#saw that twitter post and almost burst into flame

[sassylittlecanary]

Read some actual comics, Kyle.

Superman is an incredibly kind and tender character. (If he’s not being written that way, then he’s not being written well.) He inspires hope not just through his heroics, but also through his kindness toward other people. That’s his thing. Don’t you DARE call tenderness a “weakness.” Get your toxic masculinity the hell away from me and go read a badly written Batman comic if you want a “tough” male character.

#saw that twitter post and almost burst into flame #like the AUDACITY #sir do you actually know anything about superman other than the snyder movies #that’s so embarrassing #superman #clark kent #james gunn #dc #dcu #dc comics #toxic masculinity #positive masculinity #dc movies

[anglaland]

return to sender

Fandom: bnha (my hero academia)

Relationship: Platonic Touya & Shouto post-War

Rating: Gen

Additional tags: fem!Todoroki, learning, healjng, and live all together

Summary (AO3 link in reblog):

Shouto visits Touya just before Valentine’s Day.

“You almost killed yourself in one of these when you were a dumb baby, you know.”

Shouto looks at Touya curiously. The sun wanes in the sky, still an hour out from sunset. The koi pond they’re sitting by reflects golden hues in the scales of the fish.

“What happened?” she asks.

Touya doesn’t look at her, focusing on the fish beneath their dangling legs instead. She doesn’t mind. It’s enough for her that the two of them can sit here, like this.

“You stumbled into the pond when no one was watching. Mom must’ve been gardening or something, I don’t know. You didn’t even yell. I found you splashing pathetically, half frozen in the water with tears rolling down your face.”

Shouto kicks her legs. The action is freeing. She’d never been allowed to in childhood; her tutors would snap a wooden stick across her shins. “So you saved me.”

Touya scoffs. “You would have killed the fish, and that was the only good thing that godforsaken place had going for it.”

It’s quiet out here, in the countryside, away from Musutafu. Away from the house, from the history there. Their father is away in Fukushima for a charity event, no longer a working hero with what the War had brought out.

Strangely, Shouto thinks he doesn’t mind. It’s almost inconceivable to consider, that her father spends his time out here with Touya, away from the public eye. She can’t reflect on it for too long without it becoming difficult to breathe.

“No one saw?”

“Obviously not. You couldn’t even figure out how to dry yourself. Just sniffled with smoke coming off of you.” There’s a twitch at the edge of his lips as he follows the koi as they float, suspended in the cold water. “I had to pick water weeds out of your hair after I dried you.”

The only thing Endeavor used to tell her about her siblings was how jealous they were of her quirk, how they would be grateful for the training she received, how superior she was to them. The only thing she had ever heard about Touya was that he tried to kill her as a baby, and if she didn’t train diligently, she would turn out to be a failure like him.

These moments are a blessing she doesn’t deserve, to sit across her brother like this and reminisce, to hear things so different to what she knew. It causes an addicting warmth to rise in her chest.

She’s lucky. She’s so lucky. It could have all been so different.

“Should’ve let you drown, honestly.” Touya says, eyeing her.

“I don’t think my body would have been good for the ecosystem,” Shouto says. “Then I would have really killed the fish.”

“Look at you. An environmentalist on top of being the golden prodigy.”

There’s still some resentment behind the words. He’s watching her now, assessing her reaction. She never knows how to respond, can only hope that what she says won’t end in a fight.

“I’ll add the endorsement to my twitter bio.”

There’s no burst of blue flames, in fact, Touya — Touya snorts, rolling his eyes. “That’ll be the most exciting thing on your entire profile. How is it possible for you to be even more boring online?”

“I’m not boring,” Shouto defends. “I tweet about exciting things all the time.”

Touya is already pulling his phone out of his pocket. He was given internet access two months ago (monitored, of course). Fuyumi had made a group chat immediately, which Touya had tried to leave six times before Fuyumi had started a group call to yell at him. He doesn’t text often — mostly reacts 👎 to memes Natsuo sends, 🙄 to questions Shouto asks, and 🫡 to every single one of Fuyumi’s texts, including the one where she told him to stop adding reactions to every single one of her texts.

“I recently had the amazing opportunity to spend two weeks volunteering at JCN,” Touya reads, sarcasm dripping from every word. Shouto thinks he would have been good at being a stage actor, or maybe a newscaster.

…she keeps that thought to herself.

“That is exciting,” Shouto interrupts. “And it’s important. Did you know that 93% of cats who are returned are euthanized? It’s even worse with the recent zoning changes —”

“You literally say exactly that here. I think you need more talking points.”

“You could volunteer with me next time.”

“Pass. I’d rather drown in the koi pond.”

“Not very environmentalist of you,” Shouto mutters.

Touya knocks his shoulder into hers. “Look at that,” he croons. “Baby’s first joke.”

They slip into silence. The sun slips further down in the sky. Shouto needs to leave eventually. She has class tomorrow, and her father will return here in the evening. Their relationship has gotten better, and Shouto has even forgiven him, but —

— but it was still hard, sometimes.

Empty trees shift with a slight breeze. The two of them sit in a single layer of clothing each. Their quirks are even more similar, now.

“Mom sent this for you,” she says, pulling an envelope and a small box out of her bag and handing it over. Touya raises an eyebrow but takes it from her, setting the package to the side, holding the letter in his hands.

He turns it over a few times. There’s only his name written on it, in their mom’s handwriting. It’s not a particularly thick letter, or anything particularly elaborate — Rei had used stationary gifted to her by Shouto. Touya sets it aside and opens the box.

“We made chocolate the other day,” Shouto offers by way of explanation. “Fuyumi helped. I brought you some.”

Touya picks up a chocolate piece between two fingers, but makes no move to eat it. After a few seconds, it melts instantly into his hand.

“Oh,” Shouto says. “I have some hand wipes —”

“Why are you still here?” Touya says, abruptly, coating his hand in ice and melting it off. The chocolate water drips into the pond. “You did your good deed for the month, and you can go home and sleep peacefully now.”

This happens, sometimes. The testing. The unsaid do you actually care? Shouto’s all too familiar with it herself. Pushing people away because letting them in made it your fault when they would hurt you.

(She can never convey just how deeply grateful she is for her friends, for pulling her in. )

She doesn’t move, but doesn’t push in closer either. “I didn’t visit to do a good deed,” Shouto rebuffs softly. “I visited because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Right,” Touya scoffs. “Because you’re just so good and loving.”

“I’m not trying to be good,” Shouto says, trying not to let frustration leak into her voice. It’s a familiar conversation, and she’s not sure what spurred it, exactly. “I do love you. I come because I love you.”

“You’re fucked up, you know that, right?,” Touya says cruelly. “Just like me. I’ve tried to kill you your whole life, and you’re sitting here saying you love me.”

“You saved me, too,” she says quietly. Touya’s eyes narrow. “I don’t care if it’s fucked up. It won’t change.”

“How sentimental.”

There was nothing Touya hated more than sentiment.

“What did I do wrong?” Shouto says plainly.

“Why do you assume you did something wrong?”

“You’re upset. I made you upset.”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Not everything is about you, little hero.”

“But you’re upset.”

Touya stands up suddenly. The air around them heats up, and the frost over the pond begins to melt. Shouto doesn’t move, watching him carefully. “You seriously don’t get it,” he laughs. “You seriously don’t know.”

He stalks away from where they were sitting. Just when he’s gotten far enough that Shouto almost stands up to follow, he stops. She can see the energy slump from his form, and he turns back.

“You always needed things spelled out for you,” he mutters. “Could never understand hints unless they were said straight out to you. Even then, you’d still hang off of me until I pushed you off.”

Shouto waits.

“You’re the only one who makes such an effort, you know?” Touya says, finally. “If it wasn't for our birthdays just recently, I wouldn’t have even seen Mom. Even Natsuo barely knows what to say to me.”

Shouto doesn’t know what to say to that, either. She still lives at the dorms, only coming home for the weekend, and they’re still settling into their family dynamic at home.

“…I never saw Mom until I went myself,” she says eventually. “Sometimes I think it wasn’t a good idea. We…ended up crying making the chocolate. I think I made her cry. Even though she denied it.”

“Save it for your therapist,” Touya snaps.

“It’s not easy,” Shouto says. She takes a deep breath. It’s not easy to say this either, to be so candid about her feelings. But it was not talking about anything that got their family in this mess in the first place, so she continues. “We’re both learning. I think we might always be.”

“You want me to reach out,” Touya says, mirth underlying his words.

“Mom tried to save you at Gunga too,” Shouto says. “Most of your skin grafts are grown from,” she stops herself from saying what was left, “— from her.”

“This is how we show love in our fucked up family, huh,” Touya says.

“My therapist loves that topic,” Shouto shrugs, and Touya looks at her for a moment before doubling over with a wheeze.

“God,” he chokes out. “This is my life.”

“I’m happy you let me be part of it,” Shouto says.

“Fuck off,” Touya says back, but it’s without the heat of their earlier convo. He picks the chocolate back up. “Surprised you made chocolate and not your shitty noodles.”

“…”

Touya turns so quickly towards her Shouto has to suppress a flinch. “Don’t fucking tell me. Are you serious?”

Touya was always quick on the uptake. “I didn’t say anything,” Shouto says weakly. She’s glad they shifted conversation topics, but. This one?

“You?”

“I don’t know why that’s such a surprise,” Shouto says, definitely not sulking.

“What the fuck,” Touya says, laughing in disbelief. “Wow. Who is it?”

“…is that really important.”

“Yes,” Touya says with emphasis. “Absolutely. As your older brother, I have to know. It’s part of how things work. I have to approve.”

“What happened to our fucked up family dynamic?” Shouto asks.

“This is the only normal part,” Touya dismisses. “Tell me. Or the first thing I’ll tell Mom is that you never talk to me.”

“She’ll know that’s not true,” Shouto says, exasperatedly. Touya gestures give it up.

Shouto sighs. “It’s Bakugou.”

Touya’s silent for all of one second. “Explosion boy? You’re joking. This can’t be real. Shouto, he’s fucking crazy.”

“I just told you his name,” Shouto says. “And I’m crazy too.”

“You’re one of the sanest people I know,” Touya brushes off. “Unbelievable. He looked insane in that fight with AFO. Literally manic.”

Shouto is silent for just a little too long. “Shut the fuck up. You found that hot?”

“We’re friends,” Shouto stresses. “We get along. We have fun.”

“This is my next therapy topic,” Touya mutters.

“It’s really not that serious,” Shouto says.

“No, it really is. Unbelievable.” Touya eats a piece of chocolate, continuing to mutter to himself. “Blasty boy. Toga’s going to lose her mind.”

“Bakugou,” Shouto corrects, and Touya rolls his eyes with exaggeration.

The alarm on her phone rings, thankfully disrupting the moment. “That’s for my train,” Shouto says.

“You’re ru~nning~ a~way,” Touya singsongs.

“I am not.” Shouto stands, brushing dirt off the back of her skirt. Touya watches her lazily, making no move to get up himself. “I’ll tell you how it went the next time I visit.”

“I’m equal parts interested and horrified at finding out,” Touya says, looking up at her.

“You’re being dramatic again.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand in the air languidly. “Feel free to never come back too. You won’t be missed.”

She can hold his gaze. There’s no trace of the glee she saw in the forest the first time, no manic glint from the first time he hugged her.

Or — not the first time, actually. A time. And if she’s lucky, if he lets her, it won’t be the last.

Shouto smiles. “See you in two weeks, Touya-nii.”

#bnha #fem!todoroki #todoroki touya #dabi #bnha fanfic

[antihero-writings]

Before it Kills You Too (Ch2 Snippets 1, 2 & 3)

Fandom: Lore Olympus

Chapter Summary: When Hera gets into a car accident after a fight, Zeus has a moment to ruminate on their relationship. Written using the song “Wait” by Maroon 5 as a prompt.

Character Focus: Zeus

Please note!! This is the previous Ch2 snippets I posted + a new snippet (the new snippet starts with “I would venture to guess she was driving too fast.”)

I’ve been having trouble with this chapter for a very long time, so I’ve decided to post it snippet-by-snippet, because that seems like the only way I’ll successfully finish this fic. 

While this should be as close to the final version as it can be, anything in this snippet is subject to change when the full chapter comes out. (And, hey, to that end, if there’s anything you think needs to be edited here, please kindly let me know!!)

Im really excited about this snippet!! Definitely one of my favorite parts of the chapter!!

Thanks again SO much to those who support this fic and want to read more!! The fact that you want to read more really does mean the world to me!! I appreciate your kind comments so much!!

I’d really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I’m not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

Tagging some folks who’ve shown interest!! @jayyy007 @autumnmoon21 @sunsetsofanemoia, @lynnie51 @what-the-fuckaroni @masquejj

And please do let me know if you’d like me to add you to a taglist for this fic, or message you when new snippets/the next chapter come/s out!!

Chapter 2 Snippets 1, 2 & 3:

Hera was standing in the crowded meadow, surrounded by her friends, laughing that girly little giggle full of sunshine that just about made Zeus’ heart ooze in a puddle out of his chest.

Her blue dress made her eyes look like two shimmering sapphires.

“Have I seen her in a dress that color?” Zeus inquired excitedly from behind the bushes.

“How can we know what you’ve seen?” Aidoneus muttered. “With you creeping around, you might have seen her naked for all we know.”

Zeus punched him in the arm, (lightly).

“I don’t think she’s worn a dress that color!” Posiedon bubbled.

“Thank you, Posiedon. At least someone can answer a question.”

“I think she looks like the sea on summer day.” He put his hands on his face, them sliding slowly.

Zeus eyed him. “Alright, keep it in your toga, Little Green Man.”

“Should we really be here?” Aidoneus muttered. “We weren’t invited.”

“Oh come on,” Zeus stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “Who wouldn’t want to see the King of the gods here?”

Poseidon grinned and stood up behind his brother. “No one!”

“Hestia, Demeter… assorted sane people.” Hades muttered as he stood to follow.

“If that’s sanity I’m glad I’m insane.” Zeus trilled as he strutted up to the entrance.

A cute pink nymph—(rather well endowed in the chestal region—not that he noticed!)—greeted them at the archway.

“Oh! Zeus!” She flushed and bowed. “It’s an honor. Welcome!”

“Why it’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” He kissed her hand, and she giggled. “See?” he turned to his brothers. “They’re delighted to have us.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Hades muttered.

Hera was closer now; she smelled like summer, and she looked like it too. Poseidon was right about the ocean thing; she practically shimmered as she spoke with her friends.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Wait—!” Hades was soon swallowed by the crowd.

Zeus scooched behind her at lightning speed. One by one her friends began to take notice, their eyes widening.

Hera took a step back and would have tripped in surprise if he hadn’t caught her.

“Careful there, you might fall, Birthday Girl.”

“Oh, Zeus!” She looked up at him, the back of her head hitting his chest, “hi!”

That golden smile.

“I made you something!” As she spun to face him, he produced a little carving of a bird from his pocket. (And, no, he didn’t make it).

“Oh!” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, gently taking it from him, “It’s beautiful!”

All his responsibilities and stresses melted away with the sight of that smile, and he forgot there was anyone else at the party…in the world.

(…He wished he saw that smile anymore.)

Zeus’ chair was spinning empty at his desk before his assistant could say another word—

And Olympus wept, distant peals of thunder rending the sky into pieces.

Lightning crackled and cackled through his hair, creating violet tracks through the air, as Zeus sped through the sky.

It was freezing, and people were staring, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting to his wife.

“My you look stunning.” Zeus sidled up behind his wife, running his fingers gently along her arm. “Is that a new dress?”

“New as that girlfriend of yours.” Hera grunted.

His eyes widened with shock, his voice with an indignant undertone to it. “Is something wrong?”

She paused a moment. He could see words fluttering behind her lips—(like they did so often, too often)—the words Yes you did something wrong, how can you not know?

He knew she wouldn’t believe him when he said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

“You weren’t invited,” she said softly.

“Not invited? Me?” He put his hand to his chest, like the thought of him ever not being welcome to somewhere was absurd. “To what?”

“The party, you nitwit!” She whirled around, her hair nearly whipping him in the face. “You just came barging in like you owned the place!”

“Well…to be fair—”

He stopped short at the look in her eyes, like two blue-hot flames.

He knew it was taking her a great amount of effort not to slap him.

“Do you know how long I’d been preparing for that?! How long it took me to get everything just right? I told you, but you never even listened, did you? And then you just barged right in!”

“Why are you so upset? What’s so important about a party?!”

“They were my friends.” Her gaze softened, and her tone became more serious. “They were—” Until she cut herself off, and her expression hardened as she whirled around, her hair billowing behind her.

“Bunny, wait!” His tone was softer too.

He wished she’d just turn around. That he could say sorry.

Was it really so hard? He should have started there.

Had he ever apologized for that?

He was always doing that; barging in where he wasn’t welcome. The world was his, yes but…he had to concede there were some parts of it he ought not just barge in on.

When he burst into the hospital, however, they wouldn’t dare tell him he wasn’t invited, wouldn’t dare tell him he couldn’t see her.

“Where. is my. wife?” Lightning slammed into a lamppost just outside the front door, shattering its glass box, and making the light spark, the rain pounding at the window like rabid dogs.

The desk clerk looked like she was about to pee out of sheer fear.

“Sh-sh-she’s not out of surgery yet, your majesty...I understand you want to see her, but I can’t let you…until-until they’re finished.” She was practically vibrating. “I assure you the moment she gets out, we’ll notify you.”

Surgery? He wanted to demand. She’s the queen of the gods, how could she be in surgery?

Electricity sparked in his eyes, trailing throughout his hair. He could say I demand you let me see her. He could say I don’t care! She’s my wife, and I’m not waiting! She’s fine! She’s the queen—she’s my queen—she won’t be hurt from a little car accident!

But there were some places he ought not just barge in on… and the surgeons room was probably one of them.

The lightning let out a sighing crackle, before he closed his eyes, his hair falling back upon his shoulders. It was then that he noticed he was dripping wet from head to toe. He sighed himself before muttering something like a garbled “I understand, thank you.” And turning to sit in the lobby. Behind him the desk clerk’s coworker held her to keep her from fainting.

He snapped his fingers, drying off, so as not to get their nice, barf-colored carpet all wet. Once he sat down in a chair—(the cushions didn’t have any cush to them)—a kid in the chair across from him scooched away.

He could have that kid lightly charred if he wanted.

Instead he settled for a nice glare, and reached over to pick up last month’s—(or maybe it was a few months ago)—issue of  “Goddess weekly” listening to the rain die down to a drum.

The same old gossip. Usually if he picked one of these up he’d check for any news he ought to be aware of. You know, as the king. Not to mention the ladies weren’t unappealing. Now he flicked through without seeing any of it.

Speaking of ladies, there was a nymph sitting across the room from him, her skin blue, her ears down, and a cute little half smile. She surely wasn’t in here for anything serious. She kept glancing from her own magazine to him—but not in a nervous way. If he wasn’t mistaken, she wouldn’t be opposed to a session of hide-the-German-sausage.

If he wanted he could take her there in a darkened closet in the hallway. It wouldn’t take long—(if it didn’t need to…or it could take all night). That would be a nice way to relieve the stress bubbling in his body.

—Someone was laying next to him, her skin smooth, practically glowing. There was rather a lot of it exposed.

She turned over, her eyes fluttering open, a small smile creasing her features as she rolled onto his chest, tickling his chin with her fingers.

“I had a wonderful time,” she twittered, and he practically purred, staring into those big blue eyes, glittering like river stones.

He pushed her green hair behind her ear.

“Is that all? I’d like to think a night with the King of the gods would be more than merely ‘wonderful.’”

She giggled. “No no, it was much more than wonderful! It was spectacular! Mind-blowing!” She threw her arms in the air.

“That’s more like it.” He grinned—

When was that again? Two years ago, or two days ago?

It could have been either.

Had he apologized for that?

Would it have mattered if he had? Would she have forgiven him? Would he have stopped?—

Bile rose in his throat, and he dove his nose so hard into the magazine he almost smacked himself with it.

His wife was bruised and bleeding, and potentially worse in a nearby room, at the mercy of some quack holding a scalpel and a few comforting words…and here he was thinking of betraying her for the…

How many times had it been now?

He threw the magazine back on the table and sank in the chair till his head was nearly on the bottom cushion, his lip flapping his he blew out a breath, making his hair fly up a little.

The kid and his mom got called, and seemed glad of a reason to leave.

After a healthy dose of moping he pulled out his phone. After checking fatesbook and playing a few games he decided it was time to open his messages.

He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted some sensible and non-conjugal company.

He scrolled through and clicked on a name.

A number of old conversations sprinkled the page, often detailing Zeus asking about getting together and the correspondent saying they were busy.

He thought a moment about what to say—(a rare occurrence for him)—before deciding any vague requests would probably get ignored, so he simply decided the boldfaced truth:

Hera’s been in a car accident. She’s in surgery.

“WHAT?!” The word was spoken aloud—and very loudly at that.

Hades was standing in front of him. If the king being here wasn’t enough reason for weird looks, this outburst had sent more than a few eyes their way.

Zeus did a finger wave at the nymph, before he grabbed his brother’s arm, whisking him off to a less crowded hallway.

The only thing here was a vending machine, and a few overly picturesque pictures of trees.

“How did this happen?!”  Hades shout-whispered.

