounds like pee on…” Francesca clarifies.

“Here. Let me have your phone. Can you keep it on you?” Dominique asks.

“On the DL…” Levi says, perplexed.

“Okay, so we’re in town. That means I have service. So we will text you. Text me back if you need anything.”

“Can I have your phone? I wanna add my number,” Francesca asks.

“Can you tell it to me fast?” Levi asks.

Francesca rattles off her number. Then, Levi has to run to make it back to Lane 4 before he gets in major trouble.

The rest of his shift passes in a blur. When he gets off at 1, he finds Dominique and Francesca still in the car out in the lot. He checks his phone as he walks. Finds silent videos of them smiling and waving. Selfies. And one text that reads: we are still out side love francesca

“Thanks for these, guys,” Levi says, scooting into the driver’s side.

“No problem.” Francesca answers.

“Uh, are we still on for ice cream? Somebody wants to know…” Dominique casts her gaze furtively behind them.

“Oh yeah. Definitely still on for DQ. It has food, too. So we can pick up actual lunch.”

Honestly, all Levi wants is a large vanilla ice cream cone. It’s simple, but it screams childhood to him. And good memories. They drive thru and Francesca gets a dilly bar. Dominique gets a vanilla cone, too, but a small. She offers money. Levi notices how her hand trembles.

“I got it. You got the groceries. And we still have life jacket shopping.” Levi reassures.

“Are you sure?” Dominique checks. “I don’t, like, owe you anything?”

“This is friendship stuff. Debt doesn’t accumulate over friendship stuff,” Levi says simply. Everybody gets their ice cream. He pays. Then he tries to drive one-handed, while willing his ice cream not to melt all over him.

“This is a great lunch,” Francesca enthuses.

“Right? Don’t tell your brother and sister,” Levi cautions, smiling.

“Except we don’t keep secrets. Unless it’s like for respect. Like if a person trusts you with their trauma stuff, you don’t go blab it. But ice cream shouldn’t be a secret.” Francesca explains.

“I guess you’re right. Tell them if you want,” Levi shrugs. He can see Dominique passing napkins back to Francesca.

It’s a quiet ride out to Target in Baxter. Levi pulls into the only open space he can see. It’s a long way away from the door.

“Can I just stay in the car and wait?” Francesca asks. Levi checks out the rearview mirror. She’s half-lying on his backseat.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Dominique asks.

“Nothing, I just wanna stay here,” Francesca insists.

“You can tell us. We won’t get mad. I was really hoping to get you a life jacket you wanted. Don’t you want that still?” Dominique checks.

“I do,” she sighs. “But my legs are really tired,” she comments softly.

“You guys wait here,” Levi insists. “I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t want a hospital wheelchair!” Francesca calls at Levi’s back. She’s still lying down, practicing being a sloth.

“Hey,” Dominique reprimands.

“What? I don’t. They’re old. And big. And I can barely push them,” she complains.

“Okay, but don’t yell at Levi,” Dominique reasons.

“But I just did it ‘cause he was already far away…”

Just then, Levi’s back. Francesca sits up. He opens her door. She looks out. Sees the thing. For people with disabilities and also grandmas and grandpas that can’t walk long distances.

“That’s a Caroline’s Cart…” Francesca says, wary.

“Yeah, I was hoping it’d be free with how many people there are inside today. Looks like we lucked out.”

“No,” Francesca denies.

She sees Dominique look at her and cross her arms, like Francesca said something rude.

“I mean, no thank you,” Francesca remembers. “I’ll just wait for you guys out here.”

“Babe, we are not leaving you out here in the car alone. Talk to us.” Dominique says, turned in her seat. (Because Dominique probably knows if Moms ever found out Francesca got left in a car by herself, they’d get all angry about it. And blame Francesca, probably. Because that’s what always happens.)

“I can’t! I can’t use that! I’m not allowed!” Francesca screams, her voice breaking. (She always talks too loud when she’s emotional. It’s annoying but she can’t help it.)

“Who says?” Dominique asks, gentle. Kind. Her usual way, even though Francesca doesn’t deserve it.

“Moms…” Francesca pouts. “They say I can walk, so it’s not for me. I have to not use it so somebody else with a real disability will get to…”

“Babe, you have a real disability. It means you get tired quicker because you use more energy for the same stuff we do. Just because you can walk doesn’t mean you should exhaust yourself doing that, or wait in the car instead of coming inside with us.”

“I have to ask permission,” Francesca wipes her eyes. “If Moms find out I’ll probably get yelled at. If I asked first, maybe it won’t be so bad. Can I call Mari? Or text her a picture of that with your phone and ask?

Dominique gives Francesca her phone, the code already put in. Francesca takes a picture of the cart. Types: Moms say no but can I use this? My legs are really tired from walking. This is Francesca. Bye.

“Oh. She might not get the text right away,” Levi says, worried. “You guys don’t have cell service at your Grandpa’s right?”

Francesca’s shoulders slump.

“Can I forward this to Pearl? Ask her to show Mariana?” Levi asks.

Francesa nods. Dominique forwards the text and the picture to Levi. Levi sends it to Pearl. In seconds there is a ping back:

Mariana’s face is there. It’s a video. “Don’t listen to Moms on this. Use the thing. It’s an accommodation. We get to have those because we’re humans. Love you. Have fun with Dominique and Levi. Bye.”

Slowly, Francesca gets out of the car. The seat of the cart looks very high, but Levi says he can lift her if she’s okay with it. She is. Once she’s in, she buckles the one seatbelt across her lap just like in the car.

“Dominique can you push?” she asks. Being in the cart means you’re breathing the same air, practically, as the person pushing. Like almost face to face. She trusts Levi. But not as much as Dominique.

She nods and starts pushing. It helps having Dominique right here to look at, because it distracts Francesca from anybody pointing or staring. Francesca feels one person do it. But she ignores them.

Levi leads the way to the kids’ section.

They find the life jackets. And the size that fits Francesca. There’s a gross red and yellow one. A pink and purple one that’s too girly, Mom would say. And a light green and light blue one. “Can I have that last one?” she asks.

“Here. Lean forward,” Dominique says helping her slip it on and zip it. “How does it feel?”

“Like I can’t move very good. It’s awkward.”

“Well, it has to be secure. If it’s too big, you could slip out of it.” Dominique explains. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No.” Francesca says.

“Okay. This is the one you want then?” Dominique double checks.

Francesca nods.

“Wow, you definitely know what you want,” Levi sounds impressed. He keeps looking over Francesca’s head and back and forth.

“What are you looking for?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he reassures, but it doesn’t look like nothing.

They don’t give her the money in the checkout and make her pay. Dominique does. When Francesca hears that the life jacket is $40, she almost tips over. That would take her months to earn in allowance.

“It’s too expensive,” she whispers to Levi.

“It’s fine. What do you guys say? It’s a basic need, right? You need to be safe. More than just on this trip.”

When Dominique doesn’t quite have enough money, Levi offers some, and Francesca feels terrible for being such a baby about the ugly life jacket at the cabin. She shouldn’t have made a big deal. Should have just worn it.

Francesca’s quiet as Dominique pushes the cart to the doors, and outside.

“It belongs inside,” Francesca protests.

“I know. I’ll run it back in,” Levi reassures.

He does. There are a million things about this trip that Dominique and Levi act like are no big deal, but back at home? They would be The Biggest Deal Ever.

“What’s wrong, Francesca?” Dominique asks once they’re driving again.

“It’s too much…” she protests quietly.

“It’s not. I wanted to do this for you. Levi did, too, right?” Dominique asks.

“Definitely,” Levi says. “You guys were there for me. Now we wanna be there for you.”

“But I can’t ever pay you back. I’d have to save every bit of my allowance until summer, and Moms always forget to give it to me anyway.”

“Remember what Levi said to me about the ice cream money?” Dominique reminds.

But Francesca can’t remember. Her brain is too full of stress.

“This is friendship stuff. Friendship stuff means you don’t have to pay anything back…”

“But that’s so much money!” Francesca insists. “It’s probably why Moms never got me one in the first place.”

“Babe, your safety matters.” Dominique insists. “I’d buy you 100 life jackets, no question, if they’d keep you safe.”

Francesca blinks. “That’s like… $400!”

“$4,000,” Levi corrects, but not in a mean way.

Dominique elbows him. “Don’t tell her that!” she whispers, smiling.

Francesca’s eyes almost fall out of her head they are so wide. That’s how shocked she is.

“You’re worth any price,” Dominique says, turning and looking Francesca right in the eyes.

“Thank you,” Francesca says softly. “For buying me this. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will. Thanks for coming with us today.” Dominique tells her. “It was fun talking about sloths with you.”

Levi looks so confused. “Did I miss something? Are sloths a thing now?”

“You missed a lot about cute sloths,” Francesca insists. “But don’t worry. We’ll tell you everything. First, there’s this really cute baby sloth…” she says.

And Francesca gets comfortable, talking. Realizes that today with her friends was stressful, but it was also pretty great.

#fic: somewhere inside

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verdigrisprowl · 6 years

Text

Jan 6 Bevel’s Movie Night - Star Trek: Discovery Ep. 3 & 4

This is actually the second time Bevel has screened Star Trek: Discovery. The first time, tragically, the chat log was lost. But Not This Time.

All I remember about the first stream is that there was a discussion about making ships out of dead bodies (fun fact: corpses make sub-par ship construction materials), and after the movie Bevel and Ratchet hung out a while talking.

I don’t remember much about this stream either, but that’s okay, because I don’t have to remember it, because I have the log!

Today Bevel 8:45 pm *this building is now officially her movie place, same set up as last time. it's no Dancitron, but enjoy the vaguely drive-in movie feel but with couches and stuff. treats and energon are on the table to the side* Ratchet 8:47 pm *pops in* Ratchet 8:48 pm *is this the first multiversal thing Ratchet has been to since Christmas, or the second? regardless, he's got a different frame than the last time he was HERE, specifically* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:48 pm *Soundwave follows almost on Ratchet's heels, ready to find out more about this timeline's history.* Bevel 8:49 pm Hiya! *waves to them both, yay the invitations went through* Ratchet 8:49 pm Evening! Bevel 8:51 pm You made it! I was hoping you would be able to. Ratchet 8:51 pm *Ratchet will scout out the snack table before taking a seat* Ratchet 8:52 pm Yep! Things have been settling down a little bit at home. I can take a bit of a break now and then. Bevel 8:54 pm Awesome. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:55 pm *Soundwave nods to them both and parks himself in a spot, minding not to knock his arm into anything as he does.*

[[Fewer casualties?]] Ratchet 8:55 pm For the time being, knock on.... uh. Bevel 8:56 pm ((gonna start in 5m, warnings for violence and some resident evil-esque grossness Ratchet 8:56 pm *is there any wood around, Bevel?* Bevel 8:56 pm *probably, she's basically brought any bits and pieces she thought anyone might want to either eat or fiddle with* *because she will probably fiddle with pieces of metal at random* Ratchet 8:57 pm *well if there's wood to be found, Ratchet will find it, and finish his thought* Knock on wood. Bevel 8:58 pm *giggles* Bevel 8:59 pm Fewer is good. Do you think it might mean the war could end? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:59 pm *Oh boy, what a lovely floor he's looking at.* Ratchet 8:59 pm Pfeh. No. Just means the 'cons are busy planning something. FakeProwl 9:00 pm *appears; immediately finds a corner seat to huddle in* Bevel 9:00 pm *frowns* *not at Prowl, Prowl gets a wave* FakeProwl 9:01 pm ((did we skip an episode?)) Ratchet 9:01 pm [[ quick question are captions possible ]] Bevel 9:01 pm ((yep, hit the wrong episode hold on ((they are i will put them on Bevel 9:03 pm ((there we go FakeProwl 9:04 pm *heard the word piezoelectric; he knows that word.* Ratchet 9:07 pm Lucky save. *also, belatedly, a wave to prowl* FakeProwl 9:08 pm *nods* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:08 pm *Greeting ping to Prowl, though he doesn't push anything beyond that. If Prowl sought out his own seat, Soundwave will obey that - and not bother Ratchet or Bevel either.* Bevel 9:08 pm We dealt with spores like that once. They were really annoying. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:09 pm [[When was that?]] [[...Did she call the prisoners animals.]] Bevel 9:10 pm She also called them garbage. FakeProwl 9:11 pm *there's a bit of a delay before he pings Soundwave back.* Bevel 9:11 pm It was about three decades ago by my time. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:13 pm *Already does not like the ones calling names and being rude about Vulcan martial arts. The Michael human had the others beat, didn't she?* [[What happened when you ran into them?]] *THAT IS A TRIBBLE. WHY IS IT THERE.* Bevel 9:15 pm They killed one of us before we were able to figure out how to get rid of them. Bevel 9:17 pm Water? Ratchet 9:18 pm He's tall. I didn't notice last time. He must've been sitting the whole time. Bevel 9:19 pm I like his feet. He was standing on his toes. FakeProwl 9:21 pm *At least they're all very civil about their hard feelings.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:22 pm [[Ha.]] FakeProwl 9:23 pm *Well. MOST of them are very civil.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:23 pm [[The Tilly should not have chosen an easily disprovable lie, if she couldn't handle the Michael human's presence.]] Bevel 9:23 pm That was mean of her to lie. Bevel 9:25 pm Ooo pretty Ratchet 9:25 pm Wow. FakeProwl 9:27 pm She's been there a day and she's already violating curfew and breaking into places where she's been banned. Because, apparently, she's curious. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:27 pm *He likes her already.* FakeProwl 9:27 pm *His approval of her significantly dropped.* Bevel 9:28 pm *likes everyone but the human that called Michael garbage, that was mean* Ratchet 9:30 pm [[ i learned the word panspermia today watching bill nye and suddenly it is here ]] Bevel 9:30 pm ((it was meant to be ItsyBitsySpyers 9:32 pm *Leeeean.* FakeProwl 9:32 pm ... I'm missing something, why do they blame /her/ for starting the war. The Klingons showed up ready and eager to start the war. Her mutiny lasted for thirty seconds and consisted of giving an order, which the crew didn't carry out. Ratchet 9:33 pm Scapegoat? *those injuries are.... fascinating* *Ratchet would kind of like to get a better look at them* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:33 pm [[She is also the one who terminated the...]] *Repeats the Klingon word back to himself. He's slightly rustier with it than he is Vulcan.* [[Torchbearer?]] FakeProwl 9:34 pm Ah. Yes. That makes more sense. Ratchet 9:34 pm [[ is anyone having flashbacks to tfcon and dnd ]] ItsyBitsySpyers 9:34 pm ((MEEEEEE)) Bevel 9:34 pm ((lol FakeProwl 9:34 pm ((YEP)) ItsyBitsySpyers 9:34 pm ((the giant poop!)) Ratchet 9:34 pm [[ omfg i forgot about the giant poop ]] FakeProwl 9:35 pm ((how could you forget about the giant poop)) ((im still proud of how we got rid of it)) Bevel 9:35 pm ((that we totally avoided 😀 Ratchet 9:35 pm [[ my memories of the night are more focussed on ratchet and skywarp's illicit affair ]] ItsyBitsySpyers 9:35 pm ((i mostly remember murderbeak, soundwave refusing prowl's request with an I NEEDED THAT, and the soap and towels on the floor)) FakeProwl 9:35 pm Of course, the torchbearer was before the mutiny, killed in self-defense, and almost undoubtedly left there as bait to deliberately start the war. Bevel 9:36 pm *laughs* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:37 pm [[It is easier to assign blame than to think rationally. Especially when Vulcans are discriminated against for their focus on logic to begin with.]] Bevel 9:38 pm *likes Michael a lot more now because that was awesome* FakeProwl 9:39 pm I know. Believe me, I know. I'm still going to relentlessly criticize it. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:39 pm [[Feel free. He doesn't mind.]] Bevel 9:39 pm *wonders if that ship is gonna get taken over by tribbles at some point* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:41 pm [[.........One moment. The Klingons later suffered from Tribble overpopulation, to the point of wiping their species out in 'wars'. Why do they not put the Tribble aboard the Klingon base?]] [[Then their enemies will be forced to turn their focus elsewhere.]] Ratchet 9:42 pm Perhaps the Tribble IS the biological weapon. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:42 pm *Yeeeaaah, no, he wouldn't enter a lockable room on the command of someone like this.* FakeProwl 9:42 pm *Oh, hey. Prisoner locked up for treason, gets offered a job that looks like a twisted version of her old position, turns it down on moral grounds. Is that familiar.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:43 pm *...Quietly taking notes, just on the off-chance this has some future use.* Ratchet 9:45 pm What happened to his eye injury? Bevel 9:45 pm I think he said he needs to adjust to light? Ratchet 9:46 pm There's been no indication of his having the lights adjusted for his comfort since his first introduction. Bevel 9:47 pm I do not know. FakeProwl 9:47 pm The lights haven't gone up and down around him. No need to adjust them if they're consistent. Ratchet 9:47 pm Hmm. Bevel 9:48 pm *kind of likes this Amanda person* Ratchet 9:48 pm Oh, he.... oh no. Bevel 9:48 pm Kitty. Ratchet 9:49 pm [[ it looks like a very large tardigrade ]] FakeProwl 9:49 pm If he did indeed lure her on board by disabling her shuttle—which he didn't deny—then that means he killed the pilot to do it. Something caused that pilot to become untethered. That's something she should have taken into consideration before agreeing to join him. Did she even remember that? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:51 pm [[Apparently not.]] Bevel 9:52 pm I hope not. Ratchet 9:52 pm [[ i get where people are saying this show isn't very, like....... star trek, tho ]] ItsyBitsySpyers 9:52 pm ((they said that about ds9 too back in the day)) FakeProwl 9:52 pm ((the most star trek part of the show is the name)) Bevel 9:52 pm ((I like to think it's focusing even further on the grey underbelly of the mythos ItsyBitsySpyers 9:53 pm *...Part of him wants to fly through wherever that was. Part of him knows it would be a terrible id--- oh. It's not land at all.* FakeProwl 9:53 pm ((once they have befriended Four (4) Brand New Alien Species i will accept this as star trek)) Bevel 9:53 pm ((lol FakeProwl 9:53 pm ((catching a xenomorph puma doesn't count)) Bevel 9:54 pm ...is that box going to keep chiming the whole time? FakeProwl 9:55 pm synthesize a pillow to put over it. Bevel 9:55 pm *giggles* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:55 pm [[Ultra Magnus.]] Bevel 9:56 pm ((my favorite ensign with the amazing hair ahhhhhhlovehersomuch FakeProwl 9:56 pm ... Mm. One of them. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:57 pm [[One of what?]] Bevel 9:57 pm That is a really cool tactic being able to teleport anywhere. FakeProwl 9:57 pm Ultra Magnus. Bevel 9:57 pm Kitty. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:58 pm [[Oh. Yes. The statement reminded him of ours.]] [][][]I remain unconvinced.[][][] *Lean again.* *What is this thing?* FakeProwl 9:59 pm Ah. I thought you were referring to his overall personality. Ratchet 9:59 pm Didn't he tell her she WASN'T here to create weapons that went against the Starfleet code? FakeProwl 10:00 pm Do we have any evidence that better knives and shields are against Starfleet code? Bevel 10:00 pm Better shields is good. Ratchet 10:01 pm Mm. I suppose. But I'd like to see her not have to do anything that goes against her convictions. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:01 pm *What is this, now...?* Ratchet 10:04 pm [[ it's a tardigrade ]] Bevel 10:04 pm Ripper haaa Ratchet 10:08 pm Why not make several jumps? Bevel 10:09 pm Maybe too many jumps is just as bad? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:09 pm [[Navigational stability problems, as he said. The time it would take between jumps might be too much.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm [[Or that might happen.]] Bevel 10:12 pm Oh no. That did not go well at all. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:14 pm [[Anyone who thinks knowing how something feels is unnecessary when trying to get it to fight has no business doing such work.]] FakeProwl 10:14 pm Indeed. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:15 pm *Nods to Prowl. Thank you.* [[She is nowhere near ready.]] [[She is having an emotional reaction to the -- there, you see.]] Ratchet 10:17 pm Her death was unnecessary. She caused it herself. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:17 pm [[Agreed.]] Ratchet 10:17 pm That wasn't a sacrifice, it was willful stupidity. Bevel 10:18 pm She should have made sure it was sedated. 😔 She should not have been trying to mutilate it either though. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:18 pm [[She /should/ have waited until her head was clear and /investigated/ the creature instead of throwing open the doors in an uncontrolled environment with no idea how to handle it.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:19 pm *He likes her, too.* Ratchet 10:20 pm [[ i like these two klingons and i ship them ]] FakeProwl 10:20 pm *Ah, a professional second-in-command.* Bevel 10:24 pm Yay she made a friend. FakeProwl 10:24 pm ((okay, they need to make friends with 3 more alien species and it'll be star trek)) Bevel 10:24 pm *cheers* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:27 pm [[It killed everyone aboard. He would not recommend its use as such.]] [[Evidently it did not enjoy it.]] Ratchet 10:28 pm Didn't they run into something after exiting the... myto-something plane? Bevel 10:29 pm She is not a very good second-in-command is she? Ratchet 10:29 pm [[ 😧 it looks sad ]] FakeProwl 10:29 pm The accident killed almost everyone on board. The creature escaped onto a ship of people that didn't know what it was—including Klingons, who enjoy killing things. The people it killed, it likely killed in self-defense. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:30 pm [[Perhaps. But it does not look happy now, in that cube.]] Bevel 10:30 pm Poor Ripper. FakeProwl 10:30 pm ... Perhaps that's another thing it was defending itself from. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:30 pm *Nods.* Bevel 10:31 pm I think Michael realized it is in pain. FakeProwl 10:31 pm Why does he want to "send the Klingons a message"? Wouldn't it be better if they DON'T get a message and don't know that Starfleet has a new threat? Bevel 10:32 pm Maybe he is not as good at war as he thinks. FakeProwl 10:33 pm Clearly. Bevel 10:38 pm *welp she's sad now* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:39 pm *Kind of the Captain to have left her that. Though he supposes there wasn't time to change her will.* Bevel 10:41 pm I think that is enough tonight. There are still more files though so I can invite everyone again soon. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:41 pm *Light stretch.* [[Very well. Thank you again.]] Bevel 10:41 pm *nods and grins* Ratchet 10:42 pm Thanks, kiddo. See ya again next time, I hope. Bevel 10:42 pm It is fun. Is that why you do it all the time, Soundwave? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:42 pm [[One of many reasons.]] *Soundwave rises, offers everyone a nod and Prowl an extra ping goodnight, and gets ready to head home.* FakeProwl 10:43 pm ((another reason is sitting in the corner.)) Bevel 10:43 pm Definitely, Ratchet! FakeProwl 10:43 pm *returns the farewell ping* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:44 pm *Faster than before. That's promising. He'll be on his way now.* Bevel 10:45 pm ((I remembered not to close the room without saying anything \o/