“I would venture to guess she was driving too fast.”

“I could have gathered that myself, thank you very much!” Hades was clearly trying not to shout. “What was she doing?! Where was she going?!”

Zeus rolled folded his arms. “Does it matter?”

“Sure it matters! Well at least it’d be good to know!”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! What do you mean you don’t know?! She’s your wife—!”

“I said I don’t know!” he kicked the vending machine.

The air shattered and reformed itself.

Zeus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice softening. “I…I don’t know.”

Two sides of him warred. One wanted to shout at Hades. He expected him to know where she was at all times? Oh yeah, that would go over well with her. What kind of helicopter husband would he be then?

And yet, it felt wrong for him not to know. Like some sort of failure. She was his wife. Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he have asked? Shouldn’t he care?

Hades’ gaze softened.

“I upset her.” Zeus murmured. “We got into a fight.”

Hades leaned against the wall. He was probably resisting the urge to say he could have gathered that too.

Zeus leaned his head forward onto the glass of the vending machine, his hair falling to the side, his reflection vaguely eyeing him.

“We got into a fight and she…I hadn’t even realized she went for a drive.” He paused, observing the chocolate and chips sitting in neat rows in the machine. “Do you think she liked Twyx?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think she liked Twyx?”

Hades pondered it a moment. “Probably. She tends to like things with caramel in them.”

Zeus smiled wryly. “See? I didn’t even know that.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to ask her all your burning questions about her favorite candy flavors very soon.”

“That’s not the point.” Zeus whispered.

Zeus was feeling a little off-kilter.

He nearly fell into a three-thousand drachma vase.

Okay, make that a lot.

The sound of heels on the staircase. The white one they’d painted for that one event…what had they been celebrating again?

His hazy gaze made her glitter even more than usual.

“Have I ever told you that you’re like the sea on a summer’s day?” Zeus’ voice came out blurry. He put his hand in his hair, trying to look sexy, you know, like the kind of guy you’d wanna forgive.

This was met by her hair slapping him in the face as she walked by him. She paused a few steps below him, turning.

“Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?”

“I may have had one—“ He hiccuped, “or five, appletinis.”

“And this is what? An intelligent conversation you’re trying to have?” She folded her arms over her chest.

“Actually,” he held up a finger. The action made him feel off-balance so he leaned against the railing, trying to land in a sexy pose. “There is something I wanted to say.”

“You’re barely coherent when you’re sober, at least spare me until then.”

He rolled his eyes—(and made himself feel even dizzier).

She turned to go back up the stairs.

“Wait!” He shouted.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder, eyes narrow as a cat’s. “What?”

“I-hic!” He covered his mouth as if embarrassed. Clearly emotion was dangerous. “I wasn’t trying to get wasted! I just-hic!-needed more than three or four to say this.”

“Oh yeah? Spit it out Grape Sorbet.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“I’m…” he held on to the railing for support. “I’m sorry.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“You…You were right.” He took a step closer.

“About what?” Her breath bated.

“I just…I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t…” He looked away. “I couldn’t tell you sober.”

“About what?” The words had a rough edge to them, her chest heaving with breath.

Ah. She knew. She knew what he was going to say, even before he said it.

“I…I did cheat on you.”

“Wh-What?” Her eyes tinted red…but there was so much hurt in the word.

Fear and shame rose in tandem like ocean waves, threatening to bowl him over, and he realized that the truth wasn’t going to help at all. But all he could do was let it pour out of him.

“You-hic-You asked if I was with-hic—”

“Stop.” She covered her mouth as if to keep the worst words from spilling out, tears welling in her eyes.

“But I—”

“I said stop!” Her voice rang through the room like something shattering.

Maybe something was.

Her heels against the stairs, fast and sharp, and away.

“Wait!”

Turn around please, let me apologize, let me explain, I won’t do it again.

He threw up in the vase.

“Daddy? What was that all about?” The small voice made his blood run cold. “What did you cheat at? Were you playing a game?”

Zeus turned, horrified, to see Ares, hiding behind a crack in the door.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at her.” He breathed. “It was stupid, really.”

Hades put a dollar in the vending machine and punched in a number.

“People say all kinds of things when they’re angry. Doesn’t mean you’re bad, just means you’re people. Which…” Hades looked him up and down, adding under his breath, “I wonder about sometimes.”

“...You must think I’m a terrible husband.”

Hades grabbed two chocolate bars and handed one to his brother.

“I think you need something sweet, maybe a little hydration, and some rest.”

Zeus unwrapped the bar and took a bite, not really tasting anything.

After a moment Hades sighed.

“It’s not so simple as that.” Hades said between bites, “I don’t necessarily think there’s such a thing as a ‘terrible husband’ or ‘the best husband.’ I…I don’t even think there’s such a thing as good and bad people. There’s just…people. There’s just husbands. But there are rules that come with being a person, and/or being a husband and…” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully, “you don’t always follow those rules.”

Zeus fell back against the wall, looking at the floor, denials dying in his throat.

It was raining.

No, actually it was pouring. And thundering. The lightning was like cracks in a collapsing sky, and Zeus’s gut was twisting like the snakes on the head of a gorgon.

“What? You-you think you can just undo this?!” Hera’s words were biting. “It’s done!” Her laugh was wry and sardonic, like an ache in her throat, red tainting the blue of her eyes. “You can’t just fix something like that! Once someone cheats at the game no one else just keeps playing!”

“It was a mistake! One stupid night!”

“One stupid night, huh?! Then how do you explain this?!” She held up his phone. The pictures. The…Oh Gaia.

The snakes in his gut bit down, and he bit his lip looking away. He hadn’t known she knew about that.

“You’ve got it all wrong! That was just—!”

“I thought you were different!” She bit off his excuse, the anger cracked, and the pain was bleeding through, and he wasn’t the only one making it rain: A tear fell down her face, then another, her mascara running black along her cheeks. “You made me smile, you made me laugh! You saved your brothers from your father. And I thought we could make a kingdom—a world—together!” She shook her head, grimacing, trying and failing to keep more tears from falling. “I thought we could be something!”

“We are! We have! I just made a mistake! I—!”

“No, Zeus.” There was a finality to her tone.

Tears streamed down her face now. He hated it when she cried. She didn’t do it often, and whenever she did he was ready to smite whoever hurt her but…he’d hurt her worst of all.

“I thought you were different. But you’re—“ the words were like an antique vase, riddled with cracks. “You’re just another bad guy.” She punched him in the arm, and the vase broke, the defiance into pain. She punched him in the arm…but it was weak and far too soft, and that’s how he knew she was really hurt; she could bring the sky down on him if she wanted.

She looked down at her hand, twisting her wedding ring with a finger.

“I’m staying with a friend tonight.”

Her wedding ring tinkled on the floor.

As she turned and walked away the word rang out like he was hoping his voice alone could rewrite his sins and bring her back:

“Wait!”

She didn’t stop, didn’t turn, didn’t make any indication she’d even heard him.

“Please…Please just wait.” These were soft.

He fell to his knees on the marble, scooping up her wedding ring and enclosing it in his fingers, holding it to his forehead, and trying not to bring the sky down upon himself.

He’d seen her angry. He’d seen her sad. But this? Seeing her break for him…was so much worse.

It reminded him too much of another time. Of a scar on her stomach. How she broke herself just to be his.

—(And he wondered, for a fleeting moment, if it would have been better if he had been the one to break.)—

“There you are!” Said a voice. “You can come see her now,”—a cleared throat— “your Majesty.”

*

Notes: Aright, so this chapter had a few things I was unsure about I thought I’d ask about here!

1. Does anyone have any other clever play-on-words for candy brands? I feel like Zeus would know that she likes caramel in general, so it’d make more sense if Hades said “she likes [X similar candy] so she’d probably like Twyx.” But Twyx is all my brain came up with and I don’t even know that it’s all that good XD

2. I’m aware that the gods don’t call each other “people” they call each other “beings.” However, Hades’ lines don’t have as much impact with “beings.” Did the fact that I used “people” stick out too much? Should I change it to “beings”?

3. I know Ancient Greek wedding ceremonies are different from ours, and they might not even have wedding rings. But that image was so impactful for me I decided to use it. Should I remove it? Or did you find it impactful?

Please let me know if there’s anything you felt was inaccurate to their characters!!

Thanks so much for reading!! 💕💕

#lore Olympus #lore olympus zeus #lore olympus hades #Zeus lo #hades lo #hera lo #lore Olympus hera #lo zeus #lo hades #lo hera #lore olympus fanfiction #lore olympus webcomic #lore Olympus webtoon #rachel smythe #usedbandaid #lore Olympus fic #lore olympus fanfic #hera x zeus #Zeus x hera #lo #lo webtoon

[millennial-star-gazer]

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath: Chapter: 1 (Nalu Week 2020)

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

Nalu week 2020 Prompts: Voice, Flirt, Charm & Smile(All implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing: Nalu/Endlu (Natsu x Lucy & E.n.d. Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature/adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Discretion is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: God knows it was all fun and games at an outdoor guild party until a drinking contest results in a not-so-great time for a certain celestial wizard much to the dismay of a protective dragon slayer and company. Even worse is Lucy's hangover with some kind of mild flu and busted ankle to boot . At least a doting Natsu is more-than-willing to provide his mate plenty of TLC. One of my entries for @nalu-week 2020  and part of the Nalu-centric anthology series The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology series (slight au/ canon divergent).

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Chapter 1: A Worthwhile Distraction

A/N: Hey guys, it's me again with my third entry for @nalu-week 2020 in the form of a new story and is also part of The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology (TDDAHCP); series which is set shortly after the events of 100 years quest with said quest being completed in a matter of weeks or a few months (hence why it's slight au/canon divergent). Special thanks to @mannyegb again for helping me to edit and further develop this chapter. Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Scroll Down Past The Read More Button/cut for designated links and the actual chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which instead belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

Read  More  of This Fic and  on other  Platforms

Note: Copy and paste links into another browser tap if reading on desktop site

1.  A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

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Chapter: 1   Next (Chapter) (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/624773467606319105/a-fire-dragon-his-princess-and-the)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13623735/1/A-Fire-Dragon-His-Princess-and-The-Not-So-Terrible-Party-Aftermath)

C. A03 (Click Here:) ( or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24802591/chapters/59983813)

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Legend

Italics: Fantasy, flashback & literary/ song quotes

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: empathized word

Bolded Italics: outside of main story): A/N

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" The friction between my words and your fantasy is making the atmosphere erotic."

(Soraya Marcelo: Twitter)

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"There you go baby - everything's ready now. It should be perfect for tonight. A guild picnic at dusk and bonfire under the stars, was it?"

"Yep, that's what Mira told us. Even said so on the Magicbook * page for the event. My friends from other guilds like Sabertooth will be attending too— a bunch responded."

"Awesome baby!"

"It really is. Thanks for helping me get ready by the way, Cancer!"

"Anytime. Have fun tonight!"

"Will do— thank you! "

"All right-catch you later, baby!"

"See ya!"

" Wow—- You look beautiful, Luce."

Natsu's arms encircled Lucy's waist from behind with the soft pressure of his lips on her shoulder; which sent a tingly shiver down her spine.

"Not that ya' didn't before. He amended, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not to mention those striking emerald eyes the celestial mage could drown in. "You always do."

Major fan of this whole look.

"I still can't believe I got such a gorgeous angel as my mate and queen. How am I this lucky?"

"Dunno. How'd you ever get so sentimental?" Lucy shot back, a teasing lilt to her words. (She couldn't help but lean back into his arms ). "If Gray could only hear you now ...but yeah, I really like all this too ."

Golden half-braided hair framed the face of Lucy's reflection in a floral-mini, skater dress; who was gazing back through a mirror. Topping the whole ensemble together was a pair of Grecian-style wedges on her feet that were to die for.

"Still can't believe you're officially mine" the dragon slayer breathed, voice thick with reverent awe. "I love you so much."

"L-love you too... hmm."

The celestial wizard let out a soft hum of bliss from the peppering of feathery-light kisses on her neck leading to her collarbone just after a nuzzle.

"Y-You trying to distract me Natsu?" she inquired, voice coming out as breathy to her own ears. God, the sensation of Natsu's scorching lips on the celestial mage's creamy skin was scattering all train of thought— almost too much to handle!

It's really hard to think right now...

"Hmm.. just maybe I am, sweetheart," came the dragonslayer's reply, timbre, a languid drawl against her skin. "Is it working?"

"Yes," was all Lucy could utter, eyes drifting shut from the sweep of his hand up the curve of her neck in a single caress. Oh and the appealing sensation of a blonde tendril being dragged through his deft fingers was an added bonus too!

"Good," The vibrations of the fire wizard 's throaty chuckle sent sparks ripping across the summoner's nerves; which effectively turned the celestial mage's knees to mush.

"That's what I was aiming for ."

"It is?"

"Yep. Did I mention how amazing you smell?" He rumbled, pulling another shiver out of his mate. "Your natural scent now permanently mixed with mine..."

Dear God, the enticing charisma of this man- so natural! Who was she deny the incredibly overpowering ecstasy exploding through her veins with how the demon hybrid's nose was pressed against the crook of her neck?.

"And is that a hint of jasmine perfume I'm catching a whiff of?"

"Mhmm..."  Goddamn-  how extremely apparent  that Lucy was pretty much rendered incapable of forming any type of response other than a single ,answering hum.

"Thought so-pretty intoxicating if ya' ask me."

"Um..."

It was then Lucy couldn't help but wonder what Natsu's ultimate end game was. No doubt the man was successful in efforts to ensare her with his devilish charms— but where did he intend for it to all lead? Did any of his plans entail steamy kissing marathons on the couple's bed? Slow-burn love-making beneath the sheets, wild romps all over their apartment? Just what if it could be?

Holy hell— that pulsating of liquid heat pulsating that shot between to the keyholder's core from the scintillant flash of images flooding her mind .

Supple digits unzipping the back of her dress, an insatiable Natsu pinning her against a wall, being lightly tossed onto the bed by said dominant dragon slayer, all-too-welcome lips leaving a high-voltage trail of electricity down her bare form before...

"Crap... the time."

Just for that little fantasy bubble to burst once Natsu pulled away from Lucy; who bit back a noise of protest at the loss of contact.

"Eh sorry, Luce," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Didn't mean to lose track of the time like that. Either way, we should probably start heading over if we don't wanna be late."

"Okay..." Lucy let out a sigh, not able to stop the wave of mild disappointment from washing over her.

"Aw come on now, weirdo!" Natsu wheedled, light-hearted amusement coloring his tone. "No need to be so glum! Tonight's gonna be fun, remember?"

"I know." Lucy conceded, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Should be great to spend time with our friends from Fairytail and other guilds. " Her spirits couldn't help but be lifted by the pyro's sunny mood.

Him and that infectious grin of his...

"Great! That's the spirit!" He crowed , planting a light peck on Lucy's cheek;aka the reason for the slight flush of scarlet .

"Tonight's gonna be awesome !"

"It sure will ."

"Definitely!"

"Oh, and one more thing," Natsu paused to shoot Lucy a lingering glance. "Just a little tiny something."

" What that might be?"

"Your outfit. I was thinking that maybe it could use a little extra piece to complete the look? Like, say that necklace I gave you?"

" Oh… that gorgeous pendant? You know what, yeah! Great idea-Thanks Natsu!"

"My pleasure. And pretty sure I saw said pendant in your jewelry box. Lemme' grab it for you."

"Sure thing!"

"Great then- so it's settled!"

"You bet!"

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A/N: Magicbook is a fictional social media app and site for all magic users and citizens in Earthland- aka the Fairytail equivalent of its counterpart in real life Facebook- in case anyone was wondering. Just a little sidenote about the chronological order for the timeline each fic in my TDDAHCP anthology series.

1. Fire And Gold(prequel)

2. Tantric Flames

3. A Dragon, His Princess and the Not-So Terrible Party Aftermath(this fic)

Figured I'd provide a little guide about the chronological order in terms of how each fic in this series takes place. Anyway, that's pretty much all for now until the next chapter. Hoped you enjoyed the first installment and please free to let me know what you think by dropping a review/comment!

Once again, don't forget to check out my other Nalu week entries along with the rest of my writing! Also be sure to stay tuned for chapter 3 of Fire and Gold which will be posted ASAP once I have a chance to finish the edits and format! Did I mention my other upcoming Nalu/FT projects in the works! Bet you're all fired now as Natsu would say! Oh and why not check out the rest of Nalu week submissions from the other incredibly talented writers and artists while you're at it? (Corresponding links to all my writing and profiles can be found above in this post, the navigation bar and bio if reading this on tumblr. Also on my respective FF and A03 accounts.) Thanks again to everyone for their incredible show of support ! Until next time-take care!

#nalu week #naluweek #nalu week 2020 #nalu-week #fairytail #ft fanfics #nalu #endlu #natsu x lucy #e.n.d natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #etherious natsu dragneel #protective natsu #territorial natsu #lucy heartifilia #future lucy dragneel #my writing #millennial star gazer writes #millennial stargazer #submission #please reblog

[saysomethingspiderman]

Something Wonderful (PT.7)

Synopsis: During your time as a professional photographer, you had come across incredibly good looking men, but there was just something about Tom that stood out. Who would have thought shooting the self-titled “walking meme” would change your life forever?

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven // Part Eight

It didn’t occur to you that you’d both fallen asleep until the light from the morning sun woke you up. With a small groan, you reached down and pulled the duvet up over your head to shield yourself from the unpleasant awakening. As you lay there, Tom’s arm hanging lazily over your waist, you couldn’t ignore the slight aching pain between your legs. Boy, had last night been good but the ache reminded you just how long it had been. The toys in your bedside table had never been used more in the last year, let’s just say that. When there was a slight shuffle and a yawn from behind, you turned over and pushed the duvet down a little; being almost blinded by the sun was worth it to see Tom’s sleepy morning face.

“Remind me to close the curtains next time,” Tom said with a small chuckle, his voice thick and raspy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at you with a smile, taking in your messy hair and small marks his lips had left on your neck the night before. “You, my darling, are beautiful.” With a cheeky grin, he reached over and pulled you closer. His lips met yours, instantly waking you up. He pressed himself against you, rubbing his morning erection against your thigh.

“I don’t think I can go another round just yet,” you murmured against his lips, though wanted to do nothing more than pin him down and fuck him into the mattress. “I’m a bit sore.”

After another gentle kiss, he pulled away and slapped your bum lightly. “Alright, how about some breakfast?” he asked as he moved to get out of bed. He shoved on a pair of boxers and tossed you one of his t-shirts. “I’ve no idea what we’ve got left in,” he said, leading you out the bedroom after you put some of his boxers on too. “Harrison usually does the food shop… I should probably check when he’s back from his holiday actually,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

Since you’d been spending more time at Tom’s place, the two of you often ordered food instead of cooking. It was a lot easier and, truth be told, you both got lazy after a long day of work. There were basics you’d pick up from the local shop but as you both looked through the cupboards and fridge, you came to the realisation that there hadn’t been much in for a long time.

“Okay, so we’ve got a few sausages, cereal and… Ah ha, one slice of bacon!” Tom said, pulling it from the fridge with a proud look on his face. Seeing your frown, he burst out laughing and shook his head. “Okay, we’ll just use this up and then go for something proper to eat. And we’ll go shopping,” he added, reading your mind.

While Tom got started on the bacon and sausages, you flicked the kettle on and made a cup of tea for each of you. As you sipped the hot drink, you leaned back against the island and watched Tom move around the kitchen, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. The muscles on his back were glorious but the angry red scratches across his shoulders and spine made your cheeks flame. Either they weren’t sore or they didn’t bother him because Tom didn’t seem to think about the large marks as he quietly hummed an old cartoon theme tune to himself.

“There better be enough for me.”

The voice came from behind and you quickly turned to see a tall, sandy haired young man around the same age as Tom stood leaning back against the table with a cocky smirk plastered across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow, looking between the two of you with a glint in his eye, clearly trying his hardest to hold in his laugh. You pulled at the end of the t-shirt you were wearing, trying to cover yourself a little bit more, and did your best to ignore how hot your face suddenly felt. This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined meeting Tom’s best friend for the first time.

“Fuck sake, Harrison, I thought you weren’t back until the end of the week,” Tom said with an awkard chuckle and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up at the back.

“Nope. Got back last night,” Harrison replied, letting out the laugh he’d been holding. “Didn’t you see my suitcase at the door when you got back?”

There was a pause from Tom and then he mumbled, “Must have missed it. I was… Distracted.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he snorted and moved over to the fridge. He took out the carton of milk and drank a large gulp. “Next time, try to remember my bedroom’s right next to yours.”

Tom dropped a sausage on the floor with a quiet thud. Tessa scurried over and headed straight for it, not caring that it was steaming with heat. Your face fell and your eyes widened in absolute horror at Harrison’s words.

The moans. The screams. The bloody headboard.

Christ.

He’d heard everything.

“Yeah, um, we’ll keep that in mind,” you managed to mutter because Tom seemed to have lost his voice, only able to clear his throat. After a pause, you gave Harrison a brief nod and then hurriedly left the room go grab some proper trousers from upstairs.