#chat

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pheuthe · 7 years

Note

Mick + Ray, 26?

(Thank you for this lovely prompt, I really enjoyed writing this one even though it got away from me a bit :D so here you go, atomwave + “I didn’t intend to kiss you.” :))

eighteenth time is the charm

(AO3)

“Are yousure this is the only way, Haircut?”

“Yes,” Raysighs, for what feels like the tenth time. Mick grumbles somethingunintelligible, but still follows Ray down what used to be Santa MonicaBoulevard, through the heaps of rubble and pterodactyl droppings. That’s whatRay has come to value about Mick, actually: the way he will complain, oftenwith his fists, but when shit hits the fan – or when there’s a bomb that needsto be disabled – he’s always right there.

And maybeMick having his back in all the worst situations is messing with Ray’s head,but this is neither the time nor the place to think about it. In fact, Ray hasyet to find the right time and place: not that he’s trying too hard. It’s justso much easier to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomachwhenever Mick unexpectedly does something selfless while still frowning aboutit, grumbling like he’s not one of the kindest, bravest people Ray has ever-

“Guys, it’snot the one in Pacific Park, you’ve already tried that one,” Sara says throughthe comm, tearing Ray out of thoughts. He’s secretly grateful for thedistraction; he’s getting steadily worse at ignoring those intrusive thoughts.

Ray bringsup the map of Los Angeles onto the suit’s visor: it’s only moderately accurate,considering that it doesn’t account for several timelines overlapping with eachother, but for their purpose, it will have to do.

“What aboutthe UCLA?”

There arevoices in the background, probably another of their teammates consulting theplans Ray prepared for this mission. A distant roar echoes somewhere nearby, nomore than a few blocks away, just as Sara’s voice returns. “Yeah, that’s stillin the running. You’re about two miles out.”

“Can wefly?” Ray asks, and ignores the way Mick growls in the back of his throat. Therumbling sound sends shivers down Ray’s spine, and there’s definitely no timefor that. In moments like these, Ray really misses the times when he wasn’t soincredibly aware of everything Mick says or does. Ignorance really is bliss.

“You’regood to go up until Westwood, there seems to be a nest of… something unfriendly on the Oppenheimer Tower.”

“Got it,”Ray nods and turns to Mick – who is looking at him like a very angry cat. Ray’sgot experience with angry cats. For some reason, the animals react to him inthe same way his body does to their fur: with violent refusal. But he’s alsogot experience with Mick, and heknows that he won’t actually bepunched in the face when he steps towards the other man and smiles.

“Hold on.And be careful around the jets, okay?”

“I know,”Mick scowls but wraps his arms around Ray’s shoulders, looking pissed. Ray restshis palm against the small of Mick’s back to stabilize the suit’s flight withthe extra weight (at least that’s what Ray tells himself, rather feebly).

It turnsout that rerouting around the National Cemetery is not as much of a good ideaas Ray believed, but they don’t realize that until they see the twenty-feettripods shooting lasers at each other among the graves.

“Very Warof the Worlds,” Mick grunts, close to Ray’s ear. Ray shivers, and wishes theyhad the time to address Mick’s knowledge of that particular work.

Then theyget shot down, or rather, some kind of a charge goes off when one of thetripods explodes, and there’s an emergency landing that Ray thinks could’vegone smoother. Twenty minutes later they’ve managed to shake the machinesrunning after them on spindly, creaky legs, and Ray’s breathing hard as heleans against the dusty wall of a half-collapsed palace that most definitely doesn’t belong in WestwoodVillage.

“If that’s the future, then I’m suddenly alot less excited about time travel,” he groans, pushing his visor up to swipeat the sweat dripping down his brow.

Mick, rightnext to him, leans out of their hiding spot and fires his gun, then grins atRay with that manic light in his eyes that Ray has (unfortunately) come toappreciate.

“I don’tknow, they burn pretty fucking well.”

And ofcourse Mick would be okay with anything that can be torched. Ray lets out aweak laugh and grabs the man’s arm.

“Let’s go.”

UCLA is awhole another can of worms – literally,seeing as there are a few hundred rotting bison corpses lining the streets allaround the campus. Ray gags and covers his nose with his hand, but it doesn’treally help. Mick fires at the nearest corpse and scowls:

“If this isart, I don’t get it.”

Ray wantsto laugh, but that would make him inhale more of the rot, so he just drags Mickinto the School of Engineering, which has somehow acquired a very golden, verystrange clock tower.

And a bomb.That’s the worst part, really.

It doesn’ttake that long to locate the gadget. The timer is counting down, three minutesand fifteen seconds, fourteen, thirteen, and Ray bites the inside of his cheek,stomach squeezing with anxiety at how tight their schedule is. The tripods werereally an unexpected detour… and while technically, they can travel back intime and try again, Gideon has warned them against doing it, their plan alreadyincluding way too much time-travel for the AI’s peace of mind.

Two minutesand fifty-nine seconds, and Mick’s gloved hand closes around Ray’s wrist. Hecan barely feel the touch through his gauntlet, no more than a ghost of afeeling where Mick’s thumb presses into the soft spot against Ray’s wrist, butit’s enough to tear him out of his reverie. He glances at the other man, andsomething in Mick’s eyes flips Ray’s stomach, in the best (and worst,considering their situation) way possible.

“You can doit, Haircut.”

Adrenalinefloods Ray’s system and he nods back, stepping towards the bomb and hoping forthe best. There are two more like it in the city – well, one, considering whatSara said about them having tried the Pacific Park. Fifteen more across thecountry, and only disabling the right one will actually prevent the explosionfrom happening.

Ray has noidea how many they’ve tried before. How many Rays and Micks have been blown uptogether with the rest of the continent while their team blinked out of thatparticular timeline only to retrieve them from an earlier time, so that theycould try again, with a different bomb. Ray tries not to think about hisfeelings on the matter of dying so many times, but… it’s not like he’llremember it, right? And maybe, just maybe, this time they’ll hit the jackpot andthis will be the correct one.

He fusseswith the wires while Mick, unsurprisingly, produces a chocolate bar from somewhere and starts chewing loudly. Itmakes Ray chuckle, which in turn makes him relax a little and focus on his taskbetter. Mick has that effect on him: which should be strange, because mostpeople get really nervous around Mick, not the opposite. Ray’s used to it now,to the unique way they just fit, liketwo pieces of a puzzle. Or like pieces of two different puzzles which were cutout by the same machine, the pictures looking different at first sight but theshapes still matching…? Ray gets lost in his metaphor halfway through, butthen, the build of the bomb suddenly clicks in his brain and he cuts the rightcord, giving Mick a triumphant grin.

The bombstops the countdown at one minute, ten seconds, and Ray lets out a loud breath.

Mick tossesthe candy wrapper to the floor and pushes himself off the table where he’s beensitting, within Ray’s reach.

“Guys?”Sara’s voice sounds worried. “It didn’t work. We’ve got eyes on the PacificPark bomb and it’s still ticking.”

Ray’sinsides turn to lead. He knows what this means – that the team has less than aminute to get out of this particular timeline, return a couple of hours back,and collect the Mick and Ray who have not yet fought off weird futuristictripods or waded through a field of dead animals.

Raysincerely hopes that the past Mick and Ray will have more luck next time.

Heswallows, throat dry to the point of pain and hands shaking, and it filtersthrough his suddenly foggy brain that there’s going to be a Raymond Palmer safeand sound in the future, but it’s not going to be him.

He’s gotjust a few seconds to live, a little more than half a minute, tops. They’reboth going to die, and Ray remembers devising the plan with this exact momentin mind. He’s willing to do it, just as he was willing with the Oculus… but it’shard to fool the survival instinct screaming at him to grab Mick and run, as ifit would do any good with a bomb of this magnitude.

“You reallyshouldn’t have gone with me,” he says quietly, voice thick with the fear hetries not to feel.

Mick’sfingers, bare and scarred, twine with Ray’s own.

“Not like Icoulda let you take all the credit, Haircut.”

And Mick’sgrumbling again, but he’s right there with Ray, about to die who knows how manytimes, but he’s there and Ray’s heartis suddenly filled to the brim and he can’t, can’t die regretting that he never told Mick just how much he meansto Ray.

“Fifteenseconds, guys, we’re out,” Sara’s voice drifts like a distant echo through theearpiece, but Ray doesn’t have time for words, hers or his own. He tosses hishelmet off – it’s not going to protect him now, anyway – and steps right intoMick’s personal space, ignoring the look of dawning apprehension or worry orconfusion, whatever it is, they’ve got no time for that.

Ten secondsnow, or less, and Ray leans into Mick, into that solid warmth that he neverwould’ve expected the first time he laid eyes on the pyro. But Mick is so muchmore than that, so much more than just a goon or a thief or a criminal, morethan Chronos and more than a friend, darn, so much more.

Sevenseconds, and Mick’s sharp inhale cuts through the ominous silence in the room

Six, andhis eyes drift closed, like he trusts Ray, like maybe, he wants this to happen, and Ray’s heart nearly bursts at the thoughtthat he could’ve done this sooner, could’ve felt this terrified and excited andhappy for days, maybe weeks.

Five, andRay closes the distance; four, and their lips meet, Mick’s hands slipping into thesweaty strands of hair at the nape of Ray’s neck. It’s painfully perfect andRay wants to cry, but he can hold it back for the few seconds they still have.

He doesn’tbother coming up for air before the blinding light and the heat of theexplosion swallow them up.

……

“Mick,wait!” Ray calls, stumbling over the debris on the road as he does his best torun after the other man.

Who’smoving surprisingly fast, considering there’s still a broken arrow shaft stuckin his thigh. Ray might be reevaluating his opinion on the dream-come-true ofmeeting – and fighting – actual Cossacks.

“Wait!” heyells again, but Mick isn’t listening, doing his very best to get away from Rayas quickly as possible. Or at least it seems that way, and Ray’s heart is aheap of misery at this point. He didn’t want things to turn out this way, butin his defense…

“I didn’t intend to kiss you, okay?! I’m sorry! Itwas a spur of the moment thing, you know, the moment I thought we had like, tenseconds to live? Mick, talk to-“

He roundsthe corner behind which Mick disappeared and stops short, eyes widening as hespots the whole Waverider crew, allof them, not ten feet away and grinning like a bunch of cats who got a poolfull of cream all to themselves.

“Oh,” Raysighs and rubs at the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat up. Mick isscowling, but it’s hard to tell whether he hates Ray or the rest of them moreat the moment.

“You know,”Jax smirks, “it would be much easier to believe that you didn’t intend to do it if you haven’t done it…what, eight times?”

“Ten,” Saracorrects, with an expression that reminds Ray of Leonard Snart.

“What,”Mick snarls, and it’s not even a question, just a demand for explanation. Heshoots Ray a suspicious glare, and Ray’s insides wither like a flower in amicrowave. He wants to ask whether it was really that awful – because for the coupleof seconds they were kissing, Mick actually seemed… not wholly against theidea. Until Sara’s voice came to them through their comms, amusement tintingher words as she announced that she had just been messing with them and theyhave, in fact, disabled the bomb this time and wouldn’t really die.

It’s acruel joke if Ray ever saw one, but he has to admit that he would maybe laugh, out of sheer relief ifnothing else, if only Mick didn’t hightail it out of that room like his buttwas on fire.

No, wait,scratch that, the man might actually enjoythat.

“What?” Rayechoes, albeit weaker. Sara steps forward and wraps her arm around hisshoulders – even the easy, friendly gesture feels like teasing.

“Yeah. Tentimes out of eighteen, you kissed him right before the bomb went off.”

Ray gapes,unable to make a single sound. A part of his brain not completely caught up inthe horror of half-molesting his teammate registers the number eighteen andthinks ‘of course it had to be the verylast one that worked’, but a much bigger part of his mind is trapped in thedawning realization that he won’t get off the hook that easily.

If you dosomething ten times, even if technically, it’s always a different instance of you, it’s much harder to play it off asa ‘spur of the moment’, huh.

Mick growlsunder his breath; Ray really admires Amaya’s bravery for stepping close totheir resident pyro.

“You’ve gotno grounds for that grimace you’re making,” she says, pointing a finger rightin Mick’s face. “The other eight times it was you.”

The changethat washes over Mick’s features is breathtaking: rage transforms intoconfusion and gives way to an expression that Ray would dub ‘deer in theheadlights’. Mick looks a little trapped, and a part of Ray wants to step upand help… but he can’t bring himself to sweep this off the table when he’slearning that maybe Mick could- no, Mick definitely does-

That’s whenMick’s knee goes out from under him and Ray lurches forward to catch him beforehe hits the pavement. Mick’s not looking at him at all, but he does allow Ray to wrap a steadying arm around hiswaist, holding on to Ray’s shoulder in turn.

“Let’s getthat arrow out,” Ray sighs; there’s nothing he can do if Mick doesn’t want totalk about it. Yes, feelings are definitely involved, for both of them… but Raycan’t force Mick to talk about it if he doesn’t want to. And Ray’s learned inthe thirty-seven years of his life that feelings don’t always equal a happyending… perhaps he was naïve to hope that with Mick, things could turn out wellfor once.

The rest ofthe team trail into the Waverider after them, but Ray hardly registers theirpresence. The way to the medbay is one huge awkward moment, the tense silenceinterspersed with Mick’s pained grunts. He still refuses to meet Ray’s eyes andit feels a bit like he’s withdrawing into himself, leaving Ray on the outside… butthat’s okay for the time being, since Ray is doing his best to collect histhoughts anyway.