You took the time to brush the knots from your hair, spray some deodorant on and actually wash the makeup from your face. It was rare you slept with makeup on and the small spots already appearing under your skin along your jawline and chin reminded you exactly why you usually scrubbed your face clean of it. When you felt a little bit better about your appearance, you headed back down to join the boys in the kitchen. Tom’s cheeks were still tinted with pink when he gave you a smile. Seeing Harrison digging into some cereal at the table, you decided to join him with your plate, though noticeably there was one sausage short thanks to Tom’s clumsiness and Tessa’s quick reflexes.

“Don’t worry, I ended up putting my earphones in,” Harrison said through a mouthful of Cheerios, as though that would help with the situation.

With a shake of your head, you gave a soft laugh and shrugged a shoulder. “Well next time you have a girl over, you have permission to get us back,” you chuckled and covered your food sausages and bacon with ketchup.

“Oi, he’s way ahead of me in that game!” Tom argued playfully, taking the seat next to you.

“It’s a game now, is it?” Harrison asked with a raised brow. “I can guarantee I haven’t woken you up by repeatedly bashing my headboard against the wall.”

“Don’t hate the player,” Tom smirked and leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. 

“Alright, boys, I can practically taste the testosterone in here,” you said and rolled your eyes. “If you want, I can leave you both alone and you can sort through your issues between yourselves.”

Tom gave a light chuckle and placed his arm over the back of your chair, but you soon got up to properly get ready for the day. After shoving your plate in the dishwasher, you went back upstairs and had a long shower to get rid of the post-sex sweat that had dried on your skin. When you felt much fresher and smelled of Tom’s fancy soaps, you changed into some sweats and spotted your phone on the bedside table. The screen flashing with multiple messages caused a small frown between your brows. Who was messaging you so much? You didn’t have that many friends.

Olivia Mayfield                                   10m ago

AVOID TWITTER

Olivia Mayfield                                   13m ago

Hello???

Casey Piper                                        14m ago

Since when you were seeing TOM HOLLAND?

Amy Leung                                         17m ago

You look hot🔥

Amy Leung                                         17m ago

YOU’RE IN THE NEWS!

Olivia Mayfield                                   17m ago

Have you seen the Daily Mail?👀

Reading the texts made your stomach twist. The colour drained from your face. You’d been careful, hadn’t you? Well, you hadn’t gone out of your way to hide from people but there hadn’t been anyone with cameras to hide from. Oh don’t be ridiculous, you thought, everyone has a camera in their pocket these days. Going against Olivia’s advice, you went straight to Twitter and, ignoring the ridiculously large number of follow requests, you saw that Tom’s name was trending. You took a seat on the edge of the messy bed and clicked on the name to see hundreds of tweets. Some mentioned you, though a lot of them simply retweeted the same article from the Daily Mail or The Sun. Seeing a blurred photo of the two of you leaving the restaurant hand in hand made you click on one of them despite knowing it was best to steer clear of these types of things.

Tom Holland Heads out With Mystery Woman at London Hot Spot

Hollywood heart-throb Tom Holland was seen holding hands with a mystery woman on Thursday night while leaving Marylebone’s Chiltern Firehouse. The two were spotted walking outside the restaurant looking loved up after a romantic date in one of London’s celebrity hot spots. The Spider-Man star, 23, looked delighted as he spent time with his companion, and could be seen wrapping an arm around her shoulders while they chatted and moved onto one of the many cocktail bars in the area. The woman wore a silk, mid-length green dress, leaving little to the imagination, while Tom kept things cool with a short-sleeved button up shirt and checkered trousers.

A source for the Daily Mail told us the couple could barely keep their hands off each other and headed back to Tom’s home in Kingston upon Thames once the night came to an end.

His outing comes after sources exclusively tell us he is still hung up on ex-girlfriend Zendaya:

‘They dated for a couple of years and it’s hard to get over someone like that,’ our source says, ‘He’s still pining [for Zendaya] and will do anything he can to get over her. It’s hard for him to see she’s moved on so quickly.’

The Daily Mail has reached out to Tom’s representatives for comment.

Throughout the article, there were multiple photos of you and Tom outside the restaurant, just laughing with each other as you walked to your next destination. The photos were blurry, either taken from far away or snapped quickly on someone’s phone, but they were clear enough to make out your face. How had people found out your name? Even the writer of the trashy article hadn’t found that out. Closing the page, you planned on leaving it at that but you couldn’t help scroll through the tweets; words such as ‘ugly’, ‘fat’, ‘fake’ and ‘pig’ were just some of the many that stuck out. Of course, there were nice messages but those weren’t the ones you cared about. How could you listen to those people when there were others telling you things you sometimes thought about yourself? Surely you were supposed to listen to those ones who were speaking the harsh truth?

With an almost inaudible sigh, you took the plunge and chanced a look at Instagram. As expected, you had hundreds of new followers on your public work page as well as countless requests on your private one. You assumed people had found you by searching through the people Tom followed. You ignored the requests and looked at the comments on your most recent public posts. It was all pretty much the same. The nice comments were drowned out by the ones aiming to destroy not only your relationship with Tom but also what confidence you had left in yourself. Did these people really think it was okay to send such disgusting messages?

You weren’t sure how long you sat there scrolling through Instagram and Twitter but you guessed it was quite a while when a hand appeared in front of your face, waving wildly. With a jump, you locked your phone and looked up to see Tom’s confused face.

“You okay, darling?” he asked. “I’ve just said your name about a hundred times.”

“Oh, you did? Oh. Right. Uh, yeah, yeah, fine, just in my own little world,” you replied, voice at a slightly higher pitch than usual. You cleared your throat. “Just replying to some texts, is all.”

“Nothing to do with certain pictures that were taken last night?” he asked after a small hesitation, then gave a smile when the sudden drop of your shoulders gave him the answer he already knew. With a heavy sigh, Tom took a seat next to you on the bed and placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t expect anyone to be there taking pictures.”

“S’not your fault,” you muttered, only half listening to what he was saying. The names people on Twitter called you were too busy making their way to the front of your mind, overpowering Tom’s apology. There was a huge temptation to show him what was being said and let him say something to his fans but how much help would that be?

“Well I still should have known better, [Y/N]. Hey, look at me,” he said softly and took your face in his hands, tilting it towards him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m really sorry about the pictures. I’ve learnt from experience it’s best to just not say anything. They’ll be old news by tomorrow.” He offered you a smile which you returned. “At least no one knows who you are.”

Ah, so he had yet to see people’s comments. He must have just skimmed over the article or been told about it by Harrison or maybe his agent. There was no way you were going to tell him about the things people were saying to you, both on your Instagram comments and private messages. He didn’t need to worry about that. Like he said, it was best to ignore the whole situation.

Easier said than done.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting our relationship to be found out so soon,” you said and leaned your head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to his chest. “Next time we go out we’ll be more careful.”

“But that’s not what I want, darling,” Tom sighed and gave your forehead another kiss. “I don’t want to have to keep a lookout whenever we go out. Look, if you want I can say something or we can sort something out to stop people taking your photo.”

You shook your head quickly, seeing how torn he felt about the situation, worried about how you’d react. “No, no, it’s not that bad. I think it’s just because I’m not used to being in front of the camera, it’s usually me taking the photos and I’m one of the good guys who gets the model’s permission,” you said, forcing a light chuckle. “Seriously, Tom, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

Tom looked at you for a moment, wanting to see if there was anything you weren’t telling him, and when he decided you really were okay, he gave your lips a kiss and your hip a squeeze and went on his way back downstairs. The second you heard his feet touch the wooden floor at the bottom of the stairs, your shoulders dropped and you glanced over at your phone. How bad would it be to have another look at what people were saying? Before you could even give yourself the chance to answer that question, you shoved your phone into your bag without answering any of your friends’ text messages and followed Tom.

*

Just as Tom had assured you, the news quickly became old and was soon overtaken by a huge story of a cheating scandal within the cast of The Only Way Is Essex - something of which you had no interest in and couldn’t see why others were eager to read about it. Despite the news dying down and the comments on your social media eventually settling, you were still nervous about going out in public with Tom. For the first few days, the two of you stayed local on walks with Tessa, but as Tom’s promotion for Far From Home came to an end the following weekend and the celebration meal drew closer, you started getting more nervous. It was something you pushed yourself to attend; what use was hiding away and ruining the relationship? Attracting attention was all part of the package that came with being with Tom.

Due to his schedule for the last day, it was agreed that you’d meet Tom after his final interview and you’d go to the restaurant from there. Although the nerves had fully kicked in, you were incredibly excited to meet his cast mates. From what Tom had told you about them all, they were a great bunch. You’d watched some interviews and recently listened to him and Jake live on Radio 1, which had you completely belly laughing, so meeting them all in person made you just that little bit extra anxious.

“Do you think I’m thinking too much about the whole press situation?”

The question came out as a whisper but it was enough for Olivia to hear. She looked up from the couch to see you stood in the doorway to your bedroom, dressed and ready to go. With a small groan, Olivia pushed herself up from the couch to look at you properly and looked you up and down. “If I wasn’t taken, I’d definitely be trying to get you to bed,” she smirked, making you roll your eyes. “But to answer your question, I dunno. I mean, you haven’t exactly been the most vocal about the whole situation.”

You supposed she was right. Whenever it was brought up, you tended to bring out the inner teenager out in you and just give a grunt in response.

“I just don’t want to get enough attention from the press or his fans - especially his fans - for it to affect our relationship,” you replied and brushed a piece of straightened hair behind your ear.

“The only way it’ll do that is if you let it,” Olivia said and you instantly knew she was right. Of course she was right. “I’m no relationship expert but if you want to make it work, then you put the effort in to ignore all the crap people are saying.”

Olivia was the only one who you’d shown the private messages people had sent; you’d been too scared of Tom’s reaction to let him see. Even though you knew you were overthinking things, a part of you worried that if Tom read the messages, he’d realise the relationship wasn’t worth the hassle and leave you be. Ridiculous, right?

“Just go out and let your hair down,” she continued with a big grin. “Tom’s lucky to have someone so hot.”

“Oh please, it’s not all about looks, you know,” you told her, trying to sound stern but couldn’t hide the smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“What can I say? I’m vain,” she laughed and grabbed your keys from under a magazine on the coffee table, tossing them to you as you hurried out to the Uber waiting outside.

As the car drove off, you thought about Olivia’s words. She was right. One hundred percent right. Although it was difficult, you knew you had to just move on and get over your relationship being known. Thinking about it, you knew it was stupid to get so hung up about a few photos and (more than) a handful of death threats sent from Tom’s so called fans. You knew this kind of reaction was common when it came to people in the public eye, you just never expected to be in the receiving end of it.

When you pulled up outside the studio, Tom was already standing there waiting. His face lit up when you got out of the car and he wasted no time giving you a kiss. “You, my perfect girlfriend, are looking gorgeous,” he grinned, still in a high state from his interview. He grabbed your hips and pulled you close. “I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me last night, “ you snorted and moved your hands from his chest to wrap around his neck.

“And?”

“And you can survive a day without me, I’m sure.”

“You know what? I don’t think I can.”

With another kiss, Tom slapped your bum lightly and then took your hand to start leading you down the street.

“Hey, hey, slow down!” she laughed, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. “Some of us are wearing heels, you know.”

“And whose fault is that?” came his laugh of a reply, looking back over his shoulder at you hurrying in your boots. “We’re only going around the corner and then you can have a drink. Anyway, why do women wear those things if they hurt?”

“Because they make us look good,” you shrugged and continued to wince with each step until you got to the restaurant the Far From Home team had booked out for the rest of the night, meaning everyone had the privacy to fully relax and enjoy the night.

The first person you spotted was Zendaya. All it took was one look at the tall young woman to instantly make you feel like a troll. She was absolutely beautiful. No wonder Tom used to have a crush on her. Who could blame him? Zendaya noticed the two of you and put down her drink to rush over, immediately pulling you into a friendly hug.

“I’m a hugger,” she laughed and gave a squeeze, then pulled back to give Tom a light punch on the arm. “It’s about time Tom showed you off! You’re all he talks about.”

“Not all I talk about,” Tom muttered, cheeks turning a faint pink.

“Alright, the only time he shuts up is when he’s being asked questions with a camera pointed at him,” she clarified with another laugh and he rolled his eyes. “Other than that, you’re definitely a hot topic.”

Before Zendaya could embarrass him anymore, Tom dragged you off to meet the rest of the cast. There were a few teasing comments here and there about how much he talked about you, but after a drink Tom seemed to just embrace them and give up denying it. The food was served and quickly demolished, then everyone seemed to focus on getting drunk. You made the rounds again, the few cocktails you’d had giving you the confidence to talk to pretty much everyone. Tom stayed by your side with his hand either in yours or around your waist or on your bum. He laughed at your jokes and you at his; your happiness radiated off one another. Jake was exactly as you’d imagined, if not more wonderfully weird. The friendship that had grown between him and Tom was brilliant to see and a part of you even grew slightly jealous of their closeness. 

Someone had managed to get a karaoke set up in the corner of the room and you definitely weren’t one to back down from fighting for the title of Queen of Karaoke. Jacob and Zendaya had their go at OutKast’s “Hey Ya!”, which pretty much had you on the floor laughing. When it came to your turn, you took off your boots to show how serious you were taking this, and dragged Tom up too. There were cheers and whistles. Jake picked your song and within seconds you recognised it as “Dancing Queen”. Your head fell back in laughter. Tom handed you a microphone and the two of you belted out the lyrics, not a single one of them in key. You moved across the makeshift stage to show off your moves. Tom even attempted to do the robot at one point, clearly showing off his wide range of dance skills. When the song came to an end, you both joined in with the cheering and Tom pulled you in for a kiss.

“If I was sober,” he said with a little snigger, “I’d kill you for that.”

The end of the night arrived far sooner than you would have liked. Tom tried his best to get one more round of drinks, giggling away to the waitress as he was repeatedly denied any more.

“But it’s for Spider-Man,” he hiccuped and struggled to stop swaying on the spot. He frowned a little as he tried to focus on the waitress, his vision slightly blurred from the amount of alcohol he’d had. “And for Myst… Misty…” He looked back over to Jake and waved a hand in his general direction. “That one.”

“I think someone’s had a little bit too much to drink,” you giggled and took a hold of Tom’s hand to pull him back towards the table where near enough everyone seemed to be saying their goodbyes.

Tom looked down at you, eyes sparkling. “Hello, you,” he said with a grin as though it was the first time he’d seen you all night and hadn’t in fact left your side just minutes earlier. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” you laughed and reached up to give the tip of his nose a light poke.

“Not close enough,” he grumbled before pulling you right into him, smushing your face against his chest. He left a wet kiss on the top of your head.

“Any closer and I’d suffocate, babe,” you managed to say, voice muffled from his shirt. You gently pushed against him and moved away. The pout on his lips made you smile. “I think it’s time we head home, yeah?”

Farewell hugs and kisses were made on your way out of the restaurant and you quickly hailed a taxi to take you back to your place as it was closer. Tom leaned into your side as the car drove, the streetlights adding a yellow glow to his face. He gave a big yawn and snuggled into you, and by the time the car came to a halt outside your flat, he was fast asleep and snoring into your shoulder.

“Come on, Tom, just walk about five metres and you’ll be inside and can get into a nice cosy-ish bed,” you said and shook the sleeping lump. All you got was a grunt in response. “Alright, you asked for it.” You took a chunk of his curly hair between your fingers and pulled. Tom jumped with a yelp and rubbed the back of his head. Before he had time to ask for an explanation, you forced him out of the car and, after saying a rushed thank you to the driver, dragged the drunken man into the flat. 

The place was empty; Olivia tended to stay over at her girlfriend’s on the weekends. You could tell Tom was in no state to have even just a sip of water so you guided him towards the bedroom and he fell heavily on the bed.

“Throw up in here and you’ll be on the couch,” you warned, though weren’t sure how much attention he actually paid to your threat. 

Tom attempted to kick off his shoes but gave up with a huff and curled up on top of the covers. Could he have looked more cute? You took a quick picture on your phone and then moved to take the shoes off for him, pulling at the laces to loosen them up. A mumble of incoherent words made you look up but Tom still had his eyes closed and his head buried in the pillow. You shook your head a little and chose to ignore it, brushing the words off as drunken nonsense. Then he spoke again. The words were quiet, only just audible, but you definitely heard them. Goosebumps spread across your arms and a faint smile appeared on your lips.

“Say that again,” you whispered and tossed his shoes to the corner of the room.

Tom rolled over onto his back and stretched out across the bed, taking up all the room. “I love you,” he mumbled and gave a soft snore.

You’d definitely never let him forget this.

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[roonil-wazlib-at-221b]

Inferno: Part 3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

God I love Peter Parker so much. Anyways, he’s a dork even when he’s Spiderman. This is so fluffy I’m gonna get cavities. I have so many great ideas for next chapter! Also, I lied; there’s gonna be at least 5 parts.

You’re thankful for your fans. You really are. A good majority of them are sweet, caring individuals completely appalled at the blatant lies the American government sent out as a reason for your arrest. It’s nice to see people promoting positivity.

Unfortunately, being rich and having fans can sometimes lead people to hate you for no other reasons. You’re not saying there are rich people that don’t deserve to be loathed. Of course not. And maybe you do deserve to be hated. You’ve certainly done enough questionable stuff.

But at this point scrolling through your notifications feels like playing Russian Roulette with every chamber loaded.

cap2n/merica: Hey @Y/N_Stark, just do us all a favor and turn yourself into the authorities before you start melting people again.

bigbossbitch: @Y/N_Stark is another case of gross celebrity misconduct. Yes, her jail time was wrong, but now that she’s been released she’s just another spoiled celeb kid born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She gets away with murder just like her father does because of their wealth and it’s a sign of the American government’s (1/2)

You don’t feel like finding the second part of that tweet.

givemebackmymeat: @Y/N_Stark is an ice bitch

Stacey-Toland: yeah it’s great and all that New York gets Spiderman and @Y/N_Stark , but if they really cared about people they would branch out and help people in cities with a lot more crime. New York doesn’t need the Avengers, Spiderman, AND Inferno!

just-a-dumbass: y’all Inferno is the dumbest superhero name i’ve heard in a long time @Y/N_Stark

With a sigh, you turn your phone off. The public outcry will quiet down after the official statements are released. Everyone needs some time to cool off.

The pesky bandages on your hip crinkle as you sit up. You rip them off without looking. Tony insisted that you wear them last night after Helen Cho fished the bullet out of your hip. There’s no pain this morning, and you don’t even need to check to know there’s no scar.

The temptation is too great. Maybe you’re a masochist. You grab the phone before sitting down on the toilet, determined to find at least one positive comment about you in your feed. You try Instagram instead of Twitter this time. Since your public appearance last night, comments on your last post about a year ago have been flooding in.

spideyismydaddy: hey @The-Official-Spiderman what do you think about @Y/N_Stark? She invading your territory or what?

You click on @The-Official-Spiderman. It’s got to be a spoof or fan account, right? Sure enough, the account isn’t verified. You almost swipe out of it but your eyes catch on some of the photos he’s got uploaded. Either he’s super good at photoshop, or...

Is this really Spiderman’s account?

The photos look exactly like the crime-fighting spider you’d encountered last night. He doesn’t have a recent story that you can watch, but he does have a highlight story that you click on. In the first one, he does a backflip. The second clip is of him racing a train and winning. The third one is a pretty picture of the sunset.

You rest your hand on your cheek. Before you know it, you’ve watched his entire highlight story and wasted fifteen minutes sitting on the toilet.

“Miss Stark, your father wanted me to inform you that breakfast is ready,” FRIDAY says, making you jump a little bit. At first it had been a struggle to stop talking to her. The amount of times you’d say, “FRIDAY, turn off the lights,” or “FRIDAY, what time is it?” is a little bit embarrassing. No doubt how many times she’ll startle you will be embarrassing too.

“Sure,” you grunt, throwing a MIT sweatshirt on and shoving your phone in its pocket. “Coming.”

“Morning, sweetie,” Tony says cheerfully, attempting a smile when he looks at you. “I made your favorite—waffles.”

“Great.” You try a smile yourself. “I haven’t—that’s—thanks, Dad.” You’d been about to comment that you haven’t had waffles for over a year, but that would probably bring down both your spirits.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You take a big bite of waffle and look as innocently as you can at your father. “Just peachy.”

Tony gestures to his own hip. “No... pain? Bleeding? Scar?”

You shake your head and shrug. “Healed overnight.”

“Good.” Your dad actually fiddles with his fingers as you take another bite. “I, um... I don’t know what you want to do.”

I want to spend time with you is the first thing that crosses your mind but it sounds way too sappy and weak. You settle on a shrug. The familiar fire under your skin wavers and you scowl to bring it back to a simmer.

The next time they try to take you away, you’ll be prepared. Even if you have to take out thousands of agents. But you can’t let go of your anger for even a second.

“I have an idea,” you say after another awkward silence, struck with a great idea that would involve time with your dad but doesn’t involve actually asking for it outright. “I couldn’t keep up with all the new shows and movies that came out. Maybe we could get Disney+ and, I don’t know, watch The Mandalorian? I saw a lot of Baby Yoda memes online and it looks like a cool show.”

“That’s the new Star Wars show that came out, right?” Tony checks. “With the ugly green baby?”

“Hey! He’s not ugly!”

“Well,” he starts. You already know he’s about to suggest a bad idea. “Star Wars is probably Parker’s expertise. Considering both of us won’t know what’s going on, maybe we should call him and have him here? Just to translate the nerd stuff to the non-nerds?”