He sticksaround while Gideon heals Mick’s thigh, and tries not to cast odd looks at Mick’snaked skin. Come to think of it, he can’t remember seeing Mick without pantsbefore, and he flushes when his eyes wander up the surprisingly smooth thigh tothe simple (red) boxer briefs. Ray averts his eyes as quickly as humanlypossible: Mick didn’t react too well to the kiss, whether or not he might’veinstigated a few himself, so Ray’s pretty sure he wouldn’t like to be ogled,either.

Finally,Gideon declares Mick ‘good as new’ and Ray hears the shuffling noises of theother man sliding off the seat and reaching for his bloodied pants. The sightof him, standing in the cold medbay in a long-sleeved shirt, boxers and socks,scowling at the torn jeans in his hand and looking lost, breaks Ray’s heart alittle and he pushes himself away from the wall:

“I’ll getyou new ones, just wait here, okay?”

He’shalfway out the door when Mick’s quiet voice stops him.

“Wait.”

Ray turns,and Mick isn’t hypnotizing the floor anymore: he’s looking right back, andthere’s a kind of vulnerability in his eyes that Ray’s afraid to analyze toohard, for fear of it slipping away.

Andsuddenly, he’s chuckling and walking closer, the feeling of being forced outbehind Mick’s personal barriers gone.

“Who would’vethought we’d have to die eighteen times to get to this point, huh?” he jokes,and a shadow flickers over Mick’s expression. Before Ray can apologize –because what an awful joke to make to someone who lost his best friend twice injust a couple of months – Mick is reaching out and tangling his fingers intothe belt of Ray’s suit, pulling him closer.

“Justseventeen,” he huffs, his face suddenly awfully close. Ray swallows, his brain shuttingdown as Mick crosses the distance, lips almost brushing Ray’s. “And I’ve got ascore to even out, Haircut.”

It’s notthe most romantic declaration of intent that Ray could imagine, but when Mickbites at his bottom lip, he can’t find it in himself to complain.

#atomwave #fanfiction #prompt fill #temporary character death #but everyone lives in the end i promise lol #Anonymous #pheuthe answers

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custer-mp3 · 5 years

Text

long-ass general life update for you nosy bitches // tw: men, my bad legs

so boring to say i’m settling in but i am, i just wish there was something better to call it

there was somebody camped out in the back of the park across from our house down by the railroad tracks, on what we think is technically railroad property, and the parks department came today and tried to haul their shit away without a police order cuz “it’s just trash” no dude it’s a tent that’s someone’s home you leave it the fuck alone so Agatha screamed at them until they went away but then the cops came by & tagged it so now they have 3 days to move or the parks department’s allowed to come back & take their shit away

when we were trying to figure out whose site it so so we could reach out to them thru the drop-in center we noticed the tent was locked but had been cut open and the rain fly was ripped off and Agatha says it’s probably fine but it looked like somebody rolled their shit hella bad & i’m just worried about whoever it is, it looked like multiple people (or at least a guy and a girl) and i hope they’re okay like. physically

thanksgiving weekend launched me into the flare of the century i’m still not recovered from. i dared unpack my boxes of books yesterday (which were all small!! 6 free USPS boxes!!) and my knees had just. Had It. from that 20 minutes of activity. my wrists and elbows are flaring rly bad rn too & i had to buy ankle braces cuz my Achilles was already super fucked up from moving & like. whole body hurts.

i was limping around super bad at work--like unable to actually walk, just kinda toddling around in slow-mo if they needed me to move somewhere--and my manager made fun of me to my face IMITATING MY LIMP ON BLACK FRIDAY when i requested a break then my ASM and tenured keyholder ALSO made fun of me on Hell Saturday and i’m going to burn the entire store down

marina says report them to HR but that’s not very anarchist of me and i just don’t care enough to ruin their lives cuz it’s a temp job anyway and i can make it thru the holiday surely but it’s also like. i am the most able-bodied disabled person i know. i get more shit done in a day with 2 nonfunctional legs and fucked up arms and guts that are trying to escape my body and The Brain Fog TM than most people in full health do. if you’re being this awful to ME to my fkn FACE, ON THE CLOCK, how awful are you to “““actually disabled”““ ppl like out in the world on your free time

i just hate that there are no buses on sundays, no buses after 7, and i keep getting put on these dumb fucking late closes that mean either paying $15 for an Uber or walking the 3 miles home in the dark and the cold and some days i just physically Cannot with my Body and have to pay for the Uber which sucks ass cuz i’m making barely above federal minimum wage again

but i’ve been walking dogs and stuff with Kara. she’s got a hot friend who saw the picture of my halloween costume she threw in the groupchat and apparently thinks i’m cute and has been inquiring about my existence ever since so she asked me if she could give him my number and like sure bro i’ve met this dude exactly once AND I DIDN’T HAVE EYEBROWS ON AND WAS STANDING THERE RUBBING MY EYEBROW STUBBLE IN MY OVERSIZED SLIPKNOT HOODIE AND PAJAMA PANTS but i would like him to throw me thru a brick wall so sure but then he tEXTED ME and we set up a hangout which was supposed to just be coffee but turned into a whole-ass actual lunch date which like. worm. and made out in my living room cuz why not.

yesterday we hung out again (the coffee i was promised) and walked dogs with Kara in the cemetery and went to Kinko’s and the sketchy Halloween store that’s still open in fkn December and also made out, and then he was like “we should have an Actual Date For Real People” and i was like mfkr what?!?????? is that not???? no??????????????

so that occurred t o d a y cuz you can’t call me anything but efficient and spoiler alert, it was NOT a Real People Date, it was a fkn punk shitbag date, we definitely smashed then cuddled and tried to get Parsnip to interact with the other cat in a peaceful fashion and listened to Ministry and helped Agatha with the camp/park service situation and dealt with the cops when they showed up and had the aUDAciTY to park in front of our house to pull that shit then ran errands and cuddled and went to a Food Not Bombs meeting like. mfkr. that aint a date. that’s hanging out. how. is the prior 2 things with designated start times and wearing Nice Shirts and Going In Public Together Solo and shit not dates but tODaY was a date. fkn. WHAT

anyway he’s simple and sweet and hilarious and pro-SW anarcho communist and insanely hot and self-deprecating and i want to climb him like a tree but he too is divorced once over and we’ve Talked about it & it’s made me feel Better about my own shit & like. i want him to throw me through a brick wall and buy me food and leave me alone, and he’s in a non-monogamous relationship with one of Kara’s friends and his partner’s like “bro u need to date other ppl so i don’t feel bad” and y’know, that’s fuckin stellar imo. for me.

like what this whole fkn Ordeal has made me realize is i actually hate being in capital-R-Relationships. i do NOT want the pressure of being somebody’s whole world, i do not want the EXPECTATION of being solely responsible for somebody’s emotional happiness and well-being, i just wanna be friends with people and hang out and make art and occasionally make out and otherwise be left alone to do my own thing so this is like. rad as fuck. that this just sorta fell into my lap fully-formed and i didn’t have to do a bunch of screening and dealing with fuckboys and everything i was dreading abt y’know. finding someone to make out with in the midwest

and it was all because of my dumbass pun-based nu-metal halloween costume, which is the best thing that’s happened to me in decades, so. thank u jonathan davis

but i’m making friends--mostly thru Kara, but the other fellow new KH at work is the oldest person in the store (older than me by a couple years) and ALSO super into all things manson-adjacent and ALSO super queer and everything and has given me a ride home a couple times and i love her so maybe we’ll end up being friends in the long run too--and like living with Kara’s been good cuz there are always people around and she doesn’t mind me inviting myself on stuff sometimes so

there’s some sort of Krampus parade thing this Saturday in which for $2 you can actually be beaten with sticks and the squad’s going to that and we’re all doing FNB on Sunday and i know aforementioned dude is gonna be there but also so is his partner so like. that’ll be Inch Resting. but. we’ll survive. ‘we’ meaning me.

idk if it’s some sort of fucked up coping mechanism from coming dead last in my own monogamous relationships for uhhhhhhhhhhhh my entire fucking life but y’know. i kinda just feel whatever abt it!! like cool!! there is the dude i am fast friends with and def have a mutual crush on and am also currently fucking! and there’s the person he’s been dating for 3.5 years and owns a house with, and they’re a Thing!! and idk where i fit and what the vibe’ll be idk if the partner’s other ppl are gonna be there too so it’ll be weird fr all of us or it’s just me and like honestly how do y’all NAVIGATE i just don’t wanna make fkn heart eyes at the wrong time or NOT make heart eyes at the wrong time U FEEL ME

but also y’know what, whatever, fine. i’m like the least possessive person in the universe. like. i like that it’s all out in the open and people aren’t running around on me or anybody else. can’t believe this is my life, honestly. idk if the squad was conspiring on this or what cuz kara has terminal Nice Person disease but. good job fam.

i was in a real dark place this time last week and it only got worse over Hell Weekend, like. feeling directionless / unmotivated / isolated / lonely / traumatized / failure. it’s really been hitting me hard that i’m [redacted] years old & getting d*vorced & back in a punk house in a city i’d never set foot in before & working the shittiest shit job in the history of shit jobs and i’m never gonna see this person that was my best friend for so long again (cuz, y’know, i know i don’t talk abt the Private Life on here very often/in very concrete terms ~~this post being the exception~~ but. we were Best Friends. for a very long time) & i’m officially losing this friendship that meant so much to me and does mean so much to me, because i do care about him as a friend. like. fuck him as a spouse, he’s terrible at that, but as a friend i don’t want to see him struggling. which is bullshit. cuz he was abusing me and my life was a living goddamn hell in VA. but it’s hard to let go of the basis of the whole goddamn Ordeal to start with, and it’s hard to reconcile My Friend Whomst I Adore with My Ex-Husband Who Triggers Me On Purpose & Reads My Instagram Messages & Has Been Blackout Drunk For Months & Won’t Let Me Have Space Even In My Own Office, and it’s hard cuz the only people i know who’ve gone through something like this are dead. and all of that’s hitting at once. and i can put up with a lot of shit but i cannot put up with feeling like a failure within myself. and shit was truly fucking bleak.

so the whole social life thing just came at a good time y’know & even if things otherwise aren’t going the way i want there’s at least one good spot in my life. i got friends, i’m getting out of the house, i figured out where the good cemetery is, people are buying me food & talking me through all of this & rubbing the shaved part of my head & i’m happy

kara’s got a dr’s appt tmrw AM & the dude is apparently our designated Responsible Adult With Car so he’s picking her up from that & will be in my house once again tmrw morning & i fully plan on hiding in my room and pretending to be asleep cuz fuck that lmao don’t make me socialize i was not emotionally prepared for that

hayden sent me a 1995 Marilyn Manson gig poster and an enamel pin of a jackalope wearing a cone of shame & honestly??? i do not deserve him, talk about great friends

we need to get a frame for the poster but then me & kara are starting a MM wall in one of our living rooms & it’s gonna be great. the dude’s gonna come over with a drill & help me hang shelves in my room some time soon so i can finish getting unpacked cuz i’m just down to the boxes of art and getting all my shelf crap squared away & then i can finally finish Unpacking For Good

me & kara cried on the kitchen floor together last night from laughter bc i still have not learned my lesson in How Much Soup A Bowl Can Hold and my lizard brain was convinced if i got the beans under the liquid it would all fit, which, spoiler--it did not, and all my makeup ran off my face. it was that good. i love her so much

anyway thanks for listening check out the distro so i can buy groceries until my food stamp paperwork clears which will probably not be for almost another goddamn month i’m so pissed

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zrtranscripts · 7 years

Text

Season 6, Mission 20: Peacekeeper

In the corridors of power

JANINE DE LUCA: The Laundry won't be able to take us much further than this.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, you do surprise me. I did say I wasn't going to be coming along on this one, Janine. I was clear.

SAM YAO: Look, Amelia, you won't knock your street cred or whatever by helping us with this one. I mean, it's hardly a fatal flaw, is it? "Cares about babies." Like, if you're attacked by someone who uses that against you, you probably shouldn't be trying to make them be your friend, anyway.

AMELIA SPENS: All weaknesses can be fatal, especially in this apocalypse. And I don't see why I have to be the one to come along on a mission to Sigrid's private palace.

JANINE DE LUCA: We're all here for a reason. Mr. Yao will run comms. I am ops. Runner Five is the runner. You, Miss Spens, still have retina-based login access to Mr. Valmont's security systems, which means that if we find a very safe, quiet little room, you'll be able to logon to Sigrid's personal network and download the files we need on Project Angelica, Sigrid's code name for her repulsive baby-based serum factory. We go in, we get what we want, we leave.

AMELIA SPENS: I don't see why you didn't just ask Brent, to be honest.

SAM YAO: Uh, what?

AMELIA SPENS: You managed to find Selma before seven teams of Ministry-supported bounty hunters. Either you got luckier than sin, or you have access to ANNIE.

JANINE DE LUCA: We know your relationship with Mr. Valmont ended badly. We did not want to distress you.

AMELIA SPENS: It's not possible to distress me, Janine, except by foiling my plans or getting between me and a hot oil treatment. If you want to ally with Valmont, that's your own lookout. But I want to make it utterly clear that if there's anything for me to gain by betraying you to Sigrid, I will.

JANINE DE LUCA: Understood. Dr. Maxted and the Laundry have told us Sigrid is hosting a banquet this evening to bring some new allies over to her side by giving them vials of her serum.

SAM YAO: The palace is actually an old Oxford college, but there'll just be a skeleton crew running it tonight because of security. Ellie's actually a guest at the banquet. So we get in, we find out the location of Project Angelica, hey presto! Babies. Mm, that sounds like I'm pulling babies out of a hat. That's weird.

AMELIA SPENS: [parks vehicle] So, to reiterate, we have one reason to be here: to find the babies. No heroics, no side quests. I'm looking at you, Runner Five. No dashing off thinking you can save the world, and getting me into trouble. I will betray you to save myself. Get it?

SAM YAO: Got it.

AMELIA SPENS: Good. Come along. We have to get in quickly and get what we want before the guests arrive. Let's go! [opens vehicle door]

[lock pick jiggles in lock]

AMELIA SPENS: [whispers] Bloody hell. Couldn't you pick that lock any louder, Janine?

[door creaks open]

JANINE DE LUCA: It's done now. It should make for a safe way out in a few minutes when we have your intel.

SAM YAO: Five, you lead the way. The nearest access point to Sigrid's logistics systems is through those seven receiving rooms. Then up the stairs, then you double back on yourselves. Huh. The place does seem really empty.

[door opens]

JANINE DE LUCA: Peculiar. This room seems to be dedicated to... a museum of some sort.

AMELIA SPENS: Not a museum, a plan. You know how she's always going on about her perfect society and the Wakened Land? Look, there are model villages under glass.

SAM YAO: Oh, yeah. Yeah, I've got you on cams now. Wow, it's like the biggest game of SimCity ever! Perfect arrangement of shops on the island. What island?

JANINE DE LUCA: This model is labeled "Fossy Head Island." What is she planning?

AMELIA SPENS: I thought I explained a moment ago, no time for heroics! No finding out just one thing. We're in Sigrid's palace, and her guards might find us at any minute. And when I say "us," I mean me. If we don't move quickly, I'm dead.

[keyboard clicks, security system beeps]

ANNIE: Welcome, Mr. Valmont. How may I help you today?

AMELIA SPENS: For one thing, turn volume to zero. [types on keyboard] Right. Good. Now, I'll just bring up the logistics file tree.

SAM YAO: Yeah. Wow. I've got a cam on you. That is a lot of files.

AMELIA SPENS: And we will just sit here quietly while I go through them all to find mentions of Project Angelica. Remember, Janine? Like how you made me sit quietly on that stool?

JANINE DE LUCA: Very well.

[keyboard clicks, computer beeps]

AMELIA SPENS: Look at this! All Sigrid's orders for this banquet. How hilarious! She's taken a lot of trouble over the flowers. [laughs] Look at this. Orders for substance B3 to be added to the dishes of three diners.

Hmm. So if I cross-reference substance B3 with this spreadsheet... oh, it's zombie virus. Well, Sigrid certainly doesn't know how to throw a party. Hey-ho. Right. Dockets. I'm going to need to go through them manually. It'll take a few minutes.

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Spens, are you trying to tell me that some of the diners tonight will be eating food laced with zombie virus?

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. [laughs] Look at this. She shipped a stuffed antelope as a gift to Devil Fish!

SAM YAO: And you don't know which people are going to be eating that food, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: No. There are no names in this database, just place setting numbers. I suppose the names will be on the table plan in the vestibule. [sighs] But we've had this conversation already. No heroics. No getting me found and shot.

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Spens, our friend, Ellie Maxted, the leader of the resistance in the Ministry, will be at that banquet. The Minister clearly plans a purge. We cannot leave Miss Maxted here to die. I will brook no contradiction.

Five, come with me. We will enter the vestibule swiftly. If Miss Maxted is to be poisoned, we will warn her. Miss Spens, can you turn off the security alarms along our route?

AMELIA SPENS: [sighs] Yes. But only for a few minutes.

JANINE DE LUCA: Good enough. Five, we must be swift. Party guests are already beginning to arrive and we cannot be spotted in this building. Come with me. Run.

SAM YAO: Janine, Five, how's it going? You're safe for now, but there are people in that building. You need to keep moving.

JANINE DE LUCA: Nearly there, Mr. Yao. They've locked down half the doors in this building. Evidently, they're concerned about security. Have you any identification on the banquet attendees?

SAM YAO: Mm, yeah. I'll just check my cams. Uh, yeah. Yeah, I see Ellie there. And it looks like – [laughs] well, I mean, it looks like a bunch of Sigrid's best mates are here. Uh, yeah, there's that bloke who runs Worthington-on-Sea. You remember? Called himself Raoul, but he's actually called Ralph. And senior members of the civil service. All her top allies. Scorpion Fang's there, too.

JANINE DE LUCA: She'll purge those who she deems disloyal at a banquet. Typical strategy for a paranoid tyrant. How's Miss Spens getting on?

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, I am getting on with the task at hand. Thank you, Janine. I have noticed that Brent Valmont is on the guest list here. I presume he hasn't arrived yet?

SAM YAO: I, uh... I don't see him, no.