The hand holding your waffle clenches. You should have known that Tony would try to involve his precious Peter Parker so he wouldn’t have to spend time alone with you.

The waffle starts to smoke and you drop it with disgust. “I’m going to the training room.”

“Come on, Y/N—” Tony starts but you stomp off. Why won’t you understand that he just wants you to make a friend? He’s not trying to replace you with Peter—he’s trying to get you to replace Tony, at least a little bit, with Peter.

Tony eyes the waffle you hadn’t finished. A clear outline of fingers is burnt onto its surface.

You stalk through the compound angrily, halfway expecting a team member to jump out at you. You were the last one to be released, after all. Then again, they’re all under house arrest or on the run. But what about the ones that had sided with Tony? “Where are they?” You’d love to run drills with Nat or talk with Rhodey.

“Tony cleared his schedule for the next week,” FRIDAY informs you. “He wanted this to be a more relaxed homecoming so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed before more enthusiastic well-wishers arrived.”

“He cleared out his schedule for everyone except Peter fuckin’ Parker,” you mutter. Jesus, how important is this kid to Tony? First he never stops talking about him to you, takes him to pick you up from jail, and now he’s banned everyone but him from the compound?

For lack of sparring partners, you decide that lifting weights and running on the treadmill wouldn’t be too bad. Thankfully your muscles didn’t atrophy too much while you were locked up, though you rarely mustered the energy for exercises. You left the heat simmering under your skin at all hours. Judging by how many times you woke up to singed blankets, you started doing it in your sleep too.

No doubt due to the Extremis, you can lift every weight in the weight room—together. It’s too easy, so you move to the treadmill.

Your feet pound on the track. With every step, another thought bombards your mind: Peter Parker smiling, how you spent three months in the cage before they consented to giving you a plant, the cell smaller than your whole bed, you never even saw the sun for months, Tony coming to brag about Peter fucking Parker—

Only when your foot hits the ground do you realize that you’re running hot. “Shit,” you mutter, reaching for the ‘off’ button. Your whole body is glowing bright red and instead of turning off, the keypad melts at your touch just like how your shoes had melted off and how the track is hardly more than a melted pile of goo around your red-hot feet. The poor treadmill gurgles unhappily and its gears stop churning.

“Miss Stark, you are not wearing your fireproof clothes,” FRIDAY points out.

“Yeah, I got that, FRI,” you respond through gritted teeth, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You need to calm down before your clothes burst into flame.

The red hue to your skin fades slightly.

You need to get your excess anger out. And you know exactly how to do that.

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

Some guy swings a metal bar into your face. Something definitely cracks but heals within seconds, so quickly you almost don’t register the pain. It doesn’t slow you down, anyway, and you grab the man’s arm before he can whack you again with the bar. You slam his head against the side of a brick building and he slumps to the ground. If he doesn’t wake up in thirty seconds, you’ve either given him brain damage or flat-out killed him. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Before you can turn around, your back burns. Not the comforting burn of your anger, but a stinging burn that takes your breath away.

You turn around slowly. The man’s partner backs away, his hands in the air as a scared expression takes over his face.

You reach behind you. Your hand hits something hard that makes the pain in your back worse. It’s the handle of a knife, you presume. With a wince, you pull it out of your back. The blade is dark with blood that you already feel dripping down your back. The wound will knit together, scab, scar, and fade. A body’s week- or month-long process of healing occurring in seconds.

You’re not thinking when you brandish the weapon, but thankfully a weird thwip sound interrupts you. The man’s raised hands find themselves stuck against a wall by a white, sticky substance.

“Shit!” a vaguely familiar voice hisses after a second thwip. “Oh Jesus! You killed him!”

You turn around. The man you’d knocked against the wall still hasn’t moved, but there’s a dark puddle spreading around his head. Spider-man takes a quick look at him, shakes his head, and looks at you.

“And you got stabbed!” Sounding sort of like a smothering grandmother, he spins you around and lifts up your shirt. “Oh, shit, that’s a lot of blood...”

“The wound’s probably closed by now,” you mutter. The ground sort of leans away from your feet and strong arms wrap around your waist as something swipes at your back.

“I don’t see an opening.” He gingerly takes the knife from your hand places it on the ground. Then you find that the ground is underneath your butt. Spider-man’s mask swims in your vision.

“I killed him?” you ask blearily. Shit. You can’t afford to be murdering people not two days after being released from prison. They’ll send you back. They’ll lock you in that cage! Is Spider-man here with them? You smack his hands away. He’s here to get you, he’s here to take you—

“Whoa, whoa, let’s calm down a little bit,” Spidey says beseechingly. “You don’t have any wounds, but you lost a lot of blood.”

“It’ll replenish soon,” you mutter. After some sugar. Sustenance. That would help. As if he’d heard your thoughts, Spidey waves something in front of you. It takes a hot second for your eyes to focus on it, but when you realize it’s a churro your mouth waters.

“I did not mean for this to go this way,” he mutters. Almost shyly, he thrusts it at you, saying, “Here. I got it for you.”

You’re not one to refuse free food. If he’s poisoned it, chances are the poison won’t affect you much, anyway. You’ll take your chances.

You wolf the churro down in record time. Now that you’re feeling less woozy, knots are starting to form in your stomach. Spider-man, a superhero largely known for helping people out, just witnessed you accidentally murdering someone.

And you just murdered someone. You need to take that knife and burn it in an alley far from here and toss it in the trash.

Heat rises in your cheeks, but it’s not anger-heat that can be used as a weapon or self-defense. Letting Spider-man see you like that is embarrassing.

“Are you feeling better? I can get you another churro, if you’d like, or maybe a burrito, I think I have enough cash for that...” Spider-man reaches into his back pocket, but maybe his tone is too light, maybe he’s not being nice and he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of safety.

Quick as a whip, you take the knife and hold it in Spider-man’s direction. The superhero falls back, his voice cracking as he exclaims, “Hey! Whoa! Please don’t stick me with that! Do you have any idea the potential ramifications of mixing blood? Not that I think you have STDs or something, but still, I could still get alien bacteria in me! The Extremis is still in your system, right? Well, of course it is! I really don’t need that in me because it might make me blow up! Please—”

You blink. He sounds like a kid. Like someone your age. He’s in no way your father’s age. And he’s definitely not a threat. “Relax.” You close your fist around the knife and channel your anger into that extremity. It melts within seconds and drips to the ground. You shake your hand of the last bit of molten metal and allow the flesh to return to regular temperature. “You’re not going to hurt me for killing him?” Your heart still races in his presence, but it’s starting to calm down.

“I saw everything.” Spider-man stands up awkwardly, especially for someone that can do backflips and crawl up walls, and points up to the top of a nearby skyscraper. “They attacked you. It was self-defense. Besides, these two killed a bystander in a shootout recently. I’m not saying they deserved it, because that would be really mean to say, but I’m also not saying that you’re a terrible person. You know?”

“You certainly talk a lot,” you comment. It’s amusing.

“Do you want me to stop talking?” Spider-man rubs his neck. “I know it can be annoying. My friends—”

You shrug. “Why were you watching?”

“Well, last night you got shot, right? And I see you out again fighting crime. So I’m like, ‘Holy crap, is she in pain, she’s probably not all right, maybe she’s getting mugged because she slept on the streets because I didn’t help her when she got shot in the hip and then you slammed that dude against the wall and I saw the other dude stab you and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “It was my fault, anyway. If I was wearing my suit the knife wouldn’t have gotten so deep in. It probably wouldn’t have gotten in at all.”

“Why are you just wearing a MIT sweatshirt and sweatpants, by the way?”

You shrug. “Couldn’t be bothered to change.”

“Well, I think you’re going to have to now. There’s a big hole in your sweatshirt and your whole back is bloody.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “But that’ll lead people back to... him.” You shoot a glance at the dead man. “And he’s going to snitch on me.” You shoot a nervous glance at Spider-man. You have no idea how he’ll react to you considering a tied-up would-be mugger.

Spider-man shakes his head. “People will see my webs. They’ll blame me.”

“So we’ll both be blamed,” you say grimly. “Great.”

“Yeah, The Daily Bugle is going to have a field day. But we should get out of here.” Spider-man puts a hand on the small of your back (right where you’d been stabbed) and gently applies just enough pressure to get you moving. Shocked at the gentlemanly gesture, you take a few steps before remembering your bloodstained clothes. “I’ll get you new ones,” Spider-man says grimly when you voice your concern. “But then I won’t be able to get you a burrito.”

The sweet concern is touching. “It’s really okay,” you say. If you had your credit card, or any cash on you, you’d buy the poor boy as many burritos as he wanted. “You gave me your churro. You’ve done more than enough.”

“Well, I wanted to make a good impression!” His voice cracks again.

“Really?” you shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye. “Why?”

“I don’t know a lot of other teenaged superheroes,” he shrugs. “I thought we could be friends.”

See, Dad? You think viciously. I can make friends without your interference. I’ve found a friend loads better than Peter Parker. “Get me a change of clothes and we’ll talk.”

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

“A radioactive spider, huh?”

“Yeah. And I know all about the Extremis. Killian.”

“Yeah. He murdered my mother and then tried to blow me up but my body didn’t reject the serum.”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Your mother’s death is like a bruise; tender when you poke at it but livable with. “What about your parents?”

“Oh, they’re both dead.” Spider-man gives you a half-shrug. “I live with my aunt. My uncle used to live with us until he died.”

“Shit, dude.” You lay down on the skyscraper, hesitant, and fold your hands together over your stomach clad in the I <3 NEW YORK sweatshirt Spider-man bought you. Goosebumps rise on your exposed legs, courtesy of the NEW YORK sleep shorts he’d barely had enough money to buy at that sleazy mart. What would you want someone to say to you?

“Like you said. I’ve dealt.” Spider-man lies down next to you, watching the sun set.

“I guess we kinda have to be friends, right?” You say after a brief pause of silence. “We got all the heavy stuff out of the way.”

“Sweet!” His phone buzzes. He pulls it out and types a quick text to someone. You presume his aunt, considering that’s the only family he has. Or one of his friends.

You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes a smile spread across your face too. For the first time you feel the wind whipping and realize you’re not angry. You call the heat back immediately, both to warm yourself and to protect yourself. What if—?

“Can I do a livestream?” Spider-man props himself up on his elbow and holds up his phone, which displays his Instagram page.

“Sure?”

Spider-man rolls up his suit to just under his nose and starts recording a video. You notice he lowers his voice slightly, probably to make himself seem more mature, and roll your eyes. “Hey guys! You’ll never believe who I’m with right now.”

Immediately comments start to roll in and people start sending emojis, mainly hearts.

You wave at the camera before unlocking your phone and following him on Instagram, now that you know it is actually him. A minute ago you’d gotten the notification he’d followed you, so you figured it was only fair.

Spider-man starts to do a run-down of his day, leaving out the man you’d killed. “Then I gave Inferno here a churro and we went shopping because we’re besties.” He nudges you with his arm. “No, but seriously, we had to burn her clothes. I can’t believe that dude threw her in the dumpster. It was disgusting.”

You wrinkle your nose at the camera, actually enjoying playing along. It does make you wonder exactly how much he says on his social media is a cover-up of some sinister stuff. He seems perfectly fine at lying about why you needed new clothes.

“Okay, now I’ll answer some questions...” Spider-man browses the flood of questions. “Okay, well, you guys know I can’t just tell you my name. No, I haven’t seen Iron Man recently. No, I’m not an Avenger. Still. And no, I do not have a girlfriend... Why is everyone asking if Inferno is—no, she’s not!” His voice cracks again and you glance curiously at him, tucking your wild hair behind your ear. The wind is whipping it everywhere.

“What?”

Spider-man just waves a hand at you. “I can’t tell you guys my schedule, either, because the bad guys will take advantage of it. You guys know that. Sheesh. Okay, well, since you guys are being jealous and immature, I’m going to log off now. Bye!”

“Let me guess,” you say sarcastically. “Mostly female fans, huh?”

“It’ll be such a shock when they all find out I’m gay,” Spider-man jokes. At least, you think he’s kidding. After a beat, he clarifies. “I’m not. By the way.”

You shrug and transfer your gaze back to the skyline. The sky is starting to turn orange and pink. “I wouldn’t really care if you were.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Hey, you know what isn’t fair?”

“What?”

“You obviously know who I am. Everyone does.” Not to sound conceited or anything, Y/N, good going... “But the only thing I know about you is that your parents and uncle are dead and you got your powers from a radioactive spider.”

So what, you’re curious about who’s under the mask. Sue you.

“My middle name is Benjamin,” Spidey suggests. “But I’m not going to tell you the rest of it.”

“So I should refer to you as Benjamin?” You don’t take your eyes off the horizon, not wanting to seem or sound pushy.

“Please don’t.” You giggle as he pretends to gag. “You can call me Spidey. I know Spider-man is a long title. As long as I get to call you Y/N instead of Inferno.”

“Sure thing... Benjamin.”

“I should not have told you that,” Spidey sighs. “Um, what else... I, uh, go to high school.”

You nod. “I should still be in high school.”

“You graduated high school when you were fifteen and went to MIT, same as your dad, for two years, same as your dad, and graduated college summa cum laude...”

“Also same as my dad.” You sigh.

“Sorry. I’m just... kind of a fan.”

A weird warm feeling spreads in your stomach, but it’s not Extremis-heat. “That’s okay.”

“And then you were arrested.” Spidey’s tone turns a little bit dark. “You turned eighteen in the Raft.”

“Happy birthday to me,” you sigh.

“It was shitty what happened to you.”

“I’m out now.”

“Still,” he persists. “It sucks I can’t make it better.”

You laugh. “What would you do? We only became friends maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

Spidey sighs. “I know. It just sucks, right? All these powers and we still can barely make a difference in the world.”

You sit up halfway, propped up by your arm. Desperate to make the subject lighter, you say, “Speaking of powers. I know you’re sticky and all. What else?”

“Fast and strong.” Spidey shrugs. “Not much else.”

“Wanna race?”

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

#peter parker #Peter Benjamin Parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #reader x peter parker #you x peter parker #tony stark #stark!reader

[loptyrs-moved]

A Bittersweet Sendoff

Rating: Teen Word Count: 1,741 Pairing: Zero/Original Character Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, cuddling, secret relationships, making out, commission

Original Post Date to AO3: 04/22/2019

Preview: Moments like these were spare in the days that followed war. And for Zero and Cerise, a girl from the Black Territory, it was some of the few ones they had left before he went to war, fighting for the other side. They never knew that love like this would be so complicated like this... A commission for Mitsunbun on Twitter.

Moments like these were rare nowadays. They flitted by like petals dancing on a summer breeze. With how busy things were with military duties and the impending war that loomed over Cradle like a shadow, there was no telling when friends or lovers would even see each other again. Those with connections to the other side were urged to forget them. They were only distant memories that were but an echo of a once simpler time. But some brave souls refused to let go of the moments that were precious to them. How could they? How could they let go of the treasured times that were spend with one another? Was life that cruel? As for Cerise Lennor-Nam, she adamantly refused to forget the Ace of Hearts, Zero. She didn’t want to. Forgetting a man like that would be a crime to her. She couldn’t bear the thought of her fragile heart breaking so violently—so suddenly—so soon. Their love had only just begun… and now it was being torn apart by a war that was held off for nearly five hundred years.

The days that followed the declaration of war were dismal. Grim. The sun didn’t shine as brightly. Life seemed bland. Tasteless. Cerise couldn’t find the joy in making red bean dumplings she once had. She found herself tears sting her rose pink eyes as she rolled out pie dough. Her tears made their way into different fruit tarts, adding a bit of salt and her own sorrow. But she had to stay strong, no matter how hard it was to be. Zero was always strong for her, keeping her safe from any sort of danger. So she had to believe that despite their territory difference, their love would be stronger than steel.

That evening, as Cerise was readying herself to turn in for the night she heard a tapping at her window that startled her. It was far too rhythmic to be the branches, and the wind had settled down as the sun set that day. She jumped when she heard the tapping again. Gathering up all the courage she had in her, Cerise unlatched the window and looked down. However she wasn’t ready when she found the source of the incessant tapping. Hiding beneath her window sill was a pair of familiar gentle, blue eyes.

“Zero?” Cerise whispered incredulously. “What are you doing here? You’re going to be caught if you’re not careful!” The idea of having to explain to her parents why the Ace of Hearts was sneaking through their youngest daughter’s room sent a shiver up Cerise’s spine. It was already bad that they had their opinions about the Red Army, but the fact that their daughter had a secret relationship with one of the Chosen Thirteen from the other side?

She shook her head as she helped him climb  through her window with minimal disturbances. He leaned against her modest little dresser as she plopped down on her bed. She fiddled with a piece of her wine red hair that had been freed from the neat bun she always had. “You shouldn’t be here…”

“I know. But I had to see you, Cerise,” he said plainly. She felt the weight on her bed shift as he sat next to her. His hand covered hers. A large, calloused thumb stroked over her knuckles in attempts to calm her of her unease. Worry was written all over her delicate little face. Stress tugged at her brow. “Is everything okay?”

Cerise chewed at the inside of her cheek. The way he looked at her nearly split her heart in two. How could she even begin to tell him that she was afraid of losing him? How could she even try to explain what she had been feeling the last week since the declaration of war was made by his superior? His King.

“It’s nothing.”

Zero frowned. She was a terrible liar. She always had been. He took her hand in his and lightly squeezed it. “Cerise.”

He lifted her head to meet his piercing blue eyes. The look in them knew better. They always did. And god did it make the tear in her heart deepen, and the seams began to pop. The dams were shattered. And without a word, she leapt into his arms, holding onto him for dear life. Her face was buried in his tattooed neck as he held her in his strong arms. “Hey… hey... “

His hand ran up her back as she settled herself on his lap, attempting to soothe her. The subtle weight against him was comforting. She was so small… and so warm. And it made him want to protect her more. Viciously. As Cerise pulled away, teary eyed, Zero pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips. One kiss became two. Two turned to three, until they were swept up in each other’s love.

Each kiss made Cerise’s lungs burn. They ached. They begged for the oxygen she was lacking… but she wanted him. Oh god, she wanted Zero so much—she needed to feel his arms wrap around her in his warm, loving embrace. The same one that kept her safe from the nightmares that crept in the night. He was her knight in shining armor. No matter what others said about him… no matter what he said about himself… Cerise was confident in his ability to keep others, like herself, safe.

She wanted to be by his side always. She wanted to be the one who kept him safe from the monsters that lurked in the dark corners of his past. Though she wasn’t able to wield a sword, or throw a punch, she wanted to be the one to soothe him… and make him feel like he wasn’t alone anymore.

She was dragged from her thoughts as Zero broke their kiss. Big baby blue eyes were caught in bright amaranth pink irises. He could have sworn he saw the stars twinkle in her blown out pupils. His calloused hand reached to her cheek. The softness of her skin against his rough, rugged palms worn from training with a blade almost bit him—almost stung him like a bee.

There was no way in any of the Seven Hells did Zero ever consider that he would find a love as pure...or nearly as tender as the one he shared with Cerise. A love like this was something he only found in fairytales. These things never really happened in reality… not with how unforgiving it could be.

He watched as her little pink tongue dart out to wet her kiss swollen lips. A small hand slowly reached up to rest on the one that was on her cheek. Zero’s heart was like a hummingbird trapped inside his ribcage as it pounded against it, like it was trying to burst out of his chest.

Cerise leaned into his touch, smiling as she closed her eyes once again and hummed. The giddiness she felt in her heart overflowed in her. But the dark thought in the back of her head told her that this moment wasn’t meant to last. So she had to make it count. Who knew when she would be able to see him again? When would be the next time that she would be able to hold him? Or kiss him?

“What’s on your mind?” Zero asked, his soft voice slightly hoarse from the passionate kisses they shared. As much as he loved seeing her smile bloom across her delicate face, he could tell that there was a hint of melancholy to it. It wasn’t as bright as it usually was. It felt bittersweet.

A sharp pang struck through her. It was agonizing, like she was stabbed over and over again.  Of course she wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings. Not from Zero. Cerise nuzzled his hand gently. She took the hand that rested on his hip into hers, fingers weaving in tightly together.

Her eyes avoided his. “I’m scared…”

The pain of those two words hit him a bullet dead in the chest, filling it with searing agony. It burned. The budding tears in her glassy eyes only hurt him more as they threatened to fall at any moment. He pressed another kiss to her lips, his thumb stroking her cheek as it wiped away any tears that had fallen free.

“I’m scared that something will happen to you and…” The words in her throat burned her like acid. Cerise didn’t even want to even think about the possibilities that could happen. She didn't want to. But…

“Cerise… I promise you. Nothing will happen to me,” he said, his words honest and true. The only thing that he needed was his sword, and that alone would keep him safe. If seeing her again—if being able to hold her and kiss her like this ever again was what he would be able to return to, victorious or otherwise, it was all he needed to fight on. And live. For her. For them. “I love you, Cerise. I love you, and I swear, I will protect you, and come back alive to you once again.”

The conviction in his eyes gave her chills. She had never seen them burn so brightly, like a twin blue flames. And it was because of her… Zero was willing to do whatever it took to keep what they had safe and alive.

A small smile graced her face before she nuzzled him once again.