AMELIA SPENS: He's always late for everything. Sometimes by several days. But when he does arrive, the system will log him as being in two places at once, and spit out an error message. Then Sigrid's soldiers will come looking for me, and when I say "me" on this occasion, I mean you, because I will already have escaped.

The party guests are already milling around in the reception hall. If you want to go and do more detective work, you'll have to be fast.

[page turns]

JANINE DE LUCA: And the last seat number, Mr. Yao.

SAM YAO: Table five, seat H.

JANINE DE LUCA: Also not Miss Maxted. Good. Our ally has not been discovered, and will not be poisoned here today. Peculiar, though. Tell me that number again, Mr. Yao.

SAM YAO: Uh, yeah. Table five, seat H. Right, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. Correct. Get on with it.

JANINE DE LUCA: That is the Minister's seat at the party.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh well. If she's planning to turn herself into a zombie, that's one less problem for us, isn't it? You need to get ready to come back here, anyway. There are some references to Project Angelica. I'm having to link them up to specific distribution lines, which is a bit tricky, but I should have the location of the baby serum factory in a few minutes.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then we have a few minutes. Five, there is more vital intelligence in this building than we've encountered in a year. Mr. Yao, where can we eavesdrop?

SAM YAO: Uh, yeah, yeah. On it, on it. Um, right, yeah. Uh, there are two generals who've just gone into a cloakroom to talk. If you head up those stairs to your left and run along the floor above, you could come down the service staircase at the other end of the building and overhear them.

AMELIA SPENS: Janine? If you and Five aren't back here when I'm ready to leave, I'm going alone. And I'll reset the security alarms we disabled on that floor.

SAM YAO: Yeah. Guys, there are party guests spreading all over the ground floor of the building now. You need to be quick.

JANINE DE LUCA: And we will be. Five, with me. Run.

[door shuts]

JANINE DE LUCA: All right. We're in position. Keep still and quiet, Five.

[liquid poors]

GENERAL 1: To the day the land awakens!

GENERAL 2: To that glorious day!

[glasses clink]

GENERAL 1: Soon may that day come.

[glass shatters]

GENERAL 2: We shall learn the plans today, I think. The Minister has me in her confidence. She told me that today is the day she will announce her invasion plans.

GENERAL 1: For the invasion of the enemy?

GENERAL 2: [laughs] Abel Township is only the beginning. Her plans are larger than that.

SAM YAO: Did you hear that? Did they say invasion of Abel Township?

JANINE DE LUCA: I heard it, Mr. Yao. Runner Five, we must learn what is going to be announced here tonight. We will never have this chance again.

I will conceal myself in the room above the banqueting hall. You run now and hide yourself in the minstrels' gallery. We must know what Sigrid's plans are. Mr. Yao, Miss Spens, we just need a few minutes more. Five, go. Run.

[cutlery clinks against glass, speaker squeals]

SIGRID HAKKINEN: Gentlemen and ladies, allies and subordinates, welcome. It is a joy to see your faces here today. We have worked so hard, and come through so much to be here. And I know you're eager to learn my plans. I'm eager to share them with you. Please, bring on the case.

[cartwheels squeak]

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Yao, I presume you have no cameras in this room.

SAM YAO: No, nothing. What's going on?

JANINE DE LUCA: Sigrid has just had a large case wheeled across the stage towards her. It is leather, with brass clips. Showy. She's undoing the clips. She's opening the case. Inside are arrayed a series of vials containing a golden liquid.

SAM YAO: Ah, it's the baby serum.

JANINE DE LUCA: I think not.

[vials clink]

SIGRID HAKKINEN: Gentlemen and ladies, it has been long promised, but now I have it. Behold, the cure to the zombie virus!

[audience gasps and applauds]

SAM YAO: Oh, bloody hell! She's got the cure? No, she must be lying. Mustn't she?

AMELIA SPENS: I'm afraid not. I've found a note here. Project Angelica has reached phase two. I think I've worked out where Project Angelica is. It's not going to be easy to get to those babies, even by our usual standards.

SIGRID HAKKINEN: Yes, this is the cure. A single injection of this drug will cure a person recently bitten by a zombie. No longer need we live in fear. A zombie bite will be no more deadly than a wasp sting. We have it at last. [audience applauds] And one more wonderful landmark on this glorious day: I can announce that we have captured the subversive, the enemy of the people who has been a thorn in all our sides: Runner Five.

SAM YAO: Oh no. Five, get out of there! [doors rattle] Janine, they've locked the door. Five's trapped!

SIGRID HAKKINEN: Pull back the curtain. Runner Five, I know you're there. And I happen to know your weakness.

[device beeps, audio distorts]

MOONCHILD: [fades in] What is she doing? What is she doing?

SAM YAO: [muffled] Janine, you've got to get Five out of there!

SIGRID HAKKINEN: [fades in] You're mine now, Runner Five.

#zombies run #zrs6 #s6m20 #peacekeeper #zr transcript #zrs6 spoilers

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defholiq · 7 years

Text

Sapphire (II)

Author: defholiq, Admin Shanna

Pairing: You / Jaebum

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2,525

Summary: You’re the owner of a jewelry store. Prone to working late, staying overnight and not worrying about your safety. Until one night you’re robbed.

[Part I]

Hands shaking, you slowly reach for your phone. It’s as you’re dialing 911 that you notice. This time you actually do yell, unable to help your exclamation as you run to the case. You stand fuming, barely able to stammer your name when the police answer. Too busy glaring at the empty case before you.

That fucking bastard took your sapphire

The sounds of the night fade until only Jaebum’s footsteps echo in his ears. Even this is soft, since Jaebum has trained hard to make it so. His blood rushes, pulsing through his body. These are the moments when Jaebum feels most alive. The wind in his hair, fear at his back and exhilaration in his blood.

And a jewel in his pocket.

When Jaebum reaches the car he slows, making sure no one’s watching as he removes his ski mask. This he stuffs into his pocket before removing his shirt. A special shirt, with an alternate pattern so that when he turns it inside out, it’s entirely new. When parking Jaebum diligently checked all four sides for cameras. There are none though, which means the only risk is that someone will recognize him driving away. A risk which should be minimal, given his current change of clothing.

Jaebum runs one hand over his hair as he slides into the driver’s seat. He backs out of the spot, unable to quell the smile on his face. You gave him a head start. He can’t believe you did – can’t you didn’t call the police right then and there.

His gaze moves to the metal strapped to his upper thigh – ah, right. He didn’t exactly give you a choice, did he? If only you’d known the barrel was empty. The gun itself is mainly for show – Jaebum has never killed a person in his life. If you knew anything about guns (which you didn’t, thank god), you would have realized the way he was holding it was all wrong.

Usually Jaebum isn’t this careless because usually, Jaebum doesn’t get caught. What you were doing at your store well past midnight is beyond him. It was mostly carelessness on his part, though – he should have staked out the place beforehand. Normally he would’ve. This was a rush job though, considered messy at best. Normally Jaebum plots robberies for weeks ahead of time.

This time, Jaebum got the text just two days beforehand. A message from an unknown number which dictated both the time and location. Jaebum rolls his eyes at the remembrance, shifting in his seat so as to not sit on that damn jewel.

To be honest, the whole thing seems a little ill-contrived. He should have had more time to prepare. Shouldn’t have even been doing this job in the first place – you’re what’s considered way below his pay grade. Jaebum hasn’t robbed a jewelry store in over five years. Hasn’t robbed anywhere that wasn’t some snooty, fifth avenue apartment with snooty, fifth avenue people.

You definitely don’t fall into that category.

Jaebum is used to a certain response when he commits robbery. First is the sense of entitlement. Rich people never believe they’re danger, at least not right away. They’re too used to getting their way, too used to their team of people protecting them. That’s why their first response is to look at him like he’s crazy.

Jaebum’s favorite moment is when their realization dawns. That moment when they realize one’s going to save them – realizing that you’ve disabled their alarms and taken out their men. The reactions split after that. Some get angry – Jaebum prefers to take these folk out with a tranquilizer. The others react with meekness. Sitting there in silence while Jaebum ties them to chair. Watching while he robs them blind. They sit, frozen with the shock of not being invincible after all.

You didn’t react either way.

Jaebum fights the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You were angry, but not in the way he’s used to. Even when he was using his most chilling glare, his most severe expression – you didn’t balk. Oh, you complied. You obeyed. But you made certain he knew you thought him despicable. It was … unexpected.

Jaebum fights back his smile. Not that he liked threatening you. He doesn’t like threatening anyone at all. It’s the worst part of his job – the shame lingers for far longer than he’d like to admit. It’s just that… while he was pressed to you, while you were glaring up at him, Jaebum felt the insane notion that he wouldn’t mind being on the other side of this.

Although if things had been reversed, you probably would have shot him. The intensity to your gaze, that look in your eyes. You would’ve made a better criminal than he, given another path in life. Jaebum’s fingers thrum against the steering wheel, lost in thought. Why was the timeline for this mission so short?

Jaebum speaks a number aloud, taking to his console.

Mark answers his phone after the first ring, like always. “Hello?”

Jaebum turns on his blinker. “Why does this job feel so weird?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at the traffic.

“What’s weird?” Mark asks, voice echoing across the car’s Bluetooth.