“Will you stay with me for a little while longer?” she asked, whispering against his skin. The heat of her words tickled him, making him shiver. His arms held her tightly to him, her tiny frame pressed against his sturdy chest. She could hear his heart thrumming in his chest.

“Of course. I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated between the two of them.

Time was lost as the two were in each other’s embrace. As the moon washed into the open window of Cerise’s bedroom, the outside world—the war—it meant nothing to them as they held each other, savoring these precious moments. For these moments were like petals, dancing on the summer breeze. Who knew when they would get them back? But one thing was for certain… neither one of them would go down without a fight for their love.

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #cybird ikemen #ikemen zero #ikerev zero #commission #fic

[one-deranged-son]

For Wickedness Burn

Written by Gossamere as John and Froggy as Ian Nashton.

Warning:

This plot is rated explicit for language and description of violence. Read at your own risk.

Original story was posted in Twitter but due to it’s obtuse cleaning policy, some parts are unable to be saved.

John

Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh.

It's not the predictable pain that strikes the worst, it's the random shits you know is coming, but never when. The anticipation always managed to bring the worst of people. The work on random torture elevates everyone’s primal fear, decreasing logic, and degenerating self-control, and at last, they start to beg.

"End this! End this!"

Because death is kind. Death is better.

"So, Dick," even the Revelator couldn't contain his laugh at the stupid name, "is it Dick as in Dickon, or Dick as in, y'know—you. Get it? 'Cause you're a dick."

His humor didn't reach his eyes, 'cause the muffled scream and the dreadful atmosphere was never a good place to start a stand up comedy. Not that it was funny to begin with, it was straight off stupid.

"Aight, I love to stay a bit longer, but I'm running out of time," he said, "and honestly, talking with foolish fuckers ain't really my thing. Yea, you were children of fools, yea, children of base men, y'know? Y'all viler than the earth.”

"But don't worry, I'll make sure your brothers get the message, and you, mon ami, just happen to be the lucky one 'cause you get the chance to help me out!"

The muffled scream was the last thing he heard when the Semtex ignited in a fiery ball of flame. Roaring fire bleeds upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings which float as gentle in the dull, black sky.

The noise reverberated through the busy streets like a yawning lion, and by now, the police department would be on their way, siren's blazing.

The other police department, of course, because this one is fucked to the ground.

The Revelator marched towards his home.

He got some laundry to do.

Ian Nashton

"What's with the balloons, Cole?" Ian's nose scrunched up. It wasn't that he was a party pooper, but he didn't expect to be greeted with a dozen of balloons when he entered the station. Officer Cole grabbed one of the balloons and bonked Ian on the head with it, the action earning a stern glare from the detective.

"It's Jeffrey's birthday today, he insisted on having some balloons, even when I told him you would protest. Anyway, I'm going to collect my wager from him now. Thank you for proving me right, man."

The detective could only stand in confusion, he wasn't sure what just happened. Officers Jeffrey Hwang and Thomas Cole were the two officers that often helped the homicide department. Those two are great at their job and were fantastic people, but a lot of the times, Ian felt like he was babysitting two overgrown children whenever they were around him.

"Why not bring in a set of—"

Fireworks. He was going to say fireworks. But his sentence was cut short when he heard what sounded like an explosion from a distance. He wasn't the only one who heard it, either. His partner, Sam, immediately stood up and headed outside. Chief Margaret Kennedy also got out of her office with an alarmed look.

Before anyone could ask what had happened, Sam barged in with the answer, "Heads up! I think there was an explosion near that new station in the west. I saw smoke from there."

It could have been just a result of construction errors, but the fact that it was a newer building made everyone present at the time scramble out to the patrol cars to head to the location.

What they saw at the scene was devastating.

The building was engulfed in flames and reduced to almost nothing but rubble. There was a cacophony of screams and cries from the panicked onlookers; while the combined sirens of the fire department, ambulance and police wailed in the distance. 

Despite his own shock and the chaotic atmosphere surrounding him, the detective began to analyze the situation at hand. 

Fact number one: the destruction was far too large to have been an accident, therefore, someone must have been responsible. 

Fact number two: the scale of the destruction and the effectiveness hinted at the experience of the culprit. Whoever they were, they must have been a seasoned terrorist.

Fact number three: the culprit is certainly intelligent. They chose to attack one of the newly built stations, knowing that there would be less people in it.

"Is... is it just me... or...?" Thomas started, he pointed at a mass of... something in the middle of the rubble.

Sam squinted his eyes so he could see it better, and when his eyes finally adjusted, the blonde man's blood ran cold, "That's… an officer."

"Was an officer." Ian chimed in grimly, "I doubt anyone could have survived that."

With that said, Ian reached fact number four: the culprit specifically targeted the police rather than the government directly. Which meant that they didn't want a negotiation; they only wanted to see the world burn. Perhaps it was someone with a vendetta.

Jeffrey and Thomas went their way to help other officers secure the area while Ian scribbled down his thoughts and mental notes in a physical notebook, just to better retain the facts. Sam and Margaret were doing their best to talk to terrified bystanders to calm them down and urge them to go home.

Ian only hoped that at least one useful camera footage would survive the blast. Otherwise, they may not be able to solve this case and more people may get hurt.

John

It's straight-up depressin'.

When some people come home with neatly laid dinner and a clean house after working their ass off, John has to put up with the bullshit that they run out of food, there are two baskets of laundries needed to be clean, and the ceiling in the kitchen was leaking.

Fuck.

He had been careful and responsible, fortunately. After he finished his last step of burning the evidence, he safely stored his gear on a scattered place so that nobody won't find out about where he was heading next. He even picks up Chinese leftovers given by the owner who shoots up with him because he knew they don't have any meals at home! So much for the Revelator.

He made sure his presence goes unnoticed. It's late already and he had made sure that all of the other tenants are sleeping. John made his way upstairs to his floor, leaning close to the wall to avoid the unnecessary creaking from the old planks. He checked his surroundings, and after making sure nobody is following him, he slipped into his room and proceed to bolt his door using four different kinds of locks.

The TV is turned on, and coupla damned kids were tangled across the sofa with drolls rolling over their opened mouth. He found himself smiling at the sight, that, of course, until the voice of a reporter rolling through his ears.

"Three nearby public service catches on fire after an explosion blast off at the Chicago Police Station. Officials told the press that at least 3 people were injured and an officer named Dick Foster died by the heat exposure."

"The explosion is being blamed on a vigilante who called themselves as the Revelator. The police had found some evidence to support the proof, including a message written in red reciting the book of Job, Chapter 15, Verse 34, which said: ‘For the congregation of hypocrites shall be desolate, and fire shall consume the tabernacles of bribery.’"

John almost burst out loud laughter at the way she spoke, but soon covered his mouth 'cause they found his message. Aye, that's a good start! God knows if they actually get it or no, not that it matters.

"Officials said they also managed to retrieve the security camera footage revealing a man wearing a mask and heavily armed."

They started to replay the file, and John’s heart sunk.

Whatever the reporter said afterward, he doesn't recall. Because now he was staring wide-eyed, mouth partly gaping.

"Fuck."

What the fuck.

Alright, that was shitty.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

It's been a couple of days since the attack, and just as Ian thought, the motive behind it was not to negotiate a deal. It was to send a message.

When he first saw the message painted in crimson, he thought it was the work of some bible-thumping cult. Despite not being a man of religion himself, Ian got the gist of what the message was trying to say. It didn't help that the footage they recovered from the ruins showed a masked man whose hair resembled Jesus. With the help of the message and the security footage they recovered, they now at least knew who they were dealing with and what they looked like (kind of, as far as the mask goes).

The Revelator. By definition, it was a person who makes a divine revelation.

Whoever THIS Revelator really was, he must think he's doing the world a favor by cleansing it of people he deemed sinful, therefore acting as judge, jury and executioner. Ian deduced that that was what happened to Dick Foster. Because Foster wasn't just some unfortunate officer caught in the explosion and blazing fires. No, he was tied to a chair to be tortured and murdered by the Revelator without a shred of mercy.

In this instance, the 'revelations' were anything but 'divine'.

It wasn't the first time the detective had heard of this character. Across the country, the name has been mentioned in the news a couple of times, but never did Ian think the infamous Revelator would come to his city; and as the self-titled representative of Chicago (this being a reference to a Green Day song and his Twitter biography), he wasn't having it.

They know who was behind the attack, but the question now was: where and how could they find him? The detective worked tirelessly to find any clues that could lead him and his colleagues to where the Revelator was hiding. He was actually surprised the FBI hadn't gotten themselves involved by this point.

A number of shop owners have come forward with tips that they had caught glimpses of the masked and deranged Jesus look-alike on their security cameras. Ian marked these locations on a map, intending to use them as breadcrumbs to follow. Unfortunately, as he got more and more tips, the points became more and more scattered.

The detective was willing to admit it, the Revelator WAS as intelligent as he thought; he chose to walk home the long way around to confuse the police. But Ian was certain that—like in a game of chess—the Revelator will make a blunder.

Well, being careless about security cameras could be considered the first blunder, perhaps Jesus' deranged look-alike had gotten careless. It would make sense if he did. In the past, no one has ever gotten good video footage of the man, and even if there was, there definitely has never this many. Ian figured the Revelator must have felt a false sense of security because of that and thought all law enforcement were mindless meatheads who couldn't solve even the simplest of crimes.

It would be fair for the Revelator to think that; but he hadn't met some of the finest members of Chicago's Police Department yet.

The big break came when Jeffrey Hwang came in to work with a few boxes of Chinese takeout. Jeffrey—bless his heart—decided to treat the team for lunch. He would have done that on his birthday if the attack hadn't happened. But the (delicious) Chinese food wasn't the big break. The big break came in the form of a number.

The owner of the shop saw Jeffrey in his uniform and pulled the Korean aside, at first he spoke in broken English, but fortunately, Jeffrey was able to communicate with the owner in Mandarin. Officer Hwang wasn't perfectly fluent yet, but his skill was enough to learn that the Revelator frequented the shop to get food. Foolishly, he also had used a delivery service for his food which explained the phone number.

"Okay, so... if we track this number, we could find our man?" Thomas asked. After finishing his question, the man immediately groaned in frustration as his chopsticks lost grip on a piece of meat for the umpteenth time.

"Hopefully. I mean, the man was quite frightful when he told me about this number. Either he was telling the truth, or he was a really good actor who worked with the Revelator. If that was the case, he probably gave me this to lead us all astray." Jeffrey shook his head in disappointment when he aw Thomas' failure. He proceeded to hold a fork in front of his colleague's face. "Man, you suck. Use a fork, loser."

The way Thomas bitterly snatched the fork out of Jeffrey's hand was so comical it made Ian smile a little. "I think it's worth a shot. I sent the number to the forensic team. Hopefully we can check out the general area after lunch and get a warrant by tomorrow. Well... that is if your man was telling the truth."

"I suggest using an unmarked car when going there. If he really is there, we don't want him to know how close we've gotten." Margaret said. "Good work, Hwang, and thank you for the food. Keep it up and you may earn yourself a promotion. Now if you all will excuse me, gentlemen, I need to speak with the superintendent. Again."

Officer Hwang beamed with delight at the mention of promotion. He bid the chief goodbye with a two finger salute and a wide grin.

Later, the forensic team delivered. A little later than Ian had predicted, but they delivered nonetheless. The number pointed to a location in the Motor Row District. This guy must have walked two hours on foot, or even more if he was trying to avoid police.

Sam volunteered to go check out the location accompanied by Thomas. The two drove around the area in an unmarked car as the chief had suggested. Part of them hoped to catch a glimpse of the Revelator, but another part hoped that they don't, they just hoped to find his place of residence.

Ian and Jeffrey on the other hand, worked to obtain a warrant. None of the four men wanted to imagine what would happen if and when they confront the Revelator.

All they know is that they'd do so with extreme caution.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

Alright, that was shitty.

It's been exactly 25 hours, 13 minutes, and 8 seconds after the news about the Revelator getting foolishly caught on cam aired throughout the fucking States. And if that didn't make John all giddy and frustrated, then God fucking knows what will.

He had been hoping that nobody will find out about his place, God, he had other people around he obviously doesn't wish to harm, but it seems like the odds are against him right now.

Just after he finished on shoving the damned kids towards his good ol' neighbor's place, somehow, a car managed to park near his cheap apartment complex.

Now, John would probably just slip the damn thing away if it's a normal day, but it was never a normal day with his brain going full alert mode and the fucking fact that he's an open fugitive now. Best luck is he could distract whoever wishes to get near his family away so Pete and El won't have to suffer through the same bullshit.

Fuck, fucking hell.

They can't get to any more trouble.

He won't let 'em.

Just when John was about to get his hands on anything that could help him get a better view of the seemingly unmarked car, his phone rang, and 'twas really embarrassing, but he actually jolted at the sudden notification.

Three new messages from Wang Wei, the Chinese restaurant owner who speaks little to no English, but was always kind to him—well, partly because they're shootin' meth together, but not that it matters now.

Text Message from Wang Wei

Police ask question. Sorry.

"Fuck."

John hissed under his breath, his eyes darting across the space of his living room as he made his way towards where the plank is loose. He tore it in haste and doesn't even bother on closing the goddamn board back as he pulled his emergency backpack and just enough combination of light guns, more fucking guns, and shit tons of dagger that he could manage to strap into himself.

And really, though he's a goddamn arsonist who doesn't give a damn fuck about anythin', John still cringes inwardly.

'Cause he doesn't want to do any more damage than necessary, but he can't get caught now.

Not now, not ever. Not when he had come so far. Not when he had people to protect.

"Domine Iesu, dimitte nobis debita nostra, salva nos ab igne inferiori, perduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim eas, quae misericordiae tuae maxime indigent."

With a Škorpion held tightly in his grip, he pulled his mask all the way up; covering half of his face.

"Amen."

Then he jumped out of the window, and run.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"I really was expecting a run down shack with biblical messages written in blood." Thomas commented, "That would be terrifying."

"Tom, this is also terrifying if you think about it. If the guy really lives here, it'd mean he'd just be like an ordinary guy on the outside. Makes you think about your neighbours differently, doesn't it?"

Their mellow conversation was cut short when they heard the sound of glass breaking. And just like in movies, out pops the Revelator, who jumped out of the window with a weapon in hand. Fortunately, he seemed to pay no attention to the two men (it was a good thing they came in an unmarked car).

"Jesus!" Thomas exclaimed, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared at that very moment.

"You're not exactly wrong. Holy shit. We'll surely get a search warrant for his apartment now." Luckily, Sam had snapped some photos of the apartment complex and sent it to his partner's number with a message that reads 'Found his place of residence. He's now running. We'll try following him'.

The two men watched as the Revelator mounted a bike and rode off to who knows where. Neither Sam nor Thomas were as observant as Ian, but even they knew deranged Jesus seemed paranoid.

Sam's quick finger managed to snap one decent photo of the fugitive and sent that to Ian as well. Detective Hooper puts his phone away and waited for a while before he started the car. He hadn't let the Revelator out of his sight, don't you worry; he was giving himself enough distance to be able to follow the arsonist without drawing too much suspicions. 

Sam knew all shortcuts in existence when it comes to Chicago; his knowledge of the streets rivalled that of a cab driver. 

Back at the court, Ian and Jeffrey were about to leave, after all, they had already obtained what they wanted from the magistrate: an arrest warrant. But just as Ian reached the doorway, a message from Sam came in.

Attached to the message was a photo of an apartment complex, one of the windows have been broken, the glass shards outside indicated that it was broken from the inside. Another photo showed the Revelator on a bicycle, probably stolen.

The crazy bastard must have known the police were on to him and made a run for it. Ian wasn't sure how he knew, but one thing was for sure: the Revelator made yet another blunder.

"Jeffrey, we got him. Shit, we got him. Quickly, start the car." Officer Hwang did as he was told, he ran outside and started the squad car. Before he left himself, Ian quickly turned his phone around and showed the images to the magistrate. "Sir, we'd need a search warrant for his house, we found him."

Ian apologized to the magistrate because he couldn't stay any longer, but he knew he'd get that search warrant later. He met with Jeffrey in the squad car and immediately contacted Thomas through the radio.

"Tom, talk to me. Where is he headed?"

"Sam said he just left the Chinatown area, we don't know specifically where he's headed yet. But he hasn't noticed us following him."

"Damn. You two be careful. Jeffrey and I are coming. Keep us updated."

It's been more than half an hour of tailing, but finally, it seems that the Revelator chose a church to serve as the  location of his last stand. It didn't take long for Ian, Sam, Jeffrey and Thomas to regroup. Other officers have also arrived, effectively surrounding the area. Any civilians present in the area has also been told to evacuate for their own safety.

Ian spoke through a loudspeaker to address the Revelator.

"You're surrounded. Give yourself up, this doesn't have to be harder than it already is."

Of course, he and the other officers knew that a man like that wouldn't give up easily, so they all positioned themselves in such a way that it would be easy to get behind cover should a shoot out begin.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John sat on the ground of the abandoned church, his eyes shut tightly as his lips begin to chant incoherent mumbles of old rosary. By the sound he managed to hear, it was already obvious that he was surrounded from all sides.

He didn’t know if he should feel shitty or grateful, 'cause he was trying to run away and failed miserably, but at the same time, he had managed to buy time and distracted 'em all from his home.

He just needed to look at the bright side, eh?

When he managed to open his lids, he eyed the sprawled weapon in front of him with bleak, gray eyes. All perfect combination from the Heckler & Koch MG4 to an M203 grenade launcher placed neatly on top of a cheap tarp.

In other situations, he might feel proud of himself by how neatly arranged and well kept his gears are, but it wasn't the ‘other situation’.

It was the situation.

"You're surrounded. Give yourself up, this doesn't have to be harder than it already is."

John wished he could laugh at the warning. It was already hard from the beginning and he bet his path will never, never, never, ever get easier after this. The only choice left was to either fight or give in, and the latter was never a goddamn option.

Better to die on the field than rot in a fucking cell.

The Revelator stood up, his body blocked by the high walls of the church as he secured his firearm in his hand. A soft sigh exhaled from his lips as he positioned himself near the tinted glass.

His ears weren't lying about it. Dozens of officers were surrounding the area with their muzzle aimed towards his position. Their faces stiff with fear and anticipation, but he can't blame them, though. He just killed their buddy and blown a whole station up, it's only natural that the Revelator had a special throne in their mind as the first person they wish to kill.

He laughed.

Mostly, he preferred not to think of his target, but when he did, it was as if they were already dead; sprawled on the road after an explosion with bleeding guts or simply because a bullet through their head.

So it's only natural for him to pay attention to their faces one by one, inhaling every expression and noticeable distress he could manage to pick up because that's his only opening. A distracted mind is always the weakest mind, so he can't help but cringe whenever someone looks as if they could beat him.

Like that goddamn officer whom he recognized as the voice behind the prior warning. That fucking face. The Revelator ain't giving him the satisfaction.

It all came naturally to him. His senses sharpened with adrenaline. The cool air whispered through the church ventilation as he positioned his gun.

He drew his first shot with a loud bang.

The first bullet was perfectly nested into an officer's head; effortlessly piercing through the soft tissue, allowing the arteries to split.

And so his body went limp before tumbling to the ground like a broken cartwheel. Then it was all it takes for all of the remaining forces to switch into a full berserk mode, and though, John was clearly outnumbered, he ain't having that shit today.

He ain't gonna die tonight.

Each gunshot rent the still, damp air. Each one of it wasn’t simply loud, it cracked into the air and echoes around the empty street. In every bullet shot, there were times when one person behind the trigger might have felt something; remorse, guilt, or compassion, perhaps, but the Revelator ain't feeling it today.

He wishes to see 'em fall.

Every tin projectile comes thick like a winter hail. Each one of it ripped into something, be it inanimate or living, spilling tree sap or blood, crashing through the glasses or bones with equal emptiness.

It felt like it lasted for days when in reality, it was barely one hour until his side ain't shooting no more. The Revelator dropped his last piece of weapons down to the hard concrete. He's almost out of bullet and his skin was scratched by the impact of shattered glasses. His body was all sore from the rapid shooting.

The other ain't stopping, and he knows for sure that it only needs a split second for the goddamn cops to realize he was utterly defenseless at this point in time.

"Fucking hell."

Desperate times call for desperate measurements, so he let his instinct kicks in. He lets his lingering desire he wished he could actually forget to take over his sanity.

The Revelator stares at his hand, a heavy sigh escaped through his lips. He knew that the grenade had one purpose. Killing. Every aspect of it was designed for this goal, from it's exterior to gunpowder inside.

Yet he can't help but frown.

He doesn't want to kill anyone, but he wants to watch them burn. And that is wrong, 'cause it was the same as killing.

So when he threw the first projectile with the last stretch of his power towards the commotion, he quickly slammed his back against the cold walls and listened closely.

"Take cover! Take cover!"

Screams and shout of pain fade away in the background as he stared down towards the other pieces of hand grenade he had. He throws it out, aiming towards whatever he could get.

And it came to the last one. However, this time he didn't throw it outside.

He throws it to the far corner of the church, just enough to 'cause himself harm, but not enough to kill himself.

Then it blew.

It was as though a fist of orange flame had decided to punch it's way out. Windows shattered. Smoke and fire rushed out. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel showered down on him. The building was crumbling on the side and the remained stature was set on fire. Every pillar fiery with smoke and dust, boiling and roaring out loud.

"Is he out of his goddamn mind?!" A voice rose from outside the church.

The Revelator made his way outside the burning church. He stood in semi-blindness and ringing ears, eyeing what's left amidst the chaos he had caused.

Some officers are laying on the ground, some in a fetal position trying to protect their ears and organs, others splayed like dead dogs on their pools of blood. The remaining standing officer was gifted with a sucker punch and some he found disturbing gets a bullet to their chest. Everyone was screaming, shouting, bellowing, and he loves it.

John stormed through the crowds and get himself in whatever vehicle he could get. He stopped dead track before starting the engine. Cold gray eyes locked towards a pair of dark orbs. That fucking face.

Nashton.

John batted his eyes. Starting the engine without hesitation this time.

Then runs away, once again, from the chaos he had caused.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian watched as that first officer fell. That officer stood not too far from he was. Really, it could have been him. The detective gritted his teeth and tightened the grip on his Glock 9mm issued by the department. Compared to what the Revelator had, it may seem laughable, but Ian knew that sooner or later, the bastard would run out of bullets. 

The last time he recalled a situation with this much chaos and bloodshed was when he had to deal with a shooter at a hospital; and even then, the body count wasn't as high.

With every seconds that passed, the body count seemed to increase exponentially. These fallen officers would have their stars displayed in a case back at headquarters. Nashton wouldn't lie. The thought of his friends' or his own name being displayed there did scare him. But he always put that thought aside to focus on the situation at hand.

So far, it has kept him alive.

Pane after pane, each stained glass window burst into thousands of little fragments, thus making it easier for the officers to see their target. As much as they'd like to kill him (just as he'd like to kill them), the officers also wanted to see who it was behind the mask. They wanted to know specifically WHY the bastard chose to blow up one of their stations. Hence, they aimed for non-vital areas. The intention was to incapacitate. But if he succumbed to his wounds afterwards... well, they can't do anything about that. If he survived, he will most likely face life imprisonment.

The state of Illinois abolished the death penalty in 2011.

From the west side of the church, someone shouted that a grenade had just been thrown. The officers frantically tried their best to avoid each one. The body count rose yet again, but more were seriously injured than dead.

And as if they could not catch a break, another explosion occurred, it caused the small abandoned church to burst into a deadly debris combination of glass, steel and stone particles. Ian took cover behind a car, but the shock wave knocked him down until he was flat on his back. He instinctively covered his head to avoid any debris that may still shower down on them.

It didn't take long for the detective to get back up on his feet. His once neatly combed hair was no more; it was disheveled and slightly dampened from his sweat. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, just in time for the detective to lock eyes with him.

The Revelator. His gaze was as cold as Ian expected them to be. Now the bastard was in a car, obviously trying to make a run for it. 

Detective Nashton stood his ground. He was a distance away from the vehicle, but right in front of it. He shot at the windshield, then the front wheels. He was trying to do whatever he could to stop the car. 

Once the car came close, Ian dived out of the way and quickly scrambled to his feet and entered another vehicle. Officer Cole joined him in the passenger's seat.

"Shoot his tires." Ian's order was given through gritted teeth, he stepped on the gas and chased after the arsonist. As the best sharpshooter Ian has ever known in the department, it didn't take long for Officer Cole to shoot the back tires of the runaway police car. 

It skidded to a stop accompanied by an unpleasant screech. Without hesitation, Ian left the vehicle, either it was the adrenaline surging through him or brave stupidity, he decided that he'd go after the Revelator himself, despite Thomas' protest.

"Are you out of your mind, Nashton?! What if he—"

"It's either me, or you. Your children need you alive, Cole." Ian didn't look back. He slowly approached the eerily still police car with his pistol drawn. It was silent. Aside from the soft police radio chatter and the murmurs of his colleagues and his own heartbeat, thumping loudly in his rib cage, there really was nothing else.

Now, Sam wasn't about to let his friend—no, his best friend walk into the jaws of danger alone. So he trailed not too far behind, also with his weapon drawn.

He hoped that Ian wouldn't be another casualty.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

The crash seemed to take for ever before it finally settled with the bumpers intensely making out with a tree. John’s body jerked to the dashboard, his forehead almost colliding with the window. Steam rose from the back, the smell too intense for words, stinging into his nose and ruining all of his senses.

He groaned loud at the sudden intrusion. John made his way outside, legs going limp and trembling out of pain. Then he saw him again.

Nashton.

Nashton was wearing different clothes than the rest of the officers. The muzzle of his Glock 9mm aimed towards the Revelator's head.

"Detective," he says; less than talking, more of a whisper. The fabric of his mask covered half of his face, making it harder for anyone to actually know what he said.

John threw his gun away from him, the metal surface clanked against the concrete road. He raised his hands above his head in full submission, walking in limp yet steady steps towards the Detective.

His gray eyes remained fixed towards the other man with the intensity of ten thousand burning suns. The Revelator didn't even flinch when they're only foot apart with a gun still aimed towards his head and his life inches away to be taken away from him.

But the Revelator ain't backing away just now. He ain't going down without a fight.

So he leaped towards the man, avoiding the bullet at all cost and disarming the man as quickly as he could. Never for a second, he tore his gaze away from the eyes behind the spectacle, even after he landed a harsh punch across his cheeks, John eyes still followed the movement of Nashton's head.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Take the shot. The tiny voice in the back of his head said to him. Take the shot and end it now.

But he didn't.

The Revelator, how he still managed to stand and walk after the shoot out and the crash, no one knows. Maybe it was some sort of twisted miracle, if Ian believed in miracles, that is.

He has met face to face with serial killers and mass shooters in the past. But none of them had a gaze as intense as the Revelator. Perhaps the mask made it even more so, as it only left the man's eyes visible.

Despite the arsonist throwing his weapon away in an act of surrender, Ian refused to let his guard down. Because he knew that even if the Revelator wasn't holding any weapons now, he might have some more on his person.

"Get on the ground! Hands behind your head!"

Yet the Revelator doesn't comply. No, the man kept walking. Closer, and closer.

Ian should have taken the shot earlier.

Nothing could prepare the detective for what happened next. The crazy bastard lunged forward towards him, and expertly disarmed him; his own weapon dropped to the ground. The split second where he froze caused the detective to miss his shot, and now his face paid for it. The force of the punch was so great that it sent his glasses flying a few meters away.

Ian never liked wearing contacts.

Instinctively, Ian withdrew his police baton and used that as both a blunt weapon and a shield to protect himself. He aimed his strikes on the other's extremities.

If they weren't moving around so much, Sam would have taken a shot, but he knew that if he did so, he might accidentally shoot Ian instead, and he doesn't want to take hat risk. Not yet.

Ian himself wasn't a fan of using deadly force. Even in this instance, he felt like he still had it under control. He didn't want to get used to the ease and convenience of using deadly force. He didn't want to be like those cops they often talk about in the news.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

The Revelator wouldn't lie, it hurts like a bitch. God knows what happened, but he felt like he's going to collapse at any moment. His movement was all nothing but rigid and random punches, unlike his usual quick and lethal blows.

The police baton wasn't even his main concern, it's his stamina. Fuck. All those chasing and waiting made his muscles all tense, even the goddamn cop could get the upper hand if this keeps happening.

"You should've fucking shot me dead."

The Revelator held Nashton's wrist in a tight grip and landed another blow to the man's guts, his jaw, kicked him solidly in the midsection, struggled to knock the man down because he ain't killing the man. He ain't doing it when all Nashton did was pissing himself with that glare full of determination.

Fucking, fucking Nashton.

"Shit!" he barked, landing another punch to the man's face. Then he stopped his fingers at the detective's neck, hand tightening around the flesh with the last energy he had.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Now, Ian wasn't useless in hand-to-hand combat, but he was no expert. If this is what the Revelator was like when he was worn out, he wouldn't even want to imagine what the bastard was like at full capacity.

There was no time for him to shoot back a witty remark. It happened so fast. One moment he was standing and striking the Revelator with his baton; he next moment, his baton-wielding hand was gripped so tightly that it caused him to drop the baton. Ian was certain he'd find bruises later. 

In a rapid succession, he was punched and kicked down. He wasn't even given any time to react or reach for the baton again, because the Revelator had climbed on top of him with fingers wrapped around the detective's throat. 

With all his might, Ian tried to pry those fingers off of himself, but to no avail. His legs kicked frantically as he struggled. But the Revelator was intent on crushing his windpipe; Ian could see it in those cold eyes.

Maybe going after the Revelator alone wasn't a great idea after all. Fortunately, he wasn't really alone.

"Sam—" he rasped, the words struggled to come out of the detective's mouth, "—take the shot!" 

Detective Hooper didn't hesitate anymore. For one, while this position was dire for Ian, there was less chance of his partner getting hit. So, Sam fired the shot. 

The shot landed on the Revelator's shoulder. Horrifyingly, it didn't stop the arsonist from trying to choke the life out of his partner, but it did direct his attention away for a short moment.

But it was more than enough for Ian.

Ian frantically reached for his taser and held it against the arsonist's side, he didn't waste any time and shocked the other man. Not enough to kill, obviously, but enough to incapacitate him. 

Detective Nashton breathed a sigh of relief once he felt his airways have opened again. He pushed the Revelator off of his body and allowed himself to lie on the ground for a couple of moments, just to catch his breath and recover from what had just happened.

Sam, on the other hand quickly handcuffed the Revelator and checked to make sure that he had no other weapons on his person. Once that was taken care of, he helped his partner up with a concerned look on his face.

"Looks like he hurt you bad..." Sam muttered softly as his eyes darted across Ian's face.

"Yeah, I... he did. I'm lucky my windpipes hadn't been crushed yet. Thank you, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Their (tender) conversation was cut short when Jeffrey approached with Ian's glasses. Luckily, they weren't broken. He put them back on and glanced at the Revelator. His own breaths were still ragged from the struggle, but he knew he could manage.

"Search him again, get him patched up. And then we can question him. Fuck. Can you imagine the news headline when this guy goes on trial?"

"Easy, big man. Let's get YOU patched up first." Sam said, still worried, but Ian being Ian, he waved a hand dismissively and said that he was fine and that he only needed some ice and painkillers.

The others present knew well that Ian was a stubborn man, so they didn't argue with him any further. 

Other officers had come to the area and they loaded the Revelator into a car, first to treat the gaping gunshot wound on the latter's shoulder. But many felt he was undeserving of such a treatment, especially after what he has done that day, but they kept those opinions to themselves.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

He remembered everything about the fight. His hands were on his throat, then there was a gunshot from across the field. He remembered the bullet which hit him right on his shoulder blades, then he remembered the stinging pain, then he remembered nothing but blackness.

His consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a static. Throughout the emptiness, his heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in his ears.

John jerked upright, vision hazy as the bright light snapped him back into full consciousness, but his wrists refused to budge. Something cold digs into his skin, rattling and sharp, resulting in a faint whine from his lips.

As he peered his eyesight downwards towards the table, he wasn't even surprised that there were handcuffs holding down his hand.

John tore his gaze away. His eyes were still blurry and his body was screaming for rest, but all of his five senses were still working. Yeah, his head hurts, the fucking throbbing headache will be the death of him, but at least he was alive.

For now.

He noticed the stature in front of him calling out his name, perhaps. He didn't know. Everything was still too blurry.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Whilst the Revelator was being treated at the hospital, the magistrate issued that search warrant. It seems the entire city of Chicago (and possibly the state of Illinois itself) was keen to see this arsonist put to trial. Bruises had formed on the detective's face and neck, but he was no stranger to them. He had accepted that it just comes with the job.

Ian actually waited a day before he searched the apartment; as much as he'd like to start right away, he knew his body needed rest, especially after nearly losing his life like that. It took him a while to fall asleep, but having Monty (his cat) by his side sure helped.

The next day, he drove to the apartment complex along with Officer Cole. Just as they all expected, the apartment complex were littered with weapons of all sorts. He left Cole to take photographs of the place to be used as evidence.

Ian, however, had noticed a couple of things.

One: there were a couple of cups of instant ramen in the kitchen. But a man of the Revelator's strength and stamina couldn't possibly live on a diet consisting mostly of instant ramen, so he must be sharing these with someone.

Two: there were a few pairs of socks scattered on the ground. The designs and size of the socks indicated that they could not have belonged to the Revelator.

Three: there was a box of monopoly in the living room. Someone like the Revelator was likely to be a lone wolf, but you cannot play monopoly by yourself. So whoever else lives here must be someone that the Revelator trusted.

Based on these observations, Ian had come to the conclusion that the Revelator must have a child or even children living with him. How old they were, he wasn't sure. One thing is certain, though: the detective wasn't sure how he felt about that. The idea a terrorist like the Revelator having some semblance of family life with a child or even more somehow bothered him.

Do they know about what he does as the Revelator? Have they been told that it was for the greater good, thus they saw nothing wrong with it? Did they help him in his activities somehow? Where are they now?

So many questions. Boy, the interrogation would be something.

When Thomas and Ian had finished their search of the apartment, they returned to the police station. Thomas handed the camera he used to a technician for the photos to be developed.

Ian specifically said that he wanted to do the interrogation, but before he could enter, he heard Jeffrey’s distinct voice which stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait. Let me go in first.”

It wasn’t the fact that Jeffrey wanted to get in the interrogation room that baffled Ian; it was the fact that the officer had with him a goddamned guitar.

"I'll give you twenty seconds to explain to me, just exactly what the hell you're going to do with that guitar." Ian tried his absolute best to sound unamused, but he was actually intrigued by his colleague and whatever it was he had planned.

"I'm not going to beat him up with the guitar, don't you worry. But I will make sure that, after I'm done, he will want to speak truthfully to you."

Ian gestured towards the door, thus allowing Jeffrey to enter the interrogation room. The overjoyed officer carefully patted Ian on the cheeks as his way of giving thanks. Their small social circle had gotten used to Jeffrey's antics now, even Ian, but the bespectacled man still frowned.

Mostly because his face still hurt.

Jeffrey sat himself in front of the Revelator. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared, even with the mask off, this guy still somehow managed to strike fear into his heart. Nonetheless, he smiled politely, though it looked more like a grimace.

"Hello, I'm Jeffrey Hwang. I'm not the one conducting your interview, but I will be helping him."

Ian, joined by his faithful partner, Sam, watched from the other side of the one way mirror. Both were still confused as to what it is Jeffrey was intending to do, but their question was answered when through the intercom, they heard the guitar being strummed randomly and Officer Hwang began to make screeches resembling a pterodactyl.

Ian and Sam exchanged glances for a few seconds, before the two men burst into a fit of laughter. Apparently, Jeffrey's plan was to be as annoying as possible towards the Revelator, possibly so that Ian could use the act as a threat.

Ian won't lie, he thought it was a brilliant idea.

After about five minutes of... whatever that was, Jeffrey left the interrogation room with a proud smile on his face and took a dramatic bow in front of the room.

"He's all yours, Nashton."

"Let's hope you hadn't ruptured the bastard's eardrums, Jeff."

Ian took a moment to calm himself down and return to his normal resting expression. Then he entered.

"Good afternoon. I'm here to conduct your interrogation." Despite what the Revelator had done to him, Ian somehow still managed to hold an air of politeness in his tone. He sat across the other man and began observing him.

Slightly blackened fingertips and dirty fingernails. Probably from soot or gunpowder. Slight yellow stain on the nails themselves indicated that the Revelator often smoked; Ian wouldn't say he was a chronic smoker, but he probably did so more often than the average person. It wouldn't surprise the detective if the man in front of him used drugs as well, judging by how pale he looked. However, Ian wasn't entirely sure about that, the paleness could possibly be due to exhaustion.

"I have so many questions, I'm sure you know this. But first, your name. You know mine, yet I don't know yours. In fact, we've only put you in our system as 'John Smith'. It's as if you were a ghost; no name, no data... nothing. That could, of course, be changed. So, what do you say, hm?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

Everything was blurry, yes, and for once, John wished it would get better soon, but now he wished he was in a coma—or anything. Fuck, anything except for listening to the awful screeches which pierce through his goddamn auditory organs.

Oh my fucking God, perhaps he was in hell? Yeah, that would be the correct explanation why everything was happening so quickly and torturing the life outta him.

John exhaled a content sigh when the man he recognizes as Jeffrey Hwang exited the interrogation room, but his peaceful solitude doesn't last long. Someone else came.

Someone will familiar face with familiar bruises.

That fucking face.

Detective Nashton sat in front of him, still with a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. His voice was calm and polite, contrasting the sharp gaze of his eyes as he scanned through the Revelator, itching to know everything or anything about him.

John wished he could enjoy the attention, but obviously, he didn't.

"What can I say, detective?" John said, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. His lips curled upwards, but it didn't reach his eyes. Heck, it wasn't even a sincere smile to begin with.

He was just making it hard for both parties.

He shrugged, head titling sideways but his gaze remained locked towards the other's. God, how he wished he could tie his hair or brush it away from his sight.

"Smith is such a boring last name. It's only John."

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"Fine. John, it is." Ian uttered flatly. That wasn't really what he was interested in; it's just that he didn't want to address the other as 'Revelator' all the time.

"Where do I even begin?" His eyes were narrowed and fixated upon the other. "In just the course of this week, you've caused dozens of casualties, destroyed two buildings and attempted to murder me with your bare hands. And that's just this week! what about your other doings in the past? You know, you have made quite the name for yourself."

The detective leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. There was a puzzled look on his face. "Really, I wonder what goes on in that head of yours whilst you were doing all of that." Ian paused and heaved a sigh, "I—these people had families, John. Really, I thought you'd have some sort of understanding with regards to 'family'. Then again, you could just be selective with it, isn't that right?"

All of Ian's questions and thoughts were swimming through his mind, but he had to hold himself back from blurting them all out. He wanted to be as thorough as possible.

"Why? Why murder Dick Foster?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John wasn't even paying attention to the man's word until he mentioned anything about family. All of those daydreaming session crumbles away when Detective Nashton begins to blurt out the trigger words.

Does Nashton find out about Pete and El?

Is his neighbor alright?

John squinted his eyes. He, again, wished he wouldn't give a damn fuck about it, hell, he was supposed to not give a fuck about anything. To work effectively is by not have anything to lose, now look at him now, worrying about people—worrying in general.

As the Revelator, this surely is a goddamn personality flaw.

Nashton probably noticed the sudden distress across his face, but John didn't mention anything about it. He will let the detective guess with that super deductive skill he only ever saw on TV thinks about it. Who the fuck cares. Instead, he flashed another smile. Leaning away from the detective in a rather mischievous demeanor.

"Huh. Let's see," he begins. The corner of his lips rose even higher as his gray eyes intently stare at the other's figure.

"Perhaps we could get some coffee before I start?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

He may be avoiding the topic, but John's sudden discomfort only confirmed Ian's earlier conclusions. Truth be told, the detective was satisfied to know that he was right.

"I can tell you're trying to avoid my questions, John. Are you worried?" Ian didn't need an answer to that, he could observe it on the other man's face.

"Not about yourself, I figured that out when you chose to blow up that church; when you walked towards me without a care in the world despite having a gun aimed at your head." There was a pause, Ian glanced at the one-way mirror and gestured towards John, he knew his colleagues on the other side are hearing this conversation, Ian didn't need to leave the room for John's coffee. He then turned to face the other man and locked gazes with him once again. "You're worried for them. You're worried about what would happen to them. You live a double life, don't you, John?"

Ian was no psychologist, but the more questions he asked, the more he realized how intrigued and fascinated he was with John's psyche. When the detective saw him on the news for the first time, and when that station blew up, he thought that the man in front of him was an emotionless killing machine. But that gesture, that one little gesture that someone else would have looked over told the detective that there was so much more.

"Who would have thought, right? This... family of yours isn't involved with your... activities, is it? Answer this truthfully, John."

The door to the room suddenly opened and in came Jeffrey. Just in time. The man had with him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he placed that on the table in front of John.

"Don't make me screech at you again, man. Because I'd love to do it again."

Hwang didn't need to be told to leave, because he was already out the door by the time he finished that sentence.

"Now you have your coffee. You might keep avoiding my questions and make other requests, but you know something, John? I can do this all day."

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

He never thought he would feel this way, but John felt his heart sunk. Hell yeah, he's worried, he's worried sick. God knows what will happen to the damned kids if they get involved in this. Shit, his boy already get suspended for setting the school pool on fire, what will happen next?

John drank the coffee in a very non-fashionable way. He was struggling to keep his hair out of the way and his cuffs were making it harder for him to actually do anything. There goes his reputation as the goddamn Revelator,  but it's not like he minds.

Hell, he doesn't even care about anything. Except for his family, of course. Yeah, right. The goddamn detective really hits the spot.

He groans internally.

"Y'know what, detective?" John was smiling, 'cause damn right he's going to avoid all of the goddamn questions.

Sure, his kids never actually get involved in any of his Revelator jobs, but if Nashton wants to know shit about him, then he better hustles harder than this. 'Cause nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, even death, could make the Revelator speak.

"You sounded like Captain America."

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

He chuckled at the comment, it wasn't his intention, but he supposed it works.

"I am right, though. Aren't I? About your family?"

There was a ghost of a smile on the detective's face, the smile he often had when he knew he was right. He stood up from his seat and began to walk slowly, circling the other man.

"You won't tell me, but that's fine. I'm sure my colleagues can find them and question them ourselves. But tell me this, John. How long until you will consider them a liability? What will you do then?"