“The timing,” Jaebum explains, pulling off the exit. “And the target. It’s not what I normally do.”

From the other end of the line, Mark laughs. “Target was cute, huh?”

Jaebum frowns. “That’s beside the point.”

“Really cute, wow. I can hear it in your voice.”

Ignoring Mark’s laughter, Jaebum continues. “Who’s the request from?”

Jaebum knows he’s hit upon something when there’s silence on the other end of the line. Whatever the answer is, Jaebum probably isn’t going to like it. It’s not something he usually wants to know, actually – where the jewel is going. Jaebum prefers to keep things separate, keep himself neutral. He prefers to be the foot soldier, an operational expert. Mark is the brains, the one making sure the package ends up from point A to point B.

The difference is that Jaebum does this because he wants to – he does it for fun. Mark does this because he has to. He was born into the Tuans, raised to take over the family crime ring. He found Jaebum pickpocketing rich brats at his fancy military academy about ten years ago and, instead of turning Jaebum over, Mark convinced his father he would be useful, given enough time and training.

Jaebum owes a lot to Mark.

On the other end of the phone, Mark exhales. “It was the Parks.”

Jaebum’s hands immediately tighten. He swears, the car jerking beneath him with the motion. The Parks are a rival crime family. Unlike the Tuans, there’s no moral code associated with the Parks. It’s rare for the two families to be involved in the same crime at all.

“Who requested it?” Jaebum asks, teeth gritted. Without thinking, he steps on the gas.

Mark pauses. “I’d rather not say.”

“Mark.”

Exhaling slowly, Marks groans. “Jinyoung.”

“Fuck,” Jaebum curses, slamming his breaks on harder than intended. His car comes to an abrupt halt at the edge of the red light and he sits, fuming at his dashboard. “You should have told me.”

Mark grunts. “What, so you could’ve said no? You’ve already turned down two jobs this month. One more and my father would have sent guys to your place.”

Jaebum’s lips press into a thin line as he stares out his window. He truly hates Park Jinyoung. Mark is right – he would’ve said no. Which would’ve meant he’d be in deep shit right now. Mark lied to protect him and Jaebum sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles, slouching lower in his seat. “As long as I don’t have to see him.”

“Ah, about that.” Mark’s tone is vaguely guilty.

“What, Mark?” Jaebum says, turning right when the light flips green. The city streets flick by around him, rushing by in swirls of black and color.

“We need you to make the drop,” Mark explains.

Jaebum realizes then that he’s speeding and struggles to remain calm. “Mark. I swear to god.”

“Look, it’s just one drop!” Mark pleads. “You go to the movie theatre, hand over the package and get the hell out. Barely any interaction with he-who-must-not-be-named.”

“He who shall not be named,” Jaebum corrects, turning into his apartment building. He mulls over the situation, struggling to find a way out. There’s really none though – its common practice for agents to be the ones doing the drop off. It’s too high-risk to have packages transfer agents more than once. That’s what the Tuan family calls their members – agents.

Jaebum sighs. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Like you had a choice,” Mark says. His words – though light – are chilling in their veracity.

Jaebum doesn’t have a choice, not really. Not if he wants to continue on with his current lifestyle. He pulls up outside his lobby, exiting the driver’s side and handing his keys over to the valet. Stepping into the smooth, glass elevator and riding to his penthouse apartment. A side benefit to his line of business.

Once inside, Jaebum places his phone on speaker. “Okay, I’m home.”

“The movie theatre on NW 7th St.,” Mark instructs. “8:00 PM. Jinyoung will meet you in the lobby.”

Jaebum sighs, shrugging his coat from his shoulders. “Fine.”

Mark clucks his tongue. “Alright. Call me tomorrow then.”

“Call you tomorrow,” Jaebum sighs, switching off his phone.

He tosses both this and his coat onto the sofa, rubbing his face in both hands. He can do this. He can face Park Jinyoung. It’s been awhile since he’s had to see that smug bastard’s face. Typically the Tuans don’t send him on missions involving the Parks. They know full well what happened last time and want to steer clear of a repeat.

Jaebum walks to his kitchen counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey – neat. He takes a sip, staring straight out over the cityscape. The weight of your sapphire is heavy against his leg, and he finds his thoughts drifting to you. Whether or not you’ve realized the sapphire is gone yet. Probably.

For the first time in a long time, Jaebum wishes that he hadn’t taken this job. Not just because of Jinyoung, but because it means he can never see you again.

The knowledge of this fact is more disappointing than he’d like it to be.

At 7:50 pm, Jaebum is in the lobby of Cinematic Movie Theatres.

He’s dressed the part of casual pedestrian, wearing black jeans paired with a grey sweater. His dark hair is pushed casually from his face and to the world, he probably looks like just another boyfriend waiting for a date. Glancing down at his watch every few minutes and texting someone on his phone.

Jaebum isn’t actually texting anyone, though – he’s playing Tsum Tsum. Every now and then he glances up to look for the black turtleneck Park Jinyoung said he’d be wearing. On Jaebum’s third look, he spots him. Swallowing heavily, Jaebum works to shove his feelings deep within his gut.

Park Jinyoung looks just as he remembers. Tall. Dark haired. Well-styled. His hair is immaculate, like his clothes. Pushed back to reveal a smooth brow and dark brown eyes. He’s dressed in a black turtleneck like he said he’d be, this paired with a tan jacket. More than a few females stare as he walks.

Jaebum steps forward, pretending to be happy to see him. “Jinyoung!” he smiles, waving an arm. “Long time, no see.”

Jinyoung smiles back – though like Jaebum, it also doesn’t meet his eyes. “Jaebum,” he grins, clapping him firmly on one arm. As they hug, he whispers into Jaebum’s ear, “Fucker.”

Jaebum’s mouth tightens but he doesn’t respond, pulling back to look at him. He scans Jinyoung from head to toe, continuing to pretend to smile. “Did you get shorter?” he asks.

“I think that’s you,” Jinyoung says, tilting his head. “You’re wearing your lifts today.”

Jaebum’s smile disappears – fuck, he hates this guy. “So, what movie are you seeing?” he asks, getting straight to the point.

The code for this evening was been worked out beforehand. Jaebum is supposed to ask him about the movie, which signals that he has the jewel. Jinyoung is supposed to respond with a certain movie title, indicating he’s ready to receive the jewel.

“Logan.” Jinyoung glances over Jaebum’s shoulder. “It’s supposed to be good.”

Jaebum nods. That’s what Mark told him he’d say. “Wow, what a coincidence,” Jaebum deadpans. “I’m seeing Logan, too.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with Jaebum’s acting abilities. “Oh really? What theatre?”

Jaebum is supposed to answer a number. One, two, three or four – each number corresponding to one of his jeans pockets. By telling Jinyoung the number, he’s also telling him where the jewel is. Before Jaebum can respond though, Jinyoung waves. Looking at someone across the lobby. “Yah,” Jaebum mutters, taking a step closer. “You weren’t supposed to bring anyone.”

Jinyoung shrugs, watching that someone draw closer. “Whoops,” he says, eyes gleaming. “My bad.”

Jaebum frowns, confused by the expression. He turns, searching for a new threat – and freezes, when he sees who it is. You. Jogging towards them across the pavement, tugging your scarf tighter and buttoning your coat. Your voice carries over the wind, laughing Jinyoung’s name.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You skid to a stop, gaze raveling from Jinyoung to the dark-haired man beside him. “I’m sorry,” you say, sticking out your hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/N. Are you a friend of Jinyoung’s?”

Jaebum blinks back, unable to speak. A thousand thoughts race through his mind as he struggles to reconcile the image before him. You, smiling up at him. No trace of anger or recognition from last night. You slip your hand into Jinyoung’s, taking a step closer.

Jaebum realizes he hasn’t spoken and shakes his head, regaining control. “I’m Jaebum,” he says – wincing when he realizes he’s given you his real name.

You frown at the voice. He sounds familiar, though you’re certain you haven’t met before. You would’ve remembered meeting someone like him. Jaebum is very attractive with that thick, dark hair. Sharp jawline and intense gaze. His face is all panes and angles – you find yourself staring for just a second too long. Until Jinyoung’s hand tightens in yours, making you look back up at him.

You smile. Jinyoung is cute when he’s jealous. “Hi, Jaebum,” you say. “Are you seeing the movie with us?”

Before Jinyoung can answer, Jaebum shakes his head. “Actually.” His gaze cuts to Jinyoung. “I was just leaving. Enjoy your night, Y/N.” He turns, walking quickly as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

Jinyoung’s jaw drops and you laugh out loud at his confused expression. “What’s wrong?” you grin, leaning up to peck his cheek. “Was he supposed to stay?”

Jinyoung’s eyes narrow and he exhales, turning shakily to face you. “No, of course not.” He smiles. “That would have interfered with our date. Come on,” he grins, tugging your hand towards the ticket booth. “Let’s go in.”

You turn happily, not seeing the way Jinyoung’s smile fades the second you look away.

Jaebum watches from a safe distance. Mind whirring, he picks up his phone. One and a half rings before the person on the other end answers. “Mark?” Jaebum says tightly, turning away.

“Hey, how’d the –"

“Mark,” Jaebum interrupts, closing his eyes. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

[TBC]

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