The detective stopped behind John's chair, and he stood there for a few moments, observing the other man yet again. Even if the detective had no morals and was easily corruptible by power, he knew that using physical means of interrogation would NOT work. John simply had little to nothing to lose.

If only he could peer into the mind of the infamous Revelator.

Who knows what horrors he would see.

"Did you know that Illinois abolished the death penalty in 2011?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

He chuckled back, and he didn't even bother with eyeing the man's figure as he disappeared from his line of sight. John took a sip of his coffee that's no longer warm. He's grown far accustomed to the detective accusation to the point he didn't even flinch anymore. All he did was stare blankly at the wall before tearing his gaze it away, his eyes traveling from the boring white to the one-way mirror.

John couldn't see anything from it, and he didn't know if he was actually staring at something, someone, or anything at all.

Still, he stared. Not paying attention to the detective behind him. Then he smiled.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"What is it that motivates you? Can't be money, I doubt that. Power? Self-righteousness?" It felt as if he was talking to a brick wall.

Other criminals may have been dishonest or outright ridiculous in the interrogation room. But at the very least, they all said something. John? John just smiled and avoided questions.

And it was starting to get on his nerves. With every question asked and the hours that passed, Ian began to slowly lose his patience.

Nashton rant in 3, 2, 1.

"It's funny, actually. We don't need this interrogation. Really, we didn't. We have more than enough evidence and eye witness accounts to charge you. I am a patient man, John, I really am; but even I have my limits, and you know what? I HAVE HAD IT. You obviously showed no interest to even acknowledge that I am here. You—you really are just a misanthrope. A misanthrope and terrorist beyond redemption. Really, I shouldn't have bothered!"

The detective wasn't flat out yelling, but his voice was raised, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out his patience was running thin. Ian figured that he might as well unload whatever thoughts he had, it wasn't like John would respond in any meaningful way, anyway.

"I don't know what happened to you growing up, and somehow I doubt you even know or care yourself. You may think family is some sort of a second chance, a salvation, perhaps, that's a word in your vocabulary, isn't it? But, no. No, they're not. And they won't ever be. Now the world knows what you are, they've seen what happened over the past few days. History has its eyes on all of us, John."

Now the detective was in front of the man again, but he doesn't sit down. Instead, he gripped the edge of the table so tightly to the point where his knuckles became white. His brows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed, a clear sign of the detective's irritation.

"You might think you're justified in killing some of those people that you've killed. Your... 'revelations' or whatever it is. What about the collateral damage that you caused? Innocents have been killed. Do you really think that you, a single, lone man, can prove guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt? To be judge, jury and executioner? If even courts can make mistakes, then what about you?"

In the back of his mind, Ian knew he shouldn't waste his breath, but he wasn't quite finished with his tirade yet. All those pent up frustration were just eager to bubble up. But he caught himself and took in a deep breath which he released slowly. Now somewhat calmer, he started again, with the same calm tone he spoke with at the very beginning of the interrogation.

"You're just using this all as an excuse to satisfy your pyromania. Almost, if not all your victims have had their homes blown up or set on fire. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Not only would doing so get rid of evidence, but it does something to you."

Throughout his rant, his glasses had slipped down his nose, so he fixed its position and headed towards the door.

"Have fun rotting in a cell, John. I doubt even your 'God' would have mercy on you. Let us hope your family would do well in your absence." Ian doesn't actually believe in God, but really, the detective was running out of things to say.

"Oh, and your little cult of supporters? They're just as messed up as you are."

He stormed out of the interrogation room and slammed the door behind him. He wasn't sure how long he had been in there, but it was long enough that Sam had gone home and Jeffrey had fallen asleep on his desk.

Ian Nashton decided that he'd go home as well.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John wished he could ask for another cup of coffee before the detective stormed out of the room, 'cause he was tired, fuck, very. His tiredness was similar to wet jeans, clinging into the skin after a pouring thunderstorm. His body felt like it was torn apart, his muscles all sore and tense, and he wished, oh God, he goddamn wished, that he's home.

He needed some sleep, but did he?

He didn't.

John was, frankly, afraid.

He's afraid of his dreams. He's afraid if anyone knowing about the nightmares he had and he's even, for sure, more afraid that the goddamn detective received any report about his fucking episode. What if he scream in his sleep?

John knew he shouldn't show any weakness. Moreover, he can't.

He can't leak a single information.

Thus John sat still. Bleary-eyes locked towards the wall as if it was the most interesting thing across the whole universe.

"How long has he been staring?"

He heard the guard asked, he knew they were secretly scared shit about tonight's shift.

"Dunno, this dude is fucked up in the head."

Every minute felt as if it lasted for an hour when you're doing nothing, even John didn't know how the fuck was he able to go through the night without shifting a single inch.

Only then, when he heard the cell getting opened and an officer—never mind, there was a lot of 'em—shuffling into the already cramped space with guns pointing at his head, John stood up. His bones popping and his muscles screamed in relief.

He wonders what the kids are doing now as they cuff him up. The muzzle of their AK-74 still pointed at him as if he was a fucking dog ready to be shot dead whenever he made any simple mistake. He wondered if they did their homework, if his neighbor feed 'em well, if they're happy or at least worried about him.

He wondered if they're safe.

John bit his bottom lips until he was able to taste a hint of copper in his tongue. Without the detective and his super observation skill, he figured out he could at least express his frustration without anyone pointing about it.

They said they were taking him for a trial and really, John almost laughed forreal this time.

Even Nashton already said that it was useless to interrogate him. John was being a good boy by not talking back, not barking back, and obviously not flexing his amazing memory about the content of the Bible in front of the man. Nashton should be grateful and everyone should learn from him.

A trial will be useless.

The ride was quiet and the tension between 'em was so heavy, he thought it will crush ‘em dead. John was about to say 'boo' just for shit and giggles. Even the thought of the officer's startled face was amusing enough to bring a smile into his face.

"Don't smile, goddamit. We already have a lot of situations because you blow the station and now your followers are raging because you're going to rot in jail. Seriously, are you Jesus?" said the cop, his voice was slightly trembling and his chin was sweating.

John couldn't blame him. Everyone would be scared if they're in a car with the Revelator.

He stared outside the window and witnessed a lot of people across the street. Some holding up signs with profanities directed towards the officials, some screaming his name as if he was some kind of hero, and some even trashing the public facilities around, spraying empty threats or just straight-up ruining everything.

Everything was chaotic, and he caused that.

He did that.

"I don't know, officer," he said, a smile creeping out across his visage, "who am I to play God?"

It shouldn't feel so good.

Then it all happened without him noticing it.

A moment ago it was just a simple crowd. Sure, there was probably someone passed out due to suffocation or whatever, but there wasn't anywhere coming near them. Nobody is harming them.

Then everything was burning.

The sound of molotov cocktail startled him at first, yet it didn't stop. The Dodge Charger swerved out of control. The two on-coming cars tried to avoid it, but failed. Both of them hit in a three-way head-on collision.

The explosion didn't stop. Tires burning throughout the street. The mass coming towards the other police car with bat and eyes filled with rage. Their faces covered in mask, similar to what he used to wear whenever he went out doing his job. There was another explosion, a ball of flame and a fist of gray smoke. A moment later there was another explosion. And there were more. More, even more. The sound traveling too fast, the glasses and steel rained afterward.

There was a third car which had been traveling too fast. It plowed into the burning wrecks, flipped over and continued, screeching along the runway on its back before it too burst into flames.

John watched in slight horror as his car was burning. His eyes hazy due to the crash and he feels blood in his lips. His consciousness fading away.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Even in the comfort of his own bed with his cat by his side, Ian struggled to fall asleep. He couldn't seem to shake off the thought of the Revelator from his mind. Ian tossed and turned restlessly, to the point where Monty let out a meow, as if the feline was annoyed with his owner.

At the very least, he did manage to catch a few blinks of sleep, though he didn't feel well rested. He hasn't felt that at all ever since this case began.

He couldn't get a break yet, no. As one of the primary investigators in the case AND the victim of an attempted murder, Ian had to be present in court.

Already, the media had spread news of the Revelator's arrest and subsequent trial at the speed of wildfire. Ian had mixed feelings about this (as he does towards mainstream journalists) as he felt that the case was  getting an uncomfortable amount of coverage. Knowing that the Revelator had garnered a large amount of supporters, he felt that this wasn't the best idea.

Surely, the news would have been spread all over the country. He wondered if his brother was aware of what's been happening.

Ian Nashton dressed himself one of his best suits for the court appearance. He even decided to wear contacts, just for today.

Despite nearly all of the residents of Chicago witnessing the Revelator's disturbing and destructive acts, despite it being obvious  what it is he had done; due process still had to be followed. This particular trial felt more symbolic than functional.

Getting to the courthouse itself was a challenge, as a crowd of rioters blocked the streets or made it difficult to get there, but in the end, he made it. It was a good thing he decided to go by car rather than public transport. It still baffled him how a terrorist can have such a large following. It concerned him, actually; to know that some citizens of the city he loved so much actually agreed with the Revelator's ideologies. Were they that desperate to find a place of belonging?

Ian rushed past the hungry reporters and journalists and went straight in the building. It's not that Ian hated them, it's just... he'd rather not deal with them right now, he already had so much on his mind.

It's odd to not see his closest colleagues nearby. It felt as if this case brought them closer than ever. He figured they might be helping with riot control or back at the police station, or better yet, at home. Maybe they were watching the live news coverage.

Ian wasn't sure why, but he felt restless still. Something wasn't right. Despite the courtroom being a place he was familiar with, this particular moment felt suffocating for the detective. He excused himself out of the courtroom with the reason being that he wanted some fresh air.

And that's when he saw it. The officers who were controlling the riot crowd outside broke into a frenzy. No, not just the officers, but the crowd as well.

Oh no.

No.

Ian doesn't have his equipment on him. Suddenly the situation turned from unnerving to straight up dangerous. Ian overheard from a nearby officer's radio that a crash had occurred on the street not too far from the courthouse. And of all the cars involved...

It just had to be the one carrying the goddamned Revelator. He couldn't find out EXACTLY what had happened, at least not now.

Ian knew he needed to get out of here. He'd be surprised if one of these rioters didn't make an attempt at his life. After all, John wasn't the only one who had his face in the news lately. Speaking of news, the reporters turned their camera towards the fight that had broke out between the police and the rioters. At the same time, they tried to stay out of the way.

The atmosphere was almost as chaotic as when the station blew up. The only difference? THIS was more chaotic. Seeing some kind of path to the car he came with, Ian made a run for it. You know, before the rioters realized who he was. Once inside, Ian locked the doors and hastily drove out of there.

Not an easy feat considering the crowd seemed to get larger and larger like a swarm of bees.

He probably ran over some toes. Who knows?

Before he even got far, he heard an explosion behind him. It only took a glance on his rear view mirror to know that a molotov cocktail had been thrown by one of the rioters. The Revelator did this. Ian's grip on the steering wheel was so tight, it felt as if he would break it. He needed to get back to the station. Now that the arsonist was (presumably) free, he'd likely try to target HIS station.

When he arrived, Ian nearly leapt out of the car and stumbled his way into the station, in his haste, he bumped right into an older officer, who (somehow) managed to catch him.

"Hey, hey, son. Easy. Why dont you—"

"Detective—detective Hooper? Is he—?" Ian struggled to catch his breath, but he thanked the stars when he saw the familiar face emerge from the chief's office. Ian left the confused officer's arms and grabbed his partner's shoulders.

"He got away! He's—out there! People are hurt. Shit. How could this happen?"

"Ian, Ian, buddy. Breathe. You'd think clearer, come on." Sam knew Ian best for his calm and cool composure in a lot of situations, but today, the dark haired man seemed to be uncharacteristically on edge, and to be honest? It concerned him.

Ian closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep breath, and already he regained most of his composure.

"Were you here, the whole time?"

Sam shook his head, "I just arrived recently."

"Shit, Sam. He'd be coming for us, probably." Ian muttered, seeming like he would go into a pessimistic monologue, but he followed with, "I hope not."

It had been a couple of hours later, but the riot was finally taken control of.  There were at least four casualties and a dozen more critically injured. Many people were arrested that day, but thankfully, it won't be his department that dealt with them.

Jeffrey came back to the station with a bloody nose and bruise on his jaw. Thomas was mostly unscathed, but he did complain of a sore spot on his arm, It was great to regroup.

They were alright, that's all Ian needed to know.

ㅤㅤㅤ John

The Revelator woke up not long after the crash. His body, once again, feels like it was getting torn apart. Pain surged through his body. His head, his limbs; everything hurts.

He thought he was done for, no, he was sure he was done for. The explosion was so big and everything was fucking burning, how the hell does someone actually managed to live through that?

But he wasn't. He was alive. Breathing.

His legs are trembling, but he managed to stand up. His eyes were bleary, but he was able to see everything.

Then came flashes of anger, jeers, shouts. The mob was mindless and dangerous. Throwing explosives, burning tires, burning cars. Everyone is looting, smashing, destroying property with no thought to whom it belonged to. Anyone who tried to stop them was beaten severely.

And the next thing John was conscious of was the sound of his name. People, like a swarm of bees chanting the word 'Revelator' as if he was the goddamn President of United States. Police in black uniform with their transparent shields and full face visors marched towards them in rigid formation, but if anyone think they would just back off, like a typical rioters, they didn't.

John thought he was in hell, but he wasn't. He was alive. Breathing.

And he caused this.

Instructions were given through loud speakers and then the tear gas was unleashed. Everyone was running, screaming, throwing counter attacks with explosive and marching like dogs. They marched with the anger, joy, emotion of themselves and a thousand others.

John the Revelator stands still with his heart thumping furiously against its cage. He could feel a tightening of his throat and a short intake of breath, and there was a moment where he couldn't get his feet to move, but in an instant he was running. Running away from the crowds.

He choked back his whine, forcing himself not to groan or moan as he drags his limbs outside the raging mass. Whereas some people were kind enough to shove away from his line, the rest was far too overwhelmed by the police until he feels like they're going to step on him.

At last, when he felt like he's about to collapse, a hand scooped his shoulder, some even push through his back. John was far too tired to protest. He didn't know if they're on his side or if they're going to lock him in jail. But then everything makes sense when he was outside the crowds, 'cause that's where he sees it.

Kerosine, old school matches, hand grenades, firecrackers for the Fourth of July, and oh.

Semtex.

John stared in the direction he's about to head.

His mind wandered to that fucking face.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"Remind me to never be a part of riot control again... it hurts, man." Jeffrey whined as he held an ice pack to his bruised jaw. Despite being the same age as Ian, sometimes officer Hwang's actions made him seem younger than he really is—this was one of them.

"Damn it. All our hard work. It's all gone down the drain." Ian held his head in his hands and let out a groan of frustration. "If it hadn't been so heavily televised, maybe this wouldn't have happened. And I thought serial killers having fans were bad. This is a whole new level. That being said, we still have his fingerprints and photos, getting around the country would probably be a hell lot harder for him."

Some of the breaking news footage showed the rioters chanting the Revelator's name as if he was a celebrity figure. It made Ian's stomach turn  to see his fellow Chicagoans support a literal terrorist. As if he doesn't trust people enough already.

The Revelator appeared again on the footage, but only for a moment. He seemed to just... dissolve into the crowds. Who knows where he'd go.

No, Ian knows. He knew that, sooner or later, the bastard would come for him. The whole station was on high alert, Ian even more so. He hoped that there would be no more casualties today.

The detective traded his contacts for his glasses (good thing he carried the lens case). The contacts tended to make his eyes all watery and dry, and he liked the look of his glasses better, anyway.

Thinking the police station would be guarded enough to be safe was a mistake.

BIG mistake.

The relative silence of the station was broken when a loud crash was heard at the front end. Someone had thrown something through the windows.

But...

It wasn't a rock or brick they threw.

It was a grenade. A live grenade. That older officer from earlier was the first to notice it, he warned the others to take cover and attempted to take cover himself, but he wasn't fast enough. He took most of the blast's shockwave.

The unmistakable, deafening sound of an explosion, the shattering of windows and the ripping of doors from its hinges—those were just some of the sounds Ian registered. Add on to that the same cacophony of panicked screams and shouts from his colleagues combined with the angry shouts from an incoming mob. How big the mob was or if it could even be called a mob at all, he wasn't sure, but he knew that there were more than one person attacking. It wasn't long before shots were fired from his side. Aiming for the legs or shoulders was more than enough to bring down these stray rioters. Behind their anger and masks, they were still just your average Joe.

Another crash from the far left side of the building. The closest officers dived behind whatever cover they could find and hoped for the best. Hoped that they would at least survive this. As he had his head down and covered, Ian only saw the flash from the corner of his eyes, even then, he knew what had happened.

Not even a full minute later, a terrible, thunder-like clap ripped through the air. A fiery ball of orange and yellow flames invaded the building and smoke began to rise. Pieces of metal became like darts, the glass cut through the air as if they were like throwing knives, wood and shattered brick dangerously rained down on the officers. Many of them lay on the ground in a fetal position, whilst others were splayed out lifelessly like forgotten rag dolls.

Through the smoke and his irritated eyes; through the gaping hole that had formed in the back of the building, Ian swore on his life that he saw HIM. Just for a brief moment.

The next moment, however, he was gone. As if he disappeared with the smoke.

All sorts of emergency vehicles wailed in the distance, but none of the officers were able to hear it clearly. Their auditory senses were assaulted by the horrible screams of their comrade and the roar of the flame from the back of the building.

The group of rioters that ambushed them were all on the ground, writhing in pain from the gunshot wounds that have been inflicted on their arms or legs, but some lay motionless on the ground. It seems, in a twisted version of poetic justice, they had became victim of their own chaos.

The whole building had been engulfed in a ferocious flame. Suffocating smoke slowly began to replace the oxygen in the room.

They needed to get out.

Ian struggled on to his feet, but his eyes landed on a sight he WISHED he hadn't seen. His partner, Sam, was on the ground. He was alive, but with his leg trapped under a wooden support beam, he might not be for long. Without thinking, Ian leapt through the raging fire; he didn't give a damn if he got burnt.

"Ian! Ian, please—" Sam hissed in pain, he kept averting his gaze away from the block of wood trapping his leg.

To avoid burning his palms, Ian took off his suit jacket and used it as a makeshift glove. He grunted as he lifted the wood. It wasn't much, but Sam managed to drag himself from under there. When he was sure his partner's legs were out of harm's way, Ian dropped the support beam and his jacket, which became trapped under the beam.

That's fine, he can always get new jackets.

Ian rushed to his partner's side and grimaced when he saw the pained look on the other man's features.

"Can you stand? Shit, I'm—I'll help you up."

Sam knew that the answer was probably no, but either he forced himself or burn alive. Ian pulled him up by the arm and bit his lower lip when his partner groaned in pain. It must have hurt him terribly. But they both knew they would rather go through the pain than burning alive. So the pair slowly made their way towards the nearest exit.

The main entrance wasn't an option, the front of the building had collapsed and thus blocked their path, the same goes for the back. Their only option was a shattered window.

Detective Hooper knew that that option meant even more pain for his injured leg, but it was his and Ian's only option.

Sam was the first to climb out, fortunately, the fire department had arrived and they helped to pull him out.

Unfortunately, however, the ceiling above them crumbled, thus blocking Ian's path to escape and fresh air.

"Ian! No!" Sam could only watch helplessly in horror as his mind began to think of the worst.

Inside, Ian was just as horrified, but he refused to give up just like that. The whole building could collapse any moment, and if that happened before he got out, it'd mean his star would be displayed alongside all the other deceased officers'.

He wasn't going to let that happen today.

The bespectacled man once again ran through the inferno to reach the opposite side of the building. His once crisp white shirt was now a crinkly mess of ashy gray.

He reached a door, and in his state of urgency went straight for the hot handle. His hand recoiled from the heat and he shouted in pain. He frantically kicked the door down and was grateful when he saw the sky once again. The detective stumbled out and found himself face down on the concrete. He was coughing profusely, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs.

At least he was out, now.

But what about his friends? Where are they? Are they alive?

Detective Nashton struggled to stay conscious. He was put on a stretcher by the paramedics and was given an oxygen tank to aid with his breathing. Though his vision was blurry and out of focus, he could see Sam's figure, also on a stretcher.

Officer Hwang had escaped the building with a few mild burns and a broken arm, which was now wrapped in a makeshift sling. He (foolishly) leapt away from the paramedics that were attending to him and approached the ones that were carrying Ian on the stretcher.

"Hey, is he going to be okay? Are you going to be okay?"

This idiot, Ian thought. Running away from the paramedic while they were treating his broken arm. But Hwang's concern for his teammates was always admirable, so Ian nodded and weakly formed a 'thumbs up' to answer Jeffrey's question.

"Thank goodness. Hey, uh... Cole's already being taken to hospital right now. I hope he's—"

Before Jeffrey could finish, a strong hand slapped him (gently) on his good shoulder. It was one of the paramedics that were treating him.

"Kid, you're a crazy bastard. Just because your legs are fine, doesn't mean you can just run off from me like that. I'm not done treating your arm."

"Sorry, I was just—"

"Concerned about your friend? I know. But... from the looks of it, he'll be fine. Now, come on, you're also injured." The paramedic's tone softened as he led Jeffrey away.

So it seems that his friends had survived. He hoped they could recover nicely without any problems or disfigurement.

The oxygen tank had been removed, but still, he felt lightheaded and faint. It must have been the heat exposure.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the detective passed out.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

Three days after the riot started, everything went well again. There were no sightings of the Revelator and everyone who supported him doesn't even know where he went.

Duh, of course, since John has been hiding outside the area for a while. Blending with the civilians after he finished shaving away his beards, wearing dark contacts every now and then that contrasted his bright colored wigs and makes him look like a clown. And considering everything he had done, it can be concluded that he's, indeed, a goddamn clown.

Three days after the riot started, John knew that the Revelator will always be on the government radar. Best luck is, he could still get a job with his covers, but then again, the main problem was never the government or job to begin with.

It was his kids.

Will they be cool with him after all he had done? Holy fuck, he's having a headache just because of this.

John took a deep breath and decided to shrugs it off. He had another important schedule to attend to.

So imagine a blond man walking into the hospital with a complete suit. Everything from head to toe screaming prince-like aura. His smile never for a second left his face as he greeted the eldery woman with sparkling blue eyes.

John is being that figure right now.

"Visiting a friend, sir?" the nurse asked, perhaps shaving his beard off was doing the job.

"A colleague of mine, actually," he replies, still with his ever-loving smile. A bouquet of tulip in his hands. He's going all out to meet the man he wishes to kill the most.

John peered over the room 714 quietly, his eyes grazing over to see if there's any other visitor at this hour. When he finally decided that the coast is clear, he didn't even bother on knocking., deciding that they will eventually let him in, and that they don't have any power to actually resists his visit. He placed the flower at an empty vase, not bothering on greeting the patients and sat down across the room with his legs crossed.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

What are the odds that he and his partners would be put in the same hospital ward? Maybe someone told the doctors that they were a team, maybe it was by chance. Either way, Ian was grateful for it. He'd rather see their faces than any other officers.

Sam had his leg in a cast, the doctors told him that he had nothing to worry about and that the leg will heal eventually. He'd be able to walk again.

Jeffrey, aside from a broken arm, had suffered some mild burns on his leg, but it wasn't anything major.

Both Ian and Thomas had inhaled some of the smoke, but out of the four, those two were relatively unscathed. The doctors said that, if their lungs don't become infected, they would be permitted to leave the hospital within a week.

Even if Ian had a burn on his palm and Thomas some minor cuts caused by glass shrapnels on his face.

Ian's parents had called just an hour earlier, turns out they've been watching the news religiously ever since the first attack happened. His mother was in tears when she first spoke to him, despite Ian telling her that he would be fine.

Can't blame a mother for worrying.

The days at the hospital was a stark contrast to the fast paced life he was used to. But aside from the bland food, it wasn't that bad. It felt nice to have a break, somewhat.

But Ian couldn't keep his mind off of the goddamned Revelator. Where is he now? What's his next move? Will they meet again?

Ian had his back turned towards the door, the poor man was trying to catch up on some sleep. When he heard the door open, he thought it'd be one of the nurses. And yet... the footsteps sounded different.

It's not hard to tell people apart just by hearing their footsteps. So he turned in his bed. Ian wasn't wearing his glasses at the time, but he could make out the man's figure. How odd, none of his teammates were expecting any guests, nor do they knew anyone with that shade of blonde hair.

When Ian put his glasses on, he nearly jumped off his hospital bed. The wig and the contacts and the clean shaven face may have fooled other people, but they didn't fool him.

"You! What the hell are you doing here?!"

Sam, who had been asleep, jolted awake due to his partner's sudden raise in tone.

"Ian, what is it? What's the matter?" Sam asked, his voice was still a little groggy. It seems that he hadn't noticed who this visitor was.

"It's him, Sam. The fucking Revelator!" Ian frantically searched through his belongings for something, anything that he could use as a weapon. But the sad reality is, he had nothing.

(No, don't panic, Nashton. Think.)

Hearing the name 'Revelator' made Jeffrey spring up in an upright position, he must've thought: to hell with the arm, the Revelator is here!

"I-I'm gonna call a nurse!" It WAS meant to be a threat, but being defenseless like this, Jeffrey's voice came out small.

"No! Jeff, don't."

Both Sam and Jeffrey looked at their bespectacled comrade as if he had just gone insane, but Ian held a finger up, trying to get himself time to allow him to explain his reasoning.

"If he wanted to murder us, he'd have done it by now. And I don't think he would have bothered with the shitty disguise either. Look at him, he's almost perfectly blending in like a normal civillian. There is no way that he would have gotten past hospital security if he had any weapons on him. And even if he were to try murdering one of us with his bare hands, three of us are able to use our legs to go and get help; this is the seventh floor, he couldn'tjust simply jump out the window to escape, unless he wants to splatter on the concrete below." Detective Nashton sucked air through his teeth before he continued, "John is here for a reason, and that reason ISN'T to finish us off. At least not here, a hospital is too risky for you, isn't it, John?"

Ian peered over his glasses, there was a look of hatred and disgust in his dark eyes as he locked gazes with their 'visitor'.

"Talk, damn you."

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John smiled, this time it reached his eyes. He was truly amused by the fact the man had spare energy to actually say that. If it were John, he would just say fuck off and went back asleep.

"You're truly bright, detective," he said, "although, you might be wrong on that part. I am willing to jump off the seventh floor. I have nothing to lose, remember?"

John smiled brighter, wider. Interlacing his fingers as his eyes remain fixed to the detective's face. It didn't take long until he was leaning to the chair, comfortably observing the whole room with his sight.

He said, "I was just going to drop by and say sorry for, well, blowing up the building and almost killing y'all," and though, John did say he was sorry, the words were truly unbelievable as his expression didn't hint any single regret.

"And I figured out you might appreciate flowers," he continues, his fingers flicked towards the vase of tulip.

John didn't wait for a single reply before he eventually stands up. Flashing another brief smile to the quartet and head towards the door.

"Good day, officers."

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

How the fuck is Thomas still asleep through all this? The man straight up sleeps like a log.

Ian accepted that he was wrong with one of his deductions, he's aware that it could happen. Ian scoffed at the apology. Even a naïve person wouldn't buy it.

Although... the tulips WERE nice. There's no way that John would have known this was his favourite, right? It must be by chance.

"You? Being sorry? Having guilt? Since when do you feel guilt?! That's gold, John. I didn't know you were such a comedian." Yet Ian Nashton didn't laugh. After all, how could he? The one time John actually answered his question, the man intended to leave again.

"Should have called security..." Jeffrey muttered. The man was terrified, Ian could tell.

"Cut the crap, John. Why are you here? What has that sick little mind of yours planned now, hm? Are you going to blow up this hospital, too? Kill more people? Women, children, the elderly?"

Ian stood up from his bed, but he didn't walk any closer. He supposed if things go bad, an IV stand could be used as a weapon.

"What goes on in that twisted head of yours?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John stopped midtrack before he managed to get out of the room, his eyes darting from the knob towards the raging detective. He could see how mad he is now, he got himself on his feet and IV stand near him. John was super impressed with the man's staying power.

"If you're so curious about it, detective..." John paused.

Then he walked closer, not minding the glare which has probably been shot at his stature. Only when he was inches away from the man he stopped, smiling at Nashton with what it seems to be a mischievous look across his mien.

He stared at the man for a moment before bringing his hands to the other's cheeks, again, not minding the completely fumed look thrown at him from all sides as he leans his head closer, until their foreheads rest against each others. His thumb running along the curve of Nashton's cheekbone down to his jaw, before he pressed his lips against the other's.

And there wasn't anything passionate about it. It was soft and slow, and it wasn't a kiss filled with hunger or primal instinct. It was just a platonic, almost like how a mother kisses her child.

John pulled back, his fingers haven't left the man's cheeks as he said, "I've been thinking how cute you look whenever you're mad."

He turned his heels away, smirking at himself over the things he had done, and the thing he just did.

Then he left.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

When John started to walk closer, Ian took an instinctive step back. Was he going to be strangled again?

They were right in front of each other. And even though John was wearing coloured contacts, there still was that fierceness in his his eyes.

No observation or deductive skill could have prepared Ian for the contact. Ian couldn't stop the small gasp when he felt the other's hand on his face.

Hey, they felt cold.

But it was different from the first time. It was uncharacteristically gentle, yet firm; as opposed to rough and brutal. It sent a shiver down the detective's spine.

"Let go, you crazy—"

Before the detective could finish his sentence, the crazy bastard had pressed their lips together. Right then and there, his mind went into a panic, yet his body froze, and his eyes were wide open.

What. The. Fuck.

When John finally pulled away, the detective was still so confused that he couldn't push the other man away or retaliate in any way. All he did was sit back down on the edge of his bed with the same dumbfounded expression as he watched John walk away.

When the door closed, Ian exchanged glances with Jeffrey and Sam, who looked surprised and horrified, respectively.

After what felt like an eternity of silent glances, Jeffrey finally cleared his throat and broke the silence. He was probably trying to lighten up the situation as well, as he usually did. "Well... uh... god's joke went a bit too far."

"Shut up, Jeffrey. Oh, fuck. Let's... let's pretend that never happened. Let's pretend, that we all had the same nightmare."

Ian slowly laid back down on his bed and stared up at the white ceiling.

But he knew, no matter how many times he'll tell himself, what just happened, actually happened.

He can't forget it.

Detectives rarely forget.

#deus det nobis suam pacem #4 #tw: blood #tw: gun #tw: graphic content #tw: violence

[94monkeys]

Look around, look around

It has been nearly 2 weeks since my last post.

I went to South America. It was incredible. I dusted off the ol’ college Spanish and got us through 3 cities and 4 major airports without international incident (phewww and disculpe a todos). It was a trip largely outside of time. With very few exceptions, I got up when I wanted, we ate when we wanted, stopped for coffee when we wanted. It was weird to get used to that level of calm. Nevertheless toward the end of the trip I started feeling itchy to accomplish things, and that is as it should be too.

Because we were outside the country and WiFi dependent I severely cut back on Internet time. Mostly I used my phone to make plans over breakfast for what we were going to do for the rest of the day, and to take some photos. I couldn’t have caught up even if I wanted to; Twitter practically burst into flames each time I opened it. I didn’t open the Tumblr app once (sorry, it’s not you, it’s me). I don’t think the Internet is bad (good thing because I depend upon it for work!) but some of my habits around it are somewhat unhealthy. Not surprising that a person who struggles with setting limits for herself in other areas (me), would struggle here. I did make a point of posting a photo almost every day and got my husband hooked on Instagram in the process (whoops), but I also took hundreds of photos with a non-phone camera that I can’t wait to check out.

I think the most important thing about the trip was how it reminded me of all the good and unknown that is out in the world. We saw beautiful, weird, funny, stupid and mystifying things everywhere we went. I try to remind myself to seek out the unique and special in every routine day, but it’s hard! So much easier when everything you are seeing is new to you. But it’s something to practice each and every day, more so when it’s cold, more so when it’s dark, more so when I’m feeling low.

So what are you up to?

#travel #not fitness #not health #well #health in a way #hamilton: the schuyler sisters

[antihero-writings]

Before it Kills You Too (Ch2 Snippets)

Fandom: Lore Olympus

Chapter Summary: When Hera gets into a car accident after a fight, Zeus has a moment to ruminate on their relationship.

Written using the song “Wait” by Maroon 5 as a prompt.

Character Focus: Zeus

Please note!!

This is the previous Ch2 snippet I posed + a new snippet (the new snippet starts with “I understand you want to see her”)

I’ve been having trouble with this chapter for a very long time, so, even though I’ve never done this before, I’m thinking continuing to post snippet-by-snippet is perhaps the only way I’ll successfully finish this fic. 

Thanks again SO much to those who support this fic and want to read more!! The fact that you want to read more really does mean the world to me!!

While this should be as close to the final version as it can be, anything in this snippet is subject to change when the full chapter comes out. (And, hey, to that end, if there’s anything you think needs to be edited here, you may kindly let me know! I’d appreciate if you said things you liked too though.)

I’d really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I’m not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

Tagging some folks who said they were interested! @jayyy007 @autumnmoon21 @sunsetsofanemoia, @lynnie51

And please do let me know if you’d like me to add you to a taglist for this fic, or message you when new snippets/the next chapter come/s out!!

Chapter 2 Snippets 1 & 2:

Hera was standing in the crowded meadow, surrounded by her friends, laughing that girly little giggle full of sunshine that just about made Zeus’ heart ooze in a puddle out of his chest.

Her blue dress made her eyes look like two shimmering sapphires.

“Have I seen her in a dress that color?” Zeus inquired excitedly from behind the bushes.

“How can we know what you’ve seen?” Aidoneus muttered. “With you creeping around, you might have seen her naked for all we know.”

Zeus punched him in the arm, (lightly).

“I don’t think she’s worn a dress that color!” Posiedon bubbled.

“Thank you, Posiedon. At least someone can answer a question.”

“I think she looks like the sea on summer day.” He put his hands on his face, them sliding slowly.

Zeus eyed him. “Alright, keep it in your toga, Little Green Man.”

“Should we really be here?” Aidoneus muttered. “We weren’t invited.”

“Oh come on,” Zeus stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “Who wouldn’t want to see the King of the gods here?”

Poseidon grinned and stood up behind his brother. “No one!”

“Hestia, Demeter… assorted sane people.” Hades muttered as he stood to follow.

“If that’s sanity I’m glad I’m insane.” Zeus trilled as he strutted up to the entrance.

A cute pink nymph—(rather well endowed in the chestal region—not that he noticed!)—greeted them at the archway.

“Oh! Zeus!” She flushed and bowed. “It’s an honor. Welcome!”

“Why it’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” He kissed her hand, and she giggled. “See?” he turned to his brothers. “They’re delighted to have us.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Hades muttered.

Hera was closer now; she smelled like summer, and she looked like it too. Poseidon was right about the ocean thing; she practically shimmered as she spoke with her friends.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Wait—!” Hades was soon swallowed by the crowd.

Zeus scooched behind her at lightning speed. One by one her friends began to take notice, their eyes widening.

Hera took a step back and would have tripped in surprise if he hadn’t caught her.

“Careful there, you might fall, Birthday Girl.”

“Oh, Zeus!” She looked up at him, the back of her head hitting his chest, “hi!”

That golden smile.

“I made you something!” As she spun to face him, he produced a little carving of a bird from his pocket. (And, no, he didn’t make it).

“Oh!” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, gently taking it from him, “It’s beautiful!”

All his responsibilities and stresses melted away with the sight of that smile, and he forgot there was anyone else at the party…in the world.

(…He wished he saw that smile anymore.)

Zeus’ chair was spinning empty at his desk before his assistant could say another word—

And Olympus wept, distant peals of thunder rending the sky into pieces.

Lightning crackled and cackled through his hair, creating violet tracks through the air, as Zeus sped through the sky.

It was freezing, and people were staring, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was getting to his wife.

“My you look stunning.” Zeus sidled up behind his wife, running his fingers gently along her arm. “Is that a new dress?”

“New as that girlfriend of yours.” Hera grunted.

His eyes widened with shock, his voice with an indignant undertone to it. “Is something wrong?”

She paused a moment. He could see words fluttering behind her lips—(like they did so often, too often)—the words Yes you did something wrong, how can you not know?

He knew she wouldn’t believe him when he said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

“You weren’t invited,” she said softly.

“Not invited? Me?” He put his hand to his chest, like the thought of him ever not being welcome to somewhere was absurd. “To what?”

“The party, you nitwit!” She whirled around, her hair nearly whipping him in the face. “You just came barging in like you owned the place!”

“Well…to be fair—”

He stopped short at the look in her eyes, like two blue-hot flames.

He knew it was taking her a great amount of effort not to slap him.

“Do you know how long I’d been preparing for that?! How long it took me to get everything just right? I told you, but you never even listened, did you? And then you just barged right in!”

“Why are you so upset? What’s so important about a party?!”

“They were my friends.” Her gaze softened, and her tone became more serious. “They were—” Until she cut herself off, and her expression hardened as she whirled around, her hair billowing behind her.

“Bunny, wait!” His tone was softer too.

He wished she’d just turn around. That he could say sorry.

Was it really so hard? He should have started there.

Had he ever apologized for that?

He was always doing that; barging in where he wasn’t welcome. The world was his, yes but…he had to concede there were some parts of it he ought not just barge in on.

When he burst into the hospital, however, they wouldn’t dare tell him he wasn’t invited, wouldn’t dare tell him he couldn’t see her.

“Where. is my. wife?” Lightning slammed into a lamppost just outside the front door, shattering its glass box, and making the light spark, the rain pounding at the window like rabid dogs.

The desk clerk looked like she was about to pee out of sheer fear.

“Sh-sh-she’s not out of surgery yet, your majesty...I understand you want to see her, but I can’t let you…until-until they’re finished.” She was practically vibrating. “I assure you the moment she gets out, we’ll notify you.”

Surgery? He wanted to demand. She’s the queen of the gods, how could she be in surgery?

Electricity sparked in his eyes, trailing throughout his hair. He could say I demand you let me see her. He could say I don’t care! She’s my wife, and I’m not waiting! She’s fine! She’s the queen—she’s my queen—she won’t be hurt from a little car accident!

But there were some places he ought not just barge in on… and the surgeons room was probably one of them.

The lightning let out a sighing crackle, before he closed his eyes, his hair falling back upon his shoulders. It was then that he noticed he was dripping wet from head to toe. He sighed himself before muttering something like a garbled “I understand, thank you.” And turning to sit in the lobby. Behind him the desk clerk’s coworker held her to keep her from fainting.

He snapped his fingers, drying off, so as not to get their nice, barf-colored carpet all wet. Once he sat down in a chair—(the cushions didn’t have any cush to them)—a kid in the chair across from him scooched away.

He could have that kid for breakfast if he wanted.

Instead he settled for a nice glare, and reached over to pick up last month’s—(or maybe it was a few months ago)—issue of  “Goddess weekly” listening to the rain die down to a drum.

The same old gossip. Usually if he picked one of these up he’d check for any news he ought to be aware of. You know, as the king. Not to mention the ladies weren’t unappealing. Now he flicked through without seeing any of it.

Speaking of ladies, there was a nymph sitting across the room from him, her skin blue, her ears down, and a cute little half smile. She surely wasn’t in here for anything serious. She kept glancing from her own magazine to him—but not in a nervous way. If he wasn’t mistaken, she wouldn’t be opposed to a session of hide-the-German-sausage.

If he wanted he could take her there in a darkened closet in the hallway. It wouldn’t take long—(if it didn’t need to…or it could take all night). That would be a nice way to relieve the stress bubbling in his body.

—Someone was laying next to him, her skin smooth, practically glowing. There was rather a lot of it exposed.

She turned over, her eyes fluttering open, a small smile creasing her features as she rolled onto his chest, tickling his chin with her fingers.

“I had a wonderful time,” she twittered, and he practically purred, staring into those big blue eyes, glittering like river stones.

He pushed her green hair behind her ear.

“Is that all? I’d like to think a night with the King of the gods would be more than merely ‘wonderful.’”

She giggled. “No no, it was much more than wonderful! It was spectacular! Mind-blowing!” She threw her arms in the air.

“That’s more like it.” He grinned—

When was that again? Two years ago, or two days ago?

It could have been either.

Had he apologized for that?

Would it have mattered if he had? Would she have forgiven him? Would he have stopped?—

Bile rose in his throat, and he dove his nose so hard into the magazine he almost smacked himself with it.

His wife was bruised and bleeding, and potentially worse in a nearby room, at the mercy of some quack holding a scalpel and a few comforting words…and here he was thinking of betraying her for the…

How many times had it been now?

He threw the magazine back on the table and sank in the chair till his head was nearly on the bottom cushion, his lip flapping his he blew out a breath, making his hair fly up a little.

The kid and his mom got called, and seemed glad of a reason to leave.

After a healthy dose of moping he pulled out his phone. After checking fatesbook and playing a few games he decided it was time to open his messages.

He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted some sensible and non-conjugal company.

He scrolled through and clicked on a name.

A number of old conversations sprinkled the page, often detailing Zeus asking about getting together and the correspondent saying they were busy.

He thought a moment about what to say—(a rare occurrence for him)—before deciding any vague requests would probably get ignored, so he simply decided the boldfaced truth:

Hera’s been in a car accident. She’s in surgery.

“WHAT?!” The word was spoken aloud—and very loudly at that.

Hades was standing in front of him. If the king being here wasn’t enough reason for weird looks, this outburst had sent more than a few eyes their way.

Zeus did a finger wave at the nymph, before he grabbed his brother’s arm, whisking him off to a less crowded hallway.

The only thing here was a vending machine, and a few overly picturesque pictures of trees.

“How did this happen?!”  Hades shout-whispered.

*

Notes: The part I’m most stuck on is the conversation between Zeus and Hades. We rarely see Zeus being real and emotional with people...so I’m really struggling where to go with that with little to nothing to base it on. If you have any ideas for that, or think you can help, feel free to DM me!!

#lore olympus #lore olympus fanfiction #lore olympus webcomic #lore olympus webtoon #lore olympus zeus #zeus lore olympus #zeus lo #lo zeus #hera #lore olympus hera #hera lore olympus #lo hera #hera lo #zeus #lore olympus fic #lore olympus fanfic #lore olympus fandom #lo #usedbandaid #Rachel Smythe #Greek Mythology